#this is to say their church should pop the fuck off

[captain-lonagan]

not to be that guy but fr ankarna and cassandra are So much more marketable as a pantheon im dead fucking serious. doubt and the unknown? good and important, but in Marketing you have to add a bunch of shit to clarify intention like "stepping off the path and into the unknown is the first step to finding a better one" and "sometimes doubt and mystery is the path to the truth" and like. thats a lot to tack on. BUT if the goddess of Doubt and the goddess of New Beginnings are a package deal, BADA BING BADA BOOM you dont need to add a fuck ton of mortal interpretation to the divinity!

here is the doubt and mystery to lead you from your old ways! here is the dawn of the new ways you'll find!

it is good to be comfortable in the dark, but it is much more palletable to have a promise of eventual light

[theorist-fox]

The concept of Bad Man Simon Riley who's aware he's a Bad Man™️ is one I hold very dear to me.

Masterlist 🦊

Simon Riley is, fully and completely, what people envision as a bad man. He's a convoluted character who carries a lot of baggage, and that same weight has crushed him into the beast he is today.

His reflection is his constant reminder of the bad things he's done and endured. And when you have such a blatant, ever-present memento of how dark you really are, it's hard to forget.

He doesn't bother putting up a facade. Won't help the lady cross the street, nor will he take a bullet for someone else. No one has ever done that for him, so it's only natural to give the world a taste of its own medicine. He doesn't even try; it just happens.

It takes him nothing to leave Soap behind in Las Almas and find shelter in an abandoned church. Sure, he'll cover for him—if the lad is fast enough, that is. Saving Alejandro afterwards is a mere ploy to make this blasted mission end sooner—true, no one fights alone, but he'd like to get out of there as soon as possible, thank you very much.

Barely brushes the concept of Price's injury when he faints due to the inhalation of some Sarin gas of sorts. Can only think that if he'd died, he would have to take the captain's place in leading the operation. A fucking bummer alright—but cap's fine, thankfully, right? One less thing to worry about now.

Won't try to start relationships, because what good can he bring when he can't even drop a kind word for himself? He's awful, inside and out, and he's aware.

What happens, then, when he's suddenly loved?

What happens, then, when you're sliding under his skin, pretending you don't see the rot and the grime?

The question of "why" is pinned to the front of his brain like an annoying leech that plagues him day and night.

On the couch, you're absolutely unbothered by his dark presence next to you. You're just munching on popcorn and watching some film he doesn't even remember the name of.

"Y'should go," he says out of the blue.

You barely spare him a glance. "Film's not over yet."

No, that isn't what he meant, but he has an inkling that you've gathered that already.

"Ain't good for ya," he insists. "Ain't good for anyone, but that's a whole 'nother story."

You side-eye him from your end of the couch. "Self-deprecating at dinner time? Could you move it up the schedule a little, like—breakfast or somethin'."

He doesn't understand. Won't get through his skull. Share a home with him, and for what? What's he giving you that you're coveting so hard, enough to find it easy to snark back at a beast like him—poking the bear while wearing flimsy cotton shorts and a band t-shirt?

"Y'don't understand," he grits out. "I ain't a good man, love."

"Oh, I know." You say, popping a handful of popcorns in your mouth. "And?"

It irks him. Wants to bite off your head, but, surprisingly, he still has morals, and he wouldn't even dare touch you with ill intent.

"Don't act stupid, now." He warns.

"Ain't acting stupid." You reply as if there is some obvious thing he isn't getting. "You've done bad things, and bad things were done to you. That it?"

He hums as a frown paints his face.

"Should I love you less?" You go on, "Or not love you at all?"

"The latter."

"Wrong." You add as soon as he responds. "Wrong, because that's what you believe, not the truth."

He cocks a brow at your apparent arrogance. A nod in your direction, "What's the truth, then?"

You place the bucket of popcorn on the coffee table. "Truth is that you're human, Simon."

Now that's a word he wouldn't associate with himself.

Monster. Beast. Bear. Wraith, or demon. Ghost.

"As a person, good and bad can coexist—there is no such thing as night and day." You go on, seemingly unaware of the turmoil you've unleashed on his poor heart.

Keep saying the word person around him this often, and he'll start believing he is one.

So, you have seen the rotten flesh and the mud coating his insides. You have buried your hands in his viscera and coated your skin with his blood and the one he's spilled.

You know, and yet you're here. You're here because you've also seen something else, something he's not aware is there.

Same thing that made his heart lurch when Price wasn't waking up. Same thing that made him hide, prone in the bell tower of a Mexican church, making sure Soap would get back in one piece.

Same thing that has him gaze at you now, with eyes that sting with clear, fresh water. No rotting liquid, no oozing pus, or sickening blood.

You shrug, "Maybe your sun is a little eclipsed, but there's that. I can still see it, y'know?"

You outstretch your leg. Press the tips of your toes against his thigh. The world is suddenly in technicolor, and his chest warms like a rekindled flame.

You wink. "And it's bright as hell, too."

[angelicsjn]

Hi hi! I remember reading your blog last year and I found you again!!

So, SHOWER THOUGHT!! I was wondering how would the yan deals with their fans sending hate comments/death threats to MC just because they are dating them?

- Like for Roman, his F1 fans, they don’t like MC being his WAGs (I learn that from my F1 ✨bestie✨, unless MC is gender neutral coz I actually don’t remember).

- For Jae, his delusional K-pop fans (just like the real life delulu fans), if the relationship is not revealed and the paparazzi somehow manage to take a pic of them dating at night outside and the fans go crazy abt it.

- Kaidan is his online fans, Joshua is his fellow church members???? I’m not sure for Lento (his past hook-up?) and Hayden coz they sweet as hell.

YOUR SEVEN YANDERES.

A N: I will write it differently for the non-famous ones!

A B O U T: They see you're getting hated on.

W A R N I N G S: Death threats and online hate.

— ROMAN BEAUREGARD.

Roman is livid. He sees it all just before a race, and the whole day he's steaming, but hey, he got pole!

He has never raced so viciously in his life, and damn, he was still steaming afterwards.

Just know that he kissed you extra hard in front of the cameras that day, as a massive, 'fuck you' to the idiots who are horrible.

He wouldn't directly make a post about it. He's media trained and knows how to look good to the masses, but he does show you off more as a silent way of telling the fans to get a life.

— LATEN REED.

Laten only sees it when it's affecting you, he doesnt realise that the women around you are mean due to you both dating. He's so happy with you that nothing else exists outside of your little bubble.

Maybe you suggest breaking up. You cry over the mean comments they make towards you. Maybe you flat out ignore him in public to save yourself the backlash.

Either way, he is devastated. He's so upset that 1. He didn't notice, and 2. You're upset over a bunch of idiots.

He would comfort you, pamper you, baby you. Make sure that you're happy with him because he genuinely would go crazy if he ever lost you.

Laten will catch them out and flash his pretty smile, "Leave them alone. It's none of your business." And they smile and giggle, and suddenly they all love you and have a fanclub for you... which is also annoying.

But at least they're not mean anymore!

— JAE 'NIKO' LEE.

Due to his job and the nature of it. There is nothing that he can do. He needs to keep a polite and positive front, he can't let people know the real him.

But he is seething. Seeing the death threats? The doxxing? He's angry.

He will use it as an excuse to pin you underneath his thumb and keep you in place, "it's too dangerous out there, darling."

Honestly, he uses it to his advantage for his selfish desires of keeping you where he wants you.

But he does seek them out and have them sorted out. Legally, of course.

— KAIDAN WOLFE.

Kaidan is so upset. Our delusional baby is so overwhelmed by the fact that your sadness is due to his popularity.

His entire fandom is created by people who want him, of course it's his fault you're getting hate.

He posts you more and makes sure that you feel loved and seen. That he doesn't listen to them, doesn't care.

Kaidan takes you out on private dates and hangs around with you 1:1 to make sure that the intimacy is there.

He wants you to know that he loves you and doesn't care about what they say, so neither should you.

— HAYDEN WEST.

I genuinely don't see anything like this happening. He's a very introverted person and not really ever noticed by others.

He thanks the world for bringing you so close into his grasp.

— JOSHUA WHITE.

The girls at the church can be vicious. Joshua is the perfect man. The perfect husband. The perfect father. Their dream man.

Taken by you? What in God's name?

He doesn't seem the sly remarks or the jabs made your way at first. He's so busy helping the community.

When he finally picks up on your behaviour as you slowly crawl into yourself due to their nastiness, he's over it.

He hates bullies. Those who are unkind. It goes against everything he believes in.

He makes sure to make it known in the church that its people will remain respectful and kind, to love thy neighbour, and to stop being judgmental idiots.

He also makes sure to make eye contact with those who make you uncomfortable, to really lay it on thick that he won't stand for any of it.

— BLAKE CROSS.

Blake picks up on it way before you do, and he stamps it out just as fast.

He's wealthy, from a wealthy family and knows what he wants and how to get it.

He got you, and he's not going to lose you because of a bunch of idiots.

Unlike the others, he has no social boundaries and will create a fuss.

"Shut up, I wouldn't even piss on you if you were on fire." He spits their way before dragging you away from them with a scowl and clenched jaw.

Honestly, it doesn't take long for him to get rid of idiots. He knows he can be a nasty person, and he will take advantage of it.

[chaoticace2005]

The list of regrets I totally have and am not just writing because Charlie is making me, Vagina Vaggie is glaring at me, and I want the free rent:

By Angel Dust, 3 time X-X-X award winner.

(Warning, there is some victim blaming in this. The abuse Angel faces from Val is not his fault, but given that I’m writing this from his perspective I figured it would be something he’d add.)

1. Writing this list

2. Verbally complaining about writing this list cause now Vagina wants to stab me.

3. Only taking half my usual hit before starting today.

4. Complaining about not being high enough.

5. Not hiding my drugs better

6. Not having more stashes of drugs

7. Calling TV superior to radio.

8. Not killing that snake before he had a chance to go to the hotel.

9. Not “trying hard enough” at this shitty hotel.

10. Being too close to roof so the CRAZY BITCH COULD THROW ME OFF OF IT.

11. Walking up the stairs with Pentious only to have to go IMMEDIATELY BACK DOWN.

12. Signing my deal with fucking Valentino. Seriously I’m a fucking idiot.

13. Even suggesting the idea that Charlie should come to the studio. She’s just going to get hurt.

14. Mouthing off to Val.

15. Not getting Charlie out of the hotel sooner

16. Being such a pathetic, dick sucking ho who isn’t good at anything beyond sex.

17. Not being able to take all of this.

18. Not acting well enough cause some this bitchass cat is seeing through me.

19. Ever offering that bitchass cat my services.

20. Pushing Husk’s boundaries

21. Not being my true self.

22. Acting for so long I don’t even really know who my true self is

23. Being a dick to Charlie

24. Being a dick to Husk

25. Being a dick to everyone

26. Putting my dick in a vacuum cleaner.

27. Calling Smiles a creepy dommy daddy.

28. Letting Niffty know about some of my more kinky films. She’s getting ideas…

29. Trying to play poker with Husk (and not even strip poker!)

30. Testing if my venom works on myself (it doesn’t and now I have pink bite marks)

31. Leaving what I used to clean my bites out because somehow Alastor found them and is now TEMPORARILY PARALYZED AND I DONT WANT HIM TO KILL ME WHEN HE CAN MOVE AGAIN.

32. Not answering Val’s texts.

33. Wearing boots. Seriously these things hurt sometimes.

34. Having ugly feet so I can’t NOT wear boots.

35. Tracking mud into the hotel

36. Mentioning sex around the Egg Bois because now I have to explain what it is.

37. Describing sex as something their boss “has never had,” it got back to Pentious and I’m scared.

38. Mentioning “Vox” anywhere in Alastor’s vicinity.

39. Agreeing to play Monopoly with Niffty. In general Monopoly sucks but Niffty likes to get knives involved?!?!

40. Getting addicted to drugs.

41. Getting caught in that alleyway by my BITCHASS brother.

42. Not trying harder for Molly.

43. Not saying goodbye.

44. Fucking overdosing.

45. Doing literally fucking nothing with my life and nothing with my death.

46. Taking the easy was out and doing whatever pops told me to

47. Yelling “FUCK” loudly in church that one time

48. Not teaching these people at the hotel how to FUCKING MAKE SPAGHETTI RIGHT?!

49. Getting high with Cherri.

50. Telling Val to “fuck off”

51. Flirting with that one cannibal guy because now they all seem to want to EAT ME (and not in the sexy way)

52. Leaving those pot brownies out. High cannibals, Egg Boiz, and Nifftys are terrifying.

53. Letting myself be named “Angel” because this makes shit too damn confusing plus I think Niffty wants to KILL ME?!

54. Not spending more time with these losers

55. Not opening myself up to Husk sooner.

56. Being too much of a coward to tell him how I feel.

57. Mentioning Pent has two dicks to Cherri cause she won’t stop asking about it.

58. Not doing enough to save Pentious.

59. Not telling him how much he means to me.

60. Trying to lift way more than I should have. Apparently six arms doesn’t mean I’m super strong.

61. Calling Niss a short motherfucker who nobody likes. I’m sorry, I’ll be better (and call him something even worse next time.)

62. Still being too much of a coward to tell Husk how I feel.

63. Flirting with Husk in Italian when he UNDERSTOOD ME THIS WHOLE DAMN TIME?!

64. Getting a room on the same side of the building as Alastor’s because he keeps laughing at 3 in the morning???

65. Kissing Husk in public. Val is mad.

66. Trying to even have a boyfriend with Val around. It’s stupid.

67. Calling yourself stupid for wanting to have a boyfriend.

68. Giving my boyfriend access to this list.

69. No regrets. Only 69. :D (Jesus Christ you’re a child.)

[nanqmies]

Priest!Baizhu | Drabble+ Hc

cw: lowkey manipulative baizhu?? creampie, masturbation, semi-public sex, very religious themes, m!reader, dubcon?? idk, if i forgot anythin please inform me!!

wc: 0.7k

a/n: i do apologize for not postin that much!! i have a lot going on 𖦹 ´ ᯅ ` 𖦹 , writers block is kickin my ass.. i do have fics in the works!! m tryna to make everything more pleasin to the eye, i will try to make a masterlist soon ^^ please enjoy my work.♡

nsfw under the cut~

Priest!Baizhu; who kindly welcomed you to the church with open arms, always inviting you to his sermons to listen to him preach the words of archon. Seeming so kind, a humble smile always on his face while preaching at the stand, welcoming others into the church. Soft voice filling the room as he spoke, sending heat down to the deepest parts of you.. Utterly mesmerizing, the way his soft eyes scanned over the room, pushing up his glasses when the slide down the slope of his nose. His eyes ended up being on you at the end of the day.

Priest!Baizhu; who listens to every single time you avow your deep urges, whispering in shame of the sinful thoughts that constantly flooded your mind when you thought of him. How shameful you are, giving into the hands of sin,, you never notice how his eyes darken as he listens, Priest baizhu is a mysterious man they say..

