we are not men we are gods

How Augustine Screwed up Sex

by Samsaran

Augustine was a 4th Century Christian Philosopher. He was a strange guy and that’s for sure. In his youth, he was the terror of his pious Christian mother because he refused baptism and well, was having sex with just about anybody and everybody.

He finally got his jollies out and became first a monk and then Bishop of the African city of Hippo. By his time it was becoming pretty clear that Jesus was not coming back anytime soon and so the Church needed something else to explain Jesus’ death and resurrection.

Other church thinkers had tinkered with the idea that men and women were somehow born evil but that ran against the idea the God knew everything and was all powerful. Why create people just to toss them into a pit of eternal torture? This sounded just as sadistic in 417 and it does in 2017. He said God knows what choices we will make but does not make them for us, we have free will. 

So, how could an innocent baby be damned just because it had not been baptized? What sin can a baby commit? Well, here is how Augustine explains it. Adam and Eve were guilty of the sin of “concupiscence”, extreme physical lust and that sin was so bad that it sticks to everybody else from birth.

Nice. We’re all born sinners so we need the priests no matter how good we are and sex is bad. It has been this way in the Catholic Church from that day forward. So Augustine had HIS fun but denied it to everybody else.

Note: If you are in Catholic School I suggest that you bring this up to Sister Mary Ratchet in your History of Religion studies. Just make sure to hide her knuckle-rapping ruler first.

I don’t know about other denominations but I grew up Catholic, half of my life in Mexico (super conservative) and half in Canada (more liberal) and I went to a Catholic school from grade 4-12 and this is what I can tell you from my experience and what I’ve been taught. Obviously this can vary among others experience and truthfully i never read the full bible but this is what my experience and understanding is

• They don’t worship Mary or The Saints like God. They honour and respect them lately and we use them more as channels to God

•Saints are also “representatives” of different areas of life based of what they achieved during lifetime ie St Nicholas is the patron saint of children and sailors because those are the people he helped the most. When we pray to marry and the saints, our hope is that they act on behalf of God. We honour and respect them as holy men and women because of the great work they did in the name of God during their time on earth, however we don’t believe they are divine like God.

•Mary has many different “versions” of herself as the belief is that she has appeared in many forms in different places ie Our Lady of Guadalupe vs Our Lady of Fatima. She’s the similar to the saints in that she’s a channel to God and holy

•We have art in order to honour God and try to showcase his awesomeness and glory in a physical form - this is something that I personally disagree with because while the churches are beautiful, that money should go to charity, in my opinion

•We have the Eucharist to “re-enact” and celebrate the last supper and the belief is that the wine and the bread really does turn into the bread and blood of Jesus Christ. That’s why kids drink the wine during the first comunión. Once the priest has blessed them, they’re holy and you are literally filling yourself with Christ. If you drop the the hostia (what represents the bread) is dropped by accident, either the priest eats or it’s buried but you can’t throw it out as it’s holy and a part of Christ

•We confess because we believe that all sins can be forgiven by a priest in the name of God. Once you confess, you basically start fresh and from 0. After you confess, the priest explains why what you did was wrong according to Catholicism, how you can correct yourself , blesses you, prays for you, and gives you some sort of penance, usually a set of prayers to recite multiple times and a good deed

•The Pope is considered Gods earthly and that he has a direct connection to God, that’s why he’s the one who sets our theology. Obviously this is a flawed system but I won’t get into my beliefs in that right now

•A lot of the other beliefs and ideology and the emphasis of such beliefs honestly vary from Church to Church. For example, my cousins Church does place a lot of value of conservative Christian beliefs such as pro life, anti lgbtq+, abstinence, no Harry Potter, no easter break, ash wednesday is mandatory etc. However my church has never even mentioned those things (unless the former Bishop visited). They mainly focused on teachings about love, kindness, faith, charity and compassion


That’s what I could think of right now. If you have any more questions I’d be happy to answer them to the best of my abilities. To any other Catholic or former Catholic I just want to say once again that this is my experience and what I’ve learned and this may be different from someone else’s experience :)


