Daddy. (Joshua Smut)

Hey everybody  i am so so sorry that i’m so late, we moved houses and there is nO FUCKING INTERNET  so i had to live on shitty data, it’s been hell for me but i know it’s even more hellish for everyone considering you’re all so thirsty.  but yeah, so i hope you enjoy this i’m so sowwy it took so long but it’s here, i had a great time writing this daddy one, AND I WILL BE HONEST I SCREAMED RANDOMLY WHILE WRITING THIS JUST SAYING. I’ve been working on many stories at once, so that i’ll be able to finish them at the same time so i’m working really hard, PRAISE ME PLS.  also, thank you all for being so patient, i know it’s hard, also fucking whAT. there are so many of everyone now.  we can’t help but feel overwhelmed and happy by how many you guys are, what should we call you ugh. I love you all so much, and honestly in my opinion this 2017 will be a good year for this blog we will improve ourselves in order to make everyone reading happy/horny, maybe this year juuust maybe, you’ll be able to get to know us better.  well only if you all want to.


also credits to shwua for the gif
-admin kate x

warning: contains daddy kink, rough sex, spanking and SIN. if this ain’t your thing then we have a lot of other stuff to choose from.

Keep reading


“When I asked my da how ye knew which was the right woman, he told me when the time came, I’d have no doubt. And I didn’t.”

– Outlander

“Claire,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow I will die. This child… is all that will be left of
me—ever. I ask ye, Claire—I beg you—see it safe.”

– Dragonfly in Amber

“Fergus Claudel Fraser,” [Jamie] said, slowly and clearly. One eyebrow lifted as he looked at Fergus.

Fergus himself looked transfixed. His mouth hung open, eyes wide black pools in the dim light. Then he nodded slightly, and a glow rose in his face, as though he contained a candle that had just been lit.

“Fraser,” he said to the priest. His voice was husky, and he cleared his throat. “Fergus Claudel Fraser.”

– Voyager

Roger knelt in front of her, and reaching out, pushed the shawl aside and smeared a broad red cross upon the downy curve of the baby’s forehead.  

  “You are blood of my blood,” he said softly, “and bone of my bone. I claim thee as my son before all men, from this day forever.” He looked up at Jamie, challenging. After a long moment, Jamie gave the slightest nod of acknowledgment, and stepped back, letting his hand fall from Brianna’s shoulder.

– Drums of Autumn

It wasn’t the charming scene of the two redheads giggling at each other that stuck in her mind, though; it was the firelight glowing in her son’s translucent, perfect, untouched skin—and shining silver on the webbed scars across her father’s back, black-red on the bloody gash in his arm. It was a dangerous time for men.

– The Fiery Cross

Before Brianna could answer, a knock came at the door, followed immediately by Jamie Fraser. Jem instantly ceased trying to get at the jar and instead flung himself on his grandfather with shrieks of joy.  

      “How is it, then,a bhailach ?” Jamie inquired amiably, neatly turning Jem upside down and holding him by the ankles. “A word, Roger Mac?”

– A Breath of Snow and Ashes

William blinked, blinked again, and his gaze shifted momentarily to John.
“And who—who the bloody hell am I?” he demanded, the end of the question rising in a squeak.

John opened his mouth, but it was Jamie who answered.

“You are a stinking Papist,” he said, very precisely, “and your baptismal name is James.” The ghost of regret crossed his face and then was gone. “It was the only name I had a right to give ye,” he said quietly, eyes on his son. “I‘m sorry.”

– An Echo In The Bone

Wide, startled hazel eyes met hers, and for a second that was all she saw. His beautiful deep-set eyes, and the expression of stunned horror in them.

“Brian,” she said. “I—”

A Dhia!” He went whiter than the harled plaster of the house below. “Ellen!”

Astonishment deprived her of speech for an instant—long enough to hear light footsteps scrambling down the hill behind her.

“Mam!” Jem called, breathless. Brian’s glance turned up, behind her, and his mouth fell open at sight of Jem. Then a look of radiant joy suffused his face.

“Willie!” he said. “A bhalaich! Mo bhalaich!” He looked back at Brianna and stretched out a trembling hand to her. “Mo ghràidh … mo chridhe …

“Brian,” she said softly, her heart in her voice, filled with pity and love, unable to do anything but respond to the need of the soul that showed so clearly in his lovely eyes.

– Written In My Own Heart’s Blood

To the Christian Woman

The first thing you learn as a Christian woman
is that your body belongs to God.
From consecrated picket lines outside of clinics strumming
“What if Jesus had been aborted?” on Evangelic guitars
to the ten year girls in purity ball dresses that make them look like tiny ghosts,
pledging their virginity to fathers looming over them in
judgment day suits
you might think being a Christian woman means choosing between having “virginity” or
“future home of good Christian babies” tattooed across your uterus
like baptism was a trip to the gynecologist.

The first thing you learn as a Christian woman
is that your body is a temple.
That it exists only to be cleaned, that nothing makes a girl look pretty
like purity rings and confirmations.
Christian women have never called themselves pretty.
They call themselves “devoted” “faithful”
“mother” “martyr” “mystic”
because why just be pretty when there are so many ways
to make your body sacred?

