#religious trauma hits deep

[harrows-bones]

listening to @mothercain is like being hit with a bat in the shins and still wanting to thank her

[unacknowledgeable]

Continued: Serial killer reader x yan!batfam

.........Ooooookay, I guess yall really liked my serial killer!reader? I guess I'm honor bound to continue??? Oh noooo, the horrorrrr. But seriously, I'm glad! Because it only gets worse from here! >:}

Anyway, this was really difficult to write because I literally could not find good starting and stopping points, I tried to make my thoughts flow into each other as seamlessly as possible but there's SO MUCH I wanna write for this, it’s eating me alive, (also like, feel free to send asks bc I get sidetracked a lot in my writing and looove just answering questions as jumping off points, so please gimme gimme)

That being said, enjoy!

WARNING for disturbing imagery, untreated mental illness and trauma, blood, and depictions of murder (seriously)

So obviously, this M/c is a serial killer, so how do they go about keeping this hidden while simultaneously living with the world's greatest detectives?

Simple, ya don't.

Okay so that's not completely true. Compared to the average criminal, you put in a lot of effort to not get caught, but the average criminal doesn’t live with THE Batman either

Compared to the rest of your family though? You basically put in the bare minimum required to hide your… unsavory activities

Of course, you'll wash your blood soaked clothes yourself, in the lesser used washrooms of the manor, but once in a blue moon, when you’re too tired to care or your catch of the night put up a greater fight then anticipated, you'll throw your tainted clothes in with the rest of the families

And they just… don't fucking notice.

Or when they do, they just assume that one of the others had an unfortunate run in with some criminal while in civvies 

You've overheard many admonishments from Dick or Alfred over the years, telling Tim or Jason to “Please stop putting bloody clothes in with the whites, there's a basket for them two feet away!”

It was always pretty hard trying to keep a straight face when hearing those scoldings, but you always did, you didn't want Damian demanding to know what was so funny and dampening your mood

Or Cass giving you one of her calculated looks and suddenly getting nosy, that would make losing your clothes to Tim’s closet a lot less worth the laugh.

It’s just that, this assumption is waaaaay more plausible then say, the serial killer they've been tracking relentlessly for literal years, is just…tossing their VERY incriminating evidence in with the family's laundry, then passing out on some couch in one of the many sitting rooms of the manor, while the family goes out and discovers their latest victim

It's just easier to assume it was one of the others, Dick would never connect you, of all people, to the gore tossed haphazardly in the hamper, it's way more likely to be one of the many crime fighters of the family, not the soft spoken hermit of the manor, and even if that was a possibility in his mind, you don't even have a scratch on you

Not that he’s ever bothered to check you for injuries before, like he does almost religiously for the others

And Alfred? Well he's of the belief you'd grown out of your… tendencies, that it was a one time thing. Despite his reputation as an omnipotent presence in the manor, he never did realize just how deep your mental issues ran. Not until it was far too late.

You don't even have a specific weapon either, half of the time you'll just take one of Alfred's steak knives and hit the lower levels of Gotham, wandering around the decrepit streets till you found someone suitable 

Other times, when you’re in an exceptionally bad mood, be it because Damian said something particularly venomous or Alfred missing an important event for you because something came up with one of your siblings, or even when your classmates decided it would be funny to key your car-

Or it's just one of those days

Those days when the abstract voices simmer louder in the back of your mind, pushing and nagging. Images that you desperately want to forget but can't help the need to recreate. All threatening to boil over until you either crumble into a sobbing heep on the floor or go out and do the one thing that has always been able to shut. them. up.

Those days you’re… forgetful

On those days, you forget to grab one of Alfred’s pristine knives, but that's fine, Gothams streets are littered with dangerous items, so there's no shortage of tools at your disposal. You're creative, resourceful, you can use whatever's on hand at the time, whatever's in reach.

But if there's nothing? No sharp objects, no discarded bricks or loose pipes or even a half empty beer bottle, well… you're no stranger getting your hands dirty

Those times however, are pretty hazy in the aftermath.

You’ll forget certain details, like how they gripped your arms in a vain attempt to draw your own blood as you drew theirs, in the event that if they dont get away, at least you'd be caught, (all it leaves are dark, tender bruises along your arms, that you'll spend weeks poking and prodding at, in the hopes of reliving that moment)

Or how they'd flail their legs, inches from the ground, trying to kick your legs out from beneath you (it was kinda cute, how much shorter they were then you, how little their attempts to free themselves did when it mattered the most)

Even their last, warbling pleas for mercy were lost to you. You know they said something, could vaguely recall that they spoke, too absorbed in watching their bloody lips turn blue as the oxygen in their body slowly ran out (No no please please…My girls are waiting)

No, no you don't remember much but what you do remember, what you always, always remember, are the eyes 

You remember the tears, the fear, the acceptance, the rage, the refusal, the disbelief, the confusion, the indignation, and most of all the recognition. 

Whether it be them recognizing just who you are or realizing that this is who will end their life, you don't know, you’ve never bothered to ask. 

You prefer to think it’s the latter, it's hard to explain, but it makes you feel so so important

When it’s over, and the adrenaline in your veins soften, your breathing calmer, the blood rushing through your ears no longer so deafening, and you can feel the pleasing ache in your limbs, you sit, and asses the damage, as you always do

You always make sure to grab their wallet, take out the ID and memorize it, before gingerly putting it back, and finally walking away, head clear and numb in the cold Gotham air

There's no real reason why, its mostly force of habit at this point, it started with your very first kill, you don't feel like breaking the little ritual now, or anytime soon

It just feels wrong, to take a life and not even know whose life it is...was.

Later, long past any reasonable hour, you lay in bed, fresh out of the shower and thumbing the bruises, listening to the voices over the family's communicators (you stole one of Dicks, he has a nasty habit of leaving them around the manor) as they patrol the Gotham streets for crime and mayhem

You honestly can't help the small smile that graces your face, falling into sleep, as you hear the quiet, defeated sigh over the highly protected com link, “B, I've found another one, it's…it’s pretty rough tonight”

The pause is long before a small, gruff, “I have your location, ETA in 10 minutes”

You slept pretty good that night

Damn, sometimes the shit I come up with scares even me, again, feel free to send asks (shh I'm not begging), the brain worms are always hungry and I have sooooo many thoughts about this thing. lol 

Hope you enjoyed!

[pochaccoups]

“ PREY ” — choi seungcheol

pairing — werewolf!seungcheol x f!reader

summary — you are but prey to him.

wc — 2.2k

warnings — nsfw content. minors dni. smut, cunnilingus, predator/prey, images of gore and death (it’s all metaphorical), religious imagery/references (probably sacrilege oops), this is NOT omegaverse

author’s note — howling by xg on repeat recently. sorry if this isn’t what u were expecting but all my writing inspiration comes from angela carter

this fic is part of MONSTER: a hip hop unit series.

Your legs and lungs burn with the heat of a thousand fires.

You wonder how long it’s been since you started running. Was it minutes or hours? You don’t know. All that you do know is that every second that passes is a second closer to your death. It’s certain that you won’t make it out alive—it won’t let you—yet that is what makes you run faster, push yourself harder, your lungs reaching their absolute limit to provide you with the oxygen to keep going. 

There’s a crunch of leaves in the distance, to your left. It’s not behind you. It never was. 

Slowly, the sound of four separate steps hitting the earth grows closer and closer. You can only vaguely hear it over the sound of your heart struggling to pump blood through your body. 

A shriek rips itself from your throat. It cuts through the air as you’re thrown to the ground like you’re nothing more than a doll. Sharp pain slams through your body. The ground beneath you spins. Bile rises to your throat. 

Crying for help is futile. Even if you had the strength to yell, only the trees would hear your pleas. 

When you open your eyes that you hadn’t realised you screwed shut, you’re face to face with death. Daggers for teeth inside of a snarling, drool-dripping snout; yellow eyes like the moon had fallen from the abyss above and nestled into this beast; pointy ears that made the devil’s silhouette appear when your vision grew blurry. 

The last dregs of adrenaline in your body are what allow you to try and crawl away, to scramble like a newborn fawn on its unused legs. You don’t make it two feet before you’re dragged backwards through branches and dirt.

You’re not sure what makes you fight, but you do. You struggle despite the way his hands snake around your limbs like thorny vines, and every second that you keep struggling your skin stings more and more, his hold tightening until you think he’ll snap your bones.

The wolf keeps you pinned to the forest floor, revelling in the pitiful sounds of your fear. His claws find a home in your flesh, but it is still not as agonising as the anticipation—all you want is for him to get it over with; to shred your chest apart and rip your beating, bleeding heart from its seams. 

At its core, however, a werewolf is a monster. It is terrifying, not just because it is hideous, but because it is also cruel. It thrives off of your fear. You’re going to die—you know that. He knows that too, so he holds your frail little life in the palm of his hands and dangles it in your face.

Your dress becomes tatters and scraps the moment the wolf’s claws come to touch it, but he leaves your skin mostly unscathed. Mostly. 

His low growl grows louder in your ear until your skin is warm with his breath. It turns to a terrible rumble, deep and sadistic, one that reverberates through even your own chest, one that makes you cower, and suddenly you’re nothing but a small rabbit. It digs deep into your brain, finds every nook that you’ve stowed your traumas away into and drags them out until you’re no longer moving. No longer breathing. 

The wolf stands and watches tears leave salty trails down your face as they dry, only to be replaced again by more. 

You must look pathetic the way you try to scamper away again, persistent even when you’ve lost the will to persist. You are human though—to grasp onto every last fibre of hope of staying alive is innate. 

Quickly the wolf grows bored by your ‘escape’ attempts. In one sudden movement he plucks you off the ground and tosses you over his thick shoulder. 

“P-please… Let me go,” you sob as thickets of trees continuously pass by you. You hear a clock ticking in your head and it lines up with the footsteps of the beast that holds you captive. “Where are you taking me?”

Your voice is small, probably but a squeak in the wolf’s ear. Even if he hears you, he does not show it. Only trudges on to the slaughterhouse. 

Your consciousness comes and goes as fatigue settles in to replace adrenaline. As you hang limp, your body tries to put itself back together, your muscles and bones pulsing painfully from being overexerted. 

A door creaks open, then slams. Your eyes flicker open, you’re pulled back to reality. You don’t even have time to come to your senses before you’re bouncing upon a mattress.

With a groan, you push yourself to sit up, cradling your spinning head as you glance around at the wood panelled walls, the two square windows on either side of the door, and the old dining chair in one corner that’s next to a wood burning stove. 

The wolf approaches and this time you look directly into his eyes that glow in the dark of the cabin. 

He bares his teeth, but you no longer cower. 

He climbs over you, prowls along your body, and you’re swallowed by his shadow again as he pins you beneath him. 

“What big teeth you have,” you sigh, reaching up to his snout, your hand the size of a child’s next to him. 

He gives a thundering growl again, spit flying as his jaws circle your neck. It makes you grimace. 

“Okay, okay, can you turn back now? It’s hard to look at you.”

Your words work like some sort of spell. He steps back into the darkness of the cabin, and in an instant the massive creature starts to shift before your very eyes. The place begins to fill with a grotesque cacophony of cracking bones as they shift to fit a smaller body, and now it is his turn to scream in agony. The old floorboards groan as he falls to his knees, as his thick fur vanishes into pale flesh, as claws retract into fingernails.

As the monster dies, your lover is left. 

Handsome, human, features replace animal ones, and Seungcheol looks at you so fondly that it’s jarring. Even though he glistens with sweat and he’s gasping for breath and his pupils are blown out and wild, he sags with relief at the sight of you, a contrast so stark to before. 

He’s on his knees at the edge of the bed you’re perched on before you can even speak.

“Did I hurt you?” is the first thing he asks, his voice scratchy like it’s his first time speaking. He’s cautious as he reaches for you to inspect your limbs, finding your skin littered with bruises and scratch marks that make his heart clench. 

“Well, a little, yeah,” you say, and you laugh, and Seungcheol is partially comforted by your nonchalance as well as the fact that it was you who had wanted to play the part of the little hare; his prey. His eyes had bulged out of his head when you proposed your masochistic idea for a Friday night; a ‘bonding’ activity that would be fun for both of you. 

It took a while before he was convinced. He warned you that he couldn’t guarantee your full safety once he was turned. You insisted you knew what you were in for.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispers into your skin before he kisses your bruised wrists, then moves down so he can kiss your grazed knees too. 

“There’s a way you can make it up to me, you know,” you tell him, your voice charged with something suggestive, something that Seungcheol can pick up on immediately. Still, he presses you.

“And what’s that, my darling?” 

“You can… eat me.” 

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, rising up off the floor so that he can lean over your body. He stares into your eyes and this time it’s much, much softer, and yet there’s a glint in them, a flash of hunger, almost like the one the wolf had in his eyes.

“You want that?” he asks. 

“Mhm,” you say, and your voice is but a whisper, as though you aren’t in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles of trees, as though all that will hear your voice is not birds and wild creatures—and your lover, of course. “Make it up to me.”

His gaze clouds over as his teeth sink into his bottom lip. Then he steals your breath from you once more, pressing his lips against yours, and it’s searing. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline that’s still flowing through both of you, that’s making you move with vigour. Perhaps it’s Seungcheol’s guilt, or your fiery, aching need. Perhaps it’s all of that all at once. 

His tongue shoves past your lips, makes its way against your own tongue. Your teeth clash and your noses rub together, and then Seungcheol breaks the kiss. It’s only to attack your neck in a slew of bites, teeth grazing over your skin until a mark blooms there. 

His hands trace along your body, your skin scorching beneath the remains of fabric that you’re still clad in.

“Cheol, my dress,” you sigh, tugging at his hair. “Want it off.”

Without another word, Seungcheol halts his assault on your neck, takes two handfuls of the remnants of your sundress and riiip!—and you know the fabric was no more than paper to him, but you’re only a girl and his strength never fails to leave you so flustered that your entire body grows scorching hot. 

“And this?” he says, warm hands cupping your bra-covered chest. You moan when he squeezes them, then his fingers start to toy with the straps, but he makes no move to pull them down your arms.

“Take it off, please,” you say, pushing yourself up on your elbows. Seungcheol grabs your arm as you reach behind you before you can find the clasp. 

“Look,” he says, and a second later your bra faces the same fate as your dress—a shredded heap upon the floor. 

With your tits exposed, Seungcheol can’t help but latch onto one immediately. His mouth is so warm around your nipple, and one of his hands is squeezing it while he sucks, and his other hand is playing with your other one, pinching and tugging, and you think you just might explode. 

He leaves the peaks of your tits puffy and spit-soaked, and only then is Seungcheol satisfied enough to leave your chest alone and put his hand between your thighs instead. 

“What about these?” he asks, pressing his fingers to your clothed cunt. You jolt when he does, because you knew you were wet, but you didn’t realise you had soaked through the fabric already. 

“O-off, God, please,” is your reply, hands grabbing at him, urging him, egging him on. 

He’s on his knees again, gazing up at you as he disappears between your thighs. His nose nudges against your cunt through the wet fabric, and he inhales hard until his eyes are rolling and there’s drool pooling in his mouth.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he grumbles, licking his lips while he tears your panties in half. You’re still reeling from watching him breathe in your scent and fuck, now his tongue is on your pussy.

A shaky moan of his name leaves your mouth as he licks at every part of you, laps up your dripping arousal like he’s starving for it—he is. But finally tasting you does not bring him one step closer to satiation. It drags him further and further away from it until he’s addicted to chasing it, until he will never get enough. 

When Seungcheol’s lips seal over your clit and suck, he sends your legs into tremors, sends stars dancing in your vision, sends you into heaven. You grab at his hair, at the sheets; do anything you can do to hold on to your sanity as Seungcheol devours you. 

The harsh, indulgent dance of his tongue over your cunt makes you cry his name. You say it like you’re praying. You beg; beg for mercy, but also for more. It’s all too much, but it’s not enough. It’s heaven and hell how he works his mouth against you, clawless fingertips still sinking into your skin as he keeps your hips pinned to the mattress, keeps you splayed out all for him on a silver platter. 

Seungcheol licks and slurps and laps at your cunt until you’re dripping from his lips. He is gluttony, ravishing you even when he cannot breathe because his mouth and nose are buried in your pussy. Even when he is full, he wants more of you, blessed and cursed with eternal starvation. But you are the body and the blood. You are the Lamb, and eating you will atone his sins and he will be forgiven. 

So he tears you open; with his mouth he rips you apart at your seams until finally you come undone. Even then, he feasts on your remains as you wail and writhe, as sin burns through you, so heavenly that it must be holy. Even then, he eats, and eats, and eats you up.

thank u for reading! reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated <3

[bbydoll18xx]

How Do I Get to Heaven?

'Without changing a piece of me, how do I get to heaven?'

Paige Bueckers x reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Themes: angst, slurs, religious trauma, HAPPY ENDING i promise

A/N: hiii so this one is super angsty and sad. I've been going through a rough time, and this is my way of coping. I kinda touched on these subjects in 'She's Such a Good Girl' part 2, and this is similar. I was obsessed with 'Heaven' by Troye Sivan when I was like 15-16 and the lyrics hit a little too hard. If you're gay and were raised in a religious household, I suggest taking a listen.

~

“He’s a fuckin’ faggot!”

“Hate the sin, love the sinner.”

“Those kinds of people are going straight to hell.”

Your face remained neutral. It had to. But you had years of practice, and while you were internally sobbing at the bigoted remarks, there was nothing you could do to stop it. So you stayed quiet, and you maintained your usual look of disinterest. 

Running up the stairs, you finally make it into the safehaven of your bedroom. You shut the door quietly, trying to avoid seeming as if anything is wrong or out of the ordinary. Nothing could possibly be wrong. You were the perfect child; straight As, never in trouble, and you always were eager to help out around the house. But you were harboring a dirty little secret that threatened to rip you from the grips of being the golden girl of your family. 

