#someone take this boy to church

[astrobei]

*hozier plays ominously in the background*

[carewyncromwell]

🏠&✈️ for Carewyn (moodboard ask game)

🏠 HOUSE — my muse's family/hometown: Liverpool, England, UK

✈️ AIRPLANE — my muse's dream travel destination(s): Vienna, Austria

I loved these prompts so much, ma cherie, thank you!! xoxoxo

Character Aesthetic Ask!

[gloomythedance]

God doesn't look at what's on the outside anyway

[eli-writes-sometimes]

UGHHH ive just reached a point in planning something where i have to choose who i want the protagonist to run into and its really annoying me

on one hand theres the canon character who i originally imagined it to be, who has a tragic backstory so a bunch of potential for reveals and stuff. the only drawback is that i cant stop feeling embarrassed even though NO ONES GONNA READ IT

and then i could take the easy way out and just make a new character with a smimilar concept but none of the backstory just to stop me from feeling embarrassed about putting a charaacter that already exists into a universe that they exist in

[firefly-fez]

me at 8:00: yeah guys i can’t come out tonight. yeah got another insomnia flare-up, really need an early night. have fun tho!

me at 1am: how are we, as a society ever going to destigmatise disability if we won’t even let ourselves say the goddamned word. maybe the reason you think disability is an offensive term is because disability itself offends you. and of course it does, because it is offensive. The notion that a disabled person did nothing to deserve their disability and cannot achieve success the same way you can because of it offends the idea that you are successful because of your vitues, not your luck. It offends the pride you have in uour work, your success, your wealth and whether you truly earnt it. Disability is offensive only because the innate humanity of a disabled person offends the very propaganda our extractive capitalist society relies on to—

[bookwormonastring]

played my dad some songs from wasteland, baby! and he decided he needs to get that album but not the first one… wait til i play him angel of small death and the codeine scene, or to be alone, or it will come back

[indecisivesapphic]

OH MY FUCKING GOD???!?!??!?!???!??!

[greatunironic]

eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.

so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.

he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.

because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.

eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.

(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)

when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”

then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?

he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.

“you’re alive,” she says.

eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”

“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”

he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.

“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.

“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—

“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.

“maybe not.”

“don’t lie.”

“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”

“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”

“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”

“speaking from experience?”

“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”

“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“

“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

“at the frozen four.”

“yeah, sure, that too.”

“what?”

“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”

“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”

“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.

eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”

“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”

“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.

the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”

“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”

steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“

“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“

“so,” says steve.

“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.

“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”

“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”

“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”

“coach! go time!”

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“COACH!”

he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”

“pick me up in twenty?”

“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.

someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”

with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.

“damn,” he says quietly.

“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.

“how long have you been there?” he asks.

she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”

“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”

“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.

[wtfsteveharrington]

after midnight | carmen berzatto x reader

summary: chicago is expensive, okay? so you pick up a job outside of the restaurant which just so happens to involve your camera. everything's fine until richie stumbles upon the website and shares it with camry.

contents: perv!carmy, male & female masturbation, sex toys, dirty talk, cam sex, slight dub-con kinda if you look for it. carmy’s honestly a wreck. mentions of unprotected sex, choking, oral sex, overstimulation. please note!! no formal intercourse takes place yet but it's cuming coming but ya girl wants a slow burn

reader description: she/her pronouns, there is semi a hair scene but i use no real descriptors so still vague!

word count: basically 3.9k

author notes: first fic in a year baby and boy did i lose the plot!! filth!! also i sure love saying fuck in this so enjoy that

part two

★–————————–

Richie’s voice is annoying. It echos, ricochets off the walls, and can’t be contained by even the highest quality of sound proofing. Which is why, at 8 in the morning, Carmen’s already considering having to take Excedrin as Richie bursts through the doors. 

“Carmy, Cousin, you’re never gonna fuckin’ believe what I found last night.” He’s out of breath after running in, fumbling around with his phone in a rush to pull something up. He’d spent all night contemplating if he texted Carmen or waited to show him in person. Ultimately the urge to see his reaction won but that didn’t stop Richie from waking up before his alarm out of excitement. “Listen, we’re both grown ass men so I’m gonna say it -“ he’s glancing around to make sure they’re alone, “- So I’m laying there and jerkin’ my shit, right?” 

Carmen’s wincing, pinching the bridge of his nose and contemplating every decision that brought him back to Chicago. 

“Dude, fuck off. I don’t wanna hear -“ Richie tsks, cutting him off. 

“Nah, shut the fuck up because you wanna hear this. In fact, you’re gonna wanna fall to your knees and kiss my shoes and praise my ass as a thank you for finding this.” 

He’s holding up his phone, an iPhone 8 he refuses to upgrade, and illuminated on the screen is a video of you. You, on your knees, in lingerie. You, with your fingers dragging down your chest, across the lace that covers your breasts. Your head falls back as you run your thumbs across your nipples. A sound so angelic coming from your lips that Carmen starts to understand why people spend so much time at Church. He’s convinced you’re hand carved by God, or Buddha, or whatever might be up there. 

Carmy’s instantly feeling a rush of heat across his chest and his cheeks as he takes the sight of you in. It feels wrong but at the same time the coiling in his stomach feels so good he can’t look away quite yet. “Why the…” He’s cut off by a whine coming from Richie’s speaker as you keep teasing yourself. His brain is frying for a second as he tries to focus on finishing his sentence. “How the hell did you find this?” 

“Listen, sometimes I get bored on the same ole sites, okay? Clicked an ad to see who was live and ended up here. Now I stopped watching, obviously, out of respect but this? I’ve known you long enough to know when you gotta thing for someone and you’re not gonna act on it. Also, I caught you staring at her ass as she filled the deep freeze the other night. Kinda gave it away. So this is the way you can still get some pussy while being a fuckin’ pussy.” Richie’s punching the air, clearly proud of himself.

Carmy’s smacking him upside the head, his body now torn between lust and annoyance. “Watch your mouth, alright? That is so fucked, Richie. Put that shit anyway and I better not see you tell a single other person this exists.” 

And yeah, he took note of your screen name before he walked away. Don’t judge him. 

———★–————————–

Look - There have been a lot of times in his life where Carmen hasn’t been proud of himself. But settling back into bed, hooking his thumbs on the waistband of his boxers and pulling them down to rest under his balls? Yeah, he’s not proud to say the least. After seeing even just the glimpse of you this morning though it’s been all he could think about. The. Whole. Fucking. Day. He watched out of the corner of his eye while you bent over the line to scrub down the wall behind your station tonight. Burning to memory the way your ass just slightly jiggled from the aggressive motion of wiping down the surface. A soft grunt coming from you as you reach for something just a little too high. He finally snapped out of it when the smell of the chemicals he sprayed down on his own surface got a little too strong and refocused. 

He wasn’t proud when he ran to the restroom and contemplated just jacking off over the toilet to get some relief. You were clouding his brain, only the rush of the evening giving him some small relief. 

You seemed vocal in the small clip he saw. He’s wondering if you would have asked him to cum for you. Would you think it’s a waste that he’s cumming down the drain instead of covering your ass with it? Filling your mouth and making you swallow every drop around him? Or, Jesus Christ, would you wrap your legs around his waist and beg him not to pull out? 

