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winxanity-ii · 4 months ago

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SACRILEGIOUS DEVOTION [1/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: So, Father Charlie is out here losing all his morals and sanity on Grotesquerie and my mind couldn't help but match it, so what's a better idea other than channeling all the religious trauma/journey into a spicy one-shot? i for one feel like it's a mini-therapy, but enough rambling, enjoy 😩🫶🏾 i'm in love with a holy man, mother 😔…. second part: 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 and final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Father Charlie Mayhew was a sick man.

Not in the manner of flesh, but of spirit. He could feel the sickness festering in the quiet corners of his heart, a sinful yearning that had taken root there, twisting itself around his thoughts like creeping ivy.

It was a sickness that, he believed, made him a grotesque parody of the holy man he was meant to be. For how could he call himself righteous, devoted, when every whisper of prayer felt stained by the way his eyes followed you, Sister ____?

You were a vision of purity, an embodiment of the kind of gentle devotion that Father Charlie envied and craved all at once.

He watched you from a distance, always careful not to draw your gaze, afraid of what you might see if you looked too deeply. How dutiful you were, sweeping the church aisle with a focus that made him forget the dust and see only the graceful motion of your hands.

The sun, filtered through stained glass, seemed to seek you out, casting colors on your habit as if to mark you as someone far beyond his grasp, almost holy in your mundane tasks.

It was in the mornings, when he heard the soft chime of your laughter in the courtyard as you fed the pigeons, that he felt the deepest sting of his wretchedness.

The world seemed simpler in those moments, your laughter echoing off the stone walls, the warmth of early sun painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. He wondered if you knew how your kindness drew even the animals to you, their heads dipping into your palms as if receiving communion.

There was a stillness to you, a gentleness in every gesture.

The worst of it was during your services. Father Charlie had seen you on your knees before, hands folded in earnest prayer, your lips moving softly as you whispered your devotion to God.

He would stand at the back of the chapel, watching with a mixture of awe and something far darker. He told himself it was admiration, but the truth festered beneath that facade.

It was longing, a hunger that ached at the edges of his soul.

A storm raged outside the convent one evening, winds battering the church walls with a fury that mirrored the tempest building in his chest. The clouds were bloated, dark as his thoughts, and thunder rolled across the sky with a violence that shook even the faith he held so dear.

You had come to his chambers in the dead of night, your knock barely audible over the howling wind. He had been preparing for bed, freshly out of the shower, wearing only his boxers when he heard you at the door.

The creak of the old wood seemed to echo forever as he opened it, and there you stood, eyes wide, looking so impossibly fragile in the dim candlelight of the corridor. Your modest night slip clung to your form, the thin fabric shifting in the draft that sneaked in from the hallway.

Charlie's breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you, innocence incarnate, seeking refuge with him.

He hesitated for only a moment before allowing you in, quickly wrapping himself in a silk robe that hung loosely on his shoulders, barely tied. He knew he should not let you enter, but there was something in the way you looked at him—so trusting, so devoted—that made him abandon every rational thought.

You had come asking to pray with him, your soft voice trembling as you spoke. The storm outside seemed like a reflection of the turmoil within him as he let you step past the threshold, closing the door behind you.

Now, you were here, kneeling before him, your eyes upturned and wide, waiting for his command, for his instruction like the obedient servant of God that you were.

Your soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, a gentle, "Father...?"

Charlie could only lament to himself how sinfully pure you looked. He hummed softly, his eyes dark as they trailed over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders, the delicate line of your neck.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across your skin, highlighting the innocence that made his hunger all the more unbearable.

"Yes, forgive me, Sister. Let us now pray," he finally said, his voice low and rough, the words nearly swallowed by the sound of the wind outside. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your forehead, and you leaned into the touch without hesitation, your eyes closing as if his hand was a blessing.

He swallowed hard, his thoughts spiraling deeper into the forbidden desires he had tried so desperately to keep buried.

He began to pray, his voice low, raspy, each word a struggle against the chaos inside him. "Heavenly Father, we come before you tonight..." But the words felt hollow, their meaning slipping away as he watched you, kneeling so obediently at his feet.

His eyes darkened, wandering further down, tracing the lines of your form. The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath—it all seemed to pull him further from the sanctity of the moment.

He should have been thinking of God, of salvation, of the purity of the prayer—but instead, he was thinking of you, of the way the thin fabric clung to your skin, the soft curve of your breasts visible through the modest slip.

He licked his lips, his gaze fixed on the delicate line of your collarbone, the way it rose and fell with each breath you took.

The more he spoke, the less the words mattered. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, spreading through his body, his thoughts growing more erratic, each word of the prayer slipping further from its sacred meaning, twisting into something profane, something filthy. "Protect us from all evil..." he whispered as he traced the line of your jaw with his thumb, the words a bitter irony as he felt himself drawn further into the darkness of his desires.

His hand moved lower, fingers trailing down your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat. His touch was gentle, but there was a weight behind it, a hunger that he could no longer deny.

He could almost see the curve of your bare skin beneath the thin fabric, the outline of your body that he should not be imagining. He tried to focus on the prayer, but every word felt like a lie. He let out a shaky breath, the prayer faltering on his lips. "Guide us... guide us in your light," he managed, his voice thick with the weight of his longing.

The storm outside raged on, the wind howling as if to warn him, but Father Charlie could no longer hear it. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears as he looked down at you, so trusting, so willing.

As the final words of the prayer fell from his lips—"Amen"—you echoed him, your voice soft and unwavering. You blinked open your eyes, looking up at him with such innocence and Charlie felt himself slip past the point of no return.

