#silence & salvation

[teanderthalrex]

Alien: Romulus Book Recommendations

Dead Silence by S.A. Barnes - A woman and her crew board a decades-lost luxury cruiser and find the wreckage of a nightmare that hasn't yet ended.

This World is Not Yours By Kemi Ashing-Giwa. Three friends on a new colony planet. There’s more than one way to be eaten alive.

Salvation Day by Kali Wallace. A lethal virus is awoken on an abandoned spaceship in this incredibly fast-paced, claustrophobic thriller.

Illuminae by Jay Kristoff and Amie Kaufman. A deadly plague has broken out and is mutating, with terrifying results; the fleet’s AI, which should be protecting them, may actually be their biggest threat; and nobody in charge will say what’s really going on.

Contagion by Erin Bowman. After receiving a distress call from a drill team on a distant planet, a skeleton crew is sent into deep space to perform a standard search-and-rescue mission.

Authors like Mur Lafferty, Tim Pratt, Peter Watts, J.S. Dewes, Caitling Starling, Sue Burton, and R.E. Stearns may have books that fit this theme that I just haven't read.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Silence is Salvation

None know where the Angels of Death came from, but when they broke free from the earth, there was no stopping them. Now millennia after the fall, Cybertron is split in two. Those with wings life safely in their floating city, unable to be touched by the Angels which roam the ground. Those with wheels on the other hand were left to perish, to serve as prey for the abominations that all Cybertronians.

In this new age, only silence is salvation, and Orion Pax has only one goal. He will find a way to defeat the angels for the sake of all their kind.

(This is the first chapter of an AU I have been cultivating quietly. I decided to put it here to gauge the reaction to it. Hope you all enjoy :D)

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Orion Pax was the designation given to him upon his creation. He did not know who his Carrier was, nor his Sire. But according to the others, he did not have either since he was one of the last grounders who emerged from the Well of Allsparks, a final wave of hopeful newsparks not yet adapted to survive in their deadly world. Others of his generation perished almost immediately, and Orion would have been part of the unfortunate masses if not for the appearance of the Patriarch. 

Orion was lucky. He was part of what his fellows called 'The Line of Primes', a legacy all those who served under the Patriarch shared that secured their futures. He did not understand when he was young, but he did know one thing, a simple but essential lesson.

Silence is salvation.

He had few memories of his early sparklinghood, a not uncommon trait amongst those who were born of the Well. However the beginning of his life stuck with him and never faded, usually haunting him during the loneliest part of travels. 

He recalled climbing and hearing the sound of things that his coding instinctually told him were not of his kind. He remembered pulling himself out and watching in silent horror as those who came alongside him were slaughtered by long limbed creatures without features save for their deadly maws. He only escaped the devastation by pure happenstance. A piece of rubble was just large enough for him to hide beneath as the creatures wreaked havoc. 

There was a moment of salvation during that formative cycle. As Orion huddled in fear beneath the rubble and watched through a crack the absolute carnage playing out before him, he saw something nearly angelic. Beings he knew to be Cybertronian flew overhelm, their wings glittering in the light of the nearest star like a promise of sanctuary. Orion almost left his place as he saw them dive toward the ground. They had to be there to help him, maybe even to kill the creatures.

That was what his younger self assumed. He was dead wrong. 

The flight capable Cybertronians did not stop the slaughter. Instead, they dived and scouted, watching the sparklings being killed and devoured. Only once they seemed to have gotten enough data did they twist and glide toward the ground, their thunderous engines catching the attention of the creatures and leading them away. Once the creatures took off in chase of several of the flyers, two landed and transformed, their bodies shining and their plating all but glowing as the light bounced off them.

Orion remembered calling out, small cries coming from his vocalizer as the flyers wandered and looked over each sparkling, the living and the dead. However, as the young gathered around the flyers, looking up at them with optics shining in hope, Orion remained hidden. Something deep in his coding told him that leaving his hiding place was a death sentence despite the fact that fellow Cybertronians stood mere meters away. 

He was right in following his code.

The flyers looked over each and every sparkling, disregarding all save for those who bore wings just as they did. The grounder sparklings wailed in confusion as the flyers scooped up the four sparklings gifted with wings and returned to the skies, their thrusters causing the little ones to fall to the ground coughing up dust and soot. Then, just like that, the flyers that led the creatures away could be seen joining their brethren in the air, shooting off into the distance without so much as a moment of hesitation to consider the dozens of other sparklings abandoned on the ground.

There was no salvation for those poor sparks, and Orion could only watch as they were left to their doom.

Bodies littered the ground, energon spilled from lifeless frames, and limbs lay strewn about the scene as if some sort of grizzly decoration. Orion was too young to fully understand what he was seeing at the time, but he knew that leaving his hiding place and making any noise at all would lead the things to him. The creatures came running the moment his fellows cried out in terror at being left behind, and they did not hesitate to eliminate the young grounders. Even the fastest of his fellows had been caught and cut down the moment they screamed. Orion was not gifted with swiftness, he was not blessed with agility. There was nothing he could do but hide and remain silent.

His decision to remain in his hiding place saved his life, and on that cycle he learned a very harsh truth. The world he was born into was not one that loved him and his kind. Only those graced with wings were seen as living beings worthy of being saved. Despite that-

Not all hope was lost.

He did not know how long he lingered in his place beneath the rubble, too frightened to move and terrified for his life. But at some point, he heard noises beyond the confines of his small haven. On instinct, he looked through the crack in his hiding place fully expecting to see another creature prowling around the bodies of the dead to consume them or to note their status and select a new direction to continue its hunt. Instead, Orion all but cried in relief as he saw someone just like him. The Cybertronian had no wings, instead possessing a cape and a sturdy frame fitting of one intended to govern over the ground. A smile graced the features of the one who shared his frame type and Orion managed a sniffle, too afraid to do much else.

"Come. It is safe." Orion never moved so fast in his short existence as he scurried from his hiding place and into the arms of his savior. He knew what the words meant from his inbuilt datapack, but it mattered very little to him. All he cared about was the simple fact that he was safe in the arms of a being that felt like family. From that point onward, his memory of his early life devolved into a mix of emotion, sights, sounds, and smells. But he was aware of the arms that carried him, constantly hushing him when he tried to make a noise. Steady servos that fed him energon shards that caused his tanks to hurt for his first few vorns of life. And soothing fields that washed over him, calming him on dark cycles when the creatures roamed nearby.

At some point, he learned to whistle instead of speak. Noise that was unnatural brought the creatures, and that could not be allowed. Eventually, his savior and the dozens of others who shared his similar features and colors showed him how to speak with his servos through gestures and symbols. He learned that his vocalizer was unneeded in the face of far safer communication and it did not take him long to adapt to the new method of speech, no matter how much it went against the coding he was created with. When he was old enough, he was taught to express himself with his EM field, ensuring his emotional outbursts remained completely silent. The creatures could not sense their fields after all. It was their one true safety blanket.

Silence was his reality, noise brought death.

When he had completely learned to communicate in the various ways of his comrades, he was able to continue his education. He became aware of the fact that his savior had a designation. The one who saved him was called Alpha Trion, a designation only whispered by his fellows when they were near sources of natural sound which covered their murmuring. It was at that time that he also learned the names of his fellows and was able to tell them his. Up until that point he had only been referred to by a specific gesture as a way to ensure he was able to be set apart as an individual while also not requiring speech. That suited him just fine, and he actually preferred the silence.

Of course during those hushed moments by plasma pits and oil springs, Orion Pax was told stories of the old world and given gifts far greater than most of his frame type would ever receive.

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"We are the last of the Well Forged." One of his fellows, a young mech perhaps a millennia old who operated under the servo gesture 'Little-Bird' spoke up amidst the hiss of the oil spring nearby. His voice was deep and echoey, a side effect of only speaking when absolutely required. His frame was gaunt and thin, hardened by cables long since toned by continued exertion and covered in scars from many vorns of receiving injuries without plating to protect his protoform. Even still he pulled datacables from their sockets on his armorless frame and smiled as he extended them, testing their abilities as he continued.

"We are remnants of the old world, the only keepers of ancient knowledge. They once called mecha like us Archivists. In the old world, we guarded and tended to great citadels of knowledge where information from all over the world was stored." Little-Bird spoke with awe in his voice, a reaction Orion shared. Little-Bird's protoform strained as he reached out for Orion, every cable and wire visible on his body as he worked. To Orion it looked cold, but he knew it would not be long before he too would need to shed his armor to remain silent while moving. 

"There are not many of us, but we have one goal." Little-Bird's datacables slipped into a socket on the back of Orion's helm, connecting directly to his processors. It was uncomfortable the first few times his fellows fed him data in this way, but every time he grew more used to the process. Already Bright-Fire, Tall-One, and Smoke-in-the-Wind had offered their collective memory and knowledge. Orion knew more with every upload, and each time he saw more glimpses of the world that came before.

Every Archivist carried the data preserved from the fall of their world. Upon death, that knowledge was downloaded by the remaining Archivists to be given to the next generation to preserve. Orion had never had to collect what remained of the dead personally, but more than once in his short life he witnessed the frames of the fallen, abandoned after being shredded by the Angels. Often the abominations did not even want fuel, merely a chance to hunt without aim.

"We have been ordered to preserve the knowledge of the old world and use it to find a way to defeat the Angels, no matter the cost." Little-Bird's fists clenched in anger as he uploaded his data. Memories flowed into Orion's mind, showing him images of cities glittering gold and offering data from all sorts of seemingly unconnected sources. More knowledge than he could ever use was dutifully filed away in his processors to be tended to until he had need to call upon it. 

It hurt to have so much put into his helm all at once, but he understood Little-Bird's anger as he also received memories of the fallen that Little-Bird had collected from the bodies of the dead. Dozens of other Archivists, ones Little-Bird had been raised alongside, all eliminated. Each were cut down by Angels or torn to pieces by raiders, as was common amongst those who lived on the ground. 

More memories greeted him as Little-Bird’s anger transferred over. Little-Bird had not lived to see the fall of the old world, but the memories garnered from that time had endured. In front of his optics Orion saw cities, shining and powerful, all reduced to rubble as Angels of Death broke free from the ground like some convoluted version of a sleeper agent and proceeded to slaughter all in range. He saw countless mecha cut down, torn to pieces as the Angels rampaged. Mech, femme, and sparkling alike were slaughtered with equal prejudice. 

It was all so loud, so… wrong. The old world was bright and noisy, filled with color and life. Then over the course of a few memory files, shells were dropped, bombs launched, and everything fell silent as survivors fled and the Angels endured. Orion did not wish to believe it. How could he?

