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sirfrogsworth · 5 days ago

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Early voting to beat the lines... the best-laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.

So... yesterday was quite the day.

After being stuck in bed for the past 6 weeks with some mystery slump, I was finally feeling better. So I decided I would try to cram as many errands into my day as possible. That works better for me when I drive out into the world because I end up only having to do one big recovery instead of a bunch of little recoveries.

My to-do list...

Go to the doctor

Vote early

Return oxygen machine to FedEx store for scammy eBay guy

Return Amazon package to the UPS store

Get gasoline for my whip

Go to Discount Tire to get my tires filled for free

Drop a check off for my lawn guy

Mail a secret package to Katrina at the US Post Office

It would have been nice if I could have gone to just one shipping place instead of all three, but the universe has a sense of humor and likes to do shit like that to me on a regular basis.

So, I get my checkup, it goes quick, no long wait, I'm feeling good.

As I get in my car, it starts to rain. It was an ugly day and it actually has not stopped raining to this very moment a day later. Just gray, windy, chilly, and wet. I look up the voting place and start the GPS.

Wipers and music on full blast, it's time to get my vote on.

When I reach my destination, I realize early voting is at some kind of private golf club. And at the center is a recreation center—which is a public building.

So it's like this private/public turducken situation.

I was expecting this errand to take 20 minutes. Because early voting always seemed like a way to get in before the crowds of election day for a more convenient voting experience.

But the parking lot was packed and I feared my expectations were about to be subverted.

As I walk through the parking lot I see a bunch of signs in the ground.

And a particular one caught my eye.

This is bullshit.

Like, just a straight up lie. No truth to it whatsoever.

Amendment 3 in Missouri basically restores abortion rights in the state. And Republicans have taken issue with the following language...

"The Government shall not deny or infringe upon a person's fundamental right to reproductive freedom, which is the right to make and carry out decisions about all matters relating to reproductive health care, including but not limited to prenatal care, childbirth, postpartum care, birth control, abortion care, miscarriage care, and respectful birthing conditions."

They claim the phrasing "but not limited to" means you can give an 8-year-old kid "sex change surgery."

This is how their online flyer puts it...

It could also include a free puppy.

Or a zillion bucks.

Or a clown will come to your house after the abortion and honk your nose.

It's ridiculous and desperate. I honestly don't know how it is legal for them to put a lie like that outside of a polling location, but here we are.

The organization "Missouri Stands with Women" is run by... a man.

It was set up by a lawyer named "Edward Greim" on behalf of the Federalist Society.

His law firm has a lovely biography about him. And a bunch of publicly available contact information. I say that for no reason whatsoever.

The Federalist Society funds all kinds of shit like this. Their main thing is installing conservative judges all over the country who will reinterpret or negate legislation. And they do it all to "stand with women" by taking away their reproductive rights.

Here is the board of directors of the Federalist Society.

Ya know, before I looked this up, I said to myself, "I bet it's going to be a sausage fest." I am psychic.

I think it would be more accurate to say they stand with A woman.

Just one.

And she sucks.

Nicole is a law professor at Notre Dame. She chose her Catholicism over her right to choose. The Catholic Church will fuck your rights and your children and Nicole will help them do it.

Anyway... back to my quick and easy voting experience...

So as I'm walking in to vote I keep passing a ton of these awful signs. I notice an older woman standing next to the aforementioned "child sex change" sign and she says, "Can I talk to you about Amendment 3?"

At this point, I'm pretty angry. I look her dead in the eyes and say with my most assholish tone, "NO." as I walk past her.

And then she finishes her sentence...

"...to protect the reproductive rights of women."

Ah, dammit.

I thought she was an old Karen but she was cool as heck. Standing out in the rain telling people the sign is bullshit. I wanted to turn around and apologize but I was stuck in full social anxiety mode so I just kept walking.

If that old lady happens to have a Tumblr and follows me and is willing to read this giant story... I just want to say I am sorry. I thought you were awful and I should have let you finish your sentence. You're super cool and I'm happy there are folks like you fighting for what is right.

I get inside and a young woman greets me. She tells me the line is in the next room and points. I still wasn't quite sure what the situation was. The parking lot being full gave me pause, but I was still hopeful I could have a swift early voting experience.

But I walk through the doors and into a huge gymnasium and my heart sinks.

It's hard to represent in pictures how long this line is.

It goes all the way to the end of the gym, loops around, and comes back. At first I was not too discouraged, because there was a nice gentle ramp at the start of the line.

But then I notice several sets of stairs at different stages of the line. And I'm just thinking how hard it would be to stand in this line and then also having to go up and down several sets of stairs.

So I go back to the young woman working there and ask what their accessible voting options are. And she told me I could do curbside voting and points outside. I then notice a line of cars wrapped around the parking lot. I don't know how I didn't see them walking in, but I guess I was too busy being a jerk to elderly progressive women.

My biggest concern was time.

The longer this takes, the more energy I use up, the longer my eventual recovery will be.

They tell me the car option is the slowest. And I could be in line for 2 to 3 hours. And then an old man who seemed to be in charge walks over and tells me the fastest option is to stand in line.

So I walk back out to my car and grab my cane and decide to try the long serpentine gynasium line.

I start walking up the ramp and some of the other folks see how slow and labored I'm walking and they start encouraging me. "You can do it! You got this!" Which I suppose was meant to be a positive helpful thing. But I found it to be embarrassing.

I get to the end of the line and notice most of the line has bleachers directly next to it. So I decide to sit down and rest and figure out how I am going to survive this experience.

It took me a while to recover from the long walk to this spot. I watched a bunch of people pass me by and the line was actually getting much longer as I rested. I was not really sure what to do. I was trying to problem-solve this situation but the answer that kept popping up in my mind was just... "go home."

But I felt this was too important and that wasn't really an option.

My best idea was to ask someone if they would hold my spot in line. Perhaps I could just sit in the bleachers and follow them around in the line, staying as close to them as I could. But my social anxiety was set to maximum and I was not finding the courage to ask someone.

After about 10 minutes of sitting, resting, and thinking, I basically say, "Fuck it, I'll try to stand in line."

I get up and start walking to the end of the line.

Then I hear a voice yell out to me.

"Hey, man! Come over here! This is your spot!"

A young man was waving at me. He was accompanied by his wife. Both of them were dressed in black and they had a sort of goth skater aesthetic going on. He had a competitively bushy beard, but with less gray. And she had very vivid purple hair.

I was a little confused and still processing what was happening. Then they both started waving at me to join them in line. They remembered I got there just before and told me I should be in front of them. I walk over and thank them. Then he suggests...

"Hey, why don't you just sit in the bleachers and follow us around the line."

He suggested my idea!

Without me asking!

I felt like he read my mind or something.

Can bearded people read each others' minds? Was this some beard skill I was unaware of?

"I got you, man. You just sit and we'll keep your place."

And his violet hair'd significant other agreed. "Yeah, we got you."

The kindness of strangers was more accessible than my polling place and I was just so thankful in that moment.

So I sat in the bleachers and watched them traverse the line. In the middle of the gym there were some teenagers playing basketball. And so I just rested and watched them play.

That young man in the red pants was like a goddamn Harlem Globetrotter. He was just embarrassing the others. He was bouncing the ball behind his back and through his legs and then he just danced around his opponents like a figure skater. It was such an unbalanced matchup. He might as well have been playing 4th graders. Not only was he significantly faster and more maneuverable, but he was consistently hitting 3-pointers.

And then during a break, he ran towards the hoop, jumped from the free throw line, flew all the way to the net, grabbed onto the rim, and proceeded to do several pull ups as if they were the easiest thing in the world. I don't think I've seen anyone jump that far and that high in real life and it was just a bonkers display of athleticism.

I spent the entire wait watching him humiliate the others—hoping he would get a full ride scholarship to some prestigious university.

And I hoped the other boys paid attention in school and got straight As, because basketball was not going to work out for them.

As my new goth skater friends progressed through the line, I would make sure to keep sight of them. Every once in a while I'd give them a head nod to acknowledge we were in this together. After an hour and a half they were at the final segment of the line, so I sat next to the wheelchair folks.

I probably could have argued to sit with them in the first place. But I really did not feel like making the case that I was just as disabled as them and needed that level of consideration. The old man running things seemed quite stressed and was putting out 8 fires at once. And my anxiety wasn't really cooperating enough to be assertive in my needs.

But it worked out in the end, so I'm not going to dwell on the lack of accommodation for people who weren't *visually* disabled.

My new bearded friend neared the end and waved me over. I thanked him and his wife profusely.

I joked, "Thank you for adopting a voter."

They seemed confused by my joke.

"No problem, man. Happy to help."

I told him and his wife they truly saved me. "I honestly don't think I would have made it through the line." And then I looked back...

I said, "As crazy as this is, I do find this kind of turnout encouraging." His wife agreed and said, "We were saying the same thing!" And then I thought, "Can the wives of bearded people absorb the mind reading ability? I hope she can't read my mind right now. Although, I'm mostly thinking that her hair is a really cool shade of purple, so she'd probably find that complimentary."

As I waited to get my ballot I could hear the happy couple behind me. They were very cute. They were making fun of each other in a very lovey-dovey fashion. I had high hopes they were going to grow old and gray and purple together based on their chemistry. And I was just so thankful they were able to recognize that I needed help without me asking. Because I probably would have just caved to my anxiety and not asked for help otherwise.

I got my ballot and sat down to fill in all of the appropriate squares. Thankfully I had prepared a cheat sheet on my phone.

It was an exact replica so I was able to copy it and finish quite rapidly.

Then I fed my votes into the vote-eating monster and they gave me a sticker.

My quick 20 minute adventure to vote early only took 2.5 hours!

And because I didn't want to buck tradition, I stood outside in the wind and the rain and took a voting selfie.

Yep, that seems about right.

Ah, crap... that was only the second thing on my to-do list.

Let's speedrun the rest of this story, shall we?

I drove to FedEx. I hauled a 40 pound box inside. I plopped it on the counter and said, "Man, this thing is heavy!" as I tried to catch my breath. The 20 year old working there then lifted it like it was a feather and I felt great about that.

I drove to the gas station because I was nearly on empty—that is both a metaphor and not a metaphor. I filled my ride with go juice.

I noticed I was a mile from the tire store and they fill up tires for free. So I did that and the guy was super nice and complimented my tires. I felt both weird and proud about having my tires complimented. Like, I had nothing to do with my tires being nice. But I accepted the praise on their behalf.

I drove to the UPS store. The last time I was there I made a scene. They refused to box up a return and I got upset and wasn't feeling well and they had to find a chair for me to sit in because I was going to faint. So I was hoping the same woman wasn't there, but she was. She didn't recognize me, so it was fine.

I drove to my lawn guy's house. He wasn't home. I dropped a check in his mailbox. My checks have corgis on them. My checks are cute.

I drove to the post office. I sent a secret package to my bestie, Katrina. I'd tell you what is in it, but it is an inside joke and you wouldn't get it. The woman noticed my voting sticker and I couldn't help thinking about what I just accomplished to get that sticker.

On my way out I noticed a miracle.

2 of the 4 doors were fixed!

I mean, I don't know why they couldn't fix all 4, but now the employees won't freeze in the winter. So I take that as a win. It only took a year and a half to accomplish and I'm sure all of my phone calls and emails did not help at all. But I'm going to pretend I saved the day regardless.

And then... I drove home.

5 hours of errands.

I was so fucking tired. My back was on fire with pain. I immediately collapsed into my bed. I passed out. And I slept for 14 hours.

The End

#long post

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urhoneycombwitch · 10 months ago

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shrine of your lights

🍯 honey flavour: edibles and a church wedding to attend. what could go wrong with Eddie as your plus one?

🐝 the bees: FWB!Eddie x reader

wc: 4.8k

content warnings: a smidge of Catholic blasphemy, weed usage, friends w/ benefits Eddie, R is a bit of a love (and relationship) skeptic and Eddie is lovesick, R+E are in their 20’s, pining, public sex (no one but them observes tho), R has hair long enough to tuck behind ears, R gets a hickey but skin tone/color is not described, R has breasts and a V, softdom Eddie, marking kink (?)

foreword: I listened to Say You Love Me by Fleetwood Mac for this. LOL. kind of AU bc it’s a few years after ssn 4 and everyone is alive and just fine (lovesick but oh well can’t b helped) based on this anon thank u for inspiring me!!!!

The stained glass window in front of you looms tall, afternoon light streaming through and casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the polished wood flooring. You stretch out a hand into the warm beam of sun, admiring the way the colors catch and bounce off your dainty star-chain bracelet.

When Eddie had suggested you two eat some weed brownies as a precursor to your (very distant, very Catholic) cousin’s wedding, you hadn’t quite expected to get as stoned as you are now. Since Eddie hasn’t attended any major life functions sober since 1981, and seeing as how you refuse to step foot inside a church space without some sort of social lubricant, the weed wasn’t a hard sell at all.

To be fair, Eddie had warned you of their potency, and you had snuck another quarter of a brownie when his back was turned: but christ, your tolerance must be crazy low or something, ‘cuz a window has no right to be this mesmerizing.

You’ve been staring at it for the past five minutes, in your own little world while a steady stream of wedding guests file in through the big oak doors and mill about before the ceremony. The warm, still air of the church is heady with the smell of fresh florals and incense, and a line of votive candles flicker and wink against the windowsill.

Casting a glance over your shoulder, you see Eddie’s still speaking in gentle tones with an elderly woman (whom you’re likely related to, hard to say) near the foyer, all charming smile and sincere hand pressed to the slip of bare chest his button-down displays. You’ve got to hand it to the guy, he’s really great at endearing himself to total strangers; he’s been a natural shoe-in for any plus-one you’ve needed over the past few years.

While Eddie is perfectly in his element, holding what looks to be an engaging conversation while stoned to all hell, your focus is drawn back to the window. You should probably be on the arm of your guest, seeing as how it’s your family wedding after all, but the swirling lights and colors are too alluring to pull yourself away from.

“Beautiful piece of art, isn’t it?”

The voice behind you is unfamiliar, and proper social graces here would call for an introduction, perhaps a firm handshake, but your limbs and tongue feel so loose and the reply is out of your mouth before you can think twice- “God, yeah. S’fucking gorgeous. I want one for my house.”

There’s a light cough, and when you turn on your low-heeled Mary Janes it’s under the amused eye of a priest- in full priest-garb. Green velvet robes and little hat and everything.

You realize your error- swearing and taking the Lord’s name in vain- but the brief stint in Catholic school from when you were 6 is unfortunately not recalled in time to stop the scramble of swears mixed with apologies that come tumbling out.

“Oh shit- I mean- fuck. Oh god. Sorry, Father, I didn’t mean-”

The priest- old as hell but thankfully with sense of humor still intact- smiles kindly at you and takes your hand in both of his, patting graciously. “No apologies are necessary, my dear. The beauty of God can be overwhelming and awe-inducing.”

You nod jerkily, grabbing on to his excuse- “Yes, yep. That’s exactly what happened. Struck down by the awe.”

The priest nods to you, and then to Eddie (who’s appeared at your side like a guard dog that sensed trouble), then wanders off down a row of pews to greet other guests.

You’re nearly doubled over with the effort it takes to conceal your laughter, Eddie stroking a calming hand down your back and chuckling with you under his breath.

“Struck down by the awe, huh?” he echoes as you straighten back up and dab at the tears gathering against your lashline. “You really are somethin’.”

“That was so embarrassing but guess what-” here you lean in, voice a conspiratorial whisper as Eddie raises his eyebrows to look down his nose at you- “I don’t give a fuck ‘cuz I’m hi-igh.”

This last word is sung with a two-note lilt, and you turn back to the comfort of the sunny window as Eddie steps in beside you, shaking his head. “I told you to start with a lower dose, ya goose. Did you take more when I wasn’t looking?”

You shrug a shoulder, the soft linen of your cardigan brushing up against the hard leather of Eddie’s jacket. “Maybe. Couldn’t say. You gonna steal this window for me or what?”

He blows out a breath, pretending to appraise the size and heft, rapping his ringed knuckles against the sill- “Well normally I’d say ‘anything for my girl’, but we’d need a shrink ray for this type’a heist.”

“Maybe Dustin has one we can borrow.”

He sucks his front teeth, playing along, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. “Nah, little shit’s only got a ham radio. Useless when it comes to religious robbery.”

Eddie looks overly pleased when you giggle, but some of the humor in his face falls to concern as he reaches out to squeeze your upper arms. “Hey. You doin’ okay? If you’re too stoned to sit through the ceremony, I can find us a little spot to hole up in. I’m good at finding those.”

“I know you are,” you reply, waving away his worry. “I’m fine, honest. Do I look high?”

He holds you at arm’s length, giving you a contemplative once-over. “Nope. You look beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, affectionately, then smooth your palms over the front of your black slip dress and pull the scalloped sleeves of your cardigan into place. “Well, of that I am aware.”

Eddie winks, and you really wish you were sober enough that the warmth of his hands and the smell of his cologne would have less of an effect but high as you are, you want nothing more than to burrow into his neck and taste the salt of his skin.

“Do I look high?” he asks, pulling away to do a little spin so you can appraise his appearance.

Eddie Munson, as it turns out, cleans up very well for family functions: smart black boots, maroon button-down tucked into a pair of flare-legged trousers, worn but well-kept leather jacket to top the outfit off. And in signature Eddie fashion, little glints of silver highlight the ensemble- his usual chunky rings, stacked layers of thin chain necklaces, metal buckles on his coat and at his waist, even a set of tiny hoops (courtesy of your jewelry drawer) in his ears.

The dryness in your mouth has nothing to do with your intoxication as you blink back to the present and give Eddie a once-over. “Uhm. Nope. You look sober. And very hot.”

He grins at you, wolfish, but then a bright chord of organ music signals the start of the ceremony. With a steady hand on your back, he leads you to a pew near the last row; when you’re both seated, his hand runs smoothly down to rest on your thigh, drumming a lazy beat with his thumb against you as the processional starts.

