#one time she even got him one for Saint Patrick’s Day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lambertdiary · 9 months

Note

I love your writing so much. I love seeing your posts every day!!! I have a request for Dalton - basically him Chris and readers are at a party and and dalton let loose for once and started drinking. After a few drinks, he gets really touchy with the reader and is all over her and is needy. And is like "I need you" and then you can make it into smut? 🙏

A/N: this one ie heavily inspired by ‘so it goes’ by taylor swift. as always please let me know what you think and if you're not comfortable reading this content feel free to exit my blog! likes and reblogs are highly appreciated 🫶🏻

Word Count: 1.6k+

Warnings: NSFW, smut, established relationship, alcohol consumption, language (again, if you're not comfortable reading this please keep scrolling)

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So It Goes

Y/N was in her dorm looking through her clothes. She was getting ready to impress her boyfriend and for another dumb party Chris begged them to attend. It was Saint Patrick's Day and apparently it was a tradition for the frat houses to throw a big party, none of them were good though.

The flier said ‘green outfits were encouraged’ but after trying on a few different outfits, she finally decided on a black dress. She wanted to wear something attractive but not too revealing, just enough to drive Dalton crazy. They had been keeping their relationship a secret from everyone, including Chris, and were planning on keeping it like that for a while.

“Woah, since when do you dress like that for a frat party?” Chris asked, closing the door behind her.

“Is this too much?” Y/N looked at herself in the mirror, examining her dress choice.

“No!” Chris quickly replied “You look fantastic, I was just surprised to see you in such a beautiful dress for a lame party”

“Oh, thank you” She smiled at her friend “I don’t know, i have a good feeling about this one”

Chris was pretty much ready too, just finishing up her make up and waiting for Dalton to get there so they could leave together. It was usually like that, for some reason they went to a lot of parties even though they always said they weren’t coming back.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation and an eager Y/N ran to open it, revealing Dalton on the other side.

His eyes widened as he whispered “Oh wow, Y/N… you look-”

“Dalton, you look like you’re excited to go” Chris said when he noticed his smile.

He instantly blushed and entered the room “Are you guys ready?”

“We have been ready for like 15 minutes, why does it always take you so long to get here?” Chris asked him.

“Less time to be at the party, I guess” Chris rolled her eyes and stood up from her bed, examining her two friends’ outfits noticing they were both dressed in black.

“And how come I’m the only one wearing green?”

“I have green earrings” Y/N replied, moving her hair to show off her jewelry. They both looked at Dalton, who obviously did not care about the dress code, he just shrugged his shoulders and hoped that wouldn’t become a problem. The two girls rolled their eyes and left the building, forcing him to guide them to their destination.

They arrived at the ridiculously decorated frat house, already a bunch of frat dudes wandering outside, too drunk to know where they were.

“Well, this looks promising” Y/N whispered.

“If someone gets sick inside, we’re leaving” Chris mentioned before going in.

They had to admit, this party looked like it had potential, the alcohol table had more options, the dance floor a lot bigger and so far, no weird looking liquids on the floor.

Like always, a group gathered to play stupid drinking games. Passing around shots of who knows what to get started. It started out slow, but after chugging beer out of plastic cups the games got more competitive.

Y/N and Dalton weren’t paying too much attention to whatever new game the rest of the group was playing, so far their night summed up in sharing lustful looks in the dark and being a little too handsy, double checking their surroundings to make sure they didn’t get caught.

It went on for a while, until Dalton came up to her and whispered “I need you” Looking around to ensure no one else heard him “Please” He groaned next to her ear.

She did too, so when they noticed Chris was too busy getting drunk with the others, they sneaked upstairs to find somewhere more private.

They didn’t have any luck at first, until Dalton finally opened an unlocked door that led to a tiny bathroom. They started kissing as soon as they went in, closing the door behind them. His back was against the wall and he was blindly looking for the lock on the door.

Moments later, he lifted her up and carried her over to the sink, having a full view of the two of them in the dirty mirror behind her. It escalated quickly, the kisses getting more desperate and the room getting hotter by the second.

“We have to be quick” He breathed in between kisses. Y/N just hummed in response.

She moved to his neck and Dalton’s hands dropped from her face, and his big hands started running up and down her exposed thighs, getting closer to in between her open legs, painfully slowly. Once he reached her underwear he began to run his fingers over it.

“Mhm, Dalton” Y/N hissed at the contact. Hearing her got him more worked up, so he completely got rid of her painties and put it on the back pocket of his jeans, then without even looking he found her clit and started to gently stimulate her, occasionally taking care of the rest of her slit. Y/N was gasping with her mouth wide open and her head was now resting on his shoulder.

Dalton felt his cock twitch in his pants, so he pulled out his wet fingers, ready to unbutton his own pants, until he remembered one more thing they needed to keep going.

“I’ll be right back” Dalton said as he left the bathroom. It only took him like a minute to come back, and he happily showed her a small aluminum package, once again locking the door behind him “I might know where Nick keeps his condoms”

“Ew, that's Nick’s?”

“It’s sealed” He clarified. He went back to stand in between her legs, and without wasting any time , pulled down his pants, just enough to free his throbbing cock. He carefully put on the condom and stroked it a few times before aligning himself with her entrance, slowly pushing in and both of them moaning at the same time. He quickly found a pace that was pleasurable for the both of them.

“Shit” She whispered, with her hand gripping the marble top sink for dear life. Dalton grinned wickedly, pulling her leg so it hooked around his hip.

He continued to pound into her as she creeped under his shirt and found his bare back, her cold hands making Dalton quiver a little, and he was sure she would be leaving scratches down his back, which drove him crazy.

Biting his lips as he brushed his hair back “Fuck” A low groan came out of him. His other hand found her clit to help her with her pleasure. At first, rubbing it slowly, but gradually worked at a fast pace that made her stomach tense. Y/N couldn’t do anything else but whimper uncontrollably “Does it feel good, baby?” He asked.

“Yes” She managed to answer in between moans. Y/N left his back and gripped his shirt for a moment, but then buried her hands in his hair as he thrusted quickly and desperately into her.

They were completely caught up in the moment, the sound of their moans, the heavy breathing and the slapping of their skin giving away what was going on in that bathroom, but they weren’t worried about if there was someone outside. Y/N tightened her thighs around his waist, bringing him closer to her and causing her dress to ride up her thighs even more “Please- almost there” She breathed.

Dalton went faster and took a minute to stare at the mirror, meeting with his own gaze and the back of his frenetic girlfriend, he could see her hair move along with his thrust and her ass roll along the top sink. His hand grasped tightly at her skin as he could sense his own orgasm approach. He kept up his rough pace until he could feel her thighs trembling around him. She was squeezing him, alerting him that she was close “Dalton” Y/N cried out.

Her walls pulsate around him as his rhythm becomes more and more desperate. The overstimulation of his fingers on her clit and his cock inside of her became too much, and she finally reached her release. Y/N felt a wave of electricity hit her as her body jerked against him. This made him lean his head forward and rested it on her shoulder, his hot breath hitting her skin as he mumbled a mixture of swears and moans. It didn’t take long for his orgasm to get him, his thrusts became sloppier and his breathing a lot heavier and uneven.

“Shit” He rasped out, leaving her clit and wrapping his arms around her waist, only thrusting a few more times until he felt his cum spill into the condom. After their orgasms ended, he pulled out of her. She met his eyes again and studied his face, noticing the lipstick marks all over his face and neck.

She giggled and ran her thumb over the stained marks “We have to clean up” She said, before pulling him in for a kiss. They cleaned up and fixed their hair and clothes before coming out, but Y/N felt like she was forgetting something “Dalton…” She started, but stopped when she spotted her underwear hanging from his back pocket. Y/N softly hit his back and grabbed her own panties “Why do you have these on your pocked?”

“I didn’t want them to touch the dirty bathroom floor, did you?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. She rolled his eyes at him and quickly put them on “Come on, let’s find Chris before she finds us”

#dalton lambert #dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert fic #dalton lambert imagine #dalton lambert fanfic #dalton lambert smut #dalton lambert imagines #dalton lambert fluff #insidious #insidious the red door #insidious 5 #ty simpkins

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 1 year

Text

Pine-ing For You

Father Paul has a little accident while trying to set up Christmas lights and you decide to get festive.

I got this idea while chatting with @aherdofbees, and together we developed it to get our dear priest into quite the delicious situation. She made a 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 illustration that goes with this fic. Go on, click the linkie and like and reblog, because it truly is amazing.

Thank you so much for the inspiration Allison, I loved writing this!

NSFT/18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN

Pine-ing For You - 5.3K

tw: explicit sexual themes, consensual unprotected sex, body worship, smut with a lot of feelings™, attmepts at humour

Crockett Island may have seemed dull most of the time to the untrained eye, but after more than a year of living there you knew better. The people, while many of them a bit subdued, all had their little joys in life, their passions, and though they were wary of strangers that came into their little town at first, they were among the most kind and hospitable folks you had the good fortune to have met.

However, when Christmas rolled around, even the untrained eye could perceive the shift in atmosphere. It was a jolly holiday after all and the people indeed were slightly jollier. Little by little, decorations began appearing around the island. Many of them were small and decent, maybe just a wreath on a door, or an electric candlestick set in a window. Some were larger, Christmas lights on the roof, perhaps a little reindeer in the front yard. Few decorated more.

Some of these more festive looking places were the schoolhouse, which had student-made snowflakes in the windows, garlands on the windowsills, lights hung from the roof and even a charming wooden nativity scene in front. The Flynn house and The Greene house also breathed a gentle Christmas atmosphere to everyone who walked by. And then, there was Saint Patrick’s. Apparently, Monsignor Pruitt adored Christmas more than anyone else on the island and it showed. Dozens and dozens of various decorations were found in one of the storage areas of the church by Father Paul, who literally begged you to help him put them up. Which you were more than happy to do.

So now there were artificial swags at every corner of the small church, boughs of holly, wreaths, candles and another nativity set, placed right in front of the altar. This one was more detailed and painted, obviously made to be inside rather than face the weather conditions. And it was quite obvious Monsignor Pruitt took great pride in his decor collection. All that was missing were some Christmas trees.

—

Many residents of Crockett Island used artificial trees for their Christmas festivities, but there were still those who couldn’t imagine celebrating their lord’s birthday without a fine fir or a pine. One day, about a week before Christmas, a group of volunteers would gather on one of the larger fishing ships and set off to the mainland to pick out live trees for everyone on the island who wanted one. Ordering worked through simple paper forms, delivered to mailboxes by Dolly Scarborough. One would write down their name, preferred kind of tree, and its size. Filled out forms were then dropped off in the little town hall, along with the money for it. Unlike everyone else (including you) who ordered only one tree, Father Paul ordered three - two larger to be placed inside the church, one smaller for his rectory. He was, of course, among the volunteers going to actually pick the trees up.

They returned around eleven o’clock in the morning. You stood on the dock, looking at the fishing boat full of tied trees with a smile. Paul would be hauling the trees for Saint Patrick’s and the rectory first, with the help from Ed and Riley Flynn, and you convinced Sturge to help you carry the large pine tree you asked for to your home.

“Thank you again,” you said, walking next to him. You genuinely tried to help him carry it, but after a few minutes of very awkward walking and a few broken off twigs, the handyman simply threw the big tree over his shoulder and hauled it the rest of the way by himself. “Do you accept payment in gingerbreads?” you asked with a grin and raised eyebrows. Sturge thought for a while: “Yeah. But it will cost you.” “Oh? How much?” you chuckled. “I want the entire sheet.” You gave a whistle and made an amused ‘tsk’ sound: “Inflation these days…”

—

Two hours later, you stood at your kitchen counter, decorating gingerbreads with white chocolate. The pine stood tall and proud in your living room. It truly was a beautiful tree, healthy and dense, its herby scent, having already filled the room it stood in, was seeping through the rest of your house. You heard the front door open and shut, followed by some shuffling from the hallway.

“Hmm, it smells nice in here,” came a dreamy voice, making you smile. When footsteps began approaching the kitchen, you turned around to greet the priest. But then: “What are you wearing?” you asked, laughing softly. Father Paul was dressed in his skinny jeans, like usual. What wasn’t usual however, was the 'ugly Christmas jumper' instead of the black clerical shirt, its colour reminding you of his gold chasuble. There was a white nordic pattern on front, consisting of snowflakes and reindeers. It didn’t look terrible, but since you never before saw Paul wearing something like this, it kind of took your breath away for a moment.

“Do you like it?” asked Paul with a smile, pulling at his sleeves which you noticed were rather tight at the wrists. “It’s hideous,” you replied snarkily, making the priest chuckle and walk closer to you. He noticed the half decorated gingerbreads right away and was just about to reach for one when you lightly slapped his hand away. “Ouch. What was that for?” asked Paul, fake hurt in his voice. You giggled and wrapped your arms around his torso: “These are for Sturge, for lending me a hand with that tree.” “Oh I see,” replied your lover, understanding on his face, “will you make some for us, too?” You rolled your eyes and couldn’t help but smile: “Of course I will, have I ever neglected you?”

Paul pulled you close to press a soft kiss against your lips, claiming your entire attention. Therefore, you didn’t notice his hand slowly creeping up and onto the counter until it was too late, and one of the gingerbreads was snatched and promptly bit into by the father. “You scoundrel!” you smacked his chest, while Paul only laughed with his mouth full, “you’re lucky I love you.”

He swallowed his bite and batted his eyelashes at you: “it must be the sweater.” You smirked and squinted your eyes. “The jumper is hideous,” you repeated and Paul shook his head: “You really think that?” You didn’t. Taking him in once more, you had to admit that it did look rather flattering on Paul’s tall lean frame. “I knew it,” he said smugly, “you can’t lie to me, you like it.” “I don’t like it,” you tried once more, the corners of your lips turning up inadvertently. Paul took another bite of the gingerbread: “Hm, you love it.”

A few moments later, during which you picked at the soft wool of your lover’s jumper while he hummed appreciatively at the taste of your baking, you gave him a kittenish smile: “Since you’ve got nothing better to do right now than be a menace,” he opened his mouth in mock-offence before smiling cheekily, “you could go and start with the Christmas tree, what do you say?” “Hm,” he thought, “I thought we’d do it together?” Your arms encircled his waist again, pulling him closer and lifting your head to meet his eyes: “We will, but you could at least start putting the lights on. It’s a beast of a tree and I wouldn’t be able to reach the top, unlike a certain tall priest.”

He gave you a soft smile and pecked the tip of your nose, before brushing his lips against yours: “Very well.” You watched in curiosity, as his hands came up to rest on your hips and his eyes bore into your own. And then, in less than a second, he was scrambling away, another gingerbread in his hand. You gasped and stared after him, mischievous dark eyes twinkling at you until he rounded a corner. “Unbelievable!” you called after him.

—

You were pretty happy with your work, before you on the counter lay a sheet of nicely decorated gingerbreads of various shapes. Save for the two Father Paul stole right under your nose, but you supposed Sturge wouldn’t really notice that. You were in the middle of moving them into a container, when a dull thud sounded from the living room. “Paul? Is everything alright?” you called. A deafening silence was your only answer for several seconds and you started getting worried, when Paul’s sheepish voice reached your ears: “Um… A little help here, (F/N)?” You finished storing the cookies away, wiped your hands on a kitchen towel and made your way to the living room.

You couldn’t see the priest at first, but when you did, you began giggling uncontrollably. Paul was lying on his stomach very nearly under the tree, the christmas lights cord in his outstretched hand. His torso was bare and you could see the yellow jumper and white undershirt tangled around Paul’s arms, caught on one of the tree’s strong branches. He was looking at you abashed, his cheeks a little rosy with embarrassment.