He knew that no amount of prayer could ever cleanse him of what he wanted, that he could no longer pretend, no longer fight against the pull that drew him to you—the sweet, precious nun who had unknowingly captured his very soul.

Father Charlie stood, his robe slipping slightly from his shoulders, exposing the toned muscle beneath. The wind howled outside, and thunder bellowed again, followed by a flash of lightning that lit the room in a brief, startling blaze of white.

You were still kneeling before him, your wide eyes following his every movement, the flickering light casting you in both shadow and radiance.

Charlie bent at the waist, his fingers reaching out to cup your jaw, thumb caressing your bottom lip as his half-lidded eyes trailed over your face. "Sister ____," he murmured, his voice dripping with a twisted kind of affection, his name for you almost reverent, as though you were something sacred, something he could worship in his own unholy way.

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath his touch, a soft stutter escaping your lips. "F-Father...?"

He grasped one of your hands, his fingers wrapping around yours, and as he stood, he gently urged you to rise with him. His gaze never left your face, his eyes dark and full of something raw. He began to speak, his voice barely more than a murmur, the words heavy with confession. "As a man of God, there are expectations placed upon me," he started, his tone wavering between remorse and something darker, something that made his grip on your hand tighten. "I am meant to guide, to protect, to remain steadfast in my faith."

His other hand moved, slowly pulling your trembling hand against his bare stomach, pressing your palm against the hard planes of his abdomen.

You gasped, your eyes wide as you looked up at him, your hand trembling beneath his. The heat of his skin burned into your palm, the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Charlie continued, his voice lowering, growing more intense as he spoke. "But these days... these days, Sister, I find myself at war. At war with desires that threaten to consume me..." His words trailed off, and he let out a low hum as he rubbed your hand across his stomach, the movement slow, deliberate.

Your hand hesitated for a moment, the warmth of his skin making you tremble as you instinctively pulled back. But his grip was firm, guiding you back, and slowly, tentatively, your fingers splayed across his stomach, your touch feather-light.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering down before you took a timid step closer, as if drawn by some invisible force. Your gaze shifted to the side, your cheeks warming with embarrassment at the proximity, at the way you could feel his heart beating beneath your palm.

Father Charlie's eyes never left you, and he could see every ounce of hesitation, every flicker of uncertainty that danced across your face. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your forehead as he spoke, his voice a low murmur, "There's no need to be afraid, Sister. You are safe here... with me."

You blinked, your lashes fluttering as you dared to look up at him, your eyes meeting his through the veil of uncertainty.

There was something in his gaze, something dark and magnetic that pulled at you, made your pulse race. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw; the touch almost comforting, but there was an intensity behind it that made you shiver.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice to speak, your fingers trembling slightly against his skin. He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curve of his lips, and he hummed again, satisfied with your silent answer.

His other hand moved to rest against the small of your back, pulling you just a little bit closer, his robe parting further, exposing more of his chest.

Your breath hitched as you felt the distance between you closing, the way his body seemed to envelop yours. You could barely think, your mind clouded with the storm of emotions and the strange, electric pull you felt toward him.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, his eyes darkening as he watched you. You felt your pulse quicken, your knees weakening under the intensity of his gaze.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and something darker, something that made your heart pound even harder. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your body react, leaning in just slightly, as if craving more of his warmth, his touch.

His fingers trailed lower, coaxing your hand along his body, and you felt the tension, the desire in every muscle. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a husky whisper, "Let me show you, Sister ____... let me show you what devotion truly means."

He kissed you then, his lips crashing against yours like a man starved. His mouth moved hungrily, tasting, devouring, and you felt his tongue lick into your mouth, coaxing a soft, surprised whimper from your throat. His groan vibrated against your lips, the sound raw and desperate.

Your head spun, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the sheer need in his kiss.

You pulled back, gasping for air, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss. He didn't give you a moment to recover; his lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.

He nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, to make your knees weaken beneath you. The heat of his mouth trailed down, his tongue flicking out to soothe each small bite, and you felt your body trembling, a warmth pooling low in your belly.

Charlie's hands were relentless, holding you steady as your body threatened to give out, your knees buckling as his mouth worked against your skin. He pulled back only long enough to whisper your name, his voice thick with something between reverence and hunger.

Before you knew it, he had scooped you up, his arms strong and sure as he carried you towards his bed. Your breath hitched, your fingers clinging to his robe as he moved, each step filled with purpose.

He set you down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. His eyes roamed over you, dark and filled with desire, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Father Charlie moved quickly, his hands deft as he pushed your slip off your shoulders, the fabric sliding down your skin and pooling around your waist. His lips followed the path of the falling slip, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your shoulders, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

You shivered beneath his touch, the cool air of the room prickling at your exposed skin, your nipples pebbling in response.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you, and he let out a low groan, his hands running along your bare arms, feeling the way you trembled beneath him. "You're like a goddess," he murmured, his voice thick with reverence and lust. "Perfect. Untouched. A temptation I can't resist." His lips found your collarbone, kissing, nipping, his words vibrating against your skin.

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, trailing down the center of your chest, his hands spreading across your back, urging you to arch into him. His kisses were relentless, each one making your breath catch, making your body react in ways that felt both unfamiliar and thrilling.

You couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do, where to touch.

Charlie pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze filled with hunger. He pushed you back against the bed, guiding you to lie down, his hands never leaving your body, his touch possessive, as if he couldn't bear to be without contact. He looked down at you, splayed out before him, your slip barely covering you, and he licked his lips, his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dripping with a mix of adoration and hunger. "So innocent, so pure... and all mine." He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands working the slip further down your body, baring you completely to him.

The cool air made you shiver, your body exposed, vulnerable, and you couldn't help the way your legs shifted, instinctively trying to close.

