#this song got me through church every year

[instantpansies]

kind of beautiful how seductive the media you havent thought about in three years sounds when you have huge projects due....

[withahappyrefrain]

I constantly think about friends to lovers (quite literally lovers) w/ Bob. Like imagine being childhood friends who totally like each inter but don’t say anything until the reader visits Bob in Miramar and hangman or rooster goes up to her and hits on her and Bob finally snaps. That night he makes sure that the next day that the reader is off limits

"What the hell is your problem Floyd?"

One minute you were trying to politely (but also firmly) turn down Jake Seresin's advances and the next minute your best friend of two decades was leading you out of the bar.

It was another thing to add on the list of weird shit Bob had done since you arrived in Miramar.

First was the way his welcoming hug had lingered, how he buried his face into your hair. Then it was how he licked his lips whenever he saw you in your sleepwear. Prior to five minutes ago, the most recent action was how he was rendered speechless when you showed him your outfit for tonight. When asked if something was wrong with the sundress, he quickly sputtered a response while his face turned bright red.

Something was going on.

"Are you going to talk to me or do I have to sing your least favorite song?" Though unusual, it was a tried and true method. Bob had nothing against Justin Bieber personally, but having three younger sisters meant he had to hear 'Baby' every hour of the day for two years straight.

That very threat was what made Bob finally turn around. He looked out of sorts; his usually perfectly straightened glasses were crooked, there was a slight flush of red blooming across his cheeks, his usually perfectly coiffed hair had been run through by one of his large hands. A sandy brown curl brushed against his forehead.

Bob had no right to look so hot when he was being annoying.

"Do not go out with him," He grunted, voice uncharacteristically low. You would need to unpack what it did to you later.

"Who said I was?"

"I know he looks like he should be on the cover of Men's Health, but that's the only compliment I'll give him. He doesn't deserve you, you deserve better. And I'm not saying I'm better- wait, yes I am. But what I mean is-"

"I know you're better. You're the best man I know and I've been having to act like I don't want you like that for the last ten fucking years. So don't play that humble act with me Floyd."

Wait, shit. That's not what you meant to say.

His eyes widened like saucers, "T-ten years? I could have had you for ten years now?"

Wait, what?

Timidly, you nodded, "Yeah. Ten years. What a waste, right?"

Bob shook his head before stepping forward. Whether it was you or him who initiated the kiss didn't matter. His lips were so soft, no doubt due to the chapstick you'd watch him apply. The scent of sage and mint flooded your nostrils. How did he smell so good all the damn time? Speaking of time, y'all had a decade to make up for, which is why you didn't feel bad about swiping your tongue across his bottom lip. You especially didn't feel bad when it got a groan out of Bob. The sound was low and gutteral, so unlike that pristine church boy act he put up for everyone but you.

Perhaps there were a lot of signs you had missed. Probably.

Wait, when the fuck did he lift you up? Fuck, he was that strong? You weren't light by any means, but Bob was deceptively muscular.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled before pressing your back against the wall, "Should take you out on a date but I can't wait, 've waited so long-"

"Robby," your groaned as his teeth sunk into your neck, "If we don't get into your car, I'm going to let you fuck me against this wall."

Bob could feel his cock twitch against his jeans, "What about inside the car?"

"I knew you were fucking dirty Floyd."

[ghxstwrites]

Forgive Me Father

Pairing: Priest! Yunho x GN! Reader

Summary: It’d been forever since you stepped into a church, but after one too many life altering events, a friend suggested confessing as a last resort, and it turns out you got more than you prayed for. 

WC: 2.6k

AU: Religion! Au

Genre: smidgen of Angst, Smutty smut smut smut, porn with plot

Warning(s): Smut! MDNI! priest kink went brrrrr with this man, dacryphilia, impact play, lotttsss of degradation, lil bit of praise, discussion of religion and blasphemous acts, reader can be a bit of a smartass, unprotected sex (that's not very holy… wrap it up) - sorry if i'm missing anything!

A/N: Well, I wont ever see Heaven after this. Thank you to @bunnliix for the proofread and help on this one, also @skzdust for you Catholicism knowledge, big shout out to @kpop---scenarios for the title!

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Tag List: @bethelighthalazia @a---shura @kpop---scenarios @autieofthevalley @wisejudgedragonhairdo (send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

Kinktober & Flufftober Masterlist

It felt like one thing after another, your fiancé ran away with their co-worker and work had eliminated your position, and you’d lost what was supposed to be a lifelong friend in the process, it felt like something was out to get you. You’d tried everything to help clear any negative thoughts with every feasible solution you’d been recommended when searching the internet.

Journaling? Didn’t work - after you’d nearly jammed the pen through one of the books writing all the warning signs down after your fiancé left, and ruined another with tears talking about your friend.

Yoga and Meditation? Nope, after 3 sessions you decided being alone with your thoughts was definitely not the route you wanted to take.

Blasting your favorite songs? It worked… until the song you were going to use as your first dance at your wedding came on. Your speaker went through the open window right before you cried yourself to sleep that night. 

Which brings you to today, a group of your friends had decided to invite you out to lunch, the first time you’d really seen the world had set its sights on you. 

“Oh sweetheart…,” your friend cooed at you across the table, it sounded like she was mocking you at first, despite you knowing she wasn’t, you weren’t convinced she had an evil bone in her body. “Listen… I know it isn’t usually your thing, but.. Have you thought about church? Or even going to confessionals? They don’t really talk to you, the priest just listens…. Once you're done he offers solutions and if you use them, great. If not, no harm no foul?” she shrugs her shoulders unsure of her own words to you. 

You contemplated for a minute “You’re right it isn’t my thing, I don't really get how sitting next to a stranger who’s whole personality is religious context, talking to him like you’re talking to air…but if it works for you, that's great… for you,” You, admittedly a little harsh, reply back to her. 

Late one night you’d sat on your bed looking for jobs on your laptop, and with every passing one you’d grown more frustrated, you either didn’t have matching qualifications, they wanted a better degree or they weren’t even paying a livable wage. 

“Fuck this,” you huff out as you close your laptop, shoving it off your lap and fall back in bed. You’d pull your hoodie over your face as you listen to the sound of rainfall hit your apartment window and your friends' words ring back in your brain, what else did you really have to lose? Talking to a stranger who knows nothing about you and would likely never see you again, huffing you get dressed and head over to your local church.

Walking in, you take note of the admittedly beautiful surroundings, stained glass windows, marble statues, all of it was cloaked in darkness as night had fallen, but the moon light cascaded through the windows beautifully. 

You took a moment to look around, familiarizing yourself with your surroundings as it had been years since you’d entered a church. Wooden pews, rich velvet red floors, as dated as it may look, it was beautiful. 

It wasn’t long before your eyes fell on the confessional, a wooden box in the far corner of the room, sighing to yourself, you walked toward it. You slowly reach for the handle and open the door, you sit down in the booth as the silence is suddenly so loud. 

“What brings you here, Child?” A male voice spoke from the otherside of the grate.

Startled, you respond as calmly as you can. “I-I’m down on my luck and a friend suggested this… I’m hoping you can listen or help?”

The man spoke up once again “Very well, you may proceed.”

With a heavy sigh you proceed to recount the last few months of troubles to the man, feeling yourself getting angry and the tone shift slightly. You feel like you can dig your nails into the laminated wood you sat on, that same grit showing up in the way you speak.

“Easy child...” the man lulls out at you “There's no need to speak with such venom.”

The tone of his voice admittedly going straight to your core, but why? You don’t know anything about the young priest on the other side, other than exactly that, a young man who has devoted his life to the church, are you really that insane?

“Sorry sir -” 

“Please, refer to me as father, Father Yunho,” He cuts you off.

“Sorry Father…” you manage to say back, a calmness washing over your voice as you try to push those thoughts  to the back of your mind.

“Father, please help.” you whine out, feeling frustrated “I am at the end of my rope and nothing seems to be working,” you admit.

“I see… is that all you’d like to confess, child? I have a feeling there is more,” he all but whispers. 

The way his words fall from his mouth has you pushing your thighs together, his voice was as velvety as the floors of his church, delicate yet demanding.

“N-no father,” you say, barely above a whisper, when you hear a small chuckle on the other side.

“Very well, I sense that you need to reflect on yourself and perhaps your relationship with our savior, putting your faith in him may guide you to the path you are seeking,” he retorts back at you.

“Thank you Father.. For listening and.. Helping,” you sound pitiful, you felt as if you were about to cry

“If you feel the need to come back to confess anything further, I’m always here child.” he said back to you, his tone calm but with a hidden undertone to it that you couldn’t quite discern.

It had been a few weeks since you’d gone to visit Yunho, and out of everything you confessed that night, the one thing that stuck with you was the sound of his voice. 

The way it flowed like warm honey wouldn’t leave your head, what would your name sound like falling from those lips, the noises he’d make, maybe even… No, stop, he's a priest, he was there to listen and guide you and now all you can think about is the noises you could make him elicit.

You’d laid there, it’d been a rough day as several more rejection emails clogged your inbox, you think back to the young priest's words, full of encouragement - but the more they replayed the more you stirred, your hand guiding its way down your body, “Father please…” you’d softly moaned out as your hand dips into your shorts.

It had felt like the universe had given you a break, you’d been given a job offer, and a nice one at that, could this have been the divine intervention the young priest was talking about?

Despite the feeling of gratitude, and things looking up - there was still one thing in the back of your head. 

Father Yunho.

You found yourself back in the walls of the church late one evening, you’d just come from your first day of work and since the church was on the way home you wanted to stop in, if nothing else to pay your respects and close this chapter of your life. 

You’d sat down on the cold bench in the confessional. “Father Yunho? Are you there?”

“Oh it’s you again,” he speaks softly. He remembered me? “Is everything okay?”

That damn voice, the way it seeps out of his mouth, the way it makes you think the unholiest thoughts in the holiest of places.

“Y-yes… well yes and no,” you say to him “I was able to find a job, Today was my first day actually, I wanted to stop in and say  thank you…’ you trailed off

“And?” the young priest smirks to himself, he knows something else has brought you back - no one comes to confess a warm hearted thank you. “I feel as if there is still something you are withholding, child.”

“Please, call me Y/N…” you muster, trying to change the subject.

“Very well, Y/n,” he says, “Please, I will not force you but how can I help you if you do not confess what is plaguing you?”

Damn it. He has you cornered, you can’t back out of this now. 

“F-Father, please forgive me, but I.. I have sinned,” you whimper out. “Since the last time we spoke I.. I can’t stop thinking of you.” you confess to the young man sitting across the partition from you.

“Thinking of me? Thinking of me, how?” he asked you.

“I-” you choke on your own words, “Late at night.. When I replay your words, they start as encouragement and then I can’t help but think of what other sounds you can make.. I..” you look at the floor, embarrassed by your own confession, across the partition Yunho's face is getting hotter, and embarrassingly enough to him, his pants are getting tighter. 

When Yunho took the oath to be a faithful leader for Christ on the altar in this very church he made many vows, including celibacy, which never affected him until now. You, a seemingly innocent individual, came to him for advice, advice he was happy to offer to you, and now sitting across from you as you recount the blasphemous things you’d done while thinking about him, had made him feel things he’d never felt before.  

“Y/n, Pl-Please,” Yunho whined out

“I’m so sorry Father… I feel so ashamed at the amount of times I've gotten off to just the mere thought of your voice…” you feel the tears well up in your eyes.

Yunho is sat across from you and with every whimper and sob he feels it go straight to his dick, painfully aware of just how bad he’s affected you, as it’s now affecting him.

“Y-Y/n.. Please.. I…” he breathes out as his head tilts back against the confessional as he tries to push the thoughts out of his head, but now all he can think about is your tear stained face begging for forgiveness and he lets out a low moan. 

“Father are you… are you okay,” you lift your head to look at the mesh partition as if it were him. “I’m sorry if I…If i said too much.”

“Such- ah- filth should be reprimanded,” Yunho says through gritted teeth.

The sound goes straight to your core, causing you to press your thighs together in response.

“Father I -” Your words were cut short by the confessional door swinging open, leaving you face to face with the young priest. 

“You come into the house of Christ with such a perverted mouth and expect me to let you walk away?” He spat at you.”You are beyond saving Child,” as he pulls you out of the confessional and pushes you onto a nearby pew, leaving you shocked.

“The likes of you should be punished” he sits next to you and pulls you over his lap eliciting a yelp from you. His large hand comes down on your ass, the sound echoing through the church, causing you to cry out. 

“Quiet, you’ll take the punishment as penance for your sins, understood?” You let out a muffled sob “Now, Count.”

“One..” spank “T-Two,”  spank  “Th-Three,” you cry out as Yunho's broad hand comes down on your ass, tears rolling down your face.

“Such a waste of obedience in such a disobedient slut,” he says to you, gently massaging your asscheek from the smacks. 

“On your Knees,” you quickly move to place yourself on the ground. “Years ago, I vowed to Christ I would serve him in all his glory, I vowed obedience, poverty and celibacy.. And then my only thanks is to be sent a filthy slut to break me of those vows.” he spits as he removes his robe, and makes quick work of his belt. You sat back watching his every move, eyes eventually finding the tent that had been forming in his slacks.

“Father.. Please… please forgive me,” you sob up at him. “Quiet, you’ll speak when spoken too, understand?” he looks down at you. “Yes, Father” you squeak out as he smirks. “That’s better…” he reaches out to cup your face, wiping the stray tear away. ‘Now, why don’t you put this pretty mouth to good use?” he coos at you, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. 

Leaning back, he pulls out his aching cock, you lean forward and give him and give him a couple experimental pumps, which draws a beautiful noise out of the taller man before taking him completely in your mouth. 

The warm wet feeling has him in shambles, he’s putting all of his focus into not cumming down your throat immediately as you expertly work his length, his hand finding your hair as he attempts to take control of the situation. 

“There you go…” He lulls out, as his mouth drops open, as an unfamiliar pit starts forming in the pit of his stomach. He can feel it building as you bob your head up and down his cock, his grip on your hair tightening as he feels himself getting close, he pulls you away from him, using the hand in your hair to make you look up at him. Drool trailing out of your mouth as you look at him with slightly glassy eyes.

Looking at you, a switch flips in his mind, “So pretty, so obedient for me,” he says barely above a whisper as a smirk forms on his face. “Up, I’m not finished with you,” he pulls you to your feet as he stands up, leading you up to the altar, he forces you over it as he kicks your feet apart, he reaches for your hair, pulling it forcing it to look up. In front of you is a large marble statue of Christ. 

“To make sure you know just what you’ve done, I want you to see him,” he says sternly as tears well in your eyes again, before you can form a reply you feel Yunho’s cock slide into you, bottoming out rather quickly. The young priest throws his head back as his fingertips dig into your hip, causing you both to moan. Yunho pulls out slowly before ramming himself back into you, setting a rough pace. 

 “Father.. P-Please” you beg as his grip on your hair tightens. “F-uck please.. I can’t last much longer like this, Father please,” tears stream down your face as you stare at the marble statue in front of you.

“Not my favorite sinner begging for forgiveness now” he quips at you, his pace slowing down “Tell me exactly why I should forgive you for the sin you’ve brought into this church? Before our Lord and savior?” He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust. “How pathetic, now you’re crying?” he smirks as he pulls you back, body flush with his “Go on, let go.. Show me how much you really are sorry,” He coos in your ear. 

“Father - I.. I” your mind goes blank, your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks with one final thrust from Yunho, his name falling from your lips like hymns on a Sunday morning, he lets go of your hair, causing you to fall forward onto the altar as he pulls out of you, painting your back in his seed. The feeling of his seed on your back makes you shudder, the aftershocks of your orgasm pulling the energy out of you as you lay on the altar. Catching his breath, Yunho looks down at you, covered in his release and smirks.

”Whoever conceals their sins, does not prosper,” He breathes out  “but one who confesses it finds mercy.”

[emsdevs]

Jack, Do You Think About Me?

a/n: this has been a thought in my head since this song came out! here's a little jack x famous singer!reader inspired by noah by megan moroney. enjoy :)

You and Jack had gotten together the summer after you both turned seventeen. Your relationship was good, but good wasn’t always enough. You’d skip class together, riding around in his car, blasting “Record Year” by Eric Church. You were completely his, but he didn’t belong to you, not really. When he got drafted, he made the decision that your relationship should end, so you both decided to live out your last summer together before ultimately calling it quits the day before he got on a plane to New Jersey. 

Now, it had been years since you had seen him. You checked on him every once in a while, through the internet or mutual friends. You wanted the best for him, and he’d always own a piece of your heart. You couldn’t let him have all of it anymore though. You had met a nice guy, just a couple of years older than you, at your job. You were fresh out of college and quite nervous, but he had helped you settle in. Before long, you and the guy, Liam, had realized there was a spark between the two of you. He asked you out, and a few nights later you found yourself on a dinner date with him. Liam was great, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew he wasn’t Jack.

Not long after you and Liam officially got together, you decided to pursue your dreams and started uploading covers and your own songs to YouTube. After just a couple of months, you had gotten discovered and signed a deal with a record label. Liam was right there with you, supporting you through it all, but you couldn’t help but think about when Jack would tell you he’d never heard a voice more beautiful than yours. Now you’re touring, and it’s affecting your relationship with Liam. 

“I never see you anymore. I just… I thought I could handle this, but I need someone who can be here. I can’t settle down with a girl who lives on a tour bus,” Liam seemed exhausted, and you were tired of arguing with him, especially after that last comment.

“Fine, you can find your way to the airport I assume, then?”

“Yeah. I’ll get outta your hair.”

That night, after your tears dried up, you did what you did best, write. Just hours later, you were looking at a song called “Break It Right Back” that summed up how you were feeling about your entire relationship. When your band met with you to practice the next day, you threw it into the mix with some of your other unreleased songs, letting them get a feel for how you pictured the melody sounding. You’d be performing in Buffalo, New York later that night, and you planned to debut it as a surprise song on the setlist. It would likely stay for the next few shows, just until you got all the feelings out.