Priest!Baizhu; who can’t help but laugh at how cute you are, trusting him with all the little things you’ve told him behind the confessional walls. How much you yearned for a certain mans touch against your untouched skin, to ruin the only true form of purity you had.

Priest!Baizhu; who pops a boner whenever you sob and beg archons to forgive you and your misbehaviors. Maybe he should feel bad,, clearly your faith was a big part of living, but god the tears flowing down the apples of your cheeks make him want to ruin you. Wiping your tears with his thumbs, whispering prayers whilst rubbing your back softly,, telling you everything will be okay when he’s there. That he’ll gracefully listen to any of the problems you may have,, hushing your hiccuping sobs. he hopes you don’t notice the tent in his pants

Priest!Baizhu; who ends up touching himself after speaking to you, lightly rubbing his glands with his fingertips, smearing thick beads of pre over his length. Baizhu obviously knows how perverted he is, thinking of ruining you, rutting his hips against his clasped palm. Sticky white covering his thin fingers, he sighs and takes off his glasses. A light layer of sweat over his forehead, you’ve clouded his mind for weeks.

Priest!Baizhu; who (sometimes) when he’s feeling risky will tread his hands down his pants while listening to your voice in the confessional, shallowly stroking his shaft trying to keep in his breathy groans. Nearly coming in his pants when your voice is laced with shame. A small part of him wishes you’d hear him, hear him pleasing himself at the sound of your soft voice.

Priest!Baizhu; who always tells you that ‘Theres nothing wrong with such urges ’ whispering in your ears, his hands brushing against your thighs gently pushing them apart.. just enough for your eyes to meet his, a smile painted against his pretty pink lips

was his smile always this unsettling?

Priest!Baizhu; who ends up fucking you in the the confessional booth, ripping off your modest attire, defiling you in public, shushing you when you get too loud reciting the words from the holy book in his hand. Ripping away the only form of purity you had, taking your virginity as retribution for your sins. Baizhu’s thumbs pressed harder into your hips, he can barely keep in the groans that bless his lips. Committing such sacrilege in the house of the lord above, turned him on in such a way.

‘It’s the only way you’ll be forgiven’

Priest!Baizhu; who comforts you when his cocks aggressively enter and leave your sex, shushing your tears and promising that you’ll be reborn pure after he blows his load into you. His words singing false promises into your ears, its oddly comforting.. the feeling of being so full in his warm embrace,,

Priest!Baizhu; who thinks about making you worship him instead, shouldn’t you be begging him to save you? Maybe he hasn’t fucked the greedful lust out of your system yet.. Every session ends up with you bent over while Baizhu has his way with you, pleading of archon to pardon your transgressions of their word.

‘Oh my love.. you’ll earn your forgiveness soon my dear..’ he kisses the corner of your lips gently.

‘Just keep being a good boy for me..’

Priest!Baizhu; who fills you full with his seed, telling you that the ones above forgive you for your sins,, petting your hair and pressing you against his chest.

Priest!baizhu; who can’t wait for next Sunday to come to redo it all again..

@nanqmies © 2023

please do not translate, steal or repost my work.

reblogs and feedback appreciated!

[lmskitty]

Here's have some Satosugu family stupidity. This is mostly just humour/crack fic because I needed a little break today. Hope you enjoy!

5 conversations Megumi Fushiguro overheard that he wished he hadn't.

Megumi Fushiguro loves his family, friends and boyfriend. He also hates all of them and thinks they should be the ones to pay for his therapy. Here are the things he has been made to hear with his own two ears over the course of one week.

1. The Todo Incident.

Todo mimed rudely with his right hand, his left hand holding his soft drink.

“Bro seriously if you sit on your hand it totally feels like it's a different person. Granted you should do both hands if you want the full package involved though.”

Yuji sighed “Number 1 no it doesn't, 2 stop telling me these things and 3 I don't even need this information!!” He hissed, pulling Todo’s arm down to stop him making the gesture.

Todo stared at him and then at Megumi and then erupted into applause wiping his eyes and hugging his friend, telling him how proud of him he was. He put his hand on Megumi's shoulder and congratulated him on his willpower and relationship, remarking that he had seen what his brother was working with and Megumi was truly strong in spirit for taking on that challenge. Megumi bent his finger back nearly breaking it and told him to never speak to him nor touch him again if he wanted to keep the other fingers.

2. The downfalls of understanding Riceball language.

Toge sat beside Yuta and leant his head on his shoulder before looking up at him, a gentle smile on his face.

Yuta smiled back. “I missed this. It's nice getting to hang out together in person again isn't it?”

Toge: Salmon, salmon, tuna mayo. (It was nicer getting to spend the morning in bed together with your dick in my throat)

Yuta coughed turning red. Megumi stared off to the side pretending he hadn't understood that.

Yuji stared at all of them. “Aw man did Toge say something funny again? I gotta get my head around that speech of his, it's so cool.

Megumi shook his head.

3. Not even safe at home.

Gojo walked into the kitchen and took his shirt off sitting next to his husband.

“Baby you are not gonna BELIEVE the size of the spot on my back”

Geto put his book down looking interested “bigger than the one on your thigh the other day?”

Gojo nodded "for sure!” He sat facing away from his partner. “Go slow though please it's gonna sting like a bitch I just know it”

Geto sighed and squeezed at his back and popped it. He showed Gojo how much was on his finger.

“Woah there was so much!” Geto said.

“Told you!” Gojo said. “Ooooh you know I'm kind of in a mood to be pampered, think you can do my eyebrows later, like tweezing them?” Gojo said, leaning his head back onto his partner's lap.

Geto smiled “Ok baby, and wanna do face masks like last time?”

Gojo nodded and clapped his hands together happily.

Megumi shut the fridge door behind them.

“Sometimes I think it would be less gay if I walked in on you two actually fucking” he said and took his coke upstairs.

“Oh go kiss your boyfriend you homophobe!” Gojo yelled after him, Geto laughed.

4. Girl talk

“No lube, no protection, all night all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the church, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, while i gasp for air and scream the lord’s prayer, he can have me!!!!” Nanako wailed at the TV lying on the floor pretending to claw at the screen watching the new Jungkook video again for the 15th time.

“He is pretty cute,” Tsumiki smiled.

“He could spit on my face and I'd thank him,” Mimiko sighed.

Megumi looked down at his salad and threw it in the bin deciding to only visit the kitchen when he was sure no one else was there.

5. Couples counselling

“Look I get it, I know you have an image to maintain but can we please just talk about it” Nobara said following Maki who sighed and stood up ahead.

“No, can we please just drop it”

“It's ok to be embarrassed but honestly I think it's really cute you're always the little spoon! I'm sorry I called myself your jetpack!”

“Panda is never gonna let me live this down,” Maki said. “And you can stop smirking too!” She yelled pointing her staff at Megumi who raised his hands and backed away going down the other way through the corridor.

[ramblingoak]

how about being caught kissing with the cardinal?

Ooo yes, wouldn't that be nice! I wouldn't mind getting caught doing worse with him to be honest... Prompt is from this list of Kiss Prompts!

Yay Satan Day

Cardinal Copia x Female Reader ~ Copia does his best to distract you from your job

Warnings: Copia being a smug shit, vaginal fingering, nsfw, 18+ only, MDNI, 1600 words

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

He was doing that stupid thing with his eyebrows again.

You and Cardinal Copia had been stuck in a meeting with Terzo for close to an hour now.  Sister Imperator had instructed you all to create an event to try to bring the local community closer to the church.  ‘Something to show them we don’t spend our days sacrificing babies and having orgies’ were her exact words.  At least the baby part wasn’t true, but you knew of at least four orgies that had taken place in the last week alone.

“We should call it ‘Yay Satan Day’.”

“Can we focus on actually creating the event before we name it?”  You pretended you didn’t see Terzo rolling his eyes.  “And for the last time we’re not calling it that.”

Copia sighed and his chair creaked as he leaned back in it.  You gave him a quick glance but then forced your eyes away.  Most days you had a hard time keeping your eyes off of him, but it was always harder when he wore the white suit.  The bastard had to have worn it on purpose today judging by how he waggled his eyebrows every time he caught you looking at him.  You had no idea how this man had become a Cardinal, let alone win all those stupid employee of the month awards.  He wasn’t listening to a damn thing Papa was saying.

Terzo himself didn’t seem to be focusing that much either.  You really didn’t blame him, you were the one technically in charge of all the event and party planning at the abbey.  Usually Terzo’s main job at these things was to show up and look pretty.  The only thing he seemed interested in helping with today was naming the event, but he kept pouting after you shot down all of his ideas.  You weren’t naming the damn thing ‘Yay Satan Day’ no matter how many times he’d suggested it.

“Sorella?  Do you agree?” 

Fuck.  You focused back on Terzo who was looking at you expectantly.

“Yes sorella, I would like your input as well.  On his idea.”  

That son of a bitch.  You looked down at your notes to buy yourself some more time.  All you had on there was a small doodle of one of Copia’s rats.  You looked over at him, narrowing your eyes at the stupid smirk on his face.  When he raised an eyebrow you gritted your teeth and glanced away.  You were going to shave both of his eyebrows off when he fell asleep tonight.

“I think that as long as we uh, well as long as we stay under budget that should be feasible.”  

You wrote a quick note down like the responsible event planner that you were and smiled up at Papa.  Now he was raising one of his eyebrows at you, but you kept the smile on your face, refusing to back down.  Terzo chuckled and then popped up from his chair, straightening his clothes as he made his way around his desk.

“Well this has been great fun, but I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere.”  You hid your notes when he stopped by you and tried to give him an innocent look.  “I’m sure you two can handle everything else, si?  Cardinal make sure my banner gets ordered.”

“Of course, Papa.”

When you spun in your chair to glare at Copia he was ignoring you and picking imaginary lint off his suit.  What the fuck had you agreed to?

“Ok, you two have fun, but not in my office.  Ciao!”

“Okie dokie, Papa.”

Copia caught your eyes as he called out to Terzo before the door shut behind him.  

“Copia, what does this banner say?”

“Nothing special.”  He bit his lip for a moment before continuing,  “Have you kissed me today?”

“Yes, several times this morning.”  You threw your pen at him, laughing when he squawked as it hit his suit.  “Have you forgotten already?”

“Ah well, you know.  Silly me.”

He held out your pen but as soon as you reached out to grab it he took your hand and tugged you out of your chair.

“Copia, no, I don’t have time.”  You sighed in exasperation when he successfully pulled you into his lap, not that you had put up much of a fight.  He wrapped an arm around your waist and held you tightly against him, smiling smugly at you the whole time.  “Are you happy now?”

“Mmm, si.  Very happy.  But…”  He stuck his bottom lip out a bit and you sighed.  “I wish we were kissing.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Very much so.  I think I deserve at least one for helping during the meeting.  Maybe two.”

“I’m sorry, how did you help?  All you did was make stupid faces at me!”

“I said I’d order this banner, didn’t I?  That’s very helpful.”

You wiggled around in his lap so you faced him, ignoring the little pleased grunt he made.

“You’re not ordering anything, Copia, what does this banner s–mmph!”

A hand in your hair and his mouth on yours stopped your question.  Normally you’d be annoyed at this tactic, but it had been a while since you’d kissed him last.  You settled against his chest, deciding to just let him win this time.  He made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping in to tease yours.  After a few minutes he pulled away, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before leaning back to give you a lazy smile.

“We should put you in a kissing booth for this thing.”  You groaned and tried to get up, but his arms stayed firm around you.  “No, no I’m serious!  You’re very good.”

“Copia, come on.  I’ve gotta go.”

He sighed and loosened his arms.  You immediately got up before he changed his mind, spinning and stepping back to lean against Terzo’s desk.  You watched as he rose from his chair, grunting a bit as he straightened up.  He reached down to tug at the crotch of his pants to give himself more room.  You felt endlessly pleased that he was already half hard just from a kiss, but when he noticed your smug look he raised that damned eyebrow again.

“Something to say, sorella?”  When you shook your head he stepped closer, resting a hand on either side of you against the desk.  “Do you like getting me all riled up?”

“Yes, I do.  It’s great fun.”

Copia muttered ‘brat’ under his breath before moving in to take your lips again.  This kiss was much more intense, your mouth opening under his immediately.  You buried your hands in his hair while his came down to your hips, his hands squeezing your flesh and urging you up.  Without breaking away from his mouth you let him help you onto Terzo’s desk, ignoring the sound of things clattering around as Copia shoved them out of the way.  Once you were settled he placed a hand on your knee, slipping it under your habit and up your leg.  The leather of his glove was warm against the skin of your thigh and you moaned into his mouth when he reached the hem of your panties. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours.

“Are you wet for me?”  You gasped into his mouth when he ran a finger over the silk covering your cunt.  “If I take my glove off will I feel how much you want me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Copia growled, bringing his hand up to his mouth and tugging the glove off with his teeth.  Another growl rumbled in his chest when he tasted you on the leather.  When he was done he tossed it behind you onto the desk and leaned in to kiss you again.  His bare hand quickly found its way back under your skirt and you gasped when his fingers slid under your panties.  He rested one right at your wet entrance and you both broke away again, panting into each other's mouths when it easily slipped inside.  A smug grin broke out on his face, but before you could snap at him the door opened and Terzo waltzed back in.

“What are you two still do–ai!  No!  What did I say?!”

You shoved Copia away and jumped down from the desk, frantically straightening your skirt.  Terzo had switched to Italian as he and Copia began to snap back and forth at each other.  You grabbed your pen and notebook from the floor, freezing when Terzo turned with a finger pointed at you.

“Sorry Papa!”  He waved a hand at you and then stomped over to his desk.  Muttering under his breath as he straightened up the things you and Copia had knocked over.  You glared at Copia when he snickered as he walked towards you.  “Stop that!  You got me in trouble.”

Copia grabbed your hand, grinning as he tugged you towards the door.

“Far worse things have been done on that desk.  He’ll get over it.”  

“Hey!”  Both of you turned at the sound of Terzo’s voice, you watched warily as he glared at you with his hands on his hips.  “We’re calling it ‘Yay Satan Day’.”

“Ugh, fine!”  You ignored Terzo’s triumphant grin and turned back towards the door.  “I hate you both.”

“Si, I know.”  Copia opened the door for you and squeezed your hand when you went into the hall.  “Let’s uh head back to your room to clean up a bit, okie dokie?”  

More shouts from Terzo stole your attention away and you peered around Copia to see Papa poking something on top of his desk.

“Cardinal!  Come get your glove!  Satan, where has this thing been?!”

You looked at Copia and smiled before squeezing his hand back.

