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hrrtshape · 11 days ago

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insane, dream-like things that were normal in my better cr . . . in other words, what it was like being part of the 1%

i never carried cash : i didn’t need to. if i ever found myself in a situation where cash was required, idk, a farmer’s market or bribing someone, i’d just apple pay!?

i never waited for anything : reservations were booked months in advance. lines were always skipped. at clubs we just walked right in. theme parks? VIP passes only. i have never stood in a queue longer than 90 seconds in my life...or...in my better cr.

my closet was bigger than a new york apartment : and everything was colour-coded. yep. yep !!!

i never read price tags : not because i was being reckless, because i simply did not need to know. it was always fine.

if i wanted something, i got it : saw a dress in a magazine? had it by the next morning. craved a specific croissant from a bakery in paris? it was flown in. life had no delays.

luxury was so normal i had to actively remind myself it wasn’t : by the 13th day, i would have moments, small ones, where i’d be like, " wait, not everyone has their own perfume custom-blended by a french artisan? " and then i’d move on.

the ‘poor kid’ still had a trust fund. . . they just had less in it.

errands? what errands? dry cleaning, post office, buying toothpaste. these were not my problems.

skincare was medical : not just a ‘good moisturiser’ situation, i mean dermatologist-designed, prescription-only, lab-created serums. my facials involved lasers. my face was someone’s full-time job.

my mom had a florist on retainer : fresh-cut flowers appeared in my room like magic. i never asked for them. they just were.

celebrity run-ins were painfully normal : “oh yeah, we had dinner next to tilda swinton last night.” “who?” WHO?

we never parked our own cars : valet, always. i had a friend who didn’t even know how to use a parking metre.

there was no such thing as ‘saving up’. in those two weeks i never thought, “hmm, should i buy this now or wait till christmas when i get 50 euros from my grandma?” PFTTTTT.

everyone had a ‘family office’ : financial advisers, lawyers, accountants. my money was managed. someone in my school had three.

coffee orders were wildly specific : not ‘latte with oat milk’ specific. i mean custom-roasted beans, flown in from a single farm in costa rica, brewed at a precise temperature, delivered in a monogrammed cup.

doctors made house calls : i have not seen the inside of a waiting room. ever. feeling sick? someone arrived.

vacation homes weren’t a flex, they were a given : there’s the paris apartment (1st arrondissement, obviously), the villa in lake como, the chalet in gstaad. the only real estate question was, “are we summering in capri or st. barths?

your signature scent is impossible to buy : it’s either a discontinued hermès perfume from the ’70s that you miraculously still source, or a custom blend from a perfumer who only takes five clients a year.

flying commercial is a horror story, not an option : tsa? baggage claim? delays? these are foreign concepts. you had a netjets membership at the very least, but most likely, you have a family jet with an interior designed by someone who also did a yacht.

your tastebuds have standards : your daily coffee comes from a faema e61, your eggs are from a private farm, and your idea of a snack is burrata flown in from puglia that morning. did i mention my private school had michelin chefs?? yea.

you own art. like, real art : not prints. not posters. actual, museum-worthy pieces that are either inherited or sourced through galleries that don’t even have websites.

most people don’t know what anything costs : a gallon of milk? no idea. a metro ticket? couldn’t tell you. you swipe, tap, sign, and never check.

you don’t shop in stores like normal people : you go to private showrooms, have pieces sent to your home, or shop off-runway. waiting in line… horrendous.

i’ve had a ‘house account’ somewhere : a boutique, a jeweller, a tailor. places where you don’t pay on the spot, just ‘put it on the account’ and settle later.

i was taught how to eat properly : which fork for what course, how to use a butter knife, the correct way to hold a wine glass. it’s not something i learned. it’s something i absorbed from watching adults at endless dinners, benefits, and polo events.

i don’t remember learning how to ski or ride horses : because i was doing it before i was fully conscious. i have childhood photos in full equestrian gear, little skis strapped to my feet in gstaad or zermatt. it’s just something i always did.

an art education by osmosis : grew up hearing adults talk about rothko, basquiat, and duchamp in casual conversation. dragged to the louvre and the tate before i could even read. instinctively know the difference between an original and a print.

i have a family lawyer on retainer : and not because i ever committed a crime. they exist to handle things. NDAs, reputation management, keeping your name out of the papers. they know where the bodies are buried, metaphorically (or not).

most families’ wealth is so old and so layered in offshore accounts that even they don’t fully understand it : trust funds? sure, but also shell companies in the caymans, art holdings in geneva, real estate portfolios under LLCs. money isn’t in banks. it’s spread across continents.

most parents’ have had affairs with each other for decades, and it’s not even a scandal anymore : it’s just part of the ecosystem. marriages aren’t about love, they’re alliances. the wives turn a blind eye, the husbands keep it discreet, and the real betrayal is talking about it.

i’ve been name-dropped in a deposition : it was a divorce case. i was never involved, but my name was adjacent to power, so it got dragged in. the case was settled out of court, of course.

most families has multiple passports : not for fun, not for aesthetics. because sometimes you need an exit strategy. a villa in capri, a château in france, a penthouse in dubai. doors are always open, should you ever need to disappear.

i’ve seen actual generational feuds play out in real time : my parents have enemies. their parents had enemies. the grudges go back decades, and nobody even remembers what started it.

i grew up around people who have gotten away with actual crimes : white-collar, mostly. insider trading, fraud, tax evasion. but sometimes things darker. people go to rehab, people “retire early,” people take extended trips to monaco until things cool down.

i’ve seen billionaires (and their kids) break down over the pettiest things : a bad seat at a gala, a misplaced monogram on their jet, a slight from someone whose family has less money than theirs. the richer they are, the more fragile they get.

my family has a pr strategy : this is largely because my mom is a ceo of a billion dollar company. and everything is managed. what photos are released, what stories are planted, which journalists are “friendly.” nothing is random.

i know that philanthropy is often just money laundering with better optics : charities set up for tax reasons, “foundations” that quietly funnel wealth back into the family, billionaire donations that conveniently coincide with favourable legislation.

i’ve seen people lose their fortunes overnight : one wrong deal, one lawsuit, one scandal that sticks, and suddenly, the private jets are getting repossessed. the real old money…they watch from a distance. they never risk everything.

i know that some billionaires don’t actually have liquid cash : they’re over-leveraged, playing financial gymnastics with their own net worth. yachts, art, mansions. but the second they need actual money? suddenly, things get complicated. this is why everyone in my school donated possessions instead of actual money.

met people who don’t own their clothes : couture is loaned, jewellery is borrowed, yachts are rented to themselves through shell companies. it’s all about optics. they don’t need to own when they can access.

heard rich kids joke about things that would make normal people physically ill : laughing about tax evasion, casually mentioning private rehabs like summer camp, making bets on stocks that could ruin lives.

met billionaires who are bored of being rich : the thrill is gone. the yachts, the jets, the parties. it’s routine. they start chasing danger. high-stakes gambling, extreme sports, secret societies. anything to feel something.

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the-californicationist · 2 months ago

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thoughts on price w a lactation kink?? 🫣

Plenty. See Exhibit A and Exhibit B, if you will.

But, if you just want some thoughts... 😈

NSFW MDNI TW: lactation kink, breeding kink, sacrilege? but in sort of a Hozier kind of way...

I don't think that John Price has a lactation kink purely for the selfish satisfaction of watching your face twist into a complicated smear of shame and pleasure as he sucks the sweet, life-giving warmth from your swollen breast, using his jaw to knead your flesh, his tongue to help guide your nectar between his lips, sucking in long, deep pulls to drain you of your rich milk.

Price doesn't just get off on the little, desperate mewl you make when his thick beard scrapes the softest skin of your nipple, rolling the tip of his strong tongue around your pert peak, coaxing your body to let down even more of his prize. Even though he tries his best to stay focused on keeping a steady rhythm, your silky stream rushing down his throat makes his cock twitch and drool like a starving, snarling beast, hungry for its own hot supper.

No, he yearns for that one, singular sound. The siren's song of his heart. He wants to hear you breathe it in your lungs and form it in your mouth and let it escape like a dove from its dark cote, quiet and yet cooing right into his eager ears.

Your sigh of relief makes his dick pulse with a sort of sick pride. From all of your soreness and tender pain, the constant ache of bearing your decadent burdens, he is the one to deliver you to peace. He is the one to bring you comfort. Him and his hungry, suckling mouth are your sanctuary.

Price's zealous thirst is your release from hurt, from pressure, from the leaking rivulets staining your sheets, a bright, new-found freedom from being so overfull that it makes you want to sob, and it's that mind-wiping alleviation which makes you so pliant for him, so ready and willing to spread your legs just a little wider, love, so he can feed his prick deep into your sacred, sacral center; that throbbing, shining, nearly-opalescent shell which welcomes his girthy offering.

As you feed him, he feeds you. Your milk in his mouth, his dick in your cunt. Your keening, his grunting. Your gushing, his pounding. There is a war between you; an infinite entropy of gain and loss and take and give - a roiling, tumbling, undulating wave of pleasure and pressure, rocking you like a ship with slackening sails, soaking at the mercy of the tide.

As you feed him, he heals you. With every crave-wild swallow of your milk, he revels in your satisfaction. Price listens to the timbre of your moans morph from troubled and weary - the hiss of a breath - to sonorant and needy - the hum of a moan - and he hunts that relaxation for you like a lion on a gazelle, dragging it towards you in offering: your protector, your provider.

And yet... there is something else. There's a second shadow, a double exposure. There is something lurking beneath the surface of all of his heroism. Something dark and unmanaged, like a forest and its fire, the flames of his desire licking for you and glowing ever-closer.

You are his to eat. His. Like a snapping mutt with a fresh bone, he subsumes you. You are not just a fleeting fancy, a sneaky kink to enjoy and destroy; no, you are his obsession. His belly is full of you, his cheeks are full of you, his balls are full for you. You. You. You. Just you. Only you. There is nothing else but to suck and to fuck and to drink and to love and to breathe in the breaths that you scream out, gulping them in sharp gasps when he comes up for air, quickly to return to his plush, writhing meal, eating you until he is drunk on your creamy vintage.

