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$LAYYYTER
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

oozey mess
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

tannertan36
Cosimo Galluzzi
DEAR READER

â

@theartofmadeline
occasionally subtle
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Misplaced Lens Cap
Three Goblin Art
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titsay
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@medusasflame

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Incorrect text post - Abbot Edition
Please do not mess with the doctor who brings a non-medical knife in the emergency department
no, thank you! i actually want him to use it on me đ
Conversation carried out throughout the shift
fucking love the pitt. they let the autistic girl chill with a dog fo a bit then her boss came in like "fucking love u girl my least troublesome intern wanna pick sooo much gravel out a dudes leg wound?" and she was just like đđđ incredible. banger autistic rep shes so me.

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bucky egan // "free" by florence + the machine
the feeling comes so fast and i cannot control it i'm on fire, but i'm trying not to show it
Can I interest you in some silly sex with Simon? đ§đťââď¸ââĄď¸
18+
Word count: 1k.
CW: nothing really. Just silly sex. Just giggling sex. Just I-need-to-give-this-man-some-humanity sex. Simon is ticklish and you find out, that's the plot.
Masterlist đŚ
đŹ đŹ đŹ đŹ đŹ đŹ đŹ đŹ đŹ
You look delectable straddling his hips.
Naked and soft, plump tits sitting prettily in his hands. His thumbs swipe idly around your perked nipples as you ride him slowly, early morning sun peeking through the curtains and lapping at your skin. What a way to wake up, what a sight.
He stares at your lips and how they part for himâsomething he still has to get used to, though he probably never truly will. How dulcet does his name sound if itâs your voice whispering it, how beautiful your eyes when they take in his face.
Soft hands are pressed on his chest for leverage, and youâre treating him with a view he keeps pinned to the forefront of his brainâgliding your cunt until youâre chock-full of him, stroking yourself until youâre shivering.
He likes it when heâs on top, sure. Heâs used to taking the lead and orchestrating every detail, in and out of the job.Â
But when you allow him to sit back and take it? Hell, sign him up. Heâd do it every day. Especially when itâs this lazy sex here, in which youâre canting your hips to cum before he does, giving him the blissful chance of feeling you clench around him when he's still hard.Â
Goosebumps rise under your nails as they graze down his chest and brush his stomach. Your hands wander blindly on his belly, then his sides, as you clock his eyes with your heavy ones, panting softly, idlyâmy beautiful, beautiful girl.
But then you inadvertently brush his ribs, and he stiffensâeven squirms, and your movements come to a halt.
You blink as conscience returns to you slowly, and the room sinks into tense silence. His cock twitches inside of you when you tilt your head inquisitively, squinting your eyes.
Experimentally, you brush your fingertips against his ribs again, and his biceps flatten to his sides, trapping your hands.
Your eyes widen, and his do the same.
âDonât.â
You gasp, âOh my God.â
âDarling, no.â He warns, but youâve clearly made up your mind already.
Your lips are curled in a smile that promises mischief, and he can only give up, sit back, and count his losses.
âDarling, yes.â
Simon feels your fingers wiggle under the tight press of his arms, but no matter his strength, they're seemingly useless against that playful resolve you're displaying.
His cock is still embarrassingly hard inside you, and Simon reckons it won't soften any time soon. You donât seem eager to get off him either, thus prolonging the torture with each tiny movement you make.
He inhales sharply and fights tooth and nail to school his expression into neutrality. His eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is locked tight. The only thing giving him away is the flush of his cheeks, getting pinker by the second because he refuses to open his mouth to breathe a much-needed lungful of air. Knowing that if he would, he'd bark a laugh that would proclaim you as the winner of this fight.
He would never.
You roll your hips, thenâcheap trick. He unravels with a shaky breath, and his biceps give out enough for you to slip your hands away.
And then, he knows he's done for.
âCut it out.â He barks, trying to sound stern and miserably failing. He knows because you're laughing even harder.
Your fingers feel like tiny bugs crawling up his sides, and they make his breath catch in his throat.
âNever.â You say, with a grin that scrunches your nose. A smile that would normally make his heart throb, but right now just makes him wish he were a lesser man so he could throttle you.
âFuckinâ-â
You chuckle.
You evil little cunt.
Resistance lasts a few more seconds before he bursts.