Charlie's hands moved to your knees, gently but firmly pushing them apart, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your reaction. His lips moved from your mouth, trailing down your jaw to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he groaned against you.

He pulled the slip away entirely, tossing it aside, his hands roaming over your bare skin, mapping every inch as though he were committing you to memory. "You are... perfection," he muttered, his voice strained, filled with a hunger that made your breath hitch.

His lips moved lower, trailing down your body, leaving a heated path across your chest, your stomach, and further down. His hands were strong, keeping your legs pinned open to the bed, his fingers pressing into your thighs with a possessive hold. He kissed along your inner thighs, his warm breath fanning over your skin, making you shiver, anticipation coiling in your belly.

You instinctively tried to scoot back, to move away as you felt his breath getting closer to your core, but Charlie's grip tightened, his hands holding you firmly in place. He looked up at you, his eyes dark, almost predatory, as he whispered, "Stay still, Sister... let me worship you."

He breathed you in, a deep, satisfied groan rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if savoring the scent of you, and then he leaned in, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

A squeal, half surprise and half pleasure, escaped your lips, your back arching slightly off the bed.

Father Charlie's tongue moved with a purpose, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands kept your legs spread, his grip firm and unyielding as he worked his mouth against you, his groans vibrating against your core.

He was relentless, his mouth moving with a hunger that made your head spin, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as waves of pleasure washed over you.

You could feel his smooth skin against your inner thighs, the sensation only adding to the overwhelming pleasure that built inside you. His tongue moved in slow, teasing circles, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against you, his eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

The sight of you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest heaved with every ragged breath—only seemed to spur him on, his groans growing louder as he tasted you.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your hips bucking against his mouth, a whimper slipping from your lips. Charlie's hands moved to hold your hips down, pinning you to the bed as he continued, his tongue delving into you, his nose brushing against your clit as he worked, utterly consumed by the taste of you.

He was lost in it, in you, his tongue moving faster, his mouth desperate as he devoured you.

You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, your body trembling beneath him. The heat built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter, until you felt like you might break apart. His name fell from your lips, a breathless plea, and he groaned in response, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched off the bed, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body ready to fall apart under his touch.

Your first orgasm washed over you without warning, a blinding wave of pleasure that left you feeling weightless, your entire body trembling as you came undone beneath him. You melted into the bed like butter, your limbs going limp as the intensity of it left you breathless.

Charlie's mouth moved against you with a fervent hunger, drinking in every bit of your release as if it were the most sacred offering.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the sensation grew overwhelming, your body growing sensitive to his touch. He didn't stop, his tongue moving lazily, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, his mouth still savoring you.

Your grip on his head shifted, your fingers now pushing at him, trying to get him to stop, but his hands only gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you in place. "W-Wait..." The heat in your stomach was already starting to build again, the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue igniting another fire deep within you.

Charlie groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, his face buried even further between your legs, his tongue relentless.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, your body trembling once more as the pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, your mind spinning as you tried to form words, but all that left your throat were broken, incoherent sounds—static that filled the room as you babbled.

You tried to scoot back, to move away from the overwhelming sensation, but Charlie's strong arms wrapped around your hips, yanking you back down, his grip unyielding. His own hips pressed into the bedding below, his desperation evident as he devoured you.

You teetered on the edge once more, the pleasure too much, too intense, until it finally broke over you again, your body arching, your mind going completely blank as you came undone a second time.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on you, the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming ecstasy that left you gasping for air.

As you came down from your high, your body trembling, Father Charlie finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening. He stared up at you with dark, lidded eyes, his expression filled with hunger, with desire that seemed insatiable.

There was no hesitation, no regret—only a raw need that made it clear he no longer cared about going against his vows, no longer cared about the priesthood or what was right.

All that mattered to him was you.

A/N: i'm sorry, i just watched Grotesquerie last night and i've become obssessed.... ugh, the tension between father charlie and sister megan is just *chefs kiss* it's clear that megan is obviously meant to be y/n and the screenplay was written in the intent of it being catered to the female gaze because wheeeeww 😩...

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insomniac-dot-ink · 11 days ago

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Electrical Wire Vigil

No one knows what to do with the angel tangled in the power lines. The poor thing’s body was wrapped around and around the sparking wires and twisted-up into a ball. The face was obscured by its bent halo—a golden glow that sometimes oscillates like bad television signal. The wings float loosely in the air, all twelve feet of silken bits of light, ragged and torn at the ends.

A storm had felled the trees and the poles and anything taller than a chicken coup in one swoop. Anyone who dared cross the puddles and debris had to risk being electrocuted by the live wires or blinded by the angel’s weakly pulsing light.

The creature would periodically make a break for it too—wings going taut and rising in a flurry of trumpet sounds and frantic flapping. The electrical wires held fast, twisting against the angel’s soft flesh and pushing back. It fell, it always fell, back into the nest of tangled wires and would make weak cooing noises. I was an ornithologist before all this town and couldn’t help but think, pigeon.

The chaplain went to pray under the angel’s bent bod first, getting close as he dared. Everyone knew he wasn’t but a few weeks off the drink and his hands still shook when he lifted up the cross. The nun, she was retired but we still called her just that, caught the 921 bus to the next town that same day.

Some said she was going to the next town over to get a proper priest. Others said she had crossed herself and high-tailed it out of there. What bad luck it was going to be to have a dead angel in our backyard.

All this debris and only the birds can get close enough to it, flapping around the angels head and perching on its mighty back. They call to each other.

