#so it's like it was made for her baptism

[fictionadventurer]

The independent religious bookstore is the only place you can go on an overpriced shopping spree and feel good about it.

[blackhholes]

teen wolf meme: [2/5] motifs -> water

You know, when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you black out. It's called "voluntary apnea." It's, like, no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head's exploding. But then, when you finally do let it in... that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's-it's actually kind of peaceful.

[good-beans]

I know most of our focus goes (rightfully) to the trial songs, but I genuinely believe Baptism of Fire is equally a masterpiece of meaningful writing and intense vocal acting

Incoming tag rant because I need to yell about this, feel free to yell back

[confusionmeisss]

baby cousin - c. sturniolo

🫧 chris sturniolo x fem!reader

🫧 where you bring chris along with you to a family party and your little baby cousin absolutely steals all his attention.

🫧 fluff.

🫧 1.4k words.

🫧 hi lovelies!! thank you so much for wanting to read! uh this idea just popped into my head when i seen this picture of chris, i was like, “i got the perfect thing to write based on this” i think i was also heavily inspired by the fact that my baby cousins baptism was coming up so i was gonna be seeing my little cousins! anyway, enjoy bc i loved writing this! much love to you all!! <3 oh also, apologies if ur ovulating or have baby fever 😣 masterlist

Your five year old cousin, Lila, had to be the most bubbly and extroverted of all your cousins. She would chat to anyone willing to listen. Most of all, she’d been attached to you since you could remember, turning herself into your little shadow. She mimics your mannerisms and what you say. And whenever you’re anywhere with her there as well, you have to be so careful with moving about because she’ll be stuck to you like velcro.

So it was normal that as soon as you set foot into your aunt’s backyard and the little girl spotted you, her features lit up and she made a mad dash for you; her small body colliding with yours.

You let out a breath at the collision, a smile overtaking your face afterwards. “Hey Li,” you say, crouching down to her level.

“Hi, Y/N!” She shouts out brightly.

You laugh softly. “Heard you started kindergarten. How’s that been for you, bug? Make any new friends?” You ask, brushing back a piece of stray hair from her face.

She nods her head enthusiastically. “Yes! His name is Austin and we push each other on the swings and play legos together!”

“That’s great! Hey, I have someone I want you to meet,” you say, standing back to your height.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you say, grabbing her small hand and leading her to where your mother is standing talking to your uncle; Chris standing next to her.

“His name is Chris and he’s my boyfriend.”

Lila stops you before you reach them by tugging at your shirt.

You look down at her. “Do you think he’ll wanna be my friend?”

“Oh for sure. I think you two will get along real well in fact.”

“Okay! Then let’s go meet my new friend Chris!”

You let out another soft laugh as you both finally reach your mother and Chris. Your mother spotting you both and letting out a gasp.

“Oh well if it isn’t my favorite five year old!” She says, reaching down and tugging Lila into a big hug. “How’s school going for you so far, darling?”

“Great! Made new friends! Bout to make a new one now!” Lila lets out from her place in your mothers arms, squirming just a little bit.

“Oh, yes,” your mother lets out a chuckle. “Go on and meet Christopher now, darling.” Your mother lets go of the girl with a pat on her head before wandering off to talk to another family member.

Almost immediately Lila looks at the man now standing next to you. A bright grin taking over her face, making her cheeks squish and her eyes squint.

“Hello! I’m Lila, and I would like to be your friend! Would you like to be my friend?” The little girl asks with a little hand outstretched towards Chris.

His bigger one engulfs hers as he returns her greeting. “I would love to be your friend, Lila.”

Lila lets go of Chris’ hand and claps her hands together with a squeal of delight.

“That’s great! Do y’wanna go play in my sandbox with me? We can make sandcastles!”

“I would love to!” Chris says brightly.

And as soon as the words left his mouth, he was being dragged away by Lila and towards her sandbox.

“So, I heard that you’re in school now. Do you like it?” Chris asks, as he plops down onto the grass next to the sandbox.

“Oh I love it!” Lila replies, picking up two pink shovels, and shoving one towards Chris. “It’s super fun! Like, I get to color, but I gotta stay inside the lines which I guess can be hard sometimes. But like we also get to watch movies sometimes. And now I can count up to twenty! Which is how old Y/N is! How old are you?”

Chris lets out a chuckle at the girl’s enthusiastic debrief. “Well, I’m glad you enjoy school. I’m twenty too, but I won’t be in a couple more months; then I’ll be twenty-one along with my brothers.”

“You have brothers? I’m an only child, I dunno what that’s like. Wait, why are you and your brothers all turning the same age at the same time? That’s not how it works,” Lila says, her head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Ah, you see my brothers and I were born on the same day, so we all turn the same age at the same time,” Chris explains. “We’re triplets. It’s like twins but instead of two, there’s three of us.”

Lila gasps, sand flying up from her excited hand movements - which Chris notes she’s picked up from you - and into her hair. Lila remains unphased by this as she says, “That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, it really is.”

Lila quickly changes topics though as her gaze focuses on something behind her. “Let’s blow bubbles, and then we can chase them trying to pop them before they disappear!”

“Alright,” Chris agrees easily, standing up from the grass. He watches as Lila runs over to a little plastic picnic table and grabs a tube of bubbles.

“Will you blow them?” She asks, running back over to him. Once she reaches him, she holds out her hand with the bubbles in it out to him expectantly.

“‘Course I will,” Chris says, taking hold of the bubble tube and twisting it open. “Ready?” He asks.

Receiving a nod in response, he starts blowing the bubbles, watching them float out into the air and Lila chase after them trying to pop them.

Chris has a happy smile on his face as he watches the little girl giggle while trying to pop the bubbles.

“Chris, can you try and make a super big one? Y/N can do it, and it’s always so cool!”

Chris nods and focuses on attempting to make as big of a bubble as he can. It takes a few tries, all of which Lila giggles at, before he finally gets one out.

“Woah!” Lila gasps out, before giggling and reaching up to pop it with her little finger.

The bubble bursts and splatters against Chris’ face, making him scrunch it up in distaste. “Oh ew, soaps on my mouth now.”

Lila lets out a loud laugh at Chris’ distress.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Chris asks.

“Mhm,” Lila says, attempting to suppress a giggle.

Chris doesn’t even hesitate before he drops the tube of bubbles and starts chasing after the girl. Her giggles so loud, they make you look over from where you’re making plates of food.

A soft smile overtakes your face as you watch them run around, your smile widening when Chris grabs hold of Lila and starts tickling her, making her giggles somehow get louder.

“Mercy! Mercy! M’sorry for laughing at you!” Lila squeals out. Chris surrenders and places the girl down on the bench of her picnic table, then sitting across from her.

“You’re silly, Chris,” Lila giggles. “I’m hungry,” she then whines out.

“Ah, well lucky for you, I’ve come to be your savior,” you say, placing a plastic plate in front of her. You place another in front of Chris before setting drinks down on the table as well.

“Thank you!” Lila shouts, before stabbing her fork into her mac n’ cheese.

“Thank you,” Chris says, smiling at you softly and placing a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re welcome, my love,” you reply, going to sit down before you’re stopped by a small hand.

“Sorry Y/N, but only two people can fit at my picnic table and I want Chris to sit with me,” Lila says looking up at you with an apologetic expression.

You let out a gasp of fake offense, placing a hand over your heart. “I can’t believe this! I’ve been replaced!”

Lila gasps. “No! You can’t ever be replaced! You’re my favoritest! Chris move, you can sit on the grass and Y/N can take your spot!”

You suppress a laugh at this. Chris takes it all in stride though, and moves to sit on the grass and you take his spot.

“So I’m taking it you like Chris then?” You ask Lila, taking a bite of your food.

“Oh yeah! I hope you keep him around, he’s real fun! And silly!”

“Yeah. Yeah he is, isn’t he? I hope he sticks around for a long while too,” You say looking at Chris softly.

He reaches over and grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers, resting them on the bench. “I will,” he assures.

[princessbrunette]

limbrey had left the house for a few hours.

“y’know it’s like, it’s not even a sin ‘cus our clothes are still on n’stuff.” jj reclines on the vintage loveseat in your home, cap still on — everything still on infact with his fingers drumming lightly on your waist as you straddle his leg. he knew what his friends would say if they saw him there right now. the head shakes of disappointment. john b’s voice saying ‘jj, stop corrupting her. just let her be.’, pope telling him that he’s a notorious bad influence, kiara screwing up her face. he knew it was bad, but hey — you’re the one who was having all these ‘urges’, he was simply helping you out.

you roll your eyes, trying to play it off but when you suck in a breath it shakes, the nerves getting the better of you as you habitually lift your hand to twiddle with your cross necklace.

“look. you don’t gotta do anything with me right now, or ever if you don’t wanna. m’not tryna make you compromise your faith…liness or whatever—i’m just tryna be a good friend n’ help you out.” jj lets go of your waist to lean back on the seat, taking the pressure off by resting his arms on the back of the seat, staring at you with his wide blue eyes. you slump a little, thighs tightening around his leg as you look down at the space you sit on. you knew this was gonna be trouble when you missed his touch as soon as he removed it.

“no… i want to do it.”

“and your moms not gonna be home for another few hours, right?” he raises his brows, talking slow.

you sigh, nodding. “right.”

reaching forward, he gently takes your chin between his fingers, holding your gaze. “then you got nothin’— and i mean absolutely nothin’ to worry about.” he smiles, and with jj it always just feels easy. like everything is ever that simple. for a moment, you let yourself melt and believe that, sucking on your bottom lip. cautiously, his hands return to your hips and he ever so slightly encourages them forward. “now— what you’re gunna do is rolllll your hips. juuuust like that, dolly.” he instructs casually in that southern drawl that made you weak in the knees, following his instructions.

as the pocket of his cargo shorts catches beneath your panty-clad clit you tense up with a whimper and he grips you securely, looking up with an encouraging smile. “you’re alright, that feels good don’t it lamb chop?” the smile becomes a grin and you pout, getting the hang of rolling your hips.