“What caused the old world to crumble?” Orion questioned softly, not wanting to aggravate his fellow Archivist more than necessary. Little-Bird looked up, his expression softening into something more akin to sorrow rather than rage. Through their connection, Little-Bird must have sensed his denial as he calmly picked Orion up, placing his small frame on his lap. 

“The Angels came, freed from where they lingered in stasis underground. They have no thoughts, no sentience. They are merely creatures that destroy and hunt us regardless of whether or not they require fuel.” Little-Bird ran his digits along Orion’s helm, easing the nervous flutter of his spark and smothering his fears in the comfort of clan bonds. 

“Millions perished, and those who did not quickly learned to survive… save for those with wings. They did not struggle like the rest of us. They merely fled to their floating city, abandoning the rest of us to the Angels.” Bitterness seeped into Little-Bird’s voice, memories of an Archivist begging for aid from a flier only to be denied repeated in Orion’s processors. 

"Those in Vos have done nothing to save us despite the fact that they have the power to act. We can only rely on ourselves." Little-Bird scowled as Orion was given memories and data about the flying city. When the world fell, only those who had wings were able to escape the devastation by fleeing to the floating city of Vos. Grounders, those not blessed with the ability to grace the skies, were left to rot and serve as prey for the Angels of Death. There were reasons according to the data Orion was given. Too many mecha living in the city would be unsustainable, an understandable reason to be picky about who to save.

But that was not their greatest sin. No, the reason all of grounder kind hated those who were blessed with wings was quite simple. Not only could they flee from and lead the Angles away, they had the ability to give grounders the chance to collect energon in peace and save their sparklings from death. They did not need to live in the last shining city of the old world, all grounders needed was help. 

Help that they had been denied time and time again for the simple fact that it was inconvenient for the high and mighty flyers. 

"This life is a dangerous one Orion Pax, but we do it for the safety of all our kind. If we cannot find a solution, then we need to be ready to preserve our history so that hopefully, others may use our wisdom to end the threat." Little-Bird grasped Orion's shoulder, a determined glint in his optics. Orion nodded as the data upload finished and he laid down to process it. The last moments of Archivists killed by numerous threats played out in his mind as data was filed away. He tried not to listen to the screams as he focused on adjusting.

It would fade with time, and when it did, he would learn from the mistakes of his elders. Death was common on the ground, but it was also sacred. Every death offered wisdom and insight that could be used by others. No death was meaningless, regardless of how hard it was to see the last agonizing moments of those who did not have Primus's favor.

Knowledge was power. An Archivist could not afford to lack any of it. 

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Orion grew in the quiet, never uttering a word as he graduated from being carried on the backs of one of his fellows to walking on his own two pedes in response to his increasing knowledge. That was when his education changed yet again. He had long since learned to communicate without so much as a peep, but moving in silence was a whole other matter. He was a hazard to his clan and it showed with how often Alpha Trion needed to wield his relic to keep the Angels at bay. 

Neither Orion nor the others knew exactly what Alpha Trion was or why his Covenant kept the Angels away, but they did not feel the need to know. So long as they remained close to their leader, he could open his great book and extend his field and the Angels would simply be unable to locate them or otherwise flee. 

Usually, Orion and his clan kept far away from settlements built around natural sources of sound. They did not like to be involved in the politics of the gangs and other such organizations that ran those areas. Often their travels took them through the remnants of cities where their duties included hunting for anything of the old world still salvageable. Sometimes that meant taking memories from the dead if their frames were not too damaged. In other instances that entailed going through highly dangerous areas filled with finicky technology that could make any number of noises in order to get to relics and items of interest.

Whatever they did, it was always a gamble. 

Orion was quick to learn how to stalk quietly. His fellows all shed their armor once they reached younglinghood since by that point it grew too bulky and noisy to be kept. Thus, Orion followed their example. With the help of his comrades, his armor was cut away and he was left in just his protoform. His inbuilt weapons which had only just begun to come online were swiftly shut down and Orion was taught to vent manually instead of running his fans. Cool air had to be cycled through his intake instead of his vents and heated air had to be released the same way. He struggled greatly to regulate his temperature as he adjusted, often passing out for the first few stellar cycles.

But his fellows were patient, and Alpha Trion was willing to stop so that Orion could train in the art of silent steps. It took him time, and he was never as quiet as his fellows. However eventually he managed to achieve a degree of silence in his steps that at least ensured he wouldn't die the moment he put his pede down too hard. Regulating his temperature manually became second nature and before long Orion was ready to receive his first and only augment, the one every grounder got as soon as they learned the art of silence normally.

Never before had he actually been to a settlement for more than a swift pass through to collect energon. But to receive his augments, he was taken to the only doctor Alpha Trion trusted with his Archivists.

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"How old is he?" The doctor, known as Ratchet in the spoken tongue, asked as he readied his tools. 

"Nineteen vorns. He has completed his preliminary training and is ready to begin his advanced survival training as soon as his augments are in place." Alpha Trion replied from where he held Orion's servo. The Patriarch liked to be with each of his Archivists when they got their augments, and that Orion was thankful for. His fellows were not subtle in making it clear that receiving his augments was going to hurt like a glitch.

"Never one to waste time are you?" Ratchet remarked with a hint of sass in his tone. Alpha Trion said nothing as Ratchet sighed and collected a series of saws.

"I haven't been able to make more anesthetic. I cleared out my old clinic vorns ago and I don't have the tools to produce new compounds without attracting the Angels. This will hurt." Ratchet was blunt as he held up the saw. Orion's optics widened and he bit his derma as he looked up at Alpha Trion in fear. He was no stranger to pain since removing his armor. Protoform took time to harden and be capable of taking a hit without causing severe damage. Even still, a saw to his legs…

"All will be well Orion Pax. These augments are the first of many trials you will endure, but these changes will serve you well." Alpha Trion's field brushed over Orion, calming his spark's nervous spin. He vented deeply through his intake, just as he had been trained in order to calm himself without sound. Then after a moment of readying himself mentally, he nodded. There was no need for words.

"I will try to keep this as quick as I can." Ratchet alerted before his saw descended on Orion's right leg.

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Ratchet kept his promise that cycle. Having performed the surgery countless times before, the process only took a joor. Despite that, Orion was left bedridden for several cycles afterward as his new legs healed and his various minor augments settled. 

When he could stand again, Orion had to relearn how to walk all over again. Having legs like that of a cyber-feline was not exactly comfortable after spending all of his sparklinghood with the leg structure of the average bipedal. A reinforced jaw was also new, along with claw attachments on his digits and heightened senses. However, when he rejoined his fellows, he found that the augments were indeed a huge boon. 

He was able to easily stalk as his comrades did now that his legs were restructured to grant him greater stride and a larger distribution of his frame weight across the ground. Running on all fours was now also possible due to the claw attachment, giving him the ability to climb and run like a mech-animal without damage. Keeping up with his fellow Archivists was no longer a chore and rather a joy. Silence was his specialty and he greatly enjoyed the freedom his newfound speed offered him. There would still not be any escape from the Angels if they caught him, but at least like this he could travel faster than before.

His reinforced jaw allowed him to finally learn how to find and extract energon as well. Little-Bird and Gold-Sky had more than a bit of fun watching him try to scratch away at energon deposits, collecting as many scrapes as he could without alerting any Angels. They had far less fun when he broke off a whole energon chunk by accident and Alpha Trion had to use his Covenant to ward off the Angels. 

Still, he learned. His heightened senses finally let him notice the things his comrades did. His legs gave him speed and silence he never had before, and his jaw at last let him eat without someone else needing to hunt for energon for him and crush the crystal into something consumable. He was no longer a sparkling.

Fully recognized as one of the number of Archivists, Orion Pax spent a few more vorns traveling with Alpha Trion and receiving data uploads until he had all of the old archives within him. But all things had to come to an end, and eventually there came a cycle when Alpha Trion looked over the Archivists he had led so dutifully for vorns on end and bid them all farewell. It came out of the blue for Orion, but the elder Archivists seemed to expect it when Alpha Trion sat with them one final time and gave each of them a data upload from his own processors to ensure they lost nothing and were able to preserve what they gained. 

"Why is he leaving us?" Orion whispered his question to Little-Bird, the one who had become a mentor to him over the vorns. Little-Bird merely patted him on the helm fondly and watched Alpha Trion complete another data upload with an Archivist.

"It is the way. When we are grown and ready to set out on our own, Alpha Trion will give us our final data upload and we are to scatter and search on our own." Orion's finials perked at the information. This couldn't be right. Was it not more effective to travel as a clan? They were family, and together they had strength. 

"I do not understand." Orion murmured as Alpha Trion came nearer.

"You will. We all do eventually." Little-Bird assured before standing and wandering off to another group of Archivists preparing to leave. Evidently, they had decided to stay together once Alpha Trion dispersed them.

"Orion Pax, last forged Descendant of the Thirteenth born of the Well of Allsparks." Alpha Trion listed his full title as the Patriarch knelt down to Orion's level. The Covenant sat on Alpha Trion's hip comfortably as he took Orion's servos and rubbed circles onto the front with his thumbs. Such a small gesture, and yet Orion wanted to cry all the same. This was farewell. He had never truly been alone his whole life. 

"Do not fear that which lies beyond. Ahead of you is a future filled with joy. You need only seek it out and endure the trials that come with it." Alpha Trion's datacables slid from their sockets and into Orion's with ease. Orion relished in the feeling as Alpha Trion scoured his processors, making minor alterations to ensure nothing Orion learned was lost.

"Travel to the old City of Iacon. Search for the Matrix of Leadership. There you will find what you need." As Alpha Trion pulled away, Orion almost wept at the loss of connection. However, he stayed strong as the Patriarch moved onto the next Archivist in line. He had a mission now.

Iacon was on the other side of the world and was by far one of the largest cities on the planet. It would be a nightmare to comb through, but he would search. His records had a great deal to say about the Matrix of Leadership. Such information would surely be needed if and when he located the relic.

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'Orion Pax. What are you doing here?' Ratchet signed as Orion walked into his clinic. The Medic was always on the move, it was quite a pain to track him down. But Orion was not going to be wandering into any cities without someone to repair him on call. His fellow Archivists had fallen too many times not to death by the Angels, but instead due to injuries long left untreated as a result of having no friends or clan.

Archivists were known for traveling alone. Orion had no such interest in doing the same. Success would come to him with the aid of others, this he knew from his time with the Archivists.

'I come with an offer.' Orion signed back as he put down a series of tools he managed to bribe off a fellow Archivist before they went their separate ways. Ratchet's optics blew wide as he saw the tools, all in pristine condition. Orion was not sure where they were found, but any medic would kill to have such tools, that much he knew. Without the means to make more equipment, at least without Vos getting involved, all tools were valuable and knowledge sacred.

'What do you want?' Ratchet questioned, his servos hesitating and his field extending in suspicion. Orion did not begrudge him that as he smiled and bowed slightly in respect. Politeness was always the correct course of action with those who were to hopefully become a clan.

