#I love Isaiah though

[acourtofquestions]

CC1 Pt 1.

Hunt: Late again, are we?

Bryce: Yes, I hope I'm not pregnant! *gasps dramatically*

Hunt: *double-take*

Isaiah: *confused & hiding laughter*

[basementstalker]

I want to be able to talk with you about so many things but mostly I want to listen to you talk. I want to soak your voice in, watch as your facial expressions change, notice patterns in your sentence structure. What do you like to talk about? How do you like to talk about it? Do you dance around things, refusing to say things outright? Do you bounce around from topic to topic? Let me learn about you.

[unforeseen-idiot]

Goosebumps 2023

Aight, I love the first eight episodes of this show so much. It has a tight, solid story and incredibly endearing characters. All of the teen characters felt distinct, the individual stories were very well done, and everything just worked. We also had the great story of Harold Biddle (I know it's cliche but he's my baby) and the endless torment of poor Nathan Bratt (he's my other baby). And everything concluded very nicely in episode 8, my only real issue was Slappy not being as hilarious and extra like he usually is, but that's fine it's good that they branched out and tried new things. But I just can't get behind episodes 9 and 10. The story just isn't as good here, the whole feel of the show was just off, and the main five just kinda got demoted to melodrama for an episode, plus Isaiah dying sucked. Idk, I have hope for season 2 and I'll definitely rewatch the earlier episodes of the show for just how good they were, but I feel like we're pretty far down a road I don't like. But that's whatever I still love all the care put into this series.

[jawsplitter]

not drawing rn but i keep thinking ab my special guys and wanna post them on this blog too...a WIP of one of my DBD OCs, the cage 🫶🫶🫶

[bidolatry]

before i go bed i need to- [explodes into 10000 pieces]

[viovio]

reevaluating my entire thing again

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: Imani and Jameson's beef comes to a head as secrets are revealed.

Warnings: 18+ (MINORS DNI), smut!!!, daddy kink (male character being referred to as that), p in v sex (shower sex), toxic relationship (intentional jealousy, deception, lying), usage of the n word -- if you white and read it, you owe us $20, -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 14.2k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: 

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

The bedroom was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a warm circle of light over the room. EJ lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, while Genie rested next to him – her leg drawn across his. The sound of the wind outside the cabin filled the quiet space, a gentle reminder of the snowy world beyond their cozy retreat.

“I think we fucked up a little bit,” EJ said finally, his voice low but weighted as he rubbed his hand down her side.

Genie glanced up from where she had been tracing absent-minded patterns on his chest. “What do you mean?”

“Inviting Mani and Jamie,” EJ clarified, turning his head to look at her. “It’s already tense, and it’s only the first night. Did you see the way they were looking at each other at dinner? Damn near thought my boy was about to take that other nigga head off.”

Genie shifted onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I saw. I’m sorry. I just…I wanted Mani here. I didn’t know Jamie was coming. But they’re adults. They can handle themselves.”

“It’s okay, baby. You didn’t know.” EJ snorted softly. “But can they, though? They was acting weird all day. And Imani…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“What about her?” Genie pressed, her tone sharper than she intended. EJ had been supportive when she and Imani were going through their issues – but he was increasingly negative about her friend. 

EJ hesitated, then sat up slightly, resting his weight on his forearm. “Look, I know that’s your girl and I respect that. But she’s got this...thing about her. Like she stirs the pot just by being in the room. And Jameson’s not exactly steady when it comes to her. It’s like a recipe for disaster.”

Genie frowned, sitting up fully and crossing her legs beneath her. “That’s not fair. Imani didn’t ask to be in this situation. And she’s not stirring the pot, EJ. She’s just...here. Existing. I invited her. She is my family.”

“I understand, baby. But let’s not pretend she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Mixing him up, spinning his head. She drives him crazy and she likes it that way.” EJ countered, his voice tinged with frustration. “Baby, she had the chance to leave his ass after he fucked up. And she did. But where she at right now?”

Genie sighed, rubbing her temples as she sat up with him. “It’s more complicated than that, EJ. And you shouldn’t put all the blame on her. Alot of their issues? Jamie’s fault.”

“That may be so but that’s when she’s supposed to let him go. Both of them should let go. Jameson did.” “And so did she! She’s here with Isaiah.”

EJ stared at her. “We both know that’s not the same. She brought him to fuck with Jameson.”