Four nights later, you were playing Madison Square Garden, but unbeknownst to you, a certain boy you used to consider a brother dragged your ex and half of their hockey team to the VIP section of your show. You had made it to the halfway point, walking around the stage and interacting with fans. That’s when you see him, Jack Hughes, the boy you had never really gotten over. You locked eyes with him (the VIP section was rather close to the stage at your shows), and everything came rushing back. You continued on with the show, trying to play it off and act like you were fine, but all of that changed when it was time to play the surprise song. Originally, like in the past three shows, you were planning to play “Break It Right Back”, but something stopped you. You could feel his eyes on you, and you knew you had to try one last time. You stopped your band and began to give the audience a little speech.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just… We were supposed to play “Break It Right Back” right now, but I feel like I should perform another song for you guys. I uhh… I wrote this song a while back. It’s about an ex of mine. We were um… we were together for about a year in high school, but our lives led us in different directions. So yeah, um… this one’s called “Noah”, and yes, I changed the guy’s name. So no one go searching for someone named Noah that you think I dated because I didn’t,” you tried to joke a little at the end, attempting to calm your nerves. Your band knew the song and started playing it perfectly. You couldn’t look anywhere near Jack, terrified of what his reaction might be. Soon, you were at the bridge, and your eyes were briefly drawn to his before you started singing, “It’s more problematic than it is innocent and sweet. You’re more like a secret I wish I didn’t have to keep, and I bet by now you’ve found somebody new. I did too, but when I lie down next to him sometimes I’d rather it be with you.” 

You finished the song, still not daring to glance Jack’s way, and then you reveled in the cheers from the audience, who had clearly enjoyed you performing a never-before-heard song. 

Once the show was finished, you went back to your dressing room after sharing a hug with your band and vocalists. You took a breath, letting yourself calm down from the adrenaline rush you still get from performing. A moment later, you hear a knock on the door. Assuming it’s your manager, you tell them to come in, but you’re shocked to see a gaggle of hockey players huddled in the doorway. The two in the front stand out the most to you though. You’d be able to recognize a Hughes brother anywhere, and now there were two right in front of you. Luke decides he’s done wasting time, quickly moving forward and engulfing you in a hug. All of the boys, even the ones you had never met, gave you their congratulations and told you how much they enjoyed the show. It wasn’t long before Luke was coming up with an excuse to usher everyone but Jack out of the room, hoping you two could work things out. 

“You did great out there,” Jack started the conversation.

“Thanks. I guess I have to come watch you play hockey now, huh?” you chuckle, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Did you write that song about me?” Jack cut to the chase, tired of dancing around the subject.

“Jack- I… If it bothers you, I won’t release it, and I’ll never perform it again. I just needed to let you know how I felt when I saw you in the audience.”

“It doesn’t bother me, I swear. It makes me happy. I think about you a lot. Honestly, I don’t know that I ever got over you, and the biggest mistake of my life was not even trying to make the distance work with you.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We both needed to grow on our own. Look at where we both are, living our dreams. If we didn’t break up, I probably wouldn’t be here, and your game is so good right now! Please don’t feel bad,” you tried to reassure him.

“Do you uhh… Do you think we could try again? I mean- I know you’re on tour right now, and I’m just on a short break before games start back again. But I need you around again. I really think we could make it work this time.”

“I think we could make it work too, J. How about we start out slow okay? Get to know each other again?”

“I can work with that,” Jack breathed out a sigh of relief, wrapping you in a hug. Both of you were happy to be revisiting something that made you both so happy. You didn’t know if Jack would be your forever, but you’re content to work together with him to see if he would be. At least now you could think about him without feeling guilty.

taglist: @heartsforjh @fofiquierellorar @justxpaulina @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @puckmedude

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[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Ava Gardner (The Killers, The Barefoot Contessa)— She's so goddamn hot. Her and Frank Sinatra could've sandwiched me and I would've thanked them for the privilege

Dorothy Dandridge (Carmen Jones, Porgy and Bess, Island in the Sun)— The first Black actress to ever be nominated for best actress, Dorothy Dandridge was a groundbreaking actress who deserved better. She started her career as a singer, being put in a song-and-dance duo with her sister by their stage mother, and singing in soundies (I highly recommend cow cow boogie, it's adorable), proto-music videos. She started appearing as a featured singer in films. Her star was on the rise and she soon became a star solo performer. She continued acting, but had limited options because she refused to do stereotypical roles. She finally landed a starring role in Bright Road in 1953, but it was the movie Carmen Jones that truly cemented her as a star and sex symbol. Not to sound cheesy, but she literally sizzles on screen. You can't help but understand how poor Harry Belafonte gets caught in her trap, just look at her. This is the role that got her that Oscar nom. She didn't win cause I mean #OscarsSoWhite, but she was a sensation and continued starring in films, despite troubles in her life (including a shitty director bf who fucked with her career and a traumatizing pregnancy/delivery). Outside of her filmwork, she was also an activist, fighting against racism. She left behind an amazing legacy, and continues to inspire many actresses to this day (including also very hot first (and only) black woman to win best actress, Halle Berry).

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Ava Gardner:

Ava Gardner is one of my favorite actresses of all time. Although a lot of her roles in movies are about her being beautiful and nothing else, there are some films where her acting truly shines.

Gifset: https://www.tumblr.com/pelopides/721438308726603776/ava-gardner-as-pandora-reynolds-pandora-and-the

Gifset 2: https://www.tumblr.com/portraitoflestatonfire/731899355804598272/if-the-loustat-reunion-doesnt-look-like-this-then

HER FACE. LOOK AT IT. Also was a life long supporter of civil rights and a member of the NAACP, had lots of fun love affairs with other stars, bullfighters, married several times but was also happy in between to just have lovers and was unapologetically herself.

I literally gasp every time I see her.

Between 1942 and 1964, Ava Gardner was credited in no less 50 films, and is still considered by some to be the most beautiful actresses that ever graced the silver screen. Despite life-long insecurities regarding her talent as an actress, she weathered public scandal, industry hostility, and outright condemnation by the Catholic Church with fearless grace. She would later in life talk candidly about the reality and pain of living through two (studio approved!!) abortions during her short marriage to Frank Sinatra, and while the two of them could not make their relationship work, they remained in each other’s lives for nearly 30 years. She would forever describe herself as a small-town girl who just got lucky, but always felt like a beautiful outsider.

Really genuinely one of the most beautiful human beings I have ever seen. An autodidact. Had amazing chemistry with Gregory Peck to the point where I do think about watching On The Beach again sometimes because they're so good together even though that movie did destroy me. Was a great femme fatale in many movies.

Dorothy Dandridge propaganda:

Beautiful actress and hand-working and talented singer, she's especially notable for the number of firsts she accomplished such as the first African-American woman to receive a nomination for the Academy Award for Best Actress and the first African-American woman to appear on the cover of Life magazine.

Dorothy Dandridge was a classic Hollywood triple threat, singing, dancing, and acting with the best of them. She was the first African American nominated for an academy award for Best Actress for her role in Carmen Jones and she was just jaw-droppingly beautiful.

this og of black film needs no introduction (star on the hollywood walk of fame anyone?), voice of an angel, heavenly features, just an overall stunning lady :)

Look at her!!! She is so unbelievably charismatic in Carmen, it’s insane. Her chemistry with Harry Belafonte is off the charts, and every time she puts another outdoor [sic] on it’s like ‘oh god this is a whole new level of stunning’ 🥵. She was so so talented, when she’s on screen I genuinely dare you to tear your eyes away from her. Deserves to be known so much better but due to Hollywood racism and a tough personal life she didn’t make it as big as she should have done. She’s incredible.

First Black actress to be nominated for the Oscar for Best Actress! Was the first choice for the role of Cleopatra that went to Elizabeth Taylor (we were ROBBED).

[sunshine-daisies-library]

Speak Now | Steve Harrington x Fem!Ex!Reader

Summary: You were called in as a last ditch effort by Dustin to convince Steve to back out of an arranged marriage with Kimberly Astor, the heiress of a multi-million dollar company. Only issue is that you were uninvited to the affair, but the kids you used to babysit have another plan. 

Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, drug abuse, exes to lovers

Based on Taylor Swift's song, Speak Now <3

You shouldn’t be here. You’re being serious, you really shouldn’t be here. But when Dustin called you and pleaded for you to drive over two hours from Chicago to your hometown, you knew this wasn’t a call to ignore. You weren’t the type of girl to barge in on a wedding.

But then again, you knew Steve wasn’t the type of boy to marry the wrong girl. 

“Thank God you came,” Dustin runs over to throw his arms around you. He lets out a sigh of relief as he tosses his entire weight onto you. You stagger back as you try to keep him standing, but it had been far too long since you had seen the boy, he had grown faster than you expected. Three years was enough for him to shoot up and tower over you. No longer was he the short curly haired boy you watched over on weekdays to get some pocket money to go on dates with Steve. Now, he’s nearly an adult, packing his things for college and using his free time to call his favorite people: you and Steve. Separately, of course, because you two were no longer a thing. 

“You called,” you respond, pulling away. “Besides, it gives me a reason to see you munchkins again.” 

“I think we hardly classify as munchkins now,” you hear a voice from behind you. In comes the gang of kids you used to spend nearly every waking day with, all visibly older and dressed fancily for the occasion. Mike, the voice you recognized, leads the group and comes to hug you first. 

You can barely reach up to hug him. “Mike!” you exclaim. “Jesus, you’ve gotten so big.” 

Max steps forward and gives you a small smile, never the one for physical contact after everything that happened. Her glasses frame her face beautifully, and her matured features cause your eyes to water. “Enough of the waterworks,” she tells you firmly. Max cocks her head at the bride’s family, all dressed in tacky pastels. The mom swats at her youngest son’s hand as she pushes his blond hair back. “We have more shit to deal with now.” 

“Is she that bad?” you ask your friends. 

Will grimaces along with Lucas and his far from little sister. Erica was never one for hiding her emotions on her face, and that habit seemed to have stuck as she aged. “She was just yelling at some bridesmaid,” Will replies with a sigh. “Pretty sure it was Steve’s cousin, too.” 

“She looks like a pastry,” Eleven deadpans, causing Max to elbow her. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh at Eleven’s directness. Things never change, you suppose. “Where is he?” 

Everyone knew who he was. It was the very reason why you drove all this way. 

“No clue,” Dustin answers, hands shoved in his pockets. “Kimberly has been bothering him about everything needing to be perfect,” Dustin’s voice went high-pitched and unbearable to imitate the rich heiress Steve called his fiance. 

You never knew why Steve got himself into this. Pleasing his parents was the last thing he ever wanted to do while you were dating. What happened in the three years of leaving Hawkins that made him switch up? This wasn’t the Steve you knew, and you knew from the moment Dustin called that you had to stop Steve from ruining his life. 

Music starts to play, ringing through the halls of the gothic church you were standing in the middle of. The wedding was starting soon. The bells and gonging sound eerily similar to the sounds of the grandfather clock Max vividly described when she was in the hospital after Vecna’s attack. It sends shivers down your spine but you quickly regain your composure. 

“We gotta go,” Max informs you. “Steve made sure to get us seats in the front. You’ll be okay from here?” 

“Yeah,” you reassure them. “I’ll be fine, promise.” Parting ways, you spend the last few minutes looking around for that familiar mop of brown hair. In the distance, you see him and he instantly takes your breath away. 

He’s wearing a pressed suit that shows no sign of wrinkles or age. It’s definitely new and tailored for him, no doubt thanks to his mother. In his suit pocket is a neatly folded white pocket square, and beside it was a freshly picked rose pinned to his breast. He looks like a daydream, but deep down, you knew he was living his worst nightmare. 

This was all wrong. He hates stiff suits and having his hair slicked back. He never wanted a fancy and lavish affair for a wedding; he always wanted it to be intimate and surrounded by his loved ones and definitely not his snotty relatives. And Steve hated roses. It reminded him too much of his parents’ materialistic relationship. The one where his mom thought it was perfectly suitable to drink her problems away with wine and the occasional scotch. It was also the one where his dad would just shower his mom with designer purses and roses whenever she found out he was sleeping with yet another unreasonably young secretary. 

A pained expression rests on Steve’s face as he trails behind the minister. You call out to him through the sea of people. After the third call, he finally perks his ears at your voice and turns to face your direction. A look of surprise replaces his sullen expression. It’s been three years since he’s last seen you. Three years since you broke things off to move to Chicago. How did you end up back in Hawkins? 

‘What are you doing here?’ he mouths to you.

You’re weaving through the crowd, trying to get to him. ‘Saving you,’ you mouth back. 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, but before he can do anything about it, he’s nudged forward by a groomsman. Reluctantly, Steve moves forward and walks down the aisle. 

You don’t lose sight of Steve, hiding expertly behind the curtains as the procession continues. He walks down the aisle to the organ’s music that reminds you of a death march. You closely watch the rest of the members of the family follow behind Steve. You were so concentrated on the procession that you didn’t realize Will’s older brother standing behind you. 

“L/N what are you doing here?” Jonathan whispers. 

You jump in shock, gripping the dusty white curtain close to your chest. “Jonathan!” you whisper-shouted. “Nearly scared the shit out of me. I’m here to stop a wedding.” 

“Where do you need me?” Jonathan instantly asks. You cock an eyebrow at his eagerness. “Listen, I’ve met Kimberly. Steve and I were never best buds, but I’m not going to let him toss his life away for a nasty person like her. Especially not when you’ve loved him all this time.” 

You open your mouth to correct him but Jonathan is quick to cut you off. “Cut the bull, N/N, we both know the truth. You never stopped loving Harrington, but what I can’t wrap my head around is why you left him?” 

“I wasn’t going to string Steve along for a hopeless long distance relationship,” you shoot back. “I had to move to Chicago for my job. I knew Steve would come with me no matter what I said, so I cut things off.” 

Jonathan presses his lips together in a thin line but doesn’t say anything else about the topic. “Why are you hiding, anyway?” 

You roll your eyes, peering over the curtains to see the flower girls tossing petals along the pathway. “Seems like I was uninvited by his lovely bride-to-be.” 

The music instantly changes as Kimberly walks out in her enormous dress. Her face exudes class and elegance as she takes calculated steps down the aisle. “Fucking pageant queen,” Jonathan mutters under his breath. 

“She looks beautiful,” you compliment shortly. That’s all you’re willing to say about her. From a distance Steve is looking through his bride, eyes only on you. He wishes the one walking down this aisle was you. 

The rest of the ceremony is a blur to you. Words go in your ear and out the other, and you almost didn’t realize the most important part of the wedding has started. 

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony,” the minister read aloud from his book. “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Taking a deep breath, you emerge from the curtains and raise your hand. 

Horrified looks from everyone in the room but you only look at Steve. Relief floods his face and his shoulders finally relax. 

“You don’t want this,” you speak directly to him. “I know you, Steve. You don’t want any of this.” 

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Kimberly cuts in, facing the minister. “Steven wants this. Right, Steven?” 

“For the last time, my name is Steve,” Steve huffs at his now-ex-fiance. “And I don’t want this. I just want you.” His chocolate brown eyes peer over at you, and a small smile reaches his lips. “I’ll meet you out the back door.” 

Following his instructions, you run out of the church, dodging angry relatives and their shouts. Keys in hand, you hop into your car and start the engine. Pulling out of your spot, you drive down to the back door where Steve is. You quickly unlock the door as Steve practically jumps in, avoiding the yells of the bridesmaids and dodging the bouquets tossed at his head.

Steve lets out an exhausted huff as he loosens his tie. A giddy smile is on his face as he looks back at you. You can’t help but share a similar expression as you step on the gas. 

“Thanks for saving my neck out there,” Steve tells you gratefully. 

“Anything for you,” you respond, glancing over at him. He still looks the same as ever, if not more handsome. Your heart honestly never stopped beating for him. “If I didn’t make it clear earlier,” you clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m still in love with you, Harrington.” 

Silence follows and you can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Soon enough, your worries are calmed when Steve takes one of your hands off the wheel and covers it with his. 

“I got that, dummy,” he chuckles softly. 

You sigh in relief, laughing quietly along, too. “So, where to?” 

You couldn’t get the glint in his eye off your mind when he smiles at you.

“Where’s the nearest chapel?” 

[nightlyrequiem]

Hi hi hi, requiem! 💗💗💗 I hope you're having a great day!

This is actually my first time sending a request, so I'm feeling a little shy, hahaha (⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠)

I've been reading your fanfics lately, and honestly, you're my favorite Valeria writer ever! 💕💕 I was wondering if I could request a one-shot of Gorgon Valeria x (Blind) Fem Reader? Preferably smut, with a bit of angst if that's something you'd like to include! I've been so obsessed with Medusa Valeria lately, but there are barely any fanfics about her, and I'd love to see your take! I was thinking of a historical AU where the reader is sacrificed by her village because of her disability. They shove her into the cave where Valeria lives, and she has to fend for herself until Valeria eventually finds her. You can take it in whatever direction you feel like!

Of course, take your time if you're busy, and it's totally okay if this isn't something you want to write. I'm just happy I tried!

Thank you so much, and I can't wait to read more of your amazing writing! (灬º‿º灬)♡

Hello Hello! I am having a dandy day (As of writing this) I hope you are too!

You're so sweet! I'm not sure why a gorgon has been unanimously decided to be what Valeria would be but I'm not complaining. I think it's a cool concept.

Love me some angst, love me some smut. Fun fact, snakes breed by wrapping around each other, they don't have regular gentelia but cloacas. I learned this from an educational parody of Niki Manaj's Anaconda song. That being said, Valeria does not have a cloaca here, so that information isn't very relevent.