Itâs not a full laugh that leaves him; more of a wheeze that makes you chortle like a wicked witch. His chest heaves as your fingers frantically tickle his sides. Tries to get you off him by shaking his hips, but that only makes the two of you falter and moan, and then chuckle and catch your breaths.
His shoulders shake in a breathless, choking laugh that pitches upward as you continue with your assault (yes, assaultâhe is not being dramatic), eyes veiled with tears of frustration and mirth. He shrieks when your hands travel under his armpitsâthe sound makes you giggle in a way that would have him melt.Â
âThat laughâs lovely, baby.â You say with a smarmy grin he wishes he could wipe with a kiss, hands unrelenting against his sides. âSound like a kettle whistling.â
He tries to glower and push you off, but youâre surprisingly strong when youâre focused. Right now, your only goal is to apparently make him hate youâhe'd rather be held at gunpoint than being forced to hold in a laugh that makes his stomach hurt.
Simon now looks shockingly harmless, with his cheeks flushed bright red and his voice an octave too highâwouldn't look dangerous if he tried.
âTea ready, yet?â You add, batting your lashes, because why not rub salt into the already embarrassing wound marring his pride.
Itâs that unfathomably stupid joke that finally makes Simon crack. He barks out a laugh that bubbles up his throat, rippling through his stomach so suddenly that you bounce above him. Your own laugh follows soon after, because each time you manage to steal one from him, your heart vibrates with loving triumph.
But stillâhe is Simon Riley, isnât he? Member of Task Force 141. Lieutenant in the UK Special Forces, SAS. The Ghost. There is some pride in there, one he'd like to keep intact.
He tries to recollect his breath, sniffling, and his arms shoot out to wrap around your waist. He rolls onto his side, taking you with him.
Itâs then that you find yourself in a position of utter disadvantage, on your back with your big brute of a boyfriend holding you down. Youâre wide-eyed and still smiling with barely contained giggles, and heâd be lying if he said it doesn't make his heart soar.
Sure, heâs panting, still proper flushed and apple-cheeked, with shivers wrecking his spine and unshed tears in his eyesâbut he takes great pride in having won yet another fight (again, not overreacting at all, if you ask him).
He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.
You fix him with a look. âSimon, no.â
Before you can add more to your complaint, he rams his cock into you until your chest stutters, your lips mouthing around a shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.
He fucks you into the mattress, thenâonce, twice, until the remnants of laughter vanish from your face and youâre trembling in bliss, eyes rolled back under heavy eyelids.
He places a sloppy kiss down to your collarbone.
âSimon, yes.â
Please, spread this for those who might need it right now
U.S. suicide hotline: call or text 988 (available 24 hours)
U.S. trans lifeline: (877) 565-8860 (when you call, youâll speak to a trans/nonbinary peer operator. full anonymity and confidentiality)
Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) National Helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) â provides 24/7 confidential support and referrals for individuals and families facing mental health and substance use disorders, including panic attacks and anxiety.
LGBT National Help Center: (888) 843-4564
Trevor Project: Call (866) 488-7386, text START to 678-678, or chat online.
Take care of yourself and each other. Please stay safe âĄ
what sort of body hair & body types do you think the 141 boys have
So glad you asked:
Starting with pretty boy Gaz, He's absolutely got the gym body. You know the one with the perfectly sculpted muscles, tugging his shorts up to show off the flex of his thighs for the camera as he grins, rolling his shoulders back to show off the lats, flexing for the camera. He's more lean muscle than huge body builder vibes, like it's definitely tailored to his body type, but it's that instagram influencer perfect physique. He's got a well groomed smattering of hair. Not a ton on his chest but plenty of people are eyeing that neat happy trail as he does chest presses at the gym. Lemme get a peak at that man in the sauna...
Soap is a big lad, but it's all muscle. He definitely is going for more of the body builder physique. Packs on muscle really well, and tries to manage his macros so that he keeps his abs when he wants them. The man is stacked. He's also hairy. He's the motherfucker that you're hoping to death wipes off the gym equipment because you can see him sweating through that pelt he's got. Good dark hair on his arms and legs, and chest hair you just wanna bury your face in. You're not even into that stuff but when he raises his arms to grab the lat tower bar you kinda wanna run your tongue through his underarm hair. You just know that man doesn't even trim his pubic area...