Your breasts hang for him like fruit on the vine, heavy and ready to be plucked, and he drowns in the wine of your body. He is wet from you; your pussy's frothy come coating his cock, your sugary cream coating his throat, all of it innocent and white and sacred like an offering. And it is. Your body is his sacrament. He is on his knees as he bends over you, praying for your release, for your blessing, for that twisting clench of your trembling temple. Every thrust is a sin-stained reminder that his work brings about your joy. His effort delivers your delight. His feasting is your fulfillment. John is devout.

And when you're empty, when he continues to drag weak, lax lips over your devoured flesh, mourning the loss of his delicious font, he fills you back up. Price fucks his length into you with complete, shameless abandon, his body arching and sweating and tensing and laboring for you, bending like a bow to shoot rope after rope of sticky come into the deepest part of your shuddering, stretched quim. His mind races with lurid visions of your womb flooding with his seed, of planting a bountiful garden of life with you there, helping you cradle his gift inside of you by sheathing himself fully, letting not one drop escape.

It's the bath and the bubbles afterwards that make him hard again because there you are: sleepy, sated, and sighing so sweetly for him. He tries and fails to hide his flagging erection as he washes your body, covered in temporary tattoos of his teeth and fingers, massaging the muscles that held him so close during his feeding, the arms that cradled his head and hugged his shoulders, the legs that squeezed his hips and wrapped around his broad back, holding onto him and refusing to let go. It's the balms and the lotions, all to keep your skin soft and comforted, and he applies them liberally, rubbing you in soporific circles until you are as far from suffering as you have ever been, floating in a peaceful Eden of his own foddering.

Price admires you as he lays you beside him in his bed, tucking you close to him, letting his belly press against the small of your back, clutching your hip just so that he can rest his cock against your folds, reminding you, even in your sleep, that he is your safety and your source of mindless bliss.

And when you wake up in the middle of the night aching and full again, leaking from your heavy tits? Don't worry. He's always hungry.

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batboyblog · 28 days ago

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I'm sorry, Mr. President

As the last full day of Joe Biden's Presidency draws to a close I'm dealing with a great deal of sadness.

I won't rehash it all, but Joe Biden was the most progressive, the best President of my lifetime, consistently delivering big wins that as a Democrat I never expected to see pass through Congress.

But we let him down, and in letting him down, let ourselves down. Four long years of Trump we were tired, we were tired of always being plugged in, always reacting always fighting back. For millions of us we wanted a return to a politics that could take the day off.

In our tiredness and naivete we assumed that sooner or later the truth would just win out. We reassured ourselves that public perception of the economy always lagged behind reality, that low unemployment, rising real wages, and cooling inflation would all mix together and sail Joe Biden to a second term. We were at peace around the world, unemployment hadn't been lower since the 1960s, we'd passed infrastructure a thing everyone had been talking about for 15 years.

We were tired, and we in our weakness looked for someone else to do the job. Surely the news media would report reality we thought, surely someone will....

We let him down, I let him down. I worked really hard to elect Kamala Harris President, I believe from the bottom of my soul she would have been very good at it. However my efforts.... I see now I should have put the level of effort I put into working to elect Harris I should have put in every day of Biden's Presidency.

We were the final girl in a horror movie, having killed the movie monster we drop our knife only to have Michael Myers sit back up. We thought the resistance was over, silly us, it was just the lull in the action.

Every day of Biden's Presidency false narratives about him "too old" "doesn't do anything" "what about student loan debt!" "strike breaker!" "genocide Joe" or the economy "look at the price of milk!" "eggs!" "the worst economy since the great depression!" etc

and for most of 4 years our push back was weak and worse we didn't push OUR message, the truth. Only when it was too late, and we kept looking for the law to save us from Trump, surely once he was indicted, once he was convicted! once.... no because there was no effective machine to push that message to people over and over and over again. There was a machine made up of so many people, boosted by TikTok and Twitter to push the lies about Joe Biden

but the damning truth is we let ourselves down, we got weary as the nice church ladies would always warn me, don't get weary now, we did, we got tired in the work and when you get tired, when you grow weary, you lose and we lost.

I'm really sorry to President Biden, Vice-President Harris and everyone else, I didn't do everything I could, I know I did in 2024 but I should have done more in 2021, 2022 and 2023, that is clear.

It'll be hard to find the energy I know and I also know my own efforts alone mean very little, but I will try, every day of the next long hard 4 years to fight, to not let the other side ever ever EVER again have all their own way.

#Joe Biden #politics #political #US politics #American politics

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rodolfoparras · 9 months ago

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Why are Price's tiddies so big??? Are they full of milk??? Are you not milking him properly??? Could I help milk him??? I promise I won't breed him 🙏 I mean that promise I do not wanna be a dad he is not gonna get bred

Okay but what about Price sucking on your tits….

Pairing: John Price x Male reader

cw: 18+ male breastfeeding, breastfeeding kink, it really is just price sucking your tits no lactation or anything, dom male reader, sub price

Dedicated to Elijah because he gets it @lieutnt

Thinking about Price laying on your lap, head cradled in your hand, fingers tentatively scratching at his scalp, while you watch the tension slowly seep out of him.

It’s been a busy week, with paperwork that never seems to stop piling up, recruits that keep leaving messes for him to clean up and on top of that he hasn’t properly seen you all week except for the couple of minutes before he left for work or before he fell asleep.

It’s safe to say he’s a bit tense and you’ve done everything in your power to help him relax yet nothing seems to be helping.

It wasn’t until you had him sprawled out on your lap, his head in your hand, and lips brushing over your pec that you saw a change on his face.

That’s when you got an idea.

Your thumb grazes his bottom lip before gently clasping his chin and nudging him closer towards bare skin.

There’s visible heat creeping up his face, a choked sound escaping his chest before he leans in to deliver a tentative lick to your pec.

His gaze meets yours, looking at you as if he’s expecting the worst only to be met with your soft smile as you nudge him closer to you.

Price doesn’t waste a second before he delivers another tentative lick, this time dragging his tongue slowly across the sensitive skin as a contented hum escapes his lips.

“There it is,” you breathe out, feeling the tension leave your body as well as you fully relax onto the mattress.

The feeling of his mouth wasn’t unpleasant by any means and it wasn’t the first time you were doing something like this but it certainly was the first time doing it without any sex involved.

You didn't mind though, didn’t need an explanation, not when he looks so relaxed like this; eyes half lidded cheeks dusted pink contented sounds escaping his puffy red lips.

The man continues to deliver experimental licks, sharp tongues dragging across the small mound and leaving it covered in spit, sending pleasurable sensations running through your body whenever his hot breath washes over the slick skin.

“Hah,” you grunt out, feeling your toes curl and head tip back.

Price doesn’t seem too bothered with the sudden commotion as he continues licking and mouthing at the now puffy numb before he finally latches on.

“Fuck!” You grout out, the hand in his hair turning rough as you yank at the sandy strands “Just like that love,” you say, and pull the other man closer to you.

Price seems just as eager to get close, slinging one leg over your waist to further scoot into your arms while a hand clutches onto your shoulder as if trying to prevent you from escaping his grasp.

You can’t help the smile that makes its way onto your face as you look down at the man who seems so docile in your embrace.

Despite the furrowed brows and the way his fingers are practically digging into your skin the tension from earlier seems to be completely gone from his body, as he continues vigorously sucking”doing so well for me John,”

For a brief moment there aren’t any words exchanged, just a comfortable silence, while one hands cards through his hair, as the other gently caresses his bare skin,

The repeated suckling motion almost lulls you to sleep, eyelids growing heavy as you feel yourself sink further into the sheets and upon looking down at the older man you can see he’s also dozing off, eyes fluttering shut, lips slipping from your nipple as soft snores roll off of his tongue,

Goodnight John.

#call of duty #john price x reader #this is a queue still not feeling the best but I hope you enjoy this piece!#john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain John price x reader #dom male reader #sub male character #top male reader #bottom male character #I hope it’s okay I added it here no sex happens so really u can make ur pick #x male reader #male reader

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 1 year ago

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TF141 Scenarios and Headcanons

(Them interacting with the mini and pink version of Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley) Inspired by my previous post

Credits to @puff0o0 for this wonderful art that I requested and all the other art that's used in this post, she delivered and slayed. I genuinely love your art style because the textures looks like crayons were used and it's just so cute, thanks so much Puff <3

Pairings:

Ghost x Wife!Reader

Justice for Soap? Poor guy has been a victim in this entire set of scenarios.

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

❥ Simon bringing mini Ghostie for her to interact with the Taskforce again. Safe to say Soap got hit at the back of his head for even trying to make fun of the pink carrier (that you, his loving wife bought for the baby), while the little one was fidgeting with the red bow that decorated the front of the strap carrier.

❥ Ghostie didn't earn the nickname till the second time Simon brought her with him bringing the mask along and she proudly wore it. They actually went through the effort of getting her a tailored camo print uniform with a little patch embroidered with the words "youngest recruit" and "Riley" embroidered on the back of the shirt.

❥ Mini Ghostie keeping herself busy with the crayons and papers provided by uncle Gaz, drawing herself, her dad and the other Taskforce members then proudly showing it off to them after they're done being busy. (It earned a spot on the base's fridge, Price bought a magnet for that purpose alone because it was held up by tape for the longest time)

❥ A little visual for you guys provided by my favorite and beloved mutual @puff0o0:

❥ Ghostie and Gaz exchange drawings on a basis, more oftentimes it's funny faces that Soap makes. Soap saw them..

"I DINNAE LOOK LIKE THAT"

*Gaz raising a brow at him while Ghostie was giggling at Soap raising his voice*

❥ And yes, Gaz was responsible for the shrekified version of Soap that was on the fridge.

❥ Soap tried to draw something as an insult towards Gaz but it backfired and little Ghostie ended up loving it and taking it home to display it on the wall of her room:

❥ Gaz tends to be pursuaded by every little pout Ghostie gives him, probably the reason behind him being her favorite uncle. Ghostie made a drawing of Gaz once with an outlined heart around the picture, he now has it framed on his desk.

