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#when he tried baptizing me later

moongreenlight · 8 days

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Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit.

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely.

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye.

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled.

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages. Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own.

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her.

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier.

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels.

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.”

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.

#I'm mafia-baiting sorry #This was really just to get me back into posting my writing lol #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #sephspeaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #price cod #captain john price #john price #captain price #price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #mafia au

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pascalsbby · 9 months

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The Devil & His Brother

Joel x Tommy x You

Prologue / Part I : 6.4K / Part II

Summary: The Devil was begging you to forgive him, and you wanted to. You wanted to bring your palms together and whisper his name through the cracks, hoping he would hear your silent prayer. “Let me stay here, with you.” He would get down on his knees and pray to your altar. He would bless it first, kiss it clean, before he would send two fingers to spread open your love.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, eventual smut. enemies to lovers, slow-burn, angst/comfort/sex, age gap, power imbalance, possessive tendencies, drugs/pills/alcohol, major daddy issues (that’s why you need BOTH miller brother’s instead of 1). talk of death, shit-talking god & the devil himself.

This was a labor of love, please comment, reblog, & let me know what you think <3

I will take a crowbar and pry out the broken pieces of God in me.

- Anne Carson

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Your soul was given to another man before you had even yearned for the rage to scratch it back yourself- have a choice in the matter of your own eternity. Two eyes looking down upon you, gazing into the depth of your skull. Where the fuck was he, when his children were screaming on their knees for his forgiveness, for whatever they had done to deserve this?

You couldn’t remember your own baptism- despite seeing countless bodies pushed underwater, coming back anew. Later in life, not coming back up at all. Drowning sinfully sin-less. You were thankful now, that the hard stuff was done when you weren’t old enough to know it- or deny it. You wouldn’t have washed yourself clean for him, drown for him, now.

You were angry at him- you had every right to be. You were utterly alone in a world that was trying to devour you whole by sinking one tooth into any part of your tender flesh. Your eternal soul was saved (given) to a hand in the sky before you even knew what a God was, what he was capable of, what he would allow, and you had suffered for it during life. But now, when it mattered most, you didn’t have to do a goddamn thing but lay here and die. Yet he wasn’t doing his part. What a fucking surprise.

He never came like all the people said he would, like the Bible said. There was no reckoning. Even he was too scared of what he created.

“I ain’t no God, sweetheart.” The sound reverberated through his throat in a sickly Southern accent. He might as well have been. His thick arms were the ones holding you, warming you against the soft flannel. You haven’t been touched by another human in a long time, and the veins running through his arms were suddenly whispering love stories into your own running blood. His hands were so big.

They refused your pleas. “Please, if you don’t do it just hand me the gun.” Always met with a thickly harsh, “don’t think so,” from the one who shot you. The younger one is somehow quieter than the first. You had been full of anger for years, but it didn't seem as heavy as it normally would, despite barking, “You already tried once and failed, let me do it myself then.” He looked at you, surprised that you wasted your breath in such a manner, it had barely come out of the back of your throat to begin with. He huffed a laugh as he turned his head back to his brother before looking straight into the dark night again, focusing on something that wasn't even there. Focusing on anything that wasn’t you.

You were used to men not following through. Your father was the ‘savior’ (born-again post-outbreak pastor)(liar) of a small group, all now a couple of feet underground, frozen in the decomposing water of themselves- and whoever was lucky enough to be thrown in the dug-up hole on top of them. Baptized over and over as the ground warmed in the spring and froze again in the winter. Perpetually drowning until they become what they were trying to escape all along- food for the earth to devour.

We didn’t burn them, because that would have given us away, invited anyone near to pluck the last of us out, but fire would have been easier. But we don’t do easy, not here. We gather whoever is responsible for your already rotting body and make them throw you into the ground, all in the name of God. You had written a lot into your leather-bound notebook, at first not wanting to fill the pages, because once the paper was gone, there was nowhere else to rip the thoughts out of your head, let them bleed through the pages. You read that specific entry over and over, having memorized it by now, making crinkles in the dusty pages from how many times you turned back to it and prayed to a God that wasn’t there to save them- you.

He was never planning on it.

Your journal was the same color as the Devil’s eyes, darkened honey-brown, alive. You didn’t have many places to look whenever you did have enough spite in you to open your own, body swaying from side to side on a horse that wasn’t yours, in a man's lap that you didn’t know. He looked pretty, even from below, even more so leaning his chin downwards towards your face and gazing up your body. I guess anything safe looks heavenly amidst fire.

Why would they do that? Kill you and then take you along for the ride. They hadn't spoken much for however many days you had been dying, watching as the sun kissed the sky goodnight and welcomed the moon, at least three times. Maybe you were bait for something even bigger- a young woman goes a long way these days. Always has, really.

You had always harbored a deep fear of death. It wasn't exactly the physical suffering that frightened you, but rather the haunting notion of losing loved ones. The consequences of deviating from the life path thrown on you by your parents. There was always this looming presence of the ‘evil’. The Devil… Lucifer, Satan, whatever moniker you choose. In the narrative your parents scripted for you, he was cast as the villain. It was all too funny now, his thighs warming your skin, setting you ablaze.

Lucifer was a beautiful, Southern gentleman- one who spoke quickly and stern. And God sat right next to him, mouth shut, waiting for command. You were so tired of following orders from men but suddenly it’s as if you’ve known all along that his gaze would be the one you melted under. Sludge. Burning flesh. Maybe there was no God. Sure, the other man who sat next to him looked like one, but so does this one. He was an idea, the fear instilled in you, your parents' guilt. But you knew evil more than you knew true good, and the Devil was below you, only cementing that truth further. He was keeping you right here, draped across his lap, and despite your dying, he still caught glimpses of your naked flesh. And you didn’t know if it was eyes burning into you, or the gunshot wound he had so nicely gifted you. You almost wanted to thank him, if that’s what it took for him to wrap himself around you.

Romans 6:4 hung on a carved board in your parent's room after the first wave of death. After your father decided that the group needed someone to lead them, and that your mother wasn’t it, she sat back happily and carved words into worn wood. You had felt safe there, sixteen and under the guise of whatever your parents told you. Young, naive, pure.

‘We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. We’re now dead to the power of sin. Being raised from the water.’ It later hung in the main room of a run-down grocery store turned Church. The church itself was down the street, the rotten door holding in rotten bodies from whoever had come before. Maybe they had sat and awaited the way you all did at first, waiting for their savior. He never rang the doorbell, never knocked. He had just walked right on by, whistling his hymns and being grateful he was above it all.

A new life? If Jesus died for our sins, wouldn’t he be upset with you right now? Laying on your… death horse…. And still not bruising your knees for him? Why can’t he be angry enough to let you slip out of line and take the easier way? I guess suffering wasn’t his go-to, at least outwardly. Fear was more his thing, and fear would eat you alive and cement your veins before true sin ever could. Guilt is what gnaws at your ankles, whispering poetry into your hair. Fear had passed. Anger had too, momentarily. Rage was a common home.

He should have taken you by now, held your hand and kissed your forehead goodnight. But you knew that he wasn’t coming. He never came for your parents either, nor your brother. You waited each time by their bodies, but he never called, never even picked up the goddamn phone.

He promised resurrection to people who needed something to hang on to. Promises made to be broken. God was more comfortable than death. You repeated it over and over as a prayer to those who had lost someone. We all have. Your dads own voice booming through the quiet. Now, you are losing yourself.

But really, there was no more you, not really. Maybe the horse knew too, bucked you off, and laughed as you felt the thud of the ground under your shoulder blades, because suddenly there was no air left in the entire dwindling world. The snow that was kicked up into your face from the weight of your body wasn’t melting as it would have before. You were cold. There was no world. There was just endless pain before a bout of relief. Not even enough to fill your lungs in one breath in or out. Even the horse knew you were dead weight. Every animal fighting for its survival. That’s why you were shot, too.

You scared the Devil and he took it upon himself to punish you.

At least that’s what you convince yourself as you lay dying on the cold, unforgiving ground, the weight of your pain bore down on your frail body- words trying to come out in shallow gasps. He wasn’t coming.

“Please,” you begged.

You heard shuffling, and then a shadow covered the setting moon above you. The all-to-familiar sound of his boots gaining on your still body. You could still smell him, had been able to this entire time you had been on his horse, in his lap. You could feel the pressure of his fingers rapidly squeezing your cheeks, feeling for blood flow, then the burning of his fingers on your neck, looking for signs of life amidst the dark night. Finally, he was touching you again. Maybe now he would kill you, too. His final gift.

