#i was praying about the fact that i was crying in church

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Today something inconsequential happened. My instinct was to cry about it in the bathroom, but I said "No! this is a stupid thing you aren't even upset about! Why would you cry over that?" and I was like "you are absolutely right. It's not worth crying over!"

I then proceeded to cry for half an hour about being so emotional.

#kazzy's diary #this is literally how my brain works. #i cry about things that don't matter and then feel stupid for getting so upset about them #so then i cry over getting so upset #story time though: #i was praying about the fact that i was crying in church #a lot of Christians wish they could hear God talk to them but I've found He usually doesn't do that unless He's rebuking me. otherwise I #just read his word #anyways this time I started talking to God in my head and I was like 'you said somewhere in your word that you keep all my tears in a bottle #'even the stupid ones?' and I'm pretty sure i heard God say 'yes even the stupid ones.' #i mean really now that i think about it what have any of us ever gone through on earth and cried over that an eternal God WOULDN'T be right #to look at and go 'this was a stupid one.' #and brothers and sisters. God treasures ALL the stupid tears. #kazzy teaches in the tags

[actual-changeling]

I think we all should appreciate the fact that it was Crowley who walked away first and not Aziraphale.

Can you imagine? Aziraphale turns around, ready to go, ready to leave, and Crowley knows that this is it—if he steps through that doorway he is GONE.

"Aziraphale," softly, at first, almost inaudible, but he knows he heard it, sees the twitch in his fingers.

"Aziraphale," louder now, and Crowley balls his hands into fists and takes a few steps towards him, almost shaking with bitter, twisted relief when he stops. He does not turn to face him, simply stands on top of the circle rug with tremors running through his shoulders, down his back.

"Aziraphale."

It's a warning, a plea, a 'don't you dare run away from me'. It's 'don't leave me, please'.

"What do you want me to do?" Aziraphale whispers, his voice wet with uncried tears, and he hates all of this, hates the Metatron for showing up, hates Gabriel for getting what THEY should have had, hates Nina and Maggie, hates humanity, hates every single being in heaven and hell.

Six thousand years and this is their reward? This is what they get?

"Say no," he gives back, biting his tongue until he tastes blood, and inches closer. "Tell him you've changed your mind. Stay.

"I can't. I need to try to-"

"They don't care about you, they never fucking have," and oh, he is yelling now, and it is the fury dripping from his words that finally makes Aziraphale face him. "I care about you, I have been right here for six thousand bloody years, angel. By your side, waiting for you to be ready."

"Come with me!" Anger glints in his eyes, steel-blue and burning, almost drowning out the heartbroken desperation.

"If you really think there is anything in this universe that would get me to return to heaven then—then you don't know me. You never have."

Electricity sparks on his skin, red, powerful, urging him to find release, and Crowley feels tears stinging in his eyes, blinking until they roll down his cheeks. It doesn't matter now, does it? He takes a deep breath, tries to channel the good memories, the hope, the last few years of not-really-pretending.

"Then there's nothing more to say," Aziraphale spits, and the worst part is that they both knew it was going to end this way sooner or later.

The distance between them disappears as he catches up with him, leaning in, pressing in, until they are breathing the same air, crying the same tears.

"Aziraphale, if you leave this bookshop I-," his voice breaks, unwilling to give shape to the thought begging to be spoken, "I will not be here when you come back. If you come back. I'm done waiting."

Time freezes, and his eyes widen while his body shakes with the bitter mess of emotions churning in his gut.

"You don't mean that." He doesn't. Someone knows, he does not mean a single word of it, but right now he needs to mean it, needs to believe it, or he will jump head-first into the nearest church and drown himself in holy water.

"Try me," Crowley whispers, and suddenly hands are grabbing his shirt, pulling him in, making the world disappear. Familiar lips silence him, and he kisses back because he needs this to matter or he will regret it for the rest of his sorry existence. Don't leave, he prays into the kiss, wrapping his arms around him, don'tleavedon'tleavedon'tleave.

Don't leave me here alone.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen

[neil-gaiman]

Good morning, afternoon or night depending on the time you read this.

First at all, apologize about my grammar and orthography. I'm a Spanish native speaker and google translate is doing most of the work for me.

Now I have clarified some important points, let me tell you how excited I'm about the second season of Good Omens. I discovered the show in 2022 on my first high school year, and I really enjoyed watching every episode. I absolutely fell in love with Crowley and Aziraphale and their dynamic.  Currently is one of my favourite shows and I’m trying to find the book (It’s a little hard to find in my country, but I still looking), so I want to thank you for the happiness you and Terry gave me.

To be honest the show helped me in more than one way, at the time I found Good Omens I was at the end of a crisis. My family is very, very catholic, I was raised into the religion, and that was a little problematic to me because I am a extremely curious person, so It didn't take long for me to question everything I was taught. I know my family don’t want to hurt me, on the contrary, they want to help or "save" me in the way they know but they ended up drowning me in guilt for being the way I was. When I was younger, I used to cry every night praying to God for change and stop questioning the church. Over time I stopped doing it but the guilt persisted.  So I watched the show and I saw Crowley and I thought to myself maybe it wouldn't be so bad saunter vaguely downwards.

And a fun fact: I found it’s that the premiere is going to be on July 28th. Exactly in my birthday! My parents even gave me permission to skip school and watch Good Omens all day! I’m counting the days :D

(I know that there’re almost one month left, but it’s better to prepare the ground)

P.D

I noticed this is too long, sorry. The point is, thank you.

You are welcome.

[rose-pearls]

Bigger Than The Whole Sky

I was reading something online about the song 'Bigger than the whole sky' from Taylor Swift, and people speculate that it is about a miscarriage. I started writing a story about it but I have never had a miscarriage before so if there is anything that is wrong or offensive please tell me and I will take this down.

Warnings: miscarriage, angst

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187, @nyx2021 (open for every fandom)

The sun was shining, which was perhaps the biggest contradiction after what had just happened. 

He was trying to keep it together, he was, but the doctor’s words were still ringing in his head.

“There was a miscarriage. I’m sorry for your loss.”, the words had been cold like he had told them thousands of times and couldn’t feel them anymore. Like he couldn’t tell how much his words would hurt and haunt them.

She hadn’t said anything, she had just looked in the distance, like looking at the wall would give her some reassurances he couldn’t give her. 

He didn’t know how to help her, she seemed fine when you just looked at her, but he could see the pain in her eyes, the disbelief every time she rubbed her lower stomach where the baby had been, their baby.

He didn’t know how to react himself; he tries to stay strong for her, but it was getting harder and harder as he didn’t get an answer out of her. For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t read her, help her as she was too far for him to save her from herself.

--

Everything was numb, like nothing had happened but something had happened.

She had lost their child, her body had given up and had made her lose the one thing that could perhaps save her marriage, save her. She felt empty, running her hand across her small bump that had started appearing two weeks ago.

There were no tears, she was numb ever since she felt the blood fall down her legs after her shower. 

They had rushed to the hospital, and they had quickly taken her into an emergency surgery. 

When she woke up, the baby was gone, and she was faced with the fact that she had miscarried. 

Maybe it was because she didn’t pray, maybe this was a punishment for every single wrong thing she had ever done in her entire life. Now she wished that her parents had taken her to church, maybe it would have saved her child. 

She knew that Jake was worried, he deserved better than this, but she couldn’t find it in herself to talk with him. The only thing running through her mind are the scenario’s she imagined throughout her four months of pregnancy, a little girl or boy running around with Jake in the garden. You could hear the laughter as you closed your eyes, but it faded away just as fast as it came.

“Why don’t we go take a walk? The nurse needs to clean the room.”, Jake says softly, and you want to tell him that you don’t want to, but in the end, you know that you don’t have a choice.

“Sure. Why don’t you go to the cafeteria, and I’ll join you there.”, he looks sad at your words, but you try to ignore it, instead focusing on counting how many steps you would have to take before you could come back.

The nurse comes in a few minutes later and you take a deep breath before leaving the room. The hallway is quiet and as you take the shortest route to the cafeteria you don’t realize where you are until you hear a little cry.

There is a nurse walking while holding a newborn, who is wrapped in a little blanquettes before being taken into the nursery.

The babies are all there, lined up in little cots their little eyes closed all bundled up in a small blanquette. 

You don’t even realize that you have taken a step forward, to see them better, or that your vision is blurry now. 

A little boy, you presume, yawns, and a tear falls down your cheek at the sight, your hand moving to your stomach. 

“Which one is yours?”, a voice asks behind you and you turn around, trying to blink the tears away.

“The – the baby isn’t there.”, you tell the woman who is looking at the babies with a tender smile.

“You?”, you manage to say, without your voice breaking over the words.

“Rosie, the little girl on the left.”, she says with a proud smile, and you know that she will be an excellent mother. The little Rosie is fast asleep, and she looks like she isn’t a week old.

“She is beautiful.”, the woman smiles kindly before her husband arrives and she leaves you with a goodbye, to which you don’t respond. 

--

He finds her there, tears sliding down her cheeks as she watches the babies in the nursery. He wants to slap himself for not thinking of that sooner but for the first time since the news she seems to be feeling something.

“Sweetheart?”, she turns around and he can see her trembling hand holding onto her stomach as if she is hoping that the baby will still be there.

He is just in time to catch her before she crashes on the floor, a sob leaving her lips as he holds her tightly.

Her sobs ricochet on the walls and he holds her tighter, only realizing that he is crying when he feels her hair getting wet. He sobs with her, holding her to his chest hoping that he could ever fill in the void that has been left. They hold each other in a deserted hallway, the nursery next to them, reminding them just of what they lost. 

“I’m sorry.”, she whispers, and Jake feels confused for a moment.

“I’m so sorry.”, she says before a sob leaves her lips and Jake feels sick at the apology, like it’s her fault. 

He moves slowly, and as her tearstained cheeks and red eyes look back at him, he takes her cheeks in his hands and look at her.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not your fault, do you hear me? It. Is. Not. Your. fault.”, he says the words like the prayers he used to say in church, only this time he truly believed the words he told her. Tears leave her eyes and roll down her cheeks, but he rubs them away.

“Maybe I could have done something, do better.”, she whispers brokenly, and Jake feels his heart break at the words.

“You couldn’t have done anything. You did everything you could, you aren’t at fault.”, she closes her eyes and takes a deep shaky breath.

“You don’t hate me?”, she whispers, and Jake feels like someone had slapped him.

“I could never hate you sweetheart, god knows how much I love you. I love you more and more every day, through thick and thin I’m here by your side. I know that this is hard, that we will need time to recover from this, but it doesn’t have an effect on my love for you.”, she brings him closer, and Jake feels tears running down his cheeks, desperately hoping that he has gotten through her and that she knows just how much he loves her.

“Thank you.”, she whispers, and he holds her tightly, hoping that he never has to let her go.

“I don’t know what to do.”, she confesses after a moment and Jake lets out a shaky breath and he takes a look at the babies fast asleep in the nursery.

“Me neither but we are going to do this together. Day by day and step by step together. There will be hard days and good days, but we are in this together.”, she nods in answer, and he brings her into a hug, holding her close as he feels her tears on his shirt.

They stand there holding each other, watching the nurses walking around the nursery and the babies fast asleep. It would be hard, but they had each other and together they would get through this.

-

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye You were bigger than the whole sky You were more than just a short time And I've got a lot to pine about I've got a lot to live without I'm never gonna meet What could've been, would've been What should've been you

#top gun x reader #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x y/n #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #hangman imagine

[bylerspookie]

something something about Mike leaving Hawkins and Will having an internal conflict on whether he should stay or go

(I uses colors to show which lyrics relate to eachother, except for like, at the end the colors kind of mix up, I ran out of colours, anyway you'll figure it out)

Smalltown Boy: (associated with Mike)

run away, turn away

alone on a platform, the wind and the rain on a sad and lonely face

mother will never understand why you had to leave

but the answers you seek will never be found at home

the love that you need will never be found at home

pushed around and kicked around, always a lonely boy (we know that Mike is bullied, and it's hinted that Mike is depressed and lonely, most of the time in his basement)

but you never cried to them, just to your soul

cry boy, cry

Should I Stay or Should I Go: (associated with Will)

darling, you got to let me know

should I stay or should I go? (notice how Mike's song is about leaving, whilst Will's is a question, "should I leave too?")

if you say that you are mine

I'll be here 'till the end of time (when Labyrinth gate and 20 gate meet @connect-dots7 )

It's always tease, tease, tease (MHMMMMM)

you're happy when I'm on my knees

this indecision's bugging me (esta indecisión me molesta)

if you don't want me, set me free (si no me quieres, librarme)

Always Something There To Remind Me: (associated with Mike)

I was born to love you, and I will never be free (there's too much for this to just be a coincidence guys)

California Dreamin': (associated with Mike and Will)

I'd be safe and warm (I'd be safe and warm)

if I was in L.A. (if I was in L.A.)

stopped into a church

I passed along the way

well, I got down on my knees (got down on my knees) (I'M GIGGLING RN BECAUSE THEY SO OBVIOUSLY DID THIS ON PURPOSE)

and I pretend to pray (I pretend to pray) (Mike always weirdly being associated with religion mhmmm)

you know the preacher likes the cold (preacher like the cold) (woah there now)

he knows I'm gonna stay (knows I'm gonna stay) (OH MY GOD)

Heroes: (associated with Mike and Will)

'cause we're lovers, and that is a fact (lovers lake lovers lake lovers lake lovers lake)

yes we 're lovers, and that is that

we could steal time just for one day (STEAL TIME??? 20 GATE/LABYRINTH GATE - MIKE WHEELER YOU ARE NEVER GONNA BEAT THE TIME ALLEGATIONS)

I, I wish you could swim (lovers lake lovers lake lovers lake lovers lake)

like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim

I, I can remember (I remember)

standing, by the wall (by the wall)

and the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads) (the guns = electricity I don't make the rules, Alexa play "Are 'Friends' Electric?" from Mike Wheeler's Basement Beats)

and we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall)

and the shame, was on the other side (the upside down and the real world is mentioned as "the other side" in the show all the time, maybe they kiss in the upside down with everyone else on the other side, therefore the shame would be on the other side? idk)

maybe we're lying, then you better not stay (LITERALLY SCREAMING)

When It's Cold I'd Like To Die:

where were you when I was lonesome? (THIS IS SO MIKE GUYS, "always a lonely boy")

locked away with freezing cold (HELLO)

I don't wanna swim the ocean (lovers lake lovers lake lovers- okay I'll stop)

I don't wanna fight the tide

I don't wanna swim forever

when it's cold I'd like to die

I don't wanna swim forever

I don't wanna fight the tide

I don't wanna swim the ocean

when it's cold I'd like to die

Are 'Friends' Electric? : (associated with Mike)

It's cold outside (I'm tired guys there's actually too much, I think I might stop here because literally every song connects I swear)

so now I'm alone (Mike, how lonely are you? No, seriously, is he okay? {He isn't} Even in "Tarzan Boy" it says "on my own like Tarzan boy" something isn't right here)

now I can think for myself

and things that I just don't understand

like a white lie that night (a white lie that night? maybe it's referring to the monologue when he says "I love you", I don't think so, that's a very big lie lol. I think this is referring to the "El commissioned the painting" from Will. Mike definitely knows that something is up, especially with his facial expressions in that scene, I've already made a post about this)

or a sly touch at times

I don't think it meant anything to you

so I open the door (there is too much references to "opening doors" with Mike, I'm not even joking, if I talk about it now this post will be too long)

It's the 'friend' that I'd left in the hallway

so I found out your reason for the phone calls and smiles

and it hurts and I'm lonely (MIKE???)

and I should never have tried

and I missed you tonight

So it's time to leave (smalltown boy theory is bound to happen guys what)

You see it meant everything to me

Open the Door:

come on with a gun

come on with a heart attack (YOU'RE THE HEART)

come on suicide

yeah, just like you a trap

save a blue face for me (let me remind you, "alone on a platform, the wind and the rain on a sad and lonely face")

turn around and take it off

save a new place for me

yeah, just where the flowers drop (we literally see a hill full of flowers in the last episode where Mike probably handpicked his flowers and the flowers literally drop representing milevens drop)

love that was new to you

you open up the door

I fall in love with these

I crawl out on the floor (CRAWL???? CRAWLLLLL????? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN GUYS WHAT DOES THIS MEAN HELLO SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE I'M GONNA SOB)

here's all the colors together so you can see the similarities better:

Staying/Going:

run away, turn away (smalltown boy)

Should I stay or should I go? (Should I Stay or Should I Go?)

He knows I'm gonna stay (California Dreamin')

Maybe we're lying, then you better not stay (Heroes)

So it's time to leave (Are 'Friends' Electric?)

(Bonus) You won't miss home (Tarzan Boy)

Lyrics about being alone/being bullied:

alone on a platform, the wind and the rain on a sad and lonely face (Smalltown Boy)

pushed around and kicked around, always a lonely boy (Smalltown Boy)

It's always tease, tease, tease (Should I Stay or Should I Go?)

where were you when I was lonesome? (When It's Cold I'd Like To Die)

so now I'm alone (Are 'Friends' Electric?)

(Bonus) On my own, like Tarzan boy (Tarzan Boy)

and it hurts and I'm lonely (Are 'Friends' Electric?)