❥ Safe to say that Ghostie was amused by Soap getting hurt in any way possible, at first it started with her dad playfully punching the sergeant that made her giggle but then it slowly started to turn into her taking matters into her own hands and actually hitting uncle Soap herself. (Poor Soap)

❥ Little one constantly either slaps Soap or pulls on his mohawk. Yeah Ghost probably taught her that, she loves seeing her dad amused and giggles when she makes her dad chuckle. (Cue annoyed Soap noises)

❥ Uncle Gaz calls her "Boo" sometimes because he thought it was fitting and yes he took it from that one animated movie character, more likely sets his phone up and let's her use it to watch Disney movies because he's the only one who has Disney plus. (Frozen and Mulan were playing non-stop and now they all know the song "I'll make a man out of you" word for word)

❥ The idiots encouraged little Ghostie to chug a bottle full of milk as if she was chugging beer while cheering her on, Simon sipped on his whiskey not knowing he'd regret it later on, they all had to deal with a massive spit up because they made her drink too much and too quickly. (Soap had to wash that shirt 3 times before the smell of milk became more faint)

❥ Little Ghostie calls Price her grandpa and nobody's correcting her even if she genuinely thinks that Price is her dad's father. Price was definitely the one who had a uniform tailored for her but it was Gaz's idea.

❥ Believe it or not, Little Ghostie is loved by almost all of the recruits. Lieutenant Riley has a DAUGHTER?! He has a wife..? Yeah that was their first reaction. But ultimately they loved her because Little Ghostie was a sweet bundle of joy who loves giving flowers to female recruits and uncle Gaz.

❥ Despite all the bullying uncle Soap has been through, he still loves that kid to death and couldn't be more prouder when L.T. Riley and his wife chose him, Roach and Gaz to be godfathers.

❥ Speaking of uncle Roach, him and Ghostie get along really well. Even though there's not much of a verbal conversation going on, they still manage to cause chaos together. She likes to fidget with the makeshift antennas that come with the helmet of his tactical gear.

❥ Nobody can stand it when she's crying, she's not even loud, she's almost so quiet when she cries but gosh is it heart breaking. Especially for Gaz, Ghostie's teary puppy eyes looking up at him while her arms are in the air. "Uppies uncle, please" she hiccups.

❥ Gaz is the one always carrying her around, if everyone's being honest then I don't think she was ever down on her feet at some point unless she was playing around with the recruits.

❥ If Simon was being honest, he enjoyed the sound of Ghostie's feet thumping around base.

❥ Ghostie loves handfeeding her dad, she does it all the time. Technically she still has a difficult time using utensils so hands would do for now.

❥ Roach gave the little thing a sip of his coffee and she was practically bouncing off the walls. Yeah that wasn't a very bright idea.

❥ She was a late teether, Soap was the victim. Not only was she caught chewing on the strap of his tactical gear, Ghostie actually bit him with her baby teeth that were only halfway out when he tried to swat her away.

❥ Uncle Gaz and grandpa Price taking out the little one for ice cream so her need for sugar is satisfied and to cool her gums off.

❥ Ghostie's uncles taking her to the park/playground. (Gaz was the one recording)

❥ Soap got in trouble for teaching mini Ghostie how to curse, you weren't too happy about that because now your daughter is saying "bitch" endlessly in the wrong context.

A/n: I hope you guys liked it, I put a lot of effort into this and the last post. Please check out Puff's account if you don't know her yet, I promise she is the sweetest person and her CoD content is a big hit.

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maybefalsefacts · 4 months ago

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Dyslexic!Wade

I've seen a lot of 'Wade can't spell' and 'Wade can't read' dyslexic posts. But dyslexia is so much more than that.

I need Dyslexic!Wade who cannot, for the life of him, remember right from left. He's tried the 'left hand makes an L' thing, but they both just look like Ls to him.

Or Dyslexic!Wade who just can't do directions at all. Up? West? Under? What's a map? If he's meant to get somewhere (or find something) It's up to the universe to deliver him to the right place.

Give me Dyslexic!Wade who can't follow step-by-step instructions. Baking, Building, Directions, etc. He's always mixing them up or forgetting steps.

And Dyslexic!Wade who forgets lists in general. What groceries do they need? No idea. Didn't even remember to bring the list. What weapons does he need to restock? Most of them, probably.

Dyslexic!Wade who stutters and can't find the word he's looking for (Especially around strangers or when he's under pressure). Who says 'um-um-um-um-um' or 'and-and-and-and-and-' or 'the-the-the-the-the' Who uses 'dumber' words because the one he wants is just out of reach or he doesn't know how to pronounce correctly.

I want a Dyslexic!Wade who mishears everything, even if he's paying attention. Come over here = Cucumber water Did you pick up milk = Did you pjsflegndljh When does the movie start = Wendigo the movie star

Or a Dyslexic!Wade who can't do numbers. Sometimes he reads it right, but says it wrong. Sometimes he reads it wrong entirely. has to do a double-take. Time: 12:13 He says: 13:21 Price: $5.90 He reads: 90.5 Phone #: 892-3412 He copies down: 982-1248

But what I really need, is a Dyslexic!Wade who's incredibly good at problem solving. Dyslexic!Wade who loves building and fixing shit. Dyslexic!Wade who is super creative and imaginative.

Dyslexic!Wade who never realized all of these are signs of dyslexia. Who was always told he needed to focus more. Pay more attention. Work harder. Who went his whole life thinking it was his fault. Not realizing it was a processing disorder and not a lack of trying.

#Dyslexic!Wade #poolverine #logan howlett #deadclaws #wade wilson #deadpool and wolverine #wade x logan #deadpool #wade wilson coded #dyslexia #wade winston wilson #maybe false facts

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kudzoi · 2 months ago

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Motaz @hudateach reached out to me. He and his wife Huda need help to reach their campaign goal. This is the message Motaz asked me to deliver to you:

”Hello my friend, I’m Motaz from Gaza. I feel shy to ask you for help and donation😔💔I’m going to be a father in less than a month, My wife is pregnant in her 8th month and she’s going to give birth of our first baby in less than a month💔 Unfortunately, I need to buy him and her clothes, diapers, blankets, milk, cradle, and so many things which need lots of money because prices are so high😔💔 I have to protect them from insects, cold temperature and bad life conditions 😔💔So for the sake of humanity, donate to help me buy these things for my baby, to protect and save him from the nightmare of displacement and diseases😔💔🙏 support me and donate as much as possible. $20 is enough to help me plz😔💔

✅️Vetted by ✅️

🔴@/gazavetters, my number is ( #325 )

🔴 @/dlxvv association”

The campaign is low on funds, $9,053 has been raised out of $30,000. Please share this campaign and if you can, donate too (even a small amount helps!) to help Motaz and Huda to reach their campaign goal! ❤️🙏🇵🇸🍉

#free gaza #gaza #gaza genocide #gaza strip #help gaza #gazaunderattack #gazaunderfire #stand with gaza #war on gaza #gaza under siege #save gaza #palestine #free palestine #save palestine #.2

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evilgwrl · 4 months ago

Note

Can you write a Price Drabble? Heavy smut with him being a tiny bit pathetic and a lot bit desperate? Make it messy? (Also this man has to have the most hardcore breeding kink 🙏🏻)

(sorry if it’s a bad description, I don’t really do requests often 😭)

-moss

ily moss

“Can’t ever,” he grunted, “get enough of this fucking cunt. Milking me dry, y’know that?”

The sound you made was feral, a moan that clawed at your throat, tearing through layers of skin until it found its own voice. Your cunt gripped his cock, his length dragging along gummy walls with an obscene squelch.

“Maybe I should just put a baby in you. You want that? You want my baby?”

Your nod wasn’t enough for him as he gripped at your hip, delivering a harsh spank to your backside, a red welt forming under the pressure. Sweat covered you both, his saliva, from the previous oral he performed on you, cascaded between your ass and pussy, strings of slick dragging along his full balls.

“Gonna look so good all round and full - full of my babies. Can’t-“ he thrusted.

“Get-“ Another thrust.

“Enough.”

His tone was laced with desperation, a sense of demand lingering as he kissed your cervix, bruising your insides in a possessive manner.

“J-John - oh my God-“

“That’s it baby, say my fucking name. Need you so fucking bad - God - need to put a fucking baby in you - see you all swollen with my seed-“

“Please-“

His grunt was loud and animalistic, his bicep wrapping around your throat as he pulled you against his chest, deep strokes penetrating your fluttering hole.

“Would die without this cunt, y’know that?”

He wasn’t lying. Price wouldn’t survive without you, you made him whole. So would a family.

His thrusts grew rapid, heavy balls slapping against your thighs as he rutted, breathing hot air into your neck as you gripped onto him, moans spilling from cracked lips.

“Fuck J-John, so good-“

Calloused fingers found your clit, rubbing it in a figure 8 as you whined, jolting your head back as sweat clung to your neck, his chest covered in salted moisture.

Your head was quick to turn, meeting his lips in a mess. Your saliva exchanged, pooling in each other’s mouth as you breathed the same oxygen back and forth, spit drooling down your mouths.

His movements against your sensitive bud grew more overwhelming as a familiar coil began to surge through your belly, swirling in ecstasy as you moaned.

“Cum for me baby, please, need to feel you squeeze me- God- please, please-“ he grunted, pulling away to lick at your ear lobe.

You stuttered out a fuck as you came, the squelch of liquid spluttering from you as it drenched the seats, your cunt clenching in rapid motions against his throbbing shaft as he bottomed out, holding himself against your cervix before he groaned, hot spurts of cum soaking your walls.

You felt weak as you collapsed, your legs spread as John pulled out. It took a second but the man’s reaction surged something into you. Cerulean eyes watched as a glug began to drip, soaked fingers quickly pushing his seed back into your fertile womb.

“Gonna keep trying till we see two lines, baby.”

#evilgwrl #call of duty x reader #141 x reader #captain price x you #captain price smut #captain price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price x reader #price smut #John price #price x reader #price cod #captain price x female reader #call of duty #cod smut #cod #call of duty smut

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venusbyline · 18 days ago

Text

Gwayne Hightower — Merciful Gods (2/3)

chapter two

(previous chapter)

— summary: Gwayne Hightower is back in King's Landing. Just as you are willing to try to avoid your uncle at all costs, he is more than eager to finally show you the price for his silence.