'I wish to travel and explore the cities, but I cannot do so alone. Too many of my fellows have died due to lack of practical knowledge and medical care.' Ratchet remained on guard but gradually seemed to come to some sort of calm as he took the tools and examined them. He took his time and Orion did not rush him as the medic looked over the offering. These sorts of agreements were sacred and took time.

'You wish for me to join you in your wanderings.' Orion nodded once and Ratchet returned the gesture, both understanding the other.

'We will stop at every settlement along the way so that I may tend to those in need of repairs.' Ratchet put forward his demands and Orion almost allowed his shock to show as he nodded. Such reasonable terms were all but unheard of, especially among those as highly regarded as medics. Still, he would not question such a gift.

'That is more than agreeable.' Orion smiled and Ratchet took a moment to think before he did the same. They reached out and shook servos, agreement filtering through their fields. They would not be clan for some time. Those bonds were slow to form, but as it was, they had the beginnings of a family. All clans started with deals, as was the nature of the surface.

'Then I will gather my things and we can prepare to set off. I would recommend a guide however. A mech who knows the area and has connections would be valuable.' Ratchet suggested as he began to collect his small assortment of items. Medics tended to travel light.

'I believe I have a mech in mind.' Orion assured as his processors kicked into action, providing him information about local guides. He and his former clan hired the services of one particular mech enough times to prove he was trustworthy. If he could be found, he would be instrumental in the success of Orion's mission.

'And who would that be, young Archivist? Your kind do not tend to associate with settlements enough for me to believe you truly know what you are talking about.' Ratchet raised an optical ridge and Orion merely smiled again. 

'I am unlike my kin. I wish to form a clan to travel alongside. With that in mind, I was thinking of the guide known as Jazz. He has aided my former clan on occasion.' The medic paused, thinking as he put the last of his things into his pack. He seemed skeptical before he appeared to recognize the designation and signed back his response, only seeming a little exasperated.

'That one will be nothing but trouble... but his skill is undeniable.' Orion grinned and Ratchet shook his helm. He had a feeling things were going to end up alright in the end. He just had to get to Iacon and find the Matrix. Then he could figure out everything else.

In the worst case scenario, he would at least get a good relic out of the mission and hopefully some clanmecha as well.

[takkton]

Do y’all like ever think about how, Lawrence, you know, this guy on the left,

Promises to come back for Adam after leaving to get help? I feel a lot of people come to the conclusion he forgot or lied or even a secret third thing were he came back and saved Adam and left a fake Adam there dead, but we gotta unpack the main kinda titular and climactic piece of the movie here.

He cut off his foot with, well, a saw and just used a shirt to try to work as a tourniquet. He did get to cauterize the amputation site on a rusty pipe to stop the bleeding, but he lost a lot of blood before that, and he wasn’t exactly in a sterile environment. There’s a reason everyone assumed he died almost immediately off screen, and he was almost certainly in the hospital for weeks, if not months, and probably took several days to even regain consciousness after all that adrenaline wore off.

I don’t think it’s that he forgot, I think he came to in the hospital, thinking he’d been out for a few hours at most. I think being told how long he was out almost killed him. Immediate, gut-wrenching horror and guilt. He promised he would come back for Adam and help him. He promised. He saw how terrified Adam was to be left alone there. I think even though he got ahold of himself enough to become functional after group therapy, Adam still haunts him for the rest of his life.

When he trapped Hoffman, leaving him in an unwinnable game, it’s hard to say if that was closure or re-traumatizing to him or perhaps both, but it closed a chapter of his life I think. Not to reference a completely different horror legend, but I do have to wonder if you still hear the photographer screaming, Larry?

[rieroleplays]

Looking for four characters for:

Annabelle Dolce

30 years old | D1 Female Stylist Learn About Anna | Read the Full Wanted

Anna is looking for four characters in her life. The life of a romantic is never boring, especially when you're in the middle of a triangle. Anna finds herself torn between two men who are constants in her life: the District One Escort, Kamran Corti, and her stylist partner, the District One Male Stylist. Who will she choose? The more closed off and serious about business Corti, or her sociable, occasionally playful partner?

Romance isn't all there is to life! Anna is looking for her two Capitol best friends. Will the little sister of her stylist partner help or hinder the romance that might be blossoming between the two stylists? A young woman looking up to her mentor caught in a dilemma. You choose her destiny! Anna's long time BFF is always full of advice -- helpful or not. What kind of advice will she give Anna once she's caught between two men?

Read on for more specifics about each character and send me an ask or join our site's Discord server to discuss ideas further!

Kamran Corti

31-32 years old | District One Escort | Suggested Face: Park Bogum

DETAILS: As this is a joint wanted request for Anna and Solomon (both played by me, I’m not going to get too detailed here as I think you can get a good feel of him from Sol’s wanted. Basically this guy is very well put together. He’s been trained in proper etiquette and how to socialize and, unfortunately, kiss ass when it’s needed. Despite that, when he’s around people he’s comfortable with (like the D1 victors and team) I could see him loosening his tie a little and being an enjoyable person to be around by cracking jokes and gentle teasing. That said, I can definitely see Anna developing feelings for him at some point, though I’m not sure how she would act on them yet. It would really depend on how things go with the stylist as well, though I feel like I lean more towards her going for this fella. Anna would like that he’s put together and knows how to present himself but that he also seems to know who he is despite the persona he has to put on at times. Likewise, I could see Kamran eventually opening up to her and telling her about his home life and how much pressure he's under, etc. So I’d really like to see where things go. And again, please read Sol’s wanted as it provides more details on history and background for this fella as I would really like him to fill both roles.

ALSO NOTE: If this role is filled as requested, the character comes with this plot and the brother plotline but also has loads of potential with the other D4 victors as well as the D1 victors. Please poke me for more information on this.

Open Name

29-30 years old | District One Male Stylist | Suggested Face: Park Hyungsik

DETAILS: So this fella took over the stylist position a few years after Anna. His predecessor was something of a hard ass and pretty controlling. He didn’t really work with Anna or use any of the ideas she came up with, so it was a rough few years for her. I think this guy would be more willing to work as a team at the very least with some give and take which is fine with Anna. I could see him being sociable and easy to get along with. He probably suggests they go for drinks after work regularly and Anna would agree to. At some point, she’s going to start developing feelings for him but I’m not sure yet how she’ll act on them since he may have some competition from the escort. What I think Anna would love about this guy is that he’s genuine. He’s easy to talk to and work with unlike the last guy. He knows how to cheer her up and make her smile. I think she would find him easy to trust too, especially if his sister is working under her (I’ll get there next). So I’d really like to see this fella and see what could come of things.

Open Name

25-27 years old | District One Female Stylist Team | Suggested Face: Xiyeon (Park Junghyun)

DETAILS: This young lady is sister to the above mentioned D1 male stylist. I envision her loving fashion but maybe not doing so well at it. So she decided to pursue a job as a prep team member after training in whichever position she fills. I can see her being energetic and fun loving. I think she would tease people a lot out of playfulness but knows how serious her job is too, so she would know when to tone it down. I think she would have a lot of friends and enjoy socializing. It would be cute if she looked up to Anna in some way, but even if she doesn’t, I think the two could get really close. I could see Anna asking her questions about her brother and getting teased for it but in the end she would answer them and offer suggestions and advice. I just think it would be a really cute friendship and could be fun to play out. She’d be like the little sister Anna never had but always wanted – and if things go south between the two stylists, that’s some fun possible angst to explore.

Open Name

28-31 years old | Fashion Industry Job | Suggested Face: Jasmine Tookes

DETAILS: So this lady is pretty open. I had it in my head that she could be in the fashion industry. She could be another stylist or part of a stylist team. I had originally thought she could be part of Anna's but I'm leaning towards it would be good for them to spend time apart. She could be media personnel or whatever. She's pretty open, okay. I do think it would be fun if she and Anna used to be roommates when they were younger. Anna currently has an empty extra room for guests, but I think she and BFF probably lived together for a while. The reason BFF moved out is up to you as long as it wasn't on bad terms since that would kind of defeat the purpose of being a BFF. But in any case, Anna is going to be needing her BFF to help figure her life out and be her wingwoman. So yeah. I'm also a sucker for good gal pals. Please take her and let me love her and them and yeah. I'm always happy to discuss ideas and would love to know what your thoughts are on her.

[redhotarsenic]

I need! My brother! To shut up! Kid I love you but PLEASE

[darthteeth]

URGENT!!!Help Abdul Salam Al-Anqar and his family get through this war in Gaza!!!

(URGENT) THEY ARE AT €3,445 OUT OF €50,000 GOAL

I was asked by @nader5555 to make this, if u cannot donate please please share this post. Copy pasted from a message i was sent:

"Only a Few Hours Left Before We Enter Our First Year of War, Genocide, Starvation, and Displacement A Final Plea from the Heart of Hell: Save Us Before Hope Dies 💔🔥 I am Abdel Salam, and I have nothing left but words written by a trembling hand ✍️. The war has not only destroyed our lives; it has taken everything from us. Our home, which was once our refuge, is now a pile of rubble 🏚️.

My car, my only source of livelihood, was destroyed in a sudden strike 🚗, and the work that sustained us is now a distant memory 💼. Today, I live in an endless nightmare. Under a sun that burns everything in its path 🌞🔥, my family and I sit in a worn-out tent, a tent that shields us neither from the summer heat nor the winter cold ❄️. Insects 🦟 invade the place, diseases consume our bodies 🩺, and my younger siblings cry from hunger and thirst 🍞💧. We have no clean water or a crumb of bread to ease our hunger. Each passing day deepens the weight of this hell we live in.

My Daughter Eman is Dying from Malnutrition 😨 My daughter Eman suffers from malnutrition; I have nothing to feed or treat her with. The deterioration of her health is killing me slowly. Every glance in her eyes, every pain she endures, crushes my heart 💔. How can I explain to her that what was once our hope has now turned into nothing but a mirage? The Night Only Adds to Our Pain 🌙 The night does not bring us rest; it only adds to our pain. We sleep on hard ground, feeling the cold in every bone of our bodies 🥶, with nothing but pieces of cardboard 📦 to cover us. My wife Aya cries in silence 🥺 as she watches our daughter’s future fade before her eyes. My mother Eman suffers from illness and needs urgent medical care 🩺💊.

My Father Ahmed is Sick with Cancer and Needs Emergency Treatment My father Ahmed, who is sick with cancer, needs emergency treatment outside Gaza, and the cost of his treatment is at least $10,000, not including accommodation. As he suffers from severe pain, I cannot provide the treatment he needs due to our dire situation.