You learned fairly early on in your relationship that for all of Paul’s amazing qualities, his skill as a priest, his knack for cooking, and his knowledge of your body as a lover, he was sometimes quite clumsy and very accident prone. A week wouldn’t pass without him bashing his little toe on some piece of furniture and you’d often find small bruises on his arms and legs, prompting him to sheepishly explain the cause for them. It was usually doors.

“I’m so sorry,” you said after you caught your breath and walked closer to him, kneeling by his side, “but what happened?” Father Paul released a huff and an adorable pout formed on his lips. “I wanted to turn on the lights. I got under the tree, on my knees, and tried to plug the cord into the socket. I couldn’t reach it though, and wanted to get out, try a different angle. But, um,” he paused, wetting his lips with his tongue, “I caught my shirt on a branch. I tried to untangle it, but couldn’t. So I thought I’d just try to take the shirt off, free it from the branch and put it on again. This is as far as I got…” The priest looked angrily at his hands, “the sleeves are too tight at the wrists, I can’t get my hands out! I mean, I tried yanking away, but the tree swayed rather nastily and I was worried it would collapse on top of me.”

“Wait,” you said with an amused grin, “are you really actually trapped? You can’t get out of there?” Father Paul 'tsked: “Yes. I am trapped under a Christmas tree. Can you help me?” You smiled softly at him and pet his hair. You proceeded to move forward, crawling under the tree yourself (mindful of any mischievous branches) and snatching the cord from Paul’s hand. You plugged it in and the living room was suddenly illuminated by multicoloured Christmas lights. You crawled back and sat leisurely on the ground, close to the priest’s head. Paul looked at you expectantly for a while, but after seeing you showed no intention to free him, a look of shock came over his face: "Wha- You're really going to leave me here?”

You once more moved your hand to his head, fingers carding through his dark hair: “'Leaving you' is the last thing on my mind,” you moved until you were lying down next to him, hand now coming to stroke his cheek and jaw, “but right now, I think I like you exactly. Where. You. Are,” you exaggerated each word, thumb moving to stroke the edges of Paul’s lips. “You look like an early Christmas present,” you purred, leaning your head on your free hand. Paul closed his eyes at the feeling of your clever fingers once again combing through the soft curls on the back of his neck. “Are you-... are you really trying to seduce me while I’m trapped under a Christmas tree?”

You giggled airily, tugging at the soft hair gently and delighting in Paul’s tiny little gasps: “Hmm, maybe… Is it working?” Paul’s head fell down to lean on his arms, his cheeks got even darker and in a quiet voice he replied: “A little.” You slowly scratched at his scalp, smiling lovingly each time he leaned into your touch. "Hey," you said then, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you. Your thumb found his lips again and you gave him a look he could read perfectly by now. 'Tell me you're not ok with this and I'll stop.' it said. Warmth spread through Paul's chest, followed by a gentle tingle of anticipation.

He pressed his lips against your thumb further in a small kiss, before smiling slightly and blinking at you coquettishly, and he too attempted to speak to you with his eyes: ‘I want this’.

You gave him one more gentle smile, before leaning back and looking at him appreciatively: “My, my, I must have been so nice this year, what a lovely present.” The priest chuckled into his arms: “Are you going to tear the wrapping paper off?” Your head cocked to the side, a wolfish grin on your face. One fingertip stroked along Paul’s earlobe, descending down upon his pulsepoint and feeling his increasing heartbeat. “Nope, I don’t do that, it’s no fun” you shook your head, “I always unwrap presents slowly, peeling the tape off and trying not to damage the paper. Sometimes I even stop midway, because the anticipation makes it so much better.

“I think I’ll start with the parts that are unwrapped already,” you purred into his ear and moved closer, both of your hands coming to rest on his shoulders while you pressed small kisses into his hair, lips moving down to brush against the nape of his neck. “Hm,” you sighed contently, “such a pretty neck, long and elegant, like a swan, almost regal,” you bit lightly at the beginning of his spine, making your lover release a short gasp, “so sensitive.” You moved lower, hands sliding across shoulder blades: “Beautiful golden skin, like honey, soft, and warm, and very sweet.” Father Paul could feel more hotness entering his already red cheeks. Your whispered praises always had a profound effect on him. He hid his face in his arms.

“Strong shoulders and back, muscles defined perfectly but gently,” you continued and now dragged your fingernails across the entire length of the priest's back, making him quietly groan in pleasure. You’ve never met anyone who didn’t like their back scratched, but Paul seemed particularly enraptured by it. You made sure to lightly graze every inch of the golden skin, finding all the right spots, all the while pushing hot kisses onto every single freckle you could see and connecting them with your tongue.

Paul couldn’t help but chuckle when he felt your hands give his clothed bum a squeeze. “Girls love a guy with a lovely arse, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” you whispered cheekily and gave the lovely arse another squeeze, “alright, let me see the other side of this present before I start unwrapping it further.”

You helped Paul carefully roll over and onto his back, his wrists, still bound by his own clothes, now crossed over one another. Dark hair peeked at you from under the priest’s arms, and his pink nipples looked like little pearls screaming for attention. And they weren’t the only thing craving attention. Paul’s erection was tenting the dark grey skinny jeans and his eyes fluttered when you ran a finger over it. You gave him a grin: “Sorry, I’ve always been a little impatient, but I promise I’ll try to be good.” Paul shuddered out a laugh, his breathing a little shallow: “I wouldn’t be mad either way.”

Slowly you put a leg over his waist and straddled your lover: “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah,” you leaned forward and took his face into your hands, thumbs caressing his brow. “Thick, expressive eyebrows… Dark eyes, so, so large. Like a dolly,” you leaned forward to press your lips against Paul’s eyelids, then pulled away again, “cute, well defined nose, perfect for kissing,” once more you made your point by pecking the entire length of your lover’s nose, making him produce a fluttery chuckle.

“Though, of course, your entire face is perfect for kissing,” you smiled at him lovingly and then your fingers traced the edges of his lips, “but most of all it’s your mouth. That perfect cupid’s bow. I see it, and I want to trap it between my own lips. When you smile, when you pout, when you do that adorable little mouth shrug… When you talk, to me, to your congregation. When your mouth is slightly open and I can see your upper teeth just peeking through. I always want to kiss you.”

You crushed your lips against Paul’s, teeth clashing and tongues moulding against each other. He groaned into your hungry mouth and wanted to curl his arms around you, but soon remembered he was bound and released a desperate sound instead. You only parted from him when the lack of oxygen threatened to take your consciousness away. A tiny string of saliva followed you for a bit, before it snapped and landed on Paul's kiss bruised lips. You kissed the slight cleft in his chin and playfully dipped your tongue into it.

The emotion in your eyes as you pulled back could have made Paul cry, you were looking at him as if he was the rarest jewel, the most fantastical treasure in the world, as if he was your sun and moon and stars. “You have no idea just how beautiful you really are, do you? Inside and out,” you whispered, hands returning to stroke the side of the priest’s face, which was once more getting hot. This time however, he couldn’t hide it and as he lay there, absorbing each and every one of your words, Paul realised he didn’t even want to hide. You leaned closer again, whispering against his open mouth: “So beautiful, so very pretty.” An involuntary moan escaped him.

You smiled against his mouth, then ducked your head lower, nibbling softly around Paul's jawline before descending upon his throat, teeth scraping over his Adam's apple right as he swallowed heavily. You shifted until you sat directly on his hips and rolled your own, rubbing against his constricted erection and making his head fall back, those fine lips opening wordlessly. He took large gulps of air, hands involuntarily trying against his restraints once more. “Soon,” you promised, rolling your hips again, “but do try not to move your hands too much. I really don’t want the tree to actually fall down on our heads. Can you imagine explaining that to Sarah, when we show up all bruised and battered?”

The priest made an unhappy little sound, but tried to keep his hands as still as he could anyway. You made your way down his chest, nuzzling your face into his soft skin and delivering soft kisses and playful bites every time you felt like it. Paul sighed when your lips reached one of his nipples. You circled the nub with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth and pinching it with your teeth lightly. You used your fingers to stimulate the other nipple in perfect synchronisation with your mouth, trying various techniques and listening to Paul’s shallow gasps and quiet groans for feedback.

After alternating between the two, now red and swollen, buds for several minutes, you decided to carry on with your adventurous journey across Paul’s exquisite body, and ran the tips of your fingers against his ribs teasingly. You grinned widely when your lover made a little jump, trying to get away from your touch now: “N-no, don’t,” he gasped, but it was pointless. You again stroked over his ribs and under his arms, and was soon rewarded with choked laughter. “A-angel, please… please don’t tickle me right now,” he begged in between chuckles. You giggled, but took mercy on him, climbing up to steal a kiss: “I’m sorry, love, I couldn’t resist.”

You sat back onto his thighs and gave the priest a reassuring smile after you laid your hands on his sensitive ribs again, this time your entire palms, intent on caressing him and bringing him pleasure. You stroked down, soon finding an obstacle in your way. Father Paul’s jeans looked so, so tight around his hard shaft it must’ve been painful, and you licked your lips as you made eye contact with him and rubbed the heel of your hand over his length. He shuddered and his eyes fluttered closed on their own. You repeated the motion, making your lover groan with pleasure.

“I think it’s time for me to unwrap my present,” you whispered huskily and waited for him to look at you. When he did, you sat even further away, all the way above his knees, and began making a show of popping open the button and torturingly slowly pulling his zipper down. Your fingers curled below the waistline on each side of the trousers and you tugged them down, little by little, revealing one, then two edges of his hip bone, protruding under his skin enticingly. You left the jeans bunched in the middle of his thighs and observed the priest amorously.

His hands, still crossed at the wrists above his head were balled into fists, fingers white at the knuckles. Paul’s face was flushed dark pink, with sweat gathering in his hairline, one drop of it having already rolled down his cheek. His lips were swollen from kissing. Well, his upper lip anyway, the bottom one was currently trapped between Paul’s teeth, but you presumed it’d be in a similar condition. He was breathing hard, his eyes dark with lust, and there was a damp spot on the front of his grey boxer briefs. You bowed to press a wet kiss just below his sternum, then lower, then lower again, relishing the soft tender skin of the priest's tummy.

You drew a circle around Father Paul’s belly button with your tongue and started pinching the area underneath with your teeth, teasing at the happy trail going down into his underwear. You looked up after reaching the waistband, catching your lover’s intense gaze. He whimpered softly when instead of going where he needed you the most, you bit into that tempting hip bone. “Please…” he whispered, feeling like he was going to go insane if you were to tease him much longer. Paul didn’t even realise his eyes were closed until your soft hand touched his cheek and he opened them again. You were smiling at him warmly, a look filled with tenderness. He willingly opened his mouth for you when you moved your hand to the back of his neck and kissed him soundly.

At the same time you finally pushed your hand under the waistband of his briefs and took a hold of his aching member. Paul moaned into your mouth in relief, his eyes shutting closed and eyebrows turning upwards. You fondled his manhood steadily, massaging it slowly with your thumb drawing little circles into the heated skin. He breathed hard against your mouth once he had to part for breath, and you stuck your tongue out to trace his lips before pushing it back between them. You were slow in your movements, yet Paul soon found himself nearing his peak.

“Wait,” he managed to get out and you let go of him right away. He tried to convey what he wanted with his eyes and, thankfully, you seemed to understand. You climbed off of him, lying down by his side instead so you could make out some more. From his position, Paul now had some access to your neck and he immediately used this fact to his advantage, pressing sloppy kisses and bites against your pulse point while you massaged his scalp with your fingers. He attempted to duck his head lower, but was held back by his restraints. He gave you another pleading look and you started removing articles of your own clothing, as well as ridding him of the jeans and boxers entirely.

Once you were as naked as he (save for the jumper and shirt tangled on his arms), You climbed back over him, bracing yourself on one hand above his head and pushing your bosom level with his face. Wasting no time, Paul began kissing the sensitive skin, tongue darting out to circle your nipples and flick over them. Meanwhile, your other hand was between your legs, two fingers slowly moving inside your heat in a scissoring motion, stretching yourself. You rested your head against Paul’s, your content sighs fanning over the priest’s black hair.

Suddenly, Paul produced an alarmed sound and turned his head away. You immediately lifted yourself off him. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” you asked, your arousal now mixed with worry. He screwed his eyes shut before releasing a sheepish chuckle: “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just-... um, there is a pine needle getting somewhere it definitely should not be getting.” You started laughing quietly, Paul joining you shortly after. After you fished out the pine needle from under the back of his thigh and made sure there were no more pointy things threatening anything vital, you wanted to lean forward again, but Paul stopped you. “I want to watch,” he said. You smiled down at him and made a show of fucking yourself with your own fingers.

Once you felt sufficiently ready, you pulled your digits out and moved down Paul’s body, pushing your hips together. You rolled your hips a few times, the underside of the priest’s cock sliding through your wet folds. Using your now free hand, you reached behind yourself and guided your lover inside. Paul bent one leg at the knee and pushed his hips up to meet you halfway. Both of you choked out a small gasp. Despite your preparation, you needed a few moments to get used to Paul’s width.

You experimentally raised your hips before sinking back, trying to find an angle that worked the best for you. A few thrusts later, you felt a bolt of pleasure shoot through your spine and into your core, and grinned. You lowered yourself until your body was flush with Paul’s and carefully slipped your arms under his, hands coming to tangle into his hair. You connected your foreheads and looked into his eyes deeply as you started thrusting against him in that brilliant angle.

Paul’s laboured breathing and delicate moans blew across your cheeks, warming them more than the blood gathered there. You tilted your head to the side and let your lips connect in an uncoordinated kiss, keeping your eyes open. Paul’s hands were shaking from how much he wanted to reach out for you, all the while keeping in mind that was the only thing he couldn’t do, so he instead tried to convey all the ways he wanted to touch you in through his mouth, sucking on your lower lip, biting your tongue gently, licking a wet strip along your jaw.

Your movements sped up and the fire within you started burning brighter, every single thrust like a spurt of gasoline into a flame. You hid your face into Paul’s heated neck, feeling his heart hammering away at a rapid speed, sensing his groans and whimpers before actually hearing them. You wrapped yourself around him completely, as if willing your bodies to mould into one. The priest bent his leg a bit more, gaining better leverage to pound up into you, feeling his upcoming release nearing as well.

Once Paul heard your moans becoming more urgent, felt your walls beginning to flutter around him and saw your thighs trembling, he started nudging your head with his own, wordlessly attempting to make you look at him, reveal your face. He loved watching you fall apart, your face showing nothing but pleasure, raw, almost unhinged. It was a sight only he was allowed to see, nearly sacred. You raised your head with some difficulty and rested it back against his, your pupils blown wide and constantly disappearing and reappearing behind fluttering eyelids.

You were on the very brink, moments before plummeting down into the abyss, and your hips lost all sense of rhythm. “Come for me, angel,” Paul groaned and delivered a sharp thrust upwards, effectively shoving you over the edge. Your fingers closed in his hair harshly and a wave of pleasure exploded in your core, shooting into your veins like a drug. You gasped violently, releasing a series of short high pitched whimpers as your heat began pulsing around Paul’s twitching shaft. He continued thrusting into you, hitting that little bundle of nerves and effectively prolonging your orgasm.

You were blushing everywhere, sweating, trembling through heaps of bliss, yet a drunken smile bloomed on your face. Your unfocused eyes connected with Paul’s, their gaze intense and almost desperate. “S-so, ah, you’re so b-beautiful, Paul,” you managed to stutter out, and then only watched the fireworks go off in those nearly black orbs. They widened for a millisecond and then, as if a rope snapped, you could see Paul fighting to keep them even open. You would have almost thought he was in pain, with his hands trembling violently, his mouth opening into an ‘o’ shape to release a long moan, and his head tilting back.

