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[truereligionhoodie]

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[babygorewhore]

Unholy Contrition

Rafe Cameron immediately wrote you off as some Bible thumping prude. And when his father died and left the entire fortune to him, he absentmindedly chose your father, A preacher, to speak at the funeral. But he catches something about you that reminds him of his favorite Porn Star. And he decides he’s going to corrupt you. What he doesn’t know is…you’re not as innocent as you act.

Okay guys the horny demon got me and I once again had to write about cocaine daddy because I’m addicted to him. Thank you so much to @xxhellfirebunnyxx for helping me with this and beta reading. I love you dolly.

Word count 5K!

Moodboard

Warnings! Talk of religion (duh) reader is a porn star, masks, masterbation, slight cat and mouse, choking, degrading, oral, unprotected sex! Virgin reader! Daddy kink! Kinda perv reader tbh but same. Slight breeding kink. And barely proof read I apologize.

Disclaimer: female in photos just for aesthetic purposes!!

When Rafe first saw her, it was at the annual outdoor movie where the pouges and Kooks got together. The pouges served food and drinks while he and his family sat comfortably in the front row. Topper, Kelce and himself watched JJ and Pope after their encounter. He thought they knew better than to fuck around with him and his friends. But he’d have to teach them. Burn it into their brains.

He was Rafe fucking Cameron. And they would learn their god damn place.

“Watch them.” He told Kelce and he got up. Kiera was getting a drink and this was an opportunity to assert his intent.

“Tell your boy, we know what he did.” His warning did nothing to sway her loyalty as she walked away. He smirked and then it fell when a girl was walking up to the line. It was the Preachers daughter.

He towered over her like most people but what caught his attention was the high neck shirt, covered thighs and worse. A cross on her neck and a wrap around cross bracelet around her hand. Her hair was in pig tail braids. She had doe eyes and bitten pink lips.

And she was carrying a fucking Bible. Which was a shame. She was pretty. Beautiful even. But he hated the church.

“Excuse me,” She whispered and moved past him. He had an urge to snatch it out of her hands and throw it. But he had more important things to do.

“Yeah; go ahead Jesus freak.” He hissed, bending down to say it to her ear. Her eyes widened and her brows pulled together.

“I-“

But he walked off. He wasn’t going to waste him time when he had two pouges asses to kick.

Your dad gave funeral talks all the time but now you were weirdly excited to go. Not that you were excited about Ward’s death but more about who’s attending. Rafe Cameron would be there and you actually thanked god for it. It wasn’t that you didn’t have your own belief system but the entire restriction? Fuck no.

But for the sake of your poor older father, you kept up the good girl facade. It was easy really. Keep everything simple, light pastel clothes while hiding what was underneath. Your nickname was Kitty from the cat ear beanie you had since you were a teenager. But your dad had a variety of nicknames for you.

All of them were gentle. Pure.

You adjusted your white lace turtleneck before your hands settled on your ankle length pink skirt. The very sight was way out of your true style but it would do for the service. Your white socks and black Mary Jane’s. Your cross bracelet, and necklace was a little overkill.

But no one knew how you used the cross in secret on your only fans.

The black thong you were wearing was already growing wet as you stood next to your father waiting for him to arrive. He greeted everyone with a handshake. Your eyes drifted over the crowd, mascara thick on your lashes as you subtly rose to your tiptoes. Damn, was he late to his own fathers funeral?

“Kitty, look who it is. Hello, Sarah.” You forced yourself to smile. She was crying with Topper on her arm. Apparently she and John B, Rafes arch nemesis, had broken up. For now anyway.

“Hi, Sarah, I’m so sorry…” You gave her a genuine hug and she squeezed tightly.

“Thank you, kitty.” She sniffed.

“Mr. Cameron, now that you’re here-“ You tried your best not to snap your head too directly in his direction but you slowly turned your head.

Rafe was wearing a suit and his hair was slicked back out of his eyes. Different than he had been running around a few weeks prior before he inherited the entire fortune.

He seemed…more unhinged. Something in his eyes flashed when he saw you, drank you in like a man after a day in heat. You gave him a sympathetic smile and you rolled your ankles, trying to seem smaller. More vulnerable. “Hi…Mr. Cameron. I’m so sorry for your loss…” You murmured.

His strong hand engulfed yours, his fingers long, covered in gold rings and warm. You looked into his blue eyes, shining on you and he said. “It’s still Rafe, little bunny.”

The nickname made you want to cum in your panties but you ducked your head with a blush. But you couldn’t blame him with your modest clothes and makeup. He returned to speaking with your father and you tried to keep your glances to a minimum. He was going to work for it.

The service was simple. Outdoors and you stood next to your father. You held a small Bible that was gifted to you in middle school as your cross dangled from in between your fingers. Rafe was staring at you. You could feel it but you wouldn’t give him the chance to meet your gaze yet.

You had a lollipop in your pocket. One you took out of your collection as you left your house. You always sucked on something. Your cross. Your dad wouldn’t think twice as you subtly unwrapped the paper and slowly licked a circle around the candy. Your tongue was lewd as you then pressed it passed your swollen lips.

You took another measure by your pointer and thumb pushing it back and forth and then you stuck it further…until it hit the back of your throat. Playing dumb, you gasped quietly and coughed. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, lipstick slightly staining. You then took an opportunity to look at Rafe.

His jaw was tight and he was biting his lower lip. Blue eyes were darkening as he inhaled the process of your action. His chest moved up and down rapidly. You wanted him to know you were baiting him. But you also wanted to fuck with his mind. So you did the most reasonable thing your thoughts came up with.

You gave him a small wink.

After the funeral, he was out of your sight. But you took the extra step by linking your second account on your instagram story. You knew he would watch it.

Your obsession with Rafe Cameron started in high school. He was a few months older so he graduated sooner. But when you first saw him, hanging around other girls and guys at the private school. Disobeying rules but having enough family power to ignore them. Turned you on. His rebellion was something you craved. Your attraction only grew when you saw him one day yank a girl into a closet and you heard how good he made her feel. Granted, you hid right outside the door. You wanted to be her.

You want him to throw you around. Use you. Take you like you were only made to be his little toy. Your fantasies only grew when you followed him on social media, he was public so you had fast access.

What he didn’t know was that you used your second account. Where you wore your sluttiest clothes without showing your face. You posted stories about sexual thoughts, songs and thirst traps of your body. And he commented on every single one.

“Fuck, I wanna see your pretty face.”

“I want to fuck you. Fuck your throat. Watch you leak with my cum.”

It was an endless amount of fun. You knew he wanted you. He just didn’t know you were both versions yet. And each response you gave him, ended with a wink.

“Kitty, you look tired. Do you want to head home?” Your father asked. You nodded sheepishly. Finally, you could get home and post more on only fans. You knew he would watch as well.

“Thank you, dad. I’ll see you later.” You gave him a kiss on the cheek and started to the car.

It wasn’t an accident you parked across from him and you saw him walking in the direction. You dipped your hand into your pocket, acting like you were searching for your keys as you dropped a thin fabric on the ground. Quickly, before he could approach you, as you heard his shoes you got into the driver's seat.

Playing dumb was simply picking and choosing when you showed innocence. As you drove away, your plan cemented and you bit your lip.

Getting home and settling into your bed, you wore the lingerie Rafe always requested. Normally you charged him more, but you’d give him a treat today. You pulled out your rabbit, spitting on it and slathering it with lube. You barely needed any on your pussy as you set your phone exactly where it showed the best angle.

You wore the cross on your bracelet as you traced your clit with it. A lot of girls did this but Rafe would consider that it’s yours. Maybe he wouldn’t. The doubt would drive him crazy. Just like he drove you crazy.

He was infamous for snorting coke at parties you were never invited to and you imagined smearing it across his gums before licking them. Or his strong fingers holding you down as he did a line on your body. What you wanted most? Being pinned down as he spat on your mouth and slapped your pussy. These thoughts drove you to easily slip two fingers inside as you grind onto your hand.

“Fuck me, daddy. I need you.” You whined. You wish he was here. You wish it was his hand instead of yours.

You tried to hold back, usually taking longer for a video but you came extremely quickly. As you laid there, sweaty and still needy. You glanced at the notifications. They were repeated. Sliding on your side, exposing your bare ass, you picked up your kitten mask and read the messages.

They were all from Rafe.

He was sending money. “Please, let me see that fuckable face. I’m begging you, kitten. I need it. I need to fuck that soaking pussy. Daddy needs you.”

You had to bite your lip to keep from chuckling.

Normally, you just winked. But this time, your fingers swiped and you replied.

“Work for it, daddy.”

Rafe couldn’t get the image out of his head of you sucking the lollipop out of his fucked up head. You were the preacher's daughter for god's sake. Someone he teased for being some sort of Bible thumper and she probably didn’t even know what kinky meant. But…god she was pretty. The way she innocently batted her eyelashes at him like a bunny. That was what stuck out to him. A little bunny rabbit.

And then she winked at him. It felt so pointed. Purposeful. She also dropped a black damp thong on her way to her car. Rafe snatched it up before anyone could ever see it and he half scoffed and moaned. A creamy stain that was recent. Either she secretly touched herself or she was so wet that it soaked through and ran down her pretty legs.

The last words of the mystery girl on Only fans, who was his favorite porn star, gave him more than a wink this time. Work for it, daddy.

It made him cum all over his hand again just from her words so he couldn’t even imagine her pussy. But the doubt. The doubt was there. But she was-he clenched his fist. It was during the day and he had a second to breathe in between meetings.

Rafe typed her name on instagram.

As he suspected, it was mostly scenery shots, half faced selfies and photos with your father. A few of them you were smiling, apparently whoever took the photo made you laugh when you were at the beach. He almost swiped to another photo when he narrowed his eyes.

It was very small. He almost missed it but there was a small…handprint? Right below your swimsuit above your thigh. It had to be your hand, given the size but his mind drifted to a particular video where mystery girl spanked herself to his request. Was he being paranoid? He looked at another photo, a flashback to your graduation where John B took you to prom. And he felt at twitch in his jaw. But not before another detail caught his attention.

Underneath your bracelet. Left wrist. He saw a black mark. Not a mark, he zoomed in, careful not to like the picture.

It was a tattoo.

He couldn’t see what it was but his eyes widened. Mystery girl also had a tattoo there.

But you couldn’t possibly have one. Not the preachers daughter. Weren’t they forbidden or some shit? It was starting to drive him insane when his alarm went off.

“Fuck.” He muttered to himself and clicked the button. Turning his screen black. It couldn’t be you. Not this innocent girl who called him Mr. Cameron. But what if it was? He’d have to find out for himself. Anyway he needed to.

And here he was. At fucking church. He couldn’t remember a time he was here other than his dads funeral. Your dad was on the stage, flipping through a book he assumed was the Bible when he looked up.

“Mr. Cameron. What a pleasant surprise. Kitty, guess who’s here!”

He tried to keep his expression neutral as you came from a door on the left side. You wore a long light colored dress right above your ankle with the same shoes as the funeral. Your hair was in two braids with a kitten beanie, in this weather? And you still wore your two crosses.

But you were so pretty. Prettier than last time if it was possible. You gave him a small smile, ducking your head. “Hi, Mr. Cameron.”

He neared you both, trying to think of a way to subtly touch you without catching the attention of your father.

“Rafe. Um. I just wanted to stop by. Say thanks for the service. It-helped. Especially with Sarah. She’s all emotional and shit.” He quickly glanced at your dad. “Sorry.”

“No need. Freedom of speech is a gift. But you don’t need to thank me. It was Kitty who told me about him as well. So I could make it personalized.”

Rafe swore your eyes flashed. Just for a second. So he pushed. “You did? You friends with Sarah or something?”

You twirled your hair, apparently sucking on some sort of candy. When you opened your mouth, your tongue was red. “Yeah! We talk sometimes. I just wanted to help, you know?” You started sniffing. “I can’t imagine losing my dad.”

“Oh, honey…”

Rafe cleared his throat. Desperate to get you alone. “Hey-can I talk to you? Just for a minute, I wanted to ask you something.” He eyed you carefully and you nodded. Your dad didn’t seem suspicious. Which made his doubt increase.

Maybe the wink was a fluke. A nervous habit? Or maybe you did that to everyone.

You both stepped away, slowly walking down the aisle. He felt uncomfortable, wearing a suit when he wanted to feel loose. It was too constricting. You played the cross on your bracelet. He raked his brain for something or someway to look at your arm. He had to prove that you didn’t have a tattoo and he was just crazy.

“So, what did I want to talk about?” You prompt him and he clears his throat.

“I’m-“ Oh, no. What could he possibly say? “I’m trying to be more spiritual. You know, with my dad dead. I just want to have hope, you know? That I’ll see him again someday. I would ask your dad but you know. You’re more my age-“

“Oh, Rafe. You don’t have to explain yourself. Do you want me to help you? I can just…go over scriptures with you. Meet with you here. Doesn’t have to be complicated.” The way you said his name made him feel insane.

You had a tilt to your voice. The way you said the word. You didn’t sound like a little mouse for an instant. You sounded-confident. And then it quickly disappeared as your eyes flicked away. “Only if you want, I mean if you don’t, I understand-“

“No, I’d love that. And I also wanted to apologize for what I said. A while back.” This was the most awkward conversation he’d ever had in his life. You started twirling the end of your hair with a painted fingernail.