My Siblings Are in Constant Suffering ⚰️ My brother Omar was unable to continue his studies due to the situation. My brother Nader could not take his high school exams, and my younger brother Mohammad suffers from brittle bones and needs treatment we cannot afford. Every day we live brings us one step closer to the end. Death surrounds us from every side: if not from hunger 🍽️, then from illness 🦠. And if not from illness, then from the despair that devours our souls. Where is Humanity? Where is the World? 🌍💔 We want to leave the devastated Gaza Strip to escape the machinery of destruction and killing and the severity of hunger and poverty. The cost of travel for each person is $5,000, and we are a family of seven members, bringing the total cost to $35,000.

Where are the compassionate hearts? Are you waiting for us to disappear into the depths of this suffering? Are you waiting until death takes us before you act? We are drowning, and we don’t have enough strength to scream for help 🆘. Will you let this cry go unanswered? 😭 Your donation today is our last thread of hope. With the little support I received, I was able to buy a simple phone 📱 to reach out to you. But the bitter truth is that what I and my family need is much greater. We are not asking for much; just enough to save our lives from this hell 🔥. Every donation, no matter how small, could be the difference between life and death for us 👐. Don’t Let Us Disappear in the Darkness of Suffering 🌑 Don’t let our story end here. Be the light that guides us to salvation 🕯️✨.

With every tear, with every pain, I write this final plea to you, Abdel Salam."

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[anokha-swad]

[alohapromisesforever]

Eternal Flame

Eternal Flameby Michael DoyleFeeling unworthy of God's touchI felt I was asking too muchUntil I heard and then I readOf the holy things that were saidGod of all things came to saveLifting me from my fated graveSlowly changing the path that I was onHis loving kindness worked until sin was goneAs the path that was walkingAnd I became then the man who was talkingWorn down until conformed by His…

[babsbabbles]

I think the root of this so-called childish belief is not an issue with a person clinging to something because they don't want to grow up. I think it's more often a fundimental failure of the teaching of the Word of God.

Christians of all walks have a tendency to give a sanitised and weak version of the Word of God. If parents and elders and pastors and preachers and priests fail to tell the young and new believers that Jesus Himself told us we would suffer and be persecuted, then they are doing those young and new believers a disservice by preaching a one-dimensional, politically-correct, identity thief of an idol that they falsely claim is the God of the Bible; the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; the Lord Jesus Christ, our Messiah.

The young and new believers are capable of understanding that a slave is not better than his master. That the love of God is that nothing we have suffered will be meaningless because He works all things together for good. They can understand that we suffer, but He keeps every tear that we cry in bottles. He will wipe them away when He returns. We are blessed as we suffer and are persecuted because our citizenship is in the kingdom of heaven and our reward there is great - and that reward is salvation from sin and eternal life in Christ our Lord - but we are not there yet. We die daily to ourselves until then. We suffer much for His name until then.

We are obligated -nay, mandated- to tell them about Christ in this way. These young and new believers need something which will sustain them and help them grow. Not something soft and weak that will fill their itching ears. They are hungry. Don't give them milk, feed them meat.

“Some people cling to ways of understanding their faith learned in childhood that might not work for an adult. For example, you might cling to a childhood notion of a God who will never let anything bad happen. When tragedy strikes, since your youthful image of God is not reflected in reality, you may abandon the God of your youth. Or you may abandon God completely. An adult life requires an adult faith. Think of it this way: you wouldn’t consider yourself equipped to face life with a third-grader’s understanding of math. Yet people often expect the religious instruction they had in grammar school to sustain them in the adult world.”

— James Martin, SJ, “The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything” (via librarienne)

[cherienymphe]

Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, mentions of prostitution, mentions of infidelity

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

summary: turning your life around is easier said than done when you tempt the very man meant to lead you to salvation.

♱

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned…”

The familiar words tumbled from your lips, and your gaze remained on your lap, eyes following your finger as you traced patterns into the solid black skirt on your frame. It kissed your ankle as you shifted your feet, and the reminder of the long fabric had you swallowing down less than gentle thoughts. You slowly reached up to touch the collar of your shirt, eyes briefly falling closed as you cleared your throat.

You’d spent hours agonizing over how you’d leave the house…

“It has been seven days since my last confession. These are my sins.”

Like clockwork, you listed the time you cursed for some accident or another and the time you took the Lord’s name in vain and the brief impure thought about that attractive man you’d seen in the grocery store. Every week, it was the same. Sins that you yourself would never have considered as such months ago that you were now hyper aware of. They climbed out of your throat seamlessly, remembering every single one until only one was left.

The silence between you and the man just on the other side of that wall stretched—a familiar occurrence—and you took your lip between your teeth. You could taste blood as you worried it, swallowing it down before clearing your throat again. You smoothed your hand over your skirt, and you furiously blinked, struggling to blink away the tears that had started to collect. As you sat in silence, you wondered why you were trying so hard to impress people that had already written you off?

“I’ve had…some hateful thoughts as well.”

You struggled to get the words out, always struck by just how emotional this made you. You looked up towards the ceiling, eyes roaming, and you hadn’t even realized that your breathing had started to pick up until he spoke.

Father Mayhew.

“Take your time,” he gently encouraged. “Speak when you are ready.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words, recalling your first ever confessional and how you’d cried. It was as embarrassing now as it was then, but it was necessary. You were determined to live differently now—to be different, now.

“Although I have abandoned my former life and…occupation…” you thought you heard him shift. “...I feel as if I will never truly be forgiven for it.”

You swiped your tongue between your lips.

“...will never be accepted.”

You recalled the eyes that often found their way to you during mass—the judgment, the disdain, the way in which some stared at you as if they didn’t know how to place you. 

Every sunday it was the same. You’d wake up and agonize over how to present yourself in a place as holy as this. You’d fret that this skirt was too short and that dress was too tight. You’d fiddle with your hair for far too long and every lipstick you wiped off would stain your lips a little more than the last. You were constantly at a crossroad, torn between wanting to look nice for church and concerned about looking like…well…a whore.

You struggled to swallow.

“I see the way they look at me,” you eventually whispered, staring at nothing. “I can’t hear what they whisper, but I know it’s about me.”

You touched your throat, hating how tight it felt.

“It’s…discouraging.”

You didn’t want to use that word, but it was the only word that was appropriate. It made you sad, and you often wondered why you kept returning to a place that made you sad. Surely a church wasn’t necessary to ‘find God’...right? You didn’t think so, but you had wanted to start somewhere, and considering that none of your friends even owned a bible, they had been of no help. Stepping foot into a place that had only ever served to be ominous and oppressive in your eyes was the most terrifying thing you’d ever done.

…but then you had laid eyes on Father Mayhew.

He’d been the only one in the church at the time, and you would never forget the curious glint in his dark gaze. You’d had no doubt that he could see you were scared and unsure and in an environment you were wholly unused to. You’d appreciated the gentle way in which he talked to you, guiding you towards a pew in the front as you asked him questions that some people had answers to their entire lives. He hadn’t treated you like you were stupid, but more importantly, he hadn’t treated you like you didn’t belong.

You were willing to bet that he hadn’t even known about you then.

Although, months later, you were willing to bet that he did now…even though you’d never told him.

“Humans are flawed,” his smooth voice reached your ears through the wall. “We all fall short—even the most devout of us—and we find ourselves falling prey to the temptation of judgment…pride…lust…”

You intently listened. After all, he’d never said these words to you before, always giving you some speech about God’s love trumping all.

“I have no doubt that it is trying, but I am sure you will come to give them grace for their sins just as they will give you grace for yours. We are all God’s children striving to lead a life in his image…”

His voice lowered at that, and you frowned slightly, looking towards the wall and thinking to yourself that he almost seemed to be talking to himself now.

“He wants his children to love one another, a feat that is not without difficulty I’m sure you know…” that actually made you hold back a chuckle. “...but God’s love is powerful and he always grants forgiveness to those who genuinely yearn and ask for it.”

At that, you did smile.

You told him that you were truly sorry for your sins, and he told you to say ten Hail Mary’s, and you stepped out of the confessional feeling better than you did thirty minutes ago. You didn’t know how long the feeling would last though, and so you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could, but you knew from experience that was easier said than done.

You touched the crucifix around your neck as you stepped out of your building.

It had once belonged to your mother, and despite how long she’d been gone and how down on your luck you’d been ever since, you could never quite find it in you to pawn it. It was real gold—probably the only real piece of jewelry you ever owned—but you just couldn’t do it, and you supposed that you were never meant to. Despite the many years you’d lived life as the complete opposite of a God fearing woman…it felt right sitting just below your collarbone.

Even if many would not agree.

You were no stranger to several men in this town—and the ones who often passed through on their truck routes—but that had not stopped you from seeking solace and guidance from a place you’d never stepped foot into in your life. You couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel…strange to be in the same building as some of the men you’d serviced before, their wives and children at their side as they furiously avoided making eye contact with you. It felt even worse to watch the way the women would congregate together after church, excluding you all the while talking about you.

It felt somewhat pathetic for your only ally in the place to be the priest.

Although you sometimes wondered how true that was these days. You’d never once confessed that you used to be a prostitute—although the kids called it sex work these days—but you weren’t stupid. As godly and devout as they claimed to be, you knew that the church was filled with gossip and there was no telling who’d let it slip to the dark haired man. You knew when he knew though…

…because he looked at you different.

It wasn’t a bad different—thank God for that—but just…different, and while it wasn’t necessarily bad, you still didn’t think you liked it. Confession—being anonymous—never allowed for you to tell him your name, and considering you’d only ever spoken to him once outside of confession months ago, you didn’t know if he ever knew it was you he was talking to. You didn’t know if he knew that the woman he spoke so gently with each week and listened to cry on the other side of some window was the same woman who often shrunk under his heavy gaze as he looked down on his congregation.

You never felt like he was judging you, no, but you also never felt like he was looking at you as he did that first day, a gentle curiosity in his eyes. He wasn’t your friend—far from it in fact—but he felt like the closest thing you had to one in this church, and so you often forced yourself to find excuses for it. He watches you because he wants to make sure you’re settling in okay. He watches you to observe how other members of the church are treating you. He watches you because he’s wondering if you’ll ever come to confession, convincing yourself that he’s never recognized your voice all this time.

That is why he watches you, you told yourself.

No other reason. 

“You always come to pray at least three times a week…”

The familiar voice startled you as you stood, hand lowering as you’d just finished signing the cross. Your hand was still on your chest as you turned to face him, a small smile on your lips as he stood directly in the center of the aisle. You hadn’t even heard him make a single sound, and you wondered how long he’d been standing there.

He slowly returned your smile with one of his own, although it was smaller, and the silent way in which he stared at you reminded you that he’d said something to you. 

“Yes,” you finally said, moving away from the altar. “It helps with…um…really everything.”