“dont call me that right now!” you mewl, voice already taking an airy filter to it as you get hazy from pleasure, humping on jj being apparently exactly what you needed on this hot summer afternoon.

“yeah i don’t think you get to call the shots right now when you’re humpin’ on me, mama. but i’ll play nice.” he jokes, helping you along by the waist and bucking his leg a little making you moan. “mmmhm, that’s the stuff ain’t it.”

“this is so wrong. so wrong.” you whimper pathetically, unable to stop your hips from moving as you squelch about in your panties. you couldn’t help how you felt, but you knew you had to be disappointing the lord right about now.

“dont sound wrong t’me.” he shrugs, leaning back to watch you as he lazily guides your hips. he glances to the side, doing a double take at the table with the framed image of you as a baby at your baptism and his arm shoots out, placing the photo down on its face so you couldn’t see it anymore. “there y’go just… hide that.” he mutters under his breath before focusing on you again.

“oh my goodness jj, i’ve never felt…” you trail off, eyes squeezing shut as you greedily hump his thigh, your knee grazing his crotch making him wince.

“felt this good? yeah, well… gets a lot better than this sugar. whatever gets you off though.” he’s a little redder in the face now, more turned on by the moment. “can i like… help you out a lil bit? i mean you’ve already commit the sin, might aswell right?” he doesn’t bother to still you, and before you can answer him he slips a palm beneath you so you roll your hips right into it, all whilst pawing at your tit through your white dress, the fat of it practically falling out anyway as he rolls a thumb over your nipple. you cry out, tensing and clenching around nothing as you grip his shoulders tight — that clean french manicure of yours digging into his skin.

“thaaaats better, right? that’ll do ‘er.” he breathes, your faces closer now, feeling your breath mingle at the proximity.

“this feels amazing.” you pant like a dog, dropping your head to his shoulder to avoid his gaze, squeezing your eyes shut as you approach orgasm.

“plenty more where that came from bo peep. go ‘head n’cum for me yeah? i know you need it. that’s right. good girl.”

[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER PT5 | MV1

an: AND WE'RE BACK!! WHO MISSED OUR FAVOURITE LITTLE FAMILY! can't wait to hear what you guys think of this part, i've loved being with them this week, this is a shorter chapter but i've got ideas for what might happen next! lmk if y'all wanna see anything in particular

wc: 3.2k

Theo was four when his parents welcomed his sister, and Max very nearly missed it, if not for Danny.

It had been a normal day at the garage, Max elbow-deep in an engine rebuild, grease staining his hands and his focus entirely on the task at hand. His phone, forgotten on the workbench, buzzed furiously with calls and messages. It wasn’t until Danny came barreling into the shop, panting like he’d just run a marathon, that Max looked up.

“Max! Man, what the hell are you doing?” Danny wheezed, clutching his knees.

Max straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. “Uh, working? What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re dying.”

Danny shot him a glare, pointing accusingly at the phone vibrating incessantly on the workbench. “Your wife is trying to call you! She’s in labour, man! She’s having the baby!”

Max froze, the rag slipping from his fingers. “What?”

“She’s at the hospital! Her aunt’s with her, but you need to move! Now!”

Max’s heart lurched into overdrive. Without a word, he sprinted to the workbench, grabbed his phone, and bolted out the door. “Danny, lock up!” he shouted over his shoulder as he jumped onto his bike.

Danny shook his head, muttering, “You owe me for this one, man.”

Max arrived at the hospital in record time, still in his grease-stained shirt and boots. His wife was mid-contraction when he burst into the room, panting, his face a mixture of guilt and relief.

“You’re here,” she said through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing slightly before softening at his frazzled appearance.

“I’m here,” he confirmed, rushing to her side and taking her hand. “I’m sorry, angel. My phone was on silent—”

“Save it,” she hissed, squeezing his hand so tightly he thought his bones might break. “You’re here now. Just don’t let go.”

Max didn’t. Not for a second. Hours later, they welcomed a healthy baby girl into the world. Max cried as he held her for the first time, the tiny bundle swaddled in pink resting against his chest. He looked at his wife, her hair damp and her face radiant despite her exhaustion.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

Their daughter, Mary-Ann, came home a few days later to a little house with a white picket fence that they had purchased not long before her birth. It was a modest place, but it was theirs, filled with laughter, love, and the chaos that only a toddler and a newborn could bring.

Theo was adjusting to his new role as a big brother with enthusiasm and curiosity. He followed his parents around, always asking to hold the baby or show her his toys. “She likes dinosaurs, right?” he would ask, clutching his favourite plastic stegosaurus.

“She loves dinosaurs,” Max assured him, grinning as he ruffled Theo’s hair.

Max had seamlessly embraced fatherhood, splitting his time between the garage and his family. He spent his evenings teaching Theo how to kick a football in the back garden and his nights rocking Mary-Ann to sleep.

The house, with its picket fence and flowerbeds lovingly tended by his wife, was the picture of the life Max had never imagined for himself. Yet, here he was, living it and loving every moment.

The day of Mary-Ann’s baptism dawned clear and bright, the kind of perfect day that made everything feel just a little more magical. Their little family was dressed in their Sunday best, Theo proudly wearing a bowtie that his mother had wrestled him into after much negotiation, and Mary-Ann bundled in a delicate white christening gown.

They arrived at the church to find her aunt, Danny, and a few close friends waiting for them, just as they had for Theo’s baptism years ago. Her aunt immediately swooped in to coo over Mary-Ann, her face soft with affection.

“She’s the spitting image of you at this age,” her aunt said warmly, brushing a soft curl away from Mary-Ann’s forehead.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t inherit my teenage rebellion,” she joked, glancing at Max, who chuckled.

The service itself was intimate and beautiful. As the pastor spoke, Theo sat on Max’s lap, squirming occasionally but staying quiet enough to earn whispered praise from both his parents. When it came time for the baptism, Max and his wife stood together at the front of the church, Theo holding onto his mother’s hand while Max held Mary-Ann close.

The pastor asked Theo if he wanted to say anything, and the boy puffed out his chest importantly, his tiny voice ringing out through the quiet chapel. “We’re all gonna be... um... part of Chris-tain-ity now!”

There was a soft chuckle from the congregation, but Theo frowned, frustrated by his own mispronunciation. His brows knitted together, and before anyone could stop him, he muttered under his breath, “Damn it.”

Max’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at his son. “Where did you hear that, Theo?”

Without hesitation, Theo turned and pointed to Danny, who froze mid-grin. “Uncle Daddy says it all the time.”

The entire room dissolved into laughter, but Max’s expression darkened. “His name is Uncle Danny. Not Daddy,” he corrected firmly. He handed Mary-Ann to his wife with exaggerated care and then fixed Danny with a dangerous look. “Uncle Danny also has five seconds to run.”

Danny’s eyes widened as he stammered, “Now, hold on a second—”

“Five.”

Danny bolted toward the back of the church, nearly tripping over a pew. Max didn’t miss a beat, stepping around the altar and charging after him. Theo laughed hysterically as he watched his father chase Danny out the door, and his mother shook her head, trying to stifle her own giggles.

When Max returned a few minutes later, slightly winded but victorious, Danny trailing behind him with a sheepish grin, the ceremony continued. The pastor, who had been struggling to keep a straight face, resumed his blessing, and little Mary-Ann was baptised without further incident.

As they left the church, Theo clung to Max’s hand, his face lit with excitement. “Daddy, can I chase Uncle Danny next time?”

Max ruffled his hair, smirking. “Not until you’re faster than me, kid.”

The two of them loved the life they had built together and sometimes when Max woke up he had to pinch himself. Just under half a decade ago he was eating dry hotdogs and drinking stale beers in a rundown trailer. Now he was helping his wife. His wife. In the kitchen with his two kids. Not one, two. Max was a father and everyday he woke up he couldn’t really believe. it.

The smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafted through the house as she stood at the counter, carefully icing a tray of perfectly golden cupcakes. Mary-Ann was nestled in her baby chair nearby, happily chewing on a soft toy, and the kitchen felt like the warm, beating heart of their home.

Out in the garage, Max had Theo standing on a small step stool by the workbench, his tiny hands gripping a wrench that was far too big for him. Max crouched beside him, guiding his hands as they worked on an old oil pan together. Theo giggled every time Max made a joke, his high-pitched laughter filling the air.

She wiped her hands on her apron, grabbed a glass of iced tea, and wandered outside to watch her boys. Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed her arms and smiled. “Teaching him how to change oil already? He’s four, Max.”

Max turned, his grease-streaked face lighting up when he saw her. “Hey, never too early to learn the basics, right, buddy?”

Theo nodded enthusiastically, smearing a streak of oil across his cheek as he waved the wrench triumphantly. “Mama, I’m helping!”

“I can see that,” she laughed, walking over and kissing the top of his messy hair.

As her gaze wandered around the garage, it landed on their old motorbike, tucked into the corner, its polished chrome gleaming even in the dim light. Her smile turned into a smirk, and she gestured toward it with her glass. “You know, you’re going to have to sell that death trap.”

Max froze mid-laugh, a look of horror crossing his face. “What? No way. We’ve got so many memories with that bike.”

“We have two kids now, Max.”

He frowned, standing up and crossing his arms. “But what if Theo wants it when he grows up?”

She raised an eyebrow, placing a hand on her hip. “He’s not stepping a foot on that thing.”

Max threw his hands up in exaggerated protest. “Oh, so when it’s us, it’s fine, but when it’s Theo, it’s a problem?”

She grinned, completely unbothered. “Yup.”

Before he could argue further, Danny strolled into the garage, a familiar plastic container in hand. “Alright, where’s the good stuff? I heard there’s baking going on in that kitchen, and you know the deal—Danny gets dibs.”

She laughed, pointing toward the house. “I’ll bring you some in a second. Just made a fresh batch.”

As Danny leaned against the workbench, Max glanced at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, Danny, you wanna buy that death trap over there?”

Danny raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bike. “How much are we talking?”

Max grinned. “Fifty bucks.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

Max smirked, holding out a hand. “You buy it, but I still get to use it whenever I want.”

