Tsalyani - Hello!

No Justice, No Peace.  Quote from Emiliano Zapata

Art by Liberal Jane

No one was charged for the murder of Breonna Taylor.

One ex-officer (who did NOT shoot Breonna Taylor) was indicted for wanton endangerment* of the life of the persons living next door after shots were blindly fired into their apartment.

(*wanton endangerment is a class D felony, the same as shoplifting or stealing mail…)

Breonna Taylor is NOT listed as a victim in the indictment.

There have been no charges made for the death of Breonna Taylor.

There is not, and will not be justice for Breonna Taylor

#NOJUSTICENOPEACE

#BLACKLIVESMATTER

Churches got a whole new appeal

Sanctuary

Pairing: Robert Pronge x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2,265 Summary: You weren't seeking refuge because you almost died, you were seeking refuge because of him.

Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Demon!Robert. Soft!dark elements. Paranormal elements. Dub con. Sex in a church. Vaginal fingering. Telepathy. Unprotected sex. Lots of cum, sorry not sorry lol.

A/N: I want to try to get out some spooky/supernatural fics this month, so let's start by revisiting Deal with the Devil!Freezy, shall we?

You were never much for religion, but after your attack, and the way you had almost died, you found yourself sitting in the small, dimly lit church on the end of a rundown city block within walking distance of your apartment quite frequently.  

It wasn't some kind of subsequent faith that you now had after you survived that led you here, it was because you had survived, and the way in which you did.

It was because of him.

The stranger who had saved your life. 

You remembered the satisfaction in his dark, inhuman gaze as he had tasted your blood before drinking from your lips.

You remembered the unnatural flavor of sulfur that had lingered in your mouth for days after the kiss.

And you couldn't seem to escape the way he kept appearing in your dreams, reminding you that you were his now, that you owed him.

You weren't sure what that debt could possibly be or lead to, but you were certain that you didn't want to find out.

So you weren't paying homage to a miracle whenever you came to church, you were a terrified survivor seeking refuge.

Tonight was no different as you sat a few pews back from the church altar, tugging at the gold cross pendant around your neck as you stared off into the distance without seeing, enjoying a few moments of quiet, solitary sanctuary.

And then he spoke from behind you.

"If you were hoping you could hide from me here, sweetness, sorry to burst your bubble."

His voice was rough–almost ragged somehow–the gravelly sound making all your hair stand on end as you went rigid in your seat.

He leaned forward, his breath warming the nape of your neck before he suddenly snuffled along your skin, his nose dragging up the arc of your throat until he was inhaling along the delicate hollow just behind your ear, making you whimper.

You went to launch yourself from your seat, but one heavy hand of his on your shoulder, his fingers curling hard enough to make you whine in pain, kept you in place and enduring the way his teeth nibbled on your earlobe. 

Tears gathered in your eyes, and you were trembling so hard that you dropped your purse. Your head dipped to follow its descent, but suddenly a big, rough hand was gripping your throat and tipping your head back until your cheek was sliding against the stranger's and you shuddered at the soft scrape of his facial hair along your skin.

"What do you want from me?" you whispered, a few tears finally escaping as you stared up at the church ceiling.

A husky laugh rushed past your cheek before he spoke his reply against your ear, "Think I can come up with something."

Between one blink and another, you were gone from your seat and suddenly in one of the dark, empty back hallways of the church. You were far away from the main space, from other people, your frantic mind trying to comprehend how you got here without moving, and so quickly, too.

Those thoughts were lost to you as the stranger pressed you against the wall, his body sinking flush against yours as he gently mouthed along the side of your throat, pausing at your pulse point and dragging his rough tongue over the fluttering spot.

"Please," you choked out, turning your face away and squeezing your eyes shut, not wanting to meet that unnatural gaze of his that had been seared in your brain since that night.

"Already did you one favor, honey, you sure you wanna make it two?" he teased.

As silence stretched on between you, his hand dropped along your body, shifting your sweater up and out of the way until he could thumb at the raised scar on your stomach, the mark that had been with you ever since that night in the alley.