Sobs wracked your body as you slid onto the carpeted floor of your room. What had started off as an innocent dinner had turned into a nightmare. Slurs were thrown around casually, and unbeknownst to your family, you were the unidentified target. Your sexuality was the reason you had become an empty shell of a person, riddled with fear of accidentally outting yourself. And the anxieties you felt were bubbling up, threatening to ruin the perfect image of yourself that you had crafted for your loved ones. 

This wasn’t the first time. And it surely would not be the last. 

Your family had always claimed to love you. Your childhood was a happy one, but you feared the truth would break everyone. And even if they found out and still claimed to love you, you knew they would always see you differently. Gone would be the girl they knew, and their eager touts would be replaced with hushed whispers. You’d forever be known as “the gay one.” And you fucking resented that.

So here you sat on the floor, trying to quiet your sobs as you mourned the loss of the life you once knew and the people who would eventually turn their backs to you. 

Summer was ending, and soon you would be fleeing back to college, where your guard could be let down just enough to show the world a glimpse of who you really were and who you really wanted to love. 

There was just one girl who you wanted to love you back.

Paige Bueckers was your best friend. And she was so very gay. 

Since meeting her at the beginning of freshman year, she had pulled you out of a darkness that had resided in you since you had realized your feelings towards girls. It did not take long for you to fall madly, head-over-heels in love with her, but you had vowed to ignore it. 

Even if there was any hope of reciprocated feelings, you knew deep down that being in love with a girl would mean having to come out to your family. And you were just not ready for that. You weren’t sure if you would ever be ready for that. 

The thought terrified you. You knew you were willingly inhibiting a possibility of incredible happiness and love, but because it was at the risk of losing your loved ones, you were shutting it all out. 

‘Fuck. I really need therapy,’ you think miserably. 

That was the understatement of the century.

~

The new school year starts, and Uconn’s campus is ablaze with excited students and the possibilities of what is to come. You are finally starting to feel like yourself again, and the second your parents leave your apartment, you don a t-shirt plastered with Diana Taurasi’s face on it. 

You could finally get your gay card back.

A loud knock rings through the empty apartment, and before you could get to the door to answer it, Paige is peeking her head through it, a huge grin covering her face. 

She wastes no time barreling through the room, sweeping you up in a hug and spinning you around. Your feet leave the ground, causing your stomach to flip, and your legs automatically wrap around her waist for leverage. 

“Someone missed me,” you giggle, feeling breathless from being back in Paige’s tight embrace. You had been dreaming of this since you last saw her, back in July. 

“Course I did,” she chuckles, voice muffled against your hair. “You glad to be back?”

You groan. “Fuck, yeah I am. Lookin’ forward to not hearing some slurs for a bit,” you say, fist-pumping the air with a dramatic roll of the eyes. “And I’m especially looking forward to not having to listen to Fox fuckin’ News,” you add, pretending to gag.

Paige’s eyes rake over you, and she pouts, already knowing how your family could be. She had listened to your endless rants and your pathetic cries for the past three years. 

“I think you should just move in with me after this year ends. That way you don’t have to put up with that shit. Then we can be together after graduation,” she says earnestly. 

This was not the first time she had proposed this idea. And while you were internally jumping at the idea, the fear of how it would look to your family made you shy away. Paige wasn’t exactly the most straight-looking girl. Living with her would make things complicated. Your covert feelings had no place in a situation like that. 

You sigh. “I’ll think about it, P,” you promise, linking your pinky with hers, as you always did. 

~

Christmas break quickly rolls around, and Paige’s words are still playing in the back of your mind. Your feelings for her had grown, as if that was even possible, and having to leave her and the safety and warmth that came with her, was agonizing. 

Sitting against the hard back of the pew in your family’s Catholic church, you look around, thinking about how these people would be okay with you burning in hell forevermore. The familiar feeling of shame creeps back into your chest, the flames licking at your wounds. 

You wanted to run and hide. You wanted Paige. 

The Christmas activities persist, and amongst the holiday cheer and piles of gifts, uncomfortable conversations emerge, and you shrink back to your room, desperate for respite.

You felt so fucking abandoned. This was supposed to be a time to enjoy with your family, and instead you were hiding.

There was one person, though, you knew would not abandon you, and that was Paige. Her presence was enough to lessen the sting of the inevitable rejection of your family, and in that moment, it was enough. 

Pulling out your phone, you dial her number, longing to hear her voice, all the way from Montana. Christmas break could not end quickly enough. 

Paige’s smiling face is soon on your phone screen, but it falls as soon as she sees the tears falling down your cheeks and your wobbling bottom lip.

“Oh, baby, what happened?” She asks in a hushed whisper, voice full of anger and concern. 

“They hate me,” you cry. “They fucking hate me, and they don’t even know it yet.”

Paige sighs, trying to find the right words. While she had always had acceptance from those around her, she knew how difficult it was for you to be at home, and she desperately wished to take away your anguish. 

“I love you,” she stresses. “And I know that doesnt fix your family treating you like shit, but soon you’ll be back and everything won’t seem as shitty, I promise.” 

You nod, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. 

She loved you. And you knew that. But you wanted her to love you in the way you loved her. For now, you would take what you could get.

“Just a few more days,” she assures, and you feel the tiniest bit better.

Just a few more days. 

~

The start of the new year always engenders change, and you had promised yourself as the clock chimed to signify it was midnight that this would be the year you would hike up your big girl panties and figure out your shit with Paige. Your senior year had to slow down, and Paige’s proposal had been in the back of your mind since August. 

If you could get over your stupid crush on her, things would be all good and dandy, but your efforts to eradicate her place in your heart were futile. You had mused it over nearly a million times. Maybe you’d eventually get over her, and maybe she would have some bizarre habit that would inevitably give you the ick, ridding you of all romantic feelings toward her. 

You could only hope. 

You pump yourself up on the way over to Paige’s apartment, encouraging words forming on your lips, leaving a trail of fog from your warm breath against the cold air. 

You knock on her door, cheeks pink from the frigid temperatures of Connecticut in January, grateful that it hides your blush. Paige opens the door, eyes wide and hopeful. She always looked so damn alluring. 

Your words leave your mouth before your chary mind could overtake you. “I want to move in with you after school ends. I can’t go back to living like that.”

Paige’s features twist into a smile, and she pulls you in for a hug. “Gonna take such good care of you,” she whispers, and you believe her. Your arms wrap around her middle, anchoring you to the floor. 

“I should probably tell you, though,” she trails, her voice getting smaller as she takes a deep breath. 

You look up at her, confusedly. “Tell me what?”

“I love you. And not just like as a friend. So if you don’t want to live with me because of that, I get it,” she mumbles, eyes trained on the floor.

Your breath quickens at the realization. Paige loved you. And the thought of being a colossal disappointment to your family and potentially cast out did not seem to matter as much anymore. Because here was someone who loved every part of you and accepted the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

The look of shock swiftly morphs into one of unbridled euphoria, and without another thought, you pull Paige in for a kiss. It was filled with the pure longing and want of years of uncontrollable urges and repressed thoughts, and it nearly made all the shittiness worth it.

Pulling away, Paige links her pinky with yours again, just as she had back in August. It was an unspoken promise of love. And while you knew the journey would be inexorably difficult, Paige was worth it in the end. 

~

dang that was rough lol but thanks for reading as always:) I really hope this wasn't too triggering or anything for anyone. This has been such a nice outlet for my pain and anger, as I really don't have anyone to talk to about this stuff. I am here for everyone who can relate. My inbox is open if you guys ever want/need to talk

xoxo katy

[comicaurora]

How heavy are we going with the religion allegories with the paladins? Will little queer catholic me need a TW for religious trauma?

everything I've learned about catholicism has been against my will so I doubt I'll be hitting any deep cuts with this one

[simonsrileyhusband]

okay, soooo i saw that you might write for other 141 members so, ive had this thought for days.

Religous trauma John price x reader where john meets him and desides hell is worth it if he gets to have him.

Can be sfw or nsfw.

(This is a little bit of a darker topic so you can absolutly skip this and just do a fluffy john one!! 🍫)

nsfw: (religious reader, reader cries and prices likes it)

everytime price went home after deployment he found himself going to curch, even when he doesn't think he believes in god, he finds comfort there after being responsible of the death of so many.

he doesn't kneel or pray, he just sits there at the back, his hands together as he stares at the pretty angel in sitting diagonal to him. john can't help himself, he gets lost in the way your knees hit the cushion, how you close your eyes and pray so dearly, like there is someone listening to your begs.

and you are just so sweet that one day you walked to him, asking if he was okay, cus ylu caught him staring and unlike lost men, he didn't stop, he held your gaze until you shyly walked to him.

"i'm fine luv, just find it hard to understand what he means sometimes." he lies, he doesn't even listen to what the pastor says, he is there to feel less guilt of all the blood on his hands and to see his angel.

so you offered to explain the sermons to him, and sit besides him everytime he came by.

and eventually you found yourself visiting his house after church, and eventually he made his way into your pants.

"johnny, please, not now." you whine, he has you seated on his lap, his growing bulge rubbing into your ass, both of his hands rolling and moving your hips over him.

"but i need ya' now" he whispers into your ear, tossing the little bible you had on your hands away. "come on, i know you want it too."

it never takes more than a few heated kisses and praises for you to let him do whatever he want to you.

and everytime he is balls deep inside of your tight hole his facade falls, he starts being a bit mean and he grips a bit too hard. but he still adores you so much, so when he sees a few tears rolling down your cheeks he will kiss them away.

"shhh, i know baby, i know. it feel too good doesn't it." he whispers softly, almost like a prayer and you look up to him almost like he is your god, and for a split second john thinks god is real, because otherwise hole like yours wouldnt exist.

[numberonetrashwitch]

Some observations about Baldurs Gate 3 that hit too close to home.

After another few runs i will probably just make an in-Depth Character Analysis for every character simply because they are good reflections of actual trauma-manifestations and how abuse can manifest in people. They are also so well written that it serves a narrative purpose to explore all the material that is out there about them. I am also personally cursed with actual medically-relevant levels of Empathy and Hyperfixation; so writing this helps me put a pin in it and move on.

But so far here are my highlights

(SPOILERS and obviously content warning bc these are deep)

before you ask; i have almost 300h in this game.

You have to convince Shadowheart to eat the Noblestalk. She actually stells you she rather get her memories back from Shar but when you hit the persuasion or intimidation (what the fuck) check to get her to eat it she'll tell you about her childhood friend. Not her name, not her parents but her best firend. Possibly because she has had a closer bond to that person after being abducted and indoctrinated. With her believing herself to be an orphan, she would've looked elsewhere for comfort and sought out her own family, this is why she falls hard and heavy for Shar and builds the backbone of her indoctrination. She is literally ripped out of her home & given a new identity to server her from all she has known. Religious indoctrination, Gaslighting, Abduction, being forced to let go of your personality are her main themes.

There is a scene out there floating around in which you see Astarions pespective of the night when he bites Tav for the first time, in his meditations he is confronted with the rules Cazador put on him, including that he can't eat intelligent creatures, can't be away from Cazador unless allowed to, has to obey every command and that they are should know that they are property. Which in turn means that Astarion literally didn't just have any autonomy, he was objectified (and not just through seductive/sexual measures) and that is really the crux to understanding why he doesn't believe in kindness, but rather shows self-serving behavior in most cases. Since we know that Astarion was extremely young for an elf before he died and became immortal (literally stopping the aging /maturing process) it is also very telling that Cazador constantly calls him brat, boy or other very juvanile names, refering to them as a family... well it is also the story of a very controlling parent. Themes of (Bodily) autonomy, infantilization ( & puer aeternus, forever-child), slavery, depersonalisation, corruption of life and torture to break someone.

Gale isn't just a guy hung up on his Ex, but also a victim of abuse. In this case a power imbalance none of us can fathom; She is described as being a jealous goddess and rules over the domain of mysteries and magic. So with Gale being a Wizard, she is literally his boss. He admits that he was foolish enough to aspire to be an equal to her, but she is so jealous that she tells him he can't really be worthy as long as he takes breath. She could just take his powers away and be done with it, that would be more than enough punishment for a guy who literally made Mystra and her domain his life's purpose, but she rather makes him do it himself. Add to that, that she literally only tells him this after years of self-isolation (after he put down so many wards that he could've blown up a whole army as he says if you click the right dialogue) to really fuck him up well. He also talks about death pretty much constantly, not surprising giving your situation, but he will tell you that he will kill himself at several points in the game, for instance after he comes clear about his nethrese orb. Themes of romantic abuse, power-imbalance, toxic work enviorment, self-isolating behavior, suicidal ideation

Wyll ... well from the looks of it he is the most well adjusted of all the companions (my opinion) but he has something that i'd describe as the "eldest daughter"-syndrome, more commonly known as parentification. This pattern usually occurs within single-household parents and is commonly described as a parent looking to their child for emotional or practical support, rather than providing it to their kid. We meet Ulder and see that he talks over Wyll a lot, not listening but expecting him to follow the standard he sets for him. That is also why Wyll repeats his fathers words like gospel (because this is what, in his mind, fullfills the expectations bestowed upon him) and why he loves fairytales / bard tales so much (because they are an ecapist view of the job he set out to do) Ulder literally exiled his teenage son because Wyll did the only thing he could to save an entire city, by sacrificing himself. Thats a lot to expect from a 17 year old - even more so, he doesn't stop with the heroics. He expects himself, as a human who hasn't even reached the age of 30 to hold up to mystical creatures such as Astarion or Karlach, or even Gale who is a accomplished Wizard. Themes of parentification, escapism, self-harming through putting himself in danger, chronic-self-sacrifice

In plain words; Gortash, Karlach's Idol sold her to a Devil. But add to that that she must have been pretty young when she was sold (late teens to early twenties possibly) and being that if you play as a Tiefling, you face a lot of predjudice she was likely forced into that position as well. Starstruck she was, with a juvenile naitivy that Gortash used. Appropriately, as he is the chosen of Bane the god of "tyrannical oppression, terror, and hate, known across Faerûn as the face of pure evil through malevolent despotism" (Source: Forgotten-Realms Wiki / Bane) So she pretty much was raised in a toxic enviorment, which forced her to become a killing-machine, first figuretively, then with the extraction of her heart, literally. Themes of slavery, oppression, misuse of trust, being taken advantage by a more powerful/older(?) person, being drafted.

Jaheira - to be honest, you need to know the lore of the previous baldurs gate games or just listen to her dialouge, ask her all the questions. She is a war-veteran against Bhaal, the good of ritual murder, and has a long history of fighting to achieve some sort of balance of power. She lost her husband and several close people all to this, or any other war, but due to her wisdom and strength people look to her for guidance. Themes of: Survivors Guilt.

Halsin - he is really closed off at first but then just casually hits you with "i was captured in the underdark and spent 3 years chained to a bedroom wall by a pair of drows who used me as they pleased". He is reprimanded by some of his druids for leaving the grove as soon as opportunity struck, just to get back and leave the next day, and if you talk to him about his position in the grove he is actually very forthcomming. He actively holds himself back; indulging in simple hobbies because he knows what lies within his heart. He is afraid of himself and his potential (canonnically he can't control his wildshape, which is very weird for an ARCH-druid) Themes of: impostor syndrome, avoidant-based self-harm, sexual opression, loss of control, emotional regulation.

Lae'zel is a very tragic case, and one that closely resembles the stories of Shadowheart and Karlach. Her entire existence is based upon a matriachial war society allowing her to live if she proves she can be of use and that in a culture which only values brutality, dominance & service. All of that culimating in her finding out that her oh-so-beloved Queen is actually just an imposter, and that everything she has lived for up to that point is merely political propaganda created to make her, and the rest of her entire species, willing pawns in a war that has no longer bearing on their survival alone, but is fought to justify Vlaakith's (the reigning monarchs) personal ambitions. Not only is she forced to reconcile that she is turned into the thing that controlled her kind for hundreds of years, that the only cure she knows of would kill her and then on top of that, that her hopes and dreams were lies and that she is now the Nr 1 enemy of the person she has served with all her being. themes of: oppression, propaganda, casual violence, objectification, child-warfare, eternal warfare

Minthara in short, her story is about being shamed for growing up in the same scenario that Lae'zel grew up in. Lolth, the god of the Lolth-sworn drows is a crazy queen who values scheming & backstabbing so much and is so volatile that you can't know what to expect of your deeds (and i mean it; there were people who were appraised by her for scheming against her, but also those who were killed. It's almost random.) She considers Lolth to be cruel and abandoned her for the Absolute, only to then be used and abused the same way Lae'zel has. Not with promises, but erasing her memory and exposing her perceived weakness. Themes of: casual violence, violent culture, her own ambition colliding with her desire to be safe, being a pawn in a larger game.

[gureumz]

grateful sinners

rating: explicit

member: jake

premise: growing up in a religious community (a cult?), you and your friend jake stumble upon "forbidden" media one day. of course, you know about sex but what the elders taught you was never this dirty. overcome with curiosity, you promise each other to never speak of what you're about to do to anyone.

notes: religious themes, implied cult behavior, slight (?) blasphemy, virgin!jake x virgin!reader, fem!reader, friends to lovers (?), first time, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, desperate touch-starved, jesus loving virgins tryna fuck

a/n: third of my 1k follower special! can you tell i have deep religious trauma? lmaoooo but this was rlly fun to write, if not a little tedious but i enjoyed it nonetheless! hope you do, too &lt;3

the day was as beautiful as any other.

the early morning sun peeking behind the nearby hill, the smell of wet grass, the gentle breeze blowing through your hair.

you breathe in more of the valley air, letting your eyes close for a moment. everything is so still, hours and hours before the first worship of the day when the whole commune will surely come fully alive. at this moment, you're sure you're closer to God than ever.

a whispered prayer breaks the silence.