Your cousin Marion looks lovely swathed in white tulle, contrasted with her groom in a black tux. Her mother, your aunt- Karen? Karina? can’t recall- dabs at her tears with a delicate lace handkerchief in the front pew as the couple exchanges vows, promising eternal and ineffable love until their ultimate demise, etcetera.

You’re not someone who’s ever fallen prone to the gushy emotions that love seems to create in so many of your peers. While Nancy and Robin will dole out tissues to each other during some cheesy romcom, you’ll get ribbed for being so stoic. None of your breakups have ever ended in giant blowouts or dramatics from your side- hard to fight for something when you hadn’t really cared about it in the first place.

That’s why you consider yourself so lucky, when it comes to Eddie. After the two of you ended your high school fling due to graduation, you’d come back to Hawkins after a few years of college and found yourself sneaking out like a teenager again to hang out with Eddie Munson.

He told you he doesn’t want anything serious, either, and that he’s just fine being friends who sleep around and go to all of each other’s parties.

You almost believe him.

He’s been to every one of your nephew’s hockey games this past season, and you’ve spent two cozy Christmases so far at the trailer with him and Wayne; every party in between has ended with Eddie driving you home, or (more frequently) back to his place. Your collective relatives and friends haven’t asked about your relationship status in years, and it’s all thanks to Eddie’s presence in your life: if the two of you aren’t technically dating, it’s really no one’s business.

The old priest from earlier is droning on about some bible verse; uncomfortable on the hard bench and feeling restless, you shift your hips, and Eddie digs his fingers into the meat of your thigh.

“Quit. Squirming,” he murmurs, lips at your ear. When you shiver and still, he pats your leg and straightens again, eyes fixed to the front altar.

You and Eddie make it through the ceremony with minimal damage, only getting one dirty look from an older man in the pew ahead when you’d snickered at a dirty joke (courtesy of your benchmate). Marion and her new husband greet their guests one by one as everyone filters outside, and you coast easily through the interaction, kissing your cousin on both cheeks and fawning over her dress and giving just the right amount of congrats before Eddie plucks at your elbow to subtly redirect your attention.

“Let’s get some food in you,” he says, linking your arms together as you follow the receiving line outdoors.

The reception is held just next to the church building in a surprisingly lovely courtyard. Sunlight filters through the willow trees at the edge of a grass yard, where a picnic basket awaits on each spread quilt. People are kicking off their dress shoes, unwinding with the lure of nature, kids chasing each other through the paths between blankets as adults wiggle their toes into the grass and dig into the luncheon.

Possibly, you’re high and over-romanticizing, but you can tell by the look on Eddie’s face he’s there with you, taking it all in from your blanket in a quiet corner of the yard.

There are finger sandwiches in the basket, along with some fresh fruit and plastic utensils and plates to eat off of; Eddie fixes you a plate and you dig in happily, sock feet tucked under yourself, yours and Eddie’s shoes in a jumble nearby.

“Could eat anything when I’m high,” you muse, then bite into a sandwich that has the perfect cream-cheese-to-cucumber ratio with a contented sigh. “Food is so good.”

Eddie snaps a baby carrot with his back teeth, then snorts at you before reaching out to tuck one side of your hair behind your ear before it gets eaten along with your food. “I know you can eat anything when you’re high. I once saw you scooping up apple pie with potato chips.”

You give him a sidelong frown, mouth full of bread and veg as you defend yourself- “Yeah, and it was great. Dee-licious. Would do it again if-”

Your name is being called, and you swivel to see a young man about your age weaving along the spaces between blankets towards yours and Eddie’s spot.

“Tony!” In a neat bit of multitasking, you manage to swallow your food and rise to your feet (albeit unsteadily, with Eddie’s hand snapping out to support your efforts), then hold your arms out to envelop the boy in a hug. “Oh my god, it’s been ages.”

Anthony Townsend has grown up in the time you’ve spent away- the last recollection you have of your former childhood neighbor is his mop of red hair bouncing with the trampoline his parents bought him in 6th grade. He grew into his looks, for sure- the awkwardness of pre-teen ears and too-big front teeth have settled into a very kind and handsome face.

He looks genuinely pleased to see you, returning your hug with a squeeze, pulling back to hold both your hands and ask about where you’ve been. You breeze through a highlighted version of the last few years, leaving out all the interdimensional monster bullshit and focusing the questions back on him.

Tony’s telling you about his father’s veterinary practice that’s still running smoothly when you feel Eddie at your back, and Tony falters, dropping your hands.

Social cues come a tad slow to you, under the influence, and you think Tony’s stumbling because you haven’t introduced him yet (how were you supposed to know Eddie’s been glaring daggers at the poor kid ever since you’d hugged him?), and you attempt to remedy your mistake with a casual remark- “You know, Eddie here has been feeding the stray cats at our place every night, a whole colony of them- there’s gotta be, what, ten of ‘em now?”

You turn to Eddie for confirmation, reeling a little at the dark scowl he’s still sporting as he nods. “Yup. Somethin’ like.”

Tony scratches at the back of his neck, freckled cheeks pink as he begins to back away- “Um, yeah. Cool. Well it was great to see you! I gotta…”

With a vague gesture, he turns and tails it back to his blanket on the other side of the yard. You whirl on Eddie, his face smoothing back into relaxed indifference, even as you hiss, “What the hell was that?”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t know what you mean, princess.”

“That,” you repeat, waving an arm in the air for emphasis. “I know I’m not sober but you were being weird, even by my standards.”

There’s this look that Eddie gets, sometimes, when one of you bumps against the walls of your loosely-defined relationship- a brief flash of pain and sadness before it gets hidden away behind his comfortable mask of bravado.

He’s got it now- a small pinch in his eyebrows, doey eyes swimming with emotion, and you put a hand on his leather-clad arm as the pieces fall into place. “Were you… are you jealous?”

In the span of a blink, the mask is back up, and with a dry laugh that’s so unlike him, Eddie shakes his head. “Nah. What do I have to be jealous of, huh? ‘S not like we belong to each other.”

Maybe on a different day, with half the weed in your system, you’d be able to let this comment slide. But there’s something deeply hurtful about it, sinking and twisting in your stomach like a stone. Your grip tightens on Eddie’s arm, tears stinging hot at your eyes, voice a watery, desperate thing- “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

Eddie is quick to comfort you, once he realizes you’re close to crying- “Shit, sweetheart. Okay. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to think…” Your voice is still shaky with emotion as Eddie lets you hold on to him, gently shushing you even though there’s no one near enough to hear. “You’re important to me, Eddie. I never wanna make you mad, or upset, or-”

“I’m not.” Eddie cuts smoothly into your rambling, placing his hands on either side of your neck as you cling to him, cool rings kissing into your skin. “I’m not mad, promise. I was just being an asshole for no reason, okay? Could never be mad at you.”

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat, your breath and heart rate lulled to normal under his touch, his expression returning to the gentle fondness you’re used to seeing.

“Let’s finish up lunch, hm?” Eddie says, and with a final soft squeeze he pulls away from you, taking with him the warmth of his palms.

It’s always like this, with him, at least in front of your respective families- any PDA is kept to a strict minimum, nothing too intimate or drawn out so as not to attract attention. You’d implemented this rule from the beginning, and Eddie has been nothing but respectful of it, your peace of mind over not wanting a label pacified.

But right now? The lack of Eddie’s arms around you or his lips on yours was starting to make you ache.

You both settle into the blanket again, conversation flowing around mouthfuls of food as you catch Eddie up with the latest family gossip, laughing when he bats your pointer finger out of the air (as if anyone is really paying attention to you two giggling loons).

Someone’s brought a radio and has it dialed to a soft rock station; you gasp and shove at Eddie (sprawled out like a house cat after a full meal in the sun), exclaiming “It’s Fleetwood Mac and you love Fleetwood Mac!”

“I so don’t,” he grumbles, but rises easily when you tug at him to stand sock-to-sock feet with you in the grass.

You both fall into a smooth rhythm, Eddie’s hands staying (respectably) on your hips, yours looped around his neck, doing a slow little rotation. He gazes at you as you sway back and forth in each other’s arms, the scrutiny making you titter and fidget.

“What?”

“Thought I told you to quit squirmin’,' ' comes his answer, hands tightening into the meat of your waist. “Let me look at you a minute.”

So you let him look.

While his chocolate eyes roam your face, you trail a hand up to curl a lock of his hair around your finger. Eddie leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, giving you room to do some staring of your own at those long, dark lashes.

After another slow circle, Eddie inhales and draws himself back, clearing his throat. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, sweetheart, but we’re gonna start getting looks if you don’t quit using me as your personal stress toy.”

You snort. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“All good,” he replies, dimples springing into his cheeks, teasing again- “When we get home later you can pet me like a dog, if you want. Just gotta tone you down ‘cuz you get touchy when you’re high.”

Eddie’s being a perfect gentleman. He’s sticking to your rules and looking out for you.

So why is it making you so sad?

You realize, with a stunning clarity, that you don’t want to wait until you’re back at the trailer to touch Eddie. That you’re starting to crave him when he leaves, whether it’s for a day or an hour or just out of bed to get a snack.

Fuck it, you think, and bend to scoop up your shoes.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you tell Eddie, slipping on your shoes then starting towards the building. When you realize he’s not following, you pause, giving him a look over your shoulder- “Aren’t you coming?”

Eddie blinks, wondering if you’re insinuating what he thinks you’re insinuating or if he’s just really, really high. “Um. Uh…”

You don’t leave room for the shock to sink in, turning on your heel and smirking when you hear him swear under his breath and scramble to catch up.

In a narrow hallway lined with portraits of long-dead saints, you push Eddie against the wall, mouth sealing over his and hands roaming hungrily over his body.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, in between kisses, your fingers tugging at the root of his hair, near the nape of his neck where it stings the best- “what’s got you so worked up, princess?”

“You.” The answer is an honest one. You slip your tongue between Eddie’s teeth and the boy moans, melting into you.

Peppering kisses down Eddie’s face, your lips settle into the hollow just under his jaw, then part to give room to your teeth. Eddie stiffens as you bite down, sensitive skin pierced by your mouth; it’s his turn to be the squirmy one as you suck a bruise into that soft spot.

His cock is filling out, as proved by the steadily-growing bulge behind his zipper. You give a mean little wiggle of your hips and Eddie jolts so hard you lose your spot on his neck, popping off him with a wet smack.

“Angel, you have to stop.” Eddie sounds absolutely wrecked as he tries to maintain some distance, head tipped back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. “M’not gonna last if you keep doing that. Let me take you home, we can-”

“Shhh.” You quiet him with a pointer finger smooshed against his lips, your other hand tilted to your ear. “You hear that?”

Eddie strains to hear distant cheers and hip hip hoorays from the festivities a few corridors away; when he nods, you whisper, “That’s the cake cutting. We have a good ten minutes before anyone thinks to come back here.”

At first, Eddie thinks he’s off the hook when you release him completely, walking swiftly towards the main sanctuary. But then, because you’re a temptress, you beckon him with an impatient wave.

And because he’s so easy for you, he follows.

It’s like that window has a magnetic pull- you’re back under the prismatic glow of the stained glass, brushing a hand across the wide sill to dust it before hopping up to perch there. You fit neatly between the split row of votive candles (all snuffed out by now), enough room for your knees to part and for Eddie to fill the space.

You cross your arms around his neck, drawing him in with another deep kiss as his hands find your waist.

“Want you to mark me up,” you murmur, and when Eddie draws back, wary, you let your chin tip up. The crown of your head knocks into the window, exposing your throat. “Show them I’m yours, Eds.”

Only have to tell him twice, apparently, ��cuz his teeth sink into your stretch of soft skin without further qualms. The feeling of his tongue soothing over the sore spot makes you jump, hips bucking forward into his hand that you didn’t even notice had trailed up the inside of your dress.

His long fingers pet at the wet patch that’s seeping through your underwear, catching at your clit on an upstroke, your gasp a harsh noise in the otherwise silent sanctuary.

Eddie begins to rub at you through the fabric in earnest now, tight circles with his thumb even as he pulls his mouth from your neck to assess his handiwork. “Yeah, fuck, sweetheart, that’s gonna leave a mark. You want everyone to know who you belong to, huh?”

Your bundle of nerves throbs under Eddie’s touch and you curse, hands weaving tight into his hair again. “Shit, Eddie, yeah- just like that…”

He dips back into the well of your neck with his teeth, keeps just the right amount of pressure on your clit, and that tension coiling in your lower stomach is just about to snap before you stop him with a hand around his wrist.

“Sorry,” you pant through the apology, forehead crushed to Eddie’s collarbone as you try and catch your breath. “Was about to come and I want you inside of me for that.”

“Jesus fucking christ.”

Eddie fumbles with his belt buckles as you giggle, chastising- “Hush and mind your manners, Munson. That’s blaspheming and we’re about to fuck in a church.”

“I’ll show you manners.” Eddie has his pants and briefs shoved to mid-thigh before you can draw breath to tell him off; one hand smears precum down the shaft of his ruddy cock as the other pushes your dress up and hooks your panties to the side.

You’re wet and worked up enough that he slides into the heat of you with ease, breath punching out with the way his cock completely fills you. When Eddie pulls out and sinks back in, you let out a keening whine and scrabble for purchase on his leather jacket.

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it-” his voice is a dark rumble, each word punctuated with a snap of his hips, the squelch of your slick walls responding. “So wet for me. That’s my good girl. You like gettin’ off to being mine, huh, angel?”

You nod, head lolling against the window, and Eddie grins wicked even though you can’t see it. “Come on. Show me whose pussy this is.”

When his hand snakes between your bodies to press against your clit with his thumb, you come with a long, strained whimper, ankles crossing at the small of Eddie’s back to draw him closer while the velvet walls of your cunt spasm.

Eddie’s free hand shoots out to the supporting wood arch of the window for stability as he angles his hips up, longing for that glossy honey-eyed look you get sometimes: and there it is, your eyes half-lidded and brow pinched in pleasure as his cock hits against that gummy spot, the tremble of your thighs locked around his waist as your orgasm peaks.

Once he’s fucked you through the height of it, Eddie dips to bite at the taut muscle where your neck and shoulder meet, clamping down on the words threatening to flood out as his hips stutter. He comes hard, deep groan muffled into your neck, curses and praises spilling out in mindless babbling: “Fuck fuck, angel, that’s it, honey, shit, you’re so wet. All for me, huh, baby? Doin’ so good…”

He sags into your arms, pinning you to the window, chests heaving in tandem as you both catch your breath. You stroke a hand down his back, towards his ass, and then to the edge of his pants.

When he realizes that you’re trying to tuck him back into his clothes he whines at you, but you’re quick to shush him. “We’re cuttin’ it close with timing already, Eds. Help me out?”

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away from the wet warmth of you to re-dress. Once his belt is in place he attends to you, helping shift the hem of your dress back down, rubbing his finger lightly under the skin of your eye where some mascara had smudged.

“I’ll double back for the keys and we’ll go home, ‘kay?” Eddie says, nose nudging into your cheek. “Wait here. You got some wicked marks and everyone will know we just fucked.”

“Pfft. No they won’t. Who would actually fuck in a church?” You push Eddie back playfully, hopping down from the sill with a wink. “You’ve gotta be sick to do that. Good thing my family believes you to be a perfect goody-two-shoes.”

Eddie stares as you make for the doors back to the courtyard, shrugging off his incredulity- “Eddie. It’s fine. So they’ll think we made out a bit. Who cares? Not me. And plus…” here you trail off and point, mischievous, Eddie’s eye’s following the line to his sock feet- “...you kinda have a no-shoes situation goin’ on. Gotta fix that.”

When you disappear through the doors, Eddie slams a palm to his chest, in awe- then feels the outline of the lighter in his inner pocket. With a practiced twist, he has it out and lit in a second, holding the flame to the wick of a votive candle.

“I don’t know how these candles work, exactly, or if atheists are allowed to…” Eddie clears his throat, glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re still out of earshot, then whispers above the flickering light: “Please let this be real life and not just some high-fueled fantasy because this is kind of huge for me. Okay thanks. Amen, or whatever.”

Eddie blows out the candle like it’s a birthday wish then hurries to catch up with you, sock feet silent against the wood floor as he calls out your name- “Slow down and have a heart, babe, I’ve got no grip!”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #weed mention #tw weed

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literaryvein-reblogs · 4 months ago

Text

Another List of Words related to Mythology

to include in your next poem/story

Archē - First principle or origin of things that exist. The Ionian philosophers posited a single element (water, air, fire) as the archē in the belief that everything was reducible to one substance.

Ataraxia - “Without perturbation, calmness.” Describes the Epicurean ideal of happiness: freedom from pain in the body and in the soul.

Cynicism, philosophical - Not a school, but a loosely organized sect. Most famous exponent was Diogenes of Sinope (ca. 400– ca. 325 BCE), who preached that happiness attained by limiting desires to the most basic needs. Ideal of life is attainment of self- sufficiency (autarkeia).

Elysian Fields/ Elysium - Abode of dead heroes and righteous souls. Set in Homer’s Odyssey 4 at the edge of Ocean; in Vergil’s Aeneid 6 it was incorporated into Hades as a separate part. Also equated with the Isles or Isle of the Blest.

Golden Bough - In mythology, a branch with golden leaves needed to gain entrance to the underworld.

Hubris - “Insolence, arrogance.” Used in situations in which a person of humble station insults a superior or, more often, when a mortal commits affrontery against a god.

Nous - “Mind.” Begins and directs the cosmic whirl in the cosmology of Anaxagoras, though not identified with god. For both Plato and Aristotle, the rational part of the soul.

Sophist - Private teachers in Athens in the 5th century BCE. They taught mainly rhetoric and techniques of argument to students preparing for public life; reputed for questioning traditional values, myths, and religious beliefs and for promoting relativism.