“Fuck,” he hissed. That muttered obscenity made you feel more alive. “Get the fuckin’ horse away from her Tommy.” You heard the reins of the animal you were sat upon being pulled, and the hooves cascading further into the night. He returned to you, the coolness of his rings stung against your face, the cool air keeping them cold despite the warmth of his body. The bullseye tattoo, the only indication of who was touching you besides his smell. You had seen it multiple times throughout the rising and falling of the sun. It had cupped your body against his. He holds your face, as he leans into you, bullseye sitting right beneath your chin.

Throw a dart and it would hit you right in the throat- where you wanted him. Where you wanted him to breathe life into you again.

“Please. Help me go home.” Home hasn’t existed in years. You’d been unconscious for days.

“Shhh. No point in talkin' baby. Hurts too much. We’re goin’ home.” You looked up at him and despite the hardness of his exterior, you saw the understanding in his eyes. Just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared back into his skull.

Almost how a lighter ignites, flickers, warms, almost unbearable but not quite. The wind blows the fire to your fingers, stings, then disappears. As did his burning gaze. The feeling of putting out a cigarette as it shoves its last bit of self out into the world, smoke followed by nothing, simultaneously.

That was him, you would come to find out, as his silhouette and his own warmth flees from your touch. As the brown from his eyes turns to black as your own close. He sighs.

The snow crunches under his weight as he assesses how to pick you back up.

“And you ain’t goin’ anywhere but where I take you. Got it?” A half-attempted nod before a sigh of pain.

You didn’t know where you were going- why, you were still alive… or whatever this in-between was. All you know is that you prayed to the Devil. And he answered.

He was the only one who ever answered.

The return to Jackson was painful, the remnants of a long-ago shattered world marred the landscape. As they neared home, the journey became colder, perhaps another reason why it remained a well-hidden place- not many people made it there alive. Joel and Tommy, ever vigilant, guided the two horses with unwavering resolve, constantly scanning the horizon for any indications of danger. Meanwhile, they carried the injured girl, whose body was only partially present after being thrown from the horse three days ago, blankets thrown atop. It had been five days since she was shot. Since Joel shot her.

The way you looked up at him every once in a while was breathtaking- it was too much of a painful reminder that he’d lost (or will lose) everything he’s ever cared about. He could see it in your eyes, the confusion of who and where you were. Watching life move through someone's body and out of their eyes used to be a victorious occasion. It meant he succeeded, that he was still alive regardless of the mangled bodies he left behind. But this felt different to him. You were so godamn young and he plays the scream ripping through your throat over and over an- he swears he didn’t pull the trigger. Joel's gruff voice broke through the haze of silence that had fallen upon them days ago and never left. He broke through his own circling thoughts. As he spoke to Tommy a mixture of concern and guilt for your being broke through, he felt it in his throat, his chest. He didn't want to be responsible for this death, but he sure as hell didn’t want to know you either. Because knowing someone only meant more pain.

“We've been carryin’ her for days, Tommy. How much longer can she hold on like this? No point in bringin’ a dead girl home.”

Denial was a motherfucker, wasn’t it?

Joel knew of death- he didn’t believe in shit besides such. He used to be a God-fearing man but knew if he ever had the chance to stand in front of him he’d rip him in two and gnaw on the pieces of his holiness.

Tommy knew of death too, even before the outbreak, but the difference was that he also believed in life. He knew exactly why Joel had that scar, even though they’d never talked about it. It was a quiet understanding, one he never pushed or even poked and prodded.

Tommy's response was laced with a fear, for what Joel had done, but empathy for what he knows he sees every single time he looks down upon you. "We're almost there, Joel. She's tough, you know that. She should have died from that wound but she’s still breathin’, that counts f’something. We'll get her to Jackson, n’ she'll have a chance." He kept looking into his brother's eyes before pulling away and looking ahead into the blinding white. If he said what he really wanted, he wouldn’t stop. “You fuckin’ shot her but now you want to save her? Make up your fuckin’ mind.” The least he could do is help him save someone, even if it’s just for Joel’s sake, especially after he couldn't save Sarah. ‘Least he could do is keep his mouth shut.

Joel was the last person he had- the only person. Ellie didn’t even love him like she loved Joel. It’s always the broken, harsh ones that receive the most attention. People spend so much time trying to put broken people back together that they don’t realize the others are teetering with one foot over the edge.

They’d gone outside the walls because funny enough, they thought it would be more safe this time of year, the dead of winter. Ellie had begged for months for the boys to take her out with them and show her this and that. She was getting homesick for a place she never truly loved. She was tired of sitting still inside walls of safety when everyone she had ever loved was buried outside of them. Tess came along too, providing an extra line of safety, ‘just in case’.

Tommy remembers Joel whispering, “There's somethin’ coming.” More so someone, you. A moment later, a gunshot, a thudding body. Joel was normally calm on the trigger, rifle in hand, looking down the barrel of the gun, aimed at his prey. But Ellie was there, Tommy, and Tess. His people. There was no time to fuck around, so he didn’t. Tommy understood. But that didn’t make it right in his head. His brother was never patient in the moments that mattered the most.

One evening, about ten hours from wherever the fuck they were taking you, the sun began to set, setting ablaze a warm glow over the frozen landscape. You had been awake, more so than the past couple of days, looking up at the moving clouds in the sky, watching as his chest moved and released more air into the sky, breathing visible and dancing in the cold. The horse beneath you abruptly stopped and the two men descended their spots atop of them, stretching their legs and gaining more control of their tired bodies.

“You’re awake,” the younger one let out, moving his focus from the soft mumbles he was giving to the other man. “‘Bout time we clean your wound again, see how it’s doing.” You let out a faint, “mm” and attempted to sit up. “No. We’ll get ya off the horse. Be still,” the other said. The Devil grabbed the water and reached up to you, his fingers moved across your face as he gathered your wandering hair and moved it away from your lips. He turned the canister upwards, slowly, letting you drink from it. “Thank you,” you managed. It was the first time he heard your voice not mangled with absolute fear. He stared, eyes roaming the silence, looking ever-so surprised that you had said anything at all, and so clearly at that.

The angel moved closer and reached out his hand, thinking now was a good time to introduce himself to you. “Tommy, Miller. This is my brother, Joel.” he looked toward him. Joel forced an upside-down grin and nodded his head toward you. “You…” pointing towards the one called Joel, “you shot me.” Silence followed, it was heavy, thick. “I didn- Thought you were dangerous, came around that corner too fast.”

“I wasn’t even armed, I-“

“Don’t wanna talk bout’ it.” he huffed, almost angrily. You opened your mouth again, wanting to rattle off one of three hundred questions that you had, but he looked you over once more, and then turned around and walked off. Tommy, with gentle hands, tenderly lifted your body off of the saddle and carried you towards the fire Joel was nursing. The crackling of a campfire and the scent of cooked food filled the air as they set to work, tending to your wounds with diligence that spoke to Tommy's belief that you would be okay (You had to be. He couldn’t fail Joel again. Couldn’t watch as his face fell with the realization that you were completely dead).

His fingers were deft as he cleaned your wounds, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He saw the goosebumps rise, and felt them, as the fire lit your skin. You caught glimpses of concern in his eyes, a silent reassurance that he was determined to see you through this. Joel's presence was a constant anchor, as he spoke into the fire, keeping it lit. They laid out blankets, far too many for just two people to be carrying alone, and sat you atop and below them.

The rest of the night had been filled with your echoing screams, Joel’s palm across your mouth, “Stop screamin’ or someone is gonna find us.” Sure, stop screaming while dirty, whiskey-cleaned fingers are prodding at your open wound. Not even a sorry moved past his lips.

Joel laid down on one side of you, Tommy on the other. “M’ sorry,” he whispered towards you. They both smelled of sweat and whiskey. Their chests rolled and fell at different times, Joel murmuring in his sleep once he finally stopped looking around the parameter. You could tell they were brothers.

It was night when the three of you arrived ‘home’. You heard a young girl's voice above the gathering crowd.

“Joel!” She parted the gathering crowd as the patter of quickening footsteps approached. His head whipped quickly, finding her immediately.

“What the fuck?”

“Ellie,” he warned.

“You can’t fucking do that Joel, I thought you…We made it home three days ago. Tess dragged me by my hair but I-”

“Good,” he huffed back, “Where is she?” Ellie blustered but gave up arguing.

Multiple men gathered around and took the blankets off your body, the air hissing through your torn clothes. You whimpered as they moved your body off of Joel’s horse. He didn’t say anything to you, instead he turned and followed Ellie out of the crowd, carrying the reins with him.

You were carefully carried to a bigger two-story home on the outskirts of the city. As the night turned towards the morning sun, you found yourself gaining strength. The length of the night had been blurry, chattering voices and hands, everywhere. Needles, bliss, whispers. Stripping you from the blood-ridden clothes and water pouring over your lips. Fingers, hands touching you, always caught in a delicate dance between stoic tenderness and warmth

‘Gonna be jus’ fine, baby.” Tommy had assured you, multiple times.

