#only thou art holy
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Tell me about God suffering.
Tell me about the God who knew that we would break his heart, yet chose to create us anyway. Who saw Adam, fashioned in his own image, and said “It is very good.”
Tell me about the God who said, “my heart, my bowels, my inner parts weep like a lyre for the suffering of my people.” Who watched his loved ones worship idols and fall into sin, who knew all the blackest desires of their hearts. Who faithfully wounded them, sent them into exile, let them die, and said “How can I give you up, O Ephraim? My heart recoils within me.”
Tell me about a God who fashioned us from dust in the full knowledge that in order to keep us, he would see his son scourged and dying on the cross. Who knew that one day he would turn his face away. About a Jesus who said, “here am I, send me.” Who set his face towards Golgotha even in the halls of eternity.
Tell me about a God who became small and frail. Who endured headaches and hangnails and long nights without sleep. Who was anxious and afraid, embarrassed and misunderstood. Who was tempted. Who saw his friends sad and sick and dying. Who wept with the sound of a horse before battle.
Tell me about Jesus weeping and sweating blood in Gethsemane. Tell me about the cross. Tell me about “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me” and the agony of unanswered prayer.
Tell me about the Father and the Spirit, cut off from the Son for the first time in history. The Son, begotten and abandoned. The Spirit, proceeding from nowhere. Tell me about the death of one you have loved from eternity.
Tell me about the Spirit, who intercedes for us before the Father in groans too deep for words. Who understands our deepest pains that well.
People say that to love at all is to suffer, but that isn’t true. God loved and was loved in perfect Trinity before he created us. To love what is fallen is to suffer.
Tell me about the God who chose suffering.
@citrussunrises
#apparently my sister's prof said that God doesn't suffer???#she texted me about it this morning looking for a hot take#i'll find out more about it when i see her this evening (!!!) but i felt compelled to rant a little sans context#we have a God who suffers#(this is all off the cuff so feel free to tweak if you want idk)#only Thou art holy#pontifications and creations#theodicy
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Guys. What about this fucking canto.
#bell.txt#have not read the whole thing yet i havent checked tumble all day in anticipation and only saw the 8am kris liveblog but so far. holy shit.#(redacted) referencing isabella GIRL.... THOU ART WICKED#this shit got me wanting to reread nona i swear. good good die for her thats all the goddamn good you'll ever do her#NOT EVEN TAGGING THIS I DONT HAVE ANYTHING SMART TO SAY RN ITS JUST SO.
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Hiii, can you please write another fic about a teenage reader (16-18) and anybody from hazbin hotel. It can be about anything
HEloooo
Alastor x teen reader platonic
Headcannon by @ghostly-one: "During Alastor's absence, Reader went to the overlord meetings in his place"
✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿
*knock knock knock*
You heard as you groaned and pushed your head up from your pillow.
"It's me, Y/n." You could hear the radio static through your door, "I have an errand to run and would like for you to join me."
"I'll be down in a minute." You replied as you started to get up.
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"Oh, boy whats the plan, boss?"
"I like your suits."
"What are the antlers for?"
"Can I touch your ~staff thing~?"
"Are those your ears? or is it your hair? I can't tell."
The egg boiz were annoying the fuck outta you and Alastor. If you knew they would've tagged along, you wouldn't have come even if you were going to an overlord meeting.
"Hark Alastor, Y/n. How fare thee this day." Zestial appeared from nowhere in front of the both of you.
"Good evening Zestial, It's nice to see you again." You greeted with a smile as Alastor quickly threatened the eggs.
"Greetings Zestial." Alastor said as the sinners around you three started to take notice and run.
"Ah, the weather doth become this fine day."
"Indeed. Looks like we might have some acid rain this afternoon."
"If our luck doth hold! I do revel in the screams. How art thou? It has been an age since thou hath graced us with thy presence. Y/n hast been in thy lodging since thee've been gone." Zestial looked to you with a pleased expression as he patted your shoulder before continuing his conversation with Alastor.
"Some hath spun wild tales of you falling into... Holy arms."
"Hahaha Oh, I just took a well-earned sabbatical. Nothing serious. Though it's fun to keep everyone of their toes."
"There too hath been rumour of thy involvement with the princess and her recent flight of fancy. TELL ME, how does thou fall in such folly." Zestial would've creeped you out if you weren't used to his (and Alastor's) over-the-top and old-timey ways.
"That is more me to know. But please do guess. I'd love to know the theories."
"T'would be grander folly by far to assume the workings of your mind, Alastor. Thou hath been naught but an enigma since thy manifested in this realm."
"Coming from someone as ancient as you, I take that as quite the compliment."
The three of you made it the the building where the meeting would be taking place as you and Zestial stepped into the elevator you waiting for Alastor to tell the eggs to wait for him before pressing the button.
-------
You sat in between Alastor and one of Carmilla's daughters.
"Welcome, Hell sovereign overlords. I've invited you all here because you represent the controlling powers of out city. Together you own millions of souls. Souls at risk with the new extermination schedule. We need to discuss what can be done to minimize the impact to our interest." Carmilla said matter-of-factly. "Zestial, so good to see you, my friend."
"Enchanted as always Carmilla." He said as he sipped his tea.
Carmilla was about to look around the room when she spotted Alastor. The face that she made nearly made you laugh.
"Alastor?"
"Yes, I know I've been absent some time. I'm sure you've all been wondering." Alastor spoke like he'd been waiting 7 years just to say that.
"Not really. But welcome back in any case." She dismissed him. You could hear the static abruptly stop and had to bite your lip so you wouldn't laugh.
Once the meeting started you zoned out staring at the wall. To be honest you didn't really care about the meetings you were only there to show your face and now that Alastor is back it gave you less of a reason to care, but interesting things did happen quite often.
Like Velvette wanting a war with the exterminators.
✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿
Zestial translation: It would be much more foolish to think that I understand how your mind works, Alastor. You have always been a mystery to me ever since you came into this world. (just thought it would be nice to add this.)
@ghostly-one
This is choppy and rushed but parade season is starting soon and I have a lot of performances before then too.
#child reader#x child reader#hazbin hotel fluff#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x reader#platonic#male reader#female reader#gn reader#reticent writes#reticent writer
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The real him
(Alastor x male overlord!reader)
No warnings my loves
Perhaps some grammatical errors🥹
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Alastor was walking down the street to attend the overlords meeting that was taking place today. He has been absent for quite some time so he has not been to one in a while, and honestly he was kind of excited to go again. Not because he cared so much about what they had to say oh no, of course it was useful information for his plan but the one true reason he went was not something, it was someone.
You.
The overlord of music. Since he was the radio demon and you were the music demon you naturally had something to do with each other. Not to mention it just so happened that you both liked jazz that was a first bonding point.
The moment you became an overlord and turned up on one of the meetings Alastor was delighted by you. You were younger than most of them around the age of the Vees however you are very respectful towards the elder overlords. And even though you were one of the strongest ones you were not egoistic at all. If anything Alastor would call you quite humble. You had a happy air around you similar to Charlie, but he could see the smartness and cunningness underneath. For anyone else you just seemed like any happy go lucky idiot in hell but Alastor knew better. He knew that you could not have become an overlord without brains, all though the Vees achieved it. It only took him one conversation with you to know that sly brain of yours which was probably one of the smartest in the room, despite your young age.
Before he left hell it has become a habit that you two sat down for a coffee after meetings and you could talk for hours, one of your favorite activities was playing chess together.
To put it short. Alastor absolutely adored you, and loved spending time with you. The only thing that made him feel even a little bit sad when he left was the thought of not seeing you for a long time.
"Alastor, how fare thee, this way"
Alastor was too caught up in his daydreams about you to notice the tall figure appearing before him.
"Greetings, Zestial" he looked at the overlord while they made their way to the meeting.
"Ah, the weather, doth become this fine day."
"Indeed, looks like we might have some acid rain this afternoon!"
"If our luck doth hold! I do revel in the screams. How art thou?It has been an age since thou hath graced us thy presence. Some hath spun wild tales of you falling to...holy arms."
"Oh, I just took a well-earned sabbatical, nothing serious. Though it's fun to keep everyone on their toes!" Laughed Alastor
"Quite intriguing, Some of us did miss thee more than others" smiled Zestial mysteriously.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" Asked back Alastor his smile never wavering.
"Thee knoweth what I mean a certain youngster did miss thy presence gravely"
"(Y/N)?"
"Indeed"
To this Alastor's smile lessened just the littlest bit, barely seeable to naked eye truly. He was not pleased that he caused you sadness. All though deep down in his cold dead heart a spark of warmth emerged to the thought that you missed him.
"Well than shall we proceed" said Zestial at last.
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When Alastor and Zestial arrived at the meeting he was disappointed to notice that you were no where to be seen. Nonetheless he took his seat, hoping that you will turn up since you do have a habit of losing track of time.
So the meeting began, Alastor sat next to Rosie a charming Women overlord of the cannibal town also a good friend of yours and Alastor.
"Ahhh Alastor such a pleasure to see you again, someone has become quite broody without you here." The powerful women finished her sentence with a cheeky grin.
"Yes it has been brought to my attention as well however I do not see the culprit here anywhere."
"Ohh you know the clumsy, he is always late."
About 10 minutes after the meeting began Velvette bursted through the door throwing the head of an exorcist of the table, and you walked in calmly behind her.
"Must you make such an entrance, and oh look at that now you got blood all over the table you could do it less flashy you know" you said looking at the media demon.
"I'm sorry for being late Velvette here was holding me up" you said rolling your eyes while she stuck her middle finger in your face.
"Anyways what are we-" you stopped talking when you saw Alastor. Your face broke out in a grin which you quickly tried to cover up with a cough and took your place besides Rosie.
"It's quite all right (Y/N) we know how...annoying the Vees can be" said Carmilla smiling at you slightly. You had a friendly relationship with most every overlord, even the Vees all though that was more professional.
After that you had trouble focusing, all you could think about was what you would say to Alastor after the meeting.
When Velvette jumped unto the table and started very disrespectfully yelling at Zestial and Carmilla you wanted to step in but Rosie put her hand on yours shaking her head slightly.
Alastor chuckled, a real hearty quet chuckle not a mocking one. He has always adored the way you like to stand up for people. He often wondered how you ended up in hell. Now he knows of course, your coffee 'dates' have turned quite deep sometimes, thus you are pretty much the only person who knows him. Not his grin he always wears, not his charmingly sick personality, him.
After the rather quick meeting you waited for Alastor outside of the meeting room. You were quite nervous you have not seen him in 7 years.
When Alastor saw you waiting outside he walked over. You waited till the other overlords have left the scene and the moment you could not see any of them anymore you jumped into Alastors arms.
Now, Alastor did not like physical touch. But this was already a routine for you too. Since you are a very touchy person and he does not like it at all you started off slow. Putting your hand on his shoulder as greeting and goodbye. Than patting his back and this way you guys slowly went up to a point where he was comfortable with hugging you. And now he loves it. But only if its you.
"(Y/N)...I've heard you missed me."he stated while smiling, not grinning, smiling at you.
"Weelll, I mean its no secret that you are my favorite there" you smiled shyly
"Only there?" He asked smiling egoistically exactly knowing your answer.
"All right, all right mr.bigshot however that doesn't explain why you were gone for 7 years without telling me where you were?"
You might be happy to see him now but that doesn't change the fact that he hurt you when he left without telling you.
His smile faltered a bit
He took your hand and next thing you know is you guys ended up in his room in the Hazbin Hotel.
Now he could let the smile go. All though a soft one remained on his lips.
"Everything in its time my dear"
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SALUTATIONS, GOOD TO BE BACK ON THE AIR
YES I KNOW ITS BEEN A WHILE SINCE SOMEONE WITH STYLE-
Ok I'll stop
You see...I WATCHED HAZBIN HOTEL AND ITS AN OBSESSION THE SONGS, THE ART, THE CHARACTERS AAAAAHHHGSHHSGJSGS ITS SOOOOOOOOOO GOOOOOOOD
I already have at least 5 more fics in my notes just waiting to be published but I might wait with those cuz I really have to proof read them cuz when I type fast (like when I have too many ideas in my head cuz I have a new hyperfixation) I make the stupidest ass mistakes😭
SOOOO ANYWAAAHYYSSSS
Thank you so much for reading ladies, gentleman and other, good afternoon good evening and good night🧡🦖
#hazbin hotel x male reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#male reader#hazbin x reader#hazbin x you#alastor x male reader#alastor x reader
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threads of fate
pairing: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x preachers daughter!reader
tags: 18+, mdni. dub-con, heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering, kissing, swearing, sliiight voyerism, corruption and innocence kink,
summary: after a chase in the woods, coriolanus becomes devoted to making you his one and only follower.
notes: i don't know what came over me.. enjoy!
word count: 7.2k
౨ׅৎ
the blood of the lamb, washed over the sins of those strayed away from god, atones those begging to be spared from destruction. the saccharine ichor was the ultimate gateway towards deliverance- and thus sought out by sinners and saints alike to be granted eternal redemption for the transgressions that permeated the sweats and tears of the individuals whose secrets would have them damned to the dreadful inferno beneath their feet. the sweet lamb; symbol of innocence and purity, and the wolf who hunted it, the face of deception and treachery, stood now in the heart of the woodlands, the sweet kill hidden shamefully in the asylum of the crowded aspen as it’s predator tauntingly whistled in pursuit of it’s coveted prize.
tears fell in a waterfall down into the vessels of your collarbones, trailing down and staining the frail white fabric of your dress, unveiling the soft tanned skin of your chest in its wake. with one hand clasped tightly against your mouth, you tried to conceal your wails of fear and the threatening thumping of your heart so as not to draw attention to the towering figure looming dangerously close to you, chuckling lowly as he carefully made his way through the maze of trees and forestry. your other hand was clutched desperately on the golden cross that hung around your neck, thumb haphazardly caressing the delicate engravings and etchings of the cool metal.
hail mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus. holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.
shame washed over you as you thought of your mother and father- your dear father, and what they would make of your inevitable disappearance. you were taught the way of the lord since you emerged from your mothers womb; it followed you everywhere you went. by all means, you had lived your life for god himself. what would he think of you now? the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of god. and yet there you were, a thief, running from, no doubt, god’s punishment for your sins.
despite your fathers widespread fame throughout the district, your family struggled to bring food and water to the table regularly. seeing the despair that clouded your mothers eyes as she failed to provide a dinner some nights for her family had driven you towards madness. you grew desperate- desperate to alleviate the stress that haunted her and satiate the hunger that settled in your stomach for the fifth day in a row. you rationalised, that with your undying devotion, god would find it in him to forgive you. with all the work your father put into his sermons and dedication to delivering god's word to the poverty stricken peoples of district 12, the divine being would be forgiving in his punishment in recognition of the loyalty you harboured.
now, you knew you were wrong.
you berate yourself for even entertaining the stupid idea of pilfering from the small bakery near the marketplace. in truth, it wasn’t even stealing. you had waited until dark threatened the sky, then snuck behind the establishment to snatch a few meagre, stale loaves that had been carelessly discarded in a small bin beside the refuse receptacles. combined with the butter you had been gifted earlier in the week, these provisions would barely suffice to stifle the persistent pangs in your stomach for a few days, at most. you naively assumed you were in solitude and hastily fled when you’d filled up your small leather bag with as many old rolls and loaves as possible.
oh, how wrong could you have been? you never caught sight of the face of the man who now charged after you- only a faint glance at a familiar blue that weaved its way through the trees- but the adrenaline rushing through your veins urged you to run, and to never stop. and now, here you were, caught in the act, pathetically weeping as you waited for the repercussions of your actions to find you.
you moved to press your back harder against the thin trunk of the tree, a twig snapping under the weight of your foot, and your eyes widened with fear as the sound reverberated against the still of the forest, the soft footsteps that trailed behind you coming to an abrupt stop. then, a voice.