"i do not deserve such beauty before me, God," you mumble, eyes still closed. "but you are most merciful and i, a grateful sinner."

a silence, still. nothing or no one responds to your profession of gratitude, but that is to be expected. God works silently, as the elders say.

"i'm deciding if the beauty is on the horizon in front of us or in your face, ________," a voice breaks through, shattering the tranquil veil that envelops you.

you turn and you can't help the jolt in your chest. you grin widely and jake smiles back, hands in his pockets and his pants already soaked with morning dew from the grass.

"don't say that," you warn. "my mom might hear."

jake makes a show of looking around, gazing past you at the squat houses sitting peacefully without movement.

"i don't see her," jake says with a shrug. you laugh.

"you know how she hates it when people make light of God's word. your jokes are definitely her least favorite," you remind him, stepping closer.

jake eyes you. being noticeably taller and broader, it gives him the perfect view of your face as the dawn sun hits your delicate features.

his hair is messy, partly sticking to his forehead with the other half of his raven locks hanging over his eyes. you know his father would berate him for that. children of the pastor are expected to appear presentable in front of the whole commune as a way to honor God and his divine image.

but the commune is nowhere to be seen. it's just you looking.

and jake is used to you looking.

growing up together, with his mom and yours being close friends, your mother's unwavering devotion to the commune, and her undying support to jake's father's cause as pastor, it's no surprise that the two of you have been inseparable.

despite the clear division between the men and women of the commune, you and jake always found your way to each other. sneaking in glances, waving from afar before you start mass, and even despite your own mother's prudish ways, you know she felt at ease when jake was around you.

nothing has been said, but you're sure that when both of you reach the age of matrimony, you'd be wed to each other. you have to be.

"what are you doing out here so early?" you continue with a question, resisting the urge to toy with the wisps of hair on jake's temples.

you're forbidden to touch or be touched by any man that isn't your family. the only exception to this is his father, the pastor, free to lay his healing hands upon anyone he deems in need of it.

jake parts his lips to answer but pauses, as if choosing the appropriate thing to say.

"some of my friends and i wanted to hang out by the river," jake supplies, gesturing toward the general direction of the river just beyond the hill.

"doing what?" you ask. the men are usually tasked with heavy farm work in the morning. in your mind, a leisurely stroll by the river before all that labor seemed hardly reasonable.

jake hesitates again, now toying with his bottom lip, the plump, rosy skin growing even redder with every pinch jake delivers to it.

"you don't have to tell me if you don't want to," you say, flashing jake a reassuring smile.

"i'm not lying," jake replies almost instantly, a nervous spark in his eyes. "we really were by the river. we were...looking at something."

you cock your head to the side. jake comes even closer and the hairs on your arm stand on end, the faint scent of jake's sweat and soap reaching your nose. if you reach out now, you could easily wrap both arms around him, pull him close, and never let go.

"jay's dad brings our harvest to the nearby city market, right? well, jay went with him yesterday and he nicked this...book or something from the gas station," jake rambles, fidgeting with his fingers.

your eyes widen.

"it was glossy and the pages smelled nice. we don't have those kinds of books here, don't we?" jake continues, but your ears have started ringing in alarm.

"jay stole? jake, you know he needs to confess and repent," you whisper, taken aback.

jake gives you a look and you nearly tremble at the intensity in his irises. without warning, jake lets his fingertips graze your arm, instantly pulling away right after. you flinch, cradling your arm against your chest as if you've been burned.

"it's wrong, i know, but...haven't you thought of breaking the rules, even once? some of the people here talk about all the exciting things they've seen or done before, all because they broke one small rule. do you ever stop to think that it could be...fun?" jake questions, voice low. his eyes are wide and shaking, darting to and fro as if committing your whole face to memory.

"i—," you begin, unsure of what to say. you have thought of asking, even begging your mom to let you out into the city for one day. to see all the outsiders and their strange clothes and loud music.

but you could never go through with it. your mom would tell the pastor of your sinful curiosity the minute the words would leave your mouth.

"stealing is not breaking one small rule," you protest.

jake huffs out a breath. "aren't you tired of all of this? all of this forbidden stuff?"

you shake your head, trying to wrap your head around the words coming out of jake's mouth.

"your father's the pastor, jake," you say, voice trembling. "how could you..."

"the book had these pictures," jake cuts in, voice picking up as if it excited him to recount what he saw.

"the women in the book...they were naked."

you take a step back, clamping a hand down on your mouth.

"jake, what's gotten into you?" you question, heart beating wildly.

"i just want to know about the outside world, ________," jake reasons, running a hand through his hair.

"it's not as bad as the elders make it out to be," jake continues. "i haven't burst into flames, have i?"

you merely stare, uneasy at how blatant jake is about his sinful acts.

"do you want to see? i could borrow it from jay," jake offers, voice dropping to an even quieter whisper.

you stand there, a million different thoughts running through you. in all honesty, you wanted to take a look, never having seen any naked body other than your own. but even now, knowing that she was nowhere near, you could feel your mother's burning gaze on you. disappointed, intimidating, warning you to be a good child of God or face the wrath of hell.

you know this is wrong, or so you've been told. jake is treading a dangerous path and he seems adamant on roping you along. and yet...

"yes," you answer before you could stop yourself.

"b-but wait! how are you going to show me? we have to be careful," you hurriedly add, glancing around in case anyone was near enough to hear the atrocities you and jake are talking about.

"there's a secret back room in one of the barns. i go there to rest during breaks or after work and no one else ever goes there," jake hurriedly says, crowding back into your personal space. you notice the slight shake in his hands and the way his ears redden.

"o-okay," you say with a nod. "when?"

"later tonight," jake offers.

"during supper, we can sneak out while everyone else eats," jake continues. you feel his fingers on your arm again and this time, jake lets his whole hand flatten against the sleeve of your dress, his warmth seeping down to your skin.

you gasp, but stay frozen. jake's other hand lays on your waist and you shake uncontrollably, both terrified and excited at the prospect of jake touching you.

jake pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours. he's breathing just as hard as you.

"you know, i thought about...if you would look the same as the women in the book," jake murmurs, eyes closed.

you shiver. you should be appalled, disgusted by how jake is acting now, but all you feel is a warm, bubbling feeling in your abdomen and an insatiable itch to clutch at jake's clothes.

"jake, we can't—," you begin, but the deep toll of the church bell interrupts you, signaling the start of the day.

you and jake spring apart, knowing that the whole commune would be outside in a matter of minutes, heading off to their designated duties for the day.

before you could get another word in, jake rushes forward, kissing you. you gasp, but as if on instinct, your hands grasp at his face. a second later, you thread your fingers through his hair, the strands offering little resistance as you gently tug, just as you've always dreamed of doing. but as quickly as it started, jake pulls away, pushing you back at the same time.

"tonight," jake breathes out, walking backward. "at dinner. the last barn to the left."

you nod once, pausing for a moment as you watch jake tread further away from you. you wave before sprinting toward your house.

your mother would be in the kitchen. you would be assigned with peeling the oranges. or cooking the eggs. or buttering the toast.

to you, at this moment, it didn't really matter.

all your eyes could see, all your heart could feel is jake.

---

dinner was a tense affair.

your mom questioned your uncharacteristic early start this morning, and all you could do was supply a pathetic lie about wanting to see the rose garden started by some of the older women in the commune.

she made a point to warn you to be on time for dinner. you felt an uneasiness settle in your stomach at this, thinking of all the ways your and jake's plan could go wrong.

but rushing out of the mess hall now, legs pumping as you dash through the field toward the barns, all of your worries melt away.

you remember the kiss, jake's fingers digging into your side, his smooth hair in between your fingers.

having separate dining halls for the men and women, you weren't sure when jake would be there, but you decided you had to leave as soon as you can. you feigned a stomachache to your mother, excusing yourself to the bathroom.

you knew this was yet another lame excuse, but you went the rest of the day without seeing jake. you were subjected to teach the younger ones about scripture today at the school, but all you wanted was to feel jake again. to see him. to touch him.

you slow down as you approach the barns, jogging over to the last one to the left. your breathing is heavy, beads of sweat collecting on your forehead. another shiver of excitement goes through you as you push the barn door open.

the barn is one of the unused ones, a single light turned on at the very back. you walk toward the dim bulb, the glass-encased fluorescent hanging precariously by a thin wire.

you realize quite belatedly that jake never gave any specifics on how to find the secret room. but just then, you hear a faint shuffle to your left. despite the darkness, you can make out the faint outline of a head peeking out from behind a stack of hay.

"jake," you whisper, crossing the space between you in long strides.

jake emerges from the shadows, an easy smile on his face.

"it's back here," jake ushers you behind the tower of hay, his hand easily finding yours. "hurry, before anyone sees us."

you tighten your grip on jake's hand, the same feeling of exhilaration building up within you. you watch as jake approaches the section of the wall that's hidden behind the hay, pulling open a flimsy door that's half your height, cleverly disguised as part of the wall. inside, you can barely make out the soft flickering of candlelight.

jake nudges you forward. "it's a tight squeeze but it's comfortable enough inside."

you crouch, laying your hands on the dirt floor to steady yourself. you scurry forward through the door and emerge on the other side.

the space inside the room is enough for two, tall enough for you to stand in. you straighten up, dusting yourself off. jake follows inside, shutting the door behind him.

you look around and spot a metal box in one corner next to the single candle burning. a blanket is spread out on the ground.

"here," jake says, pulling you gently towards the blanket. you sit down, perching yourself right across jake.

jake takes hold of the metal box, unlatching the lid. inside, you can see a number of trinkets and other objects.

"are those...cigarettes?" you ask in disbelief. jake chuckles, brandishing the red and white box.

"found them in dad's safe," jake replies nonchalantly. "this one, too."

jake holds up a glossy rectangle, flipping it so it faces you. you let out an audible gasp.

"a phone? but we're not allowed phones," you say, letting jake place the device on your palm.

"i know. but that's my dad's. you know how the elders are the only ones allowed phones. so, i took his." jake is grinning now, the candlelight casting sharp shadows across his handsome face.

"but, how? doesn't he notice? what's in it?" you rattle off, turning the phone over in your hands.

"i bring it back every night once i'm done exploring what's inside," jake explains. he reaches over, pressing a button on its side. a moment later, it lights up, momentarily blinding you with how close you're holding it to your face.

you stare in awe as the screen comes alive. it dims after it fully turns on, displaying in big, blocky letters the time of night.

6:51

supper would be over soon.

jake takes the phone from you, setting it down on the blanket between you two.

"we can look at that later," jake reassures. "i got the book from jay at lunch today."

you swallow as jake pulls out the book from the very bottom of the box. jake moves the candle closer and your eyes instantly go wide.

the front of the book is glossy, indeed, just like jake said it would be. but the woman pictured on it seemed too lifelike, as if she wasn't merely printed on paper. her tan skin is on full display, with nothing covering her body but a bathing suit, one you've seen outsiders wear the few times you've seen pictures of them.

the bathing suit is black, the neckline going down almost to her stomach. you see the side of her breasts peek out from the garment holding it in place, and from what you can see, her whole back seems to be bare.

your eyes drift down to her crotch, covered by a thin strip of fabric. she stands, legs apart, her hands on her waist, baring her entire naked body to the world.

the longer you stare, the hotter you feel. an ache between your legs starts to make itself known.

"there's even more inside," jake whispers, sidling up to you. he presses his shoulder against yours as he reaches over to flip the book open.

your eyes scan the text on the next page, coming across a word you don't hear or see often.

"magazine," you mumble. a memory pings in your head.

"mom told me about magazines. this is a magazine," you say in mild amazement. "she says they're full of lies and are forbidden in the commune."

"magazine," jake repeats, drawing out the word slowly. he flips through more pages, stopping at one with a woman pushing her naked chest out.

your heartbeat quickens. you trace your finger over the picture, passing over the image of her plump breast, perky with a pinkish hue around the nipple.

you recall the science classes at the school. the teacher had recited the parts of the woman's body in a flat, monotonous voice. nipple. areola. vagina. cervix. she drilled it in everyone's head that these parts are not to be said aloud outside of the classroom.

"mine doesn't look like that," you comment absentmindedly. "they're not as...round."

you look up to see jake staring intently at you. his eyes drift down to your chest and you feel a new wave of heat wash over you.

jake licks his lips as he shifts closer, and as if compelled by his own actions, you do the same, facing jake fully.

you touch the buttons on the front of your dress.

you know what you're about to say and do next is beyond sinful. but you've already crossed the line the second you laid your eyes upon the magazine. a strange desire bubbles up inside you.

"do you want to see?" you ask quietly, watching jake's expression carefully.

"can i?" jake asks back, peering into your eyes. you can smell him again, faint lavender adding to the mix of his scent. you imagine jake in the bath, naked, water and bubbles washing over his skin.

you shudder involuntarily.

"yes," you breathe out.

you start to undo your dress, hands shaking. you've never done this before. you're forbidden to. you know God watches you now with disdainful eyes, but you can hardly find it in you to care.

you undo the last button, pulling the sleeves of your dress down and off your arms. the night is chilly and you shiver as the air meets your skin.

unmarried women in the commune are advised not to wear bras as they are still considered pure and innocent and in no need of such womanly garments.

so you sit, barechested in front of jake, shaking in the cold, in anticipation, in mild fear.

jake's jaw goes slack, taking in the image in front of him. he glances back at the magazine before returning his gaze to your own breasts. you resist the urge to cross your arms.

instead, you reach over, delicate fingers wrapping around jake's wrists. you guide them up, stopping right above your waiting chest.

"here," you whisper, but your voice sounds strangely loud in the silence of the night. "touch me, jake,"

you place his hands over your mounds and you gasp at the abrupt warmth. jake chews on his lip, fingers softly kneading your skin.

"do you touch yourself like this?" jake asks, eyes still wide in amazement and curiosity. he gives a light squeeze and you whimper, covering your mouth to stop yourself from crying out.

"sometimes," you say, voice slightly muffled behind your palm. "in the bath. when no one's looking."

jake exhales, pulling his hands back momentarily. he lines his pointer finger with your nipples, flicking up experimentally. you groan, throwing your head back.

"it feels good," you breathe out. "jake, it feels good all over."

jake pinches your nipples and you yelp, falling forward against jake. he catches you, cradling you to his chest. you breathe onto his neck, a warm stickiness pooling under your skirt.

"touch me, too," jake says right in your ear. he guides your hand on his crotch and your fingers curl around something stiff.

"please," jake implores, voice high and almost whining.

you watch in fascination as jake strains against his trousers. you caress up and down, feeling him harden even more under your touch. jake squeezes his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"sit over me," jake commands, pulling you onto his lap. there's a loud roaring in your ears as something overtakes your body completely.

"keep touching me and i'll do the same," jake instructs, returning his hands to your chest. he curls his fingers into your flesh and your mouth opens in a silent scream.

you take ahold of jake through his pants, squeezing and rubbing. jake is bucking into your hand, small breaths escaping his lips.

your head is spinning, your cheeks are flushed, and a faint guilt tugs at your chest. but you've thrown all care out the window, the only thing on your mind being jake's rough fingers tugging and pinching and grabbing at your breasts.

the bubble of heat in this little room breaks when you hear the dark notes of the church bell ringing, marking the end of supper.

you gasp, pulling away from jake as he does the same. you hurriedly button up your dress, trying to calm your breathing. jake gathers the things strewn on the floor, tossing them back into his box.

you stand, smoothing down your dress and tucking your hair back behind your ear. no words are spoken as jake blows the candle out, pushing the door open to free both of you.

you scramble out of the small space, heart still pumping wildly against your chest. you feel jake's hand rest on one side of your face, urging you to look at him.

"meet me by the river early tomorrow," jake says, now holding your face with both hands.

you blink, unsure of what to say. the rush of blood is still loud in your ears and all you want is for jake to touch you again. to keep touching you.

to touch you forever.

"please," jake adds, running his thumb over your bottom lip. you quiver at the action, stilling only when you feel him press his lips against yours.

your lips part and so does his, and as if guided by something else, your tongues move into each other's mouths, licking and sucking and breathing into and from each other.

you feel dirty, sinful even. but you start to wonder why you cared so much in the first place.

"tomorrow," jake repeats, pulling away.

the bells toll even louder. you run out of the barn without a second thought, eyes dancing with excitement, lips tender, and one single button of your dress undone.

---

you toss and turn all night.

flashes of jake invade your mind, pulling you out of sleep just as you feel yourself drifting. the way he breathed against your face. the stiffness in your hand. the pleading in his voice.

you prayed, too. prayed to God for forgiveness, for mercy. but you prayed for jake, too. to feel his lips again, to have his hands on other parts of your body.

you cry, quietly and pathetically, ashamed in the face of God. ashamed because the arousal hasn't left you. it burns almost painfully and you wish and you pray and you beg for morning to come.

you glance at the clock next to your bed and see that it's half past five a.m. you ran into jake at six yesterday, so he should be at the river by now if you're to go off of that.

you quickly dress yourself, careful to keep your movements precise and quick so as to not wake anyone in your house.

you practically float down the stairs on your toes, nimbly avoiding all the loose floorboards you know would make a sound.

you steal one glance back inside your house before taking off. you walk at first, trying to calm your nerves, but you build up to a run once you pass through the fence's gate, feeling the morning air whipping at your face.

the climb up the hill, usually a strenuous effort on your end, seems like nothing on this day, your legs taking you over it in no time.

you can see the river now, and you see the faraway figure of someone hunched over, sitting on the riverbank. excitement rips through you and you're running, running faster than you've ever had.

jake hears you before he sees you, your breathing loud and labored and your boots stomping against the wet grass. he turns to see you slowing down to a jog as you approach him.

he stands, wordlessly meeting you as you sink into his arms.

you kiss and the roar of desire is back, a single flame flickering in the blue-hued, early-morning world that surrounds you.

jake pulls you towards an area behind a large tree, and you see that the same blanket from last night is laid out on the grass. without parting your lips, jake pulls you down with him on the spread-out cloth, laying you down.