Your walls were painted white, spurt after spurt of hotness spreading through your core. Together you shook through the aftershocks, slowly coming down your highs. You collapsed against your lover, trying to get your breathing under control once more. Several minutes of lazy kisses and whispered words of love later, Paul tried tugging his arms free once more, causing some more pine needles to descend upon your cooling bodies. You groggily climbed up his body until you were able to reach the treacherous twig and untangle it from Father Paul’s shirt.

The priest stretched his arms and proceeded to pull both his jumper and shirt off of him, tossing them somewhere to your left. Finally, finally, he was able to hold you and immediately did just so. “You were right,” he said quietly, voice hoarse, “it is a horrible sweater.” You giggled and let yourself slide down and onto your side, lying next to him. “I don’t know,” you purred, your hand coming to caress his cheek, “I think it’s starting to grow on me.”

You shivered slightly, your body having already cooled down from your previous activities, and reached for a blanket which was draped over your sofa. You threw it over the two of you and got comfortable in the father’s arms. “If there was an advent calendar of making love during Christmas time, this would definitely be there. Under the tree,” you mused, your voice light and airy. “Wonder what would be hidden under ‘24’,” replied Paul in the same manner, “making love after the midnight Mass?” You grinned into his neck, one of your hands slowly massaging his shoulder: “A lovely suggestion.”

“Still want to decorate the tree?” he asked after a while, pressing small kisses into your hair. You murmured something unintelligible and hid your face again. Paul chuckled lowly: “Okay, shower and a movie then?” “Yeah,” you breathed into his skin, “we’ll do the tree first thing tomorrow.” Paul hummed in agreement. You lay cuddled beneath the Christmas tree, the colourful lights dancing on your bare limbs and the smell of pine lingering sweetly in the air. “We could decorate the one in the rectory after. And bake those gingerbreads only for us.”

A giggle started blooming in your chest, soon turning into a full on laughter. “You really are unbelievable!” you bit into your lower lip and pulled back to look into his large eyes. They reflected the big genuine smile on Paul’s face perfectly: “I’ll even wear the sweater.” You shook your head and quickly crushed your lips against his. Absolutely unbelievable.

Thank you for reading, I hope you had a good time c: As always, you can find this story and all of my other stories over on AO3. Please, be sure to check out @aherdofbees tumblr as well, she makes the most spectacular art!

the first tags are sentences I had to restrain myself from using in order not to look like the last bits of sanity finally packed their bags and kissed me goodbye

@everythingbutresolved @agirlinherhead @rothko-mirror @littleredwritingcat @vintageglassheart02 @thexhostess @fatherpaulsimp @blackberries45 @daughterofaries @exorcise-my-demons sending kisses ××

#Are you stuck step-priest #Too bad father I'm the meow meow now #Father Paul and reader share two braincells and reader has them most of the time #midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert #father paul hill #father paul #father paul x reader #father paul x you #father paul smut #fluff #celebrating christmas by getting onto the naughty list #christmas smut #all aboard the thirst train!

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thepastisalreadywritten · 4 months

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SAINT OF THE DAY (February 1)

On February 1, Catholics in Ireland and elsewhere will honor Saint Brigid of Kildare, a monastic foundress who is – together with Saint Patrick and Saint Columcille – one of the country’s three patron saints.

St. Brigid directly influenced several other future saints of Ireland, and her many religious communities helped to secure the country's conversion from paganism to the Catholic faith.

She is traditionally associated with the Cross of St. Brigid, a form of the cross made from reeds or straw that is placed in homes for blessing and protection.

Some Eastern Catholics and Eastern Orthodox Christians also celebrate her feast.

St. Brigid has been profiled many times by both ancient and modern writers.

However, it is notoriously hard to establish the historical details of her life, and the various accounts make many conflicting claims.

According to one of the more credible biographies of Brigid — Hugh de Blacam's essay in “The Saints of Ireland” — on which the following account is based, most historians place her birth around the year 450, near the end of Saint Patrick's evangelistic mission.

Brigid was born out of wedlock, the daughter of a pagan chieftain named Dubthach and a Christian slave woman named Broicsech.

The chieftain sold the child's pregnant mother to a new master but contracted for Brigid to be returned to him eventually.

According to de Blacam, the child was probably baptized as an infant and raised as a Catholic by her mother.

Thus, she was well-formed in the faith before leaving Broicsech's slave-quarters at around age 10 to live with Dubthach and his wife.

Within the new circumstances of the chieftain's household, Brigid's faith found expression in feats of charity.

From the abundance of her father's food and possessions, she gave generously to the poor.

Dubthach became enraged, threatening to sell Brigid, who was not recognized as a full family member but worked as a household servant to the King of Leinster.

But the Christian king understood Brigid's acts of charity and convinced Dubthach to grant his daughter her freedom.

Released from servitude, Brigid was expected to marry. But she had other plans, which involved serving God in consecrated life.

She even disfigured her own face, marring her beauty in order to dissuade suitors.

Understanding he could not change her mind, Dubthach granted Brigid permission to pursue her plan and material means by which to do so.

Thus did a pagan nobleman, through this gift to his illegitimate daughter, play an unintentional but immense part in God's plan for Ireland.

While consecrated religious life was part of the Irish Church before Brigid's time, it had not yet developed the systematic character seen in other parts of the Christian world by the fifth century.

Among women, vows of celibacy were often lived out in an impromptu manner, in the circumstances of everyday life or with the aid of particular benefactors.

Brigid, with an initial group of seven companions, is credited with organizing communal consecrated religious life for women in Ireland.

Bishop Mel of Ardagh – St. Patrick's nephew, and later “St. Mel” – accepted Brigid's profession as a nun.

According to tradition, the disfigurement she had inflicted on her face disappeared that day, and her beauty returned.

St. Mel went on to serve as a mentor to the group during their time at Ardagh.

Around the time of his death in 488, Brigid's community got an offer to resettle.

Their destination is known today as Kildare (“Church of the Oak”), after the main monastery she founded there.

Brigid's life as a nun was rooted in prayer, but it also involved substantial manual labor: cloth-making, dairy farming, and raising sheep.

In Ireland, as in many other regions of the Christian world, this communal combination of work and prayer attracted vast numbers of people during the sixth century.

Kildare, however, was unique as the only known Irish “double monastery” — it included a separately-housed men's community, led by the bishop Saint Conleth.

From this main monastery, Brigid's movement branched out to encompass a large portion of Ireland.

It is not clear just how large, but it is evident that Brigid traveled widely throughout the island, founding new houses and building up a uniquely Irish form of monasticism.

When she was not traveling, many pilgrims – including prominent clergy and some future saints – made their way to Kildare, seeking the advice of the abbess.

Under Brigid's leadership, Kildare played a major role in the successful Christianization of Ireland.

The abbess' influence was felt in the subsequent era of the Irish Church, a time when the country became known for its many monasteries and their intellectual achievements.

St. Brigid of Kildare died around 525.

She is said to have received the last sacraments from a priest, Saint Ninnidh, whose vocation she had encouraged.

Veneration of Brigid grew in the centuries after her death and spread outside of Ireland through the work of the country's monastic missionaries.

#Saint of the Day #Saint Brigid of Kildare #Saint Brigid of Ireland #Cross of St. Brigid

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eva-knits12 · 2 months

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Jake Jensen Takes Care of You When You're Having You're Period

Trigger warning: period stuff, Jake Jensen getting all flustered, Jake Jensen being a sweet, adorable goofball, fluff.

Summary: Jake takes care of you when you're having your period.

"JAKE!" I scream.

"Shh, what is it honey bun?" says Jake, who's holding me close to him.

"Was it a bad dream?" asks Jake.

"No, it's just..." I say.

"OW!" I scream.

"It hurts. It hurts really bad," I say.

"Shhh, shhh," says Jake, who's now rubbing soothing circles on my back.

Jake and I just stay like this for a while. I yawn again, and Jake picks me up and carries me bridal style back to the bedroom.

Jake puts me under the covers, and pulls out the heating pad. He turns it on, and gives me the book that I'm reading. I read while the heating pad does it's thing. To say that my cramps are excruciating is an understatement.

He carried me to the bathroom, and even pulled my pants down and sat me on the toilet. That's when I saw it. That's when I saw the blood in my panties.

"Jake, my sweet goofball, can you run out and get me some pads?" I say, when I realized that I put my last one in.

Jake, meanwhile, is busy playing Animal Crossing. It's Saint Patrick's day, and Jake is missing out on the festivities. But, he'd much rather be home taking care of me right now. In fact, he ventured out earlier to get me the super absorbent pads and super absorbent overnight pads. It took him a while to get the pads and come back. Jake got all flustered with the store clerk.

"Does she like the Kotex, Always, Tampax, Playtex, Stayfree?" asks the clerk.

"I've never had to do this before," says Jake to the clerk, who is also a woman.

"Wait, you have a girlfriend, and you don't know what kind of feminine hygiene products she uses," says the clerk, with a laugh.

"Well, this is my first girlfriend...wait, I didn't mean it like that...I...uhh...I...well...." says Jake, all flustered.

"Oh, I get it. This is your first serious relationship. You still have a lot to learn about your girlfriends periods, that's okay. My ex-boyfriend refused to buy tampons for me," says the clerk.

"(Y/N) was the first girl who talked to me for longer than five minutes, and I've...never...had...to..." says Jake.

"Deal with your girlfriend's periods," says the clerk.

"Yeah," says a sheepish Jake.

"I'm trying to score some good boyfriend points right now by getting (y/n), my girlfriend, what she needs" says Jake.

"My sister and my cousin use these pads," says the clerk, grabbing a pack of Always pads from the shelf, in size 3 absorbency.

"They're great. You just choose what size that she needs based on her flow, the numbers and the colors make it easier to choose," says the clerk.

"I use these overnight pads," says the clerk, grabbing a pack of Always overnight pads in size 4 absorbency.

"Also, get her a bottle of Pamprin. Then, go to the candy aisle, and get her several boxes of chocolate, and then get her a few pints of her favorite Ben and Jerry's flavors from the freezer," says the clerk.

"Trust me, if you want to be on your girlfriends good side right now, you'll do those things," says the clerk.

"Thanks, I didn't realize that there was a period starter pack," says Jake, all red from embarrassment.

"It's no problem, we get this all the time. You're not the first man who's gotten all flustered," says the clerk.

Jake got the pads, the Pamprin, the chocolates, and four pints of Ben and Jerry's in Cherry Garcia, Half Baked, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, and Americone Dream.

Jake pays for the purchase, and then leaves the store. He drives back home in the Jeep, and he unpacks the ice cream and puts it in the freezer. He puts the pads in the bathroom, under the sink, on the left hand side, where I normally keep them. Jake puts the chocolates on my night stand.

Jake kisses my cheek and tuns off the heating pad. He sees that I've fallen asleep. He pulls the covers over me, and then gets back into the Jeep. He goes to McDonald's and gets us both a quarter pounder with cheese, a large fry to split, the Coke (for himself-I drink water), and a hot fudge sundae for me.

I wake up, only to realize that Jake isn't there. I start calling for Jake, and check his mancave, where I knew he would be. No Jake. I check the living room. No Jake. I go to the bathroom to relieve myself, and I see the pads under the sink when I reach for one. I change my pad, wash my hands, then take a Pamprin.

Jake enters the door with McDonald's in hand, and sees me walking towards him.

"Oh, honeybun. What are you doing out of bed?" asks Jake, kissing my forehead.

"I was looking for you. I didn't know what happened to you," I say.

"I got you what you needed, and then I went and got us McDonald's," says Jake.

"You were busy sleeping," says Jake.

"You got me a quarter pounder with cheese and fries?" I say.

"Yes, and I even got you that hot fudge sundae you like," says Jake.

My lips crash onto Jake's.

"Jake, thanks!" I say.

"I love you. I love you so much," I say.

"I love you, too," says Jake.

Jake kisses me again, and pulls out some paper plates, and removes the burgers from the bag and the fries. Jake gets you a bottle of water, and he puts his straw in the Coke. Jake divides the fries, and he puts the sundae in the freezer. Jake gets out the ketchup, and he squirts a sizeable amount on the side of his plate. I even squirt a sizeable amount on the side of my plate. Jake and I found out on a date early on that we both liked to dip our fries in ketchup, not squirt them on the fries. In our eyes, it was the only acceptable way to have fries and ketchup.

Jake and I talk and eat our lunch. Jake then gives me the sundae, and I eat it. Jake throws out the paper plates, the boxes and the bag. He picks me up and carries me bridal style back to the bedroom, but I insist on the bathroom. I need to change my pad again.

Jake deposits me in the bathroom, and I reach for a pad, and I change it. It seems that the new pads Jake got me absorbs quite a lot, and I put another one in. Later, I'm going to take a nice, hot bath to help soothe the cramps. I would love for Jake to join me.

After I'm done, Jake carries me back to bed, and pulls the covers over me. I fall asleep again, and this time, and Jake plays another video game. After a while, Jake stops, removes his glasses, and falls asleep next to me. He's pulls me close to his chest, and we both sleep for the rest of the afternoon.

After a while, I wake up, and Jake is already wide awake, his arms still around me.

"Are you feeling better, honey bun?" asks Jake.

"A little," I say.

"What do you want for dinner?" says Jake.

"Pizza sounds good," I say.

"Okay. Our usual toppings?" says Jake.

"Yes, Jake, with all of the usual toppings," I say.

Jake orders the pizza, and we decide to play Mario Kart while we wait. He ordered it for delivery, instead of pick up, and I can't wait. I go to get us our drinks after a while, and I go to gather my pj's and I put a pair of panties on top, and take them to the bathroom. I put the overnight pad in my panties, and I gather the bath bomb, and the bubble bath.

The pizza arrives, and it's the Detroit style pizza that we both love, with pepperoni and mushrooms. He even made sure to get those red pepper flakes to put on it.

Jake puts on a movie. We watch Fantastic Four, and eat the pizza. After I'm done, I wash my hands. Jake has some vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce, while I down my pint of Cherry Garcia.

The movie is over, and I go to draw my bath. I start to run the water, and put in the bubble bath and the bath bomb.

"Honey bun, let me join you. I think we could both use some couple bath time," says Jake.

I let the water get to hot, and I take my clothes off, and get in. Jake gets down, and he turns on his phone, and puts on some soft spa music, and lights some candles. We sit there in the tub, and just soak until the water turns cold. Jake kisses every inch of bare skin he can find.

After, Jake and I get out of the tub, and we dry each other off. Jake is in his lounge pants and T-shirt, and I'm in my pj's. We both brush our teeth. Then we kiss each other lovingly. I take a few Pamprin.

"Good night, honey bun," says Jake.

"Good night, my sweet goofball," I say.

Jake and I snuggle as we both fall asleep. The next morning, we wake up, and just lay in each other's arms.

"Are you feeling better?" asks Jake.

"Good morning, my sweet goofball," I say.

"Yes, I'm already feeling much better," I say.

I have the most amazing, cute, even cuter when he's flustered, caring, sweetest boyfriend in the world. Jake wouldn't trade this for the world. I wouldn't even trade this for the world.

#jake jensen #periods #period cramps #period products #detroit style pizza #fantastic four #johnny storm #ben and jerrys #chocolate #romantic bath #fluff #domestic fluff

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radama-zard · 2 years

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Dungeons & Drabbles - 2022

Day 10 - Pride

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Krook House QueerPlatonic PolyQuad - Modern Human AU

“Fuck, it's pride month already?”

Huh, how the fuck had that snuck up on him? Pride was one of the best times of the year, along with Christmas and New Years, and maybe also Saint Patrick's Day. Any excuse to get drunk.