The first thing you learn as a Christian woman
is that you have a lot to live up to.
From the day you set foot in a church you will be compared to women
who died
rather than disobey God.
So when they clamor for your obedience call yourself Perpetua
staring down the Romans covered in the blood of every man who
tries to deny you your faith. Call yourself Joan, your body
igniting in flames, one last reminder that a woman
stood at the head of God’s armies. Call yourself Julian,
say “I will be a living proof of God’s love.” Call yourself every woman of faith
who, when their fathers and brothers and husbands demanded the tithe of their bodies
screamed back “NO!” with voices that rattled the heavens.
Remind them the moment you were saved was not when Jesus died on the cross
but the moment a poor, unmarried, Middle Eastern Jewish teenager
with fear and joy writing shaky psalms across her heart
said “Yes I will bear salvation
into the broken body of this world.” Because even God had to ask consent
before He touched a women’s body
so why the fuck can’t they?

The first thing you learn as a Christian woman is that when you give your body
whether to prayer, to your lover, to your children
you are still pledging it to God
because it is not His to take,
it is yours to give.
When they tell you otherwise
grab the pulpit, the altar, the nails
holding the pews to the floor, grab onto everything your hands can hold and don’t
Make your body stained glass so when they look at you
they will see the history of their faith
illuminated in the body of a woman
and call it truth.
Let them know this is your home
and they cannot decide how you will exist in it.

Remind them your body
is a burning oven in a house on fire,
that it is the exploding center of your belief.

Burn brightly enough that they cannot look away.  

anonymous asked:

you mentioned revocation of baptism in your previous post, how does one go about that?

There are many ways to revoke one’s baptism. Here are just a few:

One way is to climb to a high place, starting on a Sunday, with an apple. Eat the apple and save one seed. Repeat this until Saturday, when after you have the last seed, you carefully place all of them in your mouth, and then spit them at the sky/at God declaring yourself free and whole from Him.

The simplest is probably the “the “Betwixt and Between,” where you crouch down low, with one hand on the topmost crown of your head and the other on the sole of your foot, and declare that everything between your two hands to belong to the devil. (This was Isobel Gowdie’s way.) However, this might be an issue if The Witch Father is not the spirit that chooses to initiate you. 

Another simplified way is to say The Lord’s Prayer backwards – but I’d be careful of this, as the most popular is Paul Huson’s and the way he has it written out in his book isn’t actually the sounds it would make backwards. 

You can also blaspheme the Holy Spirit (the unforgivable sin according to Matthew 12:31, and Mark 3:29)  thirteen times on thirteen consecutive days, representing either the thirteen tribes of Israel or the twelve apostles and Jesus himself, depending on who you ask. 

Another is to find a river that runs due east, and there take a new knife, preferably silver, but it doesn’t have to be, and as the sun rises, wash it in the river, declaring “ I want my soul to be as free from the saving blood of Jesus Christ as this knife is of sin.” Do this twelve days in a row. 

Another one is to wash naked in a stream or creek (and everyone who read that as crick raise your hands, because that’s how I read it) where the water is fleeing from the sun, and wash yourself, repeating: “I wash my soul as free of god as I wash my body of dirt.”

My personal favourite is slightly more complicated, but I find it meaningful. You get a bundle of black roving – and it has to come from a black sheep, it cannot be dyed black, and make sure it is the darkest you can get – absolutely no white in it, and you take it and a spindle and walk to a high place, there you spin counterclockwise fiber into yarn, afterwards, you stand if you were sitting, and keeping the spindle absolutely still, you declare yourself as clean from God as the wool is from white, and your fate as free from Jesus as the spindle is to turn. You then drop the spindle, and let it whirl about. 

stinking papists

“Why did you call me William James?” Willie asked curiously. “My other names are Clarence Henry George.” He made a face; Clarence wasn’t his idea of a good name.

Jamie hid a smile. “Ye get a new name when you’re baptized; James is your special Papist name. It’s mine, too.”

“It is?” Willie was delighted. “I’m a stinking Papist now, like you?”

“Aye, as much as I can manage, at least.” He smiled down at Willie, then, struck by another impulse, reached into the neck of his shirt.

“Here. Keep this, too, to remember me by.” He laid the beechwood rosary gently over Willie’s head. “Ye canna let anyone see that, though,” he warned. “And for God’s sake, dinna tell anyone you’re a Papist.”

– Voyager

Willie‘s mouth worked, soundless with shock. He looked wildly at me, back at Jamie, back at me—and saw the truth in my face.

“Who are you?” he said hoarsely, wheeling on Jamie.

I saw Jamie draw himself slowly upright, ignoring the noise below.

“James Fraser,” he said. His eyes were fixed on William with a burning intensity, as though to absorb every vestige of a sight he would not see again. “Ye kent me once as Alex MacKenzie. At Helwater.”

William blinked, blinked again, and his gaze shifted momentarily to John. “And who—who the bloody hell am I?” he demanded, the end of the question rising in a squeak.

John opened his mouth, but it was Jamie who answered.