Ghost is just naturally big, but he also packs on muscle like a motherfucker. Ghost has a solid strongman look, like he definitely works out, and you've seen him bench 400 lbs without breaking a sweat, but he also looks like he never turns down a slice of cake. Olympic dead lifter type. You could watch him run on the treadmill for hours with the way his pecs bounce. Doesn't look hairy because he's blond, so it's very light wispy hair, but he's got a nice map of curls at the base of his dick that just make you wanna suck him off. Always lets his towel sit too low in the sauna, when you die, you wanna come back as the sweat dripping between his tits.
Price... You wanna talk about a man that pass up a decent meal it's Price. That doesn't mean he isn't in the gym with his men, it just means he's the one in the mess at midnight grabbing that last cookie before bed. He's good at shedding the weight though. You see him before a mission and he's trimmed up, but once he's home he's a bear of a man. That goes for the hair too. That man is so fucking hairy. Thick dark hair all over his body, to the point where you're not sure he isn't a werewolf or something. You actually checked the lunar cycle once when he wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt in the gym, and you saw the thick hair trailing down the center line of his stomach. (What a man, what a man, what a man)

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for all of us who can't bear to read anything but CoD fanfiction (due to the 141's fat tits) do you have any all-time favs?
Such an awful, sick affliction. I made one of these lists a while back but couldn't find it so youâre in luck because I have plenty of favorites and Iâm happy to share them (in no particular order. I KNOW I'm forgetting at least ten fics I've read and loved but I have a goldfish brain today, forgive me):
And please, read the tags/warnings. Your consumption is your own responsibility.
Neon Medusa Too sweet not to share Ghost and Red Fox Alford plea The Willow Maid Exfiltration The Arrangement Civilian Asset See no evil Squeeze me I squeak MildLimerence Mine & Yours Saltwater Metanoia to you I can admit (that I'm too soft for all of it) white flag blood on my shirt, rose in my hand totally platonic Surviving you imprimatura Dog all that's said in the lowlight birdsongs or advice and symphonies for your children Happiness songs that sound like sea foam down to the marrow roommate gaz Chink in the Armour Man-sized Hummingbird don't leave me locked in your heart Listening In Situationship-verse The Scottish Cabin in the Woods
Additions to this list as of June 12
Spoils of War Where Your Feet Pass Neighborly and/or not The Rear Window jigsaws pictures in frames, kisses on cheeks sirius c Spoils Cabin Fever / part one lotus flower the lies we tell Who Dares Win babytrap anthology The Hard Way Of Sea Foam and Iron bury me beneath the basswood tree Wicked Harvest Tiger balm baby blue Keeper/Kept Something Sweet Stay Away appetite
Did you know you can read, comment and reblog these works to support your COD favorite writers?
the squad goes to an aquarium for team building whatsoever and simon falls absolutely in love with this nerd who keeps spewing fish facts to their own group who, for the most part, are interested and intrigued.
he doesnât even realize that he started shadowing them until one of the girls turned around, perfectly trimmed brow cocked up, and goes, âuhm sir, what the actual fuck are ye tryna do?â
âuh,â simon utters, unintelligible because yeah, what the actual fuck was he trying to do? âfish facts? i, uh, wanâ tâhear more, sâall.â
âoh!â you cheer, chuckling, vibrating from where youâre standing. âthatâs great! weâre on our way to see the invertebrates â dâyou wanna tag along?â
âsure,â simon murmurs, not really clocking into what you said, just that you are finally looking at him and simon is gone. taken away by the crinkles of your eyes and the creases when you smile, and the way your hand flaps in uncontainable excitement. âiâd love that.â
you hum, nodding, before turning around to go. only then does simon notice your friendsâ knowing looks.
âwhat,â he bites out, blushing in embarrassment at being caught.
the one whoâd confronted him just sighs like this is a common occurrence.
(meanwhile, simonâs friends are blowing up his inbox because they just fucking lost their tank of a best friend.)
Price - The fuck do ya mean we LOST Simon?
Soap - Not sure what to tell you Cap, I was lookin' at this absolute unit of a baby penguin.
Gaz - His name is Pesto, kind of reminds me of someone actually....
Price - You mean like our big, bastard of a Lieutenant?!? The one who's missing!?!