“my dear, it would make it so much easier for us if you just came out. i promise you, i don’t bite.” it purred. the way he spoke was low and unrecognisable, laced with an amusement that had you shiver with the depravity of it. your crying ceased at an attempt to remain as hidden as possible, nary a whimper escaping from behind the painful grip of your hand across your mouth.
“i know you know what you did was wrong. i mean, stealing from a bakery? i wonder what your father would think of you now, his daughter a thief.”
you fought back tears at the mention of your father, shame once again weighing at your conscience, “come out, and i promise your punishment won't be as harsh as it should be.”
the proposition had you thinking for a bit, the truth behind the words appealing to you for a sliver of a moment. before you could consider your next step; find an out or comply to the omnipresent man’s offering, a gunshot pierces your ears, and you let out a shriek so loud you swore all of panem could hear you.
you begin to wail again then, uncontrollably, screaming and begging for respite as your body gave in under the weight of itself; your knees buckling and falling harshly against the ground. you shake with the ferocity of a small rodent before you’re pulled up by your shoulders and engulfed into a familiar, warm hug. your eyes wide with panic, you thrash your head back in forth in an attempt to find the man who was tormenting you, only to see that he was now gone, and in his place, a small search party lead by a peacekeeper cheered in glory at the sight of you. relief washed over you as you looked up to find your father, falling into the safety of his arms as he escorted you out of the forest, giving a curt thank you to the peacekeeper and another man you recognized to be one of your fathers students, before dragging you to the comfort of your home.
౨ׅৎ
when your father found out the reason behind your being in the woods, you’d landed yourself a life of extra chores and punished to more frequent church visits until your father decided you had repent enough. your father, reassuring you of god's forgiveness as his child, warned that your actions wouldn't fade from memory. he emphasised the necessity of restoring your relationship with the lord and savior. you were under his constant watch, now. each morning, before dropping you off at school, he compelled you to pray fervently for protection over your family and yourself, urging you to plead for deliverance from the consequences of your actions.
with your increased presence in church taking up most of the time you had to yourself, you found yourself taking note of the other frequent church goers. your father, of course, and his dedicated student, were a constant in your peripheral vision. the old couple who lived only a few minutes away from you, mrs. harmon and her froofy, dirty church outfits, her boisterous children, and her grumbling husband. you noticed small things; like how the wife of the newly-wed couple in town had stopped wearing her wedding ring, and how her husband seemed to never give her a second look. how the twin boys in the grade below you suddenly surpassed you in height, and their younger sister now seemed to lack a certain innocence that was pertinent in her character before. you made a small promise to yourself to pray for her.
there was one person, however, who you were not familiar with, yet you could feel it in the deep ends of your bones that you knew exactly who he was. he had begun to appear only once a week, his shiny buzzcut and blue peacekeeper uniform sticking out sorely from the rest of the crowd. then, twice a week- then three- and then suddenly you found you could not escape from him. everywhere you turned, he was there. when you walked home from school, you would catch him patrolling somewhere nearby, or laughing and chatting with his peacekeeper friends. when you opened the church doors for mass, he would be first to walk in, handing you a small smile before making his way to sit in the pew farthest away from you. he was there, everywhere you looked, and it unsettled you greatly. there was a lack of sincerity in his eyes when he smiled, and for a moment you thought that it had seemed like hunger, but you pushed the idea away before your brain could process it. one night, when closing the church doors and heading to your home, the small sound of rapid footsteps triggered your fight or flight response, the latter winning. when the man rested his hand on your shoulder politely, handing you a handkerchief you had dropped, you felt a strange sense of deja vu. the speed at which it sounded he had ran towards you didn’t match how he stood before you now; breathing even, chest pushed out pridefully, his dark sapphire eyes never leaving yours. but you were so sure that the man had been sprinting, just like the man who had sprinted after you a few weeks ago had. you gave him a small thank you before speed-walking your way to the front door, panting heavily as you locked it shut behind you and your hand made its way back to the pendant on your neck, grasping it so tightly it hurt, the stipe digging into the soft flesh of your palms as a way of grounding yourself back to your senses.
that night, when you got on your knees to pray, you couldn’t shake the look on the mans face from your thoughts. his features themselves were even, lacking any sense of emotion, but his eyes troubled you the most. the way they bore into yours made you feel as if you would burst into flames right then. it made you feel as if there was something he wanted from you, but your poor innocent soul couldn’t figure out what. when you nestled yourself into your bed that same night, you vowed to stay as far away from him as possible.
you hadn't realised how hard that would be.
he approached you the next morning. it was saturday, and the usual gloomy weather of district 12 had been forced away and replaced with the harsh, bright sunlight. it shone spectacularly through the stained-glass windows, gracing the dark wood of each side aisle with vibrant reds and yellows and blues and brightening the deep red carpet that lay evenly along the nave. you stood behind the pulpit, readying your fathers sermons and homilies for that week's sabbath. he had barged in unannounced, making his way towards you slowly as you pretended to ignore the tall figure making its way down the red path.
“good morning, miss,” he spoke lowly towards you, peering upwards slightly as the pulpit was slightly taller than the rest of the church, and you pretended to read through the cards and flip through your bible as if it were you preparing to speak in a mere 15 minutes. he cleared his throat once, and you waved your hand nonchalantly towards the pews, “the preacher will be ready shortly. please, have a seat.”
from behind your fathers flashcards, you could see a small tick of his jaw and he pressed his lips together tightly, nodding slowly before making his way to his usual seat, feigning interest in the architecture of the building.
“its quite beautiful, no?”
you hummed.
“i wonder how the district could afford to pay for it.”
the comment caught you off guard, causing you too look up at him with scrunched brows, your lips parted in confusion. surely, he knew the capitol had paid for it- and even then, what did it matter? a sanctuary for god deserved only the best of resources, you thought. the beauty of the church was a reflection of the beauty of your religion, the intricacies and meticulous carpentry of the building spoke to one of the three transcendentals that point to god. of course, it would be beautiful.
before you could think of a response to the bizarre musing, your father burst in, pressing a light kiss to your cheek and thanking you kindly for preparing for him. the man stood up to make his way to greet the preacher, and you were out of sight as fast as lightning.
that cycle continued for a while. he would sit in the pews, admiring the architecture (when really, he was admiring you), then stand to greet your father enthusiastically, frowning ever so slightly when you disappeared the moment he made any closer to your father. eventually, you had become quite good at avoiding him. you saw him less in the markets, saw less of him in church, and rarely caught sight of him anywhere else. that was, until you found him at your doorstep one hot summer day.
you and your mother swore it was the hottest day to see district 12, and you sat on the porch in a small, lace trimmed top and cut-off jean shorts. your hair was carelessly tossed into an updo to relieve your neck of some heat, and you sat in your fathers old chair as you sipped on some juice your family had been given earlier that day.
you weren’t expecting any visitors that day, so it was safe to say you nearly choked when the man appeared from behind the path of thrush that hid your small home from sight of the church, dressed only in the blue dress pants of his peacekeeper uniform and a thin white shirt, silver dog tag swinging like a pendulum across his chest as he made his way towards you. your father had emerged delighted, mr. snow!, he cheered, patting the man- snow, what a fitting name- on his back and urging him inside. you scrambled to the backdoor and into the kitchen where your mother rest, the door slamming behind you loudly as you entered, causing her to jump.
“dear?”
“that man daddy’s talking to- who is he?”
she gave you a halfhearted shrug, “i wouldnt know, pumpkin, it’s probably business with your father. he goes to the church, no?”
you nodded, pacing back and forth, ignoring the crazed look your mother threw at you as you processed the information.
“do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” she reminded you, and your jaw dropped at the silent accusation she threw at you.
“absolutely not, mother!” you stormed back out the door, drowning your mother’s laughter out with frustrated mumbles of has she lost her mind? and what a woman! how she could ever think something about snow was tempting you was beyond your understanding. however, when you made it back to your chair and your watered down glass of juice, the sight of a shirtless ‘mr. snow’ and your, otherwise fully dressed, father in the garden, dripping sweat shamelessly into your mothers vegetable patch, a snap thought breached your mind that perhaps there was something tempting about the mysterious man.
that sent you into a frenzy. your knee bounced anxiously as you silently begged god to forgive you for the thought, and that it was simply intrusive, and not reflective of the morals and high grounds you held closely to your heart. nervously, you grabbed the book you had abandoned weeks ago and shoved your nose into the pages as if to distract yourself from your own brain and its wicked ministrations.
you weren't sure of how much time had passed, yet it felt like the man's stay was suspiciously short as he and your father made their way inside. you gave him a curt nod, and your father gave you a small lecture about manners, insisting that the two of you become accustomed to one another. and there you were, legs drawn up to your chest as if to protect yourself from the sinful looking man before you.
“my name is coriolanus snow,” he said. coriolanus. it was unlike any name you’d heard before. you returned the gesture softly, hoping that he would disappear behind your father into the house and you could breathe again, but he stayed and stared at you with that look, “your father tells me we’re the same age. he’s a nice man.”
you bit your lip at that. the same age? there was something about coriolanus that seemed older. it also begged the question: what was someone his age doing as a peacekeeper? you opened your mouth to pry at him, but he cut you off, stepping closer.
“tell me, dear, what sins weigh in your heart?”
you drew yourself back further into the safety of your chair, face laced with disgust as you tried as hard as possible to distance yourself from the imposing man now caging you into your confinement. his breath was heavy on your nose, and your heart pounded harshly- from what, you weren’t sure. fear? a sense of danger? temptation? his lips were so close to yours now, you could smell the faint scent of cologne that mingled with the saltiness of his sweat, and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible, feigning indifference to his proximity to you poorly.
“i dont know what you mean, mr. snow.”
he smiled at that, laughing lowly. he didn’t expect you to know what he meant, of course, but he had an inkling that if he played his cards just right, he’d have you right where he wanted. he leaned closer now, lips dodging yours, lightly brushing your nose as his head turned to whisper in your ear.
“do you think of me at night? our little chase?”
“wh-what?”
“you’re smart, miss. think about it.”
he disappeared into the house, bidding goodbye to your mother and father and whisking himself away. your mouth remained parted, eyes wide with confusion as you tried to process what his words could have meant.
surely, he couldn’t mean..
no. absolutely not, you decided. coriolanus may have unsettled you ungreatly, but he was a peacekeeper- and your father had always told you that they served to protect you, that they would never harm you purposely. you stood shakily and made your way quietly into the old house, reeking of old wood and boiled vegetables. you sat on the couch near your brother, holding his head to your chest as you stroked his hair comfortingly, still trying to process. from the kitchen, your father called, “he’s a nice boy, no? perhaps he could be of some influence to you, sweetheart.”
you agreed meekly, despite disagreeing with your father completely. you werent entirely sure what he saw in the man at all, yet you were adamant that he was, in fact, not a good influence, but a parasite. you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. he made you feel unsafe- unsure of yourself, and for some reason, your faith. you decided he was no good; but yet you couldnt make any understanding of the bittersweet ache between your thighs.
when coriolanus walked home that evening, he couldn’t fight his smile. he saw you, in all his glory, struggling pathetically under his gaze, squirming and fidgeting uncontrollably as he trapped you within the cage of his arms.
the sacrificial lamb has been caught, he thought.
what a stupid, stupid lamb.
౨ׅৎ
you rushed into church near 5 am the next day, sleep deprived from the constant running of your mind and the damned words of coriolanus snow.
“our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” you repeated to yourself, kneeled below the large wooden crucifixion of jesus, hands clasped tightly together, your head resting painfully against the white of your knuckles.
what you were praying for, you didn’t know. you couldn't go to the confessional- heavens forbid, no. confessing secrets of your dreams of coriolanus’s hands, the outline of his jaw, the way he whispered his sinister words so sweetly into your ear- to your father? you would rather be hanged for the whole district to see. there was nothing sinful about your dreams, exactly, but it felt sinful, dirty, downright hellish. you thought of his lips, the soft and pink flesh of them, the stormy blue of his eyes- and, oh god, you couldn't stop replaying his words in your head.
‘do you think of me at night?’ he had asked you so earnestly. as if he needed you to tell him yes, you did think of him, every night. it wasn't a lie, of course, only the way you had begun thinking about him had changed. but that wasn't your doing at all, was it? no, he was to blame, for speaking to you like that, for dangling his dog tag so close that it brushed your cross indecently, for showing up to your house and stripping himself half naked, sweating impurely over the soil you and your mother sowed and reaped with love, with innocence, purity. it was entirely his fault, from the way he seemed to be forcing himself into your life. the church door creaked open, and you continued to pray, “give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
your heart raced as footsteps neared closer, as if you knew exactly who they belonged to.
“what troubles you, little lamb?” his voice took you with fear, the way it rumbled in his chest and reverberated on the walls confining the two of you, alone. you raised your head, refusing to look back at him, “i do believe that's none of your concern, mr. snow.”
you heard him chuckle lowly, repeating the words mr. snow to himself under his breath. it made you shiver, and you recited the bible verses your father drilled into your head from as young as you could remember: vindicate me, o god, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation; rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.
you could feel him now, knee pressed lightly against your back. you stood up and turned to face him, eyes wild and daring as they searched the azure maze of his own. his hand reached to stroke your hair, and you flinched.
“why is it that you fear me so much, do you think?”
“i’m not afraid of you.”
he tsked, “‘fear’ is different than ‘being afraid’, darling. to be afraid is a fleeting moment. your brain's immediate response towards danger,” he moved to touch your hair again, now more forcefully, tucking the loose strands along your hairline behind your ear.
keep back your servant also from willful sins.
he continued, “i asked, why do you fear me?”
you tried to search deeper into his eyes, trying to grasp any understanding at what he was trying to communicate to you. your mind ran amok, and it was no help that coriolanus's hand now snuck its way into your fingers, fidgeting with the soft digits mindlessly.