“You are a stinking Papist,” he said, very precisely, “and your baptismal name is James.” The ghost of regret crossed his face and then was gone. “It was the only name I had a right to give ye,” he said quietly, eyes on his son. “I‘m sorry.”

– An Echo In The Bone

“…You are filthy and need to repent.”

Sometime after Travis Alexander and Jodi Arias broke up in June of 2007, he began dating a woman by the name of Lisa Andrews, who was 18 at the time. Lisa said one night her and Travis stayed up late watching movies at his house. They had both fallen asleep and were later awoken by Travis’ dog Napoleon and a light flashing on and off downstairs. Travis went down to investigate and found Jodi in the kitchen. Jodi admitted that not only did she let herself into his house, but that she had also been upstairs watching them sleep. The very next day Andrews received a threatening email from a “John Doe”. The letter, obviously written by Jodi, stated,

“You are a shameful whore. Your Heavenly Father must be deeply ashamed of the whoredoms you’ve committed with that insidious man. If you let him stay in your bed one more time, or even sleep under the same roof as him, you will be giving the appearance of evil. You are driving away the Holy Ghost, and you are wasting your time. You are also compromising your salvation and breaking your baptismal covenants. Of all the commandments to break, committing the act of whoredom is one of the most displeasing in the eyes of the Lord. You cannot be ashamed enough of yourself. You are filthy and you need to repent and become clean in the eyes of God. Think about your future husband and how you disrespect not only yourself, but him, as well as the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Is that what you want for yourself? Your future, your salvation, and your posterity is resting on your choices and actions. You are a daughter of God, and you have been a shameful example. Be thou clean, sin no more. Heavenly Father loves you and wants you to make the right choices. I know you are strong enough to choose the right. Your Father in Heaven is pulling for you. Don’t ignore the promptings you receive, because they are vital to your spiritual well-being.”

Lisa Andrews knew the letter came from Jodi. But she had no proof. She later stated in court that it was because of Jodi that the relationship between her and Travis couldn’t continue.

Celestial Holy Water

Originally posted by glow-lovely

By Secretcatholicwitch

Things you will need:

·      Rain water

·      Holy water

·      Sun

·      Moon

·      Blessed salt

·      Bottle (that is special to you) 

When you made this holy water, everything has to have some significant and value to you.

For example:

  • Is the rainwater collected on you birthday?
  • What is the Moon of the month or what phase is it in?
  • Is the Sun eclipsed?
  • Was the holy water from your baptism?

Things like that, it’s going to be different for everyone so make it special to you. But you will still need some of the ingredients if you want to make my celestial holy water.

Take you bottle and fill it up half way with you rainwater or holy water (whatever you have more of) then fill the rest with the other water, but make sure you don’t fill it up to the very top. Just sprinkle a bit of holy salt and put the cap on then shake it to mix well.  Put the bottle in a place where the Sun or Moon will be hitting it at all times.

Make sure to bring the water in side after you charge it, now you have your on personal holy water! 

William Ransom, in Written in my Own Heart’s Blood (major spoilers)

 “You are a stinking Papist, and your baptismal name is James.” 

He froze as though shot in the back. He bloody remembered it. The stables at Helwater, the warm smell of horses and mash, and the prickle of straw that worked its way through his stockings. Cold stone floors. He’d been crying … Why?

All he recalled was a huge wash of desolation, total helplessness. The end of the world. Mac leaving.

He took a long, slow breath and pressed his lips together. 


The word didn’t bring back a face; he couldn’t remember what Mac had looked like. He’d been big, that was all. Bigger than Grandfather or any of the footmen or the other grooms. Safety. A sense of constant happiness like a soft, worn blanket. 

“Shit,” he whispered, closing his eyes. 

And had that happiness been a lie, too? He’d been too little to know the difference between a groom’s deference to the young master and real kindness. But … 

“‘You are a stinking Papist,’” he whispered, and caught his breath on something that might have been a sob. “ ‘And your baptismal name is James.’ 

“It was the only name I had a right to give ye.” 

He realized that his knuckles were pressed against his chest, against his gorget—but it wasn’t the gorget’s reassurance that he sought. It was that of the little bumps of the plain wooden rosary that he’d worn around his neck for years, hidden under his shirt where no one would see it. The rosary Mac had given him … along with his name. 

With a suddenness that shocked him, he felt his eyes swim. 

You went away. You left me! 

“Shit!” he said, and punched his fist so hard into the saddlebag that the horse snorted and shied, and a bolt of white-hot pain shot up his arm, obliterating everything.

Initiation and Revoking of the Baptism

In the Trad Witch practice, it’s common to be initiated by a spirit.  Perhaps it’s the Witch Father, perhaps its another, but this is the beginning of your journey.  Initiation isn’t just a fun little ceremony in the Other.  It strips you of everything you love and know.  It breaks you down.  It is a spiritual death so that you can be reborn.

I know this because I went through it in 2014.

I’ve been working closely with the spirit who initiated me ever since in building my own personal craft.  I don’t talk about what we do on my blog.  I don’t discuss the initiation or the teachings with anyone but my coven, and only because I’ve been given permission to do so.  And only in certain aspects.  But it’s very real for me and it has broadened my craft in the process.

