#no beta we die like church

[willingcannibalvictim]

BABY’S FIRST FIC ON TUMBLR :D

Welp here we go

[ao3 link]

Private Donut may or may not be made out of food (but there’s only one way to find out)

TW: Vore (duh), accidental fearplay, and accidental foodplay (??)

Caboose and Donut were sat in the Blue base. Due to Donut’s lack of intelligence, he had recently been captured and taken prisoner by the Blues, having Caboose to watch over him.

“Church told me I have to watch over you to make sure you don’t run away.”

“Yeah. That’s kinda how prisoners work.”

“Oh.”

Donut continued to braid Caboose’s hair, which was longer than his, making it more braid-able. Sure, it was still short, but Donut made sure to not pull too hard on the Blue Team Member’s scalp.

“You know. I guess this is what you’d call the calm before the storm?”

“I call it nap time. And before that is food time! And after that is…” Caboose paused for dramatic effect.. “Food-Naptime!!”

Caboose’s started salivating as he recalled the routine, his face lightening into a smile. It made Donut smile too, finishing off the small braid in his hair.

“Speaking of food time, I’m getting hungry. But Tucker told me I couldn’t leave. You could run away.”

“I know. I probably would haha.”

Caboose turned his head a bit to glance back at Donut, his pupils dilating larger and small bit of drool dripping from his mouth. “Private Donut…that sounds like private biscuit.” He muttered, pondering something.

Donut was confused by who he considered a friend after this interaction’s stare. It was blank and wide like a shark who caught a wiff of blood. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He said, his voice slightly shivering.

Caboose turned his body a bit more to face the private in pink armor, still sitting criss-cross apple sauce, but his knees had stopped their swinging. He repeated the statement quietly. “sounds like private biscuit…”

Donut slowly started to back away a bit more before his back hit the wall, leaving him unable to scramble away from the hungry maws that inched closer to him, soon standing over his body. A small droplet of drool fell onto his head, which he quickly wiped away with a dissatisfied “ew.” When he looked back, he felt a tight grip clamp down onto his head. The wet muscle beneath him licked him all over, relishing in the taste of his flesh.

The private furiously kicked his legs around as his body was further and further down the Blue Team’s Private’s gullet. The wet, pinkish-red flesh encased him on all sides, coating him in saliva and other fluids. His feet were still dangling outside of Caboose’s mouth, but were quickly pushed into with his teeth coming down with a satisfied click. Donut slid down deeper and deeper until the wet slip finally stopped.

The chamber felt a bit more roomy, sure, but still extremely compact. The churning stomach walls hugged him on all sides. It was like his eyes were closed based on how dark it was. He let out a dissatisfied kick of retaliation, displaying his urge to be let out. He heard a slightly muffled “OW!” from the outside. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t help but feel a bit…betrayed. A person he thought he’d been bonding with reduced him to nothing more than a snack. Just to satiate his hunger? He didn’t cry, he didn’t pout. He just…sat.

A couple of swallows later, Caboose rested his body onto the back wall, breathing heavily due to the large meal just taken in. He ran a hand over his stomach bulge, being able to actively feel Donut’s restless squirming, then a violent and agitated kick.

“OW!!” He yelped. Even after the impact, he still felt the sting flutter through his nerves afterwards. Still, his goal had been complete, his hunger satiated. But the private didn’t really taste like how his name described…weird, Caboose thought.

Finally, the squirming stopped, leaving his body still for once. The feeling of the profound weight that dragged him down was soft and comforting. Rather ironic, in a sense. The elastic polymer fibers underneath his titanium armor strained to comply with his form. His eyes became more hazy and his mind became more tired, wishing for him to fall into slumber, something Donut would despise if it found out occurred. But, Caboose didn’t mind this, knocking out with his head tipped back against the wall almost immediately.

[erosiism]

SACRED | YANDERE PRIEST X M!READER

prompt: yandere!priest x transmigrated!male!reader

character(s): priest (anton), you

warnings(s): mention of violence, god complex, religious imagery, dub-con, not to be glorified or romanticised

note(s): male reader, second person, past and present tense, not beta read. from twisted faith on my wattpad.

It takes a few moments for you to truly process what just happened. From the coarse sheets underneath your skin that differ greatly from the silken ones you have grown so accustomed to, to the air that smells like blood, you know something is terribly wrong.

Then you see a mural of a priest on the wall, and you remember where you are. A horror game.

Anton. It’s the name of the priest you need to find.

The first time you see the priest is the day after you transmigrate into a horror game. The said game, Spiraling into the Abyss features almost a cult like fanaticism with religion: you learn in the first few seconds of your time in the new world that they worship a priest like a God, and that they sacrifice humans to please the apparent gods of the heavens.

You’re a sacrifice. You know that. You are found to be guilty of some stupid crime you didn’t commit, and as far as you know, you are a worthless extra who will die by burning—you will do everything to prevent that.

To survive, you need to get into his good graces. You see him on the day or worship, when you come early to the Church: and his beauty astounds you. Symmetrical features—and the whole blue eyes and golden hair combination that is seen as rather cliche, in terms of beauty—but Anton doesn’t have a common kind of beauty; he is radiant. Benevolent. Ethereal. You marvel at him. His skin is without a blemish, and is fair, like he hasn’t gone out in the sun for a while...yet it has a healthy glow to it. His expression is serene. Anton's hair frames his face perfectly, and his eyes are expressive and rather captivating, with long, dark lashes that draw attention to it. His cheekbones are well-defined, his nose straight—and those only add to Anton's appeal.

He speaks to you in lilted tones, and immediately, you realize the priest isn’t just evil—he’s downright a menace.

"Sometimes I forget you are a new, naive believer. God is perfect, is he not? So his messengers, in turn, can do no wrong. He sends his messages through me. God is part of me. I'm merely ridding the world of evil."  He strides to where you are, and his hands touch the top of your head lightly. His fingers fall to your cheek, and he strokes it gently.

You can only swallow. “Yes, Father Anton.”

There’s one day where you ask him why he burns those bodies. He calls it “cleansing”, apparently.

“They donate to the church out of the kindness of their hearts,” you tell him, swallowing the bile down your throat as you hear more screams. “Is that not…a little extreme?”

“Extreme? Why, no, not at all.”

“You burn people alive.”

“That is the cleanest way to proceed. Their ashes tumble away, and it makes it much easier for the people, too. If we were to use magic, or beheading, or even hanging—it would be much messier, no? And I believe fire is such an awfully beautiful thing. It can make death look inviting; and even though the heavens might cast them away…in hell, all they will see is the fiery pits. This is their punishment. To feel sorry for them is strange, Y/n.”

Despite this, for the sake of your survival, you continue to visit him. Now, such visits are rare: Anton barely makes time for anyone. But he does, for you. 

Of course, this partial treatment doesn’t go unnoticed by you. He treats only you like this: it’s concerning, actually. His words are light and gentle, but the weight of it isn’t. In fact, he speaks of cleansing, he speaks of murdering in such a calm manner that you wonder if the devil truly resides in him.

But one thing is clear. 

To survive, you need to get into his good graces.

You feel your sanity slip each minute you spend in the game.

Anton kills. So does the Church. And you still can’t explain the goddamn obsession he has with you. Why has he not killed you yet? Anton is no saint, not at all.

Perhaps Anton was ensnared by the promise of Godhood—ensnared by the tendrils of his own self proclaimed grandiosity. Perhaps he had been idolized so much…worshiped by the devoted believers that he had simply been led to believe in his imagined divinity. Anton was a mortal who had dared to cast a shadow that eclipsed the very stars that he had reached for. Anton was simply adorned in robes of imagined omnipotence, and smelt of the fragrance of narcissus.

Here, he was god, but Anton was completely alienated from empathy. For what was a god in isolation but a sovereign ruler over an empire of one, ruling over a realm devoid of the richness of God’s grace?

You can’t deal with him much longer. He keeps murdering: he murders those who come to you under the guise of the silly notion of cleansing, he finds it amusing to see you sob and cry…and he has no qualms about drugging you. If not for the items you have stored in your inventory, warning you of drugs, you would have succumbed long ago.

Anton is no priest. 

And now he stands before you, his lips curling into a smile when he sees the look of despair on your face. He has just killed a friend,

You have to. You have to fight Anton…you have to…

Anton leans forward. You two are a hair’s breadth away.

God. Is God real? Is the devil real—has he taken form in Anton himself, twisting, persuading, begging, tempting people to court evil, to withhold the stench of death? The crimson flames have not faltered for long, and have only seemed to welcome him with fiery contempt, only surrendering when everything has been destroyed in its wake.

You long to spit curses towards Anton. You long for your limbs to connect with his face, and leave a mottled bruise there. You long for your twitching fingers to wrap around the priest’s neck; watch as oxygen slowly slips from his lungs out of your throat. You long to see his body grow limp.

“You are so perfect,” Anton murmurs, “so, so divine. So perfect…”

You don’t get why he says this. He’s been telling you this for ages: it’s the reason why you’ve been treated well. He claims you are some savior from an oracle ready to save him, he claims you saved him.

And now in this scenario, where his fingers are grazing your cheek?

You swallow. There was no way, right? No fucking way—

“I want to kiss you.”

Your heart drops. “…If I say no, you wouldn’t listen.”

A kiss. It would just be a kiss, right? That was okay. It means simply brushing your lips against Anton’s…yeah, that was possible.

You want to cry. Anton presses his lips on yours—it’s a mixture of heat and warmth; the way Anton ravages your lips has some sort of twisted hunger to it, craving and craving and craving. There is an obscene sheen of saliva coating your lips when you part.

The kiss tastes just like the forbidden fruit, plucked from the tree of desire. It is the same way that Eve sinned—eating a fruit that had belonged to the serpent. It was as if you had forged a pact with the devil himself—that in kissing Anton, it was like sealing your fate in the molten wax of sin, staining the canvas of your soul. Had matted it black. 

It was shameful. So utterly shameful that the kiss…

Once Anton fully lets go, he smiles, and you collapse on the ground, tears running down your face.

He needs you, Anton thinks, he needs you. You are the savior who has brought him from the depths of hell. You are his miracle. You are his little pet; his little divine sacrifice, the white sheep with the white wool. You are the one who will follow him guiltlessly. Untouched, untainted, clean.

You are shaking like a newborn lamb.

He presses another kiss on your forehead.

[ before, Anton’s pov ]

The world was dirty.

It needed a savior. Someone to bring them out from the depths of hell—to cleanse them. After all, was that not what the texts read? Was that not what he had learnt, ever since young? Was that not what had been instilled in him since his very birth? Luke 15:11-32. The wayward son who squandered his inheritance but was welcomed back by his forgiving father—Anton had marveled at it when he was young. To think someone would have such boundless grace; such forgiveness for a foolish person…

The oracle. Anton saw the oracle as a gift—a symbol from God. It had been delivered to him when he was young, naive, and careless. 

Anton remembered very little about his childhood. Extremely little. He remembered his mother, his father. But that was it—but oh, how he hated them. Anton did not remember why he hated them, why the portrait of his family had been torn out. He regarded life then, and now, as the beginning of the end.

Something fleeting, something ephemeral. Something tragic. Life was a wonderful tragedy.

People look at me with such endless wonder; such spellbound eyes and widened mouths. They see me as God—they see me as a deity above them all.

And that was true, Anton thought. That was very true. Sinners. Wretched, dirtied, horrid sinners, all of them! Anton despised humankind; they were worthless—made of brittle bones with flesh. He did not even see them as humans. They were just mere vessels in need of salvation.

“Father Anton!”

“Father Anton, would you please help me?”

“Bring me to the path of salvation!

He was anointed by a divine purpose to purify the soiled souls of the world…

Yes, that was his purpose.

It was relieving and calming to have a purpose. To drift in the vast expanse of the world; the universe without a tethering purpose is akin to being a feather in the breath of the wind. Useless, damaging, lonely. Anton could see—it was very easy for him to see who were those who were aimless in life, compared to those who had the bright, bubbly life shining magnificently in their eyes.

Oh, Mother. Anton would stand before her grave. Again, he did not remember much of what he believed was to be a mundane, boring childhood, but his mother’s name left a bitter taste on his tongue, horrid and painful. Somehow, he did not feel a single bit of…remorse, or guilt when he gazed at her tombstone. He expected to feel guilt for something he was quite sure he didn’t do.

But his lips would always curve into a smile when he saw the words etched on the grave. She was dead, he would remember. Dead. Occasionally, snippets of memories would come to him—her shrill voice, her messy, jagged hair, her crazed, crazed eyes. The way her fingernails felt on her skin when she scratched at him wildly.

Clearly, she deserved to die. How did she die, though? What exactly transpired? What kind of person was she, and what kind of person had she tried to make Anton into?

Anton found, to his surprise, that he was bothered about this. Detachment was something he prided himself on: he would never venture too close.

To have attachment with someone would be detrimental. Annoying. Haunting.

There were times—many, many times when Anton had awoken, hollow and void. 

The oracle.

The oracle.

When is it coming? When is it coming? Have the gods lied to me?

The oracle—his lifeline since he was young—was the very proof that this world had a chance, to live on, to heal.

A savior.

There were times Anton would grow impatient. He needed to do something about the state of the world. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? Why did people falter in front of flames? What did people shun away from blood? Was the sight not wonderful, not enchanting? The heat was welcoming—a gentle caress. Those who ventured in, would have their faces bathed in mesmerizing glow. Nevermind their screams, nevermind their bleeding, rotting flesh. 

The fire illuminated the world before it dissolved like nothing. Like it hadn’t existed. 

“Horrible! Horrible! You’re fucking horrible!” Then the stinging of flesh. There was something piping hot, something burning him.

“Why won’t you even flinch, you monster?”

Anton smiled loosely. Another memory. They came into his mind occasionally and quickly. He never pondered over them—it was useless to; for he already had everything he wanted.

The day you came into the world, was the day he felt alive. Waiting had become a bore to him—it was the same routine over and over again, with the same stupid, foolish people—

Something extraordinary had graced his reality. The oracle. You were the chosen one. The chosen one. The chosen one. The one he yearned for; seeked for; the change in the world.

“Dear God,” You had said the first time he saw you. “I confess I have been impure in my holy spiritual presence…”

Anton had seen you before the mural; your head lowered, your words soft and quiet.

Anton had stepped before you, tilting his head to the side as he observed you. In fact, you seemed to be struggling.

“You have to be sincere. You can’t just read off the mural.” Anton sighed.

You seemed to look at him with flickering recognition.

“Forgive me, Father Anton, for I have sinned.” You appeared shocked for the words to even slip past your lips; and oh, you were beautiful. Lovely. Innocent. Anton gazed at you—this was the person he had been waiting for his whole life—fervently, impatiently, silently. 

“You don’t seem to be used to this,” Anton said at last, as he took off his hood. He had not meant to come to church today—he was aware the crowd was growing more stifling, more crazed by the minute. The women of the church reminded him of his mother. There were times he wished he could draw a blade to their throat, and watch the blood spill out in a wonderful crimson.

“I’m afraid it’s been long since my last confession.”

Anton couldn’t help but smile. You were lying. 

“That’s alright,” He said calmly, “you have come now. Is there something in particular that’s troubling you, perhaps? To bring you to confession?”

“I…”

Anton could read human beings exceptionally well. From the way their eyes narrowed, the way their pupils widened marginally, to the gap of their fingers…you were trembling. You were thinking of what other lies you could say.

An adorable fool.

“You…?” He prompted. “You must not feel self conscious in the eyes of God. He already knows, Y/n. He is only waiting for you to confess.”

I am only waiting for you to confess. To tell me that you are from the oracle.

“I cannot even recall it.” You admitted.

You cannot recall it because it is not true.

“What do people come here for, Father Anton?”

Many things.

“The ones who have sinned so awfully they are made to be sacrifices.”

Oh. Sacrifices. Anton did not even—

There were times he would stand before dead bodies, blood in his hand, blinking slowly. When? When had he killed them? It all happened so fast, he wasn’t even aware of the blood staining his clothes, the bodies riddled on the ground.

“You tell me, Y/n.”

“Murder…?”

Anton wanted to laugh. A textbook answer. You had much to learn, didn’t you? It was alright. Anton could teach you. Teach you from ground zero, till you would become who you were supposed to be.

“Mostly, it’s their lack of faith. Rebelling against us. It is their perceived lack of loyalty, and their utter ignorance and disregard for God that leads us to take drastic measures.”

“But that’s…that’s killing isn’t it?”

So pure. So untainted, so innocent. 

The oracle. The person from the oracle. 

“But that doesn’t matter,” Anton said softly, “you show a desire to learn. And that is always very splendid, always welcomed.”

Anton would morph you and turn you into something splendid, divine.

remember to reblog and like! comments are always appreciated

[dreamofbecoming]

ok fuck it context now on ao3

—

“I’m freaking out, man!”

“You’re what? Why? This is like, what you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it?”

“I mean, yeah, dude, but now it’s here, it’s happening, and tomorrow it’ll be done and I can’t take it back!”

“Do you want to take it back? Because I think that’s a terrible idea, but if it’s really what you want, I’ll sneak you out the back right now.”

Dustin deflates a little, slumping into the plush chair this weird little church greenroom was nice enough to provide. “No, I don’t want to leave. Of course I don’t.”

Steve puts his hands on Dustin’s shoulders, not massaging, just resting. He doesn’t want to smear too much of his scent onto him before the ceremony, but old habits die hard. Steve suspects he’s always going to want to scent the kids for comfort, even though they’re literally all grown and starting families of their own and don’t need their old omega babysitter anymore.

Case in point, Dustin’s wedding is meant to start in, oh, looks like about 25 minutes, so Steve has to smooth this crisis over double time.

“What’s really bothering you, Dust? You were over the moon yesterday, and the day before that, and every day since you and Susie proposed to each other. Hell, every day since you met! What’s going on now?”

There’s a pause, which is always unsettling coming from Dustin, who hasn’t shut up for more than twelve consecutive minutes in the decade plus Steve has known him, but then he sighs.

“She wants kids.”

Steve’s brow furrows. “And you…don’t?”

Dustin huffs, frustration rising in his scent. “It’s not that I don’t, it’s that I don’t know if it’s a good idea, you know?”

“And you guys haven’t talked about this before now? You’ve been together for like eleven years, dude!”

“We have, of course we have! I’m just thinking about the risks, Steve! I’m a beta, I can’t carry her pups, and pregnancies are dicey for alpha females! What if something happens?”

“First of all don’t call women females, it’s weird. Erica or Nance will definitely smack you for that, and you don’t need a black eye in your wedding photos.” Dustin nods, cringing a little.

“Second, pregnancy isn’t the only option, man, and also it’s her decision. If she wants to carry them, that’s a discussion you need to have with her, but you can’t just shut her down about it. She knew you were a beta when she decided to marry you. She picked you because she loves you, don’t go deciding for her she’s better off with someone else. And besides, if you decide it doesn’t feel right for both of you, you can talk about adoption, or surrogacy, or…I don’t know what all the options are, but I bet there’s tons! Hell, I’d carry for you guys, if you wanted.”

