#OH HELL YEAH RELIGIOUS TRAUMA

[lucian-evander]

OK so now apparently i'm trans because satan (in person) influenced me... my mom is honest enough to not be able to blame it on the lobby ™️ since well i knew it since i was a kid and was raised in a strictly catholic environment so yeah satan made me trans (probably by using the 5g waves, wait no it didn't exist back then whoops ).....

[thedarklyblue]

he's so all or nothing jesus fuck

[thechaoticcherub]

Cherub

Pairing: Priest!Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Reader is a student teacher at the Catholic nursery school attached to the church she attended growing up. While becoming disillusioned with being a teacher she runs into the church's priest that she has known since he taught her confirmation classes.

Warnings: 18+ please, large age gap, power dynamics, dubcon(?), priests, catholicism, lots of religious imagery, i mean i am GOING TO HELL, blatant blasphemy, violation of holy spaces, joel is a PERVERT, some mentions of him being interested in reader as a underage teenager(no actual underage anything), masturbation, sexual shame, humiliation, embarrassment, innocence kink, virgin reader, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, light choking(not even really choking), rough sex, pussy pronouns, no use of y/n, religious trauma, i really gotta underscore how much I violate holy things from christianity, smoking, cigarettes, cum play, lots of pet names, no daddy kink but lots of calling him Father

Notes: Okay please bless me lord for I have SINNED. this is FILTH even thought there isn't like constant smut it might be the dirtiest thing i've written? I'm so sorry to Catholics everywhere. And I'm sorry if I fucked up terminology. I tried to do lots of research but you know, liturgical shit is hard to understand. also yeah, i get how much this is more writer insert than reader considering the title. Ahem. I'm sorry this is again not really edited or beta read. sorry. Well I hope you enjoy!

OH! also: I have a playlist for this if anyone would be interested, let me know!

Word Count: 6.4 K

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It had been a long week at Holy Trinity Catholic Nursery School and you were exhausted, when you had first started your student teaching unit you had been beyond excited to be back at the church you grew up going to. You were familiar with the facilities including the big, beautiful sanctuary and the priest who still presided over the Parish was the priest who had done confirmation with you. Father Joel Miller had always been a slightly off-beat, interesting, yet intimidating choice for priest of a Catholic church. He was known for smoking Marlboro Reds in his office, having a scruffy unshaven face, giving short homilies in his gruff Texan accent and seeming more like a cowboy than a priest. 

There was something about him though that had always sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t tell if it was a good shiver, or something sinister. He was handsome, that was a known fact around the church when you were growing up, the other girls in your confirmation class giggled about it and  even now your co-workers at the nursery school often made jokes or teasing comments to each other. He had to be in his mid-fifties now with greying stubble and hair and lines around his eyes and forehead but yes, you did still find him attractive, but it didn’t shake the sense that your tingling sense of something might not have been entirely positive. 

Maybe it was the simple fact that his eyes always had lingered on you for longer than you felt necessary. Even when you were a young teenager in his confirmation classes, learning prayers, handing in your sermon notes, sitting in mass every Sunday, you felt his eyes on you. You never understood what it was about you that made him look for so long but he had. Now that you were working on becoming a teacher like you had always hoped, you found that when he came to visit the classrooms, he spent his time asking you questions about the classroom instead of the lead teachers. That was easy to brush off as maybe he felt like he was helping you learn, but when you brought the children to the main church for their daily prayers his eyes would spark on you and he would come to you first when he gave a blessing to everyone. His hand resting on your forehead as he spoke his short blessing before drawing the sign of the cross on your forehead with his thumb, his eyes stuck on yours as if he would never look away. Eventually he always did, moving on to each individual child and adult from your classroom, but he didn’t linger with any of them the way he lingered with you. 

Now, as the day was coming to a close you had snuck away from the classroom to try and escape the exhaustion that was working with children day in and day out. You had always wanted to be a Nursery school teacher but now that you were experiencing a classroom you understood why burnout was so common. You had made up a bad excuse and snuck down the cool hallway, away from the school portion of the building,  to the candle lit nave, you weaved your way through the pews over to the side aisle lined with stone arches. You took a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of the cutesy dress you wore because of your ridiculous desire to be the next Ms Frizzle. In your opinion, just under the arches to the side of the pews was the best place to sneak away to and smoke without being in too much danger of being caught. The incense that was regularly burned covered up most of the smell, you could enjoy the view of the sanctuary and the altar while you smoked and it was usually deserted. You tucked yourself under one of the arches, your back pressed into the cool stone and lit up. Taking a long inhale you relished in the fact that you weren’t surrounded by screaming preschoolers. It was allowing yourself these couple minutes away from the chaos of the end of the day that made this week bearable. You smoked and tapped the ash off onto the stone floor, rubbing it into the cracks with your foot as you went. 

“You ain’t sposed to be smokin’ in here, young lady.” The voice came from a few yards away by the priest’s door that opened into the sanctuary by the altar, you jumped and turned to face the man whose voice it was. Father Miller was watching you as he walked across the sanctuary, first past the altar and then the pulpit and down through the central gap between the altar rails. You felt frozen in place, you had smoked here multiple times and no one had ever come in and of course now, it was Father Miller who had found you here. He stood in front of the first pew and crossed his arms over his chest, still watching you. 

“Shit,” you said, unsure of what to do with the lit cigarette. Usually when you were done smoking you’d put it out on the floor and rub out the mark and shove the butt into the pack to get rid of later. Now he was there and the smoke from your cigarette filtered up above you, curling against the stone arch and then dispersing. 

“Got a fresh mouth on you too,” He added with a laugh. “Never knew that about you before,” he crossed in front of the pew, walking towards you. You felt like a small animal caught in a trap and he was some kind of giant predator stalking towards you. He was wearing all black, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and his clerical collar was bright white against the black of the shirt. 

“I’m sorry, Father, I…didn’t think-” You broke off because really you didn’t think you would be caught, not that you didn’t think it would be a problem or anything. Joel’s eyes widened a little as he waited for you to finish your sentence, he turned at the end of the pew to walk along the side aisle to the first arch where you were still trapped. His finger grazed alone the  wood of the pew, 

“You didn’t think…?” He prompted when your voice faltered. You shrugged, 

“I don’t have an excuse, Father.” You admitted. Father Miller walked right up to you in your alcove that you thought would be so secret and stood in front of you. You remembered how intimidated by him you had always been, suddenly you felt fifteen again, having to recite scripture and prayers correctly in your weekly confirmation classes. Your heart thudded in your chest as he looked down at you, he was tall, broad and as he stood so close to you, popping any sort of personal space bubble you thought you had, you realized you could smell him. Tobacco, cool mint, fresh sweat and then underneath it all, an acrid heat, almost metallic. It mingled into something not unpleasant but it did mean he was too close. 

“Go ahead and smoke that, kid.” Joel’s eyes moved from yours down towards the cigarette dangling in your fingers and he nodded slowly, encouraging you. 

“I-I shouldn’t…” You stuttered, still looking up at him, almost transfixed on his face, still frozen there half with fear, half just trapped in his gaze. 

“No, you shouldn’t…but you already are, cherub, may as well finish.” Joel said and you watched as a sly smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. Cherub. Not typically did a priest use any sort of nickname for a parishioner, let alone a pet name like that. If anything they would say “my child” if in confession. Cherub sent that familiar shiver down your spine, a memory surfaced of that word on his lips years before. It had been to you then too,

“Say a hail mary and you will be absolved, cherub.” You must have confessed something to him or done something wrong in class.  Your heart sped at the memory and your eyes flicked up to meet his. He was telling you to smoke, daring you to and there was no reason not to anymore. It wasn’t like he didn’t smoke in the church, Mr. Marlboro Reds in his office. So you held his gaze as best you could and lifted the cigarette back to your lips and inhaled. You blew the smoke away from him and he watched you, like he had so many times before. 

“Aint you supposed to be with the kids?” He asked, still standing to close, his scent still wafting over you, still just watching you smoke. 

“Yes,” You said softly, “But I needed…a minute away,” You didn’t even want to admit how much you needed to get away from your job, your responsibilities but the words spilled out of you before you could stop them. You hurriedly brought the cigarette up to your lips again, as if to silence yourself.

“A minute away…” Joel repeated, “To pray?” He asked, his voice mocked you because even though you were in the church, you weren’t lighting a candle or on your knees asking for peace. You were smoking and feeling bad for yourself. You started to shake your head, the cigarette dangling from your lips now, before you could even complete the motion his hand was on your chin, halting your movement.  His thick thumb dug into one side of your jaw, his pointer finger curled down the other side. Breath, and all thought was knocked out of you. All you could do was look up at the chiseled face above you.  There was grey in the scruff on his cheeks and peppering his mustache and  his chin was tilted up as his eyes looked down on you, examining your face. The old priest shouldn’t have been touching you like this, you knew that but your feet wouldn’t work, your stomach twisted and the shiver running up and down your spine still couldn’t make up its mind about whether it was a good shiver or a bad shiver. “I think you need’ta get on your knees to pray more often,” his voice had lowered slightly but the gruff resonance in it was enough to shake you. You thought for a half second he was about to force your to your knees now but instead he reached up with his other hand and plucked the dangling cigarette from your lips. He put it into his mouth, inhaled and then removed it, taking a step away from you,

“Thanks, cherub.” he said and then he turned on his  nice leather shoes and walked back up through the pews. 

+

You didn’t return to the church to smoke again. You did tell yourself you would go to mass more often. The thoughts you were having about that evening were completely unholy, and you needed to force them out of your mind. You needed to take the Eucharist and try and heal yourself from these sins of the flesh. For the first time in a long time you had been tempted, really tempted to do something you knew was wrong. When you were young you had touched yourself plenty but as you got older you became more and more disgusted by your actions and resisted it, knowing self love was sinful, but that interaction with Father Joel Miller had you thinking things that made your body heat up. The crawling shiver up your spine had been a warning, a warning about feelings that had bubbled up in your tummy and how it would be so easy for those feelings, those desires, wants, needs to take over. It was your own dirty mind that was allowing you to believe it was because of Father Joel looking at you that you got that creeping sensation. He was a priest, a little bit of an unorthodox priest, but a priest nonetheless and you were allowing dirty thoughts to change your opinion of him. So going to mass was a good idea. 

You didn’t allow yourself to look at Father Miller during the service on Sunday, but his gruff voice speaking his homily reminded you vividly of the way he said “cherub”. The way he had told you that you needed to “get on your knees to pray.” You could barely pay attention to his words because simply his voice, that resounding, husky voice did something to you and warmth pooled deep in your belly. It felt like there was a persistent drip of warmth sliding lower down, lower to that place that remained mostly unexplored by you, by anyone. All because of his voice.

You felt like it vibrated through the floor of the church and up into your pew, making you pulse with your disgusting desires.

You kept your eyes down, on your hymnal, refusing to look up at Father Miller because there was a quiet part of you, in the back of your mind, that told you if you looked at him, you’d be meeting his gaze. That would do absolutely nothing to help control that heat that was pooling inside of you. 

When you stood to go to the altar rails and receive the eucharist your legs were wobbly, damn this weakness. There was no reason to sexualize Father Miller’s kindness to you. He hadn’t gotten you in trouble for smoking in the church and in return you were allowing these debased thoughts to happen to you in church on your way to receive the very body and blood of Christ. While you walked up the aisle, the crucifix directly in front of you, a statue of the Virgin Mary staring into your soul, you could feel that drip of heat wetting your underwear. You tried your hardest to tell yourself it was nothing, it was just natural discharge, not what you knew it to be, your body’s reaction to Father Miller’s voice as he spoke holy words, prayers and talked of repentance during his Homily.

At the altar rail you knelt down on the cushion and clasped your hands in front of you to pray while you waited for your turn to receive communion.  You knew you would have to look at Father Miller while he gave you the body of Christ but you were scared, you had forced yourself to avoid looking at him all throughout mass, you hadn’t met his gaze when you knew he was looking at you and you told yourself time and time again that his gaze meant nothing. But your attempts to curb your desires had been in vain something about his voice, about the memories of his hand on your chin, his body so close to you, his smell had caused you to leak arousal into your underwear. Your labia felt swollen against the tight cotton and you were ashamed to be kneeling in church like this, your face was burning much like you would be if you were to be struck down dead right now. You could hear him approaching, speaking to each parishioner as he placed the body of Christ on their tongue and blessed them. You would have to look up at him shortly, your eyes would have to meet his, you would have to take in that face that had been haunting you while he spoke his blessing to you. He was on the person to your right and now was the time to tilt your head up, you almost didn’t but as he moved over, you knew your place as a good Catholic and you looked up at your priest. 

He was just as entrancing as he always had been, in off white vestments with gold stitching, his greying hair pushed back away from his face, a little long in the back, curling around his neck and his eyes, dark and hungry, staring down at you. Your vagina clenched around nothing and you burned with shame and the memory of his big hand at your chin and jaw. 

Your eyes locked onto his and his gaze held yours, refusing to let you go, there was no choice in the matter, you would gaze up into his eyes until the end of time if he wanted it. He held the body of Christ out to you, your head upturned. At the time you didn’t understand just how reverent you looked, all you could think of was him and the vague worry that your juices might have been dripping down your leg. 