He squinted, trying to see any sort of ink. Nothing. He was right. And now he was stuck with some sort of scripture offer. “I-“ and then you stretched.

Your arms over your head and he didn’t know where not to look. Your tits were lifted, your neck exposed and then he saw your sleeve lift.

It was a black butterfly tattoo. It was medium sized. Pretty. And then he saw a few more peeking on yiur skin. Mystery girl had the same tattoo but it looked like you had more. Rafe snatched an opportunity.

“I like your tattoo.” He complimented. Hoping to get some sort of answer.

“Oh, thank you. The first one is from a while ago but the rest are new. Dad doesn’t approve but I promised to keep them covered up.” The candy you were sucking on. You rolled it around in your mouth and Rafe was bouncing with some sort of frazzled energy.

“What do you do? Outside of church?”

“I make jewelry. My own business. Sarah actually bought a few things. It’s obviously not Cameron level but I do pretty well.” A blush reddened your cheeks. Jewelry making? Damn. He didn’t have a fucking clue. But why did you wink?

He was going to lose his mind.

“That’s cool. I’ll have to-“He checked the time. He stopped here before going to the building for work.

“I have to get going. But I’m glad we talked. And I’m sorry again.”

“It’s okay, Rafe. I understand. Besides, I was still in high school and I was a little awkward.” You giggled behind a hand. Your smile was adorable and he had an urge to cup your face.

What was he doing? What was this end goal?

“Yeah, me too. Um-“

“Here,” You brought out your phone and opened the number key. “Just put your number in here and I’ll let you know when we can get started if you still want to!” She chirped as he quickly typed in his number.

Her phone in his hand was so small and he felt a twitch in his crotch. Her camera roll. It could be so easy. Just a Quick Look. Just to see. Just to be sure. But to his surprise, you took it back before he had a chance.

“It was nice to see you,” You nodded with a smile.

“Yeah! You too.” He said quietly and watched you walk away. His mind was even more fucked.

Who were you? Or who was the mystery girl? For once in his life, he did consider praying for an answer.

Getting more tattoos at the same time he showed up at church wasn’t planned but it worked out exactly to your favor as you shut your room door with your hip and set your bag down. But you saw the wheels turning in his head. He was taking the bait and you smirked. This was almost too easy. Trapping him. But he was so desperate.

You needed to spark something in him, either get him to ask directly or get him to cave.

Adjusting your hair in your car mirror, you scanned your white dress for any stains. The small flowers decorating the fabric and your cross on your body. But this time you wore a pair of boots that your father nearly had a heart attack with. They were completely different than you normally wore. But you needed more proof that you were his favorite little bunny.

The church loitered with a few people, as they normally did after a Sunday service. Your knee bounced as you waited for Rafe as you sat in the front. You had a few scriptures in mind, ones to stir him and you knew he’d never imagine were in the Bible.

“Sorry, I kept you waiting.” His raspy voice caught you by the surprise but you slowly turned and looked up at him.

Rafe wasn’t in his suit today, instead his casual clothes but there was nothing casual about the way he was staring at you. His eyes were on fire. Full of desire and confusion.

“Oh! That’s okay, Rafe! I wasn’t waiting long! Please sit,” you scooted over and he seated next to you. His knee against yours. You didn’t move it.

“So, you want to hear a few scriptures, or I can pray for you, which would you prefer?” You spread your legs a little and Rafe swallowed. His jaw clenched.

“Uh-I-i don’t think I’ve ever prayed before. So the Bible is fine. I just want to make peace, you know. With my dad. But I have another problem.” You raise an eyebrow.

“There’s someone I really want. And I know it’s…against the lord of whatever. And I need some help. What should l do? How do I resist it like you?” His question hung in the air and your chest tightened. You were so tempted to tell him but that’s not what you wanted.

“Well. I just listen to what the Bible says about that. It keeps me strong. What it says is clear.” You nodded. You opened the book on your lap, “1st John 1:9 ‘if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness’” you looked at him.

“So, if you confess, God will help you.”

Rafe bit his lip and leaned in closer. “This girl. She’s a fucking porn star,” he growls. “And she wears a little kitten mask and she fucks herself all nice and obedient for me. But the problem is she teases me like a brat. She never shows her face even though I give her more money than she’s ever seen. She’s her fathers only child but she calls me daddy. And had the nerve to tell me to work for it. She fucks her cross on her pussy when she knows damn well I could do it better. But she hides. Hides behind this little innocent act with the holy Bible and looks at me with eyes that make me want to rob every single innocence away from her and expose her for the whore she is. And baby, I think it’s you.”

Your core was dripping on the bench. You were almost shaking with want and you almost had to look away from him. You felt exposed. He did figure it out. You weren’t quite prepared as you thought with his reaction. Despite your activity behind your close door, you hadn’t fucked anyone all the way. Making out with friends at sleepovers was as far as you got in real life. Your obsession with Rafe made you wait. You always knew he’d be yours. And you made it happen.

“I-“ he held a finger against your lips, cutting you off.

“No, no, no, see you’ve fucked around with me a little too long, little girl. Now, I get to show you exactly how big of a mistake that was. So, you’re going to go home and think long and hard about what’s going to happen next. For once, I think your God isn’t going to protect you from me.” Rafe pulled away and stood.

“How does it feel to be left high and dry? And by the way, nice tattoos.” And then he winked at you.

You gasped as he walked away.

Your thighs were growing damp from the leaking arousal and you were breathing heavily. Holy shit. It worked. You bit your lip as you pulled out your phone.

He had texted you. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

When you got home, your dad was out. He was gathering his sermon scriptures and then to spend time with his small circle of friends. You told him you didn’t feel well enough to go. Your mask was secure on your face as you took photos in your bra and panties.

You planned on making more content but it was getting harder because you wanted Rafe so badly. You wanted him to fuck the brat right out of you, making all your dreams come true from his earlier talk. Pouting, you started going through tik tok, laying on your stomach. But then a noise caught your attention. Sitting up, you went to grab your robe when your door was bashed open.

Eyes wide, you see Rafe walk towards you, with a sadistic smirk on his face. He tilted his head, trailing his blue irises over your body, your naked knees pressing together.

“Hey kitty.” He said, stalking towards you. Rafe kneeled on your bed before grabbing your ankles. You shrieked as he dragged you towards him and loomed over you. “The mask was a really nice touch, baby.” Rafe glanced at the cross on your neck after he tore off your mask and threw it. He pulled it, tugging you up.

His breath hit your mouth. “You want to be my slut? All those fucking videos for me. Making me crazy. Making me doubt myself. You’re gonna regret it. Open your fucking mouth.”

You immediately obeyed and Rafe spit inside. He grabbed your jaw and closed it.

“What’s wrong? What happened to that little brat? Aw, she’s done isn’t she? Fuck, and I haven’t even done anything.” He tapped your cheek harshly. You felt his silver rings against your skin.

You were trembling but you grabbed his face and smashed your lips together. You tried sitting up but Rafe would have nothing less than submission as he pinned your hands above your head and dominated his tongue in your mouth. He kissed you with brutal force and you almost came just from that. All these years and it was better than you could have ever imagined.

He ripped away and wrapped his hands around your throat. “Tell me you’re going to be good.”

Your air was cutting off and you nodded rapidly. “I’ll be good.”

“Say I’m sorry, daddy. I’m sorry for making me have to search for answers. And finally break into your fucking house.” Rafe snarled and tightened his grip. You could feel him hardened above you.

He shoved his hand inside your underwear, grazing your soaking pussy. His two fingers rubbed your clit but with too light pressure. Your eyes rolled back as your stomach tightened.

“You’re so pathetic. Gonna cum and I haven’t even fucked you yet. You’re a fucking virgin, aren’t you? A little whore but you’ve never done this with anyone but your own tiny fingers.” Rafe lent down and hovered over your mouth that was parted.

He pulled his hand away and you whined. “No, please, I’m sorry daddy. I’m sorry for doing all this-“

“I’m sorry daddy,” Rafe mocked you, his fingers shoving inside your greedy entrance. “I’m sorry daddy that I’m a dripping whore and I need the Bible to get you to fuck me.” He started chuckling as you grew noisier. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

“I’m-“ He stopped and you almost screamed. “I’m so sorry, daddy. I’m a stupid dripping whore but I want you so bad. You can do whatever you want to me. I’ll take anything but please stop teasing-“

Rafe broke then, his hand removed from your neck and you sucked in air. His mouth slammed against yours as he ripped your underwear off, and fumbled with his belt. He slid down, kneeling on the floor as he spread your legs. Your glistening cunt made his eyes darken. “You’re so fucking wet for this.”

His tongue lapped at your clit, circling it around the bud before he licked the underside with pressure. You mewled and clawed the bed as he devoured you. Rafe’s tongue slipped inside you with ease as you clenched. You were so close it was painful. But he was relentless. Slowing when you were just about to reach your peak.

“Daddy, please make me cum.” You cried out, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m sorry, but please daddy.”

Rafe stopped and yanked off his pants and boxers. His heavy leaking dick was bigger than you thought as he wasted no time running it down your pussy. “This may hurt a little,” He warned before slamming in. “But you can fucking take it.”

Your nails clawed his back as he thrusted again. You moaned so loudly it surprised you but he met you in volume. “Fuck, daddy!” You said against his ear.

“Are you going to behave?” Rafe grunted as he crudely started massaging your clit. “Are you going to behave from now on?”

Your vision went white as your stomach tightened, “yes I promise,” You whispered before your pleasure exploded.

Rafe did too, his movements stalled as you felt him empty inside you, and your damp forehead rested against his.

“Maybe I fucked a baby in you, kitten.” Rafe sneered with a fucked out look. He was still inside you. “Looks like you corrupted me to your religion.” He smirked before pulling out.

“So…” You cleared your throat and looked at him with a small amount of vulnerability. “What does this mean? Is this it?”

Rafe inhaled and his fingers went to grip your jaw. His powerful face above you sent chills down your naked spine. “If you think you’re anything else but mine, then you’re a dumb little bunny. No one will ever touch you but me. Be with you but me. And besides,” He grinned wickedly. “Your dad already likes me.”

Tagging

@imyourdaninow @drewstarkeyslut @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @slvt4jamesmarch @reidsbtch @lesservillain @take-everything-you-can @emsgoodthinkin @imyourdaninow

[bunnisari]

if you are taking ideas/requests whenever you are can you write reader going to see plug!connie in jail and they talk on the phone and it’s just so cute and ughh

WARNINGS ✩ — (i don’t know how visitations work so bare with me), suggestive language, eh nothing just cute, connie is written as dominican

You follow the security guard into a cold concrete room. You’ve been here plenty of times before so you know exactly where you are going. You keep your face straight and mean mug every security guard who looks you up and down. You make sure to listen to Connie’s orders everytime.

“Make sure you look mean as fuck when you come up in here. You too pretty to be inna place like this”

You sit at the booth, waiting for Connie to come out. You were slightly chilly sitting at the cold metal. Your pink longsleeve shirt wasn’t enough to keep you warm. You brushed your palms on your true religion jeans. Connie always made you nervous no matter how long you’ve been around him.

You look up when you hear the door open, slight chatter in the background from other booths.

You see your gorgeous husband boyfriend, his arms covered in tats. He had on a short sleeve white tee, His jumpsuit resting around his waist.

You immediately break out into a smile as he sits down, grabbing the phone off the wall.

“Hi babyyy” Connie feels his heart beat faster as your sweet voice greets him. “Hey princess. You look so pretty.” His voice slightly cracked in the middle of his sentence. He wanted to touch you so so bad. But soon he’d be able to.

“Thank youuu. Do you like my nails? I got ur favorite color.” You hold your hand up to show him the pink charmed nails.

Connie shook his head and smiled. I’m pretty sure that’s you’re favorite color.”Yeah baby they look good.”

“How was your week?” Connie just wanted to hear you talk, hear your voice. In these moments you kept him sane. These little fifteen minutes highlighting his entire month.

“Ummm it was okay. I went over Mika’s for a bit and I actually meal prepped this whole week which surprised me because I never make it through the whole week,” You talked with your head down.

“Look at me I wanna see your pretty face” Connie demanded. You swallowed your nerves at looked him in the eye.

“What did you eat?”

“Just simple chicken and rice and then I just seasoned mixed vegetables. It was good though.”

Connie groaned and threw his head back, “Baby that would hit so good right nowww”

You laughed, “Don’t worry. When you come home i’ll cook you all of your favorite foods and you can eat it all by yourself”

“I think I just wanna eat one thing.” Your eyebrows furrow before you look at Connie’s expression, seeing him look at you with low eyes scanning your body up and down.

You gasped, covering your mouth, “Baby you’re so nastyyyyy”

“Girl y’know you want me to.” His teeth tug on his bottom lip before he smiles.

You fight the urge to scream, kick your feet, and giggle.

You roll your eyes playfully while smiling.

“You went shopping like I asked you too?” You nodded your head, “Mhmm. I got some more shoes and some random stuff from Bath and Body Works” Connie nodded his head. “That’s good”

“I checked up on your mom too like you asked me” You add.

“Good girl” His smooth voice rings through your ear. You always complied with him. You were such a one in a lifetime girl and he would kill just to not fuck it up. You were holding him down while he was locked up, he couldn’t ask for more. You made sure his business still resumed, running drops yourself even when Connie asks you not to. You just have Jean come with you to be safe.

“I miss you so much” You pout. “I miss you more princess. Just three more months ight?”