Danny laughed, shaking his head but reaching out to shake Max’s hand anyway. “You got yourself a deal, man.”

Max turned to her with a triumphant grin, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. “See? It’s sold. Problem solved.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head but smiling as she headed back into the house. “You two are impossible.”

As she disappeared into the kitchen, Max knelt back down beside Theo, who looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Daddy, what’s a death trap?”

Max chuckled, ruffling his hair. “It’s something fun that your mom doesn’t like.”

From the kitchen, she called out, “I heard that!”

While she packed up some of her baked goods for Danny she too thought of how lucky she was. How all her prayers had been listened to. How she finally made it out of that house. How she was going to witness all her own kid’s life milestones with joy and love, not hatred and jealousy. 

The morning of Theo’s first day of school, the sunlight streamed through the windows as the family bustled to get ready. Theo stood proudly in his brand-new school uniform, his backpack almost as big as he was. Mary-Ann, her curls tied up in tiny pigtails, was toddling around in her nursery outfit, clutching her stuffed bunny like it was her lifeline.

Their mother, however, was a whirlwind of emotions. She double-checked Theo’s lunchbox for the third time and nearly forgot to zip Mary-Ann’s coat, all while blinking back tears.

“I can’t believe they’re both going,” she murmured, her voice trembling as she fixed Theo’s collar for the tenth time.

Max, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee, tried to hide his grin. “Sweetheart, they’re not moving out. It’s just school and nursery.”

She shot him a glare. “Don’t start with me today, Max.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Come here, buddy,” he said, crouching down to Theo’s level. “You ready for your big day?”

Theo nodded, his little chest puffed out. “I’m gonna make so many friends!”

Max ruffled his hair. “That’s my boy. And you,” he added, turning to Mary-Ann and lifting her into his arms. “You take care of those nursery teachers, alright? Show ‘em who’s boss.”

Mary-Ann giggled, planting a slobbery kiss on his cheek.

After a bittersweet drop-off that left her sniffling the entire car ride home, they returned to their now eerily quiet house. For the first time in years, it was just the two of them.

She walked into the living room, glanced at the toys still scattered around, and sighed heavily, sinking into the couch. “It’s too quiet.”

Max sat beside her, pulling her into his side. “I told you this morning was gonna hit you hard.”

She swatted his chest lightly. “It’s just… I’ve never been in the house without one of them here. It’s so empty.” She buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled. “What if they need me? What if Mary-Ann gets scared? Or Theo forgets his lunch?”

Max chuckled softly, rubbing her back. “Sweetheart, Theo’s got this. The kid’s practically running for class president. And Mary-Ann? She’s gonna have the nursery wrapped around her finger before lunch.”

She peeked at him from behind her hands, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You think so?”

“I know so.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple.

For a moment, she leaned into him, letting the comfort of his presence soothe her. But the silence of the house pressed in again, making her sigh.

Max pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know, we’ve got the house all to ourselves now.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Max…”

He grinned, running his fingers lightly up her arm. “I’m just saying. We’ve got a whole empty house and a few hours of peace.”

Despite herself, she laughed, smacking his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m practical,” he countered, leaning closer. “We might never get this chance again, angel. Think about it.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes, but her cheeks flushed. “I can’t believe you’re suggesting this right now.”

“I’m just trying to make the most of the quiet,” he teased, his hand slipping around her waist. “And besides, you’re way too stressed. Let me help you relax.”

She laughed despite herself, the weight of the morning momentarily forgotten as he kissed her neck, his stubble tickling her skin.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his lips, her heart finally feeling a little lighter.

And if she counted the exact weeks, that day was how she ended up pregnant with her third and final child.

Nine months later, their family grew again with the arrival of a boy they named Daniel. It was a tribute to Danny, their ever-reliable friend who had, over the years, become less like a buddy and more like an honorary member of the family.

Daniel came into the world with a loud cry and a shock of dark hair, immediately staking his place in the chaos of their household. Mary-Ann, now three and brimming with sass, had proudly declared herself the "boss" of her new baby brother. She often toddled around after him, dragging her favourite stuffed bunny in one hand and fussing over Daniel like a miniature mother.

Theo, at five, took his role as the eldest sibling very seriously. He loved showing off to Mary-Ann and anyone who’d listen about how he could hold his baby brother “without dropping him” (a feat Max closely supervised with a hovering hand). Theo also began peppering Max with endless questions about how cars worked, proudly announcing that he’d take over the garage one day.

The house was louder now, bursting with life and love in every corner. Daniel’s cries, Theo’s endless chatter, and Mary-Ann’s theatrical storytelling meant there was never a dull moment.

Max had learned to juggle bottles, bedtime stories, and car repairs, often collapsing into bed with her at the end of the day, marvelling at the whirlwind their life had become.

On quieter days—though “quiet” was a stretch—she’d watch Max play with the kids in their backyard. Mary-Ann would climb all over him, Theo would ask a million questions about the engine of a toy car, and baby Daniel would sit in his lap, chewing on whatever he could grab.

Sunday mornings had become a cherished tradition for her. Dressing Theo in his little button-up shirts, coaxing Mary-Ann into tights and her favourite frilly dress, and cradling baby Daniel in his soft onesie all felt like sacred rituals. She loved sharing her faith with her children, teaching them the hymns, and watching their faces light up during Sunday school.

But as much as she loved church, there was always a weight to bear. Her parents still attended the same church, their presence lingering like a spectre of the past. While most of the congregation had embraced her family with warmth, her parents had not. They’d sit on the far side of the pews, casting disapproving glares, and every so often, there were whispers—cutting, cruel words spread by those who believed her parents' version of events.

Still, she focused on her children. Theo beamed when he memorised Bible verses, Mary-Ann proudly showed off her colouring pages, and baby Daniel giggled at the choir. Sharing this part of her life with them felt like reclaiming something pure.

That afternoon, the church hosted a children’s Bible study, and she stayed to help with crafts and snacks while Max wrangled the baby. Daniel was perfectly content napping on his dad’s chest while Max sat in the corner, earning approving glances from the other parents for his patience and attentiveness.

As they packed up to leave, her father appeared, stepping out of the shadows like a storm cloud. His eyes were cold, his expression a mask of disdain. He walked past her, close enough that she could feel the venom in his whispered word:

"Whore."

The word cut through her like a knife. She froze, her heart pounding, the air sucked out of the room. Before she could even react, Max’s voice broke the moment.

"Angel, hold Daniel."

She turned to him, startled, as he handed her the baby with a calmness that belied the fire in his eyes. Then, without hesitation, Max spun on his heel and marched toward her father.

The sound of Max’s fist connecting with her father’s jaw was thunderous in the quiet room. Her father staggered back, clutching his face, as gasps rippled through the remaining churchgoers.

Max stood tall, his voice steady but cold. “Don’t you ever call my wife that again. You lost any right to speak to her the day you hurt her and abused your power. She’s a better person than you’ll ever be.”

Her father glared up at Max, but he didn’t dare rise. The weight of his disgrace was palpable as the onlookers murmured, their judgement no longer directed at her but at the man who had insulted his own daughter in a house of worship.

She stood rooted to the spot, Daniel cradled in her arms, her cheeks flushed. She could feel every eye in the room on her, but the only one that mattered was Max’s. He turned back to her, his expression softening, and strode toward her.

Max placed a gentle hand on her back, his touch grounding her. “Let’s go, angel,” he said quietly, his voice carrying none of the anger from moments before.

She nodded, unable to form words, and followed him out, their children close by. As they left the church, she glanced down at Theo and Mary-Ann, both wide-eyed but clutching each other’s hands tightly.

When they got to the car, she took a deep, shaky breath. “Max—”

He cut her off with a kiss to her temple. “Don’t. You don’t owe him anything. Not even your anger.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she leaned into him, Daniel squirming lightly in her arms. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Max tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. “You and these kids are my family. No one, not even him, gets to treat you like that.”

taglist: @sinofwriting @le-le-lea @vanicogh @iamred-iamyellow @rayaskoalaland @spookyanamurdock @iimplicitt @hellowgoodbye @maximuminfluencerstarlight @lottalove4evelyn @piceous21 @ladscarlett @leclerc13 @linnygirl09 @labelledejourr @cmleitora @fortunapre @felicityforyou @isagrace22 @bookishnerd1132 @formulaal @mastermindbaby @daddyslittlevillain @inmynotes63 @litllefox @hollstopia

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about .. eh not much. But the thought of Logan trying to become comfortable in the X mansion again after his x men died keeps coming into my brain, some of the X men subconsciously doing things that THEIR Logan liked and honestly Worst Wolvie feeling so jealous of the love that the X men had for Logan, but not him.

Kurt crawling into bed with him and automatically trying to cuddle him the same way he lays with most of the other x men but hasn't gotten to do with Logan in a long time.

"The fuck are you doing?"

"Oh... uhm... cuddling? Iz kinda my thing..i.. Im the cuddly elf??"

"What?"

"I-ill go if you-" but Logan just grunts and locks his arm around him, finally accepting the comfort of just being held.

So kurt, of course, lays all over him, his tail wagging or wrapping around his leg. I HC that worst wolvie didn't really have a nightcrawler so it's odd for him. I mean.. what grown ass man would want to cuddle? ... well... He did. But he'd never say that. Kurt tells him of the cuddle piles they used to do on top of Logan, and just lay on him for hours. How flustered and harmlessly upset he got. "Oh ja, He told us to get off at least 5 times before he gave up. Vas such fun."

It's now that this Logan decides hes never going to tell them to get off. Never going to push them off of him and storm off... he already did that before.. not again. This is his second chance.

So now, here they are, just.. laying here.. Logan's not even talking. He's learning so much about Kurt just from the way he smells, his heart rate changes, and running his hand down his back. He had tried to run it over his tail like one might a cat, but he only jumped up, and his fur was all fluffy. Did he scare him? Maybe he didn't like his tail touched..

One whiff says the opposite as he tucks it between legs.

"Sorry I... I didn't have a Nightcrawler so.. I swear I didn't know."