“The body of Christ,” Father Miller’s voice changed ever so slightly when he spoke the words to you. You had been listening the whole time you had been kneeling and now his voice had lost the monotone pitch he had had. There was a lilt in his voice that was only for you. 

“Amen,” You said, you opened your mouth, your tongue very slightly pushed out, resting on the edge of your bottom lip, your eyes still captured in his gaze. Something blazed there, behind his eyes and despite the heat in your cheeks and the heat that was making your wet and swollen vulva pulse with a need you had never felt before, that familiar shiver crawled up your spine. Joel placed the body of Christ on your tongue and maybe you imagined it, maybe it was a split second that felt like it stretched into eternity but you could have sworn the tip of his finger grazed the side of your tongue as he took his hand away. That tiniest touch of his thick, calloused finger against an intimate and sensitive part of yourself made your brow briefly furrow and that deep clench of your sex to take over your body again. You closed your mouth around the wafer that you believed to be the actual flesh of your Savior and your gaze remained on the man granting you that sacrament. You watched his lip twitch ever so slightly as, without taking those dark, burning brown eyes form yours, he took the chalice he was handed and held it before you. 

“The blood of Christ,” he said, you could hear that lilt again, like he was mocking not only you but God himself as he held that chalice out. 

“Amen,” you said and he brought the chalice to your mouth, tilting it back while cupping his hand under your chin in case it spilled over. The proximity of his hand to your chin buzzed something in you. Your eyes remained on him and his eyebrows raised slightly as he fed you the Blood of Christ. When he removed the chalice from your lips, a droplet of the wine dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You were about to reach up and wipe it when his thumb beat you to it. In one quick motion, he swiped it away, the calloused thumb leaving a trail of heat on your face. You felt him tear his eyes away from you like a punch to the gut and you knew you had to continue on. You made the sign of the cross on yourself, collected every ounce of strength you had and got up from the altar rail. You could feel your slick soaking your underwear, and wetting your thighs as you walked. You knew you had to beg for forgiveness and the only place to do that was Confession. 

+

You knew you had to confess. You hadn’t been able to resist your carnal desires, once you had returned to your apartment after mass on Sunday you had tried your hardest to relieve that mounting pressure between your thighs. You had delicately stroked your folds and experimented with pace and tried to find a rhythm that would relieve you but as if as punishment, you couldn’t. Now, you needed to confess and to make matters worse, the only person you could confess to was Father Miller. You came to confession on a Friday night after school had let out. The hours for confession were set and you knew he would be in the confessional, waiting for perishoners.

Friday was usually silent at the church, the staff had left for the weekend and most people didn’t confess on a Friday. You walked into the church  and down the side aisle to where the confessional was. It was tucked into the side aisle just in front of the very altar rail you had knelt at and drenched your underwear earlier in the week. Your cheeks were bright red as you stepped into the booth and knelt down in front of the partition, there was a screen between you and him but you knew he was there. The smell of him lingered all around you. Tobacco, mint and the acrid metallic scent…what could that be? If you had to guess you’d say gunpowder but that made no sense to you. Your body reacted to his scent as if you were being touched by him again, your body clenched and your heart skipped a beat. 

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was…” You actually had to think about it for a moment, you had confessed at your church in college but that was over a year ago…was that the last time you had confessed? “Over a year ago,” You mumbled. You paused, unsure if you should just start or if he would say something else. 

“What are your sins, Cherub?” He knew it was you. He’d never say that to someone else. It would have been, “My child”. But no, cherub. You were taken aback by this breach in protocol and you didn’t speak for so long he cleared his throat, “We ain’t gettin’ any younger.” He said. “And your sins aint any closer to absolved,” You needed to speak and speak now, to get all this off of your chest so you could lay it to rest and forget it. 

“I’ve…been plagued with unholy desires, Father.” You said. You could hear him shift in the box next to you and you leaned your head forward, your forehead pressed to the screen separating you. “I’ve been having these intense…” Embarrassment made your cheeks flush, you fiddled with the hem of the skirt you wore today and you knew you had to keep going, “Sexual fantasies,” You blurted it out and you heard him let out a long, slow breath. “I can’t stop them but the thoughts are so intense…and wrong,” You said. You listened to his breathing while your own breathing quickened because the heady scent of him was doing something to you again. Your knees were aching from where they were pressed into the kneeler and your whole body felt tight and tense. 

“You been actin’ on these…fantasies?” He asked. Acting on them? Did an aborted masturbation attempt count as acting on them? In the eyes of the Lord, yes. You needed to admit it to him. 

“Yes, Father…I…I believe I have.” You said it even as you could feel that blooming, dripping heat fill your belly. 

“You believe you have, huh?” He asked, that mocking lilt colored his voice and another shiver crawled up your spine. While the shiver might have been caused by something unholy, it certainly was a good shiver. 

“I’ve touched myself because of these fantasies,” You admitted softly, your fingers still twisting the end of your skirt. “I was never able to…finish but it’s still a sin.” You told him taking a deep breath through your nose, you wondered if he was leaning in towards the screen too. You pulled your head back to look,  you could see bits of him through the latticed wood that created the screen that was supposedly there to protect anonymity.  

“Yea, Cherub, it sure is a sin.” He spoke and the words, his voice was like an injection of heat straight to your core. You had already practically leaked all over the altar rails at communion but now you were going to drip down your thighs in confession. “And I know what your penance should be,” he said. You let out a relieved breath, maybe if you did the penance you would be absolved and God would take the lust from your body. 

“Yes, Father. What should I do?” You asked. You heard Joel lean forward now, his voice was closer to the screen and the seat he was on creaked slightly. 

“You gotta reach your fingers under your skirt and touch yourself again, right here, right now.” His low voice sounded even more gravely than usual and the words burned through you. 

“F-Father?” You questioned, unsure if this could be possible. Your brain was already addled with lust, and this felt wrong but the temptation was so strong. 

“The only way we can absolve you of these sins is to complete them.” He insisted and you knew how wrong he was. Those shivers you felt were warnings of him. But how could you resist this? His voice was like a drug and that scent and the way you remembered the feeling of his fingers on your jaw, the pad of his thumb on your chin at communion, the ridge of his finger on the side of your tongue. “I want you to tell me just how wet you are, kneeling there before God,” Joel’s voice came to you through your lust filled fog and before you could think further you reached your hand up under your skirt and into your underwear. Your fingers immediately slipped over your soaked lips and you let out a gasp at the realization you had been soaking your underwear during the entirety of the confession. 

“Father, it’s…so wet.” You gasped, you heard movement again from his side of the confessional, the rustle of clothing and maybe the clinking of a belt being adjusted. 

“Get those knees nice and wide and stroke your lips for me,” Father Miller said, and you knew he was close to you leaned into the wood lattice screen. You could practically feel his breath. You did as you were told, kneeling a little wider and stroking your lips. You let out a squeak of pleasure, “Nice n’ slow, darlin’” His voice floated through the screen and your fingers slowly, painfully slow stroked along your puffy lips. 

“Oh God,” The words were ripped from you as the tips of your delicate fingers grazed your clitorus and your whole body throbbed. 

“Jus’ your lips, pretty girl, don’t touch that clit of yours.” The filth words coming from your priest's mouth only spurred you on. You wanted to ignore him and touch your clit again, but how had he known you had touched it in the first place? “Stroke down to your hole, cherub,” it was horribly disgusting and lewd to hear him talk like that but it still stoked a terrible fire inside you. You reached your hand farther down, sinking your butt back towards your feet as you knelt. Your finger found your entrance, the source of your wetness and you found yourself longing to push your finger into yourself. As if he heard your very thought Joel chuckled,

“Dont even think about fingerin’ yourself, little girl.” He said. A moan of desperation that matched any of the vulgarity he had spewed to you fell from your lips. “Tell me, cherub, is that a virgin cunt you’ve got over there? Or is there somethin’ else you need to be confessin’ to your Father?” he asked. Your fingers were tracing a circle around your soaked hole, trying to listen to him and not let your finger enter your body. 

“I’m a virgin, Father. Please…” You didn’t know what you were asking for with that please but it felt appropriate. Once you said that, there was a rush of movement and then the door to your side of the confessional was thrown open and Father Miller stood in front of you. You nearly toppled over from where you were kneeling, your hand still shoved into  your underwear.  He made a tsking sound, 

“Oh my little Virgin Mary,” his voice crawled up your spine like the shiver. “I’ve always known you were my good girl,” He reached down to where you were kneeling and wrapped his arm around your upper arm, pulling you up to stand. You gasped and he pulled you out of the confessional, his body moving your weight like it was nothing. His hand tightened on your arm as he pulled you into his body and then it dropped to around your waist and his mouth was on yours, kissing you. It was anything but a chaste kiss, his tongue lavished your mouth, circling yours while his arms wrapped around your waist keeping you locked against his broad, strong body.  When he pulled away from you, you were gasping for breath and he let out a dark chuckle

“Oh, I am going to eat you up, Cherub.” It was a threat, but it made you pulse with need. Joel took your upper arms in his hands again, fingers digging in, “Let’s pray,” he said and he started to pull you over a few feet to the altar rail. In a sharp movement he pushed you down, bent at the waist over the rail, your feet pressed into the kneeler, you squealed in surprise, 

“Father!” You managed to squeak out.

“Let’s see this pretty cunt that’s causin’ you such problems, sweetheart.” Joel growled and with one hand shoved your skirt up and then ripped your undies down, exposing your soaked pussy to him. You whimper in shame and embarrassment. You were so close to the holy altar, staring up at the crucifix while your most private part was exposed to Father Joel Miller. He let out a laugh, as his hand came up to your ass, he grabbed the meat of it, digging his fingers in and spreading it enough to expose more of your pussy to him. 

“Ohhh there she is,” He breathed, he let out a low whistle, “So swollen, so wet.” The fingers of his other hand stroked down your wet lips and in response you spread your legs a little more. “Is that what you want, Cherub?” he asked. You nodded vigorously, completely lost in lust. Joel stroked along your lips up to your clit and he started to flick slow circles around it. Your moans started to echo as he worked you up. “That’s it, enjoy that sin, darlin,” he breathed, leaning over your back to whisper into your ear. You could feel his black button up pressed into your back while his fingers continued to circle around your clit, sending burning pleasure coursing through you. 

“P-please!” You begged, letting yourself go completely to the need for more. “God! Please!” You cried. 

“Please, what?” Joel asked into your ear, you could feel his stubble and mustache against your ear. His scent washed over you, intoxicating you further. 

“Please, I want you inside of me, Father!” You cried, you hadn’t even realized that was what you would say when you opened your mouth but it came tumbling out anyway. His fingers moved from your clit to your entrance where you were clenching on nothing, your cunt was begging for it regardless of what you said. His middle finger circled around your hole, not entering you but noticing how tight you were. Joel pulled back enough to look down at your pussy again, 

“You want me inside of your virgin pussy?” He asked, You nodded before letting your head hang down in shame, the shame of how much you needed it and how much you were willing to sacrifice for it. The temptation of him had been too much. You could feel his eyes on your fluttering sex while he started to ease his finger inside of you. He rocked his finger inside of you and you pressed yourself back against him. 

“Oh cherub, I can see that you’re a virgin.” He said, those greedy, dark eyes on you, still, even now, sending shivers up your spine. His finger had barely made it halfway inside of you when he tugged his finger away. You gasped at the loss and pressed yourself back towards him. 

“Father! No! Please!” You whined, wiggling your hips. 

“If your virginity is gunna be mine, I sure as hell am gunna take it with my cock.” Joel��s molten voice sizzled inside of you and the realization washed over you that you weren’t going to try to stop him, and you were about to be filled with his cock right here in the middle of the church. You heard the buckle of his belt and the shift of clothes, still leaned over the altar railing, legs spread wide, ready to for him to fully know you. 

Joel watched your pussy as he notched his thick cock against your hole, your inner lips were parting for him waiting for your cunt to accept him. 

“Joel,” you gasped his name for the first time as you fully understood what was about to happen. “Is it going to hurt?”You asked. 

“Well it ain’t goin’ to be a walk in the park at first, Cherub.” He said, and you could feel how thick his cock head felt at your entrance“But I think she’ll open up for me,” his voice had that mocking lilt to it again. Before you could say anything else he had started to push into you and the stretch was so much that the breath was completely knocked out of you. You lurched forward as his hips rocked into you. 

“Oh, that looks so good…pretty cunt splittin’ open for me.” He said and you knew he was watching the place where your bodies connected. He pressed himself forward again, forcing his way inside of you, making a spot for his thick cock in your tight hole. You let out a whine and he gripped your hips tugging you back more. “Atta girl, you’re takin’ my cock so well. This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?” he asked and all you could manage was a garbled moan in response. It did hurt some as he continued to ease himself in inch by thick inch but you were also completely drenched with slick that it was decently quick work to ease you open. 

“Father! Oh, its…so big!” You pressed your hips back, hoping to open yourself more to him. When he was fully sheathed inside of you, he was still for so long that you felt like you might go crazy with the need for friction. “Please…father…fuck me.” You gasped and that seemed to spur Joel on, he started to pull his cock back before shoving it back in, setting a brutal pace. Joels breath started to grow ragged with his own pleasure,

“Is that what you want, little girl?” He asked as his hips snapped forward to fill you over and over. “You want my cock to fuck you?” He asked. You nodded, still dazed. 