“Yeah” Your voice trailed off. You haven’t touched your boyfriend in over a year. You were touch and sex deprived but you would wait on Connie. Even if it took decades.

You were interrupted out of your thoughts when you heard the security guard from behind you.

“Time is up”

Connie laughed as he watched you look over your shoulder at the guard, rolling your eyes before flipping your hair over your shoulder. “I hate that big neck ass block head guard” You smacked your teeth.

“I love you so much princesa. You take care of yourself good kay ma?”

“Okayy. I love you more” You fight away that burning feeling in your throat, not wanting to leave your man but you had no choice.

You blew a kiss at Connie before following the guard.

Connie made sure to take a look at your ass, licking his lips. “No way her ass got fatter…”

[concretecultist]

Sacrilege

summary: being the daughter of a Pastor meant your life was the Bible through and through. Noah being the son of the choir director meant that even though he rejected the faith, he still showed up. You’ve known Noah all your life and always tried to get him right with Christ so he wasn’t predisposed to an afterlife of eternal damnation. What you didn’t expect though, was for him to begin chipping away at the walls of the only thing you’ve ever known. Faith.

pairing: PastorsDaughter!Reader x Noah Sebastian

warnings: sacrilege, smut, religious themes, corruption kink, unprotected sex, mentions of cult-like behaviors, "kool-aid" incident mentioned, just please beware reading this if this is not your vibe!!

word count: 4.6k

A/N: this is an 18+ blog so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! This is ALL FICTIONAL!!

You and Noah had known each other since you two could talk. He was always the rebellious one, you were the rule follower, you had to be. Your father was the Pastor of the Concrete Commune of Christ.

Coining its name based off of how "solid" the community’s connection to God was.

But even concrete can crumble.

“Have you changed your ways yet?,” You question him, “I grew up with you, Noah, I really don’t want you to go to hell,”

“Oh, Dove you’re gonna go to hell too,” he smirks, all of this was a joke to him. He has made it clear to everyone in the commune, from a young age, how he feels about religion but they let him stay in hopes that the 28 year old will one day accept Jesus as his Lord and Savior.

“No I’m not,” you shriek, “I’m a follower of God, I live by the book,”

“You live by the book huh?,” he plucks the collar of your shirt, “Deuteronomy 22:11, ‘ye shall not wear cloth combining linen and wool’… your little sweater with the mock collar is a sin,”

“Leviticus 19:28,” you eye his tattoos, any time you two were near each other, it was a banter like this. Noah found it amusing but you were serious. You cared about everyone in the commune, you wanted them to make it to Heaven.

“I’ve made my peace with knowing I won’t make it to those pearly gates,” he gets closer, “If I did it’d probably be to spit in your God’s face and dethrone him,”

“Noah, that’s blasphemous!,” you gasp, “W-what… what is wrong with you?,”

“Your God makes no mistakes right? So he made me this way”

“Satan really has his claws in you,” you give a shaky breath.

“He’s a cool guy,” shrugging as if it were a normal statement, “He’s not as uptight with the rules to brainwash you all like cattle,”

“It’s not brainwash! This is the way. The word of God is the true light,”

“Why do you think he’s called the Shepherd, Dove? Because you’re all sheep. None of you think for yourselves. It won’t be long before your father is feeding you all kool aid and you all commit mass suicide,”

“You’re real nasty you know that?,” How dare you he question your faith. Your faith is all you’ve ever known and as far as you are aware, it's the reason you wake up every day.

“Oh baby you haven’t seen nasty. I can show you though,”

“I cannot commit sin as freely as you,” the disgust written all over your face, “I cannot commit sin with a clear conscience,”

“So repent,” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, “What did your Lord and Savior die for if you don’t sin? You really want him to have died for nothing? Up on that cross with nothing but a sponge of vinegar in his mouth. You really want to be that ungrateful and not appreciate his sacrifice?,”

He gets closer to where he’s whispering in your ear. He’s so haunting, so… unholy, you question how he doesn’t burst into flames when he walks through the doors of the sanctuary.

“I can show you a real baptism. I bet you’d look pretty in all white… wet… as you cleanse your soul of the dirty acts you’ve committed”

“W-we… we should really focus on getting the lesson together, Noah,” you scoot your chair away from him and turn back to your bible, “I think the book of Psalms will be a great place to start. We can teach the others about the protection the Lord gives as long as you believe and do right unto others,”

Noah played your little game. Giving you pointers for the lesson. For someone who rejected faith the way he did, he knew the Bible pretty well, better than you actually, and almost no one in the congregation knows the Bible better than you.

That’s what started your time spent together. Your father was wary of Noah, considering his tattoos and his music taste outside of the church but when he saw the way Noah studied the Bible with you, he figured you were a good influence, he figured that you were following in his footsteps and spreading the gospel.

Except that wasn’t the case.

Noah was planting seeds in the garden that was your mind. He sat beside you every Wednesday night and Sunday morning whispering in your ear. Deconstructing everything your father was speaking at the altar.

He was able to plant seeds of doubt so easily and that shook you. How solid was your faith if you could question it in just a few weeks? Maybe the Devil is trying to get you on his side, but you must stand firm. So you pray more, you sit at the altar more, you sing hymns so that the voice of doubt could be drowned out.

But it was proving to be pointless almost, you’d go home every night and find it hard to read the Bible. Finding it hard to believe in a God that let horrible things happen around the world and to innocent people.

How do you keep faith like that?

That’s how you find yourself in the pulpit of the church.

Looking up at the statue of the figure that you called Lord and Savior for the last twenty something years of your life.

“Lord, if you’re listening I really need you to keep me strong in my stance. If you’re really there why is my faith in you wavering? If you’re really up there… why don’t you help the poor? Why do you keep sister Paula in an unsafe situation with her husband? If you’re really there-,”

“No one is listening, Dove,”

He has a teasing edge to his tone. He’s making fun of you.

“No one is up there answering your prayers,” his voice gets closer until he’s sitting beside you, “You’re alone. You’re praying to a voice in your head. You want to know why he doesn’t help the poor? Because he isn’t real. And if he is… then he’s one selfish fuck. Wanna know why sister Paula stays with her abusive husband? Because your father brainwashes his congregation into believing that divorce is something that immediately sends you to hell. Either that or your God is a sadistic voyeur,”

You feel Noah wipe the tears off your face as you turn to look for him.

“There are no pearly gates… there is no eternal damnation. Everything you were taught was to keep you in line. To keep you docile. But I know you wanna be set free, Dove,”

He sucks the tip of his thumb, humming at the taste of your tears.

“Do you want me to open the cage and set you free? Do you want me to show you the real light?,”

“I will be forsaken,” there’s a tremble in your tone. Your wings have been clipped long enough and yet now that you have the option to fly, a part of you wants to stay caged.

“You’ve already been abandoned, Dove,” his spit covered thumb traces over your lips, “I can give you something to pray to. Something that’s tangible. Something you can see… touch…,”

“I can be your God,” he was so close to your face now, so close that his lips were touching yours, you could smell the sweet mint of his favorite gum, “I can make today your judgment day. I can walk you to the light, Dove,”

“H-how? You’re just a mortal like me,”

“You doubt me but believe in a man that rose on the third day?,” he was smiling as if your words were the world's best comedy. The congregation had its hooks in you deep. But it's okay, he'd remove them with ease.

“Noah. I don’t wanna go to hell,” you cried, it was hard to break free of all you were taught

“With me, heaven is the only place you’ll go. Follow me and I can show you the real way. Follow me and you won’t have to live your life in fear. Follow me… and I will show you how a real God treats his followers,”

Before you can answer, Noah is taking your hand and guiding you to your father’s study, locking the door before letting go of your hand.

“Psalm 90:17, what does it say again?,”

You swallow thickly, you know the verse and for some reason it’s not coming out. It doesn't feel right to spew scriptures anymore.

“You claim to know the Bible front and back and can’t recite one of the easiest scriptures?,”

Why was he being so mean? One minute he seems as though he wants to help but the next he’s asking you questions related to scripture, what is his game?

“I do know it it’s just-,”

“Not important enough to remember,” he leans back on your father’s desk, arms folded, tattooed muscles stretching the sleeves of his tight black tee.

“Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us. Yes, establish the work of our hands" Noah answers for you, sarcasm dressing his tone as he throws his hands up as if he's praising, “what does that scripture mean, Dove?,”

“It means… it’s a plea for the Lord to bless people and their work beyond imagination,” you seemed dazed.

“Every night that’s the last thing I speak before bed after I cum to the thought of you on your knees, praying to me,”

“M-Matthew 7:15, Noah… Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves,”

“And you are but a little lamb,” He pushes himself off the desk to circle you and suddenly… he feels like a hawk circling his prey, “I never came to you in sheep’s clothing… you knew who I was from the beginning,”

He was so close now. Whispering in your ear so close that it sent shivers down your spine.

“I had faith you could change. I prayed for you every night, Noah I wanted you to see the light,”

“I am… the true light. I don’t need you to pray for me… I need you to pray to me,”

“I cannot… Exodus 20: 4-5. There are no other Gods, Noah,”

His dark chuckle made your stomach do flips. How is he okay with laughing in the face of God like this?

“You’re forgetting a vital piece of that scripture, Dove,” his hands are touching you now and you find it embarrassing when his grip has to tighten when your knees buckle.

“I am not-,”

“I hate my people worshiping other Gods,” he answers plainly, “Your God admits there are others amongst him. He’s just a greedy…,”

A kiss to your neck makes you gasp, your mouth feels dry as you choke on your saliva.

“Selfish…,” a little nibble where your neck and shoulder meet, “Unworthy prick who doesn’t deserve a lamb like you. I deserve you. I deserve your praise. I deserve to hear you sing songs about me. I deserve to experience the look on your face when your knees ache from being on them so long when praying,”

His hand is under your skirt now, do you push him away? Do you… do you welcome it? What if this is God testing you to see if you’re a true follower?

Will you follow him?

Or the Devil?

“I deserve to be the flesh and blood you devour every first Sunday,”

His middle finger swipes between your lips and there’s an unfamiliar rush that takes over your body.

“Let me show you the fruit I bear,”

You can feel him smiling against your ear as he speaks directly into it. It feels like he’s speaking to your soul. All this time you’ve been praying and it’s been nothing but silence but now… now here Noah is, speaking his word into your ear and it’s taking over your mind.

That’s all you’ve ever wanted, was a voice in your ear with a sense of direction. Maybe the Lord has forsaken you… maybe it’s time to try a new path of faith?

“Show me the light,” you breathe out.

Those were the words he was waiting for. That’s all he needed to hear before he’s turning you around and gripping the nape of your neck to plant his lips on yours in a searing kiss. It was overwhelming, to feel his lips and his tongue and then his hands roaming your body as he sets you on the desk.

“Can I taste you?,” he asks, “Can I taste the sweet fruit you bear?,”

You don’t know exactly what he means by taste you but with the eyes of a lamb, you nod to him.

“I will be a good disciple. Show me the truth and I will follow you,”

The words coming out like projectile vomit. The haze of the confusion and deteriorating faith creates a cast over your mind.

Noah’s hands are slowly taking off your cotton panties, eyeing the string of slick that follows before it breaks its connection to your underwear and lands on your inner thigh.

“So ripe. So fresh,” he mutters as he lowers himself on his knees, “I just might have to worship you,”

It makes your cheeks heat up. All your life, all you’ve known is worshiping something you can’t see. You were taught to be humble and modest and yet here you are… with a heretic on his knees before you claiming he wants to praise you.

A flip switches.

“Show me,” you plead softly, “I wanna know what it’s like to be praised,”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought his eyes turned completely black for a second, but it’s too late now. You’re already committing sin and like Noah said… don’t let Jesus die for nothing, right?

His lips make a path on your inner thighs before they find that string of slick. You feel his warm tongue flatten against your thigh and suddenly his eyes are in the back of his head and he lets out a moan that was devilish, it came from the core, as if he was parched and it was the first drop of liquid he received after a long, desolate journey.

“I knew you’d taste good,”

You’re watching his every move. You can’t tear your eyes off of him. Especially when his mouth isn’t even an inch away from your core. He stared and stared and you were wondering if something is wrong.

So you try to close your legs but he’s not having that. His big hands spread them even wider than they were before, taking in the view.

“My goodness maybe there is a God,” he smirked as he stared at your wet lips, “Back out now, Dove, because once I start, I will feast as if it’s the last supper,”

“I wanna see the light. Show me the light, No- OH!,”

You’re immediately cut off when he finally touches you. His mouth is so warm, he’s getting you all over his face like a juicy peach in the summer time.

You’re gripping the edge of the desk as if your life depends on it and with what he’s doing, it seems like it does.

He’s suckling on your bundle of nerves, his finger tips are digging into your thighs and it feels so good but all the sounds you’re wanting to make are trapped in your throat.

“N-Noah… N-,” you wheeze

“N-N-Noah,” he pulls back and mocks you. He’s taunting you and it brings a wave of embarrassment so bad that tears flooded into your eyes, “Relax. You’re being a good disciple,”

Your eyes flutter at those words as he dives back in. He’s lapping at you as if you have a prize inside and he wants it.

Then you feel it. He’s sliding a finger in and it takes your breath away.

“There we go,” he whispers against your clit, “Tell me when I’ve hit that spot,”

You have no idea what spot he’s talking about. Not until he’s adding a second finger and reaches deep within you and lightly curls his finger.