Save a blue face for me (Open the Door)

Lyrics referring to time:

I'll be here 'till the end of time (Should I Stay or Should I Go?)

we could steal time just for one day (Heroes)

I don't wanna swim forever (When It's Cold I'd Like To Die)

(Bonus) Just a little more time is all we're asking for (Never Surrender)

Knees (??) (more religious imagry?? idk)

you're happy when I'm on my knees (Should I Stay or Should I Go?)

well, I got down on my knees (California Dreamin')

Freedom:

if you don't want me, set me free (Should I Stay or Should I Go?)

I was born to love you, and I will never be free (Always Something There To Remind Me)

Cold/Water:

I'd be safe and warm (California Dreamin')

you know the preacher likes the cold (California Dreamin')

I, I wish you could swim (Heroes)

like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim (Heroes)

locked away with freezing cold (When It's Cold I'd Like To Die)

I don't wanna swim the ocean (When It's Cold I'd Like To Die)

I don't wanna fight the tide (When It's Cold I'd Like To Die)

When It's Cold I'd Like To Die (When It's Cold I'd Like To Die)

It's cold outside (Are 'Friends' Electric)

(Bonus) And when the night is cold and dark (Never Surrender)

Opening doors (only two songs that I can think of, but a lot of imagry with Mike and doors in the actual series):

so I open the door (Are 'Friends' Electric)

you open up the door (Open the Door)

(interesting, because "Open the Door" plays during a scene that is about Will and his future romantic arc - "I'm not gonna fall in love." The song associated with Will says "YOU open up the door" and the song associated with Mike says "I open the door)

#music analysis 🎶 #byler #byler analysis #byler theory #stranger things analysis #stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #byler is real #byler is canon #byler is endgame #byler nation #mike wheeler is gay #smalltown boy conspiracy

[marshmallowprotection]

Choi Twins 2023 Birthday Analysis

Would you believe me if I said that I don’t have much to say this time because the details are always too obvious to spend hours trying to figure out what the little details are? I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t trying to figure them out, though... Anyway! Here we go, let’s talk about it!

So, Cheritz already gave away what’s happening in this picture. It isn’t much of a surprise to me because the theme this year is everyone as children. Which, that frightened me the very second we started on Yoosung’s birthday given just how many of our friends were neglected as children. They gave us one of the happier moments in Zen’s childhood, but we, the fans, know that Saeran and Saeyoung spent their childhood in shackles.

I’ve been speculating for months how they’d even handle this. Some of the hard questions I had to ask myself were: What if they have no choice but to draw the two of them apart? What if Saeyoung is in college and Saeran is in the church in this photo? What if it’s like the 2019 split screen? I didn’t think they’d go as far as to show Saeyoung in the field and Saeran in Mint Eye because they’d be older in their years and beyond what we’d consider their young childhood.

So, Cheritz choosing to show one of the only positive days from their childhood was probably for the best. I can’t tell y’all how scared I was we were going to get a photo of them sitting together in their childhood home with a smuggled piece of cake and a single candle. I mean, it’d be touching to think that Saeyoung would want Saeran to have a good birthday moment, but I don’t think anyone could’ve handled that theme.

“Secret Outings” is all you need to hear to connect the dots on this image. It’s a moment where their mother passed out and there’s a small window to get some ice cream, look at the clouds, or feel like they might just escape a living hell one of these days. I think the relief I have over this only comes from the fact that the Twitter Event will have the boys trying to find the good in the bad, and enjoying the realization that their present can be whatever they want it to be and they’re free.

I pray whatever image they’ve got cooked up on Twitter won’t kill me. If it’s the boys are kids trying to enjoy ice cream, I am going to full on cry for a week and i won’t be okay. They always add an image to the Twitter threads so there is really no telling what it’s going to be. It might be a single photo, or there might be two of them and I don’t know what’s worse. The thought of the boys together on the fleeting summer day of freedom... or them apart, celebrating as young boys who miss each other dearly.

Anyway! As you can see, my speculation is more or less taken care of. I know a few things about this photo. The boys are likely outside somewhere because the hard light that’s on Saeyoung’s head implies he is either directly in the line of the sun or he’s standing by a window where the sun is on him. It makes more sense to me that he’s outside from the harshness of the light. I can’t write off either for this situation, but there’s only so much I can dissect from the small window they gave us.

This could be inside OR outside. It’s a window but I can’t tell if they’re inside of a building or not. I would hope not, if only because the angle here seems like it’s... an outside view of a window. I don’t know for sure. I definitely can’t tell from the other half of the image. There are a lot of whites and blues in this photo... and I can tell y’all from experience over the years that anything that’s a light color isn’t going to reveal anything to you whatsoever.

It makes finding Zen and Saeran so much harder than it needs to be... literally. I’ve cried in group photos because if Zen and Saeran are there... it means I’ve got a chance of not only losing them to the background details, but I’ve got the worst chance in the world of screwing up which is which.

Speaking of that, a lot of people have been saying online, “Why is that hair so white?” Again, I’ll give you the answer to that, Saeyoung’s hair looks white due to the hard light that’s hitting him. It’s not Saeran. It’s not a photo of the boys as babies with the wrong hair color like they did with Children’s Day last year. This is just the way light theory acts out.

The Children’s Day photo was done just for the sake of keeping spoilers out and away from the front and center for fans who don’t know everything there is to be aware of at this point, and for the sake of consistency.

They don’t want to draw everyone drastically different from the way they are in the present. That’s why Yoosung, Jaehee, and Saeran don’t look like how they actually would.

Hard light brightens anything it touches. It’s called hard light for a reason, and if you work with photography or digital art, you’d have discovered this a long time ago when you were just starting out. Here’s an example of a basic hard light I’ve done on a photo of Saeyoung just to give y’all something to look at to clear up a round of confusion. You can see right off the bat that it makes him look bright to the eye. His colors are extra saturated and feel garish if you look at him for way too long.

See how his highlights become whiter? Yeah. That’s the same thing that’s going on in this photo. I hope that clears that problem up for anyone since I’ve seen it a lot since the preview was posted last night and I don’t know if anyone’s had a chance to explain how light works in photos.

So, all and all, I think what’s happening in this photo is simple. Saeran is nervous about being outside for too long and Saeyoung is trying to reassure him that the world can’t hurt them as long as they’re together. Which, in hindsight, it hurts so much to think about them having conversations like that and knowing what’s the next step in their lives while they’re none the wiser to it. Saeyoung is the brother who would do anything to see Saeran smile, and Saeran is the brother who has no choice but to cling to Saeyoung and pray for the best.

Saeyoung is wearing a black shirt or jacket. Saeran is wearing a hoodie that’s a few sizes too big for him. Whatever they have are things that Saeyoung got from a donation bin. I don’t think anyone here believes that Mother Choi would care enough to make sure they boys have something on their back. She gives them the bare minimum so she can afford to wet her lips with alcohol. As long as the two of them aren’t dead, that works for her. They don’t need anything but that in her eyes.

This is the first time we’ve seen baby Saeran drawn in something that isn’t the white button-down or the green shirt he wears in the flashback to the cathedral and the Special Believer package. It might be the first time Saeyoung has been drawn in something other than his black hoodie, too. I just don’t know if this one has sleeves? The color is too light on his arms to have sleeves!

It’s a notable detail to me because I would never imagine the boys wearing any clothes that make it easier to tell how small and malnourished they are. I know they’ve got bruises, too. Saeyoung and Saeran would definitely make a point of wearing clothes that cover everything up. They don’t want to attract attention to them. Their father could be anywhere... his men could be just around the corner. Their hair is enough of a dead-giveaway. They don’t need to make it obvious to anyone.

Anyway, I’m excited for the twin’s birthday and I can’t wait to see them. Boys, I love you so very much. You’ve been a part of my life since 2016 and I know that I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for you. That’s why I’m happy this year that the theme is everyone as children. They all survived and made it a place in this world where they had each other as family. The RFA is a found family and I am happy to be a part of it. I know we all suffered, but we have each other now in every sense of the word. They’re my family.

I survived, they survived, and I’m happy to say that you’ll get through whatever you’re going through, too. Our past is a part of us, yes, but it doesn’t control our future. That’s what I hope to see when the boys take to Twitter and recount their history. What we’ve survived may always be with us... but, our future can be the place we want it to be as long as we’re ready for it... and I think, Saeyoung and Saeran are ready to tackle the present and the future. I’d like to think we all are after seven years of being a family.

#character analysis #mystic messenger #mysme #mm #mysticmessenger #mod kait #saeyoung choi #choi saeyoung #luciel choi #choi luciel #seven #707 #saeran choi #choi saeran #saeran #mystic messenger saeran #mysme saeran #mm saeran #mm seven #mysme seven #mystic messenger seven #seven mystic messenger #seven mm #seven mysme #saeran mm #saeran mysme #saeran mystic messenger

[sprnklersplashes]

I'll crawl home to her: on his deathbed, inej asks kaz to stay. who is he to deny her?

whumptober: flatline/don't go where I can't follow

prologue (ao3)

cw: coughing blood, major character death

Many have speculated about how Kaz Brekker will die. The most popular was that his dirty deeds would catch up to him and that when he did die, it would be because he had finally bitten off more than he could chew. There were those in the Barrel who thought they would best him, be the champion who took down Dirtyhands. Some believed he would go out as he lived; a weapon in his hand and blood on his shirt. 

And then, there were the rumours that Kaz simply could not die. It was certainly plausible; after all his close brushes with death, the daring escapes that shouldn’t have been possible, it had become a serious rumour in the Barrel that Kaz Brekker was simply immortal, and anything that tried to kill him would simply slide away. 

Well, Inej has the answer now. Kaz can in fact die, and what kills him is not a random act of violence or a righteous hero. It’s an illness; one that made a home for itself some time ago in Kaz’s lungs and stayed unnoticed, hidden in plain sight. And Kaz went about his days, scheming, collecting, heisting, all unaware that the parasite had embedded itself in his body. When the cough developed and never left, he brushed it off as a mere cold. When his chest rattled as he breathed, he simply tightened his coat and told them he was fine. 

When he began coughing blood… he hid the handkerchiefs from them.

She’d cursed him at the time. Damn you Kaz she’d shouted, throwing the bloodied rags in his face. Why the hell would you do this? Why would you hide this from us? Kaz remained silent, eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. It was only after she had stormed out of his room in a rage that she realised he had been crying and she fell to her knees. 

Kaz doesn’t cry.

Inej went back into his room, and he told her everything. And since then, they had taken each day as it came. Kaz coughed more, Inej prayed. Kaz wheezed while walking, Inej prayed some more. Kaz collasped in the middle of the Crow Club, Inej spent six hours in the chapel, reciting every prayer she’d been taught a hundred times over. 

Slowly, Kaz was spending more and more days in bed, gradually growing too weak to even stand properly. Eventually, he relented and let her bring in a medik, who did nothing but listen to his chest and then confirm their worst nightmares.

“Make the most of the time you have with him,” they had told her.

That night, Inej climbed the church spires and screamed until her throat was raw.

Afterwards, she moved into his bedroom. Neither complained, and so they both stayed, him sleeping and her praying, as the new reality crept in and made them both prisoners. Inej would watch as her Kaz, her brilliant, ruthless Kaz, slipped further away from her. His eyes grew dull, his skin white, his frame reduced to skin and bones, until little remain but a shell of the boy she’d met at the Menagerie. 

And all that brings them to right now. Inej sits at the foot of Kaz’s bed, dagger clasped in her hands, and begins another cycle of prayers. In the background is the ever-present sound of his wheezed breathing, along with the scattering of rain against the window. Inej touches the tip of the blade with each finger, her Saint’s names muttered under her breath. 

“Inej.” The weak, strained sound of her name has her discarding her thoughts, her heart leaping to her throat. Kaz’s brows are furrowed, his pale lips pressed in a thin line. He shifts, legs twitching beneath hers, and his chest stutters like a failing engiene. He frowns, gasps, and tries again, “Inej.”

“I’m here.” In a heartbeat, she sheaths her dagger and crosses the bed until she’s beside him, brushing his hair from his face. It’s hard to tell whether he’s awake or dreaming these days, but either way, she’ll be at his side. “I’m here, Kaz, it’s okay.” 

It takes some more laboured breaths before Kaz can open his eyes. Just as he does, a coughing fit storms through him, causing the whole bedframe to tremble. Swallowing her panic, Inej grabs his outstretched hand, and continues to stroke his hair, his cheek, all the while telling him it will be all right. Her muttering continues, even when the coughing turns wet and a new instinct kicks in. One hand pulls him into a sitting position while the other snatches the cloth from the table to hold against his lips. As he shudders against her, her arm is around his shoulders, her knuckles grazing his hair. The fabric muffles the sound, but the bed continues shaking. Like a little dinghy caught in a vicious storm. 

When the coughing becomes hacking, Inej buries her face in his hair and presses thoughtless kisses to his head. It should be to comfort him. But the reality is less selfless than she likes; she can’t bare to see the crimon that stains the cloth.

Eventually, his shaking slows and the coughing dies down. Inej waits until its completely quiet before daring to lift her head. The cloth in her hand is almost completely scarlet. It squelches in her palm, blood oozing between her fingers. 

Quickly, Inej discards it, wipes her hands clean and returns to the bed. As she sits down, legs crossed, her hands are closed into tight fists.

Kaz is at least settled, pillows wedged between his back and the headboard. At first glance, he looks peaceful, but then she sees how pale is skin is. Even in the weak light, he looks almost translucent, punctuated by dark shadows beneath his eyes and a faint blue tinge to his lips. His watches her, eyes unfocussed, head cocked to one side. Low, shallow breathing fills the silence, minute by minute, until Kaz has the strength to talk.

“You’re sad.” Inej shakes her head. Her hair falls over her shoulders.

“No I’m… I’m fine.” She looks up, forces herself to smile. Her hands remain clasped between her knees. “How do you feel, Kaz?” 

He blinks at her, processing what she had said. Inej tries to think how he’d form entire heists in mere seconds. People had called him the most brilliant mind in Kerch.

He still is a fierce voice tells her. But that mind has been slowed by illness, by the medicines she’s tried and failed. A simple question now takes far too long to answer.

“M’alright,” he says. His hand, ungloved, moves across the blankets and sits atop her knee. She doesn’t know exactly when he took the gloves off. But when she rests her hand over his, carefully, slowly, he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he nods, and she thinks she sees him smile. 

Rain falls in steady, heavy sheets against the window, saving them from complete silence. She won’t force conversation, not when words feel so useless and talking takes so much out of him. She makes herself content and waits until he feels strong enough.

“You were praying.”

“I always pray,” she says with a shrug. Kaz nods and hums in agreement and at first she thinks that’s all there is to it. 

“What were you… praying for?” he asks. It’s a trick question. Inej bites her tongue to hold back the curses, because you already know Kaz, why are you making me say it?

“I’m praying for you to get better,” she tells him. “So that when you do, I can laugh at you for ever mocking my Saints.” He nods then, the movement so miniscule anyone else would have missed it. When he breathes out, its unsteady, laboured, his face tight like he’s refusing to scream. Before now, she had never heard such a thing come out of a human being. 

While he gathers himself, she touches her concealed knife and prays again.

“Inej…” he begins. He gasps, licks his chapped lips, squeezes her hand. Very slowly, as if it’s made of lead, he lifts his other hand and places it over hers. It’s cold as ice, colder even, but Ketterdam has made her very good at staying still. 

“Inej,” he says again. “It’ll be okay.”

“I know,” she tells him. She nods, smiles, even if none of it feels real. It’s all just orders to brain sends to her face. “I know. You’ll get better, and it’ll be okay.”

“No… Inej.” Kaz pushes himself up then, and panic catches like a match on a tinderbox. Before she can think, her hand is on his shoulder, helping him into whatever position he needs. He looks up at her, gasping, wet eyes glistening in the candlelight. “Inej… you’ll be alright.”

And now it’s her turn to blink. She turns the words over in her head, wondering what he could mean, wondering if he’s dreaming. Then, the words solidifies, and she jerks as if he had slapped her. 

“No,” she tells him. “ We will be alright-”

“Inej-”

“You’ll get better,” she tells him. “And if I have to fight the Saints themselves, then I will.” Her voice trembles, such conviction that she surprises even herself. “I will not lose you, Kaz.”

“Inej…” he mutters. “I don’t… I don’t want to… leave you like this.”

“Then don’t,” she replies. She sniffles, swallows the lump in her throat. In one quick motion, she plants her knees on either side of his legs, their hands still clasped. “You don’t have to.”

“I… I might.” Inej freezes. Kaz has rarely done anything he did not want to do, much less admitted to it. He ducks his head, squeezes his eyes shut. When he tries to breathe, chokes on it. Dry coughing shakes his shoulders and makes tears gather in his eyes. Inej rubs his back, whispers assurances, holds a cup of water to his lips.

And though its superstition, she looks over her shoulder, as if Death might be standing in the doorway to take him. 

When he finally finishes, his head falls back and his eyes slide closed. 

“Might be… time…” he pants. “Time to… pay the debts…” The words trail off, blurring into a drowsy haze. For a moment, she freezes, a sob or scream caught in her throat. Then she hears the rattle of his chest, sees the flutter of his lashes, and she forces it down. 