"Aah.. that makes sense.. Vell dont do it again mister! He's watching!" And plops back down, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"Who's watching!?"

"You know. Father?"

"....I killed my dad.."

"...." Blinking a bit, Kurt pats his chest with a sigh "Yeah.... our Logan did that too. But I meant God."

"Oh.... Kurt, I dont think a thousand baptisms could make him forgive me..."

The blue man gives him a look of pity and a small smile of remembrance. "Heh... That's funny... he said the exact same thing."

The silence that came after made him wish he would just say something. But he had nothing to say. Just how similar was this world's Logan to him..?

"Who said what? Hey peanut, Whatcha doing?"

The guilt that rushes over him makes Logan try to sit up, gently pushing Kurt off of him, but Wade puts his hand up. "Nah, it's alright."

"Y-you dont mind?"

"Mh-mh. You look comfy, Wolvie... It's a nice look on you. Also Jubilee and Kitty are coming. They told me not to tell you but I didnt wanna watch you accidently skewer some kids."

Yeah. Kids. As if they weren't already in their mid 20s, Wade. Though I guess you're almost 50 so everyone younger then you is a kid.

"Aye! I heard that!"

"... Eh.. Heard what, mien freund?"

"He does that. Don't worry about it." Logan mutters to him, his head snapping towards the door as the two girls burst in, Giggling and jumped in the cuddle pile too.

"Youch! Watch the fur!!"

Logan only grunts and groans from the weight and the fact he was being ambushed. "You girls are a lot heavier from the last time I saw ya" he states, because the last time he seen them, they were just kids. Kids that.. he killed.

"I can't believe you didn't invite us to the function, Logan!"

"Yeah, totally not cool."

Bringing them close, he held their heads in his inner elbows, nuzzling them both with a bit of a sniffle.

Watching them all, Wade smiles, seeing the girls hug back and not tell him off for his tight grip.

"Ewww! Are you sniffing me!?" Katherine complains, trying to push him away. The glossiness in his eyes slip onto his cheek as he playfully growls at her, his grip now a bit too tight for Wade's own comfort.

He observes the way Logan gently nibbles their cheeks, making Kitty gag and push his face away. "Ew! Whens the last time you brushed your teeth!?" She teases.

"Eeehh!!! Abort mission!! Call for back up!" Jubes yells, attempting to get out of the hold, a bit of her cheek a little red from the fang nipping.

Wade could tell that he was getting too excited. Those claws would pop any second. "Logan-" he starts, knowing these two were probably not the best for him to rough house with. Laura would have been a much more suitable play partner but she was far too truamatized to be held down like this without stabbing someone..

"I got you girls!" Kurt says, poofing away, making Logan jump and instinctively let go from the flash sound and visual. He blinks, sitting up and looking for him. "How did he.."

"Magic." Wade smirks, relieved that he let go. Logan would never forgive himself if he accidently killed them twice.

Seeing what he did to her, Logan frowns, running the back of his finger over her cheek. "...Im sorry.."

"It's alright. Didn't even hurt. Besides, You said we were smaller right? Is that why you were playing with us?" Now that he got a good look at them, it felt inappropriate to nuzzle and bite at their noses anymore... these weren't the little pups he used to give noogies and piggy back rides...

Kitty was married now. The ring on her finger suggested it. She wasn't that bratty sassy teen reading boy magazines. And Jubilee was... well.. she was kinda the same. Just bigger. More mature looking.. he bet she looked like her mother.

"Sorry.." he says again, deciding to keep his hands to himself, putting them in his lap.

"For what?"

"You haven't played with us in AGGESS!" Kathrine whined.

"I.. I shouldn't treat you like that.. you're grown now. I.. you're not.. my kids.. anymore."

"Oh bullshit. Rouges almost 30 and I bet she'll wanna rough house with you too!"

He shakes his head, those glossy eyes coming back. Wade couldn't say a thing but the things in his head were a mile a minute. He wanted to say so many things, but this was his moment. Logan's time. Being reunited with his original X-kits.

"No.. i-its alright.. I dont.."

"Nah we'll go get her."

"Oh and Ro too!"

"R-ro..?" He looked almost confused but before he could ask they were already gone.

He thinks now he should speak. "...Havin fun?"

Logan is quick to wipe his face. "Yes... thank you."

"For what?"

"For... giving me a second chance."

He smiles, leaning against the window. "I didn't give you that Logan. You did."

"But you brought me here."

"And you stayed with me. Which allowed me to bring you here. Your choice. Not mine."

"Oh come on you cant believe-"

"ELF ATTACK!" Appearing in the air, Kurt dropped down from the ceiling, swords in hand. Gasping Logans claws finally shown themselves, blocking the attack.

"Jesus Kurt! Are you trying to die!?" He shouts, hairs raised and on edge.

"It would be an honor to die at your hands, mien freund! The professor would have told us to go outside by now, but he's not here anymore. So we can fight in the house as much as we-"

"No fighting in the house!!" Scott calls from the hall.

Wade laughs. "Spoke too soon. Daddys home."

"He is not-" Logan blushes deeply, Grunting and lightly tosses Kurt off of him. "Shut the fuck up, Wade..."

Leaving the room, he grunts loudly, waving his hand at Scott. "We're going.. dont get your panties in a bunch..."

Kurt rolls his eyes, glancing at Wade. "And it begins.."

Sighing heavily, Wade follows them out, his hands intertwined on the back of his head. "I bet I could be Daddy."

"At least get married first before saying such crude things..." Kurt mumbles, tail holding a swird as they went down the hall.

[vole-mon-amour]

I wonder what having sex with Silco is like.

I wonder if he pulled Jinx's hair. I wonder if he held her close and tightly, both arms wrapped around her while she rode him. I wonder if he was gentle with her or maybe he lost himself sometimes. Or maybe he was a passionate yet gentle lover, very attentive to her and her needs. Maybe he never made her feel uncomfortable, but if she asked to be rougher with her, he would/did.

Judging by the baptism scene, and how softly he handled her most of the time, and how much he loved her, he would've given her anything. He literally died telling her not to cry and that she's perfect.

This is a pro Silco x Jinx space and antis should block me.

upd: "I know you're sweet on her. I hope you got a chance to, you know. Before..." Jinx was sweet on Silco and Silco was sweet on her. They made love so many times, which probably helped her accept that her sister can have someone she's fond of and has a crush on.

[amartworks]

Elia Martell, princess consort of Rhaegar Targaryen, and her children, Rhaenys and Aegon

I like how while Elia isn’t in the books, she haunts the narrative just as much as her husband – down to her daughter’s kitten literally haunting the Red Keep.

Artist notes below cut for freaks who like that

Oh god this took so long. Oh god why did I let it go this far. Here's the original sketch. Referenced from JookPubStock… I think. It's been so long.

This painting is quite blatantly inspired by Franz Xaver Winterhalter’s The Royal Family. It's decidedly rococo/neo-classical and wayyyy too late for ASOIAF but I don't care.

Elia Martell is described as flat chested and quite sickly. I see her being easily exhausted and therefore wearing dresses that do not weigh much, so as to not put pain on her shoulders and tire her out. I also gave her a strong nose because I am very fond of Pedro Pascal’s Oberyn, Elia’s brother.

Elia is wearing a simple ambigious renaissance dress with small sleeves and a light corset. Kind of cobbled together from looking at Hans Holbein the Younger’s works. The fabric the dress is cut from is however meant to be Dornish – I drew inspiration from this beautiful Ottomanian textile.

Her crown is completely made up. I searched “sun crown” and was greatly inspired by the works of jewelry maker SunFlames.

King Aerys refused to touch his granddaughter Rhaenys because she “smelled Dornish” which tells me Rhaenys probably favored her mother.

Rhaenys was difficult. I looked up what renaissance children wore, and the answer is they wore exact copies of what adults wore. I don’t know how, I feel like the moment you were done with a sleeve the child in question would’ve outgrown it. I decided to freestyle it a little.

Aegon is wearing a christening gown. As far as I can tell the Faith of the Seven doesn’t mention baptisms… but considering the catholic inspiration I think it makes sense. Also I think it's sweet.

They both have deep indigo eyes. My personal headcanon is that Targaryen eyes are purple in the same sense that Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes were purple. Moreover the definition of colors change over time. During the Middle Ages, there was no word for the color “orange” – instead you would say red or yellow. Similarly a lot of languages will use the same word for blue and green.

HOWEVER, this is something that has come with later generations – the first Valyrians had inhumanly violet eyes, which I will be doing concept art for… sometime.

Finally here’s what I know you're REALLY here for, and the part of the painting which I am the proudest of – the 3D model of the chair and table which I made in Blender because I couldn't find a good reference for a renaissance era chair from the angle I wanted.

[secretmellowblog]

Les Mis Hidden Name Meanings: “Fantine” (posting here because it got popular on TikTok)

Every character in Les Mis has a name with a deeper symbolic meaning— here’s a video I made for the official @barricadescon TikTok about the meaning behind “Fantine!”

Transcript and Digressions I left out of the video, under the cut:

Every charcater’s name in Les Mis is either a pun, a reference to a historical/mythological figure, or had some deep symbolic meaning — and sometimes it’s all of them at on.

The name “Fantine” comes from the french word “enfantine” or “childike, infant-like.” Her name basically means “Baby.” And obviously this speaks to her innocence and niavetee. But also “baby” is kind of,.,, well it sounds more like an informal term of endearment than an actual legal name?

And that’s because– Plot twist– Fantine isn’t her legal name! What is her legal name? She doesn’t have one.

And the reason she doesn’t have one is directly tied to political turmoil of the era she was born into.

Fantine grew up an orphan living on the streets, without a family without parents. Hugo tells us the origin of her name:

“she bore on her brow the sign of the anonymous and the unknown. (...)She was called Fantine. Why Fantine? She had never borne any other name. At the epoch of her birth the Directory still existed. She had no family name; she had no family; no baptismal name; the Church no longer existed. She bore the name which pleased the first random passer-by, who had encountered her, when a very small child, running bare-legged in the street. She received the name as she received the water from the clouds upon her brow when it rained.”