Suddenly it had been a week. They took turns caring for you, someone sleeping in the same room as you at all times in case you needed something. Always talking about “patrol shifts” and how Tommy was expected to be a leader of some sort. You had overheard a lot of conversations booming through the thin walls of the house. One hurting more than the others.

“Shouldn’t have fuckin’ brought her here in the first place. You know the whole town is gossipin’ about it right now. The Miller brothers bringing in another mouth to feed.”

“Stop it. Sh’can hear you Joel. You know that’s not how anyone thinks of it. She could help this place. Give her a chance.”

“She’s been practically fuckin’ unconscious for a week now, Tommy. You think she’s just gonna get right up n’ run the town?”

“Why did you take her in if you don’t even want to be responsible for her survival?” Tommy threw back at him. He regretted saying it immediately, watching as it hit Joel in the face before he closed his eyes and looked away. Joel was more so there to watch you and make sure you didn’t bleed into his wooden floor, while Tommy tried to provide as much comfort as possible. After realizing that this was Joel’s home, it made sense in what little you knew about him. There were few things on the wall, but there were remnants of him everywhere.

Ellie would come home and sit with you, read to you and then tuck you in after Joel carried you up the stairs and into his bed. You missed Tommy’s gentleness when it wasn’t there, but you missed the warmth from Joel's body, his lap, when he wasn’t there. His breathing, his nervous habit of cracking his fingers. Even though you could tell that every nerve ending in his body wanted you anywhere else but wherever he was- there was still a silent curiosity.

About a week and a half after your arrival, someone knocked on the front door of the tattered house and Joel called for Tommy up the stairs. He walked down them quickly, walking out of the front door with Joel.

He returned a few minutes later, looking at you sitting in the seat you hadn’t left in since you’d been there. He gave you a look, slowly looking towards the ground as he spoke up so you could hear him. “Gotta go for a couple of days. Heard there’s a group who probably followed us close to here, saw their smoke, gonna take care of them before they can make it any further.” You hadn’t spoken much, if at all, the past couple of days. You didn’t think you would make it this far, and now you were sitting with two strangers and a teenager in their house, rotting away. They had poked and prodded, trying to get any information out of you that they could, but you didn’t give in.

You stared out the window and answered meekly whenever spoken to, if at all. You should be ecstatic at the thought of finally being housed somewhere ‘safe’, somewhere with electricity and running water. Somewhere where they gathered the children and let them watch movies in the mess hall (all information coming from Tommy, telling you stories as he changed your bandages)- but you weren’t. You felt like you were still teetering on the edge of death. You felt like a burden to Joel.

You didn’t answer Tommy, just nodded. He packed up a few things and promised to ‘be back in no time, then maybe you can tell me your name.’ And then he was gone out of the termite-ridden front door.

You had fallen asleep, and awoken to Joel in another room somewhere, those same goddamn boots thudding against the creaking wooden floors. His presence was constant, every once in a while getting up from a creaking chair to come look at you. You slept, mostly. Ate the dinner he got from the dining hall. Your rage had returned. But baring your teeth in anger took energy you didn’t have.

Joel couldn’t look at you without feeling like he was looking straight through the blood and guts of you(r)(side). Tommy wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone about it before he left. How pretty you were, how there ‘weren’t many pretty faces left n’ you’re tryin’ to kill one?’ He watched as Tommy cooked you with his stare, warming his next meal only to put on his best-dressed suit and bail on the date before he could even pick up the tab. He was glad he was gone for a while, letting him forget about the fact that he had put the bullet in you. He loved his brother, but he knew his games. He knew his inability to stay.

Joel had nursed you back to… alive. At least. He hadn’t really thought about what that entailed after you were stable. He was surprised you were still breathing. He didn’t think about the feeding, changing, and bathing of you. Of hands touching flesh and natural bodily reactions to such.

You could tell he was the older brother. He held the normal stereotypes, sternly telling you what to do. The older one was always more serious, and stoic. The younger, who probably got away with more, but was the loneliest from eyes diverting. But his big brother was always there, begrudgingly present. And he was in this instance too.

Tommy had washed you multiple times before he left, but never your hair or the rest of you. He was more concerned that your stitches didn’t get infected.

Joel probably thought giving you a rag bath was wasting water, but did it anyway, probably tired of your stench in his bed. It’s cold until he heats the towel after noticing you shiver. “Let me draw you an actual bath. Think you can take one now.” He was softer at that moment, more gently with the way he wiped the towel across your chest. Those moments happened least expectedly. But when they did happen, it hurt even deeper. You felt something for him. And that just wouldn’t do. Rather it be lust, loneliness, or your raging fucking daddy issues.

Tommy likes the water cold, and Joel likes it burning to the skin. Of course, he does. He is all or nothing. Hot or cold. Soft or hard. He’s solitude but brings the same warmth of a front door opening to a sea of snow, chimney warm, lights warmer, hot chocolate, and bourbon- he is. In any other world but this one, he would probably be a good man; one to settle down with. One to hold you against himself, despite of raging night.

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a/n: Phew do I have plans for these three…

taglist: @worhols @sarap-77 @mishasminion360 @justagalwhowrites @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @romanarose @milla-frenchy @bandluvr97 @alwaysdjarin @basicoccult @hellfyreroz @northernbluess-blog @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pr0ximamidnight @bambydxll @morgaussy @n7cje @theywhowriteandknowthings @gracie7209 @pedritoferg @twirl731 @med494 @k-ra @gintheginger @obscurexsorrows @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @ours-is-a-strange-fate @megangovier20 @rayslittlekitten @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrotonin @bluetattoos @sscorpiiio

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patolemus · 3 months

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i don’t know why i am the way i am (there’s something in the static, i think i’ve been having revelations)

Rin has always been a believer. Both he and Yukio attended mass every Sunday at the monastery all their lives, grew up listening to Shiro and the other priests recite from the Bible—and this is the only book Rin knows almost by heart. The twins were baptized when they were younger, and despite his rebellious attitude, Rin has never wavered over that belief - whether that is because he was always surrounded by it or not - and it’s Yukio who’s gotten more skeptic about it as the years pass.

After Shiro dies, and Rin finds out he’s the son of Satan, Rin stops going to church. He doesn’t believe he’s welcomed at God’s house anymore, son of the original sinner that he is. He mourns the loss quietly, spending Sunday mornings in the quiet of his and Yukio’s abandoned dorm hoping he could be somewhere else.

(Alternatively, he could go to the chapel obsessively, turning his believes into a quest for absolution. Maybe if he behaves like a good Christian boy ought to do, if he follows the rules and proves Rin has not abandoned him, God will forgive him the sin of being born.)

Rin would want to have his confirmation—maybe he was in the middle of that process before Satan possessed Shiro. But now that holy instruments harm him, it’s like another sign that a demon isn’t welcomed, and that God has forsaken him. For that same reason, some of his favorite Bible verses harm him, and it’s through gritted teeth and clenched fists that he recites them in class and to himself, refusing to give them up because he’s turned tainted by his demon blood.

(When he first awakens, the night before the funeral, Rin takes a bottle full of holy water from the monastery’s reserves and tries dousing himself on them, thinking he might be able to cleanse himself of this curse with it. It burns, making his skin splotchy red and his eyes water from the pain. He’d always been able to touch it without issues before, but now it repels him. Rin falls to his knees in front of the altar, head bowed to the sculpture of Jesus crucified on the cross, and wonders for the first time if God has left him.)

(The burn fades within the hour, and Rin hates that most of all.)

Rin avoids mirrors the first few weeks after Shiro’s death, not wanting to see how he’s irrevocably changed. He hates the feeling of his longer canines when he runs his tongue over them, grimaces at the new, sharper shape of his ears, can’t barely take a look at his tail to stuff it under his shirt. He looks like he’s only just rolled out of bed, appearance shabby and unkept, but Rin prefers that to watching himself now that he’s no longer one of God’s creations.

He prays by his bedside every night - even more so now that he can’t go to mass, Rin has started praying obsessively since Shiro died - has his rosary around his neck even though it makes his skin itch and takes it everywhere he goes. He always blesses the table before eating, thanking God for the food he’s provided for them.

Every time he uses his flames, Rin feels like a sinner. This are the flames of Satan, the flames of the original sinner, God’s antithesis. Using them feels like forsaking God just like God has forsaken him, but Rin finds no joy in it. As the flames die out and Rin’s freaky demonic features recede, he bows his head and prays. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” he says, trying and failing to feel better about himself.