Soundlessly, she pulls herself a few inches closer. If he wanted, their foreheads could touch. After a nod from him, she takes his face in her hands. 

“Stay,” she pleads, repeating the words he said to her so very long ago. Her throat feels so dry, but she makes herself say it. “Stay here. Stay with me.” Despite his closed eyes, he smiles, though it’s little more than a twitch of a muscle. Slowly, his arm comes around her waist. She doesn’t miss how he sinks into the mattress as he does so. One gesture took so much from him. 

Kaz coughs again and she moves to get him water. Before she can though, he pulls her closer and moves so that his nose rubs hers. It took her by surprise, the first day he did that. She had laughed and told him he was like a kitten. Kaz hadn’t commented but afterwards it wormed its way into a million little moments between them. It brings her back to before this illness, the quiet moments they never thought they’d have.

With his face in her hands, Inej wills the moment to stay. For them to just be this, a girl cradling a boy’s face in his bed. 

“Please,” she begs him. “Don’t go where I can’t follow.” 

“You could… follow anyone… anywhere,” he wheezes. He whimpers. “But… maybe not… this time.” He coughs again, heavy as the rain outside. In seconds, she grabs a clean cloth and holds it to his lips. Blood doesn’t come this time, Instead, she dips it in water and cools his flushed cheeks. 

As it subsides, Inej settles him back against the pillows. His chest is heaving now, and a low graon escapes him as he curls inward. For the first time, Inej forces herself to keep looking at him. Regardless of the guilt piercing her heart, she must keep watching him. Because he is still here.

Blindly, his hand reaches and she takes it between her two, rubbing the skin like she can force warmth back into him. Slender fingers curl around hers and hold tight. Before he fell ill, he had started pressing kisses to her knuckles. When his hand twitches, Inej thinks for a moment he may be about to again. Perhaps he was. But then he grunts, wheezes, and their clasped hands remain still upon his chest.

Inej’s throat tightens. She tightens her jaw and bites her tongue until she tastes metal. She will not cry because he can’t kiss her anymore. She will not. It’s not about her.

(But how much of him has this illness stolen form her?)

Between her knees, Kaz’s legs shift. Inej stirs in time to see his eyes open weakly and his gaze turn towards the window. As watery light falls over his face, Inej finds herself wishing he’d look away. She doesn’t want to see the hollowness of his cheeks, or the red tinge in his eyes. But at the same time… he’s almost smiling. These days that smile is rarer than shooting stars. Can she really want to take this from him?

“It’s… it’s stopped… r-raining,” he gasps. Her hand in his, Inej turns and, for some reason she’ll never know, a faint smile touches her lips. It has indeed stopped, and what’s more; the sun now peeks through the clouds in small, silver bursts. It catches the raindrops on the glass, and an array of shimmering colours falls onto the windowsill. Their own little rainbow, she thinks.

“Yes,” she says softly. “It has-”

She turns, possibly to say something else or maybe to show him the rainbow, but the words halt in her throat. Kaz’s eyes have closed, his lashes resting against his gaunt cheeks. His hand is stiff around hers. Blood pools at the corner of his lips. Dazed, Inej rests her hand on his chest. Beneath her palm, there’s no beat of a heart, no broken breathing. Just silence, stillness.

Ever-patient, Inej waits. Just as she used to wait for a signal, she waits to hear something from him. She waits, blinks, waits some more. She counts. One minute. Two minutes. Three.

Four.

Five.

“Kaz?” Inej makes a small, choking sound. She sees, rather than feels, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He doesn’t react to her touch. Under her touch, his skin is cold, and hard. Like marble.

“Kaz?” she asks again, even though she already knows. It’s just her and a body, and Kaz Brekker is, at long last, gone.

Slowly, Inej falls to the bed. She moves as if following instructions; her arm wraps around Kaz’s waist, her head on his chest, her leg hooks around his. It’s the way they always are, the way they have learned and helped each other to be. It was this very room where they began shedding their pasts, piece by piece, intending to build something with what was left behind. It was here they began exploring themselves and each other, taking risks, being bold. Moving forwards, stepping back. Offering, giving, searching, finding things in each other they never thought possible. After those months and then years together, there was still so much left for them to do. A road untravelled, now closed off to her. Forever.

They were meant to have more time. 

It’s only when a wet patch grows on Kaz’s shirt that she realises she is crying. Silently, endlessly, a way she hadn’t done since she was fourteen and realised no-one was coming to save her. Hopelessness comes to meet her, just as it did then, and when it slithers beneath her skin, she knows without doubt it will stay.

She lifts her head and looks at Kaz again. 

“You were meant to stay,” she tells him. She balls up his shirt and says again, “You were meant to stay!” 

If he is sorry for leaving her, he doesn’t show it. There’s just her, and the tears that fall like rain against his cold skin. 

#six of crows #six of crows fanfic #kanej #kanej fanfic #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #whumptober 2023 #whumptober day 16 #yes i am very late thank you for asking #after 6 proofreads its here!!

[starlit-summer-nights]

No More Pain- Mother! Reader x Son! Butters (fluff)

TW- Infertility, Child Abuse

hey everyone! so this is a little outside of what I usually write. I recently watched South Park again and I realized there is absolutely no fanfiction on a mother reader adopting butters as their son. so here’s a wholesome lil story about you adopting butters and taking him away from his evil parents :)

The cold, hard rain pounded on the hills of the Colorado Soil. The same little peaceful mountain town you always knew.

You recently had moved here from Denver. Denver was only about an hour away so you could still see your family frequently and they were very close by. You recently had gotten married with your husband Lee Johnson. Lee was a wonderful man and treated you like absolute royalty. All you could’ve ever hoped and prayed for.

You had a nice little cottage a little ways from town. It seemed almost too perfect, a little cottage for you and your husband to spend the rest of your days in.

Except, there was a piece missing.

“I’m sorry Mrs.Johnson, it seems that your eggs are.. infertile.” The doctor spoke softly, laying down his clip board.

The doctor had actually been an old friend of Lee’s, they had gone to school together for a while and became close. His name was Dr. Rick Morrison.

You felt everything in your world absolutely shatter. The world had felt like it stopped turning for a moment.

“What.. no! There has to be a mistake!” You protested, immediately going into denial.

The doctor looked at you with sympathy in his eyes, laying a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do. I know you both were very excited to have children. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to support you both through this.” He looked sad too, and grieved with you.

You thanked him and he hugged you. He was a great man and he always had looked out for you when you needed a check up.

You got in the car and tried to compose yourself. This was not something you easily could recover from.

On the way home, you worried how you were going to break the news to your husband. He was going to be just as, if not more devastated than you are.

You let a few tears slide down your cheek. You were trying so hard to hold it together, gripping tightly onto the steering wheel of you car.

You looked at the picture you had of you and Lee on your wedding day, sitting on the stairs of the local church.

And then to the baby clothes you had bought on sale that your friend was giving away, just in case the miraculous day finally would happen for you too.

You looked up to the sky.

“Why couldn’t it be us?” You questioned, as if asking God why.

You pulled over on the side of the rocky road. There was already one bad thing about today, you didn’t need another to happen.

You let everything out. You screamed, you cried, you hit your dashboard.

You finally had calmed down. You had accepted it. You and Lee would never have a child.

And maybe.. all you needed was eachother after all.

You started the car back up, driving away from the side of the road.

You had entered back into town, a few minutes away from your house.

Just then, you see something that makes your heart lurch.

A small, young boy, huddled next to dumpster.

His head was hung.. almost like he was crying and weeping.

Your flight or fight response set in. What if it was a trap to lure you in? You were a lone woman, after all.

But.. he was so small and frail..

Well.. if you were gonna die, you were gonna die trying to save a child, at least.

You parked your car a little ways back, so you wouldn’t scare him.

You gently closed your car door, making sure that wouldn’t scare him off either.

You finally got to the dumpster, a few feet away from where he was.

He was indeed crying. Sobbing, in fact.

His cries absolutely broke your heart. No little boy should be crying like that.

And then you looked to his body. His body almost seemed lifeless, so emancipated and thin. Like he hadn’t eaten in years.

He looked to be dirty too. His skin was covered in dirt.

You finally mustered up enough courage to speak.

“H-hi there.” You spoke gingerly, not wanting to spook him.

The boy immediately jumped, letting out a scream.

“No, no! I’m not here to hurt you I-I promise!” You defended yourself, throwing your hands up.

He calmed down and looked at you for a minute. He seemed to be.. at ease, almost.

“Who-who are you?” He questioned, curiosity in his voice. He had a light little voice with a touch of a southern drawl.

You stuck out your hand for him to shake. “I’m Y/N Johnson. What’s your name?” You gently smiled, trying to show him it was okay to approach you.

“Uh-uh.. Butters, ma’am. Butters Stotch.” He replied nervously, cautiously taking your hand.

“Nice to meet you Butters,” you smiled at him gently.

“What are you doing out here on a cold rainy night like this?” You sat down in the snow gently next to him.

“My-my parents locked me out of the house. They told me I should never come back. I don’t know what I did.. I was just playing action figures in my room and then my dad came in and slapped me and then my mom told me I was never allowed back in.” He began to cry, the hot tears spilling down his cheeks.

You felt your heart break, a huge pit in your chest. A sweet, precious boy like him should never have to go through something like that.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that,” you spoke softly.

“Would you like a hug? I know that has to be very scary.” You opened your arms out for a hug, you just wanted to comfort him until he stopped crying.

He finally looked up at you. He was a beautiful little boy. Baby blue eyes, light blonde hair, a small, little button nose, long eyelashes, and a few freckles here and there.

His eyes held so much emotion. You could almost feel like in that moment he finally accepted that you were trying to help him.

“S-sure, Miss.Johnson.” He moved closer to you, wrapping his little arms around you.

You made sure to gently hug him back. He was so thin, you were scared to even touch him.

“Hey.. it’s kind of cold out here and wet.. I have a car parked over there with a heater and I have some stuff I could dry you off with, would you like that?” You looked down at him, he had his little head leaned against your shoulder for support.

He looked up at you with pure innocence in his eyes.

“Really? You wouldn’t mind doing that?” He almost seemed shocked that you would do such a thing to take care of him.

“Of course not.” You smiled back at him.

“Come on. It’s over here.” You stood up gently, him not letting go of you.

You carried him to your car, sitting him in the back. He felt so light.

You took all the baby blankets and clothes you had and tried your best to remember how to swaddle. You also had some towels in your car too so once you had swaddled him with the blankets and clothes, you draped as many towels as you could on him.

“That alright, Butters?” You questioned, looking at him.

He snuggled into the warmth.

“It’s very nice. I’m starting to feel warm again.” He replied.

“Good. Hang tight, okay? I’m going to take you to my house. We have lots of food and a place where you can sleep, okay?” You smiled at him again, buckling him up. You also had a booster seat in you car from when you had babysat your cousin’s kids and she wanted you to have it just in case.

“O-Okay Mrs.Johnson.” He replied softly.

You finally saw a little smile spread across his face.

What a truly angelic sight.

You gently kissed his forehead and got in the driver’s seat.

You dialed up your husband and told him what was going on.

He was ready to help too.

You finally got to your cottage. You carried Butters inside and sat him down on the couch.

You ran a hot bath, with your husband monitoring Butters.

You both helped give him a nice, warm bath, which helped him warm up immensely. He finally was clean too.

But, another sight that broke your heart.

There were scars, littered all over his back. Some big and some small.

You spared a sad glance at your husband, almost with a few tears in your eyes. Your husband shared your sympathy, with him wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

Butters was fast asleep on the couch, under a big, warm, fluffy blanket.

You had given him some warm, fuzzy pajama’s your cousin’s son accidentally left over at your house.

He looked like an absolute angel fast asleep.

Poor thing probably hadn’t slept well in a while.

Your husband had already started the fire, which helped him warm up.

“Well, darling, what do we need to do now? He’s fast asleep and the poor thing probably hasn’t slept in ages.” You looked at your husband, who eyed the boy sadly.

“Do you think he’s hungry? He looks like he hasn’t eaten in a while.” He questioned, looking back at you.

“It’s worth a shot. I’ll go wake up him if you could get the food.” You nodded.

“Done and done, sugarplum.” He kissed your forehead before walking off to the fridge.

You softly put your hand on Butters’ shoulder.

“Butters, sugar, wake up for just a minute.” You spoke softly.

He stirred and fluttered his eyes open.

“Are you hungry?” You smiled, looking into those sweet, innocent blue eyes.

“I am a little.. the last time I ate was right before you found me. I found a bag of 2 half eaten donuts. I figured.. that would have been enough to last me for a little while.” He explained, rubbing his fingers together nervously.

Your heart absolutely broke into pieces for a third time. How long had he been doing this?

“Well, we have some food that you can have. What would you like?” You smiled.

“W-well, I like pancakes.. but it’s 12 in the mornin’.” He rubbed his fingers together nervously again.

“Well sweetheart, we’ll make those for you if you want them. My husband here is actually amazing at making pancakes.” You encouraged, you really wanted him to eat.

“O-okay. If that’s okay with you.” He softly said back.

“Of course, sweetheart. Do you like tv? While he makes those for you we can watch TV together if you want.” You sat next to him.

“Uh.. sure. I like Terrance and Phillip sometimes and sometimes Little Bunny Foo Foo.. (I’m making it a show lol).”

You remembered looking up that show for your cousins you babysit.

“Okay, sweetheart. Let me look that up for you.” You smiled, grabbing the remote.

Yup, exactly as you remembered, channel 444.

“Here you go, Butters.” You smiled, laying down the remote.

“Thanks.. Ma..Ma..” he drifted off back to sleep.

You felt your heart absolutely flutter in delight. You wanted nothing more than to be called Mama. A few tears escaped your eyes.

“You heard that too, right?” You whispered to your husband in the kitchen, who was cooking pancakes in the kitchen.

“I did, baby.” He smiled, serving the pancakes on a plate.

“So what did Rick tell you?” He turned, hugging you from behind.

“Uh.. uh.. yeah.. I was gonna tell you.. before I.. I got back..” you stuttered, afraid of what his reaction was going to be.

“I’m infertile, honey.” You looked up at him, tears threatening to spill again.

He held a shocked expression, but immediately ran to your side and held you.

“I’m here, I’m here baby. We’re going to get through this. I love you.” He repeated, holding you tight.

“I love you too.” You sighed, holding him just as tight.

Butters eventually woke back up and ate, like a wolf that had just caught it’s piece of prey. That poor boy was absolutely starving, but you felt so grateful you could help him eat again.

It was way past his bed time, so you had decided to put him back to sleep on the couch so you could keep an eye on him.

Your husband had gone to bed and asked you to let him know if Butters had any problems. You told him you would keep an eye on him.

Eventually, however, you had fallen asleep, with Butters propped up on your right shoulder.

Morning had come. Butters was reported missing. You wondered how that could work, because his parents had shut him out of his own house.

Eventually, the police had been called to find him. Butters parents had their house investigated and they were questioned thoroughly before being arrested on charges of child neglect, premeditated murder and child abuse.

The next few months, everything began to fall perfectly into place. You and your husband volunteered to foster Butters until he could find a new home. Butters had been eating regularly, had made art for you and your husband to hang on the fridge, and seemed to be getting his personality back.

“Honey, I think it’s time.” Your husband smiled at you, beaming with glee.

You were confused. “Huh?”

“I emailed the foster care place. They said we can come in to sign the adoption papers later today.” He smiled, taking your hands gently.

“R-really? Are you sure? It’s only been about 3 months..” you replied nervously.

“I think we’re more than ready. Look how we’re worked together as a team that night. We’ve waited so long for this and we’re on the brink of it.. do you really want to wait that much longer?” He questioned, care in his voice and his forest green eyes.

You felt determined. That child was going to be yours and your family would finally be complete.

“Okay. Let’s do it.” You grinned at your husband.

You had taken Butters with you too the foster care place, walking up to the front desk.

You signed the papers inconspicuously, making sure Butters didn’t see. You wanted this to be a complete surprise to him.

Once you signed the papers, you thanked the lady at the front desk and went out to the car, but not before a cheerful smile and a “congratulations” was said.

You and your husband smiled to yourselves, but a confused Butters looked at you curiously.

Your husband held Butters while you got his little shirt. You had it in your closet just in case you decided to ever adopt a child.

And lucky you, today was that day.

Butters read the shirt.

“Happy.. Gotcha Day..” he read softly.

He immediately began to tear up.

“Are.. are you my parents now?” He questioned, looking up at you and your husband.

You and your husband both grinned ear to ear.

“That’s right. Welcome to the family, Mr. Butters Stotch Johnson.” Lee smiled, kissing the little boy on his forehead.

“Welcome home, my beloved angel.” You walked up to him, kissing his forehead.

From then on, Butters was the answer to your prayer, the angel sent from the heavens. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. ❤️

#south park #southpark butters #butters stotch #mom reader #south park fanfiction #Spotify

[3rdeyeblaque]

On May 8th, we also venerate Ancestor Robert Johnson on his 112th birthday 🎉

A renowned ICON of Hoodoo History, Culture, & Folklore, and a Delta Blue's legend, Robert Johnson's storied yet brief success has cemented him at the crossroads of Hoodoo Folklore & American History. He is known for his exceptionally eerie singing & masterful guitar play amid living a hard and fast life; after having struck a deal with the Devil to become one of the greatest Blue's musicians of all time.