This moment is adapted beautifully in the Manga adaptation by Takahiro Arai, which I recommend to anyone who loves Les mis, manga, or any combination of those things.

But now let’s talk about the Directory.

To wildly oversimplifly a lot of complex history: Before the French Revolution, the Catholic Church’s records of baptismal ceremonies were often used as a registry of people’s legal names. During the French Revolution, the Revolutionary government– including the Directory– put in place a series of policies we now call “dechristianization,” where they attempted to dismantle the power of Catholic church.

Fantine was born during the age of these dechristianization policies. So she was never baptised, her baptismal name was never recorded, so she has no recorded legal or family name. She’s slipped through the cracks of the legal system, and ended up completely anonymous.

It sets Fantine up as this anonymous child of the Revolution– a stand in for everyone who was left behind when the Revolution was left behind, and kings were restored to the throne.

Fantine’s namelessness is meant to show atomized . How she has NO support system. She has nothing to connect her to other people, nothing to connect her to a support system.

Finally, the way Fantine tends to “slip through the cracks” is something that follows her throughout her life. When she’s fired from her job at a factory, Maroy Madeleine never learns of it– Fantine has this tendency to overlooked and forgotten. She is born anonymous and she dies anonymous. At the end of the story, she is buried in an unmarked grave, with not even the name “Fantine” on her headstone.

It ties into novel’s questions about which people we consider worth remembering, whose lives are worth being records.

And obviously Fantine is not the only character in Les Mis whose name has a deeper symbolic meaning. If you have any other Les Mis character names you’d like to explain, leave their name in the comments below.

Thank you for watching!

From the description of the original tiktok, here are some things that were left out of the video for time:

How this all relates to Cosette’s name(s)

Fantine’s nickname “The Blonde,” and how this relates to the way she’s dehumanized by Tholomyes

How the 2018 Bbc series fundamentally misunderstands Fantine’s character, and how one sign of this is that they give her a full legal first and last name

How Fantine’s name shows up/is revealed is significant parts of the story (like when Valjean reveals her signature on a letter to Thenardier, allowing him to take Cosette away)

How Fantine’s inability to write ties into the way it’s difficult for her to record her own story

How some of Valjean’s last words are revealing Fantine’s name to Cosette

Thanks again for reading!

[lafiametta]

Just saw Anora and got so obsessed w Igor its not funny i need to see more posts about him 😭😭😭😭

Igor’s on such a journey and I love it.

Can you imagine: it’s your birthday and you get a call from the Armenian guy you work for to pick him up at a baptism so you both can check on his boss’s boss’s rich-ass useless son and see if he has or has not married a prostitute. You understand the job — look tough, provide a little muscle if the situation calls for it — and once it’s done you can go return your grandmother’s car from where you borrowed it and visit with her for an hour or so before maybe heading out for a lowkey night to celebrate.

Instead, the rich-ass useless son runs away and you end up having to make sure the girl he married — who takes great offense to being called a prostitute, by the way — doesn’t take off too, and because she won’t stop throwing things and hitting you in the face and screaming you don’t know what else to do except restrain her with a phone cord.

And then she bites you and breaks the Armenian’s nose even as you’ve got her in a hold on top of you.

It’s not exactly what Igor had in mind for the day, is all I’m saying.

As an audience, we also get our expectations turned on their head: Igor, who at first just seems like your standard Slavic hired goon, turns out to have a heart of gold, or at least a soft spot just big enough for a beautiful, foul-mouthed erotic dancer with an impressive left hook. (Although he’s no slouch either, considering how he wields that aluminum bat.) There’s something about her that he really likes, even from the beginning, and you can see him looking out for her and trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to make up for what he did to her back at the house.

I think he admires her brashness, and the way she’s determined to fight for the Cinderella dream that a life with Ivan promised her. In both the courtroom scene and on the tarmac with Ivan’s mother he secretly smiles as he listens to her argue and threaten, even against people far wealthier and more powerful.

(There also seems to be a class element, at least where her conflict with the Zakharovs are concerned. Igor probably doesn’t love the fact that he’s employed by these rich assholes and Ani saying that she’s going to take half their money has him silently cheering her on, because, yeah, fuck them. And when Galina Zakharov winks at him after threatening Ani’s whole existence, he has to look away in shame, because he still works for them, and they think that means they own him.)

I’d love to know when he decides to steal the ring from Toros. Maybe at some point on the plane, after he can see that part of her has given up. It’s a brilliant display of rebellion, made even better by the fact that he waits until the very last minute to give it to her. (Would we have heard all that shit about “hunchback weirdos” and “rape eyes” if he had surprised her with it the first moment they were alone? But Igor is secure enough to take all her insults, and probably likes the fact that she feels safe enough to keep roasting him again and again. “Touché, motherfucker?” she says, and all he can do is giggle.)

Which brings us to the car scene.

The ring is an act of atonement, something to make up for what she’s been through over the past two days — some of which he knows he’s responsible for — and one last fuck you to the family that humiliated her. Igor thinks he’s evening the score before he says goodbye, not realizing that Ani sees it as a gesture she needs to pay back to keep feeling like she’s in control. So she gives him what she thinks he wants — what all men want from her.

Igor’s an adaptive, street-smart guy, but he wasn’t prepared for what she ends up doing. He doesn’t resist, though, taking initiative only once she’s fully on top of him and then just to take her face in his hands. Does some part of him know this is transactional? Does some part of him want it to be real the way Ani wanted Ivan to be real? He wants to pretend at least, and tries to kiss her, only for Ani it’s too real, too much, and she’ll fight to make it stop, like she fights for so many things in her life. But the emotions bubble up anyway, and even through the haze of sex Igor can see she’s in pain, so he pulls her in close and lets her cry, steady and silent as the sobs wrack her body like waves.

It’s a scene that neatly mirrors the one from the living room — him holding her as she’s on top of him — now cast as an expression of vulnerability and care rather than fear and aggression. He’s always been strong enough to hold her, but it’s only at the very end that Ani is willing to be held.

[cloudluvrrr]

Change

a/n: rushed and bad im sick andi have to post chat 😔

boothill x preachers daughter

tw : religous themes, slight implication of freaky, erm bad and rushed, i didnt proof read either 😈😈

-Michelle pfeifer - ethel cain

Boothill was often out at night, his family owned a small ranch a little south of the small town you lived in. You knew of him of course, everyone did. He often did some petty crimes, smoking, stealing from people, getting in fights. He was troubled, often coming into church on Sundays with his family begrudgingly.

He entered the southern style church, looking over at the rows of towns people whispering amongst themselves. Hiding away what they've done before, as if attending could simply wash away the tracks of their sins.

Sitting there with a sour look on his face, as your father preached about how to repent and cleanse your souls seemingly being aimed at boothill. As well as informing the town that the yearly baptism & church picnic was coming, and for those who wanted to be accepted to speak with his wife.

Every time he entered the church he saw the back of your pretty head. All done up with a bow, in your Sunday best. He watched as you highlighted and taking notes in your white bible. Your flushed cheeks, the point of your nose, your soft tinted lips, the frills of your dress. You were the towns girl, always dressed in pretty dresses and on her best behavior. Like a doe, innocent, beautiful, graceful. Boothill was like a snake, with the temptation and promise of leading others astray. Poisoning them, leading them astray from the grace of god.

As his thoughts came to a close he saw everyone getting up, and the pastor finishing up his sermon. He was hunched over, hands in his pocket as a soft hand tugged on his forearm.

"boothill" your soft voice echoed in his head, 'she knows my name?'

"uh.. yeah?" he asked nervously meeting your eyes.

"your not going to get baptised?"

"Why would I? everyone in here is fake as hell, I like to enjoy my you-"

"you're going to hell" you interupt, your brown eyes looking up at him.

"You can't be saved unless you change, ya know." you say stepping back and hugging your bible. "Your loved, you got everythin' and you live like that"

"the hell you mean by that" he snapped, but before you answered your father pulled you away to tend to other followers.

"I told you not to speak to him" your father whispered as he lead to the others "I was helping" you whisper back.

"He's beyond help baby"

--

He was out in his fathers wheat field, stargazing. A dimly light cigarette rest on his lips. His mind thinking of what you said, how he had everything yet he still rebelled. He tried his hardest to think of why, he shrugged it off as just wanting to be free from this shit small town.

His thoughts once more interrupted by a small hum, seeing you walking along the fence. Your hands behind your back, as you walked along the fence. God you were beautiful "hey!" he shouted getting up and standing on the other side.

The sweet sound of you hums stop as you look at him.

"made up your mind?" you ask looking into his eyes.

A fence between the two of you, a divide he placed a hand on the fence "fuck no, what you doin' out?" he ask looking around looking for any sign of your family.

"I like to go on walks"

"alone?"

"this town gossips like wild fire, if i do something it'll get to my daddy before I even return home. I ain't stupid like you" you say with an edge

"I enjoy my life" he scoffed putting out his cigarette.

"change is good"

"no it ain't"

"some times it is" you insist.

"why are you so insistan-"

"I want you to change"

"why? I'm a lost cause darlin' your daddy said so too" He added sitting on the fence

"...I don't think so, I wanna talk to yo-"

"the hell? why?"

"...I like you, your everything I'd like to be" your brows scrunching as you hear your own words

Your words hit him like lighting, you wanted to be like him. "why? You got everythin' your families perfect, y'all rich, you love eachother-" He could give you a million reasons why your family was so looked up upon.

"no, daddys.. Gone a lot, mama drinks, my kid siblings just do whatever daddy wants them too.." you said looking away.

'but I could tell that you wanted out of the family.'

--

So began boothills journey to salvation.

He gets baptized, and for the first time he doesn't get tugged away from you.

The both of you are on a swing set, talking about the most mundane things. Your favorite food, his favorite color, your hobbies anything he could to distract you from the town.

it was often cute dates like this, at the dinner, the lake, anywhere.

yet

he was a bad influence, even if he was 'fixed'. He wanted to show you the world outside of the church.