— pairing: Gwayne Hightower x niece!reader

— type: dark

— word count: 4.2k

— chapter's warnings: female!reader, dark!Gwayne, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Hightower Incest (uncle/niece), dubcon, non-con touching, sexual tension, pre-smut, blood licking, blood and injury, finger sucking, violence, choking, asphyxiation, dacryphilia, degradation, sexism, religious conflict, religious guilt, corruption kink, age gap (older man/younger woman), referenced non-con voyeurism, referenced oral sex (male receiving), past underage dubcon, argument, face-slapping, hair-pulling, fingering, gaslighting, manipulation, curse words, referenced character death, prince regent!Aemond mentioned, dark content, abusive and toxic relationship, obsessive behaviour, minor Gwayne Hightower/random lady, sub!reader, dom!Gwayne, canon divergence. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: Merciful Gods is a threeshot series. It involves dark content about religiosity (The Faith of the Seven), incest relationship and women's repressed carnal desires.

— author's notes²: Each chapter will have its own trigger warnings.

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • Gwayne masterlist • HOTD masterlist • main masterlist

You were sitting in an armchair in the chambers where your oldest brother Aegon was bedridden, the smell of burning flesh making the daily visit there almost unbearable. Your fingers tapped the cup of milk of the poppy that Larys Strong had demanded you deliver to the King when he woke up.

The sight of the liquid was quite disheartening to watch, the fate's irony aching your chest every time you thought about the whole situation. You had seen your mother handing it to your father to drink too, without any success. Viserys died anyway and now your brother seemed destined for the same tragic end. Or at least a part of it.

When Aegon began to blink his eyes slightly, you wiped away the single tear running down your cheek, moving yourself closer to the bed. You quickly approached him to carefully place the edge of the cup on his injured and swollen lips. "Here..."

Aegon drank the milk with a frown, the discomfort inside his throat persisting even after weeks since he was brutally attacked. His groan of pain resounded and made you immediately step back, setting the small container aside and placing it on top of the bed table.

"Why are not you at Sept again?" His voice was so hoarse and you almost jumped with surprise. After a few seconds trying to understand what your brother was asking about, you shifted uncomfortably on the free part of the mattress, right next to him.

"I am not going there as often anymore. Our Mother asked me to focus on your health during some weeks."

Aegon scoffed at the whispered words and the guilty look on your face. "Of course she ordered that..." He changed the words.

Alicent had asked you? Ordered? You did not know... She looked worried when she came to tell you to stop accompanying her and Helaena in their prayers. At first, you did not understand the reasons and tried to search her for answers, only receiving a quick and somewhat stuttered argument that you should focus on your King for a while. That made sense, you thought.

Helaena preferred not to even go near Aegon's chambers, going there twice at most, once when he arrived all burned and almost dead, and again a few days later. Alicent also did not usually visit her firstborn, claiming that she could not watch his deplorable state for too long without wanting to cry. Aemond had also only been there twice during all that time, but you doubted that the current Prince Regent's visits had been friendly.

There was only you left. Born in 112 AC, two years after Aemond's birth and two years before Daeron's. Being King Viserys's youngest daughter came with very few perks. Unlike Daeron, who liked to be forgotten by the family and live as just a knight in Oldtown, there was an incessant search in your heart for belonging. The desire to be seen. To be useful. It did not take long for you to accept the duty of taking care of Aegon for an indefinite period of time, even if it meant that you would be away from your religious responsibilities.

The Gods would not be so angry if you left them aside so you could take care of the remaining health of your older brother and your King... Right?

"Well... then you are not lighting candles for the sake of my life anymore. I suppose that is why I am not getting better."

The King's joke dried your throat with guilt and embarrassment, but you immediately shook your head, refusing to think something like that. "That is not true. The Seven know I am just not going to the Great Sept for now because I need to be useful to you."

Aegon raised an eyebrow, a frown deepening on his face due to the pain that hit him after trying to change his expression. "If the Gods understood your reasons, then why am I not cured yet?"

Aegon's words were bitter but true at the same time. Even though you are sitting, your body flinched and you sighed, staring at the empty part of the chambers, thinking about what would be better to say so you could refute what he was suggesting. The Seven knew what was happening. They should have known that you continued to beg for mercy every day in your thoughts, despite you were not present in the Sept.

Perhaps your prayers were no longer being answered because Aegon had never been a religious man and had committed countless sins throughout those twenty-two years of his life.

Or perhaps it was your own fault, sealing your family's fate two years ago, when you did not care about the Faith's value and had let your rebellious and dark desires take over your mind, fingerfucking yourself at the middle of the Great Sept, ignoring the knowledge about the Gods seeing your sinful act.

"The pleas of the sinners are not answered with the same speed as those of good and devout people."

Your point was not just about Aegon, and he probably knew this when he stared at your shrunken and pensive form with those big eyes that had once been full of energy and fun, and that were now nothing more than two dull irises even in the midst of the fire.

"And what are the sins of a little child?"

The King's rhetorical question froze his body. What had been Jaehaerys' sins, your little nephew? Just a innocent child brutally decapitated in front of his mother and his twin sister, suffering such a violent and tragic end due to the actions of his family's ambition and impulsiveness...

How could the Seven have no mercy and allow such suffering to a pure being like him? Why would they punish Jaehaerys instead of Aemond? How could they allow Daemon and Rhaenyra to remain alive out there, even after planning such a monstrosity?

During dinner, you found yourself lonely in the dining room, the table practically empty, just you and your mother occupying two opposite ends of the large, luxurious furniture. The only sounds the walls had the displeasure of witnessing were the servants passing back and forth with the dishes, even though neither you nor Alicent seemed interested in the meal.

As Alicent tore into a piece of steak with her knife and fork, you could not help but break the silence with a barely audible murmur. "Before the war, you never told me what your plans were for my future."

It was not a question, it was a statement. A statement that did not seem to catch Alicent off guard, even if that was a part of your true intention. Why has everything in your life always seemed so... monotonous?

Alicent and Otto decided the future of almost all of the Queen's children since their childhood, and all of your siblings were failing in crucial parts of the plans that had been laid out for them years before.

Aegon was supposed to be the King, but he had always been an irresponsible drunk, without expectation of a bright future and being content about anything as long as there was wine and beautiful women to satisfy his emptiness and lust. Now, he was nothing more than a broken person. A burned and bedridden king, following in his father's footsteps.

Helaena was supposed to be the Queen Consort and carry Aegon's heirs, ensuring the Hightower bloodline on the Iron Throne. Now, her fertile womb and also her submissive personality were of no use after her son's death. A ghost of a traumatized mother. A traumatized little girl, losing her firstborn just as Alicent feared losing hers.

Aemond was supposed to be a loyal brother, a dragonrider with great sword skills, ensuring protection for his family and using his intelligence for the prosperity of Aegon's reign. He had the potential to become the Hand of the King as the years passed. Now, the smart boy was nothing more than a callous tyrant who had led everyone to ruin by starting an entire war out of pure impulsivity and rage. Like an imitation of his grandfather, Otto, always blinded by the desire for power. Always wishing more than was within his reach.

Daeron was supposed to be the free knight, daring and focused on his responsibilities with the kingsguard and raised far from King's Landing, an attempt to keep him immune to the family chaos. Now, he was being summoned by Aemond to return to the place where he was born and fight for the Greens, thus ending his days as a carefree soul. Like your uncle Gwayne, being forced to sacrifice his peace and spill more blood around.

And then there was you. No great future waiting for you nor causing your end either. There was no heavy crown. There were no children inside your wombs. There were no bloody swords with the blood of your own family members and no horseback riding into battle too.

There was simply nothing.

Nothing like Viserys. Nothing like Alicent. Nothing like Otto and nothing like Gwayne...

An empty crumpled parchment and ignored in the corner of a room, longing for the day when somebody would pick up a fountain pen and write each step of your story until there was no more space left and they were forced to put a spot on the final page.

"Years ago, I considered sending you to Oldtown along with Daeron."

You were surprised by Alicent's confession, not because your mother had given up on that idea for some unknown reason, but because she had at least considered that. It was something curious. Otto and she could have tried to betroth you to Aemond before the Dance of the Dragons, as they had done with Helaena and Aegon, or they could have used you to form a political marriage with a lord from other powerful house even now, acquiring more allies. Unless...

"What would I do in Oldtown back then?" Alicent snorted when she listened to your whispered insistence, stopping chewing the meal and staring at you with a look that indicated that matter was not the most appropriate at the dinner time.

"I did not know. Becoming a Septa, I guess."

You felt sick to your stomach, your heart racing as thoughts about serving the female clergy of the Faith of the Seven left you somewhat stunned. You knew that in the end, your mother's previous plan had been set aside with the unfolding of the Dance of the Dragons.

The problem was not about your mother wishing such a simple fate for her second and youngest daughter. No... You understood her, despite everything. Faith had always been valuable to her, to most of the Hightowers' ancestors and also for Alicent's mother's side of the family.

The biggest problem was about your mother considering a religious life for you, and you disappointed both her and the Gods, the memory of you pleasuring yourself at the Sept remaining vivid inside your mind, tormenting you with guilt during the last few moons.

You mumbled and looked at the porcelain plate in front of you. "I do not think I would deserve to serve the Gods in this way."

Your words were met with Alicent humming an agreement, followed by a low scoff. "That is why I was forced to discard my initial idea." Eyes immediately widened, you watched your mother with confusion and curiosity, a chill running down your spine while Alicent returned your gaze, her face serious and her jaw clenched. "Two years ago, your grandfather was informed about your immoral and perverted act within the Great Sept."

By the time dinner was over and the tears were running down your face like a torrent, you headed to your uncle's chambers, not caring about the presence of the guards patrolling there. You ignored everyone's confused looks and opened the doors like a dragon about to breathe fire on all the walls.

"YOU LIED TO ME!"

Gwayne was not even worried about the sudden visit, unlike the random lady lying naked on his bed, covering her own breasts in a failed attempt to spare her dignity, unaware that you were not focused on her identity at all.

It did not matter if your uncle was fucking with court ladies in the midst of the few minutes of peace during the war. That was irrelevant at that moment, your mind was driven only by purest anger, the feeling of betrayal burning in your chest.