“i don't.. i don't know-” he cut you off by stepping closer before you finished. you had wanted to tell him that you didn't know why he thought you feared him, that you didnt understand the question, and that you needed to get home soon, so to please excuse you.
“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”
you let out an involuntary laugh, giggling childlishly at the accusation. you stopped, when his eyes darkened.
“i’m sorry, mr. snow, but i really don’t know what you mean!” you were struggling to contain your girlish giggles. what he imposes between me and god? it was such a bizarre statement, so plainly laid out for you, that you couldn’t even comprehend it entirely. your laughing ceased, for good now, when his hand circled tightly around your wrist.
let them not have dominion over me.
then i will be upright.
“i’m not stupid, love. i saw you, yesterday, practically drooling over me. i wonder what your father would have to say if he saw the sinful way you ogled at me,” he paused, and you swallowed painfully, “and dont tell me you’ve forgotten all about our little chase, hm? wasnt it exhilarating?” now, panic engulfed you. you tried to back away from him as the pieces etched themselves together in your brain, but his hold on your wrist was only getting tighter.
“that was you?” your voice was impossibly small, weak from the alarm that blared in your head. your eyes darted back and forth desperately, searching for an out, hoping and praying that someone might burst in and see the scene before you, tear hades away from his persephone and save her from her impending doom.
i will be blameless and innocent of great transgression.
he dipped his head to your neck, lips deliciously grazing over the supple skin of your collar bone, pressing kisses so light you could barely feel them as you tried to wriggle from his grasp.
“of course it was me, darling,” the way you felt him smile against your skin was chilling, and you fought back tears as he moved impossibly closer to you, “isn’t that adrenaline rush just addicting? tell me, dove, what do you think about me when you lie in bed and replay our precious little moments together in that pretty head of yours?”
your breathing quickened, and you winced as coriolanus gripped tighter at your wrist, his other hand painfully gripping the small of your waist, massaging the gentle muscle of it. you could feel his entire body pressed against yours, and a tear threatened to slip when you felt the hard pressing of his lower region on your stomach. you shook your head, refusing to give in to his line of questioning, but his grip on your waist tightened and you cried out in pain, “your hands!” you whined, relief slowly making its way to the sore area of your waist as he loosened his grip. he made to grasp your chin under his index, forcing you to keep eye contact with him and urged you silently to keep going.
“your..” you let out a shaky sigh, “your h-ands, your voice, the words you speak to me. i don't understand why.”
he cooed at you now, as if proud of you for speaking up. your eyes darted to his lips, and you saw something flash in his eyes, “anything else?”
let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight,
lord, my rock, and my redeemer.
you tried to look down at your feet as if to run away from the question, but his hold on your chin was unrelenting. shamefully, you whispered, “your lips.”
he let out a small ahhh, as if the admission shocked him. he knew, of course. of course he knew. you poor thing. sweet, little lamb, so innocent and pure. untouched by lust, blind to its deceptive allure. he knew from the moment he’d gone after you in those woods and failed to catch you, that he would do everything in his power to make sure you would never escape his grasp again. he knew when his frail attempts at getting closer to you failed, he had to resort to a harsher solution. he needed to infiltrate every space you breathed in, and break his was into your mind until he had you right where he needed you to be: malleable, so he could corrupt you just as easy.
he knew your father protected you, the extent to which he went to protect you, as well. banning sex education in your school, ensuring your mind stays as pure as possible to the exploits of fickle men and their wants. you knew the basics, thanks to your mother and her worrisome self, but her teachings were meddled down into some confusing allegory that left your mind as clueless as before, so that you stayed intact, perfect and pristine in the lords eye as well as the rest of the district, in your white frilly dresses, light makeup, and perfectly crafted manners.
he knew how easy it would be to get in your head. the human body is funny, like that, wherein it begs for things it doesn’t know of. he knew when he flexed his hands you caught sight of it, when he swallowed you intently watched the way his adams apple bobbed, he knew when he showed up to your home and stripped himself almost bare it would plague your mind with an unknowing want and desire, and soon enough, you’d have no choice but to give in to it, abandon your god and his lessons for coriolanus alone.
he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, swiping his thumb across yours as if to mirror himself, and then ducked his head closer, “go on.”
you squeezed your eyes shut. everything felt so, so wrong, and you didn't know why, but you couldn't stop. when he continued to toy with your lip, slightly plunging the tip of his finger past them and into your mouth, you let out an involuntary, small moan, and your legs shook and quivered as the strange ache from yesterday returned.
“wh-what?”
“kiss me.”
your eyes widened, and you shook your head. coriolanus thought it was adorable, how you struggled to piece together what was about to happen, how your brain tried desperately to fill in the blanks with information it didnt know. you heard coriolanus sigh disapprovingly at your protests and he shoved his thumb further into your mouth, causing you to choke. he removed it, then wiped the saliva that remained over your bottom lip before inserting the digit in his mouth, tasting you.
“its okay, little one. you can kiss me. he wont mind,” you didnt realize your fingers lingered over the necklace nestled on your chest, and your gaze followed his finger as he gestured upwards. he wont mind. you racked your brain over the things coriolanus said to you from he entered the church.
“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”
now, you truly hoped someone would burst in, and you could scream and wail as you explained the horrors coriolanus was about to commit to you (even if those horrors were unclear). he was so close, and something still pressed hardly against your stomach, and suddenly you couldn't breathe, “he would mind. i promise to pray for you coriolanus, i don't know what troubles you, but the lord-”
he cut you off by shoving his lips onto yours harshly, groaning at the contact. his hands made their way to rest on your clothed breasts, and you wriggled and struggled to try get away from him, but your efforts were fruitless. you were cornered, now. a lamb with nowhere to run or hide, forced to face its fate. he ravaged your lips, hands restless as they caressed all over your protesting body. the ache between your legs grew, and a small part of you realized that the last thing you wanted right now was for someone to walk in, and see the preacher's daughter being completely defaced by a peacekeeper.
“your god cant give me what i need, angel. cant you see? you did this to me,” his hand grabbed yours as he pulled away to speak, trailing it down the hard muscle of his abdomen and palming the hardness that threatened to burst through the seam of his pants. your eyes were wide and doe-like, and coriolanus never needed to fuck you more. his lips met yours again, and his other hand fumbled to remove his pants, hissing when the air hit his straining cock, all while you tried your best to distance yourself from him as much as possible. your face was hot, and your hands remained in the air, unsure of where to rest them, as you slowly allowed coriolanus to slip his tongue into your mouth.
“good girl,” he practically growled, and you let out a pathetic squeak when you felt your core tighten, pleasure washing over you at the small praise. coriolanus was turned on beyond conception, moaning disgracefully as he stroked himself through the fabric of his underwear. if you could see the spectacle the two of you were making, in the middle of church- no less, the thought alone had coriolanus close to the edge. you gasped when you saw him palm himself, and without thinking, your hand brushing his ever so slightly, lingering a second too long before his eyes snapped up at yours, pleading you to go ahead and touch him.
when you finally pressed your hand to his clothed region, you swore the way coriolanus threw his head back with a small mewl and moan would land you an eternity in hell alone.
“thats it, baby, jus’ like that.. keep going..” you gasped when his hand sneaked its way under your dress- your sunday best- your hand faltering a bit when his long middle finger lightly grazed your clothed cunt. the foreign feeling it elicited from you had you desperately searching coriolanus’s eyes for an answer, unable to speak as his fingers that toyed with the most intimate parts of you had you moaning softly and lowly, uncontrollably. you continued to palm him, and his hand slipped into the lacy cotton of your panties, cursing hotly under his breath when he feels you.
“so wet for me. you dirty fucking girl, look at you: making a mess in church.” you didnt know what he meant, but shame burned through your skin. confusion grappled at you and you began to sob, not ignoring the way your tears seemed to make coriolanus throb beneath you, “please stop, coriolanus, this is immoral.”
“baby, if it feels good, then it cant be bad,” he stroked the tear stains on your cheek softly, cupping your face with false earnest as he pulled your head to lay on his chest, “does it feel good?”
coriolanus reveled in the way you looked up at him, like a devoted follower in the arms of their saviour. when you nodded slowly, he gently spun you around and shoved your face into the cool wood of the crucifixion behind you, his hand painfully pushing against your cheek enough so that you couldn't look anywhere but above you, into the sad eyes of jesus.
your panties were ripped off with a shriek that was muffled by coriolanus’s hand around your mouth, and you sobbed as pain mixed with pleasure as he gave a few slaps to your dripping cunt, mumbling about how pretty it is. in a desperate attempt to wiggle out of your new position, you accidentally arched your back further, giving him more access.
“let me show you how i can love you,” he whispered into your ear, before returning his fingers to the slick mess that coated your cunt, your body jolting when they occasionally brushed over your clit, the unfamiliar sensation already too overwhelming for you to handle. with a few more agonising strokes of his fingers, he prodded at your hole, teasing your entrance in a way that had your eyes roll to the back of your head. when he finally slipped them in, your hand pounded desperately against the cross you were pressed up on, pleads to stop falling pathetically into the hand of coriolanus and onto deaf ears. he was merciless with it, greedily pounding his fingers into you in a way that had your knees gravitating towards each other and animalistic grunts of pleasure vibrating through his hand.
something in you burned, your body was pleading for more as an unfamiliar coil formed in the pit of your stomach. your hand continued to bang against the cross, tears falling as you forcibly peered into the eyes of your saviour while you got your cunt ravaged in the middle of his shrine.
“oh god, oh god” you mumbled through his hand. you were unsure if it was shame, or the delicious way coryo pumped his fingers into you, but you grew lightheaded and dumb, eyes hazy as you grew closer to your release.
“thats it, take it. you’re filthy, taking my fingers so well in the middle of church.” now, both hands scraped desperately against the cross, leaving marks in the wake of your fingernails digging into the hardwood. coriolanus tugged your head further up, forcing you to stare at him with tears streaming down your face and desperate pleas for him to stop going unheard. he smiled coyly when he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, and he withdrew them just before you reached your release, a loud, agonising whine of relief and desperation leaving your smushed lips. he was quick to replace his fingers with his cock, the slow intrusion of it making you let out a low, droned out groan as he stretched your virgin cunt past its limit.
he removed his hand from your mouth, and a string of prayers tumbled out of it, “o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended thee,” and “and i detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend thee, my god, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” it earned you a slap to your ass, and you cried out loudly as coriolanus shoved your dress off of you, watching as it fell uselessly around your legs into a pool of white. he flipped you around, admiring your soft breasts and the way they spilled over in the hold of his fingers, and he traced the soft, plumpness of your belly as he chuckled lowly at your continuous prayer. with his cock still nestled into you, he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.
“god loves you, but not as much as i do,” and then he thrust his cock into you with such force that you nearly tumbled to the floor. his hand rest on your lower back, forcing you to arch closer to him, your hips meeting his unwillingly at his fast pace. coriolanus’s cock grazed the inside of your gummy walls perfectly, and you found yourself slipping from reality as he continued to pound his dick into you, moaning when you contracted around him without rhythm, your inexperienced self almost overloaded with pleasure, unable to control your body.
“you’re being such a good girl, taking my cock like this,” he weaved a hand through your hair, “‘n you’re gonna let me cum inside you, yeah? gonna make a woman out of you.” you couldnt focus on the words he was throwing at you, lost in pleasure as the tip of coryo’s dick hit that one spot over and over again. the way he spoke to you had you at a crossroads, and it didnt help that he was fucking you into oblivion, and now you understood what he had meant when he said he imposed between you and god, because you were becoming addicted to the push and pull of his cock inside of you.
“thats right, take it. you look so pretty all dumb and fucked out on my cock,” you reached to grab his arm to steady yourself, your orgasm creeping in closely, “you gonna cum for me?”
you didn't know what it meant, but you nodded anyways, completely lost in bliss, “coryo..” you moaned out, his brows raising slightly at the new nickname, a smirk settling on his face. moans and mewls lewdly left your mouth as he quickened his pace, his unused hand massaging at your tits, twisting and pinching softly at your nipples as you thrashed with pleasure under him.
“gonna make you worship this fucking cock, baby” he was close himself now, his head falling and his voice itching up an octave, lewd moans clashing with yours as the rhythm and pace he set began to falter, and he fucked you as hard as he could as he chased your high and his own, “gonna make you devoted to me. you’re never gonna wanna be away from me again,” his face twisted with pleasure, and you circled your arms around his neck as you tried to ground yourself, the coil in your stomach slowly beginning to unravel and threatening to snap. a shadow passed, and your eyes widened with terror as you slapped coryo’s arm haphazardly, begs falling from your mouth to stop. he turned his head lazily to look at what you were whining about, but his thrusts didn't stop.
“let them see what a dirty fucking girl you are.”
your walls tightened and your eyes rolled so far back into your head you were scared they wouldn't come back up as your orgasm reached you. you covered your mouth, shrieking desperately as the shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, the newfound feeling unrelenting as it took over every part of your body. coriolanus repeated words of encouragement and praise as he fucked you through your high, before bottoming out and releasing his load in you, christening your walls. you whined at the feeling, so full and drunk off of it that your concerns of the passerby faded. the both of you stood there, panting heavily, both groaning when coryo slid out of you. he slapped his tip on your puffy clit one, two, three times, before a loud knock rapped on the church door.
you could feel coriolanus’s spill leaking out of you as you crouched on your knees, hidden, and you cried silently, the reality of what had just happened to you settling in. coriolanus snow had corrupted you, in the worst possible way, and now you could only feel yourself crave more of him. as he spoke to the intruder, egging them to run along, a thumb caressed your head gently, as if to tell you he had everything under control. the small southern drawl he’d begun to pick up was more prominent. when the intruder finally left, you were forced to your feet, and coriolanus grabbed your ruined panties, resting on his knees below you to shove them into your used cunt, before making his way back to his feet, towering over you. he spoke to you like he would if he were on duty:
“you go on home now, miss. and tell your father i say hello.”
and you did.
౨ׅৎ
@dumbsoftheart, 2023
#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus x you#coriolanus snow smut#tbosas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes
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religious trauma with leon kennedy, dash of smut; no minors, afab.
- leon and you basically grew up together in the catholic church. unfortunately for the two of you, you grew up in a very obsessive and scary way of religion. basically it's religious ocd and intrusive thoughts.
- leon became a cop wanting to help people while you became a something equal to him. leon and you have a constant fear of god. you two are useless virgins who just want to please god.
- when the events of raccoon city happened, leon thought he betrayed god for not helping people, and he was having to suffer the nightmares for his sins. he was having night terrors of the devil. he was weeping and he had to call you.
- two traumatized religious people are praying for leon, for the arcangel michael to protect leon from the devil and the arcangel gabriel to heal his mind. oh, they are horrible in the sense of way.