His friends notice, after all secrets are out in the open and Rin doesn’t have to hide them anymore, and they look at him strangely for it, like his apology to God is out of the norm. Maybe they don’t think Rin would be religious, as the son of Satan. Maybe they just think it’s strange that he’s looking for absolution. They don’t comment on it until much later, when Bon tells him that he’s not a sinner just because he uses Satan’s flames. Bon is much smarter than Rin, so infinitely smarter, so Rin tries to believe him. He never stops praying though.

When he first realizes his feelings for Bon are less than platonic, his first instinct is to go to the confessionary and confess his sin. But the only priest he’s confessed to is Shiro, and Shiro is dead (Shiro is dead), and what priest would give absolution to a demon? So Rin doesn’t go, stewing on his guilt and thinking about it obsessively (“Forgive me father, for I have sinned. This is my first-tenth-hundredth-thousandth confession.” “Forgive me Father, for I want, and I do not know how to stop wanting.”). Is it because he’s the Son of Satan? Was he born a sinner, always meant to stray from God’s path like Satan did? How can he follow God’s will when he’s fallen in love with a boy?

Later, he realizes Shiro would have probably been fine with it, and if Shiro approves… maybe it’s not so wrong. Maybe Rin isn’t sinning when he looks at Bon feeling butterflies in his stomach, isn’t straying from God’s intended path when Bon’s laugh makes him happy. And if this is not a sin then maybe being a halfling isn’t either. Maybe it’s not God that has forsaken him, but the Catholic Church.

(The Vatican will never love him. They have casted him as the villain before he could even prove himself one of God’s believers, and they’ll never let him forget who his father is, and what he’s done. He’ll never be able to visit freely, to marvel at the beautiful structures and the holiness of it all. It hurts. But it hurts less than thinking he’s beyond saving, that God has given up on saving him.

The Vatican can suck it.)

Rin tries going to church again. It’s a daunting task, after days and weeks and months without stepping foot inside a chapel, but Rin finds himself sitting on the third row at the Sunday mass held near True Cross Academy, and feels the knot in his stomach loosen as he listens to the priest. It’s familiar. It’s liberating. Rin feels a little more like himself. Bon is waiting for him at the school gates when he’s done, looking immensely proud and Rin takes his hand in his and lets the feeling of contentment wash over him.

He still prays. He still blesses the table. He still recites verses of the Bible even if they hurt him, and he still refuses to go to a confessionary.

But he can stand to look at himself in the mirror now. He resumes his confirmation process, even knowing he may never be allowed the actual sacrament. He lets himself see a world where he can be the son of Satan and a good Christian, where he can love a boy who’s beautiful and good to him without disappointing God. It’s a different world than the one he lived in before, but Rin thinks it’s a world Shiro would be proud of.

It’s a start.

——————————

(This is my interpretation as I was raised Catholic and went to a Catholic school all my life. I’m nowhere near as devoted as I’m making Rin here lol, but I grew up around Catholic religion and know people who are very hardcore Catholics, so this, as well as my own religious education, is where I draw my knowledge from.)

(Also, I want to clarify that a lot of Rin’s thoughts are in no way healthy, and he will grow to let go of them in time. This is the result of a very traumatic situation that left him stranded with no sense of direction, and some of his actions stem from a need to overcompensate for being half demon. He’ll get better as he learns to deal with that reality.)

Update: my brain won’t stop eating at me so this has turned into a thing (tm). Let’s call it revelations au because I think I’m funny. You can find all my posts about it through that tag in my profile.

#patolemus thinks #that never ends well #the religious guilt!au I didn’t know I needed #this might turn into an actual fic who knows #definitely not me #rin okumura #my baby is going through it #bonrin #rin x bon #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #religion #religious guilt #fanfic #fanfiction #writing prompt #revelations au

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underwhelp · 4 months

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Wishes Do Come True

It was like you'd been given as a gift.

Warnings : dubious consent implied, kidnapping, blood mentioned

It really did feel like a Stephen King horror story.

When you'd first been pushed to your knees infront of Joseph and his band of merry psychos, you'd just survived your car being run off the road. The wound on your forehead pulsed but atleast it had stopped weeping. This was supposed to be a calm trip toward the cabin you'd rented, lake view and all but instead you'd been kidnapped and brought to a church in the middle of nowhere.

You'd tried to catch the eye of the people sitting in the pews, but they were too content to stare in awe of the speaker. He held the room at will, a soft voice that had range and a pretty unassuming face, you had a sudden thought of human sacrifice.

His speech turned to sinners when he opened his arms and stepped towards you.

"We must push through, and find our strength in our lord to survive the rapture that is apon us." His stare was intense and focused behind his yellow aviators. "We welcome all the lost into our embrace." At this the crowd rose and cried out their agreement.

Behind the main man stood two others and a woman. Only one mattered though, for he was someone you'd met before, a long time ago when he'd been in need. You felt like you both shared a look but you weren't sure if he'd decide you were worth saving.

Between then and now, you'd been 'baptized', drugged and made to listen to Joseph's nonsense. It was only after three days of never being left alone to escape that Jacob arrived for you.

You'd been placed at the dinning table, made to eat and drink the drugged food and listen while Joseph thanked you for the care you'd given his brother all those years ago. Then the talk started of how long we'd be under ground when all came to a head, how you'd have to repopulate. That's when Joseph told you that you'd be married that evening to a man you hadn't seen in years. A man you'd only spoke to a hand full of times.

Jacobs face didn't tell you much when you looked at him, he was still and watching you back. A steely gaze, the same as it had been in the shelter. You'd asked him if this was what he wanted and he'd smirked.

"You made it clear that you'll have me at my worst," Christ, he made it sound like you'd fucked at some point. "You'll make a decent wife."

You didn't have the strength to argue, your vision was constantly blurring at the edges and Jacobs eyes would change from blue to red everytime you'd blink.

The next thing you remember was the feeling of someone removing your underwear, your arms being moved for a dress to be pulled over your head. Then you were standing back in that same church, right at the front. Jacob stood there too, his brothers and sister at the head once again. The congregation was bigger, people gathered and surrounded by heavy artillery.

You were made to kiss him, you remember the feeling of his beard and the smell of the wax he used on it, and the church bursts into sparkling snow and white fog.

Later you asked Jacob how he could've possibly have remembered you, he told you while tickling the stretched skin of your belly that the night you'd brought him his dinner, it had been the first full meal he'd had in nine months. That you'd looked him in the eye and said nothing, just nodded and let him eat.

He looked into your eyes then and told you that he never forgot the feeling of wishing things had been different, for wishing he'd had a future with someone like you. His lip curled up then.

I appreciate any and all feedback, thank you.

And you knew that down in that bunker, swollen with the child he'd bred you with, that he'd gotten his wish and maybe you were just a little thankful when you thought of what your life would've been like if he hadn't.

#far cry 5 #jacob seed #Fanfiction #jacob seed x reader #reader x Jacob seed #fanfic

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the-rockinahard-place · 6 months

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I knew it was gonna happen anyway, but I still had hope. I clung onto the “What if?” I thought that because the patriarch forgot that my parents told him I was a girl at the end of our pre-blessing meet up session that I wouldn't get misgendered in my blessing. but then I found out I couldn’t be alone during my blessing because his wife wasn’t going to be there. This meant I would need one of my parents in the room. Even when I told my parents I wanted to do this alone they still didn’t take my wish seriously.

So when the time came, my parents had made sure he wouldn’t forget this time. And my dad got to sit there and listen to the blessing. The blessing I have dedicated myself to for the past month and a half. I tried so hard to make sure I could feel the spirit today. I fasted, I prayed, I read my scriptures, ect. I felt good, hungry from fasting, but good. I had new dress shoes on, new dress pants and socks, and a nice button up and belt. I felt euphoric all day because of this. And there was a powerful spirit in the room. I could feel it and it was truly amazing, but each time he would misgender me it felt like getting stabbed in the chest.

The mental battle to focus on the meaning of his words instead of the face front value, to remind myself that god knows me and wouldn’t call me that, that what the patriarch is saying is just his own personal interpretation of god's words. Trying to remind myself of those things was draining. And it made me frustrated and upset that I let myself get so hopeful. I wish I waited til college where I could’ve gotten to actually be alone, yet at the same time I know there was a reason I got the blessing at this point in my life. That this pain had a purpose. The only way I can explain how I know this, is that I know God knows I’m trans and understands what it feels like to be in my shoes.