“Okie dokie.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

my masterlist

my ao3

[socialistmary]

Pairing: Reader x Joel Miller

Warning: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, smut with very little plot, age gap (Joel's in his 50s & Reader's in her late 20s), cheating, delicious catholic guilt, afab!reader, pet names (no use of Y/N), no outbreak!AU, unprotected sex (no one said adults are responsible, but you should be), p in v steamy car sex, bit of angst?, very minimally proofread, sorry about that bby

Summary: fun times after Sunday service, forgive me mum, pastor Craig (😉);

Word count: 2.2k

Author's Note: this is part of my 'Devil on my back' series, where lovely Reader is a lonely little married Christian woman; not really sure where this sits on the timeline yet, will see when more parts come out. 👁️👄👁️🌸✨ in the meantime, lemme know what you think and if there's anything you'd like to see in this series (or outside of it), i am very easily influenced

That dainty golden cross nestled just over your cleavage sparkled and shone in the sun, almost blinding Joel with every thrust upwards into your wet pussy, squelching sounds of your bodies meshing together, filthy and delicious, almost enough to drive him over the edge.

He wasn’t entirely sure how you got here today, in the back of his truck after a particularly boring Sunday service, tits spilled out of your dress, panties pushed to the side as you grind deeper onto his cock, mouth slack and eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, riding him for all he’s got. Christ, he hadn’t been to church in ages.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought, reaching out to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth, and relishing in the way you arched your back into him, leaning further into his touch. Just last night he’d decided to take a break from you and your good girl charms, finding it increasingly difficult to justify all the attention he’d been giving you.

“Joel,” he heard you whisper in your raspy, fucked out voice, followed by a loud squeal as his palm came down with a loud SMACK! on your right ass cheek, thick fingers digging into the skin hard enough to feel but not hard enough to leave bruises Dax might question later at home.

You felt him shift underneath you, feet planted firmly on the floor of his truck, left hand moving up to the grab handle, mouth releasing your nipple with a pop and a string of saliva, the sight of which had your face blushing and your pussy throbbing around his cock.

“Hold on, baby,” you heard him say, and before you could think about it, Joel was slamming himself into you, hard and deep, cock barely out of your pussy with each thrust, hips rolling into yours at an angle that had you screaming with white-hot pleasure. He smiled up at you, brown eyes half-lidded and pupils blown, still thrusting with unrelenting fervour. He groaned and sucked a breath of air into his mouth as he felt your wet pussy contracting around him, juices dripping further down, mixing into his pubic hair and making for a downright pornographic image he was sure to file away in the dark corners of his mind and remember for a long time.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he coaxed, hand leaving its place on your hip to brush the hair off your wet and sticky forehead. You didn’t even realise your eyes were so tightly closed until you opened them, glancing down to see Joel looking better than you’ve ever seen him, hair dishevelled and tanned skin glistening with sweat. “Good girl, that’s it,” he whispered, voice roughed up, eyes cloudy and glossed over with desire.

You were the picture-perfect modern Stepford wife as you stepped into church that Sunday morning, hair done up, modest summer dress chosen for the occasion, and golden cross resting daintily on your chest. A far cry from the scene Joel had in front of him now, and which made his insides swell with pride at being the one who gets to ruin you this way. His good little Christian girl, a drooling, moaning mess on top of him. Joel groaned, strong arms digging into your middle to bring you even closer, face pressing in the curves of your breasts, peppering soft kisses over your burning skin. You still smelled faintly of the coffee you had that morning, and the sweet and tangy blueberry muffins you had baked for church. Soothing and smooth, and so fucking tempting at the same time.  

He could feel you were close, pussy clenching around his cock, moans getting more breathless and needier with each hard thrust.

“Joel…” he heard you say again in a heady voice, heavy with desire, that he’d never heard from you before. It made him want to lose control, to grab you by the meat of your hips and fuck you into oblivion, until you only remembered his name. Somehow, surprising himself, he managed to slow down, smiling when he heard you whine softly in disapproval. “Please…”

“‘Please’ what, darlin’? Use your words, pretty girl,” he teased in a slightly condescending tone, rolling his hips slowly and deeply into yours, thick cock brushing that soft spongy area inside you with every thrust, leaving you unable to form words coherently. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, greedily drinking in the smell of your skin, sun lotion and blueberry muffins, with a thick layer of just the most unbiblical sex, that selfishly made him hope Dax would happen about to see what’s going on.

But this really wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d really promised himself last night that he’d stay off you in some way, try to see you a little less often, leave for work only after you finished your daily morning coffee on the porch – hell, anything – just to get this sweet cunt and angel face out of his head, and get one good night’s sleep. Wasn’t really helping how you had also started to seep into his waking thoughts with your clothes on, and in really mundane scenarios too. Most of all, he found he really wished you spent the night in his arms sometimes.

“Please make me cum, Joel.”

That was all he needed to hear. He grabbed your thighs with both hands and shifted slightly upwards to get in a steadier position, not missing the way your face scrunched up in the cutest way at the feeling of his cock dragging inside your sopping pussy. You were a sight, skin flushed red, lips puffy and swollen, and your up-do now sprawled across your shoulders, golden cross stuck to the warm skin of your neck in an upwards position that made all of this just so ironic. He swallowed hard before looking deeply into eyes and rising a warm hand to your face, which you leaned onto in such a familiar way, a thousand tiny aches filled his lower belly, travelling up.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as Joel’s thumb travelled lightly across your cheek, moving towards your mouth and across your bottom lip, sending a wave of warmth through your body. You lean further in, breath mingling with his, air charged with electricity.

When your lips finally meet, your kiss is slower, more tender than either of you expected, seemingly a dance of vulnerability and desire. Joel’s lips are gentle yet possessive, exploring yours with a deepening hunger that mirrors your own longing for him.

Your fingers find their way to the back of his neck, grabbing into his hair and pulling him closer, your body instinctively pressing further against his, all this friction eliciting a load groan from each of you. Joel left hand grabs your thigh roughly, causing a new hot flash of arousal to flow through your core, his other hand interrupting your kiss. He doesn’t have to say anything before you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking softly and running your tongue around it, looking into his eyes with that fucked-out look you know he loves.

You release his thumb with a pop! and lick your lips at the loss, savouring the way he’s looking at you right now, like you’re some sort of goddess, intense and unwavering, with a sense of awe, reverence, and a hint of uncertainty.

Joel can barely control himself from snapping his hips into yours and taking you fast and hard across your threshold. Instead, he gazed into your eyes more lovingly than you ever remember him doing and placed a strong hand flat across your chest, gently lowering you back until your shoulders are pressed to the driver’s seat. One knee on each side of him, you watch Joel suck in a sharp breath. This new angle, dress ridden up above your hips to give him a better view of your glistening pussy, fat cock inside and stretching you out, the head of it nudging that soft spongy place inside of you that makes you see stars, and he can tell.

“Joel, I can’t –“

“Shh…” he cuts you off with a gentle whisper. “Have I ever left you hanging, darlin’?” he starts rolling his hips into your own, smiling to himself, seeing your eyes defocus and your pouty lips form a most delicious “o”. Your moans are sweet and quiet, always trying to keep the volume down when he fucks you somewhere outside. So considerate, he thinks to himself, running his tongue over the same thumb that was just in your mouth, before bringing it down where your bodies meet and running slow, tight circles around your clit, all the while starting to pump his cock in and out of your sopping hole.

By this point, you’re a heady, moaning mess on top of him, skin sleek and shiny with sweat, face beautifully contorted in pleasure, your fingers pressing against your lips in a self-soothing, agonizingly charming little gesture. Joel can feel your cunt tightening around him with every push upwards, and waves of arousal pooling out of you to coat his cock with every stroke downwards.

He knows you’re close, he can feel you starting to grind a little harder into him, mouth open and panting, your tits bouncing slightly in his dazed face as you mindlessly try to chase your orgasm. He’ll help you through, and he’ll help himself too. Joel grabs your hips hard, lifting you off his cock and dragging you back down with ardour, revelling in your loud, breathless moans and the way your pussy has him in a vice-like grip, sucking him back in, dripping and squelching with your cum as you let him fuck into you like a man starved.

“FUCK, Joel!” you cry out in a hushed whisper, feeling that coil inside you snap and your insides pulsing around his cock. You stand up a little straighter with him still inside and grab his face with both hands to kiss him deeply, taking control of all movement between the two of you. Too surprised to fight back for it, Joel leans into your kiss, hands kneading the soft skin of your hips, fingers digging in firmly, no longer that worried about leaving visible marks.

You smile sweetly against his soft lips and Joel could swear he felt his hear skip a beat. The tenderness of your touch, the warmth of your embrace, this is why he can’t stay away from you. Joel moans a little louder when you start grinding down on him in a particularly delicious way, hands flying from your hips to your tits, kneading and pinching and alternating wet kisses between your hardened nipples. “Just like that, baby – fuck,” he pants, going to loudly slap both your ass cheeks, fingertips grabbing firmly to spread you even further apart on his cock. He loses it when he feels your warm breath on the shell of his ear, softly moaning, coming undone on top of him. Joel snaps his hips upwards, thrusting in and out of you at a pace you’re somehow always surprised by, his face buried in your neck, showering you with sloppy open mouthed kisses, nibbling the little golden necklace and feeling sinfully proud of himself.

You can feel his movements becoming more erratic underneath you, hips snapping up hard, fast, and haphazardly to meet yours. “Fuck, sweetheart, always takin’ me so well,” Joel groans breathlessly, thrusting his hips upwards a few more times, before his hot, sticky cum is filling your pussy, some of it spilling out and around his cock. A minute later, when he feels your soft arms going around him in an embrace, nimble fingers playing through his wet and sticky hair, he lifts his face towards yours to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

***

The air inside Joel’s truck was heavy with the remnants of your hot, steamy fucking, alongside a thick atmosphere of unspoken feelings that never seemed to weigh as much as it did now. You and Joel sat side by side, still catching your breaths and trying to regain your composure.

Your heart felt like a battlefield, torn between the exhilaration you felt with Joel and the deep guilt and shame you felt for betraying your wedding vows and Dax. Oh, Dax, you worried, hand going automatically to smooth down your hair and dress. You knew this couldn’t continue and yet you somehow always ended up in the same place, not even sure exactly what triggered all these intimate moments between you.

Joel swallowed hard. He could tell you were just running around in your brain guilt tripping yourself over what had happened yet again, and he remembered with a sigh this was one of the reasons he’d decided to get out of your way initially. And no matter how hard he tried to resist, he found himself drawn back to you every time. Your entire being was intoxicating to him, and as much as he tried to be the voice of reason and protect you from the consequences of your actions, he couldn’t that easily deny his own desire and longing for you.

You broke the silence first, voice trembling slightly as you spoke. “I should go,” you said, eyes turning towards Joel’s, searching for some form of reassurance.

He nodded, knuckles turning white from the grip he had on the steering wheel. “Yeah, you should,” he replied softly, hoping either one of you would gather the strength to walk out first and stay the hell out of the other’s way.

[leonardalphachurch]

@redvsbluesecretsanta present for @thetality !

sorry that she is late chronic fatigue has been absolutely kicking my ass please give love to @donut-entendre who without his help i would not have been able to finish this 🙏

thetality asked for something with theta and/or caboose so i decided to go with modern au fluffy bonding stuff. bc the world needs more theta caboose friendship

(also available to read on ao3)

***

Waffles Time

Theta wakes up at 3am scared and alone. Caboose takes it upon himself to make them feel a little less alone.

This can only mean one thing: it’s waffles time.

Blink. Blink blink.

Theta rubbed the sleep out of their eyes.

Wait.

Theta rubbed the sleep out of their eyes?

Oh.

Their mind was quiet, but for a buzzing of anxiety and stress. No one else was there. No welcoming. No arguing.

They looked around. The time on their watch read 2:35. AM. A message popped up. An unknown number.

They looked around. Their phone lay on the floor across the room. Even from their place on the bed, Theta could see the screen had been shattered. A dent in the wall above it.

Oh.

Theta took off their watch.

It wasn't long before footsteps lingered in the hall, pausing in front of their door.

"Church?"

Oh no.

Theta didn’t want to talk to Alpha’s friends. They didn’t want to have to answer questions and be looked at and judged and—

“Um. Please go away please.”

“Yeeeaaah... No… Are you okay? Did you also have a nightmare? Because…"

Theta fumbled for the lamp, flicking it on and wincing at the sudden brightness. Their things were a little bit everywhere.

“... but I get those all the time. Sometimes my dad dies again and-"

Boxers. Why did Alpha have to sleep in just a night shirt and boxers? The leg of a pair of sweatpants poked out of a pile on the bed. They quickly pulled it on.

“... I always hate the marshmallow dreams because Tucker always eats them all and there isn't any left… Hey, you're really quiet today!”

Oh, right. Alpha wasn’t very nice to his friends, was he.

“No I’m very normal!” Theta shouted at the door, “um. Fff.. fuck, you.” They winced at their own words.

The doorknob clicked horribly as the man pushed in.

Theta ducked under the covers. “Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry.”

“Oh, you don't have to be sorry for locking the door! It was already broken - which wasn't anyone's fault - Did you forget again? I can remind you any time."

That… wasn’t why they were apologizing. But for some reason, it did help ease Theta’s worries. They peeked out from under the covers.

Towering over the bed was Caboose, complete with messy bedhead and big warm pajamas. He looked down at Theta with a large, sleepy grin. When Theta just kept staring back, his expression got contemplative.

Should… should they say something?

But there was no need, as Caboose seemed to suddenly realize something. “Oooohh.... You're the little one!”

“Um….” Theta considered lying, but they would never make a convincing Alpha. “Maybe…”

“Hello little Church!” Caboose launched himself onto the bed, bouncing a little as he landed.

Theta jumped backwards, “Um! H-hi…”

“You don’t have to run away, Little Church, we’re not playing hide and seek.”

“My name is Theta…”

“Okay. You don’t have to run away, Theta, we’re not playing hide and seek.”

“I, I know.” Theta tried to relax. Caboose wasn’t a threat. This they knew. Memories of Alpha’s friends were fuzzy and incomplete, but the emotions bled through. And the emotion Theta felt the most when looking at Caboose was an overwhelming sense of trust.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t loud, though.

“Can you, um, sorry, um,” Theta tried to communicate their desires without words. Caboose just stared at them, waiting for the words to come. “I… need a shirt.”

It wasn’t what they’d meant to say, but it worked. Theta really wasn’t comfortable with any amount of awareness of the whole “having a body” thing, and wearing just a nightshirt didn’t help with that.

“Oh, yeah I can help with that!”

In one swift motion, too quick for Theta to protest, Caboose had removed his sweater and stuffed it over Theta’s head.

Church’s body wasn’t small by any objective measures, but compared to Caboose…

As Theta pushed their hands through the sleeves, far too large for them to even reach the ends, they felt absolutely tiny.

It was nice.

“Thank you…”

“You’re welcome!”

Caboose looked incredibly pleased with himself, sitting there now in just his own undershirt. Theta wondered if he was cold. Maybe they should give the sweater back. Alpha had a lot of shirts, they could wear any one of those.

As they started the offer, Caboose interjected, “Are you hungry?”

Theta paused. Were they hungry? Interpreting the body’s signals wasn’t always easy. Maybe that buzzing of anxiety was actually a buzzing of hunger. Only then did they notice the half eaten bag of chips on the bedside table. Was whoever last fronted recently snacking?