So yeah. Carmy’s had quite the fucking day to say the least. 

He’s finally home and running straight to bed. His stuff dropped in a heap by the front door and was easily forgotten. Throwing himself back onto the mattress after ripping off his shirt and his pants. Left just groaning into the empty room, his cock twitching at the thought of you. Your page has been sitting on an Incognito tab all day and it’s finally, finally being loaded up. This feels like an invasion of privacy in a way but Carmen can’t quite think logically with how heavy his balls feel and how painfully hard he is. There’s not much time to spare so he clicks the first video you’ve uploaded that he can.

And there you are. 

Sitting in the middle of a big bed and rubbing your hands along your thighs, smiling at the camera. His heart is twitching, cock is twitching, everything is fucking twitching. And you’re just sitting there, licking your lips and sliding your hands under the thin material of some weird lace one piece he wants to rip off. 

“Hi there, Pretty Boy.” Your voice is music to his ears and Carmy can’t take it any longer. His fist is wrapping around his cock, a broken moan filling the room as he finally gets some relief. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home all day.”

Sue him, but he’s skipping ahead a little. There’s not much time until he cums and he needs to see you. All of you. He’s gripping his phone with one hand, bringing the other that’s around his cock up to his mouth to spit in. His thumb is haphazardly trying to keep the phone balanced while scrubbing through the video until he thinks he’s at a good spot. You’re laid back now, thighs spread for the camera and pussy on display. Carmen’s muttering to himself about how gorgeous you are, longing to tell you in person. You’re holding this royal blue dildo in your hands that’s suddenly his biggest enemy. He deserves to be there, not this stupid, useless chuck of silicone. There’s a whimper from the speaker as you take the toy and slide it along yourself, tapping it twice against your clit. “Fuck, I need you.” 

Fuckin’ hell does he needs you too. 

His fist is clamped around his dick once again, fucking his hips up into the the slick, tight grip. You’re still teasing yourself by sticking just the head of the dildo in before gasping and pulling it back out. “Please, Baby. I need you so bad, need to come for you.” His brain is breaking. An animalistic urge taking over to fuck you until you can’t move, can’t think, just a blubbering mess begging him for more. Without warning you push the dildo all the way in, throwing your head back with a pleasured scream. 

Carmy gasps, hips sputtering and losing their rhythm as he watches you fuck yourself. He’s stroking himself at the same pace you’re moving the dildo, imaging it’s you he’s fucking into. Picturing you laid under him, your breasts covered in hickies because he hates the idea of these… Perverts watching you get off. He wants to mark you, claim you as his. His balls are tightening and he can’t think of the last time he came this quick. It’s almost embarrassing - What are you doing to him? 

Your free hand comes up to shove two fingers in your mouth, lewdly sucking them for the camera. The sucking noise now accompanying the wet, addictive sounds of your pussy being fucked. Carmen whimpers, actually fucking whimpers, and twists his wrist over his cock to get a little more friction. Your voice hits him once again as you slide your wet fingers out of your mouth and down your throat. “Oh fuck I’m so close. So, so close. Are you close, Baby? Want you to come with me.” You’re lightly choking yourself, a whining mess. 

Carmy’s aware he’s talking to an empty room but he can’t stop himself. “Fuck, oh fuck. Gonna come for you.” And his stomach coils, hips sputter, the phone falling to the bed as he has to let go of it as his orgasm washes over him. He’s slack jaw, warm cum landing on his chest and the sounds of you finishing at the same time ringing out from his phone. 

Oh he’s so fucked. 

————–——★–————

Carmy slept well for once in his life. His orgasm lulling his body to sleep, dreams filled of you. How beautiful you look sucking his cock. The way you must sound while he eats you out. And he takes his time in his dream. Tongue dragging between your folds as his rough hands hold your hips in place. You’re powerless, made to lay back and let him eat you out for his own pleasure. Tongue circling around your clit but he waits until you’re close to tears to stop teasing. He’d praise you. “Look how fucking wet you are, Princess. You’re already getting the bed wet, aren’t you? Gonna have to lick you for hours to get you all cleaned up. Can you say please, huh? Ask me to suck on your clit, Baby. You know you need it.” 

He woke up hard and overstimulated, rolling over onto his stomach and pathetically dragging his hips against the warm bed to get some much needed friction along his cock. Carmy’s telling himself how pathetic this is and forcing himself to push off the bed and get into the shower before he’s late. 

Yes, he jacked off in the shower before work. 

He had to. 

Carmy can’t decide if it’s heaven or hell when he walks in to see you standing in the kitchen. 

You’re on your tiptoes, balancing haphazardly as you’re reaching up to change the light. There’s a wobbly step stool under you. Everyone keeps saying it needs to be replaced but it continues to live on. Your face is scrunching up in concentration. Carmy’s chuckling at the sight and ignoring the way he feels his balls tug at the sight of you. “What’re you doing there, Chef?” 

You huff in annoyance, finally untwisting the light cover from the ceiling. “Damn light went out right as I started veggie prep. Hate to be a bother but will you come spot me while I’m up on this thing? I’ve seen Fak bust his ass one too many times to trust it.” 

Carmy can’t verbally respond at first, instead stalking over to stand next to you. His hand comes up to cup the back of your knee and he’s lying to himself saying it’s for your own safety. To keep you balanced. “Yea well something tells me you’re less clumsy than Fak. I’ve seen that guy fall over while just standing still.” 

And you laugh. 

You laugh. At him. At his joke. He, Carmen Berzatto, made you laugh. The sound filling his ears and now his damn heart and balls are both reacting to you and what the hell is he supposed to do with all these emotions. 

“Don’t distract me up here, Chef.” He doesn’t mind taking commands from you. Silently reaching up to hold the light fixture you’re passing him as you change gears to switch out the lightbulbs now. 

And maybe his eyes are wandering around the kitchen to see who else might catch a glimpse of you two together. Everyone who’s in so far is honed in on their prep task and Carmy thanks God that Richie hasn’t shown up yet today. 

He’s become quite faithful since he started falling for you it seems. 

It happens, by chance, that you feel a little unsteady and Carmen tightens his grip on the back of your leg. Fingers digging into your soft skin. He’s looking down at the stool to make sure it’s level before looking up to take in the sight that is his hand around your leg. 

And he stops looking there. 

Okay fine that’s a fucking lie - he’s looking up. Eyes trailing up your thighs, following along the curve of your ass. When you have to lean forward just slightly to twist in the light cover he’s convinced he can see the outline of your pussy through the thin material of your leggings. He’s contemplating his options - If he could, would he lean in and lick over the outline? His warm mouth teasing you through your leggings. Through your underwear. Are you wearing underwear? He’s torn between picturing you with or without them. 

Or would he slide his hand up your leg, palming your thigh as he goes. Cupping over you and dragging his middle finger across the shape of you. Memorizing the feeling. Would you whine? Grind down against his hand? He doesn’t think you’d shoo his touch away. 

God he just knows you’re a needy little thing. 