The girl, who looked almost as young as you, started to get dressed when Gwayne whispered something in her ear. However, you did not wait for her to finish, continuing to talk — or yell — with the red-haired man. "You are a fucking liar!"

Your uncle frowned at your accusation, and despite the heavy atmosphere, he did not even bother to deny it. He shrugged, gazing at his niece with an expression that indicated his only frustration was at being interrupted at the particular moment with the other lady. "May I know what is motivating your fury this time?"

You let out a low growl after his presumptuous tone, giving one last look at the girl who was leaving the chambers, turning to Gwayne again. "You promised me you would not tell anyone about what you saw two years ago!"

The shouting caused a chuckle from Gwayne, who got up from the bed without any sheets around his waist, his rosy and still mid-aroused cock catching your attention against your will. You felt your cheeks blushing with shame and frustration as you remembered those curly pubic red hairs so close to your mouth and almost making you choke.

Memories increasing your anger like a erupting volcano. "You... You bought my silence! You made me beg and cry for you mercy... You made me—" Words died in your mouth and you sobbed again, placing the palm of the hand on your face to stifle the panic that was setting in. How could he do something like that?

How could you done something like that?

The Seven would never forgive any of you.

"Is this why our family is suffering too much, uncle? Is this why the Gods no longer forgive us? Is everyone suffering because we sinned twice that night?"

Gwayne's amused look changed when the questions came, his eyes that were previously mocking your tantrum were now as dark as the last time you interacted alone with him, hands clenched into fists to try to control the whirlwind of emotions.

Weeks ago, your uncle had said that you would pay for slapping him after he insulted you in the Great Sept and reminded you about your own sins... You thought he might say something to Alicent, tell her about your old dirty little secret. Or even invent lies that would ruin your reputation.

Everything you imagined before was like a mere joke, like a child's prank compared to what Gwayne really done. The revelation that he ratted you out right after buying your silence with a sexual way made you feel sick. You had been deceived. You had been used. You had been eternally tainted in the eyes of the Seven.

And you could not put all the blame on your uncle shoulders. Yes, Gwayne sworn to keep your secret and deceived you then. But he would not have done that if you had not given in to immorality either way. Gwayne would not have needed to put you on your knees and force you to give him a head if you had not pleasured yourself at a sacred place. Gwayne would not treated you like a cheap whore if you had not acted like one.

You caused all of this, allowing yourself to be deceived, used and stained.

You angered the Gods, with no expectation of divine forgiveness.

"I am dirty." The whisper caught Gwayne off guard, one eyebrow raised and waiting for the next words. Your eyes glazing over the chambers floor as you followed saying. "When we met again at the Sept a few moons ago... You said I was dirty."

Gwayne nodded. "Yes, I did." He waited for you to continue, huffing as the silence progressed. "And now you are going to admit that I was right?"

You did not respond him at first, tears aching the violet irises and throat feeling raw, nothing but light sobs coming out. Realization hit you with such violence that you felt like you were going to pass out, your eyesight becoming blurred and the food you ate during the dinner rolling around in your stomach. The waves of the Narrow Sea during winter nights would be gentle compared to the thoughts that drowned your mind.

"Fuck, little niece. Do not be so dramatic..." The man growled, moving until he was in front of you, his two strong calloused hands grabbing your forearms and pulling you until you sat carelessly on his large bed. There was no resistance, your head aching so much that for a moment the brief pain he caused was an anchor keeping you sane to the real world, an anchor keeping you a sinner alive. "Look at me, girl." He ordered, noticing how the violet color of your irises became opaque every second you thought about those manners. When you did not obey him immediately, Gwayne grabbed your chin, refusing to let you stare into space like a complete insane.

"Did you know? Did you know that my mother wanted to make me a Septa?" It was the first thing you allowed yourself to question him — the first thing you had the courage to question to him.

Gwayne's silence lasted for seconds, staring at you and clenching his jaw, biting his lower lip for a few seconds. "Yes." You already knew what was coming. "I did. That is why I told my father about your sinful act."

You could not help but scoff. "So you wanted to take away my opportunity to have any future other than being a maiden in the middle of a war, unable to do anything to help my family? No use or—"

His free hand grabbed your neck and the other kept your chin turned towards him. "You think I am the villain here and you are my victim? You are acting like I forced you to suck my cock and then stabbed you in the back."

"It is because you actually did it!" You returned his growl. The fingers around your throat were nothing more than an extra grip, but you knew Gwayne could choke you at any second if he wanted to. "Two years ago I was crying with shame at being seen in my sinful moment, and you took advantage of that. You said that every silence requires a price, and you demanded that I give you pleasure. You used my throat like I was a whore and soon after went to tell my grandfather about my sin!"

Gwayne was silent for a while, his big brown eyes returning your gaze, finally letting go of your face and neck. Before you could think, Gwayne pulled you out of bed, pushing you against the floor, his hand on top of your head to prevent you from reaching up. "Stop fighting!" He shouted, his fingers now tangling in your hair, pulling at the silver strands and making you cry out due to ache in your scalp. "I saved your miserable life!"

Your nails dug into his bare thigh to fight against his dark side, pulling out blood drops that ran like honey. However, the sudden violence increased the intensity of the darkness inside Gwayne's soul, his palm hitting your face twice until you were seeing stars, your head now stretched out towards him, kneeling on the ground like a religious and devout girl. No longer for the Gods. Just for him.

There was blood on your lips, caused by the hard slap so close to your mouth. The tears flowed desperately, the sobs echoed low as if it were the cries of an innocent child, your nails were red-stained after hurting Gwayne and trying to feel less pathetic and fragile.

"I saved you." Your uncle said again, watching you crying as if it were a spectacle. "That is why I told my father about your secret. Because I know you better than anyone, sweet niece. I know the sins in your mind, your desires..."

Shaking the head, you sniveled. "You do not know me, uncle. You are insane, dirty... Wicked."

Such accusations had a bitter taste, like holy whispers and mockery. Oh... He was all of that. All of that and much more, he already knew that. You already knew that too.

"We are both the same, dear. The difference between me and you, is that I do not regret my sins. However, you forced yourself to be devoted to the Seven because you are afraid of their punishment." Your cheekbone was caressed by Gwayne's hand. He wiped away some of the tears that flowed there, and then ran his fingertips over his own injured thigh, spreading the blood onto the skin and pushing his digits into your half-open mouth. "You are fucking stupid, niece. Believing that the Gods are merciful..."

Gwayne rambled and fucked your throat with his fingers at the same time, thrusting them so deep that spit began to drip from your mouth, the churning sensation inside your stomach returning and almost causing you vomit in front of him, to make the humiliating sight worse. As much as you wanted to keep fighting or just run away from him, you remained still, crying and kneeling on the ground, feeling the taste of his blood on your tongue.

Your eyelids were tightened, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to think about what he was saying, even if it was impossible. "Do you think I messed up your reputation? Do you think I forced you to taste sin and then used it against you? I SAVED YOUR LIFE, YOU UNGRATEFUL SLUT!" His yelling was followed by your muffled cry as you felt like you were going to throw up, his fingers bruising the back of your throat until your uvula was too sore. Gwayne removed his hand from inside your lips, your dripping spit running down his skin and dripping onto the floor, as did the tears, your body lowered and shaking to collect yourself.

"I saved you..." Gwayne repeated, softer this time, letting go of your hair and placing a few inches of distance between the two of you, your pitiful form curled up on the floor. "You had such a potential. You did not deserve to spend years serving Gods who do not care about our suffering." He did not even order you to look at him, but you did anyway, reddish and swollen lips, stained with his blood along with yours. "Gods are not merciful, sweetheart. If they were, Jaehaerys would not be dead. Helaena would not be broken-minded..."

"This is my fault..." You managed to mutter, voice hoarse due to the wound on your throat and on the roof of your mouth. "If I had understood the importance of the Faith of the Seven sooner... If I had not pleasure myself at the Great Sept, perhaps our family..."

"Do not be pathetic." Gwayne interrupted his niece roughly, despite his pious face. "Merciful Gods would not cause so much chaos and destruction in an entire family just because a little girl fingered her own cunt at a sacred place instead of being lighting candles and praying."

Suddenly, choking and almost throwing up on his fingers seemed like the least shameful thing during that entire night. "That... That was a blasphemy."

Gwayne smiled after your self-critical argument, a wistful smile. His imposing figure finally relaxed the tense shoulders, ignoring his own nakedness and carefully lifting you off the ground. He made a mental note to never forget how beautiful you looked there on the floor, as if he was your favorite God, or the only one, and you were begging for his mercy. As if he were your savior, the only one capable of freeing you from that torment and cruel fate that awaited you.

He wanted to be yours. He wanted you to be his. Gwayne wanted all of the Seven Gods to see him taking your maidenhead, fucking you until you were dripping with his seed. He wanted everyone to know that you were devoted to him, not to a stupid faith that condemned you to unnecessary purity.

All of the Hightowers already had their fates sealed. Gwayne knew that he could die fighting during the Dance of the Dragons, just as he knew that you could also die due to the wrong actions that your family and the other Targaryens had taken over all those years. Every manipulation, every fight, every cruel decision, every exaggerated and impulsive reaction...

Gwayne did not care if what he was doing was wrong before the Seven or not. He did not care if his sister found out about this or not. He understood what you wanted. He understood what you needed. He was already aware of the potential you had in favoring your own carnal desires instead of surrendering to divine forgiveness.

Gwayne would not let you surrender again. He would not let you be like his own mother or Alicent, always lighting candles and begging for the mercy and kindness of the Gods.

And when Gwayne's hand finally touched your throbbing neglected clit covered by the dress, both of you knew there was no going back. The Seven would never forgive those sins.

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katzkinder · 2 months ago

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I love the Servamps and I know I talk about this a lot but their humanness despite everything is my favorite thing about them

Being an immortal means walking a fine line between being mature beyond your apparent years and being so incredibly dumb

Sometimes Lily gets his hair caught on a shirt button and he has to whine for Misono to come help him because he already has it half over his head and it’s stuuuck.

Hugh gets too excited about his after bath milk and it goes down the wrong way so Tetsu pats his back while his Servamp coughs and chokes and his face gets all gross and blotchy.

Licht has recordings of Lawless belting out Broadway songs in the shower that suddenly cut off into screaming and swearing because Licht flushed the toilet. You can hear him snickering as he runs away because Lawless has given Chase.