Theion, (to) - “The divine”; a quality that belongs to both gods and exceptional mortals.

Theomachia - A battle among the gods.

From "The Anatomy of Myth: The Art of Interpretation from the Presocratics to the Church Fathers" by Michael Herren

More: Words related to Mythology ⚜ Word Lists

#writing prompt #greek mythology #mythology #literature #writeblr #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #poetry #lit #words #linguistics #langblr #myth list #studyblr #booklr #dark academia #writing resources #writing reference #word list

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rassvetsky · 2 years ago

Note

would literally lose my fucking mind if you wrote carmy like touch starved, idk maybe everyone is staying after to celebrate something and he’s dragging you into his office to eat you out with absolutely zero shame because he needs it so bad

your wish is my lifelong quest i love you, hope i did it at least some justice loml

Carry You Away With Me

carmen "carmy" berzatto x fem!reader

He looked sheepish for a moment, lips curling into a grin for another split second before returning to his natural expression, eyes finding yours and locking you into his gaze. "Do you think anyone would notice if I took you elsewhere right now?"

[4k] | chef ill be honest with you this is just porn, needy!carmy (he's fucking adorable), office sex if that's even a term, established relationship, cunningulus, unprotected sex, cum-play. my apologies to the church

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

It was around 11 when you returned to the restaurant with a bottle of champagne cradled in your arms, watching as Gary and Tina pushed a few tables together to make a bigger one for the rest. Eating together wasn't a rare occurrence, but it often only happened an hour before service in the morning— dinners were mostly had at home or skipped altogether, depending on the importance one put into their health. But tonight called for an after-hours get-together, one that Sydney and Marcus pushed for when Ebraheim showed up in the morning with the latest issue of Gastronomica, featuring a very familiar name this time around— Carmen Berzatto.

"You know— I bet you can like, make it to a Vogue issue sometime later on, too."

"That's not exactly food-related."

"I'm just saying, dream high and—"

The few clinks of a spoon against the glass cut Fak right off and Carmen made a mental note to thank god for that later on, his gaze lifting from the long, full table that everyone was surrounding to the source of the sound; the now-empty champagne glass that Richie held.

"Can we all take a moment to stop stuffing our faces with this whatever-the-fuck it is to congratulate my cousin right here?" he spoke up, bringing a smile to your lips as you reached for Carmen's hand from under the table and muttered out "chou à la crème", another dish that Marcus had been experimenting with lately. A short chuckle left Carmen's lips when he vaguely heard what you said, and he gave your hand a firm, appreciative squeeze before rubbing his thumb along the back of your palm. "Gastronomica isn't just any magazine. I think it's supposed to be one of the good ones, like—"

"—the Vogue of food!"

"Maybe! Who knows, anyway— really, I'm proud of this mess of a man and you all should be, too." and maybe this was the most affection that Richie could whip out in public, but it was more than enough— because despite his hate for having the spotlight directly on him, Carmen was currently busy offering a smile to Richie, which the other reciprocated shortly before sitting back down, his quiet little hum of affection drowned out by the mutterings of 'cheers' along with the clink of everyone's glasses.

Proud was an understatement for this little dysfunctional found-family.

But you knew Carmen, you knew that he'd much rather skip on the compliments and pats to the shoulder; and you were way too sure that he'd need a moment to himself sooner or later. That moment came almost fifteen minutes after, when everyone split themselves into a few groups of completely different conversations, scooped up chocolate sauce and cream and small pieces of the delicate pastry got left behind on the empty plates— you felt Carmy's fingers wrapping around your upper thigh, concealed by the dimmed out lights and the table.

"S'up?" you returned your attention to him upon feeling his fingers tapping along to some nonexistent rhythm on your clothed skin, not too invested in the story Richie was busy telling everybody with the loudest voice he could muster to begin with.

"Elsewhere?"

"Not too far, jus' my office. For a couple of minutes at most." he leaned in closer to your ear just so you could hear him over the 2012's pop playlist Manny whipped out earlier, a completely mesmerizing turn of events when he started singing along to a random Katy Perry song— but that leaning closer action proved Carmen to be just another self-saboteur because he was feeling specifically out of place all day and to feel your perfume so close was a pull with a force out of this world. He couldn't pull back away then, couldn't return to his own chair and you had no choice but to push him away manually. "I promise."

"Any ulterior motives I should be aware of?" you grinned, letting your fingers curl right over his own on your thigh— and making a mental note to ease him into the habit of using hand moisturizers regularly sometime, upon the roughed up feel of his skin.

"You wound me, baby." his expression seemed to linger over offense, but his eyes told a completely different story; and before you knew it, he was pushing his chair back to get up, patting Gary's shoulder on his way to the back of house, a momentary turn of his head just so he could silently tell you to follow with his eyes.

And that, you did, despite the raised eyebrows of Richie's that you met along the way.

The kitchen smelled like a different kind of citrus, one that only belonged in dishwashing detergents as you maneuvered through the stations, cleaned up from the day's worth of filth. From your peripheral vision, you noticed Carmen reaching behind to undo the strings of his navy apron, leaving out the top string that he'd have to pull over his head until you could catch up and he could get to the office. His shirt was, again, as pristine as ever and it was a work of magic how he managed to come back home with a perfectly clean white t-shirt each day, if not for a few little drops here and there.

Finally, he pushed open the door of his office for you and you stepped in, finding your way to his desk in the darkness to flip the switch of the small light that illuminated the paperwork mostly. When your eyes found him again, the apron was long gone— tucked away in a corner, folded, although not so neatly. "Happy now?"

Instead of a reply, he just plopped down on the old, squeaky chair by the desk, thighs spread and arms wide open to make space for you. You took the offer right away, seating yourself on one of his thighs but still balancing yourself on your feet too, in order to not just dump your whole body weight on him and potentially numb out his leg. He couldn't care less, as he wrapped himself around you tightly and pulled you closer. "I don't really give a shit about Gastronomica."

"I figured," you mumbled against the material of his shirt, lungs filling in with a scent that only he could carry— a surprisingly pleasant mix of cigarettes, sweat, and gravy. It belonged to him, at least. "When's the last time you gave a shit about anyone's opinion outside of here, anyway?"

A soft hum left his lips, one that feigned agreement— but he wasn't paying much attention to what you've been saying to begin with, mind all muddied with specific moments in time that included you. Come to think of it, he'd been like this all day, even when Richie jokingly smacked him across the face with the magazine or when Tina elbowed him while he was trying to explain why she had to strain the mixture twice to get a flowing consistency— on the back of his mind, there was always you; always the lack of time he got to spend with you when the rush hour got too much to bear and he couldn't bring himself to lift an arm when he came back home to you.

When was the last time he properly touched you, took his time to memorize all the little ridges and beauty spots across your body, he couldn't remember.

So as you spoke, listing out all the reasons why he should be proud of himself for all the accomplishments, Carmen's arm curled around your waist and his fingers found your thighs again, the warmth of his palm seeping through the material of your leggings and from the way they teased upwards, you knew where this was going. "... that you managed to turn— are you not listening?"

His smile was so smug that you wanted to either kiss, or slap him. "Not really. But go on."

"Carmy, if you actually think that I'll do anything non-churchy with you here while everyone's literally twenty feet away, you're so wrong." you breathed out, because that's all you could do when his lips ghosted over the side of yours, before trailing down to where your jawline met your neck. He only hummed as a reply, clearly not giving a shit about your opinion either at that moment— but to say that you weren't enjoying the attention would be a blatant lie.

His fingertips traced the seams outlining your underwear through the extra layer of fabric while his lips latched to your neck, finally, with his warm breath hitting against the sensitive skin and the usual wet nature of his kisses leaving behind a glistening spot of adoration. You leaned into it, rather shamelessly— legs parting and fingers carding through the locks on the nape of his neck, and that only encouraged him further, causing him to whisper out a curse and a few sloppy words of praise. "Just let me, hm? Please?"

The sense of desperation in his tone was enough to push back any words of disagreement that you could blurt out at that moment. You knew you had to power through, it would be so embarrassing and disrespectful to let him have his way with you right here, while everyone else was still at the FOH— but the way his palm covered your clothed core and his fingertips teased the slight outline of your slit, all while his pretty lips were oh so busy whispering absolute filth in your ear was slowly taking away all the care you had in the world. "Carm— not a good idea."

"You weren't saying that last week, right here," two weeks ago, to be exact, but you couldn't blame him for not being able to tell time apart. "Had to cover your mouth and all, s'loud for me—"

"You're getting carried away." you chuckled, the deepest of breaths still not enough for the capacity of your lungs as you tugged on his locks slightly, prying him off of your skin just so you could get a look at him.

"Let me carry you away with me. Please, fuck— I can't think of anything else when you're on my mind." he pulled away a little from your neck, eyes of pristine skies staring right at your soul with the expression of a kicked puppy— he knew exactly how to get his way when he was miserable like that. His fingers were still against your heat, expecting permission. "Ten minutes only, just let me touch you."

You could recognize that tone, that incurability way too well— it was often reserved for nights shared between hushed whispers of promises, where he was too needy to form a single thought and all he could do was to cover your body with his and curl onto you, to feel your warmth against himself and to be one body and one soul for an hour. Uncommon in nature, even rarer to take place in a room that he reserved for professional affairs only— but the heart wants what it wants.

To his surprise, you suddenly pushed your lips against his— letting his fever take over you as well, with your hands clutching onto his shoulders and hair. You could hear the slight groan escaping his lips when his fingers breached under the tight waistband of your leggings, pushing the material down slightly with the bend of his wrist before turning his hand a little to tug it all downwards, urging you up on your feet. You got up from where you were seated, now standing between his legs with your back bent just so your lips would be on his, but he broke the kiss with a smile that took over when he finally pulled down both articles of clothing at the same time. Your back straightened when he managed to push them both down to your ankles, your hands on his shoulders to help with your balance as you stepped out of them, feeling his moist lips over your abdomen for a second before he pushed you backwards slightly, towards the desk.

He took that momentary advantage to get up on his feet and pin you right in between his own body and the desk, hands blindly pushing the loose folders to the side. You felt too exposed when his palms gripped the underside of your thighs just to prop you up on the desk, lips finding and panting against yours, a clear indication of his need seeping through the way he tugged and nibbled before his tongue found its way to caress yours.

There was nothing nice about it, but you couldn't bring yourself to care— not when he whispered your name against the plush of your lips so sweetly when your fist closed around his hair, not when he didn't even know what to do with his hands; grabbing, fondling at every inch of your skin that he could reach shakily. He pulled you flush against his body, letting you get a feel of the harsh dark denim against your bare center and you had to bite into his lower lip to stay quiet, ultimately earning a groan from him when his hands slipped under your shirt.

"Bear," you whispered out, his lips chasing yours when you pulled away to speak— which made you chuckle quietly, as he looked at you again. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," he parroted, the usually wide eyes of his now hooded, pupils blown out as if he was looking right at the sun. When you reached in to kiss him again, you couldn't catch him fast enough— he was already holding onto your thighs to crouch down, looking up at you with a Cheshire grin when you spread your legs a little further apart, a force of habit.

Leaning back on your palms against the desk as much as the cramped space could allow, you took a deep breath— but it wasn't enough to prepare you for what came next when his tongue trailed a bold line across your slit, spreading your folds apart gently. It was a pleasant routine, one that you never quite got used to; because when he was down on his knees with his tongue tracing abstract shapes across your clit in a teasing manner, it was all about you and to think that a guy who often rushed things and went through life at a 2x pace would slow down just to put all of his attention on your pleasure only was more delightful than any compliment one could attain.

Carmen's fingertips were perhaps digging into the skin of your thighs a bit too hard, but could you possibly complain? The tip of his tongue dipped between your folds to spread your essence upwards, a mix of his saliva and your wetness covering your clit when he closed his lips around it and sucked— letting out a blissed groan, one that he'd scold you for if you were the culprit. You could only imagine how hard he must've been at that moment, he was always a sucker for situations like this, with the thrill of doing something so forbidden, right where he could be caught and your taste on his tongue, thighs on either side of his shoulders.

Imagining it didn't help your situation at all, it was hard to focus on one coherent thought when he kept flicking his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves but you forced through— with the thought of the blunt tip of his length all flushed and leaking in your palm, curses leaving his soft lips whenever your fingers got a bit too tight around the girth. He liked it when you put your focus there, tip of your tongue tracing the slit and leaving kisses over it while the rest of your palm jerked him off— firm and slow.

And you'd always let your lips stray when he got close, deciding to suddenly bite into the skin of his inner thighs or to lightly trace his perineum with your tongue, just to have him reduced to a writhing, whining mess with not enough air to survive in his lungs. He'd spill onto your fingers and you'd clean him up right away, moving your way upwards with wet little kisses until you reached his lips. And he was one dirty fucker because tasting himself on you when you kissed him all sloppily was probably one of his favorite things in the world.

Drowned out in all the thoughts, you didn't notice how close you were until your thighs were shaking around his shoulders, and he finally added his fingers into the mix then— his middle and ring fingers easily breaching through, grazing all of your sensitive spots from the inside. You had to press your palm against your mouth to not let a sound then, when your climax finally hit you, and you'd probably slide right off the table with how quaky your whole body was at that moment if it wasn't for Carmen's strong grip on your body, holding you right where you belong.

The position was a bit merciless on his legs so far but he made it up to his feet again, giving you a light peck on your lips before his fingers found his mouth, his tongue circling the digits to clean them up as he stared right at you, into your soul. He pulled them out with a slight pop, and licked his lips clean. "How long did we take?"

"I don't know," you panted out. "I was busy imagining the way you come."

His light laughter brought a tender, yet bittersweet ache to your heart. "Fuck, you get off to that?" and you could tell him all about just how beautiful he was, and how much it turned you on to see him blissed out in pleasure— but you didn't know if your lung capacity allowed for it at that moment, as being quiet came with the benefit of holding your breath for longer than you should. "Tell me more."

You giggled against his lips when he braced himself on the desk with his two hands holding onto the edge on both sides of your thighs. Both of your hands moved down to the front of his pants, too fucked out to care about timing as you palmed him through the material just to see that grin on his lips falter. "I'm gonna make you jack off and watch sometime." you mumbled, slowly pulling the zipper down after setting him free from the belt and the button. He hummed, forehead to forehead, before reaching for another little peck.

"As much as I don't see why I should jack off while you're in front of me," he spoke, a sharp intake of breath cutting his line of thought halfway through when your fingers finally wrapped around his cock. "but— shit, if you're into that… Only if you do it w'me, though. I wanna watch too."

"You don't get to watch." you sighed, bringing him closer with your legs to line his length up with your entrance. "You're just gonna sit there and come on your hand like a loser."

Carmen couldn't help the short snort that left him. "Are you even capable of being mean to me?"

"Mm-hm, I'm very mean when I wanna be." and right after that, his tip slid right into your cavern, pulling a deep exhale from both of you when he pushed a bit deeper. His lips found yours, mostly to keep the noises at bay while his hips rolled into yours, grinding against you before retreating a little, only to push in harder this time around.

You felt so full and blessed that you didn't even have to imagine anything to get lost in the feeling.

His pants slid further downwards with each thrust until they pooled around his ankles and your thighs wrapped tighter around his body, trapping him in. His arms were so delicately wrapped around your waist that you had to hold onto him with your whole remaining power to not slide further towards the wall, but he couldn't exactly notice that when he was feeling so damn lucky, whole length wrapped in a warmth beyond his comprehension.

And again, you couldn't blame him, because neither of you managed to notice when the skin slapping against skin got a bit too loud, and your lips pulled away from his just to breathe out the filthiest little nothings, like how much you needed him to fill you right up to the brim. "Fuck, give it to me." your hips met his thrusts half-way through when you pushed yourself against him. "Carmy, come inside me, please."

"Yeah? Are you gonna take it all?" his voice sounded broken, and his fingers would surely leave imprints on your hips with how tight his grip was. "Won't let you waste a drop, baby. I won't."

Somehow, through how feral he was with the way you were begging him, the responsible side came forward and captured your lips in his again— because while his team was full of respectful people, they were also little shits who would never live it down if they heard those beautiful sounds that escaped your lips with each hit of his blunt head against your sweet spot. The thought somehow egged him on further— he couldn't exactly decide if he was too possessive to let anyone hear or if he was possessive enough to make sure everyone knew he belonged to you, but at that moment, both of those thoughts turned him on too much, enough for him to feel his high approaching. And judging by the way your walls cramped down on him tighter with each passing second, you weren't too far behind.

You could feel yourself gushing around him, coating both of you in your essence beyond simple cleaning, but that was a matter to worry about later, not when the love of your life was balls-deep inside of you, his rough grunts right against your ear when he reached to press his lips right below it. "Close?" he mumbled, and even though your mind was too busy to hear and comprehend him properly, you nodded— feeling his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you closer to the warmth his body provided. And while as much as you'd like to keep this going for longer, witnessing his pace falter and voice break as he moaned out your name, filling you up in the most delicious way slowly was enough to have your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, and to have the knot finally snap.

Your whole body was buzzing, shaky even when he held you so tight against his chest as if you'd vanish right there and then— something that he always did after sex, no matter the circumstance. You giggled wearily against his shoulder, leaving a few kisses here and there before he pulled away slightly to pull you into a kiss— nothing like the ones you shared in the past minutes, this one was all sweet and loving. "Might drip if I pull out."

"You can't stay there forever, Carm."

"Oh, but I want to." he huffed out but still moved to slowly pull out of you anyway, having you both hiss in sensitivity and just like he thought, his come was ready to spill all over the place. Quick-thinker in nature, he caught his seed with his fingers right before they could go further, pushing them back into you just to hear you gasp— and slap his shoulder playfully.

"You're a fucking freak."