- leon and you cuddle and leon feels safe.
- you temporarily live with him and go to church. something is happening between you two, it was pure angst of leon crying and you consoling him. he sees you as his angel and he hates himself.
- but you notice something different. it took time and you ask him, "during the... raccoon city tragedy, a woman kissed me." leon looked nervous to mention it. "i temporarily let my lust win." you looked shocked. "the mercenary?" leon...
- you press the cross on his forehead as you sat on his lap, "leon..." leon accept his scolding, his eyes closed and felt good. "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among..."
- something snapped in leon, he adored this scolding, but he hated how he felt cock twitch. you pressed the cross closer to him. "you were in hell." you whispered softly. leon nodded his head, he couldn't agree more. tears poured in his eyes, he couldn't control himself. "help me."
- you pushed him to the couch, leon was panicking as tears appeared more and more. his mind was being desired by the devil laughing. "please, please," leon sobbed softly, "god help me."
- you muttered softly a prayer as you prayed over and over. leon wasn't even thinking about anything, his hand twitched. did god hate him? why did his cock ache? you tie his hands with his rosary, leon groaned weakly.
- you began to panic. his noises, his cries- they made your heart flutter.
- adam and eve. leon was eve and you were adam. leon had tasted the sin and now you were crawling. this was a new feeling. tears formed in your eyes.
leon's cock was the prettiest shade of pink you have ever seen. leon and you didn't know what to do, his arms were tied with the your rosary. his arms twitched, his biceps tensed up and so did his pecs. holy god, he looked beautiful as weeped. his cock was leaking his cum, tears over and over of his seed. sex isn't for pleasure, it's only for procreation yet why did you and him need it.
your cunt felt that unfamiliar feeling. god! oh, heavenly father you needed to feel it. your hand gently touched his tip and leon whined weakly. his cheeks were red, his eyes were closed. they were going to hell. you closed your own eyes as you took off your lower clothes.
your cunt was wet and needy. "leon..." your eyes opened, "i don't know..." leon's hips buckled a bit, you noticed how pretty his body was. his black shirt was up to his tummy, his well defined body made you so stupidly weak. his happy trail... his cum.
you gently grabbed his cock and pressed his tip around your folds. leon whined louder. his tip was collecting all of your wetness, but when it touched your clit it was your turn to groan. neither you or leon had ever even masturbated. it was sin yet why? why? "leon..." your mind was thinking of hell as his tip found your hole. your cunt clenched pathetically.
leon couldn't even control his hands, his dumb sinful hands were wrapped around your rosary so it was just you slowly going down. it burns! the details of his cock were slowly forming a spot inside of you. your whines became louder. slowly and painfully, you sat on his cock. your mind was rotted, leon had never imagined your cunt to feel so good. tears poors from your eyes. you two were scared of god, every detail of god watching you two, but you couldn't stop.
you carefully took off the rosary from his arms, "i'm-" you were stumbling with your words, "i'm sorry." leon understood. this was new. his hand was on your hip, he was scared ro touch you more despite his needy cock deep in you.
now what?
leon's hand gently moved your hip closer. leon was gasping weakly, he found the code to make this work even more. he felt his heart beating fast as his hips moved up and down. your soft walls of your cunt clenched pathetic. leon won't last long. his other hand grabbed the back of your neck as he gasped weakly. your tears poured from your eyes, you were scared of hell. there was a reason why god made sex feel so good.
your eyes closed, you were trying to connect with god. you needed to apologize to god for having sex with your best friend. leon planted kisses on your jaw and neck and you pressed closer to him to him and leon cummed. you groan weakly, feeling his seed deep in you, but something was bothering you. you were still needy. you didn't cum.
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Your Alex art tends to have a lot of religious references/imagery, since they’re also present in the series. Do you have any thoughts on that topic? Do you have a favorite way to represent Alex?
Holy fuck ok so aside from the obvious biblical references in the series, I’m obsessed w the way it deals with ideas like sacrifice, being “chosen”, and being deserving of salvation/punishment. Definitely projecting but I feel like these alabama guys would’ve had religious upbringings, and specifically Alex’s warped concept of righteousness is very clear in his actions even tho faith has nothing 2 do w any of it.
He basically appoints himself both jesus and judas and I like presenting him not only as a holier-than-thou prick, but also as someone who genuinely sees no other options and sadly but willingly accepts the sacrifices he has 2 make.
#young Alex in church like I was born to be an extension of a higher power and enact its will aw man#alex kralie#drawing#ask#marble hornets
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LOVE ME TWO TIMES, ch. one
(chapter one) (chapter two)
PAIRING: eventual Mungrove x Reader
SUMMARY: Struggling to come to terms with the abrupt abandonment of your father, you’re left with two options – attend an “all girls’ therapeutic boarding academy” that’s really more Bedlam Insane Asylum than trusty reformative school, or move half-way across the country to a small town in Indiana to live with your older brother, Rick. The upheaval of your life in Fresno might just end up being a little star-crossed and a whole lot serendipitous.
WORD COUNT: 3.5k+
SERIES TAGS: angst. some pretty heavy topics in later chapters. just enough fluff to hopefully balance it all out. eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI). eventual love triangle. neurodiversity. dom/sub undertones (dom!Billy, switch!Eddie, switch!Reader), also bi!Eddie and bi!Reader but confused!Billy. drugs and drug addiction. no use of Y/N (but much use of nicknames and pet names). Reefer Rick is Matthew Lillard circa Senseless. more TBA as the story progresses.
CHAPTER TAGS: absent dads and mean moms. brief mention of self-destructive tendencies (way more about that later). your brother's a total cockblock. long-winded parental background information. this is really just some stage setting before we get into the nitty gritty.
A/N: this is my favorite fic i've ever written, and now it's coming at you re-edited. it's my verbose word child, sprinkled with a few What The Fuck and Holy Shit moments, dolled up with some silly humor and a dose of hot (and often borderline depraved) smut. a lot's already planned for this, so i hope you enjoy. :-)
—
chapter title: O Brother, Where Art Thou?
You weren’t expecting the high pitch of the doorbell that sounded throughout your colonial-style home, and proof of that was now spilled all over the kitchen floor.
Tiny green buds were sprinkled across the white-and-black linoleum tile, some scattered in the blonde mess of curls that belonged to the boy kneeling before you, his mouth busy between your legs.
You’d been attempting to multitask, rolling a joint while twisted awkwardly at the dining table, the quarterback’s head shrouded by your bare thighs, lapping noisily at your wet center.
You huffed out a frustrated sigh at the spillage, but it quickly turned into a moan when goldilocks gave a particularly harsh suck on your clit.
“You needa get that?” he mumbled against your folds, tongue halting its assault only to speak before diving back in, showing no intention of stopping.
You shook your head, one hand moving to tangle in the his hair, the other crumbling up the now empty and useless rolling paper. “Uh-uh… prob’ly just some Mormons,” you answer, beginning to rock your hips up into the warm mouth covering your cunt. “I don’t wanna be saved.”
Chris… or Carl… or Craig… whatever his name was, laughed, the sound vibrating nicely against your heat. Your toes curled at the sensation, thighs wrapping tight around his ears.
He moaned appreciatively at your movement, running his tongue flat against the length of your opening. Maybe you could keep this one around. He liked New Kids on the Block unironically, but holy shit, he knew what to do with his mouth.
The bell rang again.
And then again, and again, and again.
“Oh, little seeeee-eeee-ster!” came a familiar male voice from the other side of the front door. “I know you’re in there, Bean. I can see your shadow in the kitchen!”
You shot up straight, aligning your posture and pulling Chris Carl Craig from between your legs by the grip you had in his hair. He gave an unappealing whine, his fingers moving up to console his scalp.
Standing quickly, you adjusted your pleated skirt so it fell normal again, just above your knees. “Up, up, up,” you impatiently urged the jock still kneeling on the ground, smoothing your clothing and hair to make sure nothing looked too out of place.
“Who is that?” the blonde asked, finally following you into a standing position, large hand still cradling his head. “Still the Mormons?”
“It was never Mormons, Chet,” you said, hoping your shot-in-the-dark guess at his name was right.
It wasn’t.
“It’s Chad,” he said, eyes beginning to narrow. Whether it was in suspicion, confusion, annoyance, or a combination of all three, you didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. You needed to get him out of here without your new visitor catching sight of him, or else you knew you’d never hear the end of it. Chad was still intent on conversing, though. “We’ve literally been in the same school district since, like, kindergarten.”
You bit your lower lip, offering a sheepish smile. “Right,” you said. “I know that.” You didn’t. “Sorry. Head’s a little loopy right now. Your tongue could win awards.”
With Chad’s newfound cocky grin, you knew the flattery angle had worked out. It usually did. Boys were such suckers for some ego stroking.
“Oh, fuckin’ right!” you heard from the front door, the visitor’s voice now cheerful. The door handle began to jangle, and you heard the sound of a key in the lock.
He must have found the spare. Of course he had. He’d only lived here his entire childhood, just like you.
The key had been in the same place it always had been since moving to Fresno -- under the coir doormat that read Definitely Not a Trap Door, courtesy of your father. He’d made it for the family after moving from Chicago to California for his new teaching position at CSU in ‘70. Your mom still hadn't gotten around to throwing it out, even though she’d managed to get rid of almost everything else inside the home that reminded her of her ex-husband.
The door swung open and there stood your older brother in all his punk rock, Fuck-the-Bourgeoisie glory. Short bleached blonde hair, numerous facial piercings, ripped Dead Kennedys t-shirt, tight red tartan pants, muddy black Doc Martens. He was smiling wide, dopey.
Fuckin' Rick.
You started to match his expression, unable to resist your brother’s effortless and childlike charm, but your smile fell flat when Rick’s now disapproving gaze landed on the blonde still standing at your side.
“A Letterman, Bean? Really?” Rick asked you incredulously, having spotted Chad’s football jacket as the jock in question slid it from its place on the kitchen chair to rest over his broad shoulder.
“What?” you asked Rick coyly, quickly eyeing Chad. “You know I don’t discriminate. I’m a true equal opportunist.”
Chad seemed oblivious to the underlying context of the conversation between the pair of siblings. He was watching the two of you interact with seemingly nothing behind his eyes.
God, so cute but so totally stupid.
You closed the distance between the two of you, Chad looking hopeful he was going to be kissed or something, but you instead reached your hand out to pluck a few pieces of weed from his hair. “You can go now,” you told him, finger tapping his nose lightly.
Chad’s face scrunched at your touch but he then shrugged it off, picking his backpack up off the kitchen floor before making his way to the front door. “See ya at school,” he said to you over his shoulder. Stopping briefly next to your brother, Chad assessed him before saying, “Um, bye, whoever you are.”
Rick pulled his lips into a tight line, raising his brows in amusement. He clapped his hand hard on Chad’s back a few times before pushing the footballer out the door. “Later, loverboy.”
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
An hour and a half later, you and Rick were seated on opposite ends of the tufted tuxedo sofa in the living room. A box of half-eaten extra cheese pizza laid open in between the two of you.
Some low budget horror VHS was playing on the TV across from the couch, the volume low. You thought it was called Ghoulies. You kept catching glances of tiny, ugly wet looking monsters scurrying on the screen out of your peripheral.
You’d been talking to Rick about senior year at Fresno Central High (you said you were doing great, straight A’s across the board, but in reality, you were failing everything but English and Music).
You'd been talking about work at Spins and Needles, the record store you’d been employed at for a little over two years now (you told him you’d gotten promoted to Assistant Manager, which was true, but you left out the fact that you were on Strike Two of Three for blowing off shifts to get high with some goth kids that routinely came in a few hours before closing).
And you'd been talking about your mom (this you were honest about – “She’s still a huge bitch, Rick, that hasn’t changed”).
But then he tried to bring up your dad, asking in an obnoxiously forced nonchalant tone if you’d heard from him lately.
But then he tried to bring up your dad, asking in an obnoxiously forced nonchalant tone if you’d heard from him lately.
That’s where you stopped him.
You were not going to talk about your dad.
Flipping the pizza box lid shut harshly, you sat up straight and faced him.
“Why are you really here?” you demanded.
Rick sighed, defeated.
He knew you’d catch on soon enough that this supposed innocent visit was actually a planned mission. He’d just been hoping maybe you’d be the one to breach the topic of going back to Indiana with him. Maybe you wanted out of this Californian hellhole. A chance at a fresh start, hundreds of miles away.
But he knew you recently had developed a penchant for self-destruction and self-catastrophizing, which meant getting you to see the bright side and the positives of his request was going to be near impossible.
Still, he had to try.
“Mom called me,” he admitted, which earned him a dramatic eye roll from you. “I know you’re failing your classes. I know your boss has been blowing up the landline wondering why you keep closing up shop so early. And I know mom’s a bitch. I’m trying to save you from her. She said she’s thinking of enrolling you into St. Mary’s.” Rick wasn’t surprised at the bewildered scoff you gave to that, St. Mary’s being Indiana’s notorious Catholic boarding school for wayward girls. He’d finally gotten to the point, the real reason he was there: “Come stay with me in Hawkins, Bean.”
“Wow, Rick, so noble. It only took you, what, ten years to come back for me?”
Rick couldn’t help but flinch, your wounding words accusing. And accurate.
It was true.
Rick, at twenty, had left Fresno in an old RV he’d bought for dirt cheap, with plans to travel the country and get the fuck away from his parents, Ronald and Maureen Lipton.
Or, away from his mother, really.
Ron Lipton was generally fine -- until a certain point in his life. To outsiders, the man seemed to be very happy and very put-together, successfully established in both his home life and his career.
Ron and Maureen had gotten married just a few short months following their high school graduation, after finding out Maureen was pregnant with Rick.
With the draft ever present, Ron enlisted in the army, while Maureen enlisted the help of her mother-in-law to take care of Rick (and eventually you, once you were born, conceived on one of Ron’s short stints back home), so she could work on her doctorate in psychiatry.
After being honorably discharged a handful of years later, Ron had gotten his Master’s degree in education and creative writing.
To the public, Ronald and Maureen Lipton were fantastic at keeping up the facade of Perfect Suburban Family.
In private, however, the Lipton household was like living in a layer of Hell.
Where Ron was imaginative and endlessly inquisitive, instilling a love of storytelling and curiosity in his children, Maureen was passive aggressive and judgemental, harboring jealousy for the relationship her children had with her husband. This eventually festered a spiteful dynamic between her and Ron, and between her and her offspring as well.
When the two of you were younger, Rick in his late teens and you in your last years of elementary school, one of your favorite backyard games was to wonder aloud to each other how and why your parents had ever even gotten together in the first place.
You were both sure that it must have been an arranged marriage of some sorts.
Rick thought maybe your grandparents had made a deal with the devil, and to ensure the safety of the family, Ronald and Maureen were forced to be betrothed for life.