Freya’s cellphone screen is always cracked because she taps the screen hard enough to shatter it, and she gets depressed when little kids are scared of her face.

Kuro wants a hard boiled egg but doesn’t want to make the effort to wait to boil water so he puts it in the microwave. Mahiru doesn’t realize he’s done this until he hears a very loud, very scary BANG, accompanied by Kuro’s soft and forlorn “oh no. Oh nooo”

Jeje sighing because at some point in the day he dragged his sleeve through his food and didn’t notice and nobody told him. It’s already dried. He has to walk around like this until it’s fixed.

Tsubaki misreading the amount of something he’s ordering and when it’s delivered his face is in his hands because why. There’s so much. He doesn’t need this. What’re they gonna do with 100 kg of smoked salmon. Thats 220 pounds. He seriously didn’t look at the price. He’s never gonna hear the end of this.

Ildio doesn’t understand what a himbo is and Nicco will not be telling him, no matter how much he asks. Lawless, however, is delighted. Ildio ponders this then softly says “do you think I’m dumb?” Panik lol. It disgruntles him a lot. It’s one thing to think about himself that he doesn’t really have much brains, but… It kinda hurts when it comes from somebody else? Somebody he likes? Why is that. He’s still figuring out this whole “person” thing.

#servamp #kat’s katerwauling #I love them all so much #snow lily #Hugh the dark Algernon III #Servamp Hugh #Servamp Freya #Servamp jeje #Servamp Kuro #Servamp Tsubaki #lawless of greed #servamp ildio

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the-californicationist · 3 months ago

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Through a Glass, Darkly

A new priest is assigned to your remote abbey, but when you go to him for confession, you realize you are kneeling before the Devil himself.

Anonymous asked: Hiya Cali, crazy thought but happy october 🎃 brain worm, think about mirror sex with vampire!Price / 141 and the absolute flith that would pour from his mouth as he watches you stretch around seemingly nothing…

———

TW: vampirism, blood play, priest abuse of power, heavy religious imagery, fem!reader, rape/noncon, virginity loss, corruption, mind breaking, historical fantasy au, father/my child/sister religious titles, fully adult characters

You’ve been warned, and I don’t wanna hear it. Your click, your fault.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. — 1 Corinthians 13:12

—x—x—x—

When Mr. Hawthorne arrived that morning with fresh milk, eggs, and a cart full of potatoes and turnips, you thought you would forget yourself and fling your hands around his fat neck. It had been weeks since supplies had been delivered, and although you lived in what was probably the smallest abbey in the world, you were just thankful that you had not been completely forgotten.

“Oh, thank you, Mister Hawthorne! We are so grateful for your service. The Lord rewards the generous,” you praised him.

The plump man’s face flushed red and he took off his sweaty cap, holding it limply in his hands,

“Tha’s alright, Sister. I had a good yield this season. You send a letter over to us if you need anything more. Hopefully that new priest will be arriving soon. Margie said she spotted him at the inn yesterday afternoon.”

“New priest?” You asked, wholly unaware of your abbey receiving an actual man of the cloth.

“Yes, Sister. He looks a little rugged for a holy man, but she said he was wearin’ the collar, clear as day.”

“Oh,” you mused, unsure of what to say.

“I’ll take my leave of you, Sister. Hope he’s a good one. It’ll be nice to have services back in the old church.”

“Yes, it will. Take care, and safe travels, sir. May God bless your next harvest.”

You watched as his rickety cart, pulled by an equally rotund mule, delivered the farmer away from you and your tiny sanctuary. As soon as he was out of sight, you rushed back through the wooden doors of the abbey to find Sister Ruth and Sister Sarah to tell them of the news.

They were both as shocked as you were. You had all three been convinced that the good Pope had completely forgotten about your little sect, and no letters had come for months. But, a new priest in this parish would bring much needed governance to the provincial people of your small village, and you needed to prepare.

You and your fellow nuns cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned some more. By nightfall, the abbey gleamed anew.

As you were preparing for bed, you heard the whinny of a horse outside of the abbey doors. You looked out into the corridor, and Sister Ruth was peeking out as well. Arming yourselves with long, steel fire pokers, you made your way to the entrance. Ruth nudged you with her elbow, encouraging you to call out. So, you said,

“It is past hours. Please come back tomorrow!”

“I’m Father John Price, and unless I’m mistaken, this is my abbey,” a deep, gravelly voice called out to you, seeming to flow and roll through the door with a convincing ease.

You cracked the wooden portal and looked out.

There, holding onto a frothy, exhausted steed was the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He wore an all-black capello romano on his head, towering above you by at least a full cubit. His face was pale, protected from labors under the sun, but his hands looked like they had certainly known the true meaning of work. His body was well-muscled and immense. Even in the midst of his flowing black robes, you could see the bulging form of his shoulders stretching the fine fabric. Around his thick neck, his white clergy collar sat dutifully under a jutting Adam’s apple and a proud chin, shaven although the rest of his beard was trimmed to full length.

But it was his eyes that unnerved you. For all of his brutish form, the look in his gaze made your blood run cold. There was something hypnotizing about the pale blue irises. It made him seem almost inhuman.

That deep, purring voice returned, and he stepped closer to you, threatening your threshold with white, sharp teeth pulled in a tight smile,

“Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

“Forgive me, Father. Please, come in. Sister Ruth will take your horse to the stables. Allow me to take your bags and show you to your chamber.”

He followed behind you at a close distance, studying the abbey’s courtyard and walls, judging its worthiness. You were proud of the work you had done to keep it in good working order, but you knew it was in desperate need of repairs.

As you walked, you tried to make small talk to ease the tension,

“I have been in prayer thanking God for your arrival, Father. It has been many years since we have been blessed to house a priest within our abbey walls. Our parishioners will be filled with joy to return to their pews.”

“Mm.” His hum was polite but noncommittal, so you gave up on the niceties.

Finally, you reached his cell, you pried open the door and allowed him to enter before you. He studied the spartan room with the expected amount of enthusiasm, and watched you lay his bag down on the small chair at his desk. You straightened out the Bible that lay on the table, making sure the corner matched up with the edge of the table, placing it just so.

“Will you take supper, Father Price?”

“No, I am not hungry. You will find that I eat very little, in fact,” he said, taking off his cloak and laying it on the freshly-made bed. He hung his hat on its hook and tried to straighten his hair.

“Should I have a mirror brought in for your cell?” You asked, thinking that he may need to look presentable. As a nun, you never used a mirror as a rule, but you were willing to accommodate your new steward as best you could.

“Do you use a mirror, my child?” Price’s voice deepened and smoldered like a bundle of kindling, threatening to burn. He stepped toward you, using his size to impose himself upon you in the small space.

“N-n-no,” you stammered, “Of course not, Father. But I am not in a position to be perceived such as yourself.”

“Recite Proverbs 31:30, my child,” he commanded, stepping closer to you, slowly creeping into your personal space, close enough that you could smell the scent of the sun and the grass on his robes, mixing with the sweat of his skin.

You swallowed, clearing your throat, and obeyed,

“Yes, Father. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”

“Good,” Price smiled, using his finger to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “We must not succumb to vanity, my child. A dutiful disciple is one who serves others, yes?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, stepping backwards, away from his touch, hanging your head in reverence.

“In fact,” he purred, “It is James 1:23 which reminds us that those who look into the glass will be blinded by their own desires, only seeing themselves, incapable of suffering God’s divinity. It is the good works done that are worthy of praise, my child, although…”

He stepped forward again, grabbing your chin in his huge hand roughly, clutching the very bone of your jaw, making you gasp,

“Our Lord has taken special care to display his almighty talent in your face, has he not? Such delicate features. Like an angel.”

His mouth was so close to yours that you could smell the heady scent of iron and musk on his breath. His piercing eyes never left yours, pinning you in place.

Then, he released you, and you left the room without being dismissed, closing the cell door behind you and rushing back to your own cloister. You rushed into your room, locking the door fast, and knelt at your altar to pray for forgiveness.

Except… you were not asking to be forgiven for suggesting vanity to your new priest. No. You were asking to be forgiven for the warm, wet lust that was smearing across the crease of your thighs. Father Price had awakened strong feelings in you not of enlightenment, but of lurid desire, and you begged to be cleansed.

The next morning, Father Price called the abbey together. Yourself, Sister Ruth, and Sister Sarah reported to the small courtyard, along with two young pilgrims who had lived there since the past summer, Timothy and David. You and the nuns had suspected them as runaways, but they pledged themselves to the cloth and took care of the manual labor around the premises since you lacked any monks to speak of. They were well into their young adulthood now, and they would become apprentices to Father Price, if he saw fit.

You tried to put what had transpired between you and the good Father out of your mind, but seeing him in the cold light of day did nothing to quell the sinful desire you felt towards him. The way he had grabbed you…

“Good morrow, everyone. I ask that you will join me in our Biblical studies every morning. I find that the word of God helps me put the rest of my day right. I want to begin at the beginning, yes?”

He looked around at all of your faces, as if anyone would protest against his power, and then he continued,

“What does Genesis 4:7 tell us, Sister Ruth?”

“Speaking to Cain, the Lord said: If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.”

“Sin lieth at the door,” Father Price mused, then, as if shaking himself from his thought, he said, “Please continue, Sister.”

“And Cain talked with Abel, his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel, his brother, and slew him. And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother's keeper?”

“You are,” the priest’s voice rose in his chest, startling Sister Ruth and silencing her words. He began to pace back and forth, slowly stalking through your small ranks, “You are your brother’s keeper. You are more than that. You are keepers of this entire parish, are you not?”

“Yes, Father,” you all said in unison.

“There will be a reckoning in this parish,” Price snarled, “I will not lead a flock of demons disguised as sheep. If any of you hear witness or see evidence of sin, deliver it to me at once. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” you repeated.

“I will now take your confessions. I understand that it has been a number of years since you were cleansed, so be prepared to repent lest you allow the Devil into your soul.”

“Yes, Father.”

The day dragged on through the gray clouds, and Father Price had taken his time with the confessions of the members of your abbey. Sister Sarah had gone into his cell after the boys, and she had emerged with red eyes full of tears. You had comforted her in hushed whispers in the corner of her cloister, asking her what he had done, thinking it was something even more awful that how he had accosted you last night.