According to Hoodoo Folklore, it was a cool October night when Robert Johnson walked alone with his guitar down a dark road in the Mississippi River Delta on a full moon night to the crossroads at Highways 49 & 61 in Clarksdale, Mississippi. As he walks he thinks about his sorrow. He thinks about the jeers & shouts for him to get off stage. In his misery, he cries out into the night. For his weakness, jealousy, fear, & the anguish of failure. But he’s not alone. Here, he meets the Devil. The Devil heard his cry & appeared, offering to fashion him a talent so he could play unlike any other in exchange for his soul. Thus Robert Johnson rose to fame as the King of the Delta Blues.

Robert Johnson was the eleventh child of his mother's children & born out of wedlock. He was born and grew up with his mother in Hazlehurst, Mississippi until he left to stay with his father for a time in Memphis,TN. His childhood is largely a mystery. Those that knew of him, claimed that he took up the diddley bow (a wire attached to nails sticking out of houses), as music was his life long interest.

As a teen, Robert Johnson met fellow Blue's legend Son House and Willie Brown. They became his musical mentors as they played in small towns throughout the Mississippi Delta. Thus began his showmanship & his iconic fusion of singing, guitar-playing, & songwriting. From then on he lived the life he sang about, the life a mysterious traveling musician. Though as the old folks of the era would say,  “The Blues was never meant to be taken seriously or reflectively. It was simply a force, expressing the deepest roots of their lives”. That there are only 3 known photos of him in existence only adds to his mystery.

By 1931 he was a popular name in bars and nightclubs throughout the region. While passing through Jackson, Mississippi in 1936, Robert Johnson caught the eye of a talent scout who'd go on to arranged his first recording session, which went on to selling 5,000 copies throughout the region. This was the very 1st time that  Robert Johnson's singing voice & guitar play was recorded. Despite his short life & career, he became a major influence on Blue's & Rock N Roll in the '60s & '70s. He'd go on to influence the likes of Bob Dylan, the Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Led Zeppelin, the Allman Brothers, and Eric Clapton. In 1961 Columbia Records released, King of Delta Blues, which was a compilation of his early recordings; spanning just 29 cut between 1936-1938.

In 1938, a music producer at Columbia Records learned about his recordings & sought him out to perform at Carnegie Hall in NYC in front of an all-Black crowd. Unfortunately, Robert Johnson passed away the night before the show was set.

To this day, the cause of his death remains in dispute. Some say he was shot dead by the man of a paramour he'd messed around with. Others say it was a poison that killed him. His death certificate, however, officially states that his cause of death was Syphilis. Still, whether literally or figuratively, there are those who believe that the Devil did in fact collect his due.

At the time of his death, his grave remained unmarked thus no exumation effort could ever conclude with 100% certainty that the uncovered remains are his. Today, what has long-since been presumed to be his remains, is buried in Little Zion Baptist Church's cemetary, in Greenwood, Mississippi. 

"I pray that my redeemer will come and take me from my grave" - Robert Johnson’s final words

We pour libations & give him💐 today as we celebrate him for his legendary contributions to the art, history, and lore of Blue's & Black Culture. May we elevate him in light & healing.

Offering suggestions: listen to/share his music, play Mississippi Delta Blue's , & menthol cigarettes paired with dark liquor

*Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.

#hoodoo #hoodoos #atr #the hoodoo calendar #atrs #Hoodoo History #Hoodoo Folklore #the crossroads #crossroads #devil at the crossroads #juju #Mississippi delta blues #king of delta blues #blues music #black history

[devourable]

This isn’t a request (and I’m sure you get a lot of asks and requests about Abe anyway so I don’t wanna pile on or anything~) but I absolutely NEED you to know that your tags on the Professor Sterling fic about Priest Abe have been haunting me for dayssssssssss and if I don’t send this they will likely continue to.

Alcohol CW 😅

Middle aged Abe with silver in his hair, wearing a priest’s vestments, kneeling on those ornate pillows (bc he’s old and his knees hurt now 😭) to receive the sacrament from his tempting demon of a Darling~ Pouring wine down his throat till he’s dizzy (probably doesn’t take too much… it’s cute to think he’s still a real lightweight ;))…

-Doe 🦌

stop stop stop the way you imagine older abe is so cute im gonna cry 😭

this poor man constantly daydreaming about his church's newest follower, incapable of knowing if they're a demon trying to tempt him or an angel sent specifically for him to fall for. he prays for an answer but everything always, always comes back to them. he can't stop himself from touching them whenever they're in the same space together and he doesn't know why — its all innocent and technically it isn't a sin if his chastity is in tact so there's no harm in it anyway, right? (ignoring the fact that he absolutely wouldn't stop his darling if they made a move to take his virginity). he only has loose concepts of what being in love is so he doesnt know what to make of his feelings. all he knows is that he needs to be around his darling because he feels like he's dying otherwise

#communion ;; asks #lovers ;; doe #and yes all iterations of abe are absolute lightweights #the smallest sip of booze will get him drunk #older!au #older!abraham

[waitingforthesunrise]

my mother thinks there was druids in our line; I think there might be witches – whatever that word means, anyways. What do any of these words mean, really? All I know is that so much of my returning to myself has only brought me closer to where I began. T. S. Eliot wrote that “the end of all our exploration will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.” I try to remember when I felt most alive: fifteen? Twelve? No, five. What did I believe in when I was five, when I was most alive within myself, ribs like twigs I had no wish to break? I believed in God because it was easy, easier even than my insistence that the trees could talk and mud had meaning. When I was six I spent the nights on my knees, searching for sins I had yet to repent for – harsh, I know, but so is life. I don’t know why I'm crying while I write this. Maybe because I prayed again yesterday with just my mouth, words wandering across the table while I stared at my food, and the pleas drifted out before I could stop them. Forgive me, Father, for I know…I have sinned. I know it well. I am absent for a moment and find myself  back on my knees. Maybe repentance still sleeps under my tongue. Maybe I’ve never stopped being sorry.

Lately, I’ve noticed how I can only write truly sad poems about other people. My own must always end with some crucial nugget of hope, of redemption. Do I finish poems with hope before I can end with apologies? I struggle with the fact that in healing you must inevitably sleep while grieving, eat before your hunger returns, hold yourself while you hate yourself. There is no purging in love. I have poured out apologies for a God who doesn’t want them, yearned for heaven when it was already in my palm.

It’s Holy Week in the liturgical Christian calendar, a week which has something to do with repentance and more to do with love that erases it all. To me, Holy Week is like two things: sunrises, and someone you love ladling pasta into your bowl. Here. There is no apology necessary for the love and satisfaction between us. It is good, and it is well, and I love you. You cry, but only because you have forgotten how to be loved, and now – now, you are remembering. Lately, I’ve stopped choking on apologies – for refusing to go to a church that wants to shove me to my queer knees, for the messiness of healing, for the way I’ll spend this Easter in my garden and somehow feel closer to that empty-tomb-garden than I ever have. I think everything is an altar if you worship there, because divinity whispers through everything. Apologies slip out but they’re swallowed by the gentle grace of trees. I don’t want to die anymore, but I’m not scared of it either; when I do, I no longer wish to go with sorry clutched between my teeth like the gold coin of passage.  Sometimes, when I’m quiet, I can almost hear my five year old self laughing, and I know: I’ve almost made my way back to the beginning. Exploration never truly ends, but repentance does. The tomb is almost open. I’m almost alive again, and God: it is good.

#happy Easter!! To all who celebrate and to those who don’t have a lovely week #a bit different from what I normally post on writing so just thinning out loud #Those ex pastors daughter thoughts hit different in holy week #sometimes you miss absolution and then remember it was already yours and all you miss is the validation etc etc #original writing #creative writing #queer christian #tw christianity #on writing #writeblr #spilled ink #beautiful words #poems and poetry #poetry

[electronikmilk]

Seeing God

i'm feral and absolutely sick to death of looking at this, so i'm finally posting it.

Manuel Aringarosa x f reader

Rating: 18+

Contains: Spanking, submissive Manuel, dom reader, also sex worker reader.

You sipped your coffee as you peeked through the curtains of your living room window. It was late, and most other lights in the houses along the street had gone out. You lived on the outskirts of Amsterdam in a little house on a quiet street, some twenty minutes by car from the city's hustle, bustle, and neon glow. 

Typically, you would be tucked away in bed, too, but you had a client scheduled for an incall session, and he wanted it done late at night for privacy. You understood this. Many others requested the same thing when they contacted you. 

This one, however, was...peculiar. 

Bishop Manuel Aringarosa of Opus Dei was now on your list of clients. 

You closed the curtain and went to nestle into the recliner by the loveseat, telling your Alexa to put on your Spotify playlist. You listened to Johnette Napolitano's husky voice begin to sing Mexican Moon. You enjoyed the seductive strumming of thick guitar strings as you reminisced about how Manuel ended up in your lap.  

Thinking of you underneath the Mexican moonlight...

Most of your clients emailed or texted you, but Manuel called out of the blue, nervously asking if booking him for an appointment was possible. He was polite and had a soothing voice with traces of a Spanish accent that you liked immediately. He made it clear right off the bat that he was, in fact, the head of Opus Dei in New York. You knew the order well, as did everyone else since they were ubiquitous and powerful. His honesty impressed you, but you had reservations about taking a man of the cloth as a client, especially someone of his rank. 

"I'm sorry, Father Aringarosa." You had told him, "But I don't think I can do that. Might I suggest the--"

"Señorita, por favor..." His voice strained with emotion before he cleared his throat, "My apologies, miss. But I...I need your help. Please hear me out. Just a few minutes of your time, please." 

Caught off guard, you went quiet. You could hear him sniffling on the other end. Was he crying? Feeling sorry for him, you said, "Alright, Father. Go on. Take your time." 

Aringarosa told you everything in a lengthy story that you listened to intently. He had confided in you that he had desires that had started to cloud his thoughts. Typical of a man of God, he described his interest as horrendously sinful. They had also become impossible to ignore in the past months, even with the comfort of praying and penance. You had asked what it was, and he hesitated to admit it. After some gentle coaxing and a long silence from Manuel, he said he wanted to see what it felt like to let go and give complete control to another person. But it was more than that; he wanted a living goddess to submit to. He wanted to be powerless and made to worship her by whatever means, even if it included him experiencing pain. 

Manuel treated the call like a confessional. Saying he had always craved something like this, even before entering the priesthood and taking his vows of celibacy. Suppressing it was difficult, and the only remedy was to throw himself headfirst into his ambitions within the church. It worked like a charm, and it sat dormant for the better part of twenty years. He eventually took head office at Opis Dei, and from there, all power over the order was in his hands, and he wielded it well. 

Despite his efforts, his desire to be powerless never entirely faded. It always lurked in the back of his mind, forced down but ready to bubble to the surface in solitude and his dreams. Undeterred, Manuel stubbornly told himself that he could manage it, that everything was fine, and went about his business. 

Then, it exploded to the surface once he took up extended residence in Amsterdam. 

The poor man, ashamed, admitted he visited the Red Light District the week he arrived (out of vestments, incognito, Manuel stressed). He claimed he didn't solicit any of the girls in the windows or wander into adult theatres or peep shows. But the temptation was there like a forbidden fruit beckoning Manuel to bite. Taste and know. 

"There were plenty of girls I would have paid to do unholy things to me." He confessed quietly. "And if I could, I would've submitted to every one of them..." 

He regretted setting foot in the district because it only enflamed the desire threefold, and by God did it burn. Day and night, it consumed him until he couldn't even be in the presence of the sisters and nuns he periodically came into contact with. The young novices, especially, drove him to the brink of flustered madness. Not fully covered like the cloistered nuns, he would feast upon the occasional glimpses of soft, girlish bangs and locks of wayward curls, the rounded curves of their calves exposed by their shorter skirts, their dainty hands, anything. He devoured it like a starving man. He would see himself kissing them in his mind, waiting upon them hand and foot, or allowing them to inflict pain so he may be rewarded and become their plaything. He saw himself without will, dignity, or purpose other than giving them pleasure. 

And no matter how much he willed the wicked craving away, it would not go. Manuel couldn't escape it, not even when he prayed alone within the stony walls of the nearby cathedral for his evening devotions, where he thought safety would be assured. It was not. The holy objects around him, the altar, the bloodied Christ on the cross, and the eyes of the Virgin, did nothing to stave off his lust. Prayers faltered, then died on his lips as fantasies danced in his head. The rosary hanging uselessly in his hand, he would look at the altar and think about what it would be like to worship the marvelous curves of the girls he all but ogled upon it. He wondered what it would be like to be bent over it by them and whipped into absolute submission. 

Thinking such thoughts in a holy place horrified him. 

Manuel's voice wavered when he explained how he fled and threw himself onto his knees once in his apartment, praying to God for forgiveness and purification. He prayed for his thoughts to be taken away and purged, but no matter how much he invoked God, Jesus, Mary, and the saints, he felt they weren't listening and feared he was forsaken. And even in these prayers, it took everything he had to focus on his lamenting instead of succumbing to the intense lure of the Red Light District and the beautiful women that danced for his attention through the windows and doorways. The fruit, now candied, demanded consumption. His mouth watered for it, but he couldn't, absolutely couldn't, be seen on those streets again.  

Manuel had to work up the courage to call when he found an online advertisement for your incall erotic services. He spent several evenings debating whether he should do it, his soul in shreds, longing for mending. The bishop almost begged you for help. He feared he would leave the order altogether if he didn't deal with his crisis. He needed to do it once. Just once. Money was no object. Hell, you didn't even have to have fuck him if you didn't want to. He was desperate. 

You felt overwhelming sympathy for the man, so you booked a session for the following week. After briefly discussing what was wanted and your set of rules and requirements, Manuel said he would bring everything he needed to act out his fantasy; you only needed to provide the atmosphere and a small table strong enough to hold your weight.

Manuel showed up to his arrangement out of his vestments, no cassock, no priest's collar, not even a crucifix, just a sweater, pressed slacks, and dress shoes. Incognito. As you should have suspected. A black Volkswagen Beetle was parked a block down the road. 

He was a handsome, somewhat portly man somewhere in his fifties. He had thick eyebrows and large brown eyes with an intense gaze. He was tall, too, reaching over six feet, appropriately imposing for a bigwig bishop. But despite his height and age, he seemed anxious standing outside your door, tugging at the collar of his sweater, and not looking you in the eye as he greeted you. He held a leather suitcase at his side.

"Hello, Father." You said, smiling kindly, "Come in. How was your drive? Not too hard to find the place, I hope?"

"Please, 'Manuel' is fine, my dear." He said, stepping into your home and taking off his shoes. "And the drive was fine, thank you. No trouble at all." 

"Oh, good. Would you like some tea? Or coffee? I have a lovely cream of Earl Grey that I'm trying. I can make you a cup if you like." 

"No. No, thank you." He replied, then took a deep breath to calm himself, "I'm sorry to be rude, but may we just--ah, may we just get to it? I don't want to take up too much of your time." 

"Of course. Please, come with me." You nodded, then gestured for Manuel to follow you into the finished basement, where you converted the unused study into a playroom. Manuel grabbed his suitcase and followed you down the carpeted stairs into a sizeable lilac-colored space. Black and white photos of naked, bound men and women hung on the walls, framed in intricately carved frames like fine art. Erotic tapestries draped parts of the wall, adding to the luxurious feel with a purple rug. An array of tools used for sensual torture, whips, paddles, ball gags, leather masks, and other toys hung on the far wall. Then there was your prized possession sitting front and center: a five-foot-tall alabaster statue of a nude woman with long flowing hair cascading down her back—a nondescript goddess figure with open arms and a calm face with closed eyes. An art-collecting client gave her to you quite a few years ago. She was cute, and you were fond of her. 

As discussed, you had pushed a coffee table into the center of the room, covering it with a white tablecloth like an altar. You situated the table facing the statue so it looked like the figure would be presiding over the session. Manuel had said he wanted the space set up like a temple, so you dimmed the lights and lit pillar candles around the room. Though the candles and lighting alone had seemed enough, you went further and took fake ivy and flowers to decorate your statue. You draped the ivy around her body, then twisted the stems of the flowers together to make a crown and placed it on her head. To finish off, you plucked the heads off the extra flowers and sprinkled them around the base at her feet, just for extra oomph. 

The statue's serene face seemed almost alive in the candlelight, like she was merely meditating. Looking at her, you were happy with your setup. 

"I don't have many religious things in my supplies, so I had to make do with what I had. I hope you don't mind." You said. When Manuel entered the room, he looked at the tools, the photos, and the statue, staring at her in amazement. 

"No. It's perfect, thank you. Quite beyond my expectations, actually..." He said, his voice quivering for a second. His head tilted then, and he seemed to think, suddenly looking uncomfortable, troubled. You noticed he gripped the suitcase handle tight, his knuckles becoming white. His eyes became a little glassy, and you worried he might start crying. 

"Are you alright?" You inquired and reached out to touch his arm. As soon as your fingers made contact, he jumped, snapping out of his thoughts. He nodded.