Tags/Warning: WLW, Minor Ableism by the Village, Emotional Angst, Violence, Non-Bloody Gore, Smut, Gorgon!Valeria, Probably Some Historical and Geographical Inaccuracies

Apple of Her Eye

'Stay away from the woods, Mija.' The sweet voice who first murmured those words to you fades from your memory each day that passes but the warning remains. You were born different. Your eyes didn't develop properly in the womb. Small and underdeveloped.

Your 'otherness' led to your exclusion by the village. It didn't help that you were a bastard child born out of wedlock. You grew up isolated. Your mother your only companion. You were content enough to live out your days with your mother. It was better this way. The less attention you draw to yourself, the less likely you'll be thought of for the annual sacrifice made to the Snake Woman of Addermouth.

Every year of the night during the Harvest Moon, an undesirable is selected and taken through the woods. A full day's journey to be left at the mouth of the cave. Ankles shattered to stop them from running. Barbaric in nature but deemed necessary after a bound sacrifice had managed to free herself of her binds and found her way back to the village. Thus, not making a sacrifice that year. It snowed that November. Something unheard of for the warm region. The homes were not built to retain heat and neither were the barns. Half the village died of starvation and cold.

Your mother used to tell you that story. Before you got too old for bedside tales, before she was lost to the Consumption. Now you're alone. Taken in by the church because no one else wants a blind girl. The Harvest moon is coming up. They're making their selections. While you're out in the garden, running your hands over the heads of flowers to count them, Father Luis pulls you aside.

"Come, walk with me, my dear." He says gently. He guides your hand to his arm and the two of you walk. "The sky is clear today." He tells you. 

"I know." You reply simply. "It's warmer when the sky is clear."

Father Luis pats your arm. "... The Harvest Moon approaches, I'm sure you've heard."

You don't respond. 

"... Well, we've had a hard time making the selection. Afterall, it's not easy to pick which of our own we're going to send to Addermouth. We all have our uses here and all absences are felt equally." He rambles. 

"You already know who it is." You murmur. 

"... Yes." Father Luis admits. "... With your... affliction, there isn't much you can do for Las Almas," He starts, shattering your heart. "But you can have a purpose, my dear, if we give you up to Addermouth you will ensure that we have another bountiful year for crops and fertility. You will keep us safe."

You stop walking. Turning your sightless gaze on Father Luis.

"Because I'm more useful dead than alive, you mean." You reply. The air thickens with tension as Father Luis struggles for a reply.

"Not at all." He says weakly. Your shoulders slump as you hear just how much he doesn't believe his own words. "You aren't useless here, you'd just be making so much more use out of yourself if you were chosen, your blindness isn't a curse, it's a blessing."

You scowl. "A blessing?" You repeat. "It's a blessing because you can throw me to the beast without losing anything! It means you don't have to sacrifice anyone capable of labor!"

Father Luis doesn't respond. Because he knows it's true.

"You've already been chosen." He says quietly. "I've talked to the men picked to bring you to Addermouth, I told them I could get you to agree so they wouldn't have to break your ankles. I'm sparing you pain."

"How kind of you, Father, for sparing me the pain of broken ankles. I'll be sure to remember your benevolence while I'm being torn apart." 

"I'm trying to help you-" He begins.

"No, you're trying to clear your conscious." You growl. "You're the one who gets the final say on the sacrifice. You feel guilty for choosing me. Well, I don't forgive you." You say coldly.

You tried fighting. When the collectors came for you. It was no use. They grabbed you and forced you into the white ceremonial robes. You refused to eat, a small act of defiance on your end. It means little to them, but it means a lot to you. You can feel the warmth from the torches that the men carry as they walk you to Addermouth. Your bare feet, unused to the unfamiliar terrain catch on stones and loose Earth.

The air turns cold, signaling the beginning of nightfall. You shiver from the chill and wrap your arms around yourself, hoping to retain a little body heat. The thorns from the crown they placed upon your head digs uncomfortably into your scalp. You tried adjusting it but had your hand slapped away with a barking command to not touch it.

A rough hand grabs you by the back of the neck and halts you. 

"We're here." He mutters. "Lay down in the dirt on your back."

Your heart flutters. "... No." You say. Turning your face towards where you think the man is. You expect him to get mad, or argue, instead your abruptly shoved to the ground. You grunt in pain as your back slams into stone and soil.

Before you can sit up or speak, something heavy and metal crashes down onto your legs. You arch your back as a scream tears itself free from your throat. The object comes down again and you jerk away, trying to crawl away. Your fragile leg bones snap and dislocate. The pain is hot and heavy. Not limiting itself to your legs it crawls up your thighs and into your spine. You screech your hurt into the night and vomit the contents of your stomach. 

𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙

Valeria is familiar with the sound an animal makes when it knows it's going to die. Deep within the dark walls of her cave, a screech echos from outside. The snakes on her head stir with curiosity. Small tongues flicking out to taste the air. Valeria drags herself from her nest and stalks down the cave towards the exit. Climbing upwards. She smells the air and tastes blood and fear. A person, an injured one. Nothing she hasn't seen before.

The sky has grown dark with the night. The stars up above far away and infinite in numbers offer very little light. At the mouth of the cave is a woman. Draped in those robes that the villagers seem to favour. Like the others, her legs have been broken. Valeria lays a hand upon her, feeling her stillness and warmth. The woman stirs and flinches, rising up to a sit. Valeria's snakes fan out around her head, staring right at her. The woman looks up and... Valeria stares curiously.

The woman breathes heavily and stares straight at her, not petrifying.

"Hello?" You call out weakly. "Is someone there?"

You're blind. She realizes. Your eyes are small and cloudy. Marbled with white. They remind her of the full moon. You're covered in dirt and sweat and reek of fear. One of the longer of her snakes ventures closer. Tasting your scent.

"Hello." Valeria murmurs. Gazing at you with interest. Normally she petrifies her victims. She glances at the many statues littering the clearing. In various positions. A few men but mostly women, their once fluid robes now still forever.

Your eyelids flutter.

"Hello?" You reply. "I need.. I need help." You say.

"I can see that." She hums, inspecting you. 

"Are we safe?" You ask, surprising her.

"Whatever from?" She inquires with amusement.

"The Creature of Addermouth?" You say, furrowing your brows.

Creature of Addermouth. The Snake Woman, Medusa, Valeria has earned herself many names over her long life.

"We're safe." She says. Then doesn't speak for a while, unused to having company. She looks at you for a little longer. Indulging herself before finally reaching out for you. "Let me get you out of the open like this." She says, slowly dragging you into the cave. Your questions inquiring about your destination remain unanswered as she drags you in deep. Valeria slowly lowers you to her nest and looks over your wounds.

She gently ghosts her hand over your mangled legs. Feeling the unnatural angles your bones are in.

"Why do they do this?" She ponders aloud quietly. 

You rub a hand over you shoulder. "What?"

"Break the legs." She murmurs.  

"... You know about the sacrifices?" You ask.

"It's hard not to notice." Valeria replies. Moving away to grab old clothes to wrap up your legs. She can't do much else to help.

"It's to kill any chance of survival for the chosen." You murmur grimly.

Valeria stayed away from you while you healed. Watched you from the shadows and brought you food while you were asleep. Sometimes you called out to her, voice harsh and scared. Other times you sang. Mournful and lonely. Valeria likes it when you sing. She'd lay against the stone walls and listen.

You lay still in her nest while she brings you stolen bread. She sets it down beside you and you stir, sitting up and opening your eyes.

"... Valeria?" You speak.

She hesitates. Pondering if she should let you know she's there. "Yes." She responds. 

You relax at her voice. "Can you please stay?" You ask. "It's cold, and very lonely here."

Valeria finds herself wanting to stay in your company. You're the only person she hasn't turned to stone, the only one invulnerable to her curse. She sits down and folds her legs under her.

"I can stay for awhile." She says.

Then you smile at her.

Valeria makes it a habit to stay with you often. Bringing your food while you're awake and talking to you. Once your legs have healed enough, she begins helping you walk around. Learning the way you talk, the way you laugh, learning the way you've come to understand the world, which is far different to her. Valeria, who was previously a solitary creature, has come to enjoy your company. She enjoys you. Though there's that fear at the back of her mind eating at her. One that tells her you wouldn't stick around if you knew what she was, what she looked like.

You tell each other stories. Legends and myths exchanged for entertainment. You even told her the reason your village sacrifices people. There was something... sinister in the woods. People went in and never came out again, stolen and dragged to the dark pits of Addermouth. The large, supposedly endless cave system in the middle of the forest. Wicked and hungry. It's said that the Creature of Addermouth is what caused the disappearance of everyone in the neighboring village. Once bustling with life left full of stone statues that look suspiciously like the villagers.

Valeria is the monster that has haunted your dreams and you don't even know it.

"But... you came and found me." You say after a few silent moments filled only by the faint echoes of dripping water. "Tell me, Valeria," You murmur. "Is there really a monster or has my village been ruling itself with it's own man-made superstition? Was my sacrifice in vain? Were all those lives given up to the 'monster' for naught?"

Valeria works out her response. "... I have never encountered anything of the like out here." She says carefully. As far as she's aware, she's the only one of her kind roaming about in these woods, and one can hardly encounter themselves.

Over the months you grow restless. Walking further and further within the cave. You talk more and more about the outside, and to Valeria's growing annoyance, the very village that casted you out to die. A topic that has brewed many an argument between you two. She doesn't understand your attachment to the place that betrayed you, why you wish to live among people who will never see you as anything more than the blind girl. She doesn't understand why you want to leave her.

Your nest is empty when she comes by with food. She looks around for you, finding you standing at the cave entrance, facing the outside wistfully. She stays back in the shadows but you've adjusted to living in a cave where all noise is accentuated.

"Is it sunny today?" You ask her. Valeria peers out.

"It is." She murmurs. Walking up beside you, your arms brushing. "The sky is clear, the sun is shining down warmly and dappling the forest floor with light."

"Are the flowers getting any sun?" You ask.

"What flowers?" Valeria asks with surprise.

"Those ones." You point to the left vaguely. There is a patch of wild daffodils there.

"They are." She says. "How did you know about them?"

You smile, it's a sad little thing not expressing joy so much as sardonic amusement.

"I found them when I was walking around outside." You say. "If I focus enough, I can smell them from here."

Valeria stares at them contemplatively. As yellow as the sun, heads facing towards the sky.

"I want to go home." You say suddenly. Valeria looks at you with indignation.

"What home?" She asks mutinously. You turn your face to her.

"My village, Valeria." You say tiredly. You reach out and take ahold of her cold hands. "You could come with me, you don't have to live here, in this cave, you could come back with me."

Valeria pulls away. Appalled, hurt, angry.

"Why would I ever want to be surrounded by the very people who sent you to die? Why would I want to be around them when they'd treat me even worse?" She snaps. Thinking of you as foolish. You face drops.

"They're frightened and misinformed. I know what they do is bad but if you came back with me - tell them that you've been living here and not a sight of the monster, they might stop sacrificing people!" You plead, only adding to Valeria's growing annoyances and pushing her over the edge.

"I am the monster." She growls. Her snakes, sensing her agitation, flare.

"What do you mean?" You ask.

"How stupid you must be to not have realized!" She snaps at you. "I live in the very cave your people tell stories about. Think about it for more than ten seconds, I beg you!"

Inklings of regret wriggle in her heart but she stays strong. Your expression morphs into confusion and fear. You look at her the same way as everyone else, only difference being is she can't make you stop by turning you to stone. She looks at the statues, with their faces clawed off.

"... But you helped." you say. "You're lying."

Fed up with you, Valeria swiftly approaches you and grabs your hands. "Feel my scales. Feel my snakes. You can't look upon my monstrosity, but you can touch it." She wretches your hands over her face, making you feel the scales on her cheeks and the writhing snakes in her hair. You recoil and try to pull away but Valeria doesn't let you.

Finally, she lets you pull away. You cradle your hands to your chest as though she's burned you. Your mouth hangs agape but no sounds escape you.

"Go." She says angrily. "Try to find your way back to the very people that hate you. Return to those animals and never speak of me, never think of me, and never seek me out." 

You hesitate then turn and stumble away, into the woods where you are sure to die. Guilt and pain tugs at her heart but she ignores it and turns away as well. Slinking back down into her cave.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

You stumble through the foliage. Nettles sting your legs and mouse holes trip you. Your skin crawls when you think about how close you were to the Creature of Addermouth. Then sorrow overwhelms you when you think about her. Your friend. 

You're not sure where you're going. Your sense of direction skewed by spending so much time below ground. You use the trees to help you walk. The trees thin out and you're left to wander a clearing. A familiar voice calls out to you, saying your name with astonishment. A group surrounds you, voices drowning each other out with questions.

There was great debate about your return. Many wanting to send you back into the woods in fear that your return will cause great suffering. Father Luis declares you spared, much to the unpopular opinion of the public. Unwilling to argue with a messenger of God, the people allow you to live. Once again pushing you to the outskirts of town where if they try hard enough, they can forget you.

During your moments with Valeria, you forgot how lonely existence is. Going by unwanted and ignored by your own. This is what you were so desperate to return to. But... you miss her. Each day that pull inside you tugs harder and harder, drawing you back to Addermouth and the Snake Woman that lives there. You pack any belongings that you can carry, and under the cover of night, set off into the woods. Letting that feeling guide you through the trees and bushes.

 You walk and walk. Journeying further into the forest with only your faith in your friend to guide you. You grow tired and less careful with your steps. You begin to fear that you are lost. It's also at this point that you become aware of something stalking you from the side. Footsteps apart from your own and the sense that you're being watched.

You stop in a clearing. Not certain as to where you are. The cold winds bite through the cloak you're wearing. Heavy with exhaustion, you unshoulder your burdens and kneel in the soft grass. You tilt your head up. Unable to see the stars, but the stars see you.

You don't turn at the sound of footsteps behind you.

"You came back." The owner of them speaks. You straighten up.

"... I did." You say. They come no closer. "I had assumed that home was where I was born. Among people who are the most like me. I was wrong." You whisper. Valeria slowly approaches you and kneels own behind you, gently laying her hands over your shoulders. You can feel her snakes brush up against your head and neck.

"Coming out here on your own wasn't safe." she says. "There are many caves and ravines you could've fallen into. Packs of wolves and coyotes roam at night. You could've gotten lost and succumbed to nature."

You lean against her. Touched by her concern.

"But you found me." You say.

Valeria rests her head on your shoulder. "Yes, I found you." 

You bask in the moment. Warmed by your friend's presence. Her breath ghosts over your neck, sending goosebumps over the skin.

Your hearts beat together. Slowly, Valeria pulls you down and crawls on top of you, her nose brushing against yours. You cup the back of her head and pull her down, pressing your lips to hers. Valeria sighs out all her lonely yearning. Pressing close to you. Her lips are cold but being so close to her makes you feel warm.

The Creature of Addermouth handles you with utmost care and gentleness as he removes your clothing. Helping you shed the last tethers to your village. Valeria pulls you on top of her, your back to her chest with her legs tangling with yours. Her hand palms your breast, rolling the fat under her hand.

You can feel her skin and scales under your back. Smooth and cool. Her hand moves up from your breast to hold you by the throat gently, her other hand running down your body and pushing her fingers through the course hair on your pubic mound. They find your clit and you tilt your head back, eyes closed in pleasure. Her fingers drift down to collect your arousal. Her breasts press into your back and the snakes on her head brush against your cheek.

Valeria's fingers enter you. Sliding into the wet warmth of your core. You writhe together in a tangle of lust and limbs. Unsure of where her leg ends and yours begins. While she pumps her fingers into you, she also grinds you down onto her. Rubbing herself against you, accumulating a wetness on your lower back. She groans into your ear, sending blood to your clit.

The pressure builds, becoming too much for you. You let go of the rope and allow yourself to dive into the pleasure. You cum around her fingers, tightening and tensing with a high whine. Valeria, with her fingers still inside of you, continues to hold you against her. She's not far behind. Panting and losing all sense of rhythm. She shudders and presses her face into your neck. Legs trembling as she does so.

You and Valeria fall asleep together. Laid up in the grass under the moon and stars. Cuddled up like animals in your most natural forms. Valeria never thought she'd experience something so wonderful. Her greatest treasure, she'll keep you until it's time for your body to return to the Earth it came from.

[bandgie]

Father, Forgive Me | Armageddon Event

Request: Serpent | Choi Yeonjun (TXT) by @biteyoubiteme song!

warnings: MDNI18+, blasphemy, fem!reader, nun!reader, demon!yeonjun, boob play, nipple play, v slight coercion, piv implications

1.1k words

It was the last time. You swore to yourself it was the last time you’d allow a demon in your chambers. Even as Yeonjun taps on your window, his sharp nail making a gentle ding sound on the glass, you ignore him.

You told yourself it was a moment of weakness. You spent years dedicating yourself to the word, to your savior. One night of…sin doesn’t erase what you’ve sacrificed walking a holy life. You need to close your eyes, pray, and repent. A simple three-step task you must complete if you don't want to burn for eternity, but that damn snake. That damned, rotten soul that wants nothing but your pure one.

He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. The constant ring gently echoing throughout your room blurs any prayer in your head. Focusing is impossible. Everything is impossible with those slit pupils and sharp teeth. Each tap makes you remember how he held you. How his lips sucked and licked on the parts of you that you vowed no one else would ever touch. You unraveled on his tongue one too many times that night. He coaxed you through more and more pleasure with his mouth, his fingers, and his god-forsaken co-

You march to the window, ignoring how his beautiful lips twist into a smile like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day.

You will tell him to go away, that he is not welcome in the house of God.

When you unlatch the lock and open the windows, it’s Yeonjun who speaks first. “I must admit, you playing hard to get only entices me more.”

The warmth in your stomach is from anger, not flustering. You manage to collect yourself saying, “There is nothing to entice. You are not supposed to be here.”

Yeonjun fakes confusion, tilting his head to one side and furrowing his eyebrows. “Not here? Then where shall we go? The sanctuary? The hall?” He smiles annoyingly attractive. “Tell me, nun, where do you wish to be defiled?”