But I never had to revoke my baptism to do so.

I think it’s a common misconception that baptism automatically claims you for a religion, spirit or deity.  It depends on how it was performed, how aware you were, what you practiced afterward, if you devoted yourself later, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.  There are so many variables.

I was two when I was baptized and I apparently called the priest a “bad man.”  I went to church every Sunday until I was 12 or so.  My parents stopped going at around 7 and I elected to go with my aunt until I stopped going entirely.  I enjoyed Christianity from a studious perspective but it never clicked with me.  I didn’t leave the church out of hate or frustration against god or Christians.  I left because I didn’t feel anything.  I never did.  It just wasn’t for me.

I was two years old.  I wasn’t old enough to understand what was going on when I was baptized.  I never felt that strong connection to the Christian god.

And I didn’t have to revoke my baptism.

Again, your mileage may vary.  Trad craft is a whole hell of a lot of UPG because it’s incredibly personal.  I’m not here to say “Hey, don’t revoke your baptism because it never meant anything.”  I’m not here to make blanket statements.  I’m just saying that, for some, the revoking of the baptism may not be necessary depending on your experience with the baptism and with Christianity.

Happy all saints day!

Litany of the Saints

Lord, have mercy on us. (Lord have mercy on us)

Christ, have mercy on us. (Christ have mercy on us)

Lord, have mercy on us. (Lord, have mercy on us)

Christ, hear us. (Christ, hear us)

Christ, graciously hear us. (Christ, graciously hear us)

God the Father of heaven, (have mercy on us)

God the Son, Redeemer of the world, (have mercy on us)

God the Holy Spirit, (have mercy on us.)

Holy Trinity, one God, (have mercy on us)

Holy Mary, Holy Mother of God, (pray for us*)

Holy Virgin of virgins,

St. Michael,

St. Gabriel,

St. Raphael,

All you holy Angels and Archangels, all you holy orders of blessed Spirits.

St. John the Baptist,

St. Joseph,

All you holy Patriarchs and Prophets.

St. Peter,

St. Paul,

St. Andrew,

St. James,

St. John,

St. Thomas,

St. James,

St. Philip,

St. Bartholomew,

St. Matthew,

St. Simon,

St. Thaddeus,

St. Matthias,

St. Barnabas,

St. Luke,

St. Mark,

All you holy Apostles and Evangelists, all you holy Disciples of the Lord, all you holy Innocents.

St. Stephen,

St. Lawrence,

St. Vincent,

SS. Fabian and Sebastian,

SS. John and Paul,

SS. Cosmas and Damian,

SS. Gervase and Protase,

All you holy Martyrs.

St. Sylvester,

St. Gregory,

St. Ambrose,

St. Augustine,

St. Jerome,

St. Martin,

St. Nicholas,

All you holy Bishops and Confessors.

St. Anthony,

St. Benedict,

St. Bernard,

St. Dominic,

St. Francis,

All you holy Priests and Levites, all you holy Monks and Hermits.

St. Mary Magdalen,

St. Agatha,

St. Lucy,

St. Agnes,

St. Cecilia,

St. Catherine,

St. Anastasia,

St. Bernadette

All you holy Virgins and Widows, all you holy Saints of God, (make intercession for us.)

Be merciful, (spare us, O Lord.)

Be merciful, (graciously hear us, O Lord.)

From all evil, O Lord (deliver us*)

From all sin,

From Your wrath,

From sudden and unlooked for death,

From the snares of the devil,

From anger, and hatred, and every evil will,

From the spirit of fornication,

From lightning and tempest,

From the scourge of earthquakes,

From plague, famine and war,

From everlasting death,

Through the mystery of Your holy Incarnation,

Through Your Coming,

Through Your Birth,

Through Your Baptism and holy Fasting,

Through Your Cross and Passion,

Through Your Death and Burial,

Through Your holy Resurrection,

Through Your admirable Ascension,

Through the coming of the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete.

In the day of judgment.

Originally posted by dayaftermoon

Steve x Reader x Bucky

Part 4

“Buck?” Steve called around their dark apartment. His key’s hanging up next to Bucky’s, next to the empty hanger. The guest key holder with the spare set.

In the moonlight’s shadow sat Bucky. His olive skin seemingly glowing with its own light. The scar’s that Cap knew purified by the shadows.

Steve walking towards Bucky, not of his own volition. Drawn into his light like it was 1940 all over again. Once he was in his body heat, he descended onto bend and knee. His head tenderly placed into his love’s lap. The cold metal of Bucky’s fingers playing with the golden strand’s. His brow furrowed in thought. A deep breath to settle his words.

“I miss women, Steve. Their softness, the way they laugh even when you’re not funny. The way they smell when they’re done baking….” Bucky biting his lip his blue eye’s searching the night sky.

Steve looking up helplessly. His finger’s gripping the dark gray sweat pants. The panic unfolding in his chest until he could barely breathe.

“You’re leaving me?” Steve asked slipping onto the floor. His finger’s still clinging to the worn material.

“NO!” Bucky all but falling to the floor in his attempt to grab Steve to his chest.