- Meanwhile Simon's absolutely vibing, living his best life learning about horseshoe crabs or something and wondering if the gift shop sells engagement rings -
Big "me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic" energy
price stressing while gaz and soap are just enamoured by pesto has me dead LMAOO
and @readerinsertrepository ur tags are just too goood!!!
sorry i exploded but:
price makes the mistake of muttering, âanyone could do that,â on yves kleinâs blue monochrome beside an art nerd and gets a polite breakdown of why exactly anyone could not, and if they even attempted to, then they wouldnât be able to replicate it within the timeframe heâs surely thinking of (he was thinking it wouldâve probably taken him 12 mins tops so, yeah, nerdâs right.)
but price isnât even insulted or cowed or weirded out â heâs having a blast. this one has a bite, trying their best to be polite as they tell him off and explain to him things heâs never bothered to be quite interested in, and price appreciates their effort.
so much so that when theyâre done talking, trailing off awkwardly, price just nods at the painting beside kleinâs, ken okiishiâs gesture/data, and murmurs, âand that one? whyâs it all special?â
their lips purse, shoulders raising â and for a moment, price thinks he should apologize for overstepping â but then, they begin to spit out details.
(price forgot about his squad.)
(not a dino fossil but) gaz gets absolutely smitten by the ammonite fossils â they're the first fossils to see in the exhibit just because of the fact that they're far more abundant and common to unearth than, say, a t-rex one.
and gaz is just walking leisurely, eyeing the exhibit and watching as the ammonite fossil series keeps on getting bigger, with some distinctions from which modern-day waters they were found. he probably would have kept going if he didn't bump into someone who, upon him looking up, had just been. watching him, apparently.
"uh," he goes because yeah, what else but uh?
"d'you know they swam backwards?"
he didn't but that's not that hard to guessâ
"they'd siphon water and then squirt it out. like squids."
âokay, that he didn't know.
"that's cool," he murmurs, nodding along with his new... friend?
they chuckle, shrugging like it's not impressive which he guesses it isn't if one is a big fan of such a diverse field, but gaz appreciates the effort of being given a fun fact just on the basis that he looked just a little more than casually interested in the ammonites.
so with that said, gaz follows them around the museum because why the hell not?
they tell him about everything and anything â from a broad fact about the species to a detailed report of an ankylosaurs' tibia. it was fun. exhilarating.
just, don't mind the fact that his squad is tearing past rooms trying to find their missing friend. how they lost an adult, they don't know but gaz doesn't care because right here, with his nerd, his friends can all fuck off if it came down to that.
(johnny is the one who whisks you away to tell you about all the fun facts in the zoo. his current favourite? the lemur.)
Bartender Ghost when waitress reader gives someone a hurricane shot
I had to look this up and now I want to do this so badly
Slight NSFW, slapping
It wasn't a busy night; some new faces on a Thursday evening, the three regulars that practically lived on the barstools, a group of college boys in the corner...
Ghost doesn't bat an eye when you put in four shots of tequila and four waters for those punks, an excited smile on your face. He pours them quickly, eyes narrowing at them as they eye you with their own giddy expression, clapping each other on their backs.
He can't help but check in. "They botherin' ya?"
You laugh and take the tray of shots from him. "Not at all - watch this."
He grabs a glass and starts polishing it with a rag as you saunter back to the college students, ass barely contained in your high waisted shorts (he knows he said the dress code was "not your birthday suit", but you're pushing it in those shorts and that tanktop). Pauses his actions when you pass the shots around, then plant your ass on the table in front of one of the guys, thighs spread and holding a plastic solo cup of water in one hand.
The bloke takes the shot - you promptly throw the water in his face and rear your hand back, slapping him across the cheek with your open palm.
The glass nearly shatters in his grip. He's about to scale the counter and grab you by the scruff of your neck... but they were cheering. The other three men slapping his back and laughing as he wipes the water from his face - he gets up from his seat as you grab another cup of water, grinning at the new fella that sits between your legs.
You do the same thing: wait for him to take the shot, drench him in water, and smack your hand across his face. The crack echoes around the pub, followed by their laughter and loud curses. Ghost doesn't let himself yell at you from across the bar, not when he's stiffening up in his pants and wondering how best to ask you to do that to him.
Soap peeks his head out from the kitchen, right as you deliver the third smack. "Feck is goin' on?!" He asks bewilderdly.