All these mixed feelings of spiritual uplift and gender dysphoria left me silent. I had some time to think. In the silence I thought about the future, about when trans people are finally accepted into the church. How when that day comes, difficulties such as getting baptized in a dress as a boy won’t be an issue. Or getting misgendered in your patriarchal blessing could be adjusted later. Or trans people could pass out the sacrament, visit temples, get sealed in temples. I looked for ways the church could expand its ideals to be more accommodating. I did this because it helped remind me that I am simply working with what I’ve been given. I am on my own with this in my personal life. I have had no representation to look toward in this. Its always been a leap of faith. So I hope my experience has helped other trans people in the church and I hope my experience has opened the eyes of cis members in the church.

#trans mormon #queerstake #mormon #lgbt mormon #closeted #patriarchal blessing #transmasc #transgender

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jaegerrb0mb · 9 months

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Christian!Bakugo hcs

Note: this post is for my fellow christians, if u do not believe in christianity or any religion then u can scroll pass this post. I made this simply for my own enjoyment since I seen nobody writes on it, and I would also like to address that I am not trying to romanticize christianity!! I just figured this can kind of motivate other christians out there¿ and I also have absolutely no intentions to offend anyone. with that being said

Pls enjoy!

Christian!bakugo who actually wasn’t christian until he met his christian s/o and he sparked some interest in their beliefs.

(pre) christian!bakugo who then realized that he actually wanted to turn christian and change his life around.

(pre) Christian!bakugo who tells his mother over the phone he’s going to get baptized and her being very excited for him.

Christian!bakugo who feels a tremendous relief wash over him and a feeling he can’t describe after getting baptized and seeing his father and mother proudly watching.

Christian!bakugo who feels like a complete different person when his s/o runs behind him and hug while he was still completely soaked from holy water and using the towel in his hands to shake out his hair and wipe the water out his ears.

Christian!bakugo who’s eyes soften when he hears his s/o whisper "I’m so proud of u suki" in his ear behind him while still hugging him.

Christian!bakugo who’s half shocked to come back to the common room later that night to see his classmates has decided to throw a small party to celebrate for him.

Christian!bakugo who’s even more shocked that his atheist and agnostic friends are so supportive of him.

Christian!bakugo who now since that day constantly has to take a deep breath and a step back to pray in his head whenever someone or something pisses him off.

Christian!bakugo who does late night bible studies with his s/o in his dorm room.

Christian!bakugo that mumbles a little "god forgive me" under his breath when he cusses.

Christian!bakugo who constantly complements his s/o with verses.

[Example: he says "Solomon 4:7" which means "You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you." or "Solomon 4:9" which means "you have made my heart beat faster with a single glance of your eyes."]

Christian!bakugo that has a small notebook filled with prayers, verses, and his thoughts. and makes his s/o get one to do the same.

Christian!bakugo who helps his s/o when going through spiritual warfare and his s/o doing the same for him.

Christian!bakugo that can’t help himself from sending his s/o christian humor tiktoks thru out the day.

Christian!bakugo who happily wears the cross necklace his s/o gifted him on the day he got baptized everyday.

Christian!bakugo who offen nights stays up praying for forgiveness on how he treated deku and others in the past.

Christian!bakugo that tries his hardest to change his ways and be a better person.

Christian!bakugo that tries to encourage the Bakusquad to get into the word of the lord. "look, I’m not trying to shove my beliefs down ur throats, I’m just saying the biggest hero is jesus. he sacrificed himself for everyone in this world. that’s something nobody here can live up to."

Christian!bakugo that mostly prays for his friends [even the ones who ain’t christian] and family instead of himself.

Christian!bakugo that changed his workout playlist to christian/worship music cause it motivates him to do and be better.

Christian!bakugo who can’t help the smile that spreads on his face and how his heart flutters whenever his s/o does a quick prayer of protection and strength for him before he goes on missions/does training or anything that could involve him being hurted/injured. [he does this for his s/o too 🥹]

Christian!bakugo who wakes up each morning and gives thanks to the lord for all the blessings in his life.

Christian!bakugo who randomly gets promise rings for him and his s/o saying "it’s a promise to each other and to god that we won’t do anything 'bad' until marriage." [NO CUZ THATS ACTUALLY SO SWEET NO JOKE 💔]

Christian!bakugo who very often talks with god abt his s/o and how he’s grateful for them.

Christian!bakugo who loses track of time by mistake many of times while watching the chosen with his s/o and ends up having to pull an all nighter.

Christian!bakugo who randomly gets the motivation to learn the bible in hebrew and surprisingly learns hebrew quickly after 2 months.

Christian!bakugo that’s happy he found a christian s/o cause if it wasn’t for them he wouldn’t be the person he is today.

Christian!bakugo who can’t help himself from laughing at his s/o whenever they open the bible app and complain abt how they broke their streak.

Christian!bakugo who’s still very competitive and always challenging his s/o on who can have the longest streak on the bible app.

Christian!bakugo that happily goes to church every sunday at 10:30 and sometimes brings his s/o along. [This is why u sometimes catch him wearing those church loafers in the show lmakakkaa]

Christian!bakugo who’s friends now watch how they speak around him. for example: can’t use "ong" or "istg" around him or else they will get an earful of "u really shouldn’t use god’s name in vain"

Christian!bakugo who loves to joke with his s/o sometimes when they’re making out and say something outta pocket like "are u trying to lust with me? get away from me! I’m innocent!!" which might earn a playful hit to the shoulder, but his s/o often makes this same joke more then him.

Christian!bakugo who absolutely hates lukewarm christians or ppl that pretend to be godly.

Christian!bakugo who’s biggest issue is learning to control his anger, pride, and cussing.

Christian!bakugo who constantly battles his ego on trying to prove he’s better then everyone.

Christian!bakugo who rlys on god’s understanding more then anyone else’s or his own/asks the lord to lead him down the right path, even if it means off the path of his lifelong dream being the number one hero.

Christian!bakugo only wants what god sees fit for him and everyone else.

Overall, Christian!bakugo is still bakugo. just doesn’t insult anyone, lost half his aggression, half his pride, and half ego. but he’s still very much bakugo, just a bit more quiet/to himself and a whole lot more godly. <3

Another note: just wanted to say again I’m not romanticizing christianity!! some of the things in here is stuff that happen in my actual relationships and helped motivate me more towards getting closer with god. and I hope this post doesn’t get anyone upset. That’s not what I want or intended. if u do have a problem with this post then pls dm me directly abt it and tell me why it offended u. that’s all.🤍

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givemearmstopraywith · 4 months

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i kknow this may not be your area of knowledge but do you know why the pope is suddenly saying this stuff re: marxism? hes always been progressive and genuine in his beliefs (same gender stuff, the lunch w the drag queens, etc.) but to outright say "we should befriend communists" is surprising to me. power play? old age? hes also a communist? idk

i was raised catholic and spend most of my time at a jesuit college! it's a complicated issue, but i'll do my best. edit: i also want to say that i am both pro-francis and generally very unhappy with the church in general, so i've tried to be as objective as i can.

pope francis is, first, argentinian, and second, a jesuit. as a south american he knows liberation theology, a marxist-based theology of the poor which developed in south america during the 1980s. because of its association with marxism liberation theology was treated with huge suspicion by the catholic church. cardinal ratzinger, later benedict xvi, wrote a fairly nasty castigation of liberation theology in the 80s- if i find it i'll link it.

this is the context, i believe, of his comments on marxism: it's not only a home ideology for francis, it's more necessary than ever in our current social climate. francis has always been what most catholics would consider a liberally minded pope, he exhibits that fabulous tenet of catholic social teaching called "the preferential option for the poor," and everything he has done during his papacy gestures to this, including his encyclical on climate change, laudato si, and his recent moves towards affirmation of gay and trans people being baptized. even his tour of canada to make formal apologies for residential schools came about for similar reasons: it wasn't perfect, but the reason there hadn't been a formal catholic apology prior to francis was because doctrine around papal infallibility dictates that a sitting pope cannot refute or roll back the statements of a previous pope: an apology for the doctrine of discovery and residential schools would have constituted admitting that a previous pope had been wrong, which is tantamount to admitting that god himself is wrong, since the pope is the representative of god and a direct descendent of the apostle peter. doing as much throws the entire church into a very negative light, but francis apologized anyway- which, again, while deeply imperfect is a huge deal within the church, certainly infuriated a lot of conservatives, even if it seems essentially inadequate to non-catholics.

francis isn't a communist, i don't think, but he is good. he's very apart from what constitutes the majority of the catholic magisterium (ordained members of the church- priests, bishops, cardinals, etc)- a kind of internal division developed after vatican ii, where on one hand you had conservatives who preferred traditionalism, the type of leaders who wanted to keep things QT with the reagan administration who was funding mass murder in nicaraugua- that is, at it's core, the primary reason why liberation theology was rejected when it first emerged, why it has been slow to gain traction in the church. ratzinger was a staunch conservative, and john paul ii was less so; leadership in the church goes through cycles where traditionalists are usually followed by more liberal-minded popes, who appreciate vatican ii for the groundbreaking and monumental achievement that it was rather than acting as if it signified a breakdown of religion.