“I wanna hear you, Cherub. Confess to me, what do you want?” Joel bent forward over you, one hand snaking around you and grabbing your throat , fingers pressing into your jaw.  You moaned, unable to form a proper sentence as he pulled you back by your neck, making you look up at the altar in front of you. “Come on, let‘s hear that confession,” he said as his cock ruthlessly pummeled against your cervix, splitting you open more and more with each thrust. His other hand, the one not forcing you to look at the image of your savior, trailed down your belly and underneath your skirt. His middle finger found your clit, stroking it in those quick, flicking circles. Your body tensed against the feeling, tightening around his cock. He groaned into your cheek while he held you up with his hand on your neck. “Come on, tell me you want me to fuck your pretty little cunt.” He said. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” You cried, your eyes blurring with tears as you admitted it in front of him, and God all the same. “Yes, I want your cock to fuck me and I want to come!” You cried. 

“You want to come?” He asked, “Is that it, Cherub? You wanna come while confessin’ your sins right here in front of the holy altar?” his voice was strained and you could feel his thrusts becoming messier, harder as he chased his own orgasm. 

“Yes! Father! Please!” his finger stroked across your clit. 

“Come on my cock, Cherub. Let go for me,” He spoke the word into her cheek, your head turned to the side, leaning back into him. Your orgasm burst over you like white light, heat and shivers down your spine. He stroked your clit through it while his hips pumped his thick cock in and out of you, pulling mewls of pleasure out of. Your eyes opened and you watched the statue of the Virgin Mary while his cock pummeled your cervix and he released ropes of his hot spend inside of you. He groaned into your cheek, your body still back against him. Joel’s teeth caught your jaw, biting you briefly. 

As your breathing settled a little, Father Joel Miller pulled himself out of you. You felt his eyes on your completely destroyed pussy and his fingers briefly stroked at your entrance, gathering a generous amount of his sticky come onto his fingers before he lifted your underwear for you, covering you again. 

“Turn around, Cherub.” he instructed and you did, your face burning with the shame of what had just happened. Joel grabbed your jaw with one of his hands, “Open,” he said and you did what you were told, your tongue pressed out just a tiny bit, resting against your bottom lip. He brought the finger coated in his come that had been dripping out of you to your tongue and swiped across it. The salty, heady taste mixed with the scent of Father Joel Miller, Tobacco, mint, fresh sweat and the acrid burning metallic gunpowder smell. Shivers ran up and down your spine as you stood in front of the holy altar, bleary eyed and red cheeked. 

“God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

[openphrase123]

actually you know what. i'm thinking about body craft and like. how it's such a goofy and magical thing to throw into a setting but like. i'm thinking of the implications

like ka bue strictly does not allow it. to a terrifying extent. and the first kneejerk instinct is to go "oh so ka bue is bigoted against trans people" but then odile's like "what? no. look at the king. we don't allow body craft cause it's dangerous" and then slyly changes the topic to make herself look a little more mysterious

and then i'm thinking like. yeah. is body craft SAFE in vaugarde? i suppose if you mess something up you can craft it back in the right shape. but even so recently as when isabeau changed, it seemed like there was not a true standard for teaching people who were not craft-focused how to do it. cause it seems like you have to do it yourself??

you have a bunch of people doing DIY magical surgeries on themselves - overseen by religious figures but still, these are amateurs - do people mess up? do people have body craft trauma? if you craft on yourself enough does it have any adverse body effects? culturally it seems like sometimes people just Leave and disappear into a House for a while and come back Changed. and it's culturally rude to point this out or ask what they were like before. what's THAT like, socially

and then mirabelle comes in saying there are new advancements in body craft that let you be Changed in a few months and EXCUSE ME? all of vaugarde is going around doing experimental body morphing magic on themselves and they just found out how to do it QUICKER? no wonder ka bue is worried. vaugarde is about to be an entire country of shapeshifters

like what if there's an advancement that makes body craft instant. obviously cool as hell but what the FUCK are the political and social implications of that. is there anything vaugardians learn to change and go "mm no that's too far" or is it all totally fair game.

also unlike a lot of magical fantasy settings, disabled people DO exist in vaugarde. how does that intertwine with body craft? it doesn't seem like they can craft a new eye onto siffrin. there are people missing limbs and in chairs. there's a blind guy. i would not WANT this stuff to be magic-ed away but i'm so SO curious how it fits in with the "you can change whatever you want about your body forever" setting

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 2

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

Part 2 of a little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. ILYSM!😘

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by saradika part 1

2. 

You’re a heavy sleeper, but this takes the cake.

When you stagger into your kitchen and look out the window Tex’s Chevelle is parked half in your gravel driveway, half in your yard. And tethered to your fence post munching green grass to his heart’s content is a certain miniature equine who you’d tried to acquire with cold hard cash the night before.

Fuck.

You march outside in your threadbare nightgown and your bare feet, finding Tex asleep in the driver’s seat. How the hell did he even get this horse here with that car?

If he put Ziggy in the trunk you are going to murder him.

You pound on the window, and he wakes with a violent start. “Popsicles!”

“What?”

He looks around, before fixing on you, and seems to relax a hair. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

“What. The fuck. Did you do?”

“Uh…funny story…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What? Didn’t you want this horse?”

“Yeah, but…” You pull at your hair, feeling a migraine coming on already. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

You turn in the dew-wet grass to go check on Ziggy. You hear Tex exiting the car behind you. “Don’t be mad, baby.”

“I’m not mad,” you answer sadly, running your fingers through the little horse’s coarse blond mane. “I’m scared.”

Ziggy nibbles at your fingers with his meaty lips, wanting the treats he associates you with. He was going to need a whole lot more than molasses cookies though. You could already tell how your day was going to go.

“Don’t be scared either, darlin’,” Tex says behind you.

“Easy for you to say. You realize this is the first place Dale is gonna come look? And he’ll probably bring Donnie too.”

Nevermind the restraining order you have. It won’t stop him. He’s friends with half the sheriff’s deputies anyway. The Barksdales are damn near untouchable. You learned that the oh so hard way.

“Honey, I’m not going to let them hurt you.” 

For the sake of the horse you keep your temper in check, moderating your voice when all you want to do is yell. “What are you going to do? Watch over me every minute of the day?” He lifts his brows like he likes that idea–you do too, which is batshit insane, because you don’t actually know a goddamn thing about this man.

“Hold on. How did you even know where I live?”

He shrugs. “Not hard to find out, if you know where to look.”

“Well that’s not creepy at all.”

You guess all he’d have to do is ask at the gas station–your family’s been here long enough that it’s basically common knowledge.

You stand there in your faded floral muumuu and your bare feet, toe to toe with this tall dark man and if you had any sense you would be afraid…but you’re not. You’re not because you just don’t think he’ll hurt you. You feel it in your bones and you haven’t had that certainty about any man in so long you can’t remember, and it’s driving you a little wild inside.

“I need my boots,” you sigh, and brush past him to go back to the house.

***

You put Ziggy in the farthest back stall of your barn, where he’ll be out of sight should anyone come looking. With a flake of hay and some grains in his bucket, he seems perfectly content, the sweet sound of him munching filling the old oak building. You lean on a rough sawn post and watch him with a storm in your heart, wondering how long its been since he’d been able to eat his fill.

There will be a price to pay for this little horse’s well being, and you decide whatever it is will be worth it, even if you are afraid. Tex’s presence might deter vengeance for a little while, but he won’t be here forever. You know he won’t, no matter how nice it is to think it, so you’d better be ready.

You were going to have to think on this.

But first, you were going to have to call the ferrier. Luckily you had a friend who wouldn’t rat you out to the Barksdales. Angela was tough as nails and didn’t kowtow to their bullshit. 

It occurs to you that maybe the best thing for Ziggy, and the best thing for you, might be to get this horse far away from here. You wouldn’t put it past Dale or Donnie or one of his other heartless relatives to sneak into your barn in the dead of night and do something awful. There wouldn’t be a whole lot you could do about it either.

You’ve had this horse for about 5 seconds, and the thought of giving him up already breaks your heart.

Tex has been standing silently beside you. You feel his eyes on you, but in what you suspect is a rare occurrence, he’s not running his mouth, giving you space to think. But when you give a heavy sigh he finally breaks. “Come on, darlin’, I thought this would make you happy. It kills me to see you sad.” He opens his arms to you, but you eye them warily. It’s too tempting by far. The way this man is dangerous to you, is that you could get too used to his company too quick.

“You want breakfast?” you deflect.

He nods, those dark eyes taking the measure of you, looking through you, you’re afraid, right into your soul. “Sure.” But he doesn’t move, still just looking at you. 

“What?” you grouse.

Your annoyance only makes him grin.

“Did I mention you’re the cutest little thing in a muumuu and muck boots this side of the Mississippi?”

You roll your eyes, not believing him for a minute. Your hair is still in its bird’s nest of a sleeping braid and you haven’t had your coffee yet. With hands on your hips you look him over too. He’s still wearing the same shirt as last night, and his eyes are a little bloodshot.

“Did you tie one on last night and steal that horse?”

He scrubs at the back of his neck, looking all the while like a guilty schoolboy. “Well…about that…”

This is the thing that finally breaks through your black mood, lifting your sorrow like a blanket. The thought of this man committing grand theft pony–dare you think it, for you–brings a small smile to your lips, and a whole lot of sunshine to your heart.

“Tell me in the house. I’m hungry.” When he doesn’t immediately budge you turn him by the shoulders and give him a shove. Without really thinking about it, you smack his ass for good measure. That tight little behind is round, and firm, and you bite your lip without meaning to, wishing it was something else.

He makes a show of jumping with surprise, smirking at you knowingly over his shoulder. “Watch it, baby girl, or I’mma get myself a handful next,” he warns you with a wicked glint in his eye that makes your insides churn. 

You don’t know what insane notion possesses you, when you stick out your tongue at him– and run. 

You're smarter than this. You know you don't run from a predator. You face them down and smack them on the nose. 

His laughter from right behind you makes an electric thrill zip from your heart to your toes. Dear Lord. No man should be this much fun. 

He really is like a drug, and you don’t know what you were thinking running from him, because you are not fast, and you are clumsy, but somehow it’s him behind you who lets out a surprised yell.

You turn to find Tex with his foot in a hole up to his calf. “Oh my god. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” He extricates himself, and you both peer down into a tunnel running under the aisle of your dirt floor barn. You look at the direction, and follow it to an unoccupied stall. Throwing open the door, you find mounds and mounds of freshly disturbed earth.

“Motherfucker. That groundhog is back.”

Tex looks at the impressive damage with eyebrows raised high. “Goddam. You sure it ain’t a bear? Or a rogue bulldozer?”

“Yes. I can’t deal with this now. Come on.” You take his hand, pulling him towards the house, and he happily follows.

You pause at the front door. “Umm…it’s going to be chaos for a minute. Fair warning.” Then you lead him into the fray.

Chichi is a tiny black and tan tornado at your feet, yipping and screaming. You shake a treat can and hand one to Tex. “Give this to him if you want to live.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tex complies, crouching down to the little dog’s level to offer the morsel. Chichi gobbles it and quiets down, switching to sniffing and licking as Tex scratches his side. His hand is almost as big as your dog, and it touches your heart, how sweet he is to the little creature. Satisfied, Chichi runs back to you for a snuggle.

“We good now?” you ask the little chihuahua. He licks you fervently, and you laugh, setting him back down on the floor. Your bulldog reacts in the exact opposite manner, not even getting out of her bed, only deigning to open one eye to regard your visitor. Your conure has joined in the cacophony, and will not quiet until you give him a piece of apple.

“I hope you like fresh eggs and bacon, it’s all I got.”

“Alright.” He seems amused by you, and the happy mayhem of your home, looking around with a sparkle in his eye. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.” You point him in the right direction and go to the kitchen, lighting a burner under your cast iron skillet. You busy yourself with frying bacon and cracking eggs and filling the kettle for coffee. You are so concentrated on your task that it takes you a moment to notice Tex leaning on the door jam–sans shirt.

You blink, and nearly put your hand in the hot pan. “You forget something?” you ask, trying like hell not to stare at the broad expanse of muscled torso before you. Jesus fucking christ, that’s not fair.

“My clean shirts are back at the motel,” he defends. 

His hair is slightly damp from washing up, looking unfairly edible.

He sidles closer, and you notice the top button of his jeans is undone. A long scar runs down the center of his abdomen, leading your eye to a dark patch of hair that disappears into his waistband. 

Evil. This man is pure evil–and you want to taste every inch of him.

“My eyes are up here, darlin’,” he says with a smirk. 

“You are a menace,” you grouse, holding up a spatula in defense as he just keeps getting closer. He smirks, looking down at the implement.

“You gonna spank me, sweetheart?”

“I would, but I’m afraid you’d like it.”

You are warm all over, and it has nothing to do with slaving over a hot stove.

“Can I help?”

Like he hasn’t helped enough.

“Sure. Pour that hot water into that carafe.”

He looks between the french press, the kettle, and you. “Ever heard of a Mr. Coffee?”

“We don’t tolerate weak coffee in this house.”

He grins at you, doing as he’s told. He even knows to stir it with a wooden spoon, which makes you think he was just pulling your leg.

While you are flipping bacon you feel him zero in behind you, the line of warmth from his body like a heat lamp at your back. “Smells wonderful,” he says, daring to touch your waist.