“You would?” Dustin’s eyes get big and shiny almost immediately, and shit, Steve’s gotta shut this down now. The groom can’t be going out there with red eyes and tear stains, Susie will murder Steve on principle.

But he can’t lie to Dustin. Swore he never would, not when it mattered. “Course I would, man, what’s family for? Aw hell, kid, don’t cry, your mate will run me over with her car if your photos are fucked up because of me.”

“I just- I can’t believe you’d do that for me! You don’t even know if I’ll be any good at it!”

Ah, so that’s what this is really about.

“Of course you’ll be good at it, Henderson. You’d be an incredible dad, any kid would be lucky to have you. I mean, your kids are gonna turn out to be nerd city, but that was always a given.”

Dustin gives him a bitchy little eye roll, which was of course Steve’s aim. He still smells anxious, though.

“How can you be sure, though? It’s not like I have any idea what a dad is supposed to be like, you know? It’s why I kept latching onto older male figures, no offense to you and Eddie.”

Little shit. “You should be so lucky, you little twerp.”

Dustin shoves him away, but he’s grinning now, and his scent is slowly returning to the lemon-bright joy that colors it so often Steve just associates it with Dustin’s base scent at this point, so he’ll take the win.

“You really wanna know how I know you’ll make a great dad, Dustybun?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, today’s supposed to be my day!”

“I’m your best man, I’ll call you whatever I want. Seriously though, I have a story for you.”

“A story, huh? I don’t know, Eddie’s more the storyteller in your relationship…”

“I’m gonna go out there and tell your bride to delay the ceremony because you shat your slacks and need new ones, you menace.”

“Okay, okay!” Dustin laughs. “Tell your story.”

“I was gonna put this in my speech later, but I think you need to hear it now, and honestly it might be more about me than you, and I don’t want to steal the spotlight or anything.”

“Not worried about that, but I’m intrigued.”

“You know how when you’re a kid, you learn how to pick out emotion scents by context clues, from like your family and stuff?”

Dustin lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yes, Steve, I’m aware of one of the foundational tenets of our society, which we all personally experienced.”

“Almost fifteen years I’ve known you, and your attitude hasn’t improved one bit, you know that?”

Dustin waves imperiously for him to continue. Steve glares at him, but they really are running short on time.

“You ever know a kid who had like, a gap? Some feeling they had never run into before, so they didn’t know what the smell meant?” Dustin shakes his head, looking curious.

“There was this girl in my class when we were like, seven? Eight? Something like that. Anyway, she borrowed Tommy’s favorite eraser, one of those animal-shaped ones with the faces printed on? He loved that thing. The girl, Cassie, she broke it, by accident. Tommy lost his shit. I’d never seen him so angry. And like, you know how little kids emotions don’t really come through that strong? He smelled like, grown-up angry. Filled the whole room. Freaked the teacher out, too. Everyone’s backing the hell up out of Tommy’s way, even me. But Cassie was just confused. Because no adult in her life had ever been truly angry around her, so she hadn’t learned what it smelled like yet.”

Dustin is listening avidly, looking gratifyingly similar to how he does when Eddie DMs.

“Anyway, Tommy slapped her so hard it left a bruise, got his dumb ass suspended. But I just remember being so jealous, you know? Can you imagine? Eight years old and never knew what anger smelled like. Hell, at that point anger was just what home smelled like to me.”

Aw shit, now Dustin just smells sad.

“Do you remember when I drove you to the Snow Ball?”

Dustin’s got his thinking face on now, trying to figure out why Steve keeps jumping all over the place. Sue him, he’s no Eddie.

He nods anyway.

“Before you got out of the car, when I told you I’d come back to pick you up, you gave me this huge smile, and the car filled up with something I’d never smelled before. Not really, anyway. Maybe like, in passing, you know? Like in the hallway at school, but always faint and never towards me, so I never focused on it.”

Dustin’s eyebrows are totally scrunched up now, little genius brain whirring away. Goddamn brat never had any patience.

“I didn’t ask about it, because I wasn’t sure it was important, and also a little because I felt like enough of a caveman around you little rocket scientist dweebs I didn’t need you explaining feelings to me too, but I kept smelling it from you after that. And from El, and a little from Lucas and Max and even once from your mom, but it was just confusing, you know? I couldn’t figure out what was causing it, so I had no context clues to figure out what it meant.

“And then at Starcourt, after Robin and I went to go puke up those Russian drugs—”

“Ditched me and Erica who were very responsibly trying to wrangle you, you mean.”

“Tomato, tomahto, kid. Anyway, I told her I had a crush on her and she panicked and came out to me, so I switched to making fun of her crush so she would know I was okay with it, and suddenly there was that smell again. First time I ever smelled it coming from her. So after everything was done, I asked her.”

“Oh, so you’ll ask her, but not me? Hurtful, Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, shithead, because Robbie already knew I was a moron, and she was never gonna want to go out with me, so I didn’t need to impress her. I could look stupid to Rob back then, but I still wanted you guys to think I was cool.”

“Steve, buddy, my brother, my best friend, my favorite jock please don’t tell Lucas I said that, we literally never thought you were cool.”

“Now who’s being hurtful?”

“Just the truth, Munson. I tell it like it is.”

“Ugh, whatever. The point is, I asked Bobbie what she felt for me in that bathroom, and she told me that’s when she realized she would love me forever. That we were going to be best friends.”

Dustin looks stricken.

“That’s what I was smelling all that time. Honey. That’s what I smelled in the car in the Hawkins Middle parking lot. You loved me. You were literally the first person in my whole life who ever did.”

“Steve—”

“This isn’t—look, I know it’s kind of sad and pathetic for kid Steve, but this isn’t about that. It’s not about me, okay? It’s about how my whole life turned around the day Dustin Henderson decided he loved me, because he never stopped. Not for a single second of the last thirteen years, and because you loved me then, I have a platonic soulmate and a horde of little siblings and a mate I adore and more friends than I can count on all my fingers and toes! You’re the one who encouraged me to go to cosmetology school, you’re the one who introduced me to Eddie, you’re the one who stood by me and let me crash on your mom’s couch when my parents kicked me out. My life is full of love, and joy, and purpose, and it all started with you, Dustin. I’m here because you loved me, and because once you started loving me you never stopped. I have smelled honey on you every single day since the 1984 Snow Ball, and that’s how I know you’ll be an incredible father. Because if you have all that love for a washed up ex-jock omega nobody had ever loved before? You’ll have all that and more times a million for any kid lucky enough to call you Dad.”

They’re both crying by now. Susie is gonna kill them for sure, but as Dustin buries himself in Steve’s arms like he’s still six inches shorter, Steve decides it doesn’t matter. This is worth it.

There’s a knock at the door, just in time it seems.

“Dingus, baby Dingus, you in there? T minus 5 minutes, boys, stick those feet in the oven if you gotta!”

“Yeah, Bobs, I hear you! We’ll be out in a sec, no cold feet in sight.”

“Roger that, bubba! I’ll inform the bride!” He can hear her racing off, probably dancing with pre-wedding excitement. For a cynical lesbian who has a new girlfriend every month and swears marriage is an archaic institution built on misogyny and omegaphobia, she sure does love weddings.

���You ready, kid?”

Dustin has taken the brief interlude as an opportunity to splash his face with water from the sink in the corner, so he doesn’t look like he’s been crying to into Steve’s shoulder, but Steve makes sure to straighten his tie and finger comb his curls back into place.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready.” He looks at Steve for a long moment, then throws his arms around him one last time. “I’m really glad you’re my brother, Steve.”

Steve squeezes him tighter for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of lemon and cut grass and honey. Of family. Of love.

“Yeah, kid. Me too.”

[thiolliers-consort]

Varré x bloody finger hunter male reader

Warnings: reader death, hurt comfort, enemies to lovers, paralysis, no beta reader (we die like men), references to other characters (Yura and Eleonora), slightly ooc?

(There’s like one lyric from this song paraphrased into this, but I was listening to this while writing, so it’s a little bit inspired by it)

⟢ when Varré saw you, he had known that you’d be a nuisance. You made it your job to eliminate the agents of Mohg, otherwise known as the Bloody Fingers.

⟢ Varré didn’t consider himself a bloody finger, so anytime you’d come around to do your job, he’d make the excuse that he was “just a poor war surgeon trying to make ends meet”.

⟢ it would spoil your mood and you’d have to force yourself not to kill him right there. He was truly annoying.

⟢ there were many times when he would flirt and you’d be disgusted. Days where you two did fight and ended up tired, laying against the wall of the church, legs brushed together.

⟢ Yura warned you about having relationships with the enemy. You were aware of what happened to him and eleonora. You assured him that nothing would happen between you and Varré. The thought made you sick to your stomach.

⟢ your cycle continued until the one day you weren’t interested in fighting. You were sick with deathroot and needed help, and Varré (unfortunately) had medical experience.

⟢ it hurt to walk to the church. The deathroot had pierced through your leg and was slowly taking away all feeling. Eventually, you had to just give in to the paralysis and sit against a rock.

⟢ you didn’t reach the church completely, but you were far enough where Varré could see you. He walked over to you and immediately began to tease.

“What’s wrong, hm? Can’t you use your legs?” You couldn’t see his face behind the mask, but you can see that shit eating grin just by his eyes. You stared at him, not feeling well enough to talk. You just wanted him to get the hint and help you. “Come now! Use your words.”

“Deathroot.” You stared at him and he stared back. He bent over to pick up your arm and threw it over his neck. He placed a hand on your waist and pulled you up. Slowly but surely, you made it to the church.

⟢ you were going to die. Varré knew this, but he still took care of you. When you asked him about it, he simply said that he wanted to give you false hope before your inevitable death. He wanted to see your hopeless face while you laid on your deathbed.

⟢ it didn’t hurt you since you knew you’d do the same to him.

⟢ everyday you were given Rejuvenating Boluses and soup. The soup was good and had tiny bits of prawn. “Varré must’ve gotten them from the boggart shack guy,” you thought.

⟢ Varré was fast so the death blight was slow. You couldn’t walk, but when you needed to bathe, Varré helped with no issue. The real trouble came when you needed to defecate, but you worked out a system that wouldn’t be intrusive.

⟢ While bathing, Varré made the decision to help you completely. The death blight had made its way to your spine, so you lost movement in some areas of your arms and hands. At first it was intrusive, but you grew to appreciate his presence and his help.

⟢ when you fell asleep, it was with him. You said you preferred it that way so that if you needed anything, he couldn’t pretend not to hear you.

⟢ that made Varré smile.

The sun started to rise and your eyes fluttered open. The first thing you saw was Varré. He never took off his mask or uniform. You could barely move, but you were able to muster enough strength to bring up your hand and remove his head dress. You were careful not to move the mask.

When the piece of cloth was gone, you began to rake your fingers through Varré’s hair. You saw his eyes open, but you didn’t stop. You could only feel his hair on certain parts of your hand, and having the ability to feel someone made you a little overwhelmed.

Varré sat up and helped you into the same position. You both stared at each other in silence. Varré reached behind his head and untied his mask. He was just so human. “I hate you,” you said as you let your top half go slightly limp so you’d land on his chest.

⟢ it was a month since you got infected. You were going to die soon, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

⟢ Varré stopped wearing his mask and his attitude changed. Lots of times, he’d just talk to you. He talked a lot about the past. Not his past or your past, but just the past of the world. These were, for the most part, one sided conversations.

⟢ you think he’s trying to keep your mind off dying.

Death under cut

⟢ this day was harder than the rest. By now your whole body was limp. The only thing you could feel was your lips and mouth. You talked sometimes, but it was hard.

⟢ Varré knew today was the day, and he put you against the wall and sat next to you.

“Are you scared?” You didn’t respond. He could tell you were thinking, so he gave you time to let his question sink in. Eventually, you slightly shook your head “I’m not. I know I survived this long because you cared. I know that you love me, but hope just wasn’t there.” Varré nodded and stared at the empty space that was supposed to be a wall across from them.

Varré glanced at you and saw you eying his hand. He smiled and moved it to your hand. You couldn’t feel it, but you saw it. It was enough to make you smile as you closed your eyes.

+143637 runes

[08melancholie]

Hello! I've read a lot of your works, and I love them,

I was wondering if you could write something that has the reader’s admiration and almost worshipful awe for Micah’s boots(like licking them, being stepped on, etc.) with him also maybe hurting or insulting the reader as well, fully aware of the effect he has. A bit of hair-pulling would also be nice.

Thank you so much!

OOOH i love the filth of this sm 🙏🙏

i like to push the boundaries of my writing and i feel like this type of thing will do it perfectly for me as ive never written anything related to boot worship just yet and i absolutely needed an excuse to try it :) as always, thank you for the ask!

Spurs and Leather. — Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Micah Bell Being an Asshole, Micah Bell Is His Own Warning, Top Micah Bell, Dom/sub Undertones, Hair-pulling, Boot Worship, Sexual Tension, Blow Jobs, Grinding, on the boot... yeah., this fic is making me realise some things about myself, Degradation, Praise-Degradation, Spanking, Overstimulation, Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell

summary: Your knees turn a lighter, bruised color from kneeling on the floors of your tent so long, but his degrading words and harsh manner make you stay put. His boots shimmer at you, making you want more. Worship him like a God, and you might get yourself a small reward this night to go with your colourful bruises and other love marks.

a/n: oh boy this is something to write about.... feel like ill need a long overdue visit to church. EDIT: i finished this four hours before i had to wake up for church. yeah it didnt feel right at all

words: 2,472 | AO3 LINK

Things tend to always escalate with Micah around. Whether jobs and missions or sex, it'll go somewhere you wouldn't expect it to. Likewise for tonight, where he's got you fully nude before him while just watching, still clothed himself. Micah was a man into many different things in bed—spanking, per say. You don't remember which night, so far, left your ass the same color as the rest of your body—mostly always ending a more bruised color from his harsh slaps and blows, always soothed with his rough hand caressing your cheeks.

But you were no saint either; you had your own array of sick fantasies yourself, too.

"Well, 'ya know you want to, sweetheart,"

His words echo in your head, looking up at him on your shared cot from your spot on the ground, kneeling for him. His hand is on the top of your head, first gently running through the many locks of hair on it, before he makes a ponytail with the strands and tugs back slightly. "and I know it too. Get to it, give in." Your hair is let to rest slightly, though his hand doesn't fully release it just yet.

The sliver at the tip of his boot reflects the light of the dim-lit lantern in a corner inside the tent, and you can almost see your own reflection in it, only if they were polished better or washed more often. His hand kneads at your scalp and he sprays his legs a bit more out; closer to you. You know what to do.

Your back arches with you when you lean downwards to his shoes, not daring break eye contact with him. The metal tip is always the cleanest of any other part—thankfully, because of yourself and this usual endeavour. His erection twitches in his trousers when he sees your tongue flatten out over his shoe, licking a quick yet fine stripe on the metal. That flushed, embarrassed and downright humiliated look on your sweet face makes it even harder for him to not bend you over the cot and fuck any other thought out of your head; to leave himself and himself only on your mind, all the time. Oh, how he'd love that. Even if you look embarrassed, he knows your sweetness is a façade; you're loving this. You want to keep doing it, he knows how hot it gets you to treat his boots like a starved man would bread and water. He palms himself through his jeans, watching that hypnotising motion of your tongue painting saliva over his boot. Your focus is on only one of his two shoes, which is simply unfair to Micah. He pokes the tip of the other into your cheek, watching your eyes dart between them with a sinister chuckle. "Give 'em both some of your sweet, sweet love, hun."

From one to the other, the two shoes now share a small string of your saliva. You don't even know if you've blinked since you started treating his boots like so, but you can't even focus on that when you have to try your hardest to keep your eyes on his—and not his throbbing cock, practically pleading against the restraint of his zipped trousers. Micah isn't as cruel to himself as to you, as he groans and reaches for the restraints of his jeans, undoing them slightly sloppily. "Think it's 'bout my turn with that pretty little mouth, huh?" He frees himself out of the restraining material of his pants and shuffles them down more comfortably, not having to order you again yet again as you sit up and place your hands on his thighs, waiting for his little signal to taste the throbbing, precum-leaking shaft just inches from your hungry, almost salivating mouth.

Your little facial expression draws a low chuckle out of him, his cock giving another little throb. "C'mere then, bet you're real hungry." With the permission, you lower your head between his thighs and lick the tip, collecting a hefty amount of the precum dripping out of it. The salty liquid paints your tongue, smearing and helping slicken Micah's member when you lick a stripe up the throbbing body part. He gives you an approving nod, and you take the tip into your mouth, your eye-contact not faltering a single time when his mouth parts with a small pop at the feeling of you swirling your tongue around him. "Teasing me, little whore? Yeah, still haven't learned how bad of an idea that is, have 'ya?" He growls, gripping you by the hair tighter, the line between painful and pleasurable blurring significantly. He pushes you down his cock until you gag, gripping his thighs from the motion. "Oh, don't give me that; you always take me like a cheap street slut so this should be nothing for you, 'ya know?" Some of your saliva drips down your jaw when Micah's hips start thrusting up, his tip tapping lightly against the back of your throat with every push of his hips into your face. You see stars, per usual, gripping onto his thighs to ground yourself enough to not gag all over his cock as it pistons in and out of your mouth, the lower abdomen region repeatedly lightly slapping against your face with each quick thrust.

His pace is relentless and almost bruising, but you don't dare move even an inch—anything could make him stop the fun and leave you unsatisfied, before it's even truly started. You stay stiff in your spot, drooling and humming moans against his dick as he face-fucks you, essentially. You're so pent up yourself that your cunt is practically aching, for anything. And anything you will get.

You gasp and gag once more on Micah from the surprising feeling of a cold sensation suddenly pressing onto your clit, that being the tip of Micah's boot. And he just laughs in response, positioning it under you. "Get to it. Get yourself off on every part of me, fuck." He curses at the thought, biting his lip. "Oh yeah, do it." He repeats, brushing the boot against you again. You move up a bit, from the metal to the leather before you give a quick roll of your hips to test it out. It's rough, but it draws you to moan and for your hips to twitch for more, so you comply.

He continues to fuck your mouth in a bruising pace, all the while muffling your sounds of pleasure as you roll your nub and wet pussy over his boot, drawing yourself closer by the minute. "Fuck yeah, girl. Keep moving them hips, oh God," He rambles breathily, punctuating himself with a thrust into your mouth each few words. He grips your hair harder as time goes on, usually the indication that he's close, and to warn you of it. A few moments pass before you feel his hot cum shoot at the back of your throat and hear him groan, using the tight hold on your hair to push you down fully on his cock as he empties his balls into your mouth, not much caring for the protesting gags of your body—but you don't care either, anyhow. Once he finally lets go of you, you slip him out of your mouth and swallow before clearing your—probably bruised—throat, and starting to move off his boot. That's when he grabs you by the arm.