Simon's at a loss for words, palms gripping the edges of the bar as he watches the last guy sit in the chair between your thighs, looking up at you like you're some kind of succubus - and you are, staring down at the lad with a smirk as he takes his shot, dousing him with the water and delivering the final blow.
"Shite- gonna try tha' with me after closin'?" Soap says, the both of them watching as you pluck a twenty from each of their hands and stuff them into your bra.
Ghost finds himself again, masking his sexual frustration with his usual grumpiness. "Where's tha' burger I put in fifteen minutes ago?" He says, making the Scot turn back into the kitchen with a dreamy sigh.
You make your way back to the bar and lean against it, still smiling ear to ear, your chest pushing against the counter - Simon can see the edges of the bills poking out of your tank top. "You ever seen that before?"
"Don't do tha' again." He snaps, glaring down at you with his arms folded over his burly chest, making you pout. "This ain't some college bar, I don' want tha' kinda crowd 'ere, understand?"
"They want eight more shots." You said, looking at him through your sweet, doe eyes.
Fuck - bringing in business, and getting to watch you slap the shit out of those guys? Pretending it was himself? He grumbled and snagged more shot glasses from the shelf.
Legolas pretty quickly gets in the habit of venting about his travelling companions in Elvish, so long as Gandalf & Aragorn arenât in earshot theyâll never know right?
Then about a week into their journey like
Legolas: *in Elvish, for approximately the 20th time* ugh fucking hobbits, so annoying
Frodo: *also in Elvish, deadpan* yeah weâre the worst
Legolas:
~*~earlier~*~
Legolas: ugh fucking hobbits
Merry: Frodo whatâd he say
Frodo: Iâm not sure he speaks a weird dialect but I think heâs insulting us. I should tell him I can understand Elvish
Merry: I mean you could do that but consider
Merry: you can only tell him ONCE
Frodo: Merry. Youâre absolutely right. Iâll wait.
#legolasâ hick accent vs #frodoâs âi learned it out of a bookâ accent #FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT
Legolas: umm well your accent is horrible
Aragorn: *hollering from a distance* HIS ACCENT IS BETTER THAN YOURS LEGOLAS YOU SILVAN HICK
Frodo: :)
Frodo: Hello. My name is Frodo. I am a Hobbit. How are you?
Legolas: yâalldâveâffâve
Frodo, crying: please I canât understand what youâr saying
Ok, but Frodo didnât just learn out of a book. He learned like⌠Chaucerian Elvish. So actually:
Frodo: Good morrow to thee, frend. I hope we twain shalle bee moste excellente companions.
Legolas: Wots that mate? âEre, you avinâ a giggle? Fookinâ âobbits, I sware.
Aragorn: *laughing too hard to walk*
@ghostriderofthearagon
dYinGggGgggâŚ
i mean, honestly itâs amazing the Elves had as many languages and dialects as they did, considering Galadriel (for example) is over seven thousand years old.
english would probably have changed less since Chaucerâs time, if a lot of our cultural leaders from the thirteenth century were still alive and running things.
theyâve had like. seven generations since the sun happened, max. frodoâs books are old to him, but outside any very old poetry copied down exactly, the dialect represented in them isnât likely to be older than the Second Age, wherein Aragornâs foster-father Elrond started out as a very young adult and grew into himself, and Legolasâ father was born.
so like, three to six thousand years old, maybe, which is probably a drop in the bucket of Elvish history judging by all the ethnic differentiation that had time to develop before Ungoliant came along, even if we canât really tell because there werenât years to count, before the Trees were destroyed.
plus a lot of Bilboâs materials were probably directly from Elrond, whose library dates largely from the Third Age, probably, because he didnât establish Imladris until after the Last Alliance. and Elrond isnât the type to intentionally help Bilbo learn the wrong dialect and sound sillier than can be helped, even if everyone was humoring him more than a little.
so Frodo might sound hilariously formal for conversational use (though considering how most Elves use Westron heâs probably safe there) and kind of old-fashioned, but heâs not in any danger of being incomprehensible, because elves live on such a ridiculous timescale.
to over-analyse this awesome and hilarious post even more, legolasâ grandfather was from linguistically stubborn Doriath and their family is actually from a somewhat different, higher-status ethnic background than their subjects.
so depending on how much of a role Thranduil took in his upbringing (and Oropher in his), Legolas may have some weird stilted old-fashioned speaking tics in his Sindarin that reflect a more purely Doriathrin dialect rather than the Doriathrin-influenced Western Sindarin that became the most widely spoken Sindarin long before he was born, or he might have a School Voice from having been taught how to Speak Proper and then lapse into really obscure colloquial Avari dialect when heâs being casual. or both!
considering legolasâ moderately complicated political position, i expect he can code-switch.