So on one of the days where your father was out and your mother was drowning in her wine cabinet.

the both of you, sat in boothills twin bed drinking some beer he'd stolen from the local store.

Things got hazey from there, you didn't remember much.

Other than boothill slipping off your purity ring, and slipping off your sunday best.

-

He'd become your world

Your everything

the very sin you'd had been protected from.

Your family had learned to accept him, and your friends envied you.

Yet he left,

just like that.

Packed his bags took his dads truck, and left.

You accepted it, moving on but always thinking of him sending him letters you were never sure reached him.

Eventually you dropped off the last letter along with the ring he'd made you, in his jewelry class

-

Dear, Boothill

where did you go?

This is my last letter, I don't know if you get any of them. But I'm finally leaving you behind, like you did with me.

You're like a demon that follows behind me, a reminder of our time and our fun. I can't deny I didn't like it, made me happy.

It makes me happy,

Especially when you changed just for me.

And just for you to leave.

Did you even exist?

or

was it me?

--

sorry if it started off good then slowly got worst i forgot where i wanted to take it, so YAAY i finished it tho :)

i havent been playing hsr but i will be pulling for sunday :D

actually ive been into the silent hill 2 remake and detroit become human :P

BYEYEEYEYU for now

[honestsycrets]

querido i: a reward of 2099 | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | doubleshot; chapter is safe for work.

❛ summary | it's been a long time since you've been with miguel o'hara. when your daughter gabriella finds his wanted poster, life starts to unravel.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats.

❛ sy's notes | here's to listening to the civil wars' devil backbone one too many times. i needed a break from filling most requests, so i only incorporated one very lightly in this piece.

“Mamá, 2099 is a strange amount for a reward, isn’t it?”

Your daughter was a mischievous girl just like her father. She tore down the poster that was tacked up on the homely post office’s bulletin board as you gathered the weekly post. Coming into town was always a bit of a laborious task. With goods to gather and a little girl to socialize, you made it into town once every week.

"Sure is," Jackson the postman said.

“Thank you,” you plucked mail from the man’s dark hands. “I’ll see you next week.”

He wore a warm, kind smile. Working in the post office, he always seemed to be well-versed in what was going on in everyone’s life. His coal-black eyes shone warmly at you.

“Take care now, there’s wild men out there. What with Peter gone and all, you sure you girls will be okay out there? Rio’d sure put up Gabi and you at the hostel.”

Gabi scrunched up her face tight like a screw being twisted into a board.

“That’s real sweet of you to worry but I’m sure we’ll be fine. We've been out there nine years now. I’ll see you next week, sí? ” You tucked your post into a basket that dangled on your elbow, pulling long and heavy skirts to avoid trampling them with your boots as you opened the door.

“See ya then!”

Gabriella stepped out first, pulling on your lace sleeves as a cue for her delayed answer. She wouldn’t butt into a conversation, but she always seemed to hold her questions for a better time. You sighed, looking at the pale wooden buildings. Saloon, feed store, bank, and the occasional hostel. Over the last decade, the town seemed to flourish, bringing all manner of people to your once tiny Spanish town.

“I suppose they didn’t wanna give the extra coin out, Gabi.”

She looked back to the paper in her hands.

“Wanted dead or alive. Notorious badman Miguel O’Hara, 38, native of Nueva… why that’s here, mama!”

Your blood chilled. Congealed even. The sun nearly blinded you, even with the hat that kept the hot sun off of your head. You stepped off the doorway and onto the dusty ground, spinning on your heel to face your little girl with your dark blue fan in your hands, waving the heat of the day off your flushed skin.

“Wanted for--”

You swiped the paper from her fingers.

“That’s about enough of that. We best get on our way, we got goods to buy, the undertaker to see, and a new dress to fit for your papá’s funeral.”

“I was just reading it. In case we see him?”

“We won’t. It’s been a time since he’s shown himself around these parts. You have no business looking at-- that kinda man. He’s a troublemaker. Now get in the cart, let’s not dolly around.”

You would know.

“O—okay, mamá.”

“I’m sorry, Gabi, I don't mean to yell. You’re all I got, preciosa,” you wedged the paper into a new bible, right next to your wooden rosary, and flung it into the basket.

"I know."

You started ahead of her, fussing with your white veil, sparing no expense to the many questions that she had that day. You had just as many questions as she did.

You just couldn’t articulate them to a grieving little girl.

Do you think it's a boy or girl? the seamstress asks a woman in her shop. She fashions all sorts of fashions from birth to death. Her store is stuffed to the brim with frilly and lacy baptismal dresses. Your gaze fell on her belly, tracing the curve.

"Una niña," she says. Her voice triggers something old, some ancient memory you've suppressed. His voice in your ear, a soft kiss on your head. You're sitting there, next to the little girl that he always wanted, haunted by the flood of memories that comes with looking at another woman's pregnant belly.

"You're not like the others. Aren't men supposed to want sons?" you teased him. Miguel snorted, his arm underneath your neck as he gazed up at a sky of glittering stars. The air was lightly warm, a light wind fluttering through the tall grass. Post-relation bliss was warm on his skin, peaceful and quiet.

"For what? Men are jealous of sons," he muttered, shifting his head to kiss the top of your head. "Little girls are... the light in their lives. I'm going to call mine Gabriella. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"That's a real pretty name."

"Sure is. ¿por qu��?"

You didn't tell him why. That you hid a secret underneath the layers of your dress. A secret that you knew Miguel would have more than an issue with if he knew.

"Mamá?" Gabi shakes your arm, "Mamá we're next."

Your mind likes to pull mean tricks on you.

Wanted for double murder.

Miguel O’Hara was always somewhere between a hangman’s knot and three mouths to feed. For you, the latter. You were under no illusion of the sort of man Miguel was.

Every look at your daughter’s soft, peaceful face at night reminded you of him. You worried that the more she looked at posters of Miguel, peered into an artist’s rendition of Miguel’s slight, sultry eyes, lush lips, and strong jaw-- she might be able to locate the similarities when she looked at herself. That was why you had to take the flyer from her. The artist sure had a fine hand at drawing him, the man who danced in your dreams by a warm fire and stayed up late counting the stars. He’s gotten thicker, you thought. You sat on the rocking chair as she slept peacefully, rocking back and forth on the chair.

A violent knocking at the front door swept you free from your thoughts. You snatched up the silver lantern, yanked a fine ivory rebozo over your shoulders, and rushed down the stairs. The booming knocking became louder, more urgent. The movement was mechanical, with no husband to answer the door for you, you checked the window first. The man who stood there was not a man you’d want to see. Not now, not back then. He had a wicked face that sat beneath a wide-brimmed hat that obscured the balding spot on top of his head.

God, not him. He was obsessed.

“Buenas noches, Doña O’Hara,” he peeped into the window.

“Bendito, don’t call me that,” you rushed out, the heavy wooden door slamming to a close behind you. “I’ve told you already, he is not here.”

“And I don’t believe you. First, your man-loving husband dies. Next, sightings of Miguel a town over. ¿Qué piensas? Hm? What comes after that?”

“My husband was trampled, Aaron. By a bull. He was a hard-working man who worked with violent cattle. These accidents happen. Why don’t you ask the undertaker?”

He wouldn’t. Although you don’t think Aaron is a complete idiot, he surely has his own motivations for which leads to follow and which leads to ignore. Your husband’s death was one of them.

“I’ll tell you what comes next. You come next. It’s only logical that he would come back to you. You have his daughter and all. Or… does he not know about that? I seem to recall him running out of here like a bat outta hell.”

“You’ve checked my property three times. Barn, basement, home. It’s been nine years, Aaron. Gloria a Dios, he’s probably remarried and forgotten me by now.”

“Not according to my reports.”

You hate the twinge of delight that comes from that admission. Your cheeks warm with blood, highlighting the rouge that sits across your cheeks. He chuckles caustically at how easily it shuts you up. Aaron takes a step forward, his deep leather boots creaking along the aged floorboards.

“What’d you want me to do with that information?”

“If he comes to see you, and I know he will,” he reached out for your chin. Your hand connects with his, shoving him back. “Tell me. You know, it’s a crime to kill another man without good cause.”

“You wanna catch Miguel for your own reasons, Aaron. Don’t bring none of that holier-than-thou bullshit to my footstep.”

“She can curse,” he laughs again. “Here I thought you were a good Christian woman.”

“Don’t try me,” He tries to corral you against the door. You flip your skirts up, his eyes following the motion. You seize the handgun strapped to your thigh, threatening to pull it on him. Aaron slides back, holding his calloused hands up. "Get off my property."

“I’m just saying. If you see him, you know where to find me. Who knows, you and I could work a lil something out.”

Even if you knew where he was, you would be hard-pressed to turn him into Aaron Delgado. You knew Miguel O’Hara would kill him. So, really, it was for his good. You watched him beat down the squeaky steps and mount his horse, fading into the distance of dark, twinkly stars. You probably shouldn’t be praying that robbers got ahold of him.

But only Diosito could judge you for that.

You dipped down to pick the lantern up, stepping off the steps to ensure that he was not just off your property, but properly gone. Then, seeing him set off toward town, you gazed up at the deep night sky. It was littered with an abundance of stars, massive and twinkling brilliantly. Miguel’s favorite constellations shone brightly in the sky. The Anglo called it-- Orion’s belt. Around here, it was named for the hunter: the deer, the pronghorn, and the sheep. You count each of the stars on your way back indoors to sleep in your empty bed.

You prayed Aaron’s hunt would be fruitless that night.

With your husband's untimely death came several complex decisions. Namely, what to do with his cattle hands and the animals under your care. You were fortunate enough to have support from the community in caring for the cattle, but you knew human affection did not last forever. You could sell his property at a scam of a price as a woman or you could keep it and work bitterly on the farm.

Or, as Aaron suggested today in the cover of concern, you could remarry yet again. It was nearly the only good option. Working wasn’t sustainable when you had a little girl to raise and a whole host of children to teach, as you always had. It would be nearly impossible to find someone like your dearly departed husband who knew your situation and couldn’t care less about it.