@discussingtheduggarfam Thanks for the submission! I love my faithful catholic friends and share a great deal of theology with them. 

anonymous asked:

Can we hear your rankings of the Chrises?

as of now, the standing is:

  1. evans: honest to god, his performance in gifted probably cemented him up here for the long haul. dark-haired, beardy, flannel-wearing evans or blonde, clean-shaven, captain america evans can get it whenever.
  2. pine: steve trevor singlehandedly saved men in superhero movies, can we believe? and god, he’s really, really great and cute in interviews. i spent too many years underestimating him. must make up for lost time.
  3. hemsworth: Hot Dad vibes on crack, tbh. he and his wife are adorable and he’s got great comedic timing as thor. nice ass, as seen in that one movie where he played a race car driver. (was it called rush?
  4. pratt: i mean, he and hemsworth switch places based off of who i’ve seen latest, and i saw the thor: ragnarok before wonder woman. so. but he is the goofball-golden retriever of my heart. 

it sucks how much straight women don’t want to consider lesbians and bi women as fellow women. while straight girls laugh at straight men who say “no homo” and refuse to be affectionate with each other, they adopt similar attitudes; if a girl they know is discovered to be gay or bi, she often loses those opportunities to be affectionate or “one of the girls”. little things, like changing in the locker room (“we’re all girls, we’ve seen it all”) become like warzones where any accidental glance from a gay or bi girl is interpreted as a predatory advance. when gay and bi girls come out, straight women do not trust us. they assume we are just like men and will use similar tactics to try and hit on or ensnare girls in relationships. the mutual respect we once had dissolves as our every movement is scrutinized because, oh my god, what if that lesbian is actually interested in me? crushes in particular are difficult. if you don’t admit to your friend that you might be interested in her, she thinks you’ve betrayed her and secretly been objectifying her against her will. if you do admit it, you’re considered a nasty pervert who doesn’t know how to just be friends with someone. most of the time, it’s hard to decipher for oneself if there is attraction there; for a lot of gay and bi women, we realize that we are attracted to women because those feelings we had for our friends, important women in our life, etc. are actually more than friendship. now we’re demanded to parse out our attractions like its black and white: either we just want to be friends, and we can be trusted, although she may be disappointed a gay girl isn’t interested in her, or we are hopelessly in love and lust, and must be avoided. it’s not always clear cut! it’s not always possible to tell whether feelings for friends are just friendship or more, and most of us have nothing to guide us in our analysis of those feelings!

stop placing these expectations on your gay and bi friends. please, treat us like people, like your other female friends, not predators looking to exploit friendships with innocent straight girls for our gain. we need friends, just like anyone else, and it can be genuinely traumatizing dealing with straight girls who dehumanize us like this. we’re not your fucking enemies, so stop treating us like it.

something interesting to me is how broadway, and american theater in general, has for many, many years been painted as this space that’s incredibly welcoming to lgbtq+ people. and that’s definitely true, to a certain extent. the contributions of non-cishet people to theater and even just the art of performance itself in modern america are immeasurable. it’s so pervasive that just about any guy who performs in theater faces those jokes about how he must be gay. everyone just sort of associates theater with this sort of inherent queerness, or at least gay-friendly idealism. (whether they associate it with that in a positive or negative way depends on the individual.)

yet the stories that we see played out on stage are overwhelmingly cisgender and heterosexual.

think about it: even though a relatively very high proportion of actors in theater are lgbtq+, the number of actual, canon lgbtq+ characters is shockingly low.

there’s a few standouts, of course. la cage aux folles. rocky horror. rent. falsettos. still, with the hundreds of musicals that have been on broadway stages, especially given the involvement of all these lgbtq+ people, wouldn’t you expect more?

did you know when the first broadway musical with a lesbian protagonist debuted?