You thought maybe Maureen was an evil sorceress who had cast a spell on your father, trapping him in a loveless marriage that he was an unsuspecting victim in.
The truth was not stranger than fiction.
The reason behind their nuptials was simple, really: Ronald was raised to believe he needed to provide for his family, and after having knocked Maureen up not only once but twice, he was resigned to the fact that this was his path in life.
Devoted father, loving husband.
While he couldn’t stand his wife, her harshness and indignation usurping any positive characteristics she may have once had, Ron did love his children. Dearly.
Rick was his wild child; his rebellious, rambunctious trouble maker.
Ron would sit on the front porch late at night, waiting for Rick to get home and tell him all about his latest escapades. What parties he’d gone to, what girls he’d kissed, whether he preferred the high from acid or mushrooms more. Ron lived vicariously through his son, encouraging the boy to play hard, but to play hard responsibly.
You were Ron’s Little Leia of Alderaan; his opinionated, open-minded warrior, brave enough to stand up to any bully who’d dare to make fun of you or your friends. You were Ron’s daydreamer, his whimsical muse, his daily reminder that there was still innocent softness in this cruel world.
You would have Daddy Daughter Dates twice a week, where you’d do things like go to the roller rink or have picnics in the park, and they always ended with a two scoop mint chocolate chip ice cream cone shared between the both of you.
But Ron’s love for his life dwindled the second he stepped foot inside his house -- where he was forced to occupy space with his resentful excuse of a wife, a woman who would never miss a beat to berate him for every choice he’d ever made in his life.
With your older brother gone, the squabbles between Ron and Maureen got worse.
Rick had been able to placate his father and put himself in the line of Maureen’s fire, taking her verbal hits so his father didn’t have to. You, being only ten when Rick had left, didn’t have much ground to stand on with your parents arguing, and trying to step in as Rick had would usually only make things escalate.
Ron fantasized about leaving, starting over anew. The immediate and resounding “no” that his subconscious always answered himself with, thinking of the kids, dwindled down over time, until all of his fantasizing led him to making actual plans of departure.
Last year, right before summer break was set to start, Ron finally left.
Having taken PTO from the campus, he’d waited that morning for Maureen to leave for work and for you to be on the bus to school. Alone, he took the time to pack all of his belongings, leaving only a few things behind, all with you in mind -- things to remind you of him in his absence. He’d intended on coming back for you as soon as possible, wanting to settle in somewhere before dragging his daughter into his uprooted life.
But it was over a year now that Ron had been gone, and you could count on one hand the amount of times he’d reached out to you.
You could count them on two fingers, actually.
The first time was the night after he’d left, when he’d tried explaining to you his reasoning, which you weren’t at all interested in hearing. You were beside yourself that he’d left you, just like Rick had, except Rick was your brother and that was normal, but Ron was your daddy and he was supposed to always be there.
Your mother, in anger that Ron would attempt to talk to you and not her, had disconnected the call, and while you waited by the phone all night for him to call back, he never did.
The second and last time he reached out was a few months ago, via letter for your 18th birthday. It was postmarked with an address in Fort Worth, Texas. When you’d tried writing back, you'd found the letter you'd sent in your mailbox a week later, marked Return to Sender.
It was mid-November now, and you hadn’t heard from him since.
At least Rick had kept in touch after he’d left.
He’d sent you care packages every month since arriving to Indiana in '81. They were full of sci-fi and horror books he’d found at the local Goodwill or Salvation Army, newspaper clippings for outlandish Classified segments, scribbled notes on stained notebook paper detailing concerts he’d gone to and new bands he thought you should check out.
Remembering this, you softened quickly after accusing Rick of abandoning, your biting comment causing guilt to swirl in your stomach.
Rick had his reasons to leave, you understood that. He was allowed to live his life. And even though he’d done just that, left and lived his life, he still always managed to keep tabs on you. The two of you hadn’t gone more than a few weeks without letters sent or parcels mailed back and forth since he’d first left home.
Never there, but never gone. Not really.
That was more than you could say for your father.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” you admitted, even though the hurt words you spoke did hold some kernel of truth. “It’s just… I don’t wanna have to start all over somewhere else.”
“It’ll be good for you,” Rick promised, choosing to let the accusation of his abandonment slide. He was sure you'd both get into it more later, considering it was a conversation that was long overdue. “The house is too big for just me anyway, and you know I’m fuckin’ shit at decorating. I’ve basically just been using beer cans for bookends and stuff like that – you could make it look way cozier.”
You laughed, sure your brother wasn’t exaggerating.
Rick was about as anti-capitalist as you could get, and that included being a minimalist when it came to possessions. Give the man a hand-me-down couch, a little TV, some weed, his cassettes, and a subscription to Playboy, and he’d be content for the rest of his life.
You were the opposite.
You loved things.
You had many different collections you’d amassed over the years -- your vast assortment of books had spilled from the two bookshelves in your room to several stacks littered throughout the house, much to your mother's annoyance; your vinyls were shoved into four big storage bins stacked under your octagonal bedroom window, which you draped a blanket over and used as a makeshift window seat nook; your cliques of creepy looking dolls you’d collected from estate sales and antique shops crowded your bed, your vanity, the storage shelf in your closet; the bug assemblages you’d been adding to since your childhood had their own corner of your room, little homes full of ladybugs, ants, and deathwatch beetles.
The idea that you could expand your knack for interior embellishing (hoarding, really) further than the confines of one room was one thing that made you start to consider taking Rick’s offer seriously.
That, and the realization that finally getting the fuck out of Fresno might not be such a bad idea.
Because what did you have there anymore, anyway? Shit grades? A handful of mean exes? A dead-end job?
Was any of that worth staying for?
You thought of your dad trying to reach out to you via telephone, imagined your mother answering and telling him you’d moved away and no longer lived there.
If it were only a few months since Ron had left, you didn’t think you would have gone with Rick back to Hawkins. You would have stayed just for the mere possibility that your dad would show up on the doorstep one day, begging for your forgiveness for leaving you alone with your coldhearted mother.
However, it was over a year now that he’d been gone. One year, four months, and fifteen days... if anyone was counting.
You’d never verbally admit it, but you still were.
There was a page hidden in the back of your diary where you kept track.
Your hopefulness was starting to make you sick.
Maybe a change wouldn’t be so bad.
Going back to Hawkins with Rick sure beat being forced to attend an all girls’ reformatory school, one with a reputation that claimed the headmaster performed shock therapy on students in lieu of giving them detentions.
You were sure that was just a rumor, but still. You didn’t want to take any chances.
“Bean, let me be there for you,” Rick said, reaching over to grasp your hand with his fingers. You noted his nails were painted a lime green. “It’ll be just like when we were kids, except now you’re older and actually cool so I won’t be embarrassed to introduce you to all my friends.” Dipping his head to the side, he wiggled his pierced brows, a grin toying on his lips as he added, “And we can smoke weed in the house.”
Pretending as if that alone was what sealed the deal, you stood swiftly. “Say less. You really should’ve started with that, Richard.” You headed off in the direction of the stairs that led up to your room, glancing over your shoulder at your brother who was staring off after you with a relieved countenance on his face. “Gimme an hour and then we can go?”
Rick answered with two thumbs up before grabbing a slice of pizza, shoving as much as he could of it into his mouth as you disappeared up the spiral staircase.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie x you#eddie x reader#billy hargrove x reader#billy x reader#billy x you#mungrove x reader#mungrove#billy hargrove smut#eddie munson smut
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Solomon/MC - the Pope of Hell
C/W: religious theme, spoilers of the main story up to chapter 5 of the main story.
Note: calling Solomon "Pope of Hell" doesn't mean his dynamic and relationship with the devils are exactly the same with the relationship between the Pope and other Catholics. The same applies in the case of MC, who is Solomon's successor.
To begin, after reading the main story, I started to notice some interesting similarities between the Pope and Solomon, enough to make me write this post from the sentiment of my religious heart.
I. The Keys
Christ Giving the Keys to Saint Peter, fresco, Pietro Perugino, 1481-82.
Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give to thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven. And whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth, it shall be bound also in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose upon earth, it shall be loosed also in heaven.
Matthew 16:18-19 DRB
So we have Christ giving Peter the keys to the kingdom of Heaven. From this very Scripture verses comes the well-known symbol of the Papacy, two crossed keys, one gold and another silver, under the triple tiara. The silver key symbolizes the power "to bind and loose" on earth, while the golden key symbolizes the power "to bind and loose" on Heaven.
Now returning to the lore we are given in the game. It's mentioned that Solomon had 2 "Keys". One Lesser Key he left in Hell, and one Greater Key crafted by God.
Chapter 4, Stage 29 - the Holy Grail of God that Betrayed God
So I began to make a connection between the two images. The Lesser Key with St. Peter's silver key, which symbolizes papal power and authority on earth, which is lesser than Heaven; and the Greater Key with the golden key, which symbolizes papal power and authority on Heaven, which is the greater of the two.
Yes, the devils did mention a "third Key". However, they were only making a hypothesis on Solomon's disappearance. And given the likely reality that Solomon is physical deceased after his disappearance, the third Key probably doesn't exist and there are only two Keys. The fact that there are two key currencies in-game solidifies this theory, at least for now.
Story 4-29
II. The Power to Crown the Emperor
In the game, we know that at the end, MC has to choose one devil among the Seven Deadly Sins and 72 nobles and makes him the "Emperor of Hell", "the king of kings", "the Final Temptation" who will rule all of Hell.
"With your own hands" make me thing MC has to literally put a crown on the head of the devil whom they chose. But that's just my personal theory.
Chapter 1, Story 45 - the Contract is Broken
Now return to history, in the Medieval Age, kings were crowned by a bishop/archbishop of a prominent see in his country on their Coronation Day. However, there's one monarch who has to be crowned by the Pope. That's the Holy Roman Emperor.
Before being crowned by the Pope, the Emperor could not style himself as "Emperor", but only a "king", the exact title being "King of the Romans". Only after the Pope put the imperial crown on their head did the Emperor call himself "Holy Roman Emperor". This remained the case until 1508 when Pope Julius II permitted Maximilian I to use the title "Emperor Elect" with coronation by the hands of the Pope. Before that, like his predecessors before coronation, Maximilian I was only styled "King of the Romans". Even Napoleon knew that and had to get the Pope to officiate his coronation as the Emperor of the French, even though he raised the crown on his head himself.
The difference lies in the fact that unlike the Emperor of Hell, who will rule all the 7 nations of Hell, the Holy Roman Emperor in real life didn't have the power to rule other independent kingdoms in Europe, like France or England. However, being the Emperor, he was the most prominent Catholic monarch across Europe. Still, I believe I have proved the similarity here: Pope crowned an Emperor, MC will also crown one.
III. Tongue
The third similarity I see lies in the traditional way of how Catholics received Holy Communion (or the Eucharist), which is receiving on the tongue. And to do that in a correct way, Catholics need to kneel down and stick the tongue out a little bit.
Maybe it's just me but when I saw the CGs where MC break the contracts with the devils. I immediately thought of this image because I saw some similarities.
To have their contracts broken, the devils also kneel down and stick their tongues out. And if they stick their tongues out to break the contracts, could it be possible that when they first made contracts with Solomon, they also knelt down and stuck their tongues out to receive the pattern, just similar to how Catholics receive the Eucharist in the traditional way?
IV. Relationships with two powerful sides
In the fourth century, the Roman Empire converted to Christianity and gradually abandoning paganism. The Byzantine Empire was the successor of this great empire. The Byzantine Empire was Christian throughout its history. However, on more than one occasions, this empire showed disrespect and even violence to the Pope, the Head of the Christian Church, whom they were supposed to protect and honor. One Pope, St. Silverius was even murdered by the Byzantine conspiracy. Slowly, the Pope knew he couldn't trust or rely on the Byzantine anymore, so he sought help from the Frankish, whose king was Charlemagne, and Charlemagne's successor was the Holy Roman Emperor.
In a similar way, we have the powerful angels hating Solomon for gaining God's favor. They even tried to kill all of his descendants, including MC. As God's messengers and servants, they should have been the ones to protect Solomon and his descendants, but they did the contrary. Now to survive, MC has to rely on the other powerful faction, the devils.
So,
Solomon and MC mirror St. Peter/the Pope/Papacy
Angels mirrors the unfaithful Byzantine Empire
Devils mirror the Frankish/Holy Roman Empire and other Western European kingdoms, by allusion
Another point is that just like the historical relationship between the Pope with the Holy Roman Empire and other Western kingdoms, the relationship between MC and the devils is not always smooth and well. Mammon once thought he was MC's owner at first, just like how kings and Emperors of the West thought they could keep the Papacy under their control, or Leviathan and his Hades nobles kidnapping and trying to kill MC, just like how the Pope was a prisoner and had his life endangered by a particular Western kingdom for a long time and on more than one occasions.
Well, that's all to my ramble (possibly being delulu like Sitri) but thank you for reading it all to the end :3
#what in “hell” is bad?#prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#what in hell is bad#whb#whb solomon#whb theory#whb mc
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much ado about nothing chapter 2 - eren x reader - 18+!!
DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.
welcome back to the much ado universe for our second installment! this chapter is just a lot more yearning and getting to know everyone in the uni, fleshing out the mysterious eren a little more, but there's a treat at the end ;)
@toxrez was kind enough to make some LOVELY fan art of this chapter, please find it linked here i am so appreciative so go send her some love!!!!
specific cws: tee tiny pinch of smut, drug/alcohol use, swearing, historia plotting on your downfall like the meddlesome best friend she is
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“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” - Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare (Act II, Scene 2)
A solid week or two passes and…nothing. You chastise yourself for being disappointed at Eren’s radio silence, especially since you hadn’t exactly given him a way to contact you. He knows Historia has your number, but he hasn’t reached out to get it from her. And why should you expect him to? the annoying, self-doubting voice in your head corrects you every time you dare to hope, you’re not exactly his usual type.
It’s true; since your run-in, Historia’s been busy doing reconnaissance on anything Eren-related she can pick up from the rumor mill. His dating history is a near-blank, but his “hoe history” as Historia lovingly dubs it, is colorful, full of rave girls and bar rats and Instagram models. You’d drank enough that night that it was entirely plausible you had imagined the excited sparkle in his eyes as you rambled on about misrepresentations of theme in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He had come to Scout’s to work after all, not on the prowl for a sex-starved literature student who couldn’t hold her tequila.
The fact was, he wasn’t interested, cemented after your night out to Scout’s on Halloween. Historia had gone to the trouble of dolling you up in an appropriately slutty outfit on the premise that It’s like, one of the biggest party nights of the entire year. There’s no way he’s not going to be there. But, the bar had been devoid of intoxicating cologne and green eyes, and you’d gone home empty-handed and far more drunk than you’d intended to.
The surprise comes a few days after.