“I think I’m hungry, yeah.”

“Good! Let’s get Church to make us waffles.”

“Um.” Theta didn’t know what to say to that. They thought all of Alpha’s friends knew how it worked by now. This was the fear. The questions. The judgement. They didn’t know how to be someone else. “I don’t know. Um. Sorry I don’t think. Sorry I don’t. Sorry.”

Caboose stared at them as they nervously stammered out apologies. Finally, something seemed to click.

“Oh! Hm. I guess that doesn’t work. Hmmmmmmmm. Well… We can make it ourselves!”

“Oh… I don’t know how to make waffles…”

“I do! Let’s go!” Caboose announced as he leaped out of bed, racing out of the room.

“W-wait!” Theta scrambled to follow him. They really didn’t want to get out of bed, but they didn’t really want to be alone, either. Nervous to cross the threshold, they hesitated at the door frame.

“Um,” they called to Caboose, peeking slightly out of the door to see where he went, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to cook by ourselves!”

"Yes, it is an awesome idea!" Caboose declared, hanging from the doorway to catch his momentum. "We’ve got blueberries and strawberries and whipped cream and chocolate chips..."

He ducked into the room, his voice fading off, “And goldfish and cheese and mashed potatoes and blueberries and…”

Theta balked as he disappeared. “I wasn’t worried about the toppings…”

They definitely weren’t allowed to cook something at 2:30am… right? They tried to listen to their head, again. To call out to anyone there. Nothing. They wanted Delta, or Epsilon, or even Gamma. Someone in charge. Someone who could take care of things. Someone who could take care of them.

They thought back to the shattered phone on the floor. The message from the unknown number. Why had they fronted? Alone? The buzz of anxiety grew louder. Maybe they should go get their watch. They didn’t know who was texting them, but it clearly wasn’t good. Maybe it would be so not good it could trigger someone else out. Maybe they wouldn’t have to be alone—

“Here!”

Theta jumped at Caboose’s return. They’d been so caught up in their own thoughts they didn’t hear him approach. They blinked as they tried to reground themself, taking in the sight of the large man before them.

Caboose had grabbed a shirt identical to the one he was just wearing, that Theta was now wearing, and he was holding a…

Oh my gosh.

In Caboose’s outstretched hands was a large, LARGE bear plushie. Its huge, round belly was almost the size of Theta’s entire torso. But it’s head, oh man, it’s head was tiny. Barely the size of their fist. It’s arms and legs were stuffed at its sides, the proportions all out of whack. It’s fur looked like the softest thing Theta had ever felt.

It was incredible.

“Wow…”

“And gummy bears!” Caboose wiggled the bear at Theta, its limbs so filled with stuffing they barely flopped around.

“What?”

“We can put gummy bears on the waffles.”

“Oh…” Theta looked at the oversized bear. “Um, then what about?” They gestured at it.

“Oh!” Caboose looked down at the stuffed animal in his hands, almost looking surprised Theta had brought it up, as if he had forgotten it was there. “This is Big Fuck.”

“B- oh.” Maybe Theta would just call it Big.

“I thought he could be your friend. But not your best friend, since we are already best friends."

Theta took the bear— took Big— from Caboose.

“Okay. He doesn’t have to be my best friend, you can keep him."

Caboose tilted his head like a puppy.

"I was talking about you, silly."

“… I’m your best friend?”

"Yes, see, because Church is my best friend, you get part ownership because you are like a little him. And that's how stocks work!"

Theta clutched Big tight to their chest. They didn’t think that was how stocks worked, or how friendship worked but…

“Thank you.”

It was nice to have a friend.

“Yeah! And best friends make each other waffles. Let’s go!”

***

“Are you sure this is all okay to put in waffles?”

“Yes, definitely.”

Theta was sitting on the kitchen table, Big clutched in their lap. Their head peeked out over his, looking at the display Caboose had laid out in front of them. Plates and boxes and bags of junk food, candy, chocolate, frozen fruit, sauces. Leftovers. Theta didn’t think a lot of these things would be yummy. Or could even be cooked.

“Yeah, I’m basically an expert in waffles,” Caboose said, shaking the bottle of Bisquick furiously. You have to do it as fast as possible, he’d said earlier, right before shaking the loose cap off and splattering batter all over the kitchen. Tucker will clean that up later.

Theta plopped another marshmallow into their mouth. Their sticky hands had already left some mats in Big’s fur, but someone would probably clean that up later, too. Probably.

Now, though, they were just having a fun time hanging with their friend.

“Mmm. Okay. I trust you.”

“Good! Watch.” Theta watched as Caboose poured the batter onto the waffle iron. It glooped out, overfilling the squares.

“Cool. Now what?”

Caboose gestured towards the display. “Now you put stuff in it!”

Ooooh yes. This was what Theta was looking forward to. They delicately placed Big onto a chair before going, what some might call, absolutely feral. Some logical part of them said that grabbing handfuls of every sweet that adorned the table and throwing it onto the uneven batter probably wouldn’t end up with a good waffle, but they ignored that part. After all, they were Theta, not Delta.

“Okay! Done.”

Caboose appraised their mountain of sugar-y goodness with serious consideration. Theta grabbed Big again, suddenly nervous about their creation. Caboose narrowed his eyes. Theta held their breath.

“This…………. is a good waffle.” He slammed the iron shut with what was probably way too much force. Even still, Theta beamed.

It didn’t take long until the smell of burnt caramel started wafting from the machine.

“Is that okay…?”

Caboose nodded sagely. “That’s how you know it is going to be good.” In a swift motion, he extricated the waffle from its burning home, planting it squarely on the table.

Theta didn’t think it was supposed to look like that. There was burnt chocolate and bubbling gummies and melted hard candies and uncooked batter. It didn’t get to look ugly for long, though, as Caboose helpfully started pouring on syrup and chocolate and whipped cream.

Theta hadn’t seen this much sugar in their whole life.

“Bone app to eat!” Caboose pushed the waffle in front of Theta.

They grabbed it with both hands (ow. still a little hot.) and took a bite.

Oh….

It wasn’t what most would call “good.” The flavors clashed in ways Theta didn’t have the words to describe, but which Sigma might’ve called “offensive” or “an affront to nature.” But still. It was interesting, and it was sweet, and they were having a lot of fun trying not to spill sugar all over Big’s tummy, so maybe Caboose was onto something.

Caboose looked pleased with Theta’s reaction. They could only guess their expression was some mixture of disgust and intrigue, but they kept eating it, so maybe that’s what Caboose was going for.

Caboose started on his own creation.

Or maybe, Theta thought as they watched him work, “creation” was a generous word for it. Maybe Sigma would call this one “monstrosity.”

Caboose systematically grabbed every single topping they’d laid out on the table. He seemed to consider all of his options with great importance, putting some straight onto the iron, some into the bottle, yet others on the side, presumably to be added later. Once he was happy with his choices, he took the bottle again (being very careful, Theta noted, to make sure the cap was on fully this time) and shook with an incredible vigor. The items on the pan continued to sizzle. He emptied the bottle’s contents into the iron, squeezing to get it out as quickly as possible. Goop dripped over the sides. The ingredients that had been saved for later had now found their later, triumphantly thrown onto the pile.

It was way too tall to be closed, Theta thought.

Well, apparently, they thought wrong.

With somehow even more force than he’d used for Theta’s, Caboose acted like a hydraulic press, crushing the lid into its bottom. And, much like the greatest hydraulic press videos, mess squeezed out the sides in a spectacular fashion.

Theta chewed idly while the scene played out before them.

Caboose gave a thumbs up, his other hand still holding the iron down as it continued to cook.

If before it smelt like burnt caramel, this was just burn. Theta crinkled their nose.

And nearly jumped out of their skin when the fire alarm went off.

Caboose looked at it, both annoyed and quizzical. “I thought I took the life out of you.” He reached up, easily able to pull the alarm off the ceiling, and dumped the batteries out.

He turned back to Theta, “That is how you know it will be really good!”

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

Theta jumped again, clutching Big even tighter to their chest.

There, standing in the hallway, was Tucker, wearing nothing but a nightcap and a blanket.

Well, maybe there was more to describe there, but Theta wouldn’t know, as their eyes were suddenly covered by Caboose’s large hands.

“Tucker! Put some clothes on! There is children here!”

“What??? What are you talking ab— Dude, get the fucking—!”

Theta heard a scuffle. They tried to pry Caboose’s hands away from their eyes, but the man was too strong.

“Hey! Don’t touch my waffle!”

“You’re gonna burn the fucking apartment down!”

“I am not! I know how to contain a fire, Tucker. Excuse me,” Caboose removed his hand from Theta’s eyes and turned to them, “Hold this please.” He grabbed Theta’s hand and put it over their own eyes.

Theta stayed like that for a moment. Then they remembered that they could remove their hand themself, and felt a little silly.

The waffle iron was now unplugged and slightly smoking. An annoyed looking Tucker waved the cord at an equally annoyed looking Caboose.

“You are ruining waffles time.”

“Yeah, like a fire wouldn’t?” Tucker rolled his eyes, then turned towards Theta. “And what the fuck are you even doing?”

Theta’s blood turned to ice.

“I-”

“Do not yell at Theta.”

Caboose was a very large man. It was easy to forget, with his genial demeanor, just how much bigger he was than everyone else. How much stronger he was than everyone else. As Tucker’s eyes widened and he took a step back, staring at Caboose’s uncharacteristically stoic expression, he was certainly remembering.

It was a little nice to have the strong person be the one protecting Theta.

A wave of confusion washed over Tucker’s face as he registered what Caboose had said. “Theta…?” He looked over at them, in Caboose’s oversized pajama shirt, still clutching Big like it was a lifeline, still looking absolutely terrified. And confusion was replaced by realization.

“Oh, shit— uh, shoot, uh— fuck—” Tucker looked down at his blanket, the only thing covering his body, now even looser than it was earlier. He pulled it tighter.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” He whispered at Caboose.

“I said to put on pants.”

“That’s not— look, just,” Tucker sighed, then looked towards Theta, “Don’t eat that, okay?” He pointed at their waffle.

“But we’re hungry!” Caboose protested.

Tucker groaned. “I, will make you guys…” Tucker looked at the waffle iron. A bit of batter filled with leftover chicken and gummy worm slopped onto the counter. It continued to smoke. “Pancakes. Just, go into the living room and let me get dressed.”

“Okay!” Caboose happily bounded away, as if this was his desired outcome all along.

Theta looked down, sheepish. “Sorry…”

Tucker sighed, “It’s fine. This is nowhere near the worst it’s gotten.”

Theta looked up at the batter on the ceiling. Tucker followed their gaze.

He laughed. “Yeah, still not the worst.”

“Okay…” Theta got up from the counter, trying to make themself as small as possible.

“Hey.”

They froze. They looked at Tucker, bracing themself for scolding, yelling, reminders of how terrible they were for letting something like this happen.

But when Tucker spoke, it was soft.

“Next time, just wake me up, okay?” He looked exasperated, but, somehow, Theta could tell he was being genuine.

They nodded.

“Okay.”

Tucker smiled, and went to get dressed, and Theta went to go meet Caboose in the living room.

He was already sitting on the couch, flipping through some list of shows.

“Do you wanna watch something?”

“Um, whatever you want.” Theta plopped down on the couch.

“Okay! I will watch… Pokémon.”

“You like Pokémon?”

“Oh, yeah, sometimes me and Church watch it when Tucker isn’t home.”

“Oh… I didn’t know Alpha still liked Pokémon.”

“Yeah… I don’t know who Alpha is but… Pokémon is good.”

“Um, yeah, it’s my favorite.”

“Yeah.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Are you… gonna put on the show?”

“Okay!” Caboose clicked the remote, opening to some random episode in the Gen V seasons. Theta didn’t know the episode, but they could tell because of the art style.

“All right,” Tucker called from the kitchen, “you guys are getting chocolate chip pancakes and that’s it.”

“BUT TUCKER!” Caboose immediately jumped up in his seat. “YOU CAN’T DO THAT! IT’S WAFFLES TIME!”

“You almost burned the house down! I’m not hearing it!”

Caboose bounded over the back of the couch to go yell at Tucker in the kitchen. Leaving Theta alone on the sofa.

Alone.

Theta was alone. They didn’t hear anyone in their mind. Their thoughts drifted back to the cracked phone, the unread message. What had caused them to be here alone in the first place.

But, as they turned around to look back at their friends, arguing over blueberries, as they clung to the largest teddy bear they’d ever seen, supremely sticky with sugar and syrup, as Pokémon blared in the background, a connection to their host they didn’t know they had…

Maybe they weren’t all that alone, after all.

[peterbythewayi]

Being human

What if the team of guys on a mission had a sixth person - a female Marine from intelligence?

Part IV

Frankie was racing along the highway in pitch darkness - he decided to take over from his friend, who was tired behind the wheel. Benny, again sitting in the back, lay on the back of William's seat in front and stared blankly at the road; Santiago and Anna, sitting near the Millers, silently looked out the windows, thoughtful - even their eyes synchronously followed the rarely passing cars, while their hands were folded on their chests and clenched into fists.

"So, are we doing this?" William was the first to break the silence.

“How the fuck I supposed to know,” Tom snapped sitting in the passenger seat, turning his head to the side barely noticeably, “This guy doesn't come through with the one key piece of intel we need to make this decision. For all we know, she could be setting us up to get her brother back."

At these words, everyone turned to Santiago, who was fidgeting with nerves. Anna, noticing this, leaned forward, also joining in the conversation.

“We’ll know tomorrow,” he said hoarsely, “she should have been recording that whole thing today.”

The team fell silent for a moment and Anna barely perceptibly squeezed his shoulder, reassuring him.

"All right, if it does come back clean,” Miller Sr. leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, “how would you do the Sunday morning version?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” Tom said reluctantly and turned to the window.

"Bullshit, you can't help yourself,” Frankie said sarcastically, which made William smile too. He looked from him to Tom, looking at him expectantly.

"All right,” he finally gave in under invisible pressure from the guys, “in the first pop, you'd have forty minutes to get in, do the job done and get out before the family comes home from church. That's a hard out. We need to breach the fence, sweep the premises, find and subdue the guards, scrub the hard drives in the security room, get rid of Lorea, find the money, pack the money into 18 hundred-pound bags and then hoof in half a mile to the nearest vehicle. There is only two ways out: the fence in the front or over the mountain we came down, but I’m too old for that."

“Then let’s take their own van,” Anna said, leaning her hands on the seat in front and resting her chin on them.

Everyone, even Frankie through the rearview mirror, turned in her direction and she shrugged, saying that the idea was nonsense, but William, glancing with a smile at the rather grinning Santiago, said:

"We need a third van. Can your girl work that out?"

“I can ask her,” he answered and slightly turned his head back, whispering “well done” with his lips, which confused her.

"Still got your aviation guy down here?" - Tom said, turning to Miller Sr. “Cause we would need a heavy-lift helicopter in thirty-two hours to get us over the Andes and to the ocean.”