“Never, never, never. Oh god, Steven Grant Roger’s. Dumbass!” Bucky yelled before his lips melded to Steven’s. Their bodies pressed together in desperation, finger’s grasping at flesh.
Until the first light of morning broke through the window.

Bodies intertwined underneath the small scrap of the sheet left on the bed.

“You know, I don’t think it count’s as bedding anymore.” Steve laughing at Bucky’s joke while he listened to his heart beat.

“Jerk,” Steve commented, his teeth scraping a light brown nipple.

“No.” The brunette laughed before settling back onto the pillow. “I messed up.”

The silence stretching on, “ how do we fix it?”

Bucky smiling down at his fair-haired lover. His mouth opening and closing, mind going over all the possibilities but still coming up blank.

“How would you have fixed it with her 90 years ago?” Steve asked trailing a patterning across his lover’s chest.

“Taken her out. Dance with her the whole night. Carrying her home because her feet were too sore to walk. Then I’d make love to her all night. Not really in a position for all that, hell any of that.” Bucky’s human hand massaging Steven’s scalp until he was delirious with peace.

“We’ll take her out Buck. Maybe then she won’t be so lonely.” Steve mumbled turning on his side. His eye’s finally giving into sleep. Bucky smiling wistfully just as he drifted into sleep.

You sat up a blanket draping from your shoulder’s. Moonlight streaming through the window pane it’s light kissing your skin through the white button down. A long lost lover.

“Bucky,” you sighed longingly, head resting on your own shoulder. Eye’s drifting closed as memories flooded your mind.


The earth splitting underneath his feet forcing him to jump to one side. The sound of shot’s alerting the snipers on the roof. A wall of earth rising in front of you. The smell of freshly turned soil creating a false sense of safety. Meanwhile, your mutant abilities had been alerting S.H.I.E.L.D. of your very existence.

Within minute’s you were pinned down by heavy fire from above, a bullet wound to the side your first taste of pain. The only thing keeping you from annihilating the place was the fact that there were innocent people inside.

“When I figure this out your toast you scum bag’s!!!!” An onslaught of more heavy fire at the sound of your voice.

Your face warm from being covered by so much earth for so long. Just as rapidly as they commenced, it stopped. Suddenly a cold metal hand was jutting through your shield.

A strangled scream from the shock of it. Then you were pulled from the earth with a yank. The earth coating your skin like baptismal water. The still hot shell casing’s causing red mark’s on your skin while you shook them from your tank top.

“Hot oh crap. Shit Shit shit shit shit.” A funny dance accompanying your attempt to be rid of the slowly cooling metal.

“This is what they’re aiming at?” A tall blond man in a navy black body armor commented.

“Mutant’s come in all shapes and sizes.” Iron man said through his suit.

Your eye’s wide as the group before you emerged.

“Avenger’s.” You whispered to yourself. The man who had pulled you out of the dirt glancing at you with his peripheral vision.

“Sir, we must descend to the lower decks. See if there are any survivors. Wanda and Pietro are making their way now.” Vision reported to Tony and Steve. The metal man walking over with you not far behind.

“Was that you?” Captain America asked, turning to you.

“Me? Was what me?” Your sixteen-year-old self trying to play dumb. Eye’s going wide to accentuate your perceived innocence.

“Are you the mutant? If you were, we would owe you  thank you for finding this place.” Steve said trying to draw you out. Instill a sense of trust. Before he could say another word, his earpiece went off.

The color leaving the cheeks of all the present Avengers. Even Vision looked off. He had no stomach to speak of.

“Stay,” Steve commanded you before they moved to the dilapidated building.

“Right like I’m a good dog….I’m not a dog.” Once you were inside the tree line, a whole new vision appeared. A state of the art facility stood in front of you. Chrome and glow standing proudly before you.

Descending behind the Avenger’s, Steve looked perturbed. He merely had them form a parameter around you. Until you reached the basement level. The stench alone made you gag. Content’s of your stomach decorating the floor. Your face resting on the cool metal wall, soothing. That is until you pulled back, the reflection you saw dropped your feet from under you.

The carnage before everyone was insidious. Bodies in various states of decay. The obviously recently living encrusted with the long deceased. The instruments of torture scattered or partially destroyed. Hi-tech mixed with the archaic. You couldn’t look away. There drawn face’s staring at you. The horror written there undeniable. The fates suffered here was engraved on their bodies. Not even time could erode the endured evil.

“Bucky, get her out of here.” His much larger body quickly lifting you. Your tiny hand’s gripping the leather straps of his uniform. Your eye’s still wide while you stared into his black shirt. The face’s of the deceased refusing to leave your mind’s eye. Upon reaching the top step a flood of Shields clean up, the crew followed down the way you came.

Nick Fury waiting next to a large black jet.

“She wasn’t supposed to be down there.” Nick’s disapproving stare falling on his form. Fury had never quite learned to trust the ex-assassin let alone like him. Large leather boot’s walking towards Bucky.

“Set her down,” an ear piercing scream forced Fury backward. Then the ground began to shake violently, the building’s foundation cracking.  Tree’s falling on top of Humvees crushing their roof’s. Wanda’s red energy shot out stabilizing the area.