“Oh! O-oh m-my… goodness!!,” your legs bend and tremble, toes pointed. You don’t know what that is but it feels immaculate.

“There she goes,” He’s got you now. He now has made a mental map of your core. Knowing what makes you cry out, what makes you mewl like a cat in heat.

His fingers are speeding up and your juices are splashing on the ugly carpet of the church office.

You’re committing sacrilege and you know it’s wrong but why does it feel so… right? so… Heavenly?

Your stomach begins to tighten and you need something better to grip on, so your hand flies to Noah’s head, gripping so tight the moan he gives goes straight to your core and before you know it, your body is convulsing and you’re crying asking the Lord for forgiveness for the sin you’ve just committed.

“You’re forgiven,” Noah answers, “Let’s repent, yeah?,”

He slowly stands up and within the light of the rising moon, his lips are red, swollen and glistening. He’s sucking on the fingers that were just inside you and a part of you feels as though it should make you cringe but instead it causes your heart to race and you want to taste his tongue.

As if he can read your mind, his lips are on yours once more and you can taste yourself. It’s not something you’d taste alone, but tasting it on Noah? That’s something you can get used to.

After he pulls away he pulls you off the desk and brings you around to the other side. On the back of the office door is a mirror and above the door is a cross.

“As much as I’d like you on your knees… I have something else in mind that’s far more exciting,” he pulls you back and takes the swiveling chair so the back is against the desk before helping you on it, situating you on your knees and pulling the neckline of your top down so your breasts spill over.

He toys with your nipples with a shit-eating grin, admiring the way your body responds to him.

“Hebrews 13:4,” you whine. The guilt started to creep back in, maybe you should stop, Noah would understand. With the cross staring right back at you, it all started to become too much, “Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous,”

“I am the only God here, Dove,”

Your eyes meet his in the mirror and you’re back under his spell.

“What God keeps his people from experiencing something so good, so… freeing that it feels like they’re ascending? I am unclipping your wings, Dove. Won’t you fly with me?,”

You feel him poke at your core, spreading the wetness, coating his tip. He just wanted to slide right in but he knew he had to work you up first. His grip on your breast was tantalizing. His tattooed hand in contrast to your skin was a beautiful sight to see.

He was right.

What God kept his people caged from experiencing beautiful sights like this?

“Start praying,” is all he says before he starts pushing the tip in, “I want to hear what you pray for,”

It was a distraction tactic but he couldn’t get enough of your voice. Especially when you pray for the congregation after Bible study. It always made him hard, he always wanted to bend you over the podium and just hear your delusional prayers.

“I..,”

His hand that’s on your breast is now gripping your cheeks and keeping your head straight to the mirror.

“Don’t get shy now,”

“I call upon God, the Father..,”

He pushes in more and it’s not painful but it is a lot to handle.

“God, the Son a-and God, the Holy Spirit,”

With each word he slowly makes his way inside of you before his pelvis is flush against your ass.

He sighs as if he’s been reborn again.

“Keep going, baby,”

“I… I ask that you watch over us. B-bless us with the gift to see another day. Please continue to guide and protect me,”

“You sound so pretty praying to me,”

“B-but I’m praying to God,” You correct.

“Dove have you learned nothing?,” his chuckle was so dark, “I am your God now. Everything you do. Everything you pray for. You’re saying it to me,”

His hips roll and it causes you tremble in his grip. It’s dizzying. Your vision doubles as he begins a pace to move in and out of you.

“So keep fucking praying,”

There was no room to argue. There was no hint of teasing in his voice.

You didn’t want to anger him. You wanted to make him proud.

You had to be a good disciple, right? Prove to him that you’re worthy.

“God, enlighten my mind with truth. Inflame my heart w-with… with,” a gasp is ripped from your chest as his hips snap into you, he’s so deep. It feels like your nerve endings are on fire and it’s hard to think straight.

You hear the mess being created between your legs and its mouth watering.

“Oh God, please,” your head is thrown back and you turn to look at Noah, “What… why does it feel so good?,”

Noah licked the tears that fell down your cheek. Kissing your waiting lips, picking up his pace and he swallows your cries while you grip his wrists that are caging you in that way you don’t topple over.

“I told you I would baptize you. I told you I would show you the light. I told you I’d show you how a real God treats his followers. You’re being reborn again, Dove,”

Your eyes roll the deeper he gets.

“God, please,” a whimper drips off your lips, you call out into the empty office, “Inflame my heart with l-love… enrich my life with a-service,”

Noah’s hand snaked around to your core to add pressured circles to your clit. He was everywhere.

His breath fanning on your cheek, his hand at your core, his cock deep inside, his eyes boring into your soul. His aura wrapped you up in a warm hug. This is what the presence of God feels like.

The tears flowed. This is the first time in a long time you’ve felt the reward of faith. Maybe Noah was a God… a patient God who waited for you to find your way to him.

He has a follower for as long as you’ll live… and maybe there after.

“Don’t forsake me,” you moan, “I need you. I need something to b-believe in. Don’t f-forsake me. Don’t forsake me!,”

It was a prayer that Noah never expected to spill from your mouth with such conviction.

“A true God doesn’t abandon his people,” Noah’s pace was deadly now. His hips clapping your ass sounded like the church drums during Sunday praise and worship. Your moans were more beautiful than any gospel Noah would help direct during Tuesday night practice.

“I will follow you, I will follow you, My Lord,” you reach behind him to grab at his hair. At this point, your hips were moving back to meet him.

“Thank you!!,” a wanton moan escapes you as he adds an intoxicating amount of pressure to the bundle of nerves between your legs, “Th-thank you for… for you faithfulness a-and presence in my life!,”

Most people loved for dirty talk… but this was incomparable. This couldn’t be topped. The little bird of his dreams was singing her tune for him.

Anyone could get off to dirty talk. But only someone as twisted as Noah could get hot and bothered to the sound of the Pastor’s daughter abandoning her faith to pray to him.

He is God.

Your God has been dethroned.

You’re his now.

“I tr-trust you with this day,” your eyes were so glossy that it actually tugged at Noah’s heart, “And all that it h-holds,”

“Fuck,” it was a mix of a moan and chuckle as he felt his cock twitch, “Say my prayer, Dove. I know you’re close. Say my prayer and you’ll see the light,”

He gave you a few moments to enjoy his thrusts with an empty mind. Mouth hanging open, breath hitching, tears falling and eyes rolling.

The beauty of this moment must have been what Peter felt when he saw Jesus walk on water.

“C’mon, Dove. Say it with me,” he slowed his pace down to pull out his phone. He wouldn’t record the action, but he needed to record the audio. He needed this and you wanted to put on a show, wanted to prove to him that he made the right choice.

“You can do it,”

You don’t know if you can. He’s so deep, his fingers are circling at a pace that’s too fast. His lips felt like they were searing an imprint onto your skin.

“Look at the cross and pray,”

He softly turned your head back to the gold cross above the door, picking up his pace once more.

“Our Father,” he begins, coaxing you to speak the words.

“Who art in H-Heaven,” the tears were spilling too fast for you to keep up, “Hallowed be thy name,”

His deep tone was mumbling under your high pitched mewls, creating a lovely harmony.

“Thy Kingdom come!!,”

He's bent you forward now. Hand under your chin, other still torturing your clit.

“Th-thy will be d-done,” the cross was hazy now, you were losing your wits about you. This was too good. It was shameful and it felt too good.

“Keep going, baby. You’re making your God so proud,”

You clench around him and you’d have thought there was a dark entity around you with the way he growled.

“On E-Earth as it is in Heav… en,” eyes rolling, there’s spit dripping down your chin and onto the expensive leather that the church tithes paid for.

Noah was on the edge. This was so sinful, even for him, but yet he smiled as he took in the view of your face in the mirror. So innocent. So… dumb. You really did have the eyes of a lamb, no wonder it was so easy for the church to brainwash you. You didn’t know any better.

But it’s okay.

He’s here to set you free.

“Give us this day our daily bread,” he groaned along with you, “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,”

You were almost there. You could see the light. It was coming. This was real. Noah was right.

“And lead us not into t-temptation… b-but deliver us from ev… evil,” you were breathless now. Panting like you were suffering from heat exhaustion.

“For thine is the Kingdom,” Noah interjected, hips not stopping, you could feel your wetness dripping, your stomach was in knots.

“Oh God!,” You trembled beneath him.

“No,” he lightly smacked your cheek, “You can’t step into the light until you’re finished. Be good. You’re almost there. You don’t wanna disappoint me, do you?,”

“N-no,” you’re sobbing at this point. You can feel it in your guts. He’s stirring you up like brother Jackson’s gumbo. You were so wet. So fucking warm. The veins of Noah matching perfectly within the ridges of your own walls.

“Then finish. You’re almost there,”

“For thine is the Kingdom,” Noah prompted again.

“And the p… the power and the.. the glory forever a-and ever,”

Noah rolled his hips a certain way and pressed harder on your clit and that was your undoing.

“Amen,” he smiled darkly, it gave him a new life purpose to hear you scream and fall apart in his arms while staring at the cross above the door. His stills as he fills you up.

“Oh God!! Oh God, please, please, please,” you’re sobbing, face fallen against the leather chair.

“I’m right here,” he speaks against your shoulder, slowly pulling out of you, admiring the way his cum spills out of you and falls onto the vintage maroon carpet. He figured he should clean it up but then he opted not to.

He turned the recording off and cleaned you up as best as he could before sitting you flat into the chair and holding your face ever so softly in his hands.

“Breathe,” he had to guide you for the next few minutes.

“Am I dead?,” you ask softly. It was the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced. More than when you caught the Holy Ghost during a sermon.

“No, Dove. You’re very much alive,” he kisses your tear stricken cheeks.

“You’ve just been reborn. Welcome to your new purpose. Your new life,”

[rainylana]

“I’m not always bad.” Part two!

Eddie Munson x female reader

warnings: readers dad has cancer, enemies to lovers, (bullies reader in part one), language, mentions of religion and prayer, depression and anxiety. a lot of angst and fluff.

note: let me know if you want a third part!

Eddie backed off. Whatever class you shared, passing by each other in the hallway or the cafeteria, he backed off. He didn’t bother you, didn’t even look at you. Well, that wasn’t true. He looked, but only when you weren’t aware of it. It had been two weeks since you had broke down in front of him, and as each day passed, he could see you start to slip, start to deteriorate right in front of him. Everyone else was seeing it too.

You weren’t doing as much makeup like you normally did. Instead of putting on a full face, you applied some mascara. Instead of dressing up, you preferred sweats and a hoodie, your hair put up and away so you didn’t have to deal with it.

You weren’t bringing your lunch anymore, surviving off the snacks your friends would make you eat. You didn’t answer questions in class. You weren’t you, anymore. In just two weeks, you’d completely changed, and Eddie, most of all, didn’t like it.

He should talk to you. That’s what he should do, instead of staring at you all day. Over that time, he began to realize his feelings for you were not just hatred.

The day came when he decided he would say something. Say what, he didn’t know, but he needed to speak with you, needed to know that you were…okay, given the circumstances.

•

“And I don’t know if you can hear me, or…even care about what’s happening to my family, but please, God, please, I can’t watch him die. Mama can’t watch him die. Please make him better, I beg of you.” Your hands were folded above your knees, tears on your face and mascara smudged down your cheeks. You were at lovers lake, an isolated side of the park that was overgrown and lonely, much like yourself these days.

There was a singular picnic table, an old, rundown cabin that was falling apart. You’d only been through this area a few times, but the isolation made you feel welcome and at peace, hoping maybe that God could hear your prayers just a little louder here.

“Amen.” You sniffled, wiping your tears and sitting there emotionlessly. You stared at your hands in front of you, too scared to move, too scared to go home. You found yourself always scared, always anxious and alert. Your father was diagnosed with stage four liver cancer and was only given six months to live at best. You didn’t think you could go back to life before you’d been called down to the kitchen for a family meeting.

“Hey.”

You jumped, alert and alarmed at the voice that emerged through the wooded trail. You placed a hand over your heart, calming when you realized who it was.

“Eddie?” You asked, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry,” He held up a hand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your…” He trailed off. “I walk here a lot.”

That wasn’t true. Eddie didn’t like to walk, or any form of exercise, for that matter. He’d followed you, listened to your entire prayer and cry for help, only to come out when your finished crying. It was hot out today, but that didn’t change his normal attire. Black jeans, ripped at the knees. White t-shirt with a little grease. His hair was extra shaggy due to the humidity. He had a bead of sweat forming above his lip.

“That’s okay.” You said meekly, looking back down at your fingers.

He stood their awkwardly, scratching the back of his sweaty neck. “Look, I can go-”

“No, no.” You waved a hand. “I should go. This isn’t my-”

“Don’t go!” He interrupted you, taking a step and stopping you from getting up off the picnic table. “I uh- sit.” He said to you, doing so himself, sitting across from you.

You weren’t aware just how much of a mess you looked, having forgotten about the tears and makeup mess on your face. He stared at you for a moment, watching you watch the lake. You were blushing—or, were you just red faced from crying?

Eddie gulped, not knowing what to say. A simple how are you would suffice, but he couldn’t seem to get it out.

“Do you need something?” Your eyes panned over to him, sunken and shallow. “I don’t have the homework done if that’s what you’re wanting.”

He hadn’t asked for it in weeks.