Now you flush with heat, recalling the memories you tried to push away. “Hush! It was a mistake! I may have fallen for your tricks and lust, but it won’t happen again. Your presence only brings me misfortune. There’s a reason your kind is hated.”

Yeonjin’s pupils grow thinner. His smile turns dark. Limb by limb, he crawls his way into your room.

You take steps back, tilting your head to gaze at his monstrous height. It should be fear running through your veins, but the close proximity makes your knees weak in every wretched way. 

“Isn’t there a saying spoken amongst the church?” He stalks closer. One step of his is 2 steps of yours. Yeonjun backs you up until your back hits the wall and you have no choice but to endure the pooling in your panties. As if he knows, Yeonjun bends down, his neck straining to be eye level. “To hate the sin and not the sinner? If I recall correctly, oh holy nun, you loved me quite thoroughly that night.”

Long, smooth fingers play with your hair. He curls the end around his digit until it threatens to cut off blood circulation. 

“It-it was a mistake.”

“Was it?” Yeonjun goes past your cheek to your ear. His teeth bite down, tugging on the skin until you tremble. 

“I was tempted.” You’re whispering now. As if you’d break this trance he’s got you in by speaking any louder. He hums against your ear, licking a soft stripe up.

“Were you?” His lips barely touch you as he speaks. “Or did you finally give in to what you always wanted? What you were meant to worship?”

You should shove him off. Find an escape from between his hands and run into the halls, altering the other nuns and priests about what dwells in their sacred home. About what dwelled in your room, underneath your sheets, and inside the deepest parts of you.

But as Yeonjun’s hands find your breasts on top of your sleeping gown, all you can do is contently sigh and puff your chest.

He smiles. You can feel his lips curve against you, that tainted mouth placing kisses along your neck before he finds the top of your chest. You hate how you tilt the side so he can travel down - hate that he giggles when you do.

The gropes and love bites only make you mewl, fisting your hands to the side in an attempt to control yourself. You fear that if you grab onto him, you may never let go.

Yeonjun leans further down to catch a pebbled nipple in his mouth, tugging at the bud through the gown and drooling over the material. A wet patch soon forms from his ministrations. You can’t tell if you’re relieved or frustrated to not feel his tongue on you. That barrier only makes you yearn more - makes those little fists you coiled up unravel and find his hair.

He chuckles with your nipple in his mouth. “You’re fighting it so passionately. It almost makes me feel bad.”

A rough tug on his hair earns a rougher pull on your chest. You whine, cunt throbbing from the painful pleasure you’re growing to hunger for. 

“Tell me.” Yeonjun switches to your other boob. His words catch your attention and you make the mistake of looking down. There’s nothing but sin in his slit eyes, a wicked smile on those swollen lips and it all makes you gush in your underwear. “Tell me what you want.”

It feels impossible to speak at all, let alone confess your darkest desires, but Yeonjun’s tongue draws an answer as it circles your peak. He latches his lips around your areola and sucks. 

He yanks his head back as he keeps the bud between his lips, making your grip tighten in his black hair and tremble in his hold. “I want…I want you t-”

To stop. To leave. To return to the hell that he crawled out of. Anything but stay. Yet, when his hand trails down to cup your mound. To feel how much you’ve soiled your underwear just from suckling on your tits, you break. 

Again.

“I want you.” It’s firmer now, even if your voice shakes from pleasure. “I want you.”

That ungodly smile he gives you should make you regretful. There should be immeasurable amounts of fear upon seeing his pupils thin like he’s found his prey. Yet, it’s an insatiable craving you’re filled with.

His black heart has poisoned yours. His corrupted soul has wrapped your once pure one with a devil’s thread. Forgiveness is far from you. Salvation would never be tasted upon your tongue. And terrifyingly, it’s not redemption you find yourself wishing to consume.

[rentumblsstuff]

Random Hatchetfield Headcanons

The first time Alice Woodward ever smoked weed was when (after much inner turmoil) she asked Deb to shotgun it with her.

Max has two snaggletoothed incisors which is why people swear to god he has fangs.

Deb also has a snaggletooth which is what inspired the vampire part of Alice’s vampiric sapphic play. Alice also thinks it’s ironic she made a vampire character when Deb is a vegan.

Ruth as a Sophmore hit on Senior Alice a lot. Alice thought it was funny and she and Deb “adopted” her. Max and Steph also put the PANIC in bi panic for Ruth.

Max would find it weirdly hot that Grace wears bathing suits under her clothes because of the idea that he gets to see what her body looks like before even she does.

The hospital is downtown, so Becky Barnes definitely got infected in TGWDLM. Despite never wanting to do it again, Becky climbs the tree as someone calls the HFPD to save Kathy’s cat because she’s still infinitely compassionate even under Pokey’s control. Plus, Pokey knows she wants to get over the trauma associated with climbing trees, so he makes her do it to give her a big number about finally overcoming her past. She accidentally flings the cat as soon as the song starts, which is why in Show Me Your Hands, the cat dies so quickly even though it JUST got called in.

Peter infected Steph who infected Deb who infected Alice in TGWDLM. Pete and Steph would have been Sophomores and Deb and Alice were Seniors, but I always imagine Steph and Deb knowing eachother because MRFC said Steph is in the Smoke Club on Twitter at some point. Assuming Steph’s been a little punk for a while, she’s been in the smoke club since at least Sophomore year, and probably a new inductee the same year as TGWDLM (2018).

Alice and one of her parents (maybe Bill) were also raised in purity culture because we know the Woodwards and the Chastitys go to the same church. The Woodwards probably take it with a grain of salt though (Alice has expressed dislike over Grace’s prudishness)- either that or one of her parents (probably her mom) wasn’t originally from said church and also raised Alice with “this is what you’re learning here, but here’s also what I learned at my church at your age.” Bill was likely the one raised in purity culture because he does NOT LIKE DEB and thinks that if she HAS TO date a girl, she should date someone like Grace Chastity, implying she’s an exemplary teen girl. Ms. Woodward lets Deb sleep over and probably knows she smokes and likes her anyways; three points for Alice’s mom not being the puritanical one.

Ted reads romance novels. He’s a former geek turned sleazeball- you know he reads the smuttiest novels ever and calls them “his research”. He refuses to read any book with the friends to lovers trope because it’s too upsetting to think about. (Side note Time Bastard gave us a definite date that timelines don’t branch/reset before depending on whichever theory you believe because the homeless man is in every timeline, meaning that Jenny’s death is fixed in time and never changes: October 7th 2004, so the timelines change anywhere between October 8th 2004 and 2018.)

In whatever timeline Emma finally gets to have her weed farm, she meets Paul when he tells her he was prescribed that marajamij for his anxiety and he was too scared to try Xanax. She thinks he’s kind of cute for a wet cat of a corporate slave. “Fuck the patriarchy? Yes please.” (Side note Paul seems so uptight and unfuckable like bro gotta be blank down there like a Ken doll and has no discernible kinks from what I remember while Emma is laid back and chill asf and like… normal in comparison so yeah sure Paulkins canonically fucks but does Emma enjoy it?? Like dude even Pete’s more fuckable than him come on.)

Pete and Steph don’t kiss when they admit their feelings for eachother even though one of them would die before ever getting to kiss each other because they both think it’ll only make it that much harder to go through with sacrificing the other. One of the reasons Pete also chooses to be the one to take the bullet because he doesn’t think he even COULD pull the trigger on her. Like it’d be physically impossible for him, in his mind.

TGWDLM was originally meant to be an allegory for the institution brainwashing us. Show Me Your Hands and America’s Great Again: examples of people in power working for and fulfilling the evil wishes of some almighty, otherworldly, inhuman THING (be it aliens, be it those in power). It’s clearly meant to satirize the way that power corrupts and tries to convince you its way is better. Even Hidgens, THE FUCKING TEACHER, tries to teach his student that it will be better for everyone to join in that corruption and give in to the hive mind. This reminds me of how the school system in America tries to paint our history as something glamorous; manifest destiny instead of genocide of the indigenous populations. The people in power convincing those under them that the deaths of countless lives is a good thing and it will pave the way to a better future. Cool motive, still murder. Which is why Emma “Fuck the Patriarchy” Perkins is the last one to be infected. She was incapable of being brainwashed , and even when she was the last one left, she saw that the people watching didn’t care, and the all-consuming threat of corrupted power closes in on her until the very last moment.

The Lords in Black were going to try to convince whoever sacrificed their most treasured something to do more work for them, but Grace required very little convincing. Like Wiggly spoke into her mind like “Gracy-Wace! You forgot my booky-wook! Look in it, see any thing you like? Wanna kill all the pervy-wervys?” And she’s like “holy cow I can kill all the pervy-wervys with this book?” Pete would have needed the most convincing because he’s just lost the only girl who will ever love him (in his mind) and so he’d think these things took away his one chance at true love and NEVER want to deal with them again. Even if they offered him a way to get her back, he’s too smart to know that won’t come without an even bigger price AND too paranoid to think she won’t come back wrong like Max did.

If the Green-Foster family ever did get to move to California and Lex got to be an actress, her interview attitude would be a lot like Reneé Rapp and if she ever got asked about why she’ll openly shit talk people in an interview, she’s like “I used to work retail I learned pretty fast that nothing gets done if you keep your mouth shut.”

[best-nun-tournament]

Finals

Sister Beatrice (Warrior Nun) vs Silque (Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia)

Sister Beatrice is a secret Demon-Fighting Warrior Nun of the Order of the Cruciform Sword.

Silque is a mendicant nun serving the goddess Mila

Sister Beatrice

Sister Beatrice is perfect in every way. She had to be. When you're taught to hate what you are, when what you love, whom you love, brings you nothing but pain, all you have left is to be perfect. To hope that, if you excel enough, in enough ways, then you might be found worthy. Instead, her wealthy, bigoted, British diplomat parents shipped her off to boarding school in Switzerland for the crime of being a lesbian. From there, she joined the Church, married God, and became part of a secret order of demon-fighting black ops nuns. Being married to Jesus wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact that she's fallen in love with a woman who rose from the dead, a beautiful bisexual savior with golden retriever energy and a heart of gold, and for whose training and protection Beatrice is responsible. Her best friend, no less. And roommate. Their apartment only has one bed. Maybe it is bad after all. But maybe Beatrice doesn't mind being bad anymore. Maybe she would rather worship her love, her Ava, than any God of any church. Maybe she would kill a dozen men who stood between her and her love while Ave Maria plays in the background. Maybe Beatrice would burn the world to save her. Maybe it wouldn't be enough, in the end. Maybe she would have to send Ava through a portal to Heaven, or Hell, to save Ava's life, moments after learning her love was returned. Maybe she would wait for her Ava to return too. Until, one day...

Silque

Beautiful woman... beautiful woman... Anyway she's the first cleric you get if I recall correctly in the game so you rely on her pretty early on and she's a good unit! She learns warp early which is a great spell for all kinds of strategies. But this isn't about her gameplay! She's just a fun character. She's far from your standard quiet nun type. She enjoys the Girl Talk (tm) and tries to have some with Faye (although Faye shuts it down because she hate gossip or something). She's so cool and girlboss. But even with all that she's still very devout! Because it was Mila's teachings that saved her as a child, she is extremely dedicated to serving the Mother Mila. Also she likes to eat raw bags of flour and hard stale bread. The justification for this was that she was raised humbly (first on a pilgrimage with her mother then by the Novis Priory) but I think it's just goofy as hell. Also she has a high luck growth which is also funny because she gets kidnapped like twice and I don't think that's very lucky.

--------

More stuff: this is just more stuff but I find it interesting how her mother served the god Duma while she serves the goddess Mila, opposing dieties. Even though she was raised for the first years of her life by her mother who was a Duma Faithful, she was raised the rest of her life in a Mila-dedicated Priory so she serves Mila although her mother served Duma.

---------

Since people are talking about music for quite a bit of these nuns, her VA sings the ending credits theme for her game! It's not necessarily in character, but it's from the perspective of the Goddess Mila which is really cool. It's a super hopeful song that got me through some really dark times so I'm biased but still.

----------

Silque propaganda: she is one of four people in Valentia who can kill a god. She also used to worship said god, making this even better. She also can teleport people an infinite distance. Please vote Silque.

[howlingday]

When I was a boy, I only had one dream. I wanted to grow up to be just like my dad. You see, my father wasn't just an adventurer. He was a LEGENDARY adventurer.

Papa Arc: And then I kissed the beast so fair~

Papa Arc: And kissed her beastly bits down there~

When he would come back from his trips, I would sit in the tavern an listen to his songs, and I'd imagine myself traveling with him.

Papa Arc: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA~!

Lady: Kyaaah~!

That's right! My father is the one and only NICHOLAS ARC, the greatest Bard in the whole Kingdom! And I was going to be a Bard just like him!

Or, at least, that's what I thought at the time.

I guess part of growing up is realizing that your heroes aren't perfect. They're flawed people, and sometimes those flaws get really, REALLY messy.

Jaune: Dad, I'm home~!

Papa Arc: NOT THE PROSTATE! NOT THE PROSTATE~!

It was the day when I walked in on my father getting his butt plowed in the middle of an interspecies foursome. Again.

At that moment, I decided that I didn't want to be like my father.

Jaune: Dad...

Papa Arc: WHOA?! You're home early! Wait, let me explain! I'm practicing wrestling!

Jaune: Dad...

Papa Arc: Remember the basics of CQC!

Jaune: Dad, I know what sex is...

Jaune: Dad... I said I wanted to be a Bard like you when I grow up... But I've changed my mind. I'm going to become a PALADIN.

Papa Arc: ...

Papa Arc: Heh... That's a great idea, son! Chicks dig Paladins!

Jaune: No, Dad... A REAL Paladin, not the Fallen kind.

Grimm Lady: Ooh~! Your son is really cute~!

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

Years later...

Jaune: Ambrosius, Spirit of Creation and Control, please give me the strength to continue living a healthy and disciplined lifestyle, monogamous and uncorrupted by lust....

Yup, that's me. My name is Jaune Arc, and I'm a "Paladin of Order" now. I try my best every day to be a Lawful and Good citizen.

Nora: HEY! Are you STILL praying, church boy?! Get your ass in gear! It's dungeoning time! We don't got all day if we're gonna loot B3 and get back before happy hour!

Pyrrha: Hello, Jaune~!

This is Nora. She's a real dwarfy Dwarf, and a really good person.

Nora: Hmph!

Pyrrha: Nora's anxious because she's run out of lien again. (Giggles)

And this is Pyrrha, she's a Fighter of Jinn, and has been my best friend since I was a kid.

Nora: So, when did your dad say he was gonna be back?

Jaune: Around sundown, but I'm not exactly excited to be back before then. Really not looking forward to spending time with him.

Pyrrha: Oh, come now, Jaune! He's going to be off on a new adventure soon! Who knows when you'll see him again?

Nora: Yeah! Nicholas Arc is a legend! You should be glad he's your dad!

Jaune: Easy for you guys to say. Every time he goes on an adventure, he comes back with a new WIFE. I heard he was in the Kingdom of Mistral, so he's probably impregnated another Dwarf noble.

Nora: Damn... What an alpha...

Jaune: Do you know how awkward it is to deal with a new stepmom every year? You should see the drawings I did as a kid.

In hindsight, I had a weird family structure growing up.

Jaune: Anyways, it's not like I hate him or anything. I'm just sick of introducing myself to another new "mom".

Nora: Mm... I get that you have daddy issues.

Jaune: Gee, thanks.

Nora: But you don't have to be the opposite of him! You're living with a stick up your ass!

Jaune: I'm living with discipline, Nora. That's what it means to be a Paladin of Order.

Paladins of Ambrosius, the Spirit of Creation and Control, are champions of their own personal laws.

Ironwood: I only poop standing up! THIS is my solemn vow!

By living within the confines of a strict individual code, they seek to free themselves of animalistic desires and act through reason.

Nora: BAH! Order, schnorder! You need to get LAID! That'll fix ya!

Pyrrha: Yeah, Jaune! You do need to get laid! As your best friend, I'll take responsibility! That way we can lose our virginities together~!

Jaune: PYRRHA, YOU SHOULDN'T MAKE JOKES LIKE THAT. YOU SHOULD ONLY HAVE SEX WITH SOMEONE YOU HAVE DEEP, ROMANTIC FEELINGS FOR. I KNOW WE'RE CLOSE, BUT YOU WOULD REGRET LOSING YOUR VIRGINITY TO A GUY WHO IS ONLY YOUR FRIEND.

Pyrrha: Yeah... You're right... Ha ha...

Nora: You okay?

Jaune: Let's go.

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

Nora: Alright! Get your crap in the bag! It's go time!

Pyrrha: ...

Jaune: Gear check before we go in.

"The Black Roads." It's said it was created by a shunned Witch to avoid outsiders; this cave system leads down into one of the largest dungeons in the continent.

Guard: Hey, Jaune!

Jaune: Hey man.

Guard: Going down the pit, right?

Jaune: Yup.

Guard: Oof... I'd take a rain check on that. There's a horrible creature that was spotted last night.

Jaune: Like what? An alpha beowolf? Or maybe an Ursa?

Guard: WORSE! Word is, someone ran into...

Guard: A GRIMM-KIN!

Nora: A GRIMM-KIN?!

Grimm-Kin are a Grimm subspecies that live deep in the Black Roads. They have a harsh, matriarchal society that enslaves men. It's well-known that Grimm-Kin women are inherently evil.

Jaune: We haven't had a Grimm-Kin sighting in years. Did something happen?

Guard: I'm not sure what's going on, but you be especially careful, Jaune! A handsome guy like you? Grimm-Kin would be slobbering just for the chance to get at your pecker!

Jaune: Don't worry. I'm an expert at rejecting the advances of horny women.

Pyrrha: Oh boy... Wouldn't I know...

Nora: You okay?