It was instant, the way the warm drag of his skin over yours had a flash of agonizing pain shooting through you, the contact stealing your breath away completely as you went rigid and clenched your teeth against a scream.

"Promise what I want will feel much better than that," he husked against your ear.

He pulled back to watch the terror flashing in your gaze as you stared at him in horror like it was his favorite TV show, a wicked grin curling his lips as he basked in your distress. 

He held your gaze the entire time he worked open the front of his pants before doing the same to yours. When you struggled just a little, trying to shove him away, he encircled your throat in his massive hand and squeezed hard enough to cut off your airflow, his teeth bared in a sneer and his eyes twinkling with victory as you whimpered and went still against him.

As you surrendered to him and his dark desires.

You jerked at the first touch of his fingers to your bare cunt, your panties and work slacks bunched around your knees as this terrifying stranger pet along your most intimate parts like he had every right to.

"I do," he murmured. 

He smirked as your eyes went wide at the way his words were in reply to your thoughts.

Then he slowly sank two fingers into you as he husked, "I told you the cost of saving your life that night, that you're mine now." He licked at your parted lips as his fingers plunged deeper and rubbed. "And so is this cunt."

You couldn't help the sound that fell past your lips, the love child of a moan and a whine, and you weren't sure if was because what he was doing–how he was touching you–actually felt good, or because your body was betraying you by growing so sinfully wet at his wicked touch.

"There you go, sweet girl," he breathed against your lips, his fingers railing you harder. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

You tried to turn your face away instead of answering, but his grip on your neck just tightened, keeping you in place–trapped in his gaze–as he played with your pussy until your insides began to flutter and your thighs started to quake with your impending orgasm.

Just as you felt the first wave of your release cresting, his fingers retreated from your greedy hole, and a disappointed whine got trapped in the back of your throat.

He winked at you before gripping his hard cock in the hand he had just used to work you over, humming as he smeared your juices down the long, curved length of him.

You stared down between your bodies, feeling your cunt clench at the sight of his cock - you'd never seen one so big before, and curved like that, white droplets of pre-cum oozing from the crown as he slowly stroked and squeezed himself in preparation.

When he took a moment to yank off your panties and pants entirely, taking your ballet flats with them as he kicked everything a few feet away, you didn't even resist, in some kind of lust-addled state and desperate to know what that big, thick cock of his felt like inside of you.

"You're about to find out, sweetness," he laughed. 

His free hand dropped to your leg, gripping your thigh and hitching it up around his waist, opening you up for him as he took his weeping cock in hand and slowly filled you up right there against the wall. 

Your hand shot out to grip his shirt, your fingers fisting in response to the slow stretch and burn that was his cock plunging its way inside you for the first time, until your eyes were rolling back in your head, and your back bowed at the invasion.

"Mmm, fuck, that's it," he purred, giving a few rocks of his hips until he was bottoming out and you were gasping sharply at just how deep he was inside of you. 

Dazed, you blinked at him, a distant part of you registering the way his eyes were entirely black now as he gazed at you, and you weren't sure if you clenched around him hard in fear or excitement that someone was looking at you like that.

Like they could not wait to fucking eat you alive.

Another husky laugh fell from his lips as he said, "Oh, honey, that's the understatement of the century."

And then he started to move.

The first retreat of his cock was slow–almost careful–that inhumanly dark gaze watching you avidly as he departed just enough to leave the mushroom head of his cock stretching your hole before sinking back into you slow and deep enough to take you up to your tiptoes.

You squeaked at the invasion, your thighs already trembling, and he grinned at you. His pace picked up until he was gripping the undersides of each of your thighs in one of his hands as he fucked you against the wall hard enough to have you gasping and whining and whimpering with every snap of his hips.

And it didn't go unnoticed by you, how every single time one of those noises escaped you, you could feel his cock throb inside of you. 

The latest round of this sinful give and take made you moan as you clutched him closer and started rocking against him just as hard–just as desperately–as he was moving inside of you.

"Fuck," he laughed breathlessly, amused by your enthusiasm as a glimmer of red flashed through his eyes. "You may just be my favorite indebted yet, sweetness. Haven't felt a cunt this good in a long time. And you're so fucking into it too, you sweet little slut. Really hit the jackpot with you, huh?"