"Shut up— round two at my place? Kinda wanna see where that watching me jerk off fantasy of yours might lead us."

a/n: once again i could be easily manipulated into breaking into your house with a part two, who knows

also @carmensberzattos consider this a marriage proposal

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x y/n #carmen berzatto fic #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear fic #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #lip gallagher #lip gallagher x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto fluff

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sugar-grigri · 1 year ago

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Fans are Denji's source of unhappiness

First observation: Fumiko is worse than Barem

I don't like making meaningless comparisons, especially in a work like Chainsaw Man where when the characters aren't nuts, they remain at least morally gray. But this comparison makes sense in the sense that the construction of the chapter refers to it. As usual, let's analyze this by following the chapter's chronology.

This one takes place in a funfair, which is not an insignificant location, but we'll come back to that later. These few lines of dialogue already evoke a very simple idea: Denji isn't so stupid that he wouldn't know he was being manipulated. He knows full well that Fumiko was placed in Yoshida's care not to protect him, but to keep a close eye on him, to prevent him from turning and joining the church.

But she tries to disprove all this, evoking the ecstasy one might feel if one were Chainsaw Man. Being Chainsaw Man is also a source of unhappiness for Denji, who corrects her, and Fumiko adapts to his speech, looking for the first negative point that comes to mind. I think it was a real mistake for Fumiko to mention this point, but once again, she adapts to Denji's reaction. He's completely horrified at having been observed in the bathroom, so she shares his negative view of the situation.

She knows that Denji's main objective is sex-related, so she builds on that by downplaying what she's doing. This is fan behavior; fans are sexually obsessed with Denji in the hope that it will delight him. But Fumiko knows no bounds, either ignoring his consent or stalking him, which logically engages Denji's rejection reaction again.

Once again, he perceives the means of manipulation with the word "fan", and rejects it. So far, these experiences have only been negative and intrusive, and even when they have been positive, whether with Asa romantically or Power platonically, the demon of control, another female figure, has put an end to them.

But instead of stopping the manipulation, Fumiko goes on to confirm Denji's words even as they express pure disgust and rejection. For a character who knows absolutely no limits, she may also override stopping this conservation, but she continues with her family history. If public demon hunters know anything about Denji apart from his natural distrust and need for affection, whether sentimental or physical, it's his sensitivity.

I can't say that the story Fumiko tells is a complete lie, just as I can't say that she's telling the truth. She's a hunter, and anything she mentions could well have ended up in a report, especially given the national authorities' interest in the gun demon. But even if her story is true, the tragic aspect, not for her but for Denji, is even stronger.

Fumiko says she lost her parents because of the gun demon, that CSM didn't hear her cries for help. I'd like to remind you that chapter 79, the chapter in which she refers to Aki's death, is dedicated to the trauma of what it means to be Chainsaw Man.

For the demon from the future, Aki died in the worst possible way, not for him, but for Denji. It's clear that the little boy is forcing himself to continue this snowball fight he no longer wants to play.

At first, he tries to reason with Aki, forcing him to wake up, but when he himself is shot trying to spare one of his only loved ones, people won't let him lose. Chainsaw Man is a weapon of vengeance into which everyone projects their frustrations, the deaths of their loved ones. Denji was forced to be resurrected, to kill Aki not for himself, but for the community. Chainsaw Man never acts for himself. If Aki died in the worst way for Denji, it's because his fans, this community, forced him back to life to remove one of his sources of love.

Denji was traumatized by having to win.

Let's be clear: it wasn't Denji who ignored their calls for help, it was they who ignored his.

Isn't it tragic to criticize Chainsaw Man for not hearing Fumiko's cries for help, or the cries of all those people, when he was instead so compelled by them, like a machine that would be reset to kill a loved one ? Chainsaw Man, on the other hand, hears all the pain in the world. This doesn't mean that Denji is altruistic - he isn't. He's closer to amorality than compassion, but like a permanently dehumanized machine, he must serve others. It has no morals, so how can it live for itself ?

That's why what Fumiko says is so paradoxical: saving Denji means finally allowing him to live for himself, granting him the right not to hear all those voices.

She doesn't mean what she says when she says she's never thought of him as a god, but simply as a child in need of protection. She's only setting up a dissident discourse to that of the church, which idealizes him by banking on the part of identity that is Denji, while the church banks on Chainsaw Man. How can someone who is constantly sexually abusing Denji be competent to protect a boy?

This chapter is about setting limits for children. To have access to the merry-go-round, you have to be over 1m10 tall. These clear limits were never set for Denji, either when he was forced to kill Aki or even when he explores his sexuality.

Having killed his father, been martyred by the mafia and then manipulated by a demon, Denji is now at the heart of other vicious circles. He's condemned to being too young an adult, watching over Nayuta like a parent while children play behind him, not enjoying the funfair with friends, a girlfriend, being cloistered on that bench. The bench represents the stagnation in Denji's life, his questioning, placed on the bench of his own life, his name unknown to his fans, his nature instrumentalized, his age ignored.

Denji needs and must be considered with the age he is, a 17-year-old teenager. Yet even this characteristic, even the fact that he's still a child, is ignored by Fumiko, hence her insistence on the word "senpai".

The treatment of Fumiko is good, I find her to be the very embodiment of Denji's sexual trauma in the sense that she constantly manipulates him to play on his interests, and constantly ignores his own desires, his limits.

Fumiko manipulates, hence the emphasis on her outraged expression when Barem interrupts. If Barem's manipulation is more grotesque, it's not to manipulate Denji but to mock Fumiko's strategy. Although it's incredibly more insidious, the weapon has a clear idea of what she's up to.

And yet, in just a few sentences, it's right on target. It's much closer to Denji's reality than to Fumiko's human perspective. Weapons are seen as weapons, machines at the service of humans, whose immortality is a pain, as it leads them to the trauma of always winning.

Barem uses a cigarette, obviously reminiscent of those smoked by Aki, who had given in to Himeko's advances and needed an outlet for his stress. Aki's misfortune is to have spent his life on revenge, living to avenge the dead, not living for himself. The cigarette was his flaw, the proof of his humanity, the one he threw at Denji to spare him the pain of getting involved in the horrible business of hunting demons.

Whether or not it was there to manipulate Denji by reminding him of his older brother, whether or not it was there by chance, it conveyed the same message: proof of the humanity of a man who lived for others. A man who was executed once again for that same community.

This community, Denji's fan club, is the cause of his deepest misfortune. Chainsaw Man has never been so popular, yet Denji has never been alone. Because he's not allowed to have loved ones. Nayuta, too, is proof of this: she wants her brother for herself, and convinces him that he's loved by others by acting under the cover of Chainsaw Man.

That's why Denji's intervention to stop the attack in progress is much less certain. All these fans, this humanity waiting for Chainsaw Man, are the source of his misfortune. Of course the fan club will call Chainsaw Man. What's less obvious...

Will Denji listen to their cries for help?

#csm spoilers #csm 142 #chainsaw man chapter 142 #chapter 142 #csm #csm part 2 #chainsaw man spoilers #chainsaw man #denji #fumiko #fumiko mifune #barem #nayuta #makima #aki #himeno #my thoughts #analysis

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venus-haze · 5 months ago

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Power in the Blood (Father Paul Hill x Nun!Reader)

Summary: There’s power in the blood. Father Paul knows this. Soon, you will, too.

Note: Female reader who's only referred to as "Sister," but no other descriptors are used. Also, the newspaper clipping isn't on the wall in this, for obvious reasons. I’ve been working on this fic in one way or another for about a year, but watching The Devils (1971) and Immaculate (2024) earlier this year as well as encouragement from my amazing friend @zaras-really-dreamless finally gave me the push I needed to finish it. Major visual inspiration from this scene in particular. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Major canon divergence. Angst, yearning, and unrequited feelings. Elements of Catholic mysticism. Sexually explicit content which involves dubious consent by way of religious manipulation, members of the clergy engaging in sexual acts, oral sex (f. receiving, but it's related to the stigmata and vampirism), blood play.

In retrospect, Crockett Island was the only place it could have happened. Desolation hung over the remote fishing village like fog in the early mornings, when you’d take your walks before the Monsignor awoke, and you heard the woes of the fishermen as they prepared to sail out for the day—oil spills, restrictive fishing laws, better paying jobs on the mainland but leaving everything they knew behind in exchange. Despite coming from the mainland yourself and otherwise alien to the ways of the dying village, your being a woman of the cloth on the largely Catholic (though predominantly non-practicing) island made the islanders trust you, consider you one of their own a bit more than they otherwise would have as you took on the burden of buoying their spirituality as the Monsignor’s health continued failing, and he could no longer fulfill the task himself.

You’d begged the diocese for help, hardly considered yourself equipped to care for the ailing priest and run a parish, however small, essentially on your own. But for a parish as small as St. Patrick’s, you were all the help the diocese would care to send. The letter you received in response to your detailing all of the things Crockett Island’s parishioners desperately needed boiled down to “wait until the old man kicks it.”

You supposed it was a miracle the diocese even sent you there in the first place. Though most of the islanders took the arrival of a young nun like yourself as a breath of fresh air, Beverly Keane didn’t seem all too pleased to have her self-appointed position as number two at St. Patrick’s knocked down to number three. She seemed to settle down when it became clear you had no interest in engaging in petty politics in a church that barely counted three dozen people for regular Sunday mass attendance.

The island’s social life, small as it was, interested you more. People were more open to receiving you as a friend than as a representative of the church, undoubtedly put off by Beverly Keane’s self-righteous fanaticism that veered into cruelty. You got to know the regular parishioners, like Erin Greene, who’d grown up on the island, left for some time, and returned pregnant yet eager to become a mother to her unborn baby. She taught at the island’s small school with Beverly, who encouraged you to take up teaching there, obviously hoping to bring a religious curriculum to the tax-payer funded public school. You declined.

Besides Erin, and to your chagrin Beverly, who was convinced the two of you were compatriots of some kind despite how often you clashed, you found yourself spending increasing amounts of time with Sheriff Hassan. Despite dutifully filling an essential role in the community, he hardly seemed any closer to gaining acceptance despite a year on Crockett Island.

The day he and Ali moved onto the island, you had a cold, and thus weren’t part of the unofficial welcoming committee. Your head pounded from the sinus pressure when Beverly brought the Monsignor back to the rectory afterward, and you barely heard what she said. You met Sheriff Hassan a few days later, when you were feeling well enough to shop for yourself and the Monsignor for the week. Among your expectations about Hassan Shabazz, his being handsome enough to make your breath hitch for just a moment before introducing yourself wasn’t on the list. But he was understandably weary of you, expecting the same horrendous treatment he undoubtedly received from Beverly.

Over time, he found you were only interested in buying groceries and not in underhandedly converting him or Ali. You were both lonely outsiders to the island and found some solace in regular conversations about the mainland, or observations about the islanders, occasionally broaching the topic of religion, which had a comfortable place in the space you two shared in the general store, sometimes over a cup of coffee he’d brew for you.

You admired him. His dedication to his son, the efficacy with which he performed his thankless job, and the unwavering faith he had in his religion, while yours had long lost its luster since you’d become Monsignor Pruitt’s live-in nurse in all but name.

But the days became your own when the Monsignor made his trip to the Holy Land, ill-advised considering his health. When you voiced your concerns to the parish, your outsider status was paraded through the discussion by Beverly, who insisted you had no way to understand how much the trip meant to the Monsignor, and by extension, every good, practicing Catholic on the island. At the time, to your frustration, she had won.

Besides, even if he were there, you weren’t sure a man on death’s door himself would have been able to give Mildred Gunning Last Rites. Torrential rain pounded against the rectory when you could barely hear the phone ring.

You had picked up with a hesitant, “Hello?”

“Sister, it’s—it’s my mom. I think she’s—”

“Sarah, do you want me to come over and see her?”

“Yeah, she’d want that. Just be careful with the rain.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Grabbing a flashlight, you had only half pulled on your raincoat when you hurried outside, in a near sprint to the Gunning house. You almost slipped and fell on the way there, and then you wouldn’t have been any good to anybody, and the last thing Dr. Sarah Gunning needed was to tend to a broken leg while her mother was on her deathbed.

The door was unlocked when you arrived, the house quiet and dark save for a few lamps left on.

“Sarah?” you called out.

She emerged from her mother’s room, eyes red. “I thought I was ready for this a long time ago, but being face-to-face with it…”

“Are you sure this is it?”

“As sure as I can be. She hasn’t been eating. There’s only so much I can do,” Sarah said, her voice breaking in despair. “Sister, I—she’d want you to be here. Even though she didn’t know you very much, I could tell she liked you.”

“Of course,” you whispered, giving her a hug before approaching Mildred’s bedside.

Despite her labored breathing, she managed a kind smile when you took her weathered hand in yours and prayed the Our Father with as steady of a voice as you could manage. Then, you knelt, pulled the rosary from your raincoat pocket, and prayed until your knees ached and you nearly passed out from exhaustion at staying up so late. You almost thought you had dreamed it, the way she went, as peacefully as drifting off to sleep. It was only the cry of her daughter that pierced through your haze, and you struggled to your feet as you allowed Sarah privacy and called Sheriff Hassan over to certify the death, as was necessary for the burial Mildred would have undoubtedly wanted as a Catholic.

When the Sheriff arrived, about fifteen minutes after you called, you’d become acutely aware your nightgown had soaked through in the rain, and pulled your raincoat more closely over your body, ashamed you’d even forgotten such a detail in your haste.

“I should head back now,” you said. “I’m so sorry again, Sarah. You’ll be in my prayers. I’ll contact the diocese first thing in the morning."

She nodded. "Thank you, Sister."

“Do you need a ride back to the church?” Hassan asked. “This shouldn’t take long.”

You smiled, tempted by his offer, the prospect of spending more time alone with him. Instead, you shook your head. “Thank you, Sheriff. I think I can manage.”

Crockett Island was quiet the following day, when Annie’s son Riley arrived home for the first time in over a decade, following his four year prison sentence. You could tell through his polite greeting he had no interest in speaking with you further than his mother’s introductions. Fair enough.

Monsignor Pruitt was supposed to return that evening, but you had been calling the diocese to try to get confirmation that they could send a priest over to perform the funeral mass if needed. As usual, you got answering machines or the run around of being told to call different offices, none of which could apparently help you.

When you returned to the rectory after visiting with Sarah Gunning, you noticed the light on in the distance. Beverly had planned to meet the Monsignor at the ferry and bring him home. In all honesty, you couldn’t believe he survived the trip, both there and back.

“Monsignor, it’s me!” you called out. “How was your trip? I’d love to hear about—” You froze when you came face to face with a priest. A priest who wasn’t the Monsignor. Younger, handsome, absolutely unexpected. “Hello. I–I’m sorry, who are you? Father—”

“I’m Father Paul, Paul Hill,” he said kindly. “The diocese sent me.”

“That was quick. I thought they’d been ignoring my messages.”

“Yes, I’m afraid the Monsignor became ill on his trip, and I’m here until he recovers. I hope you don’t mind, I went ahead and brought my things into what I assumed was his room.”

“Please, make yourself at home.” You hastily made a sign of the cross. “But the Monsignor…I don’t think the islanders could take another loss. I’m so sorry, you come here and your first mass is a funeral.”

“Funeral? For who?”

“Mildred Gunning, an elderly parishioner who had been ill with dementia for a few years, I believe. She passed away two nights ago,” you said. “That’s why I’ve been calling the diocese all day. We need someone to perform the funeral mass.”

His deep, brown eyes widened with all the terror of a deer being chased through the woods. “Are–are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I was there when she passed.”

“Did she suffer?”

“No, it was like she had fallen asleep,” you said softly, watching in wonder as tears fell from his eyes. “Father?”

“I’m sorry, Sister. These things affect me deeply.”

You put your hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Can I make you coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please,” he said, his voice empty, an almost far away sound to it.

“While that’s brewing, I’ll call Dr. Gunning, Mildred’s daughter, and let her know you’re here. I don’t think she’d want any deviation from the typical funeral rites. Her mother was quite devout.”

“Yes, I know.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What was that?”

“Yes, I–I figured.”

He retreated into the Monsignor’s room. When you brought the coffee to him, he requested you leave it outside the door, which you found odd. Even more strange was having to tell Beverly that she missed the Monsignor’s arrival because he wasn’t arriving in the first place, and the diocese forgot to tell you that he’d become ill on his trip and Father Paul was serving as his replacement until he recovered. You privately figured the assignment would be more permanent, as yours had unexpectedly become.

Mildred Gunning’s funeral was held in St. Patrick’s Church less than a day later. A simple, solemn affair that saw the church nearly packed for the first time outside of Christmas or Easter. Mildred had lived and died on Crockett Island, everyone knew her in one way or another. Father Paul conducted the funeral mass as if mourning the Pope himself, and you were particularly struck by his grief, the way he nearly fell apart while giving the homily.

He fared no better at the wake that followed the funeral mass, held in the community center. Father Paul was utterly disinterested in speaking with any of the parishioners who tried to introduce themselves to him or sought solace and spiritual guidance in his presence. Thus, the burden once again fell on your shoulders, and you almost thought the diocese would have been better off ignoring your calls after all.

You sighed. You couldn’t let your cynicism get the best of you. It’d be entirely inappropriate for Father Paul to treat Mildred’s wake as a social hour. Besides, people with such deep empathy for others, especially someone they’d never met, were rare, as reminded to you by Beverly, who made her way over to you with a plate of cheese and crackers and a slight sneer on her face.

“I suppose it’s nice and all, but it’s not like he knew the woman,” Beverly muttered.

“He needs time to adjust,” you said. “This isn’t the best way to start out his tenure here.”

“Yes, well, let’s just hope he gets his act together soon.”

You could swear the diocese had you on some kind of blacklist, the way your calls to them went unanswered, letters returned with vague instructions and empty assurances. Father Paul had no idea how long they intended for him to stay on Crockett Island or the condition of Monsignor Pruitt.