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

Nora: I HATE GRIMM-KIN! In fact, I HATE REGULAR GRIMM, TOO! I'm not racist. I just don't like Grimm.

Jaune: You're a real dwarfy Dwarf, Nora.

Nora: WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!

Dungeon Level B3

Grimm: (Barks)

Grimm: (Snarls)

Grimm: (Growls)

Grimm: (Yips)

Grimm: ?!

Grimm: (Snaps, Snaps in two)

Pyrrha: Do you ever wonder what the Grimm talk about?

Jaune: Probably Grimm stuff, like how to get the most negative emotions out of a person. Oh, scoop up that ash.

Nora: How much ash have we got? What's the market price?

Jaune: Er, not great. Last I heard, Grimm Ash was going through another inflation.

Nora: AGAIN?! SERIOUSLY?! HOW AM I GONNA PAY MY RENT?!

Jaune: Well, you can stop drinking syrup from the top shelf.

Nora: Wow... That's a low blow. You think we can go deeper than this?

Jaune: I wouldn't do it. We should get at least a four-man party, preferably five.

Nora: Mm...

Pyrrha: (Turns, Sees arrow flying at her)

Jaune: (Grabs Pyrrha, Blocks arrow)

Pyrrha: Thank you, Jaune!

Jaune: See? This is what I'm talking about. We need a scout to prevent ambushes like this. Show yourself... GRIMM.

Cinder: (Steps out) Well, well... You parried my arrow cleanly. Looks like you're not just a pretty face... HUMAN.

Jaune: Why did you attack us, Grimm? We mean you no harm.

Nora: I DO! I'm gonna harm that skull into PIECE, BONE-FACE!

Jaune: Nora, can you please be quiet for just a second?

Cinder: Oh my... Isn't it obvious? I attacked you to get what I want. Because there's one thing every Grimm-Kin girl wants...

Cinder: HER VERY OWN MAN-SLAVE~! HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO~!

Cinder: YOU, PRETTY BOY~!

Jaune: Huh?

Cinder: I like you~! Ufufufu~... Back home, all the men I got were broken hand-me-downs from my mother! Now, I get to finally have my own boy-toy~!

Cinder: Don't worry, I won't kill anyone~! My blades and arrows are coated with knock-out poison, so I can take you all down with just a scratch! Then I'm going to drag pretty boy off and teach him how to please a woman~!

Jaune: Ah... So, let me get this straight. You're attacking us just because you want to have sex with me.

Cinder: Oh~? Have I piqued your interest~?

Cinder: It's not a big deal, is it~? You only need to become my pet and I'll allow you to play with this body. Imagine the desperate moans I'll make as you drag your tongue over my peaks and valleys, driving me wild with pleasure~!

Jaune: Hm... That does sound like a good deal.

Pyrrha: J-Jaune?! Wait! Don't fall for her lies! She's trying to trick you!

Jaune: I'll admit, you're a very attractive lady, and I'm sure there are many men out there who would give up everything to be with someone like you.

Cinder: So you'll be mine then?!

Jaune: BUT I REFUUUSE! GIRLS AND BOYS MUST NOT FORNICATE BEFORE MARRIAAAGE! NO CASUAL ENCOUNTERS! NO KISSING BEFORE THE TENTH DATE! NO MOUTH PLAY! NO ASS PLAY! DEFINITELY NO ASS TO MOUTH PLAY! ONLY MISSIONARY FOR THE PURPOSE OF PROCREATION! BETWEEN MARRIED COUPLES! MONOGAMYYY! NO HAREMS! NO ORGIES! HAND HOLDING IS OKAY, BUT DON'T! LOCK! THOSE! FINGEEERS!

Pyrrha: ...

Jaune: ...

Nora: ...

Cinder: ...

Nora: ...

Cinder: ???

Pyrrha: Whew!

Jaune: Khm! My name is Jaune Arc, and I am a Paladin of Order. THIS is my solemn vow.

Cinder: Uh... Is every surface dweller this prudish, or is it just him?

Jaune: ...

Nora/Pyrrha: It's just him.

Cinder: Okay! So, uh... Kinda got sidetracked, but you're not volunteering to be my man-slave, right?

Jaune: Yeah.

Cinder: Good~! I prefer doing this the old-fashioned way.

Jaune: Here we go. Stay behind me. I'll handle this.

Cinder: Hoohoohoo~! A little overconfident, aren't we? THE ONLY THINGS YOU'LL BE HANDLING ARE MY NIPPLES IN BED~!

Jaune: (Holds action)

Cinder: (Leaping strike)

???: Oscura Ventos...

Cinder: (Knocked on her back) GAH!

Jaune: ?!

???: What have I told you about "No more man slaves"? Such a naughty girl~...

Cinder: Dammit! You always get in my way...

Cinder: MOTHER!

Salem: But then again, I'm not surprised. You always were needy for attention.

Cinder: Why did you stop me?!

Salem: Because slavery is WRONG, Cinder. We need to start treating men as equals.

Jaune: You okay?

Cinder: Oh, fuck off! You were going through three men a day just a week ago, so cut the crap!

Salem: That was the old men. I'm a new woman now, ever since I met...

Salem: (Cuddling to Papa Arc) My husband~! Mr. Nicholas Arc~!

Papa Arc: Heya, son~! How ya doin'?! (Laughing with Salem)

Jaune: ...Hi, Dad.

Papa Arc: Jaune, my boy! How's it hangin'~?

Jaune: I'm fine, Dad. Why are you in the dungeon with two Grimm-Kin?

Papa Arc: Ah, yes... These lovely ladies. It's a long story, one full of danger, adventure, and rrromance~...

Jaune: Let me guess; you and your party were hired by a rival faction in Mistral to attack a Grimm-Kin nation, single-handedly destroying their army and were supposed to kill their leaders, too, but then you saw the Grimm-Kin queen was hot, so you couldn't resist and just had to seduce her and screw her brains out, and then you smuggled her out of the war zone with the promise of marriage... again.

Papa Arc: HUH?! H- H- HOW DID YOU KNOW?!

Jaune: This is, like, the eighth time you've done this, Dad.

Papa Arc: Aw, geez... Don't tell me I'm getting predictable!

Nora: By the Brothers! I'm in awe of this GigaBard! This man is my HERO~!

Papa Arc: Ahem! Well, I was going to do this later with your mother, your sisters, and all your other mommies around, but since you're here now, allow me to introduce...

Papa Arc: Your new stepmother, Salem Arc, formerly Salem, Queen of the Grimm-Kin, and her daughter, Cinder, your new stepsister!

Salem: Apologize to your brother, Cinder~.

Jaune: Grr! I'm sorry I tried to enslave you... I guess...

Papa Arc: I was showing them around the dungeon since it's the most profitable job in the Kingdom of Vale.

Jaune: They'll be living with us in town?

Papa Arc: That's right! They'll be strangers in a strange land and they'll need someone to help them get used to our lifestyle. I'll be with Salem, so could you take care of your sister?

Cinder: Hmph! (Turns away)

Jaune: Uh... My "sister" tried to kidnap me and turn me into her sex slave... five minutes ago.

Papa Arc: I know! Isn't it great?! You're like family already!

Papa Arc: C'mon, Jaune, if someone doesn't watch her, she'll be arrested in a day. And besides...

Cinder: (Turned away from everyone)

Papa Arc: She looks like she could really use a friend.

Jaune: ...Fine, I'll do it.

Papa Arc: Attaboy, Jaune~! I knew you'd say yes! That's why I already bought a HOUSE for you! You two will be living together without any supervision~!

Jaune: What?

Cinder: What?!

Pyrrha: WHA- WHA- WHAT?!

Papa Arc: Sorry, Pyrrha. That's just how these things work.

Jaune: ...

Cinder: ...

Pyrrha: ...

Cinder: Ufu~! Ufufufufu~! I've always wanted a little brother~.

Pyrrha: HUH?!

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

And so, in this new house, my strange new life began.

Cinder: Step bro~! Step bro~! Oh, it's just awful~! I forgot to bring my clothes with me, so now I have to come out of the bath NAKED and SOAKING WET~!

Jaune: (Eyes shut) Here, I brought you a change of clothes. Cinder, please stop trying to seduce me. Seeing your nipples aren't going to make me break my vows as a Paladin.

Cinder: (Hugs him) Are you suuure~?

Jaune: Yes.

Some journeys start without taking a step away from home.

Cinder: Help, Step Bro, help~! I'm stuck in this conveniently positioned hole~!

Jaune: NO, YOU'RE NOT! WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT?!

I didn't know this at the time, but my stepsister's appearance was about to steer my Lawful life into a Chaotic world I was utterly unprepared for. But even then, one thing was obvious...

MY GRIMM-KIN STEPSISTER WASN'T GOING TO LEAVE ME ALONE

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

Nora: I'm a huge fan of your work, Mr. Arc! Could you sign my hammer?!

Papa Arc: Why, of course, my dwarven friend! Anything for a fan~!

[xirayn]

Long distance Stonathan as requested by @fortnightdjo

---

"So when are we going to meet this imaginary boyfriend of yours, Country Club?"

Steve finishes mixing the bloody mary Rosanne Thorne always ends her night with, though the sun will be starting to peek over the New York City skyline by the time Steve gets home. It has been over a year since he started working at The Back Door and the performers have been asking that same question since they learned he was taken.

The drink is garnished with a skewer of cornichons, salami, and cheese kept on hand specifically for nights Rosanne is on stage.

"Once he gets his acceptance letter," Steve answers as he slides the drink over. He goes back to cleaning, smiling to himself at the thought of finally adding the last piece to complete the life he's built for him and Jonathan.

Back in Indiana, Jonathan is attending community college a short drive from Hawkins. Steve understands why. His family might not need him to help pay for bills anymore and Hopper is there to be the 'man of the house', but Jonathan has been too responsible for his family for too long to just leave. So, Steve made an offer: he would be the carrot at the end of the stick and move to New York City while Jonathan earned what credits he could transfer to NYU. If Jonathan still couldn't leave after a few years of seeing his family was alright without him, Steve would move back with life experience beyond a small, midwest town and an interdimensional hellscape.

Rosanne takes a long sip of her drink, considering Steve in a way he got use to sometime back in high school. "Well, if you decide you want a real boy, I called dibs."

Steve chuckles. "You'll be the first to know."

On his walk home, Steve wonders if the crowd and noise will be too much for Jonathan or if he will like the anonymity of being just another face. There is definitely an appeal to it. Safety, as well, since Steve is more concerned about the military or KGB tracking him than he is pickpockets.

There is a padded envelope in his mail. Excitement breaks through his growing fatigue and he practically runs up the three flights of stairs leading to his one bedroom apartment. It's small, but as much as he can afford within a reasonably walking distance of NYU. He calls Jonathan. As the phone rings, he opens the envelope. A groggy voice greets him.

"Don't you have class, Byers?" Steve teases. He presses play before getting a bagel to pop into the toaster. David Bowie croons about changes through the stereo.

"Fuck you, it's Sunday," Jonathan yawns.

"Church, then." The scoff on the other end of the line makes Steve chuckle.

He listens to Jonathan's usual morning grumbles. They talk for a few minutes every few days between Steve going to sleep and Jonathan waking up since long distance calls are expensive. It also allows Steve to check in. Jonathan is likely to skip meals or sleep if not reminded.

"I'd rather love you then be saved," Jonathan says and Steve melts a little. Before can respond, however, the song changes. He recognizes it immediately.

'Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today'

"You got in," he murmurs in realization. Frank Sinatra continues to sing as Steve repeats, louder, "You got in!"

"I did." The sleep has left Jonathan's voice. Steve can picture the amused quirk of his lips and affection in his eyes along with the shy way he ducks his head whenever someone is happy for him. "Do you still have room for me?"

"I think I can find some."

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Surprise Sunday update! I was able to put the finishing touches on Part 2 a bit early. 😉

Song used in this chapter is “If I Didn’t Care” by The Ink Spots (but more like Amy Adams' version). Song inspiration for this chapter (and the song title) is “All My Livin Time” by Radio Company (Jensen’s band with Steve Carlson).

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: 18+ only! Willful seduction, kidnapping, SB being himself lol.

Part 2: You Move Me, Baby

This next mission was going to be a bit more…hands on. 

It was a gentlemen’s club, styled like a 1920s speakeasy, of all things. If nothing else, Soldier Boy was predictable.

Through a crack in the dressing room door, you didn’t see any gentlemen here. You saw a bunch of skeevy bastards. 

For the record, you didn’t like this plan. But as Butcher once again pointed out, Soldier Boy’s less likely to fuckin’ recognize you than any of us. 

And you certainly couldn’t (wouldn’t) imagine Butcher in rhinestone nipple tassels. 

Right now, you were waiting to be assigned an outfit. Hopefully, you could just blend into the background of whatever performance act the stage manager wanted to slip you into. And you really hoped you wouldn’t have to striptease on stage.

In the meantime, you sat on a stool in a black lace bra, matching panties, and sheer pantyhose, while Annie was helping you with your stage makeup. Years as a pageant child had taught her well. You felt like Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality, fending off getting hairspray up her ass. 

Sure, you had gone undercover several times, but this was slightly out of your wheelhouse. You bit your lip, forgetting that you were already wearing several coats of scarlet red lipstick. 

Annie slapped your hand. “Stop it. You’re smudging my paint job.”

You had Butcher and M.M. to thank for arranging this little detail. 

May they both rot in hell, you silently simmered. 

“Oh, stop pouting. You look great,” Annie said. You caught the little smirk she was trying to taper down. 

Then the manager’s head popped into the dressing room. When he verified that all the young women had at least their underwear on, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“All right, listen up,” he said in Spanish. You understood just enough to follow what he was saying. “Angelica got food poisoning.”

You grimaced. Angelica was the main act. She had a whole burlesque-style routine with the rest of the women—for which you were meant to step in for one of the girls in the ensemble. Hopefully in the back. 

“Daniela, you’re filling in,” said the manager, pointing to a busty brunette. 

“What about the second act?” asked another girl. If you remembered right, her name was Raquel. “Dani can’t sing like Angelica to save her fucking life.”

“Excuse me, bitch. I sing better than you,” Daniela snapped back.

The manager rolled his eyes and clapped his hands harshly to end the bickering. 

“Okay. Which one of you bitches can actually sing?” he asked, first in Spanish, then in English, you noticed as he glanced at you.

Annie looked at you with raised brows. You glared back at her. 

Damn you for telling her about your childhood church choir days. You were sure your religious mother never thought you’d be using those talents like this.  

“No,” you said firmly. Annie just smiled and waved the manager over.

That was how the two of them ended up all but pushing you on stage—after Annie had wrangled you into a shimmering red gown over your underwear and pantyhose. It was overlayed with delicate beading in intricate patterns. And it was easily the most beautiful thing you’d ever had on your body.

However, you did take issue with how long the slit was, running all the way up to your hip bone.

Not really ‘20s style, now is it? you thought sourly.

Annie just slapped your ass and guided you forward.

You shot back one last look at her—one that swore you’d have your revenge.

Then the curtain slid open. 

Fuck me, you thought nervously. This was really happening!

The lights blinded you for a moment, and you blinked the glare out of your eyes. They soon adjusted as you forced yourself to move towards the microphone at the right-hand side of the stage, close to the live band. The pianist shot you a smile and a wink as he started to play in dulcet tones.

Steeling yourself, you grabbed the microphone with a slight tremor in your hands. You stared out into the crowd as the rest of the band joined in, slow and jazzy. 

You’d informed the manager that you really only knew one song by heart.

“Eh, that is too slow,” he’d replied to you in English.

“It’s that, or Dani belts out in her best soprano,” you informed him. He sighed and waved a resigned hand. 

“Get her the red one,” he told Raquel. She then handed you the dress on a hanger. 

Now, you held the microphone between both hands and started the song your grandmother used to sing to you when you were a kid.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say,” you began. “If I didn’t care, would I feel this way?”

You took in an unsteady breath. With each note, your voice was getting stronger, more confident. 

“If this isn’t love, then why do I thrill? And what makes my head go round and round, while my heart…stands…still…”

As you eased into the rest of the song, you remembered your mission. 

You scanned the dark room, rows of men of all ages, women serving drinks and food and their own bodies. You weren’t finding your target.

But this intel was good. The source was the girl you’d replaced in the show, and M.M. had already worked out her safe exit out of the city for a while. 

There. You finally saw it. 

Or rather, you saw him.

Towards the back, Soldier Boy sat at a large exclusive booth. He had a long joint propped between his fingers, and a working woman from the club already propositioning to service him. Her manicured hand eased down his chest. 

He also seemed to have hired men sitting at a table nearby. 

Your voice nearly hitched at the sight of him, but you forced yourself to take a calming breath during a musical interlude. 

You knew Annie and the rest of the team were here in the club somewhere, to back you up. But Soldier Boy knew Butcher and his team were onto him. the bastard would recognize them. You were the distraction here.

And if he went away with that escort, he could easily disappear upstairs and hop out the window again, gone like a coil of weed smoke.

Somehow, you needed to keep his ass in his seat.

So your voice came back in strong for the final verse.

“If I didn’t care, would it be the same? Would my every prayer begin and end…with just your name?” 

You watched Soldier Boy’s gaze drift toward the stage. Your lips curved as you held his eyes for a moment…but then, you coyly slid your gaze away. 

Okay, what’s going to grab his attention…

You shifted on the stage, letting the curve of your hip and ass sway to one side. You raised your other foot on the tips of your toes. And the slit running up your leg slid open, revealing your tall silver heels and a smooth leg, all the way up to the inside of your thigh.  

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to fit your gun holster this time.

“And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare…” Your voice rang out on the high note; at that climactic point, the music reached a crescendo.

You turned your head and looked directly into Soldier Boy’s eyes, and his mouth slid into a grin. 

He was watching you. 

Good.

“Would all this be true,” you sang, “if I didn’t care for you…”

As the final notes reverberated from the piano, applause and male whoops erupted from the crowd. 