“She didn’t even know he’d be here.” “She had to know there was a good chance he’d be here, baby. C’mon.” “No, you c’mon! You come down so hard on her all the time, EJ. She’s noticed the only one fucked up.” “No, she’s not. But Jameson is trying not to be.” “How do you know what she’s trying to do?” “I know what she’s already done. She fucked Jameson up when she left and then she hurt you too. Back to back, the two people I love most in this world! Hung up over her. Crying for her. While she lived her best life on a fucking yacht somewhere. Out at parties. I watched you check your phone over and over for her call. Same as he did. She hurt you. She hurt him. I don’t trust her.”

Genie was quiet, watching how upset he seemed to be at her defense of Imani. “Baby, I’m okay.” His desire to protect her was noble but she couldn’t help but think he put far too much responsibility on Imani. “She said she was sorry. We’re working on things. We’re okay.”

“Now you are.” EJ muttered, shaking his head. “And now he is. With Camille. So of course she comes back and gets everything all mixed up again.”

“Maybe they need to see each other, work through whatever’s still lingering.”

EJ gave her a skeptical look. “You really think that’s going to happen without blowing up in everyone’s faces?”

“I think we should give them the benefit of the doubt,” Genie said firmly. “It wasn’t her fault that Jameson was hurt. It was a combination of his actions.”

“And what about you? Why were you hurt?”

Genie sighed softly, framing his face in her hands. “Because she didn’t know how to face her feelings. She walked away from Jameson for her own good. And she thought she’d have to face them with me. Was it the right way to go about it? No. But I think we both know sometimes you aren’t thinking straight when you’re traumatized. And their breakup was traumatizing, EJ. Cut her some slack.” 

EJ shook his head, leaning back against the headboard and pulling away from her. “Then why is she back if leaving him was for her own good?”

Genie sighed softly, her expression softening. “I don’t know. The heart wants what it wants, I guess. Baby, you don’t know everything Imani’s been through. She’s had a rough year. And yeah, she’s made mistakes, but she’s trying to be happy. Jameson is getting that chance. Why shouldn’t she have one?”

EJ sighed, running a hand over his face. “I just don’t want to see her hurt you. Or Jameson, for that matter.”

“She’s not going to hurt me,” Genie said quietly. “And as for Jameson...he’s got Camille now. He’s fine. Right?”

“Camille’s a good woman,” EJ said, his tone soft. “She’s steady, kind, and she’s got her head on straight. If Jameson’s smart, he’ll stick with her.”

Genie tilted her head, studying him. “You really think she’s the one for him?”

“Honestly? No. I think Imani is what he wants. But I think Camille is what he needs,” EJ replied. “Someone who won’t complicate his life. Someone who won’t...drag him back into the past.”

Genie bit her lip, considering his words. “Maybe you’re right. But it’s not our place to decide, honey. They’ll figure it out.”

He reached out, pulling her into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a asshole about Imani. I just want this trip to go well. No drama, no stress.”

Genie snuggled against his chest, her voice muffled. “Me too. But...if there is drama, we’ll deal with it. Shit happens when the family gets together, right?”

EJ kissed the top of her head, laughing softly. “That it does.”

They lay there in comfortable silence for a moment before Genie spoke again, her voice hesitant. “I’m going to put Imani in the wedding. So I need you to get over this beef you have with her.”

EJ tensed, his whole body going still as he tried to figure out what to say. “I…Wedding? What wedding?”

Genie smiled, her breath warm against his skin. “I saw the ring. Don’t be mad.” She lifted her head, peering up at him. “I love you. And I trust you.” Whether he knew it or not, she had done a lot of thinking over the week. Marriage was a big step and it was terrifying…but Genie wanted to take those steps with him. He was frantic about getting everything perfect because he wanted her dreams to come true. How could she doubt that? “I’m going to say yes. So stop worrying.”

“That’s why you wanted Imani here?” Genie nodded slowly, hoping that telling him the truth wasn’t ruining the surprise too badly. “I panicked. And then you came home right after I found it…and you showed me in every single way that marrying you would be the best thing I could ever do. This house could fall around us and I’d still say yes because I love you.” 

EJ dipped his head, kissing Genie soundly. He had been worried about the trip. Her father would be there in the morning, he wanted to time it all just right. Then Imani and Jameson gave him more to worry about. Despite being caught off guard…he felt himself relax at the knowledge that she wanted to say yes. Even if everything didn’t go perfectly right – they would have each other.

The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came with a blanket of fresh snow muffling the world outside. Jameson lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, his thoughts refusing to settle. He had been in a state since Imani showed up with Isaiah. Their little game had taken on a life of its own.

For every kiss he gave Camille, Imani had two for Isaiah. For every laugh he shared with Camille, she had a grope from her companion for the weekend. It put tension in the air and everyone could sense it. Especially Camille. She hadn't complained, hadn't mentioned it. But she held on to Jameson just a little tighter. Even when they crawled into bed together after an exhausting day, she seemed to want his attention -- without Imani around.