Davie, who I had once loved, offered to fetch his shotgun and put it out of its misery. The youngest one there, a girl named Clara, cried so hard she had to be walked back and forth down the lane three times. We opted to put “shooting a messenger of the lord” on the back burner. We gathered up wire cutters, holy books, rubber boots, and a good tree-cutting ax from the messes of our homes and piled them up. We'd wait a day or so at least, watching the angel and all silently hoping it would make it out on its own.

I wasn’t a praying woman anymore. My house was a testament to a lot of broken things before it was ever leveled by the storm. But I didn’t have any little ones to walk up and down the lane and my car had survived just fine and I owned the best pair of binoculars out of anyone. So, I kept vigil–it was the least I could do.

I sat and watched and sometimes cooed back when the angel let out long melancholy ooo's. Days of misery in exchange for just a few hours of wind and rain and fury, I thought, the relief trucks would be a while. The chaplain came at sundown and he passed me a drink from his flask. I wasn’t a praying woman anymore so I took a long sip and passed it back.

“Think it’ll make it out?” I asked, nodding at the angel, and the chaplain took a longer drink. I gave him a small smile and elbowed the man. “Glad you stayed, at least.” He nodded again and began to pray, never taking his eyes off the wires up above.

The girl came when the day tucked behind the trees into full dark.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” I told her tiny form at the edge of the puddles. She drew her knees up under her big sweater.

“I have to make sure he doesn’t try anything . . .” she said and I knew she was talking about Davie, who I could no longer love.

“Does your mama know you’re out here?”

She mumbles from inside her little hoodie, “I can’t let ‘em do it.”

I sighed. “He won’t, not with me here,” I said and waved her over. I made the little girl climb into my lap to stop her shivering and the chaplain gave us all a long blanket to huddle under. The angel flapped those dirty wings and cooed.

“Can I see?” I let the little girl use my binoculars to make out that bent halo and loose curls. She got fingerprints all over the lens and I tried to ignore it.

“I want to be a meteorologist one day,” Clara said, unprompted. “So I can warn people about stuff like this.”

I snorted. “And I want to be a poet.”

“Hush,” Markus says to me and then to the little girl, “I’m sure you’ll make a great weather lady, Clara.” The chaplain gave a punished smile and it made me want to make fun of him just enough to stop it. Clara frowned.

“Did you always want to be a chaplain?” she asked in return and the chaplain didn't answer.

I cleared my throat. “Do you think that’s what it was trying to do? Trying to warn us?” “Or maybe it was just unlucky,” Markus says, rubbing a hand down his long face.

I snorted. “A bad day at work, for sure.”

“Does god allow for bad luck?” asked the little girl.

“Why don’t we ask it?” I say, and we laugh, weakly. We call out to the angel–questions and praise and hopes for tomorrow that we’ll get it out. Or maybe we'd have to get the shotgun tomorrow. The glow of the creature is so weak. Near midnight, the girl suggests we go looking for its horn. If it had been there to warn us, it might have carried a horn, and if it had a horn, we might be able to summon help.

We search, feebly, avoiding the sparking wires and the upturned wood and metal. We go around in the mud on our hands and knees until we match the trapped thing. Though, we never do figure out what to do with the angel tangled in the power line. The night was long and bitter and we didn’t have anywhere else to be, the drunken chaplain and family-less woman of the birds and that little girl.

Before dawn, I am asleep, we are all asleep, dead to the world like the day will never come. And in the morning, the wires are loose on the ground and quiet. The angel is gone and a truck has come to pick us up. A part of me hopes it made it out. A part of me is relieved to see that Davie is here and he has all his supplies in the back. The trucks are here and the power company remembered us enough to cut off the power.

I have nowhere to be, and walk the little girl home. Gloria is happy to see her and offers me a place to stay the night even though I tell her my car is just fine. Still, she says, just a night.

The window in the guest room faces the electrical wires. They’ll rebuild them one day because you can’t waste the material all the way out here. Clara will go off to college one day. The chaplain will leave the drink for good, he will, and the church in the same breath. I will write a poem one day and it won’t be any good.

It’ll be about the electrical wires outside my windows. About how I don’t know if the angel made it out, but the birds still perch there. They preen and sing and fluff. I count them one by one in the pre-dawn light. Some are flesh and blood and they clean the feathers of the ones that aren’t. Pearly blue jays that sing forgotten songs from yesteryear, and there are fewer ones by the morning light. The angel wire they call it. Year after year, the birds return with their bodies or without them, to sit on the wire and preen their grandchildren and sing to lost mates, and I close my eyes and listen to the ghosts.

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

My book! 🧡 Newsletter

#flash fiction #spilled ink #flash fic #urban fantasy #magical realism #my work

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dilfl0v3rss · 2 years ago

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all yours

when it came to your safety, onyankopon played zero games. if he felt even the slightest bit of worry he had no problem getting you from wherever you may be. there have been times where you’ve been walked out of parties, stores, and even something as little as a smoke sesh with your girls. if ony felt you were unsafe you were going home no questions asked, and you honestly didn’t have an issue with it. feeling a sense of pride in having a man that cares so deeply for you. that was until tonight…

the two of you were at your friend ivy’s place for her big housewarming party when you were getting weird stares from a couple hating ass bitches. ivy didn’t want her party to be small so she told each person she invited to tell some friends to come as well. which led to this weird ass bitch brielle hearing about the party and deciding to curse everyone with her presence. brielle was an old fling of ony’s that he been cut off like a year ago, but she’s so thick in the head that she still runs her mouth about him to this very day. you, being the classy woman you are, have been ignoring the bitch because it honestly was sad of her to be acting like this, but today she reached her limit.

