#Jean-Paul Ly

[terrorgirls]

Armand + "Bad Faith"

Sartre explained: From bad faith to authenticity, David Detmer // Interview with the Vampire // Being and Nothingness, Jean-Paul Sartre

[part one]

[ev-arrested]

Men are like “I’m fighting demons” and the demons are bisexuality and the ever-present urge to allow The System put in your mind by the Order of Saint Dumas via brain-washing take over your body to wash the Earth of its sins by the will of God for you are Azrael the Avenging Ang-

[weil-weil-lautre]

The lie places the other's freedom in parentheses. It does not destroy it, it isolates it, withdrawing it from the world by an emptiness, and it is the master who decides whether the object it intends is imaginary or real.

Jean-Paul Sartre, Notebooks for an Ethics, 199

[littlefankingdom]

Hot take, but I'm happy Bruce gave Batman to Jean-Paul during Knightfall instead of Dick.

Why? Well, Bruce is physically and mentally in an awful state. If Dick had seen him like this, no way he would have listen to the "don't approach Bane" order (he never does), and he could have got badly hurt!

And, yeah, Jean-Paul didn't listen either but, as much as I like him, I care less about his ass getting beaten by Bane than Dick, and he also wore a fucking huge armor.

Anyway, Bruce was not made aware by Tim how badly Jean-Paul was doing as Batman or he would have give it to Dick AND ALSO, he immediately said to Tim he didn't want to call Dick because he knows Dick would hate to be Batman. Like, he preferred to give Gotham to someone he barely trust than to make his boy do something he would hate, he is trying!

[seth-suffers]

I found an image to rival this one

[cherrybeetle]

I finished reading Jean-Paul Sartre’s no exit a couple hours ago and i. i need to lay down

[steddieas-shegoes]

When Eddie comes out to him, Steve makes a big mistake. His first reaction was to thank him for trusting him, which is what Robin told him to do in this situation.

But his second reaction was to say “I also like guys.”

Eddie blinked at him, clearly confused and defensive, like maybe Steve was making fun or not taking him seriously.

“Uh. You do?”

“Yeah man! I mean, no one else knows, but yeah.”

Eddie smiled and thanked him for trusting him with it, said they should hang out more, and recommended a queer bar in Indy if he needed a safe place to explore.

And Steve smiled and nodded like he couldn’t agree more.

As soon as Eddie was gone, he rushed to the phone in his kitchen and called Robin.

She called him an idiot, a dingus, a bisexual disaster —whatever that was—, and told him he absolutely wasn’t allowed to go to a queer bar without her.

She did at least agree to keep up the lie until he could find a way out of it without Eddie thinking he lied to hurt him or something.

But he started hanging out a lot more with Eddie and finding that they had more in common than he originally thought.

Eddie took Robin and Steve to the queer club and Steve…felt at home, felt welcomed, felt like he belonged. Robin kept giving him these looks all night, and Eddie kept dragging him to meet people who he cared about, and one of the guys on the dance floor kept pulling him out there to dance with him.

He felt free and alive and-

Queer.

It hit him as the guy, Paul maybe, was pulling him closer by his waist as his hips rocked to the beat of a song he didn’t recognize but felt like something he wanted on a mixtape. It hit him that he liked this because he liked dancing with Paul like this. He liked this because he saw himself visiting more, even without Eddie and Robin. He liked this because he could picture making out with Eddie in the bathroom.

He froze.

“You okay, sweet thing?” Paul asked him.

“I think I’m in love with my friend.”

Paul’s eyes widened momentarily before patting Steve’s hip. “Is he gay, honey?”

“Huh?” Steve was already trying to find Eddie in the crowd. “Oh, yeah. He’s here tonight.”

“Shouldn’t you be dancin’ with him then?”

Steve finally looked back at Paul, who had his hands on his own hips now, teasing smile on his face.

“Yeah. I should,” Steve thanked him, apologized for any misleading, which was immediately brushed off. Paul was here to dance, he didn’t much care for who he was dancing with.

“Send that beauty over here. She looks like she needs some lessons,” Paul pointed to Robin, who was still looking a little nervous despite the friendly bartender handing her sodas every time he passed by her.

“She’s gay, man.”

“So am I! Doesn’t mean we can’t dance!”

Steve laughed. “You’re right.”

He walked over to Robin quickly, avoided getting pulled back into the crowd.

“I’m in love with Eddie.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “I know, dingus. You literally risked your entire reputation to come to a queer bar to try to impress him.”

Steve balked. “That’s not what this was!”

“Uh huh. Well he’s sulking in the bathroom if you wanna go tell him.”

“Sulking? Why?”

“He saw you dancing with that guy. Think he assumed you were interested in him.”

“Not a chance. I prefer long hair and ripped jeans,” Steve winked. He turned to walk towards the hall with the bathrooms when Robin stopped him.

“Don’t do this if you’re not 100% sure,” she said seriously. “Eddie really likes you and it would destroy him if you were lying to make him feel better.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Steve started, but stopped when Robin gave him a look.

“You’ve literally been pretending to be queer for the last two months because he came out to you and you accidentally came out to him. You’re lucky it wasn’t a complete lie.”

“Yeah but I wouldn’t fuck with his feelings like that.” Steve knew what it was like to be led on. He wouldn’t do that to Eddie. “I’ll be careful with him.”

“And be careful with you.”

He saluted her as he walked away.

When he found Eddie sitting on the counter at the sink in the bathroom, he was swinging his legs back and forth and humming something distinctly less pop than what was playing on the dance floor. No one else was in here, but that didn’t mean no one would walk in.

He walked over to Eddie and placed a hand on his knee.

Eddie immediately stopped kicking his feet and looked up.

“What’s with the face?” Steve asked, reaching up to touch the line between his brows that always appeared when he was pouting.

Eddie shrugged. “Just not feeling it tonight I guess.”

“The music isn’t really your thing. Kinda surprised you like this place,” Steve said as his hand drifted down to his wrist. “Seems closer to a small club than a bar.”

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

Eddie’s tone was sharp, laced with jealousy. Even if Steve hadn’t had his realization five minutes earlier, he would’ve seen what that was from a mile away.

“I was until I realized I’d rather be out there with you.”

Eddie snorted. “I don’t really dance.”

“But you’d dance with me if I asked, right?” Steve’s fingers circled his wrist and he tugged Eddie off the counter. “Even if I asked you to do it right here with no music?”

“Steve, what are you doing?”

“Dancing. Or trying to.” Steve rested his hands on Eddie’s hips and started swaying them in sync with his. “It is hard without music.”

“Why don’t you go back out there?” Eddie’s hands went around Steve’s neck.

“Because you’re not out there. I don’t wanna be where you aren’t.”

“Steve-“

“You know I didn’t actually know I liked guys until tonight?” Steve huffed out a laugh. “Well, I really like this one guy. Not sure about others yet.”

Eddie was silent, but didn’t push Steve away.

“He was hiding in this bathroom though. I didn’t really think he’d join me out there, so I brought the dancing to him,” Steve winked.

“You like me? You? Like me?”

Steve nodded.

“And you just realized this?”

“Kinda.”

“In a queer bar?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s pretty gay, dude.”

Steve snorted and smacked Eddie’s chest. “That’s the point.”

Eddie moved in impossibly closer, no room for Jesus between their chests anymore. “So you lied when you came out to me?”

“I panicked! But it doesn’t actually count as a lie if I’ve seen the light.”

“Was it a rainbow light? Or the reflection of the disco ball in the glitter shorts Perry was wearing?” Eddie joked.

“Perry!” Steve smacked his own forehead. “He’s nice. Made me come tell you how I feel.”

“Oh. He did?” Eddie seemed shy for maybe the first time ever.

“Yeah. Said I should come dance with you if I’m in love with you.”

Steve hadn’t felt like this in a while, and hadn’t left his heart on his sleeve like this in even longer. As Eddie’s face went from shy to shocked to flustered, Steve thought about how long he’d been dancing around these feelings.

But no more dancing around them. Now it was time to dance with them.

“Can’t believe you just said you’re in love with me in the bathroom of a queer bar. Don’t even think they clean this place,” Eddie laughed, letting his forehead fall against Steve’s.