"Yes..." He said, then composed himself by clearing his throat and putting down his suitcase. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry, I-I suppose I'm just nervous."

"Don't apologize, hon. I understand. But don't worry, alright? I'll take good care of you, and if you want to stop, use the safeword like we discussed." You said, squeezing Manuel's arm. Manuel didn't speak for a moment, then he whispered.

"Do you believe in God? In sin?" 

You blinked at him, taken aback. 

No, absolutely not, you wanted to say. You never believed in the stuff. It was too limiting. Too old-fashioned and arbitrary. Why subject yourself to a religion and a god that frowns upon everything you ever do, no matter how harmless it is to others? Especially in such issues as sex, gender, and love. 

But you thought that conversation hardly mattered at the moment, and it appeared Manuel wasn't looking for your view on the matter anyway. You could see him shaking. He was scared, probably stalling, and it saddened you to see it. It must have been hard for him to lead such a life as a holy man when he had this craving that lifelong tradition taught him was disgusting, even evil, when it wasn't. While his position in the church and lifelong dedication to scripture and faith were admirable to a degree, the fact of the matter was that he was just a man. A man with desires. Natural, human desires that were far from evil. And it must have been challenging to put everything aside to indulge in those cravings. The weight of the guilt must have been excruciating. 

"No. I believe in human nature." You said softly. "But does that really matter right now? I'm not here to judge you, Manuel. It's not my place. And after everything you told me, I just want to help you. I don't think what you want to do is sinful. It's just sex, that's all. It's not hurting anyone, and we're both consenting, right? So I think it's all disco." 

Manuel gave a pained smile and nodded. "Thank you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. I just..." He trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

"It's alright. Just relax and enjoy yourself, okay?" 

"Alright." 

"Are you sure you still want to do this?" You asked.

"Yes." He said, wiping the corners of his eyes. He sighed and slumped his shoulders in what looked like defeat. Surrender. You felt like he wanted to say more, but he didn't. You knew the words anyway; you could see it in his eyes. I need to. 

You nodded at him tenderly. Then he opened the suitcase to hand you a mantilla-style veil made from red lace. He had instructed you to wear it with whatever you wanted but no shoes so that he may kiss your feet. 

"If you don't mind, please change in the other room and come back in. I want to get everything just right." 

"No problem." You winked and turned to leave the room. 

You entered the bathroom and stripped down to nothing except black crotchless panties and thigh-high stockings. It delighted you that you could choose whatever you wanted. It was a rare occurrence since many clients were very particular about play attire. 

Manuel didn't ask for much when you asked what he wanted to enjoy during his session, just no shoes, the environment, and your power to dominate him. Otherwise, you could do whatever you wanted, a simple man with simple needs. 

You selected a black PVC sheath dress with full-length sleeves that you purchased last week. It was skin-tight, and you had to smooth it until it was cleaving to you like a glove. Luckily, it was extremely short, barely covering your ass so you could move freely. It was also lowcut with the closing zipper in the front, and you left it slightly open at the top for just a glimpse of cleavage. 

As you got ready, you started to smell incense smoke from the other room. It smelled familiar, something your old roommate used to burn back in university, earthy, sweet, and soft. Frankincense. Holy smoke, they liked to call it. You smiled, enjoying the smell as you beheld your reflection when you pinned the veil Manuel gave you into your hair, and you couldn't help but feel prideful in your appearance. You hoped Manuel would like it, too, as you exited the bathroom and re-entered the playroom. 

Ghostly wisps of fragrant smoke swirled around the room, dancing around the flickering candle flames, creating an illusion of holiness. A temple of sacred sex and play. Now, that was a church meeting worth going to.

Manuel knelt on the floor, as far away from the objects and table as possible, clasping a rosary. He spoke his prayers softly under his breath. He didn't notice you come in, and you thought it would be rude to interrupt, so you watched him as he prayed. A bottle of wine was on the table, and a gold engraved chalice was beside it, gleaming bright even in the dim light. Beside him was a red heart-shaped dish with the smoldering resin, which you thought looked out of place and fit right in. It was almost funny seeing it used by someone like him. Finally, after a few moments of silent praying, he crossed himself.

"In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti..." He whispered, kissed the crucifix, and put it into his pocket. 

"Manuel?" 

Manuel's head snapped up. As soon as his eyes landed on you, they widened, and he took a sharp breath, immediately averting his gaze. The tips of his ears turned red. 

"Manuel, are you ready?" You asked, approaching the table. 

"Yes..." Manuel whispered and started to rise. At that instant, you shifted into professional mode. 

"No." You said firmly and sat upon the altar. "You stay on your knees. And yes, what? Is that any way to address me?"

He froze momentarily, then went back onto his knees without protest. 

"No, ma'am. I'm sorry." 

"You are to address me as 'my Lady' and obey my every word when you're in this room." 

"Yes, my Lady." 

"Good boy," you smiled and beckoned him over, opening your legs slightly to give him a peak of your sex. Manuel bit his lip, swallowing thickly. "Come to me. Greet me properly." 

Manuel blushed but obeyed, crawling over and stopping at your feet. You lifted your foot, and Manuel leaned down and kissed it. He did it slowly, seeming to enjoy the action despite his shyness. 

He pressed his lips to the top of your foot and the tips of your toes. They were tender, cautious pecks that bordered on hesitation, though he didn't stop. 

"Aw, what a darling you are." You cooed. You reached down to caress the back of Manuel's neck. "Such a sweetie..." 

He pressed his lips harder, more fervently at your touch and words, letting out quiet moans. 

His shoulders relaxed, and he allowed himself to yield. He whispered between kisses now, silent praises that you couldn't quite hear. 

His tongue darted out, licking your toes, and then he sucked them through the stocking. You giggled at the sensation of the tongue tickling you and let him continue until he dared to bring his lips up to your shin. 

"Enough." You said, putting your foot back down. Manuel tried to follow it, but you leaned over and gripped his thick, dark hair. He winced as you tugged his head back up. "No, no, no, you do as I tell you. I'm your mistress and goddess now. You have no will here, just like you wanted, and I expect you to be a good slave. Do you understand?"

Manuel only whimpered and nodded in response, his eyes looking at you, half-lidded, unblinking, and clouded with lust. You let go of his hair and told him to kneel up. He did so immediately, keeping his arm at his sides. Excellent position, you thought. Already, his arousal was evident. His erection was straining against the material of his pants, standing at full attention. Good response, too. 

"Repeat what I just said to you." You commanded. 

 Manuel shook, and his lips pressed together. He said nothing, and you frowned in disapproval. His cheeks burned pink, and his breath hitched under your gaze. Then, suddenly, you slapped his face hard enough to sting and get his attention. He gasped and looked a bit shocked. His erection, on the other hand, was stiffer than ever. 

"Speak, Manuel. Answer me." You said, taking firm hold of his chin. He seemed to be on the verge of an outburst, barely containing his squirming as he finally whispered,

"Y-you're my mistress, my goddess...I have no will. And I will be a good slave for you." 

You pinched his cheek, "Good boy."

Satisfied with his bodily response and knowing he was okay to continue, you gestured for Manuel to rise. 

"Stand up and take off your clothes. All of them." 

The blush on Manuel's face deepened as he stood, backed up, and pulled off his sweater, and there was his bare chest. Cute nipples, perhaps a little pale, but you could easily give them some color. You smiled at the prospect of it. 

He had a soft, rounded belly, though he was pretty solid in the arms and broad in the shoulders. Combined with his height, you imagined he could throw you aside and overpower you without much effort. 

You felt a rush of excitement commanding this man. And making him worship you made your sex stir. 

Now his pants were down, and he was pulling off his socks. He hesitated briefly with his boxers, his fingers trembling at the waistband. He looked so virginal. The flush in his cheeks was lovely, and you wanted to kiss that rosy face. 

"Boxers, too." You said, making sure to sound monotone. It wasn't good to be kind to him too soon. He had to earn it. "I want to see what you look like." 

He glanced at you timidly before obeying. His cock stood rigid, surprisingly big and thick, the head shining and turning red. It was a decent organ, one of the nicer ones you've seen. 

You stood as well and took a step towards him. You thought you saw him shrink back, saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. It immediately faded when you reached out and touched his chest, running the tips of your fingers down until you reached his stomach. You pressed both your hands into it, feeling the warm softness of his flesh, kneading it, enjoying it. Manuel sucked in a breath. His cock jumped when you pinched and squeezed him for your delight. You smiled, watching his attractive features work to express his bliss. 

When you moved on and touched the head of his cock with your thumb and forefinger, Manuel gasped and involuntarily drew back. 

"Hold still." You said, glancing up at him. "And put your hands behind your back. I want to examine you."

"Yes, my Lady," Manuel said meekly and obeyed. His head lowered, and he couldn't meet your gaze. He sighed and moaned when you took his cock in your hand and stroked it slowly from tip to base, feeling it harden even more in your grasp. His hips jerked, and his sighs became gasping when you griped a bit harder and stroked him faster. All the while, you watched his face. His eyes closed, and his mouth fell slightly open. You wondered if this was what rapture looked like, and you felt a jolt of pleasure seeing it. 

After a moment of teasing, his hips began to rock against your hand, his breathing heavier, on the verge of panting. 

You felt his cock twitch and become wet with precum. 

"My Lady..." He gasped. "I-I'm close..."

You stopped stroking and allotted a series of spanks to his chest, striking his nipples. The slaps were hard and loud, and Manuel cried out. 

"Not yet," You crooned and pinched his nipples, pulled them, tweaked them until he exclaimed in deep moaning breaths, "You can only come when I tell you to."

He begged with his body and a groan but tried to control it. His back arched, and his entire frame writhed. His lips spilled quiet pleas between moans. He gasped when you released his nipples and flicked them. His nipples awakened, becoming hard like bits of stone there, and you smiled, circling your thumbs around them. It drew enticing grunts from Manuel, each accompanied by a thrust of his hips. 

His eyes opened once he caught his breath and looked at you, showing complete submission in their softness. 

"Ooh, that was quick, wasn't it," You teased, "you're like a virgin, almost coming before we even get started." 

He turned red, and you giggled. 

"You're cute," you said, your hands returning to rub his stomach, "I bet those nuns you talked about want to fuck you, dominate you like I am right now. And I bet you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you? You'd obey them like a little puppy." 

"Yes, my Lady. I would." Manuel said without pride, without dignity. "I'd be devoted to them." 

"You show your devotion to me first." You said sternly and continued to fondle his softness while you pondered what he could do for you. You recalled how he described being bent over and whipped over the church altar, and it sounded like a pretty good idea. You took your hands away from Manuel. His dreamy eyes watched you, waiting for your word. 

You stepped aside, pointing at the table. 

"Bend over your goddess's altar."

As Manuel went to obey, his hands shaking uncontrollably, you continued in a calm but steely voice:

"I'm going spank you, Manuel. And I'm going to do it hard. But I don't think you'll mind one bit. After all, that's exactly what you want, right?"

On his knees and leaning over the table, Manuel nodded his head.

"Do you want my hand or the paddle? I'll be nice and give you the choice."

"Your hand, my Lady, please." He said without thought. You gave an approving hum.

"Good pick. I'm glad you're making this fun for me. I love working with my hands." 

Manuel shivered when you got down on your knees behind him. You ran your hand over his broad back, prodding around his hips and thighs. The flesh there was soft, too. You grinned, hearing him exclaim as you grabbed his buttocks with both hands and squeezed and kneaded it like you did his belly. 

"You're so soft." You said, then slapped his ass playfully, "I like it. I believe that bodies like yours are the best to play with. You ought to be proud of that, you know."

"Thank you, my Lady." Manuel whispered, barely audible, "I'm happy I can please you." 

"Oh, you're gonna have to speak up, pet. Or I won't be able to hear you over this." You reeled back your hand and slapped his right buttock hard, catching him by surprise. The force of the slap caused his hips to sway, and a cry flew from his mouth before he could stop it. The handmark was white at first, then bright red.

You gave the mark a barrage of weaker slaps that caused Manuel to gasp and cry out as if you used full force. When you switched sides, you spanked him hard again. Manuel cried aloud and writhed on the table. He clutched at the cloth and tried to silence himself by burying his face in the crook of his arm. It proved futile, his exclamations growing louder with each continuing strike, a whine or two peppered in like a delectable seasoning. 

You looked up at your goddess statue while you spanked Manuel. She looked so alive then, and it was a shame she wasn't getting any attention.

You then stopped and massaged Manuel's sore flesh. His entire body shivered, and his hips undulated in a vain attempt to gain some stimulation. His breathing was ragged, and he whimpered as soon as your blows ceased. 

"Head up, Manuel," You said, "Look up at my statue. Take her in." 

Manuel immediately obeyed. You heard him sniffle, and his hand went to wipe his face. 

"She's pretty, isn't she." 

"Yes, my Lady." His voice was uneven and shaky. "She's beautiful."

"I think she might be a bit lonely, wouldn't you agree?" You took your hands away and stood, "Go and kiss her. Kiss her mouth, then her breasts and feet. Then I want you to fetch me the flowers on the floor. Use your teeth to bring them." 

"Y-yes, my Lady." He said and went into his hands and knees, commencing his task. 

You leaned down to give his bottom a quick slap as he went and laughed when he yelped and scurried towards the statue. 

You rounded the table and sat upon it, facing Manuel. You took the bottle of wine and chalice, opened the twist top, and filled your cup high. It was red and sweet-smelling, and you thought of sacramental wine when you took a sip. You licked your lips. The blood of Christ tasted expensive. 

At the feet of the statue, Manuel knelt up to press his lips to the cold, stony mouth twice before descending to the breasts. He kissed each nipple gently. You felt a warmth rise in your breasts when you heard him moan and caught his hips twitching at the act. Finally, he kissed her feet. Despite his stature, he lowered himself slowly and quietly with the gracefulness of a cat. With his face flaming, Manuel took a flower between his teeth and turned to you. You moved back and spread your legs, tapping the area in front of your sex.

"Meow," You called to him, "Here, kitty, kitty," 

Manuel came to you with his head bowed and dropped the flower on the table. His large brown eyes flicked up at you as he kissed your knee, seeking your approval with a questioning look. You beamed at him for being so good. Kindness was now due. 

You reached down, cupped his cheek, and lovingly stroked it with your thumb. Manuel took your affection with a shuddering sigh. 

"You're doing good, Manuel." You said and kissed his head. His hair was soft against your face and smelled clean with the fading spice of cologne. 

"Thank you, my Lady." He kissed your knee again. 

"Alright, off you go." You ruffled his hair. Manuel nodded, then turned to bring another blossom. His bottom was still red, and you watched it, taking another sip of wine. 

Manuel placed the flowers before you one by one, each time planting a devoted kiss on your inner thigh, coming closer and closer to your sex. But before he could kiss your pubis, you brushed the flowerheads onto the floor and placed the wine bottle between your legs. Now blocked, Manuel sat on his heels. He pressed his lips to the bottle almost desperately, breathing hard, lapping his tongue on the glass, and mewling at the denial. 

You caressed the bottle's neck in long, slow strokes like it was a phallus, looking down at him, a cheeky smile playing on your lips. Manuel pulled back and brought his gaze to you once he composed himself. His lips were wet with saliva. The cupid's bow was wonderfully curved, and the just as shapely bottom lip trembled. Lips weren't always something you often noticed in men, but now that you saw them, you loved them. 

You touched your fingers to the mouth, pinching the plump lips and probing between them with your thumb. 

Manuel opened his mouth, letting you stick your thumb into it. When the eager lips closed on it, you withdrew it slightly, then pushed it back in. You did this repeatedly until Manuel started to moan and suck it. Your lust rose in pitch, feeling his tongue swirl around your thumb, and your nipples were hardening beneath the tight material of your dress. 

You let a sigh pass your lips, and before you could get lost in the moment, you withdrew your thumb from Manuel's mouth completely. His breathing was uneven, and his cock twitched between his trembling, parted legs. You rubbed your thumb against his lips.

"Such a hungry little mouth," You said, taking your hand away and pushing the bottle towards him, "Have those pretty lips ever sucked a cock before?" 

Manuel shook his head. He bit his lip, and it appeared he already knew what you would command. 

"Do you want to please your goddess?" 

"Yes." 

"Then you know what to do." You said, lifting the chalice to continue sipping the wine you had poured, "Do it slowly, for my pleasure." 

Manuel breathed deep, then licked the length of the bottle's neck before he took it into his mouth. He caressed it with his tongue and lips awkwardly. At first, Manuel didn't take the glass shaft very far. He struggled, gagging and coughing when he attempted to take it further at your urging. He gasped but didn't pull away from the bottle, continuing to try to suck it after taking a gulp of air. 

"Breathe through your nose." You said, petting his hair, and he stopped retching once he followed your instructions, "There you go." 

Soon, Manuel fell into a rhythm, his head bobbing up and down on it. Every once in a while, he probed the bottle's mouth with his tongue, teasing it for you, then sucking it again with sensual enthusiasm. 

All you did was take up the chalice and drink, lust curling tight inside you. You felt your sex grow wet upon hearing Manuel groan around the bottle. His hips stirred, but his hands didn't dare touch you or himself. The submissive bishop stopped when you said that was enough. 