Your face burying itself in Bucky’s thick neck. His scent different than what you remembered.


The smell of bacon, egg’s, and pancake’s roused you from your slumber. Steve’s leather jacket draped across your front. Bucky’s blanket still resting over your shoulder’s protectively.

“Hey sleepy head,” Bucky commented playfully. A mug of steaming coffee placed gingerly in your hand’s.  A smile creeping across your face.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said shoving his hand’s in his pocket’s.

“I forgive you. I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to do all this.” Your finger’s running through your hair: one part embarrassment two part’s wanting to fix your hair.

“I did. Yesterday….was a disaster.” Bucky disliking the uncertain feeling that had been sitting in his stomach.

“No, me leveling half a forest is a disaster. Yesterday was a learning experience.” You ended by drinking deeply from your mug.

Bucky relaxing as his stomach unknotted itself.  The two of you settling into a comfortable moment of clarity.

Priest Stefano headcanons

A/n: I hope this is somewhat of what you were looking for otherwise let me know please. I have no idea about what happens during a baptism or much about church so I apologize for whatever is written wrong

• You had never been much of a church goer but your niece was getting baptized

• You went to go be there for her

• The first thing you noticed walking in was the handsome priest that your sister was talking to about what you guessed was your niece’s baptism

• You couldn’t help but stare before your sister noticed you and invited you over to introduce you to the guy

• He was Stefano Valentini or what he was call Father Stefano (you thought of calling him Daddy instead of Father in your head)

• The baptism went on without anything going wrong and at the end you decided to start going to church

• Specifically the church that Stefano preached at

• You attended for a few weeks before you couldn’t take much more and took yourself to the confessional booth where a different priest was supposed to be

• You confessed that you had very impure thoughts about your pastor

• Stefano was actually on the other side but the booth made his voice sound different and he was surprised by your confession even though he’d been having thoughts about you as well

• As you kept confessing your sins Stefano snuck out of his section and opened the door to your side taking you by surprise

• He told you as a man of god he must punish the sinful and that it was time for your punishment

• He punished you right there in the booth with you both enjoying it very much

• After that he made sure to punish you for all your sinful thoughts about him in a more personal space

• He let you call him Daddy instead of Father~


The Meaning Behind Harry Styles’ Solo Album Artwork
4/15/2017 by Maria Sherman

In the life of a Directioner, no day holds more significance than March 25. In 2015, it was the day Zayn Malik announced his departure from One Direction. In 2016, it was the day he released his debut solo LP.

In 2017, March 25 was the day Harry Styles announced a solo single via a cryptic TV ad, in perhaps the most Harry fashion: a dark room, a fog machine and a somber, descending piano melody, with moist black clothing clutching his body, and the date April 7—when “Sign of the Times” would arrive, soon to take over pop radio – appearing on screen. It seems that even though post-hiatus One Direction operates on a strict schedule, utilizing dates with familiar weight, there’s always an element of surprise. We’ve been waiting for solo Harry, but no one could’ve anticipated his arrival.

The latest in the solo Styles saga is the reveal of his self-titled album release date, May 12, along with its 10 -ong track listing and artwork – both its cover and what can be assumed to be the back side, a smaller image where the tracks reside. Like everything in the One Direction universe, it’s sparked a myriad of theories, and the imagery certainly warrants investigation. Lucky for you, we’ve taken the time to unpack Harry Styles, the meaning behind the images.

Before getting into the album cover, we should look back to the single artwork for “Sign of the Times.” Styles is little more than a clothed silhouette, head tilted and staring off into some red, apocalyptic horizon, standing waist-deep in water. On his sides, in the close distance, are two hands, placed on either side of his body, palms up. They appear to be Harry’s – there’s the faint blur of a tattoo and carefully placed rings, Styles’ signature style. It’s unclear if it’s a body fighting drowning, or perhaps trapped underneath the surface of the water, but it appears to be a struggle, Harry watching his past self with potentially calm acceptance. That reading would make sense: perhaps the floating body is Harry as One Direction heartthrob and the silhouette is Harry now, emerging above the water anew.

Water returns in both the album cover and back image. On the front, Styles appears to be half submerged in a pastel pink bath. His back remains facing us, but it’s much closer now, and unclothed – it’s the most un-tattooed part of Styles, giving off a feeling of additional nudity, as there’s no black ink artwork to give off a particular individualism. It’s worth noting that the popular headline to describe the image was “topless,” usually a gendered term to connote an exposed cis woman’s chest. There’s something distinctly feminine about the reading of the cover.

Water – being wet – is also something almost uniquely femme. Female pop stars are usually the ones dosed in water, when men do so, it’s usually those with some gender-bending and/or queer qualities (think George Michael) or for the sole purpose of, more often than not, hetero-female enjoyment (fellow boy band heroes the Backstreet Boys or Justin Bieber all the time.) Harry Styles is a heartthrob, and placing him in water is a move certainly open to sexualization, but given the bath-like qualities of the image and his positioning away from the viewer, it feels more voyeuristic – and in some ways, melancholic.