2015. it was fun home. that was the first.

it’s gotten a bit better in the past few years, but…not by much. of the past 10 winners of best musical, only 2 (fun home and billy elliot) have a main character who isn’t straight. (i do have to give a nod to kinky boots, which does heavily feature lgbtq+ stuff, but is ultimately centered around a straight cis dude.)

these musicals might have gay characters, but they’re almost always 1. side characters, 2. the butt of jokes, or 3. both.

don’t we deserve better than this? the lgbtq+ community has helped musical theater thrive for decades. don’t we deserve to see our stories represented up on stage just like everybody else? our love, our lives? we can rehash two straight people falling in love in a billion different ways, but we barely get to see ourselves in any capacity onstage at all. for the love of god, we have more talking cats on broadway than trans people.

on here, i keep seeing these few ships–glinda and elphaba, connor and evan, elder price and elder mckinley–overwhelmingly shipped by lgbtq+ kids desperate for absolutely any sort of representation. (there’s always straight girls who love to ship two cis men together just because, but that’s an entirely different issue.) young people like us–we’re almost always reduced to subtext and sheer hope. why? don’t we deserve more than this?

our community has given so much. let the stage love us back.

“Lemonade” poetry bits

Intuition

I tried to make a home outta you.
But doors lead to trapdoors. A stairway leads to nothing.
Unknown women wander the hallways at night.
Where do you go when you go quiet?
You remind me of my father, a magician. Able to exist in two places at once.
In the tradition of men in my blood you come home at 3AM and lie to me.
What are you hiding? The past, and the future merge to meet us here.
What luck. What a fucking curse.


Denial

I tried to change.
Closed my mouth more.
Tried to be soft, prettier.
Less…awake.

Fasted for 60 days.
Wore white.
Abstained from mirrors.
Abstained from sex.
Slowly did not speak another word.

In that time my hair grew past my ankles.
I slept on a mat on the floor.
I swallowed a sword.
I levitated… into the basement, I confessed my sins and was baptized in a river.
Got on my knees and said, “Amen.” And said I mean. I whipped my own back and asked for dominion at your feet.
I threw myself into a volcano.
I drank the blood and drank the wine.
I sat alone and begged and bent at the waist for God.
I crossed myself and thought… I saw the devil.
I grew thickened skin on my feet.
I bathed…in bleach and plugged my menses with pages from the Holy Book.
But still inside me coiled deep was the need to know.
Are you cheating? Are you cheating on me?


Anger

If this what you truly want.
I can wear her skin…over mine.
Her hair, over mine.
Her hands as gloves.
Her teeth as confetti.
Her scalp, a cap.
Her sternum, my bedazzled cane.
We can pose for a photograph.
All three of us, immortalized.
You and your perfect girl.

I don’t know when love became elusive.
What I know is no one I know has it.
My father’s arms around my mother’s neck.
Fruit too ripe to eat.

I think of lovers as trees…
…growing to and from one another.
Searching for the same light.
Why can’t you see me? Why can’t you see me? (Why can’t you) Why can’t you see me? Everyone else can.


Apathy

So what are you gonna say at my funeral now that you’ve killed me?

Here lies the body of the love of my life, whose heart I broke without a gun to my head. Here lies the mother of my children both living and dead. Rest in peace, my true love, who I took for granted, most bomb pussy, who because of me, sleep evaded. Her shroud is loneliness.

Her God was listening.
Her heaven would be a love without betrayal.
Ashes to ashes…dust to side chicks.


Emptiness

She sleeps all day…dreams of you in both worlds.

Tills the blood in and out of uterus. Wakes up smelling of zinc.
Grief, sedated by orgasm.
Orgasm heightened by grief.
God was in the room when the man said to the woman, “I love you so much. Wrap your legs around me and pull me in, pull me in, pull me in.”
Sometimes when he’d have her nipple in his mouth, she’d whisper, “Oh my God.” That, too, is a form of worship.
Her hips grind pestle and mortar, cinnamon and cloves, whenever he pulls out.

Loss.
Dear moon, we blame you for floods…for the flush of blood…for men who are also wolves. We blame you for the night, for the dark, for the ghosts.