“I don't know, but I'll give him a call,” he nodded in response.

“In addition to this, we need a boat,” Tom continued, looking at Anna through the rearview mirror, “can you organize it?”

“Yeah, I’ll try to arrange it,” Anna answered after a couple of moments.

“Oh yeah, Big Dog is back,” Benny exclaimed loudly with a laugh, “Redfly's gonna to be rich, guys! Now we're talkin'.”

His infectious laughter was picked up by Anna, who turned to him and slightly shook her head, resting her cheek on her fist.

The guys just smiled. A damn crazy adventure awaited them, which everyone signed up for voluntarily.

* * *

A few hours later.

At the port, after driving through hundreds of containers, the team finally found Santiago, who, noticing them, raised his hand up. Frankie turned off the engine and they got out of the car, stretching their stiff muscles.

“Hey guys,” Garcia nodded and walked up to the container, “Take a look at this."

He deftly opened the doors and the guys, to put it mildly, were shocked.

"What the hell were you planning here?" - Benny said, looking around at the whole warehouse of weapons collected by his friend.

“Exactly this,” he responds, “Every single gun, bullet and fucking toothpicks here's been soursed in-country. The idea is to pin this on local rival gang.”

After waiting a couple of moments, Santiago continued:

"Now, who was it that didn’t trust this lady?" - He glanced at Frankie and Benny couldn't help but chuckle, - "Cause not only is she going to get us that extra van, but she got us this."

The man opened an old flip phone and showed the video to the team. They moved closer and Anna squinted to see the silhouette of a man on the scratched screen. “There's man, our Lorea,” Garcia explained and, after a pause, continued theatrically: “And, oh, what’s that behind him?”

“Looks like money to ne,” Benny whispered and, turning to Anna standing next to him, continued, “There's gotta be about thirty-five million.”

“We don't know this,” Frankie said tensely, looking intently at the screen.

“Whatever it us, it's a lot,” William noted with a smile.

A wide smile graced Santiago's lips as he saw the light flash in the team's eyes. Now he was sure that he would definitely not go through this alone. Kushing licked her dry lips, running her hand over her burning cheeks. She couldn't believe she was actually participating in this.

"What will you do with your share?" - Benny turned to the girl, but before she could even open her mouth, Frankie interrupted her:

"Never spend your money until it's in your pocket, Benjamin!"

“Well, I just sayin', I'm gonna get that Ferrari, man” the guy shrugged, walking deeper into the container.

The man just snorted at this, and Anna laughed. Her attention was drawn to the brand new, perfectly polished pistols on the table and she stepped closer, deftly picking up the "deagle".

"Easy, easy, Anna!" - Benny exclaimed, noticing a pistol in the girl’s hands. He seemed... a little scared?

“Mark 19, barrel 10 inches long,” said Anna, beginning to skillfully twirl it in her hand, “I used something similar on missions.”

“Wow,” was all the guy could say, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Looking back, he picked up another pistol with his finger and looked at the girl: “What about this baby?”

Putting the gun back in place, she looked up at Ben, and then, turning his gaze to the gun, smiled faintly.

“Jericho 941,” she stepped a little closer, “or popularly simply “Baby Eagle.”

Benny grinned, putting the gun aside and leaning his butt against the table, after which, looking back and not seeing Santiago, he shouted to his brother:

"Hey, where's Pope?"

“He came out to talk to Tom,” responded William, who was examining the rifles. - "It seems Cap is not happy with the idea."

At the mention of this word, Anna shuddered unconsciously, raising her worried gaze to the elder Miller. A shiver ran down her spine, causing her to shudder and hug herself with her arms, slowly moving away from the guys. The brothers immediately noticed the change in her mood, but, looking at each other, did not comment on it out loud.

[usermischief]

♞Pairing: Steo

♞Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken

♞Tags: wedding, getting back together, future fic

♞Words: 2047

Sitting on the steps at the front of the church, arms loosely crossed over his thighs and phone in his hand, Theo is the very definition of bored. Something you very much should not be on the day you tie the knot with the person you claim to be your soulmate. Not that those exact words have ever left Theo’s mouth. Those have only ever rolled over Tracy’s tongue. She’s always believed that this day would come, even during the time Theo dated Stiles. It’s hard to blame her. Theo is like a drug. Once hooked, it’s impossible to get clean.

That Stiles has managed to stay away from five years seems like a miracle. Yet, he’s here on the off-chance that Theo still feels the way for him he’s used to do – even though Stiles was the one who walked away. They were passionate, and Stiles still can’t begin to put into words how he feels about Theo, but they were explosive, more so once their respective careers took off. Theo Raeken, one of the best receivers seen in generations, and Stiles Stilinski, an up-and-coming actor people throw blank checks at, so he’d be in their movies or TV shows.

They were volatile, but they made sense.

They never made their relationship a secret, but they were private – too private for the media, who decided to spin their own stories. Stiles too the brunt of that. A new rumored romance at least once a month. Interview questions from journalist. Stiles reaffirming that he’s still dating Theo but refusing to give any further comments. A lot of people online kept coming to his defense, giving the media the engagement it so desperately craved, and the cycle went on and on.

Even when Stiles stopped commenting at all as his relationship crumbled behind the scenes, nothing changed. Theo’s possessive streak has been an issue from the beginning. It was manageable. Easy to handle. The constant onslaught of rumors, however, caused it to fly off the handle. After multiple near misses, Stiles decided to leave before they both explode and so or say something they cannot come back from.

The world learned of their break-up because Tracy posted pictures of herself and Theo everywhere.

Stiles, in return, fucked more people than he can count. He became who the media told him he is. Funny, really, that out of the two of them Stiles turned into a fuckboy.

And now he’s hiding in the last row of a church Theo never wanted to get married in. He knew about the wedding long before Josh and Corey popped up on his doorstep. Tracy announced it the very day of their engagement. Of Corey and Josh hadn’t continuously insisted, Stiles wouldn’t be doing this. He wouldn’t be here, putting his heart – and pride – on the line in front of too many strangers and at least twenty invited paparazzi, waiting outside the church, and, in turn, the whole fucking world. If Theo’s closest friends are right, all Stiles has to do is get up, be seen, and Theo would drop everything to take him back no questions asked. But Stiles knows he can only ask this of Theo if he’s sure they work out, if he wants to stay with him, knowing and accepting every part of Theo.

Only then can he allow Theo to uproot his life.

The longer Stiles waits, the worse it will get for Tracy too. Not that she would’ve cared. She tried to get with Theo every chance she got. Still, Stiles wonders what would feel worse, waiting until the officiant asks him to speak – and what if he freezes? – or ripping the band aid off and stop the ceremony from even starting.

Shifting on the pew, Stiles lets out a breath and allows himself to look away from Theo at the front of the church and glances at Josh and Corey, looking around as if waiting for something – someone. He had ample time to call Theo before today, to stop all of this from even happening.

He didn’t.

Is that answer enough?

His heart aches.

Stiles can’t let Theo do this. He can’t bring himself to miss what might be his very last chance.

Stiles takes another deep breath, taking in the guests in their expensive dresses and suits. He blocks out their chatter, the laughter, the good mood he’s about to drop a bomb on. All he has to do is get up and out of the dark corner he’s been hiding in, to step into the aisle. The moment he does, people will notice. Theo will see him. It feels like a small miracle nobody has until now. Stiles half expected Tracy had handed out flyers with his face on them to make sure he won’t ruin anything.

However, that’s exactly what he’s about to do.

Stiles cannot wait a second longer. He doesn’t know when the ceremony is about to start. He takes a steadying breath and slips out of the pew.

Theo people closest to him glance up. Although Stiles keeps his face angled away from them, he can tell the moment they’ve recognized him. There’s a shift in the air. Their quiet conversation turns into urgent whispers. It’s not hard to imagine how they’re trying to tell people in front of them. A doomed game of telephone that won’t reach Tracy in time. If someone tries to stop him, Theo will notice.

Stiles has made a decision.

For the first time in five years, he can finally breathe again.

Let’s see how long that lasts. His heartbeat picks up the closer he gets to the aisle. Every second, every step brings him closer to the moment Theo will spot him. The whispers seem to get louder around him, echoing in the church as the conversations die around him. Do they know who he is to Theo? Are thy aware of their history? Their feelings? Can they guess why Stiles is here? If they do, they-

Who cares?

Stiles isn’t here because of them. He’s here for Theo. He glances in his direction, watches as Theo scrolls on his phone, running a hand through his hair. It’s longer now, the way he wears it during off-season. It suits him. To be honest, Stiles likes it best on him, even more so when he’s sporting a designer stubble. Sadly, Tracy made sure that today will be stubble free.

His fingers tremble, and he curls his hands into fists then pushes them into his pants, unsure what to do with them. He can hardly wave at Theo. Should he wave at Theo?

No.

The inside of the church tips. On the left side, the conversations have grown silent. The right side has yet to realize something’s amiss.

Swallowing, Stiles glances back to the front at the same time Josh elbows Corey and points at him. The other groomsmen turn to look as well. Tara, who has been standing a little of to the side, widens her eyes. She smiles, contrasting the look of horror on the bridesmaids’ faces. One of them, presumably the maid of honor, breaks away from the group, her light blue dress fluttering after her. Every click of her heels is a gunshot going off inside.

The sound halts more conversations and catches Theo’s attention. Finally, he looks up from his phone. “What,” he asks, his tone cold and laces with annoyance as he studies the other bridesmaids, “is the issue now?”

None of the girls offer a reply.

Josh bounces over and taps Theo’s shoulder, whispering something in his ear.

Stiles steps into the aisle. He cannot bring himself to look away from Theo for even a second. So, he sees it all – the way Theo’s lips part, his eyes widening as they search for him in the mass of people, how they light up with a smile when he finally finds him, standing out like a sore thumb in his white dress shirt and black slacks. To tie. No jacket. But sneakers. Casual. Low key. The way they imagined their weddings to be on the few occasions they’ve talked about it.  

The phone slips from Theo’s fingers. The crack of it hitting the ground is followed by deafening silence. Nobody utters a single word as Theo is moving. Towards him.

“Theodore!” Mrs. Raeken’s voice cuts into the silence. Her eyes narrowed. The dark green dress probably the most expensive in the whole church.

Stiles didn’t miss her, and he’s sure, that feeling is reciprocated.

Theo doesn’t stop. Instead, he fidgets with his hand halfway down the aisle. He doesn’t run, and Stiles never expected him to. Just as Theo most likely didn’t expect Stiles to meet him halfway or jump into his arms. That’s not who they are.

Stiles’ heart hammers in his chest as he watches Theo approach, as he sees nobody else moving. It’s like the world around them has frozen, like it stopped turning for everyone but them.

And then Theo drops this engagement ring causing the church to erupt.

But Theo simply grabs Stiles’ waist and presses him against the wall, startling a laugh of out Stiles – one Theo steals from his lips as he crashes their mouths together. Their bodies fit together like they used to, like nothing has changed, and Stiles’ heart slows as its missing piece has returned. There is no question about this, about them. The world narrows around them until they’re the only people to exist. Theo kisses him like a starving person, lips and tongue and teeth, and Stiles pulls him closer by the collar of his jacket.

He's returned home after years and years of self-imposed exile.

“Get a room,” Tara mutters. Stiles can’t tell if it’s her voice or the hurried clicking of heels that pulled them apart.

“Let’s go, boys!” Josh drums his hands on Theo’s shoulders before following Corey and Tara out, hollering, “let’s go. Let’s go!”

Chuckling, Theo looks up at Stiles. His features soften for a moment, and he cups Stiles’ cheeks. “You ready?”

Stiles hums. “Waiting on you.” Truth is, he’s not ready to face the real world. He knows what happens once they leave. The questions. The pictures. The media shitstorm that Lydia will hate him for. But for Theo, he’s quite willing to risk it all. So, he intertwines their fingers and squeezes his hand.   

Theo pulls him along, leaving the church without sparing a single glance back.

Stiles does, however, and he looks past everyone else, finding Tracy’s eyes at once. She’s not crying, not screaming, not furiously making her way towards them. Her eyes narrow slightly as she raises her chin. She doesn’t seem surprised, just determined to keep her composure in check.

Someone calls Theo’s name, but he’s already pushing the doors open. He squeezes his hand once more and forces Stiles’ attention back to the reality in front of him – a shitton of cameras flashing, pointed at them, and a barraged of questions hurled in their general direction. Between them and the paparazzi, a black SUV with Corey hanging out of on of the windows.

“Come on!”

They hurry down the stars. The backdoor flies open and Corey scoots to the other side of the backseat.

Theo ushers Stiles in first then slams the door shut once he sits down himself, hand still holding on to Stiles’. “Step on it.”

Tara gives him a thumbs up.

A few moments later, they’re in the street, heading towards a destination Stiles doesn’t care much about as long as he reaches it with Theo by his side, who turns to look at him, cocked eyebrow and smirk firmly on his lips. “What took you so long?”

Stiles huffs out a breath. “Don’t even try to pin this on me, Raeken.”

“I swear,” Tara says before her brother has the chance to say anything, “if you start arguing, I will turn this car around.”

Theo barks out a laugh.

Chuckling softly, Stiles sins deeper into the middle seat and leans his head against Theo’s shoulder. He glances at Tara, watching her brother in the rearview mirror, eyes bright, slightly crinkled as her smile widens. Stiles squeezes Theo’s hand again, promising himself to hold onto him for the rest of their lives.

[witchersmistress]

The road to Hell

Hello my darlings!! this man almost, ended back in the punishment room!

Trigger warnings: age gasp, foul language sassy FMC, forced marriage

Word Count: 2.7 K

Amelia’s POV

Your wedding day is supposed to be one of the most exciting days of your life. Just like my mother, I’m about to marry a man I didn’t choose and who I don’t love. I actually despise him and everything he represents—money, greed, and power are just a few of them. My mother hates my father, but there was nothing either one of them could do. Their fate was decided, their destiny sealed. Same as mine. Same as my children’s. And my grandchildren’s. We are bred for the sole purpose of power. Control in numbers. Fuck that!

Women in my world—the secret society of the Ravens—should not reproduce. I don’t want children. The cycle will end with me. It has to.  The Ravens will only find a way to use its members. They marry us off to ensure we add to their army. The next generation of Ravens and Ravenia will help them take over the world.  Phil though he was so smart and allowed me to see a  Raven approved Drs only, well the joke was on him, that particular doc, i saw his wife instead who was a fellow Ravenia and a Nurse practitioner. By the end of my first appointment, I had an IUD and that idiot was none the wiser. I’ll be damned if I allow them to have any say over a son or daughter I'll never have.

 I stand in the middle of the room, overlooking the white dress in the mirrored wall, running my hand down the mulberry silk—some of the finest silk available in the world. I take in a deep breath. It cost a whopping two million. Two million dollars for a fucking dress? My soon-to-be husband had it custom-made by a designer in France. I know this because my mother reminds me every chance she gets. Why would I get to pick out something so important in my life? That’s insane, right? Give that money to charity, or he'll let me loose in a bookstore, not that i could spend two million dollars but i'll try like hell.