He blinked at you, and you noticed that a strand of his hair was threatening to go rogue. He always looked so neat and perfect that it was hard to miss. Father Mayhew was handsome—if anyone had seen enough men to know it was you—but he was handsome in a way that you would categorize as flawless. Divine even. In a way that was untouchable and only meant to be admired in the most innocent of appreciation. 

He slowly nodded at your response, and you didn’t miss the way he studied you—dark eyes drinking you in and taking note of every stylistic choice you’d made today.

“You know, I think I might see your face far more than those who have been coming here for years,” he lightly told you, a slight laugh on his lips.

You laughed with him, only offering him a shrug.

“I’m still new. I’m sure it just seems that way because you aren’t used to seeing me.”

He started to shake his head before you could even finish talking, and you watched him move closer.

“No,” he murmured—so low you almost didn't hear him. “I think you are perhaps my most…devout congregant.”

He touched your crucifix as he said this, dark eyes tracing the shape of it, and he was so close that you could smell his cologne. You blinked at the scent, finding it strange to know that he wore cologne. It shouldn’t be strange, you supposed, but you realized then that you didn’t quite view priests—view him—as human. As normal…

His eyes lifted then to finally connect with yours, and a crooked smile danced along his pink lips.

“It’s admirable,” he whispered. “More of my congregation could stand to follow your lead.”

You couldn’t ignore the way your chest bloomed at those words, almost hating how much validation you wanted from this place. Validation that you were a good person…you weren’t who you used to be…that you were worthy of something more, you didn’t know. It just felt relieving to hear such a compliment from Father Mayhew when no one else in the church would even give you a chance.

“Thank you, Father,” you quietly replied to him. “That means a lot to me.”

You watched him slowly inhale as he dropped his hand, and he seemed even slower to step out of your way. When you walked past him, you could feel his gaze on you—always watching—and you smiled when he called out to you, telling you that he looked forward to seeing you on Sunday.

No one was more sad than you when you had to disappoint him.

An unexpected cold had you bedridden for days, and while you knew that an illness was a perfectly valid excuse to miss church, you couldn’t swallow down the disappointment. You hadn’t missed a single Sunday since you first started going, and you thought to yourself that the first thing you’d do when you returned was explain your absence to Father Mayhew.

You had never anticipated him showing up at your door to get it himself.

No one ever knocked on your door these days, so the sound had taken you by surprise. Your friends—while supportive of the direction your life had taken—didn’t quite understand it and so you didn’t see them as often, and as for anyone else… Well, there wasn’t anyone else who would come knocking on your door. You didn’t do that anymore so no customers were going to be greeting you on the other side with their money in their hand and an eager grin on their lips, and you doubted any of the women in town would want to sit down for a chat anytime soon.

Your shock at Father Mayhew’s presence was all over your face.

“Father,” you stated, the lilt in your voice hinting at your surprise.

He looked just as you were used to seeing him—clerical collar still on, not a hair out of place, and a hint of a smile on those pink lips. You stood there gaping at him for all of five seconds before it struck you how rude you were probably being.

“I…I’m so sorry. Um…come in,” you told him, stepping out of the way and widening the gap in the doorway.

He didn’t respond nor move right away, looking past you into your small house with a look in his gaze that you couldn’t name. If he were anyone else, you might worry that he was judging where you lived. You watched his jaw briefly tighten, a noticeable strain in his face, and it only just occurred to you that maybe this wasn’t appropriate? Although you were positive you’d heard of priests and pastors visiting the sick before, and while you certainly weren’t on your deathbed, you didn’t see why this would be different.

Before you could say another word though, his foot crossed the threshold, and you closed the door behind him.

“I do apologize for the unexpected visit,” he said to you, gazing around before his eyes landed on you again. “...but when I noticed that mass was absent of a face I’d grown to look forward to, I became concerned.”

You couldn’t stop your smile at his words

“Oh,” you softly said. “Well, there’s no need to be concerned. It’s just a small cold that will be gone in a day or two.”

You watched him exhale at that, nodding to himself, and you studied him, surprised to see that he looked genuinely relieved at that.

“I’m glad to hear that’s all it is…”

At that, your brows furrowed, and you watched him slowly walk about your living room.

“I had feared that some of your fellow church goers had scared you off.”

Your lips parted at his words, and he turned and looked at you.

“They often fall into the temptation of judgment, after all…”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you didn’t know how to react with the knowledge that he knew it was you who came to see him once a week. You’d only spoken to him face to face twice, and you swallowed, looking away.

“I thought it would be a shame if they scared you off,” he confessed, and you noted that he was closer now. “I wondered what I would have to do to convince you to come back. Drag you, perhaps.”

You gave a soft laugh at that, although he didn’t join you, and it awkwardly faded. He stared at you in silence for what felt like a long time, and just when you were considering asking him if he wanted anything to drink, he reached out to touch the crucifix around your neck again.

“So devout,” he quietly said to himself. “It almost makes me ashamed…”

At that, you gave a heavy laugh, wondering how you could ever shame a priest.

“Why?”

“...because I see why they flocked to your door…money in hand.”

His gaze lifted as he said that, and you were still as you both just stared at each other. His words made you blink, and you were suddenly very aware of his hand practically on you. You couldn’t stop the slight frown that fell over your face, and for the first time in months—since you first stepped foot into that church—you felt…wrong.

“I see why their eyes trace every inch of you when you’re not looking…as if to relive the memory of what you felt like—tasted like.”

You finally took a step back, hand coming up to cover your necklace as if protecting it from his touch.

“What memories they must have of you…”

You wrapped your other arm around yourself, mind whirling to reconcile the man before you with the same man who’d always been so welcoming and gentle. Not once did you ever think he judged you for your past, and you supposed that you were right, but not once did you ever think he also might…

You hadn’t done that in over a year, but had it really escaped you so quickly that a seemingly devout man was still…a man?

“Father, I think you should-.”

“I don’t say any of this to offend you,” he interrupted, tilting his head. “I say it because I fight the urge to touch you every time you’re in my presence.”

You moved by him to make your way to the door, but like an ever present shadow you only just noticed, he was close behind.

“You can cover up as much as you’d like—wear skirts down to your ankle and shirts up to your chin…” his hand on the door halted your movements. 

You felt his chest just barely grazing your back, and his lips followed suit, the softness of them brushing against your ear as he spoke. That familiar cologne invaded your senses.

“...but none of it can hide the temptation you pose by merely existing.”

You shrunk away from him at that, tears in your eyes as he verbalized the same fears you had every time you walked into the building. You flinched when his lips touched the back of your neck, heart dropping to your stomach, but you reached for the door handle anyway.

“Father, I’d like you to leave-.”

Your words were cut off by your own sharp scream, taken aback by the feel of his fingers harshly pressing into the skin of your throat. His hand rested on the back of your neck, and you pressed your hand to the door when his lips grazed your cheek.

“They’re all like rabid dogs…just waiting to pounce,” he mused against your skin, sliding between you and the door and forcing you further into your house with every step. “Just waiting for you to give up this charade and go back to taking their money for a quick fuck.”

You blinked, and a few tears escaped.

“...but they don’t know you like I know you.”

He grinned against your cheek, and you winced as he lightly nipped at the skin there.

“They don’t know that you come to church at least thrice a week to light candles and pray…”

You were full on sobbing now, and you could feel the cool metal of his ring against the back of your neck.

“They don’t know that you never miss your weekly confession, telling me every time you so much as say the Lord’s name in vain.”

His free hand was reaching for the buttons of your shirt, popping them open one by one, and you gasped when his fingers finally met skin. He dipped his head, mouth finding the skin of your shoulder and collarbone interesting before his hand searched for your wrist.

“They don’t know that you are the most pious woman to walk through those doors,” he purred, pressing gentle kisses to the inside of your wrist. “...and that I just want to ruin you for it.”

When his hand dipped between your legs, you were quick to try and stop him, still wincing at the tight grip on the back of your neck. Father Mayhew made a noise of disapproval, and your hand faltered when he harshly bit your shoulder.

“We are…and always will be…sinners…”

Once his fingers were inside of you, it was like the point of no return. You found it funny that he likened the men in church to that of rabid dogs when he himself was behaving like the very thing he used to insult them. When your knees buckled, he followed—one arm around you and holding you in place while the fingers on his other hand curved into you.

Every thrust of his fingers made you wetter—embarrassingly so—and when he pulled your head back, he forced a kiss onto your lips. He swallowed down your whimpers and noises of protest, a moan escaping him as he tasted the inside of your mouth. With him so close to you, you could feel the muscles and contours of his frame beneath his clothes, and you were forced to recognize your predicament and his strength and what that meant for you.

When you were face to face with him again, his hair was nowhere near as neat as it was when he first walked through your door. His pink lips were swollen and reddened from kissing you and dragging over your skin. Your pajama top had long been discarded, the bottoms long ripped and pulled off of you. Father Mayhew’s��Charlie—clerical collar was long gone, his shirt pulled open and hanging off of him.

You recalled the way your mouth had parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock finally dipped into you, stretching you with every inch and making your heart momentarily stop. His hand covered a breast, the feel of his ring cooling that singular part of your skin, the rest of you so overheated. His other hand was wrapped around your throat, and you clawed at his hand as he fucked you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in your tiny home, the only sound to rival it being his harsh grunts and your strained voice. Any fight that you’d put up had been quickly squashed down, shown in the harshest manner just how strong your priest was. You hated how good it felt, hated that you didn’t want this but was now forced to enjoy it. Nevermind the fact that you hadn’t enjoyed sex for the act itself in years…

…but of all people to find yourself in this predicament with.

Father Mayhew’s hands never stayed in one place for long. He seemed determined to touch every part of you he could get his hands on, lips tasting the saltiness of your skin. Sweat clung to your frame and his, his fingers sliding over you as he kneaded your thighs and your waist and your chest. Every time you reminded yourself how wrong this was, he’d push his cock into you to the hilt, and you’d involuntarily throw your head back.

You could feel your crucifix pressing into your skin, and your eyes watered.

“I must admit that I was—am—jealous,” he dragged out, voice hoarse and throaty and wholly unlike how you were used to hearing him. “Your devotion to God inspires an envy within me that I never knew existed.”

You took note of the scars on his back underneath your fingers.

“...a desire to have you completely devoted to me,” he bit out, covering your lips with his own. “You so desperately desire forgiveness and acceptance…and all the things you didn’t think you were worthy of having.”

He harshly thrust into you, making you gasp.

“...and I can give that to you,” he whispered into the kiss.

The power behind his thrusts had you scratching at both his back and the floor, eyes squeezing shut at the way his fingers dug into your skin. It was like he was both holding you to him and trying to prevent you from ever walking away. Your chest arched up into his as you gasped, choked whimpers climbing out of your throat with every push of his hips. He growled against your skin as his lips traveled to your neck, the sound almost demonic to your ears.