You slowly released the microphone, breaking off eye contact with your target. 

Then you turned around, trying to hide the nervous tremor in your legs. You pressed a discreet hand to the communicator in your ear after the curtain fell behind you, and you told the team. 

“He’s here.” 

Annie was no longer backstage. 

“Good job, crooner,” M.M. said on the comm. 

“Watch him ‘til he’s ready to leave,” Butcher said to everyone.

You agreed and dodged the manager so you could slip to the back room within the dressing room. 

You were about to change into your real clothes (and grab your gun), when you were stopped by a Latino man. Though he clearly wasn’t a local or a tourist. He looked ex-military, complete with a crew cut and dark beard. 

“Soldier Boy would like to meet you,” he said in lightly accented English. You affected some doe-eyed shock, even though some of your surprise was genuine. 

You’d just wanted to keep him watching the show. You hadn’t expected him to take the bait this much. 

“Oh, wow…where? Now?” you asked.

“Now,” he confirmed. “Upstairs.”

He couldn’t even pick me up himself? Lazy, you wanted to tsk.

You spied the stage manager over by the doorway. He gave you a stern nod that told you that you had no choice but to accept. 

Not that you ever intended to decline. Though of fucking course the manager had known Soldier Boy was here. He was probably a damn regular. 

You gave Soldier Boy’s man a charming smile. “Lead the way.”

This wasn’t the plan, exactly. You decided it was even better though. Just infinitely more dangerous. 

Even though you had years of training, honing your body and your mind in a fight, you weren’t a supe. You were, in fact, exceedingly breakable.

“Are you crazy, cherie?” Frenchie said on the comm. 

You also thought you heard M.M. mutter an, “Aw shit.”

“She don’t got a choice now,” Butcher said. “But it’s a good play to get him alone. Slip her one of them hockey pucks.”

You heard M.M., Annie, Butcher, and Frenchie’s continued twittering back and forth about the change of plan. Meanwhile, you were being escorted upstairs.

Kimiko managed to maneuver into your path from the opposite direction, and she slipped a small disk into your hand as she passed you. 

You gave her a grateful wink and discreetly placed the device into your bra while your escort wasn’t looking. 

It wasn’t a dose of Novichok, but it was something that might keep Soldier Boy occupied for a moment. You intended to use it if he got too fucking handsy.

You were let into a room on the third floor. With the lavish way it was furnished, complete with a king-sized bed, it almost looked like a hotel room. 

Yeah, Hotel California, you thought wryly, as the door shut behind you. 

Soldier Boy sat at a table by the far wall, gazing out the window with yet another joint (or perhaps the same one?) and a generous pour of whiskey in his hand. 

Even you could admit, he cut an attractive figure. He was dressed in light brown slacks, a matching suit jacket and a white dress shirt with the top buttons left open. A simple ensemble, but well-tailored and suited to the golden tan he’d developed here in South America. His beard was neatly trimmed, his short hair styled back in its familiar sweep on both sides. 

Even seated, his posture was casual, yet controlled as his head turned to meet your gaze. A smile started to curve his lips. 

Show time, you told yourself. 

“You’re new,” he said. You tilted your head, a bit of flirtation in your smile.

“What makes you say that?” you asked.

He gave you an oh please look. With the hand that held his whiskey, he gestured with a curling finger. 

“Come ‘ere. Don’t be shy,” he said. It was an order rather than a request, but you hid your instinctive annoyance.

You subtly took in a steadying breath. And you moved farther into the room. You didn’t stop until you were sitting opposite him at the window, crossing your legs beneath the table. 

You could tell he’d expected you to take a seat in his lap, but to a degree, you didn’t want to do what he expected. He was likely paying the club well for this time. You didn’t want to make it easy.

You wanted him to be enticed. Invested in this moment. 

And distracted, for as long as he let you. 

You watched him glance down with interest at your bare leg peeking out. At your strappy silver heel shining along with your dress in the soft lamplight, which casted shadows across his profile. 

“Want a drink?” he asked. 

You were surprised he was offering you anything. You’d half-expected him to order you onto your knees already. Upon which, he would’ve received the gift currently residing in your bra a bit early. 

You didn't want to take any drink you hadn't poured yourself, but you also needed to keep this act going...

"I'm not gonna fucking drug you," he said, reading the look in your eyes. "What would be the fucking point of that?"

Hmph. smart-ass motherfucker, you thought. But you didn't detect a lie.

You quirked your head and took the proffered sip from his glass. You wanted to play it cool, but maybe you also needed a little liquid courage. 

“All right, easy on the booze. Get his guard down,” Butcher said in your ear. You resisted the urge to frown.

Could Butcher see you somehow too? Or was he just hearing the ice clinking in the glass as you gulped it down. 

“Did you enjoy my performance?” you asked Soldier Boy.

“Still am, doll face,” he said with a smirk. You raised a brow. 

“I’m not that new,” you replied, biting indelicately on a dark cherry. Your heeled foot slowly slid against the inside of his thigh. 

It was his turn to raise brow. His head tilted with his smirk. 

You didn’t know if he was more amused than turned on, but his gaze roamed openly over your legs, the cleavage on display, your dark red lips. 

“Are you enjoying your stay in Medellin?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation going. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m having a fuckin’ ball,” he said wryly. He dabbed some ash off his blunt with a finger. 

There was something off there, and you didn’t miss it.

“You sound bored,” you said. Soldier Boy considered you with a lustful, challenging gaze. 

“Maybe. You gonna help me with that, sweetheart?”

A flutter of nerves churned in your belly, but you used it, letting the feeling prickle awareness across your skin. 

“Depends,” you said coyly. 

Both his brows rose this time, as if he was surprised you were actually pretending to resist him. 

“On?”

You subtly leaned forward when you gave him back his glass, allowing him to spy a bit more down your dress. You stared into his deep green eyes, and tried not to get lost yourself. He was an attractive man, but he was also your target. A job you intended to finish. 

A smile played at your lips.

“On what excites you,” you replied. 

By the way his eyes darkened, his smile curving, you thought he liked that answer. 

Then his hand extended toward you, a silent command in his gaze. Steeling yourself, you tried your best to be graceful and sensuous when you took his hand. He playfully jerked you forward, making you fall into his lap. 

You waved some dank weed smoke out of your face as you looked down at his amused one. 

He was nearly down to the roach on his joint. Meanwhile, his free heavy hand slid up your bare leg, disappearing beneath your dress and making goosebumps spread across your skin. Your breath hitched, though you disguised it with a smile. 

“You afraid of me, sweetheart?” he cooed. 

Yes, if you were honest with yourself. 

There was a false sense of security in his deep voice. You looked down into his eyes, very green and intensely focused on you, despite his air of nonchalance. 

“Not really,” you replied. “Only that you might get ash on my dress.”

He chuckled, smoke blowing out his nose. He put out the joint in the ashtray and took another sip of his whiskey, likely to drown out the cotton taste in his mouth. You laid a hand on his chest, fingers spreading between the open buttons, and felt his warm skin. 

He glanced up at you with another challenging tilt to his head. What are you gonna do now?

You met that challenge, boldly leaning down to press a kiss against his lips. You held his face, delving your fingers into his soft hair. 

Soldier Boy grabbed your hips with a bruising force. It made you wince, instinctively biting into his lower lip. He uttered a pleased sound, guttural in this throat. You braced yourself against the wall behind him for leverage as his chair started to tip back. 

Before either of you could fall, he lifted you effortlessly by the waist and pivoted, pinning you against that wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist as his tongue invaded your mouth, devouring you with hot and heavy hands holding you in place.

His fingers pressed into the flesh of your thighs, and you knew you couldn’t easily escape if you needed to.

This is getting out of hand… 

He was busy kissing a wet and sloppy line down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. It actually felt so fucking good to be touched. You hadn’t experienced it in so long, it almost startled you when your heated core pulsed with the friction you were feeling against the hardness in his slacks. 

You would never admit it, but it wasn’t an act when you moaned into his ear. Fuck…

But when his hand again slipped under your dress and crept up your inner thigh, alarm bells triggered in your mind as panic started to set in. You panted for breath. 

With him seemingly distracted, you reached down into your bra and grabbed the metal disk. 

You gasped as Soldier Boy grabbed your wrist, tight as a vice. He looked down at you with a sly grin. 

“You were fuckable in black, but red’s my favorite so far,” he said. 

Your eyes widened. When the hell did he see me in black?

And then you remembered. You’d worn a black dress at the last club, where you got groped on the dance floor and found Soldier Boy’s latest note…

Had he hung around after all, watching you and the team pick up his clues?

And you realized, he knew exactly who you were. 

Soldier Boy glanced down at your lips, then at the tops of your breasts heaving as you caught your breath. His eyes shone with mischief and lust. 

“It’s a real shame. You’re probably a good fuck too,” he remarked. It sparked your irate disgust like a wildfire.

Then you smirked. “You can fuck this.” 

You activated the disk in your hand and flicked it at him. He instinctively grabbed at his face, releasing you. The device attached to his cheek and electrified enough volts through his body to drop an elephant. 

Maybe five. The CIA weapons specialist hadn’t been too sure.

And a star bolt shot Soldier Boy in the chest, shoving him away before he could grab at you. 

You jumped back and continued to put several feet of distance between you and Soldier Boy, while Annie and the rest of your team poured into the room. They were poised for a fight, once Soldier Boy ripped the device off his face with a grunt. It probably hadn’t hurt him much, but he looked pissed now. 

He rolled the kinks out of his neck and surveyed the room with a slow gait. He spared you a fleeting glance. You were now at the safety of Kimiko’s side, and Frenchie handed you a gun. 

“Ah, the Scooby Gang,” Soldier Boy remarked. He nodded at Butcher. “This is how you repay me for taking care of Homelander? My own son.”

“He weren’t your fucking son,” Butcher replied. “I’d reckon you know that best of all.”

Soldier Boy’s lips twitched. Whether at a smile or a frown, you couldn’t tell. 

“You found me, remember? So what, you got buyer’s remorse?” he said.

“See, the problem is, supes like you are what we call,” said Butcher, “a menace to fucking society.” 

Soldier Boy’s lips pulled down into a frown. He looked a cross between annoyed and impatient. 

“I fought for my country. I saved lives—”

“You took just as many as you might’ve saved,” M.M. interrupted. “And not just that building you burnt the fuck up last year.” 

Soldier Boy hesitated at that. “You really wanna do this?” 

You all really want to die? his eyes said. He got determined silence from all of you. He rolled his shoulders and adjusted his blazer. 

“All right,” he shrugged. 

Then all hell broke loose. You ducked for cover as Soldier Boy deflected the giant flare gun M.M. shot at him. With his bare hand. 

Hired security then poured into the room—you assumed hired by Soldier Boy. And you protected Hughie from getting his neck snapped by shooting a man between the eyes.

You and M.M. continued to fight them off. Meanwhile, Kimiko and Annie tried to give Butcher and Frenchie a chance to get close with the Novichok gas on Soldier Boy. 

You took care of three more men before you heard a low buzzing sound. You turned around, and a gasp fell from your lips when you saw Soldier Boy’s chest lighting up. 

You knew what came next. 

And so did Annie. She poured her all into her next star bolt—which managed to shove Soldier Boy through the window. She and Kimiko flew or otherwise ran out the window to follow him. While Butcher, Frenchie, and M.M. helped you fight off the last of the hired guns. 

Finally, you covered Hughie as the five of you left the normal, human way, and ran down the stairs to exit the club. By the time you were able to join Annie and Kimiko, however, Soldier Boy had disappeared.

You glared down the dark, busy streets of Medellin. 

Damn it!

You returned to the hotel disappointed and angry beyond fucking belief. Mostly at yourself.

After all the work you did, having to seduce and make out with that bastard, only to discover he’d made you long before you took the stage at the club.

Fucking hell, you thought angrily as you kicked at your suitcase. It sent your clothes tumbling across the dirty carpet, but right now you didn’t give a fuck. Damn cocky bastard. 

In the bathroom, you kicked off your heels in relief. You looked yourself over in the mirror and found various cuts and bruises from the fight. Your softly curled hair was a shambles, along with your makeup. 

Parts of your dress were torn, along with your pantyhose. Which was probably Soldier Boy’s doing, if you thought about it. You sighed. 

You were about to start undressing, but then you heard something. A small sound, like a thump. 

Your gun was on the table in the main room. Frowning in suspicion, you left the bathroom cautiously. Before your hand could close around your gun, a gloved hand grabbed your wrist. 

You aimed a punch with your free one and caught a man directly in the jaw. He reeled back, but was quick to recover and try to grab you again. 

While the guy was strong, you could feel that he wasn’t a supe. A human, you could deal with. He wore a mask over his face, but you could see he had shoulder-length brown hair. He was tall and lean, and one of his boots was strangely larger than the other.

You didn’t have time to focus on it. You redirected his following blow and used his strength against him, flipping him over your shoulder. Unfortunately, he landed on the table that held your poor laptop. 

“Aw, shit,” you snapped with a grimace. You searched for your gun in the wreckage. 

While you were somewhat distracted, he aimed a kick that caught you in the face, sending you onto your back with a pained cry. You quickly rolled over and got to your feet, just as your attacker threw out fist after fist.

You dodged and shoved away most of them, until he grabbed your arm and managed to crack his elbow into your temple.

You went down and hit your head hard against the bedframe.

And it was lights out.

You slowly, painfully woke up in a moving car. 

You were suffering the cottony taste of a gag in your mouth and a musty bag over your head. Your wrists were tied in front of you, and it felt like you were shoved into the backseat. The car was quiet, save for the radio playing Latin pop on low volume. 

You never would’ve thought Shakira would be the background track of your kidnapping, but here you were. 

The car eventually stopped and you were dragged out, forced onto your feet on a cobblestone driveway. Then into a house. 

…Well, this fucking sucks.

The thought rattled through your mind as you were led down a hallway, across a cold expanse of tile floor. You couldn’t see where you were going with this stuffy bag over your head, but you knew it was tile. Your bare feet all but scraped across it as they dragged you. 

Whoever held your arms in a vice grip eventually forced you to sit in a rickety wooden chair. They pulled your wrists behind the chair and bound them together with a zip tie. 

You felt the slit on your dress sliding open, so you crossed your legs, for whatever good that would do you. At the very least, it would give the impression that you were sitting here casually, and not (figuratively) shitting yourself with fear.  

“What the hell is this?” a deep, familiar voice asked.

“A gift.” You knew this voice as well. Neither one instilled you with calm.

Then the bag finally came off your head. The gag did not, however. You knew your red dress was in unfortunate tatters. You knew you were bruised and scratched, and overall worse for wear.

But when your gaze found your kidnapper, you glared up at him with a stubborn tilt to your chin. Antonio, Señor Groping Bastard from the club, was smirking back at you. 

What the fuck.

Then you noticed him.

Soldier Boy stared back at you with raised brows, and instant recognition in his eyes. His lips curved into a smirk.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

AN: 😬 So we finally made it to the prologue opener! Was it everything you thought it would be? How did you like her attempt at "undercover?" 🤭

And are you ready for what's coming next?

To keep reading: Part 3

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @waters-2567 @emily-winchester

[rottingcherub-txt]

❝ To The Bone ❞

🫀・・・contents: sapphic relationship, obsessive behavior, mentions of religion (specifically Catholicism), blasphemey, Sexual Assault by religious leader, mentions of animal death, not being believed (referring to SA), gore and blood, graphic depiction of murder, cannibalism

I can still hear him.

If I’m quiet enough, if I press my ear against the walls of my bedroom, I can hear his footsteps, his humming of hymns as he makes his way towards my room. When I lie in my bed at night, between the buzzing song of crickets and cicadas outside of my bedroom window I always leave just slightly ajar, I can see his silhouette standing at the end of my bed before I blink and realize that it’s simply a poorly shaped shadow and the figment of my imagination coming to remind me. I close my eyes and roll over with my face pressed into the pillow, waiting for Dawn to stretch her fingers across the horizon and soothe a finger across the slope of my exposed thighs. Mama would come into my room to wake me, tell me to take a bath, and get ready for church.

I always dressed in white for Sunday mass. He liked me in white but you liked me in white as well. You’d smile every time I came into the church, following closely behind my mother and father as they greeted Reverend Hall — that beautiful, paled piece of raised skin against your honeyed cheek and narrow jaw shifting slightly with the pull of your lips. I wanted to kiss it, to trace my finger over the edges of it, to tell you I loved it, that horrific scar.

But he smiled at me too. “Good to see you, Ada. I’m happy you’re here.” Reverend Hall placed his hand on the small of my back, his thumb pressing circles through the cloth of my dress. His smile kept secrets, secrets only kept between me, him, and God. His looks whispered of the handsome man he once was. His hair still thick yet graying at the sides and around his hairline, wrinkles forming from his narrowed nose and curving around his thin, rosy lips from all the years he’s spent smiling at me. He held his bible in his large, paled hand; the same bible he read to me as I sat in his lap as a child, listening while he expressed to me the importance of purity — all while he twisted the purity within me.

I offered him a smile as well, brief and placid before moving on and my gaze found you once more. You had turned your back on me, listening to Mr. Williams — your father — speak to you and your brother. My father guided me to our usual pew towards the front of the church in front of the altar.

Reverend Hall stood at the podium as he did every Sunday morning and addressed the church. “The Lord is good, is he not?” And while a chorus of hums and “yes”s and “praise Him”s echo off the walls of their poor, little church house, weathered down and rotting from the inside out from the constant rain and perpetual, never-ending Georgia heat; I was just looking at you from across the way. You didn’t seem all that interested and you never have. You’d rather be with your studs and bitches despite the beasts attacking you when you were young. That’s how you got that scar along your cheek and the vicious bite marks across your arm.