"Oh, no. You didn't cum, did 'ya?" He asks, using the hold on your arm to perch you back over his boot. "What, 'ya think I'm that cruel, won't let you finish?" He says with a small laugh, leaning back on the bed. "Make yourself cum for me. On my boot, nothing else." He orders, and you're torn between wanting his cock or his boot getting you off. And while you love getting fucked into by Micah's thick shaft, those boots do something to you.

You position yourself over his boot, and Micah takes your wrists into his hand—to make sure you get yourself off only on the oh-so precious leather shoe of his. Heat already builds in your abdomen when you brush your clitoris over the material to get situated on him, and it's even more prominent when you start moving again, grinding your sensitive sex on the leather. With Micah's dick out of your mouth, your moans are much more clear; whining and groaning to punctuate every thrust over his boot, hands and fingers clenching, sometimes digging into his hand holding your wrists and preventing you from touching him or yourself to get your orgasm going.

"That's it, move them hips. These boots will smell like your sweet cunt for weeks, won't even wash them." He rambles on as he watches you, his once-more-hard cock twitching and leaking again, eyeing you with mesmerised eyes as you lean your head back and moan almost pitifully from how your sensitive nub drags across the rough leather beneath itself, pleasure quickly mixing with the small stinging leaving you torn between stopping and giving your poor, bruised clit a break—or getting an orgasm out of yourself. Is your orgasm worth the slight hint of pain? Apparently so.

You speed up your hips just enough to draw yourself to that long-awaited orgasm, leaning forward into his lap as you cum over his boot, a whine leaving your parted lips straight into one of his thighs as you lean over onto him, dragging your orgasm out until you have to stop. Micah has been patting your head, like a dog, since you leaned into his lap, watching your hips twitch as you soak his boot. "Well, ain'tchu a sight.." He murmurs, but as always, you don't get a long enough break to count your stars.

Micah releases your wrists to get you up on the cot, laying you flat on your stomach as he places his hands on your hips, positioning them up slightly. Like the asshole Micah is, he gives a firm slap to your backside, laughing when you yelp and arch your back more. "What, you think I'm done? Come on, I gotta help.. ease yer nerves, after all that." He purrs, punctuating himself with another spank. You groan and your oversensitive pussy twitches, hands gripping the sheets. Micah positions your hips a little higher, and spreads your knees so that you're on display for him, gaining himself a good view of your soaked cunt and ass, which he gladly takes in for a moment before he rubs your clit with his thumb. You let out a pitiful whimper, still not nearly recovered from your high. "Micah, I'm not—" You almost huff out loud when he shushes you and awards the next slap to your cunt, your nub stinging from it as you gasp-whimper at him. He soothes the stringing by resuming the rubbing on your clitoris, brushing two fingers perfectly over it, enough to have your knees get weak and muscles to quiver and tremble under his touch. "Mm, look at that.. already shivering for me, and I've barely touched this pretty cunt." He hums quietly, pinching your clit which has you almost drooling into the sheets under you.

He shuffles onto the bed behind you while pulling and pinching, then slowly rubbing over you, before he stops to flip you over. Micah's met with your flushed, sweaty face and uneven, quickened breathing. "This is your best look, sweetheart—trust me on that." He comments with a small chuckle, before he leans down between your now-parted thighs. Your head rolls back when he instantly and roughly sucks on your bundle of nerves. You gasp and moan, arching off the bed as Micah places both hands on your inner thighs to keep them open, stopping your weak attempt at clasping them closed on him. His tongue runs a fine stripe between your labia's, drinking up the aftermath of your previous orgasm as your muscles spasm with every inch of your sensitive cunt his tongue covers. Your hands grasp at his hair, unsure if you want to push his head in closer or away to give yourself a break. Either way, Micah's head doesn't move an inch, devouring your pussy like his life depends on it. Your back isn't even on the cot anymore, it's hovering over the sheets as your moans become even more incoherent, gasping and heaving as you twitch your hips up into Micah's face, the overstimulation causing tears to form in the corners of your eyes. Like shit, you might be meeting God if he continues eating you out like this.

Micah isn't letting up for even a moment, his tongue drags between your lips, circles your clit or fucks into your entrance, as you sob and mewl under him desperately, slowly seeing stars again as your second orgasm quickly approaches, causing your legs to soon practically give out on you. Clearly, this doesn't bother Micah one bit—as he holds you up to his mouth to continue eating you out. You've been reduced to a whimpering mess by now, the tears in your eyes rolling down one cheek from the stimulation, and Micah's determined to get you to cum a second time.

He keeps one hand open on your inner thigh, the other snaking around to knead at your ass as he sucks on your clit hard, raising the volume of your moans to a whole new volume. You're practically howling at this point, and he's still not even tempted to let up.

It doesn't take him too long to finally draw that blissful second orgasm out of you, your legs spasming as you squirt and arch off the bed completely again. Micah fucks you through the orgasm, tongue delving between your walls as if drinking out of your pussy, collecting every drop your orgasm is offering him. He finally lets you rest after your eyes roll back slightly, and he sees you're finally too exhausted to continue. He kisses your mound before parting from between your soaked legs, and the damp sheets underneath you. He almost laughs at the sight of you so out of it, proud to know it's him getting you so foggy-brained. "That's my girl, always lettin' 'ol Micah get what he wants outta 'ya. Good fuckin' lady." He praises as he stands up to get a clean rag for the two of you, coming back and first wiping you down. "Need somethin'? Water, or.. think I got some crackers in 'ere somewhere." You thank him and he gets up to grab you the items, all the while collecting your clothes and tucking himself away, uncaring of the new erection in his pants.

This man can drive you insane, but damn—can he also make you see stars.

Kudos on AO3 heavily appreciated!!! This fic has been put off for a very long time because I was scared of writing boot worship, as I've literally never done it before, but I think I did fine! Do tell me what you think anyhow <3 Thank you for the request, anon!

[ghuleh-witch]

Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explicit Warnings: none for this chapter Relationships: Cardinal Copia x Female!Reader Additional Tags: one-sided enemies to lovers, eventual smut, dom!Copia, AU, witchcraft, no beta Chapter Word Count: 2137 Summary: After it's discovered you are a witch, you seek refuge at a satanic church. The strange Cardinal that let you inside didn't seem to like you even though you had no idea why. One thing you did know though, you wanted him to like you. Ao3 || Masterlist Chapters: 1/?

Chapter One

It was pouring as you ran through the inky moonless night. Your dress hem was clutched in your hand as you ran, boots pounding through wet leaves. You could hear the hoofbeats gaining on you, your only salvation being the difficult task of navigating through the trees. Your lungs burned as you leaped over a fallen log. Resting wasn’t an option if you wanted to live.

And you really wanted to live.

In the distance, you could see the glow of warm lights coming through windows. The small cathedral you were aiming for was just ahead. You’d be safe there, you were told. As you burst onto the grounds of the church, you let out a cry of relief. Just a little bit more to go.

“She’s going to the devil's church!” One of your pursuers yelled. “Get her before they let her in!” 

You willed your legs to run faster, the hood of your cloak finally falling from your head, giving away your identity. You frantically pounded on the wood when you reached the massive oak doors. “Please! Please help! Please let me in!” You cried out as you looked over your shoulder. Four men on horseback holding torches were getting closer. 

“Goddess, please don’t let me die,” you prayed, and as though your deity were listening, the doors swung open, and you were falling inside. You heard the horses' neighs and cries as their riders pulled them to a halt, and your hands made contact with the stone floor. You groaned as the doors began to close and thump shut. 

You push yourself up onto your knees and look around. The atrium of the cathedral was large. The ceiling high above you seemed to disappear into the darkness, the light of the candles not reaching the top. Despite the coolness of the air outside and the stone enclosure, it was actually very warm and inviting. You then looked at the figure in front of you. There were two; a man and someone you thought might be a man, but you couldn’t tell. They could have been a demon with their black attire and silver horned mask. The man, though, was dressed in a black cassock and beret with the shape of a bat wing on top. He had a prominent nose and mismatched eyes, one green and one white, surrounded by black paint. A thin mustache sat neatly trimmed above his black-painted upper lip. He wasn’t what was considered conventionally attractive by society’s standards, but you thought he was quite handsome. He was looking down at you with a mix of curiosity, apprehension, and distrust.

“Welcome to the Ministry of the Unholy Ghost,” he said with an accented voice. “Normally, we’d have some formal introductions, but you were banging on the door for help, so I have to ask, who are you?” 

You gave your name as you got to your feet and smoothed your dress out. “Thank you for letting me in. Someone told me this was a place I could take refuge.”

“I suppose it depends on why you need refuge,” the man said, his eyes roaming over you with scrutiny. 

“I’m a witch,” she said. “I was outed by a man I thought I could trust after I refused to have sex with him. The witch hunters were sent after me, and if they catch me, I will be burned at the stake.”

“And why didn’t you go to your coven for help?” The man questioned.

“I couldn’t risk exposing them as well,” you said. “One of them told me of this place and said you’d shelter me.”

The man looked over you with an assessing gaze, as though he were trying to decide if you were telling the truth or not. You shifted almost nervously.

“We will shelter you,” he said after a moment. “I am Cardinal Copia. You may call me by that or just Cardinal, and this is Aether.” He gestured to the strange masked figure next to him. “Welcome to the Ministry.”

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“Come on,” Copia said. “Let’s get you warmed up, and I’ll have the kitchens bring you something to eat while I speak with our head of the Clergy. We’ll need to ask you some questions and find you a place to sleep.” 

You nodded, your mind racing with a thousand questions as Copia beckoned you to follow him. He led you down a hall to an empty dining hall with a fire blazing in the hearth to warm it and candles hanging from a wrought iron chandelier to give it light. He gestured for you to sit. “I’ll have a ghoul bring you something, otherwise I will return in a moment.”

You nodded again, sitting down on a long bench at one of the two wooden tables as Copia turned his back to you and walked out of the dining hall. A minute later another silver masked figure was walking into the hall with a tray in their hands. They sat the tray down in front of you, and the aroma of stew wafted up to your nose. 

“Thank you,” you said before dipping a hunk of bread into the stew and savoring the hearty flavor. The figure poured you a glass of water before nodding in acknowledgment and leaving. As you ate, your eyes flicked over to Aether who was standing near the fireplace watching you. She shivered in unease, not sensing a single sliver of humanness in them. Demons, definitely demons, you thought as you continued to eat the stew. You were surprised. It was a satanic church after all. They were known for their pact with demons. You had even met a few witches who worked with demons in their craft. It wasn’t something you ever explored. You much preferred to work with your goddess, Hecate, and the spirits of the natural world around you. 

Just as you finished the stew, the cardinal returned, and this time he was with a man and an older woman. The man had black hair and the same mismatched eye color and shape as Copia. You assumed they were related somehow. His eyes were also surrounded by black paint as well as his upper lip. He wore black pants and a black button-down shirt and walked with a swagger that said he was the leader.

But you knew he wasn’t.

No, it was the woman who was the leader. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, and she had the same green eyes and nose as Copia. She wore dark-colored robes, and she held herself with grace and confidence. Her presence radiated power, and you knew this wasn’t someone to cross.

Copia said your name and gestured to the two new people. “Sister Imperator, head of the clergy, and Papa Emeritus the third, the current figurehead of the church.” 

“Please, call me Terzo,” the other man said. 

“The cardinal said you have come seeking refuge?” Sister Imperator questioned as she looked you over. 

“Yes,” you answered, pushing your dishes to the side. “I was outed as a witch and am being hunted by the witch hunters.” 

“And you didn’t want to expose more of your coven by going to them for help,” Sister Imperator assumed.

“Yes.”

“What kind of witch are you?”

“Eclectic,” you answered. “I practice with what resonates with me and what I’m drawn to and worship a singular deity, Hecate, the goddess of witchcraft and magic.”

“And you’re a real witch? Not one of those who travel town to town claim to predict the future and sell fake love potions?”

You knew the type of people she was talking about. You’ve seen those women come to your village calling themselves healers and tricking innocent people into giving up their hard-earned coin for fake remedies. You cupped your hands in front of you and reached down into yourself for a tiny kernel of magic, envisioning what you wanted them to see. A ball of purple flames formed in your hands. It was warm and pleasant, but if wielded with foul intentions, it would be deadly. You closed your fingers around the flames and disappeared as though they were never there. Sister Imperator looked satisfied. Over her shoulder, you caught sight of Terzo and Copia. Terzo looked impressed and Copia looked bored, like he had seen it all before. 

“Very well,” Sister Imperator said. “You may stay as long as you want, but in exchange for sheltering you, I want you to work with the Cardinal and come up with a way to bolster the protections of this place. We don’t have any actual witches within the Ministry at this time and with the locals becoming restless with our presence here, we need to make sure this place remains untouched by those who mean us harm.”

“That sounds fair,” you agreed. You didn’t expect to stay there without having to pull your own weight. 

“Excellent,” Sister Imperator smiled, clapping her hands together. “Very well. We have an empty room you may use and we’ll have a ghoul get your measurements so we can get you some clothes.” 

“Thank you,” you responded. 

“If you’re done eating, the cardinal will show you to your room.”

You nodded and without another word, Sister Imperator walked out of the dining hall with purpose in her step. You looked from the door to the two men in front of you.

“So, you’re a witch?” Terzo questioned. “Haven’t had one of you crawling to our doorstep before. I thought you all could take care of yourselves?”

“We can. I just trusted the wrong person,” you respond.

“Shame,” he said. “That person was an idiot then. Don’t worry, we’re trustworthy here…well mostly.”

You saw Copia roll his eyes and bit back a laugh. “Yes, he was an idiot,” you said as a wave of exhaustion hit you now that you were warm, fed, and no longer running for your life. “I think I’d like to go to bed now.”

“If you will follow me,” Copia said, making his way toward the entrance of the dining hall.

You got up and followed after him, trying to keep pace with him. “Thank you again,” you said as you drew up next to him. “I appreciate it.”

He said nothing as he led you down the hall and then up a set of stone stairs. He led you to a door at the very end of the corridor lit by candles. He opened the door to a dark room. “This will be yours. There is a shared bathing chamber two doors down. You will share it with the other women on this wing,” he said, stepping aside. “Meals are at eight, twelve, and six. Quiet hours are from ten at night to seven in the morning. In the morning, one of the female ghouls will come find you and fit you with clothes.”

You nod. “Thank you,” you said again despite his seemingly clipped tone. You were starting to get the feeling that he didn’t like you, and you couldn’t figure out why. “Sister Imperator said we’re to work together? When should we meet?”

“I will let you know,” he said, stepping back from her. “Until then, good night.” He turned, cassock swishing as he walked back down the corridor.

You watched him disappear around a corner before stepping into the dark room. With a speck of magic, you produced the purple ball of flames again to light your way. You saw a bed, a chest of drawers with handles atop it, and a vanity with a wash bowl with floral patterns. The large window overlooked the forest you had come from only an hour before. The room was surprisingly large, and you made a mental note to ask if you would be allowed to set up an altar in your room. You lit the candles on the dress with a spell, flooding the room with a warm glow. You were pleased to find bedding already on the bed and fresh water in the pitcher by the wash bowl. There were also clean towels in the top drawer of the dresser. 

You stripped out of your dress and hung it over the footboard of the bed. In just your cotton chemise, you pulled back the covers and slid in between the cool sheets. You already missed your coven sisters and wondered if they were all safe. Your mind then turned to the strange Cardinal that allowed you entry into the church. You raked your mind, searching for something you said or did that might have offended Copia. For some reason, he just didn’t seem to like you. Any other time that wouldn’t have bothered you. You didn’t need a strange man to like you, even though you wanted him to...

[andromedaexists]

Meet The Project: Desecrate

Today's @creators-club post is an introduction to what we're going to be focusing on this week, and to no one's surprise that's Desecrate!

I haven't done an Intro post update for Desecrate in a while (Here's the post I currently have), so why not do a new little meet the project for it?

GENRE

Fiction - Dark Fantasy / Dark Academia

STATUS

Re-drafting! I've got about 14k done in this new draft with the plan to finish this one and start another round of Beta reads by the end of the year! Desecrate is already up on GoodReads if you want to keep tabs on it there!

AESTHETIC / TROPES

Religious trauma, Religion in general, queer characters, questioning faith, dream shenaniganery, reading a lot of ancient texts, complaining about college classes, Queer Platonic Partners & Found family in general

This book heavily criticizes the Roman Catholic Church and deals with Catholic Guilt and Religious Trauma 

SUMMARY

What would you do if everything you knew about your faith was flipped on its head?

That's what Kit has been trying to find out. After dropping out of Seminary and giving up on his life's dream of being a priest, he has to piece together the shattered remains of his faith.

But what if those pieces fit together in ways they never have before? What if they reveal a secret that the church has been hiding for millennia? What will he do then?

Adonai's been held in captivity for longer than They can recall. They don't remember what the sun feels like on Their skin, what the wind feels like in Their hair. It's a shame, one of Their only regrets was not fighting back that day.

Their time will come. The Messiah walks among the living once again, and They know that he will free them. Until that day, They will remain patient.

MAIN CHARACTERS

Christian "Kit" Michaels (he/him) - the main character who’s POV we get. Just your everyday guy. Is a Classics student after dropping out of Seminary, does the church thing, lives his life to the best of his ability. Prone to some weird ass dreams

Adonai (he/they) - the subject of Kit’s dreams. They’re… not having a good time at the moment. Or really just ever.

Father Isaac (he/him) - A Priest of the Diocese that Kit goes to. One of the first people Kit goes to after his dreams start. A great confidant, even if he is bound by his faith.

Sister Benedictine (she/her) - Who doesn’t love a nun?? Some of the best people imo. Benny is one of the first people Kit goes to and is ride or die for her pathetic man (they are queer platonic partners, after all)

TAGLIST

@lockejhaven @mr-writes @eleanordaze @flowerprose

@starlitpage @dogmomwrites @annetilney @ceph-the-ghost-writer

@inkspellangel @outpost51 @love-whatit-loves @bebewrites

@smol-feralgremlin

Please fill out this form to be added or ask to be removed!

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

AGENT TEXAS (RED VS BLUE)

1.) okay so tex is an ai based on the memories this one dickhead dude has of his dead wife, allison. there's also an ai based on the dickhead dude himself, his name's church. all the stuff with the ai's and the different versions of her is kind of confusing to explain but she sort of dies twice- first sacrificing herself for something that has very little narrative weight, and being absorbed into a kind of . monstrous mesh of other ai's (including the original church ai) that then is erased, with basically no mention of tex, it's all about church's death.

then, there's another version of both church and tex born from the original church ai's memories (epsilon-tex and epsilon-church). epsilon-church's arc is basically about learning to move on from his past and let go of tex, because he's kind of obsessed with her and it's preventing him from progressing. so, epsilon-church 'forgets' tex, deleting her for good. tl;dr she dies, again, basically entirely for church's development.

when i was a kid super into rvb i was always really disinterested in tex and looking back it's because er story just.. isn't resolved satisfyingly at all. basically all of her story is hitched so tightly to church's story and development that tex barely gets room to be more than a memory of the director's dead wife- she never gets to move past the circumstances that created her and become her own person entirely divorced from the director or from church- allison died and we never knew anything about her besides that the director god sad about it. beta-tex died unceremoniously and without mention. epsilon-tex died for church's character growth.

quoting church's own words from the show: ""She died in her real life, and that's all the Director ever remembered of her. So now, no matter how tough she is, no matter how hard she fights, she's always going to fail, because that's what she's based on. No matter what she's doing, or what she's trying to accomplish, just when her goal is within her reach, it gets yanked away. Every. Single. Time." and she just never… actually overcomes this. she just dies.

and quoting now-inactive tumblr user epsilontucker from 2015 who put it better than i could: "Tex’s whole life was spent fighting for agency. Freedom from what Omega wanted her to be (O’Malley), what the Director wanted her to be (Allison), what Church wanted her to be (his). Epsilon-Tex wanted to know who she was and why she was and she wanted to dismantle everything Church ever built. Especially because he built it for her.