When you came around him—your first orgasm in over a year—you couldn’t swallow down the noise it forced out of you. You could feel blood beneath your nails and a slickness on the inside of your thighs, but all the while Father Mayhew didn’t stop.

With one hand pressed against the floor, he pushed himself up to look down at you. His free hand slid up your sweaty frame, coming up to wrap around the crucifix that rested against your skin. He tightened his hold around it, and he pulled on it, forcing you to lift your head and meet him halfway for a kiss.

“I want you just as eager to get on your knees for me…”

[wordwelderforhim]

Forsaken

We all fear rejection, but where does that fear come from? Can it not come from the fact that we are all born into rejection? We are all forsaken, because we have by nature forsaken God. Thankfully, there is hope of reconciliation.

If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me: Psalm 66:18 The Word of God is full of hope, encouragement, and support for the Believer. However, there are also grim warnings, and none of these is more terrible than the silence of God. There is nothing to me more awful than the notion that there does come a point where God will leave us alone, by our own will, conscious of it or…

[garymillar]

In the Scriptures, I would read passages like Ephesians 6, which talks about the belt of truth and the helmet of salvation. Meanwhile, my own spiritual attire seemed more akin to the flip-flops of fear, the socks of silence and the underpants of uncertainty.

Andy Bannister

How to talk about Jesus without looking like a idiot

[lets-try-some-writing]

been reading and got a nother random though:

silence is salvation au, but theres just this one really loud MF who is so obnoxious that even the angels dont want nothing to do with them. meanwhile they are activley tring to pick a fight with the monsters and get upset when they just speedwalk away instead of fighting.

Absolute crack. And yet it is crack I can make sense of.

The Angels will kill anything with a pulse that makes noise, meaning that in theory this loud fragger would be dead by the end of the day. HOWEVER if the idiot in question had a relic, then the Angels wouldn't want anything to do with them even if they are a walking breakfast.

I can see it now. This fool picking up some small relic that is just big enough to ward off the Angels, leading this individual to pick fights with the monsters only to have the monsters in question be all "LOL NOPE" about it.

Maybe its Smokescreen. It would be REALLY funny if it was Smokey with his phase shifter.

[entirelysein-e]

『 Popping your cherry 』

☼ synopsis: Nanami was patient until you were ready, giving you a night full of pleasure and taking your virginity in a gentle way

☼ character: Nanami

☼ wc: 4.3k (oops)

☼ cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, no dynamics, soft sex, oral (reader giving and receiving), fingering, squirting, pussy job, creampie, lots of pet names, consent checks, gentle aftercare, slight body worship

☼ notes: I promised @kentophilia to repost one of my fave pieces 🥹

Nanami has been nothing but kind and patient with you ever since you two met, sure he had his moments where he snapped at you due to stress at his work but you never took it to heart, almost feeling bad that you didn't quite know how to help him since he always brushed you off before he would say something he regrets and you gave him the desired space. He would always come back to you after a long and hot shower, muscles relaxed, his mood way better.

It wasn't until you happened to walk past his big bathroom when he took one of these showers when you found out what was really going on. Through the noise of the water hitting the tiled floor you could hear soft groans, followed by a few mumbled words… Was he masturbating?

Your hand gently knocked against the closed door before you could stop it from happening, a few grumbles to be heard from the inside of the room. “It's open!” He called out mere seconds later, his thick shaft still resting heavy in his palm, body hidden away behind the steamed glass of the shower. Swiftly you entered the bathroom and went straight for the shower, your clothes falling in a trail as you approached your lover. “May I join?” You called out slightly hesitant, your cheeks heating up at the thought of seeing him like this for the first time, but silence filled the room until he eventually spoke a small “Yes”, unable to resist you any longer. Nanami wanted to take things slow with you, knowing you're inexperienced so he waited for you to make a move, to give a sign that you want him as much as he wants you - he was craving you, the image of your body clad in the beautiful sundress you wore once stuck in his head and leaving little space for imagination what your body beneath might look like. The thought of you was his sweet salvation and his downfall late at night when he couldn't sleep or during the day when he couldn't focus. Only you.

After taking a deep and shaky breath you opened the milky glass door of the shower, steam clouding your vision for mere seconds before it evaporated enough to see your lover standing in front of you, not daring to look down where you saw his cock standing proudly in the corner of your eyes.

Noticing how you seemed to be frozen to the spot, Nanami tried to cover his manhood with his large hands, his eyes staying respectfully on your face, not once wandering. “Changed your mind?” He asked with a soft voice, not a hint of pressure behind his words, just curiosity, but you quickly shook your head no to let him know that you did not change your mind. With a careful step you joined the blonde man in the shower, hot water cascading down your figure yet his eyes remained trained on your face.

“Warm enough?” He asked caring, his voice soft as silk when he spoke which seemed to calm your breath a little. “It could be a bit warmer… if you don't mind,” you mumble, feeling a little awkward for intruding on him during such a private moment and now you just stand around in front of him, fidgeting nervously with your hands while he reached out to the faucet, brushing past the soft skin of your arm which you had draped over your chest in a rather shy manner. This simple touch alone left your skin to erupt with goosebumps and your eyes wandered over his strong arms, ending at his chest before you looked to the dark tiled wall once more, the rippling muscles beneath his skin embedded in your brain now. “You don't have to be so reserved. I'm your partner after all,” he pointed out lightly, not minding your eyes on him and as much as he wanted to just push you against the wall and take you, he remained patient and caring. He knew this was a rather big step for you to take already and he didn't want to scare you with anything, but you simply nodded, unsure arms wrapping around his torso in a gentle hug.

Nanami held back a chuckle upon this sweet and innocent gesture, holding you close to his body underneath the big rainshower, hot water cascading down both your bodies now. He would lie if he said that your soft skin and your perked nipples pressed against him in such an intimate way didn't affect him but his body betrayed him already - his erection twitching against your stomach and letting you feel just how badly he needed you. He cleared his throat and was ready to mumble out an apology for being inappropriate during such a delicate moment, but you looked up at him with a newfound hunger hidden behind your eyes.

Without hesitation the blonde man leaned down to capture your soft lips in a heated kiss, his tongue no stranger to your mouth as the kiss grew heated like oh so many times before. The butterflies were doing cartwheels in your stomach when his large hands reached down to hold your hips, pulling you impossibly close to his body in an effort to get you even closer until you had to break the kiss for air, his kisses traveling to your neck and it was evident that both of you yearned for more than just a makeout session.

By the time your hand stroked over his rock hard abs it was clear to him and he nodded almost breathless, craving the touch of your soft hand wrapped around his shaft for the first time and when you finally did he couldn't hold back a relieved groan. Nanami’s lips returned to yours once again as he guided your much smaller hand up and down the length of his cock, showing you just the way he liked it, but the way your hand barely managed to wrap around his girth left his head spinning, desperate to maintain focus when his hands crept over to your body once more. Calloused hands resting on your hip and just below your chest, your nodding of wordless consent was all he needed to let his hands travel further, one pulling you closer as the other started kneading your chest. “You're so beautiful, doll” he managed to rasp out as his kisses returned to your neck once more, his low moans and pants filling your senses as your hand worked on his length to help him get off.

Your soft whines didn't go unnoticed by him when he gently rolled your pebbled nipple between his thumb and index finger, his lips now trailing down to take care of your neglected breast, the warmth of his mouth engulfing one nipple while his fingers played with the other and you started to rub your thighs together in desperation. “Let me take care of you,” he mouthed against the soft flesh of your boobs and you could only nod, your hand working faster on him as his teeth tugged on your nipple ever so gently. He should have felt ashamed for being selfish, but your hands working on him got him off faster than his own ever could, thick ropes of cum painting your stomach and hands only to be washed away by the water right away, his head resting in the crook of your neck for a short moment, but before you knew it, his fingers were brushing against your thighs, begging for you to open up for him, which you did.

Skilled fingers caressed your inner thighs until he finally reached your core and just as he touched the part where you needed him most his sweet touch disappeared, a small chuckle vibrating through his chest which caught your attention. “We should take this to the bedroom, I want to take my time with you” he mumbled into your ear, his voice hoarse from how aroused he's gotten by the thought of finally claiming you as his entirely. You didn't need to answer him either, the way you turned off the water within a mere second was answer enough and he shook his head at how eager you seemed to be.

Leaving the warmth of the shower first, Nanami went to get a fresh towel for you, the soft fabric smelling like orchids and cotton, something you've started associating with him - with home. Just as he wrapped it around you, one hand stretched out to help you out of the shower and guided you to the bedroom you've been to a hundred times before. You should know the way by now but perhaps the towel that hung dangerously low on his hips, threatening to fall off, was all you could focus on. You were grateful for when he gently scooped you up into his strong arms, the hint of chest hair tickling your skin before you were placed onto the bed with utmost care.

Warm hands untucked the towel from around your body to reveal your beauty to him, your body entirely exposed but you didn't feel the need to cover up, his gaze letting the heat rush to your cheeks. He made you feel wanted, desired like you're the most beautiful woman on earth - and to him you were. You were perfect in every single way, almost feeling bad that he's about to ruin you like this but he craved to hear you whimper and whine for more, pawing at his sculpted body when he takes you past the edge, begging for him, pleading to fill you up - making you his entirely.

Of course he will take his sweet time until he is sure that you can handle him, the thought of hurting you made his heart clench and… he's been staring for too long, your sweet giggle filling his ears. You broke the shell of the stoic man, you could make him crawl to you if you'd only ask. He was fully devoted to you and your love, craving you, his body screaming for you in every way - it was almost scaring him but he was undoubtedly yours.

Kneeling down just in front of the bed he pulled your body closer, your beautiful legs now resting over his shoulders until your glistening folds were right in front of his face, his blonde hair tickling your thighs when he started pressing open mouthed kisses along your supple flesh. Minutes that felt like hours passed and you needed him, going crazy with how badly you yearned for his pleasure until your hands found their way into his silk like hair, pulling him towards your core with pleading eyes. “Patience, doll” he whispered, his warm breath fanning over your folds and eliciting goosebumps over your body. You've never had someone this close to your heat but it was Nanami - you had no reason to grow shy nor embarrassed over your feelings for him, his rock hard cock letting you know that he was equally eager for this.

His amber eyes held nothing but warmth in them when he pressed a kiss to the mound of your core, looking for any sign of discomfort in yours. “Yellow if it's too much, red if you need me to stop” his words cut the silence in the room, accompanied by the thumping of your heart now picking up, almost sounding like a war drum. You nodded, unable to form words in the anticipation laced with nervousness but it was enough for the man between your legs, trusting you to let him know if you weren't ready to go on and you knew he would never pressure you into anything.