"i watched things on dad's phone last night," jake admits, kissing your jaw. you squirm underneath him, his lips sending a ticklish sensation over you.

"i watched people do it," jake murmurs against your skin, lips dragging down your neck.

"i watched them make love."

you pull jake away from where he's kissing you behind your ear, a questioning look on your face.

"you can...watch people make love? on the phone?" you ask meekly, trying to understand how some people can let such a sacred act be seen by anyone other than themselves and God.

jake nods, hands smoothing up your sides. "yes. and they do it so loudly, so roughly, so vulgarly. not like how we're taught."

you stare, wide-eyed. "what?"

"they curse a lot," jake adds. "and they call on God's name so much. we're told to never do that unless in praise."

your breath hitches when you feel jake smooth his hands over your clothed chest. you feel your nipples stiffen under his touch.

"what if it felt so good to them, they needed to call on God?" you whisper. jake ponders on this for a moment, eyes scanning over your face.

"i want to feel as good as them," jake finally says. he starts to undo your dress, the same way you did last night.

"we're going to...to make love?" you ask as jake slots himself between your legs. you feel the same stiffness from last night press up against your thigh.

"please," jake responds, pulling your dress open. your nipples are taut, begging to be touched.

jake dips his head down, latching his mouth onto one of your nubs, sending your whole body spasming. you moan, a new kind of pleasure coursing through your veins. jake presses his hips onto yours, right between your legs and you nearly cry at how good the pressure feels.

you push your core against jake's own crotch, swiveling your hips around trying to find the delicious friction you felt.

"i want to, please. i want to, so bad," jake pleads against your chest.

jake bunches your skirt around your torso, exposing your lower half and the thin, white, commune-approved underwear you have.

"please," you whine, not even sure of what you're saying.

"me, too. make love to me, jake."

jake groans, sitting upright, hands already tugging at his belt. he undoes the buckle, unzipping his pants before pulling the garments down to his thighs.

you stare half in awe and half in curiosity as jake strokes himself a few times. a clear liquid spills from the tip and you feel your mouth involuntarily water.

"can i take this off?" jake asks, hooking a finger under the hem of your underwear. you nod, cringing slightly as you feel the sticky fabric pull away from your skin as jake discards of it.

"it's so wet," jake observes, reaching down to run a finger between your folds.

"ngh!" you cry out, twitching at the sudden contact. no one has ever touched you down there. you've never touched yourself down there other than to wash.

jake presses the pads of his fingers against your core, rubbing lightly. you throw your head back, thighs already shaking.

"does this feel good?" jake asks, pressing down harder. you nod again, unable to form any coherent thoughts or sentences.

"i saw that they did this," jake says before plunging a finger into your hole.

stars burst right before your eyes when you feel jake push his thick digit into you. the feeling is foreign, a weird pressure but pleasurable nonetheless.

jake pumps it in and out of you, observing your face as he does so. you open your eyes to meet his and you see jake's pupils blown wide, his whole face a light tint of pink.

"still good?" jake asks.

"yes," you gasp, your hips pushing off the ground as you try to chase more of this feeling.

"some of them...," jake begins, pausing his movements. you start to protest but your voice gets caught in your throat when you feel jake push in another finger.

"...use two."

a slight burn at the added stretch makes you wince, your hand coming down to grab jake's wrist.

"s-slowly," you supply, opening your legs wider. jake nods in understanding, moving his fingers at a gentler pace.

you mewl, feeling the drag of his knuckles against your inner walls. you're dizzy with pleasure, overwhelmed with the thought that something could feel this good.

"it keeps coming out of you," jake says in awe. "you're getting even wetter."

"it feels so good," you gasp. "jake, please."

"what should i do?" jake asks, leaning over you. you look up, jake's face right in front of yours. not knowing what else to do, you pull him down to you in a kiss.

jake moans against your lips, speeding up his movements in and out of you. you cry into the kiss, never wanting this feeling to end.

"i-i'll put it in," jake whispers into your mouth.

jake pulls his fingers out of you and you fight the instinct to whine. jake sits back on his heels, watching as you clench around nothing.

you see his gaze darken as he takes in the sight of your dripping core, his hand coming down to pump at his shaft.

"it might hurt," jake warns. "that's what they told us."

you smile weakly. "us, too."

jake grins back at you, scooting forward to line himself up with you. jake presses the tip against your hole, watching for your reaction. he slides a little more in, and you let out a squeak.

"it's much bigger than your fingers," you say, with slight panic in your voice.

"i'm here," jake says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "you'll be okay."

you feel jake push in some more and your whole body jerks in surprise. tears prickle your eyes but you focus on evening out your breathing. underneath the evident sting, a steady throb of pleasure beats down in your core.

"it feels so warm," jake gasps out. "God help me."

jake sinks all the way in, unable to contain himself, and you bite down hard on your lip, feeling jake deep in you. you're afraid to move in case it starts to hurt more.

"f-fuck," jake curses, hips pulling back before sinking all the way in again. you cover your mouth with both hands, unsure of all the feelings you're having at the moment.

"i'm sorry," jake whispers, kissing your cheek, then your nose, then both of your eyes. "i-it feels too good."

"it's okay," you reply, trying to contain the tremor in your voice. "keep going. it feels better now."

and it does. the more jake moves, the more you could relax. jake hits a spot inside you that completely overrides the nearly unbearable stretch and it takes everything in you not to double over in surprise.

"again," you say. "just like that."

jake stops for a moment before repeating the angle in which he thrusted in you.

there it is again. a jolt of electricity goes through your abdomen and you shudder in delight.

"yes!" you cry out. "m-more."

jake picks up his speed, careful to keep it the same way you like it. it's as if the gates of heaven themselves have opened, showing you a world of pleasure you've never seen or experienced before.

the stretch has dulled now, and the fullness you feel adds to the coil in your stomach, tighter and tighter with each thrust.

you wrap your legs around jake's waist, wanting him, needing him closer.

jake lays himself over you, his chest pressed to yours, his hips moving nonstop. you've started to meet his movements, chasing something you're not quite sure exactly what.

"it does feel good," you manage to say between moans. "so good."

jake pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you.

"have you ever finished before?" jake questions. your eyebrows pinch together and you shake your head. jake slows down, grinding into you shallowly.

"finished?" you repeat.

"yeah, when you pleasure yourself, you finish," jake recounts. you shake your head again.

"we're not allowed to, remember? i've never touched myself that way," you admit bashfully.

"it's okay," jake reassures, kissing you softly. "you'll feel it here."

jake lays a hand on your lower abdomen, pressing down. you inhale, fingernails digging into jake's shoulder.

"move faster," you request. "but keep pressing there."

jake looks at you in bewilderment but follows nonetheless. he picks up his pace again, still keeping his hand on your stomach. you feel a pressure build up where jake is pressing and you feel your whole body shake.

"you're getting tighter," jake says through gritted teeth, trying to maintain his movements.

"s-sorry, feels too good," you apologize.

"i think i feel it," you add. "keep going, please."

this sends jake into a frenzy, hips snapping at a speed you can't keep up with. you let out a sob as you feel your entire being ignite with every push of jake's shaft in you.

"i can feel myself," jake points out. "i can feel myself through your belly, God."

the words confuse you but you look down to see jake protruding through your lower abdomen with every thrust. the sight sends your brain into overdrive and you moan your loudest as a white-hot current rips through you.

you vaguely hear jake groan as he roughly grabs your hips, keeping you in place. he pumps in and out of you a few more times before stopping. you continue to swivel your hips, squirming at the strange sensation that's taking over your body.

eventually, you relax, feeling strangely peaceful. you feel lightheaded but in the best way, as if you're floating on clouds.

jake grunts, pulling himself out of you. the sensation makes you cringe and you feel something drip out between your legs.

"is that—is that your seed?" you ask in mild disbelief, though still too out of it to care much.

"yeah," jake says, nodding, collecting the drops of himself that spilled out before poking his finger back in you.

"jake!" you protest, still much too sesitive.

jake pulls his finger out and grins at you. he settles beside you, pulling you onto his chest.

---

the church bell tolls not long after.

the early morning sun rises above the tree line, and if you were to stand on the other side of the hill, you would have watched the orange glow with amazement and bated breath.

there's a breeze that blows through your messy hair and the smell of morning dew on the grass is mixed with jake's lavender soap.

breathing in the valley air, another prayer falls quietly from your lips.

"we do not deserve your forgiveness," you say . "but you are most merciful and we, are merely grateful sinners."

[fraugwinska]

Hhggffffffgg… pweasd.. pweasd more Leap of Faith. Part two of them meeting each other in hell. Pretty sure they’d end up in hell since suicide is a sin, iirc?

Uweh wahhhh. Felt it real deep of losing the only meaningful connection, the big sadness taking over. I’m sobbing. My heart—

Your writing is amazing as always. I eat that shit up.

...The people have spoken. I am your humble servant. Please accept this offering...

Heavy themes, religious trauma, mental/physical torture Minors please DNI

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Like a shooting star.

You looked like a shooting star against the purple, starless sky of the pride ring, a glowing gold and teal line trailing behind you like a tail.

Alastor pushed his shadows faster through the streets of the pentagram, not a care who he pushed, sliced or scared out of the way - he had to get to you, had to catch you and not let you crash into unforgiving ground, like it was mundane, like you were any other meaningless, unimportant, goddamned sinner.

He couldn't allow it. Wouldn't allow it.

Faster and faster your form grew shape, and he realized that the big, heavy radio that was still in your arms - still pressed tightly to your chest - acted like an anchor, accelerating your plunge, threatening to shatter you into the hard, stony streets underneath, or worse: Through.

"Let go!", he hissed desperately to himself, pulling and yanking and gnashing and urging his shadows to work to their limit, whipping them into a speed that could break both, him and the damned radio, if need be, if you would just slow down and gain him a few more crucial seconds to get to you. The distance between you and him shrunk until your fall felt close, so close, too close, as though if you'd only be conscious to just reach out and outstretch a hand to him, his eldritch tendrils could grab it.

"Come on." His dark silhouette growled, partly manifesting and elongating himself more to maneuver around the last alley corner. "Almost... THERE!"

As a streak of blinding light, like a lightning bolt, and with the force of a crashing plane, you smashed into his solid, physical demonic form, as Alastor manifested into an extension of flesh and limbs right beneath your descending trajectory, and swallowed you right there in his arms before both of you hit the ground.

***

The void around you was dark. Quiet. Endless and expanding. You couldn't feel anything other than the feeling of nothingness surrounding you, floating but at the same time... not. No ground beneath, no sky above - you didn't even know when you hit the water. Was it even water anymore? Did it matter?

In the blindness, you registered the vanta black around you fading into white, bright and scorching. And that feeling you previously lacked bloomed to the front of your consciousness: Pain. Like a thousand needles poking out from every corner of your skull, making you yelp out and whimper. You shifted your body, or at least tried, only to cry out and curl up into yourself, clutching whatever the big and heavy thing was in your arms, tight as the muscles in your upper body convulsed, twitched and trembled at the burning pain. Where the hell were you?

"𝓦𝓮'𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵, 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮'𝓼 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽.""

A voice made out of a thousand voices spoke, and it resonated from within you – amplified through every cell of your body, booming and mighty and utterly inhumane. You screamed out the pressure it put on your brain, cried as it felt as though something was pouring into you and flowing out all at once, burning, devouring and replacing every fiber, every strand of DNA. You writhed in agony, wanting to beg for whatever it was to stop, but you were in the hands of an infinite power above you, and so, all you could do was howl and weep.

"𝓘𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓲𝓵."

It was men and women and children, high and deep and loud and quiet and screams and whispers and it overwhelmed you to listen to it.

"𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓬𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵. 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓲𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵 𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓮, 𝔀𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓹 𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷."

Your throbbing hands cramped around the object in your arms, nails scratching on the surface. Wood. Soft wood, warm beneath your fingertips.

"Alastor...", you sobbed through clenched teeth, memories slowly pushing through the pain to the front of your mind, clawing their way through the thick haze of the booming voice of the entity. "I want to go to Alastor..."

"𝓜𝔂 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭, 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮. 𝓓𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵."

"He's not..." A low moan spilled past your dry, bitten lips as another wave of excruciating pain crashed down your spine. Tears stained your cheeks as the radio in your arms felt heavier and heavier, dangerously close to slip from your grip.

"𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷, 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓾𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾."

The voice was patient, neutral, not showing any sign of rage or warmth or even condescension. It only held a commanding power, like a pull from gravity, unintentional, elemental, to give in, to accept, to repent. But you couldn't. Couldn't even if you tried. The tears that came to your eyes now weren't out of pain alone, but because you couldn't help the insurmountable longing to leave, to not be held back any longer.

"Alastor isn't evil or wicked...", your cracked voice whispered. "Not to me..."

"𝓓𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓬𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓸𝓯 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓯 𝓭𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂, 𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓪 𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓪 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷, 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭."

Torture. It felt as though someone was physically digging through you with dull claws, sawing into your very soul, bending, ripping, breaking and rearranging, molding the picture you had of Alastor to a villain, a torturer, a destroyer, a greedy animal without reason, feasting upon human despair and wailing screams, wreaking havoc and taking lives laughing along the way as he rips fangs into flesh that looked like your own.

"That... isn't him.", you mouthed breathlessly, forcing yourself to focus. "You're a liar."

You fought to come back, with the sound of Alastor's smiling voice, molten with static and spoken with feeling. 'And I can most assure you... pretty is a well fitting word to describe you.'.

"Liar... liar... LIAR!"

The illusion the entity conjured around you began to shatter, as did the images it showed you, breaking and tearing away like rotten paper from the ones you wanted to hold on to... The hours and days and nights spent together, the long and entertaining conversations over meals, his teasing comments and your quick-wit responses, the little things that made his voice lift an octave and a tiny huff, which you learned over the weeks was him trying not to chuckle at your banter. The softness in his tune when he realized you were drifting into slumber. The way he called you his dove.

"𝓦𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭."

the entity said, though their tone had begun to waver, echoing withing the faint sound of breaking glass.

"𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭. 𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝓸𝓻 𝓫𝓮, 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻, 𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓭."

You felt heat creeping up your legs, as if your skin was bubbling, burning and it was hard to speak, as the smell of cauterized flesh and blood filled your nose. Bones were shifting, limbs trembling and twisting as if they wanted to turn you inside out, skin color changing and fading into palish white, nails growing into slender blue talons, something rough and rigid sprouting from your back and shoulders. But you only tightened your arms around the radio, eyes pressed close and teeth grit together.

You've had enough.

"Fuck your lies, fuck your salvation and FUCK. YOUR. GOD."

Gravity returned in an instant, like someone cut a hole through space, the air and heat from your lungs gone as it ripped you from the strange white with unexpected violence – malevolence even - body flaying in the sudden wind of the descend.

Purple and red shades swirled before your eyes, wild strands of glittering golden hair fluttered in and out of your vision, barely recognizing them as your own. The heat of the air and the sight of a black pentagram on a red sun, sinking slowly beyond a tumbling horizon were the last things you noticed before unconsciousness reached mercifully out to claim you again.#

***

“Angel! Get Charlie over here, I found 'im!”

Husk stared down the crater, trying to wrap his head around the sight before him. His ears flicked as he heard Angel shouting something unintelligible to the girls, his footsteps quickly nearing the place where he stood.

“She's comin' in a sec, she and Vagina ran ova' to the maneater colony to get Rosie and... what in Satans left ballsack?!”

The spiders' eyes widened when he saw what Husk saw - Down the deep and wide cavity, right in the middle, was a twitching, faintly green glowing mass of tentacles and limbs. A distorted groan rumbled from below, thick and riddled with static feedback as Alastor's corrupted form slowly receded to normalcy – as normal as he was. He was lying on his back, curled around the motionless form of a naked female demon. Her legs were pulled up, a limp hand with short, teal talons pressed against the side of the radio demons wild, madly grinning face, while the other was trapped and hidden in between both bodies.

Both Angel and Husks hairs stood on ends at the sound he made, not daring to move or draw attention to themselves until Alastor had regained full consciousness and, most of all, reason back. The unknown sinner that was pressed against Alastor's chest had gray, crooked looking wings sprouting from her back, various shades of teal staining the ragged tips. Her skin was white, bordering on cream with some spruce and azure specks that traveled over her neck and shoulders. From where they stood they could see blonde locks tangled in Alastor's claws, shimmering in hell's twilight as if they were made out of real gold.

Angel gave his partner a nervous side glance, as if expecting him to say or do something. "Should we... holy mother of shitballs, this is so fucked up... umm... should we get them out of..."

"̷S̷̷ T̷̷ A̷̷ Y̷ ̷W̷̷ H̷̷ E̷̷ R̷̷ E̷ ̷Y̷̷ O̷̷ U̷ ̷A̷̷ R̷̷ E̷."

Husk had only heard Alastor's voice like this on a few occasions and those instances had almost always ended in bloodshed. He shook his head at Angel in a silent warning, gripping one of his wrists when the blackened pits of the radio demon found his, glaring at him with glowing crimson iris'. It sent a shiver down the cat's back, and Angel, feeling the tremble of his partner and sensing that this was a rare occasion where he should keep his usual, lewd remarks to himself, cleared his throat.

"I-Is a'ight Smiles, we're not movin'. Charlies' comin, and she's bringin' Rosie, so just... chill, okay? No one's gonna hurt y-your uh... girlfriend?" Angel forced himself to remain eye contact, swallowing against the growing lump in his throat.