“How are you doing?” He bounced his knee, clasping his fingers together in front of him. “With…you know.”

You stared at him, and for a moment, you gave him that same look you did two weeks ago. Bewilderment, shock. But only for a moment, because you simply did not have the energy to put on a show, or care. Eddie noticed.

“I don’t know how to answer that.” You said honestly. “I guess I’m fine.”

“It doesn’t seem that way.” He was looking at you through thick lashes, analyzing your every move, like you were his prey. “Nobody knows yet, do they?”

You tried not to cry. You didn’t want to again, especially not in front of him. You’d already made a fool of yourself once.

“Just family.” You whispered.

You weren’t stupid. You knew Eddie felt bad for you. You’d cracked away at his hard shell and found some emotion inside of him. You just wished it wasn’t at your expense, and you didn’t need his pity.

“Do you need anything?” He found himself asking, quickly looking down to his own hands that he fiddled with, decorated in rings and cat scratches.

This was exactly what you didn’t need. You didn’t want a spotlight on you. You didn’t want him looking at you like you were going to break any second. You didn’t need Eddie Munson as your friend.

“No.” You shook your head. “But I do need to go.” He watched you stand up, and by your shaky hands, he knew you were still very upset. Had he upset you? Should he not have reached out to you.

“Y/n, wait!” He followed after you on the trail.

“What?” You whirled around. “God, Eddie, what is it?” Your eyes were round and wide, alarmed and scared.

He looked taken back, shooing a fly away from his face. “I just- I…I’m really sorry about your dad. I can see that it’s bothering you.” What a dumb thing to say! Of course it’s bothering her!

Don’t take it out on him. He didn’t do this. He didn’t cause it. He’s looking out for you. Him, of all people.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You gave him a smile mixed with a frown. “But I’m fine, I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

You left and he didn’t follow, and when he no longer could see you, he swore he heard the sound of someone sobbing.

•

Three days later and you still hadn’t told your friends. You knew you had to soon. They were concerned. Your teachers knew now, your mom had told the principal, after he had called your parents about your grades. You didn’t get in trouble, they all understood.

You were going in and out of listening to Chrissy talk about prom, your eyes filled with what felt like water and air. You felt like you were drowning. Your eyes burned and felt clouded, your vision was blurry. Your throat burned and you seemed to gasp for air, but you couldn’t. You sat there and listened, drowning inside.

But when you felt something sharp, piercing and full of concern fall upon your face, you looked over and found the hellfire table, their master, staring at you. Eddie was staring at you. You locked eyes with him briefly before turning back to Chrissy.

Two more days passed and everyone knew. You didn’t know how it got out, but you knew it would have sooner or later. You just wished it was later. Everyone was staring at you in class, including Eddie, and by lunch time, the cafeteria went completely silent when you entered. You could take the I’m sorry’s and the I’m here for you’s. You couldn’t take being watched, couldn’t take being talked about and whispered about behind someone else’s back.

You had turned quickly on your heal, flashing an angry emotion across your face that Eddie hadn’t seen in quite some time. You slammed open the doors and walked down the hall with a quick speed. Each step you took, your breathing got heavier and heavier, your head felt lighter and lighter.

You were gulping, choking on your sobs as you rounded the corner and ran down the stairwell.

I’ve gotta get out of here. I’ve got to get out of here.

When you tripped and fell flat on your face, that seemed to be the final straw. You screamed, cursing at the universe, god, whoever, as you stood back up.

“Y/n!” Eddie came running up behind you, panting just as quickly as you were. He widened his eyes at your state. “Hey, hey,” He rushed to you, and you couldn’t help it. You melted into his arms. You let him hold you.

Your limbs gripped his shirt tightly, pulling like he was a rope, and sobbed into his shoulder. You didn’t know why, but in that moment, there wasn’t anyone else you needed more than him.

•

“Thanks for the ride.” You said hoarsely.

It was only one o’clock, but Eddie offered to drive you home. You let him, not able to imagine going back to class after the scene you had made.

“Don’t mention it.” He out the van in park, arm stretched out to the wheel. “You gonna be alright?”

You nodded, tugging at your hoodie, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You said quietly, excluded of emotion.

“Listen, about what happened at school,” He started, turning in his seat. “Everyone’s just surprised, that’s all. It’s like gossip to them. They’ll forget about it eventually.” He searched your eyes, hoping to make you feel better. “Are you hearing me?”

“Yeah.” You sighed. “I’m just…I don’t know. I might take a break for a few days. Maybe they’ll have dropped it by then.”

He didn’t want to go a day without seeing you. He was becoming more and more concerned, more and more attached, curious. You were becoming the very thing that kept him awake at night. He didn’t know why, but god, were you absolutely beautiful.

“Bye, Eddie,” You reached over and squeezed his knee. “Thanks for everything.”

He watched you walk inside, only seeing a small portion of your home on the inside. He hoped you would dream sweet things that night.

[a-queer-seminarian]

In the latest ep of Blessed Are the Binary Breakers, I sit down with public historian Emma Cieslik (she/her) to hear all about her Queer and Catholic Oral History Project, supported by the Pacific School of Religion.

For Emma, the word catholic is truly "universal" — she's interviewed Roman Catholics and folk Catholics, ex-Catholics and "it's complicated" Catholics, queer religious and lay folk. In documenting these diverse perspectives, Emma is preserving the beautiful breadth of queer Catholic stories and gifts so that no one can claim they don't exist.

Listen wherever you get podcasts, or click here for direct links + the episode transcript.

Image descriptions are under the readmore + in the alt text.

ID: Images are three infographics with cream colored backgrounds. First says "Documenting Queer Catholic Experiences with Emma Cieslik; Ep 77 of Blessed Are the Binary Breakers, a multifaith podcast of trans stories." A photo of Emma shows a smiling white person with long light brown hair, glasses, and a colorful pastel shirt.

Image two has a quote from Emma reading,

“There is an assumption, walking into the conversations that I have...that what I'm going to encounter is unspeakable trauma and harm. And don't get me wrong, those things are incredibly true and incredibly valid. The Catholic Church has hurt a lot of LGBTQ+ people; it continues to hurt them to this day. But [I also found that] there are many people who are finding spiritual joy and finding spiritual wellness and meaning within Catholicism —within the entire umbrella, the diverse menagerie, smorgasbord if you will, of Catholicism and Catholic practices. So for me, that was my biggest takeaway... coming to understand how being queer and being Catholic could coexist — and not just could coexist, but could also be mutually beneficial to one another.”

Image 3 has a final quote from Emma reading, “This past June I spoke at the Outreach Conference; it's held by Father James Martin. ...He reached out [to invite me to join] a panel on the lesbian experience. ...[Our] big takeaway from the panel was, like, ‘I think this is great, but this is the first time at the conference we're talking about queer Catholic women and we're uplifting those narratives that... often are not uplifted or understood, or seen as important to understand, within in the Church.’ ” A photo shows Emma smiling and posing with Father James Martin in a church. / end ID

[gwydion-aacblog]

gwydion , he/him (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿) e/o (🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿) , 20s

( icon - white man , brown red hair and beard , pink sunglasses , black collar , white shirt , sparkly green background )

nonverbal . physical disabilities . mild intellectual disability . autism . plural , personal reject DID name .

AAC user , full time and in write as well . disabilities make language and words hard . still not reason to assume " like kid " - gwydion do sometimes swear and talk about " adult " things .

prefer person first language . ( with autism , with intellectual disability )

he/him . not they/them . not OK take away gender because think disability make " not able to know " or " less " man . himself and himselves both OK .

before follow

support right to exist as most true self and self label if no one get hurt and no people boundary broken . gender , system origin , alterhuman , religion , sexuality , be free .

not include : radqueer and transid , people on purpose misuse disability words . these do end in boundary broken , people hurt , and speak over .

not able understand tone tags or neopronouns . support , but , please avoid use when talk direct to gwydion .

please do not ask or say : for gwydion to find label , to recommend AAC , any comment or " compliment " about how write .

do not interact with gwydion's plural posts if have problem with plurals reject disorder name or trauma only origin .

links

what is AAC ? / AAC as language?

AAC etiquette in conversations / all AAC etiquette posts

alternatives to " go nonverbal " / why ?

ARFID tag

autistic regression experiences : nonverbal as adult / language skills

do not comment on : AAC / language skills

be considerate : wrong words / " stubborn " views

intellectual disability tag

plural tag / " nonverbal headmate "

please remember

even with mild level intellectual disability is not easy always say everything want say , and , not always understand everything . sometimes understand community words and " discourse " if is very close relevant in life . but also many times not .

can not give perfect answer everything . not appreciate when say something and people start ask " what if this what if that " . if post say is basic , not need ask what if what if .

sometimes lose or forget messages because get lots activity . sometimes also choose not answer , because answer lots before , or not know how answer .

try really really hard stay OK to post , but if something push overwhelm upset too quick , might meltdown . words like " go away " is only way can say need things stop for now . promise is not hate attack .

[leohttbriar]

Someone brought an overhated character poll to my dash about Kai Winn and im literally so sad about the responses. I knew there were people who hated her but it's really baffling to me how maybe 10 people tops acknowledge her past and the reasonings behind her choices, they just see a space Karen.

oh dude, i'm sorry that sucks. and "sad" really is a simple but fairly complete word when it comes to the character of winn adami, huh.

like. i think a lot about how she's the most normal-looking woman on the show. she is also, simply, normal. she is faithful and political and appears and acts in ways far more familiar to us than most characters. even the fact of her alien-faith hardly serves to alienate, given that she is faithful in the way we might be--without true expectation of ever meeting the divine in this life. while kira can seem more like a fictional character when she speaks of the prophets, due to her proximity to them, winn sounds like the person accosting you on a street corner to talk about the rapture.

that's the thing, though, isn't it. about the "karen" phenomenon in general. there is nothing uniquely bad about middle-aged white women--nothing that makes them uniquely ungovernable in social spheres in ways men aren't. in ways everyone isn't, in some way. (merely anecdotal evidence, but my own experience in the service industry made me far more wary of men in their 30s wearing patagonia vests over dress-shirts). winn adami is a normal sort of frustration to people. one they encounter in the day-to-day. the political conservative who stands outside of planned parenthood and tells girls not to throw away their everlasting souls. the pentecostal women speaking gibberish in church, gesturing to the heavens with their out-of-fashion french manicures, who brought a tater-tot hot dish with extra kraft cheese to the pot luck. the women with cross-walls. with like. so many crosses. the women with leathery tans on the aging skin of their arms and neck. the women who quietly walk into voting booths around the world and choose "safety" over anything else, whether or not that "safety" is real.

at least. that's who people think winn is. setting aside the fact that most people don't truly know the kinds of women listed above, that it's unlikely they've spared a single ounce of pity for women like that ever in their entire lives, winn is not exactly pitiable in this way. she is awash in power. she is intelligent. she thinks. she would stand in a voting booth and choose "safety" (whether or not it's real) but she's not the lady wearing a t-shirt that says trump could grab her pussy if he wanted. she's not one of the many blonde women on fox news. she's not even sandra day o'connor or any other female conservative intellectual. because she's a metaphor.

we don't know her real-world politics because she's a fictional character in a fictional universe leading a fictional world. we know she's a conservative because fights very very hard to maintain the status quo regarding her bajoran religion and its teachings. but we don't know how any of that can be truly allegorized to conservative policies in the real-world. the main tension being: conservatives in the real-world base a lot of truly evil policy on a made-up divine figure interpreted through thousands of made-up hermeneutics and it is materially all Not Real. in ds9, the prophets are actual beings who affect reality. winn's said and done things on the show that sound like something an annoying woman with a turquoise-cross around her neck would say at a utah city council meeting about creationism and "inappropriate books." she also says things that a woman would say at a protest against the racist and paternalistic policies of the british museum. all we know of her as a political figure is that she is conservative. and like, power-hungry and desperate, but those aren't essentially related. she wants to conserve. and that encompasses more than one thing.

which means that people, when they see her, simply aren't thinking. they react to a woman who looks as she does. who speaks like a politician. who makes decisions that are unfair. but, exactly as you said, the show grounds her. they give her a past. they richly flesh out so much about her. they have her acting too rationally sometimes for someone of her professed faith. they have her acting completely irrational as her gods reject her again and again. all while she clings to them with a faith that endured actual torture at the hands of violent imperialists who yet attack her planet and yet attack her and yet she has to speak with as the leader of bajor.

and it's hard to see (beyond the obvious) why this character receives so much vitriol when you have characters like garak and dukat and kira who all are considered charming and beloved in some way or another, while still being as complex as they are. (and i don't even think dukat is all that complex.) even sisko has some moments that, if i lived in his world, i would be somewhat repulsed by--like when jake begs him to let the prophets go and sisko embraces the cosmic over the request of his son. (again: the prophets are real though, so my "repulsion" is more a reaction against people i see as priests, who i find in the real world, as a rule, awful.)

so. it's definitely sad. because the level and kind of hate bestowed upon this character really does seem to be a symptom of a much larger issue: of course, misogyny.

also that people don't tend to think.

[sstardustt3]

Star yaps abt what would i do from falsettos

(copy and pasted from her school paper…)

Over the course of the year I’ve had many obsessions (ranging through days to months) and my current one being from June, Falsettos by William Finn and by extension entire Marvin trilogy. If I could explain why I love this musical and all my thoughts on it I would but today I would like to focus on one in particular “what would I do?” The final of the song (or second depending on if you count Falsettoland reprise as a song).