“It’s meat candy, what do you expect?” You’re not sure if you’re talking about the bacon, or him. 

“Hmm.” His chuckle is a low rumble behind you. You feel it reverberate in your bones. The tips of his fingers press into your sides as he grips fistfuls of your nightgown–and you–as he nuzzles your hair. The sound you make as you wiggle in his arms is almost cartoonish. He takes no mercy, laughing and holding you closer. The warm, solid line of his body behind you is divine, so wonderful you can hardly stand it.

“You are going to make me burn the bacon!” you screech in an attempt at self-defense.

“That’s alright, I’ll just eat you for breakfast,” he tells you in that low growl that makes your knees weak, ducking to nibble at your ear. It’s possible you give in for a few seconds, your head rocking back against his shoulder as he holds you. Why does it have to feel like you fit together so well? When his long fingers bunch in your skirt, pulling it up as his other hand reaches for your breast you think you might combust. In a panic you smack his hand with the spatula with a little scream, trying not to giggle. 

“Go sit down!”

With a wicked chuckle he skips out of reach before you can smack him again, collapsing into one of the old wooden kitchen chairs. His smoldering gaze meets yours, and you feel unsettled. 

This man. Lord save you.

Or not. Maybe…you don’t want to be saved.

“I don’t know how you do things in Texas, but here you don’t get to feel a girl up just because you rustled a horse for her.”

He grins, baring his teeth like he means to eat you.

“Sorry, darlin’, blame the muumuu.”

You try to keep a straight face, but in the end you fail utterly. 

“You gonna tell me how all this happened?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“No, but I should.”

“Hmm. Well, after the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met abandoned me at the fair–”

“Oh save it, Mr. L.A. stuntman.”

He grins but goes on, “I had to do something to nurse my broken heart. So I went to the aforementioned TJ’s by the creek…”

“Ok, this is starting to make sense.”

You start setting dishes of food and plates on the table. Eggs, bacon, toast, butter and jam, and of course, coffee. “And I only had one drink, because I’m a cautious sort of fellow…”

“Yes, that has been made glaringly apparent in the short time I've known you.”

He nods in agreement with a fey glint in his eye all the while. “And who walks in, but our friend Dale…”

“Oh god. You didn’t pick a fight with him, did you?”

“I did not. I went out to the parking lot, to find his horse trailer still full of petting zoo employees conveniently two cars away from mine.”

You cover your mouth, so he can’t see the absolutely feral grin forming on your lips. “You didn’t.”

“I so did. Let the goats out to disperse in the woods there, and wouldn’t you know Ziggy fit right in my passenger seat?”

You are picturing this big tough man in his muscle car peeling out down the road with that cute little horse as a co-pilot. That must be the point when you officially lose your sanity, because you crawl into his lap, planting a big kiss right on his mouth. He lets out a low moan of appreciation, cupping your rear end in his two big hands.

“Tex?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“You’re a goddamned hero.”

“I know! I’ve been trying to tell you,” he says with a grin, stealing another kiss.

You try to extricate yourself to go sit in the opposite chair, but he will not let you. You eat breakfast together, sitting in his lap, his big warm hand on your thigh while you giggle and feed each other morsels and talk, and you can’t help but feel like things might turn out afterall.

***

Tex is helping you do the dishes, or maybe distracting you from doing the dishes, because he keeps plying you with toe curling kisses, when the two of you watch a battered red Chevy pickup pull down your driveway.

“Shit,” you say, recognizing it immediately.

“Here we go. Later than I expected.”

You look up at him open mouthed, an involuntary fear response coursing through your veins, turning your limbs ice cold. “You expected?”

“It’s alright, darlin’. Stay inside.” He kisses your forehead, cradling your cheek with a sweet assurance that you want to believe in, more than anything. It would be too good to be true, to have a man who could really protect you. Someone you could just…depend on. You want it with every fiber of your being, and rather than get your shotgun and run out to the porch on bare feet, you stand there in the kitchen and watch Tex go out the door, pulling a white t-shirt down over a blocky black object tucked into the back of his jeans.

Oh Lord. 

Predictably, Dale is driving, and your blood turns to ice as your piece-of-shit ex spills out of the passenger seat. And even though you know the very Devil is standing there in your driveway, your first thought, as ever when seeing Donnie Barksdale, is damn he looks good. 

There really is something wrong with you. 

He’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves cut off and his usual trucker hat advertising some manner of farm implement (as if he’s ever worked that hard). As always, the sight of Donnie feels like a sharp knife shoved up between your ribs. No matter what he did to you, a part of you will always love that man, or at least, the boy he was when he was your friend, your first love, before he became so hell bent on destroying you. To this day, you do not understand what you ever did to that man, to make him turn on you so violently. You offered him all the love in your heart, and in turn he made you feel worthless. For a time, you actually believed it was true. Now you know better, but it’s been a long, hard road.

“Who the hell are you?” barks Donnie up at the self-assured man standing sentry on your front porch. 

“That’s not what you should be worryin’ about right now,” answers Tex, leaning on the post. 

“That a fact?” 

“Yep. The thing you should be worryin’ about is that you’re trespassin’.” 

Dale exits his truck, leaning on the dented hood. “That’s the fucker that hit me last night, Donnie.” 

Donnie nods, sizing Tex up. The thing about Donnie is…he doesn’t like to get into a fight he doesn’t know he’s going to win. And Tex is a helluva wildcard. It’s possible your no-good wife-beatin’ ex finally met his match. 

“He’s leaving out the bit about askin’ for it. Is beatin’ on y/n y/l/n just a universal pastime in this county for you boys when you run outta pigs to fuck, or what?” drawls Tex, picking at his fingernails. 

Donnie bristles at this, taking a step forward. “Motherfucker–” 

“That’s as far as you go, son,” warns Tex, producing the object from the back of his jeans. You knew it was a gun. You did not know it was that big of a gun. Donnie is wearing his usual inscrutable aviators, but Dale’s eyes go wide. 

“We’re just here to get my stolen horse, mister,” says Dale, holding his hands up. 

“Aww, you boys missin’ your lil’ pony? Better check the lost and found then. It ain’t here.” 

“We’ll have a look for ourselves,” spits Donnie, stepping towards the barn. 

Boom!

The report of the pistol is deafening, and the bullet sends up an explosion of gravel right in front of Donnie’s feet. The dogs and the bird go crazy, starting up and barking and screeching. Donnie jumps backwards three feet, his glasses falling off into the dirt. The expression of fear on his face is as rare as it is priceless. 

“You crazy asshole!”

You scoop up Chichi, trying to comfort him. The little dog trembles like a leaf in your arms. You murmur nonsense to it, but your eyes are glued to the confrontation outside, adrenaline rolling through your veins like flash flood water. You realize you’re shaking almost as badly as the dog. 

“Guilty. Ever seen a Desert Eagle? Shoots a big fuckin’ bullet. A .50 caliber round will explode your kneecap like an apple.” Tex whistles with appreciation, and you’re pretty sure Donnie goes pale. “Wanna test my aim today? I might miss and hit you in the balls.” 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this the way you are, but God did that man have it coming. 

 “We should call the Sheriff on you!” 

“Please do. This is a ‘stand your ground’ state. We can tell him about how you’re trespassing, and I’m pretty sure you ain’t supposed to be within 300 yards of that pretty little thing watchin’ us from the kitchen.” 

Donnie’s attention zeroes in on the window, and you sense it like a laser sight fixed upon you. You hate it, how just that hateful look makes you flinch. 

“Y/n!” Donnie calls. “Come out here!” 

“She don’t need to come out here,” says Tex. “She ain’t gonna save you.” 

Donnie seems actually surprised, when you do not obey him, staying put in your spot in the kitchen. 

When the two men just stand there in the driveway, frozen and speechless, Tex cocks the pistol for show. “You need another demonstration? Git!”

“This ain’t over, fucker!” spits Donnie, pointing menacingly–from a safe distance. 

“You better hope it is. Don’t come back, and if either one of you ever touches her again I’ll kill you. That’s a promise. Now get the fuck out of here!” 

Spoiling for a fight but clearly outgunned, the two men back towards the truck, slowly climbing in. “There you go. See ya, bronies!” 

Tex waves the pistol in their direction, and you hear Donnie yell at Dale, “Fuck! Drive! Drive!”

Dale peels out, leaving ruts in your gravel and a dust cloud as they go.

Tex stays on the porch watching until their truck is good and gone. When he finally makes it back into the house you are a teary-eyed little mess. When he sees you the flint in his eyes immediately softens. “Aw, don’t cry honey, c’mere.” You do, and with your head resting on the solid warm wall that is this man’s chest you start to lose it. 

“You actually did it.” 

“Course I did. I told you I would,” he says, stroking your hair as he holds you.

“But…you actually did it,” you say again, because you still cannot believe what just happened. No man has managed to stand up to Donnie Barksdale since your Grandpa, at 80 years old, who stood between you and Donnie in the very same spot on the porch, with the same 12 gauge you still keep behind the hutch, and threatened to cut your then-husband in half if he took another step closer. 

It was the last night Donnie beat on you, and broke your orbital bone, two of your teeth, and your arm. You’d escaped into the dark woods that night, and even though you are not stealthy or fast you managed by some miracle to make it through the brush and thorns and barbed wire fences the two miles to your grandparents’ farm house. It was the last straw, and you finally set the wheel in motion to divorce him the next day. 

You are not a pretty crier, but Tex lets you soak his shirt with tears and snot, holding you and murmuring sweet nonsense. “That’s right, honey, get it out. It’s ok.”

For once, it doesn’t sound like an empty placation. Donnie seemed genuinely scared of Tex, and Dale is an even bigger coward than Donnie. Maybe…they really will just leave you alone. 

Stranger things have happened. 

“I’m sorry,” you wheeze, trying to pull away to get a tissue. “I’m a mess.” 

But Tex pulls you back, not seeming to care one bit, and when his lips touch yours it really does seem like everything in the world has turned right. 

Amusingly, Chichi has been sandwiched between all this in your arms, and only just begins to put up a grumble of protest. “Oh hush, lil buddy,” says Tex, not unkindly, scratching the little dog under the chin. He does nearly the same thing to you, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “You alright?”

You nod and offer a watery smile, setting the dog down on the ground. It’s not what Chichi wants, but he’ll live. “Yes. Thank you.” 

If Donnie believed what Tex said…you do too. There is something dangerous about this man. A wildness that makes his threat feel like a promise. You guess that when the law fails you, what you truly need is an outlaw who keeps his word. Yet you truly believe he’s not a danger to you. You feel safe with him, and maybe that’s the biggest miracle of all. 

“As silly as this sounds after the morning we’ve had…I really do have to go to work.” 

“Alright. I’ll drive you.” A part of you wants to say it’s not necessary. But the other half of you? Just wants to bask in this new found feeling of security while it lasts. You can’t expect Tex to stick around forever to babysit you. But for right now…god, it feels good, to not have to carry this weight all on your own shoulders. 

You kiss him again, and it is warm, and sweet as sugar cookies fresh from the oven. You melt into him, and with his strong arms around your waist, then lower, it is very hard to get up the motivation to go clean up and put on your uniform. 

“Honey, you keep kissin’ me like that and we’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

It’s embarrassing, but you know the sound you make in answer is something like a cat in heat, your fingers curling in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You feel his words inside you–in the rhythm of your heart, and the throb of your loins. It’s damn near unbearable, this sudden restlessness you feel inside.

You don’t have anyone else to depend on, so you always have to do the responsible thing. Go to work. Get the money. Pay the bills. No one escapes the bullshit death march of Capitalism, except the fuckers who are running the game.

And yet. Maybe…just this once…you could call in sick. 

You stand on tiptoe to kiss him again, grabbing fistfuls of the fluffy waves of his now dried hair. “Tex?” 

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is pure honey dripping golden in the sun. 

“Let’s go upstairs.” His big hands flex against the soft curves of your hips, grabbing fistfuls of nightgown like he’s thinking about tearing it off of you. Incredibly, he says nothing glib, just nods. But when he looks down at you for a long, heated moment–you think he could burn down the world, with the fire in that dark gaze. 

“Lead the way, darlin’.” 

You take his big, beautiful hands in yours, and pull him towards the stairs.

[ananxiousgenz]

pssst. pssssssst. hey guys. look at what i got y'all (IT'S MORE JARTHUR COWBOY AU)

this one comes with several pieces of info you need to know first:

@percymawce-arts and I are writing this fic together!!! we have entered into writers matrimony for this fic and we are super excited about it!! I wrote the bare bones of the scene you're about to read and he added almost all of the flavor and spice (while i was laying on my bed in the family guy dead pose bc of how good he made it). make sure to go show percy some love for this too!!

this scene takes place after one where john and arthur chase after larson, but arthur refuses to shoot him, and john is more than a little pissed off about it.

and some trigger warnings: this scene contains some fighting (both verbal and physical), child abuse, religious trauma, homophobia, and some suggestive themes

and finally, i will tag @ellamenop and @izel-reblogs bc i have a feeling you will both enjoy this :)

“What,” John snarled, slamming the cabin door shut behind him, “the fuck. What was that?!”

“None of your business,” Arthur replied, ever so prim and fucking proper. He kept his back to John, maybe to hide his face, so John couldn’t read him. Maybe because he was too much of a coward to meet John’s eyes after that stunt. John didn’t care what the reason was. It was only pissing him off more.