when you and ony first arrived everything was great. “heyy bitchhhh. so glad y’all could make ittt.” ivy screamed as she welcomed you and ony into her new home. ony greeted her with a small “wassup, thank you for havin’ us” before letting you have the floor, walking towards jean and connie to talk. “hey boooo. this place is niceeee you gotta let me spend the night sooon” the two of you talked for awhile before she let you go to get a drink from the kitchen. as you filled your red solo cup halfway with casamigos you noticed some girls approaching where your boyfriend and his friends were. before being able to move, you were stopped by sasha, mikasa and.

sasha was the first to talk. “you peep that shit right?” she said, nodding her head towards the girls. you knew if one of your friends was going to say something about what was going on it would be sasha. mikasa was on the quieter side, but best believe when it came to you she didn’t play either. “yea i see em. that bird ass bitch and her lil flock of pigeons tryna play games” the three of you watched as brielle and her little sidekicks were all up in you boyfriend’s faces. brielle being the main one, lightly hitting ony’s chest while she laughed. her red bussdown was flowing behind her as she pushed it over her shoulder, purposely trying to bounce her tiddies as she “fixed” her hair.

being the levelheaded woman you are, you decided against approaching them. knowing that you’d probably knock the bitches head off her shoulders if you went anywhere near her right now. so you pulled out your phone and sent ony a quick and simple text. ony looked at his phone almost immediately, knowing it was you who texted him since he had it on dnd for everyone else.

my wife💐

‘tell that bitch move around or ima drag her outta here omm😐’

as soon as he read the text, ony lifted his head and began searching for you. soon he locked eyes with yours, excusing himself from whatever conversation was going on and making his way to the kitchen. “what’s wrong now?” is this nigga dumb? did he not just see and feel that bitch being weird touching on him? “nun bruh just tell that hoe to keep her distance. that hair look new and i’d hate to have that shit on the floor” as the two of you conversed you couldn’t help but peep ivy and her friends start to mug you and your girls. eventually making their way towards you. before you can even point it out your thoughts were cut off by sasha. “yea i’m finna flip dis hoe. got me all the way fucked up.”

ony watched your friends start to remove their earrings and adjust their clothes, and being the nonconfrontational man that he was he decided it was time for you to go. “go tell ivy we leavin’ and wait f’me in the car ma. i’ll get you a slice of ca-” “nah i’m good right here.” you cut him off, eager to see what this bitch was on. as they approached y’all you see that sasha and mikasa were quick to be at your side, standing face to face with each of brielle’s friends. “you got a problem wit me shawty?” brielle smirked, looking you up and down and taking pride in pissing you off. but your mouth was smart and even though it got you in trouble with your man, there was nothing you couldn’t handle when it came to other people.

“nah but you seem to have a problem that i got the nigga you want” you spit back with a smile. you could see that your comment got under her skin. she was rolling her eyes as she replied. “nah ion got a problem when i know i can have em right back anytime. like last saturday for instance.” this bitch is a liar and you knew it. laughing at loud as both her and your friends looked at you confused. last saturday ony was home the entire day, and you can only remember it so vividly because he had you face down in the mattress for cursing him out over being late to brunch. you also remembered it so vividly because he recorded most of it on your phone. “tuhh bitch please pick a different lie because you know damn well he was with me. now are we gon sit here and chit chat or you tryna take this outside cause ian really with allat talkin’. ”

before the bird could reply, ony stepped in the middle of yall and tried to play the mediator. “y/n. get in the car, now. and brielle, what we had been over for a long ass time now. give that shit up and move on.” you backed down, feeling that no bitch was worth getting into it with your man. you were lowkey tired of being the bigger person, but knew i’d be better this way than just fighting and possibly ruining your friends party. as you made your way around ony, you gave brielle the illest mug ever to let her know that even though you’re leaving, you still ain’t no bitch. it wasn’t even five seconds since you left the kitchen where you can hear the bitch starting up again. “i don’t know why you still dealin’ wit that bitch. don’t you miss me ponpon?” brielle said in a baby like voice.

“nah chill wit that bitch word bro. and you really needa stop running your fuckin’ mouth bout her too cause i may not be here next time to stop her” you smiled while ony shut that bitch down. you knew he was more on the calm side so hearing him raise his voice a little turned you on. “oh please nigga you know damn well her shit nowhere as good as mine. used to have your soul leaving your body and allat. you can act like you don’t miss me but ik that dick think otherwise.” that was it for you. it was in the blink of an eye when you were dragging that bitch outside by her hair. honestly you needed whatever glue she got bc her shit wasn’t moving an inch. as you pulled her down the steps of ivy’s porch, you felt ony trying to grab at your wrists.

“mama let her hair go right now.” he yelled. you whip your head to the side, face to face with your man as he stared at you with a warning in his eyes. your fingers instantly straightened before brielle dropped to the ground. the stare this man was giving you made your heart start pumping rapidly. through his eyes you could tell that he was saying “don’t test me”, and you had no intention of finding out what would happen if you did. it was almost instantly when ony grabbed the top of your arm, quickly walking you to his car. most of the people were already outside, migrating there as they watched you drag brielle from the kitchen to the porch. ony opened your door and you sat down, ready to leave this whole day behind already. before you could close the door you heard brielle yapping again.