But Manuel didn't wait for you to give him another order. Instead, he threw his arms around you and kissed all over your chest, their presence lingering and frantic. His fingers dug into you, all but clawing as he kissed the tops of your breasts, licking at the pillowy flesh. You gasped when a hand pawed at your breast and squeezed hard. 

Manuel ascended to your neck and jaw at your utterance, kissing and nuzzling his face there. His breath was hot, panting. The feeling of his mouth kissing and suckling the skin sent shivers up your spine. You arched your back and set down your cup, narrowly avoiding spilling it.

"Manuel-!" You exclaimed. You grasped at his hands, meaning to calm him. His entire body stiffened when you touched him. He let out an anguished sound and ripped himself away, bursting into tears. However, instead of breaking the fantasy, he hurried to kiss the hem of your veil in reverence. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Manuel whispered into the fabric, into your ear, "Please punish me, my Lady. I deserve it. Please, please..." 

You froze, stunned by what just happened. 

Again, Manuel didn't dare touch you; he only clutched the veil, wracked by quiet, hiccuping sobs. You felt a tear drop onto your chest and another, and for a moment, you had no idea what to do or say. The large man trembled before you like a lost child, sniffling, his shoulders drooping low. It unleashed an overwhelming sense of pity in you. Poor thing. 

"Manuel..." You said, and slowly, very slowly, you took him by the shoulders and had him sit on his heels. Then, you put the wine bottle aside. His sobbing had calmed once you had him kneeling.

The look on his face betrayed his silence, his cheeks stained with tears that continued flowing, and his beautiful eyes twinkled in the warm candlelight—two deep pools of misery and adoration.

You brushed his hair from his forehead, then cupped his cheek, which he leaned into, shaking. 

"Do you want to keep going?" You asked gently. "Do you remember the safeword?" 

"Yes," He sniffled. Then, without skipping a beat, "Please. Don't stop." 

His deep voice was soft, without doubt or fear. His complete submission shifted into complete trust, and it felt good to have it. 

Manuel was so consumed with red-hot desire that he once again spoke, this time with great eagerness, "Slap me again, my Lady. Like earlier." He blushed at his bold request, then bowed his head in apology.

You laughed lightheartedly.

"You like it rough, huh? Let me see your cheek then."

He obeyed and braced for your strike. You pulled back your hand and slapped him hard. The resounding crack jerked his head slightly, and he hissed in pain mixed with pleasure. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. You struck him again without warning, and he whimpered. You took it further by grabbing a fistful of his hair, pulling him to kneel up, and kissing him hard. You bit his lip. He gasped, and when his mouth opened, you stabbed your tongue into it. He returned the kiss, his lips so soft and velvety against yours. 

He moaned loudly when you yanked his head back and kissed his Adam's apple and jaw. You bit at him, licked at the salty skin, then smacked his chest and belly until he was pink. Manuel writhed, imploring you for more.

"Harder! Please!"

But you let go of his hair and sat him on his heels again. It surprised you how much he enjoyed the pain, how he was greedy for it. If he wanted it harder, you were happy to oblige. You looked over at the wall, eyeing the paddles and thinking about which one to use. 

Manuel protested, and you shooshed him, giving him a sharp look. 

"It's not over yet. Be patient." You said curtly and frowned, though you felt no anger. It was all for show. Manuel bit his lip and nodded, looking like a scolded puppy anyway. 

You took up the chalice, filled it to the top, and held it to his lips. 

"Here. Drink. We'll keep going in a second." You said, petting his hair. Manuel nodded, and after he drank his fill, just a couple of gulps, you gripped his chin and kept his mouth to the chalice when he tried to move away. "Nope. Keep drinking. Don't stop until there isn't a drop left." 

You tiled the chalice higher and higher, at the same time leaning Manuel's head back. Despite Manuel swallowing as much as he could, the liquid overflowed, spilling down the corners of his mouth and over his chin. Wine dribbled down his neck, chest, and belly, streaking like blood. He continued to drink as much as possible, and you only released him when the chalice was empty. You tossed it aside. Manuel coughed and gasped for air. He thanked you, wiping his mouth, then waited for your command obediently. Much of the wine got onto the rug, but that didn't bother you. The wet vacuum would get that right out once the session was over. In the meantime, you ordered Manuel to crawl over to the wall and fetch you a leather heart-shaped paddle.

Manuel trembled in either fear or excitement when he delivered the paddle and leaned down to kiss your feet. You received them, lifting your foot to his lips. They were sweet and feverish, becoming even more so when you tested the paddle against your palm. Perfect. 

"Lay on your back." You ordered.

Manuel did so with a nod and a "Yes, my Lady" and spread out on his back. His body stretched to its full length, though he did attempt to keep his legs bent until you cracked the paddle against your palm again and gave him a sharp order to spread them. You got up and moved over to him, relishing how his eyes held yours and his lips quivered. 

You stepped over and mounted him, deliberately straddling his hips. His entire body shivered under you as soon as you moved to adjust comfortably. You wondered if he felt how wet your sex was, how hot it was because of him, or if he was too lost in his passion to notice. Manuel bit his lip hard and kept his hands to his sides. The flesh on his chest was soft, too, making it ideal for you to do what you pleased. You set down the paddle, reached down with both hands, grabbed, and played with his pectorals like you would a pair of breasts. Manuel struggled to contain himself and winced when you squeezed tight. 

"Lovely. It's a shame I didn't break out any of my nipple clamps." You purred, still playing with the flesh, "They'd make you look so pretty." 

You took hold of and stretched both nipples and snapped them, then did it again. You played with them and rubbed them. Manuel couldn't keep still under you or stay quiet. His hips squirmed, rocking slightly without meaning to, sucking in a shuddering breath and unleashing a whispered string of "fuck"s as you tweaked and squeezed them. 

"Do you like that?" You asked, taking hold of his nipples and twisting them almost cruelly. Manuel arched his back and groaned in pleasure. 

"Yes, my Lady!" He cried. 

You laughed and released him.

"I didn't think you would be such a slut for pain. Nothing wrong with that, though. It's very endearing." 

You took up the paddle and showed it to him.

"So, what do you think, Manuel? Is this fine enough to inflict the pain you want so badly?"

Manuel kissed it as an answer.

You smiled and brought down the paddle on his chest in a series of loud spanks. First, you struck one side, then the other. Manuel gasped and cried aloud upon impact, unable to contain it. His chest bloomed a charming shade of pink, leaving marks vaguely shaped like hearts, much to your delight. His nipples hardened to knots, and his face tightened in pain. He struggled not to thrash by digging his fingers into the rug and throwing his head from side to side.  

"Come on, Manuel, arch your back for me. I want your tits raised for the paddle." And on you spanked once Manuel obeyed, his chest flushing crimson and heaving as he gasped and cried. 

You tormented him further by concentrating your blows to one side. At the same time, you bunched the flesh of the other pec and kneaded it roughly. Manuel grew louder, and his body twisted when you switched sides. His face was the perfect picture of anguish and ecstasy.

Then, he was undone when you paused and leaned down to suckle upon the abused nipples, rocking your hips against him as you did so. He cried against clenched teeth as you licked his nipple and bit it playfully. Manuel was in a frenzy when he let out a choked sob between desperate, keening moans. His hands clamped your shoulders, his back arching.

"Mango!" He wailed the safeword. 

Immediately, you stopped and straightened. Manuel stayed on his back, shaking, eyes closed, his breath coming in ragged pants. His dark lashes were matted with tears. You wanted to lean down and taste them, but you refrained and rubbed his belly while waiting for him to recover, praising and soothing him. The skin was smooth and hot under your hands, and you bit your lips as you let your eyes wander over him. Beautiful, beautiful skin. You trailed your hand down and let it brush over the head of his cock. 

Manuel's eyes, softened and glassy, opened with heavy lids and gave a faint, supplicating moan as he looked up at you. 

You've been a wonderful pet this evening, Manuel." You said. "Do you want your goddess to reward you?"

Manuel hissed and moaned under you. 

"Ohh, yes." His large hands gripped your thighs, "Yes, please." 

You raked your fingernails along the shaft, lightly pinching the tip before taking it with a firm hand and stroking it. The long-awaited stimulation almost seemed too much for poor Manuel. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a throaty growl that quickly dissolved into a loud whimper. His hips moved to meet your strokes with the shamelessness of a whore. Powerful fingers dug into the tender flesh of your thighs, though it was not enough to hurt you. In fact, you liked it. Your lust pooled down to your groin, and Manuel's sensual moans and gasps made your nipples throb unbearably. It took a lot to resist the urge to fuck his brains out, but the condoms were upstairs, and retrieving them would spoil the mood. And you lived by a golden rule: no condom, no fun. So, no fun it was, at least for tonight. 

You stopped stroking and slapped the organ, drawing out a surprised but pleasured cry. 

"You're pretty well endowed," You said, massaging his balls now. "It's a shame I didn't bring any condoms down here since I changed my mind about fucking you. But we'll have to wait until next time, won't we?" 

Manuel whined as if to lament this fact. He looked up at you, his gaze like a drunken man's. His hazy eyes lowered and lingered on your breasts. His hands moved to your waist, no doubt wanting to trail higher, and he whispered the word "please" over and over, like a mantra, staring at your chest all the while. 

"Are they pretty?" You asked. You touched the zipper of your dress.

"Yes." He said, breathless. His hands squeezed at you. Amused by his desperation, you unzipped just enough to expose them. 

"Suck on them." You said, pushing them out proudly. 

Manuel bolted upright as soon as the words left your lips, and his mouth fixed over your right nipple hungrily, almost aggressively. His hands clawed at your back as he suckled, releasing deep moans against your skin. You shivered in pleasure. A small moan escaped your lips when Manuel latched upon your other breast, sucking just as hard.  

Your body felt electrified and quickly brimmed with sensation. You sighed as Manuel nibbled at your nipple, kissed it, and licked it. His cock pulsed like a heartbeat against you, and you slipped your hand down to grip it again and stroke it. Your hand worked quickly this time, squeezing tight so a drop of precum dribbled from the tip, making the shaft slicker in your hand as you caressed him. Manuel pulled away from your chest and moaned aloud. You didn't slow your hand or stop, stimulating Manuel until his cries became hoarse and unmodulated. 

He slipped his arms around you and pulled you close, though you could still work his shaft. His breaths came in short, frantic pants on your neck. 

"Sí, sí," He moaned. "Fuck, yes."

Now intent on your task, you stroked him faster, enjoying how the warm fluid coated your fingers and palm. 

"Come for me." You said. Manuel's whole body stiffened and clutched you close, crying out in ecstasy. His arms crushed you to his chest, and he buried his face between your breasts as the orgasm rolled through him. His cock convulsed in your grip, and semen erupted from it, spilling over your hand and onto his stomach. Manuel's voice broke at the height of passion, and his moans melted into whines, then whimpers as they ebbed away. His arms loosened around you, but he didn't let go, not even when he caught his breath. Instead, he sat still, sighing and nuzzling your chest, and then he slowly released you, looking drowsy as he stared at you. He smothered your face, neck, and shoulders with tender kisses, his lips whispering his gratitude. Honey dripped from his words, and you wished you could taste it. Or have him taste you; your sex was certainly ripe enough. But, forgoing the satisfaction of your lust, you accepted his sleepy affection in his afterglow, returning it by stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. 

"I'm sorry about your rug." You heard him say. You looked over at the forgotten wine stains and laughed. It was kind laughter, coming light, and amused. It put Manuel at ease, and he laughed too. 

"Don't worry. It's just wine. Easy to get out." You shook your head, smiling. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yes, of course I did." He said, kissing your breast. "You were wonderful." 

"Good. Only the best for my clients. How about we go upstairs for a drink? You must be thirsty. Wine isn't much of a thirst quencher." You smiled, then gave his hair a cheerful tousle, "C'mon, I even have some kombucha if you like..." 

You moved to climb off Manuel's lap, but he tightened his arms around you again.

"Can we..." He started to say but trailed off and blushed.

"Hm?" You inquired. 

"Can we stay here?" He asked. "Just for a little bit? I don't think I want to leave just yet." 

Your heart melted at his innocent request. You decided you liked this man and hoped your time with him satisfied his fixation, that he would stay on his path if he decided that was best for him. You hoped most of all that he would feel less shame for his human and very understandable desires. 

Plus, it was always nice to book an affectionate client. You enjoyed cuddles, too. 

"Of course." You beamed at him. He wrapped his arms around you to pull you close after taking the veil from your head to clean himself up. 

You both stayed there for a while, embracing, with Manuel resting his head against your chest. He rocked you in his arms, occasionally asking little questions about your life. You answered honestly, and you felt safe doing so. Something about Manuel made you feel comfortable. 

Half an hour later, the two of you finally decided to retire for the evening. After getting dressed and Manuel gathered his things, the two of you lingered at the door, wishing each other a good night. 

Manuel seemed reluctant to leave still, stating that he wished he could stay longer for that cup of tea you offered, but, unfortunately, work beckoned him back home. 

"Well," You said, "Maybe we can meet up again, yeah? It doesn't have to be an appointment or anything. We could sit and have coffee; maybe I can fix a nice lunch. Not to toot my own horn, but I make a pretty damn good quiche." 

"That sounds very nice, actually," He said, chuckling. Then he took your hand and stroked it lovingly, "And I would love to see you again." 

"Sounds like a date, then." You nodded. 

Manuel finally turned to leave, strolling down the driveway until he turned on his heel, came back fast, and threw his arms around you. He kissed you for a long moment, long, luxurious kisses that you returned without restraint. 

"So, I'll see you?" You asked when the kiss ended.

"I'll see you." He nodded. 

After a final round of goodbyes, you went inside and watched his little black car sail down the darkened road through the living room window. You went to bed late that night, though you didn't fall asleep. You tossed and turned, bothered by lustful musings about Manuel that refused to stop until you slipped your fingers inside your hot sex. Recalling the size of his cock, you imagined him thrusting into you, slowly at first, then as the pleasure built, the images changed into frenzied fucking. You worked your fingers in an almost punishing rhythm to match, and when you came, you screamed his name, your starved sex pulsing around your fingers. After exhausting yourself, you finally fell into sleep's peaceful embrace, cuddling your pillow close.  

All of that happened two months ago. 

The last of your coffee was cold at the bottom of your cup when you came out of your recollection and looked at the clock—11:35 PM. You expected Manuel sometime soon, and you couldn't help but wonder what he desired for this session. It would be the sixth time you've booked him following the promised lunch date, during which the two of you talked for hours about each other, and the more conversation went on, the more you liked the holy man. He was just as sweet, polite, and passionate in the mundane as in the playroom, where he abandoned himself to complete servitude. He obeyed your every word and responded perfectly to every thrash and spank you dealt. He was a joy, and he became more and more adventurous each time. Manuel rarely opposed anything, giving you absolute control over the games you played. He endured a sound flogging while you role-played as an alluring whore nun; He scurried around on his hands and knees on a leash, barking like a dog on command; You edged him while bound with rope and blindfolded. He even showed a keen interest in pegging. However, you two had yet to indulge in that. 

You raised from the recliner, placed your mug on the coffee table, and peeked through the curtains again. The moon was nearly full, hanging high and bright in the sky among the stars. They looked like shards of diamonds to you, cast upon inky velvet. You marveled at its beauty until a pair of headlights penetrated the darkness. You smiled, and your heart skipped when Manuel's little black Beetle pulled into your driveway. 

You whirled towards the door, feeling the giddiness of a schoolgirl with a crush. 

Then, the heaviness of the whole situation settled itself on your shoulders, and not for the first time. So many times, you contemplated your relationship with Manuel. Being the holy man he was, a familiar creeping thought wriggled in your head: Were you corrupting him? The idea was troubling, and the inevitable guilt flowed over you, thick and clinging like oil. You often felt somehow unclean, even though that wasn't what you believed. But you allowed what Manuel told you to wash you clean. 

He called you not long after your first session, and his tone was merry and infectious, so different from when he first spoke to you. Manuel told you now that he acknowledged his desires; the difference in his life was like day and night. He could sleep well again, pray again, and tackle his work with renewed vigor and without distraction. It was like his despair disappeared that night, replaced not with guilt or self-loathing as he expected but with warmth and comfort like the arms of a Holy Mother. 

"I know this isn't what you believe," He said, then went silent for a second before whispering, "But I think I was led to you to show me my humanity again. Maybe by Mary, perhaps another. Who the hell even knows anymore? Either way, blasphemy or not, it's taught me a lot, and it feels good to have no guilt for what I did." He sighed, "...Thank you for giving me a chance." 

He sounded happy, so very, very happy. 

Those words alone cleansed you as soap and water would. And just like that, guilt was such a ridiculous thing to feel. 

A knock came at the door, and you went to answer it, humming a cheerful tune to yourself. 

#Molina-verse #Manuel Aringarosa #the da vinci code #fanfiction #self insert #self shipping #lee's writing #smut #alfred molina #priest kink

[byullielle]

Cocaine Colored Wedding Dress // Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

Older by 5SOS, Sierra Deaton. Today is your day. Both of yours. The day you get married to Christopher Bang.