Pride though was that time of year where, well, they kinda actually felt like maybe they didn't hate ALL of mankind. Sans his little fucked up family and bushel of bitchin’ oddities he called (only privately in his mind) friends. Even a disenchanted asshole like them couldn't bite back a smile when he thought of all those fruity fucks out there, a cacophony of queers like themself.

Huh, actually, like basically everyone they were friendly with, really.

“No shit, Sherlock. What gave it away? The rainbow flags on the cola cans or the sudden uptick in the word ‘gay’ being used god damn everywhere? Or maybe it reeeeally is that quiet and subtle that it never fails to surprise you!”

Like Anni, his favorite snarky, rude ass bitch. Aromantic as they came and twice as asexual, she’d kick your ass for hitting on her, and make sure you could never reproduce if you dared to try and bed her. Honestly? Respectable as fuck.

It was part of the reason why they loved her, platonically of course. He’d rather barf than lock lips with her, and he knew the feeling was mutual.

But at the end of a hard day she was always willing to lend an ear to his bitching and curse out whoever had pissed them off, all while they lay slumped over her lap. Or in a big ass ‘cuddle pile’, as Letters called it.

She was one of his queerplatonic partners, and they’d slaughter any fucker that gave her shit… if they were still alive once Anni was done with them.

“Love you too, you heartless hag,” Ashton retorted with a teasing grin, earning themself a playful punch to their good shoulder.

“Get fucked, GrimerLocks!”

“Can’t you two ever start a day without insulting each other?”

Ah, there was Milo, his favourite nonbinary they/them! About as AroAce as Anni, but far less aggressive about it. Though they were also far less likely to leave the house, being more of a home body than just about anyone Ashton knew. Not that they were AFRAID to leave the house or anything, but 'outside is where the assholes live, and the only asshole I want to be anywhere near is my own’, as Milo had once said, causing them to crack up laughing. Not that they were wrong or anything, but still, hilarious.

Of course Ashton loved them too, just as much as he did Anni, and in much the same way. Milo was one half of the sensible side of their little queerplatonic polycule, and before Letters had come along they were the only thing that had kept Ashton and Anni alive.

“Where's the fun in that, Mi?” Ashton laughed, steadying themself against the nearest wall when they suddenly felt rather unsure they were entirely steady.

It didn't go unnoticed by the pair, who shared a look before nodding. Swiftly Anni disappeared down the hall, returning only moments later with one of the household's canes. This one was bright yellow and covered in positive affirmation stickers… sooo it was safe to say it was probably Letters’. Eh, like they'd even care. Silently Ashton took it, grateful to have something to keep himself vertical.

“Need more than that?” She asked.

“Nah. Think I just need to get some food down. Meds too.”

Anni nodded, trusting his judgment yet still sticking close by. Her own silent way of showing she cared. A minute later Milo returned, holding out a travel cup with water and a small tub of yogurt.

“Start both, but don't finish them. Letters is coming with your meds.”

Right on cue, Letters wheeled around the corner, with a deep purple pill organizer box upon his lap.

“Smiley day to ya, Ashton! I got your meds right here!”

Letters. If sunshine was a person, they imagined they'd look just like this. Obnoxiously bright, yet entirely endearing. They might sometimes wanna hide under the covers from the brightness, but they’d be dead within him.

A fellow he/they, (honestly he'd been flattered when Letters had decided to adopt the same pronouns as them) who also lay somewhere within the nonbinary stream.

They’d had many a conversation about sexualities, about romance and all, and it had taken a couple of years for Letters to really figure themself out in that regard.

Eventually they’d settled on demi, both romantic and sexual, and only after a long while of thinking that perhaps they were AroAce like Milo and Anni. That was until they’d fallen in love with the woman who was now his girlfriend, and fuck had that been a surprise to Letters!

Ashton was happy for him though. They deserved all the love in the world, and now they had, what, four partners? Anni, Milo and himself all loved the cheery little fuck as much as they loved each other. A queerplatonic love for the ages.

And although they'd been slow to trust her… Marwa really did seem to love Letters as much as he loved her.

“Meds. Right. Fuck.” Ashton groaned around a mouthful of yogurt. Uck. Pills. The worst part of living life disabled. Well, that and the constant pain, and between making that pain worse and sucking down a handful of colorful disgusts, they’d take the pills any day. Which they did, as Letters poured this morning's meds right into his unoccupied hand. They all went down together, washed down with a swig of water and an entire mouthful of yogurt.

“Thanks. All of you fucks.”

“Always happy to help, Ash!”

“Rather you alive than dead. Shit’s boring without you.”

“You do the same for us. Just don't push too hard today, okay?”

Ashton couldn't bite back a warm smile.

“Yeah yeah… Hey, wanna push back the start of the day with some time in The Pit? Feels like today’s gonna be a bitch and Netflix just dropped a new season of that weird ass cookin’ show. You know, the one with the kink shit in it.”

“Cutthroat Kitchen?” Letters suggested.

“That's the one!”

“I'd be delighted! Today started with a pain level 6, so some time in The Pit sounds nice. I’ll grab the heat pods, it's always nicer when it's extra toasty in there!”

“Lemme grab some popcorn to put on. Can't watch Alton Brown introduce some serious BDSM shit into the kitchen without snacks.”

“Well if you're all going to be in there… then how can I say no? I'll go set the laptop up.”

Ashton watched as his partners all vanished, rushing off to go make this morning a brighter one. Fuck, whatever had he done to deserve the love of these three blessings?

They didn't dare question it though, simply letting it be as they slowly shuffled their way into the lounge room. There they dropped into The Pit (a big old couch that had been gutted, modded and extended, now fused with several beanbags, cushions, pillows, doonahs, blankets and a scattering of squishmallows, to make the perfect pit of comfort) and let their exhausted body relax.

Heh.

Who needed to remember pride month when they had their own pack of colorful fucks to love 24/7?

Not that they were gonna be quiet about it. No, as per usual Ashton was sure they all planned to be wonderfully obnoxious above their queer ass selves… and real fucking proud of it.

#dungeons & drabbles #drabbleWRIMO #Critical Role #The Krook House #FCG #Ashton #Ashton Greymoore #Milo Krook #Anni Aughta #FCG/Ashton/Milo/Anni #QueerPlatonic #Poly Relationship #Modern Human AU #Also a liiiittle mention of Marwa #and a liiiiittle mention of FCG/Marwa #Day 10 - Pride #Dungeons & Drabbles 2022

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sabsoreal · 2 months

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3.17.24

saint patricks day and the last time i'll drive back to school (i think so but i guess i could drive home before i graduate for something random)

this morning we went to church - all of us (my parents and david, samantha doesnt come with us because she has her own family now)

ben was there, we met his girlfriend and i saw him cry during the closing prayer, about how God is the someone who loves you no matter what you do. it's good when God is the thing that makes grown men cry.

the whole sermon was about love - agape love, sacrificial love. the love we can only give because we have received it.

dad made eggs and sausage. there was orange juice.

i packed my bags and i ate

there's supposed to be a baby goat born soon. david is taking a teaching certification exam tomorrow, he needs an 80.

i packed my car before i went to say goodbye. we hugged. everyone told me they loved me and then they told me to be safe.

"i love you" "be safe" "i love you too" "i will" from my mom and dad and aunt trisha, david gave me a very long hug, we laughed but he didn't walk me out.

i stopped by aunt trisha's house to say bye, my mom walked over to make sure she was the last person i hugged before i left.

i didn't fill up my tank before i got on the interstate.

i stopped at a love's before i got out of TX - 2 hours into the drive

a guy named donovan worked at the subway. he was working a double. he was tired and they were out of the bread i wanted. he asked me how my morning was going at 3:30pm donovan was very nice. "have a blessed day" he said. im sure none of this matters but i might want to remember. i stopped for gas one more time and stopped at the alabama rest stop to pee.

i ate a footlong and a Ton of salt and vinegar chips.

i watched gilmore girls almost the whole way - rory graduated college

and then i remembered about 9 hours into my 9 hour drive that this was my last one - 56 miles from tuscaloosa i was making horrible time

but i cried because i thought i had missed it. this whole drive i forgot to Care that it was my last drive back to school. i turned off gilmore girls - i shouldn't watch netflix when i drive anyway, but i did wear my seatbelt today.

i cried and i called my mom and i told her to tell my dad thank you for spring break and i told her i loved her and that i appreciate them.

"i love you, we all love you you know that right?" i do

"i just want to make sure i get to do everything i want, i only get to do this one time"

"there were ups and downs but that's life you just have to hope there are more ups" i do

i cried and i texted bri and cass and lindsay that i forgot that it was my last drive to school and i had forgotten to notice.

lindsay called me poetic and bri told me to come back home so i could do it again.

i tried to thank God for all of it and i cried again (im doing that right now)

somewhere in there i remembered that trevor broke up with me and i didn't cry about that.

i listened to wide open spaces too early, right as i went under the bridge onto mcfarland.

i thought i saw eli's car - i didnt. i thought about driving to redpoint just to look at his car or texting him that i was all nostalgic about college and that no matter how shitty i was glad he was a part of it - i didn't. (now that im home i dont know why i even thought about that)

i listened to wide open spaces again (2 more times)

grace was awake when i got home, clementine is sleeping in her own room now.

i paid attention in time i think

0 notes

pennywaltzy · 1 year

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Moments In The Life Of One Daniel "Danny" Messer (2/10)

So I finally found where I put the original list of drabbles so here is an update! I hope you all enjoy the ten new drabbles.

Moments In The Life Of One Daniel "Danny" Messer - A series of drabbles depicting moments in Daniel "Danny" Messer's life.

READ PART 1 | READ PART 2

Title: Matters Prompt: #03 - Ends Characters: Danny Messer

So, this was it. This was how it was all finally going down. The end of his career because of some stupid decisions he'd made when he was younger.

Did it matter that he'd overcome so much? Did it matter that he'd had nothing to do with the murder at the stadium, even though forensically it showed otherwise?

He walked dejectedly through the labs to the locker rooms, opened up his locker, and began taking things out. If none of that mattered, if the team he worked with couldn't trust him, then what was the point of him staying there?

---

Title: Finding The Perfect Gift Prompt: #08 - Weeks Characters: Danny Messer

He almost always waited until the last possible second to do this. This year, though, he knew there wasn't going to be time to wait. It had to be done now. The sign on the window was flashing "3 weeks till Christmas" and he knew that as the crime rate went up, his chances of having time to find the perfect gift went down. Three weeks...first Christmas in a long while he'd actually looked forward to.

He went in, went to the clerk, and said, "There's an office Christmas party and I need a gift for a classy New Yorker."

---

Title: Smudged Gloves Prompt: #13 - White Characters: Danny Messer

Usually, even for important events, the dress uniform wasn’t necessary. He was a detective, he was at the crime labs...Flack was more of a cop than he was most of the time.

But there were times when the dress uniform was pulled out, taken to the cleaners, and worn. Funerals for fellow officers were one of them. And he hated funerals, but these he hated more.

As he pulled on his white gloves, he saw the smudge on them and wondered how long it had been there, how long he’d been able to go since the last funeral he’d attended.

---

Title: Pinch Prompt: #18 - Green Characters: Danny Messer & Stella Bonasera

"No, I don't care what you say, everyone's Irish on Saint Patrick's Day."

Stella glared at him. "I'm Greek."

"Well, normally that's true, but today you're Irish. And you ain't wearing green."

"So you pinched me for it? I could claim sexual harassment."

"But you won't."

The glare softened as the pain faded until both were completely gone. "Messer...you're a trip." She shook her head and took the pin he was handing her. "The place wouldn't be the same without you."

Danny's grin broadened. "Just be happy Flack didn't get you first."

"Why?"

"He pinches much harder than I do."

---

Title: What He Didn't Have Prompt: #23 - Lovers Characters: Danny Messer

Lovers were people you confided in, shared your feelings with, and generally cared about. Danny watched as Cindy got out of bed to get dressed to leave. She wasn't his lover. He didn't talk to her. Didn’t have a connection with her. They just had sex and good times together and that was all.

He wanted someone he could actually be with in all the ways that were starting to matter now. He was getting too old for the bed-hopping and the playmates. He wanted a grown-up relationship and all the things that came with it.

He wanted a lover.

---

Title: Broken Body Prompt: #28 - Children Characters: Danny Messer

The cases that dealt with children...that was his hard thing to deal with. Let adults go kill each other, hurt each other. Just leave the children out of it.

As he surveyed the scene, saw the welts and bruises on the little boy, the kid's glasses smashed and broken, he felt like he wanted to wring the neck of the person who did this, give that person some bruises and welts and ask them how they liked it.

His eyes caught Mac's, who nodded. He was angry, too, and he understood. No one should ever do that to a kid.

---

Title: Detective & Coroner Prompt: #33 - Too Much Characters: Danny Messer & Sheldon Hawkes Author's Notes: The added prompt of red plus the inclusion of Hawkes was from gregsgirl89.

Red. All that red. All that blood pooled up under the bodies...it was too much. Danny wasn't jaded enough to let it all just slide off his back. He took it personally.

"Hey, Detective." A young man with a Coroner's Office jacket came up to him. "You going to be okay?"

"Too much blood..." Danny got out. He turned away and walked out of the room, and the coroner followed.

"Yeah. Too much blood," he said quietly. Then he turned to Danny and extended his hand. "Sheldon Hawkes."

"Danny Messer," he replied, shaking Sheldon's hand. "New here?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Not so much."

---

Title: Held Her Hand Prompt: #38 - Touch Characters: Danny Messer

He’d held her hand, just a moment longer than was necessary. All he'd started out to do was prove a point, about a gun and a dead man's grip, and he'd taken her hand in his and...

And followed it up with a rather quickly rebuffed lunch date invite.

And now, hours later, he could still feel her hand in his and he was wondering exactly what all that meant. She was a co-worker, not accessible. Not to him.

That didn't mean he wouldn't want to hold her hand again, or try and find some small way to touch her again.

---

Title: Square One Prompt: #43 - Square Characters: Danny Messer

Back to square one. Of all the clichéd sayings he'd heard, that was one that irritated him the most. Square one was a no man's land, where you knew nothing.

He hated not knowing. The satisfaction of solving a case more than made up for the frustration he felt at the very beginning, and any time he ended up at square one again. But there were times, like today, when he really hated the uncertainty, when he wondered if they'd ever get from square one to the end.

Square one was pure hell if you were trying to solve a case.

---

Title: Mocked Prompt: #48 - Diamond Characters: Danny Messer

Every once in a while he pulled out the small box and looked at the ring. Most everyone thought he was a player, but that was a front. He'd been in love once, and been ready to pop the question to the girl he'd been with since high school.

She wanted better than Danny. She broke it off before he'd asked her to marry him, told him she deserved more than what he could offer her.

He didn't know why he kept the diamond, because every time he looked at the ring the shiny stone seemed to mock him and his life.

#danny messer #stella bonasera #sheldon hawkes #danny x lindsay #csi ny #csi new york #csi: ny #fanfic #fanfiction #my stuff

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the-letter-horror-lover · 2 years

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Picture Frames on the Mantle

Kuudere_Aquarian

Summary:

Originally written 2012/2013 and published on FF.net under the pen name Fallen-Autumn-Leaves by the titles: " Earth Day" "Valentine's Day" "I'll Be There For You Through It All" "The Wonderful World of Alois Trancy"

Edited and updated 6/2020 to try to improve the quality.

A collection of Drabbles in the Kuroshitsuji fandom, summary in chapter notes.