As frustrated as he was, Jameson didn't fuck the woman that practically begged him to. He promised her the next day -- swearing it was because he was tired but the reality was...he couldn't focus. Imani's room ended up just down the hall from theirs. All he could think about what the shit they were doing behind those closed doors. Rejected for the evening, Camille was already asleep beside him, her breathing soft and even, her head resting lightly on his shoulder.

He should have been at peace. The day had been long but good—Camille had laughed with him on the slopes, and they’d shared hot chocolate by the fire. But all he saw was Imani doing the same with Isaiah. As he closed his eyes, the quiet of the cabin was broken by muffled sounds from down the hall.

A low murmur. A laugh. A moan.

Jameson’s jaw clenched as realization hit. Where they...? Of course they were. Leave it to Imani to go too far.

He tried to block it out, shifting slightly in bed, but the sounds only grew louder. The rhythmic creak of the bed frame, the occasional gasp, and Isaiah’s deep voice murmuring something he couldn’t make out. He sat up in bed, flipping the cover back. The urge to interrupt and ruin their evening strong. The only thing that stopped him was Camille.

She stirred from her sleep when he sat up, her hand pressed to his shoulder. When Jameson turned to look back at her, she looked confused but was ready to follow him if something was wrong. "Go back to sleep, baby." He murmured, "Everything's fine. I just wanted to get my headphones."

She blinked at him, nodding slowly before laying back down. But the noises were louder. Her eyes went wide as she looked over at him. "Are they–"

"Yes." He answered emotionlessly.

"Well then." Camille muttered. "At least somebody around here is getting it."

"You want me to fuck you so everybody hears?" Jameson asked her as he got up, moving to his suitcase. "Will that prove we're real and crazy about each other? Because that's the only reason she's doing it."

"No. But I'd prefer it if you showed any interest in having fun with me this weekend." "What do you think I've been doing, Cami?" "Worrying about your ex."

Jameson yanked the headphones out of his suitcase, turning to glare at his girlfriend. She wasn't wrong but he hated being called on it. There was no explaining what Imani did to him. She drove sanity out of his head. He did and said stupid shit when it came to her. It seemed he always would. His chest tightened, a wave of anger and something darker, more painful, rising in him. He hated that she could do this to him.

“I'm worried she's going to ruin this for Genie and EJ.” he muttered under his breath, making his way back to the bed. "I'm worried I'll get out of pocket and fuck it up with her. She seems to like me best when I'm out of my mind."

For a moment, he saw the sympathy in Camille. She sighed softly and lay back down, waiting for him to join her. One he did, she snuggled up to him. "The only way to win with her is to stop falling into the trap. Focus on EJ and Genie. Focus on us. Now...what are we listening to?"

He nodded, knowing she was right. For a moment, he could ignore the noises coming from down the hall. He could pretend he didn't know the difference between her fake moans and the actual ones of pleasure when that goofy bastard managed to hit something right. "Nat King Cole." he told Camille.

"Good." She closed her eyes and snuggled next to him as he put the headphones on. He couldn't hear Imani anymore and part of his anger faded as he pushed play on his phone's playlist. Camille kept her head pressed to his chest, the music filtering to her ears as she also ignored Imani and Isaiah.

Maybe if she got lucky, Imani would keep pushing Jameson's buttons. The angrier he got, the more he kept his distance. At least, that’s what she hoped for.

The soft glow of dawn crept into the room, painting the walls with a pale, golden hue. Camille stirred, her eyes fluttering open to the peaceful sight of Jameson still asleep beside her. His face was relaxed, his breathing steady, and she couldn’t help but smile. The headphones he had worn to bed were askew on his head.

For all the chaos surrounding this trip, moments like this made it worth it.

She slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, heading to the ensuite bathroom and getting ready for the day. Jameson still remained asleep so Camille pulled the headphones from his head and kissed him softly. She got dressed in a sweater and leggings before heading downstairs. The house was still, the only sound the faint creak of the floorboards under her feet.

In the kitchen, she set to work, humming softly to herself as she cracked eggs and whisked batter for pancakes. Breakfast in bed didn’t sound like a terrible idea. After the night Jameson had, she wanted there to be a contrast. Imani stressed him out, she made everything easier. Maybe it’d make it a simple decision for him.

“Morning,” a voice called, startling her. “Looks like somebody had the same idea as me.”

Camille turned to see EJ standing in the doorway, his hand lifted to scratch at his neck as he yawned. He made his way to the coffee machine, going through the routine that he did every morning.