“No. Fuck that. It's all my business.”

“I didn't fire a gun. How is that making you upset?”

“You had him right in front of you,” John rumbled, his voice as low and dangerous as thunder on the horizon. Arthur shivered. “And you let him go. You had the opportunity to kill him. To end this, all of this. And you let it slip through your fucking fingers.”

“Maybe I didn't want to kill him.”

“What the fuck does that matter? He's too goddamn dangerous to be left alive!”

“It's not that simple, John-”

“The hell it is! I’m sorry you feel conflicted or whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours, but this isn’t about you! All you had to do was fire the fucking gun. He was right in front of you, and you didn't shoot!”

“No, I didn't!”

“Why?!”

“You want to know why?” Arthur shouted, whipping around to face John, at last. “Because I can't kill another person! Even someone as awful as Larson! I’m not like you! This isn’t easy for me, alright?!”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Arthur’s face fell. John could see the regret wash over his face like a cloud over the burning sun, but it only lasted a moment before he was collecting himself. Putting on that same mask of polite-until-you-fuck-with-me he always wore around suspects and targets. John had never had that face turned on him before. He hated it.

“So that’s what this is about,” John murmured, his tone dark. ���You think it’s easy… You think I’m a monster, and you’d rather let Larson go free than be like me.”

“No, John, that’s not-”

 “Who do you think made me that way?” John snapped. Arthur’s mouth closed so fast John heard his teeth click. “It was him, Arthur. It was Larson. And thanks to you, he’s going to go and do it to another lonely, scared Native kid with nowhere else to go!” John chuckled humorlessly. “Christ, Arthur, If that’s what you thought of me, why didn’t you just say it at the start?”

Arthur threw up his hands in frustration. “That’s not what I think of you, John. Jesus, am I not allowed to have a minor moral crisis over shooting a man?!”

“He’s not just a man! He’s a gangster! A robber! A killer! You told me so yourself!”

“So are you, John.”

“Yeah, and you shot me for it,” John reminded him. 

Arthur growled and slammed his fist down on the mantle of the fireplace beside them, hard enough that John could feel the vibration travel through the floor. “Jesus fucking Christ, John, I wanted to let the law deal with him! Is that so hard to understand?!”

John took a step in Arthur’s direction. “Oh yeah? The same law that ripped me away from my family and home? The same law that turned me into a monster? Too little and too much for everyone all at the same time? The same law that drove human beings off of their lands and into reservations? That killed thousands of people like me?”

“The criminal law would have placed Larson in jail. Like he deserved.”

John scoffed and crossed his arms. “You think the law cares that he deserves it, Arthur? The law is punishment for those who don’t deserve it and ignorance for those who do. There’s no justice in it.”

“What, so that means it’s your job to deal it out?”

“Yes!” John yelled. “If it means he can’t hurt anyone any longer, then yes. And vigilante justice works a hell of a lot faster than the court system will ever manage!”

“I thought you were trying to be a better man, John.”

“I was trying to be like you,” John said venomously. “My mistake.”

That was the final straw. Arthur took a step forward without warning and swung his fist as hard as he could. It made contact with John’s ribs (he could feel them shift beneath Arthur’s fist), and John made a soft oof sound as the wind was knocked out of his lungs and he was knocked into the fireplace mantle, the corner of it digging into his shoulder. 

The fight that followed was chaotic and messy in a way John had never experienced before, and when he tried to think back to it, it would only be preserved in blurry snapshots, like someone moving in the middle of a photograph. Arthur grabbed John’s braid and pulled. John clawed a deep gouge into his arm. He drew blood. Arthur twisted John’s arm. John cracked Arthur’s rib. Arthur knocked John’s legs out from under him, causing them both to go sprawling onto the floor. Arthur punched. John slapped. Arthur bit. John pinned. And then paused. And then…

In the midst of the fighting, John had ended up on top of Arthur, straddling his waist while pinning both wrists with one hand and grabbing a fistfull of Arthur’s shirt with the other. Both of them had frozen, the only movement the rapid rise and fall of their chests. Their noses were nearly touching, and John could feel Arthur’s breath fanning across his lips, staring into those dark, dark eyes. They weren’t so dark, John realized as he looked into them. They were brown, lovely and warm, with scattered flecks of gold and green nestled deep inside. Hidden gems, wide and wild with adrenaline, flicking back and forth across John’s face without any point of focus.

John’s eyes flicked over the rest of Arthur’s face. Freckles smattered across his nose and cheekbones. Loose strands of auburn hair falling messily across his forehead. The crooked corners of his nose from being broken one too many times. Smile lines beside his tired eyes. Lips like flower petals, soft and pale. Slightly parted and inhaling, exhaling. At some point, John realized he had let go of Arthur’s shirt and was cradling Arthur’s face oh-so gently as he examined it, dragging his thumb lightly over his cheekbone, caressing it. Down the bridge of his nose to his lips, his perfect lips. Arthur remained as still as stone, barely even breathing as he stared blindly back at John.

Somewhere behind the haze of the moment, John wondered subconsciously what would happen if he kissed Arthur. Because, the truth, he realized, was that deep down, in the pit of his stomach, he wanted. He wanted Arthur, in a way he had never wanted anyone else before. He wanted to be close to him, close like this. Closer than this. To be around him always, to hold him, to kiss him. 

What would happen if he took what he wanted instead of what he was told, for once?

He hesitated when he heard Arthur’s breath hitch.But then, when no resistance came, he leaned his head down ever so slightly (there was barely any bridge to gap, by that point), and then he was kissing Arthur. And it was like the world had been set ablaze.

As he pressed his lips against Arthur’s, every nerve in John’s body was alive. It felt like a jolt from a live wire, like a burst of fireworks that would light up the sky on the Fourth of July, like the sparking tang of gunpowder before the shot rang out. It felt like energy, pure and bright and hot and lighting him up from the inside. He felt Arthur’s body respond in kind, arching up to create a line of contact that started at their hands and continued all the way down to their tangled legs, making John shiver. He tasted like whiskey, sweet and sharp beneath the campfire smoke and aftershave, and John marveled at how such a strange and sinful combination could taste like it had just come down from heaven.

He kissed harder, chasing the taste. He nipped at Arthur’s lip hard enough to draw blood, adding a coppery tang to the kiss and eliciting a small moan from the back of Arthur’s throat. It only made John want more. He kissed him again, and again, and again, Arthur’s lips and tongue moving against his with a practiced skill that made John dizzy. He kissed him until his lips were swollen and his head was swimming with nothing but Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. He only pulled away when his chest was burning and there was no choice but to come up for air.

Arthur’s face was flushed, his eyes wide and twinkling. “Oh God.” His voice was hoarse. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, John.”

And an unbidden memory surfaced in John’s mind. 

He was back in boarding school, sitting for a mandatory midnight mass in the chapel, his posture ramrod straight. The priests had always been so particular about those masses. There was to be no slouching or fidgeting, and God alone could help you if you dozed off. John had been kneeing in one of the pews, focusing all of his attention on keeping his posture perfect and his eyes open and remaining somewhat alert. 

In the midst of silent prayer, one of the priests, a Father McKenna, had thrown open the doors to the chapel, and dragged another boy up before the altar by his ear. 

The boy had tears streaming down his disheveled face and his nose was red from crying, but the thing that struck John the most about him were his eyes. He just looked so… tired. Not the kind of tired that John was fighting, the kind where a seductive sleep was lingering at the corners of his vision, waiting for him to blink or close his eyes in “prayer” for a second too long. This boy looked like the kind of tired that shot through his bones and grew like rot and rust with every passing day, the kind that only shuffling off this mortal coil a bit too soon could cure.

Father McKenna said the boy had been caught ‘with’ another, with a fury in his eyes that made John wonder in the back of his mind if he had been possessed by the devil. He’d been too young to know what it meant to be ‘with’ another boy at the time, but he knew it must be evil. Father McKenna threw him down in front of the altar, and the boy- John vaguely recognized him to be a child named Alexander- just knelt with his head bowed, like he had accepted his fate before Fate came to dole it out.

Father McKenna was not pleased by this. He smacked the back of Alexander’s head. Hard. He didn’t respond. He picked up a hymnal and smacked him harder still. And still, nothing. 

The priest was trembling with barely concealed fury now, and there was a steady pit of dread opening up in John’s stomach as he began to eye the doors, the windows. Any potential escape from the devil and the punishment that awaited him.

But there was no escape, there never was. So John sat, quietly, and watched as Father McKenna began to beat Alexander.

It was horrible, but somehow John couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even as Alexander’s screams tore through his ears and began to echo off the vaulted ceilings, pleas to stop and promises to never do it again ringing in John’s mind. Not even as the boy’s blood began to stain Father McKenna’s hands and drip onto the marble stairs, as vivid and crimson as sacramental wine. Not even as two of the altar boys had to drag Alexander’s barely conscious, barely breathing body down the aisle and out to the hospital wing.

John was trembling by the end of it. He felt like he was going to throw up. He dreamed of that moment for weeks afterward, never able to sleep without witnessing another religious sacrifice, another crucifixion, another martyr behind his eyelids.

Suddenly back in the present– but not really, never fully out of the past– John scrambled back off of Arthur and pressed his back against a wall, wide-eyed and sweating in sudden, sickening fear. In another life he might have missed the feeling of Arthur beneath him, his waist between his thighs, his lips against his. But nothing could permeate that fear. Nothing would ever be bigger than the fear.

“Wha– John?” Arthur asked. There was fear in his eyes too, but it was different. It wasn’t fear of hell or Father McKenna or whatever had become of Alexander. It was fear for John. It was concern. John closed his eyes against it. “John, what’s wrong? What–,” “Shut up.”

“What?”

“Just, be quiet!” John snapped. “Please, please, just–,” his voice broke. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to stave off an oncoming headache. 

“Okay…” Arthur said, quietly. Gently, so cruelly gentle. John could feel the beginnings of tears burning behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut tighter. “Okay.”

“This…” John started. He didn’t want to say it. He knew there would be no coming back from it. No more fireworks, no more whiskey on flower petal lips. Never again would he be so close to Arthur Lester if he said it. But that was the point wasn’t it? Make distance.

Take what he was told, never what he wanted.

“This was a mistake,” John said, firmly. A lie, of course. Inside, his very soul was shaking. The strings of his heart were trembling in a tragic vibrato, a song with no recipient. But he’d always been good at lying. He stood, tossing his braid over his shoulder and brushing the dust of his shirt (his wrinkled shirt, stained with a speck of Arthur’s blood). “It never happened.” He didn’t look at Arthur, because he was a coward. He was everything Arthur thought he was, so he didn’t look him in the eye when he said:

“If you ever so much as mention this, to anyone, I won’t hesitate, Arthur.”

He opened the door to the cabin, ready to step outside, leaving everything he’d never known he’d wanted behind. 

“I’m not you.”

[cosmerelists]

If Cosmere characters had to find work in a new genre...

[SPOILERS for Yumi & Nightmare Painter in #7--beware!]

Oh no! The Cosmere series is laying off its characters, and now they have to go and find work in other genres. Into what other genres could these characters most easily go?

1. Western: Wax & Wayne

Wax: I mean, this one is obvious, right? We're basically characters in a western already. Wayne: Yeah! You'll just have to remember that you can't manipulate bullets with your mind. Wayne: And I'll have to remember that I can only survive being shot...what? Three or four times? Wax: ... Wax: We will not survive long.

2. Science Fiction: Navani

Navani: My qualifications include "having built a literal flying ship" and "being of a race that comes from a different planet." Jasnah: So you are the alien invader in this scenario? Navani: I like to think I'm the beneficent kind.

3. YA Fiction: Siri

Siri: I mean...I'm a beautiful seventeen-year-old with magic hair and a rebellious streak. Siri: I think my best bet is this or "Disney princess."

4. Shonen Anime: Kaladin

Kaladin: I got a giant sword. Kaladin: Flashy powers. Kaladin: Dramatic powerups and even more dramatic one-liners. Kaladin: A crew of other superpowered folks bound to me by the power of friendship. Kaladin: I even get fight sequences that only lead me to respecting my opponent and becoming their friend. Kaladin: I mean...come on.

5. Horror: Silence, Yumi, and Painter

Silence: Not saying my life is a horror show or anything, but... Silence: I do live on, like, a hell planet full of ghosts. Painter: I live on a darkness planet full of living nightmares. Painter: Plus, I kinda lived "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." Yumi: One, I resent that. Yumi: And two, I got the ghosts, the nightmare planet, AND religious trauma! Silence: I'm...happy for you? Yumi: Thanks, I guess!

6. Spy Thriller: Rlain and Ranette

Rlain: I mean, I did literally work as a spy so I have the qualifications. Ranette: And I can make cool tech devices. Ranette: Do you want a suit whose lapels give off knock-out gas? Rlain: That does sound pretty cool... Ranette: We'll get along fine, kid.

7. Detective Novel: Marasi

Marasi: I think I could pull off "hard-boiled detective"--I've done my share of investigate work. MeLaan: Oooh! Ooh! Can I be the femme fatale?! Marasi: Uh...

8. Romance: Susebron

Susebron: I hear that tall, brooding, silent men are a staple of the genre. Susebron: PLUS, I know what sex is now! Susebron: That's gotta be a bonus!