“I’ll tell you again outside.” Steve kissed his cheek. “And in the van.” His nose. “Your house, my house.” The corner of his mouth. “Everywhere.”

Eddie licked his lip, skipping over a soft kiss for a hungry one. It was hot, desperate, impatient. Everything Steve hadn’t known he needed.

Then again, he hadn’t even actually known he liked guys until tonight. Maybe he was just late to learn things about himself.

[reality-detective]

💢 Very interesting 🤔

LAW OFFICES OF AISSA WAYNE (John Wayne's Daughter) Obama's S.S. Number

For those of you who don't know but at the very bottom of this writing, the attorney who authored this article is John Wayne's daughter, Aissa Wayne, also a USC graduate.

Well, Well, Well, it looks like someone thoroughly checked into President Obama's Social Security number.

Jean Paul Ludwig or Barack Hussein Obama? S.S.N. #042-68-4425

WOW, read this, it's short - very interesting.

An intensive 6-year investigation has revealed the identity of the man whose Social Security Number (SSN) is being used by President Obama.

Jean Paul Ludwig, who was born in France in 1890, immigrated to the United States in 1924, and was assigned S.S.N. 042-68-4425 (President Obama's current SSN) rec'd on or about March 1977.

Mr. Ludwig lived most of his adult life in Connecticut. Because of that, his SSN begins with the digits 042, which are among only a select few reserved for Connecticut residents.

Barack H. Obama never lived or worked in that state! Therefore, there is no reason on earth for his SSN to start with the digits 042. None whatsoever!

Now comes the best part! J. P. Ludwig spent the final months of his life in Hawaii, where he died.

Conveniently, Obama's grandmother, Madelyn Payne Dunham, worked part-time in the Probate Office in the Honolulu, Hawaii Courthouse, and therefore had access to the SSNs of deceased individuals.

The Social Security Administration was never informed of Ludwig's death, and because he never received Social Security benefits there were no benefits to stop and therefore, no questions were ever raised.

The suspicion, of course, is that Dunham, knowing her grandson was not a U.S. Citizen, either because he was born in Kenya, or became a citizen of Indonesia upon his adoption by Lolo Soetoro, simply scoured the probate records, until she found someone, who died that was not receiving Social Security benefits, and selected Mr. Ludwig’ s Connecticut SSN for her grandson, Barry Obama.

Just wait until the head Birther himself, Donald Trump, gets past the birth certificate and onto the issue of Barry O's use of a stolen SSN. You will see leftist heads exploding, because they will have no way of Defending Obama.

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

Although many Americans do not understand the meaning of the term "natural born", there are few who do not understand that if you are using someone else's SSN it is a clear indication of fraud, and a federal offense.

If the voters of this great nation can succeed in bringing this lying, deceitful, cheating, corrupt, impostor to justice it will be the biggest and best news in decades for our country and the world.

"In God We Trust."

[kisses4kaia]

god college!luke makes my emotions go haywire 😡😩 i’d honestly start dating someone else to spite him

you know what anon. ima need you to claim an emoji bc ur thoughts are TOO GOOD (also thank u sm for 1.5k💋)

so we’ve discussed previously that luke castellan does not get jealous easily.

however.

he never thought you would go this far. sure, you had danced on other guys at parties to get a rise out of him, maybe flirted here and there in front of him, but never this.

getting into a relationship—a serious relationship—with his frat brother? that was a new low. so what if he’d purposefully lead other girls into gross bathrooms at bar outings so you would see? this was uncalled for. how dare you?

so naturally, at your new boyfriend’s birthday party, when you’re sitting on his lap, helping him unwrap your present of a jean-paul gaultier cologne he’d wanted, luke—in classic luke fashion—thought this would be his chance. your sorority sister, drunk off of her wits—bless her heart—came up to you and whispered some slurred imperative about how you needed to get to ‘the square’.

your eyebrows furrowed at her as her eyebrows raised, questioning the significance of ‘the square’ and why the man who prompted her to ask chose there. you said no words, excusing yourself after finding her a water and alka seltzer.

“you really couldn’t help yourself, huh?” are the first words you say to luke, button up shirt open and lying on his back on the false grass. “me? you’re one to talk, sweetheart,” you rolled your eyes at his use of the nickname, crossing your arms as you stand over him.

beneath the twilight, your exposed shoulder skin glistened like the moon, just a sliver of it visible in the northern night sky. luke had obviously had something to drink or smoke, or both, because he slurred his words as he patted the turf next to him. “sit down. c’mon, like the good ol’ days,”

‘the square’ was a small patch of land in the middle area between his frat’s and your sorority’s backyards. it was insignificant to most everybody else, but you and luke had claimed it as yours on drizzly nights like these, when the owl called and adolescence snored. it didn’t even hold sexual reminiscences, for each night you spent on the square was spent just talking. he would gloat about some things he did over the summer, interrogate you on your sex life, laugh at your offense and crack bad jokes. he was the worst person to spend valuable time with, but you returned every night, nonetheless.

“i’m surprised, castellan. been here a full sixty seconds and you haven’t tried to fuck me,” you remained standing over his lax body, crossing your arms over your chest. “do you want me to try to fuck you? because i’m down,” he looks up at you with that smile of his. that toothy, million dollar, smile that reassures whomever it is on the receiving end that everything is okay and there’s not a thing to worry about.

you snort, giving in and sitting down. luke pulls you into his lap before your butt can even hit the cool grass, eliciting a yelp from you. his lips press against your shoulder, strong, warm arms wrap around your waist and you can’t help but melt into the body beneath you. “luke,” your voice is meant to be a warning, supposed to remind him and yourself that you belong to another and this was not right, but he did nothing except for hold you tighter and smile against your skin.

“he doesn’t make you feel like i do.” he spoke the words out of your mind, the voice of truth you swallowed down with a knowing conscience that it would rise to the surface eventually. this wasn’t what you wanted. your single goal wasn’t to make luke jealous, it wasn’t even to show him what he was missing. you just wanted it to be different. you wanted somebody to take you seriously enough to call you theirs.

but anybody who did wasn’t him.

“luke,” this time, you weren’t trying to ward off anything. this time, you were welcoming him and all his invasive, rude, luke-like, traits and the pain you knew would come with letting him in once more. “i know, baby, i know.” he said no further words before flipping the pair of you over and letting your back onto the ground. you focused on none else other than the feeling of his lips finally landing on yours, the trace of his fingers across your denim skirt’s hem. “can i?” luke’s fingers dipped past the fabric, drawing swirls on your skin. “mhm, yeah,” your smile is audible and spreads to luke’s lips.

if there was one thing luke always did, it was worship you. this time was no different. his lips were everywhere, and when they weren’t pecking kisses all over you, he was breathing praises like you were a mortal saint against your skin. and when he entered you, he fucked you like he couldn’t believe he got the chance to feel you again. but he knew what the outcome of this would be; of course he did.

you didn’t know him as a particularly selfish lover, but the way he chased his high, rutting his hips against yours to the point of overwhelmed stuttering suggested that to be true.

and when it was all said and done and the past hung in the air like a wonder of the world, luke stood and looked down at you like you previously did him.

“break up with him.”

“why?”

“you know why.”

there was no denying that, so you did none else than nod.

“yeah. i do.”

[dammarchy211]

The Think Tank Random Headcanon List

Two people asked for this so that means it happening 👍 your welcome, most if not all of these r prewar/brain tank

-this one’s pretty supported in canon but think Dala likes fashion and dressing up🫶. I love giving her a fun little outfit

Yay

-0 had back pains pre brain tank. Also a lot of fatigue. The certified professional sleeper. When he’s working on projects in his home he tends to do it lying on the floor.

-this one’s basically canon but 8 has arithmomania. I say basically canon bc things in his house in Higgs often come in sets of 8, as well as his house being the 8th house despite there not BEING 8 houses. I think this would also extend to counting to 8 on his fingers when he’s nervous and such.

-tied in I also believe 8 has ocd. Borous has bpd.

-Dala was pretty reserved growing up, as she grew up/especially in the looped personality she became for lack of better terms “bolder and more flirty” as compensation for having been so withdrawn previously.