And this character arc about freedom and agency, about a chance to define herself on her own terms, is resolved by… Church deciding to delete her.

Because everybody always seems to know what’s best for Tex."

this is also to say nothing of the treatment of her character on just, like, an episode-to-episode basis. rvb has a big problem with basically treating "bitch" as a personality trait for female characters, and tex gets some of the worst of it. if you made a drinking game of how often tex gets called a bitch, or a huge bitch, you'd die of alcohol poisoning. also at one point andy the bomb makes a bunch of transmisogynistic jokes at her because she's suppsoedly mannish (she's not masculine or feminine really everybody in this show is a multicolor master chief. she's just good at fighting) and then calls her a dyke. the end

2.) Some background (spoilers): Tex is introduced as a badass mercenary from Project Freelancer, and the ex girlfriend of Church, the main character of the show. It is eventually revealed she and Church are both Aritifical Intelligence programs; Church is an AI copy of the Director of Project Freelancer, and Tex is a copy of the Director's late wife.

Firstly she is straightforwardly the victim of misogynistic "jokes" for the first several seasons. She is called misogynistic slurs, shamed for sleeping with other men besides Church, she cannot work the entertainment stand at the base bc she's female, called lesbophobic and transmysogonistic slurs bc she is a competent soldier, and blackmails another female character out of jealousy bc she is the only other girl in the group.

Even when these jokes go away, and the show transitions from comedy to drama, her writing revolves around the male characters around her. Because she is the personification of the memory of the Director's dead wife, and his perceieved failure to save her, she explicitly, in the text, will always fail at what she sets out to accomplish no matter how strong she is. She wishes to be free of the cycle of being resurrected bc Church can't live without her only to fail and die again, but lacks the agency to end it without Church. Church's arc about learning to let her go ends not with her being free to exist as her own person without him, but with him forgetting her. Since she IS his memory, this ERASES HER FROM EXISTENCE. She literally cannot exist without this guy.

This would all be easier to swallow if she wasn't the ONLY prominent female main character for 8 whole seasons. It's a beautiful story about how grief can fester into anger and a need for control, and how that pushes away the people you love, but it's a story entirely centered around Church's development, in which she is a prop that stops existing when the story is over. I love her but she deserved so much better than she got.

3.) girlboss

KAMALA KHAN (MARVEL COMICS) (CW: Racism)

1.) One of the most prominent brown women in all of comics, beloved by the fan base. Recently killed in a PETER PARKER SPIDERMAN COMIC (despite being much closer with Miles Morales and having basically no relationship with Peter) in what's probably the name of MCU synergy, which nobody wanted (she'll probably be resurrected as a mutant, erasing her unique and interesting history as an Inhuman). She was using her shapeshifting powers again despite having stopped in her solo as she got more confident in her own skin and identity as a Pakistani American girl, died disguised as the very white Mary Jane as a fake out/last minute replacement for killing off MJ. I fucking hate it here. A cheap trick to drive sales. L + Misogyny + racism + are you fucking kidding me

[ragequeen94]

DAUGHTERS OF MAN

Copia is faced with the fact that he is all out of siblings and hadn't made much of an effort to further the bloodline that has lead the Church for so long. Pulled between his duty, desire, and awkwardness... just because he is Papa doesn't mean he isn't in danger...

PapaCopiaxoc

Probably more warning along the way. Will eventually be on A03 when chapters are long enough. This is just the beta version. Gotta start somewhere.

MDNI

THIS GONNA GET MESSY.

Dead dove.

PART 1

No beta, no idea what I'm doing. We die like men.

Please... someone be weird with me about Ghost.

Copia had felt prepared when he had been made Papa. He knew he was in line, though he hadn't realized how close he actually had been until he was suddenly (and rather unceremoniously) bowing his head to Papa Nihil and was sworn in as Papa. Now the skin on his face seemed to be permanently stained from the black and white skull paint, his naked faced reflection a stranger when he looked in the mirror. The lines and freckles of his face he had once known were hard to recall... Papa was who he was now. And while he did get long breaks where he was able to regrasp who he was and remind himself of the man he had been before he felt as if the man he had been as cardinal copia... or even before that had been lost. Little pieces of him broken off and lost along the way.

It was a sacrifice he would make over and over again, but it still left an ache in his chest.

He only took orders from some very specific people now, those who heald no documented rank. Advisors in name, in action were more like puppeteers, trying to keep Copia on their strings, to dance to their songs. He followed the same crooked path as his brothers before him. Papa Emeritus iii memory as Papa still so fresh he would still come upon documents delivered to his name, remnants of the life he had been living in the same rooms Copia now occupied.

But he had made it further. He wasn't sure what he had done right, he just acted as he felt he should but what ever it was seemed to please the Clergy. He acknowledged his success was made easier because of his brothers. They had blazed a trail that he was able to walk un interrupted. He pitied the three who had come before him, Primo had had no one to aspire too besides their father, who hadn't been much of an inspiration in his years alive. Death had made him more of a father to Copia.

It was easy to forget when he was on stage. Easy to forget the dangerous world he commanded, easy to forget the darkness that was ever present. Easy to let himself be taken by the crowd and their screams, their praise. Perhaps that is what had cause the end of his brother's in the end. Secondo had been bitter at the end... broken and angry, and he had taken it out on the world. Copia had remembered when the Papalcy had passed from Secondo to Terzo... the seconds rage and heartbreak... but his relief. Now Copia wondered if he had been afraid for his younger brother... the older three had always been so close.

They had been raised together, had gone through school and life together, all while Copia sprinted to keep up. But his awkwardness and youth had set him apart. Always a rank too low, always a little bit too late, to far away...

The Ministry was filled with siblings. Accidental incest was a real issue amongst the lower level sisters and brothers. An accidental romp with someone in the same gene pool was a relatable mistake to be laughed off but not pursued. Luckily Copia had no sisters... that he knew of. Which had made the group of men formidable, the main idea being as long as they didn't fuck eachother there was enough to go around, but there had been... rumors. Copia shuddered at the concept of how many possible nieces and nephews he may be unknowingly passing in the halls. The anxiety of it all was enough to almost keep him away from women all together. His fathers genetic promiscuity haunting him every time he glanced at a attractive Sibling of Sin.

But there were... expectations of a Papa. New ones seemed to appear every day. Ones that he was sure he would have heard about from his brothers... so he was a little concerned why such things were being asked of him. Currently he heald a memo in his hands that to be honest was a little bit too poetic in it's speech for his comfort...

Papa Emeritus IV,

     Long has the bloodline of our dark father and lord been unbroken, strong are the hands of the king below that guides us. Strong must the bloodline continue. Seed must be planted and sewn, be fruitful in the honor of our monstrous king. The blood of the womb beckons, it must be obeyed, as are the wished of the one below.

 

It wasn't signed. Which ment it was from someone who he had in no interest in meeting. He had accepted the letter from a ghoul who had smelled like rotten meat and looked even less delectable. He had no desire to investigate further. He knew what was being demanded of him. The clergy were growing nervous with his lack of progeny... demands were being made not for the first time for him to sire children. Torn between his duty and desire to be a better father... which would require much work on his part... tore him in two.

And unfortunately it wasn't as simple as just getting a woman pregnant. That he was sure he would do if he ever tried... he would be wed to her in black mass until their line had been secured.

And there was a lot of politics in the Ministry. Different sects scrambled to climb the ladder, to offer their most fruitful of vessels to him and hope it secured them favor with the Vicar of Lucifer.

Copia had been the Vicar of Lucifer for years now and had yet to take confession from the guy so he wasn't sure what he would do about getting others in the dark ones good graces, but he'd let them try. The lower sects always had better luck communing with the lower level hierarchy of hell. Any normal day of the week you would walk past one of the various dark ones court. For fucks sake The Whore of Babylon, aka the false prophet aka Babs had her own room in the dungeons.

Before he had been moved up higher in the ranks, when he had been a young man he had always belonged to the line of the true Satan, Lucifer. The same sect his father and father before that had belonged to too, but his mother had come from a small group in their church that sanctified Death himself. They were a gloomy and rather boring lot, Copia wasn't a fan of their lack of enthusiasm.

He was to meet later with some of the ministry to discuss his prospects and requirements for the future of the church. He fought to keep this one event from consuming all aspects of his life. He had more impending things to deal with than just look for a place to put his cock cause Lucifer wanted him too.

He had a pile of books that were unread. He hadn't touched his NES in the last month and he needed the calm it brought him. He wanted to learn how to make gnocchi from scratch... maybe start making taxidermy insects....

Lots of important tasks.

Papa Emeritus the Fourth took a deep breath and took a look around the room he was in, his office. He made sure no soul or ghoul was hiding in the shadows before he let out a shuddering sob.

---------

"Good afternoon Papa!"

"Hello Papa!"

"You look handsome Papa."

"Your ass looks good in those pants, Papa."

"Good day, nice weather, Papa."

Copia walked down the halls, his lifted loafers clicking on the stone flooring of the monastery. The sun shone much too brightly through the windows on his right, it made him squint, no doubt making him look serious and powerful. It made him feel nauseous. He really wanted to go to dinner, but that wasn't for a few hours yet... his mind wondered to the possible meal choices for the night in the church kitchens and if he would want to send a ghoul to pick up something from the Italian place down the road...

He got to the meeting room door too quickly. He had just heard a tune being hummed by a sister walking by, and wanted to ask her where it had come from, maybe he could use it for a song. He tried to commit it to memory.

Bum budum bumbumbun dunnnn

Or was is bum dun dudududnnn bum.... shit.

He turned to call after the sister at the same time the door opened and Soltarian stood in the doorway.

"You are late." The grumpy man cocked a brow at the Anti pope.

Copia jumped a little, wincing and grinning like a guilty dog. He gave a little wave, even though he was 2 feet away from the man, he peered around him to see who else was seated at the table. "Hello..."

"Hello Papa." The room replied. Copia slipped past Saltarian and into the room, headed to his overly ostentatious chair. He liked the drama... but sometimes he just wanted to sit. Everything he dropped his ass on didn't have to be a historical and culturally significant throne.

"Papa, welcome." One of the mother superiors chirped, she had a red veil over her face that obscured her eyes, heavy black make up covered her lips and neck. He knew a Daughter of Man when he saw one...

If she was here he knew he wasn't going to escape the conversation of succession. Apparently he was about to get The Talk in probably the worst way.

The ghost of his father appeared, he strolled over to the table and stood near where Sister Imperator sat at the foot of the table, opposite Copia at the head. Copia knew not to acknowledge the spector... few could actually see him.

"C, we have something we need to discuss." Imperator always addressed him with the childish nickname, he was shocked she didn't still call him "Little Cardi". She had been fond of the taught. She had only said if affectionately in her own way, but his brothers had used it to remind him of his low rank. Terzo had been the worst. Copia would stand on his tip toes and look around, looking over his shorter brothers head and call out 'Who is there? I can't see you?'

Terzo would usually punch him in the balls. But it was worth it.

"I read the summons, Imperator." Copias leg was shaking under the table. "I'm too take a bride. I agreed long ago..." He looked around the table at the faces as they frowned.

"Not... quite. Your eminence." A different woman spoke, Copia could see she wore a signifying patch on her habit but she sat to far away for his old eyes to make it out. She worshipped in the house of Mammon perhaps? "There has been much discussion at the concern of a single bloodline..."

"You are one of four brothers, Papa, it is significant. Strength with numbers." The Mother Superior of the Daughters of Man spoke. Satanas he wondered if there was a shorter name for her...

"C, it had been decided that while you will still be wed in the traditional way to a sister of one of the sects, as has been done for millenia, too secure the bloodline for the next generation of Papas. You will be tasked to sire multiple ofspring from other worthy sisters. The progeny to be raised in honor of our lord. It is the hope that through this system we will achieve greatness outside the walls. Bred not to rule the church you understand." Imperator smiled. She looked so pleased with her self. Copia frowned. Not really predicting that this meeting would be about him fathering the next president of the United states. But that seemed to be what they were planning.

"This is a far step from tradition."

"Tradition had failed to bring us success. The Ghost Project had done more for the dark lord than building any church or after school program. It is time we build on this concept, Papa. It is the will of the one below."

Copia snorted. Would be nice of 'the one below' spoke to him for once. It was kinda the whole point of him. Wasn't he meant to be the voice of the dark lord on earth?

"I don't see why he's complaining. It seems like a good idea! My idea!" The ghost of Nihil complained crossing his arms over his chest. "He is my son, he should have no problem siring children. I did it just fine."

Imperators eye twitched, but she didn't acknowledge the spector. Copia glares at Nihil. Wishing he could kick him in the crusty ball sack that had shot him into his mother. Copias conception was the only thing Nihil had done that Copia agreed with.

Imperator waved her hands to the other people at the table. "C, these are the people who are going to guide you on your journey. Steps have been take to ensure the strongest of blood lines, you will have your choice of bride, it has been too long since a Prime Mover has walked these halls. The position of Papa always takes to so much... attention from its keeper."

Copia didn't miss that his mother was accusing him and everyone before him to hold the name of Papa of being a slut. She guessed she was kind of right... but Copia was not. Not that there was anything wrong with it... he just hadn't quite gotten around to it. Or figuring out the basics of how to get passed introduction. He was a socially awkward man, and rarely kept his feet still on the ground when he wasn't in a rehearsed and controlled environment.

Copia was still a virgin.

In a church of the sexually deviant and open.

They were talking about the ceremony of Lupercalia... about all of the other ceremonies. Copia didn't really have the emotional energy for ceremonies. They were boring.

"Papa..." One of the women at the table spoke, she was definitely a mother of the sect of Mammon. "We have been chosen as the sects with the best prospects for procreation. All are willing and fertile, it our great honor to present them to you. In the ceremony,  Sexus ausque ad Mortem, we hope they will your recieve your holy seed pleasurably."

Copia flinched. A little weirded out that his cock was starting to twitch. He couldn't help it... there was a lot of talk about sex right now. He was thinking about it. I mean... it was weird sex talk and his mom and dad were looking at him. But he was an adult man in his prime! They should be proud he could even get it up!

A black folder was handed to him. He didn't open it. "These are the women that have been chosen. Six sects in total. They have been physically vetted and confirmed fertile and open for breeding. They will make good sons and daughters." One of the men at the table spoke up, he wore a the collar of a Padre, head of the sect of Abbadon.

The Mother Superior of the Daughters of Man spoke up, she was the seventh person at the table he didn't know. It would be she that controlled the reproductive ceremonies... that was what the Daughters of Man did. Copia was nervous around the members of the little sex cult... you never could tell which was normal sister and which was an actual succubus. Copia didn't want his soul ripped out through his cock... no thank you. Terzo might have... even Secondo... but Copia didn't want to have to make the trip to hell to get it back just for an orgasm. No thank you.

Copia fiddled with the paper file. He wants to look, he was curious... but now wasn't the time.

"Are there rules about who I choose as Prime Mover?" He questioned the table. It was appropriate, this was all new.

"That will be up to your will Papa. You will have to pick sooner rather than later, the others will need a leader."

Copia didn't like this one bit. He didn't want to... he didn't want to get six different women he didn't know pregnant. He didn't want children raised by the church to become ambassadors and senators... he didn't want to marry a women he didn't know... he didn't want to do any of it. Suddenly he was on his feet. He didn't even know he was standing, he was glad of his papal robes, they hid his rock hard cock that had him so flustered. He gripped the folder tightly.

"My thanks to you. My congregation and your dedication to our lord below and the future generations of our faith... ", Copia was used to bullshiting these kind of mini speeches at this point. He could write a sermon about french toast if he wanted to and know one would think it weird, "you have brought me much to pray on. I will consult with our dark father. Ut Supra."

The other scrambled to stand with him, chanting in reply. "Sic Infra."

Copia didn't even see what they did next. He ran from the room, in a panic. He took the halls in long strides, panting by the time he got back to his private room. He threw the black folder onto his desk and tore open the mini wine fridge. He pulled open the red he had enjoyed the night before and ripped the cork out with his teeth, drinking straight from the neck. It was cold and sweet, it made his nose tingle a little. It was not how one should enjoy a good wine but he didn't care. He had more. Lots more. He took another swig and put the bottle down on the counter top of the en suite kitchenette. He needed to get out of these robes. They were suffocating him.

He was naked by the time he got to his bedroom. The lavish silks and satin left in a trail behind him. He dug around in his closet for something comfortable and non religious. But his aggravated cock kept getting in the way. It bounced around and hit his thigh, he smacked it on a open drawer at one point when he was trying to fine some slippers. He was over whelmed. Copia groaned in defeat. Tugging on a pair of gray sweats and dirty socks he peaked into the living area, the black folder sitting still on the desk next to the sweating bottle of wine. He waddled over to the folder... like it might turn wild and bite him. He was vulnerable right now. The dripping head of his cock poking out of the band of his pants.

He gripped the wine bottle by the neck and took another drink as he stared at the folder. He flipped open the top with one finger and then physically jumped back, hiding behind his desk throne. He muttered to himself, feeling stupid. It was just a profile folder...

"Figlio di puttana..." Copia cursed, slipping into his native language. The folder wasn't filled with informative profiles... it was porn. There wasn't a better word for it. He collapsed into the desk throne. There was actually information written down about the women. Which sect they belonged too, their achievements, age, zodiacs... body measurements. He wasn't a fan of that.

But the printed images were too much

He didn't know what was wrong with a simple selfie or tasteful photo, these women were all in various states of the throws of passion. Or at least they appeared to be...

He picked up the top bundle of images. A black haired woman with a thin figure and brown eyes. She had a tattoo of a dolphin jumping over an island on her hip bone. She looked annoyed but the photo, even though she was rude, groping her own breast, her hand hidden between her legs from the angle of the photo but her public hair had been totally shaved. Her legs were long and thin. Copia thought she had a beautiful mouth.

Her name was Sister Cimeterium, or Molly, she was a cancer and like vactions in sunny places and pop music. She was taller than him. She belonged to the Domus Mortis, the same sect as his mother had come from.

Copia groaned. This was going to be impossible. Six women, these were all... people. Real people with lives and interests and... he didn't want to be in this position.

He was sure they had agreed to be involved in this scheme. He worried they felt they had no choice. This was not how his church was to be run. This was not how he lead his people, This was not how he honored his Dark Savior.