“fuck you bitch you can have the nigga. ain’t nun but a piece of dick anywayssss.” you hopped out the car and sprinted towards brielle with a quickness. as she seen you approaching she tried to square up but her hands were trash. punches were flying from everywhere, connecting right to her face every time. you honestly didn’t really care too much about what she said about you, but when it came to your boyfriend there was a line to be crossed. and she stomped right over it. “keep. my. man. name. out. your. fuckin’. mouth. bitch.” she was now laid on the floor with her arms shielding her bleeding face while you continued to throw blows her way. sasha seen her friends inching up about to jump in and shut it down immediately. “if you move anotha inch ima start swinging too. we don’t do nun of that jumping shit so i wish you would try so i can fuck you up right here.”

her friends looked at each other before back up completely, not wanting any problemsm. before long you felt strong arms wrap around you, lifting you off the ground and away from brielle. you were thrown into the backseat of ony’s car before he turned the child lock on, not being able to trust you to not open the door and attack again. he made his way to the front seat and threw a handful of tissue towards you from the glove compartment. the two of you were driving home in complete silence as you wiped your hands clean. usually your man would be lecturing you right now, but there was a calmness to him that frightened you. “umm…are you mad at me?”

he ignored you, asking his own question instead. “why do you get so jealous?” he mumbled, glancing at you in the rear view mirror. you rolled your eyes, acting as if what he was saying was the most ridiculous thing in the world when in actuality, he was right. you knew that ony and brielle been done way before you even came in the picture, but the thought of him even being with her made you feel a way. ony knew you very well and he could tell how you were feeling regardless of what you did or said.

“mama how many times i gotta tell you i’m only yours huh? why can’t you just trust me?” his grip on the steering wheel tightened as he kept replaying the nights events over and over again in his head. “how you expect me to trust you when you okay wit letting bitches be in your face? bitches you used to fuck!” you yelled, holding back tears as you moved your gaze out the window. ony opened his mouth to speak, but decided against going back and forth with you any longer. “we’ll fix this at my crib. not finna argue wit you in the car”

when the two of you made it to his apartment, ony wasted no time, leading you to his room before sitting you down on his lap. “so why you don’t trust me?” he asked, his handing running all over your back as he awaited your reply. you looked at the ground tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you tried your hardest to keep your voice from wavering. “i do” ony sucked his teeth at your words, lightly grabbing your chin and facing you towards him so you could see the knowing look he was giving you. “don’t lie mama, you said it in the car. why don’t you trust me?” the tears you’ve been fighting finally broke free as you quickly covered your eyes and sobbed into his lap. “i-it’s not you pa. i-i was just a little jealous b’cause you were letting her….her-” your cries took most of your breath from you, making you have to stop in the middle of your sentence so you can take a breath. “sh sh sh i get it baby. how you want me t’fix it huh?”you shrugged your shoulders at his question, not having an idea on how he could make this horrible night any better. “a-any way you can”

a soft smile made its way to ony’s face as he lightly pushed you down on your back. he removed your bottoms before slowly getting on his knees. “this way okay?” he asked, chuckling at how you eagerly nodded your head as an answer. it wasn’t long before ony had you a blabbering mess, his fingers digging into you slowly as he took in each of you pretty face expressions. “say it again baby” your back was arched off the bed as you repeated the words ony planned to have to chanting all night. “y-you’re all mine shitt” your moans made his dick grow stiff in his pants as ony looked at the sight of your glistening wet pussy. he quickly pulled his fingers out, laying his tongue flat on your clit before eating you out sloppily.

the feeling of his skilled tongue made you scream as you pushed and pulled on his head. “again” he mumbled into your pussy, too addicted to fully take his mouth away as he looked up at your pretty face. “all mine daddy a-all mine” ony sucked softly on your clit, letting his tongue run all over it in his mouth to quickly grab an orgasm out of you. his tactic worked, making him smile as he felt your juices begin to rush out of you and wet his chin. “good girl mama”

ony stood up in front of you, taking in the sight of your post orgasmic glow as he rubbed himself through his sweatpants. the sight of his bulge made you whine in want as you slowly leaned up to free him from his pants. ony quickly grabbed your hand, giving you a soft expression before lightly pushing flat onto the bed. “s’not about me right now mama. let me do this for you ‘kay?” you nodded your head at his words, making ony give you a like tap on your thigh to make you jump. “lemme hear your voice” at the sound of the small “yes” you gave him, ony slowly freed his dick from the confines of his sweats before lining it up with your tight entrance. “say it again”

“you’re all m-….ohmygoddd” the feeling of his thick dick sinking into your walls made a pretty cry fall from your lips. your back arching off the bed as your hand quickly flew to his wrists. ony didn’t let up, his pace slow, but his thrusts deep as he dug into you with love. “yea m’all yours mama. who dick is it?” your eyes were already at the back of your skull. small whimpers falling from your lips as you tried your hardest not to let your mind drift off into the clouds. “s’m….s’mine daddy” your words were slurred as you felt his dick begin to kiss your cervix in a way that made you want to scream. “ooouuu fuckkk”

ony’s pace began to quicken. the force of his quicker thrusts making your body begin to jerk a little on the sheets. he slowly pulled up your shirt, freeing your perky breasts before leaning down to latch his mouth onto one of your nipples. the feeling of his wet tongue on the sensitive bud making you grow wetter as you caressed the back of his head. you knew there would be marks in the morning, but you didn’t care. letting your man prove to you how much he loves and cares about you through making sweet love to your body. ony released your nipple with a small pop before moving up to your neck.

the dark purple marks were already beginning to form in both of the areas as he slowly moved his lips to your ear. “say it again f’me mama. don’t want you t’forget” as ony waited for your reply, he leaned up from your body, staring down at you lovingly before pulling out of you completely. you matched his gaze, your brown eyes big and watery as you told him the words he longed to hear. “you’re mine” with that ony flipped you onto your stomach, quickly thrusting back into you before fucking you at a fast pace. his dick kissed all the right places in you as you cried out into the air. “oh…oh my goddd daddy right there!” ony smirked as you continued to moan for him. he just started and you were already ready to make a mess all over the sheets. the sloppy sounds of his dick stroking your pussy ringing through the air as proof.