9. Historical Fiction: Dalinar

Dalinar: Thanks to my visions, I have experienced several historical periods. Dalinar: I seemed to fit in them all with some degree of success. Lift: Yeah! A tight butt is always in style!

10. Children's Picture Book: Lift

Lift: Since I'm just a little kid, I don't see where ELSE I could go. Wyndle: M-Mistress, I'm not sure you would be, uh, the best example for little kids... Lift: What do you mean? I bet I could steal a food for every letter of the alphabet and that'd be stormin' educational! Wyndle: ... Lift: Sorry, sorry. Lift: Storming educational. Wyndle: T-THAT WASN'T THE ISSUE

[random-vyxx]

Sooo! Nn DIALTOWN HEADCANONS!! (Tw there are brief mentions of suicide-) [ill get to dsaf headvanons in a different post]

(Also there's a LOT.)

Gingi:

• phonegingi and typegingi are separate beings.

• biology is determined on whats funniest in context.

• can change their sex at will,, like a frog,

• sometimes sleeps at the foot of norms bed like some fatass dog /lovingly /inspiredby that one nrom blog

• they have an immense dislike of beans.

• when asked about any sort of beans they get defensive.

• red-green colour blind

• purrs,,

• has adhd ,,, because,, they,, akt like me,, *

• thinks the narrator and it are homoerotic, the narrator just wants to go home.

• has a hang in there cat poster in its tent.,, stole it from Billy's alternary school when smuggling him out to ask for help summoning satan.

• likes liquorice.

• every 1-3 years gingi has to get a rabies shot. WILL NOT go alone. Has to get someone to take her or else he IS biting a veterinarian.

• Gingi has broken a limb before, they tried gnawing it off but got distracted by an un-watched construction site (gravel yummy yummy)

Karen

• were married. /JOKR.. /perchance?!

• is not only protective of romantic companions (me rn: 🤓👆),, just anyone she likes.

• she doesn't stim often (repressing it n whatnot), but when she does its usually something simple like bouncing onto her heels. *

• HATTTEEESSS blueberries. Oh my god unless they're ripe in the right way she physically cannot make herself eat them. Likes the taste but GOD she cant deal with them. *

• sometimes when she has a painting she didn't like the outcome of, she lets gingi gnaw on it. (She uses non-toxic paints when painting near gingi)

• smart, but she can make dumb decisions out of impulse.

• goth phase, but eventually got out of it because she just.. Didn't like it anymore.

• girlboss, i love her! !!

• her boss HATED her!

• sometimes she gets art block and stares at the canvas, contemplating if shes actually an artist.

• found a leaf that looked strangely like Charlie Chaplin, showed it to gingi and gingi devoured it instantly.

Randal.

• Randy finds it very hard to sleep naturally!! He will curl up around the airvent in the ticket booth.

• shares a braincell with Oliver n Karen.

• as pathetic as he is, can be pretty damn assertive at times.

• not sexually, bro would be shook if he held your HAND.

• he daydreams about some disney ass "getting pushed onto the dance floor and #ROCKING IT!!!!! " (If he got pushed onto a dance floor hed cry.)

• HAS drempt (dreampt? ) about invader zim and rainbow dash frim mlp beating the shit out of him. Has cried to Oliver about it, and Oliver asked if he did or did not deserve their beating,, in the dream.

• honestly kinda in love with Oliver.

• has honestly known Karen a BIT longer than hes known Oliver,, probably met her after leaving his dads house at 16.

• anytime he passes by the swan pond while walking back to the funfair, he starts shaking

• religious trauma, but meeting god kinda eased his fears a bit

• maybe it was the whole "god is really just an alcoholic hobo.. Hm... Maybe im nOT going to hell! He just like me fr! ",, still scared of him tho since if his life got that bad god aint in control.

• ASS EYESIGHT!! cant afford repairs.

• Randy will scarf down ANY food given. Hes usually nervous about being given stuff, but food? No questions asked, already consumed

Oliver

• has some crazy ass habits

• OLIVER IS SMART. IM TIRED OF PRETENDING HES NOT. HE CAN ACT ON IMPULSE, YES, HE CAN MAKE BAD DECISIONS, YEAH, HELL HE CAN SAY DUMB/IMMATURE SHJT BHT HE UD SMAR HE ISS SMA

• actually a pretty good welder, just sometimes uses it for... Evil.

• he welded a dick then him and gingi giggled about it for 38 minutes. He hides it around the scareshack sometimes and when mr dickens finds it, he sighs and places it somewhere new to continue this GOD AWFUL game.

• jokes about committing crimes, but wouldn't,, chaotic good type shiz.

• romance is boring ahh self.*

• likes randy,, but subtly, since hes greyromantic

• once listened to "kiss me son of god" by they might be giants so long he felt physical withdrawal when he WASN'T listening to it. Would pay money to listen to it for the first time again. ****

• used to overbind just because hed forget hes wearing a binder. Average conversation would be like "god randy i feel sick as FUCKK... " "maybe get that checked out..? " "like my chest hurts n shit,, iunno if its actually serious but it does hurt" ".. Oliver are you wearing the binder thingy... If thats what its called-? "*

• Oliver speaks in stage directions, instead of right, he says "stage left"

Bigfoot

• it takes a lot to coax Bigfoot into the city, usually more responsive when karen does it.

• no longer allowed near a car. *

• actually knows several languages, just doesn't speak.

• dude its Bigfoot what can i say, he like 'naners.

Norm

• INTRUSIVE thoughts. Bro is tweaking. *

• whenever he gets intrusive thoughts he feels PHYSICALLY SICK. Like one he gets is doing what he was going to do in the bad ending. One bullet for mingus, one for himself. He wouldn't, definitely not. Giving up his happy ending would be stupid and he knows that. He cant control it though. Thats what intrusive thoughts are. He has yet to tell anybody about them. (Yes im starting his hcs with these two)

• bisexual, had the awakening during his isolation.. Fill in the blanks.

• the hat he wears is,, thank god,, not the infamous erotica hat. Though he has yet to get RID of the erotica hat.

• used to play bloody knuckles. I SWEAR ITS FUN*

• bickers with Mingus a lot, but sometimes they're calm (prolly after some hijinks.)

• was a fucking hOMO for Callum, it was not mutual, and he knew that.*

(tHIS IS NOT ME VILLAIN-IZING ANYONE HERE ITA OKAY TO NOT LIKE SOMEONE BACK I JUST NEED TO ADD TJIS DISCLAIMER BECAUSE SOEM PEOPLE FUCKING SUCK)

• God gets him to make omelettes sometimes. Norm is somewhat freaked out by it, but does it nonetheless because its fucking god.

• sometimes sees bad edits of spaceships going into space on Facebook reels... And he HAS gotten nostalgic over it. *

• isn't ready to date anybody, no siree, but he is able to form close bonds. And thats okay!!!

• sleeps with a rifle under his pillow*

• after little to no contact with fellow humans for YEARS, he is DOGSHIT at several social cues. I dont know if its the autism or the isolation anymore.... Vro also doesn't know about several important events!

• ended up giving gingi a turnip so theyd DHUT UP.

• asked my dad for ideas, he just "double cheeseburger". I dont know what this means.

• The ink spots fan at heart 💖

Mayor Mingus

• The mingling has a specific pin to show they're in it, but nobody knows what it means so they just look fruity. Mingus didn't accept the pin idea, but they did it any ways. She REFUSES to acknowledge the fact she put it on a board in her office.

• Has cat like behaviors,, obviously,, but sometimes shit like purring shows and she HATES it.

• post chapter 3, shes less frantic about fixing callum, but wont put him down,, never.

• head overheats easily become cats cant sweat (a lot)

• tries to get people to shut up as soon as possible, but will negotiate if she deems it necessary. *

• strangely knows "McDonald's lore". Doesn't elaborate.

• Mingus and the rest of the mingling are back as a group, gods no longer in it and bunnys there!!

• has a list of citizen's she dislikes immensely!! If this got leaked, she'd be in big trouble. *

• catnip works. Well. Too well.

• tango will find her high off her ass on catnip,,, just staring at a lamp like a fucking moth.

• The mingling isnt ENTIRELY incompetent now that bunnys back, theyre kinda together as a crime force. Shooty and stabby have yet to be given real weapons but they're still there so the REST of the mafia can say "Honey... We can call the MAYOR for this disrespect. "

• Passively aggressively says "Im fine. " if shes pissed off. [Needs al-kee-hol.. Aka milk]*

• walks her paw-paw around the nursing home just to keep him a little fit. Callum does NOT know who thos strange cat lady is but hes okay with that.

• tired mom-core

• AROACSE!!!! ACE!!! ARO!!!*

[The next characters wont have as many headcanons.]

Abel

• his complaining taught everyone his legal name was "Unabel". Everyone calls him that now.

• Drinks on the job.

• going through a messy divorce. He started it.

• Abelvynny??!!!

• hes alergic to peppermint and coconut.

• strange deja vu when he sees certain phones,, like... Whoever the hell Joe and Harry are, and Tango too for some reason. It confuses him and he does NOT like it.

Bunny

• ABEL DIVORCED HIS ASS WHILE BUNNY WAS IN THE HOSPITAL.

• Disabled because of getting slammed with a fucking machine.

• has prosthetic legs,, because,,, getting slammed with madame mediocre,, AND a call back to callum crown.

• ALSO drinks on the job

• doesn't actually like rabbits, changed his name for marketing.

• eats lemons. *

God / Local Hobo

• RARELY gets seriously mad, and when they do, its not that bad

• Churches weird him out,, but doesn't really care. *

• everyone in town knows them in some way.

• hes the one who pissed on the bank floor

• doesn't actually like eating waffles. He'll eat anything but waffles just are for decorative purposes in his mind.

• genderfluid,, but hes usually too drunk to use anything other than he/they.. Used to use everything though. Maybe when sober they'll use she/her,, but again, rarely sober.

• also has a feminine voice,,, just for sillies. *

Shooty n Stabby

• team rocket type shit

• they datin. They queer.

• their head was done by some dude in an alleyway between an applebees and a hospital.

• Originally he knife headed one is stabby, the gun headed one is shooty. They don't know that,, because they only call eachother "bro".

• dialtown mob isn't even that bad.. They're just incompetent. Like zim compared to the rest of the irken empire. Im sorry invader zim brainrots getting to me.

• HAD good weapons before, because mingus didn't know how shitty they were. Never again. Mingus learnt her lesson.

Theoraur Rustlebelt (famed adventurer and explorer)

• chronic back pain from wrangling large animals. Pain

• Put traps outside of gingis tent, gingi ate them

• sleeps holding a gun.

• says bully so much because its FUCKUNG A FUN WORD OKAY I UNDERSTAND THE HYPWY,, BULLY IS A FUN FUCKJNV WKRD*

• likes the colour green a little.. Too much, just doesn't ever wear it.

Little Billy

• Drinks pure ketchup and its scary. *

• Neurodivergent ,, *

• weed. Lots. [[[Most people thinks it's just kid shit, hes high. who gave him weed. ]]]

• Likes breakcore music (like atari teenage riot and machine girl ) *

• hates everyone equally ♡*

• peanut allergy,, but he mainly eats macaroni so does it matter????

• has one of those silly ass spinny chairs to keep him focused in mingling meetings,, but still easily diverges topic [SPINNY CHAOR IDEA WAS TAKEN FROM SOMEONE ELSS BHT I FORGOT FROM WHOM]

• knows a little too much about knives.*

• favourite knife is a bowie knife, since he finds the history neat. Thinks Jim Bowie did some SICK stuff... But like,, jim bowies still a terrible person and he knows it. Stoll that standoff was epic. This is self projecting im sorry***

• lies a lot, even when not needed. *

• picks up spiders and gives them to people he dislikes. *

• aroace,, but hes 7 so he doesn't know yet.. Nor care.

END!!!!! the amount of aroace headcanons is for a spECIFIC REASON!! (im aroace.)

[sharp-silver4795]

Liu Woods Headcannons

The people have spoken! On a poll that I made, I asked if yall wanted me to post my own stuff and…. Oh god- I set it for a week cuz I thought no one would see it- 40 FUCKING PEOPLE RESPONDED-

So, I hear you! I’m gonna start with just random head cannons cuz… yeah…

TW!!!

Suicide, Murder (duh), abusive families, definitely not the Liu most ppl know.

I will put a warning before each group of bullets.

Least Sensitive >> Mildly Sensitive >> Most Sensitive

The first two aren’t head cannons-

I pronounce it like “Lee-oh” (Leo). I made a post about it earlier. However, I’ve said it like “Loo” for a long time- I’m tryna break that habit

He is my favorite. I remember seeing a post that was judging ppl based on their fav creepypasta…. No I won’t shut up about him.

HEAD CANNON TIME

General

He’s Chinese. Jeff is his half brother on their mom’s end. There is no fucking way an American kid would have a Chinese name.

So, Liu moved from China when he was 5 and his mom married Peter. Jeff was born when he was 7.

When Liu was young he didn’t have many friends cuz his English sucked and his little brother wasn’t even a year old.

He likes brownies and cinnamon rolls like their made of gold

Man can cook 🧑‍🍳 🤌

Has a bunch of plants that he forgets exist and cries when they die

Boy is tough. A lot of ppl see him as a teeny bean, hell nah!

Wears combat boots, skinny jeans, and sweaters consistently.