You’re sharing a cup of tea with Historia as she paints your toenails on the couch, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly and enjoying the pampering. As you're moving your thumb to like Sasha's Instagram post, Historia reaches for her phone suddenly and knocks the nail polish bottle over, spilling it all over your– again, hand-painted coffee table. After four years with her, you can only contrive a semblance of annoyance; you’re surprised the table even lasted this long with no major casualties.
“Stor!” You scramble for the bottle, righting it, but Historia’s typing madly on her phone, muttering under her breath.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”
“What?” You can hardly contain your impatience, trying to quell the hopeful flutter rising in your chest. Historia bites her lip, grins wickedly at you.
“I told you. I told you.”
“Told me what?”
In lieu of an answer, Historia turns her phone to you. You squint to read the texts through the recently-cracked screen.
> Pregame at my place for min’s birthday tn u in?
> for sure! what time?
> 9ish u know the addy?
> yep! we’ll be there.
> See if ur friend wants to come too.
“Your friend?” you scoff, pushing her phone away in painfully feigned disinterest when in reality, your heart is pounding in your throat.
“That’s you,” Historia wiggles her eyebrows meaningfully, as if you weren’t already aware of the fact.
“I resent that,” you say, picking up your phone to continue your mindless scrolling until Historia snatches it from you, fixing you with a pointed look. “What? He can’t even use my name? What a douchebag.”
“That’s just how boys text,” Historia swats your concerns away. You bite back your scathing reminder that Historia has been a loud and proud lesbian since her teenage years and has no idea how “boys text”. Sure, you might be grasping at straws to hate him, resist the temptation rising in your throat, but you’re determined. He humiliated you once, and he won’t get the chance to do it again.
“We’re not going,” you say at the same time as Historia talks over you: “We’re going.” You scowl.
“We have to,” Historia shakes your shoulders, “he was all over you at Scout’s, not to mention that mysterious eight inch claim.”
“He’s had more than a week to reach out, and this is how he decides to do it? Summoning me through you?”
“Maybe he was too shy,” Historia shrugs, returning to painting your last few toes.
“Eren doesn’t strike me as a guy who’s too chicken to ask for a girl’s number, especially after everything you found out from Ymir.” Historia’s girlfriend may have been a bit on the anti-social side, but she somehow knows everyone and everything. Despite her bristly demeanor, Ymir possesses the god-given art of pulling the juiciest gossip out of complete strangers, and it isn’t a talent any of you have let go to waste over the years.
“He might surprise you,” Historia looks up at you through her lashes, “this is all just to get you laid anyway, so don’t think too much into it.”
You bite your lip, allowing her to work on your toes as you slip into thoughtful silence. If you’re honest with yourself, like, really honest, you’re not the best at “just getting laid”. In college, you were always the one stuck on the giving end of a one-sided situationship, and your only solution when it would inevitably fall through was to start anew with an equally terrible guy.
As you’ve leaned into your graduate years, you’ve been able to avoid your past pitfalls, sleeping with guys who are far enough away from your type to avoid heartbreak but cute enough to catch your interest, a category Eren should fall into. Something about him has you trapped, though, the same way you used to be. He makes your head spin, renders your normally pin-sharp thinking null and void, makes you say stupid, stupid things. Things like:
“Okay, fine. But an hour, max.”
You reflect on your stupid mistake as you stand on Eren’s porch with Historia and Ymir, in another cute-but-not-cute-but-not-trying-to-look-not-cute (or, at least, you think that’s the criteria) outfit of Historia’s choice. Historia had insisted on bringing her girlfriend to leave you free to “couple up” with Eren, but you realize all that means is you’re arriving to a party full of strangers as a third wheel. Great.
As Historia knocks, your stomach erupts in a bout of nervous grumbling. Not only have you forgotten to eat, but you haven’t been to a drug dealer’s party since you were probably nineteen. It’s actually quite a cute little house, homey brick with a red door and a well-kept lawn, not the trap den you’ve been envisioning all afternoon. The scene is eerily quiet, no LED lights shining in the windows, the low hum of music at a reasonable volume bumping through the walls. It’s not what you expected, but then again, you’re still on the wrong side of the door.
“Coming!” A voice— a feminine voice— echoes through the inside of the house, and one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen flings open the door. Just fucking great. “Hi, you guys are…?”
“Historia,” Historia chirps, not thrown off in the least. You smile timidly, trying to absorb some of the confidence that rolls off of her as she introduces Ymir and then you. The girl eyes you in particular but not threateningly, a hint of a smile playing on her face.
“Mikasa,” she opens the screen door, letting you inside, “Eren mentioned that you were coming.”
“Really?” Historia’s friendly grin grows devious, and you pinch her arm behind your back. “Ow!”
“You okay?” Mikasa frowns over her shoulder.
“Yeah, just stubbed my toe.” Historia scowls at you.
You round a corner to the source of the music, feeling a little like you’re going to puke, but you’re pleasantly surprised by the scene in front of you. It’s not a rager, and there’s nothing suspicious out except a handful of red solo cups and a couple of expertly-rolled blunts being passed around hand-to-hand.
Armin offers you a small wave from where he’s parked on a loveseat beside a striking, intimidating-looking blonde woman, failing miserably to flirt with her. Mikasa falls into an armchair beside another pretty brunette who’s wearing some sort of work uniform and an apron; her name tag reads Hitch<3. You faintly recognize the guy hitting the bong, his name might be John, and the dude beside him is one of Sasha’s best friends, Connie, who’s been posted on Barstool an impressive four or five times.
Eren comes strolling out of the kitchen with a half-eaten piece of pizza hanging out of his mouth and holding his phone, which he’s squinting at, away from his face like an old man. He looks so ridiculous you almost snort.
“Would you just get some glasses already, dude?” John coughs, waving the smoke out of his face and passing the bong to Connie.
“‘On’t need ‘emph,” Eren’s words are muffled by the pizza as he disproves his point entirely, moving his phone back and forth in the air until it seems he can finally see it. When he finishes his text, he takes notice of you, pulling the pizza out of his mouth with a crooked grin. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you try to come off nonchalant, but it doesn’t work, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
“This is—“
“I introduced myself while you were stuffing your face,” Mikasa waves him off, leaning in to look at something on her friend’s phone. Eren scowls at her, moving along.
“Hitch,” he points to the name tag girl who offers a friendly wave, “Annie,” the blonde girl beside Armin on the couch, “Armin— well, you know Armin. Jean,” the mullet dude who’s still coughing, “and Connie.”
A chorus of greetings sounds off from around the room.
“Thank god we’ve finally got some more estrogen around here,” Hitch says to your little group, “these guys are insufferable with anything less than an equal ratio.”
Historia laughs, bouncing over to make further conversation and dragging Ymir behind her. You want to throttle her as she situates herself on the leg of the armchair (that’s already squeaking under two people’s weight) because now you’re left alone with Eren, who ducks into the kitchen and returns, holding something out to you.
You recognize the label of the local beer you’d been drinking at Scout’s the night you met, raising your eyebrows in surprise.
“You drink this, right?” Eren squints at the bottle, examining it. “I thought I remembered, but there was a million others at the store that looked just like it.”
“It’s my favorite,” you admit, accepting it from him with a little flutter in your chest. He grins again, toothy and pleased with himself.
“Good. Well, get comfortable, sit wherever, smoke whatever. I’ll be right back,” he holds up his pizza crust meaningfully, and you stifle a laugh. Eren Jaeger, the intimidating drug dealer apparently known around campus for his giant dick, doesn’t eat his pizza crusts. The thought eases your nerves; he may be the gorgeous, bad-news guy you’d flirted with a couple weeks ago, but he’s also a real person.
You follow his instruction, sitting beside Connie, not so close as to give the wrong impression, but close enough to invite a conversation. He offers a friendly hand.
“You’re Sasha’s friend, right?”
“Yeah,” you shake it, “Connie?”
“I’m surprised you remember. I’ve been backpacking through Thailand for the last eight months, thought everyone would’ve forgotten me by now.”
“Backpacking through Thailand?” You’re impressed.
“He’s only bringing it up so he can talk about it some more,” Jean grunts, shooting Connie an annoyed glance.
“I’d love to hear about it,” you say honestly, “I’ve never traveled.”
Connie launches into a detailed story of his flight over, being crammed between two families with crying babies, the different cities he visited, his bout with food poisoning on a twelve hour bus ride on his side trip to Cambodia. He’s funny and energetic, and it soothes you, lets you relax into the couch a little as you listen intently, asking a question here and there. You’re so caught up in his antics you don’t notice Eren sauntering over, plopping down beside you on the couch.
“Are you talking about Thailand again, bro?” Eren groans, wiping a hand over his face. Connie’s face flushes pink as he frowns.
“That’s what I’m saying!” Jean directs his red-eyed glare at Connie.
“Don’t stop him,” you argue, feeling bad as they dogpile on their friend, “I’m listening, Connie.”
Connie smiles gratefully, continuing on as if he hadn’t been interrupted. Eren sighs, resigned to his fate, and settles into his seat to your left, throwing an arm carelessly over the back of the couch, and, coincidentally, around your shoulders. You feel awful because now you’ve lied; you’re not listening to Connie at all, too encapsulated by both the physical and the emotional weight of Eren’s arm around you. No, you reprimand yourself, he’s just getting comfortable. Don’t read into it.
The hour you promised Historia flies by. You’re thoroughly entertained by Jean, Connie, and Eren’s dynamic; Jean seems like a bit of a hothead, bickering with Eren at every opportunity, but Connie balances them out nicely, providing comedic relief at the perfect moments. When you finish your first drink, Eren’s quick to offer you a second and eventually a third, heading off for the kitchen and throwing your one-hour rule right out of the window. One more won’t hurt, you think, especially since you’re actually enjoying yourself. With the lack of distraction, you’re now free to look across the room where Annie, Armin, Historia, Mikasa, and Ymir are all huddled in a circle around a phone. You hear Historia’s drunken giggle and decide to interfere.
“What are you guys doing over there?”
Historia and Ymir exchange an inspired look that makes you sick to your stomach as Eren returns, throwing his arm back over you and peering at the screen in Historia’s hand. “Is that that Truth or Dare app?”
“You know it?” Historia’s eyes sparkle; you can feel it in your bones that’s she’s just concocted a fresh form of torture for you.
“Sort of.” Eren scratches his head, unwitting to the plot you can see unfolding right in front of you.
“Play with us, then!” Historia smiles innocently, beckoning you over. You know better and start to hesitate, but Eren smirks at you.
“What? Too chicken?”
You scowl at him childishly, and turn back to Historia, gesturing to her to bring the game over to the center of the room. You all get re-settled with the new focal point of Ymir’s phone as Historia explains the rules: the phone will pass from player to player, and whoever is holding the phone gets the opportunity to read a truth or a dare prompt to someone in the circle. Simple enough, you think, relieved that Historia won’t have the creative liberty to think of anything humiliating.
“We’re playing the spicy version,” Ymir smirks, “hope you guys don’t mind.”
Fuck. So much for that idea. You try to stay calm under Eren’s arm, praying he doesn’t feel your body tense up.
Historia goes first, daring Connie to reveal his body count. The phone moves to Armin, who has to dare Annie to kiss him on any body part of her choosing, a pink stain erupting on his cheeks when she leans in to peck his nose. The dares progressively get worse until you’re all in stitches laughing at Ymir and Jean tentatively touching tongues, Ymir retching into her hand dramatically afterwards.
“Okay, I’m not that bad,” Jean frowns, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I have an aversion to men,” Ymir hisses, narrowing her eyes. Historia pets her girlfriend’s hair soothingly.
“Down, girl. Go, Armin!”
Armin presses the little rolling dice icon on the screen, and the game chimes as it arrives at its decision. Wide, blue eyes meet yours, and he says your name, asks the question.
“Truth or dare?”
You want to pick truth, take the safe route, but after a couple of drinks and Eren calling you a chicken, you can’t convince yourself to. See, Eren? I can be fun.
“Dare,” you answer confidently. Historia winks at you; you ignore her. Armin reads the screen, the corner of his mouth curling up mischievously.
“It’s daring you to sit on Eren’s lap.”
You blanche. The lap-sitting dare’s already been called several times: Armin himself is reading your dare out from where he’s perched on Hitch’s thighs. But Eren? Surely, Historia rigged it; you look to her in a panic, but her face is simply split into an anticipatory grin. You’re frozen for a beat until Eren shuffles around beside you.
“C’mon then,” Eren grunts, hooking you under the armpits and scooping you up onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your stomach so your ass is pressed firmly into his crotch. You look over your shoulder at him, positive that your eyes are comically wide in surprise; you’ve been able to feel the ripples in his arms through his hoodie all night, but you hadn’t expected him to be so strong. Eren shrugs from behind you, an impish smile on his face. “‘S just a dare. I don’t bite.”
“Don’t believe him,” Mikasa deadpans from across the table, “he’s got rabies.”
That lightens the tension between you, and you exhale an easy laugh, wiggling around on Eren’s lap until you’re comfortable. You hear Eren suck in a sharp breath behind you, low enough that only you catch it.
“You okay? Am I too heavy?”
Eren meets your eyes, almost looking a little startled that you heard him. “No, yeah, m’fine.”
There’s a strain to his voice that wasn’t there before, but you opt to ignore it, hoping you aren’t making him uncomfortable. You have to force yourself to focus on the game and not the heat of his hands sinking through your shirt, unmoving from their station on your hips. The game continues amidst several roaring rounds of laughter: Jean has to “slide his hand up Armin’s thigh suggestively”, Mikasa has to lick Hitch’s neck, Historia has to tell everyone her favorite sex position.
Hitch gets dared to kiss you next, standing and walking to where you sit on Eren, giving you a chaste peck on the lips full of tipsy giggles. Jean, Connie, Eren, and Armin are rendered silent, much to the girls’ amusement.
“Hello?” Mikasa waves a hand in front of Jean’s unblinking eyes; he swats her away irritably. You peek at Eren to see a perverted grin splitting his face; he looks happy as a clam. You pinch his thigh, making him jump.
“Ow! Damn, what was that for?” He rubs his thigh, voice wounded.
“Being a creep,” you say, but the smile twitching at your lips betrays you. Eren’s eyes grow imperceptibly darker, in a private way that feels like it’s just meant for you.
“If you think that’s bad…” he trails off, shaking his head and wrapping his arms against your stomach, snuggling you into his chest. You kick your feet in protest, laughing as you try to shove him off, but Eren’s got you pinned to him, eyebrows raised in amusement at your struggle. He sneaks a hand to your ribcage, digging his fingers in to tickle you. “C’mon, you’re not even trying!”
“Stop, Eren- fuck, that tickles!” You manage to choke out around your furious giggles, worming around in his iron grip.