Your living in the rectory made sense when you were caring for the Monsignor, but with Father Paul fully capable of taking care of himself, you wanted to know if you’d be staying on the island, and if so, if separate arrangements would be made for your own housing. The island was too small, too chatty, for you and Father Paul to be living alone for too long before it was turned into something it wasn’t.

The bitter taste of married life settled on your tongue as you took up most of the responsibilities around the rectory while Father Paul moped . The old man could hardly help with cleaning, and you didn’t want him anywhere near the kitchen, but your new roommate was an able-bodied man who could spare to pick up some slack, couldn’t he?

“I made dinner, if you’re hungry,” you said, emerging from the kitchen and into the living room where he sat on the couch. “Just spaghetti and meatballs. The jar sauce from the store isn’t too bad. I usually add—”

“Red wine and oregano to it. I know.”

“Oh,” you said, taken aback by his statement. “I guess Bev told you. Not much of a secret recipe.”

“You’re pretty young for a nun,” he said, turning to you. “What made you want to give up a normal life for this?”

“It’s my vocation. For as long as I can remember, I knew this was what God called me to do. I never wanted another life.” You sat down next to him, sparing a glance around the room. “This is it for me.”

“Crockett Island?”

You conceded a small smile. “I was hoping for somewhere a little more exciting, but I think there’s a chance for something amazing to happen here.”

He shook his head. “That time’s long passed. Look around you, Sister. People are leaving in droves, and the ones who’ve stayed…it’s just too late.”

“Please, Father, I know this island may seem like it’s dying, and presiding over a funeral as your first mass here doesn’t help that, but the people still need guidance,” you pleaded, taking his hands in yours. You couldn’t contend with the diocese sending you to rot with the rest of the island. It couldn’t be for nothing. “The Monsignor is no longer well enough to fill that need, and I couldn’t do it on my own, but together, I think we can do something great if we try. This might be the island’s last chance to have life breathed into it again.”

“Sister—”

“I agree that Crockett Island is hardly a place anymore, but it’s somewhere to start, isn’t it? We couldn’t have been sent here without a reason.”

He swallowed roughly, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You’re right, Sister. I—Thank you.”

You smiled, relief washing over you at his words, at his assurance you wouldn't have to bring revival to Crockett Island on your own.

Following your conversation with Father Paul, his attitude completely shifted. He was friendlier with the parishioners, taking extra time to spend with Leeza, offering to hold Riley’s AA meetings in the community center to save him a trip to the mainland, and, inexplicably, he liked Beverly, who’d changed her mind about Father Paul since the wake and warmed up to him. The only time he wavered was when he visited with Sarah Gunning, still grieving the loss of her mother and considering moving her practice off of the island.

He’d return to the rectory on those evenings quiet, morose, seeking the comfort you selflessly offered him. A warm embrace in which he’d bury his face in the crook of your neck. A hand to hold and squeeze in his own, intertwining his fingers with yours. Teetering on the brink of an intimacy you’d made vows against, you weren’t quite sure how to bring it up to him, not when he needed you, and you, him, to fill the hunger in your heart for a man you knew you could never have.

You allowed the beast to live in you. Fed it. Nurtured it. Cared for it. Guarded it with a shameful protectiveness, shielding it from your regular confessions with Father Paul, in which uttering its name would make it real, and thus ripped away from you and destroyed.

Ash Wednesday and the first week of Lent were resigned to a haze in your memory, hardly able to think of the beginning of the holiest time of the liturgical year without feeling sick. Not after the potluck. You were sure it had been Beverly, Sheriff Hassan was, too. You knew she was cruel, but to harm an animal, something so innocent…You couldn’t stand to be in her presence for long after that, and silently resented Father Paul for keeping her so close. But you supposed everyone had their vices.

Yours came to a head in a dream, one that felt all too real, that you could hardly remember when you awoke apart from burning hands on your skin, lips pressed to yours, you and Sheriff Hassan in throes of passion. You laid in bed with a lump in your throat and aching between your legs. You hadn’t experienced a dream like that in…you couldn’t even remember.

The entire time you sat through mass, you thought you were going to be sick. You couldn’t concentrate on the readings or the homily. Taking the Eucharist felt wrong, and your hand shook when you brought the communion wafer to your lips when Father Paul handed it to you. Finally, when mass ended, and you were sure the church was empty, you approached him with trepidation.

“Father, I have something I need to confess.”

“Would you like to go to the confessional?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to hide behind it. I need to be transparent and held accountable.”

He nodded. The two of you sat in a pew, facing each other as you crossed yourselves.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“Three days,” you answered.

“What is it, Sister?”

“I’ve been having lustful thoughts, Father, about someone incredibly close to me, who I care deeply for. Instead of asking the Lord to take these feelings from me, I’ve been indulging in them, and last night I—I had a dream about him. A sexual one that I experienced physical pleasure from.” You were in tears, guilt wracking your body as you spoke. “I’m so ashamed. I should have been stronger. I’ve been sinning against God, exploiting this man in my heart when he’s done nothing to deserve such disrespect. Sheriff Hassan is—”

“Sheriff Hassan?” Father Paul’s gaze darkened ever so slightly, and you leapt to the sheriff’s defense in his absence.

“He didn’t do anything, Father. Nothing more than friendly smiles and kind words, never anything inappropriate. It was me, letting my lustful thoughts ferment instead of nipping them in the bud right away. He committed no sin. It was me.” Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

“Why him?”

You were silent for a moment. “He’s a good man.” Better than most you’d come across. Kind, selfless, just—the virtues that were few and far between among the men of the cloth you had met. Above all else, even when it was difficult, Hassan Shabazz was good. “I love him.”

“You don’t love him, Sister. Lust after him, yes, but you don’t know him, not enough to love him the way you think you do.”

With a shaky, reluctant sigh, you nodded. “Will you help me, Father?”

He took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course, it’s the least I can do after you helped me through the trial God set out for me when I first arrived here.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll get through this together, Sister. Let us pray.”

The following Sunday, you tried to match the enthusiasm he had for ten o’clock mass that morning. You had gotten used to it by then, the way he always seemed to know something you didn’t or was aware of details about the islanders you weren’t keen to even after living there for two years. He was easy to trust, you supposed.

Sitting in the wooden pew, you focused on following along with mass until the homily following the reading from the Gospel. Father Paul’s homilies were always a bit odd, cryptic, even. You assumed his faith was influenced by mysticism, and sought out books by the likes of St. John of the Cross and St. Francis in an attempt to better understand him. The way he spoke that day unsettled you, a fantastical fanaticism that felt out of place on Crockett Island.

Then, when it was time to receive the Eucharist, there was a solid minute where you were sure you had never hated anyone more in your entire life than you hated him. Telling Leeza Scaroborough to walk, goading the poor girl to step out of her wheelchair in an act of cruelty you couldn’t abide by. You got up from the pew, en route to smack him across the face when she did it. Leeza stood up from her wheelchair, and with tentative steps forward and tears of disbelief and hope in her eyes, she walked up to Father Paul and received the Eucharist.

Everything that followed was a blur, but you knew you were one of the few in attendance who hadn’t broken out into frenzied celebration. Something just wasn’t right. You found yourself hesitant to make eye contact with him when you took communion, and remained quiet even as mass ended, the cacophony of elated voices almost background noise to you.

“I’m sorry, everyone, but I need to speak to our dear Sister in confidence. I’m sure you all understand,” he said, murmurs of affirmation from the congregants who had crowded around him, except for Bev, who had a puss on her face at being excluded.

Father Paul ushered you into the sacristy, closing the door behind you.

“Is something wrong, Sister?” he asked.

“How can anything be wrong? Leeza Scarborough can walk again.”

“Yes, a miracle occurred in this very parish, right before our eyes, yet you seem…hesitant.”

You chewed on your lip before murmuring, “Seeing isn’t always believing.”

“You were the one who told me this island needed life brought back to it, who said we could achieve great things together. Now I’ve done that, by the grace of God Himself, and you have cold feet?”

“It’s not that.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“You know I do,” you said, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. “Maybe my faith is still weak—I’m still weak. I’m sorry, Father.”

“You’re not weak, Sister.”

“I think I’m going to get some air,” you said.

He nodded, distressed by your continued lack of enthusiasm. “Alright.”

Leaving St. Patrick’s through the side door in the sacristy, you tried to muster up the joy and faith you were supposed to feel, but found yourself coming up disappointingly empty. You had seen it with your very own eyes, and had been standing right there when Leeza walked for the first time in years. It couldn’t have been a trick, not orchestrated or premeditated, not by her. But Father Paul seemed so certain. Was his faith that much stronger than yours? Strong enough that he could be a true miracle worker, a vessel of God Himself on Crockett Island of all places?

Even the more skeptical congregants present, like Erin and Riley, had bared witness to it. Could attest to what had happened just as everyone else had, as you could. As a nun, you were undoubtedly expected to believe, be among the most fervent of Father Paul’s advocates. Beverly wasted no time in declaring the act a miracle worthy of the Vatican’s attention. Your faith still wavered despite what should have been undeniable proof.

You’d lost track of how long you’d been walking around the island, but the sun was beginning to set and you realized you were tired and hungry. The general store wasn’t much farther of a walk from where you ended up while mindlessly wandering, and so you made the trek into town, telling yourself you were getting a few groceries for yourself and Father Paul. Really, the only person you knew you could speak to without judgment would be in there.

When you entered, Hassan greeted you with an emotional distance you expected. He probably figured you’d be among the dozens of people eager to relay Leeza’s miracle to him, underhandedly attempting to invalidate his own faith.

Grabbing a jar of sauce and a box of pasta, you brought them up to the counter. Your mouth was dry while he rang up the groceries, but you couldn’t help asking, “Have–um–have you seen Leeza recently?”

He nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Walked right in here and bought a Twinkie earlier.”

“Amazing, how it happened.”

“I know about what happened to Leeza. I don’t believe what happened to Leeza.”

“Neither do I.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“It doesn’t sit right with me,” you said. “It felt more like a show was being put on than a miracle. I don’t think she had anything to do with what happened, but he had to have done something. He was so sure she would walk, and I just felt angry, betrayed that he’d make a spectacle in mass. In all honesty, Sheriff, my faith has been wavering for a while, but this didn’t make it any stronger.”

“It makes me feel a little more sane to hear you say that.”

“Well, if anyone can get to the bottom of this, I’m sure it’s you.” You smiled, taking the bags of groceries from the counter. “Have a good night, Sheriff.”

“You too, Sister.”

Walking back to the rectory, you wondered if anything would be able to make you change your mind about actually bearing witness to a miracle.

Father Paul hugged you as soon as you walked through the door. “I was about to send out a search party for you.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Father. I just needed time to think.”

He looked at the grocery bag in your hand. “And to see the Sheriff.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sister, something incredible is happening here. I need to know you’re on my side,” he said, his urgency striking you like lightning.

“I am. I want to be. Please just be patient with me. This is—it’s a lot to process.”

“I can’t do this without you,” he said softly, caressing your cheek. “I need you.” His gaze fell to your lips.

“I should start on dinner,” you whispered, pulling away from him.

“Let me, you cook enough for me already,” he said, taking the bag from you. He pulled out the jar of sauce. “Red wine and oregano, right?”

You nodded. “That’s right.”

“Make yourself comfortable out here. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

The following half hour or so was unbearably tense, and you could hardly focus on the book sitting in your lap, The Dialogue of Divine Providence, while he cooked. The two of you ate in near silence, and you retired to your room early, falling asleep almost as soon as you changed into your nightgown and crawled into bed.

Burning pain seared your limbs when you awoke in the middle of the night, the pungent scent of iron assaulting your nose, and for a moment, you thought you were dying. You reached over to the lamp on your nightstand, your arm heavy as you moved it. With trepidation, you pulled the cord, a phantom sensation in your hand as you did so.

Soft, white light from the bulb illuminated your beside. Lifting your hands to your face, you let out a panicked whimper at the gaping wounds in your palms, gently bleeding crimson and flowing down your arms to your nightgown. The fabric around your torso was blotched with blood, each tinge of pink becoming red with every ragged breath you took. You tried kicking at the covers, but found it excruciatingly difficult, and to your horror, discovered identical wounds to the ones in your hands through both of your feet.

Your hands shook as you screwed your eyes shut, telling yourself it was a dream, and that when you opened your eyes, the blood would be gone, the wounds healed. Except the pain was all too real, pulsing in your wounds, tears stinging your eyes as you choked out a sob. Your simple bedroom, with little more than a bookshelf, desk, chair, and crucifix on the wall, threatened to suffocate you as your panic set in.

A groan pulled from your lips as you pushed yourself out of bed, your legs nearly giving out beneath you. The strange sensation of your bare feet on the wooden floorboards made you feel dizzy, or maybe it was blood loss. Each step forward was more agonizing than the last, but you needed help. You needed someone else to see you, a witness to what was happening.

“Father Paul!” you cried out from the doorway, your voice hoarse and low, barely carrying across the hallway. “Father, wake up!” Mustering what strength you could, you threw yourself against his bedroom door, your closed, bleeding fist erratically banging against it. “Father, please!”

“Sister, what’s going—”

As soon as he opened the door, you collapsed into his arms, sending him stumbling backward with the sudden burden of your body on his. He looked at you, gaping at the blood that covered you—and him.

“Father?”

“I should call Dr. Gunning.”

You shook your head frantically. “Don’t! Not yet.”

“What happened?”

“I woke up, and I was like this.” Your bleeding hands clenched around the hem of your nightgown, keeping it at your thighs. “I’m too afraid to look.”

“May I?” he asked, his own hands shaking as his fingers brushed the blood-drenched fabric.

Staring at him for a moment, reckoning with the further vulnerability you were about to display to him, you breathed a soft, “Yes.”

He pulled your nightgown up, the fabric sticking to your skin from the congealed blood. You stared at the ceiling as he lifted the garment over your head, too embarrassed and mortified to acknowledge your body bare before him. His fingertips brushed your torso, and you moaned. In your horror, you looked down to see deep, fresh wounds on your sides.

“Oh my God.”

“Do you know what this is, Sister?”

Tears blurred your vision as you shook your head. “It can’t be stigmata. I’m not pure enough, not devout enough. He’d never—”

“Of course He would. He saw you needed faith, a reminder of His love for you, and look at you now,” Father Paul said with hushed fervor as he took in the state of you. “You’re beautiful.” He kissed your forehead, then pressed his lips to each of your weeping palms, and then your feet.

Desire twisted in your gut at the sight of him beneath you. He kissed your feet again, a terrifying hunger in his gaze as he brought his lips higher up your legs, his hands brushing your skin with a reverence you felt unworthy of receiving.

You watched as he dipped his fingers into one of your side wounds and then brought the digits to his mouth, tasting your blood from them. With a ragged breath, he brought his face to your torso. His tongue plunged in the valley of your wound, lapping up the blood that gently flowed from it. A moan tore from your throat, pleasure rolling across your skin as if you truly were a vessel for the divine. Surely it was the same sensation that inspired St. Teresa of Avila’s eroticism, a mystical ecstasy that saw her driven out of villages and cloister herself in search of the purest, incorporeal love.

Except before you knelt a man of God whom you could reach out and touch, eagerly devouring your flesh as if able to find salvation in your blood. His teeth grazed your skin, eliciting a shudder that echoed through you like a worn-out hymn. Words failed you, the pleasure you received from his ravenous consumption of you overtaking the pain from your wounds.

Holding his head against your side wound, you wanted more, the feeling of him indulging in you. Taste and eat. Everything you felt and saw was in shades of violently blossoming red, deeper and deeper with each curl of his tongue and brush of his fingertips, his unadulterated worship, his veneration for you, serving as the flowing cup of God’s grace and mercy.

Rapturous bliss hummed through you like an ecstatic prayer, pulsing in your wounds on your hands, feet, and sides. You felt like he was part of you, a mystical union between yourself and him.

But just as high as he’d taken you, you quickly came down. The gravity of the situation, of what he’d done, what you’d let him do, weighed on your conscience more heavily than any illicit feeling you’d ever harbored toward Sheriff Hassan.

Father Paul took your face in his hands, eyes glistening with a joyous faith you no longer envied. “Your own miracle, Sister. Do you see it now?”

“You did this to me?” you asked in distressed horror. “You—Who are you?”

“Not me, Sister,” he said. “Here, let me show you. You’ll understand everything. I think you’re ready.”

He held out his hand, and despite everything in you screaming otherwise, you took it.