“He…” Sarah sobbed, “He made me kneel on sharp stones while I recited my prayers. It hurts so much, Sister.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Although sharp stones were not a gentle punishment, they were at least devoid of physical contact. He had not taken a hand to her. But, Sister Sarah was young. She had avoided some of the harsher training practices of the more traditional members of the church. You knew that there were a bevvy of punishments that would make kneeling in discomfort feel like a blessing.

Sister Ruth also came out sniffling, reporting that she had fifty lashes across her palms for the sin of plucking figs off of a nearby tree owned by the neighboring farm.

Again, you sighed and thanked God that he had a little mercy within him.

His cell door opened, and Father Price locked eyes with you and demanded,

“Come, my child. It is time for your confession.”

“Yes, Father Price,” you complied, taking your leave of the other nuns and following him into his cell.

Inside of his room, a shaft of sunlight cut across his face, illuminating his eyes and stunning you, keeping you from moving forward.

“Shut the door, my child,” his timbre was ominous, and you tried to hold yourself together.

“So far,” he rose from his seat and walked over to you, “I have cleansed the souls of a nun who is a thief, another who is a sloth, a young man who is a liar, and another who is filled with pride. It seems, Sister, that you have allowed the Devil through the door, indeed.”

“Forgive me, Father. I knew not of their wicked ways, nor have I your wisdom to correct them.” You stared at the stone floor. It was easier than looking at him.

“I do not believe that the wickedness was borne within them,” Father Price mused, tapping his finger on his lips as if deep in thought, “Because I discovered this beneath your mattress, and so I know the evil is inside of you.”

In his hands, Father Price held up a square, familiar, looking glass. You trembled, watching as your own reflection met you back. You could see the fear spread across your face, and you were disgusted by it.

“Tell me, my child. How did you use this mirror?” He asked sweetly, but as he watched you think about how best to answer the question, his voice became hot with fury and he snarled into your ear, “And don’t you dare lie to me. I will know your deceit.”

Your heart was banging in your chest, and so, beyond your better judgment, you told him the truth.

“I used it to… examine myself, Father.”

“Show me,” he commanded.

It was as if his whole cell bent and bowed under the weight of his authority. Your body began to move against your own will, relenting to his instead. Without thinking, you pulled back your habit and let your hair fall down your back. Then, you began to peel away your robes. Underneath, you untied your shift, and you allowed the fabric to pool on the floor at your feet, staring at yourself naked in the glass.

He watched you in silent awe, his pupils darkening, his mouth parted at his full lips, his chest heaving as he watched you make yourself bare before him.

“Go on,” he said, knowing that you were not finished with your demonstration.

You felt yourself obeying him helplessly, and you performed the same inspection that you did in private in front of him.

“I wanted to see how God hath made me, Father. So, I looked.”

“Where did you look, my child?”

“Here,” you raised your hands to squeeze the supple flesh of your breasts, showing him how your nipples were bouncy and puffy until they turned stiff and tight.

“And here,” you allowed your hand to fit itself between your thighs, spreading your labia, covered in dense hair, until your pliant lips revealed a shining, smooth center, wet and ready for pleasure.

“Now that you have examined the Lord’s fine works, what did you do with this knowledge?” Price asked.

“I would touch this part of me, Father, and I would let it bring me to Heaven.”

“I would like to know Heaven, my child. Turn around.”

You tried to stop yourself, but he was using his power to bind you. You were nothing more than a toy, helpless to his every whim. You turned, your back facing him, and he set the mirror on his desk so that you could see yourself within it. Then, he moved in front of you and his body blocked your view, reaching down to grab your chin like he had the first night he arrived, raising your mouth up to his.

You thought he would kiss you. His lips were just within reach, but he commanded you darkly,

“Confess.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you recited dumbly, “It has been three years since my last confession. In that time, I have…”

His mouth covered yours, kissing you deeply, feeding you his long tongue and eating up your words before you could say them. Then, you felt his hands on your breasts, squeezing them cruelly, pinching your nipples to make them ache and sting. You couldn’t help the lewd sounds that escaped your throat, but he didn’t seem to care to stop you. Finally, he pulled away, and when you looked into his eyes again, the bright blue had been replaced with a Hellish red.

You gasped, and he grabbed you tighter, pulling you towards him by the soft meat of your breasts, making you cry out in agony. That noise seemed to please him because he smiled down at you, and you could see that his teeth had grown into long, wolf-like fangs. He chuckled,

“My pretty little sinner.”

“D-d-demon!” You cried breathlessly, shaking from fear as he held you to his body.

Price bared his fangs at your assessment, hissing from the title,

“Yes, and you have invited me in, so eager to be corrupted.”

Releasing you from his grip, he held you around your waist with one arm, and he used his free hand to dip between your legs, discovering your wetness there and sighing from it.

“Mmm… Let me taste your sweet, little Heaven, Sister.”

He knelt on the floor in front of you and held onto your wide ass cheeks in each hand, forcing your hips to tilt toward his face. You looked down and watched as his impossibly long tongue flicked against your swollen bud. His wide tongue parted your lips to drag wetly between them. You tried to hold back your cries, but you’d never known such pleasure, so you could barely keep it in. You prayed for forgiveness as you came apart against this demon’s mouth, succumbing to his vileness.

Then, you glanced into the mirror, and you noticed that you couldn’t see his head. Only the collar and robes were visible in the glass. All you could see is how your lips were being spread apart, seemingly on their own.

He had no reflection.

“You… you’re…” You couldn’t say the words, but Price knew what you meant to call him.

He looked over his shoulder, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide apart, gazing at them in the glass and smiling even though he didn’t have a reflection to smile at. Then, he looked back up at you, a sick grin spread across his lips,

“Cain, yes. The immortal wanderer, cursed from the earth which hath opened her mouth to receive my brother’s blood. And I have not tasted food, for it becomes ash in my mouth, just like He promised. But, blood… I can taste blood just fine.”

He planted the softest kisses between your shivering thighs, sucking on the thin skin, and then, after slaking his thirst with your sticky center once more, he sank his fangs right in the inside of your thigh, making you howl with pain.

His eyes were locked on yours, watching you writhe in agony, your nerves sensing his venom coursing through you as he sucked the life from your veins. You watched yourself in the mirror, seeing the puncture wounds, watching as blood spilled out across your skin, smearing and being licked away by his greedy tongue. Finally, he released you, and the poison of his mouth took effect. You became deeply fatigued, and you could barely stand on your own. He had to hold you in his arms to keep you in position.

He stood, smiling down at you, his mouth caked with your dark blood, his teeth stained red,

“What a blessing you are, my child. Such perfect innocence tastes so fine, so… pure. I almost hate to sour your ripe little fruit, but that will be sweet in its own way, yes?”

You watched as your demonic priest yanked at his collar, popping it from his neck. Then, he pulled off his robes, tearing away at his layers until he was as bare as you, both of you fully naked and pressed together, joined in a crash of skin and heat, his mouth painting your body with your own blood as he kissed and licked your breasts and belly, teasing you with his tongue as he explored you.

Then, he stepped around to your back, and you caught sight of his heavy cock as it swung between his legs like that of a rutting beast. You tried to fight the black spell you were under, but it was no use. You were trapped in his thrall.

“Watch yourself in the mirror, my child,” Father Price commanded you, grinning as you immediately obeyed, “Come and behold the marvelous works of God.”

You couldn’t turn your eyes away. You were alone in the mirror, and yet, your breasts were being crushed by invisible fists, your nipples tormented between unseen fingers. Then, you felt Price fit his phallus against the entrance of your sex and press it into you, stretching you wide across his prodding cockhead. You saw how your body was being invaded by him, pulling itself apart to allow him inside. The dark hole of your quim opened like a toothless maw, drooling and starving, hungry to take him deep within you, welcoming him up to your womb.

You sobbed at the strain, and then you felt something give way sharply inside you, and he had a much easier time of filling you with his engorged length. As he fucked himself up into you, he was grunting like an animal, praising you in your ear, telling you his own confession,

“Forgive me, my child, for I am sinning. Right now… I am sinning with you, and it is so sweet. God has made you for me. What a gift you are. See?”

He used his hand to swipe at your gaping hole, bringing his hand in front of your face so you could see the bright blood that coated his fingertips,

“You have broken so easily for me. The Lord knew you needed me to come and serve you. He brought me to you, my child. You welcomed me inside, didn’t you? Spread these lips for me, invited me in… Didn’t you? Say it.”

“Y-y-yes, F-father…” You whimpered, tears dripping down your chin and onto your bare chest.

The loud slapping of skin against skin filled the cell, and you watched as your hole spread wider and wider, taking more of him with each punishing thrust.

“Louder, my child,” he hissed in your ear.

“Yes, Father!”

His hand was playing in your slippery folds, massaging your hidden bud and forcing you to clench hard around him from the pleasure. In the glass, you could see your hole trying in vain to twist itself shut, pumping him in a steady beat.

“Didn’t you pray to God for a prick like mine when you touched your filthy quim in your mirror?”

“Yes, Father!”

It was true. You had touched yourself, hoping that you might one day know the pleasure of being taken by a man. You had watched the mating of cattle in the field next to the abbey many a summer past, hanging clothes and sheets on the line, and yet all the while looking into the grassy glade, staring at the bull who would mount his cow and thrust his turgid rod into her to breed her deeply. And she would croon for him, and when he left her, the spent seed would hang in long, thick strings from the head of his phallus, making him wet and ready to sink his sword through its next sheath.

“And the Lord answered your prayers, did he not? Begging him for someone to breed you like this, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Father!”

Price was the bull, and you would be bred by him, and you would be cast out of God’s mercy forever. Ruined. Steeped in sin and tainted by lust.

“You smell like a ripe plum, my sweet child, and you’re just as soft in my mouth,” Price began to lick your neck from your sloping shoulder all the way to your earlobe, over and over, letting his spit cover your flesh. Then, he sank his fangs into your vein and began to drink from you in long, slurping sucks, swallowing your blood into his throat in audible gulps, moaning with each mouthful of your essence.

The venom of his demonic bite made your head cloudy and your will compliant.