Whining at his words and the way they had your insides clenching and pulsing, you dropped your head back against the wall, feeling the peak of your pleasure closing in quickly.

"Oh no, honey, keep those pretty eyes open and fixed on me, wanna see that fucked out look as you cum for me."

Your eyes blinked open, glassy as you fisted his shirt tighter, your breath catching in your chest as that tightly wound coil deep inside of you finally, blessedly snapped.

You gave a sharp cry of pleasure as your body went taut before your orgasm rushed through you, gasping and moaning as you rocked against his cock, wanting to feel him even more than before, deeper and harder and owning you completely.

"Mmm, I can do that," he purred, dropping his forehead to yours, gripping your thighs tighter, and hammering into you without relent as you rode out your first orgasm before quickly descending into your second.

"Oh god," you cried, slinging an arm around his neck to hold on for dear life as he let loose and started going at you even harder, like a man possessed. 

"Not quite," he panted, splitting you open with one hard, deep rut of his cock after another. "Not even close, actually."

And it was the raspy, wicked husk of his laugh that had you cumming one final time, your body trembling and clenching, rattling with another powerful wave of ecstasy as your pussy rejoiced to be so full and so thoroughly, thoroughly fucked.

"Mmmm, god, that's it, fuck me," the stranger groaned, the next thrust of his cock going impossibly deep and lingering as you felt an unnaturally warm bloom of heat within you. 

Another soft gasp fell from your lips as his next thrust had another hot wave flooding your insides, and you could feel it, the unnatural heat and volume of his spend as he continued to pump you full of it with one eager rut of his cock after another. 

Just when you thought he was done, he sank against you, his face burrowing against the crook of your neck before you felt the sharp pierce of his teeth and a white hot flash of pain as he bit you, just hard enough to draw blood that he could lap at as he rode out his own orgasm with a few final snaps of his hips. 

The unexpected pain had another small orgasm rocking through your pussy, and he laughed against your neck as he felt it, groaning as you milked his cock and sent some of his cum leaking out of your overstuffed cunt and dripping down his balls.

Once his breathless pants died down, he pulled out of you with a satisfied hum, guiding you back to your feet and smirking at the way you wobbled and sagged back against the wall, your sweater rucked up your stomach and his ample amount of cum leaking down your thighs.

He watched you as he slowly redid his clothes, seeming unbothered by tucking away his still messy cock before shooting you a wicked grin. He stepped close, eyes sparkling as your breach caught and you stared up at him in a mixture of fear and awe. 

"You can keep coming here if you want, sweetness," he murmured, gently stroking your warm cheek with his knuckle. Then he leaned in close, so his next words filled your ear, "But really, at the end of the day, and especially after this, you should be worshiping at my altar."

Grinning, he pulled back and stole an obscenely thorough kiss from your parted lips. Then he shot you a wink, disappeared before your eyes, and left you standing there half-naked with his cum cooling on your thighs and the copper tang of your own blood staining your tongue.

WAIT. I KIND OF LOVE THIS?? 

Please take a moment to comment and share your response/reaction/the status of your panties 😘

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Why This Chris Must Go

I didn’t post this until I’d waded through seventeen different sources - including The New York Times and California political donor records (which are public) and wasted too much time that should have been spent harassing my daughter about her homework. But there was a joking little Twitter poll about Which Chris Must Go? that went viral when people starting posting about Chris Pratt’s political and “spiritual” leanings. I was on the fence about Pratt since he abruptly divorced Anna Faris and left their special needs son to hastily marry Katherine Schwarzenegger. Then, he joined the GOP Schwarzenegger family’s church, The Hillsong Church, which considers LGBTQ+ an “offense against god” and advocates for electroshock therapy to get rid of the gay. (Remember that barbaric shit? Even my backwards ass state banned it.) He also works with Jews for Jesus, who attempt to convert people from the Jewish faith to Christianity (I guess with electroshock therapy, since that’s working for the gays, right Chris?) Aaaand, he and his adorable bride donated a heavy chunk of change to Trump’s 2020 re-election campaign. I’m no political scientist, but that sounds like a pretty staunch support for this psycho to get re-elected. Frankly, I don’t care. That’s not why I’m disgusted.