-I am wishy washy with a lot of gender headcanons for characters, my brain kinda just goes well idk if they’re trans but they’re not Not trans. However I do feel quite definitively that Dala is nb transfem, and Mobius and 0 are trans men.

-I think all of their names have some tie to the names they had pre recursion loop. Canonically both Klein’s name and his prewar last name start with K. I think the other’s names have similar ties.

-on that note, I think Borous’s old name (/just his family in general) has Painfully Russian origins. It makes his McCarthyism thing so hilariously ironic

-I think 8 is Canadian, but he only lived there pre annexation of Canada, he was working at big MT and living at Higgs once it happened.

-0’s old last name used to be “O’something” and people still used to call him Dr. O then and he still hated it. Doomed fate

-re: Mobius being trans, i think his first name was Edward. He named himself after Dr. Morbius from the movie The Forbidden Planet

-Klein is a big wine guy, like obvious there’s wine bottles strewn about his house, but I mean like. He’s the kind of guy to just know things about every kind of wine.

-Klein is probably the best dressed after Dala, I think he just tries to be professional for the most part. 0 thinks he’s fashionable but he isn’t. Already mentioned but Mobius dresses like an old lighthouse keeper. Cableknit sweater and the works. I think he’d also like antique pipes

I’m probably gonna alter the Klein outfit but yeah you get the idea. Doodles

-I feel SO STRONGLY ABOUT THIS. But 0 and Borous went to high school together. 0’s one line mentioning Borous in high school was just way too telling.

-Klein and Mobius need reading glasses. Dala used to need glasses, didn’t wear them throughout her childhood until like college, and then switched to contacts after college

-The think tank are all very close and got along much better prewar than they do at the time of the game. They kinda Jean-Paul Sartre No Exit’d themselves and their personalities are stuck in an endless loop. To say the least they started getting on each other’s nerves after 200 years. But this is to say they didn’t still bicker or anything prewar

-8 never really liked talking much. Possibly having selective mutism. This was mostly fine for him because pre brain tank you have facial expressions and hands and hand gestures that kinda make up for not talking at times. After the brain tanks he was kind just. Forced to talk to relay information. His speech was extremely awkward and stilted, which combined with the above head canon is why Dala made that comment about how they light him better now that his voice modulator is broken.

-they all have autism of some flavor tbh. To me. In my autistic mind.

-dead animal ment.// but I feel like Borous was that kid who like poked at dead squirrels and shit as a kid. It frames the Gabe and cyberdog thing well lol

-I’m an 8/0 head so I think they worked together a lot. Even if it’s not on the same project they would just do thinks at the same time together.

-the mentats on Klein’s bedside table are Mobius’s

-0 used to be a super big fan of House and RobCo when he was in high school. Obviously that is no longer true

-0 excels at making robots that are smaller. He doesn’t want to acknowledge this though. Muggy and his walking eyes (w/ wild wasteland) are both pretty small but they work well. The larger scale securitrons he’s tried to make obviously. Do not.

-I think the lounge music theme for the radio was a collective choice, but I feel like Dala especially likes music like that.

-Klein and Mobius used to play games like chess or checkers or card games “outside” in Higgs old person style.

-post brain tank one (woah) Klein has fleeting feelings of missing someone or something he can’t recognize. Any memories tying it to an image of a person he doesn’t quite remember. His brain just doesn’t connect that it’s Mobius and he usually just pushes the feeling down whenever it happens lol

If I think of more I’ll add them.

[trash-gobby]

Summary: You've had a long night, and it's about to get even longer. Showing up at your friends Halloween party, you think your in for a night of being the local wallflower. However, after catching the eye of a certain creature of the night, your about to find that there is much more that can happen in a few short hours then drinking, dancing and having a good.

There is so much blood to spill and so little time.

Word Count: 5.9K

Pairing(s): Dwayne X GN!Reader

Characters: Dwayne, Reader, David, Marko, Paul, Michael Emerson, Star, Laddie Thompson

RATING: PG

⚠️ Warnings!: Vampire!Michael, mild violence, sexual themes, some stalking elements, non-consensual blood drinking, drugs and drinking

Note: I still need to do some more editing on this, I just was so excited to post that I had to do it now lmao 🤣

______________________________________________________________

It felt like walking into another world aglow with strobing lights from a cheap disco ball, heart beating to the tune of Rockwell and air thick with the musky smell of sweaty skin. You narrowly avoided a collision with two party-goers, heavily intoxicated and too busy necking to actually notice that other human beings existed and also needed to use the front door, whilst making your way inside.

Their commitment was admirable, not only to their costumes -peanut butter and jelly- but to each other. How people managed to be so attached to each other it seemed like not even the force of gravity and common sense could keep them apart was a mystery not even you felt god could solve.

The house was heaving with people.The halls were crammed with costumed people talking loudly over the music, drinking, and laughing loudly at jokes that were most likely only funny because of the aforementioned alcohol. You tried your best to squeeze through the masses of those hanging in the hall, slightly regretting your choice of costume. The wings were getting in the way more than you’d thought. 

The costume of choice was a simple angel outfit made mostly out of spare materials you’d found lying around in your best friend's art studio. It was a simple white tank top, jeans, the wings themselves made out of wire, tinfoil and glittering fake plastic jewels. The halo was a headband with the halo attached to the top made also out of wire and tinfoil. It’s not like this dollar store outfit was that much different from anyone else’s

You’d already spotted a couple other party guests with equally low effort halloween costumes. One guy you saw in the living room passing the open double doors, was dressed in probably the laziest cookie monster outfit ever. A blue baseball cap with giant foam balls glued to them, the dark sharpie pupils pointing in different directions. The only reason the costume was even identifiable was that the guy was making stupid joke references to the kids show to one of the girls he was clearly trying to impress.

At least you could be comforted in the fact that you weren’t that sad. Although you were getting there.

The light at the end of the crowded hall beckoned you. Beyond would be the kitchen, and hopefully a beer which you could nurse for the rest of the night while hiding in a corner where no one would bother you.

The only reason you were here was as moral support for your best friend who had begged that you come out for once. “It’s Halloween,” they said. “Come out and socialize” for once, they said.

Yeah, some socializing you were gonna do. They weren’t even anywhere to be seen and the only other people to talk to were either too drunk to hold a sentence together, or their only interest was getting into each other's pants. No thank you.

Finally reaching the end of the hall, you squeezed your way past some party-goers who had decided that blocking the doorway was more important than having any kind of common decency.

“Watch yourself,” you had nearly knocked one of the guys drinks as you passed through the doorway. You didn’t even bother to stop or apologize, you didn’t want to talk to any of these people. It was rude, and you knew that, but you just weren’t in the mood for politeness.

Every surface of the kitchen was covered. Whether it was the gaudy red plastic solo cups, or the various chip bowls and pizza boxes, not a single surface was unoccupied. Thankfully it was much more empty in here for some reason, then in the rest of the house. Not by much though.

The light hurts your eyes with its oppressive white fluorescent glow, making you squint. The bare bulb flickers slightly as you make your way over to the island counter in the center of the kitchen. Gingerly you lifted one of the lids of the leaning tower of pizza boxes to see a couple slices of Hawaiian style pizza. Go figure that would be the only kind of pizza people hadn’t completely consumed.

Lucky for you, you weren’t that picky.

“Hey, you made it!” A familiar voice called out to you. Turning your head to the doorway you’d just passed through, you saw your friend standing there, having parted the sea of people blocking them much more easily then you had.

They were dressed in a much more elaborate costume then most of the people at the party you’d seen. A very TV show accurate Morticia Addams, complete with the nicely combed wig and curve-hugging black dress. She looked fantastic. You knew somewhere around had to be her boyfriend dressed as Gomez. They’d been planning the whole couple-costume thing for months. They’d changed their concept several times. First it was Bonnie and Clyde, then Mickey and Minnie, and finally settling on the current getup.

“Yeah, work let out a little earlier than expected and I thought I'd drop by and at least try to get a free meal,” Grinning, Y/F chuckled at your comment and made her way over to you, a beer clutched in her hand. “Well, I’m glad there is enough leftovers for you to make it a meal.”

You nod before taking a bite out of the slice you’ve procured. It tastes like cheap pizza always tastes. Greasy plasticy cheese, with the pineapple pieces being just a bit too sweet. The cut ham tastes more like something which is attempting to masquerade as meat rather than the real deal.