“Touch yourself, my child,” he mumbled, quickly returning to his feast on your flesh.

You had no choice but to obey. You felt him increase his pace, his long cock bottoming out inside of you with each thrust, flinging his weight into you like a hammer. You began touching your breasts, pinching yourself gently as you watched your ruination unfold in the looking glass, helpless to stop it.

Then, you began to touch your rigid nub, taking over for him as he continued to drink from you. You made achingly slow circles around your most sensitive spot, and because you were so wet, you were able to go faster without any discomfort. You made yourself come quickly, jerking your hips against him as he fucked you, listening to him groan from the feeling of your tight hole trying to squeeze the come out of his body.

“Beg me for my seed, Sister. Beg me to spill it in you,” Price murmured, licking your neck in the spot where he had bitten to rub the taste of your blood across his tongue.

“Father, please… Please come in me. Spill in me… oh!”

You felt him jerk inside of you, and then you heard his growling orgasm rip through his body, his cock pulsing wildly, shooting ropes of creamy seed all over your walls, bursting through your tight, virginal core.

“So perfect for me, so perfect…”

Price caught his breath while he was still inside of you, panting and smiling against your neck before he pulled out of you, watching his invisible shaft slip through your cunt in the mirror, the gaping hole slowly shrinking before your eyes. As he retreated, you saw large strings of come drip out of you, white and endless, flowing out of you and onto the floor of the cell.

Father Price dressed himself in front of you, leaving you standing where he had last commanded you to be, admiring your ruined body. Once he clipped his collar back under his shirt and cloak, he stepped in front of you to pinch lightly at the tips of your nipples again, making you whimper like a hungry mutt.

“For all your virtues, Sister, you are prone to sin. An innocent such as yourself must be trained to resist the Devil. Come to my cell for confession every morning and every night. I promise,” he stroked your cheek and then your neck, right where he’d bitten you, “I will put my goodness deep inside of you, my child. Right here.”

His other hand came to touch your bare belly, gently caressing the skin and flesh that protected your womb.

“Yes, Father,” you said, trying to avoid his furious gaze, shaking with pure, gut-wrenching terror, understanding that for you, there was no escape. You were under his vampiric command, and if he wanted you, your body was going to obey. You’d taken the Mark of Cain on your neck, and the only hope for you now was to beg for his mercy.

“Take this mirror with you, my child. I want you to kneel in prayer over it, spread those plump legs wide, and I want you to watch my seed drip out of you. With every drop, you will thank God for me and my prick. When the Lord answers our prayers, it is our duty to be grateful.”

“Yes, Father,” you said, pulling your robes back on and adjusting your habit.

He handed you the mirror, and you took it with a crushing amount of shame, feeling his come still seeping in a steady stream out of your well-used hole.

As you left his cell, he smiled down at you, carefully petting your cheek,

“Don’t worry, my child. Your next confession is in only a few hours. You will feel the warmth of the Lord’s forgiveness again very soon.”

—x—x—x—

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

#call of duty fanfic #read at your own risk #vampire priest price #captain john price #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod #john price #cod mwii #captain price #captain price x you #captain price x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #dark price #dark fantasy #priest kink #vampire au

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rottenpumpkin13 · 3 months ago

Note

there's a racoon in the vents, stealing all the snacks

The Raccoon Incident? The Raccoon Incident.

For once, Sephiroth overcomes the shyness and anxiety that usually comes off antisocial, slipping out of his office when someone mentions cake in the break room. It's one of those lavishly delivered to SOLDIER as part of a corporate partnership—complete with a gift basket, flowers, the whole ordeal.

He picks out a generous slice, retreats to his office, and sets the plate carefully on his desk. But then be shifts his hand, accidentally knocks a pen to the floor, bends down to reach for it, and when he springs back up—the cake has vanished.

Sephiroth: ………..?

*Zack walks in*

Zack: Did you hear we got cake in the break room?

Sephiroth: Yes, I even went and got myself a slice. But the moment I set it down and turned my back for two seconds, it vanished. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for this.

Zack: Aha! You got swindled by the elusive vent raccoon!

Sephiroth: ……

Sephiroth: Like I said, I'm sure there's a logical explanation for this.

Zack: No, seriously! There's a raccoon loose in the vents. It steals food the second you look away. My first encounter was two weeks ago—I set down my sandwich, went to the bathroom, came back, and there it was, paws-deep in my lunch!

*Sephiroth walks towards the door*

Zack: Where are you going? Are you gonna tell Lazard? *gasp* Are we finally gonna capture the greedy bastard? Are you assembling a raccoon capturing squad??

Sephiroth: I'm going to get more cake.

Zack: ....

Zack is dead-set on capturing the raccoon now, and tires to alert Angeal and Genesis about it. They don't believe him either.

Zack: I'm telling you, it was a raccoon! I saw it in the men's room last week too. It was fluffy and had dark circles under its eyes, kept washing it's hands and wanted snacks!

Angeal: Are you sure you didn't just see Genesis before his morning coffee?

Genesis: You may think you've insulted me, but I actually appreciate raccoons. I'd be devastated if something happened to the poor creature.

Zack: So you believe me?

Genesis: Naturally. Just last week, I had a jelly donut on my lunch tray. I leaned down to pick up my fallen fork, looked back up, and it was gone. The raccoon must've taken it.

Sephiroth, raising a hand: Actually, that was me.

Genesis: !?

Sephiroth: Angeal gave me that emotional healing book, remember? It says not to deny myself things I want, so I'm applying it to everyday life.

Angeal: I'm proud of you.

Sephiroth: Thank you.

Genesis: 💢

Since Angeal doesn't believe him, Sephiroth is doubtful and Genesis is more concerned about the jelly donut Sephiroth owes him, Zack decides he needs backup and enlists Kunsel for the mission, sending him on a reconnaissance sweep through the vents.

*Kunsel drops down from the ceiling, dusting himself off*

Zack: So? Did you find it??

Kunsel: No raccoon…but I did crawl over Angeal's office and saw him venting to his plants about the price of milk in Midgar. Then I passed Genesis' office—caught him aggressively making a Sephiroth bobblehead and an Angeal bobblehead make out. Then I slipped over Sephiroth's office, where he had stolen the rest of the cake from the break room. And when I hovered over Lazard's office, he was updating a giant bulletin board titled "Plans to Take Over Shinra."

Zack: But no raccoon?

Kunsel: Not a whisker.

Zack: Damn it! Never send a boy to do a man's job.

*Angeal, Sephiroth, and Genesis approach Rufus and Tseng, both watching Darkstar as she barks up at the vents*

Sephiroth: Is it the alleged raccoon?

Rufus: She's definitely unsettled by something.

Angeal: Hm…maybe Zack was onto something after all. If there's a raccoon raiding the vents and stealing food, we should've taken him more seriously.

Sephiroth: I agree. A raccoon loose in the vents could pose a health risk.

Genesis: The raccoon didn't steal my jelly donut.

Sephiroth: I told you I'll replace your donut.

Genesis: Hm.

*Darkstar keeps barking and growling*

Tseng, sighing: Since you're all informed, I'll entrust you to handle it. Just imagining that thing crawling through the ducts, spreading who-knows-what, is already giving me a headache.

*Zack pops out from the vents, covered in dust*

Tseng: !?

Zack, breathless: You're not gonna believe this, but I saw the raccoon and chased it! It has stolen the cake Sephiroth stole from the break room.

Angeal, turning to Sephiroth: You stole the cake from the break room??

Sephiroth: No, I just didn't deny myself the things I want. Just like your book said.

Angeal: I should've gotten you a coloring book instead.

Genesis: Or perhaps a jelly donut so he wouldn't feel inclined to steal mine.

Sephiroth: LET IT GO.

Genesis: NEVER.

*Lazard strolls by and catches the group setting up a makeshift cage trap lined with snacks, with a long string disappearing behind their hiding spot*

Lazard: ...What exactly are you all doing?

Zack: We're setting a trap for the elusive vent raccoon.

Lazard: Is that why Sephiroth has the VP's dog?

*They glance over to see Sephiroth, who's cuddling Darkstar*

Sephiroth, unfazed: I wanted a dog, so I didn't deny myself one.

Lazard: You stole the VP's dog.

Sephiroth: It's called self-care, Director.

Lazard, exasperated: Fine, do what you want. I have enough on my plate. Speaking of which, that executives' brunch I was organizing? All the food vanished at the last minute. Every last bit.

Genesis: Most likely the work of the raccoon. Unless jelly donuts were stolen. If so, that was Sephiroth.

Sephiroth: .....

Lazard: As convenient as that sounds, I find it hard to believe a raccoon could swipe an entire banquet's worth of food from within the vents.

Angeal: Our working theory is that it escaped from the labs, another one of Hojo's experiments gone rogue.

Sephiroth, still giving Darkstar enthusiastic belly rubs: Yet another curse of Hojo's. Rest assured, Director, we'll handle this.

Genesis: And once we catch it, you can finally get me another jelly donut.

Sephiroth: Why are you emotionally attached to that jelly donut??

*Suddenly, a loud scuffling noise sounds from the vents above. They freeze*

Zack: It's the raccoon! Hide!

*The group dives behind the corner just as a massive, fuzzy creature plummets down from the vent. It's definitely not a raccoon. Zack yanks the cord, trapping it inside the cage.

Genesis: OH. IT'S A RAT.

Zack: IT'S A GIANT, MUTATED RAT.

*The rat snarls then rips open the cage door with an unnatural strength*

Angeal, horrified: AND IT'S FREAKISHLY STRONG.

Zack: RUN!

*Angeal, Genesis, and Zack bolt, shrieking down the hall as Darkstar barks furiously, darting after the rat*

Sephiroth: .....

Sephiroth: And to think we're all supposed to be highly trained operatives. We shouldn't scream, lose our cool, and flee from harmless creatures. And most of all, we should respect each other.

*Genesis sprints back around the corner, still screaming*

Genesis: YOU STILL OWE ME A JELLY DONUT!

Sephiroth: IF YOU MENTION THAT DONUT ONE MORE TIME GENESIS I'LL PERSONALLY RETURN YOU TO THE GODDESS!

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #zack fair #angeal hewley #crisis core #storytime

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