Tags: Marriage, Fuff, Skz!Bestmen, Idol!Bang Chan, Wedding Shenanigans, you are skz's noona

Disclaimer: author doesn't know shit about weddings and ofc its song inspired lmao. your family members would remain nameless. (felix is part of your entourage your own bestman/maid of honor but a guy), i will keep wedding details and furnishings vague as to not kill the imagination but there WILL be a church. for my fatherless/motherless readers, I AM YOUR FATHER NOW ヽ( `д´*)ノ

a/n: i wrote this while travelling so im sorry it's sloppy

As Felix helps you tighten the bodice of your dress, your mind starts wandering at 100 miles an hour, thinking about the floral arrangements and whether or not they were finished on time because you nor Chan had enough time to check last night, hoping that everyone's dresses and suits are complete, praying to every possible deity out there that Chan slept well because you certainly couldn't out of pure excitement, the anxious thoughts now settling down your stomach. "Y/N-ah," Felix's voice snaps you out of it as you look up at him, met with a kind and loving smile from your best friend, "You can look now," he gently states before moving away from the mirror. You take a deep breath and shut your eyes, before turning around, dress moving along to the motion.

Slowly opening your eyes, you could feel unbridled joy with a healthy mix of anxiety spike through your veins like never before. You've tried it, three times even for fitting and alterations but now that it was happening, now that it was real; you felt so gorgeous. Your emotions well up at your throat, stopping yourself from crying before your destroy your make-up.

The veil hangs perfectly behind you, white textile hugging you correctly while it flows like water, your jewelry shines brighter it seems; and you look amazing. The confidence your entire bridal attire gives you is so exhilarating, only one thought of 'I can't wait until Chris sees this,' solid in your mind, pushing all the other worries away. You somewhat anticipated it when you started planning the wedding, but Chan was quite a traditionalist in a sense that he wanted to keep the wedding as sweet and as fun he saw it just as sacred. And he didn't want to see your dress until the day itself which makes you stand here now, your first look at both your outfits.

Felix peers over and smiles at the look on your face, making him approach you before handing you a box of tissue, "Always our crybaby," he jokes lightly with the most loving voice ever, "How do you feel,"

"Amazing," your voice quivers while wiping off the tears from their tear ducts before it could ever escape your eyes. "Oh my god,"

"Well," he laughs, "Let's go?"

You nod excitedly, making him nervous that you'd knock your properly groomed hair over. You hook your arms with him before you exit the bridal suite. The plan was to meet Chan by the place behind the reception which was close to the church you were going to get married in. Your heart was slamming against your ribcage like it was wanting escape, excitement pounding through you like a toddler on LSD. You'd bounce on your heels at every step if it wasn't for the fact that you wanted to be prim and proper for your future husband.

Husband. The prospect was enough to make you wanna squeeze Felix and squeal until someone's eardrums broke and at the same time break down crying at just how lucky you are to have Christopher Bang as your husband. An overworking perfectionist, never stops until satisfied and is rarely so, chronic insomniac—but a man fueled by hard work and passion, driven by his desire to do and give his best; his work and the people around him heavily influenced. A sweetheart through and through, boyish in charm and loving to a fault, gentlemanly and steadfast in his morals and principles. For better or for worse you will stick with him, because you love him for every once of his perfections along with every morsel of his flaws. Your husband, Christopher Bang.

And the most terrifying thing is—you wholeheartedly trust that he'd do the same for you.

"Okay stop!" Changbin calls out before you could even turn the corner, blocking the way. You almost hit him like you would a brick wall but Felix immediately stops you. "For the record, miss bride," he beams up at you before opening his arms for a hug which you wholeheartedly accept with joy. "You look amazing, sweet thing," he chuckles before pressing a slight kiss to your temple, "Congratulations, Y/N-ah. I'm so proud of you two,"

You have to look up to prevent the tears fro falling, slightly smacking him on the chest in order for you to laugh at his response before he beckons Felix to leave a bit, photographer for the moment on standby. Leaving both of you for the tender moment, it's like time is at a standstill, none of you talking much before Chan clears his throat. "Y/N?" he calls out, nervousness evident in his voice.

"Chris," you respond, a little bit choked up before you see his hand pop out from the corner, "Hold my hand please," he asks softly before you comply, feeling his slightly clammy hands, with a gentle tremble within.

"I'm so terrified I'd start crying like a baby when I see you," he half-heartedly jokes, partially meaning it as you laugh out a bit. "Well that makes both of us," you sigh before rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hand, "Ready?"

"Yeah," he breathes out, "On three?"

"Mhm," you hum, "One," you start of and he finishes the third count. There's a pause before both of you move to see each other. Instantaneously all of the sparks you've lost, those that have dwindled away comes back to both of you. Unable to help yourself but cry and he remains breathless.

Handsome. You always thought he was but in a white suit, white tie, your favorite flower pinned by his breast, hair decorated with shiny flower pins that you suggested months ago, light make-up on him—he looked ethereal, like he was cut from the gods and you couldn't help but sob at that. "You're so handsome my love," you chuckle wetly, reaching your hand out on his cheek tenderly before he presses a kiss against your palm, "I love you," he simply states before pulling you into a hug, "So so much,"

"I love you too," you tighten your grip on his body reassuringly. "So so so much,"

You two stand there in silence, basking in each other's warmth while you keep the tears at bay. You know he's silently crying with the motions and ministrations behind your back but you let him. It was your wedding day after all. "Should we get a picture?" you whisper against his ear as he nods and detaches from you, "God, I'm already a mess,"

"You're perfect," you laugh before pressing a kiss on his cheek, prolonging the stay of your lips on his skin before producing a loud 'mwah,' "Perfect groom,"

"For the perfect bride," he chuckles before you both turn to the photographer, signaling him that he could finally take pictures and not take paparazzi shots—a running joke you and Chan made when asked if you wanted pictures of the intimate moment. You take a few more sweet and cute pictures before Seungmin comes barreling down the stairs with no reprieve, immediately worrying you and Chan whilst disrupting the photography process. "I am so so sorry I have to barge in like this," he huffs, only in his white button up and slacks, "But the officiant suddenly got the IBS. He's been stuck in the restroom for like, what, an hour?" he explains, "I think he needs to be taken to the hospital,"

"What?!" both you and Chan question in alarm. But before you could think of a response Seungmin clears his throat, "But PD-nim...turns out is a licensed and trained officiant,"

"PD-nim...?" Chan questions before you fill in the blanks, "As in the JYP PD-nim?,"

Seungmin mutely nods. "So long as he gets both your permissions he'll gladly do it for free,"

You look up at Chan who simply looks back at you, a silent conversation happening between the flitting and movement of eyes. "What do you think?" you verbalize as he nods, "Well, it's not like we have much of a choice do we," he sighs and holds your hands, "I'm sorry it has to be PD-nim,"

"Well it'll probably be a bit weird but I don't mind much," you squeeze, "I'd get married to you regardless of the officiant anyway,"

"I am," Hyunjin sighs out, exasperated as Minho and Jisung run around toppling the place over, "Gonna freak out,"

"Channie hyung is back!"

"Fuck!" all three of them simultaneously curse before Chan comes in with a very offended look on his face, Seungmin and Changbin looking at the men in the hotel room in confusion. "What is... happening?" Changbin trails off after seeing the pair peering at the back of the couches while Hyunjin holds his hair in his hand.

"Hyunjin is missing his fucking pants," Jackson exasperates. Chan's brows reach his hairline, "What? Since when?"

"Apparently it didn't come in the dress bag," Hyunjin explains with a tinge of desperation in his voice, "And please please don't tell Y/N noona," he takes Chan's hands and the groom doesn't know whether or not to smack him upside the head or laugh. "I can't promise that," he says a bit stiffly, "Are you sure you're checked everywhere? The floor, the hotel room you used last night?"

"Wait hyung you're such a genius!" Hyunjin vibrates with new hope before patting his pockets down before realizing he already returned the keycard to the room after checking out. "Oh shit," and Chan seems to realize this issue before sighing, "Let's go boys," he strips off his blazer for now before neatly hanging it up the door hooks. "Move out,"

Jackson and Brian stay behind to hold the fort while the 7 men accompany each other to the hotel clerk for moral support should Hyunjin and Chan start breaking down in front of the poor attendant. "God forbid any of her bridesmaids see us," Jisung crosses his fingers, "Or like, let her know a month after,"

"Yeah, like as a funny memory,"

"You guys do know I can't lie to my wife right?" Chan sweats, nervously tapping his leg on the elevator floor heading down. "Worse comes to worse only Hyunjin is gonna die,"

"Hey!" he whines, "Please, anyone but in the hands of noona,"

"I'll do it in her stead," Minho comments before the elevator door opens, offering a "kind" smile to Hyunjin that never fails to send shivers down his spine. Chan leads the barrage of 6 men, heading to the receptionist as he clears his throat. "Hi," he greets, before beckoning Hyunjin to his side, "What was your room?"

"801,"

"Has 801 been cleared yet?" he turns back to the receptionist who starts typing into the console, "Not yet sir. Would you want to re-check back in?" she inquires as Chan waves his hand in disapproval, "Oh, no no, I was just gonna ask if it was possible to check the room? This guy left something really important,"

"Oh, I'll see what I can do about it sir, please wait for a while,"

Hyunjin frowns and clamps on Chan's arm, "I'm really sorry hyung,". He chuckles and pats Hyunjin's head, "It happens. Not every wedding is perfect," he reassures, "I do have to tell Y/N,"

A despaired noise escapes Hyunjin, dramatics unending. He couldn't request Chan to keep it from you either, knowing that keeping something as crucial as this a secret quite possibly could put a wrench on your relationship, both as an affianced couple and in a few hours, spouses. The receptionist smiles pitifully at Hyunjin, and 5 minutes span on like an hour.

After one phone call, she smiles at both Chan and Hyunjin, along with the 4 others lined up behind them, "I'll give you the keycard. Fortunately, room service hasn't cleaned it yet,"

"Thank you so much ma'am!" Hyunjin bows as he accepts the keycard with his two hands, as if receiving his diploma.

And in record time, they make it to the room. They scramble to start looking, Chan in the bathroom, Minho and Jisung towards the closets, Changbin by the couches, Jeongin, Seungmin, and Hyunjin in the bedroom. "It's not here," Jisung mutters, disappointed but Minho gently pushes him out of the way and turns his phone flashlight on, and true enough the pants are nestled on the floor by the corner.

"It's here!" he announces before grabbing the pants, handing it to Hyunjin who was rushing towards him. "Hyung!"

A slap to the back of his head was delivered but Minho sighs in relief anyways, "You idiot," he mutters before cajoling Hyunjin out the door, "Making us nervous and shit,"

The veil falls over your face, white clouding your vision before Felix hands you your bouquet. "Ready?" he asks before you nod, and from your periphery, you see your father enter the room. Felix bows politely before leaving the room, simply just two of you. "You're getting married," he states in a factly tone, "That's the plan," you chuckle before holding your hand out for him to take.

"I can't believe I'm sending you off," he sighs and looks up and down at you, "My darling daughter,"

"Chan'll take care of me," you assure with a chuckle, trying to not cry in front of your father, not when he looks so proud yet so sad at the same time. "I know," he tucks his hands behind him, "It'll be a little bit quieter at home though," he sighs.

You swallow down, lump on your throat growing. "Dad..."

"I don't say it a lot, Y/Nnie," he sighs and places a hand on your shoulder, "But I am proud of you. Where you are now," he smiles, tears lining the edge of his eyes before your lower lip trembles and tenderly touch your father's cheeks, "Thank you," it escapes you as barely a whisper. "You'll always be welcome home," he assures, "Don't worry about the grandchildren for now. Your mother says so too,"

"Yeah," you giggle before taking his arm. "Thank you for everything Dad," you rub it lightly. It surprises you when he pulls you into a tender hug, rare and sweet as you burst into tears, sobbing like a little baby before your mother then enters. "Oh, you made our princess cry!" she scolds before reaching under your veil with a handkerchief and patting your tears away gently, making sure she doesn't rub onto the waterproof make-up. "You look so pretty,"

"Thank you Mom," you giggle when she presses a kiss on your cheeks, going through the veil, "Pretty bride genes run through your blood,"

"Now you're just flattering yourself," your father teases with a fond smile on his face directed to his wife, "Oh shut! You cried during our wedding day you old fool," she lightly pushes the back of his head before pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'll go now, we'll all be waiting for you in the wedding hall," she waves and leaves. You could see her wipe her own tears but the door closes on her before you could say something else.

You fan your face and take a deep breath out, pacing around the room while your father patiently sits by the lounges. "Nervous?" he asks. You nod before he beckons you to sit down, easily complying as you face him, "Do you know," he says, "Your uncle tripped on the aisle when I and your mother got married," he starts narrating as you giggle. "He was a spectacle. Everyone was teasing him during the reception," he fondly recalls, "But honestly, I'm secretly glad it happened, I was super nervous to marry your mother," he congresses.

"Really?" you place a hand on your mouth, not really expecting it from your straight-laced father and his impenetrable force of patience and indifference. "Your mother is the most beautiful woman I've laid my eyes on. I'm glad I got to marry her," he sighs, "And I know Chan feels the same. I have never seen someone look so in love in years until I saw him,"

"Only reason you said yes to him asking your blessing,"

"Would you rather I let you marry a man who isn't happy to be with you?"

"Of course not,"

"Exactly," he nods, "I will put an axe through his skull if that look changes,"

"Dad!" you laugh and smack the side of his arm, "Don't say that on my wedding day!" you giggle as he rolls his eyes, "That's a promise!"

You were about to respond when the organizer knocks on the door and peers through the crack, "Miss bride, and mister father," they beckon, "It's time,"

You stand up with shaky hands, taking the bouquet before your father offers his arm up for you to take, hooking your hand against his. You both walk out of the room and head to the path leading to the church, doors nearly empty after the entourage walks in. You vaguely see Chan's figure enter the chapel and walk along before the curtains lining the entrance fall down and block your view after your mother follows afterwards.

"Why am I gonna throw up," you whisper to your father as he chuckles and squeezes your arm comfortingly, "At least not on the aisle,"

"Dad!"

"You'll do great," he genuinely assures, "This is your day, your groom is happily waiting for you at the end of the aisle," he pats your back before the organ starts to play the bridal march, curtains opening as people stand for you. A deep inhale is caught in your throat, nervousness spiking as your father cajoles you into walking.

And then you see Chan, although screened in white and obscured by the veil you couldn't help but be emotional. You don't know what triggered it, but the tears prick your eyes and then you see him reach over his' and pad a handkerchief along. He's crying too. But the smile is so prominent you could see the dimples against the veil, making you giggle quietly, tension in your body dissipating.

The march seems to stretch on longer than you or Chan wished for, but eventually, your father comes over and gives him a short hug before taking your hand and placing it in his'. "Do good," he notions to Chan as he nods. Shakily, you both step forward hand in hand–face to face with JYP, your emergency officiant.

The ceremony starts, people take their seats while Felix and your best friend keep a keen eye on your comfort and your dress. Chan can't stop squeezing your hand reassuringly, catching subtle glances like you were back in high school giggling about. You both sign the wedding papers once your officiant announces it, and when he cues Chan–he faces your parents and gets on his knees, forehead to the ground as you yourself bow, back parallel to the floor as they both nod.

And then you turn to Jessica and Jack, along with Hannah who were watching by Chan's side, and then while Felix takes the bouquet in your hand, you properly fix your dress, get on your knees, and press your forehead against the floor. It wasn't planned, the getting on the floor at least, it was expected you bow but not to the full extent, dress and all. A bit flabbergasted, Chan immediately helps you up after the 10 second stay, "Baby, you didn't have to," he whispers as his family bows back, "I wanted to," you reassure him, patting your dress and veil off as Felix hands back your bouquet.

Then, both of you bow to each other, 90 degrees and perfectly still and solemn.

A surrender of half of yourself to him, and taking half of his. A vow unbent by law and a promise unbroken by love.

The ceremony continues, a bunch more expletives and legalities before JYP senses your growing impatience as he clears his throat and starts with the vows. Your guide is tucked in the bouquet, in between the peonies and roses but you knew it wouldn't really matter much. Chan also has his in his breast pocket, pulling it out before taking the microphone and taking your shaky hand into his'.

"We met during my trainee days. You were working your way into being an intern while I was wallowing in a thin line between courage and impatience, waiting to debut," a pointed look to your officiant, "It was sorta unexpected. You gave me a free drink during your part time job and we suddenly got to talking for hours, I got your number and I headed back to the dorms. I never knew I sealed my fate back then, and looking back at it now, I will never trade a thing for it," he sighs out, looking up so that he doesn't start crying.

You smile lovingly at him, assuring him that if he cries you'll simply laugh it off as a fond memory, not like you'd fare any better than him anyway.

"When I debuted, you were one of the first people I told," he laughs, a bit airy, "I could never forget the squeal that nearly ruptured my eardrums, that was the day I realized I might've liked you," and then you giggle. "You got your dream job during our second comeback. I will never forget that because I was with you, we were watching a movie when you got your acceptance call. That was also the first time you hugged me. You were so happy and in turn it made me happy, that was the moment I thought 'What I'd give to always feel like this', so I sought after that. I sought after you,"

He takes a gulp down of his tears, "You are my hero. You make me happy, so happy. I'd give the moon and stars but you seem to always beat me to it, I always feel loved and cared for by you. And as we make our way to infinity, to a forever only we can create, I want to love and care for you until my lungs give out and I'm an old wrinkly grandpa,"

"I promise to forever cherish you—your laughter and smiles, and all the other things that make you do your happy dance," he tucks the paper away and takes your hand instead, "And I vow to forever protect the love that you give me. To hold it close and never betray that,"

And he starts holding back a wide, goofy smile, making you groan preemptively as he clears his throat, "And hey, I'm not our wedding photographer," he shrugs and takes a comedic look at his bestmen, "But I can picture us together. Forever."