Your eyes fluttered shut when you felt his kisses travel over your mound onto your folds until his thumbs ever so gently parted them, exposing your wetness to him. Unsure what to expect you gasped softly when the first kitten lick of his tongue brushed over your exposed clit, fingers digging into his scalp at the sensation. You could feel him smile at your reaction, his tongue traveling through your folds in a zigzag motion only to circle your bundle of nerves, alternating between gently flicking it with his tongue and sucking on it until you were helplessly bucking against his face, the pleasure washing over you which caught you entirely off guard with its intensity that you couldn't even warn your lover - but he knew.

Nanami's tongue kept playing with your clit until he heard the cry of his name leave your throat, begging him, for what you didn't even know yourself but the orgasm that followed was better than any you've given to yourself.

Allowing you to calm down, his tongue slowed down its assault on your sensitive nub only to travel further down, lapping up your arousal like a man starved. The slurping noises were lewd but you didn't want him to stop, neither when he pushed his tongue into your entrance, nor when his thumb came down to rub small circles at your overly sensitive clit. Nanami was entirely lost in your taste, eyes fluttering shut and breaking eye contact for a moment and it made you swoon, seeing how much he enjoyed this - how pleasing you was pleasing him. Your juices kept coating his tongue, followed by soft groans against your heat only for his tongue to leave your entrance and return to your clit once more.

“God. You're so addictive” he mumbled into you, the hand which rested on your thigh now joining his tongue, his index finger gently circling your entrance to gauge a reaction from you, seeing if you show any signs of it being too much, but you were babbling at this moment, cunt clenching around nothing when his tongue started his assault on your bundle of nerves once more. Nanami was certain that you needed this as much as he did, ever so gently pushing his finger into your untouched hole just to feel how tight you clench around him from the intrusion. Nodding you started grinding against his face and finger, needing him deeper, needing more and he heard you, briefly pulling his finger out of you before replacing it with his middle- and ringfinger. Your cunt sucked them in, almost struggling to accommodate his thick digits - the stretch much more than your fingers ever managed and when he curled them into your sweet spot it was over for you once again. A loud whine erupted from your throat as the squelching noises of your pussy grew in volume “Ke-Kento… too much!” You whimpered helplessly to get him to slow down but the second your sweet voice reached his ears a clear stream of liquid splashed out of you and against his tongue. His fingers slowed down the moment you begged for it but your orgasm already washed over you, legs shaking violently on his shoulders when he lapped up the juices that just squirted out of you.

Your ears were ringing as your lungs desperately tried to get air back into them, not even noticing how your lover was raking his hands over your thighs in a caring manner, absolutely mesmerized by you. He knew very well that your body was pushed past its boundaries so he wanted to stop or at least give you a break but you finally came back to your senses, your gaze still hungry despite looking utterly fucked out by just his tongue and fingers. “Don't stop… please,” you whimpered, begging him for more. Oh you little vixen, knowing exactly how to play his heartstrings - how is he supposed to deny you such a request when he could devour you whole?

A single kiss was pressed to your right thigh before he put it down onto the bed, shaking his head with a breathless chuckle when he caught a glimpse of your frown. “You're going to be the death of me, love” he mumbled amused, your left leg now lined up with his chest and shoulder as he stood between your thighs. The feeling of his cock resting just above your heat made you want to scream, the kiss that was placed upon your ankle provoked the smallest whimper to erupt out of you. “Please Kento,” You encouraged him, being entirely certain about going this step with him and he nodded, thumbs spreading your folds once more to get a view on how wet he got you, a small puddle forming underneath your ass on the bed and he deemed it good enough to drag his length through your cunt, slowly.

Nanami wouldn't last long if he made love to you now, far too riled up from all your moans, your taste and the way you squirted just from two of his fingers working their magic on you. “Ken… i need you” you begged, soft voice sounding strained now, almost desperate but he only picked up his pace slightly, his tip now nudging your clit just the right ways to have you mewling for him once again, hands digging into the bedsheets from how sensitive you were by now and it needed everything inside of him to not push his cock inside of you when he felt close.

You could feel the twitching of his shaft against your wet cunt, heavy balls clenching as he spilled his seed over your heat and lower stomach, his head thrown back while a guttural moan left his throat. You really were going to be the death of him - now he was certain. Seeing your little pussy covered in cum did things to him, eyes darkening when he dragged the head of his cock through your folds once again to collect your mixed juices, only stopping when he arrived at your entrance. One last time his eyes wandered up your body to rest on your half closed eyes, looking so tired but so happy at the same time.

Nanami needed to make sure that you still wanted this since you were almost at a point of no return. Sensing his hesitation you reached your palm out towards him, letting the man that stood tall like a tree between your legs lower himself so you may cup his cheek in the most loving way. “I want you, Kento Nanami. I've never been more sure of something in my life before,” you whispered softly, the room around you falling quiet once more, only your heartbeats to be heard, hammering against your chests and begging to be united.

Your gentle giant couldn't ask for more from you, hearing you say it loud and clear - you wanted him, wanted this. His soft lips captured yours in an enchanting kiss and taking your mind entirely off of the way the bulbous head of his dick slowly pushed past your tight entrance and molding you to be his.

A hiccup caused by your pain interrupted the sensual kiss but Nanami was quick to help you, halting his advances when his length was halfway inside of you, taking your virginity with utmost care. “Shh… you're doing so good for me, doll. Do you want me to stop?” His voice sounded strained, yet caring and it was clear that it took everything in him to not thrust the remaining half into you which was greatly appreciated. His forehead connected with yours after he pressed a kiss to yours, waiting for you to say something, anything. “G-green” your voice cut through the silence and allowed him to go on which he did, one of his hands still holding your leg to his chest while the other intertwined with yours, lips returning to yours in a desperate attempt to ground himself so he won't lose control. Hurting you was the last thing Nanami wanted to do after all.

His balls rested heavy against you when he finally bottomed out, his deep groan echoing off the walls when you raked your fingers over his well defined back, feeling every ripple of his muscles beneath his pale skin. “Taking me so- fuck… so well,” he moaned breathless when his hips started to move with small thrusts, his thumb wiping a stray tear from your cheek and you're not sure if it was from the pain or the fact that he made you feel so incredibly good. Weakly you nodded your head, drinking the praise in like it's the essence that's keeping you alive. “My good girl,” he continued, hips meeting yours with every word and he felt like his heart would beat out of his chest at any moment, seeing your jaw slowly going slack and your moans growing in volume to create this lewd image of his usually so sweet love.

Nanami had to halt, his chest rising and sinking rapidly from the way you manage to steal his breath, your wet cunt gripping him like a vice and trying to milk him from all he's worth and he wanted to just fuck you senseless right then and there, hips pistonning into you like his life depended on it… but he didn't - he couldn't. Not this time at least. Instead his hips moved in slow but deep, rhythmic thrusts which let him feel every ridge inside your heat and only adding to his bottomless hunger for you. You were moaning beneath him, angelic sounds to his ears but when he straightened up so he was no longer bending over you on the bed you suddenly cried out his name in pleasure, soft moans turning desperate for more.

The new angle made you feel even fuller than before, his tip angled perfectly to hit your sweet spot with every gentle thrust until your glossy eyes landed on his almost closed ones, nodding over and over “I know you're close, princess. Just let go,” he encouraged you, his thrusts picking up their pace to push against your sweet spot repeatedly until your toes curled and your back arched so perfectly off the mattress. His thumb rubbed tight circles onto your sensitive clit to drag out this earth shattering orgasm as long as possible - you deserved a first time to remember fondly after all but he just doesn't stop. Your breathless whines turned into cries for him, for more, for him to not stop. You were high on this feeling he gave to you, his hips rutting into you aimlessly at this point and his head was thrown back as his moans mixed with yours. “One more, just- fuck! Just one more,” he groaned with a rough voice, needing to feel you clench around him in bliss again before he allowed himself to follow you.

When your pussy clenched around him as another orgasm rippled through your beautiful body, he finally understood why they call it a little death. His hips thrusted into you a final time, burying himself as deep as he physically could while his dick twitched wildly inside of you and you could feel the way his balls contracted, slowly filling you up with his release.

Nanami's vision went white for a moment, pure bliss taking over and his body feeling like he was floating on cloud nine - this is why they call it a little death. You were going to be his own piece of heaven, your core gripping his cock so tightly he felt like it was hard to breathe but at the same time you were the oxygen his lungs needed.

His barely there thrusts finally came to a stop and he lifted your leg off his chest and shoulder before lifting your body against his chest so you could be as close as possible without having to slip out. The way he fell onto the bed with you was almost clumsy but he didn't want to let go of you, not even for a fraction of a second.

His big hand came up to wipe a strand of hair behind your ear, a tired smile on his lips “Are you okay, doll?” he asks with his voice like silk, needing to know if you're fine and you nodded tired, laying on top of him now with your bodies still connected. Even with his own seed running out of you and onto his body and the bed beneath he made no effort to move, the moment too perfect. Your body was draped over his, your limbs ever so tired as his hands ran up and down your back which was sticky from the sweat but he didn't mind it for one second. This moment dragged on for a while, gentle touches and even gentler kisses shared between lovers until your breath started to even out. In your half awake state you barely noticed how he carefully picked up your tired body to carry you into the room where it all began, only registering it when the sound of the water running and the scent of lavender filled your exhausted senses. “You can just rest, I'll clean you up” he whispered and lowered you into the warm water of the bathtub, following you mere seconds after where he let you rest against his chest again. You let your eyes remain closed when he picked up the softest washcloth, slowly dragging it over your arms, your torso, your legs and lastly over your sore pussy, still leaking his cum. There was nothing sexual in his touch, only tender care as he made sure to clean your body from any filth so you may rest and let him take care of you so you could wake in the bed to the smell of breakfast in the morning…

[rieroleplays]

In the wake of an apocalypse, Panem emerged, ruled by the Capitol in control of thirteen districts. The Dark Days, marked by a rebellious uprising from the districts, led to the brutal Hunger Games – a deadly annual pageant that served as a reminder of war and kept the districts in check. The Capitol’s dominance persisted for 170 years until a new rebellion emerged, creating a secret haven called Soteria. The Capitol quelled the uprising, but many rebels escaped in the turmoil. District Thirteen, having led the latest uprising received the brunt of the punishment as families and friends were torn apart and redistributed throughout the nation. To further crush the spirits of district citizens, the Capitol declared the Hunger Games a bi-annual affair, now occurring in both the spring and the fall. Despite everything, the resistance persists. Tensions remain high across Panem, and while Soteria remains blanketed in obscurity, whispers of the name creep through the shadows among the hopeful and the bitter alike. Will freedom from the tight grip of the Capitol allow the Soterians to find a way to end this conflict once and for all? Will the Capitol and its forces find and eliminate their enemies? Only time will tell as the citizens of Panem seek their place between Silence and Salvation. Silence & Salvation is a Jcink, 3/3/3, age 18+ member-driven community. We will be hosting our grand opening event on Saturday, December 16th. From December 16th - January 31st, all new characters created will receive 200 game monies instead of the standard 50. Join now to settle in and get prepared for our January Bingo event! Plot | Rules | Wanteds | Face Claim

[missmatchablossom]

summary: you've been helping your neighbor, gojo satoru, out by babysitting megumi. when megumi's catches the flu, gojo relies on you for help.

a.n.: megumi is ~4-5 years old, and is extremely attached to you. a little angsty, mostly fluffy, a sprinkle of smut at the end. cursing, female reader.