The scarf is to cover scars.

He’s about 6’5 (nearly 200cm).

Murder, Gore, Blood

Mainly uses a crowbar to beat his victims to death.

Remember how I said he wears combat boots? Well those things have heels and he tends to “stun” kill people by jumping up and stomping down on the side of the person’s head. 240lbs in a surface area the size of a US quarter is definitely gonna break your skull.

In the mansion his job doesn’t really revolve around murder as much as it’s about torture. He’s fucking good at it too.

Sexuality, Gender, and Such

He’s gay. You can’t change my mind.

I see him as being Agender and not caring about the pronouns you use for him. (Note: I usually switch up the pronouns but since this is the first HC post I’m making for them, I wanted this to be said first)

Married to EJ. If you don’t like the ship, I’m sorry!

⚠️ SA, CSA, Abuse, Suicide, SH, Grooming ⚠️

DID usually forms before 9yo and I can’t believe him getting DID at 19.

So, he hung himself when he was 19. This is what set Jeff off, because he was the one who found Liu’s body.

So, Keith is about 11 years older than Liu, and, when he was looking for friends, Keith took advantage of them. This lead to Liu basically being groomed until he was 12. I HC that Randy had a lil “crush” on Jeff and Keith kept Liu “out of the way” by consistently r—ping him.

Things at home weren’t great for him either. Peter was under the impression that his mom was a virgin with no kids (incell vibes), and when he found out Liu existed Peter decided to take it out on him. He would be locked in a dark closet of the basement for days on end. If he “misbehaved” too much, Peter would put him in the clothes dryer (also in the basement) for however long he deemed necessary.

Eventually Liu couldn’t take it and he hung himself.

Liu’s Alters and System

⚠️ similar themes from before, drugs/alcohol abuse, religious trauma ⚠️

Hannah: gatekeeper, what Liu “would have been” like if nothing happened.

Jinx: Sexual protector, the response to Keith’s abuse

Sully: Physical protector, response to Peter’s abuse

Jessie: Mental persecutor, encouraged Liu to kill himself.

Leviathan: Trauma holder, response to constant guilt from religious trauma

Vex: persecutor, response to alcohol and drug addiction.

Nigh: Trauma holder, response to all those lonely years

So, about Jeff…

Liu has zero issues with Jeff.

Jeff didn’t kill him, he had to make his way back to life (I will post more abt this another day).

Jeff mispronounced his name, but Liu was too nervous to correct him (bc trauma)

He is about 6yrs older than Jeff.

I probably have other HCs that i forgot, but anyway- that’s all the energy I have rn….

[simplyemm]

Okay so I've had this Gale brainrot that will not leave me alone (not enough to write it myself, but maybe someone else will appreciate this particular thought).

Imagine a Cleric of Mystra Tav. Probably raised in the temple, not a particularly exciting or impressive person, but dedicated to her Goddess as much as someone who was raised to be is.

And then she pulls her goddess's former Chosen out of a portal and they both have brain worms.

More under the cut because THOUGHTS (also spoilers for the game) CW: discussions of religious deconstruction/trauma, mentions of Mystra being a creepy groomer

The temple definitely knew Gale was Mystra's Chosen, and maybe there was some whispering in the corners about The Incident, but I'm not sure how much the rank and file would know.

So Tav pulls this guy out of a portal and he's all like "Hello, I'm Gale of Waterdeep" and she's just like "oh shit, you're Gale of Waterdeep." Which I'm sure definitely inflates his ego just a teeny-tiny bit. And I definitely think Tav probably has a "oh no, he's hot" kind of moment before she squishes that down, at least initially.

Of course finding out about The Orb and the whole "oh yeah I definitely fucked our goddess" thing makes things slightly awkward. Like how does one deal with having a crush on your literal goddess's ex-lover? (the implications are delicious though). And I could maybe see Astarion or Shadowheart making a comment about Tav taking her goddess's sloppy seconds (jokingly, though I could see a Glare definitely putting a stop to those jokes).

They would still have their little Moment in the Weave after the tiefling party of course, with Tav definitely expressing Interest (even subconsciously) because Of Course. Probably with a healthy heaping of religious guilt, cause like how dare she, he betrayed Mystra blah blah blah.

But then Elminster comes with his message from Mystra asking Gale to blow himself up, which brings us to the part that makes me absolutely fucking feral. Tav is furious that Mystra would ask this of Gale, and even more so that he's considering it.

To the point that (at least using game mechanics) would go to Withers and demand a class change. Story wise I'm imagining that she straight up just like starts training with Lae'zel and gets even better at fighting and just straight up stops using magic. Cue the religious deconstruction and Tav coming to terms with the fact that the goddess she had dedicated her life to is actually a horrid fucking bitch who arguably groomed Gale and all that gross shit.

And I'm sure Gale would have FEELINGS about this, especially if he just happened to find Tav wrapping her holy symbol around a smokepowder bomb and just throwing it into oblivion. But also like, how romantic is it that someone would love you enough to straight up abandon their goddess? And I'm sure they'd have a "What the hells are you doing?" "Nothing." "That wasn't nothing" that devolves into something of an argument that ends with Tav shouting something along the lines of "I'm not going to continue to serve a goddess who demands someone I love blow himself up!" (which of course is A Confession).

And then his scene where he confesses would just be SO GOOD because like, how can you not fall in love with someone who has already shown such love the way Tav has?

And then even more if they go to the Stormshore Tabernacle and some of the clerics there knew Tav and there's even more stuff with that. Just a sprinkling of angst because I mean, of course.

Maybe it's my own religious deconstruction talking, but I just think that dynamic would be *chef's kiss*

[wwillywonka]

and just like that, the final chapter of heaven on their minds is done! thanks to all my readers for being with me on this crazy journey! i first started writing this so many years ago, when i was just a little pre-teen, so it finally being done feels truly insane. thanks especially to @n0isy-gh0st for beta-reading, to @ohbutwheresyourheart and @fandomjunkyard​ for being my other wonderful wonka moots, and to @tea-earl-grey​ and @dragons-dice​ for being my two biggest supporters and bestest friends. <33

Chapters: 12/12 Fandom: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - All Media Types, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005), Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971), Charlie Series - Roald Dahl, Wonka (2023)Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage Relationships: Charlie Bucket & Willy Wonka, Arthur Slugworth/Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka/Original Male Character(s), i don’t ship willy/arthur but wonka’s backstory cannot exist without arthur taking advantage of him, Mr. Wilkinson/Willy Wonka, Noodle & Willy Wonka, NOT charlie x wonka, very much not a ship fic Characters: Willy Wonka, Charlie Bucket, Arthur Slugworth, Original Male Character(s), Mrs. Bucket, Mr. Bucket, Felix Ficklegruber, Gerald Prodnose, Mr. Fickelgruber (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), Mr. Prodnose (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), Mr. Wilkinson (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), Noodle (Wonka Movie 2023), Wilbur Wonka, Willy Wonka's Mother, God Additional Tags: willy is transmasc, Religious Metaphors, Lonely God, Character Study, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, canon child abuse, Eating Disorders, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, dead dove do not eat, the kindest people are the ones who have been through the worst horrors, hope it’s clear that i do not endorse any of these i just want to put willy through hell, hypocritical character, Unreliable Narrator, Jesus Christ Superstar - Freeform, Jesus/Judas type relationships, Toxic Co-Dependency Summary:

Willy Wonka is the most famous man in the world. There has never been anyone like him and there never will be again. But how did he get here? How did he earn his reputation? Who along the way hurt him so fiercely that he went mad? If you strip away the myth from the man, you will see...

Or: A dark, tragic take on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory because the prequel didn't do anything right. Mostly a deep dive into Willy and Charlie's friendship.

Or: CATCF 2005 was so fucking unhinged to look at a beloved children’s book/classic film character and go “oh yeah, let’s give this guy childhood trauma and PTSD flashbacks thus making him think he’s unlovable then make him go into a fifteen-year-long isolation to prevent suffering from further pain then introduce him to a 10 year old who treats him like the Christian god and make that child his best friend and sole reason for living then give him the loving family he deserves because even the most fucked up people deserve to be loved. Yeah, let’s show this to children. Oh, and don’t forget to make him a bitchy twink.” <3

Inspired by Jesus Christ Superstar.

[velvetvexations]

How is Ally misinterpreting Bucky? (genuinely curious)

I think what you're referring to is Ally misinterpreting Helio. They come away from their interaction with Helio in episode three as him having been a "frat boy" but that's just not at all supported by what happened. Here's the transcript of everything Helio said in season one:

Helio: [ethereal, soft spoken] Wow! Kristen, it's so good to see you. Kristen: Whoa! Helio: I've known you your whole life, but now you get to see me face to face. This is great! Kristen: Whoa! Brennan: You see he gives you a big hug. It's the warmest hug you've ever felt. Kristen: [sighs] Brennan: As he's hugging you, you feel your backpack jiggling around. You see he's clearly got his eyes closed in the hug. You feel Arthur slip out of the backpack now that he is past the threshold of heaven. Kristen: [shocked chuckle] Aguefort: [shushing] Don't tell anybody! Brennan: And winks and sprints into heaven as fast as he can. [Emily laughs] Kristen: He was so fast! Brennan: [laughing] You see Helio. He looks up and says, Helio: What? Kristen: Hm? Helio: What are you talking about? Kristen: Oh, I was, mentally saying goodbye to a friend I was remembering. Helio: Here's the thing, Kristen. We checked. It's not your time. You have more work to do. Kristen: Oh my God! Helio: I know you're gonna do a great job, and I care about you. And what's more, I know that you care about your new friends and I think that's cool as hell. Kristen: Thanks. Helio: Hey. Kristen: Hm? Helio: Go knock em out down there. Kristen: [laughing] I will. Hey, can I ask you something? Helio: Yeah! Kristen: Why is there so much suffering in the world? Helio: [fingerguns] Later!

Ally has religious trauma and that's valid and they already had Kristen's loose character arc mirroring their own IRL in mind so in combination with it being their first time ever playing D&D it's completely understandable that things were a little rushed and muddled. But the fandom has totally taken Kristen's evaluation of Helio completely at face value despite it not matching up with what the audience actually saw.

So now people are like "Buddy will find out what Helio is really like", and it's like, you mean a compassionate, encouraging giver of warm hugs?

[romsabombs]

GUYS the new malevolent is insane so i just thought i'd drop my notes in here✍️ ENJOY it's a lot

freaky ahh cavern

😦😦😦

SHUT UP!!!!!!!!

the man is bathed in darkness👹 john thats racist

mf literally been crucified this is so arthurs religious trauma

that is not what bones sound like i think

shes so me awful posture

me at 4am in the kitchen looking for a snack

WAIT oh yuck :/

HAHA THEY'RE IN HIS NOSTRILS

PRINCE MENTIONED

car accident thats so season 1

this is kind of like a hat in time maybe

omgg a witch :3

arthur survives the wildest shit but i think a mcdonalds sprite would kill him

AAAHHH WHAT THE FUCK!!!!😨😨 YUCK YUCK EW EW RAAAHHH

WHAAAAAT

cant we only do allat to corpses

omg spit it out john

YEAAHHHH HES DEAD

🤭🤭🤭YIPPEE I KNEW IT

omggg thats so janey :33

hes bein puppeted by the maggots thats crazy

STOP TELLING HIM TO KILL THINGS HAHA

omgg kaynes dagger <33

how can this mf be helpful

this is so tmp a bit

rotten flesh mentioned minecraft ref

HAHA WHAAT THATS SO GROSS

the maggots be like i have your fucking eyes👹👹👹👹

OMG WHAT THE HELL zombie arc

claustrophobia again

imagine harlan recording this

omg that's so sexy 🔥🔥 decapitated his ass

HAHA WE'RE ONLY 11 MINUTES IN??