 To think I should have any say in what I wear on the day I give my life to another. It’s as if she thinks his wealth will impress me. It’s blood money. I know this because it’s the same fortune I grew up with. I never did want the finer things in life. I know a poor person would roll their eyes at that statement, but it’s true. Give me a beer, a cheap hoodie, and a hat to hide my three-day old mop of bleach-blond hair, and I’m happy. But no. That’s unacceptable. The one percent aren’t allowed to look anything less than perfect. Not in public anyway. I’m surprised they even let us speak. We as women might as well walk around with duct tape over our mouths dressed in nothing but chains. A Raven needs a Ravenia but not because of the reasons you may think. It’s a way to hide who he really is. He’ll have fucks all over the world, but we’re expected to cook, clean, and spread our legs for him when he’s home. Worship him like he’s God himself and birth his children. I’ve never been religious, and I’m not going to fall to my knees and start worshiping a man now.  

My brother comes up behind me, his eyes scanning over my dress in the mirror. “At least he has good taste.” I roll my eyes. “As if that matters.” “Just pop out some kids and get fat.” He shrugs. “Then he’ll screw anyone but you. Oh! Hire a hot, much younger nanny.” He nods to himself. “Let me try her out first, though. Make sure she’s good enough.” His words just prove that all Ravens are the same. He’s been a Raven for years but has yet to marry. He has the privilege of fucking his way around the world while I’m forced to sign my life away. A cell rings, and he pulls it out of his tuxedo jacket to answer. “Hello?” Sighing, I pick up the dress and walk over to the stained glass window. You can’t see shit out of it. This place is ancient. The Cathedral is to a Raven as a church is to a religion—their sanctum. It holds a hundred years of secrets like a sarcophagus encloses a mummy. 

It was handed down to them years ago—a place to perform their sick and twisted rituals. There’s nothing fancy or special about it, if you ask me. I could be walking down the aisle in blue jeans and a T-shirt or lingerie. Doesn’t matter. Not all Ravens and Ravenia are required to wed here. But it’s where my future husband picked. Our parents wanted it to be as traditional as possible. It’s a bullshit reason. They just want to make a spectacle of handing me over to him. We might as well be standing in a courtroom with a judge sentencing me to life in prison without the chance of parole for a crime I didn’t commit. I place my hand on the cold glass, listening to the rain fall. It’s been storming for the past two days. It's like the world knows I've been destined for a lifetime of servitude to a man I'd rather kill than kneel and suck his dick. 

I blame my mother. She raised me to be strong-willed and determined. But now, I’m just supposed to turn it off and believe that I'm to devote my life to a man that will neglect me during the day but demand I spread my legs at night. I won’t accept that. I deserve more. I want more. My brother ends his call, getting my attention, and looks at me. “We have a problem,” he states. My whole life is a fucking problem. “What?” “Phil is missing.” I snort. “Don’t toy with me like that.” That’s not a problem; that’s a prayer answered. “I’m serious.” He swallows, looking around the large room nervously as if Phil’s going to appear out of thin air. “He’s not here. He never arrived. He’s also not at his house. He’s missing. No one has seen him.” “I’m not sure why that’s a problem.” I don’t want to marry the sick bastard. Phil Buxton is the highest-ranking Raven you can come by, which just makes this even worse. Ravens are like anything else in this world. You have some at the bottom, and others at the top. There are different tiers. 

But honestly, it doesn’t matter; they’re all sick fucking bastards who will kill anyone to get to where they are. Even the bottom feeders will destroy anything to get a chance at serving. He steps over to me. “Amelia …” The door opens, and my father enters with my mother. I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m guessing this good fortune has nothing to do with you two?” My mother’s injected lips seem to thin a tad at my comment. She’s told me a million times that this is just the life we live. That it’s a “tradition” and I just have to accept it. That as far as Raven and Ravenia goes, we’re royalty. Bull-fucking-shit. I’d rather be someone’s bitch than a Raven’s Ravenia. My father, however, stares at the floor while running a hand through his dark hair. “Daddy?” I step over to him, holding my dress in my hands so I don’t step on the hem. “What’s going on?” His throat works, swallowing before his eyes find mine. There’s a look of regret in them, and hope fills my chest. Maybe he’s realized that I don’t want this life. He clears his throat. “I just received a call …” “Please tell me you did this—called off my wedding?” I rush out, my words hopeful. “I’m sorry, Amelia, but the wedding is still on.” He sighs. And what little hope I had is now smothered. “But Dylan said Phil’s missing.” I point at my brother. Had my father received the same phone call that my brother did? Or was it someone else? “You are no longer to wed Phil.” He yanks on the collar of his tux. Picking up the dress so I don’t trip over it in my six-inch hooker heels—that my soon-to-be husband also picked out—I take a step back, my heart picking up speed. This is good news. Why does he look so concerned? “I don’t understand. If he’s not here—” “A new Raven has chosen you,” he interrupts me. My mother places her hand over her mouth, trying to quiet a sob. “No,” I argue. “That can’t be.” It was decided that Phil would be my husband when I was eighteen—three years ago. 

Things like this aren’t just changed at the last minute. I’ve lived the past few years preparing for this day. To be his wife. What he wanted. A Raven can’t choose to marry me, not when I’m already promised to another. “Who?” my brother demands. “Who in the hell would make this change?” He fists his hands at his sides. I reach up and grab the pearls my mother gave me. She thought they would give me some kind of comfort, and I laughed, but now I hold on to them as if they’re an anchor to a lifeline. “I—” The door swings open once again, this time hitting the interior wall and making me jump. A set of baby-blue eyes meet mine, and my stomach drops. The wind knocked out of me. I haven’t seen them in years, but they’ve haunted my dreams ever since.

Three years ago

 “Where is she?” my mother demands, entering the hospital. She received a phone call that my sister was brought in tonight, but no other information was given. “Ma’am—” “Where is my daughter?” she screams at the nurse, pounding on the check-in desk. I turn around to see my sister’s boyfriend walking toward us. His white T-shirt and jeans are covered in blood, and my chest tightens to the point it restricts my air. My mom’s legs give out when she sees him. “N-o,” she chokes, placing her shaking hand over her mouth. Walter catches her and holds her body to his, but his baby-blue eyes meet mine, sending a chill down my spine so cold, it’s paralyzing. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “She’s gone.” 

“Walter,” my brother growls, shoving me to the side and pulling me out of that memory, and steps in front of me.

[hickeygender]

javert is WRONG: the thesis of les mis is that legality and morality aren't synonymous!

i just found the internet's most unbelieveably dogshit hottake that makes anything woobifying javert written by Die Girlies Auf Tumblr Und Twitter galaxy brained in comparison. rest is below a cut because i got Wordy in my goal of ripping this motherfucker a new one.

The point about “fault” is very important here. Following Rousseau, Hugo believes that the poor become criminals out of necessity. They “fall” (i.e., become poor) and then become morally “degraded.” Therefore, our response to crime should be “charity,” not punishment. This is a classic Romantic view that became the basis for modern liberalism. According to Rousseau, people are basically good and are corrupted by society, committing crime only out of ignorance and desperation; the solution to crime, then, is education and welfare. Christians obviously worry that this view has no place for the doctrine of original sin, and conservatives object to this view because it leaves out personal responsibility for crime.

i know this is a christian publication but the concept of original sin even factoring into criminality and criminal justice genuinely pisses me off. stop forcing your shitty worldview that everyone is popped outta the womb an evil sinner, i beg. the seperation of church and state is a vital part of democracy. also, you can believe people are shaped by society and driven to crime through desperation without taking away personal agency. those two things are not contradictory.

If I am right about the Rousseau subtext, then Javert is not necessarily a villain; he’s just a conservative, albeit a liberal caricature of a conservative. There are two good examples of a liberal bias in Les Mis. First, notice that Valjean’s position in his society is roughly analogous to an illegal immigrant in our society. When he leaves the prison, Valjean can’t get work because he doesn’t have the right papers. He’s an undocumented worker. In a scene from the musical cut from the film, a farmer allows Valjean to work for him, but then only pays him half as much as the other laborers. The farmer reasons, “You broke the law….Why should you get the same as honest men?”

i've never seen anyone, even javert fans, try and argue he isn't a villain. this is breaking new ground here, folks. it's a hell of an assertion, but it's demonstrably false. jean valjean is the main character. we root for him and wish to see him succeed. javert is hunting him for the entire narrative. thus, he is the antagonist. there may be some moral ambiguity on both their parts, but he structurally is the villain and that is a narrative fact.

next, as an american i am fucking BEGGING on my HANDS and KNEES for other americans to learn about the differing political terms for different countries and times if they are speaking about them with any supposed credibility. i'm not asking you to memorize every country's parties and political intricacies, but at least acknowledge that even if there is some overlap between 21st century american conservatism and 19th century french politics, that there is no one-to-one analogy!! modern american christian conservatism is a consequence of hundreds of years of unique geopolitics and religion stewing together, and you can say similar things about french politics of the time! you CANNOT just say shit like "javert is a liberal caricature of a conservative" without sounding like an utter clown because hugo was not an american liberal and javert is not an american conservative. now, if you were to alter your language a bit and say something like "javert is a leftist caricature of an arch-conservative," you'd sound less foolish (hugo's politics are hard to pin down but leftist is i believe the best label for him at the time of LM's publication. and to my understanding javert isn't really a fervent arch-conservative but it is at least a plausible reading bc he's a traditionalist, deeply religious cop and 19th century french arch-conservativism actually existed in 19th century france (shocker, i know!)). but that change in language would require actual intellect and effort to learn about other times, places, and worldviews on the part of the author, and judging by his ignorant politics, something tells me he's lacking that!

then there's the bit about illegal immigration. hoo BOY is this fucking stupid. jean valjean is a white, culturally catholic, working class french male citizen. he's an everyman of the time, his name and story of class struggle couldn't be more generic unless he was named john doe or jean dupont (the french equivalent) from nowheresville, france. hugo had a point here, and that is that as a member of the wretched poor, les misérables, valjean, representing a large swath of the french populace, is so removed from education and self reflection and truly living life that he's more akin to an animal or an object, that he's so beat down by the daily grind that he verges on inhuman. this is only magnified by his time in toulon. i'll stop there, but it is very important in jean valjean's story that he's impoverished, yes, but a french citizen. he is as french as the king, but treated like dirt because of his social status and criminal record. this sets up a dichotomy in the france of 1832 between the wretched poor and those with privilege, which is an important part of the novel.

the issue of "illegal immigration" both in france and america is a modern one. there was still bigotry and xenophobia, obviously, but the discourse around the intersections of border control, the nation state, and citizenship is a very modern one. to say "valjean's position in his society is roughly analogous to an illegal immigrant in our society" is ignorant. yes, both jean valjean and many undocumented immigrants are faced with similar abuses, but that does not mean it's intended by hugo to be a reading of the text or political commentary because let me restate this: 21ST CENTURY AMERICAN POLITICS DIDN'T EXIST IN 19TH CENTURY FRANCE!

also, valjean is the opposite of undocumented. he has his yellow papers, which are quite literally documents that are the root cause of the daily discrimination he faces, hence why him ripping them up is a radical act of freeing himself from the control of an unjust state. i don't even know how you miss this, it's stressed in the movie musical multiple times.

“Men like you can never change,” he tells Valjean. But Javert is not simply being prejudiced here. He knows from his own experience that it is possible for the poor to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. Javert, too, was born in poverty. He is “from the gutter,” as he puts it, but he embraced law and made something of himself.

oh, of course the bootstraps ideology rears its ugly head. not even gonna waste my breath on this one other than to call it stupid and wrong. all javert made himself was a class traitor and a bootlicker, and that's honestly tragic.

Consider a second example of liberal bias. The character of Fantine is designed to elicit the viewer’s sympathy for “welfare mothers.” Fantine, a young, unwed mother in Valjean’s factory, faces persecution from her coworkers. The factory foreman expresses a conservative attitude toward charity: “At the end of the day, you get nothing for nothing.”

this part. this part was so unbelievably cruel and so far removed from the empathy that this narrative bleeds that i had to step back from writing this and take a smoke break. firstly, fantine is NOT a stand in for "welfare mothers", which is, once again, a modern conservative strawman! the welfare state did not exist in 19th century france. there was little to no support for mothers in fantine's position, and to my knowledge, none stemming from the state. hugo was writing her character to bring to light the unfairness of her position. she had a lover who left her flat out, with a child to care for and no financial support. she was ostracized, eventually fired, and resorted to survival sex work.

Fantine shouldn’t expect special treatment, but rather should take responsibility for the consequences of her own sexual license.

fuck you, john. where in the text did she ask for "special treatment". where in the text did she do ANYTHING but take responsibility for her child. she sold her hair. she sold her teeth. she sold her body. she got sick because of her living conditions. she died. all out of love for her child. also, framing children as "a consequence" is disgusting, and you should be ashamed of yourself and reflect on why you think that's an alright way to view a living, breathing, human being. if you don't wanna take my word for it, psalm 127:3 clearly states "children are a gift from the lord; they are a reward from him," so your stance is decidedly unbiblical. children aren't punishment.

Likewise, when Fantine turns to prostitution to feed her child, Javert is unmoved by excuses. Valjean’s family was starving, and Fantine’s daughter was sick, but these facts don’t excuse them for breaking the law. Theft and prostitution are wrong, and it is Javert’s duty as police officer to arrest them.

how is theft to feed a starving child immoral. how is sex work to ensure your child lives immoral. give me ONE reason aside from your and javert's religious worldviews that either of those things is wrong. "but the bread didn't belong to valjean!" and would inaction, watching his nephew die simply because a windowpane and empty pockets separated him from a piece of bread be more moral? is watching a child die when you believe you can save them the better option? the whole point of this damn book is that legality is NOT synonymous with morality. javert may have the legal high ground, but he does NOT have the moral high ground, and when he realizes this, the thesis of the book, he fucking kills himself! for an example outside the text to perhaps get it through your thick skull: slavery was legal. biblical, even! does that mean it's morally right? no!

Thus Les Mis is designed to get us to see Javert’s conservatism as cruel and to elicit sympathy for Hugo’s liberal social policies. It should be noted, however, that Les Mis is a caricature of the conservative position. Conservatives agree that we ought to treat the poor with dignity and compassion. They think that compassion programs, however, should be administered by the church instead of the state, and they think true dignity requires personal responsibility and submission to the law.

how can javert both be an exaggerated, cruel conservative caricature and be right? i'd argue he's both an accurate portrayal of the inherent cruelty and misanthropy present in the politics of the political right, and that he's decidedly wrong as proven in the text. jean valjean is a good man, despite it all, but javert couldn't see that because of his worldview and chose to relentlessly hound him until he finally realized his mistake, a realization that overcame him so strongly that his only solution in his mind was to kill himself!

and do conservatives actually agree they should treat the poor with dignity and respect? it's in the bible, sure, which christian conservatives hold as the absolute truth, but in this very article you, a christian conservative, have expressed nothing but contempt and cruelty for undocumented immigrants, for unwed mothers, for thieves and sex workers. for les misérables - the wretched poor. and why shouldn't the state handle "compassion programs" as you call them? the gov't is electable and manageable (in theory), unlike the beast of untraceable wealth and power that is the church. we don't live in a theocracy, so the only reliable way to ensure people get the help they deserve is through the state, which can actually be held accountable for these expectations (again, in theory). that's more than you can say for the church.