the other thing is francis being a jesuit: i have a lot of jesuit friends, have gotten most of my theological education from jesuits, and applied to a jesuit college for my phd. jesuits are incredibly socially minded, dedicated consistently to social awareness and justice, and less inclined towards enclosure and privation from the world at large than other orders. they are also dedicated to poverty, like franciscans. the jesuit order is not perfect (they still will not allow a women's jesuit order, and they have a dismal track record of colonialism) but francis is the first jesuit pope and this is a huge deal in terms of the type of theology that his leadership embodies as a result. jesuists are not as a monolith liberal-minded and forward thinking, but they are generally more ready to adapt and evolve catholicism to meet contemporary needs rather than maintainig strict adherence to traditional views at the expense of the body of christ- that is to say, the body of all believers, or all whom god loves, which is everyone. incidentally, leonardo boff, one of the fathers of liberation theology, was also jesuit.

this is a pretty and dirty answer to your question but i hope it makes sense- essentially francis is recognizing that the needs of god's people override that of the church, because god's people are the church equally or more than the magisterium is the church, but it is the magisterium who has been preferred historically. but he has surprisingly little room in which to make moves towards this because of canon law and other doctrines. he's doing his best, though, more than i ever thought i'd see: i appreciate and love him deeply.

#replies #he almost makes me want to convert. but. no i shant <3

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mid-nightowl · 6 months

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for the ask game: dickjay in reincarnated character + immortal au pls!!

hi waffle!! you literally gave me an au i've never thought about writing in my entire life lmaoooo

so *cracks knuckles* let's get into itttttttt

Dick is the immortal of the two. But like, not in a very voluntary way? For this AU, I would imagine Dick is the original Talon for the Court in the 1600s. Obviously his body would deteriorate over time or just be too butchered in fights to be salvageable, so they stick him on ice and switch his “mind and soul” over to another (a blood relative and maybe later on clones when the technology is established, but he always refers to himself as Dick or Talon). We’ll say the Court can do this via magical god shenanigans. Jason is the reincarnation. So, every third generation the Gunn family somehow gives birth to a boy (aka Jason) but otherwise only have girls. (Short note: we’re going to make Catherine the Gunn relative instead of Willis for this AU).

Jason and Dick grew up together, either same age or close in age. Played together as kids, caused trouble together as teenagers, and fell in love as young adults. And then Dick disappears, forcibly becoming the court’s Talon because it’s his “familial duty.” Jason tears Gotham apart looking for his lost love, uncovering corruption and capturing criminals in the process of digging up evidence of the Court, and he becomes somewhat of a folk hero as time passes.

Unfortunately, the Court knows Dick is too attached to Jason and Jason’s on a mission, he won’t stop until he finds Dick and stops them. Not sure how we’d get to the next point but basically, Dick is forced to kill Jason for the Court and Jason vows on his dying breath he’ll free Dick from them because Dick was the only one who cared about Jason, who loved Jason despite his flaws and his bad blood. I imagine the Court had captured Jason and brought him to their secret lair or wherever they keep their god, and because Jason made that vow with his last breath, his blood and Dick's tears staining the stone entombing a god, an entity of magic and promises, it gave Jason (and Dick's unspoken hope) his wish. But with a twist.

Henceforth, every three generations the Gunn family has a son. A son who is almost always baptized as Jason. The Court tries often to kill him as a child, especially once they realize Jason as an adult always digs his claws into the Court and tries to drag them into the light. What the Court doesn’t realize, is that Jason only reincarnates if Dick, if Talon, kills him. This could go either way: only Jason knows Dick has to kill him to be reincarnated and try again, and has to orchestrate his plans and strategies around either winning or having Dick kill him OR only Dick knows and he has to make sure the Court sends him to kill Jason, knowing Jason will only come back if Dick’s the one who does the deed, Dick who can never truly help the man he loves free him from the Court.

The Court often gets what they want over the centuries, however, and Jason dies before he can truly stop them or save Dick. Over and over again, throughout the centuries and the bodies, Dick kills Jason and Jason comes back to save him. I think eventually it would end when Jason is adopted by Bruce Wayne aka Batman and together (maybe alongside Commish and a Batgirl), Jason is finally able to stop the Court and save Dick. And Jason and Dick can finally live, love, and grow old together :)

#ask game #these are very long facts omg #so sorry #i am cursed to be long-winded im afraid #the game is really helping get the writing gears turning thou lmao #guess this is an immortal + reincarnated au with a court of owls au sprinkled in #thanks for the ask waffle!!!! appreciate you<3 <3 <3 #waffleinator-inator #okay i think i have a lot more thoughts about this actually #might have to add it to the wip pile 👀#dickjay #dickjay au #jaydick

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weirdcultstuff · 1 year

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When I was 14, my father printed out a paper of reasons why I should ask to be baptized, reasons he believed I was ready, and his own apology for not baptizing me a few years sooner.

He called me away from the kitchen, where I was helping to make lunch or maybe it was supper.

In the machine shed, leaning on a dusty tractor wheel, he read the paper to me and cried a little. He had to pause and clear his throat a few times.

I felt deeply, deeply ashamed. We both knew I’d been avoiding the conversation for too many weeks to attempt to avoid it again. Him standing there, reading reasons and quoting Bible like that, and crying a little to boot, was righteously forcing my hand.

I genuinely don’t even remember what I said, but I know it was all half-apologies, feeble excuses and explanations.

He said he figured it was time, and that so did mom. I mean, really, did I have any reasons to not be baptized? Any sins before God? Any humiliations I wanted to dredge up in front of the church elders to talk about and probe and repent of, just to postpone my submission?

My mouth quietly agreed to the baptism. My consciousness floated up by the rafters somewhere in the hazy dust floating in the cracks of light seeping in through the walls.

He put his hand heavy on my head and prayed a blessing on my decision.

So much of my childhood was characterized by that sort of lazy-summer-evening sense of doom.

A few weeks later I did my duty, made my vows. And it didn’t feel clean or holy or even like a decision. It just felt like water.

I tried to mark it as a big day, by writing the date big in my journal under “Baptized” and signing it, and copying out a Bible verse from Acts chapter 10. I guess it didn’t feel any different because it wasn’t any different: saying the vows and submitting to the ritual was all formality, I had always lived those vows and would live them for eternity. For people like me, there was no such thing as a choice.

I felt a little silly for having put it off so long, really. I could have gotten the whole thing over with a lot sooner if I hadn’t been so self-centered on how I felt about it all.

#baptism #how cults work #feelin the feelings today

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mermaidsirennikita · 1 year

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Which historical romance books would you recommend to someone who would like to get into the genre but doesn't know where to start? So far my preferred genre was fantasy romance but I think I exhausted it completely at this point so I'm looking for something new. I tried Bridgerton but I didn't like, so I would appreciate any other recommendation. Thank you in advance.

Hey! I am happy to offer some recs. Imo, the Bridgerton books are kinda dated and work for a very *specific* reader, so it's not surprising to me that it wouldn't work. We can find something!

Sarah MacLean is a great gateway--I read every single adult historical she had out when I was first getting back into them in the early pandemic days. She typically writes very strong heroines (not always in a "we do battle" way, but always in mind and heart) and heroes who are just.... like, honestly, MESSES. Guys who can kick ass and fuck hard but are actually, deep within their souls, simps. From her backlist, I'd recommend as entry points:

Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake. Her debut, and I recommend it because it's super compulsively readable and very beloved, with good reason. It's the story of a wallflower type who's like, "Jesus Christ, I am so tired of being this person" and sets out to break these nine "rules" and have adventures. She ends up enlisting this known Slut Man to help her (in exchange for helping introduce his long lost sister to society) and naturally, he is soon after her. I will say, MacLean's first series is the most ballroom that she gets? Her tastes are definitely a bit wilder, and they get so from this book. It's funny, it's sexy, it's a romp. My favorite series of hers is the Rules of Scoundrels series, which is about a group of friends who own a gambling club and like getting emotionally destroyed by their lovers. But since you read fantasy romance, I will also suggest...

Wicked and the Wallflower. This is the first in her Bareknuckle Bastards series, which has a very fantastical, fairy tale-like premise. Basically, this guy's wife gave birth to an illegitimate daughter. At the same time, he had three illegitimate sons born together. So--girl not his, sons his. But he claimed the girl was a son upon baptizing her, and decided he'd pick which son was worthy of being his heir in what was essentially an extended CHILD BATTLE ROYALE. Anyway, the books focus on the grown children years later--two of the sons have become rulers of the London Underworld, taking the girl with them. It's wild, it's fun, the stakes are high.