“Only the best quality pies here,” Y/F jokes as she sees the expression on your face.

“You don’t say,” you manage to reply between chewing, and swallowing the cardboard-masquerading-as-food before trying to place it down discreetly on one of the used paper plates.

“If you come outside we can get you a hotdog. We started grilling a new batch, and there’s apple bobbing. And ooh I almost forgot about the bonfire.” She was going to drag you outside, and as you looked over out the kitchen window, which showed the backyard, your stomach sank. There was no escaping the masses of people out back. However, now that Y/F had started mentioning all the things she’d set up, you knew you were going out back there whether you wanted to or not.

“Do I have a choice?” Your last ditch effort of asking was obviously in vain. She gave you a look which told you what you’d already known. At least there were hotdogs promised.

______________________________________________________________________________

Y/F’s backyard was massive. An open space of evenly cut grass which backed onto a forest which was even more massive. Her house was at the edge of town, isolated enough that the music and mayhem was not going to be overheard by neighbors.

The typically immaculate lawn was packed full of people. As you came out the back with your friend, you could hear now where the loud music was coming from. Someone had made sure to bring a massive stereo system outside onto the deck. A tall lanky kid you recognized from campus was DJing with a clunky looking remote.

Not far from the deck, in the center of the grassy lawn was a truly impressive bonfire burning in Y/F’s fire pit. You’d been over for a bonfire before with Y/F’s family to celebrate Guy Fawkes Night. Her father was English and made a point of making sure his kids participated in some traditions of his own youth.

Little did he know it would be used by a bunch of drunk uni students on Halloween to set the spooky chaotic atmosphere. Or in this case an atmosphere of drunken chaos where more people were attempting to mosh to the ghostbusters theme blasting from the speakers in low effort costumes, then scare each other. Unless your fear was getting thrown up on, or getting elbowed in the face.

“The grill isn’t far off from the bonfire. Come on,” before you could even respond or react, Y/F was already wading through the throng of people. You had no choice but to follow.

Avoiding most of the people messing around in the designated area for dancing -it couldn’t really be called a dance floor- people stepping out of the way as you went. Trying your best not to hit people with your wings was more of a challenge than expected. At least the way they glowed in the fire-light made you noticeable enough that those around you knew to let you through. No having to tap shoulders or push through. That was a small mercy. 

“Cool costume,” one of the women you passed said.

You turned to thank her, and while turning back to your journey across the lawn you were met with the firm surface of someone’s back. The sudden contact caused the halo on your head, which was already precariously placed to get flung onto the ground.

Just what you needed. Mumbling apologies, you bent down to pick up your fallen costume piece. Before you could gather up your belongings an arm leather-clad comes into view, hand wrapping around the headband.

Looking up your vision tracing up the arm to the man who it was attached to. Immediately, your face started to heat up as you locked eyes with the man in front of you.

He was handsome in a dark and mysterious type of way you were sure lots of girls who were into bad boys would begin salivating over. You weren’t that kind of person, you had to remind yourself.

His hair was long and dark, but not as dark as his eyes. It was like looking into two dark pools of midnight, intense with how they held your gaze. Not to mention the face that held those piercing eyes was beautiful, with his strong jaw and sharp contours.

This is who you’d run into? Well… shit.

His outfit felt the most out of place weirdly. More like street clothes than an actual costume. Leather jacket with a leopard clawing its way up the arm which wasn’t currently holding onto your halo headband.

Your eyes briefly lingered on the man’s bare sculpted chest underneath the jacket. He clearly made physical activity a regular part of his routine.

The way the firelight played across his face only enhanced the intensity of the eye contact between the two of you. The shadows played off the features of his face in a way that was both sexy and sinister and you couldn’t decide which were making you feel these strange feelings which were cropping up.

He then smiled, breaking your reverie, holding out the halo to you. 

“T-thanks,” you said, taking it back from him feeling self-conscious all of the sudden under his gaze. “I’m sorry for running straight into you.”

“No problem,” his voice was deep in a way that crawled up your spine and into your gut making your stomach flip. Damn…

Feeling awkward just standing there, you looked around to see where Y/F had gone. You were only met with strangers who had come up behind you, sizing you up in a way that made you feel less like a person and more like an item at a buffet table.

They were boys of varying stature, all dressed in similar punk streetwear to the man you’d just run into. Various shades of black with the exception of one man with a jacket covered in different coloured patches.

“Look what you found here, found a new friend for the night?” The man with the elaborate patch jacket said, giggling as he did and moving in way too close to you, causing you to take a step back.

He was a strange man, long hair which was dirty blonde, curly, in the mullet-esqu style which was popular among the more grungy youths. The shortest of the group, he sure made up for it with a presence that was large. It felt like witnessing the personification of bottled lightning.

“Marko, careful, you're scaring them. Calm down,” one of the other men stepped forward, placing his hand on the shoulder of the shorter man. “Sorry, he can be a lot.” Icy blue eyes held your gaze.

“Uh,” you didn’t know what to say. Friend for the night? What the heck was that supposed to mean? “It’s fine, I mean no problem.”

There was a pause in which it allowed you to take in the man who had addressed you. His bleach blonde hair, long heavy winter coat, not necessarily appropriate for the California weather, and the clear air he gave off of being the ringleader. His energy was infectious and his gaze able to pin you down and make you feel a twinge of fear mixed with an odd attraction.

“I’m David,”  he stuck out his glove clad hand at me, a subtle smirk playing across his lips. You accepted the offer, feeling the strength he was holding back in his grip.

“This is Marko, and yes he’s always like this,” David broke eye contact to look over at Marko who was chewing on the thumb of his own riding gloves, promptly causing him to pull it from his mouth. “And this is Michael.”

The man he signaled to was the only one who’d remained completely out of this little exchange for the most part until his name was mentioned. He was the most sedate, preferring to eye up the crowd around the other men then to pay attention to what was going on, now he had his eyes back on the group, giving you a small sympathetic smile. At least you're sure he knew how you probably felt during this strange exchange.

“Um, I’m Y/N. It was nice meeting all of you, but I really need to find my friend.” Your attempt to extract yourself from this strange group of men must have seemed pretty blatant. It wasn’t that they were doing anything outwardly bad, just that something about them made you feel like a deer caught in the sightline of a predator. You needed to move, get away.

Awkwardly walking backwards, you ended up bumping shoulders with the man who you’d ran into earlier. “Sorry, sorry.”

He chuckled in response, moving to let you pass. His eyes were the most transfixing to you of all the men, causing your gaze to linger on his for a moment before you turned around. Making your way back into the throng of people you felt oddly relieved to be leaving that group behind.

You didn’t want to look back over your shoulder as you went, until you were sure that you’d gained some distance. Finally taking a moment to look around, you realized you had ended up roughly in the area of the grill. There were several cheap folding tables packed with beer, chips and dip. A large punch bowl filled with a dubious substance you knew you weren’t going to touch.

Making your way along the table, you could see Y/F’s boyfriend at the grill wearing an apron over the Gomez Addams classic pin-striped suit.

“Hey Y/N!” your friend called from not far behind the grill, holding two jumbo hotdogs in each hand. “I lost track of you. Where did you go?”

“Just got lost in the crowd, you're a really fast walker you know,” you joked, as Y/F handed you one of the dogs.

“Well, I do have a lot of people to entertain and long legs,” she responded, before taking a bite out of her food. “I didn’t know what you wanted on yours so I just left it plain. You can get condiments over there.”

You looked over, taking in a chaotic mess of a foldout table. Some slightly crusty looking condiments, sad crumbly napkins and a red solo cup which held only a couple of plastic knives and forks.

Picking up the ketchup gingerly, you went about preparing your meal. Moving about the table, your thoughts wandered to mundane things. How you weren’t excited to be going back to work Monday for a double shift at the diner, how Y/F was gonna enlist you in the morning to clean and hassle the hungover part-goers out of the house. Inevitably you would have to spend the rest of your morning before work helping scub puke out of the living room carpet. Just great.