The song begins after Jason’s bar mitzah; where whizzer after thanking Jason turns away and goes limp. From there he is carried off and the hospital room is stripped away and it is just Marvin alone standing in the same position to reflect.

Now this shot alone says so much. The set of falsettos is made mostly out of grey foam blocks that are made to represent Marvin’s mind state and I think by having everything stripped away shows how Marvin is mentally. He’s alone, he hasn’t moved on from where he was when whizzer died, he can’t. And for the audience it helps set in stone the reality of the situation and it stings.

In the religion of Judaism (which I’m not Jewish but the characters are so I think it’s important to mention but again I may be wrong ) it says that everyone, both good and bad gets what they deserve in the end. Even with that ideology he still feels robbed, and that whizzer died young and unfairly.

According to the World national heath organization people would die only weeks or months from their diagnosis. Assuming that whizzer died closer to the weeks mark it would’ve made less time to really grasp the situation even more so that AIDS wasn’t something with a lot of information. There was no real explanation to the violent death that killed his lover.

A very important fact is that whizzer is Marvin’s first real love. Marvin’s main issue and arch in the trilogy is that he can’t figure out love properly. He tries to love his sweetheart, but only ends up putting her on a pedestal and neglecting her. He thinks he loves ms. Goldberg but only an idealized version of her. He tries to learn to love Trina romantically but can’t bring himself to and ends up neglecting her. Whizzer is the first person he truly loves.

So he wonders to himself if he was never in his life, what would happen? Who would he blame everything that happened on? Whizzer states that he ruined the life Marvin had. Which is technically true.

If Marvin had never met whizzer he wouldn’t have cheated and he wouldn’t have gotten a divorce. If he never got a divorce Trina wouldn’t have went to Mendel (Marvin’s therapist) and they wouldn’t have gotten engaged. If Trina and Mendel never got engaged then Marvin wouldn’t have hit Trina in a fit of rage and hit her in front of Jason and he wouldn’t have seen how wrong he has been and how much he is hurting everyone around him especially Jason who he cares most about and been pushed to change.

Whizzer, who comes out later in this song about halfway through as what I believe to be a further representation of Marvin’s mental state; asks if Marvin regrets the time he spent with him and all he went through to hold him and Marvin says if he could he’d do it again. Which is in reference to a song earlier “love is blind” where at the end Marvin speaks on his of love. That it being messy and dysfunctional and something to never even consider doing over again and it shows how much Marvin has really grown and learned that love doesn’t have to be toxic and painful.

Another thing to be noted is that whizzer comes out in a white button up and brown pants like he had on at the start of act 1 except the shirt is white and not green. What I think this is meant to show is that Marvin is slowly forgetting details about whizzer which supports the idea that most people agree on that Marvin also has aids and dies soon after the ending since memory loss is a symptom of dementia which sometimes a result of aids.

Going back to an earlier point of Marvin and his grief he asks himself how could he move on? How could he face the future without him? Especially knowing that he’d most likely die the same way whizzer did. He wishes whizzer was there with him which is why whizzer shows up halfway through. He wishes whizzer was there with him to live a much longer life and talk to him. Whizzer died young and unfairly and so will he and they’ll never have the chance to better themselves.

The song closes with Marvin recognizing that there are no definitive answers and all he can do is wonder what could have been.

[lex-the-flex]

In My Dreams

Morpheus x reader

Summary: A long-awaited reunion cannot express his love for you as the impending threats of war begin to take a new dawn.

Word Count: 1k

Warning(s): PURE FLUFF!! (Cause Dream deserves it) Happy reunion, brief moments of sadness, mentions of injuries, talk of a banned relationship/religion, the reader returning from exile, balanced and loving family dynamic, Orpheus being a dutiful son, brief nightmare imagery, and return to the Dreaming.

A/N: WORDS CAN'T EXPRESS HOW EXCITED I AM FOR SEASON 2 AND THESE PICS ARE JUST 🥵🤤.

The defining silence of your large apartment allowed an indescribable weight to form in the very airways of your chest. Not even the trickle of the rain hitting the windows or the muffled traffic below could raise your spirits while you patiently waited for your next cup of coffee to brew.

You couldn't remember how many days had passed since the siblings' trial. The horrible trial that cursed you to be separated from your loving son and husband for what felt like an eternity. The result was projected with saddened hearts whilst the main rule hurt, but it was still true.

He is an Endless, she is a Mortal, and the two of you should've never met.

Opening your eyes, you were greeted by the bright afternoon sky, and you were outside. The air felt cleaner, clearer unlike before, and the weight in your chest suddenly vanished, allowing you to finally breathe again. The sound of seagulls cawing at the rise of a new day made it harder to gain your bearings as you knew that your apartment was far from any kind of beach.

Slowly sitting up, your e/c eyes adjusting to your surroundings to discover that you were on a pebble-covered beach, and that your usual jeans and shirt were replaced with something more elegant for a ruler of The Dreaming. Standing from your position on the ground, you looked down at your figure to see that you were clothed in a dark purple set of robes with a flowing cape and shoes to match. Glancing at your hands, a series of silver rings adorned your fingers, and your eyes welled up with tears.

You were free.

The curse had been broken and your heart swelled at the sight of your husband, Morpheus standing along the dunes before you. Running to him, he joined you before catching you in his arms and spinning you in delight.

Closing his grip tighter around you, a lump formed in the back of your throat at how much you missed his scent.

"...Morpheus." Is all you could say.

Gently rocking you back and forth, the Endless held you as if he was handling the finest bottle of champagne. Burying his head in your neck, he carefully pressed his lips to your skin, silently rejoicing in your presence.

"I've missed you, my lovely wife." He whispered in your skin, before facing you.

Placing your hands to his chest, he was dressed in the same style of robes as you, the fabric remained as dark as ebony. Taking hold of your shoulders, Morpheus' bright blue orbs bounced against your own.

"I thought I'd never see you again. I heard the Corinthian attacked you and that you..." You finally announce with tears streaming down your face.

"Sshh, I know. But you're here now, we're here. Together." Morpheus replies, gently cupping your cheek in his hand.

Wiping away your tears, Morpheus presses his lips to your forehead, letting you know that everything is alright. Embracing you in his arms once more, the sound of the ocean waves being disturbed fills your ears, and your son Orpheus emerges from the light blue water. Joining you and Morpheus, the frigid water evaporates off his similar style of white robes and the lyre he carries in his hand.

Wrapping his arms around your form, you hold the back of his head and scrunch your fingers through his brown hair.

"Orpheus, my son. My beautiful son." You say, enjoying your son's embrace.

Letting go, Orpheus sets his instrument carved from wood and leather on the pebbled sand, and bows in your presence. Lowering his head to the sand, he extends his palms toward you.

"I am honored to have you with us again, Mother. But I bring news from the outskirts of Hell." Orpheus begins to explain.

"I told you to stay away from Hell. You and your mother are not Endless, Orpheus." Morpheus interjects, trying not to get angry at this moment.

"I know, but Matthew earned a lead and I had to see it through. It appears that Lucifer herself is planning to take down The Dreaming with an army granted by the Dukes of that infernal place." Orpheus explains firmly.

"I know, Lucienne told me. We shall handle this together." Morpheus replies, turning his attention to the waves.

"With what army, Father? I know dreams are strong, but at what cost?" Orpheus questions, gripping his lyre tighter.

"Orpheus, you are an excellent fighter. But I cannot have you on the front lines. You are mortal, as am I. And while I broke the treaty with the Endless, I still love your father for who he is. So I want you to stay out of harm's way." You say, guiding your son's face to gaze at your own.

Nodding at your declaration, a brief itching sensation takes over your left palm and you glance down at your hand to discover that a mass of dark matter has covered your skin. Clenching your hand into a fist, both Morpheus and your son offer their reassuring touches to each of your shoulders.

"What is this?!" Orpheus asks, with fear in his eyes.

Watching the black matter leave the tips of your fingertips, you lightly groan in pain.

"Your siblings decree. It's finally gone." You advise the boys.

Feeling a gasp leave his lungs, Orpheus releases his hand from your shoulder.

"We should return to The Dreaming and tell Lucienne of our plan. Lucifer's decision to potentially attack my realm will not go in vain. Besides, I know she and Matthew will be more than happy to see you, Y/N." Morpheus proposes.

Agreeing to join you, Morpheus opens a portal to his realm consisting of the same energy as open space, filling the air with dark skies and bright shooting stars. Offering you his hand, you follow your husband through the portal with your son, where the Kingdom would rejoice in the return of its Queen.

the sandman taglist ~

@dreamliners

@dearly-dreaming

@night-n-sky

@naive-daydreamer

@sassenach-the-pie-maker

@ya-boi-river

@firelightinferno

@stuckysdaughter

@flapjacques

@blueberries-stuff

@ilariyalavorowrites

@princessismx

@iraot

@shitpostingiris

@retrograde-raven

@writing-fanics

@sunflowersteves

@gay-dorito-dust

@cosmic-marauder

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

take me to church | choi san

We’re back with another San work bc he’s hot and I love him. Genres: fluff, religious differences (but not like in an angst way, it’s really all fluff) Warnings: reader jokes about dying. Heavy discussion of religion, specifically Catholicism. Characters attend mass and confession. Brief sacrilege? Idk they kiss in a cathedral, so if you are Catholic and that’s offensive to you, probably don’t read this. San has unbelievable rizz (needs a warning) and is sometimes a bit suggestive.

“It took you long enough,” you tease, looking up from your book at the handsome young man holding two coffee cups and waiting for you to notice him. “You’ve been staring at me for a good long time.”

He grins at this. “Can I sit down?” he asks you, offering you one of the cups.

You take it and sip gingerly. “How did you know?” you ask him suspiciously.

“‘Apple cider with a shot of cinnamon and caramel syrup, warmed for one and a half minutes instead of two’,” he recites. “How long have we both been coming here?”

“Well, I’ve been coming here a month,” you tell him. “I don’t know how long it’s been for you.”

“It’s been a month for me as well,” he says. “The first time I saw you was my first time here.”

“Really?” you ask with an eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah, after that I just kind of decided it was my favorite,” he says, something wicked dancing in his eyes as he smiles at you. 

You shake your head with a scoff at the audacity of this man. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “They have good coffee too.” He leans back in his seat and takes a sip.

You size him up -- broad shoulders and a well-muscled chest under a white henley shirt and puffy jacket to protect against the wintery cold, square jaw, high cheekbones, those dangerous brown eyes, and black hair styled up and off his forehead in a swooping Clark Kent-esque style -- and the verdict is easy. Gorgeous. But for one thing, you’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing you feel that way. For another, you know his type. He has the air of the frat boys from college who threw ragers and took bets to see if they could get in your pants.

So you sip your drink again. “So, what’s your schtick? Tell me so we can stop wasting each other’s time.”

“Time spent enjoying yourself is never wasted,” he shoots back. “And I don’t have a schtick. I just want to get to know you better.” He seems unruffled by your aloofness, the hint of a smile still playing about his lips.

“There isn’t a lot to know,” you counter. 

“Everyone says that, but it’s never true,” he says. 

“How many other girls have you tried this approach on?” you ask him with narrowed eyes.

“Enough,” he allows with another smile. “Although this is the first time I’ve waited so long to make a move.”

“I’m flattered,” you deadpan. “Lost your nerve in your old age?”

“Maybe I learned the value of patience,” he says, undeterred. 

You weren’t expecting him to keep up with you for this long, so you simply look at him for a moment. “You got a name?” you finally ask, and his smile grows wider.

“Choi San,” he says. “You?”

“No,” you reply lightly.

For the first time, he looks taken aback. “No, like, you don’t have a name?”

“No like I’m not going to give it to you. Yet.” 

“Yet?” he complains. “Damn, you’re one tough cookie.”

“You have no idea,” you say. “Speaking of which, I have somewhere to be.”

“Let me join you,” he says immediately, standing as well. 

“Oh, as much fun as that would be, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” you tell him with a laugh, putting on your hat and coat and making for the exit of the coffee shop.

“Why not? Are you going to a doctor’s appointment or something?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply as you push open the door, shuddering against the cold air. “I have six months left to live.”

San’s eyes go wide before he realizes you’re messing with him. “You’re awful,” he chides, nearly running to keep up with your quick stride. 

“And you’re persistent,” you say over your shoulder. “Seriously, I’m not going anywhere fun. You should go back inside where it’s warm. You’ll catch a cold.”

“Are you worried about me?” he asks with a teasing smile.

“Extremely. You seem very unhinged.” But you’re laughing at the way he’s dodging the crowd of people on the sidewalk walking the opposite direction so that he can keep sight of you, and this seems to spur him on. Even as San apologizes to an elderly group of women for colliding with them, there’s a determination in his eyes that makes your heart beat quicker than is strictly necessary.

“Oh, I am,” San retorts. “I need someone to take care of me.”

“Call your mother.”

“I would, but she lives in Korea.”

“Call a friend. Do you have any of those?”

“I have plenty, but there’s a very specific cure for my ailment that none of them can provide.”

You stop in your tracks and he nearly runs into you. “What do you want from me?” you ask, half annoyed, half impressed at all the smooth-talking.

“Your name, first,” he says. “And then maybe a phone number. That’s all. I swear.”

You consider him, biting back the thought that he looks even handsomer than normal because of the cool air tinging his cheeks pink and the sunlight in his eyes. “Tell you what,” you say. “You make it through this, and we can talk.”