He wonders what it would feel like for you to lick your own wetness from his jaw after he’s decided he’s done savoring you. To taste you on your own tongue when he kissed you after. You’d look so pretty with his cum dripping down your lips too. All fucked out and exhausted and full of bliss. 

“Okay, I think I got it fixed, Carmy.” God, he’s so fucked for thinking of you like this as you’re innocently changing the light. Just trying to improve the kitchen and he’s thinking about ruining you. He was so caught up in daydreaming that he didn’t even feel you take the light cover back out of his hand and screw it into place again. 

You’re beaming down at him, using his shoulders as arm rests as you bounce down from the stepping stool. His hand grazes your ass - A total accident. He swears it. You reach behind him to sit the screwdriver down, your chest firmly against his. Nothing thinking anything of the personal space violation as you’re used to it from so many slammed nights in the kitchen. 

“Thank you for helping me. Sorry it was basically just five minutes of my ass in your face.” Carmy chokes. 

His cheeks are hot. 

Fuck is he blushing? 

He’s sputtering out of his words. “It uh, it wasn’t in my face. Not that I looked, y’know. Just uh… Just - just trying to say that I’m happy to help.” He sounds like an idiot

You’re cocking an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Holy shit, Carmy.” You pat your hands against his chest, not knowing your touch was like fire on his skin. He grabs the screwdriver and makes a beeline to the office to put it away for you. 

Sure he grabbed a rag on the way. No it’s not for him to jack off into while he thinks of you. 

Okay fine, it is. 

“Fuck me.” The only thing Carmy can risk trying to say as the door shuts heavy behind him and his pants hit the ground. 

———————–★–———

Carmen doesn’t avoid you now but he certainly makes it hard to get close to you. He’s too distracted when you’re around. Maybe there’s a bit of guilt mixed in too at his new night routine. Leave the restaurant, load your page, and wait to see what happens. New videos? New pictures? You were wormed into the back of his brain and it had to stop. 

So your station got moved further down rotation. You’re at the end of the line on the left, he’s at the start on the right. It helps clear his mind, lets him hone in on perfecting what goes to the floor. 

He’s able to move quickly, shifts blowing by as the restaurant’s rush takes all his attention. The clock clicks down two minutes till close, everyone working in silence to get the place flipped and go home. He’s wrapping up with Syd, helping her make a few adjustments to expo before grabbing a dead plate off of the end of the line and heading to the office with his food and a cup of water in hand. He needs a mental minute, a bite of food, and to let his thoughts all catch up. 

The door’s already cracked and he’s halfway through the entry way when he registers you. Sitting there. At his desk. Your legs are crossed, a cool damp towel resting over your eyes. He wants to turn on his heel and retreat but decides that he can’t treat you any differently just because he’s developed some silly little crush. Running away would be treating you different. 

“You good, Chef?” 

To which you groan. Different from the ones he’s used to - This one is guttural, pained. You press your hands flat against the rag and will the cool temperature to help the pressure in your head. “Killer migraine, that’s all. Shit was moving so fast tonight and I wacked the back of my head on something in the walk in. Sorry for being in here, Carm. Just uh, needed a second.” You should push up out of the chair, show your respect. But right now you’re half convinced that standing up would be detrimental so for now you’re cemented to the seat. 

“Heard.” Carmen nods to himself, sitting down the plate before opening up the desk drawer as quietly as possible. Your knee is pressing into the side of his thigh, grounding and warm. He fishes out a bottle of medicine, shaking out two pills. “Hold out your hand.” 

You take a second to brace yourself for movement, sitting up and moving the towel off your eyes. Letting it pile up into a clump on the desk besides you. There’s no way around it - You look pitiful. Pouting up at Carmen as he hands over two pills and his cup out water. You take the pills diligently, taking a few gulps and letting your eyes fall back closed as you will them to kick in instantly. “Can I ask a favor?” 

“Anything, Chef.” 

Slowly, so not to shake yourself up, you turn the chair until your back is to Carmen. “Will you see if I gotta bump back there? Kinda terrified I gave myself a concussion but I don’t wanna believe it was that hard.” 

He snickering, a grin pulling up the corners of his mouth as he steps closer. “Well you’d absolutely fuck me if you needed to file workmen’s comp so I’m gonna need you to be fine, ‘kay? Way too much fuckin’ paperwork to do on a Friday night.” You start to laugh but it’s quickly cut off into a small groan of appreciation as you feel warm, rough hands clasp either side of your shoulders. 

Carmen works his way up your neck and catches himself holding his breath as his fingers brush along your scalp. He’s taking his time, savoring the moment, all under the pretense of taking care of his employee. That’s all. “Think we’re both in the clear. You feeling alright besides the headache? Need me to hold up some fingers for ya to guess? Haven’t managed to cut any off so we’ve got all ten to work with.” He’s got you laughing again while rough fingers work their way back down to your neck. The feeling of the vibration of your laughter against his hands sending chills down his back. 

Wordlessly Carmen gets to work rubbing your shoulders. Tender, deep. Years of practice rolling out dough and desserts and tenderizing meat coming into play as he continues to knead away at your tense body. You let out an appreciative moan and Carmen has to start thinking of something to keep his inevitable hard on from being obvious. 

When his hands come up closer to your neck once again he’s hit with flashbacks of the first video he watched. You choking yourself — Is that something you truly liked? If his hand came around to cup your throat, palm resting on one side with his fingertips firmly against the other, and lightly squeezed would you moan? Rub your thighs together in search of some hint of relief? 

“Are you always this good with your hands, Chef? Hmm? Can’t imagine you giving Marcus this treatment.” You’re laughing and can practically hear the smirk in Carmen’s voice as he responds. “Yeah - You uh, didn’t know that? I just love you know, rubbing shoulders. It’s my thing. Kick your ass all night and then rub the stress out.” 

He’s blanching a little at his reply. Kinda obvious but okay then, Carmen. You reach up, putting your hands atop his with a little smile. “Well thank you for… Rubbing my stress out, Chef.” 

Carmen’s red. Head to toe just bright red. “Of course, Chef. Anytime.” He’s entertaining to say the least as you pat his hands before spinning around in his chair. You snag another drink of water, throwing him a wink before moving to exit the office. Your hand runs along his chest, an appreciative gesture, as you head back to the floor. 

——————————★–

Late Saturday night Carmen’s so exhausted that he barely has the energy to take his work clothes off. Falling haphazardly onto his old couch, kicking his work boots off one at a time. His eyes are heavy, body aching, and he almost falls asleep before he gets to see you. 

But he’s fishing his phone from his pocket, refreshing the all too familiar landing page to see you’re actively live. How you have the energy is beyond him. 

You’re standing there trying on clothes that someone must send in and Carmy feels a pang of jealousy. He’s watching through half hooded eyes as you slip in a pair of shorts, turning your behind towards the camera and pulling them up just slightly to put more of your ass on display. You’re chatting away about the material while slowly pulling them down to reveal just this frilly little pair of panties that was sent in as well. 

He’s propping the phone up on the armrest of the couch, laying on his side while he watches you chat away. It’s soothing. Almost like an ASMR video. 

Carmen’s not sure when he fell asleep - Somewhere in-between you trying on a third outfit and attempting to clean up your bed from all the packaging. He finds you soothing, comforting. He makes a mental note to hunt out some sort of wish list you must have for these items before passing out and, once again, dreaming of you.