As he grabbed his aching cock he swore to know each woman as a person and if they refused him he would protect their choice.

His fist squeezed the head of his weeping cock. He spread out the photos. His hand pausing.

Sister Ira et Furorem. That was a bit redundant. Born Beatrice. An Aries who likes loud music, red meat, and horror movies. Her hair was almost white but looked dyed, her body thick and soft looking, wide birthing hips and a huge ass. Her eyes were green. She looked angry, like she wanted to eat the person taking the photo whole. She wore the tradional ritual paint of a worshiper of Azazel, and like any other brother or sister under the scapegoat she was highly tattooed and burdened with jewelry.

Copia focused on her, her striking image almost built for his tastes. He wonders if it was intentional...

His hand slowly stroked up and down his cock. Squeezing out drops of cum onto the floor, the porous floor soaking it up. He gasped and groaned, looking at the heavy breasts of the Sister. Imagining their weight in his mouth, his toes curled. He would smear her make up, with tears and cum. She would drool and gag on his cock, cum mixing with saliva. She'd choke, until it it came out her nose. Maybe he'd fuck that fat ass of hers, grab her hair and yank her backwards... he'd have her tied to his bed. Bound and blind folded. He'd whip her pussy until it dripped on the sheets, he'd spread her open... choke her... squeeze her throat until she gasped, her tongue purple... maybe he'd cum on her tits... maybe he'd eat his own cum out of her pussy... he'd fuck her until she screamed and tried to get away. But he'd have his ghouls hold her down as he fucked her from behind. Holding her tattooed arms behind her back...

His mind got darker and darker. Lust always clouded his mind. It went to broken sick places. Desires he was disgusted by in his post nut clarity. But right now he wanted to watch the Sister hump his cock with her panties still on. Lick his cum off the floor. Stuff her full of toys in all shapes and sizes... he wanted to make her bleed and then lick it up with his tongue. Maybe he'd lock her in a cage with a minotaur... she would reach for him, begging for mercy as the beast took her, he'd offer his cock for her mouth to suck on...

He ejaculated so violently his knees hit the underside of his desk. He jolted forward and pulled something in lower back. Copia froze, scared to move as his head cleared.

What the fuck.... where had that even come from.

He had no idea how to summon a minotaur.

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

[snarryauctoberfest]

AUctoberfest: Day 13

Title: (Not Quite) As You Wish

Creator: ???

Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Prompt: 2024-124: After Nagini's bite, due to some unresolved life debt stuff, Severus becomes Harry's Genie in a Bottle… And he desperately wants to make Potter's life as difficult as he can - until he hears what Harry actually wishes for.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings/Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, But not monsters, no monsters here, Snark, lots of snark, and awkwardness plenty of that too, Wishes, or are there?, Post-Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Romantic Fluff

Summary: It’s post-war, and Harry is still hearing voices. A voice. One, very specific voice. A voice that wants something of him. And it’s the one thing he doesn’t do.

💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Title: Lively Days at Potter House by khaleesisophie - a Podfic

Creator: ???

Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape

Prompt: N/a

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Length: 2:12:47

Warnings/Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Emma AU, Jane Austen AU, though this is nowhere near the writing of Jane Austen, purely self indulgent, Romance, romantic misunderstandings because Harry is an idiot, Unbetaed we die like men, period appropriate mentions of attending church, but otherwise no real mentions of religion, regency au, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, But VERY mild mentions and is not a big part of the story at allI just put abo there because Jane Austen, deals a lot with social Dynamics and, inequality between men and women, which is hard to do when your characters are fucking gay, PodficPodfic Length: 2-2.5 Hours, Audio Format: MP3Audio Format: M4B

Summary: Podfic of Lively Days at Potter House by khaleesisophie

Harry, who has a misplaced understanding of his own skill in matchmaking, attempts to strike a match for his dear friend, Draco Malfoy. A tale of misunderstanding and romantic misadventures.

Or, the Emma Snarry AU we always needed.

💚❤️ Listen to on AO3 💚❤️

2024 Snarry AUctoberfest Entries || HOS Tumblr || Discord

[starshineandbooks]

Bottom of the river (hold my hand) Chapter one

This is my ode to red vs. blue. This show has given me a lot. It's been something my dad liked to do something I liked. It's always going to be in my heart, and one day, I hope that I too, can be a gay robot.

As requested, here is your tag @the-team-sucks

Rating: T

Pairing: Grimmons, Tuckington, Docnut, oc x oc

Summary: Thanks to something Sarge has made in the future, the Sim troopers and their freelancers have to deal with their kids from the future. The kids are split up evenly between the Sim troopers, and the two chorus armies are hopeful about their new recruits.

Warnings: cursing, time travel, Canon divergent, time travel

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know. Not beta we die like Church.

Word count: 3,202

Masterpost

-------

Simmons dosen’t know what to make of the news Kimball wants to share. There has been no progress in retrieving their comrades from the enemy.

He has no clue what the news could even be to call for only him, Grif, Tucker, and Caboose. Are their teammates dead?

He hopes not.

Simmons arrives first, to the surprise of no one. He enters the meeting room and takes a seat. He can wait.

He's used to waiting.

Kimball comes in next, and her armor is polished more than usual. She must be worried about something.

Although in a war, who isn't?

"Simmons," Kimball says curtly.

"Ma'am."

"Where are the others?"

"I don't know."

"They're late."

As if on cue, Caboose comes in, dragging Grif. The blue-clad soilder towers over the man he drags.

Caboose lets go of the orange armored soilder once they're by the meeting table.

"Man, I don't wanna be here." Grif groans loudly as he flops down beside Simmons.

His head is thrown back as he stares at the ceiling for a moment.

"I'm ready to meet santa!" Caboose declares.

"It's too early for this shit." Grif groans lowly.

"It's three in the afternoon," Simmons says with a scandalized look.

"So?"

"Where's Tucker?" Kimbal sighs.

"Who knows. Let's just get this started." Grif flops onto the table.

"Yeah, party!" Caboose cheers.

"No, Caboose, no party." Kimball sighs.

Simmons glances around, trying to find clues for what's going on. He just needs to know. What if it's news that the others are dead?

He just-

Simmons just needs to be prepared for the fallout.

"Can we come out yet?" A voice calls from what might be a closet.

"No." Kimball calls sharply, sounding as if this is the umpteenth time she's answered this question.

"You can't keep us locked in a closet that's really homophobic!" Another voice calls. "Like what the fuck lady?!"

"Please stop yelling." Kimball sighs slowly.

There's some rude grumbling from the closet. And then there's a thud followed quickly by a groan.

"What is this about?" Simmons asks again, trying to keep any petulance from his voice.

"I'll tell you once Tucker arrives."

Grif just mutters something that's likely rude. His gaze lingers on the table.

Tucker comes in, "What's going on, Kimball?"

"Timetravel."

No one can see her face from behind her visor but the tone of voice is so serious you'd think she was announcing a death.

"Fucking what?" Tucker asks.

Because this has to be a joke. The universe loves to fuck with the Sim troopers!

"I hear them all I'm coming out!" Calls the second voice.

"Lani wait!" A third voice urges.

Out of the closet comes a teenage girl with dark shoulder length curls and plenty of attitude. She's got her arms crossed.

She stands out more than the attitude, though. She's dressed in casual clothing. Ripped jeans, a graphic t shirt. She looks - like a true civilian.

"Guys!" The teen- Lani calls behind her sharply.

"Stop yelling we're right here." A teen with long brown hair sighs. His height is almost intimidating, but his easy going nature helps.

He too is dressed in casual clothes. A Spiderman shirt screams his lack of military status.

"Yeah, chill out, Lani." Says the third voice as a dark skinned teen with close cropped hair emerges.

This one too is dressed casual, converse with shitty doodles and a teal plaid flannel.

Holy shit.

These three kids really might be from the future.

"Shut up." Lani snarks immediately, "I don't have to listen to you two."

"I'm older than you." The tall boy grins.

"You'll just go grey first."

"Someone explain what's going on here," Tucker urges, trying his level best to make sense of the teenz.

"Oh, hey dad!" The boy with close cropped hair waves.

"Did you just call Tucker dad?" Simmons gapes from inside his helmet.

"You don't have room to say jack shit papa." Lani levels evenly. Her gaze intense as she turns it to the cyborg.

Grif starts laughing. His body shakes as he looks between the three teenagers. This is too fucking good.

Next, the tall one will claim to be Caboose's kid! That would be really rich.

"Ha! Simmons, you have a kid!" Grif is laughing again

"You do too, dad." Lani levels her gaze to Grif, "Or did you think papa's pale ass had me all alone?"

Tucker gives a snort, "She's got you there, dude."

"Wait- he's your- and I-" Simmons is blushing so hard he short circuits.

"This is going well." The tall teen says.

"Let's start with introductions." Kimball says, "And maybe try not to short circuit captain Simmoms."

"I'll go first. I'm Zach James, my momma is Kitty Caboose-James. Caboose is my uncle. He helped raise me." The tall teen with the long brown hair says.

"I have a nephew!" Caboose gasps, "This is great news! I can be a ghost uncle!"

"Almost." Tucker says, patting Caboose's shoulder.

"How the fuck would he be a ghost uncle?" Grif asks Simmons under his breath.

"I don't know." The maroon soilder sighs, "ignore it."

"I'm Ben Tucker, I don’t know where the others ended up." The boy in plaid gives a half hearted shrug.

"Others?" Grif manages, sounding only the appropriate amount of strangled.

"You're my kid?" Tucker asks.

"Yeah." Ben shrugs. "And we're missing our other friends."

"I'm Lani Grif-Simmons." Lani gives a smirk, "I get my good looks from my auntie Kai."

"Oh fuck, Kai's an aunt?" Tucker asks, the realization follows a dawning horror.

"Go back. Who are the others that you're missing?" Simmons asks.

"Oh. Uh, Aspen, Cassie, and Violet."

"Who are they?" Tucker tilts his head.

"Cassie's my twin." Ben volunteers helpfully.

"Aspen is Carolina's kid. They're pretty chill." Zach shrugs.

"Violet is Doc and Donut's special little princess." Lani shrugs.

"Wait, Doc and Donut hooked up?" Simmons blinks.

"That makes the most sense out of everything." Tucker says. "I guess Wash didn't have kids."

"About that." Ben says.

"No." Tucker says quickly, "He had kids?!"

"Oh my fucking god." Lani groans, "I didn't believe dad when he told me about the dumb ass pining."

"I know." Zach pats her shoulder. He seems unbothered by this.

"Excuse me. There are more of you?" Kimball asks. She sounds annoyed.

"Probably ended up wherever the others are." Simmons speculates, "If you guys are here."

"So there are more captives of the enemy? That's not great." Kimball sighs. "We need to work harder."

"I wouldn't worry about that. Those army people don't have our friends, our friends have them." Ben grins.

"You don't think Vi's going to embrace the violent side, do you?" Lani asks, looking like she hopes the violent side is in fact embraced.

"Who knows." Zach sighs, shaking his head.

"So wait, hang the fuck on. We have kids, who time traveled, and some of those kids are being held captive? What the fuck man?" Grif sounds outraged. Because seriously, what the fuck did they do to the universe?!

"Come on, keep up man." Tucker shakes his head.

"My nephew is a space pirate!" Caboose declares.

"No, Uncle Mikey." Zach says evenly. "I'm a college student."

"How- old are you guys?" Simmons frowns.

"I'm nineteen." Zach shrugs.

"Seventeen." Lani says.

"Eighteen." Ben smiles.

Kimball clears her throat, "These three have generously agreed to help us fight-"

"Absolutely not." Tucker and Simmons snap in unison. Both sounding firm in their words.

"And who's going going to stop us?" Lani challenges. Her crossed arms and challenging gaze mark her as too much personality.

"I am your father, you are not fighting." Simmons says sharply.

"I'm fighting, and you can suck my dick."

"Lani." Zach chides.

"You are grounded!" Simmons snaps.

"You haven't even had me yet. What do you know about parenting?"

"I know I should let my kid fight a war!"

"I'm fighting, papa. And if you try to stop me I'll castrate you."

"Definitely your kid." Simmons says to Grif.

"I know, I'm so proud." Grif pretends to wipe away a tear.

"Yeah, you're not fighting Ben." Tucker crosses his arms.

"I am though. They have my sister that kind of takes precedence over listening."

"See? Ben gets it." Lani pats his shoulder.

"You're not fighting." Grif says, "Simmons is right."

"What the fuck ever." Lani rolls her eyes.

"We'll talk about this later." Tucker says, "all of you. But we have other things to focus on. Like, what are you doing here?"

"How the hell should we know? I was messing with something, and then we're on the floor." Lani throws her hands up in a 'what can you do?' sort of motion.

"Definitely, your kid." Tucker says, looking to Grif and Simmons.

"I know." Grif says, unfamiliar pride wlling in his chest.

"I know." Simmons says, very familiar dread wells up in his chest. What kind of baby could he raise? His own father was so awful... he hopes he isn't like his dad.

"Obvious genetics aside," Zach says, already used to the way the Sim troopers are, thanks to being raised around them. "We should really focus on what happens from here."

"Do we get to talk to our future selves?!" Caboose demands, "I want to know where I lost that Easter egg!"

"Caboose." Tucker says firmly.

"Can we maybe see where we're sleeping?" Zach suggests, "It's been a long day."

"Yes. Your rooms. I've put all three of you in one room."

"What?!" Simmons and Grif demand.

"Well, I don't want them in general population barracks, but they aren't high ranking enough for their own rooms."

"You put out daughter in a room with two boys?!" Grif demands, flashbacks of horror stories in his head.

"Dad, ew." Lani says with a look of pure disgust. "Ben and Zach are like my brothers."

"I know what teen boys are like." Grif scoffs.

"Hey, I promise I raised my kid better." Tucker defends.

"I'm going to fucking scream." Lani says sharply, looking like she very well might hold good on the threat.

"Please don't." Zach says, "Kimball can we go to our room?"

"Yes. Your room is three down from Tucker's."

"I'll show you!" Caboose declares.

"Thanks." Ben says.

"We'll all show you!" Simmons villunteers.

"Jesus fucking chrsit." Lani sets her face in her hands. She wonders what she has to do to get the others back as soon as possible.

"You're just upset that Cassie isn't here." Ben snickers.

"Shut up."

"You miss Cassie."

"I hate you."

Ben and Zach share a look. Neither is bothered. Honestly, they're both amused.

The Sim troopers leave the meeting room, guiding the teens down the halls and towards their room.

Lani trails after the others. Her arms don't uncross, and her gaze lingers everywhere.

When they arrive at the room, she immediately claims one of the top bunks. Sighting that she likes to feel tall.

Simmons leaves as soon as he's seen the room. He doesn't know how to father. What if he makes a mistake? What if he ruins a relationship he should have yet?

Grif just waves grumbling threats to the boy's before leaving.

Tucker pats Ben on the shoulder, "You find me if you need anything."

Caboose says something about going to find flowers for his new friends before leaving.

Ben takes the other top bunk, and Zach takes the bottom bunk under Ben.

Lani just curls herself up between Ben and Zach. She just wants to seek safety, and these two are safe.

Their parents don't know them they've volunteered to fight a war. And they're missing half their friend group.

And if she's honest, it's her fault they're here.

Lani should have known better than to mess with someone Sarge built. But here they are.

Zach rubs her back slowly, "We're right here, Lani. Right here."

"Yeah. I know."

"Should we sing?" Ben grins.

"Please don't." Lani laughs softly.

"You don't plan to act like a bitch the whole time, do you?" Zach tilts his head.

"Fuck you." She says, no bite present. And for all her bark, all her attitude, she is really just glad she's not alone.

"We're going to be okay," Zach says, sitting up slowly.

"Zee's right, you know," Ben agrees, stretching out on his side.

"Can I braid your hair, Zach?" Lani asks.

And Zach agrees. For two reasons.

The first reason is because he likes the feeling of someone's fingers in his hair, it soothes him.

The second reason is because braiding seems to bring Lani peace.

-------

Doyle stands before the Sim troopers and freelancer, trying to figure out how to explain the situation. After all, everything is very different.

"What do you know about time travel?" He asks.

"Not enough." Wash sighs slowly.

"Okay... well, uh- I have a surprise?"

"Go on!" Donut urges, "You have me on the edge!"

"Come in." Doyle calls over his shoulder.

The door opens, and three teens stroll in. The tallest has a red pixie cut. The shortest has dark skin and long locs. The middle height teen has bubblegum streaked curls.

"Oh my god." The shortest teen groans.

"These are your children. From the future." Doyle manages.

"What?!" Wash and Donut manage.

"I have no kids!" Sarge says quickly, he doubts he'd have kids later. He's already kind of old!

"We know, Sarge." Says the teen with streaked curls.

"Uh- hi?" The tall one waves, "I'm Aspen."

"Who's kid are you?" Wash asks.

"Carolina's."

"Oh."

"I'm Cassie Tucker." The short one explains, "Hey dad."

"Me?" Wash blinks.

"Yes, you." Cassie snorts, seemingly amused by her father's cluelessness.

"Oh."

"I'm Violet Dufranse! I'm Donut and Doc's kid."

"My baby!" Donut cries, sounding every bit the theater kid he probably was.

"Hi, Daddy!" Violet waves cheerily.

"This is all kinds of weird." Wash mutters.

"Oh chil, dad. Ben, Zach, and Lani aren't here. Wait- where are they?" Cassie turns her attention to Aspen quietly.

"Uh- probably with our other adults?"

"Wait, there's more of you?" Wash asks. Feeling genuine dread in his heart. Their other teammates had kids?

"Course there are, crafty aliens always have friends!" Sarge snaps.

"Yeah, there's more." Cassie rolls her eyes. "There's Lani Grif-Simmons, Zach, who's Caboose's nephew, and my brother Ben."

"Grif and Simmons have a kid?" Sarge asks.

"That makes a lot of sense!" Donut declares, "They spend so much time together."

"They had a nice wedding." Violet adds with a hum. "The pictures make it look beautiful."

"Pictures?!" Donut gasps loudly, "You have to show me!"

Violet is reaching for her phone, more than ready to show off the pictures. Unfortunately, Cassie just shakes her head, muttering something that makes Violet sighs.

"Guys." Aspen says, "We have to focus. Where are the others?"

"I don't know. But how much trouble can they get into?" Cassie asks.

"Are you serious?" Violet looks to the shortest with a look of confusion. "Lani and Ben are being let loose without any authority the respect."

"Whatever Vi, they have Zach with them. It won't be that bad."

"This is a nightmare." Apsen groans.

Washington looks between Sarge and Donut, wondering where Lopez is. But really, what could the robot do?

He's inclined to agree with Aspen. This has all the makings of a nightmare. He has twins. He has twins with Tucker.

Okay, the Tucker part isn't too bad.

Wash really doesn't mind Tucker. If he's going to be honest about his feelings, and he hates that, he's a little too fond of the aquamarine soilder.

"These young adults have graciously volunteered to help us fight the rebels so we can rescue your friends." Doyle says as he gestures to the time travel trio.