#father paul x reader #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill #monsignor pruitt #midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #midnight mass fanfic #slasher x reader #<- for my own blog organization

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01zfan · 10 months ago

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understanding my faith pt. 3 | l. at

church boy!anton x reader | 2.3k words

contains: soft dom anton, car sex, mentioning church, references to bible verses

umf: part one | part two | part three

sacrilegious masterlist

anton understood his faith a long time ago. it came to him like a breath of fresh air or a beam of light shining directly on his heart. it came to anton in the form of you, sprawled out on the bed for him every night.

the bible verses about faith—how it is the confidence in what we hope for and the assurance of what we do not see—made more sense when he was with you. anton could not see your heart, or hear your thoughts, but he developed the confidence that you were thinking of him the same way he thought of you. although his body by the end of the night was sweaty, he felt cleansed by having you under him. anton would get excited to pray, putting together the same hands he used to pry open your thighs the night before. he would look up to the statue of god and not falter like he use to, he would look up to it and smile. he had found the path to righteousness, the one only he knew about.

finding his faith breathed a new vigor in anton. he became motivated by his faith. he became more involved in the church. he went above and beyond in the choir, to the point that he began composing music for that had been lost or misplaced overtime. after you became the lead vocalist on the choir it gave you two a reason to be together.

his love for you could be articulated, but he found you to be driven by action more than words. if his faith was not paired with action, it was null and void. so he began sitting next to you in mass, using what all the authority he had in the choir to help you be heard. anton wanted to selfishly keep your voice to himself. no one deserved to hear you, he barely believe he had the right to hear you. you spent you whole day assuring him that he deserved it, and at night you proved it to him.

although you were driven more by actions than words in public, anton quickly discovered it was the opposite in bed. anton found you clenching around him harder when he talked to you more than when he would fuck you roughly. he remembers you coming apart underneath him as he walked you through what he was doing to you.

he found both to be comforting. hearing the bed springs creak underneath the force of your two bodies was beautiful to anton. it built anticipation for him, the same way you could hear everyone stand from the pews in unison before joining in prayer. how could anton not understand faith after linking every aspect of you to the church? he finally had something in common with people in his church. they all had someone they got down on their knees for, something they worshipped endlessly.

when he told you how he felt you got hot in the face and squirmed next to him in the pew. he leaned over to whisper to you even while the pastor was talking. he enjoyed seeing you nervous, the same way you used to have him nervous. anton didn’t stop leaning his large frame over yours as he whispered to you until he was shushed by an elder. anton didn’t understand why you were squirming until you dragged him into a room during a break and put his hand underneath your skirt. he felt your faith seeping through your panties, making his fingers smell like you. anton fingered you in that room, with a hand over your mouth as you quietly whined into his hand. you two barely made it back to mass in time, with your panties neatly folded and tucked into anton’s dress pants.

you two had developed a schedule for sneaking around. anton had gotten good at lying to his parents. it wasn’t hard, after he specified anything was church related he suddenly had approval from them. they were ecstatic to find out their son had developed such devotion to the church. your dad was the same, happy that you weren’t turning out like your mother.

on days like these you and anton worked on music waiting for everyone to leave. once the church was empty you helped anton lock down the church. people in the congregation used you two as a shining example of what values kids nowadays should have. what no one knew was that you and anton were fooling around, sinning like normal teenagers do.

you were in the back of anton’s car, hand pressed to the fogging window. anton was so large it was hard for him to bend his body, but he found a way, just like he always did. you were giving like you always were, bending your legs with a foot perched on the center console to give anton as much room as possible. anton loved the acoustics of his car. it amplified your voice in the tiny space as he fingered you, pretty moans blessing his ears.

“i love hearing you.” anton whispered.

you ground your hips against anton’s hand, trying to urge him to go faster. anton never understood how so many people succumbed to greed until he met you. he was greedy with the pleasure he gave you, he wanted to prolong touching you, going at grueling paces just to make you last. it was really bad when he was in a mood to get you to come over and over again. he couldn’t stop pulling prayer after prayer out of you, until you were a crying mess underneath him. he found comfort in the fact that you were the same way. some nights you had anton praying to god for relief.

but anton let his greed take over tonight. he placed a hand on your lower stomach, adding just enough strength to overpower you. you were at his mercy as he continued scissoring his fingers inside of you. you held onto his bicep tightly as you moaned at his display of strength.

“let me do everything. just keep taking it.” anton said.

you nodded and moaned in protest, but your hips stayed still. anton easily added in another feeling and you started clenching around him. his hand that was holding you down went to your boob, holding it the same way he held the offerings he gave to god.

the squelching sound of you filled up his car. you bit your lip and used your hand to cover your eyes. if you looked down at anton for too long you would burn even hotter than you already were. sometimes you felt like you would explode underneath his gaze and his touches.

“don’t be shy. you have a gift from god.” anton said.

he praised you until you could no longer take it. you came around his fingers, making a hand imprint on the foggy glass of anton’s window.

he pulled out his fingers and tasted you, a sight that always made you dizzy. you contemplated on what to do next. you wanted to give anton head, to give him an ounce of the pleasure he just gave you. but the space in the car and anton’s large size made that impossible. you decided to relinquish all your command to him, letting him do whatever he wanted. anton wanted you in his lap. he pulled you from your spot on the car and guided you with sticky hands on top of him. he puts his hands behind his head and looked you up and down.

“do your thing.” he said, relaxing into the seat.

anton watched as you lined him up with your entrance an sank down on him. without stopping, you sank all the way down on him.

“it’s not too much?” anton asked in astonishment.

“i can take it.” you said.

your words came out nearly incoherant, too busy on trying to adjust. anton understood your struggle, kissing your shoulder as he let you adjust.

“good girl.” anton said. “take your time.”

when you were done adjusting, you planted both your feet on either side of anton. you used the leverage to bring yourself up and down on him. anton let out a deep sigh, both of his hands clasped over his chest as he watched you ride him. his eyes were filled with devotion, you could see yourself reflected in his blown out eyes.

“you’re lovely. doing so good for me.” anton said.

you wanted to keep going, but your thighs started to burn from the position. as soon as anton noticed your speed slow down and your bounces falter, his hands went to your hips. he held you in place when you were at his tip, about to sink down on him again.

“want me to do all the work?” anton asked looking up at you.

when you nodded your head, anton started showing his strength. he held you in place while he fucked up into you. you let out something like a gasp and a moan, reaching for anything to keep you on earth. your hand found purchase in the interior door handle and anton’s bicep. his balls would occasionally slap your skin and you moaned out his named each time. you had little control over his speed and his strength, but you took it all in stride.

you became insanely aware of anton’s strength and stamina. you seriously believe that god gave him the power to fuck you, and he was in your life to bring you pleasure. god’s intentions were always up for debate, but there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that anton was intended to be here with you, right now in this moment. that had to have been the only explanation for why everything felt so good. anton’s pace started picking up and you hand to move a hand to the ceiling of his car. you saw anton turn his head, as if he was scoping out the parking lot to make sure no one else was there.

“should i give you a baby in the parking lot of this church?” anton said. he was sure the car was rocking back and forth from the force, and your moans could easily be heard by anyone passing by. this only fueled him. “do you think god would bless our baby?”

“yes. and he’d be beautiful just like you.” you said.

anton looked up at you through sweaty bangs. his hair was surely sticking to his forehead now, from the stuffiness of the car and the exertion of fucking up into you. your boobs moved in tandem with your thrusts, and you had your hand pressed against the roof of his car to stabilize yourself. your eyes were closed in pure bliss as you bit your lip to unsuccessfully hold back your moans. anton wondered what the image behind your eyelids were, if it was the pearly gates or the fiery pits of hell. anton grabbed your other hand, holding it tight as he continued to buck his hips upwards.

“you wanna give me a boy?” anton asked.

he wanted to give you a son more than anything, one that was made in god’s image.

“i wanna give you everything. anything,” you moaned. “just please don’t stop.”

anton was sure that your grip on him would draw blood soon. if he were to bleed, he wanted it to be over his whole body. maybe then he would be worthy to be in your presence.

“i don’t if i can stop.” anton said. “you’re so tight.”

he was speaking the truth, he didn’t know if he could stop his hips from snapping into you. if he could stop himself from hitting that spot deep inside of you. he knew he was greedy, that it was selfish but he can’t resist when it came to you. he was only human after all, a human that was close to meeting god. anton gently pulled you down to him, like the selfish mortal he was. everything about you was divine, anton still struggled with the fact that you weren’t an angel. that didn’t stop him as he pressed his face against your ear, licking the skin underneath.

“my little angel.” anton whispered.

the way you responded to anton undid the countless conversations you had with him to tell him you were human. anton fucked you hard and slow now. he watched as your mouth opened silently. you moved your hands to anton’s shoulder and kissed whatever part of his body you could reach.

“i’m so close anton.” you whimpered.

“cum for me.” anton whispered into your ear.

that’s all you needed to hear. it was like anton knew about all of your ticks, what made you go crazy. anton knew how to stoke the fire inside of you and he knew exactly what to say to get you to see white. you came around him, holding onto him like the poor soul you were. your faith in anton was strengthened everyday. the way he made you feel made you see life differently. all you saw right now was him and the way he continued to fuck into you. sweat beaded from his hair and got all over his car as an effect. everything was filled with anton as you froze above him. this didn’t stop the thrusts, or anton’s mouth as he continued to whisper things to you.

“keep going. feels so good right?” he said.

anton didn’t let himself finish inside of you until your orgasm was done. you were a babbling mess when he came inside of you. you felt him deep inside of you, white and a twitching mess. you continued to clamp around him. you felt every throbbing vein and heard anton whimper into your neck, kissing the flesh in the crook. you leaned into him and he wrapped his arms around you caging you in against him. anton’s his face contorted from the pleasure as he kept cumming inside of you. he looked like the paintings, suffering from the anguish of overstimulation. you took him into your arms too, chest to chest as your two kissed passionately.

your bodies cooled down by the time you two separated. the passionate make out turned to chaste kisses, and you could feel evidence of the night seep out of you. anton lifted you off of him to put you in his lap. you settled into the gentle kisses and heavy breaths. the same way you guys reached the peak together you came down together as well.

anton pulled apart from your lips to scan over your whole face. he kisses your nose and you kissed his. after kissing your forehead he brought you into him, resting his head on top of yours. he traced patterns on your back as you listened to his rapid heartbeats.

after holding one another you guys got dressed, and fell into your normal routine. anton drove you home holding your hand the whole time. he dropped you off at home, and you went to your room thinking of him. anton drove himself home grateful that he met you and that you helped him understand his faith.

sacrilegious series masterlist

#01zfan: anton #seriez: understanding my faith #seriez: sacrilegious #anton smut #riize smut

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useless-catalanfacts · 5 months ago

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A bit of trans and crossdressing history of Barcelona (Catalonia's capital city) in the 1920s-1930s

Did "the Carolines" hold the first documented queer march in 1933?

Contestants in the 1934 edition of "Miss Barri Xino" for crossdressers. Photo from the book La Criolla: la puerta dorada del Barrio Chino by Paco Villar.

The Barri Xino, nowadays more commonly known as Raval, is a working class neighbourhood of Barcelona, Catalonia's capital city. Being one of the poorest neighbourhoods in the city, it was the meeting place for people who were outside of the law or the morality of the time, including homosexuals and people who dressed in the way that is associated with the sex they were not assigned at birth (all called crossdressers at the time, this category would include a wide range of people including those we nowadays would call transgender, drag queens, homosexual men, sex workers, as well as thieves and other criminals who used women's clothes for their robberies on passerbies or for hiding). When referring to them, this post will use the term "crossdresser" in this broad meaning, as is used in the sources of the time and was used by the people we are talking about.

At the time, trans people and others who didn't want to follow the time's gender norms faced a lot of hardships. It was not uncommon for men to dress as women and viceversa during Carnival (annual holidays where people dress up, often with satirical purposes, considered a time of turning social convention upside-down) or for men to dress as women in theatre and concert halls. Even though these were situations where many found a place for self-expression and fun, the clothing transgression was limited to very specific ambits and often related to the arts or to things considered funny, but it wasn't normalized to freely exist on the streets outside of the Carnival period. In fact, traditions like Carnival (where the lower class rules and everyone makes fun of the Church and government, where the behaviours that aren't allowed the rest of the year or considered sinful are encouraged) or Saint Agatha's (where women get to form a government for 1 day a year) are found in many cultures around the world as an outlet in repressive societies, and are celebrated in a strongest and wildest way the more repressive their society is.

Carnival in Barcelona's Jardinets de Gràcia (richer area of the city), 1936. Photo from Arxiu Fotogràfic de Barcelona.

Photos of the parties that continued after King Carnestoltes's burial was over in Barcelona's Jardinets de Gràcia, 1935. Context: in Catalan culture, the Carnival holidays are personified in King Carnestoltes (King Carnival). On the last day of the Carnival period, the King is buried in a humourous event called "the burial of the sardine". For the burial, people of all genders dress as mournerers (the women who, often professionally getting paid for it, cry desperately at funerals) and the funeral procession parades on the streets exaggeratedly crying and wailing. Photos from Finestres de Memòria.

When talking about 1930s Catalonia, it's impossible not to mention anarchism, which was the mainstream political ideology of the Catalan working class. We must not assume that leftist movements gave support to queer liberation at the time, it clearly was not the case for most of the CNT and anarchism in general, who saw homosexuality and crossdressing as a bourgeois vice.

Outside of Carnival holidays, it wasn't normalized for people seen as men to walk on the streets wearing women's clothing. The most famous meeting place for those who wanted to wear them was the bar La Criolla, in the Barri Xino/Raval quarter. El Bataclan and El Sacristà were also frequented. Another common meeting place for some of them were the "vespasianes" (public urinals on the streets), where crossdresser AMAB people offered their services as sex workers or stole the wallet of the men who were distracted peeing. According to a witness, the people who crossdressed as women and attended the vespasianes and its surrounding areas were known as the carolines (les carolines). They are the protagonists of the 1933 march.

Sadly, we only have one source of information, so it's difficult to tell how accurate the explanation is. This source is the book Journal du Voleur ("Diary of a Thief") by Jean Genet, where he explains his experiences in Barcelona's crossdressing circles of the 1920s and 1930s when he was one of the crossdressers who stole from men peeing: a carolina. At the time, it was common for anarchists to bomb places frequented by the bourgeoisie, and sometimes other places, too. According to Genet, in 1933 one of these anarchist bombs ended up in one of these vespasianes urinals frequented by the carolines. This sparked one of the first documented queer marches, maybe encouraged by their bad relation with the anarchists.

Genet explains that the carolines were outraged at the destruction of the urinal, and that "[wearing] shawls, mantillas, silk dresses and fitted short jackets, they formed a solemn delegation to place a bouquet of red flowers tied with a gauze crape" on the destroyed urinal. They marched from Paral·lel avenue through Sant Pau street, down the Rambles until Colom statue shouting about what had happened.

Even though the Barcelona City Council talks about these events as true and Barcelona's LGBT associations call it "the first documented LGBT march in history", it's unknown how much of Genet's description is true. Genet was known for his proclivity to embellish and exaggerate real events and, after all, the only source of information is a literary work (memoir). There is no other recorded use of the word carolines to refer to these people, but precisely because of their marginalization it's not a demographic that was often talked about in newspapers or other historicals sources of the time.

Despite the lack of knowledge about the carolines's march specifically, the crossdressing meeting places are well-known, with many photos and witnesses of the time. We also know what happened next: in 1936, the fascists in the Spanish Army did a coup d'état which started the Spanish Civil War, ending with the fascist victory in 1939. About the bars where crossdressers and others used to meet, we know that La Criolla was destroyed by a fascist bomb in August 1938, during the war. Cal Sacristà (which had changed its name to Wu-Li-Chang in 1934) was also destroyed when the fascists were bombing the city. Bataclan was forced to change its name to Rataclán and ended up closing in 1942. The fascist dictatorship of Spain (1939-1978) imposed a strict Nationalcatholic morale and persecuted those who did not follow its strict gender roles (trans people, homosexuals, feminists), national minorities (like Catalans, Basques, Galicians), and political dissidents. The dictatorship even forbid Carnival for years, event though it's a holiday of the Catholic religion (Carnival is the excess before the fasting period of Lent). The only crossdressing that was legally allowed were transformist male artists who imitated famous female stars in theatres and concert halls, and even they had to be discreet. Their life on the streets was persecuted, but they never eliminated the presence of crossdressing in Raval. You can read more about homosexuality and crossdressing during the dictatorship in this previous post, about the Law of Social Danger in this one, about Catalonia's first Pride march (1977) in this one, and as always find out more about Catalan queer people and history in this blog's tag #uselesslgbtfacts.

Information sources: Transvestits en acció by Lluís Permanyer (in Catalan), La Revolta de les Carolines by Leopold Estapé (in Catalan), Vespasiana by Ailo Ribas (in English). A good explanation that helped me contextualize is found in this entry in La Barcelona Diversa (in Catalan).

#uselesslgbtfacts #història #barcelona #catalunya #carnaval #1930s #history #trans #pride #lgbt history #lgbtq history #queer history #queer #trans history #transgender history #gender non conforming #transgender #queer culture

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sleepyangelkami · 2 years ago

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you totally don’t have to take this into consideration at all but what if in the pastors daughter pt3 there’s ANGST. maybe readers parents find out and try to punish/harm her but ellie comes to the rescue 🫡

PASTORS DAUGHTER III e.williams

☆ WORD COUNT - 8.6K

ELLIE WILLIAMS X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - you have a secret, one only few people could know, what would happen if the preacher found out that his daughter was dating such a dilinquent, or more importantly a girl. ellie williams doesn't hesitate to jump in when she finds you and your parents in your bedroom after your sister let your secret out. some smut at the end because you're all waiting for it.

☆ WARNINGS - innocent reader, smut, angst, violence, fighting, yelling, unpacking heavy homophobia, use of a slur, mentions of blood, physical violence, making out, innocence kink, corruption kink, kina size kink if you squint, fingering and oral (r. recieving), scissoring, kinda sub!reader and dom!ellie, my shitty writing, my also unawareness of anything in a catholic church (i'm literally catholic), intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread

series masterlist

you never kept secrets. when you were young, you did everything in your will to keep your mouth shut but you were a blabbermouth, you couldn't help the words tumbling out from your lips. if someone were to ask you what your deepest darkest secret was, your lips would screw shut because truly, you never did keep secrets. any secrets kept from your parents, were secrets that not even your mind was fully able to comprehend, something you had not yet accepted about yourself.

but this. this was your favourite secret of all time.

it all happened so fast. how ellie once was your sisters best friend, the one in which would call you pretty names, have you a blushing mess before she even glanced sideways at you. and now, she was the same girl pulling you away from the others at school just to kiss you.

kissing. that had to be your favourite part.

call it what you want. some may say that you were so drunk off her kisses because you had never been kissed before, the feeling so foreign however you knew what the problem was, not that it was a problem at all. ellie knew how to kiss, better than anyone else in the world, you guessed. her tongue didn't bother fight for dominance, it slipped in so easily and you let it, you let her explore your mouth as crude sounds fell from your lips. you were drunk off her lips, the way they could kiss you so roughly, having you sitting with your hands placed on her shoulders to keep you up for you had chose kissing the girl over breathing a long time ago. the way she would kiss you so gently when she wished, whether she was leaving you off to class, pretending to brush something off your shoulders as she dipped her head down, a chaste kiss against your lips. you could drown in them, you were sure. in fact, you could drown in anything related to ellie, you'd die a happy woman. ellie williams had single handedly wrapped you around her finger and all it took was a mere kiss. if she had known this, she would have done it a long time ago.

however, it was still but a secret. you acted as though you were mere acquaintances in public, a small smile and a nod. but when she got you alone, god when she got you alone she couldn't help but ravish you. after all, she had been wanting you all day.

though it was a secret, it wasn't just you and ellie who were aware of the relationship. ashley had been over the moon when you had announced it and ever since then she had been asking both you and ellie about every little detail of the relationship. she was a fangirl, and you were her favourite couple. and, of course, joel miller had been made aware almost instantly.

you giggled, seated on your girlfriends bed, fiddling with the weird ball she had just given you. she made it a habit to hand you strange toys and watch your face try to figure out what it was in the most humorous way known to man. you were still getting used to being in a relationship. having a girlfriend. but with ellie, you didn't feel guilty for it didn't feel as if anything was wrong with what you were doing. ellie was an angel despite the devilish image she had created for herself in her mind. "you girls hungry?" you turned to see joel miller standing at the doorway, hand on the door handle as he bent through the crack.