Every fear…
Every nightmare…anyone has ever had.


Accountability

You find the black tube inside her beauty case.
Where she keeps your father’s old prison letters.
You desperately want to look like her.
You look nothing like your mother.
You look everything like your mother.
Film star, beauty.
How to wear your mother’s lipstick.
You go to the bathroom to apply the lipstick.
Somewhere no one can find you.
You must wear it like she wears disappointment on her face.
Your mother is a woman.
And women like her can not be contained.

Mother dearest, let me inherit the Earth.
Teach me how to make him beg.
Let me make up for the years he made you wait.
Did he bend your reflection?
Did he make you forget your own name?
Did he convince you he was a God?
Did you get on your knees daily?
Do his eyes close like doors?
Are you a slave to the back of his head?
Am I talking about your husband or your father?


Reformation

He bathes me…
…until I forget their names…and faces.
I ask him to look me in the eye when I come…home.
Why do you deny yourself heaven?
Why do you consider yourself undeserving?
Why are you afraid of love? You think it’s not possible for someone like you.
But you are the love of my life…love of my life…the love of my life…the love of my life.


Forgiveness

Baptize me…
…now that reconciliation is possible.
If we’re gonna heal, let it be glorious.
One thousand girls raise their arms.

Do you remember being born?

Are you thankful?
Are the hips that cracked…
…the deep velvet of your mother…
…and her mother…
…and her mother?
There is a curse that will be broken.


Resurrection

You are terrifying…
…and strange…
…and beautiful.


Hope

The nail technician pushes my cuticles back…
…turns my hand over, stretches the skin on my palm and says:
“I see your daughters, and their daughters.”
That night in a dream the first girl emerges from a slit in my stomach.
The scar heals into a smile.
The man I love pulls the stitches out with his fingernails.
We leave black sutures curling on the side of the bath.
I wake as the second girl crawls headfirst up my throat.
A flower blossoming out of the hole in my face.


Redemption

Take one pint of water, add a half pound of sugar, the juice of eight lemons…
…the zest of half lemon.
Pour the water from one jug, then into the other, several times.
Strain through a clean napkin.

Grandmother, the alchemist.
You spun gold out of this hard life.
Conjured beauty from the things left behind.
Found healing where it did not live.
Discovered the antidote in your own kitchen.
Broke the curse with your own two hands.
You passed these instructions down to your daughter.
Who then passed it down to her daughter.

My grandma said, nothing real can be threatened.
True love brought salvation back into me.
With every tear came redemption.
And my torturer became my remedy.

So we’re gonna heal, we’re gonna start again.
You’ve brought the orchestra.
Synchronized swimmers, you are the magician.
Pull me back together again the way you cut me in half.
Make the woman in doubt disappear.
Pull the sorrow from between my legs like silk, knot after knot after knot.
The audience applauds…
…but we can’t hear them.


Warsan Shire

and then there was me, a queer girl in the catholic church with traditional parents. i grew up with a fingernail caught in my throat. i changed the words to songs so i’d be singing about boys. i was scared of “gay”. my mother told me it meant happy but i knew it meant being pushed to the floor of the bus. i remember my bible school teacher telling us that the greatest sin a woman can have is not giving a man her love. i remember realizing i liked girls and putting it in a box i labelled dirty and couldn’t bring myself to touch. when i came out i had to ask if my parents still loved me, like the idea of their acceptance ended where my sexuality began. they pull back when i accidentally slip and admit i like a girl. they promise the church doesn’t hate us, just doesn’t let us get married under god’s roof with god present. oh it’s a fine marriage, we accept it, but technically in the eyes of the church i’m living in sin. it would be better if i liked men. when i was 7 i was sure i was going to unhappily marry a man just to make my parents happy. at 23 i might marry a man just to make my parents happy.