Alastor didn't answer for a good minute or two, eyes shifting over Husks' grim, but wary face and Angels worried one, before looking back down, the flames of anger and fear dying as soon as his gaze fell on the woman cradled in his lap. Her pale, motionless face was partially hidden by her hair, but the features he recognized were much like the ones she had before she did the unthinkable. Her breathing was slow and shallow - but, above all, she was here, right here, next to him, unbroken from the fall, safe in his arms...

He brushed a few stray strands of her golden mane aside, watching closely as her chest barely heaved and fell, transfixed at the movement, the guarantee that she lived. He lifted one his hands to caress her cheek, the motion much more careful and tender than either Angel or Husk thought him capable of, wiping off tiny pieces of debris from the radio she had carried like a lifeline. It had been burst by the impact, splinters of mahogany wood and shards of metal wiring scattered around them both. The top of her left wing had suffered some damage, no doubt the result of the force of his grip as he caught her, little cuts and smears of dried blood covering her sides.

"My dove. My foolish, silly, lonely girl.", his strained voice breathed, his usual filter missing, as he turned her unresponsive face gently with the tip of his claw, hoping to see any indication that the girl that he had driven to the lengths of sheer, reckless stupidity was still here with him.

The sound of steps on the broken concrete made his head turn with a sickening crack. Alastor was now curled completely over you, his arms wrapped tightly around your figure, hiding your vulnerable and exposed body from view. Rosie had arrived alongside the princess and her partner, all of them short of breath and as shocked and confused as the other two demons to find the radio demon and a freshly fallen sinner, locked into an awkward embrace.

He watched her kneeling next to him, her expression was best described as compassionate curiosity. When he didn't move, didn't talk, didn't acknowledge her presence around him, his form only slightly moving to shield your motionless frame away, Rosie, ever the understanding and pragmatic lady she was, carefully reached over to him and set a gloved hand onto his shoulder in reassurance. Her razor sharp smile was soft as she held his blackened gaze for a heartbeat.

"Seems like I will meet your little dove after all, my dearest friend. But now, let's get you both somewhere safe."

***

You opened your eyes to red. All red. Everywhere red. Warm and bright and comforting.

A sensation tickled your head and nose, feathers, brushing the top of them with a barely there touch. You wanted to brush them away, but your arms felt heavy and warped and strange, unable to be lifted. Slow blinks put your eyes into focus, like the lens of a camera that was getting adjusted on it's intended shot.

You were looking at a red painted ceiling, and when you strained your aching head to tilt a little your eyes slowly wandered over luscious, ornate wallpaper in burgundy's and scarlet's, morbid looking horns and skulls mounted on the walls next to slightly askew, empty picture frames. A heavy, dark bookcase on your right was full of tattered tombs, books and magazines, small models of twisted looking skeletons and an old, vintage... radio...

Everything clicked back into place.

Alastor, gone.

The bridge, dark over the water.

The black and the white.

The voice and the pain and the lies and the fall...

Your breath hitched, and your heart started to pound faster and louder, thrumming violently in your ears as you fell into panic, eyes frantically forcing your body to move, to search, until you realized you were stuck underneath the weighted presence of a head that rested upon your sternum, tufts of soft black and red hair draped over your chest, slightly covering a face hidden away in the crook of your neck. A low, quiet hum of white noise came from the person the head belonged to, sitting at your bedside and upper body half-slumped over you... a sound resonating deep within you, stirring up all too familiar feelings.

He was still, but clearly breathing, and he hadn't moved even though your pulse must've skyrocketed. A raspy gasp of relief and astonishment escaped you. It had worked. You really had done it. And Alastor...

You started to sob, loud and violent, your chest burning and heavy, but not out of fear or panic anymore but the impact of a thousand feelings of pure happiness. The sounds woke the creature slumbering on your shoulder, his shoulders twitched, and you could see him lift his head to slowly look up, dark circles under his crimson eyes.

Your name rolled over this demons lips, not a word, no greeting, only a longingly whispered name, spoken with a broken, ragged, familiar voice. It made you finally cry, tears spilling from you uncontrollably, unable to stop, unable to think. You heard him call your name again, saw the widening grin of his mouth through watery eyes, his arm reaching out to brush your tear-stained cheek. He didn't manage to even fully extend his fingers when your shaking hands reached out to grab his lapels, pulling him into you so that you could finally touch him, feel him instead of just hearing him. Finally tangible, finally underneath your fingers as well as your skin.

"It's you... i-it's you right?", you stammered breathlessly, voice wrought with tears of happiness. "A-Alastor. I found you, I'm not dreaming, You're Alastor..."

"At your service, my dear...", Alastor shushed softly, one hand gently caressing your hair as you leaned into the warmth of the touch. His wide smile wavered for a moment, gaze shifting to something sad and mournful as he pulled himself away to look at you.

"But you shouldn't be here, my dove." He sighed, but as he looked back to you and saw the frightened, horrified expression on your face he shook his head, leaning his brow against your own, a gesture of assurance.

"I never intended for you to be here. You didn't deserve this death, and hell doesn't deserve you."

"H-Heaven can take a long walk off a short pier..." You tried to speak with a steady voice, but failed, as your whole body began to shudder in bubbling anger at the mere implication of this cursed entity. The one that claimed to be merciful salvation but had no problem with cruel manipulation. You blinked a couple of tears away, drawing a trembling breath, before meeting his tired eyes.

"I was... in some strange place. I was offered redemption, if I..."

You frowned, sitting up slowly, careful not to make him withdraw more, holding onto the sleeves of his jacket with stiff, aching hands.

"They wanted me to denounce you. If I renounced you they... would've let me enter heaven. When I didn't want to, when I said I wanted to go to you... They showed me things while hurting me. Horrible, disgusting lies."

Your breath quickened and the corners of your vision darkened, and you realized with a shuddering panic that you were close, way too close to breaking down into sobs again. Your claw-like nails dug into the material of his sleeve as you struggled to compose yourself, ripping tiny cuts into it. You took a deep breath, pushing through the memory, reliving it until...

Your shoulders shook. For a moment, you felt him shifting, as if he'd expected you to burst into tears again. Instead, you laughed. You laughed despite your chest hurt, and even harder when you saw his floored, surprised face.

"I basically told god to go fuck himself."

For a heartbeat or two, silence enveloped both of you. Alastor blinked once, then twice, the third time his grin fell slowly. Another beat later he buried his face in the crook of your neck and...

...the boisterous, unmuted laughter, roaring, insane cackling, so deep and resounding, you could feel it in your stomach, erupted from him. Alastor almost toppled over as he tore himself from you, raking a hand trough his hair as his head shook, a manic, wonderfully impish grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"You know I don't think you were honest with me about your name, dove. Your initial answer of 'crazy' seems much more fitting."

Alastor was laughing so hard, his whole body was trembling with the effort. You felt yourself giggle, then unrestrained laughing along, but it died in your throat when his lips found yours in a sudden swift moment. It was full of everything. Full of curiosity, of promises and hope, it was the saving grace you sacrificed heaven for. You smiled into it, moved your lips against his, gentle and chaste, before he pulled away too soon and pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel his warm, slow breathing against your cheeks.

"How fortunate for you that I work best with 'crazy'."

Your beaming smile slowly faded, your hands finding his face to make him look at you. There was one more weight you had to lift off.

"I'm sorry.", you whispered, closing your eyes. “I'm sorry for...”

"Don't be, dear. I was at fault, fearing our connection would... weaken me." He sighed. "You might not understand it right now, but I will tell you everything, once you're fully recovered. Can you wait for that?"

You nodded, a small, grateful curl forming on your lips. You opened your eyes to stare into his, crimson, bright and intense, and yet soft and affectionate. Eyes you always tried to envision, although nothing you imagined came close to the real thing.

"Do you... still think it?", you asked, voice shaking slightly.

Alastor hummed a questioning noise, prompting you to continue, which you did, after a second of hesitation. "Me, weakening you. Do you still think it?"

His quiet laughter resounded in your ears, filling you with warmth and making your heart skip a beat.

"My silly, darling dove. With the woman on my side who dared to throw curses at the face of our very creator - What could ever stop me now?"

And, as Alastor's smile grew wide, and your own mirrored it, you were claimed by red claws and a hot, eager mouth once again, kissed again by those soft, sinful lips, the lips of your friend, your savior, your love - the devil himself, whispering the answer to his question unspoken through your skin right into your heart.

Nothing could stop the both of you now.

Nothing at all.

Taglist for the most awsome people that walk the earth: @littledolly2345 @sleepywritersworld @crescentparadise @rapturenyx-blog @phisen @alastorsgirl48 @mullet-mother @sirens-and-moonflowers

[stoutguts]

headcanon rambling/my personal hc for Johnny's backstory bc I think it'd be interesting also I like the idea of Ghoap where the both of them had a shitty childhood bc of an abusive parent and the both of of them hv trauma/I love angst 💕

CW: drug add\ction, s*lf-h*rm/s*icide, parental/child abvse

Soap was born into a big family in the Scottish countryside, being the youngest with 6 older sisters. His father was a deadbeat, and walked out on him at a young age, being effectively raised by his mom and big sisters. Having strong female influences on his life benefited him greatly in the long run, he grew up to be a very well-adjusted, kind, and respectful man (particularly towards women, as he is a staunch feminist (you go Johnny).

However, on the other hand the only true parental figure in his life, his mother, was a horrible person. She was mentally and emotionally abusive, as well as unstable. She would even get physical with her children at times, including Soap. Johnny was also raised Roman Catholic, though today he considers himself agnostic or a flat out atheist. His mother was incredibly homophobic and transphobic and would use religion to justify her bigotry towards him, leading Soap to hating himself and struggling with self-harm and suicidal ideation for years. Particularly, by cutting himself (he has s/h scars all over his thighs, arms, and shoulders). Has attempted at least 10+ times in the past. Not to mention, he did a lot of hard drugs during his middle and high school years to cope with his mother's abuse. (Particularly coke and heroin). He's come incredibly close to ODing on a few occasions. An addict and a total mess, until his sisters intervened and forced him against his will into rehab.

After 2 or so years he was clean and eligible for the military.

He still relapses from time to time (whether it's self-harm or drugs), and when he does its bad. He even still regularly smokes weed to this day, though it's not nearly as bad as some other substances. It's a wonder he hasn't been discharged, (because he doesn’t try to hide it too much), but probably because he's too much of an asset.

Ghost is the one to bring him out of his slumps now. Not minding one bit, as all Simon cares about is Johnny's safety and well-being.

Needless to say, he could never see religion in the same light after that. He’s even quite apprehensive and wary of people whom are religious and religion in general.

He and his mother were never close and soon would never get along with each other, as he’s proud and not the type to even tolerate shit from anyone. It was an almost daily occurrence that he and his mom would fight, particularly when he finally reached his pre-teen/teen years, sometimes evolving into full-blown screaming matches.

Being the protective type of person that he is, most of the time he’d get into fights because of his sisters coming to him about how mom had hit them or made them cry (despite the fact he feels nothing but pure hatred for his mum, he has a very deep bond/connection to each and everyone of his sisters and loves them all dearly).

That was what pissed him off more than anything.

His mom could do whatever she wanted with him, frankly he stopped caring and her cutting words no longer held any weight or meaning to him at some point, and being hit was soon the equivalent to getting bit by a mosquito, he became numb. He didn't know when he stopped feeling, but he did. (He of course wasn't entirely immune, she'd eventually break him). But he was determined to stay strong for his siblings.

Bringing harm upon his sisters? No way in hell that was ever gonna fly, and he didn't care if she was his mother or not.

Johnny naturally grew to resent his mother, and to this day he still calls her a “witch” or a "cunt" instead of his mum. Eventually he’d had enough and couldn’t take his mother’s abuse any longer, (she is half of the reason he went into the military as soon as he possibly could, besides it being a lifelong and childhood dream of his).

He kept in touch with his sisters (and still does), of course, calls them everyday or whenever he gets the chance to let them know he’s alive and well and to see how their doing. Visits when he can or when he’s off duty. Though he completely cut ties with his mother after joining the military,—a couple of his sisters would keep him posted on what was going on with her.

Later on, his mother went to go on to be diagnosed with terminal cancer, and passed shortly thereafter.

He attended the funeral up in Scotland, but mainly for his sisters’ sakes. He actually ended up staying in Scotland for a while after that to provide support for his sisters, (emotional or otherwise), and to try to ease the grieving process. Even though she wasn’t the greatest mom or person in general, it was still a tough loss. Though Soap still didn’t regret cutting her out of his life,—it was fucked up but he was glad that she died in a way, and even visited her grave just once after the funeral, by himself, just so he could spit on it. Maybe even say some things he never was able to say to her, half as retribution and half to just get it off his chest.

Ghost is the only one who knows of Johnny's past and his abusive mother, and is incredibly understanding and gentle about it (as naturally it's a particularly touchy subject). On all official stuff regarding his background, the most it ever details is where he was born or that he was raised Roman Catholic. Not to mention, although Soap is a yapper and almost never shuts up, he’s a very private person and just simply doesn’t like others knowing his business (with the exception of Ghost of course).

Even though Johnny didn’t let his mother’s death bother him regarding the funeral and his prolonged visit to Scotland, when he got back he broke down completely.

He stayed strong for his sisters as he felt like he had to and just as he's always done, but the facade came crashing down once he was in Simon's arms again.

He hated his mum, she didn't really deserve his tears, yet she was still his mum. That fact still reigned true even after everything.

And Ghost was there by his side the whole time. Hell, if anyone knows what it's like to lose a family member, it's Simon "Ghost" Riley. Whether they be toxic or not. Simon's heart positively ached for Soap, and they couldn't help but get all misty eyed at Johnny's pure, unbridled grief.

Ghost had never felt so sorry for anyone in his life, and Soap was eternally grateful for Simon's patience, empathy, and it consoling him to the best of their ability. 💖

DADDY ISSUES GHOST AND MOMMY ISSUES SOAP MY BELOVED(S)

[dathen]

(Hits play on where I left off in the Oct 3 Re: Dracula episode and immediately gets clubbed with religious trauma Mina feelings AGAIN)

Her asking the others to be glad that they’re helping Dracula and not just her is so…I can’t see it just as her being saintly. I don’t even see it as just her being afraid the others will come to loathe her just as much, though that’s definitely a fear in there.

I feel that deep down, it’s her trying to dig deep in her own feelings to scour away any thought that fell short of holiness. We KNOW she felt the Count could not be pitied because of Lucy’s murder. I feel that she is afraid that such a thought is why she was allowed to go through this, to beat some dreadful “there but for the grace of God go I” lesson into her.

I say this because I’ve been there in my own way: the weird mind games you play with yourself to try to guess what God wants out of you, the “how do I have the exact right mentality so that I’m not praying out of selfishness” and of course the eventual “what I prayed for didn’t happen so it must be because my heart wasn’t in the right place.”

The way Mina wraps a “if God wills it” around every wish and thought only after her attack, repeating over and over that she dare not even wish to be saved if God doesn’t want to save her (but please, please save her, the fear pulses deep beneath). The demonstration of “I am loving my enemy as myself, see, I feel he’s as worth saying as I am!”

This is not a peaceful piety. This is a soul-deep terror as her salvation is ripped out of her hands, as she’s become a cursed thing that divine protection now sets aflame.

[countdykulaa]

﹟ ⠀ ⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟏 ⠀ . ⠀ ⠀SANCTIFY ME⠀ ⠀ ﹕ ⠀ ⠀ ❪ ⠀ hyperreligious!abby x rebel! reader ⠀ ❫

summary: Abby finds solace and comfort in the familiar embrace of the temple, a sacred space that offers her a sense of purpose and belonging. However, her peaceful reverie is interrupted by an unexpected presence, introducing tension into her sanctuary and forcing her to confront an unsettling shift in the atmosphere.

contains: religious aspects and trauma described in detail, dark!abby, internalized homophobia, childhood friends to enemies to ...something

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the quiet streets as Abby made her way towards the temple. She could hear her friends’ laughter floating beside her, the sound wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. Their voices faded in and out, a melodic backdrop to her thoughts as she clutched her trusty leather Bible, its worn edges a testament to the countless hours spent pouring over its pages.

Each step brought her closer to the grand entrance, where towering columns rose like sentinels, welcoming her into a sacred space that had always felt like home. The heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing the cool, dimly lit interior. As she crossed the threshold, a sense of calm washed over her, enveloping her in a tranquil embrace. This was her sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of the outside world.

Inside, the air was thick with the familiar scent of polished wood and the faint trace of incense, mingling to create an atmosphere rich with history and spirituality. The flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, illuminating the intricate carvings that whispered stories of faith and devotion. Abby closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to bask in the peaceful ambiance, feeling the weight of her worries lift, if only for a brief respite.

"Can you believe the pastor's message today?" one of her friends chimed in, pulling her back into the present. They began discussing the sermon, their voices echoing softly within the hallowed halls, but Abby's mind wandered elsewhere. She felt like a lost traveler desperate for shelter, the temple opening its arms to feed, clothe, and bless her with the word. There was no other place where she felt most needed, most cherished, most gracious...and why were you here?

you. the one with no name in her righteous mind for its mere utterance is a sin . you're the festering thorn in her flesh,   a curse birthed from Eden's shadow, growing   more crimson with each passing second,   like a plague sent to test her.  you , who roams around the streets of the small town you both have been imprisoned in , with your too high heels and too short skirt and studded belt wrapped around your waist with diamonds that flicker and blind the whole population into your treacherous ways . sacrificial blood is painted on your lips . The devils red as they call it . you , who can not be bothered to go to church every sunday for you're too busy dedicating your life to satans crusade. you, who reeks of cigarettes and booze and perfume much too light to belong to you. you, who abby prays for eternal damnation to come sooner .