"No." Washington says firmly. "No way in hell."

There's a second of silence, while all three teens stare him down. But he's not budging on this one. He is not letting these three fight.

"Yes. I promise the rest of our group is going to fight. We're not letting them fight alone." Violet is shrugging, looking for all the world like she's just suggested tea.

"Aren't you anti violence?" Cassie frowns.

"I'm anti needless violence. If I can't talk my way out, I can fight."

"This is great and all, I'm happy to meet my new red rookie, but we aren't getting any fighting done like this!" Sarge crosses his arms.

"Can we talk about this later? It's been a long-. How long have we been awake?" Aspen looks around, trying to make sense of time.

"I don't know. I'm more worried about the look on Kai's face when we left." Cassie admits, "Here's hoping she ends up with Lani and not us."

"It's all going to be fine," Violet assures quickly.

"Yeah, you'll see. You're surrounded by big, strong men, we'll be right behind you, and you just tell us what you need." Donut chimes in quickly, sounding a little too excited.

"Thanks, dad!" Violet chimes happily.

"Okay, can someone show us where we'll be sleeping?" Aspen cuts in.

Doyle nods, mostly to himself. He needs to get this show on the road. He has a strategy meeting in ten minutes.

The genral straightens to his full height. "I've put you three in a room across from Washington and Donut."

"Thank you," Aspen says evenly.

Doyle just nods. "Woukd you guys show the new recruits to their room?"

"Absolutely!" Sarge is standing now. He's very fast.

There's some bickering, but after a minute, Sarge is leading the entire group minus Doyle through the halls.

They make it to the teens' new room, and Wash is kind enough to check the perimeter. He dosen’t know a lot about parenting, but he figures he should make sure there's no lurking enemies. That sounds like good parenting.

Aspen shows the Sim troopers and Washington off, claiming that they have it all covered.

And then Violet is trying to get reassurance that things are really going to be okay.

-------

In the future, the Sim troopers are staring at the charred device and floor with mounting horror. They just watched their kids disintegrate.

"Ah fuck." Tucker groans lowly.

Grif turns a glare to Tucker. His acusing presence should freeze over hell. "My daughter just disintegrated and all you have is 'ah fuck'?!"

"Okay now calm down gentlemen." Sarge reassures, "They ain't dead."

"Good." Doc says, looking like he might hyperventilate.

"It sure looks like they are!" Grif snaps, throwing his hand to the side, "But do tell. How do six teens survive being disintegrated?!"

"They're in the past numb nuts." Tucker says, pushing Grif's hand away from him.

"How do you know?!" Simmons demands, whirling on the retired blue.

"Uh guys, shouldn't someone go after them?" Kai asks.

Unfortunately, no one registers her words. She sighs, deciding to go pack a bag. If their parents can't get their shit together, Auntie Kai will just have to go help.

That sounds like a great plan.

Kai leaves, missing out on the part of the conversation where the others insult each other, oh, and remember that the time travel device sent them to a war.

If she had heard that, she wouldn't have packed so many condoms.

-------

Chapter two

[swamiiyasssss]

Religion - LDR

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley × F!Reader.

Word count: No idea i wrote this on the notes app where everything unhinged in my life goes Warnings/Tags: Angst, character death, reader death, mentions of smut, mentions of sex, mentions of blood, gore..?, PTSD, religious trauma, swearing/cursing, strong language, fluff, strong descriptions of bodily fluids, hurt no comfort, no happy ending, no beta we die like reader.

Summary: Simon's never been one for god, but damn him if it means you get home safely.

A/N: Sorry if there's any incorrect references to christianity. I'm not even christian, I'm just so intrigued by the religion. Also one of my favourite songs ever is Take me to Church by Hozier (2013 vibes fr) and i just gotta use our Queen Lana's song cuz we both know Ghost is LDR-coded. Pull up the song on spotify n listen to it while reading this it's really good.

GIF by @daniel-bruehl

_________________________________________________

Cause you're my religion

You're how I'm living

When all my friends say I should take some space

Well I can't envision, that for a minute

When I'm down on my knees, you're how I pray

_________________________________________________

As a young boy, Simon never went to church. Sunday mornings didn't see him with hands together on a wooden bench in some cathedral, hymns reverberating against the white walls. He stayed at home, much to his mother's behest. But he did it because his father despised it even more.

For someone who claimed to be such a man-of-God, Simon's father was anything but pure-hearted. If you could paint the man's soul on a canvas, you'd only find a repulsive potion of pus-like, tar-ish mess. Church was far from Simon's known home of heaven; The belt stung against his wrists, his soft cries were silenced in the entrance hallways. Always hidden from the eyes of God.

But when a man, Simon was reborn into a Ghost. Ruthless, machine-like, angelic. He was God's hand in battle, slaying the evils of the world, and banishing them down under. His once pure-white wings were now stained with the same tar of his father. He was now a 'Ghost'

What is a Ghost anyways? A soul too corrupted for the underworld, so it's instead cursed to roam the Earth. Even hell won't accept someone so disgusting.

And then, you came. With your shimmering eyes and your hypnotizing words. You were sin-incarnate. You were his judgment. Lust is frowned upon in the halls of Heaven, and if Simon had any chance of attaining paradise, you were the obstacle.

The came Judgment Day. The day you died. It was only meant to be a Recon mission, but He had other plans.

"You're a holy man, Riley." You light-heartedly laughed, trying to break the macabre assurance which clung to the air. "I'll put in a good word with the man downstairs."

He snarled. "None of that. Keep your eyes open Lieutenant."

"Come find me." You were slowly deceasing into unconsciousness, the words slurring and dying on your tongue." Simon. Please come find me." Your eyes slowly fluttered shut, like a machine dying down.

"Fuck—No stop it....Shut up..." The denial in his words was breaking you by the second, much like him breaking down on his knees, hands on swiftly traveling around your limp body. He was convulsing and shaking with fear; both of you. For the first time since his childhood, Ghost was scared. Genuinely fucking scared. He was hopeless.

"Simon..." You slurred.

"SHUT UP!" He screamed. Tears festered in his eyes. His breathing quickened. His pupils were dilating.

How could you sound so 'sweet', even in death?

He didn't know what to do. First time in a while where he doesn't know what do to you. He's stuck, and he can't pull him and you out.

He's lost too many men. Too many friends. He's a broken man with blood in his ledger, ands it's spraying everywhere. Is it too dickish of him to say you were the only one who could keep a lid on it? That festering, demonic rage in him behind a door, itching and crawling to get out, and you somehow, somehow, made it stay there in its chains.

The blood was gushing out of your mouth, even faster this time. You tried to cough it out, but the all-too-familiar metallic taste still kept to your tongue. You placed one of your hands to his face, making sure to feel every scratch on his skull, and every fibre on his mask. You wanted to make sure the last thing you ever felt was him.

Simon wanted to challenge time. He wanted to smite everyone in His ungodly name. He wanted to crawl through Hell, and wring the neck of Satan himself. He wanted to—He–

"Fuck out'-outta here, Lt." You swiftly pressed a pocket holster gun to his gut. His eyes widened in confusion, and quickly morphing into refusal, figuring out what you were doing. "That's an order. I'm gonna shoot you if you don't."

"I'm not leaving you, dammit."

He's known you long enough to know you were serious. You've known him long enough to know he's not budging.

"Please don't leave me." He cried.

But he will, because he won't compromise the mission because of one woman dying. A rookie sniper-slowly becoming the best in a century of the profession-bleeding out in his grasp.

"Please. I beg you, darling."

You're just a little casualty. One of many.

Whatever you two had, it wasn't love. There's no love in War. They go side-by-side; parallel, never meeting. It was a quick fuck, mixed with respect and restless fervor for each-other.

"Y/N. Please."

And Simon's got a cold heart, but even the smallest spark can set it ablaze.

Ghost stared down on you, and you saw hell finally freezing over in those eyes.

"I'll meet you, yeah? We'll have all the time in the world down there. Promise?" You whispered.

You blinked languidly. You went deaf; His mouth moved:

'I promise.'

You closed your eyes.

To the sound of the explosion came the terrible echo as if it were the anguished cry of God. And everything went black.

Everything went radio silent.

[roxie-16]

Lᡣ𐭩ve Lavatory𝜗𝜚

Characters: Save on foods guy x janitor!reader

Content: smut, 2 people locked in a room, virgin card SWIPED, ‘x reader’ fic, 3rd Pov, no beta we die like men (whoopsies this ain’t ao3), awkward tension, reader is a baddy dom, reader is a janitor, ‘save on foods guy’ has no real name umm-, let’s call him Dave (cause he looks like bootleg Dave lizewski), semi-public activities

Tags: light bondage, strangers, hookup, quickie, virgin male, reader is a girl, cowgirl position, spanking, riding

It was around 4 in the noon, daylight just got hotter and the park was mildly crowded. It’s been long enough for most of the highschool kids to have left the park, all who was there was just little children and oddly creepy church ladies. A group of fresh graduates came about to the park, by golly they all reeked of virgin. They were getting their weekly volunteer hours for babysitting one of the special kids, having them play at the park and helping them learn how to communicate to their surroundings. After a couple minutes of strolling, they all arrived to the swing set.

“Man, how long do we have before we can clock out back at the centre? I wanna get that dark magician booster pack at London drugs” one of the guys spoke, he had botched frosted tops on his fat crew cut hair, sporting a tapered beard and red flannel.

“Few more hours, but hey, we’ve been playing d&d lately.. wanna pop in and make a character? We really need a Celtic for the team” the other one spoke, he had pink died hair like a failed cotton candy experiment, he looked like he ate one too many as well. One of the guys with a silver chain was busy pushing the swing that the special kid was on, he soon got into the conversation as they began geeking about dungeons & dragons. As the squad all talked, well, all but one. Dave. He had a sudden slight feeling of discomfort as he changed his stance to crossing his arms, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Was it his black button up and jeans? No. Two 9th grade girls on the swing next to them clearly admiring him secretly? weird but no. He fiddled with his belt as he raised his sunglasses up a bit, his eyes focused on the public bathrooms. He had to piss.

“Hey guys, I’m gonna go hit up the ol’ stalls” Dave spoke, finger gunning at his group before trotting off to the public stall. Realistically he was doing more than waddling, he was SPRINTING to get inside the singular stall. He locked the door shut without even looking who was inside till he got startled by a woman he saw, letting out a girly shriek. The woman’s eyes bored onto him as she spoke in a flat tone,

“Toilet��s broken” huh, she was a janitor. A cute one at that Dave thought, of course he had quite the imaginations considering his inexperience. He quickly shook his thoughts out and gave a quick ‘sorry’. As he turned to open the door, it wouldn’t open.

“What the flip? Don’t tell me the lock is also busted” he said, the woman pushed past him and rattled the door, still it was locked. Well… this is awkward. The woman raised an eyebrow at Dave’s squeamish behaviour, his cheeks flushed faintly as he quickly explained he had to pee.

“Oh. Well then do it in the sink” she suggested

“Are you fucking serious right now? I’m not pissing in the sink!” Especially not infront of a girl he thought, he was more so insecure about the size of his ween rather than the oddness of the situation. The woman scoffed and turned around, so much for privacy but that was he was going to get. He awkwardly positioned himself on his tippy-toes, hovering over the sink as he let out a groan of relief finally getting to pee.

“My names [y/n] what’s yours?” She asked him. Mid-peeing.

“Fuck-uh I-im.. Dave.” He strained out, wriggling a bit before zipping up his pants and washing his hands.

“Well, Dave, since we’re going to be here a while why don’t we talk about something” she suggested. It was better than standing there in awkward silence. He was mostly the one talking, rambling about his interests while the woman listened. It wasn’t often he got to go on tangents with people outside his friendgroup so he was excited, like REALLY excited, and it was apparent too. The woman’s eyes caught a slight glimpse of an outline protruding on his jeans, she smirked a little as she looked up at him again.

“You aware you have like a raging boner right now”

Dave looked down all baffled, he covered his crotch area with his hands

“No I don’t”

“Look at you, what are you some kind of virgin? Getting a hard on just by a conversation”

“S-shut up! [y/n] c’mon, that’s not funny” he whined. The woman smiled as she came closer, grabbing his chin as she spoke in a low tone,

“How bout’ I help you with that?”

“I- you- are you for real right now?” He sputtered

“Why not? You’re decent looking and besides, the whole nerd shtick is kinda adorable” she winked at him, fucking tease.

Meanwhile, Dave was sweating balls. He’s never had experience with a woman, let alone talk to one this long other than ordering coffee at timmies.

“[y/n] I- what do I do?” He asked, like a Damn idiot. It was true though, he had no sense of what to do or what approach to go by.

“Dave relax, doll. Let me take care of it” she winked. She grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down on the closed lidded toilet, having him slouch in an uncomfortable position as she tied his hands with some firm ass toilet paper. His jeans got unzipped, buttons messily popped off as she crashed her lips onto his with a wet kiss. Her bottom hovered over his clothed bulge as she slowly grinded on it, making him groan into her mouth. They finally pulled away, panting a bit as they’re saliva connected. He had a stupid grin on his face, clearly enjoying this. She pulled his thick brown locks firmly, attacking his neck with nips and kisses, all the while she slowly positioned herself onto his raging member. Soon as she had him in, he almost came just from the feeling alone. Her warm wet walls clenching him perfectly as she began to bounce on him, albeit roughly. He couldn’t control his nasally sounds as he moaned, she slapped his face and tugged his hair harder.

“Quiet you moron, this bathroom echos. Keep it down or I’ll make you shut up” she threatened, he nodded his head with a whine. though he still kept slipping up and being too loud, resulting in more slaps to the face. She’d even get off him for a split second just to slap his member before slamming back down on it and riding him even harder. He was practically drooling a little and letting out soft whimpers, he felt a wave of embarrassment being seen in such a pathetic state. The woman got pleasure in seeing him so submissive, pulling his head up to kiss him. In a matter of time he managed to get his release, she had him spill onto some toilet paper before she threw it away. She pulled up her navy blue sweatpants, she then ripped the toilet paper that blinded his wrists. Dave was still in a daze from, well- his first time. He noticed at the corner of his eyes the woman went up to the door lock, pushed it in 3 times and twisted it, and the door was open.

“Wait a damn minute- you know how to open the door this whole time?”

The woman smirked as she blew a kiss at him,

“And? You got to have a fun time. See you another time, doll.” Another time? The hell does she mean by that? He looked down and noticed a piece of toilet paper with a number on it, her number. Huh, lucky guy he grinned to himself, zipping his pants up and buttoning his shirt. This was gonna be quite the story to tell his friends…

[theguyinthemathexamples]

A Deep Dive Into God Revering Mortals' Minds, Brought To You By A God Despising High Deity.

CW: Religious Themes (obviously), Cursing?, Your Average Obsessive Worship, A Little Self-Indulgent?, They/Them Pronouns Are Used When Referring To The Reader, GN!Reader ofc :)

Pairing(s): None

Summary: A "primordial deity" dives head first into their cultists' minds—and they'd be lying if they said they expected it to be this bad.

Cake's Notes: This is my first time writing a song fic so if you have any questions or criticism regarding this, feel free to leave one if you'd like :>

Not beta read, we die like Rex Lapis.

(more under the cut :]])

"I'm crucified, crucified like my saviour."

They always prayed to you, gave you offerings - sacrifices, whether their own kind or not -, built you shrines and statues alike; all in the hopes that you'd spare even just a single glance their way.

They all sang songs, hymns, organized entire choirs and even whole orchestras for you, and anything that were wrote in your name became popular in just a matter of days, with only a month at maximum.

"Saintlike behavior,"

You weren't anything like they described - if at all, really.

Some depicted you as some sort of eldritch being, one the size of Dragonspine. A few describing you as a serpent, a leviathan, or something that held an animalistic form. Most pictured you as something with a human body, a human-like form and appearance, wearing garments akin to that of Morax, Greater Lord Rukkhadevata or even the Tsaritsa.

They weren't wrong on the latter, but what you wore? Hmph, you'd much rather spend the whole day watching paint dry than admit to them that you didn't dress like that and more like.. whatever you're even wearing right now.

You hated this.

You hated them.

Yet they were all but blinded by your fleeting gazes - seeing it as a sign that they've finally been given recognition by Their Almighty Creator, not realizing the seething hatred that they bled and held oh so clearly.

All they saw was potential inside of themselves, not your silent wrath.

All you wanted was to play this game that a friend or a family member of yours recommended, maybe you just saw it from your for you page and curiosity took the best out of you. Trapping you in a rough, neverending chokehold.

The characters you oh so loved and grinded for, now bowing on your feet and always at your beck and call, whether you liked it or not.

If you were anything, really, then it would be anything but acting saintlike. Even if you needed a mask, the term 'saintlike' would be subjective due to other peoples' opinions. Though, you were sure it'd mostly include being pure - untainted from impurities of any kind -, and having something akin to a bright aura surrounding you at all times - that warm feeling that makes you feel at home; at peace, even.

Atleast you had the Traveler and Paimon.

...Right?

"A lifetime I prayed."

All of them devoted their lives to you, with wavering degrees ofcourse.

The archons and Celestia had it worse, with the abyss and remaining survivors of Khaenri'ah being the only ones that atleast treated you like a normal human being atleast. But they still treated you like a royal - a deity higher than Celestia itself -, only speaking with you like a normal person would with another.

They gave you the rarest of gems, the most exquisite jewelry, the most delicious food and the most fulfilling of drinks.

If anything, you should've been grateful.

Well,

You would've.

But this was all too much.

Their dedication and determination scared you the most.

It was like you had this world, these people, just at your fingertips.

They thought you were their Creator, but you'd much rather call yourself an Overseer rather than the former. A babysitter, even.

"I'm crucified, for the holy dimension."

Now that you were here in Teyvat, you could hear everyone's prayers. It was like they were little voices in your head. Prayers for forgiveness, songs for praise, and many more.

You often saw them at the Church of Favonius. It had gotten quite popular ever since your descension, and you didn't mind it ofcourse — people could believe in what they want and don't, and that included you - which you respected — ... If it weren't for the fact that they made a whole law for it.

But enough about that for now.

"Godlike ascension,"

You had the power to grant people visions at will, maybe gnoses if you tried hard enough, perhaps even replicate the pre-existing ones.

Maybe that's why people tried gaining your favour alot more frequently rather than Celestia, merely a few weeks after you had "descended" into Teyvat.

Ofcourse, it wasn't that easy to get used to, but either way, you learnt how to accept it. Ignore it, even.

"Heavens away."

They treated you like absolute royalty. They all held you with the highest of regards and treated you with the utmost priority.

They gave you riches and jewels. They would all bow and bevel under your feet—all you had to do was just say the word. Why aren't you doing so?

You could get anything you wanted. Anything you desired. Anything you needed. But to you, everything just felt so... distant. As if they weren't even close to you in the first place.

Everything was within your reach, but even with your best efforts; Everything felt like they were oh-so far away. Everything felt like they weren't within your reach.

Everything did. Something did. Nothing did.