god was this hard thing we couldn’t figure out how to handle. god came beyond the doors of the church. my god answered me at night but reminded me to cower. my god killed my brothers and sisters in the hands of others. how am i to reconcile that god that felt like love and belonging with the god called down in conversion camps. how am i to say i love the light of god when i have seen it burn the flesh of others.

i watch it still. for a while i was spitting and hissing and wouldn’t let god near me. i think it was better then, when i had shut my doors to the idea of it. once i tried to find god again i found myself desperately lost in the forest.

i was always so alone in church. always different. it wasn’t until i mentioned it once in an online chat that i found someone else who had gone through the same thing. how terrible, to form a community of people who have all been cast out. how powerful.

we, together, discussing at two a.m if god is real and if she is where she begins and ends. my brothers and sisters and family - we are all so strong for having survived this. for having been spat out by what should have accepted us. that first community. that first slap. the book that taught us not all books are homes. the book that i spent hours combing over looking for where my flaws were entombed. that curse that keeps following us, doggedly, just when we thought we shook it off - watching others take god as an excuse to punish us, to put into law our discrimination, to enact and enforce violence against us. “god loves you,” we were told. is this what god looks like? our first relationship with abuse?

i am stuck with an eternity of questions. can we find our own god? can we find her in each other? do we leave god entirely, and just find love in the stories of us lost lambs? is god worth it? was the word of god really to ruin us? is god even to blame for any of this, or is this how humans are when they find something to hit? 

all i know is this: i am not alone. and if you’re like me, come to me. talk. i’ll listen. god only knows nobody else did.

The sex scene in tonight’s episode of ‘American Gods’ between two Middle Eastern men actually made me more emotional than horny.

The fact that we’re finally seeing so many gay men of color on screen is extremely uplifting. ‘Sense 8’, and ‘Moonlight’. Yeah I know there are other shows/movies out there as well. These works of art are going to mean a lot for gay men of color who have yet to feel validated in the LGBT community.

We’re here.

3

Hidden Figures Cast wins the Screen Actors Guild Award for Outstanding Performance by a Cast in a Motion Picture

Taraji P. Henson: Talk to me, God. Listen. This film is about unity. We stand here as proud actors thanking every member of this incredible guild for voting for us, for recognizing our hard work. But the shoulders of the women we stand on are three American heroes: Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, Mary Jackson. Without them, we would not know how to reach the stars. These women did not complain about the problems, their circumstances, you know, the issues. We know what was going on in that era. They didn’t complain. They focused on solutions. Therefore, these brave women helped put men into space. We cannot forget the brave men that also worked with us. God rest his soul in peace, John Glenn. This story is of unity. This story is about what happens when we put our differences aside and we come together as a human race. We win. Love wins every time. Thank you so much for appreciating the work we’ve done. Thank you so much for appreciating these women — they are hidden figures no more. Thank you.

author: lostcap  /  poems used: x . x . x . x . x . x . x . x . x . x . x . x . x . x . x . x 
* do not remove this credit , thank you.

❛ what a modern fucking tragedy you turned out to be. ❜
❛ what do you think the stars wish for then? ❜
❛ maybe i could have loved you in any life but ours. ❜
❛ i used to ache for a hurricane, an earthquake. ❜
❛ i found a catalyst for disaster in you. ❜
❛ is this what happens when the poem ends? ❜
❛ i found religion in betrayal. ❜
❛ things like us only exist in dreams. ❜
❛ you can’t give your storms to someone else. ❜
❛ nothing lasts forever, not even the rain. ❜
❛ it’s okay to fear. ❜
❛ don’t claw out your own throat while waiting for someone else to scream. ❜
❛ you are memories and moments. ❜
❛ in some other universe you’re asleep. ❜
❛ everyone leaves. let them. ❜
❛ you are not a ghost.  ❜
❛ you can’t haunt those that forget you. ❜
❛ everything ends and it’s okay. ❜
❛ my heart kept beating, out of sync with yours. ❜
❛ maybe i get to have a reason for the ache you left in my chest. ❜
❛ you exist still. ❜
❛ we can’t remember how to be alive. ❜
❛ the heavens burn for you and i. ❜
❛ every star is another story, every night a different sky. ❜
❛ we end to begin again. ❜
❛ beyond every somewhere, we exist. ❜
❛ the gods lie as often as men. ❜
❛ i sit not upon a throne of bone. ❜
❛ my kingdom wasn’t chosen. ❜
❛ the dead of mine do not speak. ❜
❛ history will write that you were the bravest of them all. ❜
❛ all stars must burn. ❜
❛ the greatest things must end. ❜
❛ hell is just another place i guess i’ll go to keep you warm. ❜
❛ if the monster always dies at the end of the book, why am i still alive? ❜
❛ gods don’t care about what might have been. ❜
❛ men shall fall and gods be forgotten. ❜
❛ you will be remembered eternally. ❜