Every night, her knees hit the ground—scraped raw, a blood-soaked cherry—praying to the heavens for deliverance from you. She whispers to God, begging for release, for you to be cast out like a demon, to spill your sin-stained filth on some other forsaken soul. She loathes you as one loathes the serpent, fears you as one fears divine wrath, despises you as the fallen despise the light. But deep beneath her trembling prayers, there’s envy—a festering, unholy desire, twisting her heart like a knife. Whenever you appear, it is as though her heart is torn from her chest, a bloody offering staining the earth at your feet.

her eyes glare daggers into your form. you, seemingly unphased by the hole burning into your skin , rest your head on the nave , eyes shieled by those retched sunglasses you always wear. this is unlike you. unlike any devil . resting comfortably in the only place that could send your incurable soul back to the fiery pits of hell. the sound of her friends is drowned out by the scent of you. even from afar she can feel the musky perfume that permeates your whiskey brown skin .

" - owen's for bible study right abby?"

her friends words rip her out her trance.

"huh?"

"I was telling mel about the bible study session we have soon. that's still on right?"

she nods her head in agreeance. eyes refocusing back to the woman before them.

"why don't you guys go ahead. i still have to meet up with bishop Michael about the bible camp thing."

They exchange glances but nod, understanding her need for space. As they walk away, their chatter fades, and the atmosphere shifts. Abby feels the weight of silence settle around her, amplifying the tension in the air.

Now alone with you, the temptress, Abby’s heart races. The comforting hum of the temple feels distant as she steals a glance at your relaxed figure, your presence a stark contrast to the sanctity of the space. She swallows hard, knowing that the sanctuary, once a refuge, has become a stage for an unsettling confrontation.

her feet move before her mind can react. she finds herself before you. a vengeance running sharply through her form. Abby stands at the nave , the worn wooden surface cool beneath her fingers as she grips the edge , grounding herself against the rising tide of emotion. The sanctity of the temple feels shattered by your presence , the air thick with tension.

"what are you doing here?" she spits out , the venom running down her words trailing onto your smug smile. you sit there … legs crossed and propped on the nave without a care in the world as you hold the match stick of carnal desire in hand ready to burn down her temple of belief. faith. constraint.

"to get saved and sanctified of course." your words take on a mocking tone as you quote the pastors words. "why else would i be here?"

to reek havoc on me. on god. on all that can be saved.

"Proverbs chapter nineteen verse nine. A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall perish." abby mutters out through gritted teeth.

your tongue flicks against the roof of your mouth as your lips widen into a smile. "still showing everyone how much of a good little church girl you are. just like when we were kids."

"you mean before you lost your ways?"

"I mean before I realized how crazy you all are."

abby shakes her head , grip on the bible tightening with each word spoken. "the only crazy person here is you. you're the one everyone avoids. the one everyone speaks about once you leave the room. the queer. the outcast. the serpent climbing into the garden of eden to tempt eve. not adam. eve. your nourishment for the female sex is an infestation and i will not let you taint this church." her voice drops to a whisper as she leans closer. "you weren't possessed by the devil. you are him."

"and you're what? adam? god? the garden? or eve in this equation?" you bite back, hands grabbing the nave in front of you as you stand. When you rise from your seat , it’s as if the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you in the dim light . You stand mere breaths apart , the heat radiating off you wrapping around her like a siren’s call . Her heart pounds in her chest , each thud echoing the unspoken challenge in your gaze .

The closeness is electrifying , an intoxicating mix of defiance and desire, as she fights to maintain her composure in the face of the temptation you embody. "you and your little posse can judge me all you want. throw your stupid verses in my face like i haven't read it all front to back but you know more than i do that when you look in the mirror my face is all you see."

she breathes in , words stuttering in shock. how dare you accuse her of such an egregious offence. in her home. while god is forced to bear witness. "i am nothing like you. you're nothing more than a sinner."

"First John, chapter one verse eight." you drawl out, that smirk everso present on your features. "If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us."

your quotes are less of a shock. being the pastors daughter of course you'd know more than most. it was what made you so powerful.

"you are nothing but an evil charlatan. delilah slinking down to reach back and cut off samsons hair in an act of seductive betrayal. i will not let you steal my strength. i will not let you rob me of my devotion."

"so walk away. forget i exist."

forget you exist. you say the words with such ease. as if it were that simple. as if your entire being was not seared into her skull like a brand. like a starving man could forget the concept of hunger. like a rabid dog could forget the foam in his mouth as he viciously attacked any unsuspecting prey. forget you. just as easily as you must've forgotten her.

her hands reach out and wrap around your throat in a move so fast you have no time to react. It’s a primal reaction, fueled by an overwhelming need to claim this moment , to anchor herself in the whirlwind of sin and desire swirling between us. her fingers wrap around her skin, firm yet hesitant, the warmth of her pulse thrumming beneath her touch.

she places pressure on them, delighting in your gasp of surprise. The contrast between her cool palm and your warm skin ignites something deep within her, awakening a hunger she had tried to pray away. abby can feel the rise and fall of your chest, the warmth of her breath mingling with the faint scent of incense that clings to the air, creating an intoxicating haze that makes her head spin

"First Timothy, chapter five verse twenty-two." you rush out, hands trying desperately to yank from her grip. your stiletto shaped nails pierce her skin as you try to claw your way to freedom. "Do not be hasty in the laying on of hands, and do not share in the sins of others. Keep yourself pure."

"You? Satan? Preach the word of God to me?" Abby's voice rings out, sharp and venomous. Her lips curl into a sneer as she stares down at you, her fingers tightening their grip around your throat. The muscle in her jaw ticks, rage battling with something darker in her eyes. Her breath comes in hot, uneven bursts, fanning against your cheek, but it's her fury that burns the most. " What do you know of the Word?" She hisses through clenched teeth. "Of purity? Of light? Air? Devotion?"

Her hand clenches harder, your pulse pounding beneath her fingers, as though she could throttle the sin from your very veins. Abby’s gaze drifts over you, taking in the smooth arch of your neck, the swell of your lips as you struggle for breath. Her teeth graze her lower lip in thought, and for a moment, her eyes darken, pupils dilating like she’s glimpsing something she doesn't dare name. There's a dangerous hunger in the way she watches you, a predator teetering on the precipice of restraint.

But she doesn't pull back. Abby leans closer instead, her breath ghosting across your skin as she hovers just inches away. The scent of incense and desperation clings to her like a second skin, filling the small space between your bodies. It’s suffocating, intoxicating, and your skin prickles beneath the weight of her scrutiny.

She whispers, so close now that her lips nearly brush against your ear. "I will show you purity." Her voice is low, almost reverent, and yet there’s an edge of cruelty that sends a shiver down your spine. The hand around your throat remains firm, but her thumb strokes along the column of your neck, slow and deliberate, as if testing the boundaries of her control. "I will purify you myself."

Her words are a promise, but there is nothing holy in her touch. Abby's other hand skims your collarbone, tracing the line of your shoulder with an unnerving softness, the pad of her thumb pressing down with a gentleness that belies the strength of her grip. Her fingers trail lower, ghosting over your chest, as though she’s searching for something beneath your skin, something she needs to pull out, something to cleanse.

The tension coils tighter between you, thick and suffocating. Every inch of you is on fire beneath her touch, but it’s her eyes—those hard, judging eyes—that trap you most. She looks at you like you're both a challenge and a salvation as if breaking you down would mean breaking herself free. Her breathing quickens, matching the frantic rise and fall of your chest, and for a fleeting moment, her gaze flickers to your lips. Something fragile and desperate breaks loose inside her, but she doesn't let it show. She can't. Not when purity is what she craves, what she needs.

Her grip tightens, her thumb pressing down on your pulse, and the world tilts just slightly. Her lips quiver as if she’s biting back words—prayers, curses, you can't tell. Maybe both. The air between you is thick, and for all her self-righteousness, for all her preaching about light and devotion, Abby is here, in the darkness with you, teetering on the edge of something she cannot name.

It’s in the stillness, in the charged silence where your breaths mingle, that the line between salvation and damnation blurs. Abby’s eyes glint, her lips parting just barely as if she’s about to say something, but nothing comes. Instead, her grip loosens, just a fraction, a tremble running through her hand as if she can no longer trust herself to hold on. Yet she doesn’t let go—not fully. She can't. Not when you're her tether, the embodiment of everything she’s tried so hard to fight.

Her lips brush against your ear once more, softer this time, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with something she can no longer contain. "I will make you pure."

PLUTOS WORLD: okay! so this has been my longest fic yet but i had fun! will most defiantly be a part two if requested

TAGLIST: @r3starttt @cyb3rdino @abyssgf @savethegoddamturtles

[paradlselost]

CRIMSON.

JOHN SEED X FEMALE DEPUTY

Sort of a dump, I was really debating on just publishing this as a WIP but I was halfway through the smut and decided to just finish it. Not my best, but I tried to go for a more canon accurate John, which means he’s a major freak in this sorry :/

I mentioned it in the fic but didn’t go too deep, I kinda love toying with the idea of a more selfish deputy - humanizing them. If I were to ever write a longer fic with more of an oc-ized version of the deputy would anyone read? Let me know.

I probably won’t post about John Seed or FC5 for a little while after this. I have ideas for a Black Noir (my bbg) fic and then a Father Paul Hill one from Midnight Mass cause I love religious trauma as y’all can tell. I do also like indoctrinated!deputy so maybe maybe eventually I write about that.

2.7k words

content warnings: mentions of cutting into flesh. smut — dubcon, choking, blood play (John being a freak sorry), dryhumping, oral (m receiving), fingering, debauchery in a house of God.

She should’ve known from the start, when the crackle of her radio sounded, interjecting her music with his voice; that this request was nothing but trouble. But rage had blinded her, wrath seeped into every pore in her body, selfishness.

It was never the Deputy’s plan to become the symbol for the resistance, even after the blades of the helicopter stopped, and smoke and fire billowed out from the engine. Even after Dutch saved her and enlisted her help, and despite the stories from countless other resistance members, she only really had one prerogative; save her friends. 

Hudson, Pratt, Whitehorse. Trapped in the claws of the cult, it was her duty to get them back, and despite the help she had been giving to the resistance, those were the only three people she cared about.

He knew this, stalking her like a cat preparing to pounce, he watched every facet of her life from the moment she ventured into Holland Valley that he could. A selfish little thing, ripe for his obsession.

John Seed was a proud man, bold and brave as he had so eloquently begged Jacob to put in his song. His pedestal as a Herald inflated his ego, the knowledge that without him Eden’s Gate wouldn’t have prospered nearly as much fueled his narcissism, which is why he surrounded himself with only the peggies who would do anything for him.

He isn’t sure whether new members are supposed to pledge their lives to him and the cult, but it sounds so sweet when the floor pools with the blood of their atonement and he coaxes those little words from his new followers' lips. His tongue is coated in silver, he loves this new power, and she threatens to take that from him.

He knew she wouldn’t be as proactive if he crooned to her that he had a resistance member or two, and she would swing in guns blazing if he claimed to have Hudson right beside him. So, instead he played on her curiosity, that little nudge in the back of her mind that forced her to seek him out whenever he called. Like a moth to a flame.

“Fuck you, Seed!” Voice so filled with venom it might’ve burned a hole in the floor, he tilted his head at her profanity, a sadistic grin playing on his face.

Hope County was filled with little white churches, chapels with steeples that attempted to reach to the heavens above. She assumed they were much more lively before, now most were barren except on Sundays, when the peggies who could not fit onto Joseph’s compound would listen to him under random roofs of God.

This. He chose to be under the white ceiling specifically, to call her into the thing she had been fighting against. To hear her screams echo against the chipped painting that decorated the walls, for her blood to be stained on the old wooden floorboards.

Curiosity killed the cat. She was stupid enough to venture into his trap, falling to the ground when hit hard enough over the head, and now she was stupid enough to attempt to fight off the peggies that held either arm.

“Such profanity. You’re in a house of God, Deputy, mind your tongue.” He scolded her as if she was a misbehaving child, as if everything she had ever done could be chalked up to that. A spoiled rotten brat.

His fingers danced over the tools he had brought with him, his trusty tattoo gun being at the top, but an assortment of knives he also deemed fit for this occasion. Oh, the blood she would spill for him, he became giddy at the thought.

“Get off of me-! Woah woah woah- hey stop!” Yelping, she still attempted to fight off the peggies that held her arms, she shied away when he advanced toward her, tattoo gun in his hands. He had tried this before, she knew what he was doing.

“No one here to help you now, Wrath. Don’t try and fight, your atonement will hurt much less if you cooperate.” He was too calm for this situation, a practiced art he had been through hundreds of times. It was a skill, making people spill their most intimate secrets, a skill he had perfected.

The Deputy was a fighter, through and through, though John could understand Jacobs words. She was weak without her companions, without pastor Jerome stealing her from her atonement, or Nick Rye strafing his armed convoy, she was nothing now - and it was almost endearing to him.

With her hands bound, she resorted to spitting that same venom that she held in her words, marking his perfect face with her saliva. He grimaced, wiping it off his cheek before it trailed down to his beard, pretty blue eyes flashing with that same bloodlust that dictated his every waking moment.

It was shocking to even the peggies that held her when he grabbed her by her throat, pinning her to the ground and straddling her hips. His hands shook with anger - the same wrath that he deemed consumed her now making an appearance in himself. Two sides of the same coin, two heads of a snake.

Her head ached now, body feeling as though it was echoing. A second blow to the back of her head that surely would’ve knocked her out if the pain of his tattoo gun wasn’t keeping her grounded. She didn’t know how fast he had ripped her shirt, or how long it would take for him to carve her skin, but she was reduced to pained whines and pleas for him to stop.

And he relished in the noises she made. The blood that covered his hands and trickled down her chest wasn’t an unusual sight for the herald - but her being the one under him made it all the more exciting. His Deputy, his wrath, his perfect rival. The peggies that stood above him now didn’t matter, and what are they to him anyways? Expendable followers he could use, the Deputy was everything.

“Yes yes, c’mon, keep pleading…” How could he help it? Her eyes half lidded as she looked up at him, hands no longer bound by the peggies now loosely grabbing the wrist that held the tattoo gun in an attempt to stop him. She looked so pathetic under him, so why shouldn’t he grind himself against her when his pants were so uncomfortably tight?

Her words didn’t quite reach his ears, not as he waved his followers out - who hurriedly scrambled in embarrassment. The old church was silent, save for her soft sobs and his intense breathing. His hand still placed over her neck made her choke on her words, which only fueled his desire. He could crush her windpipe, her life rested in his hands, and maybe he would’ve if the nagging reminder that she was the only way he was getting into New Eden wasn’t playing in the back of his head.

His ticket, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with her.

He removed his hand from her neck as he finished carving into her pretty skin. WRATH, her own personal scarlet letters. He hummed, looking down at her with lustful eyes, fluttering between hers and the blood that pooled on her chest and trickled down her body to the wooden floor below.

She hated the feeling that bubbled in her chest as the pain subsided, now only a dull ache danced with the look he gave her, how he rubbed the tent made in his pants against her. No doubt, a mark had been left on her neck - his handprint, a reminder. The world felt silent at this moment, when she should've pushed him off.

Selfishness. Prioritizing that small ache he gave her over what she should be doing. Finding anything to act as a weapon against him.

But she didn’t, not as his head lowered and she was greeted with his perfectly slicked back hair, shaking hands reaching to play with a strand. A soft grumble came from his throat, tongue lapping at the blood that trickled down the valley of her chest, tasting what he had drawn out of her.

“What are you doing-?” Her voice was soft, he barely heard it over the ringing in his ears. Too long had he been subjected to resorting to his hand when he thought about her, or messing up his silk pillowcases with his pretty ropes when she teased him over the radio. He had her under him, he wasn’t going to let her go now.

“Shh.” His voice was more scolding then he meant it to be, his tongue traveling from the blood he lapped at down to her budding nipple. He wasn’t gentle, and why should he be? After everything she had messed up for him, he felt it justified to bite down on her pretty flesh, pulling at the bud as much as he wanted.

He relished in the pretty, pained moans that fell from her lips, how her back arched into it. Two sides of the same coin, both reveling in whatever pain was brought to them.

The Deputy’s head tilted back, allowing him a chance to latch onto her neck as a vampire would, smearing the blood on his lips all over her pretty skin. He bit, marking her with his teeth over the forming bruises from his handprint. His hands, decorated in the crimson from his hold on the tattoo gun traveled down her body, painting her in her own red.

He slipped his hand below the rough fabric of her jeans, being met with a contrast, soft and delicate and slightly damp. A soft grumble left his lips at the feeling; which were still pressed against her pretty neck. He felt the way her breath hitched as he ran digits over her most delicate areas. Being so close to her neck, he felt how her muscles tightened and how her breath hitched in her throat.

Lifting her hips to meet his tattooed fingers, a small admission of need. She bit her bottom lip to suppress the noises that tempted to fall from her lips - not wanting to give him the satisfaction. They were still enemies, still rivals, at least to her. 

John on the other hand seemed to be on cloud nine, relishing in how she moved against his hand, grinding herself through the fabric of her underwear. He bit down once more, slipping her out of her jeans and grabbing her hips, sitting up and pressing his pelvis against hers.

“John- John cmon…” Head thrown back, panting as she grabbed at the blue silk of his top. He tilted his head down at her, a sadistic smirk playing on his features.

He always took what he wanted, no matter who it was, and the Deputy was no exception to this. To him, it was God's Grace that placed them both here, that gave him the opportunity to rut his hips against hers.

The bulge in his covered jeans met her underwear, fucking himself against her covered cunt. He leaned down overtop of her, panting against her ear. Hot breath on her neck, the sounds of his soft moans mixing with his heavy breaths, and of course his restricted cock grazing just over her clit every couple of thrusts, it was enough to make any girl's eyes roll back.