~

The first time Megumi got sick, Gojo panicked. Not the frantic, frenzied sort of panic, but the quiet, desperate kind that he did his best to hide. But you noticed it - the way his fingers trembled, the way he barely looked you in the eye, the way he repeatedly ran his hands through his hair.

It was usually you who made the elevator trip up to Gojo’s high-rise loft to babysit Megumi a couple of days a week. That’s why it took you aback to see him at your door at 11:53 at night, looking stricken as he told you Megumi refused to eat all day and started throwing up. 

You followed him to his place immediately, your heart squeezing at the sight of Megumi bundled up in his bed, his little face scrunched up in discomfort.

“Hey sweetie, you’re not feeling so good?” you cooed, kneeling as you placed your cheek against his warm forehead. He shook his head, though his flushed cheeks and labored breathing were enough confirmation that he was sick.

“He’s running a fever. Probably a cold, but you should take him to the ER just in case,” you told Gojo, watching as his shoulders tensed. He was slightly older than you, but still young to have a child; you could imagine how anxious he was feeling about Megumi’s first ER visit.

“I can come with you,” you offered, watching his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

“Please,” he said lowly, looking at you like you were his salvation.

You made quick work changing Megumi out of his sweat-soaked clothes and prepared a small bag of his favorite snacks and toys. You caught a glance at Gojo’s awe-stricken face before you scooped Megumi into your arms and followed Gojo to his car. 

The silence in the car ride was heavy, Gojo’s stress was obvious in the way he gripped the steering wheel so hard his fingertips turned white.

“He’ll be okay. I’ll be here until he is,” you said gently.

His eyes flicked to you for a second before he swallowed roughly. He nodded, murmuring his thanks before you lost him to his thoughts.

Megumi was seen within the hour, the perfect patient as he allowed himself to be examined without a fuss (As long as you held his hand the entire time).

“It’s the stomach flu, pretty common for this time of the year. I’ll send you home with some medications, just be sure to keep him hydrated,” the doctor said.

“Let mom and dad take care of you, alright Megumi? You’ll get better in no time,” she said kindly, patting his head as he nodded sleepily. You looked at Gojo, waiting for him to correct her. But he didn’t.

As soon as she left the room, Gojo sank into the chair, exhaling heavily as he placed his head in his hands. It was strange to see a man so proud and confident to look so…tired. So human.

You stood between his legs, gingerly laying your hand on his shoulder.

“See? Megumi will be just fine,” you said, swiping your thumb back and forth over his skin.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt scared like that,” he admitted, reaching up to cover your hand with his.

“It’s how you know you’re a parent,” you said, moving your hand to cup his cheek.

He finally looked up at you, a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and something else painted in those eyes of his. You watched him wordlessly as he leaned into your touch, his long lashes fanning across his cheeks. 

After a beat, his eyes snapped open, looking downwards as a sleepy Megumi tugged at his pant leg.

“Home now please?” he asked groggily, barely able to keep himself upright.

The two of you laughed as Gojo lifted him into his arms, Megumi settling his head on Gojo’s shoulder. 

“Let’s go home,” he said, wrapping his jacket around Megumi. You could’ve sworn he was looking at you as he said it, though.

~

Sick Megumi was unexpecedly clingy. The first few times you babysat him, you were taken aback by how quiet and independent he was. Most kids his age demanded constant attention, but he was happy to be left alone with his two dogs. You did find out that shadowpuppets was a surefire way to get him to laugh, though. 

You tried getting Megumi to rest in his bedroom, but as soon as the preschooler realized you weren’t right next to him, he’d get up to wander Gojo’s loft, tearfully calling your name until he found you. That's why you decided to settle down on the leather recliner in the living room, Megumi asleep on your chest with a blanket draped over the two of you. You were immersed in your Kindle before the sound of the front door unlocking dragged you back to reality.

Gojos strolled in, stopping in his tracks when he noticed the two of you. His sharp eyes eyes softened as he approached.

“Welcome home. You’re back early,” you greeted quietly, your heartbeat quickening as Gojo lowered himself to a crouching position so he could sneak a look at Megumi’s face.

His eyes flickered to yours, full of emotion you couldn’t quite place. He swept a few strands out of Megumi’s eyes, studying him like he needed to confirm that he was breathing.

“I may or may not have snuck away,” Gojo mused, eyes full of warmth and mischief.

“Careful, or this one will begin picking up some bad habits,” you teased, rubbing Megumi’s back as he stirred.

“Nah, he’s too much of a goody-two-shoes. Besides, there are more important things than work,” he said fondly, and the way his eyes flowed between the two of you while he talked, it felt like he was talking about you too.

You averted your eyes as you blushed, thankful that Megumi chose that moment to wake up. 

His little fists rubbed against his half-closed eyes, looking between you and Gojo like he was wondering if he was dreaming. 

He reached his hands out towards Gojo, who readily scooped him into his arms.

“Alright, I’ll get going then. I already gave him his meds and a bath so he should be okay for the rest of the night,” you said, gathering your things as you sat up.

You leaned forward to kiss Megumi goodbye, only to be stopped by the tears welling up in his eyes and the grip his hand had on your own.

“Don’t go,” he said, almost making you cry with how sad and adorable he was. 

“Not fair Megumi. You don’t even cry when I leave,” Gojo teased, rubbing his back as you laughed.

“Gojo is home now my love, I’ll see you tomorrow though! I’ll already be here by the time you wake up,” you promised, wiping the tears from his soft cheeks.

Megumi sniffed as he shook his head, reaching his arms out towards you. You took him back into your arms, giggling at Gojo’s feigned hurt expression.

“I’m hurt, Megumi,” he said, making a show of wiping fake tears from his face.

“Oh no, look how sad he is Megumi! Don’t you want to spend some time with him?” you said, inching closer to Gojo, whose arms were outstretched.

Megumi looked at him for a second before shaking his head, burying his face in your neck. 

You laughed even harder at Gojo’s expression, unable to find Megumi anything except utterly adorable. 

“Fine, I get it. I would’ve chosen her too,” Gojo said, throwing you off with the affection in his smile. 

“I can stay untill he falls asleep,” you mouthed to Gojo, hoping he could read your lips. He smiled at you before leaning into your space, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

“Or you could stay for dinner. As a friend, not a babysitter,” he whispered, sending shivers down your spine. 

“I couldn’t impose,” you replied, a bit more breathlessly than you intended.

“Nonsense. I’ve been dying to cook you dinner while you sit prettily in that chair,” Gojo said, seemingly pleased at the blush revisiting your cheeks. 

How could I say no to that?

~

The sun had set long before you were finally able to get Megumi to bed for the night, the moonlight seeping into Gojo’s living room through the enormous windows.

You allowed yourself to sink down onto his couch, the exhaustion from the day wearing on you. Though Megumi’s fever finally broke, he could barely keep his food down today, forcing you to go back and forth bathing him, changing his bedsheets, and cooking different meals to see what he could stomach.

The click of the door being unlocked made you jump, the familiar sight of Gojo making you forget about how tired you were.

He sauntered towards you, looking so enraptured that he didn’t speak a word. 

You froze as you understood why. The usual modest clothes you had on were long forgotten after repeated trips to the bathtub to wash the vomit and sweat off Megumi. The chaos of the day left you in your underclothes -  a thin tank top and cotton shorts - which Gojo seemed to be studying as though he’d never seen them before.

“Welcome home,” you began shyly, sitting up as you attempted to cover yourself with a pillow.

“Sorry about the outfit. Long day,” you continued sheepishly.

Gojo’s eyes finally snapped up to yours, somehow making you feel more naked than ever.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, something unreadable in his tone. 

He changed out of his work attire - taking off his watch, loosening his tie, and stripping off his jacket. Completely normal things to do when you get home. But he captivated your attention, unable to tear your eyes away from him. 

“I can’t believe I’m jealous of a child,” he said to himself as he sat to join you on the couch, looking sinfully handsome with his hair tousled and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

“What do you mean?” you pressed, feeling your self-control begin to slip as you smelled as his cologne wafting towards you.

“Megumi gets to be with you all day. Gets to hug you, hold you, lay his head on your chest. I’m jealous,” he drawled.

You heard it again. That voice in the back of your head begging you to give in to the pull you constantly felt towards Gojo. 

You dared to inch closer, well aware of his gaze roving up and down your body.

“You can do those things,” you said slowly, never breaking eye contact with him. And just like that, he snapped.

He was on you instantly, pinning you to the back of the couch as his lips moved against yours, desperate and demanding. 

You kissed him back with the same fervor, shamelessly roving your hands over the smooth expanse of his chest, until you reached his hair. His silvery locks were just as silky as you expected, and you couldn’t help yourself as you gave them a light tug.

The deep, guttural sound that came out of him sent a wave of pleasure throughout your body. You felt your breath leave you as Gojo laid you on your back, positioning himself between your legs.

“I’ve wanted you since the day I saw you,” he murmured against your ear. His lips began moving from your jaw down your neck, causing you to gasp and squirm as he smiled against you.

“I kept myself on a tight leash for Megumi’s sake,” he started, trailing kisses across your shoulders.

“But you in that outfit? Fuck, I knew it was over for me,” he said, pulling back to admire how flushed and breathless he made you.

You grabbed the edge of his collar, tugging his lips to yours to return the favor. You wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling him even closer to you, his ragged breathing music to your ears.

“Fucking finally,” you said between kisses.

The sound of a thud coming from Megumi’s room caused you both to freeze. You rushed over to check on him, relieved to see he kicked his water bottle off his bed in his sleep. Sighing, you dragged the blanket back over his sleeping form, walking back to where Gojo sat on the couch.

His pupils were blown out, his lips bruised and swollen. 

“Maybe we should continue another time, I don’t wanna wake him up,” you said, surprised at Gojo’s lack of protest. Instead, he tugged you into his lap, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Free your schedule next week. Megumi’s gonna spend a day with Uncle Nanami, and I’m taking you out on a date. And we’re gonna end the night in my bedroom, where you can be as loud as you want.”