Chapter 1: Holidays at Phantomhive Manor: BardxOFC and FinnyxOFC

Chapter 2: By Your Side: Prince SomaxOFC

Chapter 3: Under Your Spell ReaderxTrancy Household, ReaderxClaude, AloisxOFC

Chapter 1: Holidays at Phantomhive Manor

Summary:

Earth Day: OFCxFinny Finny and Amy are spending the day in the garden planting trees for Earth Day. Finny gets too excited.

Valentine's Day: BardxOFC Meredith, Lizzie's sister, wants to make chocolates for Valentine's. Bard's ready to help.

Chapter Text

Earth Day

"Earth Day! Earth Day, plant some trees it's Earth Day!~" Amy sung helping Finny in the garden. It was a beautiful day to be outside! The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and even Pluto frolicked in the expansive Phantomhive lawn.

Finny was whistling as he planted new trees and weeded around the existing ones. But in his joy, he didn't regulate his strength and uprooted a tree.

Amy got very attached to the plants in the garden. A few she didn't even let Sebastian tend to as they were her "special babies." Though Amy's job at the manor did not include gardening, she found it relaxing and so made time in her schedule to spend an hour or so each day helping to tend to the flowers, shrubs, and trees surrounding the manor.

Tears came to her green eyes and she couldn't help but cry out, "Bassy! Finny's killing trees again! On Earth Day, too!" Finny hastily tried to fix it, but the damage was done. He sighed in resignation of the scolding to come...

Valentines Day

"Bard, can you help me make chocolates for Valentine's Day?" Meredith asked the Phantomhive cook. As an older sister figure to Ciel and actual older sister to his fiancée Elizabeth Midford, she was ofter over at the manor. She decided to take advantage of the downtime she had as Ciel attended to some paperwork to make chocolates for the household and her sister Lizzie as a treat.

However, she didn't take into account who the cook of the estate was. Bard grinned, ecstatic that she had asked him, and proceeded to pull out his flamethrower.

"...Um, nevermind. I'll ask Sebastian." and with her blonde locks flying behind her, she scurried away.

A loud "BOOM!" followed.

Chapter 2: By Your Side

Summary:

Prince SomaxOFC

A Drabble about the relationship between the Prince and my OFC

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

I was with my master when he first heard that Ciel forgot about him and their friendship. I was pouring tea and setting out refreshments for the master with the odd butler of the young Phantomhive. My short brown hair kept getting in my blue eyes so I'd constantly be pushing it out of the way.

I am the Prince's maid you see, Maria. I like my master, he isn't cruel or mean, he is actually quite nice! But right now, he was heartbroken.

After being left with me by the butler, he cried for hours.

Even now, weeks later, he is in a slump. There is nothing I can do but let him cry on my shoulder. Luckily though we plan to drop in on the main Phantomhive estate soon. Maybe seeing the prince will jog Ciel's memory. It'll definitely cheer up my master.

Oh! There he goes again, what set him off this time? He leans against me, wondering out loud why the Phantomhive boy doesn't remember. I dry his tears and murmur reassurances.

Notes:

This sucks....majorly! I don't remember what I originally wanted to portray or the feelings that drove this....Sorry!

Chapter 3: Under Your Spell

Summary:

Servants: ReaderxTrancy Household Reader meets the Trancy household.

Saint Patrick's Day: ReaderxClaude Claude is annoyed by the reader.

Step to the Beat of my Heart:AloisxOFC Anna's a regular Cinderella but she doesn't lose her hard working nature.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Servants

As you were introduced to the Trancy servants, you zoned out. You probably should've been paying attention, but and instead you were entranced by the opulence around you in the Trancy Mansion.

As you tuned back in, you realized you didn't know any of the names of your new coworkers. You decided just to give them all nicknames, you'd probably forget their real names in a few hours anyway. You looked at the demon triplets. Pointing to each in turn, you exclaimed "You're Eeny...Meeny...and Miney!"

You then turned to Hannah, "And you're Moe!"

She seemed annoyed and put out, the twins did not seem to care. The only one you knew, Claude, was off buying more silverware for the manor. And your new lord, Alois...

Well, Alois was laughing his face off from the steps.

St. Patricks Day

Claude watched as you glided in the room, deked out in a green dress, shoes, and multiple necklaces.

You had four-leaf clovers braided in your hair.

He sighed, he found Alois' childhood friend annoying and eccentric.

His Highness himself looked up from his breakfast at your arrival.

"(Y/N)!~ What's the occasion?"

"It's Saint Patricks Day!"

You were met with a confused face, "What's it celebrate?"

"...I don't know!~"

"What's the point?"

"You get to pinch anyone not wearing green and...well, thats about it...I think."

Claude sighed at your stupidity.

Step to the Beat of My Heart

Inspired by "Somebody to Love" by Justin Bieber

Alois leaned against the doorjamb and watched his love, Anna, as she helped Claude set the table.

No matter how many times he told her, Claude was there to do it, it was his job. But Anna liked to help the demon butler, ever since he and Alois found her on the streets, dirty, poor and alone, she had felt that she needed to repay them, whether it was helping Claude in the kitchen, Hannah with laundry, or the triplets with the horses. It always left Alois pouting because it limited the time he could spend with her. Of course, she loved Alois even then.

Outsiders could think that she "liked" him in a bid to repay him for saving her from the streets. But she didn't feel the need to like him because he saved her, she liked him simply because she did.

Claude was currently in the kitchen, dishing up one of his delicious meals.

Alois smiled at Anna, she had stepped back and was now studying her work.

She turned to him,"Are they straight, do you think?" her eyes questioning.

He smiled and said,"Of course." -though he hadn't looked at the place settings. At Anna's smile, he didn't spare a thought more of the table.

Alois on an impulse, leveraged himself into the room, grabbed her hand and danced her across the floor. Their laughter rang throughout the mansion.

...step to the beat of my heart...

Notes:

As a kid, no one told me why we celebrated some holidays like St. Patrick's Day. All I knew for the longest time was that you had to wear green and color shamrocks in art class. Isn't it strange that sometimes we celebrate things because they are tradition rather than actually stopping to wonder what those days/events/holidays/people actually mean to us?

Series this work belongs to:

← Previous Work Part 3 of Kuroshitsuji Drabbles

The Beauty is a Beast

grelleswife

Summary:

When police officer Mally Noah uncovers sinister activities behind a string of missing child cases, she's determined to bring the culprits to justice. However, after the very system for which she works turns against her, she may have to go rogue.

Notes:

Beast's first name here, Mally, is taken from the anime adaptation of the circus arc.

This small fic is connected to a larger AU I have in mind that is (very) loosely inspired by Birds of Prey. Let's just say that Grelle is a little like Harley Quinn and leads the other Kuro ladies in rebellion against wicked government schemes, the patriarchy, etc. However, the present fic is focused on Beast's origin story as a member of Grelle's girl gang, the Scarlet Women.

I know next to nothing about how the police system works, so please forgive my inaccuracies!

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Throughout England, children were disappearing.

Children with no parents and no place to call home, forced to make do on scraps and the public’s condescending pity, snatched from street corners.

Children whose mothers had more offspring than they could keep an eye on, wandering out of their cramped, rundown apartments never to be seen again.

Children whose parents worked late hours in grim factories to make ends meet, vanishing off the face of the earth on their way home from school.

No one could account for this spike in cases, but all of them remained unsolved. Officer Mally Noah wanted to change that. There was supposed to be more to her profession than handing out speeding tickets and answering prank emergency calls. Someone had to help these kids, and if the higher-ups were taking their sweet time, maybe she could glean a few insights on her own.

Mally was a cop, but she’d made a few underworld connections. You had to keep your ear to the ground in her line of work. One of those informants, the kooky mortician whose bangs perpetually covered his eyes, insinuated that the disappearances were linked.

“A big fat spider reeling in itty bitty flies, my dear,” he giggled. God, that man gave her the creeps. But when she pressed him for more details, he offered her lukewarm tea and a biscuit disconcertingly similar to a dog treat instead.

“Certain things are best left well enough alone, my dear,” he cackled.

Mally left his establishment more anxious and frustrated than when she’d arrived, wracking her brains as she puzzled over her next move.

“Maybe Doll’s heard something…”

Doll (or Freckles, depending on how they felt on a given day), was a homeless kid with a brutal burn scar down the side of their face from what Mally believed to be past domestic abuse. Though skittish around most law enforcement, Doll had gradually taken a shine to Mally, who they called “big sis,” and would occasionally give her tidbits of information if she asked politely. With a piece of Funtom Candy or two thrown in to sweeten the deal. They lived a semi-nomadic existence with a small, loosely-organized band of friends, making a regular circuit of London every several months. Kids were more observant than adults gave them credit for; Doll might have seen shady goings-on related to the missing child cases.

After making a quick dash into the nearest Funtom store to stock up on lollies, Mally walked to a nearby park that was one of Doll’s favorite haunts. The kid could be hard to locate, but luck smiled on Mally this time. She spotted her young friend sitting on a low-hanging tree branch and casually kicking their legs. Doll brightened, gave her a gap-toothed grin, and waved so vigorously that Mally was scared they’d topple off the branch.

“Hey, big sis!” they called. Doll hopped down and raced towards her.

Mally stooped to give them a quick hug. “Hey, Doll!” she laughed.

“That ain’t m’name, big sis. Right now it’s Freckles,” they corrected her, sticking out their tongue.

Mally didn’t entirely understand why they switched between being “Freckles” and “Doll,” but that was their business. She just tried to use the right name and respect who they were.

“Sorry about that, love. I was wondering if you could lend me a hand…”

Mally quickly explained the situation and offered her first lolly as tribute. Worry darkened their tanned face for a second, but then Freckles eagerly accepted the lolly and stuffed in their mouth.

“Think I seen somethin’ that might help ya.”

Last Tuesday, Freckles had been “hangin’ around” a seedy back alley. By now, Mally knew better than to ask what exactly Freckles had been doing there in the first place, but they readily told her about the exchange they’d witnessed while hidden in the shadows. Two sleek black vans had pulled in. The first one opened to spit out six battered, frightened children, herded along by a stranger with a broad-brimmed hat and a bandana covering the lower half of their face. Two distinctive-looking men emerged from the second. It had been hard to see fine details given how far away the nearest streetlamp was. However, Freckles described one of them as “blond and skinnier’n a toothpick. Needed a haircut, and dressed to the nines in white. Bloke was tryin’ to look like a movie star, I reckon. I’d say he reminded me of a rat, but rats are cute. And his smile gave you goosebumps. Not the good kind.”

His partner was “fat as a pig, with a tophat and this freaky mask covering his face. Like a…a clown or summat.” According to Freckles, the two men had handed the stranger several thick stacks of pound notes, hastily loaded the children into their van, shaken the stranger’s hand, and driven off into the night.

“Scared the hell out of me,” Freckles concluded. Normally, nothing could rattle their confidence—in fact, Mally often worried for the brazen street urchin’s safety—but the spectacle they’d witnessed had left them visibly shaken. They looked a trifle paler than usual, and they shifted restlessly from foot to foot, glancing around nervously as if those menacing vans might reappear at any moment.

Although Freckles’ descriptions gave an incomplete picture, Mally was almost certain she knew who the two men were. A tall, blond would-be fashionista in white? That sounded an awful lot like notorious singer, actor, and dancer Aleister Chamber, who’d developed something akin to a cult following. Under the stage name Druitt, he’d made England’s girls swoon as a teen heartthrob and lead singer of the boy band Phoenix, eventually striking out on his own in what had proven to be a lucrative career. Druitt had a reputation for being a party animal, and his lifestyle resulted in occasional brushes with the law. Drugs, booze, sleazy dealings—the usual. But dark rumors swirled around the golden-haired star.

More than once, Druitt had been accused of preying on minors, unsuspecting fans lured in by his charm. The scandals inevitably fizzled out before landing in court…but Druitt did like his partners on the younger side. 15 years younger at least, often more.

There were whispers of sinister goings-on at some of those parties, of darkened rooms in Druitt’s mansion where worshippers wearing cloaks and masks performed satanic rituals. It sounded too crazy to be believed…but Druitt’s fascination with fringe religions and the occult was no secret.

One tabloid boldly claimed that Druitt dabbled in the black market for organs and other body parts. There was barely a scrap of proof to back up their would-be exposé…but the tabloid folded shortly after publishing that article. When Mally had done a little digging out of professional curiosity, she discovered that the reporter who’d written it had been found dead on her couch after a heroin overdose. Open-and-shut case. The police breezed through it quickly. Almost too quickly, considering her lack of a criminal record, any previous drug abuse, or even a medical history that would have called for prescription opioids. Mally didn’t like it.

A corpulent man with an old-fashioned hat and a full face mask? It had to be Kelvin.

He’d inherited a king’s ransom in family money, made thousands more in investments, and earned a few additional millions after establishing himself as an entertainment mogul with Kelvin Film Studios. Kelvin funneled the bulk of his wealth into charitable causes, including literacy programs, over a dozen orphanages, animal rights activism, and much more, and he’d received numerous accolades for his humanitarian work. He was squeaky-clean on the surface, but Mally had long suspected there were maggots beneath the varnish.

The man was obsessed with ideals of beauty. However, instead of collecting paintings or sculptures, Kelvin packed his manor with massive cases of porcelain dolls. In interviews, he’d explained that he loved their perfect proportions, flawless porcelain skin, and bright, twinkling eyes. The homely Kelvin emulated their example, and he’d spent God knows how much on plastic surgery. It never had the desired effect, though. If you looked at photos of him through the years, Kelvin looked progressively more unnatural with each procedure, sliding deeper into the uncanny valley. The surgeries grew more frequent and extensive. The sorry business culminated in a botched operation that ruined his face beyond repair. Ever since, Kelvin lived as a recluse and never let himself be seen or photographed without a mask. After an ugly divorce, his wife told reporters that he’d gone mad, that he spent hours staring at his dolls, and that “those damn Phantomhives” were to blame for his declining mental health, although she didn’t specify how. But the former Mrs. Kelvin had suffered a nervous breakdown shortly thereafter, so who could say how much of the story was true?

Kelvin’s orphanages were respectable, well-run establishments, but there was an odd tendency for an orphan here or there to die of unexpected causes. Rare genetic conditions, aggressive childhood cancers, freak accidents when the kid had been playing where they shouldn’t. The reason varied, but the end result was always the same: The child disappeared completely, as if they’d never existed, their only funeral a “private ceremony” that the press wasn’t allowed to attend.

After hearing what Freckles had to say, Mally was starting to get a clearer picture, and it was turning out damn ugly. It would look suspicious if weird things happened to too many children from Kelvin’s homes, which meant it would make sense for him to “outsource.” Did that explain the collusion with Druitt? But what the hell did they want these kids for in the first place?

“An’ that ain’t all,” Freckles continued, speaking around their lolly. “My mates have seen ‘em, too. Dagger spotted the two blokes last week talkin’ to this little girl who’d gotten lost and was out on the street late at night. At first he thought they were nice chaps just tryin’ to help her get back to her parents. But then a coupla buses passed in front of him—Dagger was on the other side of the street ‘cross from them—an’ when the buses were gone, he didn’t see the gents or the girl anywhere. He had a weird feelin’ about the whole thing…Oh yeah! An’ sister Wendy was near Druitt’s place for…uh…for business,” Freckles scuffed their feet and looked away furtively, “and thought she saw some kids brought in the back way. They came in one o’ those black vans, too.”

Mally’s worry intensified. The undertaker hadn’t been lying when he compared Kelvin to a spider. How far did this web reach?

“Would you and your friends be willing to talk about this with an inspector, hun?” she asked gently. Rich bastards like Kelvin and Druitt were more slippery than eels. She’d need official testimony to even hope to open an investigation against them.