He stopped, only for a moment, but long enough for her to let out a needy whine, lifting her head to see what he was doing. Tattooed fingers worked the EG belt off, letting his pants pool at his ankles. He wasted no time once they were off, underwear meeting underwear as the outline of his dick was much more pronounced.

“Fuck fuck, put your head back. Fucking-… good girl.” He groaned out, one hand leaving her hips and grabbing at her pretty hair, pulling her head back against the cold wooden floor of the church. She ached, head pounding and echoing from the injuries earlier - but the feeling of him fucking himself against her needy cunt kept her grounded.

In this moment, she needed him, needed this feeling to not pass out.

He tilted his own head back, sweat casting a slick sheen over his skin. A hand dipped against the drying blood on her chest, gathering what he could over his fingertips before bringing them to his lips, sucking on the bloodied digits. He groaned around his fingers, muffling the moans that threatened to fall.

The head of his cock strained against the blue fabric of his boxers, hips thrusting sloppily against her as his hand tightened on her hips, leaving pretty marks in his wake. One thrust, another thrust, and finally another before white pooled at the head, spurting out of the tiny holes in his underwear.

Panting, he finally moved his fingers out of his mouth, cleaned off the blood and tilted his head down at her almost mockingly; he got to finish, the cum that leaked from his underwear dripping down onto hers, and she didn’t get to. He relished in that, that power he had over her.

“H-hey! Not fair!”

“Oh, Deputy. Come here, maybe I’ll let you get off.”

He grinned as he stood up, fixing himself before moving back onto one of the pews, watching her scramble over to him. He had her eating out of the palm of his hand as she kneeled in front of him. Her head pounded harder, eyes a little woozy.

“Poor baby, rest your head, sweetheart.” He teased, a sadistic grin on his face as she nodded and rested against his thigh, looking up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He couldn’t help himself, not if she looked so pretty right there in his grasp. 

He tangled his fingers in her hair, watching her confused expression as he moved the blue fabric off of his legs, dick springing up as it was freed from the confinement of his underwear. Guiding her head over it, watching her part her pretty lips to suck on his leaking tip.

Milking his cock, swallowing the spurts of salty seed that spilled onto her tongue. She drained him for all he’s worth, looking up at him as he ran his fingers through her hair. He was soft and gentle in this moment, noises falling from his lips that told her how good she was doing. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be sucking off John Seed of all people.

He grinned as he watched her, once he was satisfied with the way she suckled on him, he grabbed her chin and pulled her off of him. Guiding her up to her feet, he let her loom over him. She wasn’t intimidating like this, he didn’t know if it was because he had just fucked her over their clothes or because she was relying on him for an orgasm, but she seemed almost adorable.

His lips found her neck once more as she leaned against him, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. He forced her to stand, to spread her legs to allow his fingers to feel the now wet fabric of her panties. He hummed in satisfaction, moving them aside and tracing a finger over her slick folds.

A soft gasp left her lips, grabbing onto his shoulder and attempting to move back to look him in the eye. He grumbled, forcing her in that same position as he bit down on her neck, pushing a finger inside of her at the same time. He loved the moans that fell from her lips as he pumped a digit deeper inside of her.

Another finger stretched her out, deep enough to hit those nerves that made her legs tremble. She whined, shaking against him and propping herself up as he continued to pump in and out of her. He pulled away from her neck for only a moment, watching the way she buried her face against him and laughing softly.

He added one more finger before her legs fully began to tremble, grabbing onto his shoulder. Pumping more, fully reaching those nerves, which caused her to spasm around him, her orgasm flooding around his fingers. She rocked against him once or twice, chasing her high.

“Look at you, Deputy, needing me. Did I make you feel good? Use your words.”

[asherraccoon]

Camping (part 2)- Radioapple- Fluff, angst- Human AU, Teenager AU- Warnings: Child abuse, religious trauma, almost drowning

Lucifer sat on the log by the river, waiting for Alastor. It wasnt long before his friend showed up.

“Lucifer! Come on, I wanna show you something!” Alastor called out, grabbing Lucifer's arm as he ran by, pulling Lucifer along.

“AH! O-Okay! I'm coming!” Lucifer yelped. He tried his best to keep up with Alastor, but he wasn't much of a runner. 

“Come on, hurry up!” Alastor called over his shoulder, leaping over a fallen tree. He turned to Lucifer. “We're gonna miss it!” 

Lucifer paused to catch his breath. “I-I'm trying!” He yelled back. “Your legs are longer than mine!” He continued running. 

When Lucifer finally caught up to Alastor, the burnette held an arm out to stop him from running. “Shh!” He held a finger over his mouth. 

Lucifer nodded. 

Alastor quietly walked to a bundle if bushes and crouched behind them. He gestured for Lucifer to come next to him. 

Lucifer quietly tip-toed over and got on his knees next to Alastor. “What?” He whispered. 

Alastor held his finger over his mouth again. He pointed to the other side of the bush.

Lucifer looked up over the Bush and gasped quietly. 

A small family of deer grazed on the grass. There was a doe, with a little fawn standing beside her, and a buck. 

“Whoa,” Lucifer said, almost silently. 

Alastor pointed at the river next to the deer, where a family of ducks was getting out of the water. 

Lucifer gasped. He stared at the ducks in awe. He held his hand over his mouth to keep himself from squealing and scaring the animals away. 

The mother duck waddled past the deer, her little ducklings chirping and waddling close behind her. 

Lucifer shook his hands to get the energy out and prevent himself from exploding. He absolutely loved ducks. He accidentally let out a giggle when one of the ducklings tripped over its own two feet. 

The giggle made the deer family stop grazing and freeze, noticing the boys and staring at them before running off. 

“Aww no!” Lucifer stood up. “Dang it, Lucifer!” He banged his fist against his head. “You always ruin everything!” He scolded himself. 

Alastor stood up. “Hey, it's fine!” He put a hand on Lucifer's shoulder. 

Lucifer flinched at the touch on his shoulder. On reflex, he jumped away and held his arms up over his face. “Sorry!” He whimpered. 

Alastor flinched. He held his hands up and stepped back. 

Lucifer stared at him. He slowly lowered his arms and took some deep breaths. “Ah… s-sorry… um… instinct… I guess…” he fidgeted with his hands. He looked away, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. 

Alastor stepped forward again. “It’s okay,” he said. “Um… are you okay?” He asked. 

Lucifer blinked. “Uh,” he shrugged. “I'm okay,” he said, not sounding confident.

“Are you sure..?” Alastor seemed concerned. “You acted like I was going to hurt you,” 

“Isn't that what you wanted to do?” Lucifer asked, tilting his head. 

“What? No!” Alastor stepped closer. “Lucifer, why would I want to hurt you?” 

“Because I scared the animals away,” Lucifer said, pointing to where the deer used to be. “I messed up,” he shrugged and looked at the grass. “I always get punished for messing up,”

Alastor grew more concerned. “What?” 

“Father always hits me for making mistakes,” Lucifer said. He acted like this was normal. And for him, it was the norm. “It teaches me to be better,” 

“Lucifer…” Alastor shook his head. “This sounds like abuse,” 

Lucifer tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “No..?” He muttered. “If Father was abusive, He would hurt me whether I messed up or not. But he doesn't. He only hits me when I'm being bad and messing up. The rest of the time he ignores me,” he explained. 

Alastor blinked at him. “Lucifer, that is abuse,” 

Lucifer's eyebrows furrowed. “No its not,” 

“Neglect is a type of abuse, Lucifer!” Alastor tried to explain. “Does he treat you nicely? Ever?” 

“He took me and my brothers camping. That's nice, isn't it?” Lucifer shrugged. 

“Other than taking you camping, has he ever been nice? Ever been an actual father?” Alastor pushed his glasses up. 

Lucifer thought about it. “Um…” he tried to think of a time. When had his father been nice to him? When was he not ignored or being beaten by his dad? 

“See, Lucifer? You can't think of a time! He's not a good dad to you, Lucifer,” Alastor took Lucifer's hands into his. “You need to tell someone,” 

Lucifer pulled his hands away. He shook his head. “No… No, you're lying…” he backed away. “You… You're trying to trick me! You where sent by the devil to trick me into worshipping him!” 

Alastor shook his head. “No, Lucifer, I'm trying to help you!” 

“Isa 5:20, ‘Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!’ You want me to think you're good! But you're not! You're the devil in disguise!” Lucifer backed up towards the river. 

“Lucifer-” 

“2 Corinthians 11:14-15, ‘Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their deeds’” Lucifer said, gripping his hair. “You're a devil… a devil!” Lucifer fell into the river. “AH!” 

“LUCIFER!” Alastor ran and tried to grab Lucifer's hand, but just missed. 

Lucifer splashed into a deep part of the river. He frantically flailed, trying to get back up to the surface, but his foot got caught on something. He couldn't open his eyes to see. He frantically tried to pull his foot free. It didnt help that he never learned how to swim. 

Alastor stared at the water, anxiously waiting for Lucifer to come back up. Why hadn't he come up yet? 

Lucifer was panicking, which only made it harder to hold his breath. If he wasn't underwater, Lucifer would have been crying. What the hell was holding onto his foot!?

Alastor tugged in his hair, stressed. “Fuck,” he whispered. He jumped into the river. He had to get Lucifer out of there before he drowned. He forced his eyes open, despite the sting. He found Lucifer. His foot was caught in debris and rocks. He quickly swam over to tug Lucifer free. 

Lucifer panicked when he felt someone grab his leg. He was going to kick them but realized they where helping him.

Once Lucifer's leg was free, Alastor grabbed him and pulled him up to the surface. 

Lucifer gasped and coughed as he felt the cold air hit his face. He immediately started shivering. 

Alastor dragged Lucifer onto dry land and sat down, leaning against a tree and panting.

Lucifer leaned on him, exhausted and trying to catch his breath. He coughed up water. He hugged himself, shivering from the cold. He looked at Alastor. 

“God…” Alastor whispered, still panting. “Are you okay?” He asked, turning his head to Lucifer. 

Lucifer nodded. “I-I'm fine…” he mumbled. He hugged his knees. “Just cold…” he sniffled. “Um… Th-thank you for s-saving me…” he muttered. “I-I guess if you w-where evil you w-would have let me d-drown… I'm sorry…” 

“It's fine,” Alastor said. He coughed. “You uh… You've clearly gone through a lot of stuff…” he pushed his wet hair back with his hands. “I don't blame you for anything,” 

Lucifer wiped his tears and sniffed. 

Alastor gently rubbed his hand up and down Lucifer's back. 

“How did I never realize that Father was abusive?” Lucifer asked after a minute if silence.

Alastor looked at him. He shrugged. “My guess? You where told lies your entire life. Your dad just… lied to you to make you think things about him that make him seem like a better person than he really is,” 

Lucifer nodded. “That sounds about right,” he said quietly. He whimpered. “Man, I'm so cold… and tired…” he looked up at the sky. “I don't want to go back to my family now… not while Father is there…” he wiped away the tears on his cheeks. 

Alastor frowned. “I can ask my mom if you can stay with us for the night… and if you want to tell her about your family situation…” he gently rubbed Lucifer's shoulder. “She might be able to help,” 

Lucifer hesitated. “I don't want to tell anyone about Father yet,” he said. “I'm still processing the whole situation,” 

Alastor nodded. 

“But I'd like to be away from him for a while,” he itched his neck.

Alastor hummed. He stood up and pulled Lucifer up to his feet. “Can you walk okay?” He asked. 

Lucifer nodded. “I'm fine,” he hugged himself.

Alastor put an arm around Lucifer to help him stay steady just in case. “Come on, Maman will be happy to meet you,” 

(Part 3?)

[roll-for-gaslight]

for whosoever believeth in him (shall not perish but have everlasting life)

An exploration of the older Applebees siblings' relationships with religion tw // religious trauma, child abuse, let me know if I need to add anything else

AO3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55677883/chapters/141332254

Part One: The Prophet

Part Two: The Proselyte

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight."

-Proverbs 3:5-6

Bucky has a lot of memories throughout his childhood of hearing Kristen repeat that verse, so quiet he’s not sure whether or not he was meant to hear. He wasn’t Chosen by Helio the way she was, but that only served to make him more devoted; he had to make her proud and do his best to not embarrass their family. Kristen never did anything wrong, not like he did. Since it was her favorite verse, it was his as well. 

"I can do all this through Him who gives me strength."

-Philippians 4:13

It’s nice when your sister is Chosen. It means she gets magic before anyone else her age, and she always does the coolest tricks when you ask. It also means you rarely have to feel sick or hurt for more than a few moments before it’s fixed. Bucky appreciates that last part probably more than anything. Bricker and Cork are the two who get themselves hurt a lot, especially as they all get older and Bucky grows out of some of his clumsiness, but ever since Kristen got her spells he can remember the nice, warm feeling that accompanies each one. 

Riding a bike is hard. Kristen never fully got a handle on it, too unsteady and incapable of keeping her sandals firmly planted on the pedals. On the other hand, Bricker is already speeding down the street and asking if he can ride his bike to school instead of riding with everyone or taking the bus. Bucky’s fine at it, but he’s learning a lot slower, and Bricker is currently literally riding circles around him in an attempt to get him to hurry up since they’re not allowed to go off alone. Kristen is out in the front yard to keep an eye on them, laying on her stomach taking notes and highlighting verses for her next bible study group. She glances up at them occasionally as they go up and down the street shouting at each other, but doesn’t get involved. 

“Come on, Buck! I’m tired of waiting for you!” Bricker says on his right, preparing to take another lap around him. Bucky can see the top of the hill at the end of their street coming up, and prepares himself to rocket down it once they turn around so Bricker will stop complaining. 

“Just chill! I’m going as fast as I can!” He insists, turning with Bricker still by his side. He kicks off hard as Bricker groans in annoyance. He cuts in front of Bucky the same as he has been, but Bucky’s going much faster than he was on the way up the hill and suddenly they collide, tumbling one over another with bikes left sliding on gravel behind them. There’s an unbearable pain shooting up Bucky’s leg, starting at his ankle. He’s screaming loudly, unable to keep it in as he cries for help. Bricker stands up, seemingly scraped up but otherwise fine, and his eyes go wide when he looks at Bucky’s foot twisted the wrong way. 

The sound of Kristen’t bare feet hitting the pavement comes first, then her shouts of concern as she gets a little closer. Bucky isn’t fully aware of any of it until she’s kneeling down right in front of him. 

“Easy, Bug. You’re going to be okay, I promise.” she says softly, a small smile on her face. She takes some slow, deep breaths and Bucky mimics her. She pulls him close, running her hands through his hair until he’s calmer. He remembers, distantly, a time when it was just the two of them who were around, a version of Kristen who called him Bug because she couldn’t quite say his name. That version of her couldn’t heal him, but she held him like this when he fell down anyway. The pain is still there, but the panic isn’t by the time she pulls away. “Okay! I’m going to set it, then heal it. It’ll only hurt for a second, then you’ll be better so fast you won’t even remember what you were crying about.”

Bucky nods, and Kristen readjusts to do as she said she would. She lifts his leg to put his foot in her lap first, then quickly sets it into the correct place before Bucky feels it. There’s a slow-spreading warmth, different from the swelling that had already started, and it eventually flows through his whole body. He smells the familiar scent of popcorn and every part of him relaxes. He didn’t notice when he closed his eyes, but when he opens them he sees Kristen, smiling at him. 

“All better, Bug?” she asks, and he nods again. 

“All better. Thanks, Kristy.”

“Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is Sol’s will for you in Lord Helio.”

-1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

It’s his first Harvest Festival. Not necessarily the first one he’s ever been to, but the first one that counts: it’s the first time he’s joining in on the big kids' continuous prayer. Last year, he had to stay with the little kids like Bricker and Cork. This year it’s just him and Kristen! He knows that last year she stayed out longer than anyone, he helped her by bringing her water and stuff, but he hopes he can stay out as long as her this year. Maybe if he’s here beside her, if they’re doing it together, it’ll be easier. 

Kristy is standing to his left, and he has to admit, just privately, that he’s not focusing so much on his prayers anymore. By the time they’re a day in, his eyes keep wandering just slightly to check on her, and he can’t quite keep his legs underneath him the way he needs to. He’s focusing more on the need to keep himself upright than the words he knows he’s still saying. There’s a river of sweat pouring down his back, and in his peripheral vision he can see his own hands a burnt, lobster red. 

All at once, it becomes too much. He feels his ankle roll and both knees buckle, sharp pain hitting him right before he falls. He hits the ground hard, all strength gone from his body. He knows if he stays like this, he’ll be kicked out, but right as he thinks someone’s going to come get him he feels a rush of strength and the air takes on a buttery popcorn scent. He looks up at Kristen, but her face is turned up towards the sun. He mimics her pose from his place on the ground and it doesn’t take long for her to fall to her knees beside him. He watches the crowd around them ripple outward, others taking her cue. The Book of Helio says to hold no idols above him, but Kristen is about the closest any of them will get to feeling his light until they cross those golden gates. Many of the people at these festivals treat her like she speaks only with Helio’s tongue. Maybe she does. 

The break comes, but Kristen doesn’t move. She passes him her water bottle, and he knows her request before she has a chance to vocalize it. 

“Can you fill this for me, Bug? I’m going to pray through the break. As much ice as you can crush in there, please.” she asks. 

He nods in response. “Yeah, Kristy, I can do that. I’ll let mom and dad know,” he says, offering her a smile he knows she can’t really see before he hurries off. Mom and Dad question him about Kristen’s absence only once before turning their attention to why he did decide to come back. Was he quitting? If Kristen was staying out there, so should he. 

He drinks a lot of water and refills both of their bottles before he heads back. There’s no chance that he’ll make it through another day, and he dreads their disappointment then. 