It’s good for a lil girl to have a father, he says. You know that-- but Aaron should be no one’s father. Not Gabriella’s. Miguel would’ve never approved. Neither did you.

You loosened beads of sweat from your hair as you returned inside, the ends of your skirt matted with dust. Gabriella would return home from school soon and you were fully intent on feeding her a slice of fresh peach pie.

You made your way into your home, your boots between your fingers. The smell of a smoky hearth piqued your attention. It didn’t arise from your great big wood stove that sat against the wall, ready to cook fresh tortillas, but the sort of hearth settled in the deep outdoors.

“Dios mío.”

Miguel sat there, plain as a field flower. His fingers tapped over the heavy wooden table, rolling in succession. He’s older than you remember-- jaw peppered with dark facial hair, his hair dark and wild, set away from his kind eyes that caught yours as quickly as you caught his. You dropped your boots at your feet, backing up once, twice.

“Don’t run, you won't get far,” his voice trilled, low and warm. Beside his sombrero on the table sat a thick rope and his gun, you don’t want to know which one he was planning to use today. His head twisted, a mused smile growing on his face. “You look so surprised, amor. You had to know I was coming.”

The nickname cut more than it used to. You had not been someone’s amor in a very long time. Married strictly by the weight of paper, you don’t exactly recall what the fleeting emotion of love felt like. Wisps of it licked a dead flame to life in your stomach.

“Miguel.”

“You look gorgeous,” Miguel hummed, turning his impossibly broad arms one over the other. You don’t remember him being this thick. He lurches onto his leather boots, taking a few practiced steps closer. Brilliant, you think, you’ve languished years thinking of this moment just to smell of sweat and cow shit. You suppose he’s smelled worse as an outlaw, a name that doesn’t quite fit the handsome man before you.

“You were always a bad liar.”

“Look, not smell.”

“My point stands,” you say.

Your normally practiced updo has gone frizzy, bits of hair escaping the clips that kept it flat against your head. Miguel’s eyes flickered over the strands, then down to your skin flush with blood and exhaustion.

“Mine too.”

You stared at him a moment longer before you found yourself laughing, just a light-- a small thing that you had failed to do over the past week. His death, and the subsequent funeral, was all too miserable. Now he was here and for a moment, just a brief thing, everything didn’t feel so earth-shatteringly dire.

He cracks a smile, drawing his hand to your flyaways, soothing it down against your head. You should be more angry at him-- settling you with a baby like he did and disappearing into the long grass with Widow and not a word more.

“I missed you,” you said quietly. His hand falls away from your head, drifting past his dark blue vest, and hooking at the fat metal belt buckle. “Pero… why are you here?”

“I heard Peter passed,” he said in a practiced tone. “I was a few towns over. Seeing how he’s taken good care of you all these years, I dropped in to say my dues to him. Came to see my girl too.”

The grief may not be readable in his eyes, but you know he’s practiced it in the same way you did for your Gabriella. Her only daddy was gone, deep in the cold earth. His words echoed in your ears, cutting through your grief bright and resonant. You wonder if he knew, but logically, you knew he couldn’t. Miguel always wanted to be a father.

“Who’d that be?”

“You,” Miguel turns your name over, making your name sound beautiful and light on his tongue. It’s sweet, like the peach pie cooling in your aged windows.

“After all these years?"

"Claro."

"You... shouldn't be here. You’re a wanted man,” you said. “Aaron is looking for you. You know that, right?”

“He's nothing to be concerned about.” Miguel shrugged off your suggestion. "I'm only wanted in these parts."

“Where else is there?” you said

“Out West. South. You take your pick,” Miguel lifted his hand, tracing your parched lower lip. “It don't matter to me. I seen all manner of places, like it here more than anywhere.”

"There's nothing here."

"Nothing but you."

You felt your stomach swoop, a delight filling it better than any meal you’d had. You parted your lips to say something else, to find a response that would fit-- to tell him the truth. But he left you then, came back when something fit better than the road. You wonder what fortune he must have made on the road that he’d come back. His hand caressed your cheek, rubbing it as if to soothe you. It didn’t.

“You think you can just go and come back like nothing happened? After what you did?”

The front door squeaked, dragging with a long hiss. Miguel peered over your shoulder as if it were instinctual, his hand snapping to the gun on his hip. You stopped him short of seizing his handgun. Gabriella bobbed in, closing the door tightly shut behind her. She wore a plain blue dress, fine ribbon braided in the updo she had on that day. She takes a few short steps forward before realizing who you were talking to.

“Mamá, I’m home!” she gasped. “That’s the man in the— in the flyer mamá--”

“Gabi go to your room.”

“I’m not--”

“Gabriella,” your voice went soft but stern. Nearly apologetic. You had been so hard on her lately. Miguel’s eyes dropped from Gabriella’s huge, doe-like eyes to her nose, then lips. His eyes sharpened, whipping back to look at you. “Por mí, okay? He won’t hurt me. Te prometo.”

She darted up the many steps to her room.

"Gabriella?" He stared at you uncomprehendingly. He quickly goes quiet, searching your eyes for something. You worry that he’s found the truth, your breath light as you walked over to your wooden stove, checking the flame and setting a pot of water that you brought from a nearby creek to bathe with. He follows you to the stove.

“My daughter is home. You should go,” you remarked, less of a command than a meek statement, floundering on your lips at the end. As delightful as it sounded, running off into some other territory, town, or world with Miguel-- it was unfeasible and irresponsible to be with a man whose name was stapled on the bulletin boards towns over.

“How old is she?”

"That's none of your business." Your outlaw hovers over you, absorbing the space, a bundle of heavy muscle and rage that plumes off his skin like the smell of sweat on your skin. It’s almost as if he can smell the regret seeping off your skin, despite knowing you couldn’t have done anything differently. No one told him and you could not reach him. Whatever the reason he stayed away, you were not the one he reached out to for updates.

“Tell me,” he growls, waves of anger causing his voice to shake. The tone is heartless, empty of the nights together, of slipping off with the old cattle hand at night and day, in the barn and the field. You’re stuck in the memory of your lovemaking with your vaquero, now your outlaw man. You missed him.

“Don’t do this. She could be listening.” You pad away from the stove to the window with the hope that he wouldn’t follow. He backs you up into the wall, his calloused hands so tight on his belt that you could draw lines of tension through his veins.

“You're not telling me because she’s mine,” he’s whispering, the words going through your chest, fizzling out into terrible pain. He reaches out, squeezing your hips to keep you put. Miguel leans into your space and buries you in his overwhelming scent.

“What do you want me to say?” you stare at his prominent muscles, the shift that is thrown open to expose his skin. He cups your jaw and throat with his large hand, forcing you to confront the truth. Your eyes blink closed, bits of tears dripping there. Miguel doesn’t have the patience for pity, or empathy, whichever the two you were looking for right then.

“I want you to tell me the truth. It's not hard.”

“Me telling you the truth changes a whole lot of nothing. You're putting her life at risk just being here. You're an outlaw,” you say, trying his rapidly evaporating patience. "You got a bounty on your head."

"It changes it all," he shoves you back into the window, a choked cry slipping from your throat. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to have the truth. Distantly, you were aware of Gabriella’s feet beating down the steps. You’re relatively certain she’d never gone all the way up to her room. In this creaky house you would have heard her door shut, the floorboards bounce. In either case, there’s no point running away from what you both know to be true.

“Sí, she’s your daughter,” you mustered the words in a bid to get it over with. Miguel always had to get his way. “Now what?”

Miguel flicked a look over his shoulder, marked by the heavy drag of his weighted firearm skidding across the wooden table. A life on the run will do that. Gabriella’s tiny hands slipped around his handgun.

“That ain't true!”

“Gabriella,” you cut her short. “Gabi, bebe, put that down.”

Miguel took a step back, pulling his head back slightly as you shifted in front of him. Her tiny head shook, over and over, tears pricking her bright brown eyes. You fooled yourself into thinking that she wouldn’t listen-- because your Gabi was a good girl. A wonderful good girl who liked nothing more but running in the field with the boys and brightly colored ribbons laced into her braids. She was also a mischievous girl who had been trying really, really hard to be good for you this week. Children had their limits.

“My papá is dead,” she said, her fingers trembling about the thing. Miguel’s head tilted in response, expecting you to take care of it. “His name was Peter and-- he liked sunsets and fluffy chocolate calves and--”

“Badly made blankets,” Miguel said lowly. Gabi lowered the gun, slowly, just an inch or two. “Shorn fabrics, uneven stitching, ugly colors.”

“He liked to make you smile-- be helpful,” he added. You snapped to look at Miguel as he rose his hand to his hips, gazing at the floor and rocking. He waits another moment, noting how Gabriella’s head nodded, rubbing away the tears that dripped off the corner of her eyes with her shoulder. She set the gun down on the table.

“You knew my papá?” she turns her arms one over another. “How?”

“He was my friend.”

“Mamá?” she looked toward you, seeking an answer from someone who wasn’t a face on a wanted paper with a reward of 2099 dollars.

“Peter was your papá but-- Miguel is your padre, mija,” you breathed hard, exhausted from years of suppression. She looks at you, not used to this level of betrayal. Her eyes are distant, somewhere in her tiny memories. She whips around and runs out the back door. Miguel turns his eye out the window, her tiny body disappearing into the deep green fields. The sun blinds your eyes as you look out to the fields full of cattle. He reaches for his rope and gun, settling them in their respective places.

“¡Déjala! She needs time alone.”

He heads out the backdoor. He never did listen well.

[heart4caitlin]

kk arnold fic based off of sailor song

SAILOR SONG / kk arnold

warnings : religious trauma , angst , self doubt , mainly reader focused

pair : kk arnold x fem!reader

wc : 1659

You had grown up in a house where God was the answer for everything. You were hurting? Pray harder. Doubt? Have more faith. You’d learn to obey the word of God, learnt to not go against your parents. You kept everything suppressed, suffocating yourself in so much guilt. You’d never looked at boys a certain way during school, never thought about them.

Until you went to college. But it wasn’t a boy. It was KK Arnold.