So then, why are you still here?

TGITME's Notes: AAAAAAAAAA. FINALLY. I'VE. FINALLY. F I N I S H E D .

TAKE THAT WRITER'S BLOCK. MUAHAHAHHAHAHAHA- *gets hit with another writer's block*

If you want me to continue this, send an ask or a dm, I'll try to do them if i had the time :D

But for now... time to sleep.

Bye everyone, happy belated Christmas, and happy advanced new year to all of you :DDDDD 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉*faints and falls face first onto a pillow*

[anothersoulless]

Return to me (Alexander Anderson x AFAB!Reader)

You know Alexander from the Library you worked at - when he one day stands in front of your day at the end of the year 1999, you can not deny him shelter. And now, you definitely didn't regret it

NSFW below

NSFW cut: ᕙ⁠[⁠･⁠۝･⁠]⁠ᕗ

Not Beta Read, we die like {redacted}

You never thought you'd see him again, but there he was, standing right in front of you was the tall, blonde priest with green eyes that had a way to obvious scar on his cheek, asking you if you had a place for him to stay for some time. Your heart was still somewhat broken by being rejected by said man, that fateful day where you had decided to accept he would reject you and went and got it for yourself, thinking you might be able to get over it, your love for that man.

Needless to say, you didn't. You never did and didn't think you ever would. But everytime he came into the library, asking you for a book you couldn't help but falling for him. And fall you did, landing hard in the reality that he was a priest, the he was to not mingle in relationships with others, his only devotion being god and the preachings of the bible. You had started to read the books that he did, finding most to be about the occult, werewolves, vampires, witches, wendigos... And how to kill them. Books that were written like research, obviously being a piece of someone's fantasy.

But then he would come in and get children's books, about the holy Mary, about birds and trains and flowers, about the way the sun would rise and laugh, but how the clouds would always cry. When you found out he was living in an orphanage, you wanted to go so badly, it wasn't far, but it wouldn't be fair. So the next time he had come by, you had asked him out for a stroll - not a date, just to get to know him, to become friends. His positive response had surprised you.

So why, after all that time of him caring, in the end rejecting and going seperate ways, was he standing in front of you, on this winter afternoon in 1999? And where was his priest robe? He had his usual coat on, but only a thin shirt and jeans, so you didn't waste time, letting him into your house. "Alexander? What are you doing here?" "I quit. And I- You said you'd always be there when I need something, and right now, I don't have a home. Can I stay? Only until I find something for myself, of course." You turned the thought over in your head. The Basement was free, you'd only have to clean it up, maybe stash everything in your garage. "God, sit down first. Coffee, Tea or Hot Chocolate?"

Sitting down with him, each sipping on their own tea, you finally spoke up. "I really should question how you figured out where I live, but the reason you quit interests me more." He sipped on his tea. "There have been... Some mindest differences recently. Between me and the church. While I am incredibly sad to leave behind the children, I couldn't accept staying there. Not with the recent happenings in London." "London? What does the Church have anything to do with the destruction of London?" He just smiled. You never got an answer. But you guessed it was more involvement then what the newspapers told you.

Sometimes, the ex-priest talked to you about an old friend, one, who vanished back in London. You didn't know if he was dead or just disappeared in the rubble, or if it was... A different kind of friend. You looked after him a lot of the time, driving him back and forth from monestary to your home so you could get all his belongings. You even had to drive to the Vatican - Who had an own room in the Vatican?! It had taken months for him to settle comfortably in the basement, old bookshelves and boxes and dressers functioning as his only storage. You bought him a new bed, so he could at least afford a good rest - he promised to repay you, but you shook it off. It was a cheap one anyways.

You helped him find work in the city, helped him with a driver's licence and, in the end, you both scrapped your money together to get him a car. It was second-hand, fairly cheap compared to the other cars on the market, small and old-school. But he was happy with it, and so were you. After a good 3 months you finally convinced him to buy new clothes, instead of just opting for your old father's ones, it was exciting finally seeing the fashion taste of a man previously running around only in his religious tell-tale robe with the crosses.

He picked out a few checkered ones, others had random prints on it. You got him to buy a muscle shirt (mainly for your own entertainment, but also because it got really hot during summertime) and some pullovers for winter - one Pullover was relatively thin and black, covering his neck from the cold winds that would come in 6 more months. A lot of people had stared at you - maybe it was the fact you were just average size and he was - well - over 2 meters tall, maybe they held you for a couple or found him handsome. But maybe, it was because of his scar. You never knew for certain how he got it.

You saw him enter the library on a fairly quiet day, he hadn't visited for weeks, probably on one of his trips to foreign countries. He didn't take long to get to the Check-out and you were snooker to see his face. His left cheek had a big white patch on it - a compress. There was a thin line in the middle with red specks of blood. When you asked him what had happened, he had dismissed you, saying it had been an accident he didn't want to talk about. The next time, you saw the wound. It was three scratches all neatly lined up, like claw marks. It was then you had your first suspicion, the middle one deeper then the other two, the skin around it a deep purple.

After that visit, he came in again, this time, the upper and lower scratch were healed completely, the middle one still deep and purple, as if it couldn't heal. That's when you knew. You knew what he had been doing, why he had been away, why he had been injured. You had asked him to come to the staff bathroom, getting an idea. You had confronted him, he had brushed it off, yet still he let you cut around the edges, widening the wound and, effectively, overwriting the original one. The wound had healed in a few weeks, only leaving behind the nasty scar on his cheek.

In month 6 of him staying with you, he was finally able to afford his own Appartment so he started scouting. You helped him, of course, You taught him how to use the library computers, so he could scout more effectively, he actually understood it really fast. A smart man, he was. The landline phone, he had figured out within a few weeks of you introducing it to him and he called the monestary every weekend. You liked to listen. He would be a good father, you decided, when you heard him talk with the kids, reassuring them he didn't forget them and that he would stop by from time to time.

He held his word, always arriving to any of their birthdays with a personalized gift. You were happy to be able to accompany him. Some of the nuns were a bit suspicious first, thinking you might have taken advantage of Alexander, but they were quick to trust you and your words - you did love him, but you'd never try to take advantage of him - even though that wasn't something that they needed to know.

Alexander had found the Appartment he wanted to live in during month 8. He was happy, you were not. You offered him to stay for longer, so that he could pay the bills as well - which was something he had totally forgotten about. He lost the Appartment and you felt guilty.

But when winter rolled around again, seeing him in that long-sleeve neck Pullover, paired with thick, dark grey jeans with a fashionable belt and a silver cross necklace, you nearly forgot to breathe, or that you had been feeling guilty. After the incident with the Appartment, things had started to change. You noticed he looked at you fondly, for longer than normal, he smiled whenever you did something - if it was a greeting, rambling, making food - you had noticed he was a way better cook and picked up habits of you - humming along to your music or just watching a show. It seemed weird. Whenever asked, he would just say that he was happy you had been the one to take him in.

On his birthday, you had taken him out to a more expensive restaurant, treating him to something you called "culture cruise". You introduced him to proper Italian traditions that he had missed out on in the orphanage, traditional food that wasn't served there, you showed him a cinema and he was blown away by the movie, not being able to believe it. He had missed out on so much, leading such a humble, yet dangerous, life, that you were more than adamant about giving him a life he deserves. A life full of care, gratefulness, and, if possible, love.

He had liked his birthday, even though, in the end, he admitted, that it would have been enough to spent it with you - but that he was thankful you wanted to show him your world. You asked him to show you his, and, even though he dismissed it now, he would show you later on. After getting home, there was something weird. Between you two, of course, not in your house. You both wanted to retiree for the night, but again, both of you lingered in the living room near the stairs up to your room and down to his. "I'm glad you liked today, I was a bit worried", you admitted out of the blue. He scratched his neck, his muscles showing under the thin pullover. You questioned how he wasn't cold.

He was quiet a bit, before speaking up. "I... I loved this glimpse into your world. It was educating and it meant a lot to you, so I.. You mean a lot to me and so does your world. So I thank you dearly for taking me along, sunshine." You smiled again, wider this time, liking the nickname maybe a little too much. After that it took a few more moments of silence, for both of you to say your goodbyes and go to sleep. You, however, were unable to, thinking about the way he was treating you, how much he cared about you and your world. He really was a gentleman, if you were sure about him feeling similarly about you, the way you felt about him, then you would be glad to, maybe, someday, call him your husband.

Your first kiss came the next day. It wasn't your first overall, but it was the first with him. Maybe it had been the music and jokefully romantically made dinner - you genuinely just wanted to recreate the ambiance of the restaurant, there was never an intention to make it feel so appealing. But joking around with him, about some of the older, black and white movies and the more recent coloured ones, him joking with you there was a moment of you playfully leaning into his side, lamenting over something random, like the candles, while he calmly, in an equal joking matter grabbed your arm softly. You shot up to kiss him on the cheek, something he, apparently, also felt like doing.

It had taken not even a second, before you pulled back, apologizing profusely, you face flushed - as was his. He smiled, saying it was no matter. You sat down to eat, face fixed in the food. He stood there for a moment longer, before he asked, bashfully: "Would you like to do it again?" You looked up, his gaze locked onto you, as if he felt no shame. Why would he, you thought. It was a mistake, nothing more. But why did he offer? Did he.. were your suspicions really correct? He didn't move, standing there. The offer he had just given you hang heavy in the air, debating whether to act on it or not.

You chair creaked when you pushed it back a bit. "Would you like to do it again?" Alexander's face turned a deeper red than before. He was quiet, before admitting a small "yes". It was then that you stood up and closed in on him.

"Then, I would like one as well"

The second kiss was really worth it. It was long, gentle and loving. It felt warm, comforting - it felt good. On a completely unrelated note, the food was delicious as well. You just loved eating this dish - especially with Alexander in front of you, the kiss and it's implications - even though it was less of an implication and more of a flashy Broadway Sign, after all, a kiss - no, technically two - seemed like a very exclusive thing that two people wouldn't do if they just were friends, unprompted by any dare.

Long story short, after dinner, there was a deep talk and you both decided to try. And try you did. It worked out fine, the only thing that really changed was the few kisses, the cuddle-sessions and the trips - now dates - to town. It wasn't really a secret, but it also wasn't really public. It's that weird in between-thing, where you knew, but you just weren't quite ready to tell everyone - but showing wasn't really a problem. Alexander had the habit to keep you close - it was a habit he had picked up one or two months after being at your home, but now, he just seemed to be more open about it, actively seeking you out. This day, it had been particularly bad and after getting home, you had asked him about it. He seemed taken aback.

"I'm Sorry if I overstepped. I didn't mean to, I'll keep it in mind next time"

You sighed. "No, no, Alex, that's not- that's not what I meant. I was simply curious on why you did it, I apologize if it came over wrong"

Alexander looked at you for a few seconds, contemplating if he should tell you. Then: "I am scared"

You could tell he wasa bit uncomfortable, but you couldn't just leave it here. You took him by the hand, setting him down on the couch and sitting next to him, your own hand in his. "If you want to, you can tell me. I'm here for you." Alexander seemed torn, it was the first time you had seen him this conflicted, this... This pained.

"London was last year.", He started and stopped right after. It clicked into place for you, but you wanted him to go on. You squeezed his hand reassuringly, lightly stroking your thumb over his hand in yours, a smile on your lips, as you silently told him to take his time. "It was... I mean you read about it, of course, but... I was there. It was horrible and I- I lost more friends than just one." Oh, that was something you actually hadn't thought about, but it made sense. "One was my student. Her name was Yumiko and she was great. Heinkel nearly lost their life as well - a lot of the division died, nearly all, even though I told them to stay back. I lost so many friends, when I tried to save them all"

He took his hand away then, covering his eyes with his hands and bending forward, hiding his face. Your smile dropped. He didn't loose one person, he didn't loose a few. He lost everyone. You got down on your knees, sliding between his legs and taking his hands away gently. He wasn't crying, not yet anyways - but his eyes were shining bright with the promise of salty water spilling over any second. "Were you scared to loose me too?" He nooded then. You got up from this position, pulling him into a hug. " You won't, Alexander. That life is beyond you now, it's behind us both. We are here together, we are here, Alex. We are alive." You pressed his hand to you heart. "We are both alive."

That day was one you never forgot. Alexander Anderson, previously a priest and in charge of an orphanage, as well as something with the occult, member of a division you had never heard of, was traumatized. He had been vulnerable with you, around you. He had shared his pain and you had accepted it, accepted him and all the implications and complications that came with it. How could he ever hope to find someone better? He didn't, and he never would, because you, he was convinced, were the best choice he could ever make.

When one year had run by, you realized he had never slept in the same bed as you. Not even when one of you fell asleep on the couch, he would always be gone and in bed instead. So today, you tried to get him to sleep with you - not in a sexual sense, by God, only sleeping next to each other, maybe (hopefully) cuddling. That was the day you realized no one had cover taught this man anything about relationships or explained That, when the bible quoted "thou shall not lie with a woman, if thy art not married", or whatever the actual quote said, it didn't mean sleeping in the same bed, but sleeping together.

So that was a conversation you needed to have, and, in retrospect, it was fairly funny, but back then, it was undeniably weird to be the one to give a grown man, which you were together with, sex education. That didn't seem like your job, but now you stood here, and he stood there, and that was the situation you were in. "So uh, the Bible doesn't really mean sleep, Alexander. It means sex." He had heard that word uttered in disgust and disdain by the nuns that had raised him, heard more about this being an act of either love or lust between a man and a woman. He never knew that was what the line meant, nor did he know what sex actually was.

So he disclosed it all to you. You shook your head, in denial that any institute for raising and educating children would stop at sex and don't even mention it to them. What if they would have gone and discovered it on their own, maybe way too young or having to deal with the consequences alone? "Well, traditionally speaking, in most cultures and religions sex is between a man and a woman, but not exclusive. Men can do it with men and women with women. In a traditional sense it's something very intimate, something you do with one you trust fully. Someone you love, if we keep it extremely Christian."

Alexander nodded, seemingly soaking up everything you were saying. "So uhm, do you know the difference between make and female anatomy" "I raised children" point taken, stupid question. "Okay so, Sex is when you put your uh-" god this was more embarrassing than showing and recommending someone erotica and explaining in detail how exactly it was interesting. "So you put your penis into the vagina of the woman and just... Go." "Just go?" "Just... Just go, yes." "How does it work between the others?" Oh lord, have mercy. "So between a man and a man, it just goes in the ass, or they get themselves off with hands or mouths, which is similar in that case with women. There are also specific toys that help."

Alexander seemed a bit puzzled, but the red taint on his cheeks made you realize, he was also embarrassed about this, even though you were sure you were way more red - your head was steaming and cooking your brain. At least that's what it felt like. "But what do you mean with just go?" You just wanted for a portal to hell to open up. At this point, burning you skin off in an eternal hellfire seemed more acceptable than this. "Just go. Like... In and out" "Like when you need to fill a tire of a bike with air?" "Yes. Absolutely. Like a piston, in some ways. Obviously that's not all there is to it, but that is essentially how it works. Have you never tried to uhm- do it yourself?"

You had never seen him so flustered. "No! That was forbidden, seen as a sin!" "Hey, there's genuinely nothing wrong with it. It's actually quite healthy. You're not part of the Church anymore, you don't need to abide to their beliefs." He seemed to stop. Like he was a computer that just shut down because you opened three tabs on the browser and caused a Microsoft error. He had never thought about that before, you realized. It's just been a year away from the church, the place that raised him, homed him, gave him an occupation - of course everything was still indoctrinated in him. How could you expect something else?

You went to bed seperately.

The next day was still a bit awkward, but by the second day everything returned to normal. He even decided to actually do sleep in your bed with you - only after about a month of consideration. You were happy, however. If he was comfortable, then you were too. Alexander had become the thing you thought your life revolved around. When you went out to go shopping, you immediately looked if you could bring him something from your trip. When you were cooking, you thought about how he would cook it, or how he would like it. And when you were cuddling, you thought about the way he was warm, that he was alive, alive with you. Days passed like this, weeks, months even.

"Sunshine?" You hummed positively, looking up from your book. He had been reading one of his own, a recommendation from you. "I was curious." You hummed again, putting your mark in you book and closing it. "I don't know if it's an approprita question." "Shoot your shot, dear." He seemed to think for a second. "I have been thinking about something you said." You grew a bit impatient. "When?" "I don't know, a few months ago. You said I wasn't part of the church anymore and thus do not need to abide their rules" "Dear, whatever you want to ask, just ask. I won't crucify you. And the church won't either."

He closed his book as well, scratching his beard stubble. "Maybe we could try it out?" Before you could ask what he meant, he elaborated, realizing he hadn't said what. "Sex, I mean. Apologies if I'm overstepping-" You nearly choked on your own spit. What. The. Hell. What had you done to this man? He had been so shy, so embarrassed about it, and now, he sat there in front of you, asking you such a question. You mean, damn. If that isn't some quick character development. If you were serious though, you had thought about it as well. Of course, you didn't want to bring it up, as not to pressure him. So this, was perfect.

"Sure, let's go." He was taken aback slightly by the way you stood up, starting to walk to the stairs. "Why go?" "To the bedroom, dear. Yours or mine?" He stood up as well, stopping next to you. "Yours." You sat him down on the bed. "I suppose you don't know more than I told you?" He shook his head. "Don't worry, I will take the lead." "You did this before?" "Yeah, but never like this." "In charge?" "That. And with someone I love."

ᕙ⁠[⁠･⁠۝･⁠]⁠ᕗ

You took his hands and let them rest on your waist, as you settled on his lap, going for a kiss. You pushed yourself close, shamelessly resting on his crotch. You pulled away, taking one of his big, calloused hands and sliding it up, to rest next to your breast. "You can touch me, you know." He seemed hesitant, but you went in for another kiss, keeping his mouth open this time, your tongue brushing his, animating him to participation. He was eager to follow your lead. His hand slipped to your back instead, holding you close. You pushed back again, leaving him some room.

Your thumb pressed on his scar, the slightly elevated, jagged surface soft and yet hard beneath your fingers. You pushed your hand under his jaw, pushing his head back and starting to kiss along his neck, his throat releasing a loud, shuddering breath, as the hand that had pushed his head back slowly trailed down his throat, cold fingers ghosting over the warm skin, fingers barely touching him. Your other hand guided his hand on your breast, squishing it in his large hand. His other hand, still on your waist, gripped you harshly, it brought a slightly hurtful feeling up in you, but it made you feel secure.

You pulled back, Alexander finally finding the courage to explore your body, his head snapping back almost immediately, eyes fixating on yours. His gorgeous green eyes glowing behind his glasses. You slowly reached up, but he stopped you before you could take them off. "No. I don't-" "Okay" and just like that he was back to roaming your body, enjoying as your hands slid over his. A few moments later you sat up on your knees, pulling off your shirt. Alexander seemed a bit flustered at first, but got over it fairly quickly.