[togrowoldinv]

Love and Baseball

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

You help coach a little league baseball team and meet the most perfect woman

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, oral (W receiving), simping

Note: I have missed writing for Wanda. Enjoy this one!

Milf Wanda Masterlist, Main Masterlist

Wanda didn’t mean to fall for you. And she really didn’t even realize she had until she saw you with someone else.

Her twins are on the baseball team you help coach. Your nephew is one of the players, so when they needed another coach you jumped in to help.

The moment she met you Wanda knew she was attracted to you. But she tried to fight it. You’re younger than her. Enough so, she’s pretty sure you never think twice about her.

Little does she know that you find yourself thinking about her all the time. That sweet, innocent single mom of two of your favorite players.

Yes, all coaches have favorites. And Billy and Tommy are two of yours. Maybe because their mom is adorable. Every week she brings snacks and makes sure all of the kids have water.

Tonight, for the first time you see her outside of the baseball field. You internally cringe when you see her walking into the restaurant you’re at. You’re kind of on a date.

She catches your eye from by the door. She’s too polite not to come and say hello once she’s been shown to her seat.

“Y/n, hi,” Wanda greets you.

“Hey, Mrs. Maximoff,” you say. Keeping it professional is a curtesy to her, but really you just love the way she looks at you after you’ve said it.

“Are you enjoying your night off?” She asks.

“Yes ma’am,” you reply. “Just on a date here.”

“Oh, my apologies for interrupting!” Wanda says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes ma’am. Tomorrow night back on the diamond.”

“See you then,” she says, leaving you with a smile.

You turn back to your date and don’t see that Wanda’s smile turns into a frown for the rest of the night. She gets distracted watching you have a good time. Wanda wants to be the person across from you making you laugh.

She realizes she wants you.

The next day Wanda dresses in a shirt that’s a little too low cut for a baseball practice. She surprises herself with how much she wants to go after you.

Practice goes as usual, but afterwards you notice Wanda is lingering. She even sends her boys home with a friend.

You’re kneeling on the ground picking up equipment when she approaches you.

“Could I speak to you for a moment?” Wanda asks.

“Yeah, no problem,” you say, standing up to meet her level. Your eyes do cut to the skin revealed by her shirt. “Is everything okay? Boys good?”

“Oh, yes. Everything’s fine,” she says. “It’s just- well-“ Wanda begins. You have no idea where she’s going with this. “My church is starting an adult softball league and I have absolutely no idea how to play.”

You’re sure she’s lying by the way her eyes don’t quite meet yours. But you don’t care.

“Ah okay,” you say. “You need some lessons from Coach Y/n?”

Wanda blushes. “Yes please.”

“Of course. Anything for you, Mrs. Maximoff. Let’s get started.”

You and Wanda walk to home plate to together. All you have is a child’s bat but it’ll do for her to learn the basic movements.

“Let’s see you swing,” you say.

You take a step back and watch Wanda use the worst form you’ve ever seen. No way she’s that bad at it. You hold back a chuckle.

“That was bad wasn’t it?” She asks. You don’t say yes but you don’t say no either. “I’m helpless.”

“No, no. You can do this, Mrs. Maximoff.”

“You know you can call me Wanda,” she says.

“I could, but why would I want to when you blush every time I call you Mrs. Maximoff?” You tease her.

That really makes her blush. You step behind her and help her grip the bat better. Your front presses against her back and Wanda feels a sensation in her entire body.

“Try it this way,” you tell her.

You wrap your hands around hers on the bat and swing together. It’s much better this time.

“That’s it, Mrs. Maximoff!” You say. “Let me get some balls and you can actually hit some.”

“Wait,” she says before you can move.

“Yeah?”

“Um- show me again?”

Instead of doing that, you put your hands on her waist and turn her around to face you. You keep your hands there tightly.

“You know if you want to be close to me, you could just ask,” you say, hoping you read this right.

By the way her breath hitches, you read this completely right.

“I- you’re young,” Wanda says.

“So? If you want this, don’t fight it. Mrs. Maximoff, why deny yourself the pleasure?” You grip her waist impossibly tighter. Your chest is practically pressed against hers.

“Because it’s just- it’s not right,” she says.

“Okay,” you say. “We’ll walk away like nothing happened. Or we could go back to my place?”

Her eyes go wide. She had no idea how you wanted her. She wonders how long she’s ignored the signs.

“I have to be home tonight for my boys,” she says. She glances at her watch. “By 8.”

“We’ll go to your place then,” you say. “Come on. Say yes.”

Wanda hesitates, but she nods. You abandon your clean up job follow her to her car. The drive to her house is quiet. You can tell Wanda’s nervous, but you hope she’s actually excited.

You follow her into her house. There’s photos of Wanda and the kids littering the walls. Along with some of friends and other family members.

“Oh, is this you?” You ask her, pointing to a photo of a young girl.

“That’s me,” she answers. “Do you want a drink?”

“Sure,” you say. You sit on the couch while she pours a glass of wine for you. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome,” Wanda says.

You sit close to her, but you want to be closer. You want to be all over her.

“So, why did you decide to make a move on me today?” You wonder aloud.

Wanda nearly chokes on her drink. “I guess I just- I have been thinking about you for a while.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nods. You set your glass down on the table.

“What have you been thinking about specifically?”

“Um- kissing you,” she says quietly.

You smirk at that. You’ve imagined too what it would feel like to press your lips to hers and run your hands through her hair.

“Wanda,” you say. “Come here.”

You pull her closer to you by the back of her neck and connect your lips. You kiss her hard. Wanda takes a second to catch up, but once she does she settles in.

Her lips part in a gasp and you take full advantage. You deepen the kiss, pushing Wanda back to lie on the couch. You straddle her.

“Y/n,” she mumbles when you move your lips to her neck.

“Relax, baby. Let me make you feel good,” you say.

You move your hands under her shirt and lift the material over her head. You have to withhold a growl at the sight of her bare chest. She’s perfect.

You take one breast in your hand and the other in your mouth. Wanda squirms at the feeling of your mouth on her nipple.

“Oh god,” Wanda groans.

You take off her pants and slip her panties down her legs. She’s dripping wet. You move closer to her pussy, but don’t quite dive in yet.

“Did you imagine this, Mrs. Maximoff? Being all spread out for me?”

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, baby, I did.”

“Fuck yes you did,” you say.

You bury your face between her legs, licking through her folds. You hold her waist down as you eat her out. Wanda keeps her hand on your head as you bring her to her high.

“I’m going to come,” Wanda says through bated breaths. “Fuck.”

“Come for me, Mrs. Maximoff,” you say against her.

The words and the way you’re making her feel so good makes her come in no time.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” you say. “So good.”

You move from between her legs and Wanda sits up on the couch. She smiles at you lazily and you kiss her softly.

“Shit, it’s 7:45,” Wanda says. “The boys will be home anytime.”

“That’s okay,” you say. You’re wearing a goofy grin. All you wanted was to taste her and you got to do just that.

“But I didn’t get to- you didn’t get to feel as good as I do,” Wanda pouts. You think it’s the cutest thing in the world.