It was quite the backlash. And so guess who leaps to his defense? Some of the rich, white straight guys from Marvel. Robert Downey Jr. who initially posted “Fuck you all.” in response on his Instagram account deleted it before adding this lovely moment of concern. My sweet Mark Ruffalo (oh, Mark, how could you?) did as well.

You know who didn’t leap to his defense? Brie Larsen. Tessa Thompson. Zendaya. (Nor any of the other Chrises, by the way.) So, where was the support when these women were viciously bullied online? Brie got death threats for daring to become Captain America. Tessa and Z were ruthlessly subjected to racism and misogyny for acting in the Marvel Universe. Not a fucking word of defense for these women- who were truly being brutalized. So, RDJ? Fuck you, kitten. Fuck you for being a hypocrite and defending the guy just because the public learned about his leanings and “spiritual” activities. And Mark, I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed. And for the other rich, white, straight Hollywood guys to leapt to his defense? Brie, Tessa and Z are still waiting for your passionate words of support.

When they wake up, it takes them a while to realise that they have me. I’m in their heads by then, and my wings are unfurled, the talons sunk into the brain. Groaning when they realise I’m with them, they try to go back to sleep. More sleep might be enough to drive me away, they think.

It doesn’t work like that.

Sara’s her name. Her lover whispers it when they both wake up, only minutes apart. I whisper the name, too—don’t worry, she can’t hear it—and I try to get a feel for her. Not a very expressive face, she keeps it blank and featureless. The sort of girl who’d hide inside a boring old cardigan and pretend she’s too good for fashion.

She groans louder and swivels her feet off of the bed, down to the floor.

“Bad sleep?” the partner asks.

“Headache.”

“Bad?”

“Explosive.”

That makes me smile. A lot of people just leave it at ‘headache’, like I don’t deserve any qualifiers, like I don’t deserve to be acknowledged in my uniqueness. But no, I like Sara now. I revel in her description of me, I hold the letters out on a string of gold, and I want the word tattooed onto my metaphorical forehead.

Explosive.

“Damn. I don’t wanna be you right now,” the partner mutters.

Beaming, I pulse harder and harder, beating down on the walls of the brain, breaking brick and shaking the mortar. It’s one thing to be admired by your friends, it’s another entirely to hear your enemies’ complaints. If you give them nothing to complain about, what even is the point of your existence?

“Please don’t.” Sara is dragging her feet towards the bathroom now. Her limbs feel numb. I hold on to what I’ve got.

“We’re out of pills, the painkillers, I mean.”

Sara glares at her partner. Well, she tries to, but I don’t think she quite manages. It’s enough to get the partner out of the bed, though.

“I’ll get some more from the pharmacy. You can rest easy today. You should call work, let them know you won’t make it.”

Sara has her fingers on her forehead now, and she’s rubbing her temples, rubbing her forehead, rubbing whatever part of the skin outside of her skull that she thinks I might be hiding in. It’s a pitiful attempt, if you know anything about me, about headaches in general.

“Rest easy! That’s an order, private!” the partner announces, tries to be cute.

“Just get out already!” Sara yells, and then she whines loudly, gripping her head and stumbling back towards the bed.

The partner is a little taken aback. “Sorry,” she says, and slips out of the room.

I continue to work my magic. The last one I had my talons in was an old lady who didn’t really make it all the way to the end of my tenure.

“I know you can hear me,” Sara says, and I glance up to see if her partner has returned. “Yes, you. Headache. I know you’re there.”

Releasing my hold, I stare at the end of the bed. Sara takes her hands off of her head and wraps them around her knees. “I don’t have much to say to you. Just know that you won’t make it out of my body. You won’t survive.”

“Explosive,” I whisper to myself. Was it the truth?

this is your daily reminder that yes- your comfort character would absolutely want to rearrange your guts and cuddle you afterwards.

A hungry baby