Freckles shook their head in adamant refusal. “Hell no. I don’t talk to cops. Nor my mates, neither,” they said flatly.

“You talk to me, love.”

“Yeah, but you’re different, big sis. You’re nice. The others ‘re just arseholes.”

However, after several minutes of coaxing (plus an additional Funtom lolly) Freckles agreed, on the condition that they, Dagger and Wendy hold the interview away from both the police station and their own base of operations.

“Don’t want the boys in blue knowin’ where we live,” they insisted. Mally conceded they had a point; other officers were much harsher towards the ragamuffins eking out a living in London’s sewers and alleyways.

“You be careful, you hear? And if you see those men again, don’t stick around; run.” Mally fretted about Freckles enough as it was. It made her blood run cold to think of what might happen if they fell into Kelvin’s and Druitt’s clutches.

Freckles laughed and put their hands on their hips. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, big sis. If that fatty tries to grab me, I’ll outrun ‘im by a mile!”

Mally ruffled their hair and tried to quell the unease churning her stomach.

Luckily, she knew at least one man she could trust: Inspector Fred Abberline. That was why she pulled him aside for a hushed conference later that day.

“I think this could be huge, Fred.”

He was aghast. “You’re right. We need to look into this at once…those poor children!” Abberline was a softhearted bloke, and he’d taken a keen interest in the cluster of missing children’s cases.

Mally took him to speak with Freckles, Dagger, and Wendy, who warily gave their testimony. By the time they’d finished, Mally’s and Fred’s shifts were drawing to a close, but Abberline was bursting with excitement.

“I’ll share these notes with Randall first thing tomorrow morning!”

Adrenaline rushed through Mally’s veins during her bus ride home that evening. The thrill of the hunt as she closed in on her quarry. She was shooting for big game, but Mally didn’t back down from a challenge.

The next day, however, Abberline approached her gray-faced and trembling.

Mally’s good spirits sank. “Is everything okay?”

“Randall was furious. Chewed me out for a good half hour—you know how he gets. Basically said we’d be sacked if we tried to pursue this any further.”

Mally stood in stunned silence before erupting in fury. “What?!” she roared.

“H-he says the word of a few street rats isn’t good enough, that we’re just trying to stir up trouble—"

“Oh, I’ll give him trouble, if he wants it,” Mally spat, stalking towards Randall’s office.

Abberline grabbed her sleeve.

“I know you’re angry. I get it. I’m as upset about it as you. But you know that losing your temper doesn’t—"

“I’ll give that stiff-necked son of a bitch a piece of my mind, and then some!” Mally declared as she strode ahead like a bloodthirsty general leading troops into battle. People in her way scurried aside quicker than the Red Sea parted before Moses; Mally’s fiery temper was not to be trifled with, and had caused her to butt heads with Randall on many occasions prior to this one.

Of course, it had ended as badly as Abberline warned.

“But sir—”

“I said, that’s enough, Officer Noah.” Randall surveyed her coldly over his spectacles. “The Kelvin case—if there was a case to begin with—is closed. Let it go, and put it behind you.”

“Let it go?! These men are a menace! Eyewitness accounts implicated them in human trafficking, for Christ’s sake!"

“I’m a busy man, Officer Noah. We’ve already got enough trouble on our hands with Sutcliff’s merry band running amuck. I don’t have time to waste on wild accusations against one of London’s most respected philanthropists. Please see yourself out, madame. Now.” Randall gave her one last steely glare and then directed his attention to reshuffling his paperwork. Mally had effectively been dismissed.

She stormed off, slamming the door behind her and stalking back to her office in disbelief. The beleaguered policewoman sat at her desk, put her head in her hands, and sighed wearily.

“Had a run-in with the old bastard, did you?” Joker asked in sympathy. She looked up to see him leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

“That’s one way to put it,” Mally growled. She angrily recounted the whole tale to her friend. After she finished, he paused for a moment before replying.

“I dunno…I think I’m with Abberline on this one. You might just need to keep yer head down fer now.”

“But Joker! I thought you’d understand, at least!”

His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Mal, but there’s nothin’ you can do about it. Randall’s an arsehole, but this is one time you might actually want to follow his advice.”

“Put it behind me? While Kelvin and Druitt are doing God knows what with those kids?”

Joker’s mouth twisted to the side.

“You know I don’t mean it like that, lass. It’s just…When a person’s rich like Kelvin and Druitt are, we can’t touch ‘em. No matter how much shit they wade through, they’ll come out smelling of roses.”

“That’s not the way it ought to be,” Mally snarled through gritted teeth. She hadn’t joined the force to tiptoe around fat, disgusting old men.

“But it’s the way things are. If you aren’t careful, you could wind up in a spot of trouble yerself.”

Mally straightened and gave him a sharp look.

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

Her partner shook his head and lowered his voice.

“It could be dangerous if you don’t drop this case, Mal. Kelvin has connections. You don’t want to get on the bad side of a man like that.”

“I don’t think men in masks are gonna drag me away like I’m in a B-level spy film,” Mally rolled her eyes.

“Well, jus’…please look out fer yerself, okay?”

“Sure,” she replied curtly.

Joker gave her a sad smile and a wave of his prosthetic hand before leaving her be.

Mally hung her head despondently. Even Joker didn’t seem willing to back her up. They’d entered the force at around the same time, and he’d been her partner on patrol for years. Joker was born without a right hand, just like Mally was missing a leg, and he’d never mocked her prosthetic behind her back the way some of these arseholes at the station did. His off-the-wall sense of humor often had her in stitches—he’d even juggle on occasion if he’d had a few beers. He was a damn good cop, too, and she could count on him to have her back if things went south. Why the hell had he gotten so spineless all of a sudden? The bitter taste of disappointment clung to the back of her tongue, like the foul, tepid coffee they served in the lounge.

Then, Mally sat bolt upright. Randall refused to listen, but even he had superiors. She logged into her desktop (drumming her fingers impatiently when the damn thing took its usual ten minutes lagtime to load) and started furiously typing an email. She wasn’t gonna let this go, not by a long shot.

Joker’s voice sounded in her mind.

Look out fer yerself.

She suppressed a cold shiver as she recalled the reporter who’d tried to blow the whistle on Druitt. But something like that wouldn’t happen to her. Mally was smart and knew how to defend herself. Justice would be served. She’d see to that.

Justice didn’t get served. Instead, Mally received a summons to Randall’s office the next day. Even before she walked in, she knew shit was going to hit the fan. When Randall called for you, heads were about to roll. Usually yours.

The edges of her vision shrank as he handed out the verdict, and a dull roar sounded in her ears. However, she clearly heard the words “unforgivable insubordination” and “troublemaker” and “fired.” Mally was so numb with rage and incredulity that she couldn’t even whisper, let alone roar the way she wanted too.

She had 24 hours to pack her things and leave the station. A few of her colleagues gave her sympathetic looks as she trudged to her office, but no one dared to help her. That might make them guilty by association in Randall’s eyes.

Joker passed her in the hall while she was carrying her box of office supplies with her on the way out. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head and rushed past, his face ashen. Mally stared after him in outraged disbelief. He hadn’t said a proper goodbye, or spoken with her at all that day. It was like he was deliberately trying to avoid her.

“Bugger it. I don’t need him, anyway,” she muttered as she trudged to the bus stop. Mally knew how office politics could be, but she and Joker were friends. Or so she’d thought, at least.

One month later

Mally sat cross-legged on her sofa, sullenly munching on a stale chocolate chip cookie and staring at the news broadcast on the telly without really watching it. She wore nothing but sweat pants and a ratty crop top, plus an old quilt thrown around her shoulders for comfort.

Mally had been frantically jobhunting day and night. Anything would do. She couldn’t afford to be picky. Although she had a small nest egg tucked away in the bank for a rainy day, the rent for this place wasn’t cheap. Mally could last two more months here without getting evicted, maybe three if she skimped on groceries. She needed a steady income, and fast, but every place to which she’d applied had turned her down. Several of the places had rejected her application outright once they’d seen her name. When she went to one restaurant in person to introduce herself and turn in her resume, the manager blanched, backed away, and shook his head.

“If you take my advice, you’ll leave London. Better yet, leave the country. Take a nice vacation somewhere sunny and far away from here. It’s a bad idea around once you’ve been blacklisted.”

Blacklisted? That was when Mally realized, to her growing alarm, that Joker may have had a point about not crossing Kelvin and Druitt. Powerful men with connections…the kind of connections that could make you virtually employable. Erase you.

She swallowed the last of her cookie with difficulty (her mouth had gone dry), brushed the crumbs from her fingers, and hugged her knees to her chest.

Tears welled up in Mally’s eyes. This wasn’t the way she’d thought things would go. She remembered her younger self first training to become a police officer, bright-faced and hopeful, convinced that she was going to make the world a better place. That was a laugh. She hadn’t counted on working with a bunch of bastards always ready to sneak a look at her arse or make snide remarks about how tight her uniform was in front. It wasn’t her bloody fault she was a size D! She’d grossly underestimated the corruption, the extent to which officers abused their power against the most vulnerable citizens, and the depressing regularity with which affluent wrongdoers got off scot-free while the disadvantaged were pummeled for committing minor offenses.

She’d been stupid to think she could change anything, and damn stupid to believe she could go up against Kelvin and Druitt and emerge unscathed. And what about Doll and their friends? Mally realized in horror that she may have put them in danger, too. She had to warn them…

As she clambered to her feet, her ears pricked up at the news anchor’s voice.

“…the latest exploits of the “Scarlet Women” terrorizing London have police and Scotland Yard scrambling…” he intoned.

Mally had been so mired in her own misery that she wasn’t keeping up with current events like she should, but the Scarlet Women were the talk of London. An all-woman gang led by former night club performer Grelle Sutcliff, the vigilantes targeted abusers, child molesters, corrupt politicians, and others who deserved to rot in prison but still walked free to cause more harm. When the law failed to bring these people to justice, the Scarlet Women did the job, often with a generous helping of blood and gore on the side. They’d made headlines over the last several months, and evidence suggested that new members were joining their ranks.

The more conservative newspapers and codgers like Randall denounced the Scarlet Women as a public menace, but Mally wasn’t so sure. Their methods could be violent, but their “victims” sure as hell weren’t innocent.

“People cannot take justice into their own hands,” the reporter droned on, seated at his desk with the pompous, bloated self-assurance of a toad perched on a tree stump. “Yes, our legal system has its flaws, but…”

“You’re damn right it has flaws,” Mally growled while she clenched her hands. She’d tried to raise the alarm about Druitt and Kelvin the “right” way, and look where it had gotten her. But maybe Sutcliff’s Scarlet Women could have stopped them. Setting the whole rotten establishment ablaze…

She was jolted out of these thoughts by a frantic rapping at the window. Mally’s eyes narrowed. A burglar, or some stupid kid who’d climbed up the building on a dare?

Or a trap? If Mally really was on some sort of “blacklist” of Kelvin’s enemies, she should be wary. Dashing to her bedroom, she removed her gun from the drawer and flipped off the safety. Then, she advanced, slowly and cautiously, holding the weapon in front of her. However, Mally lowered the gun in astonishment when she saw whose face was pressed against the window.

She raced ahead and opened it.

“Wendy! What are you doing here? Come on inside, love.”

The young woman gracefully vaulted into the living room while Mally closed the window. Due to a medical condition, Wendy was about the height of a primary school girl, but in actuality she was close to Mally’s age. Mally knew from Doll’s stories that Wendy was agile as a cat, and fully capable of scaling a skyscraper if need be. Her friend always clammed up when Mally pressed them about why Wendy did so much climbing in the first place, though the former policewoman suspected petty thievery had something to do with it. But Wendy was one of the group’s main breadwinners; Mally couldn’t investigate her and risk her arrest in good conscience.

“We ain’t got much time, sis,” Wendy panted. Her eyes darted to and fro, like a frightened squirrel that senses a hawk overhead. “If we don’t get a move on, they’ll get’cher, and Freckles wouldn’t like that. Nor would I. Ye’ve always been good to us—”

Mally held up a hand. “Wait, hun…what’s going on? I don’t understand.”

“It’s Kelvin’s and Druitt’s lot. They’re comin’ for yer, on their way now.”

Mally took a step back.

“Not much time ter explain. Doll spotted some blokes gettin’ in a black van, talkin’ bout how they was goin’ ter take care of Mally Noah, an’ back to me flippin’ their lid and sayin’ we had ter help ye. I’m small, but I’m fast, ‘specially with my gear.”

It was then that Mally noticed the rappelling equipment Wendy wore.

For a moment, she blinked in a daze.

“How far away are they?” she finally asked.

“With traffic the way it is…’bout ten minutes tops. I know a way we can go on foot, to get back ter our place. Ye can lay low there fer a while, if ye’d like.”

“Thank you,” Mally breathed, snapping back to attention. If Wendy hadn’t warned her…but there was no time to dwell on that now.

“I can pack a suitcase in five.”

Wendy nodded tensely, and Mally tore back to her room, throwing in a few outfits and toiletries.

While rifling through the closet, she noticed the coiled whip lying in the corner. It was a family heirloom. Her grandma’s. Mally had never known Nana Betty, but Ma told her that she worked with a circus troupe as an animal tamer. When she was a kid, Mally had dreamed of following in her footsteps, and would sometimes sneak into her Ma’s room to fool around with the whip and pretend she was training a tiger to jump through flaming hoops. After Ma’s death from leukemia, Mally kept the whip as a reminder of happier times. She wasn’t sure what made her grab it now and stuff it in the suitcase, but this was no time for reflection when death was minutes away.

“This way, sis,” Wendy beckoned once she emerged from the room with suitcase in hand. Together, they crept out the back of Mally’s apartment complex and slipped away into the night.

Almost as soon as they left, a sleek black van pulled up a few blocks from the apartment. Three shadowy figures crept out, stealthily making their way to the building where their quarry lived, using a few tricks to open the back door, and picking the lock to the nosy policewoman’s room. They entered with weapons at the ready, prepared to eliminate the nuisance. Where was she?

They ransacked the room from top to bottom, turning the place upside down in mounting fury. To no avail. Mally Noah was gone.