"no, thank you, joel." grinning up at the man who had been only welcoming towards you since the moment you met him. you had already spent too many dinners at his house, however, your parents were dead certain that your choir practice was going amazing.

ellie gave you an amused glance before turning towards her step father. "suit yourself, i'm fucking starving." and of course she dragged you straight towards the kitchen because ellie was simply like that, she couldn't go anywhere without you, even in her own house. joel would only grin at you both, shaking his head as he looked down at the bread he was buttering. you were good for ellie, he deemed from the very first second he had been introduced to you, of course you and ellie weren't a 'thing' then, however, he could see right through the girl he knew something had to have been going on. he liked how ellie's days seemed brighter, how she seemed to be getting less slips from school, how she seemed to be doing her homework, that was one he was sure he'd never see again. he adored how sweet you were, always offering to clean up after you all, you had even cooked one of the days when joel had challenged your amazing cooking skills, you brought cookies over whenever you made them at home, you did seemingly anything to make his daughter smile, that was enough. and although he adored you, along with your older sister ashley l/n, he couldn't get over his distaste of your parents, one of which he had made quite apparent to you. he, of course, swore to keep your relationship a secret for he knew mr. l/n and he knew that he'd want you nowhere near that household, along with your mother who seemed to become witchier everytime he glanced at her. joel had come to grow quite very fond of you and when he saw how upset you could be with your parents, how you'd plant a smile on your lips and say 'oh it's fine' as ellie explained the situation, however, your eyes glassing over. when he saw how upset you were, his loathing grew for the nasty couple. he'd let you move in with them in a heartbeat, but he had grew to know you, and he knew you wouldn't wish your parents to be upset, so you simply brushed it off and continued with the constant abuse.

joel was always more than happy to let ellie use the truck on date nights too. it was a busted up, rusty red truck, whenever you glanced at it, joel always added "a truck that has been loved, y/n, adored even." insecurely, you might add. but you never cared, in fact, you had grown to love the truck.

of course, ellie always had to park at least a block away from your house, it would look too sketchy to walk in at the same time as you did. you'd enter, smiling and telling your parents that choir practice was, as usual, quiet but extremely interesting. ellie'd wait for at least ten minutes after that, then she'd enter with an eye roll from your parents as she greeted ashley, two screw ups, that was all they saw. and on those nights, you and ellie would try not to look at one another during dinner, to make sure it wasn't too obvious, of course.

ellie williams was a dream, a secret one that you closed off from the world. your teachers didn't know, your friends didn't know and most importantly, your parents didn't know.

princess i think it's very rude that you always come to see ash and not me, actually.

els would you rather me rat you out to joseph and mary?

you rolled your eyes at the message, her referring to your parents as such names.

princess no thanks but you should definitely come into my room with ash and watch a movie :D

els I'll do my best to convince the wicked witch of the west

princess eeeeeek thank youuuu

els you owe me, baby

princess psh watever now stop texting 'n driving

you grinned down at your cellphone before placing it flat down on your drawer, if only you didn't, perhaps you would have been able to see the many notifications that popped up from your sister, frantic. pushing the covers off, you stood from your bed and towards your wardrobe. you wanted to look somewhat presentable for tonight, you wanted to be pretty for ellie, there was simply no other reason to be rooting through your clothes at such an hour.

you pulled out an old, large, t-shirt. to be exact, ellie's t-shirt, the one in which you were gifted the before day that she had kissed you. you and ellie hadn't been together for a very long time, however, you were upmost embarrassed looking back at how much you shoved her away, fear eating away at you. it was shameful, how scared you were to let her in but you thanked every star in the galaxy that you came to your senses before it was too late.

you dressed in a simple baby pink long sleeved top and a grey sweatpants, after all, you didn't want to look like you were trying too hard. you didn't want to think about it too much, after all, you were sure that ellie wouldn't truly care to so much as look at what you were wearing. the thought was stupid, that the shirt you wore, or the way you fixed your hair had anything to do with your relationship, however, that didn't change the fact that you sat in front of your mirror and attempted to matt down the cows lick of the left side of your hair, teeth tugging at your lip in concentration.

you never wore make up, didn't even think about it, but you did when with ellie, you wondered if she truly liked the way you looked or if she just thought better not to mention it. nevertheless, everytime she hummed and called you 'pretty girl' those thoughts seemed to leave your mind in an instant.

your door bursting open caused your eyes to shift from the mirror, hairbrush caught between your teeth and hands on the top of your head. ashley was close to frantic, hands in the air, the look on her face had your own contorting to concern. "ash? what's wrong?" setting the hairbrush down and walking closer, wondering what on earth had been wrong with your sister.

her and your parents were out that evening with some college meeting. the thought of your sister moving had your heart wrenching. "i— i'm sorry, y/n." the closer you got, you could see the way her eyes were glossed over. before you could open your mouth, she was blubbering again. "it was an accident, it just came out and— oh my god." her hands pulling at her hair. "i'm sorry, im so so sorry."

you walked closer to her, confused as to what she was apologising for. by now, you stood directly in front of her. grabbing her hands softly, you pulled them down to view her face properly, it seemed as though her mind had been stuck on this for a while. this certainly wasn't her first set of tears. "hey, i'm not mad." of course you weren't, you didn't know what happened. "tell me what happened, i promise i won't be mad."

but your sister merely choked out half a sob as she heard the front door slam shut. your parents were home. "you're gonna hate me." a mere whisper, as if a warning. before you knew it, your parents were at your bedroom door, up the stairs in mere seconds. your father stood, a menacing look etched to his face. his brows were contorted into a heavy frown and his lips pursed, your mother, in tears, stood by his side with her arms crossed. you, baffled, looked between ashley and your parents, two of which had never looked so... angry. sure, they had looked at ashley like this, at non-blievers like this but never was it directed at you. "y/n/n, they know."

your eyes shifted between your parents and your sister again, heart stuttering. whatever they knew, it wouldn't be too bad, surely it couldn't. they couldn't know about ellie, they couldn't. you did everything in your power to assure that they didn't find out. the only people that knew was you, ellie, joel... ashley. "know what?" it came out feeble, small, as if you were a glass ready to shatter at any given moment.

"we know." your mothers strong voice rang out through the room and the moment it did, you realised. everything was so fucked.

teary eyed, fear stricken, your mouth opened and closed, turning towards your sister who was biting her nail, her own eyes glassy and apologetic. you ripped your eyes away from her instantly, you couldn't look at her. your heart dropped to your stomach, everything inside you twist. that familiar knot came back, the very one that had left the moment your lips fell to ellie williams' the second time, it was back and oh how it had multiplied. this was your secret, your only secret. why couldn't it just stay like that.

"so it is true then?" your father spoke as he abandoned your mothers side, walking right into the room. "you're one of them." he spat the word out like venom. you stayed silent, taken aback as you stared at them in pure horror, the very thing you had never wished to happen, happened. your body stood frozen still, mind frozen in time, too. "no." he spoke, shaking his head at you. and suddenly... he looked at you the very way you did everything in the world to avoid. he looked at you like you were a monster. "no daughter of mine would behave this way." looking you up and down like filth. "you are not my daughter."

you blinked back the first tear. you knew the minute it began... it would never end. "I— i am." you stressed, voice breaking as you looked at the man you loved with the most pleading expression you had ever had. "it's still same me, i'm not any different than i was before, you have to listen to me. i tried to fight it, i did!" and suddenly, you couldn't stop the waterworks. "daddy, plea-"

"it was those friends." your mother interrupted, stepping so much closer than your father willed. "i told you. I told you that you would ruin everything!" your mother had never been the forgiving type. "look where you are now! what you did, what you have destroyed!" and your eyes pleaded with your father who turned his nose down at you, he wouldn't look at you. "do you know what this will do to your father? to you? to us?" and her own voice broke, as if anything was hurting her. they'd never understand how hard you tried. how much you wished to not be this way but it didn't work, it never did. "why are you doing this? is it to make a stand against us? to rebel against your parents because you're fed up of going to choir?!" you mumbled something beneath your breath. "you better speak up before i-"

"you don't get it." frantic hands pushing at your hair. for the first time in your life, you spoke against your parents, not for them. "i tried— i really tried to get rid of everything, the feelings, the thoughts but i just-" you sniffled and wiped your sleeve against your nose. "i finally, for once in my life figured out who i was and i don't know what i was expecting..." turning your head away from them. but you knew better, how every were you supposed to get it out turning away. so you turned back, eyes burning into your mothers. "i suppose i guessed that you and him would finally take a second— just a second to stop being so focused on yourselves and understand where i'm coming from, understand me!"

your mother locked her jaw. "you think we're selfish, is that it?!" your father yelled, turning back to you. "I have done this, all of this for you!" hands flailing in the air causing you to flinch.

"no you didn't!" no one in the room seemed to hear ellie's truck pull up, nor hear the door open. "you did it for you because it's always you, you, you! maybe if you took a day off to look around you might realise that ashley's done a better job at raising me than either of you have!" and as angry as you were at the girl, you couldn't deny that ashley was a true guardian, they were not. "and maybe you'd realise that i'm not going to change." you stood your ground, as much as your voice wavered and your hands shook, you spoke, despite the tears. "okay? I'm gay." that was the first time you had ever spoken the real sentence. "i— i'm gay and i always have been! and maybe if either of you took your nose out of a bible and i don't know- at least tried to understand you'd realise that it's not a choice!"

your mother shook her head at you. "i don't care what the internet says. god doesn't listen to your kind's stupid excuses." your kind. as if you were some kind of an animal.

"uh... what's going on?" oh god no. there stood ellie williams in all her glory, jacket covered in rain and her boots beginning to soak your carpet, you didn't much care because by the sounds of it, you weren't going to be living here by tomorrow.

everyone whipped around to see ellie, an umberella in her hands yet soaking wet, sometimes you wondered if you truly were dating an idiot. "you." your father shot towards her. "you stay the hell away from my daughter!"

she gave him a raised eyebrow, however, she didn't flinch back. "which one? gotta be more specific man-" confused as ever.

"this is it, y/n." your mother turned back to you. "this is who you're turning your back on your life for, who you're turning your back on your family for." ellie's brows furrowed in confusion until finally, they relaxed in shock. oh. "i'm giving you one last chance to make this right."

it seemed as though everyone in the room was watching you. "turn back to the light, y/n." your father spoke as if it were some evil rooted inside of you. "turn to god and he'll wash away all of your sins. we can forget about this."

and you looked between your parents, both their faces as they waited patiently for you to cry out and hug them. you'd state that it was all merely for attention or lack of which you had gotten. you wanted to lash out, rebel against them because that was simply what teenage girls do and you knew the only way to hurt them was this. but it didn't come. your eyes glanced back to ellie williams, standing as dishevelled as ever before and she was staring right at you, pretty emerald eyes boring into your own. she didn't look scared, nor did she appear any bit concerned for your answer because she knew you better than you knew yourself, she knew what your answer would be before it even came out of your mouth. and yet, she knew you would chose her, between every galaxy in the universe, constellations in the sky, and yet, you still managed to shock her.

"i love her."

your mother and father dropped such sympathetic looks and suddenly, you were no longer a l/n, they didn't have that glint in their eyes as they stared back, it turned to pure rage. and yet ashley's eyes had softened on your frame, ellie's eyes could only go wide. you... loved her? you loved her too. she was frozen in time, her hands stuck to her side and her umbrella nearly slipped from her fingers. she stared at you and you stared right back at your parents, eyes nowhere near hers and yet even so she felt as though you were talking to her, communicating to her through your crystal fallen tears.

your mother breathed a sigh of pure fury. "you disgust me." and you knew she meant it, with every single bone in her body. but as much as you knew she meant it, you never would have thought she'd do what she did next. you didn't think it was so much as a possibility for her to bring a hand up like she did. suddenly, you felt a pang, you could feel your nose drip almost the same time that her hand came in contact with your face. you expected silence, one in which you could just stare at her, your mother, your supposed protector in which hit you because of what? she couldn't accept the fact that you were happy. truth be told, you were sure you and ellie would be happier than she and your father ever were.

the silence never came.

commotion enveloped the bedroom. "fucking hit her again!" ellie was in your mothers face before you were out of it. ashley swooped in then, grabbing a hold of you as you cradled the side of your face, blood from your nose dripping down your hand. "no, seriously!" as much as your father attempted to push ellie away, she wasn't scared, she was nearly as tall as him for bloody sake. "fucking try it!"

your mother was just as angry as she. "get out of my way, faggot." despite the tears, your eyes blew wide, where did she even hear such a word?

you didn't get to hear much more of their conversation for before your mother could so much as take a breath, ellie's fist connected with her face. you attempted to push yourself further, ashley could only hold you back as tears stung at the rim of your eyes.

this was all of your fault.

ellie didn't swing once, nor did she swing twice, she punched the woman at least three times before your father interfered. he didn't use violence, why would he? he was a man of god. "fucking pussies." ellie muttered as your mother and father stood off, your mother completely sobbing now, as you were, silently as you could in your sisters arms.

if only you didn't kiss her. if only you didn't allow yourself the satisfaction. if only you listened to that instinct that told you to run away that night. but you didn't want to run from ellie, no, if you could do anything different you would have run further, out of that room, that house, you could be in a different state by they so much as notice you had left.

your father stood off to the side, cradling your mother in his arms. "get out of my house." staring at ellie who merely glared right to him, not a shot of fear in her eyes. "now."

she scoffed, locking her jaw as she turned her head. "c'mon, sweetheart." eyes pointed at you. your lip was tucked beneath your teeth as ashley let her arms fall from around you.

"she won't go with you." your father scoffed back. "she's my daughter." if only he knew how little that meant after that night. ellie williams didn't utter a word, she simply held her hand out from behind her, eyes locked with your fathers. so you did what you had longed to do for so long. hesitantly, you stepped forward and stretched your hand out, it fell into hers. instantly, she locked your fingers together, a proud grin on her lips as she looked right back at your horrified dad. "by the holy bible, you will regret this, y/n."

"no, i don't think she will." ellie tsked and like that, she got you right out of that bedroom.

you didn't remember when you stopped crying that night. what you did know, however, was that it was not down the stairs or when you got in the truck or when ellie had sat you on the bed after assuring you that joel had a night shift. "ellie th-they hate me." you blubbered as the girl attempted to wipe your nose with a damp cloth, it was proving difficult with the tears mixing with the blood and the dried blood that had stuck to your pretty skin. you hated crying, you hated being vulnerable and you did not have any intentions of doing so in front of the girl you adored so dearly and yet here you were, unable to stop the tears from flowing.

"they don't hate you, sweet girl." doing her best to keep your face still as the damp cloth wove it's way around your skin. "they're just.. shocked is all." funny, she didn't think she'd hit a grown woman three times for merely being shocked. she was almost done with your face, still trying to get the bits of dried blood around your left cheek off.

you shook your head, still crying. "they hate me, they hate you. els 'm so sorry." ellie dropped the cloth onto the floor beneath her.

"hey, hey, look at me." she grabbed your face between her hands. "none of this is your fault." you tried to look away, she wasn't letting that happen any time soon. "it's not your fault they're close minded cunts. they can go— i don't know fuck the three wise men or something." this sprouted the quietest, lovelies of giggles from you, small, quiet but enough. ellie grinned, her eyes tracing every perfect imperfection of your skin. "there she is." a dazing smile on her lips as her eyes raked your face.

you sniffed, realising her hands had clapsed around your own. "you're not mad at me?" you questioned oh so quietly.

"mad at you?" she laughed under her breath. "baby, i'd never." she disconnected one hand, you ignored the way only one of hers was enough to cover both of yours. the free hand came to your face, you didn't flinch like before, you relished in it. the way the pads of her fingers traced around your skin, slowly pushing your hair behind your ear. a whisper left her lips. "you're too pretty to be mad at, anyway."

something in the air had shifted.

"els..." as her finger pads danced against your pretty skin. she hummed quietly, entranced by your pretty face. "can you kiss me."