He’s the first to return to the field, to Kristen, and as he approaches, others follow. It feels, inexplicably, like there's something pulling them all closer the same way gravity pulls them to the earth. The moment everyone starts to get within earshot of Kristen’s prayers, louder now in the empty space, they begin to crowd in a little circle around her. Bucky feels her familiar magical warmth and recognizes what’s happening a moment before she begins to glow. Within moments, her feet are off the ground and the holy light surrounding her almost hurts to look at. She doesn’t seem phased by the magic, instead she’s placed back on her feet with the grace of an angel. It makes her seem strange and otherworldly, nothing like the clumsy Kristen who trips over nothing and stubs her toes on every table leg. 

The glow fades but the feeling remains, and it takes him several minutes to work up the nerve to approach her again. Everyone else takes turns paying their respect to her, so he lets them finish before he takes his place beside her. He wants, desperately, to reconcile his sister with this impossibly perfect version of her beside him now. He reaches out to grab her hand and give it a squeeze and make her feel real again, but her skin is too hot to the touch and he has to yank his own away before he’s burned. He kneels down, placing their water bottles down between them, and he doesn’t stand up again.

He makes it through who knows how many more hours on muscle memory alone, but the darkness is too much. His eyes keep falling closed, his limbs shaking, and then there comes a point where he just can’t keep up with it anymore. All at once, he can’t help but collapse in on himself as the world goes black. 

He wakes only when he has to for the next few days. He wakes when Kristen does, lets her know he’s okay, and she hugs him tightly. She’s back to her normal self, her comforting warmth a far cry from the searing heat she had been radiating during prayer. He falls asleep leaning on his hand a few minutes later, and he feels her gently help him lay his head down properly so he’s not at such an awkward angle. He wakes up when they pack up their things into the camper and when they arrive home, then sleeps again until it’s time for day camp on Monday.

 “A false witness will not go unpunished, and whoever pours out lies will not go free.”

-Proverbs 19:5

Kristen hasn’t been home for a few days. He doesn’t know much about what’s going on with her, just that she had a really hard first day of school, but something seems off about her. It’s Friday, and she hasn’t been home since Wednesday. He wonders briefly if she’s going to be back in time for Church on Sunday, but he dismisses the thought because he can’t imagine her missing it. 

It hasn’t been that long, but he really misses having her around the house. Without her, it falls to him to mediate between Bricker and Cork each time they argue, and to cook dinner when their parents work their nightshift. He feels lonely, like there’s too much empty space in every room. He didn’t realize how much they had all relied on her before, but it only took a few days for him to notice the difference. For every minor issue, his instinct is to call out for his sister’s help. He barely stops himself each time. 

Kristen misses Church and for the first time ever, Bucky wonders why they worship Helio. He asks his mom, and she puts it in no uncertain terms: because it’s either worship Helio or go to hell forever. It’s their job to try and help as many people as possible find the light, but only those who have the potential for holiness, like other humans. He remembers Kristen, earlier in the week, talking about how her adventuring party has two elves and a half-orc and a goblin and even a tiefling. He can’t help but feel worried about her. Selfishly, he thinks that if three days without her have sucked this bad an eternity would be torture. 

She doesn’t come home for more than a night at a time for weeks after that. 

She said she’d always be there for him. 

How could she lie like that?

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

-Psalm 34:18

Church camp is fun, for the most part. It’s not like the Harvest Festival, where everything is extreme to prove true devotion. It’s more fun, teaching them about Helio without having to hang out with their parents and getting to swim and play games to do it. He enjoys the nightly campfires and the songs they sing, though he wishes that Kristen could be with him. He brings some of the gold she left for him for the vending machines, and he makes friends in his cabin.

They make Sol’s Eyes crafts and friendship bracelets, do a daily prayer circle, and spend a decent amount of their time in the lake. They rose early every morning for Dawn Sermon and stayed in the sun almost all day, staying up late each night after their nightly sermons talking to each other and growing close. On the last night of the week, they’re brought out for a campfire after dinner and told that things were going to run a little differently that night. The sermon was going to last longer than usual, and they were encouraged to add their own testimonies as well in order to give themselves over to Helio completely. 

It starts out fairly normal, even a little slow as most people are hesitant to share. Bucky doesn’t even think he has anything to share, anything he’s overcome that’d be worth talking about. It doesn’t take long for things to pick up, several people crying as they deliver testimonials about struggles within the faith and temptations away from the holy light. He thinks of Kristen, about how she was supposed to be Chosen and how she was supposed to be there for him. He hasn’t seen her in almost a year. He stands up next time they ask for volunteers, and he can already feel his eyes prickling with tears as all attention turns to him. 

“My big sister, Kristen, was Chosen by Helio the second she was born. I grew up really looking up to her and depending on her. She said she’d always be there for me and that she would never do anything to hurt me. She could do amazing things with her magic, like heal people, so she went to be an adventurer. On her first day of school, she got detention and started an adventuring party with the people in there with her. They started to lead her away from the light.” he says. Tears start rolling steadily down his face. It feels like he can’t catch his breath, the words falling out of his mouth faster and faster the longer he goes on. 

“She left the faith, and left our house. There’s a part of me that misses her, but I’ve been working on accepting that she’s a sinner now. She’s even telling people she’s gay and she moved in with a werewolf. I’m really scared for her and I want her to find her way back. I can’t help but think that maybe there’s something more I could have done to stop her from leaving in the first place.”

By the time he’s done telling his story, he’s overcome by the sobs that shake his whole body. He can’t stop himself from crying, and several people he had become familiar with over the course of the last week all surged forward at once to comfort him. It felt good to finally put a voice to his deepest anxiety, the idea that he had somehow pushed her away and that he would never see her again. He felt hands on his back and someone running a hand through his hair to comfort him, like Kristen used to do, and suddenly it’s all too much, he can’t breathe as a deep sadness swallows him. He would trade each and every person here to have Kristen be the person comforting him right now, but that’s impossible. She’s gone from his life in a way he can’t fix. 

It’s a strange feeling to grieve someone who’s still alive. 

“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.”

-Proverbs 22:6

Being the oldest kid in the house sucks. Bucky has never felt so much pressure, not just to take care of his brothers, but to be perfect in every way. Kristen abandoning them means that he’s supposed to help represent their family. His parents decide that he’s going to be a paladin, like them, and he ignores the ache in his chest. He thought he’d learn to be a cleric like Kristen, but being a paladin is good enough. He can still heal people, even if his light is nothing like hers. 

He spends a lot of days sparring with the practice dummies in their basement, their dad’s old sword strapped to his side. It’s too big for him right now, but his parents say he’ll grow into it. They push him to be better, so he pushes himself harder than he ever has before. 

When they’re at home, his brothers turn to him to resolve every little disagreement. At Church on Sunday, it’s his job to keep them quiet. He trains every night in the basement. He’s in the top of his class in every subject. (If this is what it was like for her, he almost understands why she would want to leave. Almost. That doesn’t mean he’ll actually do it.)

Maybe, if he’s good enough, his parents will stop wishing he were Kristen. 

Maybe he will too. 

Maybe, if he’s good enough, Kristen will just come home. 

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to Sol. And the peace of Sol, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Lord Helio.”

-Philippians 4:6-7

Bucky’s first day of high school is the best day he’s had in a while. He was hoping, in the smallest, quietest part of his heart, to see Kristen again. He didn’t say anything to his parents about it because he could hear their disappointed voices in his head: Kristen is a sinner, you need to stay away from her. Don’t let her influence you. 

He sees her the second he makes it on campus, surrounded by her friends for a brief moment before most of them head off to class. Beside her are the goblin and the tiefling, who he knows is Fig Faeth from her band, but he ignores them. 

She talks to their parents.

It doesn’t go well. He’s not sure he’ll ever understand her again.

He doesn’t really see her again until Spring. 

“What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?”

-Romans 8:31

His adventuring party doesn’t seem to like him very much. His dad says it’s because they’re sinners, too deep in their own self-centered desires to see the goodness of Helio’s light. He wants, more than anything, to be friends with them. He sees Kristen and her other “Bad Kids” around school, and they always seem to be having fun together. He cuts back, as much as he can morally justify, on telling them about Helio’s word. It doesn’t have to be the only thing he talks about, especially if it’s making them uncomfortable.

Two months in, they brush off his proselytizing with nothing but an eyeroll and the occasional polite smile. 

Three months in, he mentions the Harvest Festival and his friends look at him with wide, horrified eyes. The wizard in his party, named Cordelia who everyone calls just Del, pulls him aside. 

“Bucky, are things okay at home?” she asks gently. For someone who spends so much time with her head in a book, she’s surprisingly perceptive of the feelings of those around her. He’s surprised by her question, so she rephrases. “I’m only asking because the Harvestmen have kind of a really bad reputation, and I want to make sure you’re safe.”

Bucky nods in response. “Of course I’m safe!” he says, but there’s something hollow in his chest that makes it feel like a lie. He hesitates for a few moments before he speaks again. “What kind of a bad reputation?”

Del frowns slightly, though it doesn’t seem judgemental. She takes his hand and starts to lead him farther away from the rest of the party, off towards the library. She takes him straight towards the religion section, which he’s familiar with from class, but she moves past the books on Helio and onto the secular section. She pulls out a book titled On the Subject of World Religions and hands it to him. 

“Here,” she says, a kind smile on her face. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with your faith, I just think there’s a chance you weren’t told the whole story about everything Helioic people have done. This might help you get a little more perspective.” 

He opens it that night and sees Kristen’s name in the log of people who have previously checked it out, several times in a row covering the last few years with the most recent check-in only a week or so ago. It must be her favorite book now. 

He’s never read a book so fast. 

“I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh.”

-Ezekiel 11:19

Kristen’s new god is dead and made of crystals that have a gravity of their own. She’s all about doubt and mystery and, according to his parents, all of the scary things Helio’s light is supposed to protect them from. They have a meal together, the first one in almost two years, and she says she wants to go to church with them.

A little part of his heart breaks, when she says that, for the goddess relying on her. Kristen sure does make a habit of abandoning people.   

He dedicates a prayer her way next time he’s alone, and he likes the cool, quiet breeze that follows. 

“In the same way that your heart feels and your mind thinks, you, mortal beings, are the instrument by which the universe cares.”

He starts praying to Cassandra whenever he thinks of her because he doesn’t want her to feel alone. Then he starts praying to Cassandra whenever he has something on his mind. He starts replacing his morning prayers to Helio with prayers to Cassandra, Her silvery star light replacing the sun’s heat that usually sits behind his spells. He does his best to hide it, but his parents are bound to notice eventually. 

There’s a part of him that feels guilty. There’s a much bigger part of him that feels free for the first time in his life. 

Everything comes to a tipping point when Mac sees the book that Bucky (foolishly, stupidly, how could he ever think he’d get away with this) left on his bedside table. 

“How dare you bring that filth into our house? Do you not remember Kristen, how books like that led her away from the faith? Do you want to burn in Hell along with her?” his father is shouting at him before school. 

Bucky feels a familiar panic grip his chest, but not the same way it used to. It doesn’t hold the same weight as the first time he heard it. He thinks briefly of Cassandra, of her comforting darkness and the forest he’s seen flashes of as he prays. It couldn’t be further from the hell he’s been told about. He shoves the book into his bag, keeping his head down so the frown on his face can’t be seen. 

“I’m not like Kristen, and I’m not betraying Helio. I’m just doing some reading for class,” he lies, and he feels something pull away from him. A wave of regret hits him immediately, and a new fear takes hold. He doesn’t want Cassandra to be upset with him. 

Mac is still shouting, but Bucky isn’t listening anymore. He knows his dad will have to stop soon for work anyway, so his eyes slip shut. He sends out a silent prayer to Cassandra, expecting to feel the wrath of a goddess in return. He’s met instead with that same cool breeze as before, wrapping around him to soothe his fear. 

When he eventually makes it to school that day, he picks up a copy of the deity change paperwork in the office. 

“Bad things happen to good people because things happen all the time, and it is up to people to determine whether they are bad or good.”

Of course Mac and Donna find out. It’s a late-Spring evening, right at the start of dusk when the sky turns to vivid shades of pink and purple. All three boys are in the backyard doing their own individual things. Bricker, because of course it’s Bricker’s fault, gets himself hurt trying to ride his bike off the roof and into their cheap above-ground pool. He saw some viral video of Aguefort’s beginning of the year party that Bucky hadn’t attended and decided he wanted to do a “shrimp jump” of his own. 

He misses the pool. He screams, and Bucky is the first one out by his side. 

“Hey! It’s okay, just try and calm down, I’m going to heal you, okay? I’m just going to heal you and you’re going to be okay.” he says urgently.

 He carefully ghosts his hands over each injury, each one fixing itself as he does so. His magic glows faintly purple and his eyes flash with silver, a familiar cool breeze whipping up around them for a few moments. Before he knows it, Bricker is staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes. Bucky backs away, but when he turns to go back inside his parents are watching him from the doorway. 

Donna’s voice breaks the silence after a few long moments. “We need to speak to Pastor Amelia.” she says, and Bucky feels the fear like a spike of ice in his chest. He knows, with certainty, that if he lets them bring him to Church he’ll lose Cassandra. He’s not sure what to do, how to escape, and he screws his eyes tightly shut for a moment as he tries to think it through.

When he opens them again, he sees a twilight path on the ground ahead of him, trailing out the back gate and away to somewhere he can’t see. He knows, instinctively, that this is Her guidance. He glances over at Bricker, still staring up at him with that same expression, and his parents, who look more angry than anything. 

Then he runs. 

He follows Cassandra’s light not just away but past the hospital, past the school, and past the Far Haven woods until he reaches a place he’s only heard about in passing: Mordred Manor. 

He stops short at the front door, taking a moment to work up the nerve before he knocks. When Jawbone, the school’s guidance counselor, opens the door he pushes down his immediate impulse to step back. 

“Hey there, Kiddo, is there anything I can do for you?” he asks in a kind voice, a soft smile on his face. Bucky takes a deep breath. 

“I need to talk to my sister.”

"Then if people want to believe in the nighttime and that you can stand in the woods alone in the dark and not have to be afraid because you're united there with everything else that's in the night there with you, and that the world is a mystery, and that's beautiful, I would be happy to do that.”

Kristen isn’t home, so he waits in the living room for her. He talks to Jawbone for a little while, and is finally starting to relax when several people come tumbling through the front door. The Bad Kids are as they usually are every time he sees them, completely caught up in each other. The Goblin, who by now Bucky knows as Riz, is perched on the shoulder of Fabian as the two talk over each other. Their wizard Adaine is chattering excitedly with their barbarian about something vaguely arcanotech-y. Bucky’s attention zeroes in, all at once, at Fig and Kristen in the front of the group, shouting louder and louder as they get excited about the presidential campaign. He sees the moment Kristen notices him in the way she stops dead, her voice cutting out mid-sentence. Fig follows her eyeline and grins when she sees them, and at the sudden quiet all other eyes turn towards him as well. 

“Hey, Adaine, do you want a snack? Yeah, you do, we should all go to the kitchen right now except for Kristen!” Fig announces, and then they’re gone. Kristen recovers quickly, her eyebrows scrunching together like they do when she’s worried. She approaches and sits down beside him on the couch, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder as she looks him up and down in search of anything wrong. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, offering him a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here, of course, but it didn’t seem like you were very interested in ever being here considering what our parents have to say about it. Did something happen? Do you need help?” she asks. 

Bucky pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m okay. I’m better than okay, I think. Can I stay here for a while?” he asks, and she nods immediately. 

“We have plenty of rooms. We’ll get it all figured out,” she assures him. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

He hesitates for a few moments, then resolves that he’ll have to say it out loud eventually.

“I’ve been praying to Cassandra,” he admits softly. Immediately, Kristen’s eyes well up with tears. “Is that okay? I think I maybe like Her a lot more than Helio. I think she’s who I’ve been getting my magic from for a while.”

Kristen pulls him into a tight hug. She’s murmuring something reminiscent of prayer as she holds him there for a few long moments, and he feels her magic wash over him, so similar to his own now. She pulls away after a few long moments. 

“Of course that’s okay, Bug. That’s more than okay. I’m so glad you’re out of there, I’m so sorry I left without being able to explain anything to you but I’m happy you came to me. I love you so much.” she says.

“I didn’t know what to do, but then She led me to you. She showed me the way here.” he explains, and Kristen smiles brightly through her tears. “I don’t think I can go home again.”

Kristen shakes her head. “No, you’re not going back there. My friends and I will go get anything you want us to, and you don’t even have to worry about it. I’ll handle our parents.” she assures him. There are a few long moments of silence before she nods, seemingly to herself, and meets his gaze determinedly. “I have something to show you.”

She takes his hand to guide him away from the living room and into what looks, on the outside, like an abandoned chapel. Inside, it’s clear that it’s been transformed into a bedroom and worship area for her. Kristen takes him past her bed to the altar and sits cross-legged in front of it. He mimics her position, facing her, and she takes his hands. 

“Have you seen Her forest?” she asks, and he nods in response before she continues. “Good. If you want to, we can pray together and go there now. Cassandra hasn’t been doing well recently, but I think together we could help her. Would it be okay for us to do that together?”

“Of course it would,” Bucky responds immediately. Almost in unison, they close their eyes, each praying silently to Cassandra. 

Their eyes open at the same time and suddenly they’re both in the twilight forest he’s only ever seen flashes of. There’s a dirt path that leads deeper, and they follow it side-by-side until they see Her. She’s in a small clearing, sitting cross-legged on a solitary tree stump in the center with her eyes closed like she’s asleep. There’s a small black cat in her lap that blinks up at them before leaping down and coming to circle their ankles. 

Cassandra’s eyes open suddenly, and the goddess lives again. 

[loafofryebread]

Every the last dinner party song is like: sick instrumental i have religious trauma, some words in a language that doesn't sound real, and I like girls notes that no human being should be able to hit im just a girl and it sucks sometimes I want to be a boy eery backing vocals give me strength or I'm gonna go off the deep end