Satisfied that you’d applied the amount of toppings to your liking, it was time to find a seat or at least somewhere out of the way to stand. The thought crossed your mind to just go back inside and hide from the party in Y/F’s father's study, which was strictly off limits. No one would be allowed in on pain of death except for the family. You had been in there once or twice when you'd been over for dinner, and Y/F had gotten permission to borrow her father's telescope. You would both hang in the dark of the office with the giant eye of the device looking out into the night. Y/F’s father would be there of course, pointing out where you should look in the sky to see the different constellations. You'd never been there without him and Y/F before though. For all you knew, her father probably locked the door. It was worth checking out if you could find time to slip away after a little while.

For now you settled for spending the next hour and a half with Y/F, some of her friends from work and her boyfriend. The conversation was good, if not a little stilted by the fact that a couple of them were pretty drunk. It was easy enough to pretend you knew what some of them were talking about with the excuse of eating so you didn't have to answer any questions or comments. Letting the comfort of familiar voices wash over you, allowing some of your composure to return. It was nice to have a moment of peace among good company for a while. It was easy to forget about your problems, but the exhaustion of social interaction did start to nag at you as the hour went on.

A few times your eyes swept over the crowd of guests. It was likely that half of them were people who Y/F knew, and the other was people who had invited friends, who had invited their friends. Strangers who had just decided to tag along for the free beer and company. The party was reaching its peak, with the yard heaving with sweaty bodies of everyone dancing, eating and socializing.

The small comforts of being surrounded by a few recognizable faces started to fade as strangers began joining the fray of conversation. At some point Y/F was pulled away to deal with something, abandoning you to entertain people you had never met before, who were too intoxicated to hold any meaningful conversation with. Now was your chance to take a break. Get some space between you and the throng.

You abandoned your used napkins on one of the fold-out tables as you began to work your way back through the crowd again. This time without bumping into any more strangers, though it seemed strange that you didn’t, considering the closely packed crowd.

As you maneuvered your way towards the house, your eyes were drawn to the people you passed by, almost like you were searching for someone. All you seemed to see were strangers in a variety of costumes mingling, none meeting your eye for longer than it took to politely acknowledge your presence or look away. Only when you reached the house and looked back before entering, did you realize it was the man from earlier you had been trying to pick out of the crowd. However, if he was somewhere out there among the others you didn’t notice. It wasn’t really worth lingering on if you wanted to go find somewhere to take a break.

If the backyard was crowded, then Y/F’s house was absolutely bursting at the seams with activity. The kitchen counters were overflowing with cups, food, and paper cutlery. As you made your way into the front hallway, avoiding the living room, you heard the sound of something fragile smash. This was followed by raucous hooting and laughter. Whatever it was that broke, you hoped it wasn't something Y/F’s parents were going to skewer her for.

The lighting in the hall was dim and murky with a smoky haze that made you cough. Someone, or a couple someone's, had decided that hotboxing the front hall was a great idea. Passing by you met the bloodshot eyes of a clearly stoned Han Solo, with his arm slung around an equally stoned Wonder Woman. Her cheap black party wig askew on her head. There were a couple others leaning around them, partially blocking the stairs. As you passed they moved, lethargic in their countenance. Nearly tripping over one of the stoners legs, you ascended into the upper floor.

It was much less crowded and noisy. Most of the people there were either waiting to use the bathroom, or having their own little huddled quiet conversations. As you passed the guest bedroom you heard the sound of giggling and low moan. Now you'd never be able to look at that room or those sheets again the same way. Gross. Another thing you would have to help wash in the morning.

You could see the door at the end of the upper hall, no one between you and your goal in sight. As you made your way, you noted that no one lingered close by, the door having a piece of paper taped to it saying that it was off limits for guests “on pain of death.” The sharpie all caps must have really hammered the point home, because as you opened the door the sweet sound of silence met you. The loudest thing which met your ears was the muffled base of music.

You shuffled around the room, trying desperately not to knock anything off one of the side tables by the door as you searched the wall for the lightswitch. It was blocked slightly by a picture frame which had tilted, causing you to try steadying it as you flicked on the light.

It was a small lamp which came on overhead, casting a tranquil orange glow across the office space. Your feet shuffled across the throw rug, as you admired the tall book shelves. Stacks of books on all manner of nonfiction topics, most of them academic in nature. There were a couple yellowed spy thriller paperbacks near the bottom of the shelf closest to the large window on the opposite side of the room. The shades were still drawn, the telescope standing before it, waiting for someone to look out into the night sky.

You felt the temptation, the draw towards it, but you knew it was probably a bad idea to open the curtains with the lights on. Y/F might come check, and you’d get a stern talking to for going in the office and trying to escape the party. Instead you opted to pull out the creaky rolling desk chair and sit down while fiddling with the flimsy elastic holding the wings to your back. They had really been chafing and you could see where they had started leaving a red irritated line against your shoulders.

Slipping the elastics off, one snapped, causing you to let out a frustrated sigh. Well, it was only a matter of time before these cheap things broke. At this point removing the halo felt necessary. Maybe you could fix the wings if you bothered looking in the desk for tape or stapler, but you really didn’t think you should touch anything. If you broke something you most likely wouldn’t be let back into the office ever again.

Laying the wings and halo down on the desk it was impressive how clean Y/F’s father kept his workspace. The desk held a glass paperweight that looked quite hefty and a wooden desk organizer filled with a couple folders. Nothing worth snooping through, not that you really felt like trying to bother looking through anything.

Stretching, you felt your neck crack, releasing some tension. It was good to have some time to yourself for a couple minutes. All you’d been doing all day was interacting with people. From customers, friends, and strangers, it had been a lot to process. 

Your mind wandered back to that man you’d bumped into. His piercing gaze had made you feel both like a prey animal caught in the crosshairs of a hunter, and yet, at the same time there had been a thrill to it. Not often did you feel like anyone looked at you with a semblance of interest outside of a passing glance or a friendly smile. For once, having someone size you up was even a little flattering in a strange way. Though there was something strange about the others he had been with.

The way they had all surrounded you was a little disconcerting, and how one of them –Marko you thought– had joked about you being a friend for the night. It was almost like you weren’t even really a person, but a piece of meat. The thought of that curdled whatever sense of elation you got out of your little connection with the stranger you had bumped into. Guys like that were bound to be more trouble than they were worth, and the last thing you needed in your busy life was trouble.

As this thought crossed through your mind, it was like the Gods had heard your little inner monologue, and responded with the lights in the room going out, plunging the office into almost complete darkness. You sat up quickly, causing your head to spin, blood rushing through your ears.

There hadn’t been a sound of the light switch going off or of anyone entering the room.

Stumbling to your feet, you smashed your hip into the side of the desk, grunting, as you reached out and used the wall as a guide to try and find the light switch again. However, when you finally did, flicking it seemed to do nothing. Had the power gone out?

The only light in the room came from a crack within the heavy curtains. Their form letting in the smallest amount of glow from the fire pit outside. At first you could hear some commotion as people seemed to have realized that something was wrong, and there seemed to be some disgruntled booing.

You carefully made your way to the window, pulling the curtains open slightly to see what was happening. The yard was lit by the pit, the grill going strong and some music still coming from a portable radio. However, most of the guests seemed to be looking around wondering in their own little huddles, what was going on.

“Someone get the music working” a voice yelled from somewhere below you. Likely from one of the windows in the kitchen. Vaguely you could make out the heavily shadowed figure of Y/F striding across the yard, with another friend in town, politely mumbling apologies to guests as she passed.

Your eyes followed her progress as she got closer to the house. Before she entered was when the screaming started.

At first I thought it was someone messing around in the darkened first floor. However, that was short lived as people began to pour out of the back door, the first of the stampede knocking Y/F out of the way aggressively.

This only served to further plunge into chaos the already confused crowd of people outside. Most stood in place watching as others ran past, others started running away as well. Most likely in their drunk or high minds they thought it was a fight, the police or they just saw people running and didn't want to get caught just standing around if anything was really wrong.

As the first scream cut out though, more began to join it, along with yells of fear cut off as if severed violently. Among the shouts was also the sound of furniture being thrown, glass breaking. All of it from below you, as a few more people exited. One was a woman who appeared, from the distance to be soaked in something dark. She staggered a couple steps in a daze, before falling forward onto the grass.