San’s eyes follow your finger to where you’re pointing -- at a towering cathedral ornately decorated with statues of staring saints. He looks at you with wide eyes. “You’re a church girl?”

“Decidedly so, yes,” you say. “You sit through one mass and I’ll give you my phone number.”

He still doesn’t seem to be worried about any of this. “If I do confession, can I have a date?” he asks hopefully.

“I think if you do make confession, we’ll be in there so long we won’t have time for a date,” you tell him with a roll of your eyes. “Now come on.”

He grins. “You already know me so well. Take me to church,” he says.

The other regulars in the congregation eye you and San with interest as San follows your lead, watching how you dip your fingers into the water at the entrance and then cross yourself. He tries, but ends up crossing himself the wrong way, and you have to stifle a giggle as the little old lady who sits up front gasps loudly. 

San looks at you in alarm. “What did I do wrong?” he asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “She just has a spiritual gift for seeing when someone is trying way too hard to get someone’s number.”

He shakes his head and follows you into a pew. “How long have you been Catholic?” he asks in a whisper.

“Officially, I’m not,” you say. “But I’ve been coming to mass for about a year, ever since my grandmother died. She used to come twice every week. It’s been…comforting. I feel closer to her this way.”

A light of understanding moves across his features. “I see,” he says. “That’s a good way to honor her.”

You are amazed at the sudden tears that threaten to spill over in your eyes. “And you? Are you religious at all?” you ask as a distraction.

“Not really,” he whispers. “I sang in a church choir once, but that’s about it.”

He notices how your eyes light up. “Do you sing, then?” you ask with interest.

“Yeah, a bit,” he admits. “Why? Is that a dealbreaker?”

You laugh quietly. “No, not at all. I just didn’t expect it.”

He shrugs. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

You roll your eyes again. “So do you believe in God?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

“Do you believe in anything?”

“I believe in plenty,” he replies. “Fate…love at first sight…”

“I’m being serious,” you insist. “I don’t know if I can see myself with someone who doesn’t have some kind of guiding principle that gives them integrity. It doesn’t have to be religion, but you have to have some kind of moral compass.” 

He thinks for a moment. “Well, I guess I believe that we should treat others well,” he starts.

“Why?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer right away — and you appreciate that he actually does seem to take the genuine questions you’re asking seriously. After a minute he replies, “I guess because I’ve personally found the highest level of satisfaction in my life when I’m in harmony with those around me. And that’s something I can control. I can’t stop others from disliking me or not sharing my opinions, but I can always treat them well regardless of those things, and we can coexist.”

The priest begins the processional just after San finishes talking, and so you don’t get to tell him how impressed you are with that answer. But you find yourself glancing over at him during the service, giggling softly when he repeats back to the priest later than everyone else, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks when he catches you staring and shoots back a subtle wink. 

And then when mass is over, and he leans over to you and you can smell the spicy-sweet scent of his shampoo, you have to catch your breath. “So, what now?” he asks with that same suggestive glint in his eyes.

“Now I need to go to confession,” you say firmly, although you can’t help a grin.

“I’ll come too,” he says, but you tug him down before he can fully stand up. 

“Hold your horses,” you say, and although you’re nervous in a way that makes you feel like your skin is on fire, you fix him with a stare, your expression serious. 

You take a breath. “Seriously, why me? I’m sure there are other pretty girls you’ve seen before, but it’s a little extreme to go to all this trouble.”

His smile softens. “You’re worried about my intentions?” he asks lightly, sliding across the bench to sit as close to you as he can.

“Shouldn’t I be? I mean, you’re a stranger who followed me into church,” you joke quietly. And you’re surprised to realize as you say it that even though he’s been persistent, you never felt unsafe. Indeed, you have the feeling that if you had ever seriously told him to get lost, he probably would’ve listened to you.

San seems to watch all these thoughts passing through your head, and he pulls one of your hands into both of his own. “Give me a shot,” he says softly. “If we’re talking about belief, let me tell you something else I believe in. I believe that sometimes you can get a sense about someone before you really talk to them. And this is going to sound crazy, but if there was such a thing as past lives, I’d be certain I knew you long before I saw you in that coffee shop.”

You draw in a shaky breath, your heart soaring in elation at this confession in spite of yourself. He’s playing with your fingers, his eyes flickering in the dim light of the church. And he looks so adorably nervous at the admission he’s just made that you can’t help but nod after only a second’s consideration. “Okay, Choi San. I’ll give you my phone number. A deal is a deal, after all.”

He hands you his phone. “For the record, mass was pretty interesting too,” he tells you.

You scoff. “Like you were paying attention at all,” you say as you type in your number, which you’ve saved under the name “church girl” with a black heart emoji.

“I might have been a bit distracted,” he allows, “but I do also like learning about things like this.” He takes his phone back from you and laughs at the contact name. “Wow, when do I get to know your name? At our wedding?”

“Maybe after our third kid, I’ll consider it,” you say dryly, standing up and tucking your jacket over one arm. “Now, I have some sins to confess.”

He stands up with you. “I’m coming too,” he says.

“Don’t you have everything you need?” you ask him with a grin, gesturing at the phone still in his hand. 

“Almost,” he says. “But I’ve done a lot of sinning in my life. Maybe I’ll have a religious epiphany if I talk to someone about it.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you in an anthropology class right now? Like, this has gotta be homework or something at this point.”

He laughs. “No, I am genuinely interested to know what confession is like,” he assures you. The both of you make your way to the confessional. “What do I say?” he whispers as you get close. 

“You start with crossing yourself,” you say, and you guide his hand in the correct motions. “Then you say ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.’”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” he repeats. “Then what?”

“List your sins,” you say. “But don’t say all of them. He doesn’t have all night.”

“Okay,” he says in amusement. “Anything else?”

“At the end say ‘I’m sorry for this and all my sins’.”

“What if I’m not sorry?” he asks.

“Then say it anyway,” you say with a shrug.

“Isn’t that lying, though? Which is also a sin?” 

You have to bite back another laugh at his question. “I think you’re taking this a bit too seriously,” you say. “Maybe only confess the sins you feel sorry for if it offends you to lie to a priest.”

He nods. “Fair enough. Can you confess sins you haven’t done yet?” he asks, feigning innocence, but you know exactly what he means.

You snort, swatting his arm. “Um, that’s called the sale of indulgences, and the church stopped doing that in the 1500s I’m pretty sure.”

He tsks in disappointment. “Oh, well. I guess it was worth a shot. Do you want to go first? I’m sure you’re going to take a lot less time.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “I wouldn’t be so sure. There’s a lot that you don’t know about me, either.”

He shakes his head. “That was sexy,” he whispers after you as you move past him toward the confessional. 

You shush him. “Don’t say stuff like that in church. You’ll get struck by lightning.”

“That’s why I whispered it,” he says defensively.

“God can still hear you,” you say, giving him a little wave as you shut yourself in the booth.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you say, crossing yourself. “It’s been a week since my last confession.”

“Hey,” the priest says casually behind the grille. You recognize the voice of your favorite priest, Father Paul. 

“Hi, Father Paul,” you say.

“Doing missionary work, I see,” he says. 

“Huh?” you say. 

“The young man you brought with you today,” he says, a hint of humor in his voice. 

“Oh, that. Um, I didn’t bring him, he followed me,” you say. 

“He didn’t seem to bother you,” Father Paul observes. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much in church.”

You blush. “Are you gonna let me confess my sins, or what?”

“Fine,” says Father Paul, and you can hear the eye roll in his voice. “But next week you’d better have some more interesting sins for confession.”

“Father Paul!” you exclaim. “Isn't it a sin to encourage others in sinning?”

Father Paul gives a derisive laugh. “My child, I sit here in this booth for four hours twice a week and listen to people confess their problems with a spouse or disagreements with a neighbor. And now you come in here with a man who looks like that? Is it a greater sin to give in to the natural man, or to refuse to acknowledge a blessing when it comes?”

“This is a conversation I absolutely did not expect to have...ever, in any place, but definitely not here,” you say, your whole face redder than a tomato.

“Well, let me give you some revelation from beyond, then. If I were your grandmother, God rest her soul, I would tell you that seeing you alone for so long has been difficult for people who care about you. It may be time to let someone in.” He clears his throat. “Now, you may make your confession.”

Shaken, you do this quickly. Father Paul absolves you, and you clear out the booth. 

San is waiting right outside. “So, you’re forgiven,” he says, in the tone of someone observing the weather.

“Spic-and-span,” you say. “Your turn. You remember what to do?”

“I’ll figure it out,” he says, heading into the booth.

You head from the confessional into a tiny room where votive candles and a small statue of Mary Magdalene are kept, keeping the door open so that San will be able to see you after he leaves confession. You sit at the small bench, breathing deeply, trying to calm yourself. 

You aren’t used to being affected so much, but the man making what is certainly one of Father Paul’s more interesting confessions has upended everything normal in your life. You know what your grandmother would say -- “God likes to keep us on our toes.” “Well said, Granny,” you murmur to yourself, watching one of the flames flicker mesmerizingly in the otherwise dark room.

“Hey, Church Girl,” says a voice behind you. 

You jump and turn around. It’s San, standing there in the doorway watching you carefully. You stand, suddenly flustered. “Uh, hey. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you strangely. He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. “You okay?”

“Yes,” you reply breathily. “Um, just thinking about my grandma.”

“Got it,” he says, empathy at the corners of his tone. He comes to stand beside you. “I’m sorry to have interrupted.”

You give him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, really. So, you didn’t take very long in confession.”

“Nah, I don’t regret very many of my sins,” he says easily. “Father Paul seems cool, though.”

“He introduced himself?” you ask, surprised.

“Yep,” he says. “He talked about you.”

“Oh, did he?” you ask nervously. “What did he say?”

“He told me to take care of you,” he says simply.

“And what did you tell him?” you ask suspiciously.

He hesitates. “My sins,” he says finally. “Which turn out to be my failings as a romantic partner. I just told him all the ways I was worried I’d disappoint you.” He gives a soft laugh, and you look him up and down, fixating on his hands. 

They’re shaking.

Before you can think, before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab him by the front of his coat and pin him against the wall closest to the door. And then you tell him your name before pressing your lips to his.

He catches your face in his hands as you do, the pads of his fingers slightly rough but warm against your cheek and jaw and the back of your neck. His lips on yours are hungry but gentle, and his hands pull you back whenever you try to come up for air. You have to clutch at him to stay upright as the room starts spinning, and he moves his arms to your waist to support you as he kisses you again and again and again, until your lips feel bruised and you can hardly remember anything but the feel of his skin under your fingertips.

Finally, you break apart, gasping for breath. San’s chest heaves against your own, and he leans his forehead to yours. “What was that for?” he asks breathlessly.

“That was the trade-off,” you say with a laugh. “Phone number for mass, kiss for confession.”

“For real? What do I get if I go every week?” he asks eagerly.

“I guess we’ll see,” you say, brushing a stray strand of hair off his forehead.

“I like the sound of that,” he says, his arms tightening around your waist.

You lean against him, letting your head rest on his chest. “Me too.”

[ad-caelestia]

Common Misconceptions about Witchcraft

You have to be a Wiccan to be a witch

I literally thought this until I was 23 years old and started practicing magic again. It’s hard not to believe when nearly every book, guide, and tutorial you come across is geared towards Wicca. Wicca is a religion in which its followers may practice witchcraft. Witchcraft is a practice that may or may not involve religion.

Witches don’t cast curses and if you do, you’re a terrible person

No, stop. The idea that cursing is “bad” stems from the Wiccan “threefold law,” you know, the whole “whatever you do will come back at you three times as much” thing. Not everyone is Wiccan, not everyone follows that belief.

Witchcraft is a religious practice

Witchcraft itself has no religious basis. You can be pretty much whatever religion you want and still practice magic. You can practice witchcraft with no religious preference whatsoever. You can choose to work with deities, or keep your craft entirely secular. Up to you.

Witchcraft is the work of the devil and if you practice witchcraft you’re going to hell

A Christian concept and scare tactic. Not everyone is Christian or even believe in the Christian devil or Christian version of hell.

You have to dress the part

I practice magic in sweat pants and a t-shirt. I find that I work best when I am dressed comfortably, not in some flowy black dress and pointy hat. You don’t have to dress a certain way to be a witch or cast spells. Some witches or magicians have ceremonial clothing that is worn during various rituals but for your every day spell, it’s really not a requirement.

You can call yourself a witch without actually practicing witchcraft

No, I’m not referring to those with chronic or mental illness who practice magic in a minimalistic manner. I’m referring to those who call themselves a witch for the aesthetic and don’t actually practice magic. You don’t have to constantly do spells or even involve magic in your life on a daily basis but you do have to practice magic at some point in order to call yourself a witch.

Witchcraft is inherently dangerous

Practicing witchcraft itself is said by some to invite spirits and entities into your life that are sensitive to the energy we give off, but that may not be true for everyone. Learn how to protect yourself from these kinds of things and you’ll be golden.

You can cherry pick from closed cultures and use those practices in your craft

You don’t have a “gypsy soul,” pizza isn’t your “spirit animal,” having a bundle of white sage doesn’t automatically mean it’s a “smudge stick,” and you should probably throw away that shirt that says “namaste in bed.” A lot of terms we see folks using these days are being appropriated, at best. In terms of witchcraft, well yes, some cultures and religions are open or partially open but please don't disrespect those that aren’t just to sound trendy.