Series this work belongs to:

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#black butler fanfiction

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roe-sesandthorns · 2 years

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super salty thoughts about Dr. Strange MoM, spoilers + rant under the cut warnings: spoilers, duh. really long. not very complimentary.

did wanda face no consequences for what happened in westview? legitimate question cause i haven’t seen it and only know the plot + story through osmosis. I thought this was the point of the accords and the oversight and the damn civil war.

it physically makes me puke to hear mcu refer to themselves as earth-616 like no. sweeetie, sit back down, ok? you’re earth-1999999

they went to one other universe, it was a huge waste of potential BUT I can excuse that cause I understand the limitations from a storytelling/runtime/budget pov but still, disappointing

ok I loved peggy as the first avenger, monica rambeau as captain marvel, and it’s always a pleasure to see patrick stewart and the inclusion of black bolt was cool (idk if he’s been in other marvel media before but that was my first time seeing him)

but and that’s a big but, the scene where wanda takes on the illuminati and bodies reed + black bolt and then proceeds to fight peggy + monica felt... off.

like did they remove the two male members deliberately cause? is it sexist? is it a very shallow, trite attempt at #girlbossing? whatever it was, it felt cheap and weird. and completely disrespectful to all those heroes. especially professor x.

ok, i get it, wanda is supposed to be the Big Bad but the way the superheroes in the mcu become totally powerless in other people’s movies just rubs me weird. like she took barely 30 secs to demolish the entire team. and these are the supposed leaders of the illuminati

why the fuck did wanda of earth-834 or whatever have powers? did she have the same arc as mcu-wanda (i’m not using 616 to describe mcu people cause hell no). but then everything in this world was completely different so how does it compute that this wanda had powers and a normal life. did she have her kids with vision? where was vision? if he died like in infinity war then why was this wanda mentally stable? like what changed?

why the fuck did stephen from the incursion universe and mcu-stephen have the same damn backstory of both having a sister who died? like how is that something that is constant in multiverses? or was it just a lucky coninkydink?

i have a lot more, but basically i hate their treatment of the multiverse. i think i prefer any other fanfic writer writing about the multiverse cause they do it so much better.

i’m not even surprised they tried to give wanda a redemption through death/sacrifice arc cause she changed her mind in the last 2 minutes of the film; disappointed but not surprised.

like girlie has not even redeemed herself for westview, instead she went full on evil supervillain

fuck off with the “heartwarming” music and there is NO reason for christine to ask after wanda with concern (other than the fact that christine is amazing and a saint and i love her) but contextually she should’ve been like “the scarlet witch?” (scared shitless)

also, basically, moral of the whole story: stephen strange can only be happy if he has christine in his life. which seems toxic af, like bro. y’all broke up YEARS ago. you tell her at her wedding that you wish she was still with you, or imply it at least. I would’ve decked him if I were her. Like Christine you’re a saint. I mean you invite your friend (whom you dated a long while back) to your wedding and want to introduce him to your husband and he’s like “im sowwy i miss you” like fuck the fuck off, stephen strange, you ass. don’t make this day about you.

also can we please kill with fire the idea that you need a relationship to be happy. like, srsly. the whole movie reiterates that if he only “got the girl”, he’d be happy, like no honey. go to therapy. find happiness within you. and in others around you. relationships are amazing and i can totally get pining over Chrsitine cause goddamn i’m doing it too, brother, but really. she’s not gonna fix you or fix your life. i want to engrave kate winslet’s speech from eternal sunshine onto the marvel headquarters entrance cause fuck u marvel.

another beef with the multiverse, no stephen ever dated anyone other than christine? like my dudes, prime opportunity to really explore just how different the universes are, i mean, come on!

additionally, it makes the ending seem like a queer ending with stephen and wong reiterating their love for e/o and continuing their cohabitation as they raise their teenage adoptive daughter together. like maybe marvel is saying queer-platonic relationships and aro-ace rights. (hahahahhahah as IF.)

america chavez was the only ray of hope and the only good thing about this movie and that’s only because her character hasn’t had the time to be handled by 12 different pairs of hands and the mouse overlords’ meddling

also can i just say, 0 character growth all around, great job, guys!

also also, did i miss an entire movie where mordo goes after stephen? no, so that was just supposed to be one of those things that happened in the interim that we just know because of dialogue. great. so, no emotional arc for stephen having to fight mordo, for the clash of their philosophies, for the consequences of stephen’s actions.

wait, speaking of consequences, what the fuck were stephen’s consequences for no way home? did he have any? he almost fucked up the entire world on a teenager’s say so. like. i mean. it ended ok but ?????

some technical things: the score was overpowering, there was no room to breathe between moments, the effects gave me a damn headache, and there were some weird transitions thrown in that just felt.... one-note. one or two were cool from a story telling point of view but otherwise it was just. meh.

tldr; the whole mcu is just like, “consequences? don’t know her” and the mcu multiverse is bland, convenience-based, arbitrary, and boring. also, this wasn’t a dr. strange movie, this was a “look shiny cgi, shiny multiverse, isn’t this fight scene cool? omg that’s professor x, look people from other marvel movies/media! how cool!, we’re self-referential! and COOL!” mess

#mcu wank #dr strange and the multiverse of madness #not very wanda friendly #could be construed as anti wanda #but it's also equally anti stephen as he's written in this movie #so basically it's just anti mcu at this point #i'm tired #mcu exhausts me at this point

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blissfulparker · 3 years

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Tom and Reader talking about their future together “and we can have 4 kids” “I am not birthing 4 kids” “…how about 3?” “Hm. Two girls and a boy?” “Imagine twins” “that’ll be hell”

“I think a girl would be lovely.” Tom’s voice fills the dark room. Neither of you could sleep, neither of you desired it. All you wanted was to be with one another, feeling each other’s presence and letting your limbs intertwin.

“Hmm?” The conversation sparked suddenly as his fingers tapped at your shoulder.

“You know, kids, I think a girl would be lovely. Growing up with boys I think I want a girl. She would be adorable.” He told you a you grew a smile. Sometimes, you wondered what happened in your boyfriends brain but now you knew.

“I guess I never thought about if I want a boy or a girl.” You admitted. Kids with Tom sounded amazing, you wanted it yes but he clearly thought more than you.

“I’m thinking our first will be a girl, then twins, then maybe another if you’re up for it. And once our oldest is around 16 we can have another!” He got excited and you sat up now not even thinking of it being the middle of the night.

“Wait? You want how many kids?” You asked and he shrugged.

“Like five?” He offers and you shake your head.

“No way, we get three most. Reminder, these are Holland’s, not just any babies.” You lay back down in his arms and he furrows his brows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looks at you with big brown eyes and you only let out a sigh.

“It means…I’m not dealing with anything breaking because football in the house was a good idea.” You tell and he scoffs.

“Did my mum tell you that? That was one time! We never did it again! And it was sams idea he just knew to blame me! Sam was always the good one.” Tom defended as you brought up his childhood. His arms now fold like a child’s as he pouts. You kiss at the corner of his mouth as you settle back in bed.

“Well, in about nine months we’ll see what happens anyways.” You roll over to your side to get comfortable. Finally the feeling of sleep washing over you as you plump up your pillows and snuggle into the blanket.

“Why what’s in nine months? Christmas? No wait….that’s six…saint Patrick’s day?” The boy was so clueless, so painfully clueless as to what you said. But as he laid awake when you were fast asleep, his eyes filled with tears and hand went to your stomach as in nine months would be the best gift of his life, best thing you could ever give him. A family.

#kats blurbs #dad!tom #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #imagine tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland au #tom holland x you

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nerualian · 3 years

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St. Patty’s Day

Fandom: American Gods (2017-) Pairing: Mad Sweeney/F!Reader Warning: 18+ for sexual content (it’s smut and it’s soft, get it while it’s hot) Summary: Reader’s curiosity for Sweeney’s opinion of Saint Patrick’s day leads to a painful truth; Sweeney doesn’t have a day of worship, not one people truly celebrate anymore. No worship, no offerings, no love- she decides to fix that. A/N: This is my entry for April’s American Gods challenge set by @americangodschallenges- the theme being ‘fight, flight, or fuck’ (think you can tell which one I settled for afdgsdhfdjg).

You were taking a walk with Sweeney when you first asked him how he felt about Saint Patrick’s day.

“A godless affair, love,” he'd said, pulling you in closer with a heavy arm across your shoulders. “Little bastardized leprechauns and big ol’ pots of gold. Fairly certain the next person that demands I wear green is gonna be losin’ teeth.”

“Come on, Sweeney,” you tugged at his side, “there’s got to be something you like about it. It’s about celebrating luck!”

He laughed, one of those devious chuckles that put a twinkle in his eyes and a smile to spare. “Oh it’s about getting lucky alright.” Silence came in on the coat tails of the innuendo. Entertaining it would have only encouraged him to avoid the question, and it would seem he knew the game as well when he cursed to himself. “It’s got booze and candy and not much else.”

Simple words for a simple response, yet they clung to you. They were nonchalant, the response disinterested at best, but there was an emptiness there as well. The weeks leading up to the day were spent being reminded of his words. Every little leprechaun and chocolate gold coin a reminder of that emptiness. It was frustrating to have a question with no words, to have an ache with no source, and it wasn’t until a week before the day you grew dizzy with realization.

It was a day to celebrate everything he was, but it wasn’t for him.

No one prayed to him. No one left fresh bread and cream on their window sill. No one called out for him, saying his name with reverence in their time of need. He was all but forgotten on a day that should have celebrated him, and all the offering he got was-

Booze and candy and not much else.

Why was finding fresh cream so fucking difficult?

As soon as you’d figured out Sweeney’s problem with the holiday, you’d set out to fix it. Your search history a mess of bread recipes, your kitchen soon-to-be an even bigger one, your last worry for the perfect night was fresh cream. You knew he’d accept store bought- there’s no universe where Sweeney would be that picky- hell, he might’ve even accepted plain milk, but no. No.

It was his day, and as you booked it home a couple of hours before midnight with cream that was way too difficult to get, you knew it’d be worth it.

It’s 11:12 pm when you pull the bread out of the oven; 11:27 when it’s cool enough to finally slice. Spongy and sweet-smelling, you pile it onto a plate beside the bowl filled to the brim with fresh cream.

For a first attempt, the offering honestly doesn’t look bad- hell, it even looks tempting to you. It’s far too much for one person (you might’ve gone a bit overboard with the bread), but you have faith in Sweeney’s hunger.

In fact - the clock ticks to 11:38 - you’re counting on it.

You unlock the window and place the offering on the window sill. The clink of the bowl sends a shiver down your spine, a sense of finality to the motion. He knows he’s been summoned, his name on your tongue and a meal prepared for him, and that knowledge only makes you more jittery. He’s coming to take what’s been offered.

You bolt up the stairs, turning off the lights as you go. The floor’s cold, the house is dark, and the quiet leaves you to listen to the rush of blood in your ears. It’s eerie, but you don’t mind.

You wouldn’t be alone for long.

The bedroom door is lit only by flickering candles. It smells like freshly chopped wood and evergreen mixed with the fresh bread downstairs. It’s warm and homely, stroking the heat in your belly. It whispers of safety, of home, coaxing you into the bed with every lick of flame.

Your shirt is the first piece of clothing lost. It’s the pants that go next, torn off with the underwear, each article dropped to the floor with little care. It’s hard to care when each step closer to the messy bed brought a new scent. Vanilla and sandalwood, a heady mix that was more than welcomed, yet empty. It’s missing something, a core element.

Fingers stretched, you sink them into the rough denim of Sweeney’s jacket.

You’d taken it out of the closet earlier. Left it draped over the bed, cold and lifeless, just waiting for you to come back. It’d be a lie to say it wasn’t tempting to wear it all day. Touching it now, feeling the scratch of it against your skin and how it barely hangs off your shoulders, your nose pressing to the collar, you’re glad you resisted.

Musk. It’s faint, long faded with the two months Sweeney had been gone, but it’s still there. It washes over you, relaxing the tension in your shoulders while fueling the fire growing beneath your skin. You’ve missed this; the scratch of denim (and his beard), his earthy tones and solid touch, the rumble of his voice against your ear-

A loud creak comes from the stairway.

You gasp, wholly involuntary, and jerk the collar away. Every relaxed muscle is standing at attention. Your back is to the doorway, vulnerable and open to the darkness.

Another creak of the floorboards and you’re climbing into the bed. There’s no time to second-guess yourself, only enough to settle back onto your elbows with knees crossed. Seconds trickle by like the sheen of sweat growing beneath the jacket, the material shifting against your hypersensitive skin with every breath.

There’s a shift in the shadows. Minuscule, but enough to catch your breath and fan the heat inside, boiling over and spilling into your limbs at the drag of invisible eyes.

A solid thump of a heavy foot and the shadow comes closer. It looms in the doorway, drawing your eyes and your breath. The phantom smells of smoke and ash, meadows and fresh mint; a walking paradox- your walking paradox.

“I know I should be wonderin’ why you’re in nothin’ but one o’ my jackets,” Sweeney mutters, stepping into the light that catches on his own faded denim. Another and his mane of fire catches the light. Your eyes trail up his form, almost as slow and lazy as his smirk, taking in his long stride and the languid roll of his shoulders. He knows what he’s doing with the drop of his jacket and the slip of a suspender down his shoulder that clings to the thick bicep beneath.

“But?” You whisper. You weren’t one for the breathless, coy act, but there was no acting here. Not between these walls you two called home or between the heated gazes and the gentle fingers that wrap around your ankle.

He laughs, nothing more than a little chuckle as he presses a kiss to the ball of your ankle. “But I ain’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, love.”

“Good,” you giggle at the graze of his beard, “you don’t have to question it. You deserve it today.”

“Today?” He’s climbing over you now, sporadically kissing your skin. Each brush of his lips leaves you warm and wanting beneath him, but you know better than to bask in it for too long. This is his day of worship, not yours.

Your nails scratch along his jaw as he finally hovers over you, all encompassing and scorching, blocking out the minuscule light that shines in those hazel eyes. They sparkle in the low light and you think it might be something more than love; a recognition that softens that ever-present smirk and curls itself around his heart.

“Today…” you press a kiss to the corner of his lips, “is your day.”

His eyes flutter, dazed, licking his lips and no doubt savoring the contact. “It ain’t my birthday, love,” he kisses your cheeks, content in playing your game, “I do appreciate the thought, though.”

Was he truly not understanding you, or had he somehow forgotten the day?

Your hands smooth along his jaw. Pushing him back is harder than expected, but it’s worth it for how he gazes down at you. “Happy Saint Patrick’s day.”

He’s stunned for a moment before scoffing. “Saying another man’s name in bed- smooth,” his words are light and humorous, but there’s no mistaking the drag of his hand up your bare side or the fire in his eyes, “bet the smug bastard’s rollin’ in his grave right now, knowin’ what he’s missin’.”

“I hope so,” your fingers tangle in his hair and pull, “his name might be plastered across the damn thing, but it’s not for him.”

“Oh?” His breath fans over your lips as your knees nudge his hip, pressing- “Who might it be for, then?”

There’s a fraction of a second where your lips brush and his body relaxes into yours. It’s all the window you need to press your hips into his to roll him over. “It’s for celebrating Irish culture,” you enunciate every word, rolling your hips down into his and delighting in those wide eyes and parted lips, “for celebrating luck.” You lean down, a breath away from finally tasting his lips when you whisper, “for celebrating you, Suibhne.”

His lips crash against your own.

It’s an insistent kiss, but it isn’t rushed- deep and thorough, you fall further and further into him with every passing second. His hands are no better in how they drag across your skin, catching along your thighs, hips, shoulders and squeezing. They’re rough with wear and tear, but the heat they leave behind is addicting.

Too addicting, you deem. Pulling away is impossible, but has to be done. His lips are shiny, his tongue peeking out to savor the taste of honey you’ve no doubt left on his lips. The man had a sweet tooth, not that he’d ever admit it. You do the same, the bite of whiskey so uniquely him.

“Today’s your day, not mine.” He groans beneath you, bucking his hips like the rebellious shit he is before you grab at his hand, tugging on it with a growl that matches his own before smoothing it over. “Let me worship you.”

His brow tightens and he fidgets, torn between acceptance and denial, pulling at your heart strings with the twist of his mouth. Denying himself of worship, praise, and love is what he’s good at. You know this must be difficult, accepting any of this must be uncomfortable, but you wouldn’t let one more damn year of self-deprecating and loneliness pass.

“Let me worship you,” you repeat, forehead bumping against his. “Please, Suibhne.”

The noise that falls from his lips isn’t a moan, but it’s too high to be a groan, something keening and hurting. “There ain’t nothing there to worship,” he mutters, looking away as if the dancing candles were more interesting than you- an offer he’d never denied before.

“There’s plenty,” you whisper as your fingers dance across his still-clothed chest, working the hem out from under his belt and tugging until he complied in shedding the damn thing. His scars stand out across his chest and stomach, white slashes cutting through the dark hair there. You trace them, fingertips light, and watch how his muscles ripple.

“These tell stories others could only wish to know.” You follow them down to his hips where you lay your palms on his sides, feeling the shivering muscle beneath. “Won’t you tell them, Suibhne? For me?”