The few people near her didn't even bother to check if she was okay, instead opting to turn and run as fast as they could in the opposite direction. The whole unfolding madness made your stomach drop, something cold worming its way into your gut.

The animal instinct the fear you were feeling was what kept you there, in the half light of a slightly pulled back curtain. What got you to move was when you heard the crashing off a window breaking. The thing thrown through it was a strange, almost unidentifiable mass of limbs. Two bodies entwined that fell heavily to the ground.

A man, familiar to you in the firelight. His face smeared with a dark redness, mouth pulled back into a snarl, like some kind of wild animal. Blonde hair wild, face distorted beyond anything human. Below him, the contorted and broken figure of… Y/F’s boyfriend.

His suit shredded along the chest, something looking like deep gashes, –clawmarks perhaps?-- along his skin. What got you to really step back, besides the shock, was the look on his face. A pure mix of confusion and horror, neck ripped to shreds so that it seemed his head was almost severed.

The curtains swished back into place, as you stepped away. The image already burned onto the inside of your eyelids. A permanent mental tattoo which no amount of mental coverup would hide.

Some small part of you hoped that what you'd just seen and the commotion you could still hear was all just a prank. A prank that had gone wrong, but one that was harmless.

Backing up more into the darkness, you felt almost suspended in a void between action and processing what you had just seen. More noise from below your feet, almost violent as more voices rise up. They are incomprehensible, but completely clear in how much terror was behind them. It felt like you were standing in place suspended in the darkness for hours, which in actuality was likely minutes. The hair on your arms raised, body still with only subtle tremors and jumps at any sound from below.

Slowly, painfully so, the noise began to die down, yelling faded. The sounds of breaking glass and ransacking quieted until it felt like you were standing in the deep dark belly of something dead. The only perceptible thing being the hammering of your racing heart-beat in your ears.

You hadn't noticed when the trembling had started in your legs until now. It had become full shakes, causing you to crumple onto the office carpet. Lacing your fingers behind your neck pressing your forehead to the soft fabric and taking in deep breaths. 

You weren't going to panic, you had to keep it together. Whatever was going on couldn't be that bad. Or, at least if it was bad, it was over now.

The panic was sudden though, as if it was in reaction to something outside your perception. An animal fear which your subconscious had picked up on, but had yet to communicate to you in any tangible, logical way.

Until you heard it.

The smallest of shuffling, like fabric rubbing together softly. You almost wanted to dismiss it as something your mind had conjured up in the following silence, after so much chaos. The floor made a soft creaking sound, which made you perk up so you were looking into the almost pitch black gloom of a barely lit space in the office.

You could make out nothing but blackness in a space between two bookshelves where the sound had come from. For a moment all you could do was look and hope, maybe you were wrong about something being there.

There was movement in the black. As if resolving itself out of nothingness, a tall figure moved towards you. No clear features could be made out, but it didn't matter. The shiver that worked its way up your body was enough to awaken your flight response.

Up from your knees you quickly backed up away from the advancing form until you smashed into the back of a side-table. The lamp placed upon it came crashing to the ground. Back to the wall, hand scrabbling for the handle to the door you must have looked down for a second on instinct. 

In that split second the figure was upon you. Up close you could smell musk and the faint acrid smell of smoke burning your nostrils. The force with which the arms of this person grabbed you were so aggressive you knew it was likely going to leave a bruise.

You let out a cry as you felt the nails of this stranger dig into your skin, drawing blood, body slammed onto the wall knocking the breath out of your lungs. They had crowded your personal space, leaning their body flush to yours, head burying into your exposed neck.

You pushed against this attacker, feeling the overwhelming heat of them against you, as if they were suffering from a high fever. Their hair brushed against your cheek, something scraping your neck. Stubble possibly?

For some reason in your messed up terrified brain found that it wanted to focus more on how much the scratching tickled then any other sensation.

“Get off me!” Your voice was lower in volume and cracked at the end with the bubbling terror in your gut. The scratching lead way to lips brushing your tender flesh, finding that sensitive spot, making you flinch away.

In response one of those talon-like hands moved, with inhuman swiftness from your arm to grasp your head. Tangled in your hair, you were forced still as your neck was wrenched to the side painfully to create easier access.

Tears prickled your eyes as you tried using your now free arm to push and scratch at the person holding you. But it was like trying to push against a stone statue, as if gravity had multiplied the weight of not just your attacker, but made your weight meaningless.

“Please,” was the last word you were able to work out of your lips in a strangled whisper before the scratching sensation began to overwhelm you again. Slowly it bloomed from an irritating tickle, to an itch, to finally a slow rising burn. As if a mosquito bite had evolved first to a bee sting and then a knife being driven down your throat.

The pain was radiant, stunning in its ability to dwarf any other feelings, almost euphoric. It was as if all your body had ever known or had been was this singular moment of sharp suffering. The feeling of something hot, and sticky touched your lips, working it's way into your mouth and on your tongue.

The taste, reminded you of the smell of oak burning and steel. The substance worked its way down your spasming throat. Your last thought before consciousness left you was how you wished you could scream.

To be concluded in part two…

[proverbsss]

reading you right (father paul hill/john pruitt x reader) -nsfw

Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass

prompt(s): "Me. You. Bed. Now." [from this post]

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

anon: I had a normal amount of fun writing this, hope you enjoy :) i wanna do a pt. 2 because ofc i do,, honestly I got a lil hot n bothered lmao

notifs: paul hill is a tease!! ; shoe-grinding ; fluffy smut ; hierophilia ; you're father paul's dirty little secret ; denial ; reader begging ; reader's down HORRENDOUS ; terms used: good girl, slutty thing, pet

"You've been lying there moaning for ten minutes." Father Paul chuckles, trying to focus on his reading.

You feel your leg twitch as you lay on your stomach, looking a bit dazed across the room. A giggle escapes you. In your mind's eye a constant stream of images plays- every dirty thing you’ve done with Father Paul in the last 48 hours, a rare weekend’s reprieve from prying Beverly Keane, sitting bedside with her sister or aunt or who-the-hell cares on the mainland. It was too easy to sneak into the house behind St. Patrick’s, and too goddamn pleasurable to leave after the first night. A delightful ease of domesticity has settled over the two of you. And you’re even more whipped for the Father than you were when this whole messy arrangement began.

"I can't help it-"

"It's understandable to whine like a whore while I'm still inside you, but cooing like that when I'm not even touching you is a little ridiculous." Smug, he licks his finger and turns a page. "A man's ego can only grow so big."

“What are you reading?” you ask, completely uninterested, and your voice betrays it. You might enjoy a good book now and again, but something worlds more tempting is sitting before you. In his jeans and tee shirt, only his glossy ankle boots remaining, Paul is a rare sight out of uniform, like something sent from heaven. Or Hell. Both, somehow.

“You asked me that fifteen minutes ago. Or did you forget already?” He shoots you a disapproving, but playful look. He can hardly resist you more than you can him. Hardly. There is that last smidgeon of reserve that Paul prides himself on. He can’t be bothered to think of you as a sin, because life’s become far, far more complicated in the last few months than any one man can hold in his head, and because it feels like paradise to touch you.

Caught in your inattention, you abandon the ruse of asking about his book. "You fucked me too good...." You whine.

"You're going to complain about it?" He laughs at you.

"You're laughing at me." 

"Of course I'm laughing at you," he admonishes. Not to be taken in by your wiles, Paul's eyes trace the paragraph he's started unsuccessfully three times.

"You whine before I fuck you, you whine while I fuck you, and you whine after I've fucked you. You're silly."

The vision renews itself in your mind of last night creeping around in here, your excitement waiting in the antechamber of St. Patrick’s late at night, Paul sneaking up on you in the dark and taking you in that muggy little den where they keep the wine and spare things. You want him to grunt against your ear like that again, to fuck you like he needs you in order to breathe.

"I'm not silly!" You gasp out. He hears the difference in your voice and scans your body with his eyes. Grinning. He licks his bottom lip and pretends the fool. “I want it, please, I want it, I don’t caaaare…” Your caterwauling would be annoying if it wasn’t so bone-deep genuine. Paul could probably keep you here forever as a pet, a secret from innocuous parishioners, visitors from all walks of life, and you’d be satisfied as long as he used you from time to time. Fed you.