LMAO john stop saying things

YES JOHN it WOULD have been helpful to know this guy didnt have any eyes

"this isnt new york anymore" thank god amiright

his head between our legs🤨

its so funny how he calls it a pinky. didnt someone on tumblr say john wouldnt know finger names

im surprised arthur still has a shirt

the flesh feels stiff😟

this guy is still alive😦 or. dead. i guess

arthur is like weirdly normal about this guy being a zombie. i know hes seen shit (no he hasnt) but come on

faroes song ☹️

YEAHH PUT IT IN YOUR MOUTHH💪

oh what😐 the prince🙄

what did he sayy

oh gross come on guys😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨 at this point just put it in your own mouth

"id like to think this is the most insane thing we've ever done" 💀

teehee they dont wanna seperate :3

YEAH! AND FAROE

"everyone we've ever loved" weak. also john doesnt care about anyone but you

"we cant afford to not use every resource anymore" HAHA this is so funny because didnt you throw away everything youve ever owned last episode

yippee welcome back vanguard :3

nothing😟 WAIT YIPPEE :3

WELCOME BACK VANGUARD‼️☝️

omg names mentioned

wait. yorick? llorick? thats the thing arthur said

its not lorick that was the guy from the dreamlands

WOAH WAIT WOAH HUH

hey what the fuck did that mean😀

omg what. rumpelstiltskin

HAHA hes so loser

OMG wait they said stanzyck right

ofcourse anna is dead bruh we were never gonna meet her

arthur and john both being "kings"😟

this tooth is so silly🥰

everyones walking over arthur today💀

they're so miscommunication <3

hey😀 hey whats that sound

DONT SAY IT ugh the prince

"ahh yes :3"

OH😨😨😨😨 A WHAT

SHUT UP🗣️👹 HAHA THATS SO SILLY

this guy is so kayne. and a bit autistic

wait r we just carrying around this skull

bro arthur sounds so tired

ooo this would go hard as a cosplay

i cant believe he has a belt

EUGH YUCK😦

ooo the black stone perchance?

ok i guess not

omg god forbid a girl has hobbies🙄

"im not saying its not risky. what im saying is, it might be worth the risk" that line goes hard

arthur agreeing to this is like a dad saying "okay fine we'll go to mcdonalds🙄"

no reward without risk✊💥

"we're in the lion's den already" "it is a hag's womb👹" HEHEHE

HAHA SILLIES HEHEHEEHE🤭🥰

oooohh johnn 😶‍🌫️

OH 😦 ohhh 😀 u have his memories

clever girl

"thanks yorick😐" "you too my king🤗" "shut up🙄👹"

yorick is so me absolutely no sense of social cues

ofcourse we'd encounter a witch here it was so obvious

"try to keep straight" pff

did john say im serving

hey yeah maybe dont go towards the light😀

LMAO LOOK AROUND? foul

when is the jumpscare happening

i have no idea what he's saying

"too much to make out" MAKE OUT?🤭

LMAO he doesnt know

pregnant meat☹️⁉️

hey i thought asking the vanguard questions would have a price🤨😀

imagine if he just crushed that zombies skull like its a good thing we just decapitated him

hes literally describing my room

you're my eyes☹️

they're acting as if the lighter would give us much light

omgg shes a little interior decorator

tapestry lore!!💪

five minutes left whats gonna happen

wuh ohhh somethings gonna happen

THE STAIRS ARE GONE!!!😬

ur literally in her home leave her alone

his ass is panicking

this is so part 18 the madness

we're trapped :( :(

"ingenious decision king🤓" "SHUT UP👹"

SPRINT!!!!!! 🏃🏃🏃🏃

OH???? 😦😦😦😦 WHAT

IMPALED???M???MNFJREJSJ HUHH

--

omggg he got marcy'd

i saw fanart of this but i lowkey couldnt tell if it was a spoiler or not💀

hot take but if he got bitten by that zombie he could prolly survive this

HUHHH bro this is like part 27 the roots. he was less dramatic about it this time tho

bro yorick finally shut up💀

sooo where did he get impaled. like if in the heart hes cooked😬

[alicepooryorick]

Oh yeah so the fun part about being ex Jehovah's Witness (there's actually a lot, my sect was pretty chill and not culty) is the fact that I was encouraged to read the Bible at a young age and just... Keep reading it. All of it. What does this mean? It means I have no religious trauma but boy I sure have given some to the missionaries whom I successfully argued to that every other religion was more deserving of the kingdom of God than Christians were due to the existence of hell.

[hallowsden]

@f4nd0m-fun here

So, I was on the ship Wiki, and I'm wondering what your Crane ships are?

I stumbled on Scriddler and TwoCrow, and I couldn't help but peek at TwoRiddle, so now I'm thinking about TwoScriddler, and oh no.

I barely know these chars and yet here I am.

Now combine this with John barely speaking with his fam and... you got Danny showing up on his doorstep one day, and Crane may have forgot to tell his buds about it, and you've got a small mess.

Personally, if I had to ship Harvey with someone, it's Gilda or Bruce (or both) (Unless it's Batman Forever version, then definitely TwoRiddle cause HAVE YOU SEEN THEM!?)

But honestly? This made me thinking... (Long ass rant ahead that may or may not make sense. This is written while being sleep deprived)

Jonny boy here ain't the only one who suffered abuse as a child. Both Harvey and Edward have as well. They both have Daddy Issues while Jonathan, depending on how you interpret him or which backstory you use, have granny issues + religious trauma or also Daddy Issues.

That being said, Harvey gives me the "this family ends with me" vibes, especially after he became Two-Face, and may be put off with Danny's presence for a while. He doesn't want to continue the cycle and become his dad. He'd likely would have liked, at the very least, to have been informed about the new addition to their family so he can... Prepare essentially/get used to the idea/plan how to avoid Danny. He's... For the lack of better words, cautious/careful around Danny, as to not accidentally trigger himself by accidentally hurting the kid. Does this make sense?

It'll take a while for Harvey to relax around Danny but for sure, he's gonna be very protective, if because he's Jonny's kid at first. He'll come to adore the kid and while not see him as a son but like... Oh, who's he and Harv kidding, that's his kid now and too hell with a coin, fuck with one of his then you'd get instant death penalty with him as the Executioner.

Harvey is gonna try and teach Danny law, specifically how to use loopholes against the system and evade arrests and such cause what else is gonna try to do to bond with Danny? Man's life had always revolved around law... Though... there are times where he'd go into this sort of story mode, recalling his experiences with Danny. He's soft and distant here but this is his way to fully open up, if that makes sense.

Harv, on the other hand? Teaching Danny how the criminal world works. Kid needs to learn how Gotham works. Can't have him die (er- turn fully ghosts? Yeah, he and Harvey don't understand Danny's halfa nature but they try and are supportive... They can't help but be reminded of themselves actually-) or Jonny's gonna be beyond pissed in a whole new level. Is actually rather strict, makes sure to put ground rules and boundaries with Danny compared to the rest of the parental unit that is Twoscriddler. Someone has to be the strict parent... How he and Harvey are considered the functional parent here is cause they actually practice self-care, well to an extent anyways, compared to his idiot lovers who would go days on end without eating, drinking, or sleeping, if the chance rises.

Harv, though rarely, would go into story mode as well to Danny, but in his perspective. There are many times he and Harvey hate each other but... They lived and went through the same life. Just differently. He mainly does this after something especially happened with Danny, like say, Danny nearly got shot...

Now, Edward on the other hand... Really depends on the version but in my opinion, he'd be indifferent with Danny at first, if a bit surprised. Jonny, with a kid? Now, isn't that interesting. Would definitely grow very fond of Danny very quickly, and if he learns that Danny's good with inventing and such, he is, for sure, gonna nurture those skills.

Eddie boy is gonna drag Danny to his workshop so they can bond over building shit. Also, VIDEO GAMES CAUSE YOU CAN NOT TELL ME OTHERWISE THAT EDDIE'S NOT A GAMER! Gets too competitive, too loud, just overall chaotic fun with Eddie also rambling about shit in the process. Just, the two are fucking gremlins and fueling each other's chaotic streak somehow cause while Eddie is an adult very full of himself, he acts too much like a child when he's relaxed and not trying to maintain his dignified image even though everyone has at least witness his childish streak at least once (this including his tantrums/meltdowns...)

The fun uncle/dad that managed to help Danny feel like a normal kid he wasn't able to be exactly due to living with mad scientists (who wanted to kill him later on even if they didn't know it was him). Eddie boy would also definitely help tutor Danny. Just that he may get impatient or teaches things too fast. Best that Jonny's there helping with tutoring so it's better paced and not going overboard.

But uh- yeah, it's gonna be a bit of mess when Harvey/Harv entered the shared apartment and see a random kid in there (who both resembles Jonny in some ways and also has the right coloration to be considered Wayne bait AND OH BOY-) huddled in blankets. Eddie would likely just walk past Danny, and after a few moments, walks backwards and stare at Danny, processing, before getting Jonny or Harvey, before trying to maybe interrogate? Depends if he slept or was hyperfocused on a project in his workshop.

[Also, @f4nd0m-fun, I swear, you've been fueling my need to create more Uncle Scarecrow content- DO YOU KNOW HOW HYPER AND EXCITED YOU MADE WHEN YOU @ ME!? Well, I think you're gonna see it when I do the reblogs... Just- XD, I'm having too much fun today/last night/lately (wtf is time anymore)]

[dantegreaves00]

And Hell Followed - A Far Cry 5 x FtM Reader series part two

Deputy Y/N Jackson is in the middle of a Holy War in Hope County Montana. Originally sent to arrest Joseph Seed he ended up becoming the leader of the Resistance, but the deputy has a secret. A secret that only Whitehorse knows. When his younger brother and sister show up one day out of the blue, Y/N finds out that his own personal hell has found him. Now with the help of the very people he was supposed to stop can he save his family and himself?

I know this summary sucks.

Anyway I hope you enjoy this slow burn series

Trigger Warnings

Mentions of past child abuse

Mentions of past child SA

Mentions of SA

Stalking

Guns

Drugs

Religion bashing (the Deputy has religious trauma)

Religious trauma

Transphobia

Homophobia

Angst

Tag list

@gamergirl-06 @capriskunk @transpanda07

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

Before I forget this part contains the following trigger warnings

Mention of death of a parent

Mention of SA(Dep stumbles on John being assaulted by a couple of Peggies)

Mention of past child abuse and SA

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

It's been a few days since my last encounter with the Seed family and things have been more hectic than usual.

To start with, both Whitehorse and Tracey questioned me relentless about what I got up to when I was with the Seeds. Tracey fully believes that I'll switch sides, which has caused some of the Resistance members to give me the cold shoulder. But Whitehorse is on my side saying that I would never do that, I can understand their concerns, I did spend a whole afternoon with them.

Next, I had to deal with some cult members who where tormenting a family who were refusing to join.

And then to top it all off, Kim went into labour, which was unexpected since she's not ment to give birth for another two weeks.

Currently I was waiting outside of the doctors, I had just dropped Kim and Nick off and it gave me some time to think about everything that had been going on.

The sound of the door opening startled me, but i soon calmed down when I saw Nick pushing Kim out with the tiniest of babies in her arms.

"Hey, come meet your Goddaughter" Nick said as he wheeled Kim and the baby closer to me.

"Oh she is beautiful you guys" I whispered as I knelt down to get a closer look at baby Rye.

"You want to hold her?" Kim asked, nodding I carefully took the baby from Kim's arms and started to slowly rock her in my arms.

"You're a natural at that Dep" Kim said as she went to take Nick's hand, who quickly pulled it away in pain.

"I'll let you both in on a little secret that only Whitehorse knows, I have younger siblings, Ava is six and our mom died giving birth to her, so I had to learn how to take care of a baby" I said as Nick came over to gently pull me into a side hug.

"I don't know what to say Dep, that sucks" Nick said as he gave my arm a squeeze.

"It's ok, anyway what's this little cuties name?" I asked steering the conversation back to them and the baby in my arms.

"We were thinking you could name her" Kim said.

"Oh wow uh how about Carmina, I know it's the name of your plane but its a name that means a lot to you already so yeah"

"It's perfect Dep, and you probably don't hear this very often but thank you for everything you have done for us" Kim said as I helped Nick move her so that she and baby Carmina were safely in the car.

"See you later Dep" Nick said as the truck pulled away and drove off.

I decided to take a walk back to falls end as it wasn't that far from my current location.

After walking nearly a mile I could hear the sounds of someone crying so I decided to check it out.

I was not expecting what I stumbled across, John Seed was being held down by two Peggies as a third had his pants down by his ankles, his hands working on getting John's legs spread.

Before he could do anything else to John one of my throwing knives was in his head, causing him to fall to the floor dead. The other two let go of John's arms as they scrambled to get their guns, but it was too late, I had already snapped the neck of the one closest to me and slit the throat of the other one.

By the time I had managed to calm down, John had already pulled his trousers back up, walking over to him I knelt down and examined him.

John had cuts littering his face and blood caked his skin. Grabbing my small med kit from my bag I got to work.

"Why did you help me Wrath?" John asked as I helped clean the blood off of his face.

"Just because you're a psychotic ass doesn't mean I could just walk away from what I saw" I replied.

John looked at me, the confusion in his eyes was as clear as day. I eventually was able to patch up all of the cuts on his face.

"John are you OK?" I asked him as he tried to stand only to fall back onto his knees.

For a moment he was silent but then I noticed the tears streaming down his face, without thinking I pulled him into a hug. It was awkward at first but then he wrapped his tattooed arms around me and started to violently sob into my neck.

"I know John, I know, just let it out it's going to be ok" I said rubbing his back.

"How would you know? How would you know what it's like to be violated by the people who you are supposed to trust?" He asked, his voice muffled by my shirt.

"I know because I've been here before" I said trying to keep my voice calm.

John stopped crying and lifted his head to stare at me.

Giving him a solom smile I said "My father used to abuse me and it got worse when my mother died, when she was alive he would make inappropriate comments about my appearance then she died and things got worse, my mom was the only member of my family besides my little brother Elijah that knew I was trans, when she died my father found out and one night he came into my room, told me he was going to fix my attitude and bring out my "womanly" side" I paused before continuing "he raped me repeatedly, every night, until one day Elijah saw the bruses on my arms and neck and he started crying, begged me to go to our neighbours and tell them what had been happening"

"What happened then?"

"Sheriff Whitehorse was my neighbour, I went to the police station and asked to see him, he helped me, arrested my father and helped me keep my younger siblings" I said tears now falling freely from my eyes.

After what felt like an eternity of us clinging to each other, John got up and pulled me to my feet.

"Look, I feel like I'm a little kid scared of the dark asking you this but would you mind staying the night at the ranch with me? I don't want to sleep alone" he said not looking me in the eye.

"Yeah sure" I said as we headed to his.