The water itself isn’t a clean, crystalline clear color. It’s opaque with pink, a blush shade, a bit more joyful than a gold rose. It’s the same color that’s been the source of thinkpieces for the last few weeks, a color deemed ‘millennial pink,’ a hue that has become popular with brands targeting that particular age demographic. It could be that Harry genuinely enjoys the color – and we’d put our money on it, he’s always had femme-like qualities – or is simply a shrewd businessman. Or both.

But it’s not just a pink background. It’s pink water. Historically, pink water is a type of wastewater that exists only in toxic environments: its color is discharged in situations of demilitarization, when TNT dissolves in water. It’s unusable, and turns brown when exposed to too much sunlight. It’s unclear if Harry has any topical aspirations, but bathing in what could be considered war waste gives off a distinct message. “Sign of the Times” feels like a song about the end of the world, and this unclean water imagery doesn’t feel too far off from that idea. Let’s not forget that Styles is playing a role in the upcoming World War ll film, Dunkirk, too.

That brings us back to the positioning of his body: angled, face obscured. His hands are folded as if in a reflective state (usually of regret, a sober shrinking of the body) or in prayer – both are deeply intimate situations to catch someone in. If he is in the latter prayer position, water takes on another meaning – there’s something reminiscent of a baptism. Covering your face is either a fear of exposure, or someone getting ready for rebirth.

Perhaps not the main focal point of the cover, but where the eye is drawn, is to the only thing Harry is wearing: a double necklace, its pendant flipped to reveal a lotus flower. Harry is no stranger to pendants – from his paper airplane necklace to match early partner Taylor Swift to his key, cross and pearl jewelry – but here, the flower seems to have new importance; it must, or it wouldn’t exist so prominently (even the long hairs on Harry’s neck drip downward, an arrow to the image.)

In One Direction fan world, the popular opinion is that the lotus flower refers to the lotus in Buddhism, a symbol of purity, a flower that exists in murky, obscured waters and connotes spiritual awakening. The back cover of the album confirms it – Harry is seen dipped deeper in the pink water, as it nears his collarbone. Around him are lotus flowers floating in the pink water. We see his face for the first time, but only a percentage of it, his damp hair obscuring much of it. He’s only showing us what he wants us to see.

So what does it all add up to? There are certain obvious themes Harry wants us to pick up on, like the vulnerability of exposed skin, water, murk, rebirth. The images themselves are much more artful than any of One Direction’s albums, existing in a space of newfound maturation – or perhaps it was always there, and Harry just now has the freedom to explore it. One thing is for certain: we’ll need to listen to learn, and our ears our perked.

A Drinker’s Week

I. Friday is the Marytr
II. Saturday is the Guardian Angel
III. Sunday is the Patron Saint of Your Folly
IV. Monday is Baptism by fire
V. Tuesday is the rained out remains of a house fire
VI. Wednesday chokes on her smoking lungs
VII. Thursday heals most wounds but no scars

Prayers of St. Dymphna, Patroness of the Mentally Ill: A Prayer to God in Her Honor

Lord Jesus Christ, You have willed that St. Dymphna should be invoked by thousands of clients as the patroness of nervous and mental disease, and have brought it about that her interest in these patients should be an inspiration to and an ideal of charity throughout the world. Grant that, through the prayers of this youthful martyr of purity, those who suffer from nervous and mental illness everywhere on earth may be helped and consoled. I recommend to You in particular (here mention the names of those you wish to pray for).

Be pleased to hear the prayers of St. Dymphna and of Your Blessed Mother. Give those whom I recommend the patience to bear with their affliction and resignation to your divine will. Give them the consolation they need and especially the cure they so much desire, if it be Your will. Through Christ, Our Lord. Amen.

Novena Prayers To St. Dymphna

Prayer to St. Dymphna - Charity

You are celebrated St. Dymphna, for your goodness to others. Both in your lifetime, and even more in the ages since, you have again and again demonstrated your concern for those who are mentally disturbed or emotionally troubled. Kindly secure for me, then, some measure of your own serene love, and ask our Lord to give us a share in His life and boundless charity. Amen

Prayer to St. Dymphna - Chastity

Most pure virgin, St. Dymphna, we live at a time when many are intent on satisfying every carnal appetite. Your single-minded dedication to Christ alone is providential and inspiring. Please help us by your power with God to see life in proportion as you did. With your aid we propose to perform all our actions for a pure motive, and promptly to resist all our evil inclinations. Amen.

Prayer to St. Dymphna - Faith

Dear St. Dymphna, you gave us an example in your own life of firm faith. Neither flattery, earthly rewards nor the threat of death caused you to waver in your fidelity to God. Please help us then, amid the uncertainties of life, to imitate your wholehearted dedication to Christ. Be good enough to come to our aid in our need, and pray for us to God. Amen.

Prayer to St. Dymphna - Fortitude

Courageous St. Dymphna, your strength was from God. His grace enabled you to resist evil, and to prefer exile to a life of sinful luxury. Christ’s own power preserved you faithful to Him in life and in death. In your kindness help us to imitate your example in little things, and gain for us fortitude to bear with the misfortunes we meet, and strength to overcome our weakness. Amen.