Lisa Kleypas is a classic writer of the genre. She tends to write very emotional books, often focusing on very competent heroes (except that time she didn't and everyone clapped). For her, I always recommend her most famous series--it's a great crowd pleaser.

The Wallflowers. Four friends who are striking out on the marriage mart agree that at all costs, they will help each other find husbands this season. I recommend reading these in order, but the two strongest entries are It Happened One Autumn (book 2, an enemies to lovers situation, he's uptight and she's wild) and Devil in Winter (villainous hero enters into a marriage of convenience with the shy girl, gets absolutely emotionally compromised because she's actually everything), which MUST be read in order for max enjoyment. All the books are good, though, and book 1 is a great start with this kind of indecent proposal angle.

Monica McCarty's Highland Guard series could work for ya! It's a medieval series that centers on this group of knights who do these kind of black ops missions for Robert the Bruce as he's trying to take the Scottish throne. There's a lot of history, battling, Secret Love Shit. The first book is The Chief, which centers on the leader, this cool and stern guy who ends up in an arranged marriage situation with this woman who wants to Know Him Emotionally. These books have tons of adventure.

The Uptown Girls by Joanna Shupe. This series focuses on three sisters of a prominent man in Gilded Age New York, all of whom get into various types of trouble, some of which does involve organized crime. Fun and scandalous~ with a bit of danger. Also, super sexy.

Elizabeth Hoyt's Maiden Lane series is a great one that takes place in Georgian England. Lots of working class characters, walking on the wild side, danger. I'd recommend starting with book 3 (Scandalous Desires) as a starter, as it centers on a river pirate who basically takes this widow woman into his lair~ (he's actually trying to keep her and his daughter, who she's been caring for, safe--but he has ulterior motives, obvi). These books are super hot and often quite daring. Some of my personal favorites.

I think these are some options you can sample and maybe find a match or several with--imo, finding your niche is important. Like, I know Julia Quinn often doesn't work for me because I prefer books that are a bit ... heavier? And definitely with more sex and passion, often with less focus on the marriage mart. With exceptions, clearly!

#romance novel blogging #book recs

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thequietkid-moonie · 10 months

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I promised to A-chan to introduce you my unoficial cats! So here they are!!

Most of the photos have been sponsored by my sister ❤️

This one is called Maty

(i baptize her as Matricia Ruby because i needed and longer name for her for when im scolding her!)

She likes to play innocent but in reality is a total diva and drama queen!! She can be really affectionate (specially when she wants food) but is always so agressive towards the others, always hitting her brother (but she doesn't know how to fight at all, she lost in the only fight she's ever had! 🤦🏻‍♀️)

This one here is Bagheera!

He is pretty chill and cool, he enter the house so casually and just lays on the floor (so silly haha), he almost never causes troubles but is always inviting over more cats (that later does not want here), he is the calmer of all, not affectionate but always let me pet him 🖤

He is currently punished because he fought another cat and throw a flowerpot of mom 🤭

And the last one is called Oliver

(we call him just Oli)

Whenever he isn't sleeping he is crying and trying to enter on the house, he is cute and all but he is a complete mess! (when he isn't sleeping, he sleeps almost all day). He is forbidden to enter the house because when he does he is really silent and when you less expected he already climbed on the furniture or hidden under the bed! (he tried to eat our little fish once and since that day he can't enter on the house!)

@princess-sof-time here they are! Aren't they cute and a complete mess? ❤️❤️

#silly moonie #moonie talks #moonie soft #moonie's besto frendo

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etcrow · 2 years

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Goodnight story

➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷

Genre: Fluff

Characters: GN! MC + Luke

Universe: Obey Me!

Warnings: none

Summary: MC tells Luke another version of the Celestial war

Word Count: 906

➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷➸➹➷

As promised, you had gone to Purgatory Hall to spend a whole day with Luke.

You had a lot of fun baking pastries and watching cooking videos on DevilTube, but once it was time to sleep, the young angel "refused" to do so.

"MC, I can still stay awake! I am not tired!"

You had looked at him, sighing. You promised Simeon that you would go to sleep at an appropriate time to get up in time to go to school and you didn't want to disappoint the angel.

You sat inside the pillow fort you and Luke had built, bringing a hand under your chin, thoughtful.

What could you come up with?

An idea had flashed in your mind; you would tell him a story.

"Luke, would you like to hear the story they tell us humans about the Celestial War?"

The young angel had looked at you with shining eyes and an intrigued look. After exclaiming a "Yes!" he jumped into the pillow fort and made himself comfortable to listen to the story.

"Do you promise me that we will go to sleep after the story?"

"I promise you, MC"

"So..." you had begun "In the human world, there is a legend that speaks of the war between the Archangel Michael and Lucifer"

Luke had approached you to listen better to you as soon as you had made Michael's name and you had smiled, continuing your story.

"On an island in the human world, the story of the Devil's Saddle is told, a rocky promontory that is so named for its curious horse saddle shape."

"But MC, why they talk about Diavolo if you say it was a story about Lucifer?"

You had laughed, confused in his own way. In the human world there was no difference between Lucifer and the Diavolo and so you explained to him the reason for that bizarre name given to the promontory.

"Here, it is said that once good and evil fought each other.

In fact, it is about God, his angels and his beloved who later became a demon: Lucifer."

Luke had murmured a 'tsk' when you said that Lucifer was God’s Favorite and you had tried to stay serious and not laugh.

"I was saying... It is said that that island had attracted Lucifer and his demons for its profound beauty so much so that he wanted to seize it, so God had sent the archangel Michael, with his heavenly militias, to drive Lucifer out with his followers."

You could see Luke watching you in silence, occasionally broken by a "what next?" "And what did Michael do next?"

"The battle was faced in the skies of that promontory, and it is said that the ruinous defeat of Lucifer led to two endings:

The first sees the saddle of Lucifer, unseated from his horse, fall into the waters of the gulf and petrify giving rise to the promontory, the other tells that during the fight Lucifer fell on the promontory giving it the characteristic shape from which it takes its name... although I think he threw Mammon towards the mainland in the grip of a nervous breakdown. Or Asmo. "

Luke had burst out laughing at hearing you say those things, and the image of Lucifer falling and banging his head or throwing away Mammon or Asmo in anger made you laugh too. Poor Mammon wouldn't have liked that part, and neither would Asmo.

"Another story sees God offering as a gift to his angels the possibility of living on Earth if they found a place full of peace and devoid of wickedness where they could settle.

Their research led them to an island free of war and devastation, perfect for living in peace and harmony.

Lucifer and his demons, then, decided to try to sow hatred and weeds among the heavenly creatures, failing miserably and unleashing a war that he would later lose.

Prey to anger Lucifer took the saddle of the horse from which he had been unseated and threw it into the gulf forming the promontory that will be baptized with the name of the Devil's Saddle. "

Luke, intrigued, had asked you if there were also the other brothers in the story and you had replied that most likely they were also present, perhaps there was also Simeon and even poor Levi.

Luke was however satisfied that his adored Michael had defeated Lucifer.

You had spent the rest of the evening talking about the history of the Celestial War and how those two versions didn't look alike at all. Luke had almost managed to get you to tell another story when a yawn on his part brought you back to reality; it was quite late by now.

"Luke, what did you promise me?"

The angel had snorted, getting comfortable to sleep and murmuring a 'and all right, I promised you' before closing his eyes.

You had put yourself next to him, taking a blanket for both of you.

"Thank you for the day, MC"

"Anytime, Luke"

"... tomorrow can you tell the story in front of the brothers? I want to see their faces!"

"You can count on it, Luke. I will tell them that the promontory actually took that shape because Beelzebub ate a piece of it or because Belphie crushed it during a nap."

"I can't wait to see their faces and Satan's for the lack of accuracy of the story"

#obey me one master to rule them all #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me mc #obey me post #obey me headcanons #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me luke #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me satan #obey me simeon #obey me leviathan

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renee-writer · 3 months

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Single Chapter 34

AO3

To see his eldest son married had been amazing. To hold their first grandchild, then second, then third, Fergus and Marsali are very fertile, aye all those things were brilliant.

But to see their Brianna joined with Roger Mac, that took his breath away.

As he promised Claire, she wasn’t allowed to be married until age eighteen. This made several would be suitors quite angry. With a firm hand, he held his ground. A grand thing as it was only at seventeen that she meet Roger.

As her papa before her, she knew immediately that he was the one made for her.

“Mama, he is perfect! I know he was made to be my husband!” she enthused to Claire and eleven year old, Julia, who listens intently, “Please help me convince Papa!”