“Oh, that’s undignified.” He smiles, turns the page and hopes he can pick up without the aid of the passage his mind simply refused to retain.

You get on all fours and start to crawl over to him. You tug on the leg of his jeans, utterly debased.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” his tongue flicks and flutters around the word in a musical way that you know you could find better uses for. You nod. His voice. He could guide you anywhere with it. To make things worse, he imitates you. The facsimile of your lust in his voice is enough to make you jump him. “‘Father, I can't focus on my book....Father, please fuck me with your fingers, I can't without it, I need it...I told you pack things to stay because I imagined I’d be enjoying some downtime other than between my sheets.'"

You bite your lip, the adoring way you look up at him unfairly reminiscent of Biblical portraiture, the Madonna (too ineffably ironic), Saint Lucia, devout, suppliant little succubi. Paul’s heart breaks a little, and his cock twitches with interest, which he endeavors to suppress. 

“What’s that look for, child?” He plays up the religious bent of your dynamic, something that presses inexpressibly sinful and delicious buttons in your dirty mind. 

"I do need you."

You pout. Your words with Paul repeating them was enough to rev your proverbial engine. You shift just the littlest bit, yet the friction of the floor underneath you is enough to tease out a whimper. Not totally on purpose, but not totally by accident. John chuckles again. 

“Present tense?” He pretends to turn a page, but he’s not reading a damn thing now.

"I need you all the time you're not in me.” It’s filthy, but it feels true in these moments when all the thoughts are leaving your head empty. 

He smiles one of his private smiles. His eyelids crinkle as he reaches up to scratch his cheek. "Let's not be pornographic, huh?"

"I wanna fuck again..."

"What else is new?"

"You've ruined me." He looks at you then like you’re something to eat. The book is shut and put down. You have your beloved hot priest’s attention. His eyes ask, smoldering, what will you do now you have it?

“You have my boot. Or aren’t you smart enough to get yourself off.” His tone shifts and a shadowy, serious dominance settles in his countenance. Every behavior, every quirk of his expression, curve of his smile, owns and owns you. He may plead and beg to bury his head between your thighs from time to time, on one occasion he may have shown up at your door, his satchel a deceptive front for rope and ribbon, which you were to restrain and blindfold him with. Life’s too short for dynamics that don’t shift and change like the tides. But in this moment, this energy, you are his. And he intends to impress that upon you.

You gape at him just a moment, heady lust clouding your already addled brain. Then slowly, carefully, you adjust your position, grab the upper part of Paul’s calf, and hoist your lower body up onto his shoe, your pelvic bone bumping his shin. Any hesitations or embarrassment that linger in you drown in the deeper, sweeter excitement of feeling some real friction as you roll your hips. Oh. God.

This might be the senseless, reckless need talking, but fuck. Just the sensation of the toe of his shoe right between your thighs, exactly where you need it, makes you feel a little bit crazy. You look up at him in awe, and thank God he’s not picked up his book again but instead is sitting comfortably, his gaze dropped low to watch you, his groin thrusting the tiniest bit forward at nothing, too much nothing. He groans, and you chase your pleasure like a thing possessed.

Words slip out of your mouth without a shred of logic behind them, and Paul tells you to repeat yourself. He bites his bottom lip as he watches you. “Hello? Still a brain in there?"

“I said you make me so sensitive,” you mumble, finding a new groove in the contour of his shoe, where it meets his ankle, and leaning on his knee, shaking, groping for his thighs, all involuntarily. Your dripping, dripping on his shoe, and the thought of how uncivilized that is makes Paul bite his fist.

"Uh huh, so it's all my fault, then."

"Yes..."

"Yes, 'what'?"

"Yes it's all your fault, Father."

“It’s my fault you’re going to cum on my shoe?”

You whine again. Your soul’s leaving your body, want spreads through every inch of your body, intense and blinding, high, so high.

“C’n I cum, please, can I cum?” You pant, feeling his hands wrap around yours, warm and loving. 

“Look at me, pet.” He orders. You obey. His irises envelop you. You steady yours on them, trying to get a grip, breath filling your belly and leaving your parted lips in rapid gasps. “No.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise. Disappointment isn’t the word for it, desire lets itself out as a sound. You slow down, somewhere in a high place you hear him say:

“Stop grinding, slutty thing. Your Father told you ‘no.’”

You sink against him, laying your head on one of his thighs. He kisses the top of your head, and murmurs, “Good girl. Good girl, good.”

Fireworks are setting off under your skin, your thighs are trembling, every bit of you is sticky. “That wasn’t easy, I bet.” He says, voice condescending and sweet, but every bit as needy as you are. You make another noise in response. 

“I’m not done with you, you know,” he takes your chin into one of his hands, lifts your head. He kisses you again, with a fierceness that just sharpens your feeling. “I’m not even close to done with you.” He rests his in your neck, kisses you once, twice, up your jaw, on your cheeks, the ear he can reach. He bites your earlobe and almost hisses, “Me. You. Bed. Now.”

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

I now have a ko-fi! Consider checking it out to support my addiction to cold brew coffee, or commission something special all your own 🖊️

[prettypinkporkchop]

Meet Me At Our Spot

Paul lahote x fem reader Bella's sister

SMUT AND LANGUAGE

Since moving to Forks with your younger sister Bella, you've been having a secret relationship with Paul Lahote. You both met after she decided to slap the shit out of him. You didn't see it go down. You were inside chatting with Billy Black. Then, you guys went to Emily's, but Bella asked you to stay in the truck. You did as she asked because this is her drama, not yours. Paul walked past the truck with Jacob, and you and him made eye contact.

Since then, it's been a lot of sex in your guys' secret spot. Bella, for some reason, is begging you not to do anything with him. Your father, Charlie, doesn't like him. But, you're an adult. They have no say over you. You just don't wanna deal with everyone's crap.

You're lying on your bed, listening to music when your phone goes off. It's a text from Paul.

Paul: Meet me at our spot. I've got something I want to show you.

You smile and blush to yourself. You get up and get dressed.

The thing is, you're in love with Paul. You don't know if he feels the same way. He is just a fuck boy after all.

You see him leaning against a tree. His arms are crossed over his bare chest. You smile at him and jog toward him.

"Hey, pretty girl." He opens his arms and then pulls your body into his.

You mask in his warm body and scent and smile in peace. "Hey, mister." You grab onto his waist. "What did you have to show me?" You look up at him.

He smiles down at you and squeezes your ass. "I'll show you when I'm finished with you, babe."

You blush and bite your lip.

His head dips down, and his lips press onto your neck. He's kissing and sliding his tongue on your skin.

You moan and wrap your arms around his neck.

His hand slides up, and he squeezes your boob.

You pull away and take off your shirt and then your bra. You're past the point of shy with him.

His lips attach themselves to your chest. He leaves small bites down until he reaches your nipped. His mouth wraps around the nub.

You gasp and then grab onto him through his shorts. It's no surprise that he is harder than a rock.

He groans against you and then lifts his head up to your face. He kisses you roughly and nibbles on your lower lip.

You unbutton his shorts, and he unbuttons your jeans. Both of you are left in your underwear.

He bends down and slowly pulls yours down to your feet. He kisses your thighs before running his finger along your wet folds.

You moan his name, making him slide in a finger. His finger is large and it feels so good inside of you.

"Paul, take me." You moan, gripping his shoulders.

"Say less, pretty girl." He smirks. He grabs your waist and lays back, putting you on top of him.

You ride him while he's gripping onto your skin, and you're leaving scratches that don't show up on his chest.

You both finish, and you collapse on him, feeling the grass under your legs.

You're breathing hard and then giggling. "Paul, show me." You whisper.

He sighs and sits up on his elbows. "Okay, but you have to get dressed." He smiles.

You nod your head and stand up, putting your clothes back on.

"You don't know why Bella doesn't want you around me." He says.

"Yeah, I'm not sure why." You say, confused.

"Do you know much about our tribe?" He asks, remaining naked.

You shake your head in honesty.

"Okay..." He says. "Back up a bit." He orders.

You're confused but do as told.

"More, please." He says, looking at the ground.