“Hey, that’s alright. Another time? Call me later?” You ask her.

“Oh, yes. I will,” she replies.

You stand up but kiss her once more before you leave. You kiss her in a way that leaves her wanting you more than ever before.

Wanda is definitely looking forward to being with you again. She’s glad she fell for you.

[devourable]

† church boy

[ sfw | tw : religion (not named but heavily implied), sacrilege, potential religious trauma? as well as general yandere content but it’s v tame ]

male yandere x gender neutral reader! only pronoun used for reader is ‘you’. i havent written like this in a very long time so i apologize if this is bad ;_;

abraham lived a simple life for the majority of his 21 years on this planet. he was born and raised in a religious household, the only son of a wealthy pastor, surrounded by typical bible-thumping folk who taught him that *** was above everything, above him, above the things he loved, and putting anything (or anyone) above his faith would surely result in his damnation. and his whole life, he believed that.

that was… until you entered his life.

it happened at a fundraiser he was volunteering at. it was any other day for the boy, handing out advertisements and chatting with everyone that came and went. an average, mundane event for him where he’d talk about the same things he did every day, smile, wave, everything that was expected of him.

after the last person in his line had left, he looked down to begin organizing his things so he could join the rest of the party. when he was shadowed by someone stepping in front of him again, he expected to see a familiar face — maybe someone that might’ve forgotten something? but when he looked up…

abraham’s breath caught in his throat. he swore the earth had stopped spinning the second your eyes locked.

whether if you were there because you shared the same religion, was dragged there by a friend/family member, or simply because there was free food, he had no clue - but it didn't matter. your looks, the way you moved, the sound of your voice — why was it all so... enchanting?

he couldn’t help the slight stutter in his words as he hastily offered you a pamphlet, quickly introducing himself and inquiring about you. what was your name? were you new to the church? why haven’t you met before?

the soft laugh you emitted as you spoke and the feeling of your skin grazing his felt like fire. and your name... oh, the poor boy didn’t even realize it, but he couldn’t help it — within moments of knowing you, he had grown totally enamored!

abraham found himself hovering by your side for the rest of the event. he was awkward, you’d quickly realize, but it was in that sort of sweet, inexperienced way. he was desperate to know you, to get closer to you, hoping that maybe if he could understand you, he’d figure out how to quell these intense feelings that had built within him — but to you and everyone else, he was simply making sure a new face wasn’t alone during the event. he was just being a good little pastor’s boy! that’s what he told himself too, over and over again.

he was being good by making you laugh. he was being good by giving you his number. and it was good that he grew elated by the idea of getting to see you again after this. he was a good person, so what if he was neglecting his duties to be around you? he did what he was supposed to all the time, surely he could be forgiven just this once.

right?

his obsession with you didn’t take long to blossom after that first meeting. you started to infiltrate every part of his life in one way or another. his prayers became tangled up with thoughts of you. rather than reading the bible, he’d reread the texts between the two of you while he waited for you to respond to them. when he went to church, he found himself scanning the pews in hopes of spotting you among the congregation rather than finding a seat right away. when service began, he couldn’t focus on the preaching taking place because he was too busy thinking of ways to see you again.

despite the utter adoration abraham had grown to feel for you.. at some point, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t help but wonder — was he becoming sinful? was he growing gluttonous for your attention? he couldn’t have been, he had been so devout his entire life! it was fine for him to miss a few services to see you as long as he made up for it later…

he couldn’t tell if you were an angel, as heaven-sent as he felt you to be, or if you were the embodiment of temptation, pulling him away from his faith and beckoning him to sin. were you both? could you be both? with the progression of his obsession with you, his conflicted feelings about his relationship with his faith grew alongside it.

maybe you just weren’t any good for him.

but your name and god seemed to always come up at the same time…

so maybe, it was a sign that he had someone new to worship.

[hotchfiles]

↪ QUIS UT DEUS? ─ chapter one.

AN IN NOMINE PATRIS, ET FILII, ET SPIRITUS SANCTI INSTALLMENT

pairing: hotch x fem!consultant!reader. summary: murders committed using catholic symbology gets emily to convince hotch it's time to ask for an expert. luckily for you, you're the expert. content warnings: canon typical violence. religious themes. spoilers to season 4. mature themes. word count: 1.5K

    In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti…

    “Amen.” If you weren’t paying attention and side eyeing him at that exact moment, you might’ve lost the way his lips moved following the ritual, no word actually leaving his mouth. 

    The black haired man didn’t look too comfortable, but didn’t look out of place either, he knew the cues, he spoke the words on automatic it seemed. It amused you to observe people’s behavior on holy grounds, that was part of the reason you asked to meet in silver spring.

    “Catholic, Mr. Hotchner?” Your question is met with a low scoff, the type only those with a bad bad history with the church gave you. “That much, huh?”

    “My parents were.” The answer is simple and you think it might stop at that, but he shakes his head and scoffs again. “I was an altar boy for years before I left for boarding school.” You nod. 

    “Ah. I've met some of you in my research.” Some of you. Church babies, altar boys. Spoon fed the bible from birth while watching everyone around sin. Sin becoming a term to reflect on what they hated. 

    “And you? Catholic?” 

    “Oh no. Never been.” You don’t explain much, aware Emily probably told him of your time in Rome, where the two of you met. “Your UnSub is though. Either devoted to Saint Michael or knows enough about his roles to look like one.” You note, being reminded of the pictures Emily sent you, big stab wounds, a small scale tipped to one side, the words Hebrews 9:22 written in blood. 

    Hotchner doesn’t reply, making a mental reminder of the new information, he looks around the place as you both leave the church and it hits him, Silver Spring’s St. Michael the Archangel parish, the church you chose as a meeting place. 

    He wouldn’t usually accept consultation for cases, especially from outsiders. And to be fair, the BAU doesn’t usually need any, Reid alone has more knowledge than anyone Hotch has ever met, and despite the humbleness he tends to show, Hotch himself can take care of the general book knowledge if Reid doesn’t step up to it. But he trusted Emily, and Emily spoke more highly of you than of anyone. Honestly, he was also trying to make amends after not having her back during the Matthew case they had not long before. 

    “She's in town giving lectures, it’s an asset we have easy access to, so why not use it?” Were her final and most convincing words before Hotch nodded in agreement, watching Emily make the call that led to the meeting. 

    He thinks now, as he’s driving both of you to Quantico, that maybe Emily should’ve been the one here, his attempts to strike conversation falling flat as you don’t even remember the last time you had to make small talk with someone, it felt awkward all of a sudden, as if you were on a date. 

    “I'm so sorry, I'm not too good with… People.” You blurt out after a long minute of silence, your neck suddenly warm from embarrassment. 

    Hotch side eyes you, brows lifted in confusion. You seemed much less confident in the car now than what you showed him of you minutes before back at the church. He figures you felt confident talking about your area of expertise and that he could relate to easily. “Did you notice anything else by the pictures Emily sent you?” 