8

When a king brands us pirates, he doesn’t mean to make us adversaries. He doesn’t mean to make us c r i m i n a l s. He means to make us monsters.
For that’s the only way his God-fearing, taxpaying subjects can make sense of men who keep what is theirs and fear no one. When I say there’s a war coming, I don’t mean with the Scarborough. I don’t mean with King George or England.
Civilization is coming, and it means to exterminate us.

WHO ELSE WAS LITERALLY GASPING FOR McFUCKING AIR DURING ELIZABETH AND WILL’S REUNION BECAUSE I WAS ABOUT TO PASS OUT

Revenge in the Arena

Context: So our party was part of an arena tournament and our next enemies were a group of masked rogues. The day before our fight, each of us happened to meet the men/women of our dreams. All but one of us woke up, oddly enough, alone— despite the fact that we ended the night with our chosen companions. Lo and behold, during our fight, we noticed that our moves were sluggish and that the team of rogues looked strikingly familiar. I got super salty when I went base to base contact with the person whom I bedded.

Me: I wanna whisper something to the guy.

[silence ensues while I whispered something in the GM’s ear ]

DM: *bursts out laughing* OH MY GOD YOU NEED TO SAY THAT OUT LOUD!

Everyone: What? What did she say?

Me: *clears throat*

Me: [LOUDLY] I don’t know what’s more disappointing. Your swordplay right now, or last night!

DM: *while everyone is dying of laughter* You noticed something break in his eyes as you see the other rogues stare at their companion each with varying looks of amusement and pity.

He ended up dropping his sword then leaving the field right after I said that.

8

There once was a girl & boy who lived in Charolette Lane
The woman was gracious as ever
As she embraces her beauty
Her greatness in her skin
Her knots in the locs of her hair
She rides alongside her man
Seeing him
&
Seeing his reflection
She begins to stare at his soul
All of the hurt and all the pain
The universe moves faster
The air pushes faster
Brushes her away
God willing she wants to glide with him
But can’t leave her daunting past
As time knocks on her door ever single damn time like an overfull sock drawer
She wants to move
She wants to run with him
But she can’t because he must love the two of her
He must decide if he wants two of her not half
Slice a peer in half and give her one
But finish both and you have ate the seed of life
We join together as one but we live separate in the temple
He loves her just the way she is but finds faults in everything she does even though he loves her effortlessly
Your hair Is like a BRAIDED antenna touching the universe.
Your hair is made to fly
The best way to speak to God
We were created
We are one
We are love
We are one but separate in the temple a poem by Africancreature

Art & Creative Directors: @StevenOnoja
Photographer: @alherath
Models:
@Stevenonoja
@mominatu
Wardrobe Styling: @StevenOnoja
Hair: @africancreature
MUA: @lilymoralesmakeup

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A Scarecrow For God

by reddit user survivalprocedure

“Can I take your picture?” Larissa sat a few feet away from me on the grey velvet sofa as I aimed my iPhone towards her. I stared at the screen intently for a moment before shifting my focus, looking over the brim of the phone at her defeated, hopeless state portrayed by bloodshot eyes.