“Can you lovebirds cut it out?” Jean shoves Eren’s shoulder harshly, nearly knocking you both off the couch. You slide off of his lap, already having fallen halfway off in the struggle, cheeks burning as you come back to the room full of half-strangers and out of the little moment you’ve just had with Eren. You can feel Historia’s eyes burning a smug hole in your forehead. “It’s almost eleven, if we’re going out we need to get moving.”
“Shit, really?” Eren’s still catching his breath, pulling his phone out of his back pocket to check for himself. Sure enough, 10:57 is glaring white on the screen back at him. The past week hits you, and suddenly you’re so tired, unwilling to face Scout’s or wherever they’re planning on going. “Scout’s or Devil’s Paradise? What are you guys in the mood for?”
You feel the permanence of the few drinks you’ve had and the lack of sleep this past week setting in, eyes heavy. “I think I’m probably just going to head home.”
You’re met with a resounding round of protests from the group. Only Eren is there to come to your defense, swinging an arm around you and pulling your ear to his mouth. “Want me to take you?”
He’s only had one beer, safe enough and far preferable to stumbling through the cold streets half-drunk and alone. You nod; you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the exhaustion, but your eyes flutter, and you lean into his embrace.
“I’ll meet up with you guys later,” Eren says, waving his friends out the door; his tone leaves no room for argument. Ordinarily, you’d be embarrassed at the way he speaks for you, but you’re grateful for it now, legs draped over his while the rest of your party files out.
“Text me when you’re home!” Historia calls, she and Ymir making up the caboose of the line that files out of the door in search of more fun to be had. You’re not worried about missing out, content with the warmth of Eren’s body against yours. Once the door shuts, you two sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Eren scrolling on his phone and you drifting dangerously close to sleep, curled into him.
“Ready?” Eren’s inquisition isn’t pressing; he actually sounds more than happy to let you lay here for the rest of the night, let you take advantage of his status as a personal space heater and cuddle up for the next few hours.
“Ready,” you reluctantly sigh, allowing him to pull you to your feet and out the door. You let him practically carry you, leaning on him heavily until he buckles you into his obnoxious muscle car. Eren starts the engine only for metal music to come blaring out of the speakers.
“Fuck!” Eren jumps, scrambling to turn it down. “Sorry.”
You’re so tired you’re barely phased, laughing sleepily and pulling your knees to your chest, making yourself comfortable in the seat. “S’ok.”
The red LED lights lining the accents of the leather inside soothe you, the movement of the car rocking you softly as he pulls out and onto the street, driving you home. This is far too comfortable for a potential one night stand at best, but you’re too exhausted to care, little tidbits of Elizabethan English literature rocketing around in your tired mind. The car ride is short, your head bobbing against the cool windowpane as you watch the streetlights pass by. When you arrive, Eren places a hand on your knee, warming your skin through your jeans.
“Sure you’re okay?” You don’t miss the note of concern in his tone, smiling to yourself.
“Yeah,” you answer, shaking yourself awake as best you can, “I’m fine. Just tired, s’all.”
Eren looks dubious, searching your face. “You don’t seem like the type of girl to fall asleep at the pregame.”
“It’s school,” you admit, “and work. I’ve gotten like six hours of sleep in two days.”
“Want me to walk you up?”
“You don’t have to.”
“That’s not what I asked.” The authority in his voice isn’t something you’ll soon forget, feeding the flames in your core.
“I’m a big girl, Eren, I’ll be fine. I just have to hop through that door,” you point at the illuminated door in the parking garage, “into the elevator, and then third door on the–”
“Left. I remember,” Eren finishes for you, leaning onto the center console. He’s very close to your face, close enough for you to graze your hand over his cheek, which, you do, curiosity and beer outweighing your common sense. Your eyes are wide open now, studying him. You know you’re staring at his lips, too forward for your relationship as it stands, but you’re tipsy and far beyond tired and you can’t help yourself. In the low lighting of the parking garage, he’s gorgeous, eyes almost glowing.
You’re not sure who leans in, but you feel your lips brush together, tentative and shaky. He leans into you further, pressing his lips fully against yours. His mouth is even hotter than his hands were, searing as he kisses you deeper. You can feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, cupping your face and pulling you closer to him. You hate yourself for it, but a little whimper escapes you, pouring into him. Eren takes advantage of your open lips, swipes his tongue against your teeth, and before you know it, he’s pulling you over the center console to straddle in his lap.
He’s not too rough with you, but he’s insatiable, his hands traveling up your back, one landing on the back of your neck to hold you firmly to him and the other gripping your ass through your jeans, drinking you down like he’s a man starved. You nip at his bottom lip, wide awake now and grateful for the slight tint to his windows. Your hands run through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, and it earns you a throaty groan from deep inside his chest, making you smile against his lips.
“You sure you don’t want me to walk you up?” Eren murmurs, mouthing at your jaw. The sound of his voice grounds you a little, and you giggle breathlessly as he brushes over a particularly ticklish spot.
“Told you I’m a big girl,” you whisper, “what do I need you for?”
Eren smirks, dark and dangerous. “Might need me to protect you. Who knows? There’s all sorts of awful guys who would love to take advantage of a pretty little thing like you.”
“Is that so?”
“Mhm,” Eren’s half-hooded eyes flick down to your chest and back up to your eyes, making your regretful response twice as difficult to get out.
“I need to go to bed, and you need to go with Armin’s birthday thing,” you sigh, leaning back against the steering wheel. You’re well aware you don’t have the willpower to turn him down to your lips inches away, but it’s late, and you could use the sleep. Not to mention the 8:00 am lecture waiting for you first thing in the morning. “Isn’t he like, your best friend?”
Eren groans dramatically, throwing his head back against the headrest.
“Armin won’t mind, I mean,” he traces a hand up your body, fingers grazing you from hip to chest, “just look at you.”
“What?” You cock your head playfully. Eren rakes his gaze over your body, stopping in a few choice places, something wicked pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Really gonna make me say it?”
You smirk down at him. “Maybe.”
“You’re trouble,” he tackles you again, pulling you into another kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and giggles. Eventually you find the willpower to shove yourself away from him, knocking your spine into the steering wheel with a short honk that makes laughter spill from both of you.
“Okay, really, unless you would also like to wake up at 6:30, I should get going.” You dab at the little tears pricking your eyes, trying to catch your breath. “Plus, you’d be a bad friend if you didn’t head back out for Armin’s birthday.”
“Can’t have that,” Eren agrees, regret flickering over his face. He reaches for his door handle so you can climb out on his side, but he changes his mind, withdrawing his hand and going for his phone instead.
“What is it?”
“Before you go,” Eren slides his phone open, tongue caught between his lips— God, he’s so fucking cute, “lemme get your number.”
You can’t help yourself, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, so now you want my number.”
Eren frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Could’ve asked Historia all week.”
An indignant flush rises in his cheeks. “I’m a man. I wanted to ask you myself, in person. Plus…”
The rest of his words taper off into a quiet mumble that you can’t quite catch. “Plus what?”
“I was nervous,” Eren raises his gaze to meet your eyes sheepishly, cheeks now bright red. Your heart thuds in your chest; he really is beautiful, with his long dark lashes and strong nose. You can hardly conceptualize the fact that he’d just kissed you- twice. A teasing smile tugs at your mouth.
“Nervous?”
“‘M not exactly your type, am I?” You can barely hold your laugh in, remembering your own cyclical, self-disparaging thoughts over the last few days.
“Give me that.” You snatch his phone and type your number in, handing it back to him with a smile. “Okay, I really should head up now.”
Eren concedes, throwing his door open for you to clamber off of his lap, stand in the doorway of his car, look down at him. Eren stares at you for a beat, running his eyes up and down your body. You start to step back, bid him goodnight, when he breaks out into a boyish grin, raises a hand to flick two fingers at you in a come-hither motion.
“Get back over here.”
You dissolve into giggles, feeling light as air, leaning back into the car to indulge him in one- no, two, or maybe three more kisses before you’re pushing yourself off of him with a quiet moan. “Eren, I need to go to bed, really, I do.”
“I know,” he sighs, leaning back into his seat. If you dare to look down, you can see where his pants are starting to tent, a thick bulge behind the zipper. You swallow hard; maybe he’ll end up living up to his impressive reputation after all. It takes every ounce of nerve in your body, but you step back from the car and wave meekly.
“Goodnight, Eren.”
“I’ll see you,” Eren smiles, shutting his door. Before you can even make it through the door, your phone buzzes, and you pull it out with a knowing smile.
> nice ass ;) sleep tight
It's so crude it makes you laugh out loud, turning around to see Eren snickering to himself childishly in his car. You toss him your middle finger as a response, only making him laugh harder. You don't hear the roar of his engine until you're already stepping into the elevator. The ride up feels long, exacerbated by your exhaustion, and you lean heavily on the wall, nervous butterflies dancing in your stomach as if you’d just had your first kiss. Your phone buzzes again, and you know who it is before you even unlock the screen.
> make it home safe? it’s ok if u don’t answer bc ur wrapped up in bed with ur boy toy ;)
Historia’s text would have ordinarily annoyed you, but you’re so giddy and love-drunk you giggle to yourself, thumbs trembling as you type back.
> he just dropped me off. he’s heading back to u guys now
> what???? nothing happened?
> i don’t kiss and tell
> aha! so u DID kiss him
> maybe…
Your phone buzzes close to a dozen times after that, but you pocket it, figuring you can just fill Historia in in the morning. You want nothing more than to collapse in your bed, but the lingering taste of Eren on your lips is distracting you. All throughout your skincare and your tooth brushing and your changing clothes, it still feels like his hands are ghosting over your body.
When you finally tuck yourself in, you slither a hand down your body and into your pajama shorts, rubbing mindlessly until you cum with the memory of Eren’s mouth and everything it might be capable of on your mind and his name on your tongue. You feel a lick of hot shame as you throw your shorts into the hamper, but a rush of elation follows it up. Eren wants you just as badly as you want him, and now, you’ve gathered enough evidence to do something about it. One good fuck, you decide, and he’ll be out of your system. Just one.
#eren jaeger#aot x reader#aot smut#eren x reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren jaeger series#eren yeager x reader#eren jeager x reader#eren jaeger smut#eren jaeger x you#aot x you#snk smut#snk x reader
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Manna tasted good! We're told it tasted like wafers made with honey. God didn't just give his people empty sustenance, he gave them a food that tasted nice. More than anything, it reminds me of the imaginary food that my sister invented when we were kids: it was supposed to taste like sugar but be as healthy as broccoli. Manna tasted sweet, and yet it sustained God's people. What grace!
(... And then the people complained about it. But still, doesn't knowing what manna tasted like frame the issue differently? They weren't tired of eating dry saltines, they were being given sweet honey cakes and still they rejected it!)
#what a gracious God#it really irks me when people talk about manna like it was flavorless mush or something#pontifications and creations#only thou art holy
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I don't usually do this sort of thing
but its sort of an All-Hands-On-Deck situation.
Please pray for the mother of my friend,
She was diagnosed with cancer some time ago,
but it has since spread to her brain.
Of course I will pray, may God bless her and provide her with healing and comfort. And may God also bless and comfort those family members, friends, and all those that know her who are also in pain and anxiety because of her suffering.
Under the Readmore, I have attached some prayers for those with cancer that you might find to be helpful. I would especially recommend looking into some of the Patrons associated with Cancer patients and asking for their aid. For example St. Parthenios, St. Nektarios, St. Panteleimon
Through Your illuminating and sanctifying Spirit, Lord, guide through medical science those who are seeking through studies to exterminate its wickedness, reveal to them the medicine and the way of healing, and grant strength to those who are suffering and patience and respite in their pain, rewarding them all with the healing of their soul and body, through the intercessions of our Most-blessed Lady the Theotokos and Ever-Virgin Mary, the Life-Giving Spring, whose waters in the Queen City were poured over those who were sick with cancer and their suffering ceased, as well as those of our Holy Father Parthenios, Bishop of Lampakos, the holy, glorious and wonderworking Unmercenaries, the holy, glorious Great Martyr and Healer Panteleimon, and all Your Saints. Amen.
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O Most-Pure Mother of God, O Queen of All! Hearken unto our much-afflicted sighing and look upon thy children, suffering from unhealed ailments, who fall down before thee with faith! As a bird covers its nestlings with its wings, so do thou now, who art ever present, cover us with thy greatly healing omophor in that place where hope be.
There where bitter sorrows overcome us, there will patience and rest be revealed. Where the torment of despair dwells in the soul, there will shine the ineffable Light of Divinity! Console the fainthearted, strengthen the weak, bestow softening and enlightenment upon embittered hearts. Heal thine ailing people, O All-merciful Queen!
Bless the minds and hands of our physicians, that they might serve as instruments of the All-powerful Physician, Christ our Saviour. We pray that thou mightest truly live with us, O Sovereign Lady!
Stretch out thy hands, filled with healing and cures, O Joy of the sorrowful, Consolation in afflictions, that having speedily received miraculous help, we may glorify the Life-creating and Undivided Trinity, the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, unto ages of ages. Amen.
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O Christ, Who alone art our Defender: Visit and heal Thy suffering servant [name], delivering her from sickness and grievous pains. Raise her up that she may sing to Thee and praise Thee without ceasing, through the prayers of the Theotokos, O Thou Who alone lovest mankind.
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Lord have mercy.
O Lord Almighty, the Healer of our souls and bodies, You Who put down and raise up, Who chastise and heal also; do You now, in Your great mercy, visit our sister (Name), who is sick
Stretch forth Your hand that is full of healing and health, and get her up from her bed, and cure her of her illness.
Put away from her the spirit of disease and of every malady, pain and fever to which she is bound
If she has sins and transgressions, grant to her remission and forgiveness, in that You love mankind.
Yea, Lord my God, pity Your creation, through the compassions of Your Only-Begotten Son, together with Your All-Holy, Good and Life-creating Spirit, with Whom You are blessed, both now and ever, and to the ages of ages. Amen.
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O Lord our God, Who by a word alone did heal all diseases, Who did cure the kinswoman of Peter,
You Who chastise with pity and heal according to Your goodness;Who are able to put aside every sickness and infirmity, do You Yourself, the same Lord, grant aid to Your servant _____________and cure them of every sickness of which she is grieved.
Send down upon them Your great mercy, and if it be Your will, give to _____________ health and a complete recovery; for You are the Physician of our souls and bodies, and to You do we send up Glory: to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Both now and ever, and to the ages of ages. Amen
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O God, our help in time of need, Who are just and merciful, and Who inclines to the supplications of His people.
Look down upon ____________and have mercy on them and deliver them from the trouble that now besets them.
Deal with ____________ not according to their iniquities, but according to Your manifold mercies, for we are the works of Your hands, and You know our weaknesses.
I pray to you to grant ____________ Your divine helping grace, and endow them with patience and strength to endure their hardships with complete submission to Your Will.