Laughter choruses throughout the chapel while you lightly smack him on the arm, laughing as you roll your eyes at the corny pick-up line. Of course he fucking would.

Handing the microphone over to you, you pick off the paper nestled between the flowers before unfurling it open, "Chanathan," you start, making him throw his head back in laughter, "Was the name I used to tease you with when I asked for your name during that time we met at the cafe. I can't believe that our vows kinda match, but it its the testament if just how much we're soulmates," you look up at him, not reading off the paper.

"It was Chanathan, then Chan, then Channie, then Chris. Then my Christopher. It's like a stake of claim on you," you jokingly quip, "But throughout those times and those names, was also the evolution of our relationship. And I have never been more glad to open up this new era of calling you nothing but husband. My husband Chan, my husband Christopher, my husband Chanathan," you smile up at him, seeing his humored look despite the fond eyes he has for you.

"And I promise to honor every sense of your name, whether its carrying your's or speaking of you. I always have been and always will be proud of you, and not a day would go by where you wouldn't know that," you choke up a bit, voice getting trembly, "There will be nights and weeks and months when we'd be apart, but our souls, and my loyalty would always be unbreakable,"

You take his hand and press a kiss on it through your veil, feeling your heart squeeze in delight as a strangled cry escapes him, "I vow to love you, now and forevermore, and we can be cute little wrinkly old people together till the end of time. I will always be proud to be your wife, and will also make you constantly proud to call your home, I love you, Christopher,"

"I love you too," he whispers and squeezes your hand once more.

"Now," JYP beckons for the ring bearers, "For better or for worse, through sickness and health, and until death do you part," he starts before you slip a paper towards him which gives you quite the stern look, simply making Chan chuckle, "And as you drink from his cup, and he drinks from yours, the first and last sonata you'll sing, with the neverending dread of betrayal hung over the crux of your necks, take these rings," he then signals you to take each other's rings, shaky hands delicately holding them, "And swear,"

Chan goes first, sliding your wedding band on the yhe ring finger of your presented hand. After comes him, with you nervously taking his and slipping on the shiny gold band on his finger. And then you both hold hands, both of yours warmly enclosed in his' as your officiant gives a nod of approval. "You can remove her veil now," he covers the microphone and mutters to Chan who has to take a deep breath to brace himself.

Taking the hem of your veil, he carefully turns it and the white cast is finally gone, seeing his face so clearly you fall in love again. So easily, and so quickly. "Do you, Christopher Bahng, take Y/N L/N as your lawfully wedded wife?"

He smiles at you, "I do,"

"And do you, Y/N L/N, take Christopher Bahng as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do,"

"Then, you may now kiss your bride," he announces as Chan places a loving hand on your waist, one on your cheek before pulling you forward and you cup his cheeks, kissing him with fervent love and passion. It was a mere press to his lips, but the love overflowing was so much you both start crying.

The cheers and claps echo through the chapel before he departs and guides your hand to hook against his arm. "Hello wifey,"

"Mhm, husband," you giggle while wiping your tears with the pads of your fingers, pressing another kiss to his cheek, before moving forward and retreating out the aisle.

Your smile is so wide it hurts your cheeks, a hearty laugh escapes your husband as both of you run down the aisle, hand in hand.

Y/N Bang. You could get used to it.

let me know what you wanna come next; wedding night/honeymoon or reception/wedding after-party

#bang chan scenarios #husband bang chan #skz scenarios #skz bang chan #bang chan #bang chan x reader #stray kids bang chan #married to bang chan #elle✩marital

[abloomingsunflower]

--"Crescent..?"

--"Artemis dear, how have you been? Has father been treating you we-"

--"You abandon me here and yet you have the audacity to show up and ask how I've been?"

--"Abandon you..?"

--"Ever since you left this goddamn palace, not a single letter or any call. You never stepped foot in here again. Not even once. Must be fun being a priest, huh? So much fun that you forgot about your little sister."

--"... ..."

--"To answer your question: I'm doing terrible, thank you."

--"Dear, I am so sorry. I wanted to take you with me, I really did. I would never let you rot here if I had the power to do so. But father doesn't let me, you're supposed to stay and inherit the throne."

--"This isn't about any of that! This is about you and how much of a fool you are. The least you could've done is visit us! But you turned a blind eye to me and mom ever since you left and only NOW you decide to come see me? It's been 7 years, Crescent. Ever wondered how I've been dealing with trauma?!"

--"Of course I have, I never forgot about you.."

--"Then why did you never come to check up on me?! I needed a shoulder to cry on and depend on my brother. We could've depended on eachother for emotional support and maybe help mom deal with the grief too. But where the fuck were you? Praying in church and claiming to be married to God? Going after Palette because you suddenly fell in love? You disgust me!"

--"I am a priest, I am supposed to be devoted to God. And so what if I fell in love with Palette? What I feel for him is real."

--"..For the love of god, don't make me throw up. And you call yourself a priest?? You're an adult, and he's still a teenager like me! What in the world would possibly make this okay?! No way in hell am I going to let you get anywhere closer to Palette, damn pedophile!"

--"Now you're just being feisty, jealous much?"

--"What..? Crescent, do you hear yourself? I should've convinced that man to never let you leave. You've become just like our hell of a father.."

--"Excuse me? How dare you-"

--"Get out of my sight. Right now. You're an embarrassment, and I hope you go to jail soon. From now on, we have nothing to do with eachother. In fact..I wish you were never my brother."

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

[E.L.A] Crescent and Starcross exists au by @anotherrosesthatfell

#a sunflower in full bloom au #evil lux au #what if au #artemis [e.l.a] #crescent [e.l.a] #sibling angst hooray #emotional damage :3

[frostyreturns]

Now I'm not going to say any of this to pick on anyone or to be mean but it needs to be said.

It's exceptionally weird to me when Christians have this attitude, statism and progressivism are the dual cancers infesting the modern church. Ignoring the years and years of anarchist thought and writings on how a society can be organized...and not even going into the non aggression principle or that fact that there is no one answer and that anarchy means people organize or don't organize as they see fit and how they agree to...as Christians the Bible is the source and literally outlines perfect examples of how to build a stateless society.

It sets out not only moral guidelines but also rules for how to settle disputes. You ask where do you expect values to come from in a stateless society...how about this for starters.

Just as a side note you might want to take note of how many of those commands that every government in the history of the world has violated as a matter of policy on a massive and daily scale. Which God warned us would happen when he advised us not to have government and even added that by demanding government we are rejecting God and equated the government to being another false god.

Samuel 1: "But the thing displeased Samuel when they said, “Give us a king to judge us.” And Samuel prayed to the Lord.  And the Lord said to Samuel, “Obey the voice of the people in all that they say to you, for they have not rejected you, but they have rejected me from being king over them. According to all the deeds that they have done, from the day I brought them up out of Egypt even to this day, forsaking me and serving other gods, so they are also doing to you. Now then, obey their voice; only you shall solemnly warn them and show them the ways of the king who shall reign over them.”

So not only does the Bible not endorse government God himself warned his people about the reasons government was bad and they are all the same kinds of things anarchists reject the state for. Don't believe me I'll quote it.

"So Samuel told all the words of the Lord to the people who were asking for a king from him. He said, “These will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen and to run before his chariots. And he will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and some to plow his ground and to reap his harvest, and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards and give them to his servants. He will take the tenth of your grain and of your vineyards and give it to his officers and to his servants. He will take your male servants and female servants and the best of your young men and your donkeys, and put them to his work. He will take the tenth of your flocks, and you shall be his slaves. And in that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves, but the Lord will not answer you in that day.”

Now you might be saying he's just talking about the specific king they got at the time not that all kings and all governments are bad. But look at what he's warning them about...is not the current government much much worse? They all do these things to various degrees obviously in modern day it's not donkeys and fields they steal but the principle has remainded the same and practice applies regardless... whether the kings soldiers are horsemen or fighter pilots the concept is the same and earlier he had just finished applying his disapproval of the state in general terms.

So to recap the Bible equates government with slavery, rejection of God and the worshipping of false gods. And yet Christians have the nerve to assert that government is good and ordained and approved of by God.

If we discarded the entirety of the governments laws and just used instead Biblical guidelines for how to organize society you would A.) have an anarchist society where the only authority figure is God and even then following God is your choice if you read the Bible freedom of choice is a major theme. and B.) You would have a much better society than what we have now. A lot of people would be shocked to find out that the guidelines for how to organize a society that the Bible lays out is actually not a theocracy or monarchy it's essentially a stateless society where you look to God (voluntarily) for morals and to settle general disputes amongst yourselves with some basic guidelines for conduct. If you want specific examples there's tons in the old testament most of which would still make for a better society than any current governments laws.

The idea that society decided what murder is...is crazy to me. Murder is murder and it has always been murder since Cain and Abel. It was murder before society, during society and long after society it will still be murder. Society didn't decide what rape is...it's when you have sex with someone against their will. See words have meaning and that meaning comes from our understanding of and the existence of those concepts not from the government. The notion that we can only conceive of what murder and rape is because we have the government is...literally insane and saying those words out loud should be a clue you've been brainwashed at some point. It's not true, it's not Biblical.

The more I think about it the more I research and the more I understand Christianity and the Bible the more I become convinced that not only is it compatible with anarchy, anarchy is the only political system compatible with it.

[imagineanime2022]

I’ll Protect You (Male)

Franken Stein X Male!Reader

Word Count: 1702

Requested By: Anon

Request: Ok this is for soul eater and if you want to do this with any of the characters I don't mine I mainly just want professor Stein. But the soul eater peeps x a reader who's just careless about themselves in battle or just in general but will literally just throw themselves in front of an attack aimed at someone else? 

Female ver.

You and Stein had started dating after he came back to the Death Meister Academy to teach, you were one of the only people in the faculty that weren’t scared off by his threat to dissect you and for that fact alone you were one of the only people that he made the time for. You guys were rarely seen apart and when you were at the school and that was when he first noticed the behaviour, it never really bothered him at first since it was just you putting yourself between students or catching things for them however the first time that it could have resulted in real harm for you he decided that he needed to squash the habit.

The first time that he saw it was when Maka was sent after the demon soul, you followed after her, you were a weapon with no meister but that didn’t mean that you were helpless, you jumped into action when you heard soul cry out in pain, you jumped into action “Maka move!” You ordered as you kicked the kid away from them “get out of here!” 

“But-” 

“But nothing, you need to go now! Soul is hurt, this is way above the level of a student, and the only way that this ends well is if you go now!” You ordered turning your arm into a blade and blocking the incoming attack, you gritted your teeth and pushed them away. “Trust me I’ll be fine, when you guys are safe I’ll disengage.”

“Okay.” Maka finally agreed, turning and running out of the church.

“So you going to tell me your name, kid?” You asked.

“My name?” The kid asked, stopping for a second. He seemed surprised that you cared but you nodded nonetheless. “My name’s Crona.” 

“And your sword?” You asked.

“What’s it to ya?” The sword asked.

“His name is Ragnarok.” Crona answered.

“Nice to meet you both, I’m (Y/N).” You introduced yourself “and I wish that we had met under different circumstances.” You moved forward knocking the young meister off of his feet, he hit the ground hard, his frail body bouncing before he recovered. He moved fast, swinging the sword again, this time forcing you to block and holding you there, a fist emerging from the sword to punch you in the stomach.

“We have to kill him quickly so we can get that girl's soul.” Ragnarok ordered.

“You think you can just kill me?” You asked. “You think that’s going to work?” 

“You're no challenge man.” Ragnarok sneered as he opened his mouth, the sound that followed brought you to your knees, your hands placed over your ears, you felt blood roll down the side of your face but you still moved yourself between them and the door stopping them from leaving to go after Maka and Soul.

“Why won’t you move!” Crona complained as stopped in front of you.

“It doesn’t matter just kill him!” Ragnarok ordered as he opened his mouth again this time when the screech left his lips you coughed up a generous amount of blood, you were vaguely aware of Crona lifted the sword above your head and closed your eyes knowing that there was no way that you were going to be able to beat a ability as powerful as this one but even as you stood expecting your own death you worried for the people that you left behind, you worried that Maka didn’t have enough time to get away, you worried that Soul wouldn’t ever become a Death Scythe, you worried that Spirit would never see his daughter again, you worried that Stein would blame himself and you prayed that none of those things came true.

The sound of the door imploding was loud by you ear as Crona was kicked away from you, your eyes moved to the person who had saved you in time to see Stein and Spirit, the first from there was pretty easy, they faced no trouble getting rid of the demon sword and the witch that came to retrieve him. Spirit then rushed off to help Maka and Soul who they had passed on the way to you. Stein walked over to you as you attempted to stand however you didn’t get very far before you were falling forward. “What were you thinking?” Stein asked as he easily lifted you carrying you to safety as well.

“I have no meister to die for so why not die for the kids that I’ve spent so long nurturing?” You breathed out.

“Alright enough talking, rest for now.” He muttered seeing that talking was causing you pain, he would address your view on the situation at a later date.

When he got back to the school he had to leave you in the care of the medical staff there while he went into surgery to save Soul but even by the time that he was out you were still unconscious so he took the time to check you over without your attempts to hide all of the worst wounds. He noted the large bruise that spread just under your sternum and across the skin, he was sure that if he did an x-ray he’d find that the costal cartilage underneath was damaged but there was nothing that he could do for that apart from pain management so instead he focused on your ears, he knew that you could hear when he picked you up but now that everything had settled it was possible that your hearing would have been damaged during the fight, lastly he needed to check all of your organs and the only way that he could do that was with an ultrasound. “How is he?” Spirit asked as he walked into the room after Stein had finished checking you over.

“The severity of his wounds will only show when he wakes up, for now all I know is that there’s damage to the cartilage in his chest, his hearing could be damaged and there is a small amount of internal bleeding that seems to have stopped. There is nothing more that I can do for him.” He answered. “he said that he was happy to die there.” 

“That doesn’t surprise me, he’s dedicated himself to those kids, they gave him purpose.” Spirit explained. “You probably don’t remember him from back in school but he never connected with any meister back then, he even told me that he’d never be worth anything as a weapon.” 

“I never noticed him back then.” Stein admitted, maybe you were right to think that way that you did now, after all everyone that proved you wrong had failed, the only people that saw you for what you were worth were Lord Death and the kids that he had put you in charge of.

“Maka’s mum did, she was the first person to offer him a friend, he was devastated when she died, but he promised to look after Maka, he’s the reason that Maka has Soul, he’s always been good at choosing partners.” 

“He has a talent.” Stein agreed as he leaned over to grab the pain relief, drawing up a dose and putting it in the IV line.

“One that he doesn’t realise that he has.” Spirit said softly. “He’ll never realise how special he really is.”

“We’ll see about that.” Stein said softly, Spirit left him after that but for the next couple of hours, he was questioned by every one of your students, in groups or on their own making sure that you’d be okay.

When you opened your eyes you recognised the infirmary at the school, you had been there enough times, you also registered the nauseous feeling in your stomach, you groaned. “Don’t move too much.” The order was soft but there was authority in it, you turned your head to see where it came from and found Stein sitting in his wheely chair “how are you feeling?” 

“Like I’m going to throw up.” You answered.

“That’s probably the pain medication.” He said softly as he stood to grab something else, he injected it into the line before sitting back down.

“What was that?” You asked.

“Something to help with the nausea.” He answered as he sat down rolling the chair closer “there are some things that I have to test now that you are awake, are you okay with that?” He asked.

“Mmhm.” You hummed.

“Tell me when it hurts.” He said softly applying gentle pressure across the area of the bruise until you sucked in a breath.

“Your injuries are all minor in most cases but you will still need an adequate amount of time to heal.” He explained.

“How long?” You asked

“12 weeks.” He answered and you looked at him and nodded.

“You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.” You said softly.

“Where else would I want to be?” He asked, you shrugged but you could think of a million places better than sitting at the side of a weak meisterless weapon.

“With someone worth your time.” You answered “I’ll be okay on my own, I always have been.” You heard his chair moved closer before he took your hand.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m your doctor and more importantly your boyfriend I have no intention of leaving you.” He promised.

“There must be someone better for you.” You mumbled.

“I don’t want anyone better.” He said “I want you. I know the world hasn’t been kind to you and I failed you before but I promise you this time I’ll succeed no matter what it takes, I’ll protect you and I’ll love you. You don’t have to trust me now.” He pressed a kiss to the hand that he was holding.

“I trust you.” You said softly.

“I figured that you might say that.” He smiled, he stood guiding you to lay down gently “get some rest I’ll be back once I’ve sorted some things.” 

“Okay.” You mumbled. Stein smiled down at you as he watched you fall asleep, he didn’t understand how you still had it in you to trust him so readily but he wasn’t going to mess it up.

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