Papa took some convincing, as the man was a Protestant minister.

“Jamie, it is like it was with us. She loves him. He is a good man.”

After speaking at length to the lad, and securing his promise that the children will be baptized as Catholics, he reluctantly agrees to their courtship.

Now he stands, his own bride by his side, and watches his baby girl, become a wife.

Kyle, at thirteen, is eyeing the lasses that have come for the ceremony. He knows it is time for the talk his da had with him.

Marsali and Fergus are busy with their bairns, Germaine, Joanie, and Feliciá. Despite the youngest still being at the breast, Marsali is pregnant again.

“Isn’t there something she can do or take to prevent so many bairns?” He asks Claire at this news.

“I have tried to instruct her, as I did Brianna,” he winces at the idea of his baby needing such instructions, “ I believe she will be more receptive.”

She was. It is two years after her marriage, and a year after the birth of John-Herní, she presents Roger with a son, Jeremiah, called Jemmy. Four years later, he is joined by Amanda. Mandy.

Kyle marries a lass named Rebekah. Four years later, Julia weds Samuel.

Lallybroch is full to bursting when their families gather. They all live close, with the children and their families all building houses on the property.

Claire smiles as she pens a letter that she prays will find its way, through history to Kyle, John, and Glenda.

“My dearest friends,

Julia was here today. She and Kyle’s wife are both expecting. This will be Rebekah ‘s third and Julia’s second. Both are close to delivery.

Julia brought my grandson, Samuel James, with her. He looks so much like the portraits I have seen of Jamie at his age. A blessing though we are hopeful that this coming child will resemble his father.

Bree’s Jemmy is courting! Yes, I may soon have a great-grandchild to write you about.

Time, it seems to move faster and faster.

I pray this letter finds you and that you are all doing well. I shall never forget all you have done for me. All of these people are here because you helped me return to my love.

Blessings on you all

Love

Claire Elizabeth Fraser

In the year of our Lord

1780.”

The end

#my writing #outlander fanfic #single #chapter 34 #jamie and claire #outlander fandom #cannon divergence

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 1 year

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American Bible Society - Today's Bible Reading

Tuesday, April 4th, 2023

Matthew 21:23-46: (Good News Translation)

God’s Saving Word: Hope

Introduction

Matthew 21:23-46: The religious leaders question Jesus’s authority, and Jesus tells two stories (parables) that teach who will enter the Kingdom of God. Scripture Reading

The Question about Jesus' Authority

23 Jesus came back to the Temple; and as he taught, the chief priests and the elders came to him and asked, “What right do you have to do these things? Who gave you such right?”

24 Jesus answered them, “I will ask you just one question, and if you give me an answer, I will tell you what right I have to do these things. 25 Where did John's right to baptize come from: was it from God or from human beings?”

They started to argue among themselves, “What shall we say? If we answer, ‘From God,’ he will say to us, ‘Why, then, did you not believe John?’ 26 But if we say, ‘From human beings,’ we are afraid of what the people might do, because they are all convinced that John was a prophet.” 27 So they answered Jesus, “We don't know.”

And he said to them, “Neither will I tell you, then, by what right I do these things.

The Parable of the Two Sons

28 “Now, what do you think? There was once a man who had two sons. He went to the older one and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ 29 ‘I don't want to,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went. 30 Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. ‘Yes, sir,’ he answered, but he did not go. 31 Which one of the two did what his father wanted?”

“The older one,” they answered.

So Jesus said to them, “I tell you: the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the Kingdom of God ahead of you. 32 For John the Baptist came to you showing you the right path to take, and you would not believe him; but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him. Even when you saw this, you did not later change your minds and believe him.

The Parable of the Tenants in the Vineyard

33 “Listen to another parable,” Jesus said. “There was once a landowner who planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a hole for the wine press, and built a watchtower. Then he rented the vineyard to tenants and left home on a trip. 34 When the time came to gather the grapes, he sent his slaves to the tenants to receive his share of the harvest. 35 The tenants grabbed his slaves, beat one, killed another, and stoned another. 36 Again the man sent other slaves, more than the first time, and the tenants treated them the same way. 37 Last of all he sent his son to them. ‘Surely they will respect my son,’ he said. 38 But when the tenants saw the son, they said to themselves, ‘This is the owner's son. Come on, let's kill him, and we will get his property!’ 39 So they grabbed him, threw him out of the vineyard, and killed him.

40 “Now, when the owner of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those tenants?” Jesus asked.

41 “He will certainly kill those evil men,” they answered, “and rent the vineyard out to other tenants, who will give him his share of the harvest at the right time.”

42 Jesus said to them, “Haven't you ever read what the Scriptures say?

‘The stone which the builders rejected as worthless turned out to be the most important of all. This was done by the Lord; what a wonderful sight it is!’

43-44 “And so I tell you,” added Jesus, “the Kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people who will produce the proper fruits.”

45 The chief priests and the Pharisees heard Jesus' parables and knew that he was talking about them, 46 so they tried to arrest him. But they were afraid of the crowds, who considered Jesus to be a prophet.

Today's Key Verse: Matthew 21:42b

[Jesus said:] ‘The stone which the builders rejected as worthless turned out to be the most important of all.’

Reflect

Jesus says that the Kingdom of God will be “given to a people who will produce the proper fruits” (verse 43). How do you interpret this passage? Who is the “owner’s son” referred to in the second story (verse 38)? Why do you think Jesus told these two stories to the religious leaders?

Pray

Lord Jesus, teach me to follow your ways and to produce the proper fruits that will usher in your Kingdom. In your holy name, I pray, Amen.

#Today's Bible Reading #April 4 #American Bible Society #Matthew 21:23-46 #God’s Saving Word: Hope #2023

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cassianus · 2 years

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Saint Sozon lived in the late III century. He was from Lykaonia in Cilicia, and originally his name was Tarasios. When he became a Christian, he was baptized and received the name Sozon. A shepherd by profession, he tried to imitate the meekness of the sheep, at which he marveled. “I am ashamed,” he said, “that I am inferior to sheep.”

He studied the Holy Scriptures attentively, and he also guided Christ‘s rational sheep to good pastures. One day, while watering his flock at a spring, Sozon fell asleep under an oak tree, where he had a vision which foretold his impending martyrdom for Christ. He was also informed that the spring would become a source of blessing and of healing for many, since it would be sanctified by God‘s grace. When he awakened, he entrusted his flock to another shepherd and journeyed to Pompeiopolis in Cilicia. Seeing what impiety there was in that city, his heart was profoundly grieved.

Entering one of the temples of the idolaters, he beheld a golden statue representing a pagan “god.” Then, with great courage, he broke off the statue‘s right hand with his shepherd‘s crook and smashed it into tiny pieces, which he distributed to the poor. This caused a great uproar in the city. Maximian, the governor of Cilicia, became very angry, and a search was made to find the culprit. Many innocent people were arrested and tortured in an attempt to force a confession from them.

When Saint Sozon heard about this, he could not permit others to suffer for something he had done. Therefore, he presented himself before the governor and responded to his threats in a calm manner, saying that the statue was not doing anyone much good inside the temple, and so he used the gold for the benefit of the poor.

Maximian asked the Saint how he dared to dishonor their “god” in such a way. Sozon replied, “I did this so that you might know that your ‘god’ is powerless. When I struck off his hand, he did not protest or make any attempt to stop me, nor did he cry out with pain. How could he? Your idol is deaf and dumb and without breath. It cannot see, hear, speak, or defend itself. If your ‘god’ was real, I would not have been permitted to break it.”

When Maximian heard these words, he ordered that Saint Sozon be tortured without mercy. He was suspended and his body was raked with iron claws. Then iron boots were nailed to the soles of his feet, and he was paraded through the city. Throughout his torments, he never ceased to glorify the Savior Christ. Once again he was suspended from a tree and beaten with iron rods, so that his body was mangled and his bones were broken. Amid such torture, the Saint surrendered his soul to God in the year 304.

Seeing that he was dead, the soldiers took him down from the tree and built a large fire to burn his body so that the Christians would not be able to claim it and venerate it. Suddenly, there was thunder and lightning, rain and hail, which put out the fire. The pagans fled in fear, and the holy relics were not damaged. The faithful came at midnight, when it was very dark. They were troubled because they could not find the relics, but a light from Heaven shone upon Christ‘s holy martyr to guide them. Gathering the Saint‘s relics, the Christians gave them an honorable burial.

Many miracles took place at the tomb, and also at the spring where the Saint had his vision under the oak tree. Later, a church was built by the spring, and was dedicated to Saint Sozon. In that holy place praise was offered to the one true God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, to Whom be glory throughout all the ages. Amen.

Feast Sept. 8th

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