Prayer to St. Dymphna - Hope

Good St. Dymphna, you placed all your hope in Christ’s promises, and sacrificed even your life in that hope. The Lord, God, rewarded your constancy by making your name known and loved over many centuries by the thousands whom you have aided in time of difficulty. Please assist us now in our present necessity, and intercede before God for our intentions. Obtain for us a firm hope like your own in God’s unfailing protection. Amen.

Prayer to St. Dymphna - Justice

Admirable St. Dymphna, how just you were to all whom you encountered, and how careful you were to give every person his due, and more than he might desire or expect. By your power with God please come to assist us to be just to all we meet, and even to be generous in giving everyone more than strict justice requires. Amen.

Prayer to St. Dymphna - Perseverance

Most faithful St. Dymphna, you remained true to your baptismal promises to the very end. You are, therefore, honored, known, and loved after 1,400 years by people you have aided all over the world. We do not know how long or short a time is left to us of this life here, but help us in any case to be faithful to God to the end. Please gain for us the grace to live one day at a time as if each were to be our last. Amen.

Prayer to St. Dymphna - Prudence

You were marked in life, St. Dymphna, by a high degree of prudence. You sought and followed the advice of your confessor and spiritual guide. You fled from temptation even when it meant exile and poverty. In your last extremity you chose to die rather than offend God. Please help us now by your merits not only to know what is right, but procure for us also the strength to do it. Amen.

Prayer to St. Dymphna - Temperance

Generous St. Dymphna, like all Christ’s martyrs you gained this crowning grace because you prepared for it by a life of self denial. By faithfulness in smaller things you were ready for your final trial. Please teach us by your example and help to use the good things of life so that we may not miss our chance for life eternal. Help us, too, to watch and pray for ourselves and others. Amen.

Bells Part One

Originally posted by ohbaibeeitsyou

Genre: Fluff(?), Romance(?)

Warnings: Panic attack, religious themes

Author’s Note: Ok but does this gif not make you lackdjdfvnjfkvnjfvndkvnkdf?!? Anyway, I literally love you guys, thank you so much for supporting me. I got a request for newly wedded virgin smut with Johnny. SORRY NO SMUT IN THIS PART it will probs be in part two or three and TBH IDK IF IT’S GONNA BE VIRGIN SMUT BUT I MEAN IT’LL BE WEDDING SMUT IM SORRY TO ANON WHO REQUESTED VIRGIN SEX, BUT MAYBE IT WILL BE BUT WHO KNOWS AT THIS POINT BUT ITLL BE SMUTTY WHEN IT COMES OUT SO STAY ALONG FOR THE RIDE AND WE’LL SEE WHAT COMES OUTTA THIS LOL

Sweaty palms, quickened heartbeat, shortness of breath; having seen a mental health specialist, you may have been diagnosed with having a panic attack. You cannot say that diagnosis is too far off from reality— walking down an aisle with a hundred or so people staring at you on what could be considered one of the most important days of your life thus far is more than enough cause for an unwanted and unplanned spike in severe anxiety. Your symptoms are minute to the oblivious and doe-eyed bystander, and mostly internalized, but the havoc that ricochets off the walls of your chest tightens your lungs and increases the sweat secreting from your makeup filled pores. And it seems that with each step you take further down the winding, sharply curved, vomit inducing aisle, the longer it stretches out, and yet the faster your eminent doom approaches.

Breathe, please, you beg your shaking self. Breathe, please! Eyelids blanketing your straining eyeballs, you attempt to gather your bearings, tears teetering between residing home within your tear ducts and running away down the path of your blush stained cheeks. A gentle squeeze to your arm from the man accompanying you to your right smooths over the spiky surface of your anxiety, and relaxes you enough to grab hold of your jostling breath. The even gentler smile that blesses your glossy orbs subdues the vertigo that distorts your vision.

“We’re almost there,” he assures in a soft comforting voice. We’re almost there, you reaffirm.  Less than three seconds away and your heel-clad feet will meet the altar.

“And who gives this woman to be with this man?”

Another comforting squeeze to your right arm and a shaky breath leaves the mouths of multiple.

“I do,” he confidently and warmly proclaims.

The man to your right soon leaves your side and you are left to mirror the man who invokes so much apprehension, and heartache, and happiness and love from within you: the Johnny Seo, the man of your dreams, your college sweetheart, and soon to be lawfully wedded husband. His hair lightly blossoms over his squinted right eye, the heat sowing through the windows of the chapel blanketing his body in celestial glory. He bites his lip in an uncontrollable smile seeing you in your equally hypnotic glow and against your own volition, the corners of your gloss coated lips curve into a bashful smile.

For as much stress that has led up to this, nothing could overshadow the absolute perfection that holds in this very second—staring into his dark brown eyes that wash over your body like a baptism, cleansing and purifying your soul, rebirthing your joy, the sensation of cold water burning every nerve ending in your body, pinpricks of feeling splashing over your perfumed flesh. Complete Oblivion. Total Catharsis. Overwhelming Feeling. Emotion. Love. Marriage.

Your peripherals do not function, the scope of your eyesight targeted on the seemingly unearthly man who mirrors your dumbstruck appearance, the soft murmurings of the minister but a faint whisper in the back of your mind.  

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”