“Father stresses purity. First Timothy chapter 5, verse 22, ‘Do not be hasty in the laying on of hands, and do not share in the sins of others. Keep yourself pure.’” Reverend Hall glanced down at me. Me in my pretty, white dress matched with lace-trimmed socks and mary jane shoes, me the image of purity in a town like this, me, the girl of which he ripped the flowers from the garden bed of childhood.

He loved me like this. Pure. The white against my dark skin, my wide, innocent eyes looking up at him. He loved standing above me, loved looking down at me, loved me. 

And I hated him. He dirtied me, defiled me — me. My purity, my perfection, my godliness. He tried to take that from me. But divinity can not be extinguished. It is eternal.

After a sermon, hours long, and even longer songs of worship, church was over. That meant me and Mama would spend the rest of our day cooking after church dinner. Papa would be in the living room, leaning back in his recliner with a beer in hand, calling for a sandwich and getting increasingly irritated by the minute.

“Mama, could I go to the Williams’ for a little bit? I wanna see if Ruth can come to dinner.” I tugged on the back of my mother’s skirt while she took her church hat off of her curled head. “Fine, but you stay away from them dogs, ya hear? I don’t want you comin’ home with no bites on ya arm. Them damn mutts vicious.” Mama never liked the Williams’ dogs. All them bully breeds, muscled-up pits, Rottweilers, all the sorts. They were fighting dogs. The Williams bred them, best in the state.

I was already out the door by the time she let out her last words, still in my church dress and my pretty Mary Janes I didn’t want to scuff up but I was so excited to see you that I didn’t care.

We lived in a small town. Population all of 100 some people. The Williams’ ranch was about half a mile down and the walk was marked by tall grass and powerlines. Cicadas sang constantly, day and night, all hidden between the shadows of Magnolia trees not yet bloomed.

Your land was often muddy, wet, full of boot and paw prints. The air seemed to get all the more humid, mosquitoes trying to land on any piece of exposed flesh. I always appreciated mosquitoes. They were in and out before you knew it with only an itchy bump to mark their existence. The best way to leave a mark is in discomfort. The grass was always half-dead and I never understood how you and your family managed to keep the few cows and goats you had. 

You, my precious, glorious, scarred god, were in a pin outside with a heavily pregnant red-nose Pitbull. You in your boots, always caked in dry and wet mud, and flannel with the sleeves always rolled up to your elbows. Your hair is tied up into a messy bun of curls and sweat is already dripping from your hairline down your dark caramel skin. Your scars on your face and arms from being attacked by one of your daddy’s dogs.

I remembered seeing the stitches, your split open cheek and arm. I wanted to lick the blood from your wounds. I wanted to cut you open, to part your ribcage and eat your heart. I wanted to slip into your skin and wear it like a blanket to forever keep me warm and I hope you wanted to do the same. I wanted to kill that stupid mutt that dared to hurt you but your daddy took it out back and shot it first. That was when I decided I liked your father.

"Oh- Ada." You seemed to brighten at the sight of me approaching. Your skin glowed gold when you walk into the sun to meet me at the fence. "Came right on time, 'm 'bout to put Missy back in her kennel. Her puppies should be coming any day now." The dog was fat and stout with engorged pink nipples bursting at the seems to feed the pups to be. She drooled with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, panting. "Tryna take a walk around?" Your voice was so sweet, so melodic.

I smiled softly at you. "No. I wanted to see if you could come to my house for dinner." As long as I could remember, you and I have always been best friends. Our families weren't close. My family was evangelical and yours could take or leave church. My house, littered in crosses and peeling floral wallpaper, a box TV in the corner. Your house was just the same but covered in animal heads instead. You come from a family of hunters, animal people. It shows in how we present ourselves but the love was there nonetheless.

I've never told you what happened though. I know you sensed an irreversible change in me after the first day it happened but your comments were always kept to a minimum. I appreciated it. I never wanted you to know I wasn't pure for you, that I was a disgusting harlot capable of seducing this town's Mother Teresa. I wanted to be, but my thoughts were already taking a turn.

I wonder how you taste. Will you taste like salty sweat? Like dirt? Like dog? Like love? I wanted to love you down to the bone. I wanted my love to consume you whole and leave nothing left behind.

But you and I were cut from the same cloth of the universe. I knew you were just as demented as me from late night talks on the roof of your farmhouse. I had turned to you, looking away from a night sky so clear it glowed with stars, and I asked you, "Are you ever hungry? And I don't mean physically but…deep somewhere in your soul. No matter how much you stuff into your face, you can never feel it."

And without thought you said, "Yeah. It's the kinda hunger everyone has but can't feed without another person. Even then, very rarely does it go away." Your face was blank solemn and I knew our thoughts were running parallel to each other. 

Then you kissed me that night, sweet and tender at first, then harder, hungrier. It was a sin for two girls like us to kiss like this. Both of our families would have never let us see each other again. My daddy would have drowned me in holy water. I should have felt guilty but I didn’t, I couldn’t not when I tasted you. We were hidden beneath the cover of night, no one had to know.

I bit your lip so hard it drew blood. You hissed and pulled away a bit and for a moment I had worried that I had ruined everything. But you had looked me in the eyes, yours glittering under the stars and you smiled with that bloody lip of yours and kissed me harder. I tasted your blood on my tongue — tangy and metallic — and I was intoxicated on it. You bit my tongue and our life sources mingled in a way so intimate I thought we might transcend this plane of existence.

The way you were — I wasn't sure if I wanted to have you or wanted to be you. You in your silent confidence and quiet perfection. Nothing bothered you. You were holy without even trying. Was wanting to be and wanting to have so innately intertwined that one could not exist without the other? When it came down to it, I simply wanted to possess you, completely.

Your crooked grin faded. "Oh Ada, I can't tonight. Ma need my help 'round the house later on but maybe another day." You always let me down easy so I'd take your small rejections lightly. I could see in your eyes that you always hated saying no to me. I always hated when you said no to me too.

I took it with ease though I was seething on the inside. 'Your mother can wait. What about me? You're breaking my heart here.' "That's okay." I was always told I had the smile of an angel. By my mother, friends of the family, Reverend Hall as he grabbed my chin with a, "you look prettier when you smile".

"Promise you not mad at me, sugarplum?" You hold out a long pinky to me with a smile so sweet it makes my cheeks burn. I loved the way you called me endearing nicknames. Sugarplum, sweetheart, darling. If I hadn't known any better and if I weren't dissecting you from the inside out, I would have assumed that's just how you are. A lot of southern folks call everyone those kinds of names. Our southern manners and hospitality.

But I can see, you use those southern niceties to wink at me, nudge me to realize your adoration of me, your worship. You recognize the divinity within me and I see it within you as well; within your dirt and mud and sweat.

I wrapped my smaller pinky around yours and smiled. "Never." I didn't want to leave you yet. I wanted you to hold me. I wanted to get dirty in the mud with you, but never impure. Never tainted. How could perfection be tainted? I was whole with you, a stolen piece of me returned. Together, we could transcend all of this and be more than everything, more than God.

But you had things to do, my love, and I never want to hold you from your duties. "I'll see you around, Ruth." I blew you a discreet kiss and your pink lips curled up, your scar shifted, and you caught the sun just right again. My golden god.

You took my wrist gently and pulled me back to press your lips to mine. Just a peck, a discrete kiss. It couldn’t be anything more, not now, not in the day. You let me go as quick as you grabbed me and I was dizzy on you, high on your love. I might have looked ditzy and lovesick as you leaned in and whispered in my ear, “See ya ‘round, Ada.”

The walk home was uneventful. I was far too busy tracing my fingers over my nether lip to feel the pressure of your lips on mine. Only that a rusty old truck making a whining screeching sound passed and I heard a faint, "Hey Ada!" Everyone in this town knew each other but I never bothered with learning names. No one mattered to me except you.

I returned home dappled with sweat and aching feet, still giggling to myself. I came through the back door that led into the kitchen and dining room. I stopped in my tracks, struck in the chest as if God had chosen to smite me on the spot. Reverend Hall sat at our dinner table with his trusty leatherback bible sitting beside him.

“Ada. You’re home.” Mama ushered me in. “Wash ya hands and help me with this potato salad.” I never expected him to be here at my table again, smiling at me knowingly. He hasn’t done it in ages, years, not since I was 15. I thought it was over. But politeness was key. He would not have me again, my soul, my dignity. I was above him. I was above everyone. He was just a maggot under my shoe. But that did not explain why I was so terrified of him.

“Ada. I’m so honored to be having dinner with your family. I hope I am welcome in your home.” I wanted to tear his throat out with my bare hands, shred him to pieces before his God and curse Him and His evil ways.

I did not answer him. Instead, I went upstairs to calm myself. My heart threatened to break my ribs, to suffocate me. And for a moment, I wish it would. But I reminded myself of who I am. I am greater, I am God. Who was he to scare me? He’s the one who should be scared. But that ideology did not comfort me when I went back downstairs and kissed Papa’s cheek and he whispered to me, “Don’t you go causing trouble now. Screaming your accusations up and down the street. You know Reverend Hall is a good man. Don’t act up.”

My Ma and Pa never believed me when I tried to tell them. How could a man of God ever do such a thing to a child? I was lying for attention apparently and was made to apologize to Reverend Hall which he graciously accepted. “It is alright. All children have wild imaginations. She must have taken my afternoon private lessons in an unsavory way.” He smiled at me with a glint in his dark eye and that was the end of it.

Sitting down for dinner was Hell. I was forced to sit beside him, my hand in his as we lowered our hands while Reverend Hall led us in prayer. He held my hand tightly, his grasp bordering on crushing as he glanced at me. I could feel it, his gaze burrowing into me, carving out my insides, hollowing me.

Dinner was unappetizing. I simply pushed my food around my plate, thinking of you, Ruth, how I wished you were sitting here instead of him. I wished we could share smiles across the table with our own secret shared between just the two of us because the way he smiled at me showed his secret, the secret I tried to make known only for it to be shoved into a box. The thing about a secret like that is that it’s not dying to get out. Whether it's known or not, a secret that is not cared for is not a secret.

We were all sitting in it. The mess he made of me. The secret between us, all of us, would simply stay here. I did not know whether my parents truly believed me or not. A part of me thought they did, but knew something like this would mean reshaping their worldview, something they weren’t ready for. But what about me? What about the little girl that had her world shattered by someone she was meant to trust wholeheartedly? 

"Adaline. Stop playin' with ya food and eat." Papa snapped. I stood abruptly, pushing my plate away. "'m not hungry. I'll just go to bed." I didn't wait for a response. I just left and no one tried to call after me because they knew. They all knew why I didn't want to be there, why I could feel myself growing angrier by the moment.

I lay in the dark on my bed with only the comfort of crickets and cicadas. With my ear pressed against the wall, I listened and the world fell silent. The creaks and groans of this old, withering house disappeared.

And then I heard him. His hymns, his slow, dragging footsteps weighing down the floors as he made his way to my bedroom. I fell into bed before he opened the door with my back turned to him.

"Adaline." He called my name and I shivered. The door clicked closed and I could hear the way his leathery fingertips rubbed his bible as if ready to open it to justify what he was about to do.

I stared at the cross above my bed the whole time. By now, I had known it intimately. The way every end comes to a decorated point, a golden carving of Jesus hanging from it, His blank lifeless eyes staring down at me, condemning me, berating me like I asked for any of this.

There was something here once. A little girl with stars in her eyes and hope in her heart. Undying love for her Lord, her Father, who would protect her from all.

I was defiled by him and when he kissed me, I wanted nothing more than to kill him. If I killed him, would it make me good? Would it make me holy? Would it make me whole again?

No…only you would make me whole.

I think– in his own way, he loved me. The sick, twisted kind of love. The love one has for a possession rather than a person. The kind of love that is ownership, a pet. I didn't want to be loved that way. And I didn't love him.

I will not go into detail what he did to me for I will never give him the satisfaction, but I was left in my bed with tears streaking my cheeks. I did not fight him. I never fought. Maybe I should have but you understand, right? At my core, I am just a child. What was I meant to do and if I hadn't done it, would that make me to blame?

I was not the same person in the morning. Like a layer of skin peeled off of me and left me cold, slimy, and trembling. I was reborn. He had molded me into a monster. I went to the bathroom to find myself staring at my own reflection. My hair was tangled and frizzy, the tips unkempt and ragged. My face was blotchy and red. And I wanted him to see me like this. I wanted him to know I wasn't afraid, I was angry. My eyes were wild and black as I stared accusingly into his already dead eyes. Do you know how many times he did this to me? How many times he has hurt me?

What would you do if you found out? Would you be outraged, threaten to kill him, to protect me? Or would you look upon me in disgust, finally see me for the unworthy, disgusting being I am. A fallen angel? A broken God?

I could feel him inside of me.

I sat unmoving at the table, my head down low. The world had felt so fragile, like it was about to shatter. And I didn't want anyone to see through my eyes because if they did, they would see that I was a demon. I was the one who should be burned. I was the one who cannot be forgiven. My mother brought me breakfast and it sat on the table in front of me, untouched.

  "Adaline? Ada, are you alright? I've made you a plate. Eat." She placed a cool hand on my cheek and that was it. How dare she? How dare she ask if I'm okay as if she didn't know, as if they all didn't know? They knew what he was going to do the moment he began upstairs and she had the audacity to ask me if I'm okay.

"No, Ma! I'm not okay! How could I be okay?!" I screamed, picking up my plate and tossing it to the floor. The glass shattered into fragments and my mother gasped in shock at my outburst. "Why didn't you protect me? Where were you when I needed you? Where was God when I needed Him?" Why was I sobbing? Why should I give anything to them? Why should they see me at my lowest?

Still in my nightgown, I left out of the door of our small, decaying house, littered in the judgmental eyes of Christ. I wanted you. I wanted you to hold me, to touch me, to tell me I am worthy, I am pure, I am Holy. So I ran to you, Ruth. I ran with my soft soles against asphalt and broken glass. I bled, leaving my sins in my wake with each footstep.

I wanted to run away from God, away from Him and take you with me. We could be more than all of this.

Who, but God above, if there even is one, would forgive me? Forgive me for being created with a sacred heart. Forgive me for being born into a world where my purity was meant to be coveted. Forgive me for being born a woman. Forgive me for being born with purity, with pain and suffering. Who here would forgive me? Who would be merciful enough to accept me?

I am an effigy of purity.

Do you blame me for this? Do you hate me as I hate myself? Do you blame God as I blame myself? Did he hurt you like this? Did he? Did he? Did he?

I ran through dirt and mud, through the cold, whipping wind as with early morning came frigid air.

My feet did not stop until I was at your doorstep and I knocked, hoping that you would answer. You and your brother were usually up by now, checking up on the dogs. But your Pa's old pickup was gone and I feared you had gone with him.

I heard the peephole open, heard you answer. "Ada?" you called, your voice weary and scratchy. I was scared you wouldn't open the door because this was too much, too fast. I need you to accept me. I need you to be the first to forgive me so maybe I can forgive myself.

"Adaline? Hun, what's wrong?" You opened the door and I fell into your arms, weeping.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I sobbed into your chest and you stood still, just holding me. I was in your arms for a long time, trying to calm my breathing, calm my heart.

"Good Lord, Sweetheart. What happened?" You asked, your voice pained as you pulled me inside. I stood in your kitchen and could only stare at the floor. You pulled out a chair and I sat down. The way you looked at me, I felt safe. I felt like enough. 

“Ya feet all bloody. Look like ya got the devil on ya heels." You left the room to grab a rag and soaked it in water to clean my feet just as Mary Magdalene did Christ. You were tender with me, taking my ankle in your slender, calloused fingers and cleaned the blood and dirt from my feet with diligence. I’ve never felt so loved, so cared for. You wiped my tears and told me it was okay, comforted me without interrogation, and stroked my head until I finally calmed down enough to speak.

“Now, tell me what’s goin’ on here. You scarin’ the daylights outta me.” You knelt before me with your hands on my soft, brown knees. Your eyes were earnest and open, ready to accept the wildest of all I had to say.

"He did it again," I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying.

"Who did what again?" 

"The Reverend. He defiled me again." I said, my eyes pleading for you to understand. I didn’t want to go into detail but with those few words, you knew all you needed to know. The thing about you, that I loved and appreciated, was that you didn’t look at me with pity in your eyes. I wasn’t suddenly something irreversibly broken to you. I wasn’t a victim. I was a person first and foremost. You looked upon me with sympathy, even empathy and accepted my accusation wholeheartedly, without question. That’s how much you loved me, trusted me.

You didn’t ask how it happened or try to deny or justify it. You just accepted it and loved me deeper, harder. You saw me, felt me and buried your face into my stomach. I wrapped my arms around your head. You held me, rocking us back and forth for a long time, holding onto my purity for me, for us, while I sobbed.

"It’s okay, Adaline. I’ve got’cha. I’m here for ya." You stood up and I followed, standing on my tiptoes to kiss you because you were so tall for a girl. Our lips grazed with the same tenderness seen in depictions of angels in church.

“I want to kill him,” I murmured against soft, yet dry lips. “I don’t want him to hurt me anymore. Please don’t let him hurt me anymore.” My fingers traced your deformed cheek with love and admiration for the beauty of it.

I knew I wasn’t wrong to see the darkness within you when you said, “I won’t, I won’t let him hurt you. Let’s kill him.” And that darkness that melted so nicely together with mine, made you all the more divine; all the more beautiful. I wanted so badly to be one with you and I’ve never loved you so badly. I kissed you again and you kissed me back, all while knowing that if your Pa caught us we’d be strung up as a spectacle of the devil. Your flesh tasted so bittersweet. I wanted to sink my teeth into your skin and consume you as we started to that night and I could tell you were holding back as well.

“Let’s do it tomorrow after church.” I needed him gone. I needed to bathe in his blood to make me pure once again. I’d take back what he had stolen from me. You soothed a hand down my arm and your fingers laced into mine. “What’s the plan?”