You kissed him again, your body shifting a bit, pressing close again, his hand trapped between you bodies, as he leaned back, other hand supporting his weight. You stood up, pulling him with you as well. You discarded all of your clothes, watching him do the same. It was mesmerizing how a small bit of his torso showed when he lifted his arms up, pulling his own shirt over his head. The muscles in his arms flexed slightly, his shirt falling to the ground next to him. Scars were all over his body, the cross of the silver nacklace resting where his collarbone was, a cross tattooed onto his skin with the words "yes jesus" in it. You recalled seeing said design on his gloves when he was still a priest. His trousers were the next to go it was the first time Alexander's head was actually lower than yours.

He sat down on the bed again, back resting against the headboard. You did the same you did before - sitting in his lap. Just, this time, you could feel whenever the muscles in his leg twitched when you bit down or kissed or sucked in a particular way, felt how he tensed and relaxed when you shifted your body. It was captivating, the expression he made. His eyes were on you, the entire time he was focused on you, nothing else. His hands never left you, pulling you close. He was breathing loud, not quite panting, but close enough. And then, when you actually felt him, you realized a grave mistake. You couldn't show him, because you didn't expect this and had no condoms, and no pill, and he definitely had neither either.

"Alex, dear" he hummed. "We can't do it quite the way you want it yet, but we can do it differently." Before he could ask why, you continued. "We don't have protection. I'll go out and buy some, but not right now. I can show you other ways." The Catholic was silent, before a breathless "yes" left his lips. You kissed him again, sucking on his lower lip, before pulling back and spitting in your hand. "It's not the best, sorry" he wanted to reply, but when your hand ghosted over the head of his cock, before you slick hand closed around it pushed him into a whole new sensation. It was weird, to be touched there by someone else. But not unwelcome.

He grasped at your hips, pushing you down and towards him a bit, your entrance brushing his slightly elevated thigh. He pulled you into another kiss, breaths mixing with each other as both of you tried to breathe through your noses, Oxygen soon running out despite your best efforts. You pushed back a bit, getting into a more comfortable position. Your hand gabbed him a bit harder, a loud moan being your response. You slowly started pumping up and down in a slow pace with no constant rythm. Sometimes it was all the way to the head, sometimes only a short, cut off up and down shifting.

You twisted your hand, lifting a few fingers and adding them again from time to time. Alexander's Head rested against the wall, his mouth opened, sounds leaving his vocal chords in low hums or gasps, vulnerable sound that he trusted you with. You hummed as well, seeing one of his hands grabbing the sheet, crumbling them. You wouldn't be surprised if he ripped them. The other was still bruising your hip, a thrum of slight pain shoot up, a thrum of the love he shared for you. You hummed, your hips pushing themselves forwards on his thigh to gain some friction, a movement immediately stopped by you.

This wasn't about you. This was about him. A moan escaped your lips. "Alexander-" You felt him twitch when you changed the pressure, tighenting and loosening your grip in random intervals. He moaned, trying to hold your stare, while his hand wanted to fall back. His mouth was slightly open, his breathing loud, chopped and fast. You never knew what a sight you missed out on and he never on what kind of pleasure. This Sight, you were sure, was one you'd never be able to forget, if he would leave you know... You're done for. But the way , he looked into your eyes, torso jolting forwards whenever electric signals went through his muscles, he was in just the same situation.

"Sunshine-" You knew he was close, when you felt the sticky liquid leaking onto your fingers and when he involuntarily started thrusting his hips up in a jerking motion, as if his body told him what to do and he had no choice but to comply. When he did tip over the edge, you had the feeling as if he was about to crush your hip and hand, but if this is how you lost them, it'd be worth it. The way he calmed down, his chest rising and falling abruptly, noticeably slowing down as you removed your hand, watching as the white-ish colour leaked out, gathering and spilling over the edge, cascading down as if it was a water fountain without pressure.

You smiled patiently, warmly, even though you yourself were extremely desperate. You waited until he came back to you, finally leaving this state of pure bliss. His head was flushed red, the red spreading down his neck and disappearing into his shoulders, but he slowly regained his colour. "Dear lord in heaven...", he breathed, gaping air in as much as he could, "what have you done to me?" You chuckled and smiled, "Just falling in love, my dear. Just falling in love." Alexander laughed at that, his hand on your hip grabbing your waist an coupling you back in, lips meeting again. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're a witch that out a spell on me" You grinned, raising your hand before his eyes and wriggling your fingers. With a darker, goofy voice you ominously proclaimed: "I put a spell on you~~"

He kissed you again, his smile clear as day. You pulled back and whispered: "and now you're mine" Again, he smiled and you noticed his glasses were slightly tilted, so you took them off, driving your fingers through his hair, which was now a bit longer then when he came to you, and you put them back on. "How did you feel, Alexander, dear?" "Really good... Does it... Feel the same for you?" You hummed positively, his eyes flickering down to his thigh between your legs, he noticed your legs were a tad bit closer than before, the way your height shifted backwards, as if trying to get more and yet less touch at the same time.

"Can I help you? Can you guide me?" "You really don't need to, Alexander. We can take it slow." "What if I want to?" You breathed in. Okay. So you were doing this. You smiled again, and took his hand in yours, guiding it towards yourself. "Take it slow, Alexander, there is no need to rush, okay?" He nodded, following your lead. You leaned back a bit, your hand letting go of his and one of your fingers slightly disappearing into yourself. "This is where you need to go" you took the hand you had just left and pulled him towards you, as he started to lean forwards to meet you halfway. You took the finger out, Alexander noting that it was wet. He thought he had just imagined that his thigh had gotten wet, but now he knew he hadn't.

He was taken aback when he felt just exactly how wet you were, his index finger sliding in easily, nearly being sucked in. You hummed. "Now just-" "go?", He smiled at you and you let out a laugh through your nose at the throwback. "Just go." And go he did. He was careful at first, his finger staying straight as he only pulled out a small amount and filling back in, finger not even buried to the hilt. There wasn't anything building just yet, your desire for something being satisfied. "You can experiment, Alex, I'm not gonna break", you smiled, your hand resting on the one he held himself up with. That was when his finger started moving, exploring. He seemed to massage you from the inside, finally eager to know every single twist and turn.

His finger alone brushed the spongey end you knew so well and, oh did you wonder what he would be able to do if he was more experienced. You hummed and he curled his finger a bit, your hips jerking up again. You looked at Alexander, his green eyes glimmering, as you found them still looking at you - your face. You moaned at that, your hand reaching down and pulling his hand even closer. His movements slowed, before he pulled his finger nearly completely out, as a delicious, slow stretch made itself prominent and you realized, that he just added another finger. You let his hand go, focusing again on keeping yourself sitting.

He had an irregular pace, the harshness and actual pace of his thrusts being vastly different from each other - he learned. From nothing but the things you did to him. His hand was huge compared to yours, fingers wide and calloused. So when he pressed back into the spongey end, his fingers playing around with it, his hand brushed your clit and you jolted like you had just experienced an electric shock, a loud gasp escaping you as well - you hadn't expected this. He stopped dead in his ministrations, studying you for a minute. Your face was flushed, you were leaned back onto your hands, eyes nearly closed, but not quite, focusing on his own.

He looked down, lifted his hand away and did the same as before, with the pressure of his hand on your clit - as he got not even a similar reaction he pressed his hand down on you again, and another jolt ran through your body. Alexander smiled and you knew you were in for it now. He took your shoulder and gently pushed you down on the bed, kneeling between your legs. His hand raised from the bundle of nerves and his other hand sneaked there instead, finger pressing and exploring exactly where it was, eyes never leaving yours. And when he found it, oh dear lord in heaven, you prayed he'd have some mercy left for you.

With the combined experimenting thrusts and moving of his fingers you were quick to grasp his shoulders, squeezing and pulling, your high approaching. You body shivered, as you called his name, fluids spilling onto his hand, as you hands gripped harder and your head fell back, breath quick but steadily slowing down. Alexander didn't look away. He sat there, a bit confused on what to do with his hand, so he just... Held it over his lap. Your juice dropping onto his bare legs. You shifted into a sitting position and gave him a smile, before noticing how lost he looked. You didn't waste time to hurry and get some tissues to wipe himself - and your hand clean with.

ᕙ⁠[⁠･⁠۝･⁠]⁠ᕗ

After you pushed him to the shower, both of you opting to just do so together, because, why would you care now about nakedness of all times? You both got dressed, before you changed the sheets and, even though he offered to help, you ordered him to just wait a few minutes. He did. Then you gestured for him to sit on the bed with you. "So, That's what it feels like." "Everytime?" You shook your head. "Not everytime without exception. It might be more or less intense or satisfying." He seemed to hesitate to ask you the next question, but you just answered it before he could ask: "I am very satisfied, Alexander"

He smiled and took your hand, standing up and pulling you to your feet. "Let's get some snacks", he offered, giving you a kiss. You smiled as well, giving him a peck on his cheek. "Yep, let's go!"

[ghuleh-witch]

And We Are Tied As One Eternally-V

Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explicit Warnings: (For Future Chapters) NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex, mentions of past abuse and domestic violence, references to suicide (For This Chapter) brief mentions of 9/11, war, death, school shootings, and religious manipulation Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x OFC Additional Tags: soft!dom Copia, eventual smut, developing relationship, kind of a slow burn, no beta reader Chapter Word Count: 2116 Summary: Ellie Moran just wanted to make a new life for herself. Running to escape the people in her past, she ends up in a small town in the middle of nowhere that happens to be home to a Satanic church. She never expected her life to change again after she started attending the public masses at said church.

Ao3

Chapters: 5/? Previous Chapters

Tag list: @sodoswitchimage

Her laugh was the most musical thing he’d ever heard, and Copia would die happy if it was the last thing he would ever hear again. He sat on the edge of his bed as Ellie sat cross-legged on the floor, his rats crawling over her knees and onto her shoulders. She giggled and cooed at them, gently petting their soft fur with her fingers. Copia felt fluttering in his stomach as she watched Ellie’s face scrunch as Meatball sniffed her ear. 

“That tickles,” she said as she gently lifted Meatball from her shoulder and to her knee. She gave him a loving pat before fishing her phone out of her pocket and checking the time. “I can’t stay for long. I have work this afternoon.”

“What do you do for work?” Copia asked. 

“I work at the little bookstore in town—stocking, running the register, stuff like that,” Ellie answered. 

“Do you like it?”

“It’s one of the better jobs I’ve had. I don’t mind it at all. My one supervisor is an asshole but it pays my bills so I can’t complain too much,” Ellie said with a shrug. 

“Asshole? What makes them an asshole?” Copia asked curiously, ready to go to bat for her.

“Oh, he’s a religious guy. Reminds me of all the people I grew up around.”

“That’s right, you said you were an evangelical baptist,” Copia said, remembering what she told him the first time they met. “Not that it’s any of my business, but what led you astray from your church?” He saw her go still for a moment as the rats crawled over her shoulders. She was considering her words, he noted and it made him even more curious

“Just a lot of things,” she said with a shrug. “The older I got the more I questioned things and the less that made sense. I didn’t particularly appreciate how controlling they were for one. I couldn’t read certain books or watch certain movies because they were considered evil. I wasn’t allowed to wear certain types of clothes. I was told my place in the world was to be a wife and a mother and pop out as many kids as possible to serve God.” She sighed. “I think the thing that started to make me pull away was being told at thirteen years old that I needed to martyr myself for Jesus in case someone came to shoot up my school.” 

Copia felt sick at that. For a child to hear such vile... “That’s disgusting. How dare they tell children that?” He seethed. Anger flooded him the more he thought about it. “And these are the people who claim to protect the innocent. I can’t stand people like that.”

“Me neither, but when you’re at that age and have nowhere else to go you just sort of pretend to be like them to survive,” Ellie said softly. “At least that’s what I did. I don’t think I’ve believed in God since I was fourteen or fifteen, but I played the part of a good Christian girl until I could get away.” 

“You do what you got to in order to survive, even if it does mean, eh, what do the kids say? Faking it until you make it,” Copia said as he nodded in agreement. “The Olde One understands this.” 

“Leaves you with a lot of issues though,” Ellie said with a laugh, her eyes glancing down at her left arm. The glance didn’t go unnoticed by him though. He had a feeling what lay under her sleeve, but he wouldn’t push or bring it up. That was her story to tell whenever she was comfortable and ready. “But I’m working through them. Slowly.”

“Life isn’t a race,” Copia said, leaning over to allow Alfredo to crawl up his arm. “You work at things at your own pace, si ?”

Ellie nodded and then laughed as Meatball tried to crawl down her shirt, and for a moment Copia thought the room got even warmer than it already was. “No, friend, you can’t go down there,” she said as she gently sat Meatball back on her knee. She looked over to Copia. “Thanks again for letting me play with them. I miss having animals in my life.”

“It’s not a problem. Anytime you want to visit them let me know. You do not have any pets?” Copia asked. 

“No,” Ellie said. “I was moving around a lot…you know looking for that change I wanted to make and I didn’t think it would be fair to put that stress on a cat or a dog or any other animal. When I was a kid I used to have a dog. Her name was Misty. She was this really pretty golden retriever. I loved her so much. She was my best friend. After my dad died, my mother got rid of her.”

“Oh, cara, I’m so sorry,” Copia said. “About your father and your dog.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. My dad was in the military. Got sent to war after 9/11, and died in Afghanistan. My mother wasn’t the same after that. She got rid of everything that reminded her of him, and he was the one that got me Misty. I’m pretty sure my mother would have got rid of me if she could.”

He could see the pain in her eyes and it broke his heart. He wanted to hold her and comfort her but settled for placing a hand on her knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry to hear that, cara . People grieve in different ways, but that wasn’t fair for your mother to take away something you loved because she couldn’t properly channel that grief.” 

Her hand came to rest over his for a brief moment and for a second Copia thought he felt a tingle of electricity surge through him. “Thanks,” she said softly. “I miss that dog every day. I know she’s probably gone by now. She was three years old when I was ten so she’d be over twenty years old now if she was still alive.” Ellie glanced down at their hands and slowly pulled hers away. Copia did the same, already missing the warmth it brought him. “But maybe one day I’ll get myself another dog.”

“Of course,” Copia said. “But in the meantime, my rats can be your furry friends.”

Ellie grinned. “Thanks.” She dug her phone out of her pocket again and frowned. “I should get going. I gotta get home and get ready for work.”

“Oh, of course. Let’s get the babies back in their home and I’ll walk you out.” 

They got the rats back in their cage and Ellie promised she’d back to visit them. It made his heart race knowing she’d be coming back to his room to see his rats. They were silent as he walked her out of the house and to the lot her car was parked in. “I’ll see you for mass?” He asked as she unlocked her car door.

Ellie nodded. “I’ll be here. I might be back before then though. Gemma said she had some study guides for me to look over.”

Copia nodded. “Well, if you need anything…”

“I’ll let you know,” Ellie finished for him with a smile. “Thanks again, for everything.”

“No problem,” Copia said. “No problem at all. I’ll see you soon.” He watched as she got into her car and started the engine. She gave him a little wave before backing up and making her way down the drive. He watched as her car disappeared before heading back to the house.

“Someone’s becoming smitten,” came a voice from the kitchen once he was back inside.

Copia turned to see Secondo making himself a cup of tea.

“I’m not-” Copia began before Secondo held up a hand to stop him.

“You are,” Secondo said. “Don’t deny it. Why should you? She’s pretty, and from talking to her today in the group session, she seems very intelligent and loyal.”

“Because I barely know her,” Copia argued.

“Since when has that stopped you? How many people have you had in your bed that you actually knew?”

“But I’m old enough to be her father.”

“And?”

“She doesn’t want me.”

“You’re blind, fratello,” Secondo sighed. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you during mass, and just now when you were walking her to her car. She’s smitten too whether she knows it or not. You’re making excuses.”

Copia sighed and sat down at the small table. “Maybe you’re right.”

Secondo huffed and smirked. “I know I’m right. So what are you going to do about it.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Copia said. “I don’t want to scare her off.”

“Invite her to the Samhain ball.” 

“She was already invited.”

“As your date, idiota .” 

Copia blinked. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you aren’t thinking,” Secondo said rolling his eyes. “Next time you see her, ask her. Say it’s just a casual thing or something. She’ll say yes.”

Copia nodded. “Okay…okay I will.”

“Good. And for the record, I think you two would be a good fit.” Secondo finished steeping his tea and walking out of the kitchen.

Copia sat the table thinking it all over. “The worst she can say is no,” he told himself before he made his way up to his bedroom. 

XXX

Ellie stared at the clock. Even though she was working a four-hour shift, it felt like she had already been there for a full day. Two hours to go, she thought as she went back to organizing books on the ‘New releases’ table. She thought back on her visit with Copia. She ended up telling him a lot more than she intended, but Ellie couldn’t help it. She felt so comfortable with him that she didn’t mind being vulnerable.

When the bell above the door jingled, Ellie was pulled from her thoughts. She turned to see an older woman walk in with a stack of flyers in her hand.

“Excuse me, dear, could I leave you a flyer to put in your window? It’s for an event at St. Gertrude’s,” the woman said, holding out a piece of paper to Ellie.

“Oh, we’re not allowed to-” Ellie began before being cut off by her supervisor who appeared behind her.

“Of course, Helen,” Charles said beaming. He took the flyer and looked it over. “This town needs the church more than ever.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Helen said smiling. “Ever since those devil worshippers moved into the old abbey this town has gone downhill.”

Ellie stilled, biting her tongue to stop herself from saying something that would get her fired.

“The worst thing that’s happened to this place,” Charles agreed. “I see those freaks all the time walking around town putting up their flyers. They’ve come in here a couple of times to leave flyers. I always shred them. I’ll post this in the window and let people know about the event when they come in.” 

Helen nodded and smiled. “Thanks, Charles. I’m going to continue passing out flyers. I’ll see you at mass.”

“See you there,” Charles said before Helen left. He handed Ellie the flyer. “Put this up in the window.”

“I thought we weren’t allowed to display non-store related flyers,” Ellie said taking the flyer from him.

“No one’s going to care about a church flyer,” Charles said.

“Then why don’t you display the flyers for the Ministry of Ghost?” Ellie challenged. “Why display one religious organization and not the other? Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Because they’re not a religion. They’re a cult of evil,” Charles sneered. “You kids these days…”

“I’m 30 years old. I’m not a kid,” Ellie said. “And I’m only pointing out how hypocritical the situation is and how it’s against company policy to display non-store related flyers in the windows.”

Charles huffed and grabbed the flyer out of Ellie’s hand.

“I’ll do it then,” he said before striding over to the window. 

As Charles went to get some tape from behind the register, Ellie noticed someone standing across the street from the store. She blinked and froze. The setting sun made the street outside dim and made details hard to make out, but she recognized the man staring back at her. Ellie closed her eyes for a second and breathed. In and out. In and out. When she opened her eyes again, the man was gone.

I’m going crazy, she thought as she looked out the window and up and down the street. No one was there.

He’s not here, she told herself. You’re just seeing things. It’s okay. You’re safe. 

Post Chapter A/N I hope everyone got to see Rite Here Rite Now. Seeing it has affected the outcome of this fic, so stay tuned! Follow me on twitter :) -ghulehwitch