âŚitâs also fairly likely considering the linguistic politics involved that Legolas is reasonably articulate in Sindarin, though with some level of accent, but knows approximately zero Quenya outside of loanwords into Sindarin, and even those he mostly didnât learn as a kid.
which would be extra hilarious when he and gimli fetch up in Valinor in his little homemade skiff, if the first elves he meets have never been to Middle Earth and theyâre just standing there on the beach reduced to miming about what is the short beard person, and who are you, and why.
this is elvish dialects and tolkien, okay. thereâs a lot of canon material! he actually initially developed the history of middle-earth specifically to ground the linguistic development of the various Elvish languages!
Legolas: Alas, verily would I have dispatched thine enemy posthaste, but yâallâdâve pitched a feckinâ fit.
Aragorn: *eyelid twitching*
Frodo: *frantically scribbling* Hang on which language are you even speaking right now
Pippin, confused: Is he not speaking Elvish?
Frodo, sarcastically: I dunno, are you speaking Hobbit?
Boromir, who has been lowkey pissed-off at the Hobbitsâ weird dialect this whole time: Thatâs what it sounds like to me.
Merry, who actually knows some shit about Hobbit background: We are actually speaking multiple variants of the Shire dialect of Westron, you ignorant fuck.
Sam, a mere working-class country boy: Honestly y'all could be talkin Dwarvish half the time for all I know.
Pippin, entering Gondor and speaking to the castle steward: hey yo my man
Boromir, from beyond the grave: j e s u s
Tolkien would be SO PROUD of this post
preacher's daughter (Ethel Cain inspired) and biker Ghost would go so hard. all that corruption, religious trauma/catholic guilt, and small town gothic misery, you know?
sheltered daughter meets violence personified. the devil and the sacrificial lamb. you meet him when you wander up to the motorcycle club on the outskirts of town with a pamphlet about salvation clutched in your trembling hands. he leans his big, intimidating frame against the door jamb, and with his arms crossed over his broad chest, says must be good on your knees, aren't you, birdie?
(you answer with an earnest yes, sir, i worship on my knees everyday and pretend the heat that flares in your belly when he groans is from the too-hot sun; the first of many sins.)
later that evening, your daddy tells you that he's an honest and good man, but sometimes he prays that God strikes that vile place right down. you bite your tongue and nod, but sneak out at night and meet him there where you slip into silk lingerie and dance on stage just for him. he tells every man there that if he catches them staring at you, he'll stab them in the eyes, and you think it's the most romantic thing you'd ever heard.
it's love letters carved into the sunbleached bones of a half-submerged deer left to rot in the stagnant bog just outside of the abandoned white chapel. something watches you from the dark stained glass windows as he runs his tattooed fingers over your skin, leaving smears of gunpowder and soot.
(someone set the old man's car on fireâthe who leered at you while you stood in the choir, wearing your lily white dress and sang glory be while you tried to forget what those tattooed hands felt like when they slipped under your skirt and between your thighs.
the old man was still insideâ)
they call him a ghost. a demon. you call him Simon and daydream during bible study that you'll run away together. hop on the back of his old Harley and forget this place ever existed.
a daydream that quickly turns into a nightmare when your sordid relationship comes to light, and your daddy threatens to have him locked away for good. there's a gun in the safe upstairs. you think about the time Simon dragged you into the woods to shoot at cans and lose your faith under the sweltering sun when you pull the trigger.
"for us," you tell him, breathing in the dank church air ripe with sin and the stench of blood. "i did it for us."
it's leaning on the back of his Harley with your fingers threaded around his thick waist as the town grows smaller and smaller in the distance. staring up at the endless blue sky and grinning wide because you finally got your monster of a man wrapped around your finger.
(and all it took was a little deal made with the thing that lives in the abandoned church.)

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vessel won't give an interview but he will record his therapy session and play it on stage for the whole crowd
oh captain ⌠my captain âŚ