The fact that Les Mis contradicts evangelical theology does not mean apologists shouldn’t use it—on the contrary. We can help non-Christian fans of the musical see how the vision that draws them toward the story can only be fulfilled in Christ.

his conculsion is LAUGHABLE. personally, the "vision that drew me to the story" at age twelve was my attraction to men. i'm a flaming homosexual, you see, and a transgender one at that. the overwhelming majority of musical theater fans i've encountered are some variety of queer. at age 22, ten years later, i'm drawn to the story still partially because i find these characters attractive and magnetic, but much more so for the literary and socialist political value i find in the narrative. i'm an unrepentant leftist as well, as are literally every other les mis fan i've ever met (besides yourself, of course). i've found more fulfillment through reading les misérables than i have in my exploration of the new testament, and i'm not even done with the book yet!

i don't really know how to conclude this other to point and laugh at john and his publictaion, because somehow i stumbled upon a conservative fan of les mis and the lack of self awareness is more baffling than i could have ever imagined it being

[meetmyothersouls]

It's Not You, It's Me

Part 12

Warnings: recovering from an accident, bruising, wedding, braxton hicks/contractions, violence/violent situations, a single gun (not used), feelings of dread and sadness, this is quite long so, please bare with me. Not proof read

What should have been a weeklong hospital stay, turned into two, then three, then before you knew it, Timothee had been in the hospital for a month. During yours and Timothee's stay, there was an interesting new development in your pregnancy: Braxon Hicks contractions. The first time you had one you thought for sure you were going into labor, luckily the hospital Timothee was staying at was the same hospital your OBGYN was at and the same hospital you were delivering in. So, your doctor saw you every time you had one, "just to make sure," you told them. By the time, Timothee was released, and a quick wedding ceremony was in order, you were eight months and a week pregnant, feeling like you were about to burst at the seams.

The week that Timothee was released from the hospital was exponentially busy, filled with dress fittings (your least favorite part considering), physical therapy for Timothee, somehow getting a church on board for a last-minute wedding, finding an ordained minister (which ultimately did not work out. Luckily, Timothee's best friend Stephane went the extra mile and spent the week getting ordained) and finally (and almost forgotten) obtaining a marriage license. Nicole took the matter of guest list, invitations, decorations and food into her own hands.

The night before the wedding, Timothee seemed distracted. He paced the floor of your shared apartment, biting his fingernails. He hissed in pain as he bit one down too far, drawing blood. The sight brought on one of the fake contractions. You winced a little as you got up, walking them off seemed to help.

"What's goin' on, Tim?" You asked, walking over to him. "Not getting cold feet, are you?" You asked, mostly joking.

Timothee quickly turned his neck to look at you, wincing in pain from the movement. A lot was still difficult for him, and it worried you to no end. "Of course not!" Timothee smiled, the bruising around his eyes and faded into a nasty yellow color, but somehow, he still managed to look insanely attractive. "I should be asking you that, you know? The one who always runs off." Immediately your faced dropped and Timothee quickly added, "I'm kidding. I'm kidding! No, really, everything's great, y/n. We're getting married tomorrow, our daughter's gonna be here any day now. What more could I want?"

You winced again at a second false alarm contraction and Timothee put a hand on your belly and ran the other through his hair. It was something he did when he was nervous. Then, his index finger went back into his mouth as he chomped on the already torn fingernail. You chalked it up to last minute jitters as you closed your eyes.

"We don't have to do this, you know?" He said quietly.

Your eyes popped open and you pulled his other hand into yours, hoping to minimize the torture he was putting his fingers through.

"I know, but a ceremony is important and I think your mom would flip if we didn't have one."

"I know, but-" Timothee slid his hands out of yours and went back to pacing the floor. He'd mellowed out a lot since the beginning of all this. And the accident left him a little fragile. Secretly, you hoped he'd get back to his normal devious self. Maybe after the wedding and after the baby was born, he'd settle back down.

"But....?"

"But," Timothee sighed, launching back into a pace. "I'm just freaking out. And probably over nothing. It's stupid. Forget it."

You rolled your eyes. "No. Fuck that. You can't just say that and then tell me to forget about it. What's going on, Timmy? Tell me."

You waddled over to him, hoping it looked like anything other than a waddle. You stopped him mid pace, pulling his hand from his mouth and took it in yours. His other hand went to your cheek as he brushed strand of hair behind your ear. He sighed again.

"Just tell me, baby," you urged him gently.

"I'm just waiting for something to happen. Something to go wrong."

His anxiety was talking again, and you were getting better and better and calming his rising panic. You'd been talking him off the ledge a lot lately. Sometimes were easier than others. You weren't sure how this one was going to go.

"Nothing's going to happen, Timothee. We're going to get married and then hopefully have this baby, like, two seconds after," you laughed. It was getting hard to breathe with how the baby was positioned.

He nodded, smiling as he took your face in his hands and kissed your lips tenderly before building up to a deeper, more passionate kiss.

"Let's go to bed," he said against your mouth. "Tonight's the last night I get to have sex with you as y/f/n y/l/n."

The next morning came early. Timothee had physical therapy that morning, so Nicole picked you up to begin getting you ready for your wedding. You couldn't believe it was happening. Your wedding. You were marrying Timothee Chalamet.

Nicole stood behind you as she zipped your dress up. Your hair was done, your make up was perfect and the dress, though heavily modified due to your pregnant belly, fit you like a glove and was somehow not the least bit uncomfortable. You looked beautiful and that was something you never considered yourself. Your eyes glistened a little as tears built up.

"Oh, honey," Nicole said, leading over to grab a few tissues. She handed them to you over your shoulder and you patted your eyes, careful to not smudge your perfect eyeliner.

"I'm sorry your parents couldn't make it here, sweety, but I just want you to know that long before today, I already considered you a daughter."

"Make that both of us" Timothee's dad, Marc, said from behind you. He must've snuck in without you noticing, which wouldn't be hard to do considering how much was on your mind. He looked quite handsome in his tuxedo with light blue accents. "Y/n, I'm not sure if you've given it any thought...and there's no pressure at all of course, but...if you want, I'd love to be the one to walk you down the aisle today."

Tears immediately welled up in your eyes, which prompted Nicole to grab more tissues. This time, she dabbed your eyes for you.

"I'd love that thank you, Mr. Chalamet. Or...should I call you Dad now?" You chuckled but cringed at your awakardness.

But marc offered you a genuine smile and his arm and said, "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Timothee's POV

I stood at the altar, my hands a sweaty mess. Normally, Y/n wouldn't want a big ceremony, and I knew she was doing it for everyone but her. That's one of the reasons I fell in love her. Her selflessness.

I'm lost in thought as the music begins playing and the groomsmen with the bridesmaids began to walk down the aisle and joined me on stage. Part of me, unfortunately, worried about her not showing, but these thoughts are instantly put at ease when the music changed and my dad brought Y/n out, his arm interlocked with hers.

Everything stopped and there was only her. She looked...beautiful. Pregnancy certainly made her glow like an angle sent straight from heaven, just for me. My eyes began to fill with tears and I didn't even try to keep them from falling. I wiped my eyes with one hand, keeping the other one behind my back, shaking like a leaf. Her dress, which she was so worried about made her look even more angelic. The fabric fell off of her shoulders, exposing my favorite spots to kiss, and draped down her arms. Lace covered the plunging neck line, a modification Y/n added to not show so much skin. A satin tie gathered perfectly around her waist, showing off a perfectly round baby bump. Then it hit me. Both of my girls were here on my wedding day.

And then, we locked eyes and she waved at me. Wiggling her delicate little fingers, in my direction. I couldn't help but chuckle. My dad helped her up the three steps. Words were spoken, but I didn't hear a damn on of them. Y/n hugged my dad before he joined my mother in the front row.

Stephane greeted the guests, speaking eloquently I'm sure, but all I could see, all I could hear, all I could think of was her. The day I'd waited for, since I saw her in that coffee shop so long ago, was here.

It must've been time for vows, because Y/n cleared her throat and said my name. Her eyes were glossy as she spoke.

"Timothee, my love, my world, my everything. We've been through a hell of a lot together, haven't we?" She chuckled and sniffled a little, and I reached out to grab one of her hands, rubbing an encouraging thumb over her fingers. "There have been moments in my life, where I didn't think I had a purpose, a reason. But then you came along, and you gave me two." She placed a hand on her belly, and she gripped mine tighter. "I never thought I'd get married, and I definitely never thought I'd have one these." The guests laughed and so did I. "But I'm so happy, Timothee. I'm so happy that I get to spend forever with the two of you. I love you," she said to me, her voice going a bit higher in pitch as it did when she was about to cry. "And I will never run from that. I promise.

Reader's POV

You breathed a deep sigh of relief as you finished your vows. You decided that you weren't going to write anything down. You were going to speak directly from your heart. You laid it all out for him in a way you hadn't ever before. And Timothee looked at you, happy tears welling up in his still bruised eyes.

Timothee opened his mouth to speak, but smiled instead, as if gathering words to say.

"I'm not as poetic as my beautiful bride here," he started, and you rolled your eyes knowing very well how eloquent he was when he spoke. Still, the small crowd of maybe 100 guests laughed. "So, I had to write mine down." Timothee reached a hand into his pocked, fishing for his vows. He finally pulled out a folded white sheet of paper. It appeared wrinkled and worn, like it was folded and unfolded countless times over numerous days as he worked out his feelings onto paper.

"Y/n," Timothee said, "I-" he cut himself off with a short, shaky breath and a light emotional sob. It was your turn to comfort him, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. He looked up at you and pulled his lips in to form a smile one does to push back a lump forming in their throat. He was trying so hard not to cry.

I love you. You mouthed.

"I love you too," he whispered back. He huffed out a breath and refocused. "I wrote this a week after I met you and-"

Timothee stopped again, cut off by something different this time. He turned his head to someone in the audience, someone that caught his attention. Instantly his face changed. Your smile dropped from your face and your snapped your neck in the direction he was looking in. Your stomach tightened, contracting again at the sight of the man standing in the back of the crowd. He entered quietly, Timothee must have seen him out of his peripheral vision, there was no sound upon his entrance; even the large church doors didn't make a sound. But a man that you knew from long ago stood in the threshold and his presence was just as menacing as you remembered.

"No," you whispered. "No. No. No."

The two of you, seconds ago standing in front of each other, holding hands, exchanging vows, shifted to face the man at the door. His face was twisted in an ominous smirk, making his dark eyes appear evil. His hair, as black as night, was styled as perfectly as it was the day you left him and decided to erase him from your life. But now, here he was and by his looks, he was here to ruin it.

"Y/n," Timothee said, not taking his eyes off of the wedding crasher. "Who is that."

You wish he hadn't have asked that. Because saying his name out loud would acknowledge that fact that somehow, he reentered your life. You spent so long trying to forget him, to repress him from your memory. But of course Timothee would ask. Why wouldn't he? You never spoke about Jacob. Not after what he did.

"His name is Jacob, you said. "And he's my ex-fiancé."

Timothee's grip on your hand tightened to the point of pain and the muscle in his jaw strained as he worked it. "For now," he sighed, as if he knew this would happen. You thought of what he said the night before. I'm just waiting for something to happen. Something to go wrong. And here it was. "We're going to skip over the fact that you've never mentioned this to me and figure out what the fuck is going on."

Jacob looked around the church, an obnoxious fake look of awe plastered to his face. He clapped his hands in mocked amusement and then held them out to both of you as he took slow, but deliberate steps towards the front of the church. "Oh, I hope I'm not too late. Y/n, I missed your invite, but you know I'd find you eventually." Jacob grabbed a wine glass from a woman's hand and downed the entire thing in a single gulp. He looked at Stephane. "Is it too late to object this shit show?"

Stephane stepped forward, an elegant swagger to him even in the most awkward situations. "With all due respect, uhm, sir," he added in disgust, "objections are reserved for legal matters only, emotional reasonings are not valid for objections. So, unless your objection is of legal stature, we won't be stopping the wedding."

Timothee pulled you closer to his body as Jacob pursed his lips in thought. Another fake contraction tightened around your belly, this time building in intensity. This time, a wince was hard to hide. Your hand went to your belly and your breathed out a big puff of air.

"Are you okay," Timothee whispered over his shoulder.

"Yeah. Yeah. Braxton Hicks," you reminded him.

"Oh for the love of God, Y/n. Really? Pregnant at your own wedding? I know you're trash but this," he held out his hands as if showing you to a crowd gathered to see a freakshow at a circus. "This is next level!" Jacob laughed in disbelief.

"Hey, man. Get the fuck out. You weren't invited and this is a private event. You've said what you needed to say. And whatever the hell went on between you two is clearly over. She doesn't want you. And no one wants you here right n ow. Leave. That's the last time I'll ask.

Jacob's lips pulled into a sadistic smirk again, and a sinister laugh vibrated in his throat. The guests looked horrified and a few of them already picked up their bags and walked out.

"Jacob, please. You're ruining my wedding day." Just like he ruined your life.

"Your wedding day?" He laughed out loud. "This was supposed to be OUR wedding day, y/n. Remember all the plans we made? All the things we did together, all the memories we made together? ALL THE LOVE WE MADE?!"

"Stop."

"You can't just throw that away."

"Stop it, Jacob."

"But you did. Didn't you? You threw it all away. You threw us away, y/n. Just like you threw me in prison!"

"BECAUSE YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!" You screamed. The remaining guests gasped, and Timothee's head snapped to you. You didn't tell him this. You didn't tell anyone anything. You couldn't. As soon as Jacob went to prison, you entered the witness protection program. You started over. You weren't sure how Jacob found you. How he was out of prison.

The rest of the guests were leaving the church in hoards at your outburst. Stephane still stood behind Timothee. You saw Larry hiding out in the corner. He'd have you if you needed and if god forbid anything happned to-

Jacob pulled his hand he'd been keeping in his pocket, revealing a heavy black handgun. Anyone left in the church aside from Stephane and Larry had fled. And Jacob began walking causally around the pews, waving the gun around as he talked.

"You know, I've had years to think about how this would all go down. Because I knew you'd change your name. I knew you'd move and hide. And lemme tell ya, you were a tricky one to find," he shook the gun at you as talked, "They did good with you."

Jacob pointed the gun in your direction, and instantly Timothee opened his mouth to speak.