Keep reading

Ok, but why is no one talking about the resigned look of horror on Steve’s face when Charlie exclaims, “Oh my God, what are we going to do?” when the boys see Diana engaging with Ares in battle? IDK about you, but to me it’s one of the single most painful moments of the film, when Steve responds, “There’s not much we can do, if that’s who I think it is.”

Like, Steve Trevor’s madly in love with this superhuman goddess and does his best to support her and stand by her side—he fights alongside her during the beach battle, he reprimands a group of men when they catcall her on the street when they arrive in London, he shields her with the full length of his body when they’re in the trenches and bombs are going off, he charges straight into conflict with her at Veld, etc. I COULD GO ON. Like, Diana of Themyscira doesn’t need Steve Trevor’s protection or help but dammit if he’s not gonna try.

And then he sees her going against this titan who could crush him like an ant in .000001 seconds and it sort of hits him that he can’t do shit. All he can do is stand there and watch. (Or do the only thing he’s capable of; getting a hold of that damn plane.)

Slippery When Wet

Reid x Reader

“You had sex in the Museum of Modern Art ? Oh my gawd..” Penelope’s hands were clasped over her mouth and she was almost shaking with laughter.

You all were. What had started off as a nice meal cooked by JJ, had quickly escalated into a full on girls night in. You were all strewn about her living room, wine bottles in various places. You were lying on her couch, your feet placed in Emily’s lap and you were all discussing the various strange places you’d had sex.

You were tipsy, pleasantly on your way to being hammered and you were having a brilliant night in with your female colleagues. Garcia was sat in the arm chair with her legs slung up over the side and JJ was sprawled out on her floor, her head propped up on her arms and a half empty bottle of wine next to her. She’d taken to swigging directly from the bottle as she’d smashed her second wine glass an hour ago and you’d all berated her for wasting alcohol. You knew where your priorities were.

“Yep! I used to date one of the security guards when I was eighteen. He snuck us in after hours,” Emily told you, her face pink with laughter.

“God…” JJ said. “The most adventurous place me and Will do it is in the shower, he loves it in there.”

You giggled, “Spence loves it when we fuck in the shower too, although I’m always scared we’ll slip over.”

The three girls stopped laughing and all turned to look at you incredulously.

“Spence?” Emily asked.

Your eyes widened as you realised what you’d said.

“OUR Spencer?!?” JJ rearranged herself into an upright position, crossing her legs and leaning forward.

Oh fuck.

“Y/N? Really? You and Reid?”

“Errrrm.”

JJ crawled across the floor and pulled out her handbag which was stashed at the side of her couch. Taking out her purse, she handed fifty dollars to Emily.

“Penelope, I believe you owe me fifty too?” Prentiss told Garcia.

“In a minute. I still…. Really?” She was leaning forward in her seat.

“You can’t say anything to the guys. Please. We’re not ready for people to know yet.”

“OH MY GOSH, IT’S TRUE!!” Garcia squealed and you caught JJ rolling her eyes and making the motion of covering her ears.

You took a big gulp of wine and nodded, readying yourself for the questions.

“When?” Penny demanded to know. “No no no wait.. I bet it was at Morgan’s party? Am I right, am I right?”

You shook your head. “We were together by then.”

“THAT WAS THREE MONTHS AGO, Y/N.”

Emily and JJ just looked amused, watching the exchange between you two. You gave them all a sheepish look.

“The time we went on that outward bounds team building thing? I remember you two lagging behind on the trails. Did something happen then. Wait… You two got back to camp a good thirty minutes after the rest of us. It was then wasn’t it… Oh I can see it now; you trip and Spencer reaches for you to stop your fall. You end up in a pile on the floor and stare into each others…. ”

“Pen, no. We were already together then too. Although something definitely happened in those woods.”

JJ interrupted her just before she was about to launch into another convoluted guess. “When exactly did it happen?”

“Erm…. You remember that case where I was really ill and Spencer ended up escorting me home and spent the weekend looking after me.”

“Hahahaha,” Emily laughed. “So you played a little bit of Doctor Reid and patient then.”