You back up some more.

Within a couple of seconds, there's a wolf on front of you. You are not as scared as you should be.

--- the next day---

You're spinning your spoon around in your bowl in deep thought. Paul is your soulmate. How can you keep him a secret from your family?

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Your dad asks across the table.

You smile at him and drop the spoon. "Nothing, dad." You reply.

Charlie begins to babble about how his favorite baseball team lost the last game. You take out your phone and message Paul.

You: meet me at our spot? Need to talk.

"Ah, I get it. I'm even too old for a young adult now." Charlie smirks and takes a sip of his beer.

"Sorry, dad. I'm just texting my coworker." You lie.

Paul: How about I show you off? I'll meet you there. Billy will put in a good word for me.

You smile at the text.

"What you smiling for?" Your dad asks.

You look up at him. "I want you to meet someone."

[fannyrosie]

Back in early December, I met @vkeiprincesse (Insta) and @apple-salad for winter International Lolita Day at Salon de thé Cardinal. I hadn't seen them since summer 2019 ILD, when I came back to visit my family in Montreal, so we had a lot of things to talk about. Pictures of us together HERE. Outfit Skirt: second-hand Mary Magdalene Cardigan: second-hand Axes Femme Blouse: The Floral Notebook (old indie brand who is not active anymore) Hat: second-hand Fint Bag: second-hand Jean Paul Gaultier Shoes (indoor): second-hand Yosuke Boots (outdoor): old Fluevog Tights: old Heattech by Uniqlo Coat (outdoor): second-hand Mary Magdalene Doll head brooch: Fuwari Wooden harp brooch: Zack Zack Seiffen Metal brooch: vintage Stamp patch on hat: second-hand Jane Marple Fleur de lys earrings: old Dracolite

[trickricksblog08]

💢 Very interesting indeed! Check this out!!🧐🤔⬇️

LAW OFFICES OF AISSA WAYNE (John Wayne's Daughter) Obama's SS Number

For those of you who don't know but at the very bottom of this article the attorney who authored this article is John Wayne's daughter, Aissa Wayne, also a USC graduate.

Well, Well, Well, it looks like someone thoroughly checked this out! I was wondering who was going to do research into President Obama's Social Security number.

Jean Paul Ludwig or Barack Hussein Obama? S . S . N#042-68-4425

WOW, read this, it's short - very interesting.

An intensive 6-year investigation has revealed the identity of the man whose Social Security Number (SSN) is being used by President Obama.

Jean Paul Ludwig, who was born in France in 1890, immigrated to the United States in 1924, and was assigned SSN 042-68-4425 (President Obama's current SSN) rec'd on or about March 1977.

Mr. Ludwig lived most of his adult life in Connecticut. Because of that, his SSN begins with the digits 042, which are among only a select few reserved for Connecticut residents.

Barack H. Obama never lived or worked in that state! Therefore, there is no reason on earth for his SSN to start with the digits 042. None whatsoever!

Now comes the best part! J. P. Ludwig spent the final months of his life in Hawaii, where he died.

Conveniently, Obama's grandmother, Madelyn Payne Dunham, worked part-time in the Probate Office in the Honolulu Hawaii Courthouse, and therefore had access to the SSNs of deceased individuals.

The Social Security Administration was never informed of Ludwig's death, and because he never received Social Security benefits there were no benefits to stop and therefore, no questions were ever raised.

The suspicion, of course, is that Dunham, knowing her grandson was not a U.S. Citizen, either because he was born in Kenya, or became a citizen of Indonesia upon his adoption by Lolo Soetoro, simply scoured the probate records, until she found someone, who died who was not receiving Social Security benefits, and selected Mr. Ludwig’ s Connecticut SSN for her grandson, Barry Obama.

Just wait until the head Birther himself, Donald Trump, gets past the birth certificate and onto the issue of Barry O's use of a stolen SSN. You will see leftist heads exploding, because they will have no way of Defending Obama.

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

Although many Americans do not understand the meaning of the term "natural born", there are few who do not understand that if you are using someone else's SSN it is a clear indication of fraud, and a federal offense.

Let's all get this information out to everybody on our mailing lists. If the voters of this great nation can succeed in bringing this lying, deceitful, cheating, corrupt, impostor to justice it will be the biggest and best news in decades for our country and the world.

"In God We Trust."

[lakesbian]

i think cherie has a weird psychological fixation on alec. btw. for reasons such as

cheries Deal is about being powerful and scary and manipulative so she can be the one who hurts others instead of the one who gets hurt due to shes fundamentally alienated from connection w/ herself and others and has no other way to cope with existing without feeling like dirt

also her powers are abt being stuck in this miserable cramped home w a bunch of other miserable violent people and having to learn how to emotionally read everyone so she can cater to the abuser to keep herself safe + understand how to manipulate the other victims (to make life easier for herself, to hurt them to satiate her abuser & feel like she's regained some control, etc)

alec was one of the siblings slightly closer 2 her in age + one of the siblings she tormented, someone she knew exceedingly well as a result of her power. theres a connection there. its a bad connection but theres a connection. forced him to do horrible shit alongside heartbreaker + WoG implies she contributed 2 the sexual abuse by fostering the hypersexual behavior. basically i bet she thinks she has him read for filth

he was a sad little sopping wet crybaby 4 most of the time she knew him absolutely the type that would make younger cherie be like "tch...hes not cut out for anything." and tell him to stop being a whiny baby (<- she thinks this counts as helpful life advice). i think she would tell him this even if he wasn't actually crying. like he would go ":(" in his head and she would be like Stop being a whiny baby. just unprompted. also on the one occasion she tried to cheer him up she did so by letting him watch liveleak videos of people exploding on her phone.

anyway my point is. sad sopping wet crybaby jean-paul grows up, toughens up, runs away successfully (first heartbroken to do so), and THEN becomes a threat of stabilizing his own power 2 the point where he could eventually become more successful/well-known than her while the cult back home is slowly dwindling in power. what if the sopping wet crybaby younger sibling you tortured as a coping mechanism was at risk of getting cooler than you would that be fucked up or what.

furthermore i think cherie is like. conscious about the fact that she sucks and the heartbroken home sucks and thinks she's being Honest about it + brave in the face of the inherent misery that the world wreaks upon her for sucking. and she also thinks that alec is, like, not just lying and obscuring the fact that he sucks from the undersiders, but successfully being treated like he Doesn't suck as a result. which pisses her off and is, aside from thinking it's funny when he's miserable, why she tries to ~reveal the truth~ about him 2 the undersiders over the phone. this is funny because alec also thinks he's being honest about the fact that he sucks and in fact considers it one of his strong points.

but anyway yeah i think shes fixated with being able to like. drag him back down to what she perceives as their shared level + reestablish control over him bc him being free and successful while genuinely improving himself as a person puts fundamental cracks in her worldview.

all of which is to say in the beautiful hypothetical world where she gets drudged up from the ocean and riley and amy awkwardly put her back together she finds out alec died doing smth good 4 aisha and she doesn't fucking like it. because he's beyond her reach in two ways forever now. first of all he's dead. second of all he died doing something uncomplicatedly caring and self-sacrificing for a friend which means the undersiders permanently remember him as a fucked up kid they knew back when they were all fucked up kids who ultimately Tried and went out being the best person he could be. which means she can't drag him back down to her level and reassert her worldview by making him miserable Or by changing ppls opinions of him. even insinuates that what She thought about him might have been wrong. and aisha laborn, the person he died for, who is now taking care of all of the heartbroken, who still remembers alec deeply fondly, is naturally where her Weird Psychological Fixation transfers next. also worth noting that THE FUCKING WORLD ENDED while she was down there and the s9 is Over so cherie is just. utterly irrelevant everybody forgor about her. she doesn't even get to feed off ppls hatred, no "negative attention is still attention" for her, she just gets drudged up and is expected 2 move on with her life. which is to say she immediately clings onto the one remnant of the world she knew, the one place where she can still claw for relevancy w/ ppl who would know her, and starts emailing aisha "can't make a banaisha split without a cherie on top" 200 times in a single evening. and aisha doesnt care at all cherie is going fucking nuts over this whole thing and aisha is just over there mentally writing this weeks grocery list in her head