"don't need to tell me twice."

her lips were ecstatic, rough against your soft ones. she captured you in a kiss so blissfully that it sent your face backwards slightly. her hands fell to your thighs as your hands sat on her shoulders. she was on her knees before you, kissing you so roughly as you ignored how hot you suddenly felt. you never kissed someone before ellie but for an inexperienced person or an experienced person, ellie had to be the best kisser in the world. it seemed as though everytime you forgot what to do, she was doing something to make up for it. she kissed you roughly, you sloppily chased her speed. her right hand travelled further up your thigh and softly squeezed. your lips parted and a noise left your lips, ellie took the perfect moment to slip her tongue inside your mouth, allowing it to explore easily as it pushed your own down, not bothering to fight for dominance, she would win anyway.

she picked your hips up slightly, detaching your lips so she could push you further up the bed, she stood before you, you looked up at her with pretty doe eyes. "fuck me." she mumbled beneath her breath before attaching your lips once more. she slowly guided your back to hit the sheets beneath you and continued to kiss roughly at your hips. your hands came up, gathering around her neck while her own fell down to your hips, groping the plush skin of your waist while her teeth came down to softly nip at your bottom lip, tongue soothing down the skin soon after before she returned kissing you. the feeling was so euphoric, so many things happening at once, you didn't have a chance to acknowledge them all at once, too busy focusing on the sudden ache between your legs.

oh no. it was happening again, that funny feeling that always settled in when ellie kissed you too long, when her hands found home on your skin in a somewhat different way than the others. "els..." you breathed out, detaching yourself from the kiss, you looked right up at her with desperate eyes, she knew then and there.

"what's wrong, baby?" as her lips came down to trace across your leg, littering small kisses against the sensitive skin that had your back arching against her and off the mattress.

you breathed out in frustration. "ellie... need you." pulling at her sleeve, she knew exactly what you needed, she could practically see the wet pool already despite the fact she wasn't even looking. "please..."

"please what, angel?" kissing against your neck once more, just beneath your jaw. you made a noise, one of more frustration. one that told her you needed her more than any other gesture or words would have. but she wasn't having it. she wanted to embarrass you, make your cheeks go pink and your eyes flutter the way they did. "be good and use your words and i might..." hands tracing against the bottom of your stomach, so close to where you needed her. "give you a reward, hm?"

you had never had sex before. in fact, you hadn't even thought of how it would happen let alone did you ever think it would be with your sisters best friend. a girl, you may have guessed but ellie williams, never. sure, you could wish but a girl can dream, never did you think it would be reality. there was one thing and one thing alone that you were sure about, however.... "please, ellie, t-touch me."

she moved away from your neck, looking down at you as she positioned herself above you. "you sure this is what you want?" clarifying before you began. "if you're still upset we can just relax, we don't need to do anything you don't want to." and your heart swelled, ellie williams cared about you more than she cared about anyone else in the whole world.

a small smile brushed across your lips. "i want to, ellie." you spoke, in a mere whisper. "I really want to." because it was her and ellie could make you comfortable enough to jump off the earth if she wanted to. she made you feel so warm... so loved, however, she also had this special trick where she made your panties wetter than anyone before.

"in that case." chuckling as she bent down to place another kiss against your lip, this one so much more passionate, not as rough. she kissed you again and again while her hands managed to ease around your skin once more, suddenly her fingers and large hands were tracing every inch of you, you almost held your breath. she soothed your shirt up a little, hands falling onto your stomach as she pushed her hands around, rubbing your sides up and down as you shivered into her touch. "you ever touched yourself, angel?" angel, a quite contrasting name to such an event. your face grew hot at the question, lips parting and closing once more with a small huff, the situation much too shameful. "don't go shy on me now, sweetheart." she pushed your chin forward, eyes locking into your own with lips brushing against one anothers. you breathed heavily, eyes boring into her pretty green irises and tracing her freckles that littered across her smooth skin. you made a certain hum with a nod, a desperate one as your back arched off the mattress. "yeah?" you whimpered as her lips came down to soothe your neck, pressing sloppy kisses across the delicate skin. "you ever came, baby?" a fragile whisper as the image of you in your bedroom, pretty legs parted with your hand between them as you desperately tried to get off. of course, how would you even know how to. her long fingers traced your skin, she had pushed your sweatpants down ever so slightly so that she was just above where you needed her. you whined into her touch, pushing yourself down the bed further with a small shake of your head, admittedly embarrassed. "no?" an almost teasing smirk in her face. of course you didn't know how to tease yourself, not properly at least. you were so fucking innocent and oh how ellie couldn't wait to taint you.

"ellie." it was a whisper, almost a warning so she would stop teasing you. endless nights, you had your hand down between your legs, hoping to any saint above that no one would walk in. you never quite reached that euphoric feeling the books explained.

"i know, angel, i know." you were far from an angel, you deemed. "let's get this off, hmm?" fingers slowly trailing up and down your pant leg. you nodded, breathlessly and panting as the girl gripped the waistband between her fingers. she waited a moment, watching your desperate face whither once more before slowly, dragging it down your legs with ease.

her eyes never left your body as the material grouped up in her hands, she tossed it somewhere then, she wasn't really looking but the silence that followed without a clatter seemed to be good news. her eyes fell, sitting on your pretty white cotton panties. a smirk fell across her face, of course they were. your breath caught in your throat, feeling the cold air nipping at your bare yet soft legs. ellie took the chance to place sloppy kisses against your stomach, her hands toying with the silky flesh of your legs. your back arched.

but before the girl could get to the place you needed her the most, you whined out, grabbing her shoulders. she stopped in an instant, coming back up to your face. " 's wrong, baby?" and you almost whimpered at the name, but you controlled yourself... for now.

your grasped at her sleeves, pushing yourself closer to her. "your turn." you mumbled, looking up at her with those hazy doe eyes, she smirked right at you. bending down, she placed three kisses against your lips before sitting herself up slightly, pushing her arms through the holes of her t shirt, you watched in awe as she tossed it somewhere in the room. your eyes immediately fell to her chest, ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. while in awe, she reached down and kissed your dazy state away. tugging at your own long sleeved top, she tossed it somewhere with the pile of clothes too, all sitting together rather neatly, considering she threw them when she wasn't looking. white bra, how cute.

"better?" she mumbled seductively against your lips, hands moving up to cup your covered breasts, palming her hands over them.

"better." you whispered, trying to keep every sound you possibly could contained and yet it proved to work to no avail as a small whimper fell from your lips.

she kissed down your stomach once more, slowly, excruciatingly so. hot, sloppy, open mouth kisses against every fraction of your skin. your back arched off the mattress, hands steady on the girls shoulder. no bra. of course she was wearing no bra. her lips trailed further down your stomach, past your belly button and only did they stop right above your pretty panties. " 'm gonna take 'em off." you didn't respond with yes but a mere whimper and you did what you simply couldn't control. bucking your hips up, almost hitting your core off the girls face. she grinned at what she had created, a rather damp spot soaking through your panties. "so fuckin' eager." you assumed she would grab your panties, toss them somewhere foreign like she did so many times before. you assumed wrong.

her teeth slightly scratched against your hip bone as they hooked around the side of your panties. slowly, she dragged the panties down with her mouth with little to no effort, sliding them smoothly along your legs. you glanced down, out of breath already. she had her eyes closed and it looked as though she were trying not to get too caught up in the situation, as if she were holding herself back. she pooled them at your feet then grabbed them with her slim fingers. you watched as she pocketed them in the back of her jeans and yet you said nothing, just watched as she grinned down at you, menacing face contorted into an almost evil grin.

but she couldn't look at you, not yet, before she let what she didn't want... unfinished. "before i do anything..." she mumbled, hand coming towards your chest. you gasped as you felt her pull your pretty silver cross from your neck, she didn't pocket that, nor did she toss it away, she simply placed it delicately on the desk beside her. who did she care, the clasp was surely broken anyway. maybe it was just a silly souvenir. you looked up at her, eyes barely blown wide. "what? y'don't need it no more, pretty girl." because the cross was a symbol of purity and you were anything but pure now. and the way your puffy lips stretched out, the way your eyes dazily glanced up at her as if she were made of diamonds. she knew it was official. she had corrupted you, molded you to her own liking.

you gasped at the sudden sensation of her hand cupping your dripping cunt. she almost laughed at you. "haven't even touched you yet, baby." you bucked your hips into her hand, oh how you wanted her to touch you. "all f'me?"

you nodded, panting like a lap dog. "please, els." whimpering once more. and who was ellie to deny such a request? you gasped out, breath stuttering as her hands parted your legs and one fell on your cunt. she rubbed two fingers against your pretty pink nub, watching as you reacted so... verbally. the way you moaned at the way she simply drew circles on your clit had herself almost grinding in her jeans. while she controlled herself, she simply couldn't stop by how reactive you were, you were in much too deep now.

fingers fell down to your hole, collecting your juices on her fingers. she groaned as she pressed her lips to your neck, anything to distract herself from practically fucking you then and there. she shoved one finger in, watching as you jumped at the foreign feeling. you had rubbed your clit before, of course, but never had you inserted a finger into yourself. and even if you did, nothing could have compared yourself for her slim, long fingers.

you moaned out. "oh... ellie." eyes squeezing shut as she began to move. she pumped her finger in and out, watching as you moved your body with it, practically fucking yourself with her finger. a knot made it's way to your tightening stomach. for good measure, she didn't add another finger.

she added two.

the feeling of her stretching you out had your back arching and mewls falling from your pretty lips while ellie attacked your neck with kisses. she pumped her fingers in and out of you, watching as you wriggled in her grasp, grinding yourself off her fingers. she didn't say anything, simply kissing your neck and allowing you to get off on her fingers. there would be more time to tease you in the future. besides, she'd be lying if she said she didn't adore the sounds leaving your lips and the way the bed creaked with the movements of ellie shoving her fingers in and out of you.

"feeling desperate, hm?" as she kissed up your jawline. you were sure, this was the euphoric feeling they explained. "want me to make you cum, sweetheart?" and what were you to say? deny yourself of the pleasure? certainly not. relish in it? absolutely.

"mmph." whining into her mouth as she captured your lips, tongue slipping into your mouth. "please ellie." you could have screamed for her then and there. "please ellie, make me cum!" her big body against your tiny one, she couldn't help but fawn.

"your wish is my command, princess." something you never would have guessed could be so hot. she moved her lips from your face and down your body. you moaned out at the feeling of her fingers, still fucking you senseless as your hands moved from her shoulder to her head. she positioned her face right in line with your core. you suddenly felt nervous but that feeling of her against your cunt was just so much more overpowering.

she didn't give you so much as a warning as her tongue flattened out against your clit, her fingers never stopping their fast pace. "oh!" your legs had spread with ease, sitting up bent at the knees with your socks sitting at either side of ellie's head, your back arched, hands on the back of her head while your own fell into the cushions behind you. eyes screwing shut, her pretty mouth working so perfectly on you.

mewls. whimpers. ellie could have come from the sound alone. they were nothing short of pornographic. how could she not smirk against your core as she lapped you up, holding you still with her free hand. she was making you make these sounds. she was making you squirm as you did. she made that knot in your stomach tighten.

your chest quickened its fast paces. "ellie— ellie, i'm gonna-" you were going to come. you had never reached anywhere close to that and here ellie was, effortlessly making you reach a hundred.

she parted her mouth from your clit. " 's okay, baby, let it out." and you assumed she'd slow down. once again, you assumed wrong. pouncing forward, she began licking and lapping your tongue against your clit once more, watching as you squirmed against here, almost screaming. it was when her name ripped from your throat that she knew you were so close. so close that she could feel your walls clenching around her fingers. she didn't stop, nor did she slow down as she awaited the arrival in which she had dreamt of the day she met you.

"oh god, oh god!" you hoped god was nowhere near that bedroom. "ellie!" and that was the last thing ellie heard before she felt you completely collapse around her. she felt white, hot liquid gush out from your pussy all over her fingers. she could taste you. your body jerked, the most pornographic mewls falling from your lips as you bucked your hips over and over again. she continued to fuck you through your high, tongue doing anything it could to pick up all your juices. the salty taste had her wanting more.

she didn't stop until your body was practically vibrating.

ellie came back up to meet your face which was embarrassed and flushed. sweat caused your hair to stick to your forehead and your chest moved up and down rapidly due to your irregular breathing pattern. pretty plush lips parted as you panted heavily. her breathing had picked up too, eyes grazing over your pretty skin as she lifted her fingers to her mouth, sucking off your juices. you watched entranced, innocent eyes blown wide. you wanted to shy away, suddenly beyond embarrassed as the euphoric feeling began to fade away. but you didn't, your eyes were too focused on the pretty girl in front of you. "you okay to keep going?" she breathed heavily as your head fell deeper into the pillows beneath you. there was more? you nodded your head rapidly, head moving up in an instant to lock your lips to ellie's, she got the hint almost instantly. you were ready, you were beyond ready.

the adrenaline sat in your chest, burrowing there as your lips moved at seemingly the same pace as ellie's, though you wouldn't deny the fact that she was leading the pathway, you could only sloppily follow. your eyes a little heavier, you assumed it was that euphoric feeling taking a toll on you however by the way ellie was beginning to unbotton her jeans, you could only assume that whatever was to happen next was going to please her just as much as it did you the first time and boy did you want that, desperately.

she was above you, kissing your lips roughly as her hands fiddled with the buttons and zipper of her jeans, rough material sliding down her legs with a little less ease than your own. however, she didn't waste a second to toss them into the pile of your discarded clothes from before. dressed in black boxers, you couldn't help but gawk at her but she didn't allow it too long for in seconds she was desperately raking them off her body, eagerly pushing the material off her body so she could feel you again.

you made a noise into her mouth, her kisses making your face hot, cheeks pink and mind beyond ditsy. as soon as she was bare, all fabrics discarded, she had pushed at your knees, sending them up so you were practically making a bridge with them. "fucking hell." a whisper beneath her breath as she looked at your already soaked pussy in your own juices from before. she did that. she couldn't help but grin in pride at your abused cunt. her hands fell to yours, pushing them down against the mattress as her larger ones cupped your smaller ones, holding you in place so easily. you were like her very own doll and oh how she loved playing with you. you watched as she hooked a leg past your waist, knee planting itself on the other side of the bed from you. you swallowed thickly and watched her in anticipation. you had never done something like this before. it was safe to say that you're stomach was doing flips, that your heart rate sped as fast as it ever had before but you couldn't deny the sole comfort her big hands brought, almost grounding you.

she didn't take another breath, state another word, before planting herself right on top of you.

her pussy fell on yours, she let out a groan at the feeling, sudden relief washing over her. you whined at the contact, holding her hands tighter if even possible. she bent her body towards you, hands still clasped together as she slowly rolled her hips against your own. you whimpered at the feeling of her clit bumping off your own. "ellie." you all but mewled. "f-feels so good." as she continued to slowly roll her hips, grinding down onto your pretty cunt.

ellie was in no mind to stop, eyes closed and her throat held many sounds of her own. "fuck." trying to do everything in her will to not take it to the extreme, it was your first time, she wanted to be gentle. "tryin' not to push it, sweetheart." alerting you of how badly she wanted to fuck you senseless.

you breathed heavily, the feeling of her pussy on your abused one so stimulating. "i can— i can take it." pretty doe eyes looking up at her as if you wanted nothing more than for her to feel good. and you did, you'd do anything to make sure she felt as good as you, it would be almost monsterous to deprive anyone of this euphoric feeling, the one in which had your legs trembling and lip wobbling as you tried to contain your sounds, ignoring the lump in your throat. "please, els." you whimpered, grinding your own hips against her, she let out a grunt, holding your hands tighter. "want you to."

she didn't need to be told twice.

she pushed her hips up and down, heavily and swiftly as she felt your pretty cunt against your own.

she practically got drunk off of your noises. holding you close, she never stopped her agonising pace as she even began pushing her hips to the side, rarely yet every time it had a new sound coming from your lips. she wondered just how many sounds she could make you make.

rutting her pussy roughly against yours, she listened to the crude squelching sounds from your wetness mixing with her own. "yeah." she breathed, lips close to your own as she held your hands so hard you couldn't feel them anymore. the feeling was too elating to move your mind from. your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of your stomach tightening again. "takin' me so well, sweetheart." and she meant it so much. she allowed her own eyes to close as she never stopped her pace. rubbing herself against you so carelessly and sloppy, she could feel her high coming on just as it had the many nights ellie imagined this very moment. hips roughly shoving your own down, you couldn't help but move with her as she fucked you senseless.

"ellie!" you whined, back arching off the bed. her sweaty forehead was pressed against your own. she knew that tone, the very one you had used before, the very one she imagined so many times.

she breathed out a huff, eyes still closed. "me too." and the knot was so close to untangling, she all but swallowed back her noises. opening her eyes she roughly shot her face forward, lips latching to yours. you desperately kissed her back as she began to rut her hips so eagerly.

you would have screamed if it weren't for her lips on your own, maybe that was why she had done it, to silence you or maybe to silence herself. whatever the case, you were much too wrapped up in your own world to so much as consider it. you felt your stomach finally give out as ellie's did almost simultaneously. her juices mixed with your own, like to complimented chemicals in a science fair. with her lips on yours, she groaned deeply while you whimpered, your hips slowly stopped grinding to her own and she too slowed her rutting. noises falling between one another, you could barely breathe. her lips were suffocating you and you would have died happily there and then if you could have.

two damp cloths and a toilet use later, you sat drowsy in ellie williams bed. your head was limp against the crook of her neck as she laid with you in her arms. after you had cleaned up, she offered you some of her clothes, stating she'd tell joel everything in the morning, claiming he'd be more than happy to let you crash because apparently 'he'd rather you as a daughter anyway'. you brushed her off but thanked her heavily, kisses falling around her freckles as she laughed at your giggly yet drowsy state. it was only seconds later that you ended in the predicament that you did, arms wrapped around her loosely while her own squeezed you close.

thoughts of that night swam through ellie's head. she wondered how fast that mood had changed, from crying with a damp cloth on your face to almost brought to tears by ellie williams' pussy. she smirked to herself before glancing over at the broken silver chain that sat on her desk, you hadn't even mentioned it.

the girl turned back to you, your eyes were closed and your breathing was slow, cheeks pink and lips plush. if she didn't know any better, she'd think you were asleep. "baby?" you hummed, quietly yet barely heard, you were too far deep in sleep, ellie wasn't even sure if you'd register her words, she didn't care, she needed them out. "i love you too."

crazy to think a little lust for the pastors daughter led her well... here.

main masterlist/ellie's masterlist

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