“s’too soon, need you t’hold it f’me ma. can you do that?” you quickly nodded your head, earning you a hard snap of his hips that made you yelp in pleasurable pain. “what i tell you before? talk t’me baby” he was pounding you into the sheets now, your back arched to perfection as ony kept a hand on your back and another at the top of your ass. “i….i can hold it daddy” a smile spread into ony’s brown features as he listened to your whiny voice. your pussy fluttering as you felt his thumb rub over your tight hole. “you want me to?” he asked, chuckling at how quickly you whined out a “yes daddy….please”. ony moved his hand before letting his spit drip from his mouth to your ass.

lightly rubbing his spit outside the brown hole before he lightly fed it the tip of his thumb. you moaned at the sensation, throwing yourself back on him to get more if his dick along with poking your ass out more. “greedy thing” he groaned before fully sheathing his tumb inside of you. the sight made his dick twitch as ony began to fuck you harder and faster. occasionally stroking your puckering hole with his thumb to keep you on edge.

“you trust me now baby?” he breathed, the sight and sound of your pretty moans and even prettier body making it hard for him not to want to shoot his load deep inside of you. “y-yes daddy….with my life”

“you gon cut out the jealousy shit?” ony began to pound into you, using his free hand to push your arch down deeper as he quickly fucked the both of you closer to your orgasms. “mmm..mhm n-no more” the feeling of his long dick repeatedly hitting your g spot made your legs shake under you as you began to soak the sheets under you with drool. “say it one more time for me beautiful and we gon cum together” tears fell from your eyes at the rush of emotions flowing through your body right now. the feeling of love and trust being the most powerful as you felt the coil in your stomach begin to snap.

“you’re all mine”

#aot x black reader #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x black!reader #aot smut #aot onyankopon x black y/n #aot onyankopon x black reader #aot onyankopon x black!reader #onyankopon aot #aot onyankopon smut #ony x black reader #onyankopon smut

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sanders1665 · 1 month ago

Text

Childhood memories.

It was such an ordinary and unremarkable life back then,

The kind you only truly appreciate once it’s gone.

"It's grim up north," they used to say on T.V.,

But I have cheerful memories of roast beef Sundays

And fish-and-chip Fridays wrapped in yesterday’s newsprint.

We lived in terraced houses with chimneys that coughed into the gray sky,

Where the toilet was in the back yard, beside the coal shed,

And the coalman’s boots left black trails once a week

As he filled our bins for the living room fire.

Milk bottles clinked on the doorstep each morning,

Their foil tops pecked open by sparrows,

And on Friday and Saturday nights, we stayed up late,

Gathered around the fire, watching our dad make toast

On a long fork, while Mum buttered each slice.

Old men roamed the streets with horse-drawn carts,

Shouting “Rag bone!” or “Any old iron!”

We played hopscotch on pavements cracked with time,

Skipping rope or kicking tin cans down cobbled streets,

The clatter echoing like a rhythm of childhood freedom.

Follow-the-leader was our favorite game,

Leaping fences, scaling walls,

And darting through alleys with wild abandon.

Wholesome mischief marked our days,

And we froze mid-step if an old codger bellowed,

"I’ll tell your parents!"

Summer meant chasing the chime of the ice cream van,

Begging Mum for pennies to buy a swirl of joy.

Grandma stayed every other month,

Her visits punctuated by whispered talk of rows with Grandad.

Sometimes, I stayed with them in their little house down the street,

Where Grandma let me brush her hair

And Grandpa taught me cursive,

Patiently guiding my hand as he unraveled the mystery of time.

I only later realized why we often stopped at the cemetery—

To visit their parents and theirs before them.

I thought we were just walking; I never knew we were remembering.

When the streetlights flickered on, it was time to go home.

I can still hear my father’s voice booming through the alleys,

Calling my name into the evening echo.

Brass bands marched on Sundays,

Their music halting our play as we watched in awe.

I was ten when I had my first kiss,

On a beach in Hastings,

Where Harold fell to William long before I was born.

There were pigeons everywhere back then,

Starlings and sparrows too,

And the world seemed coated in feathers and bird shit.

It rained so often, I almost thought the gray sky permanent,

And we bundled up in layers, jackets over jumpers over t-shirts,

Our breath misting in the cold air.

Fights with other boys were inevitable,

Knuckles bloodied, eyes blackened,

But always ending in a tearful retreat

To Mum’s shoulder,

Where she comforted and scolded in equal measure.

Dad came home from work with treats in hand,

Toffees jumbled in a paper bag,

Or fresh pastries from the Crusty Cob.

Mum’s slippers, always ready,

Were not just for warmth but for discipline,

Her aim as sharp as her tongue.

Most of our clothes came secondhand or from empty houses,

Treasures scavenged by Dad in his wanderings.

Our town had a zoo where I saw lions and elephants,

And a speedway where engines roared alongside banger racers.

School was ancient and creaked with the weight of history,

Its gothic halls echoing with nuns’ stern voices.

One dared smack my knuckles for asking too many questions,

But the spark of curiosity could not be silenced.

On a school trip to Lytham St. Anne’s,

I broke my collarbone sliding down a wet hill,

And fell for the Irish teacher who nursed my wounds.

Bath nights meant tin tubs by the fire,

The water warmed on the gas stove,

And steam mingling with the scent of coal smoke.

Fifty years have passed,

But these memories remain bright,

Glimpses of a life both simple and profound.

We had little,

But it was enough—always enough.

We didn’t know we were poor,

Because everyone lived the same.

Looking back now, I realize:

Happiness is not in what we lack,

But in what we treasure.