    The switch of topic makes you sigh loudly in relief and you mentally thank him for brushing your silliness off. “He’s using different pieces of catholic dogma and putting it together, but most of the symbology eludes to Michael, the stabbing looks like a sword, the tipped scale indicates judgment, the verse he chose doesn’t cite Michael but talks about sins being forgiven by the shedding of blood… He’s the judge and executioner of his victims.” You try not to sound excited as you ramble on, it’s a terrible thing to witness, the pictures were grotesque and would’ve made you sick on a normal day, but the cherry picking of symbols the murderer seemed to make fascinated you. 

    “So you believe it’s a man?” 

    “Oh! I–I don’t know? I just assumed… Is that misogynistic?” You mumble the last part more to yourself, but it’s loud enough to make him chuckle and you look at him quickly to make sure it’s not mean spirited. 

    It’s definitely not. But it is amusing from a profiler perspective, he’s so used to defining serials’ genders by their crimes he hasn’t thought about misogyny being a factor to those assumptions in a long time. 

    “Brutality suggests male. But posing looks remorseful, theatrical…” His grip on the wheel tightens, two victims by now, feet crossed, arms wide open. 

    “If there were more allusions to the crucifixion, yeah, but I–” You take your phone out to look at the pictures once more, an attempt to seem less abstract in what you’re about to say. “No crown, no nails, this isn’t about Christ, it’s about punishment–I mean, I think.” You’re not usually self conscious about your knowledge but inferring characteristics and desires to someone by looking at a crime scene was not your specialty. 

    “To further point they were judged and executed…” Hotch nods, understanding where your line of thought is going and completing it immediately, not leaving you much time to doubt yourself. 

    “A very shameful execution.” 

    You both spend the short ride from Silver Springs to Quantico going over the symbology present, you tried to help here and there with the associations of what you saw to who could’ve done it, even though that was not what you were called in for. Strangely enough—for him at least, Hotch didn’t seem to mind your guesses, they were educated ones.

    And it was interesting to hear someone speak with such passion about religious aspects without any of the fundamentalism. It was definitely something he wasn’t used to.

    “Mi amore!” Are the first words you hear as you enter the famous bullpen from Emily’s texts, her arms surrounding you in a tight warm hug you haven’t felt in years—it hits you then how long has it been. You weren’t able to come and mourn Matthew with her, his parents weren’t fond of you either (Lord almighty, you didn’t even go to church with them!) and you were busy with your lectures.

    “Hey troublemaker, how’s it going?” Your question is muffled in the hug, your hands clasping together behind her back.

    The reunion doesn’t last long, curious eyes set on you two and a rather impatient Hotch leading the way to what you learned was the conference room.

    The briefing room. The round table. Emily told you about it when she first got into the BAU.

    You end up sitting between Emily and who you would bet was Spencer—there’s this sweet kid working with us, he’s super smart, annoyingly smart, but so sweet, he reminds of Matty when we were teens—the lanky boy was the only one with what seemed like naivety enough in his eyes to be the one Emily mentioned back then. 

    Aaron sat in front of you almost, serious, stern, very different from the few chuckles you got from him in the car. This was unit chief Hotchner, the subtle difference was fascinating.

    “Alright, as we know, DC is in trouble, second murder in three weeks.” blonde and gorgeous, you believed that was JJ, there had been no time for introductions, all you could do was try to remember the e-mails and few phone calls you shared with Emily the past years. “Richard Beckett, married, no kids, 27. He works for his father's car dealership.” 

    Pictures show up on the screen, showing the man when he was alive. It’s a punch to your gut, just minutes before you were fascinated by the way this real person was murdered. You’re glad you had a light breakfast by the way your stomach turns.

    “Monica Dawson, divorced, no kids, 53. She’s a counselor at a local school.” The woman continues speaking, with more pictures on the screen. And then pictures of their deaths, side by side. The fascination is completely extinguished then. “Both were stabbed countless times with a large blade. Left in abandoned warehouses posed in a cross position, a tipped scale on their side. Both naked. Both were heavily drugged.”

    “They didn’t have kids, is that a coincidence?” You hear Emily speak up and suddenly you can see all their brains working.

    “Could that be the linking between them? The victimology is all over the place.” Derek. Oh. You’ve heard of Derek. You’ve seen pictures of Derek. He needs no introduction. 

    “Reid, Morgan, go talk to the first victim’s widow. Rossi, JJ, Ms. Dawson’s ex-husband can give us insight on her life. Emily and us—” He gives you a look and you understand he means you, nodding in reply. “Will head to the DC police precinct.” The way Hotch gives orders is effortless, not only his job but his vocation. 

    Everyone listens and agrees quickly, moving and leaving the table, even Emily is fast on her feet, even though she won’t leave without you and him. You stay still, stiff, eyes glued to the screen.

    “Are you alright?” His voice is soft, laced with worry, genuine worry. You didn’t even notice he had stayed behind, but you nod again at Hotch, a question burning at the tip of your tongue.

    “Do you still believe in God, Mr. Hotchner?”

[jeanthebeagle]

Grishaverse/Ketterdam dashboard simulator

🪙 Barrelrat1877 follow

just spilled my drink on a Fierdan's boots and now he's threatening to duel me. Should I call the stadwatch??? I'm lowkey scared.

#guys please help me

10 notes

🐦 Dregsconfessionsofficial follow

SUBMISSION: Last night I was walking around the barrel and I saw dirtyhands petting a dog. Like I'm not even joking, no gloves and all. And it was one of those crusty white ones.

#submission #omg I hope he washes his hands??? # those dogs are so crusty

10,350 notes

🌊 tidesofthecanals follow

Final results from 672 votes

♠️ kvasandass follow

Razorgulls stop sending anon hate to op over a poll challenge, level impossible, no glue no borax.

#i hope they get caught for tax fraud

380 notes

🐝 thislittlelife follow

A drawing my talented daughter made of Sankta Alina. We pray to her each night 🙏🙏🙏

🐾 magic-tricks follow

46.244.29.14

🍄 thekingofravkaishot follow

hello??? Omg. Why would you dox someone just like that??? This is literally putting them in danger. It's just a sweet mother with her child, who posted a drawing. What is wrong with you.

🏵️ krugebythedozen follow

Op admitted to lying like a year ago about how they don't actually have a kid, but took the post down. It's probably a dime lion trying to troll us like they did in mass when sankta alina died. Also, respectfully, shut up. You posts thirst traps and long drawn out texts on how the king of ravka is "babygirl”. Go get help.

47 notes

🤝 theholyhandofghezenofficial follow

To the citizen who spread a highly damaging rumor that we were hosting a petting zoo inside the church, please come to talk to us. You are not in danger, but words will be exchanged. Lots of trouble was caused due to careless behavior.

⚖️ ketterdamfails follow

Womp womp

9,789 notes

🎀 justapigeon follow

Hey guys. Sorry I haven't been able to update my Pekka Rollins x Jan van eck fanfic. I've been searching for my mom for almost a week since she ran away after hearing that you had to get a vaccine for Firepox after the last outbreak. (She believes in praying to the saints.)

248 notes

🍪 eatthemerchs follow

I hate all of you. Why is this website making Kaz Brekker a soft boy when he literally MURDERS PEOPLE. No, he won't cry if you hug him. No he doesn't want to pet your dog. He'll take your eye out.