KK was extremely vibrant, lighting up every room she walked into with such a contagious laugh and smile. Who wouldn’t fall for her?

The first time the two of you had kissed was on a pier. KK had begged for you to sneak out around midnight to go see her. You remembered how she looked under the moonlight, her skin glowing as she smiled at you.

“Come on.. What’s the worst that could happen?” KK had teased as she leaned against the railing, her hand caressing your cheek.

"I could burn in hell..?" You laugh nervously as you play with the cross sitting around your neck.

KK scoffed, her hand coming up to pull yours down as she leans in closer. "You deserve to be happy.. Even if it's with me." She whispers before pushing her lips against yours, both of your eyes fluttering closed.

You had messed up, of course you did. You hadn't meant to. It had just started with your mom glancing at your phone and seeing your lock screen, a photo of KK smiling on the pier.

"Who is that, Y/n?" your mother had asked eventually, her tone a bit suspicious.

You froze as you stared up at your mom. "A friend."

"You've been spending a lot of time with this friend." Your mother pointed out, her head tilted to the side as she turned back to the counter, going back to cutting vegetables for supper.

"She's just important to me is all," You forced out with a smile, sliding your phone into your pocket.

"You sound like you're in love with her. Which is wrong, you can't love a girl like that." She had spat out, not even turning around to look at you as she rambled on about how wrong it was.

You were silent for a minute before speaking up. "What if I was though?" Your voice barely above a whisper as your mom froze, turning around to stare at you with disbelief written on her face.

"It's not a sin, it's just love." Your voice was trembling as you sat down in one of the chairs, looking down as you played with your cross again, a habit that you picked up.

"It is a sin. You're just confused about all of this. You're only 19 after all, you'll find the perfect man soon enough. I raised you better than this."

"I-I'm not confused though, mama! This is who I am, I-I really do love KK." You snapped, your frustration finally boiling over.

"Do not bring her name into this house ever again." Your father had finally made his entrance, his voice thundering throughout the house, his hand slamming down onto the table making you jump and look over at him.

"We will fix this. Us and the church will pray for you. God will show you the right path." Your mom had joined back in, wiping her hands off on a towel as she steps closer to the table with your dad.

"You don't love her." Your father spat out coldly. "You love your family and God. You will repent for this, Y/n."

You had sat stiffly in the pastor's office, the walls were lined with Bibles, different texts, framed photos of baptisms and weddings. Your mother was sitting next to you holding a tissue for herself, dabbing at her eyes every few minutes. Your father was on the other side of you, his jaw tight and his hands were clasped together.

"Y/n.. Your parents told me you have been struggling recently. I wanted to let you know that God wants you to come back to him." Your pastor had leaned forward on his desk, his hands clasped together in front of him as well.

Your stomach churned, he made it sound like KK were a sin, something bad in her life. You looked down for a split second, your fingernails pressing into your palms before you stared right at him. "I never left him."

The pastor let out a sigh, taking his glasses off and setting them on the table. "I know this may be confusing for you, Y/n... The world is a difficult place, but you know what he says. God's word is the ultimate truth and we are to follow it."

Your mother reached a hand out to your knee as you looked back down again. "We love you, we really do, sweetheart. Don't let this... confusion ruin the beautiful life God has planned for you."

Your pastor cleared his throat, making the three of you look over to him. "In Corinthians, Paul tells us, 'Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived.'" He looked up back at you again. "I don't want that for you. None of us do."

That night you sat alone on your bedroom floor, staring at the cross above your bed, something you've had for years, it being a gift from your parents. It used to comfort you through sad times, now it's presence is suffocating. A constant reminder of what had happened earlier.

You pulled your knees to your chest as sobs fell from you. The constant reminder that they were right, you were just sick, you just needed God to save you again. Tears were covering your cheeks and eventually falling down onto KK's jacket, making even more sobs fall from you.

The next morning was quiet when you awoke. The rays of sunshine filling your room make you wince when you open your eyes. It took you a few minutes to get out of bed and to change into something, deciding on just a pair of jeans and a simple light blue floral shirt. Your heart ached when you reached for your bedroom door, taking a deep breath before opening it and walking out, making your way to the kitchen.

Both of your parents were in the kitchen, their talking stopping once they saw you. Your mother was at the counter holding a mug in her hand while your father was at the table, his bible open with notes next to it.

You nodded towards them before walking over and grabbing a glass and pulling out a tea bag, your back facing them.

"We still need to speak, Y/n." Your father said, making you freeze for a few seconds.

"I don't think there's anything else left to say." You refused to turn around just yet.

"There's a lot left to say. We will not sit here and watch you throw your life away just for some.. some girl."

"God has a life planned out for you, sweetheart. You're shutting him out, don't do this. Don't throw your life away."

Your silence only seemed to spur your father on even more. "Do you think this is easy for us?" he demanded. "Do you think we want to be sitting here having this conversation with you? We care about you, that is why we're here doing this. We are trying to save you, Y/n. You can come from this, it is not too late for that." Your fathers voice softened just a bit.

You stared at them in silence, your eyes filling with tears. You wanted to believe them. So bad. But you also wanted to love. You swallowed hard, forcing your words back down as you turned away from them and heading to the door.

"Y/n... Don't walk away from us." Your mother had pleaded, her voice cracking as she looked towards you. You paused for a moment, considering if it was worth it. "I'm sorry.." You whispered before walking out, your mom crying in the background as your father comforts her.

The walk to KK's apartment felt incredibly long, it only being around ten minutes though. You hesitated for a second when going to knock, debating if you should go back so KK didn't have to see you in such a mess.

You knocked softly twice before the door had opened, KK stood there with her hair pulled back with her uconn sweatshirt and shorts, her face lighting up when she saw you—before falling into concern.

"Y/n? What happened? Are you okay?" KK stepped forward, her hand reaching out towards you and helping you in the house, locking the door behind you.

You went to open your mouth to speak but no words came out, your throat felt tight as tears welled in your eyes again. “I… I can’t do it anymore, KK.. They all hate me.. m-my parents, the pastor. They think I’m broken and need help.”

KK’s face crumbled, a frown taking place on her as she grabbed your hands. She pulls you to the couch and sits down, pulling you so close next to her. “Baby.. You’re not broken, you’ve never been broke. Don’t listen to them at all. They don’t truly know you like I do. You’re amazing. Don’t let them do this to you, my love.”

Your lip quivered as you sniffled. “I’m so tired, KK.. I’m so tired of fighting for myself.”

KK nodded at you, pulling you closer to her chest as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know baby.. I know.. But I’m here every step of the way, screw them, okay? Move in with me or something. I love you so much.”

KK held you for what felt like hours, her sweatshirt covered in tears but she didn’t mind. You were here in her arms.

a/n : this is very ummm self indulgent kinda?? i did grow up in a religious family but not quite like this!! this is the longest fic i’ve posted on here too YAY

taglist : @mrsarnold @guiltyascaitlin @sweetluna20

[apollognese]

I'm gonna be playing devil's (Silco's) advocate for the near-end of the tea party scene because I've been going back and forth on this shit for the past week.

My thoughts: Silco didn't shoot at Vi with intentions to kill her, but rather to make her stop talking.

But wasn't he literally out to kill her before episode 9?? Yes, he was, but that was before Jinx knew she was alive. When she did find out, he gave up the hunt and redirected his focus to his daily routine.

Really, Silco just isn't stupid enough to kill Vi after that, much less in front of Jinx, even if he's high on adrenaline because unlike her, he is not impulsive. He knows Jinx is unpredictable, so there's no telling how she'll react if he did and if he can excuse his way out of it. And thanks to that tea party, he now also knows that there will always be a part of his daughter that yearns for Vi no matter how many baptisms he puts her through, similar to how he kept his respect for Vander.

But I would also like to point out that just like Jinx switching moods, Silco alternates between manipulative rat to protective father in 0.5 seconds. Before Jinx started spiraling, he was persuading her; when she confronted him about Vi, he told her to complete the weapon, etc. Yet the moment she shows signs of being on the verge of a breakdown, he puts her first—shooing her fears and doubts in his own twisted way, and not speaking over Vi's pleas to reach her when he's supposed to be the master of coercion. Instead he yells at Vi to 'shut up' because she has no idea what she was actually doing to her sister.

But Vi keeps going, and Silco desperately tries to break free from his ropes instead of talking—again, his specialty—to Jinx for what I assume is an attempt to go and comfort her (previous episodes suggest physical touch does that well). Unable to do so leaves him one option: the gun.

This is the part that made consider my main point. Before Jinx even fires, Silco aims and shoots.

The bullet goes not even remotely close to Vi's head or torso, but on the far side of her chair. Had she not moved, the most damaged would've been her arm. That shit was a warning shot.

Jinx killed him from a warning shot...

[myriadparacosm]

Because the Black family deserves a REAL LORE

Their names are stars (mostly but it's definitely a tradition and not a random one), there a not many families who would dare name their children after stars because the Black were here first.

The first of the their bloodline, at least who got a proper name, was Sol. Powerful wizard, terrifyingly so, and at that time Muggles weren't that many and still terrified of the dark - he had everything in his palm! A terribly ambitious wizard who decided to harness the stars, naming the Sun after himself and promising to name all the other stars for their powers.

The stars are his. A name for a power. Sol is the star and the rest is pure pitch black.

Sol Black got children and each baby was named after stars, one of the many he named with a promise. His children took on that heritage and the tradition kept on going, twisting over time and dripping with the darkest magic and hunger for power.

Babies always chose their own name with a burst of accidental magic around their second month. Grimmauld Place as one of the oldest house of their bloodline has, in the dancing room, a beautiful scene made up with tiles and precious gems to show all the stars and constellations to do this baptism.

Sometimes it went quick, barely bringing the child there and a star immediately shines, or it comes like a surprise, shy or too ferocious.

Sirius threw a fit in his father's arms, his star shining in rhythm of his wails. Regulus took a bit longer, quiet baby sucking on his thumb, with Walburga losing her patience before hiccuping and his star shone like a firework before quieting down.