You have to choose one path of witchcraft and stick to it

You can incorporate many types of magic into your craft and it’s really not a problem. Some witches get overwhelmed trying to choose a “type” but it's not required, at all. 

You have to be a woman/straight/cis, whatever, to be a witch

Heck nope. Anyone can practice witchcraft and please don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

You have to be born into a family of witches to be a “true witch”

Witchcraft is a learned practice, not something embedded in our DNA. Even if everyone else in your family is a witch, you can choose not to follow that path. The same goes for those who don’t have any witches in their family history.

© 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟺 𝙰𝙳-𝙲𝙰𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙰

[queeniesofia]

daigo dojima was and is the best part of yakuza kiwami 2 because why are you running around dressed in that fit. the hair. the white puffer jacket. you look like you listen to opium artists and opium artists exclusively. you’ve got all of the yakuza guys dressed seriously in their suits and dress shirts and then you’ve got daigo in his chrome hearts puffer jacket and true religion jeans.

[meltedbluecaterpillar]

Welcome to my blog where I talk about Ruggie Bucchi and clothes because I love clothes.

I think Ruggie is well versed in street fashion the older he gets. I will explain. I think... Money wise he doesn't prioritize brands. But he hangs out with Leona. I think... In my mind... Leona plays dress up with him because when they hang out... Ruggie looks homeless. So Leona feels irritated hanging around someone without swagsauce. I think Ruggie is fashionable (a lot of the Twst cast is) but he just can't afford his dreams haha.

I like clothes a lot. When I write fanfiction, I plan out fashionable clothes for my x Readers. I love the idea of a character I like wearing clothes I like to see them in or fashion that suits them out of uniform. In a fic I wrote, I mentioned a character wearing True Religion jeans. Because it makes sense for him.

Here are clothes I want to see Ruggie wear/I might mention in writing/I want to draw him in:

The Goofy Shirt x Shorts

So, I'm black if you did not know. As in African American (I am biracial but both parents in my life are black) and that means I grew up with a lot of black men in my life dressing like this. Me and my friend joined forces and agree Ruggie Bucchi is Afro Latino. He is pale because he is at school on an Island, he doesn't get cooked in the sun so he lacks melanin.

But he dresses like this. I like him wearing shorts because I like that Ruggie has long legs despite being a somewhat short guy. Shorts like this make him look taller (the illusion of baggy clothes also making you look thin) and I actually do like him in boots a lot. Firstly, when I write Ruggie, I write him as someone who's second home was the streets. Boots, especially steel toed work boots are heavy. I actually own a pair and I will explain. There is a bit of heel on work boots. So you get an extra inch of height. But they're heavy because of the steel put in them to protect your feet. In my mind, Ruggie get's into fights sometimes. Have you ever been kicked by someone in a steel toed boot? The bruise is giant and you could get something broken. In his dorm card he also wears boots so I think if she needs to, he can do what needs to be done.

It suits him to wear boots when he looks like he's on a lil' mission. (I will talk about other shoes on him later.) The goofy shirts is something I think he would like. Shirts with bizarre imagery on the front is something you usually would get secondhand and he is a thrifting guy. He goes to places like that for fire fits. They house personality so when I draw or write Ruggie I usually picture him with a weird shirt on.

It makes sense to me. And I hope you see my visions.

For brands I write/draw for him specifically? I will say usually it's older street fashion that is considered 'outdated but still trendy'. I will build him an outfit of what I think he would wear at some point.

Ed Hardy x (Thrifted) True Religion

I think this would be something he wears. At least since its so hot. It is my personal opinion so you don't have to agree with my post. Something like this while going out with a friend. I think he likes odd clothing like the shorts and they have the thrifted vibe. Especially since Ed Hardy is a form of 'street/punk' fashion. Motorcycles and all of your favorite plugs wore Ed Hardy. I think Ruggie's holy grail would be thrifting True Religion (anything) or anything luxury. He doesn't buy stuff like that for full price ever but he laughs knowing the rich toss this stuff out so easily. This can be paired with any basic steel toed boots and classic white socks. Accessories... I think Ruggie would like bracelets. Oh, I usually give Ruggie a think gold chain. Why? ... Growing up, my younger brother and my dad were obsessed with gold chains. It was a thing that made sense. Seeing a black boy smile over his first gold chain. It was a sign of... Adulthood almost. You get your first job and at the age of 15 - 17 every boy I've met has either saved to buy a car or a gold chain. It is a personal thing to me and I think Ruggie bought himself a chain. (This is also because Ruggie wears a traditional necklace from the Afterglow Savana made of wooden beads and stones I think) I think that he can't drive... So a car is pointless especially at NRC, so I think he bought himself a chain with his first check. He was told buy his granny to be selfish for once. To use what he earned for something he wanted. "Make one dumb purchase and then be responsible. Just once' so I think Ruggie 'grew up' buying a gold chain from a pawn shop.

It's culture if that makes sense. I think it's dope.

I will come back to this later, and I will add a second post of another style I think he would wear. I can do Summer, Fall, and Winter... Maybe... Thank you for listening to me ramble. I had fun.

[delinqunts]

meet  finn graves,  a  twenty4  year  old,  who  has  been  in  cloyne  for  twenty4 years.  they  are  a  budtender  at  growing green,  known  for  being  intuitive  and  reckless.  they  are  often  heard  humming  along  to  church  by  t-pain & teddy verseti.  residents  would  describe  them  as  the ditzy genius. 

study.

full  name  :  finnegan  joseph  graves.

nickname(s) /  alias(es)  :  finn,  fj,  graves,  shithead,  dumbass

age  /  dob  :  twenty  four  /  april 13  ‘00

hometown  :  cloyne,  ontario

current  location  :  cloyne,  ontario

ethnicity  :  white

nationality  :  canadian

gender  :  cis  man

pronouns  :  he  /  him

orientation  :  bisexual  ,  demiromantic.

religion  :  atheist

labels  :  the  ditsy genius,  the  miscreant,  the  comic relief

tropes  :  the classic anti - hero, badass adorable, beware the nice ones, blessed with suck, cluster f - bomb, fan of the past, good is not soft, hates being alone, hypocritical humor, badass bookworm, cannot talk to women, deadpan snarker, determinator, guilt complex, motor mouth, the stoner, endearingly dorky, big  brother  instinct

face  claim  :  rudy  pankow

language(s)  spoken  :  english, american sign language.

speech  :  overall  charming,  despite  the  overuse  of  slang  and  cuss  words.  conversationally, he's  not  the  most  well - spoken  person  out  there,  in  fact  he  often  resorts  to  nervous  speech  tics  such  as  repetitive  statements  to  soothe  anxieties,  or  fluctuations  in  the  pitch  of  his  voice  when  he's  not  being  completely  honest.  when  angered,  he  tends  to  yell  at  high  volume  and  makes  little  to  no  sense. when it comes to sharing knowledge or explaining a concept to other people, he becomes very articulate and invested in his speech style.

hair  :  blonde  with  his  brunette  roots  coming  through,  but  he  keeps  it  natural  without  styling  it  too  much.  it's  naturally  wavy  and  he  gets  away  with  not  combing  or  styling  it.  

eyes  :  big  ,  blue  puppy  dog  eyes  that  change  with  every  emotion  he  has.  a  true  window  to  his  soul  because  he  can  never  hide  the  way  he's  feeling. 

height  :  six  feet  zero  inches.

build  :  more  lean  than  broad.

tattoos  :  a pop culture inspired  patchwork  sleeve on  his  left  arm.

piercings  :  none.

scars  :  none.

clothing  style  :  comfort  over  style.  a  whole  lot  of  whatever  shirt  he  grabs  in  the  morning  paired  with  bottoms  that  reflect  the  temperature  outside  —  usually  shorts  but  he'll  throw  on  some  sweatpants,  rarely  wears  jeans.  he  always  wears  the  same  tattered  ottawa senators  hat  he  got  in  his  teens.

usual  expression  :  he’s  endearing  ,  with  a  face  that  tells  people  they  can  approach.  he's  very  expressive  when  listening  to  others,  often  responding  with  his  face  before  words,  never  one  to  interrupt  another  while  they  speak  (  unless  they're  a  dumbass  ).

distinguishing  characteristics  :  a  sharp  jawline  and  soft  blue  eyes.

exterior   :   finn  is  kindness  and  he's  passion,  but  he's  also  anger  and  insecurity.  he's  the  kind  of  guy  who'll  get  his  hands  dirty  and  his  fists  bloody  for  the  people  he  loves  —  hell,  even  the  people  without  a  voice.  he'll  go  out  of  his  way  to  make  you  smile  or  laugh.  it's  been  seen  around  cloyne,  finn  helping  the  older  people  carry their groceries to their car,  or  doing tasks around his neighbors' yards.  always one to strike up a conversation with the elderly ladies that pinch his cheeks, and subtly flirt with the blonde hair, blue eyed graves boy. yet,  he's  also  known  for  his  volume  and  disregard  for  the  people  around  him,  often  prompted  with  reminders  to  respect  the  others  around  him.

i  .  e  .  the  unpredictable  friend,  pacey  witter  in  dawson's  creek,  i'm  trying  to  be  good  life's  just  not  letting  me,  the  golden  retriever  boyfriend,  the  punk  with  a  heart  of  gold.

interior   :   endless  battles  with  a  lot  of  pressure  &  weight  –  because  of  the  expectations   he  feels  the  need  to  live  up  to.  everything  he's  worked  for,  between  all  the  slip  ups,  has  to  mean  something.  anything.  but  those  moments  of  failure  are  also  expected  —  that's  just  that  one graves  kid,  don't  you  know  him around town  ?  he  often  loses  himself  in  his  self - sacrificial  journey,  ignoring  his  own  wants  and  needs  for  the  sake  of  being  good  in  their  eyes.  he'll  sooner  end  a  friendship  than  share  his  vulnerabilities  —  they're  just  weaknesses,  after  all.

i  .  e  .  atlas  personified  –  holding  the  weight  of  the  world  solely  on  his  own  shoulders,  stiles stilinski in teen wolf,  desperate  for  recognition.

wanted connections.

dad : to be sent to the main, but a single dad who works two jobs who loves his kids—

triplet siblings : to be sent to the main, but i decided i'm making finn a triplet and nobody can stop me ! this is canada !

best friend / platonic soulmate : to be sent to the main, but also am open to anyone taking this connection. they would be between 23 - 25 and have been in cloyne their whole lives. very much based on my boys scott and stiles in teen wolf, and shawn and cory in boy meets world. just two dumb bffs always getting up to no good, but platonically in love with each other. means well. annoying as fuck !

the ex : finn had one long relationship. i'm talking from like all of high school and up until about two years ago. very much a story of two young people experiencing first love together, thinking they'd grow old together, but then learning that they weren't each others soulmate and having to come to terms with that. lost of fights and heartbreak, but in the end it was an amicable decision. finn has a soft spot for this person to this day.

the close friends : just a group of friends for finn to fuck around with ! they all share a brain cell, go out on the weekends together, friend - holiday dinners, game nights, etc.

the rivals : a few people that finn just DESPISES and the feeling is truly mutual, literally for any reason too. we can discuss.

the slow burn : give me angst, give me drama, give me insecurity. two friends that have fallen for each other in recent months and aren't quite sure how to navigate it. finn was in a relationship for approximately eight years, give me fears that he's still in love with them and couldn't possibly feel the same about them. give me pining. give me—

coworkers, adult friends, mentors, sibling - like, childhood friends, ex - friendships, new friends, friends with benefits, drinking / party buddies, literally anything bring me all the plots.

[ask-sister-solaris]

Hi!!!! Can I have Terzo with a reader with a black cat? Like they love to call it their little demon and love when people say it’s cursed because it makes them happy!

Fuck

Yes

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“Your going to hell for having that thing in y our home! It’s gonna possess you”

A elderly Christian women spat at you as you cooed at your black cat. You’d just been to the vet and your lovely partner was waiting for you. As you made your way to the car ignoring the lady she three holy water at you, but you didn’t feel it. Turning around you saw Terzo stood infront of you his white shirt now see through showing his well built body.

“Scusami, but that is my partner you are harassing, and I very well can get the police involved. Also, if you were a true Christian you’d know forcing your religion and beliefs upon someone is a sin, you little sinner”

You watched him lightly scold this woman and grinned, your cat meowing in his pet carrier. You whistled your get Terzos attention and he grinned kissing your forehead.

“Enjoy your day madam and Hail Satan”

He smirked as he walked back to the car, dragging you along. Once you were back at the ministry you opened the carrier and Lucifer waddled out stretching.

“There’s my little demon! Did you enjoy your car ride nap”

You picked him up and Terzo went to change. The holy water had burned him, coming from a very unholy bloodline, holy water hurt. You sat on his bed as he laid down in nothing but boxers and joggers, his face paint wiped off.

“Amore it hurts…”

He whined and jumped slightly when Lucifer rubbed his head against it and meowed. Terzo petted him and chuckled.

“For a black cat your cute”

You smiled and laid beside him and Lucifer laid between the two of you. You kissed Terzo and then Lucifer, said cat looking at you offended.

“I’m sorry my tiny demon but if I kissed you then papa, papa would get fur in his mouth”

Terzo chuckled as Lucifer laid over the burn on his chest and abdomen purring as if to heal him.

“Our little demon”