Stop romanticizing crime, all of you are sick.

(I am TIRED of the dog memes. Brekker is a crime boss. Why would any of you think he'd even care about your dog.)

🐾 magic-tricks follow

Your border collie is nice. But your chihuahua barks too much.

15,370 notes

🦂 northerstaverner follow

literally just saw some tall ass guy with a huge gun, a revolver and the brightest outfit l've ever seen, trot past my window??? In broad daylight??? Like oh my god. It felt like looking at a stork who made a wish he was human. His clothes were purple and green. Who wears that. Like, iconic. But still.

🐰 jeepsteristhebestshot follow

But was he handsome

🦂 northerstaverner follow

He was built like a stork.

🐰 jeepsteristhebestshot follow

But was he handsome???

🦂 northerstaverner follow

I'm not answering that... who is this.

🧁sugarandredribbons follow

Op answer

☁️ theweststavesucksass follow

Op we all want to know

🫵 isthisbarrelbossproblematic follow

OP THIS IS AN URGENT MATTER

🫀dmitrithekerchman follow

OPPPPP

4,750 notes

[hup123hup123slapslap]

So a thought has been kicking around my head for a bit...what if Helio knew exactly what he was signing up for by making Kristen his chosen one?

It has always struck me as odd that when describing Doreen in Helioic heaven, Brennan mentioned her flirting with men and women. It also strikes me as odd that Kristen never got any pushback from Helio about turning her back on him. Even if he was similarly 'out of the picture' like sol was while Arthur was wrecking havoc, Kristen's powers should have faded when she fully committed to not worshipping him. You need to worship a god to get powers, and this is emphasized heavily in the latest episode. Kristen worshipping the vague idea of religion but Definitely Not Helio just doesn't cut it. Sure, taking away a PCs powers wasn't really in the cards in season one, but Brennan works very well and very caringly with what he has to establish as canon.

Kristen was looking for a reason to drop Helio from the get-go. His frat boy appearance and non-answer to a nearly impossible question didn't truly matter at the core of her feelings. She wanted an out from the prison she was trapped in with the Helioic faith, even if she didn't realize it fully. She had tension with her mom and her ideals from the scene one! She wanted to connect with people the church actively shunned. Helio was never the true problem.

Now, gods are shaped by their worshippers. So on some level Helio is shaped by people with shitty ideals. But there's still a foothold of good, especially if there are out and proud gays in heaven. Especially if Kristen Applebees of all people is the chosen one.

When you have worshippers misinterpreting your whole deal, going with Sol's shitty messaging and transferring it onto you and using it for bad things, what can you do as a god? Because you ARE what they say you are. So how can you fight back?

Well. You make your chosen one someone that embodies your true heart. Someone that can actually turn the tides of your worship.

There is an emphasis on tracker reinventing and revitalizing her religion. Changing it for the better. Taking the old and not tossing it out, but making it better.

Isn't that what Kristen struggles with the most? That's what she needs to learn how to do.

Tracker also established that she can worship multiple gods when she helped with Yes?. Kristen doesn't need to settle for one even if she (fingers crossed) brings Kassandra back.

Because the season opened with the slow apocalypse of endless night. Endless daytime would end similarly. There has to be a balance. They are two sides of the same coin. Day and night. The surety of the sun and the doubt of the shadows.

Kristen wants both. And she can fucking have it if she decides to.

Ally once said they appreciate that the enemy is always the church. Organized religion. Kristen is perfect for disorganized religion though. Chill frat boy vibes and anxious doubts and the ultimate message of 'just do your best'.

I think religious trauma is a compelling, close to the heart topic for a lot of people. And some turn away from religion entirely and wash their hands of it. But some people don't. Kristen is a cleric. She can't. She wants a god, she wants answers, and she just can't find them in the established community she was raised in. That doesn't mean the core of her religion was wrong. The church was. So you take the religion and you harness it in a way that means something to you.

Maybe Kristen being desperate enough to invite Helio back into her life is what this has all been leading to.

She can remake a god. She's done it before. Because Kassandra was good at the core. Maybe Helio can be too.

[lazycats-stuff]

Hi author how are you doing I hope your doing fine?

I hope you don’t mind can I request a Batfam x Genius child male reader like child male reader is basically smart (and comes from a wealthy and influence family) and has higher IQ for someone so young (smarter than the rest of Batfam) Bruce met child male reader in the funeral when child male reader grandparents died leaving child male reader orphan because his parents also died. Somehow child male reader was strangely attach to Bruce even tho it's there first time meeting so he just walk up to Bruce and stare at him in wonder. Which also leads everyday male reader running away from home and going to Wayne manor because he wanted to stay close to Bruce and meeting the rest of family and which leads the male reader Butler (who's taking care of reader for time being until someone or close relative steps up and takes the role to raise reader) to apologize everytime when picks reader up from the Wayne manor. Reader already knows all the Batfam especially the Justice League secret identity with just one look at them. Male reader who is shy, quite (rarely ever makes a sound) and well mannered. Male reader has a habit of touching the technology of the bat cave or the Justice league base and knows how to fix them aswell

Btw I hope your doing all good author don’t forget to take care of yourself and have a wonderful day🥰🥰🥰😊😊

Oh the little rascal. Also, you take care of yourself too and have a great day or night, whatever time is in your country at the moment. No ideas for gifs anyone... It's pretty though. Also, your beloved author turned 19 on the 5th of May. I do have to say, I have a interesting birthdate.

Summary: (Y/N) is a very smart cookie.

Warnings: funerals, (Y/N) is smart, minor cursing here and there... Some angst, fluff

Bruce sighed quietly as he stood over the graves of Tim's parents. He put the flowers down on their graves. Tim was fighting a flu so he couldn't do it himself and Bruce has offered to do it for Tim. It was their death anniversary and Bruce knew that Tim was just dying in bed from the flu and was dying from feeling guilty of not coming.

Bruce turned his head as he heard church bells. Another funeral. Bruce looked at the church and the procession that has followed it. Two caskets...

Hold up.

He knows that face. The boy was (Y/N) (L/N). Bruce knew that his parents passed when he was truly young and that his grandparents took him when that happened.

It seems that his grandparents passed away too. Bruce met them a few times and they were lovely people and he was told that (Y/N) was a genius, but he didn't know just how much that intelligence reaches. Poor boy.

The procession was slowly passing and Bruce watched from Tim's parents graves. Bruce knew how it felt to lose your parents so young. It's almost like a big piece of you was taken and you will never be able to bring it back, no matter how hard you try.

Bruce looked back down at the graves, trying to keep the attention off of him. He didn't want to disrespect anyone, especially not the dead and besides, it's not about him. Somehow, there aren't any reporters.

Which is a very good thing, but it's a bit weird because like the vultures they are, they can sense when to come in the worst day possible and to use a tragedy for publicity. Thankfully, Bruce put his foot down when it came to his family.

Anything that invades privacy, Bruce would go after them and make sure they don't do that to him. His family didn't have anything to hide. Besides their night job, but that wasn't really illegal... It was something nice to do for the people of Gotham.