“Weeell not exactly. I was too ill. But that’s when we discovered that we both liked each other.”

“Girl, we could have told you that.” JJ sipped from her wine bottle, grinning at you.

“So wow… That was… ” Garcia thought back in her head, “Seven months ago.”

“Yep.”

“What’s he like, you know, as a boyfriend?” JJ asked.

“Perfect.”

All three awwwwed in unison. You weren’t lying either, Spencer really was the best partner you’d had.

“Does anyone at work know?” Garcia wanted to know.

“Only Hotch. And that was because we felt he ought to. He’s fine with it as long as it doesn’t effect our work. Which so far, it hasn’t.”

There was a moments pause before Emily cleared her throat.

“I’m just gonna ask what those two are thinking. What’s he like in the sack?”

“I can’t tell you that!!”

“Yes you can.” They urged, almost as if they were a practiced chorus.

“No, I can’t!”

“You’ve gotta give us something here.” Garcia begged.

“Look, all I’ll say is that he’s definitely picked up a thing or two from all the things he’s read, and that he makes me extremely happy.”

Another trio of awwws.

“I never really imagined Spencer to be a shower sex kinda guy though,” Emily piped up.

“Oh he definitely is. I swear, the amount of times one of us has nearly slipped over.”

…Monday Morning…

The girls had promised not to say anything and you were trying to find the right time to tell Reid that you’d let it slip. You’d decided that when you were ready, you’d tell everyone together.

You were sitting across from each other around the circular table in the meeting room with Hotch, Derek and Rossi, waiting for the other three.

Strolling in with smirks on their faces, they handed Reid a wrapped package.

You looked at them curiously.

“A present? What did I do to deserve this?” He asked them excitedly, ripping it open at their urging.

“An anti slip shower mat? I don’t get it?” He looked at them confused.

You were going to kill them. All three of them, together.

“Y/N was telling us the other night how you sometimes have problems staying upright in the shower,” Emily told him as the other two tried to keep a straight face.

“Y/N?”

“I’m sorry…… I’m so sorry!!”

He started to chuckle as did the other men. Standing up, he quickly walked around the table and pulled you out of your chair, wrapping his arms around you.

“I kinda let it slip too, last weekend when we were at Rossi’s.”

“Thank God!” Derek exclaimed loudly. “I thought we were gonna have to pretend we didn’t know forever. You have no idea how hard this last week has been for me, wanting to make jokes at your twos expense. Although… The shower mat. I don’t get it?”

Penelope whispered something into his ear and he grinned, nodding approvingly.

“Slippery when wet, eh.”

(Kuro/Lance/Shiro)

A sort of continuation to this and this by @sarogane (help I’m falling for this ot3 forreal and one of them isn’t even really a character in the show)

It got a little long so… Most of it is under the cut, sorry mobile users //


Kuro watches Shiro wipe down Lance’s bruised thighs, gently, slowly, carefully. He doesn’t dare interfere. He studies Lance’s expression: Blissed, adoring, impossibly affectionate, and a sharp tang of something churns his stomach. Something negative, that makes him feel somewhat aggressive. Human feelings are weird, and he still hasn’t gotten the hang of them entirely. Separating them from one another was difficult, and he didn’t like concentrating on them for long enough to really understand. Following his instincts was much easier.

Except his instincts tell him to jump right back into bed, snuggle between their warm bodies, kiss Lance’s cheek and nuzzle into Shiro’s warm chest. And what the fuck, Kuro. That’s just not something he’s supposed to want. It’s not for him. There was no place for him on that bed. His role begun and ended with sex. Lance accepted him because he looked like Shiro, and Shiro, well… That guy was one kinky fucker, as he proved to them both not even twenty minutes ago when he ordered Kuro to- Well, that’s another story.

Point is, soft kisses and quiet murmurs were for them. That was the entire plan anyway, right? Get Lance and Shiro together. He was never supposed to be a part of the equation to begin with, and really, he shouldn’t outstay his welcome.

Keep reading