His fingers curl around your wrist, simply holding onto you as you work his pants down. “I already have,” he whispers, voice all gravel and eyes as dark as the night.

“Then tell me again,” you whisper back, wrapping your fingers around his cock. “Tell me again and again and again-”

“Fuck!” His hips jerk as your lips glide across him. “F-uck, I’ll tell ya till I lose my damn voice, just don’t stop,” he growls, whining muffled when you lick at him.

You didn’t plan on it, but letting him know that would’ve required pulling away. Pre-cum dribbles down the side of your curled fist, adding to the slick slide of your fist. Every twitch of him in your hands was a success, but the true victory came from the flush of his cheeks and the slack of his jaw. Hell, he couldn’t even muster the energy to watch you; his eyes screwed shut and face twitching in pleasure.

You keep your mouth on him for a time. He’s just so damn receptive- not milking it (and him) wasn’t an option.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Sweeney moans, hand pushing at your shoulder, “off, off, off-”

As tempting as it was to latch onto him until he was shaking and cursing the heavens, this was for him, not you. “What’s wrong?”

His laughter boards on a manic giggle. “What’s wrong is that you’re too damn good at that,” his hand tugs at the lapel of his jacket, eyes bright as if just noticing the material hanging off your shoulders, “get up here, ya damn harpy.”

You climb over him and meet him halfway in a kiss. It’s passionate, but sweet as one large hand settles along your nape and the other dips beneath the jacket, following up your ribs to cup your breast.

“What do you want?” you ask, pulling away for breath only to lose it with the roll of his hips. He slides between your thighs easily, both of you wet and slick, more than ready to throw away the teasing.

He rolls your nipple, sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and bucks up. “You,” he groans. “Always you.”

It’s all the permission you need to finally slide down on top of him. It’s a stretch, a mild burn that puts an ache in your thighs, and then you’re settled against him, hip to hip, gasping and clutching at him, marking him like mine, mine, mine-

Before he can thrust up into you - you can feel the coil of his muscles underneath you - your hands plant themselves on his shoulders and shove him back. He’s surprised, but you can see and feel the approval as you take over the pace. It’s hard, fast, dirty, and exactly what both of you need. “You promised me your stories,” your forehead presses against his, beads of sweat rolling down your back, “come on, Suibhne. Tell me your stories- burn them into my skin, fucking fill me with them.”

That last line has his hands grabbing at your hips. “Mo grá,” he chokes out, a whimper accompanying the liquid heat he spills inside. He’s beautiful, face twisted in pleasure and composure crumbling, hands grabbing at your hips and holding steady, each thrust smoother and slicker than the last until-

You cry out. Nails digging into his chest, he pulls you over the edge with him. He helps you ride it out and only huffs when you collapse forward into him.

His chest is heaving, heartbeat louder than ever, and your legs ache, the sticky mess between the two of you growing. It’s perfect and you’re not quite sure how long you lie there, but with your body held and your mind at peace, it could’ve been hours.

A kiss on your neck brings you back to reality. “Thank you, mo shíorghrá,” he whispers, rolling his hips, already hard again. “That was the best worship a god could ask for.”

“How could I call myself your most devoted follower if I didn’t?” Your question is clunky with how heavy your tongue is, a laugh bubbling up behind it. It’s goofy and didn’t entirely fit the mood with him still sitting inside of you, both basking in the candle-lit afterglow, but Sweeney wasn’t shy with a flipping tone.

“My most devoted follower, huh?” His hands absently stroke your sides, cradle your hips, thumbing at their dip. “If that’s the case, it sounds to me that my most devoted follower needs a reward.”

Your belly aches. “Suibhne, you really don’t have to-”

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips and the whole world tips. The motion is smooth with practice. “I don’t have to do anything,” there’s a silent anymore on his lips as he kisses you, “but I want to.”

Who were you to argue with your king? “Then do whatever you like,” your hands snake up through his hair again, the draw too powerful to deny, “I am your offering after all.”

His hands curl around your wrists. “My offering- no,” another kiss and your fingers are intertwining, pinned back into the bed, “my goddess.”

He thrusts into you with the new title, drawing a gasp out of you. “My god,” you flush, smiling and entirely too happy with the way it rolls off your tongue like a prayer and an expletive, “my god, Suibhne-”

“That’s it, beautiful,” his voice is wrecked, guttural and rough as he pins you into the mattress with his weight, “you take me so well.”

You’re used to accepting him inside of you- your body, your soul- yet his words still brought a flush to your skin. The heat of his body and the friction of his hips all came together into a familiar dance. His lips ghost your shoulder, peppering up and down the exposed flesh. A gasp fell from your lips at the sink of his teeth, a moan not far behind with the mark he leaves behind.

The build up is shorter this time. Who could blame you? It’d been far too long since your last night together and the man seemed hungrier than ever. You pushed back up against him, desperate to move, but his hold is steady. “Come on, mo grá,” his fingers squeeze yours as his lips bear down on your neck, “cum for me.”

The slow wave that crashes over your body is unlike anything you’d ever experienced. It’s smooth, electric, and all-consuming. Your focus is on him and how he gives a final thrust, shaking against you with his teeth in your neck, muffling the groans that vibrate through his chest to yours.

The room smells like sweat, sex, and - if you strained - a hint of your earlier baking. You laugh.

“Hm?” Sweeney sounds out of it as he absently sucks at your sensitive neck. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you hum, brushing your nose along his jaw to trek up and push it against his. “I was supposed to be worshiping you, you oaf.”

It’s his turn to laugh. “Oh you did,” he’s got that shit eating grin back, no sign of that set brow or lingering stress that often marred his features, “so let me return the favor.” His kisses only grow sweeter with time.

“Damn you-” your breath hitches as he pulls out and away to slink further down the bed, large hands already drifting along your thighs, “this is your day!”

Sweeney hums. “Is it?” A kiss against your hip, one of those hands coming up to turn your face to the side. “Might wanna check the time, darling.”

Your eyes dart up to catch the glaring 12:14 AM.

“Bastard,” you mutter, remark melting into a sigh with the first brush of his tongue.

“Happy Saint Patrick’s day to you too, love.”

#Writing #Fanfiction #American Gods #american gods April challenge #I don't think I've ever posted my own stuff before #huh #well time for a new tag I guess #filth #lots of filth #had fun writing it tho #Mad Sweeney x Reader

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oskarwing · 3 years

Text

I really wanna talk about the parent child relationships in Midnight Mass

I’m not sure if I’m good at writing this sorta Meta but here goes nothing. Very many spoilers follow.

Let’s start with the adults:

First we have Erin who suffered so much at the hands of her mother and later because of her mother’s abuse. We don’t get much detailed info on Peggy Greene but from what we can gather she was a lot like Beverly Keane, who seemed to idolize her (though that probably got easier for her after Peggy was gone), in her self-righteous over-pious manner. She just happened to be Beverly with an alcohol problem and a daughter who she could take all her anger at life for not working out her way for God loving her just the same as everybody else out. The dove scene is really such a good scene. But Erin was stronger than her mother, stronger than the abuse that was about to repeat itself and when she found out that she would have a child of her own she left and tried her best to give her kid a better life than the one she had. And she found the strength I think with the help of the same God her mother most likely used as legitimation for her abuse (don’t get me wrong I believe it was Erin’s own strength but she also clearly found something in religion that helped her gather it) and it helped her to carve out a path for herself and her unborn child.

Sarah’s relationship to her parents is such an interesting one because we get to see the end of it. The man who she believed to be her father has been dead for a long while and her mother is suffering through the late stages of dementia. And Sarah showed up for it. As a doctor she most likely knew what would be happening as soon as Mildred started to show the first symptombs but she wasn’t going to leave her mother. That kind of care for an elderly parent shows something that is proven in Mildred’s character time and time again: She is a very devoted parent and the love between mother and daughter flows both ways in every scene they are in together, after the birth of her daughter her world turned around Sarah and she loved her with all she had. There are a few scenes that show that Mildred’s understanding of the duty she felt towards her family came from the old values of her time. She wouldn’t have taken off with John and their child not for a lack of love but because in those times, in catholism still at least where I’m from, you can’t just marry a priest. You can’t just have a child with a priest eventhough you’re married and then fuck off with him. As a woman, as a wife and mother you have to stand with your husband, stand with your child and you have to stop running after fantasies I’m sure Mildred had. I’m saying this all from her perspective btw, I don’t necessarily think running away with John, in the way he wished to, would have been good for Sarah but honesty might have been and her old fashioned values were also what kept her from being truly honest with her daughter. To John on the other hand Sarah is a fantasy, a dream he couldn’t reach. His daughter, his baby, so close and yet so far away getting to watch her grow into an adult but never being able to really be her father as in her Dad instead of her priest. And it’s painful to him, he clearly loved Mildred, loved Sarah but he was also kinda selfish in his love that in the end took Sarah away. At first he isolated his child by starring at her giving her the creeps and the feeling that she had done something wrong that he knew she was gay and dissaproved and then he took it upon himself to ‘cure’ Mildred in the same way he was. Sarah wanted to take care of her mother wanted to be there for her in those final months and John decided it was up to him to give Mildred a youth potion to make it so she’d never die. And with that he took away from Sarah what is without doubt a hard but for many people a very important last part of the relationship between child and parent. John was a complicated man and would maybe have been a great Dad he certainly showed a lot of fatherly love for his altar boys but he couldn’t have the family in the way he fantasized about and in the end it was that fantasy that made him act the way he did.

Riley Flynn causes his parents a lot of pain. Him killing that girl in the beginning, his alcoholism, him simply not liking the place, the home they build for themselves through hard work causes the Annie and Ed so much pain and financial loss and you can see how tired they are, how much guilt they feel for failing their son. Ed calls out his own guilt and says that he doesn’t belive it could be Annie’s fault because ‘your mother’s a saint’ but what I truly love about Annie and Ed Flynn is that they both aren’t saints. As a mother Annie is very much overprotective and suffocating, wanting to keep her children on crocket island and hating the notion that they might leave her, even though she is kind and sweet and loving. And while Ed seems rather checked out as a father but he is the more honest parent, never talking down to Riley and telling him as it is, telling him about the pain he caused him while also admitting to the guilt he feels. The Flynns are flawed people even in their religious practice (I think the way Annie speaks about Ali showing up at church when Hassan seemed to be nothing but nice to her spoke very loudly to the fact that Annie is rather misguided sometimes) but they are good people at the core of it and their parenting might have been part of Riley’s way into alcoholism but it wasn’t only them. There were things they couldn’t change and things they had no influence over like his heart being broken by Erin running away, the sort of people he went out on parties with and so many other things... Yes, they may have shaped their son in a way that made him vulnerable to addiction and the party scene of the stock and tech market and brought him to the point where he killed a child but it doesn’t happen through parenting alone and they also shaped him in the good ways. Him not losing himself when Pruitt changes him, him being brave enough to warn Erin, him standing up for what he believes in those things were also shaped by Ed and Annie. They are one of the best example of flawed but good hearted Christians I have seen in recent media and their portrayal was one of the most heartbreaking ones.

Now the kids:

Let’s start with Leeza. Little Leeza Scarborough who before it comes to her wonder gets treated with pity and overprotectiveness from her parents and the island community at large. Leeza was injured by Joe Collie transforming him into the island’s villain and her into the ever present victim. What happened to her is without a doubt horrible and I understand why Wade and Dolly started to become these overprotective parents, why they were so easily sucked in to John’s and Bev’s scheme. Their little girl was almost taken from them eventhough Wade is the mayor, one of the most powerful people on the island he had no influence over what happened to Leeza even was the one who took her out that day and what followed the accident was as we can gather from their conversation with Sarah a lot of pain and financial burden though they say they would have done it all over for Leeza. In fact a lot of places in crockett island are wheelchair accesible and I am sure that Wade as mayor made it so (I can’t really imagine that a small place like the island was very inclusive though I may be wrong). After Leeza is healed they don’t want to question in don’t want to think about what might have been the cause for it. In fact they stop questioning anything after that point, after Leeza walks again they are completely vulnerable to Bev’s manipulation and them letting that happen, them just going along with everything, Wade protecting John after he kills Joe long after Leeza forgave him and with her forgiveness send Joe on a better path is what in the end makes them lose her. Because Leeza isn’t that little victim who needs pity and help, she is a strong minded, strong willed young woman with a lot of wit who similar to Erin finds strength in her faith but in a way that isn’t devotion without question and when the Easter vigil is held she doesn’t follow her parents eventhough she loves them deeply. She forgives them I think, because that’s what Leeza’s character is about in it’s core but her parents were two of the instigators behind what happened on the island, without Wade’s protection John and Bev couldn’t have come as far as they did and they put their trust in them because they loved their daughter so much they didn’t stop to question if maybe what made Leeza walk again was also a bad thing.

Ali and Hassan don’t have it easy and I as a white person really can’t speak much on the racism and religious discrimination they face. I can say this I think: The first line spoken about Ali before we even really get to look at him is “You didn’t invite Aladin” and already sets us up for what both of them know: They are the outsiders. Not only because they just moved to the island but also because in their faith they are different from their peers and religion can often be a community building event for people before it is anything else. Ali starts balming his father a little for that, for not trying to fit in more with the community, for moving after his mother’s death and then not trying to be closer to the people around them and for the pain all the pain the two of them went through before Crockett island. It isn’t oly peer pressure though of course that brings Ali to St Patrick’s. Sure, Ali wanted to be part of the community but also desperately wanted to believe that there was a devine power who could if he just did it (it meaning faith) the right way he might find a way to avoid the pain of his parents. Hassan knew that and he warned him that that wasn’t how it worked. Hassan was a protective Dad and maybe he overdid it from time to time but his worries were never without reason, his need to keep his son safe from a world that hated him for a crime that happened when he wasn’t even born yet never unfounded and him wanting to make sure his kid kept the memory of his mother alive never anything but the wish of a griefing man and loving father. In the end when they pray together there is peace in them. They face their ends with the dignity Ali’s mother would have wished for and they face it as father and son. While Beverly the true religious terrorist of the story burns away without it.

Warren is the youngest Flynn and it is never directly stated yet omnipresent that his coming of age happens in the shadow of his older brother’s mistake. Annie warns him away from drinking when he goes out he in fact doesn’t drink. He never drinks because of what his brother did. Warren would have been 12 when Riley killed that girl and so he would have seen and felt what his brother’s actions did to his parents fully without being yet old enough to maybe see the nuance. Annie and Ed probably try to right the wrong they believe to have done in parenting Riley with Warren and that’s a lot for a kid. I do think it’s pretty usual that parents of multiple children especially when there’s a larger age gap try to do better with the younger children, but that isn’t fair is it? Warren is his own person not a second chance to do it over. And yet seemingly he does what is asked of him. He’s alter boy, he’s charming and helpful and sweet, he doesn’t drink (even when he does smoke pot) and he helps his father where he can with his work. But in the end he feels guilty because he thinks he wasn’t enough and says at that last dinner he would have been different if he had known he wouldn’t see his family again. But Leeza is right they know and they love him and Warren deserved to not be perfect all the time.

Littlefoot saved Erin and Erin payed her back with all the love she had. She was never born but she gave her mother the strength and willpower to leave. In her speech to Joe Leeza said he reached through time and took things from her she didn’t even know she had yet.When Erin left her husband she reached through time and saved Littlefoot from a childhood like hers and when John gave Erin the angel’s vampire’s blood he reached through time and took away her child, a child who would have been loved and cared for. A child with an amazing mother and probably a great step-dad. Littlefoot’s story is tragic because she never got one.

#midnight mass #midnight mass spoilers #parents in midnight mass #I dunno man I just really love how they showed all these examples of parents

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