Bruce looked up when he felt that someone was watching him. It was (Y/N). He... He didn't want to be rude, but why wasn't he following the procession? Sure, he is young and saying that your parents will be 6ft underground is no easy task, but still...

Wouldn't it be good for him to get a bit of closure at least?

Bruce didn't say anything as (Y/N) simply walked up to him, in silence. Bruce noticed the suit and couldn't help but notice that he almost saw himself in the young boy.

Bruce also noted how (Y/N) watched him in wonder, tilting his head, clearly observing him.

" You are Bruce Wayne... " He said as a matter of fact, trailing off quietly at the end of the sentence.

" I am and you must be (Y/N). How come you aren't with your butler? " Bruce asked as he squatted down to (Y/N)'s level.

" I don't want to be. Too many people. " (Y/N) said and Bruce chuckled.

" I know, but it would mean a lot to him if you stayed with him. " Bruce said, remembering Alfred and his support when his parents died.

Bruce wouldn't have been the same without Alfred and his support.

" I guess so. " (Y/N) said as the the butler approached, a small smile on his face.

" Master (Y/N), what are you doing here? " The butler asked, but politely nodded at Bruce to acknowledge him. Bruce nodded back and (Y/N) huffed.

" It's way too many people. " (Y/N) said, crossing his arms with a pout on his face.

" That means your parents were liked, so come here. You won't be alone. " The butler said and (Y/N) huffed again, but took the butler's hand into his.

" My sincere condolences. " Bruce said and the butler nodded, a sad look on his face.

" Thank you... It was all by surprise. " Butler explained and Bruce nodded.

" Can I ask what they died from? " Bruce asked and the butler nodded.

" Heart attacks. Just in their sleep. " Butler explained and (Y/N) nodded. Death can come at any place, at any time. Death simply takes.

" At least it was in their sleep. " Bruce mumbled and checked on the grave the last time before turning to the duo. " I won't hold you two up anymore. I have to go and again, my condolences. " Bruce said, shaking hands with them both before leaving to his car. He walked to his car and drove off home.

" Master Bruce, master (Y/N) has arrived, yet again. " Alfred said as he walked through the kitchen, busy with making some food for everyone.

Bruce put his newspaper down and look down at the small child who went to the living room and Bruce's boys let out a cheer. Besides Damian who was still skeptic of (Y/N), but was getting there to start trusting slowly.

Then, (Y/N) slowly walked to Bruce, who sipped his coffee slowly, just to make sure to get awake. It was hell during patrol and everyone has gone insane. Just nuts. Probably more than Joker. Which is a feat of its own, but hey. Gotham is just Gotham and everything is possible.

Gotham is a city where everything's possible, but instead of dreams, you get nightmares. According to other people outside of Gotham.

" You are Batman. " (Y/N) said and Bruce spat out his coffee, coughing out the remains, trying not to choke from the said beverage. Heads whipped from the living room, shocked that (Y/N) was able to figure it out.

" I beg your pardon? " Bruce asked, still coughing as he wiped the coffee from his mouth and table. (Y/N) couldn't have done it, could he? How in God's name did he figure it out?

" You are Batman. " (Y/N) stated, so straight forward and blunt in it, making Bruce cough yet again, trying to figure out what to say. Also, to say that he was caught off guard is an understatement of the century. He is always on guard with everyone, besides his sons, and this took him... Well, using Gen Z slang would be 'took him out'.

If he guessed correctly.

" I'm not Batman. " Bruce said, trying to appear normal and not like he was just discovered and that his cover was blown wide open.

" You are. " And (Y/N) started saying how he knew and Bruce was sure he would have passed out if he was a normal human and not a vigilante.

The boys were silent as they watched it all in silence, hoping that Bruce would deter him from that answer. Something. At least something. But with how (Y/N) was talking and explaining... It was clear that they couldn't get out of it. Nothing. They couldn't lie their way out of this one.

Bruce sighed and (Y/N) smiled softly, clearly happy that he guessed.

" Yes. I'm Batman. When did you figure it out? " Bruce asked softly and (Y/N) smiled cheekily. Bruce smiled softly and thought to himself that (Y/N) was a little cheeky shit.

" When I first saw you. " (Y/N) and Damian, well, even he was impressed. That was... A bit... Holy shit.

" Afraid to interrupt, but master (Y/N)'s guardian is here. " Alfred said as he led the other butler in, who crossed his arms, but there was a fond look in his eyes.

" Master (Y/N), what did we talk about? " The butler asked and (Y/N) simply huffed.

" Come here please. " The butler added and (Y/N) nodded coming into the butler's arms. " Again, I don't know what's going on, but thank you for being patient with him. " Butler said and everyone simply replied with no problem and Jason replied with a cheeky 'kids, am I right.'

(Y/N) was slowly but surely getting way more comfortable. He saw the Batcave and fixed things that bothered everyone a lot and it was something that impressed them and made them pissed. Both at the same time, which is actually impressive.

And no one needed to explain to him how anything worked. That pissed and impressed Tim, who was proud to say that he knows their technology the best. It was just that. Impressive. But infuriating at the same time.

Either way, (Y/N) spent more time at the manor and Alfred and (Y/N)'s butler became good friends, often found venting to one another about the things that 'their billionaires' do that piss them off to no end.

Of course, (Y/N)'s butler didn't know of anyone's secret identities, just to make sure that he was the right person to tell, which is something that isn't easy to see. Sometimes, people hide their true selves and it's funny to decipher them.

Also, (Y/N) both impressed the Justice League by fixing a glitch they had in their system for months that no one was able to fix. Bruce was proud and everyone else impressed and low key jealous.

But either way, (Y/N) was now a staple of the Batfam and his guardian had no qualms about it.

[glutominnn]

Y'all ever thought about how Sydney change from being this innocent sweet church boy who don't even know what sex is, to an insatiable sex-crazed maniac who also constantly reminds you that you did this (whatever this is, depends on you) and pretty much gaslights that you have it coming to you.

The first time i played the game and corrupted him, I was flabbergasted by his sudden change in behaviors, although the player, us, is fully aware of our choices, the PC however, might not (again, depends).

The reasons why I find myself liking Sydney corrupted version isn't even about his constant craving for carnal pleasure and his openness about sexuality, but more like, I adore how even called "Corrupted", Sydney is very much still have conscience and a sense of rightessness in him, even showing worries for Whitney or Robin if they haven't show up at school. Pure!Sydney also have this, but the difference is, if Pure!Sydney is just gonna give you a pat on the back and tell you to hang on, Corrupted!Sydney will physically want to seek out the person who harmed you.

It's just make the whole Prayer room scene even more traumatic for PC, who would have thought Sydney, who is even no longer an innocent boy still normally very calm and level-headed, would physically beat you into submission if you don't let him have his way.

It's just... kinda felt like betrayal ya know? How he always tells you that you made him who he is, like he have every rights to do this, to have this like you OWNED him, a price to pay for the things you did (doesn't matter intentionally or not) to him. After all, he loved you, yes, but also I feel like living in a town like that have twisted his mindset and how he perceive if someone should take responsibility for his own sexual awakening, consented or not. It's just, really another level of fucked up when you think about it, but also expected since it's been clear you can never really have a completely normal and healthy relationship with any of the LIs in this game lmao