Only You know our misery and sufferings, and to You, our only hope and refuge, we flee for relief and comfort, trusting in Your infinite love and compassion, that in due time, when You know best, You will deliver ____________ from this trouble, and turn their distress into comfort.
We then shall rejoice in Your mercy, and exalt and praise Your Holy Name, O Father, Son and Holy Spirit, both now and forever and to the ages of ages. Amen
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Purification and Order in a plave no diffrent then hell~
Part 02/??
(Think I be continueing the story nonethenless, idea is just to good to be thrown away)
... You were shocked,.. The Angel of Light himself.. Archangel Micheal... but.. he doesnt look really as mighty as many have said.
You:..But I am not dead... why am I in heaven now? I mean I wouldnt mind dying soon and met the Lord, just that a Angel? .. Took me by firstly hitting me unconcious I thought that was suposses to be diffrent..
Micheal just looked at you.. with his wings behind him and a cold glare on you... he then spoke..
Micheal:...Mortal.. are you in the knowledge of the current situation that we all find ourselves in?..
...
You:...No? I mean I regualry pray to God to stay up to day and keep myself in touch-
..
Micheal: Mortal, God has left heaven.
...
You just looked at him and were like.. what? How, this aint possible. God cant just disappear out of nowhere.You then spoke..
You:I.. disagree, who have I been talking to then in my prayers? I feel his presence... and I keep myself in touch with him every single day.
Micheal just continue to glare at you... but suddenly took his sword and tried to hit you with it... but you were once again protected by a blinding light..
Micheal:....How.. How is the creator of the universe with you?! I can cleary feel the power of God, going through your body.. it cant be but it has to be.. the Holy Spirit...
He fell down on his knees.. with his black hair and began to softly cry. You were astounished at the sight before you... I mean how couldnt you?.. The literal Archangel Micheal was crying before you! And told you that God left heaven... but.. you were so confused.. because you always were in his presence... but then you felt something.. he has gone up to your lap.. and cried the words.
Micheal:..Holy, Holy is our God...Lord have mercy on me.
...
Now you were just unfazed, what happend that a Angel would cry in your lap for the forgiveness of God?.. Oh boy.
You:..Why,what happend? It cant be just that the Lord disappears when I am constantly in contact with but you Angels arent? What happend?!
...
Micheal:God has left heaven! Do you not get it Mortal?!
As he said those exact words the cries have stopped and he had a tight grip on your tight.
Micheal:I cant think of even 1 good reason why God's presence is with you... The Holy Spirit of God.. within you .. but if the his presence is withhin you... you might be a key figure of finding out where he is....
At that moment he stood up and ripped your Shirt off.. he took his sword and sliced his hand and branded your chest.
Micheal: Dont even think of running away, for if you try to escape heaven all the other low ranking Angels wont hesitate to devour you... the only thing that keeps all of them away from you.. would be me.. so be a good little mortal and just listen to me.
And with that, he bowed slightly down and with a cold stare left and slammed the door and left you once again alone in that room of yours in which you still had a chain around your wrists... you were to perplexed.. and tried out but ... you thought..
You: I stil gotta pray..
So you went down on your knees and prayed the "Our Father in Heaven Prayer".
You: Our Father, Who art in heaven
Hallowed be 'Thy Name:
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass
against us:
and lead us not into temptation
but deliver us from evil. Amen.
Right when you finish your prayer.. the door was slammed open.. and another figure appeared...
???:...How is it possible?.. After so long.. has he finally appeared once more?
When you saw the now you know Angel.. he had.. blonde hair and red eye with badanges all over him, and one over his eye.He ran directly to you and began to tightly hug you and he started to softly cry.
???: OH Lord.. where has thou been.. let this humble Angel Raphael feel your presence once more...
As he hugged you... you werent really suprised no more...Another Archangel.. and this time its Raphael. But the Angels wings, wrapped themselves around your small figurtivly small body and he began to just let out everything out...
To say that now you were fazed would be a understatement, like WHATS GOING ON, WHAT HAPPEND HERE, WHERE IS THE LORD AND WHY IS A LITERAL ARCHANGEL IN YOUR ARMS...
But .. seeing him in a state like this you couldnt help.. but feel bad for this Angel, you wrapped your arm around him and hugged him,completly forgetting your shirt was ripped a second ago and that you were "branded" by Micheal the Archangel.. but you just looked at the one in your arms and said said..
You:...Psalms 34:18.. "The lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
When he.. Raphael heard those words.. his tears began to become even heavier... you took him onto the bed and simply held him while he just cried all his pent up stress into your arms and after some time.. he fell asleep in your arms... it was safe to say,that this whole situation.. is just to weird and now that he wont possible let you go now that he has you in his embrace, after some time, you also went to sleep with him in your arms. Oh well holding someone like Archangel Raphael in your arms was something you never thought of ever doing.
You simply never thought you would ever do this.. comforting a Angel.. a Archangel much less .... Ha.... will this be a big mess to fix.
(Cliffhanger~)
So, the idea of this as a whole can be made into a story, which I naturally intend to do, but a little spoiler in my idea is. One day you be meeting the MC, of the game version for this is something I can assure you, MC and you are 2 whole entire diffrent people my dear readers so stay tuned as I plan to literal milk out this idea that I was blessed with.
#whb x reader#whb#whb x mc#what in hell is bad x reader#what is bad in hell purification#what in hell is bad#x reader#x malereader#x female reader
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I've seen so much drawings of John Ward with a Rosary but never ones with him praying with it. This was intended to be a quick sketch but I ended up colouring it a little bit.
This would have been more appropriate for 7 October but please take my humble offering nonetheless. I drew John in a cassock because I thought he might wear the more formal/traditional clothes on that day. The collars are really interesting. And impractical. (I've only ever seen a slotted one up close but even that looks uncomfortable.
*I'm realising just now that I forgot the line "the Lord is with thee" in the Hail Mary. I apologise, I went by memory. The correct version is:
Hail Mary, full of grace,
the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
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Good Omens timeline (as of season 2), from Before the Beginning until the end of season 2:
- “Before the Beginning” — Aziraphale and Crowley meet for the first time.
- 9:13 a.m, Sunday, October 21, 4004 B.C — The creation of the universe (according to God).
- 4004 B.C, "just after the Beginning" — Eve and Adam eat an apple, and then Crowley and Aziraphale have their first on-screen interaction.
- Somewhere between 3070 and 3030 B.C (when Nefertiti was alive), Egypt — Aziraphale presumably impresses Nerfertiti with his magic skills, “You're talking to the Angel who fooled Nefertiti with a lone caraway seed and three cowrie shells.”
- 3004 B.C, Mesopotamia — Aziraphale and Crowley witness the events of Noah's Ark.
- 2500 B.C, the Land of Uz — Aziraphale and Crowley help Job and his family (A Companion to Owls minisode).
- 33 A.D, Golgotha — Aziraphale and Crowley see Jesus’ crucifixion.
- 41 A.D, Rome — Aziraphale and Crowley have oysters.
- 537 A.D., Kingdom of West Essex — Aziraphale and Crowley are knights in King Arthur’s time, and Crowley first suggests “the Arrangement”.
- Sometime in the 1500s (likely between 1503 and 1506 if wikipedia is to be believed), Leonardo Da Vinci’s Studio, Italy — ‘In which Crowley gets drunk with Leonardo Da Vinci’ and buys a sketch of the Mona Lisa for fifteen florins (cut scene from the script book).
- 1601, the Globe Theatre, London — Aziraphale and Crowley meet Shakespeare (who steals a line from Crowley that he uses in Antony and Cleopatra). Crowley also performs a miracle to make Hamlet popular.
- 1650 — The first (known) time that Aziraphale does the apology dance for Crowley.
- 1656, Lancashire, England — the last true witch in England, Agnes Nutter, is burnt by Witchfinder Major Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultry Pulsifer, who is killed in the process by Agnes’ forward-thinking.
- 1760, Monsieur Rossignol’s Night Classess — Aziraphale learns french the hard way.
- 1793, Paris — Crowley saves Aziraphale from prison during the French Revolution's Reign of Terror (and then they get crepes, as well as Aziraphale doing the apology dance for Crowley).
- 1800, the opening of Aziraphale’s bookshop in Soho — Gabriel and Sandalphon visit Aziraphale to promote him back in heaven. Crowley overhears this, and tricks Gabriel into having Aziraphale stay on earth in order to “thwart him” (cut scene from the script book).
- Sometime before 10th November, 1827, but likely after 1800 — a conman attempts to seduce Aziraphale into helping her “brother” with his debt. Some-point after, Aziraphale tells Crowley of the story over a glass of claret.
- ~A month before 10th November, 1827, Edinburgh, Scotland — Crowley and Aziraphale visit a graveyard with a statue of Gabriel and end up helping a body-snatcher, Crowley also prevents her from committing suicide which results in him being sucked into hell “And that, was the last I was to see of Crowley. For quite some time.” (The Resurrectionists minisode).
- 1859, Aziraphale’s bookshop, Soho — ‘In which Aziraphale almost sells a book’ before receiving a note delivered by a street urchin from Crowley reading ‘the usual place - C’ (cut scene from the script book).
- 1862, St. James Park, London — Crowley requests holy water from Aziraphale for assurance in case anything goes wrong.
- Sometime between 1889 and 1919 (the years Hoffman is alive) but likely around 1876 (the year the book, Modern Magic: A Practical Treatise on the Art of Conjuring is published, that Aziraphale has a signed copy of), England — Aziraphale receives magic lessons from Angelo John Lewis, pseudonym Professor Hoffman, ‘“Aha! Professor Hoffmann's modern magic. Ah, there you are. To Mr. Fell, that's me, a wonderful student” (written) Yours, the Hoff’
- 1941, London — Aziraphale gives prophecy books to some nazis for Hitler, in an attempt to arrest them, only they double-cross him as well. Crowley then comes to Aziraphale's rescue and gives him a lift home, stopping at the West End theatre on the way back . However, the nazis come back as zombies for hell to expose Aziraphale and Crowley’s arrangement, but Aziraphale’s magic thwarts them (Nazi Zombie Flesh Eaters minisode). At some point later on, Aziraphale does the apology dance for Crowley.
- 1967, Soho, London —Crowley arranges a heist (after having gone clothes shopping that morning) to steal holy water from a church with Lance Corporal Shadwell and others. Aziraphale thinks it’s too dangerous, so he gets Crowley holy water himself.
- 1970s, London — Crowley changes the design of the M25 to represent the symbol Odegra, which comes back to bite him later on (as most things do).
- ~2008, “Eleven Years Ago" — Hastur and Ligur deliver the Antichrist to Crowley, who gives it to The Chattering Order of St. Beryl. The Antichrist is then swapped with Deirdre and Arthur Young’s child, while their child, Warlock, goes with Thaddeus and Harriet Dowling. Trying to prevent Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley agree to help raise Warlock, the boy they assume is the Antichrist.
- ~2013, “Five Years Later - Six Years Before the End of the World” — Crowley disguises himself as Warlock's nanny, while Aziraphale disguises himself as the Dowlings' gardener.
- ~2019, “Six years later” — the chronological events of season 1 unfold, ending with Aziraphale and Crowley eating at the Ritz.
- Between 2019-2023 — Gabriel and Beelzebub routinely meet in the Resurrectionists pub, where they fall in love.
- ~2023 — the chronological events of season 2 unfold, ending with Aziraphale going up to Heaven and Crowley driving away from the bookshop to destinations unknown (his flat? out of london? out of the uk? out of the world?).
#good omens#good omens 2#spoilers#go2 spoilers#ineffable husbands#good omens timeline#i need someone to stitch together all the scenes chronologically#asap#i just feel like it might make me feel better#(it probably wouldn’t)
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˗ˏˋ HEAVEN’S GATE ´ˎ˗
❝ Open your mind to what I shall disclose, and hold it fast within you; he who hears, but does not hold what he has heard, learns nothing. ❞
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Your god has descended.
Greetings. I am Yun. I’m a deity and a part-time fanfic writ'r and artist. I’ve did enjoy yand're w'rks and has't at each moment did want to delve into tumblr since i bethink t fits mine own m're impulsive - nev'r - finishes - an - entire - booketh type of writing style
[ TRANS: Greetings. I am Yun. I’m a deity and a part-time fanfic writer and artist. I enjoy Yandere works and have always wanted to delve into Tumblr since I think it fits my more impulsive - never - finishes - an - entire - book type of writing style. ]
❝ Here to us, thou art the noon and scope of love revealed; and among mortal men, the living fountain of eternal hope. ❞
CONFESSION BOOTH IS : OPEN
Please pay attention to my rules and boundaries when joining this cult. In any case, I welcome you to my loving embrace. May your stay here be filled with only joy.
Pronouns are he/it/they/she by order of preference.
LVL 19 - AROACE SPEC - AFAB/GENDERFLUID
WARNING: This shall be a YANDERE/DDNE focused blog. Although most of my posts are soft some of it will enter dead dove do not eat territory. If you are at all sensitive to violence, blood, sexual and physical assault, stalking, suicide, all sorts of abuse, bullying and harassment, or general nsfw content, please turn back.
MINORS ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN FROM ENTERING THIS HOLY GROUND. PLEASE LEAVE IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18.
❝ As I draw nearer to the end of all desire, I brought my longing’s ardor to a final height. Just as I ought. My vision, becoming pure. ❞
Here’s a masterlist of my works and ocs: [ GRAND CELESTIAL ARCHIVE ]
Here’s the rules to requests/asks and what type of content I’m willing to write: [ DEIFIC COMMANDMENTS ]
My discord in case you wanna send me dms : xxalmightyyunxx
Remember to be respectful. Harassment and insults will not be tolerated in this cult.
And last but not least, yanderes irl suck please don’t replicate or seek anything i write mkay? lub u all.
❝ Beyond all boundaries, at memory’s undoing — As when the dreamer sees and after the dream the passion endures, imprinted on his being. ❞
Mr. Devil: @heartfullofleeches
Jiejie: @mellowwillowy
(Matching w/) My Mother: @cammslush
Boop Pardner (Boopner) : @harmonysanreads
Wives: @sophiethewitch1 + @cheriecelestial
My lovely moots/fellow writers! Check out their blogs! : @godnectar @yandere-kittee @darling--core @compact-turtle @ghostie-luvs @darling-zain @yandere-romanticaa @pastelclovds @sagesskies @carnivorousyandeere / @doejohnsonva @on-leatheredwings
Askers: @teabagggssss @my-names-angel-but-im-not-one @silversmoke-20
Anons: Smoked Salmon, Cheese anon,🍦 anon, 🖌️ anon, 🐴 anon (who is toaster), 🍆 anon. Lavender. 🤍 anon. 👻 anon. 💗anon. 💫 anon.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Your god has ascended back into the heavens.
— quotes from Dante’s Divine Comedy (Paradiso)
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