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maniculum · 11 months ago

Text

Bestiaryposting Results: Slagzogg

This is, interestingly, our third consecutive Beaſt that's actually a common everyday animal pretty much all over Europe, including the area where this manuscript was produced. This is interesting to me because the three are handled very differently. First we had the salamander, which I'm pretty sure got mentally separated from the actual animal somewhere, probably because people use different terms for the real-life amphibian in different regions and languages, and not everybody is going to recognize that it's just the Greek word for the same animal. Second we had the deer, which it seemed like the manuscript producers did recognize, because the illustration is clearly a deer... but elements of the entry are just nuts (As @sweetlyfez said, "How do you make up this many wild myths about a guy you live with"). And now we have the [redacted until end of post], which is just given a completely mundane, if engaging, description with the only weird part being the symbolism attached to it.

I think it might also be our first domestic animal -- the entry even talks about the difference between wild and domestic varieties -- which seems like it's worth noting.

Anyway, as usual people who don't know what I'm talking about should check https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting. The entry this week's artists are working from can be found here:

This is another one where I almost didn't put it in because it seemed super obvious what it was, but the artists have done a superb job not drawing that. Excellent work on everyone's part, and it can be found below the cut:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) shows us both a domestic and a wild Slagzogg; the design of the domestic one makes me think of fancy pigeons, which I think is a pretty good direction to take here. The vulture-like faces really improve the design also. Very good birds, and you should go check out the linked post to hear about the design decisions and real-life inspirations behind this one; I think it's pretty interesting.

@pomrania (link to post here) observed that, though the entry mentions beaks and flight, it doesn't actually say "bird", so they can draw a pet dragon and have it fit the description. Fair call, and I think it turned out well. I like the contrast between the fairly dignified-looking creature on the left -- this is a Slagzogg who is on its way to win Best in Show -- and the sketch on the right of someone forcibly preventing it from getting into a fight. If you check out the linked post, you can see Pomrania's progress thread for this design.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) has made the eminently-understandable decision that if they're going to draw a bird with no specific anatomical details given, it's going to be a potoo. On the left we have three domestic Slagzoggs socializing, and on the right we have a wild one perching alone. I like how this incorporates the symbolism of the entry: we're told that the wild type is meant to signify people who choose a religious life ("those who keep apart from this world wear the modest garb of penitence"), and this wild Slagzogg does look a bit more serious and... monastic? Like, that bird is a nun. (Also, thank you for including alt text.)

@cheapsweets (link to post here) also went with the direction of "well, it doesn't say 'bird'," and so we have this really charming image of a medieval person feeding their domestic... pterosaurs. Love it. Honestly, these alternate visions of the Middle Ages where people have entirely different domestic animals than our timeline are really appealing to me. Too much Dinotopia as a child, perhaps. Anyway, check out the linked post for substantially more detail, it's worth it. In fact, everyone reading this should just go ahead and follow all of the bestiaryposting participants. (Also, thank you for the alt text.)

@strixcattus (link to post here) is clearly thinking of the modern day's feral pigeons, formerly the result of selective breeding by pigeon fanciers. We can see the "fancy" domestic version on the left contrasted with the wild version on the right. (I think it's interesting that everyone who's drawn both has put the domestic Slagzogg on the left and the wild Slagzogg on the right.) Anyway, as is usually the case with Strixcattus, the writing included in the post is absolutely worth your time and you should read it. And again, follow them, as well as everyone who has ever contributed to bestiaryposting. Go do it; you won't regret it.

Now, to the Aberdeen Bestiary.

Beak shape aside, these are clearly geese.

I think the degree to which people guessed that varies somewhat; Strixcattus made a post suggesting they were leaning "pigeon", but Pomrania probably clocked it, because they described two Slagzoggs fighting as a "hissing match" despite hissing not being mentioned in the entry. I have no idea where everyone else landed.

Honestly, what I find interesting about this entry is that it's pulling symbolism while remaining pretty much entirely grounded in reality. Check this out:

The goose marks the watches of the night by its constant cry.

Okay, I don't know to what degree it's useful in marking time, but I don't doubt that geese make noise at night.

No other creature picks up the scent of man as it does.

That one I'm not sure about.

This next bit I cut because if anyone knows Roman history they'd nail it right out of the gate:

It was because of its noise, that the Gauls were detected when they ascended the Capitol. Rabanus says in this context: 'The goose can signify men who are prudent and look out for their own safety.'

Okay, that might be less history and more legend, but still, people know it, I think.

There are two kinds of geese, domestic and wild. Wild geese fly high, in a an orderly fashion, signifying those who, far away from earthly things, preserve a rule of virtuous conduct.

I can absolutely see medieval people looking up at geese flying in that V formation and going, "look how orderly these birds are; clearly they are virtuous creatures."

Domestic geese live together in villages, they cackle together all the time and rend each other with their beaks...

Yeah, that sounds like what geese would do in a village.

All wild geese are grey in colour; I have not seen any that were of mixed colour or white. But among domestic geese, there are not only grey but variegated and white ones. Wild geese are the colour of ashes, that is to say, those who keep apart from this world wear the modest garb of penitence.

This bit falls into the category of "I believe it, but it does not accord with my personal experience." Because if you told me that in Europe they had a variety of different aesthetically-pleasing domestic goose breeds, I'd have no problem believing that. And I'm sure some wild geese are gray. But I live in North America, so to me wild geese look like this:

And domestic geese look like this:

But again, I have no difficulty believing that the experience of the medieval Europeans was different from mine.

What really sticks out to me here is the fact that the characteristic behavior of domestic geese is to make noise and get in fights -- I think the Untitled Goose Game would have made perfect sense to a medieval audience.

(After the Smithfield Decretals)

#maniculum bestiaryposting #slagzogg

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