—

“Reverend Hall.” I stood with my fingers wrapped around the cross above my be behind my back in my favorite Sunday best. The white against my dark skin, the bow pinning my curly hair back, allowing the youthfulness of my face to show through. Round and chubby, a well-fed girl that hasn’t yet slimmed out from puberty. I knew it would entice him.

His thin lips curled into a smile. It was just the two of us in the church house after a late sermon. “Ada, what can I do for you?” He liked the look on my face, the innocent unawareness scribbled across my face. I was vulnerable and vulnerable meant easy. He knew I wouldn’t fight him.

“I am having trouble having faith in the Lord, Reverend.” My cross in my hand, given to me by my mother, the God that stood by and let me hurt, that protected all his secrets, would be his undoing.

He came down from his podium, off the stage where he would stand before the choir, and met me in the middle of the aisle. The sun hit the stained glass at just the right angle and it cast a rainbow across our faces. “Of course, child.” His hands reached out to cup mine, never without his sacred book. “I’m glad you came to me.”

I glanced past his shoulder as you came from your hiding place behind a pew. I smiled, at him and at you. “I’m glad I came too.”

You grabbed him, took him completely by surprise, and dragged him to the floor. You pinned his arms down while I got on top of him, straddled him the way he always did me. We were basked in the multicolored light of God. This act was holy. He was terrified, the same look of utter fear that would draw on my face every time he touched me. I had never felt so powerful.

My fingers wrapped around the cross, I rose it high above my head. “This is for everything you’ve done to me.” And I plunged it down into his beating heart. “You bastard! You sick!” I stabbed him again, “Twisted!” And again. “Bastard!” I didn’t know how many times I stabbed him but by the end, I was covered in blood and screaming, crying. I grabbed that Godforsaken bible he always carried around and tore the faded pages of them out. I jammed them into his bloody mouth, down his throat.

“Ada, Ada.” You reached out to me and cupped my face in your hands, stroking my cheeks with the pad of your thumbs without a single care of whether you get blood on you or not. I was free. I was pure. I looked at you and felt whole. I wanted to be one with you. You in me, me in you, no distinction between the two of us.

“He’s dead. He’s gone. We’ve gotta get out of here.” The two of us already had our things packed and in the bed of your dad’s pickup. Just the bare minimum. All we needed was each other.

You grabbed my hand and I grabbed yours as we rose to our feet. Together, we ran out of the church to escape this town so small it could never hope to contain the two of us. You in the driver’s seat and myself in shotgun, we rode off down the dirt roads leaving dust in our wake. We drive into the sunset, drive until we feel we’re far enough from our little hometown. You pull over on the side of the road so I can change beneath a streetlight.

But I couldn’t contain myself. I took you and I kissed you, the rush of it all. I’ve never felt so free, so unrestrained in everything I wanted. I loved you, Ruth. I loved you to death. Now nothing can keep us apart.

I kissed you, I bit you. I loved you. And you loved me just the same. The bitter taste of your blood coating my tongue, mine coating yours. The hunger we always longed for filled. We consumed each other, beyond the struggling, the pain.

They found us later on at the crack of dawn. Just a pile of flesh and bones, teeth marks everywhere. It was hard for them to determine who was who. We had accepted each other so thoroughly that they were forced to bury us with pieces of each other in our caskets. We filled our hunger for each other, our love so strong it became blasphemous. We ascended to something greater, something beautiful. Something whole.

We loved each other down to the bone.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven In Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Beaten with guilt and shame after losing his temper again, Arthur's aimless wandering leads him to church. There she is and, after diving into her heavenly eyes, he is convinced God has sent him His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul.

Words: 2.6k

TW: Blood, a bit of angst, slight blasphemy and bad use of holy water, reckless x caretaker Inspired by the prompt "Where does it hurt? - Everywhere" by @the-three-whumpeteers

Notes:

✞ Timeline: between seasons 2 and 3

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here). Heaven’s voice and song is linked, all you have to do is click on the lyrics.

NEXT CHAPTER || Masterlist

The stumbling tall silhouette of Arthur Shelby was crossing through the thick haunting mist of Birmingham. As unwelcoming the town was during the day, it was nothing compared to night time. When sun faded behind the horizon, chased by the pale glowing face of the moon, the whole city turned into a cut-throat area. Arthur brought the neck of the bottle he was holding to his chapped lips and gulped down a mouthful of pure Irish whisky. The fire trail the beverage left behind it as it went down his throat reminded him he was alive — he could still feel something, even though it was the alcohol’s burning. An animal growl escaped from his lips when the bottle left them only for him to lean his back against one of the church’s gigantic concrete walls. A loud raven’s croak torn the silent veil of the night, making him swears. The gravel in his voice answered to the dull bird, which was watching him from a tree with his tiny and beady eyes.

« Fooking bird, laughing at me like the rest of ‘em eh? »

The raven — which was rather large for a bird — tilted its head to the side and kept staring at the drunk man with a cunning interest. Its black eyes, shining under the moonlight, seemed filled with both a wise glare and a mocking sparkle. Soon, Arthur’s curiosity for the raven’s unusual behavior turned into a senseless anger when he understood why the bird was focusing on him, his explosive rage strengthened by the incredible amount of alcohol he had drunk a bit earlier.

« It’s the damn blood is it? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m — I’m some kind of monster, or a beast or I don’t fookin’ know what else! Go to Hell! »

The bottle flew towards the raven but it did not flicker, as if it knew Arthur was not in the shape of being quick nor particularly precise with aiming. As the glass smashed into the ground, Arthur hit the wall behind him with the back of his head and let out a frustrated scream. No more cocaine, no more auto destructive behavior nor suicide attempts for two years straight, and tonight he fucked it all up. He was convinced he could get better, and God knows he tried his best to do so. Got sober from every poison he used to take, got a religious wife that was trying to turn the wolf in him into a sheep… Hell, he even brought her flowers every damn day. But then came troubles, taking the shape of his little brother, Thomas Shelby.

He asked him to do the dirty job — again.

With his calloused hands, he took another man’s life. At first Arthur thought he would not be that disturbed at the idea of killing someone, after all he had done that almost his entire life. Just one last time, he told himself, just one last time and I’ll go back to my little peaceful life with me wife.

Yet, the guilt and the shame that struck him after bashing the lad’s head against the edge of a sink until his face became a pile of squishy flesh soon became too much to handle.

As the last spurt of blood spattered his face, Arthur’s clouded mind became suddenly crystal clear: it would never stop. After that epiphany, the older Shelby brother contemplated how everyone he deeply loved tended to use him. For Thomas and the rest of the family he was a mad dog, the combat brute whose only times he could enjoy life without a muzzle were when he had to rip someone’s throat apart. For his father, he had been nothing else than a poor naive hound that would have done anything to receive his respect. As for Linda, her love was a cruel mirage he wanted to believe with all his heart — but the illusion had vanished in smoke. Whether she considered him as her personal test subject for Christian brainwashing or as a tool to get what she wants, Arthur could not tell. What he could tell though was that he knew she did not really loved him. She wanted to mould him at her will, but he was no lamb. He was a wolf, a beaten and lonely wolf, but still one. And there was no love for rabid wolves, only a bullet through the brain to cure the madness.

As his skull buzzed with macabre thoughts, whose unpleasant noise reminded him of a furious beehive, a bewitching voice pulled him out of his auto-destructive spiraling. Standing at attention and listening carefully, he came to realize that someone was singing inside the church. Arthur’s eyelids fell on his steel blue eyes and the back of his head gently rested against the cold wall behind him, the same wall he had been previously smashing it with. A sighed escaped from his liquored lips as the angelic and hypnotizing voice, slightly muffled by the church’s heavy wooden doors, plunged him into a soft but oh-so-warm haze.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold…

Lulled by the sad melody carried away with Birmingham’s cold night breeze, the swarm of raging hornets in Arthur’s brain stopped crashing against the bony walls of his skull. Another sigh — one of relief this time, for the unbearable noisy thoughts and violent buzzing had vanished. His trembling fingers, numbed by the blows he had hit his target with one hour ago and still covered with half-dried blood, slid along his temples and slicked his hair back. The utter and feral anger he had felt was reduced to void, for even his old heart had slowed its pace down in his ribcage.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

The tune, embedded with melancholy, soothed his troubled mind and to be honest, he could barely believe it. When that switch in his brain flipped, God knew he was not in control anymore - even dear Linda, who still managed to hush down some of his tantrums, could not tame the beast inside when it broke free a bit more fiercely than usual. Yet, this voice did so. This stranger, faceless and nameless ghost of the night, brought him back to sanity with the sole power of her voice. The words she was singing, with her a juvenile and enchanting tone, were wrapping his heart. Arthur sniffed and fought hard against the dawning tears that were forming delicate crystal beads at the corner of his closed eyes.

If he had been the jolly sailor bold, he would have thrown himself out of the boat to join the siren that was singing.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

She repeated, sadder than she previously sang.

Her song sipped through his heart and filled the cracks with molten gold. Arthur’s lips stretched in an almost invisible grin without even realizing it — By her voice, he was convinced she could repair the damaged creatures like him and make them even more beautiful than they were before they had been dragged through the trenches’ mud and shit. He had barely came to his senses, almost miraculously sobered up, when silent fell again in the church. Arthur reopened his eyes, and shook his head - Had he dreamt? Had it been the whiskey singing to him? No, he could not be that crazy right? Not quite sure if he was starting to hear voices and see things, Shelby decided that he had to found out who had been singing to his very own soul. He wanted to see her, the girl who soothed his foul heart and his twisted mind. He wanted to know, no, he HAD to know, even though his whole being was fragile like a flickering candle flame caught in a hurricane and would probably shatter in million of pieces if she turned out to be an illusion.

Gathering all his remaining strength, Arthur grabbed the handle and opened the church’s door.

[…]

A shiver ran down your delicate spine at the loud silence that floated in the gigantic and empty church. The peculiar sweet yet strong scent of myrrh, wood and frankincense filled your lungs with its holy fragrance. The vibrations of the last word you sang was still echoing in the room, swirling to the high and sculpted ceiling, from which marble angels were watching over you. If someone would have told you two years ago that the only place you would find comfort would be a church, you would not have believe it. You had never been particularly fervent about religion, but you did believe in higher forces whether they were good or bad. More than a matter of faith, the church itself was an old friend of yours. A gargantuan friend of stone, holy titan always welcoming you even in the darkest moments of your life. What you liked the most were these lonely moments at night, during which you could light up dozen of candles and sing your sorrow to the status and colorful stained-glass windows. No gossip from the parish, no believers swarming like ants within these mighty walls. There were just you, the candle lights and the soothing silence. For a few hours, you could finally find peace.

Brushing the varnished wood of the altar with your thin fingers and painted-red nails, you let your mind drift and, suddenly, the world around you vanished. You sunk so deep in the abyss of your thoughts that you did not hear the creaking sound of the heavy door opening, nor the footsteps that followed. All you could heard were the « Burn witch, burn! » that hundred of villagers screamed at you in the woeful remembrance of your past. And in spite of your immaculate porcelain skin, you bore the scars of their words deep in your soul.

[…]

Arthur made a few steps before freezing, his body refusing to come closer as if the aura around the creature that was standing back to him , right in front of the altar lightened up with dozen and dozen of small dancing flames, was too sanctified to be violated. Bathed in the soft and warm orange hue of candles, the long white hair of the woman fell down the small of her back like an ivory waterfall. Right above her the pale glow of the full moon coming through the stained-glass window formed a luminous halo around her head.

His breathing stopped, choking in his throat at such a divine vision. The gangster opened his mouth to speak but no words managed to come out. He had never been good with words anyway. Instead he moistened his lips and swallowed, his mouth dry. The white-haired girl had started to hum the same song she had been singing a bit earlier, not aware of his presence — and he did not dare to disturbing her as if he feared God’s punishment. He took another step, the wooden floor creaking under his sole.

This time the angel — because he was convinced it was one — jumped and turned around, an expression of utter surprise veiling her sweet face. Her fox eyes, adorned with two iris so fair it reminded him of aquamarine stones, scrutinized his slightest movements. She remained petrified for what felt eternity for her but, regarding him, time had stopped for good. Arthur finally inhaled sharply, coming back to life.

All those endless nights of crying, all those endless nights of praying in vain for something or someone to save him, and here you were… His salvation.

He had asked God to send him, the most desperate sinner of all, His most beautiful Angel and He had done so.

She was not just pretty. She was otherworldly and vaguely threatening. Almost ethereal in her short white dress whose cut let her naked back for the world to see.

« I waited for ya. » He whispered.

She blinked, her full and juicy lips opening with surprise.

He stuttered, looking down and decided it was better for you if he stopped talking. The gravel in his hoarse voice, as strong as it was, sounded indescribably frail. As if this tall and slightly threatening man could shatter at your single touch. Now he felt stupid, clumsy with words contrary to Tommy and his naturally eloquent and charismatic speech. In addition to the unpleasant impression of being a fool, Arthur’s own whisky-scented breath and the strong metallic smell of blood reminded him of his horrific appearance. Overcoming the awe you infused in him, panic started to kick.

You frowned, and all of sudden he did not look that impressive anymore. Swept away by the wind, your face relaxed and wrapped itself with a calm, almost placid expression. You exhaled through your nose and walked towards the gangster, who had brought his bloody hands to each side of his head and was now pulling his own hair in a desperate attempt to not lose track.

« Where does it hurt? » You asked with a quiet and soothing tone, for you were concerned about all the blood he was covered with.

Arthur raised his gaze toward the petite white-haired doll who had just pressed one of her cold little hands on his. Your ice against his fire made his legs weak and his heart missed a beat. How his breathing calmed down at your touch was a mystery, but it did. Not quite comprehending why you did not seem scared of him, he stuttered again, all flustered.

« Shhh, shhhh. Everything’s okay, take a deep breath and answer with all the time you need. » Your hand gently tightened its grip, willing to show him you were there and you were not going anywhere until he feels better.

« Where does it hurt? »

« Ev-Everywhere love. It hurts everywhere. »

His hands, his face, his body, his brain, his soul, his damn tortured soul… It all ached too much, and too constantly for him to bear anymore. E-ve-ry-where, that was all he could say because pain was all he could feel.

Without answering, you pulled him to the altar and invited him to sit on the marble stairs. The strong and fierce gangster followed you without the single physical resistance and gave in between your hands, as a rag doll. All he did was looking at you with his charming but oh-so-exhausted blue eyes as you tore the fabric of your dress near your thighs and soaked it in holy water.

« Let me wash away the blood. » Your voice echoed in the vastness of the church, enticing and haunting at the same time — enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. You had barely finished your sentence when you started rubbing the wet cloth against his hollow cheek to clean his pale skin from the dark red blood. Once again, he could not help watching you during the whole ordeal all the while enjoying the fresh sensation of the holy water cleansing the dirt of his soul. Not minding his stare filled with fascination, you focused on your task, brows slightly furrowed and fingers blessing him with the softest and most caring touch someone had given him.

« Yer an Angel. I swear you are eh. »

You quickly glanced at him, a sparkle of amusement shining in your cunning celeste blue eyes, before looking back at what you were doing. The weight of his gaze brought fire to your cheeks, for he looked at you like he had just realized what love was.

He looked at you, and to his greatest surprise, found Heaven in your eyes.

I'm super new in the Peaky Blinders fandom, so please bear with me... Especially since English is not my native language. To be honest I am kind of scared to post it so any comment, review, reblog or constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I'll be more than happy to meet people in the Peaky Blinders fandom! In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed some Arthur and Heaven. Still don’t know if I’ll write a full series or snipets of these two love birds.

Tags: @areyenotfondofmelobster

[cowboy-carnival]

I’ve been listening to Florence + the Machine’s, Drumming Song. AND thinking about Cullen Stanton Rutherford, inquisition’s token alter boi/catholic cop #2 (Cassandra is catholic cop #1) romancing mage inquisitor.

It’s gotta be a double whammy for the guy honestly. One, they’re a mage and he is just getting out of his anti-mage propaganda stage. But he is obviously still wary about them and still sees them as a persisting threat. So he’s gotta get over that hill of trauma. Secondly, he was raised in the church. Told to love the Maker and praise Andraste yada yada. And devote his life to them and the Chantry. COULDN’T EVEN HAVE WORLDLY POSSESSIONS!! And he does this for like 30 years.

And then bam! Outta the sky, supposedly. The Herald of Andraste. Said to have literally been touched by Andraste, blessed to save the world. And on top of that, they’re a mage. So to Cullen, they're this holy abomination to be. Just walking around, glowing hand, saving the day, and occasionally flirting with him.

My point is when the Inquisitor starts romancing Cullen he has got to be in the grips of catholic guilt/trauma every time he gets this inkling of excitement. And the possibility that this person likes him. (Not to mention how he couldn’t even envision himself being with a person, let alone living beyond war (and the lyrium withdrawals too)). Like he’s just going through it. So naturally, he's apprehensive about it, constantly backpedaling, the most nervous guy ever, can't even get words out.

But I’m just sitting there thinking about how all those emotions collide when he embraces his love for the Inquisitor and tries to figure out how to appropriately physically engage them (pre-desk/pre-battlements scene). Like was he constantly feeling shame, thinking about the inquisitor that way because of the herald thing AND the mage thing? Something to behold and something to abhor all inside this person that he loves and admires. Do you worship them?? Do you try to contain them??

So, Drumming Song playing while I think about this. Because, to me, this song is a great definition of what happens when you have intense feelings for someone. But you describe it as either danger or attraction (or both). I mean come on...

Louder than sirens Louder than bells Sweeter than heaven And hotter than hell

As I move my feet towards your body I can hear this beat it fills my head up And gets louder and louder It fills my head up and gets louder and louder

I'm so desperately in love with you can't you hear my heartbeat??? It's all I hear when I'm near you. Being with you is like heaven but it's just as sinful. Never being able to describe this caution I have with you. But just know you have this awesome power over me.

Anyway, just some daily Cullen thoughts. You wave at this dude and he thinks about it for the next 2 months.