"Ah, Ah," Jacob said, moving his aim to Timothee. Timothee made sure you were behind him, assuring that if Jacob pulled the trigger, it'd be him that he shot. Another shooting pain rippled through your abdomen, this time your knees buckled a little and it took everything in you not to fall to them. You gripped the back of Timothee's tux, but he didn't seem to notice. Stephane placed one hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles and the other hand on Timothee's shoulder.

"If you can't tell," Jacob started back up when he was sure Timothee was done interrupting. "I'm calling this wedding off. She's not marrying you." He emphasized the word 'you' with evident disgust.

"We're already married," Timothee blurted out. If there were still guests in the room, you were sure his declaration would have resulted in more gasps. Jacob stopped walking and lowered his gun. Taking his chance, Timothee started up again. "About a month ago, I was in a pretty bad accident. We decided that as soon as I was out we'd get married. But we couldn't wait. We got married in my hospital room and didn't tell anyone. This ceremony was all for show and formalities. Y/n is already my wife."

Jacob took in what Timothee had to say and for a second you were hopeful. Your stomach tightened again, and you couldn't suppress the groan of pain you let out.

"Y/n," Timothee said.

"I'm fine," you assured him, even though you felt like vomitting. You started to wonder if these were real contractions. "I'm fine," you said again, unaware of who you were trying to convince.

You gathered yourself enough to stand up straight, thought the pressure building between your legs was starting to increase and became more obvious than it had in the last few weeks. Your eyes found Jacob again, standing right in front of the stairs leading up to the stage.

"No matter," he shrugged and pointed the gun. That's when you felt it, like a water balloon from inside of you bursting. Fluid rain down your legs and onto the stage. If Timothee saw it, he didn't make it known.

"Tim," you whispered. "Tim my water broke." It came out like a sob.

Timothee gripped your wrist tight, you already felt bruises forming. He didn't say anything, he only stood his ground in front of you, his body as still as any statue. Stephane took his place at his side, increasing your shield from Jacob.

Jacob let out a laugh that echoed and bounced off of the walls of the empty church. "Oh no, you don't understand, you stupid fucks! I don't want her. Why would I kill the one I want? No. I'm coming after you."

"Ahh, fuck!" You screamed as another contraction rippled through your stomach. It was unlike any pain you'd ever felt, like your insides being twisted and ripped out. Your stomach tightened so intensely you couldn't move. The only relief was that it wasn't constant. You prayed they were far apart enough to finish whatever this was.

"If she won't come with me...I'll make her a widow. She's so pathetic, she'll come crawling right back to me. Now, come on," Jacob said, waving the gun towards himself, motioning Timothee to follow, but Timothee stood still, completely unmoving. It wasn't until Jacob was halfway to the door, that he realized Timothee wasn't following. Jacob stompped back over, clearly annoyed, not stopping until he was directly in front of Timothee, his nose practically touching Tim's.

"You better learn how to follow directions, pretty boy."

"Fuck you," Timothee spat.

"You want me to kill you in front of your widow?"

Timothee didn't answer.

Behind him, you screamed as another contraction reared its ugly head.

"Y/n," Timothee said, slowing turning around with up turned palms, assuring Jacob he wasn't going to run off or do anything slick. "Y/n, listen to me."

"No. No. Nononono. No I can't do this. I can't. Do go. Don't go with him. Please. I need you, Timothee."

"I know. I know my love. Listen. Listen to me."

You made yourself look at him, and regretted it instantly. You'd seen Timothee in a thousand different ways, but you'd never seen him as broken as this.

"You get to the hospital. Okay? You have our baby and when she's here, you tell her how much I love her and you make sure you tell her that for me every day until you grow old and gray. Until you don't have the strength to say it anymore. But please. Please know that for every ounce of love I have for her-" his hand went to your belly, and you sobbed loudly. "Is nothing compared to how fiercely I loved you."

Loved.

"No! No I'm not going. I'm not leaving you, you can't make me Timothee, please."

"LET'S GO!" Jacob screamed.

"Just give me a fuckin minute!" Timothee yelled, tears rolling down his face.

"I love you, y/n. Don't you ever fucking forget that."

Timothee grabbed your face tightly in his hands and kissed you. Normally, you'd love a kiss that deep and passionate. It was one of those kisses that Timothee put his entire heart into. His tongue wrapped around yours. His taste in your mouth. His lips skating gracefully around yours, even with how rushed it was. The soft noise he made while he kissed you that he didn't even realize he was doing but he did because his entire soul was in the kiss. But right now, you hated it. You hated it because he was kissing you like it was his last. And for all you knew, it was. 

Tags: @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp @kteezy997 @sufferingstarlight @xoxoloverb @tropicalrozmajzl @iloveneilperry @syirnge @patronsaintofthetwinks @rosewatergroupie @onlyenoughiamweird

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

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159 SENTENCES??? 159?????????????

Luckily, I live for the challenge.

---

“Right,” Sophia nods. “Okay, so, what? He’s ashamed? Nervous of how we’ll react?”

“Maybe,” Buck agrees. “I mean, that makes sense, right? The last time we saw each other, he…”

“Tried to eat you,” Sophia fills in.

Buck frowns. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Well, what would you call it? EIther way, I know my brother. He feels like shit about it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Buck sighs. “But he shouldn’t. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t in control.”

“Is he now?” She asks.

“I don’t know.”

They decide that Eddie’s main priority is almost certainly finding Christopher. His next stop, therefore, might be Pepa's. If he stopped by and found that Buck doesn’t have Christopher, then she is probably where he might go to find intel on Helena and Ramon. They decide Sophia will drive to Pepa’s and wait for him there. Ensure Pepa is safe, if it comes to that. 

And Buck? Buck is going to go out there and do what he’s been doing for months now. He’s going to search. 

🩸🩸🩸

Eddie watches as they realize.

He’s not sure what tipped them off. The photo or the oats. Maybe the screen didn’t pop into place quite right. 

He doesn’t mean to be so underhanded or creepy but he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know if he’s safe. And he doesn’t know how to find out about Christopher without outright calling his parents. He needs to find a way to determine who he can talk to. 

Eddie finds a better place to hide. He doesn’t rely on the mailboxes to conceal him anymore. As it turns out, a little bit of snooping into whose houses are collecting newspapers on the front tells him that his neighbor two doors down, Mr. and Mrs. Langley, are out of town. Have been for at least four days. Mrs. Langley also keeps quite the garden, with a big, thick shrubbery. It is behind one of said shrubs that Eddie finds himself currently situated. 

He could be embarrassed. Maybe he even should be embarrassed. But he’s been in much worse positions over the past year. He’s been as low as a person can be. He’s done much worse than hiding in a bush and spying on his sister and best friend. He’s sure if Hell exists, this won’t even make it onto the list of tickets they’re sending his way. 

So he sees them pull in. He sees them walk into the house, twin stressed expressions on their faces. Buck’s tie discarded, collar askew. He watches them disappear into the house, and he watches them re-emerge from it not even ten full minutes later, changed into different clothing, looking entirely distraught. Sophia, in a dark hoodie, is crying. That gnaws at his conscience, even if he is potentially mad at her for potentially hooking up with Buck. Buck is wearing a fucking turtleneck and heavy jacket, like it’s a fall day in New England. They’re each carrying separate sets of car keys. 

“Text me when you get there,” Buck says to Sophia. “And, uh, I guess say hi to Pepa for me.”

“If she lets me in,” Sophia retorts, wiping her eyes. 

What? Why the hell wouldn’t their tia let Sophia in the house? Is the family that pissed about Sophia and Buck? Why should they be? Only Eddie knows why it hurts so much. Unless it was some sort of affair and things with Hernan ended messily. Jesus, but to be so cruel about that? Especially after how Eddie fucked up with Kim. 

Wait, why is he defending her right now? They’re vampire hunters having some sort of romantic tryst. He’s mad at them. 

Buck gives Sophia a quick, one-armed hug. It feels shockingly ordinary. Platonic. Separate bedrooms, boring hug… Maybe not a romantic tryst? But the wedding rings, the church, and the fact that she’s even here… Eddie doesn’t know what to think. He wishes he could ask them without risking being shot or stabbed. 

They both get in vehicles and drive off in separate directions down the road. If Sophia is looking for him at Pepa’s, where could Buck be going? Eddie tries to think. It’s obviously somewhere he thinks Eddie would go, having fled here. And he’s probably operating under the assumption that this is Eddie’s first time visiting the house. That he hadn’t checked on things yesterday. So where?

Not the loft. Eddie crosses that off his list immediately. Unlike yesterday, where Eddie hadn’t seen inside the house, they both know now that Eddie knows where Buck is living. The loft is a waste of time. Eddie’s next move had been the firehouse. That matches the direction that Buck drove off in. That’s where he’s checking. 

That’s where Eddie has to follow him. 

Between Sophia and Buck, Eddie thinks he can guess Buck’s next moves better. He knows his instincts, the way he operates and solves problems. Besides, if Soph is going to Pepa, then he risks a third person as a variable. No, it has to be Buck. 

Eddie has spent months avoiding being hunted. He’s spent months judging danger, assessing risks. He knows how to hunt back. So he’s going to follow Buck, and he’s going to assess the threat he poses to Eddie reuniting with Christopher, and then he’s going to figure out how the hell to get back to his son. 

💧💧💧

Buck calls Bobby as he drives to the station. The line rings four times before he answers. 

“Buck?” He sounds surprised. Maybe a little apprehensive.

Buck wants to cry. They’re so close. They’re so close to finding Eddie, and then Buck can fix all of this. Maybe Bobby will stop being disgusted by him, no matter how hard he works to try and hide it. 

“Bobby, I-I need to call in sick for tomorrow.” There’s no way he’s wasting a full twenty-four hours. “Maybe for the next two shifts, I’m not sure yet.”

He’ll take a full leave of absence if he has to, between Chris and Eddie. 

There’s a long pause.

“Are you driving?” Bobby asks. Shitty car speaker connection giving him away. Though, Buck isn’t sure why it’s relevant. 

“To a walk-in clinic,” Buck lies. “I’ve been having stomach issues. Want to get it all sorted before Chris comes home.”

He does feel nauseated. At least that much is true. Only, he knows the cause. 

“Fine. Okay.” Bobby says. “Keep me updated.” 

It’s like he doesn’t even care anymore if Buck is sick. Buck feels cold. He didn’t know it had gotten that bad. Where does the love and goodwill built over years and years end? Is it soon? Buck may be at the end of his rope, but he can’t stop. Not yet. 

“I will,” Buck promises. He will do everything he can to win Bobby’s respect back. Soon. 

Bobby ends the call. 

🩸🩸🩸

Eddie sits in a cafe and watches as Buck watches the back parking lot of Station 118.

He has about forty-five stolen dollars left to his name. The remainder of his morally sound acquired dollars having gone into gas refills. So he doesn’t really have the extra bucks for fancy coffee. He’s drinking the cheapest thing on the menu; a cup of peppermint tea. 

Caffeine doesn’t really hit the way it used to. Neither does alcohol. Or drugs. Well, not that he’s tried much beyond marijuana. But from what he’s heard. So anyway, he makes decisions based on flavor these days, and mint tastes better now than it ever has to him. 

It was a bold move coming in here. This was their usual coffee run place during shifts, if they didn’t want whatever was in the kitchen. Probably still is. But they didn’t choose to purchase too often. Buck and Ravi were the usual culprits, when they did. More of their paychecks were disposable. So Eddie is banking on the staff not recognizing him. Besides, from what he’s heard, Los Angeles has had a lot of turnover lately.

Eddie blends in, thankfully.

---

OVER 1300 WORDS

[doing-something-unholy]

well, i did as you asked.

last night i came so many times i lost count. i thought, why not pay a small tribute to the father and fast along with him for a little. except of course i can break it whenever i want. just the pressure of my palm on my dick was enough to make me convulse. i came as soon as i entered myself, and then i just kept going. it’d be harder to find you a moment when i wasn’t coming. 

so of course that session wasn’t enough. i work from home, and i’m not on camera often. i had my hand down my pants the whole day. when i finally got a free moment, i fucked myself again. on my knees, then ass up. thought about saying a little prayer while i did it, just for you, but my mind was otherwise occupied. 

i miss dick. you could say i’m addicted. toys and fingers are great, but they’re not quite cutting it right now. there’s this guy i keep seeing on sniffies. really hot. one of the rare face pics. lots of stubble, chest hair, treasure trail. you know. all that good stuff. uncut. that’s on his profile too, obviously. i don’t know him, but i’ve seen him around town, and every time i do, i seize up. i just want him on me. i want to know what his dick tastes like. but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you.

there’s a bet going around town that you’re not gonna make it through lent. your escapades have had consequences, father. why do you think i came to church at all? i’d heard about the young pastor down the road whose congregation kept coming out of confessional walking funny. sometimes he’d come out walking funny himself. sometimes he’d have bruises poking out in weird places. sometimes the church wasn’t as empty as he thought it was, and he wasn’t being quiet enough. 

do you think someone’s out there right now? do you think they can hear me? think they’re getting off to this?

there was a small stain on your chasuble once. i guess you forgot to clean it off. i know, these things can be so hard to remember when you’re getting fucked stupid. poor little cumrag. was that yours or someone else’s? you’ve been wearing your robes a lot more often. it’s not hard to put two and two together. it’s lent, and you’re hiding something. how many times have you led mass with a boner under your alb? this past month? this past week?

and how many people in your congregation, do you think, are just sitting there waiting for you to pop? how many would stay to watch if i fucked you over the altar, or on those marble steps? we could all take turns.

unlike most of my neighbors, i do have faith in you. you’ll make it through lent. it’s only a few more weeks. it should be easy. 

but just to make it easier: do not touch yourself any time you hear my voice. and if you were touching yourself, stop. now. and if you can’t do it for the sake of your fast, father, then do it so i can get my money’s worth.

bitch anon :)

Ohh you're back. With quite a story to share as well. I- well- oh, Lord, where to start... I don't think you're sorry at all, and... at this point I can't blame you. Would you still say a Hail Mary for your penance at least? Any other circumstance I would ask for more but I did lead you into this.

And that man does sound... very handsome.

Uh, anyway-- I- There's really that many rumors around? Oh God I am in so much trouble. Please, this can't spread further. I'll be more subtle. How many times have I been caught?

There's a stain on the chasuble? Where did-- oh. Ohh no. I- I deserve to be called a cumrag. It... it was someone else's. And I was hoping people would see me wearing the cassock more often as a sign of respect for tradition, but... yes, it's true, it's to hide my body's reactions. The layers of the vestments hide my sin but apparently the act of hiding at all was too suspicious.

"Take turns?" I- Oh. Hmm. Would- would like to hear a confession of mine? I've thought about that so much. That if this repression went on much longer I'd- I'd whore myself out in the church and offer my body to the congregation, taking on their sins and letting them take it out on me and use me. Reversing my vows from celibacy to free use. I wish I could get "fucked stupid" more often if I'm completely honest with myself.

I wasn't touching, I promise. I know you have no reason to believe that but I promise you I wasn't. It's only a few more weeks, just a little bit longer. I appreciate your faith in me.