“Morning,” Camille replied with a smile. “Didn’t mean to wake anyone.”

“You didn’t,” EJ assured her, “Genie’s dad is flying in today. I wanted to be up and make sure his room’s ready.”

“Kendrick Adesanya?” Camille questioned, eyes going wide. “My dad would kill to meet him. I wonder if he’ll give me an autograph.”

EJ laughed. “Most people would kill to meet him. When Genie first took me to his house for dinner, I felt like I was going to pass out. You making breakfast for yourself?"

“Un-uh,” she replied, her voice light but slightly strained. “Jameson. Figured I’d surprise him. Let him sleep in a little.”

EJ nodded and moved to the fridge, pulling out ingredients for an omelet. “I’m making something for Genie. She’s still out cold, but I promised her breakfast in bed.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Camille said, a hint of admiration in her tone.

EJ shrugged, cracking eggs into a bowl. “Gotta keep her happy. Happy soon to be wife, happy life?”

They both laughed before getting back to work in earnest. They worked in silence for a few moments, the clinking of utensils and the smell of butter filling the space. Finally, EJ broke the quiet. “So…how are things with Jameson?”

Camille hesitated, her spatula pausing mid-air. “Good,” she said, but there was a tightness to her voice. “I mean, I think they’re good. He’s been...a little distant, though. I think this weekend is a lot for him so far.”

EJ glanced at her, his brow furrowing. “Distant how?”

Camille sighed, setting down the spatula and turning to face him. “I don’t know. It’s just...with everything that’s happened, I feel like there’s this gulf between us. Like he’s not completely here, you know? He’s holding himself at a distance.”

EJ nodded slowly, whisking the eggs. “I’m sorry. That’s a tough spot to be in. I didn’t mean for that to happen to you guys.”

“It’s not your fault. And then there’s Imani,” Camille added, her voice dropping. “I mean, I know he says he’s over her, but it’s hard not to feel like she’s always there. They circle around each other like they don’t know what to think or say. Especially after…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“After what?” EJ prompted, glancing at her.

Camille hesitated, then sighed. “After hearing her and Isaiah – well, I woke up in the middle of the night and we could hear them. They were…having sex. Down the hall the other night.”

EJ’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Camille said, her cheeks flushing. “It was...loud. And it triggered something in him. He got agitated and then we argued a bit. I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it does. It’s like she’s trying to prove something. To him and me. She still has a hold on him and we all know it.”

EJ set down the whisk and turned to face her fully, leaning against the counter. “I told you she did. Camille –” He stopped himself, Genie’s words from earlier echoing in his mind: Let them figure it out on their own.

“What?” Camille asked, her eyes searching his face.

EJ shook his head, offering her a small smile. “Nothing. I uh – I just wanted to say I was sorry for how messy shit has gotten. You and Jameson will figure it out. You’ve got a good thing going. Trust each other — don’t let anyone else fuck with that.”

Camille studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Thanks, EJ. I appreciate that.”

“Anytime,” he said, turning back to his omelet.

They finished cooking in companionable silence, and as Camille gathered her tray to take upstairs, EJ grabbed his plate.

“Good luck,” he said as they headed for the stairs.

Jameson was still asleep when she entered the room, his arm draped across the bed where she had been. She set the tray down on the nightstand and gently shook his shoulder, kissing his cheek softly. He grunted in his sleep, slowly opening his eyes and turning his head to peer at her.

“Good morning,” she whispered. “I made you breakfast.” “Good morning,” he replied, smiling. He sat up, groggy but alert, as she placed the tray on his lap. “Thank you, baby. But you didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to. You had a long night” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But I am not going to hover. I’m heading to the slopes with EJ’s sister. She invited us both last night but you should sleep in a little more.”

Jameson nodded, taking a sip of coffee and a bite of the bacon. “You sure? I can go with you.” He said softly, lifting his head to offer her a kiss.

Camille leaned in, “It’s fine. We’re going to have a girl's morning. You get some rest.” She kissed him soundly, gently brushing a crumb from his face. "But promise you'll make some time for me tonight before EJ and Genie's dinner." He gave her a quick nod. “I promise. Thank you. Be careful.”

“I will,” she promised, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

It took a minute for her to get dressed. Jameson watched her the entire time, eating his breakfast and subtly asking for kisses each time. For the first time since they’d gotten to Aspen, it felt like he was all about her. As she left the room, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Sloane.

Her heart sank as she made her way down the stairs and crossed the living room and exited the front door – phone buzzing all the while. Finally, when she was sure she was alone, Camille answered. “What do you want?” 

“Hey, girl. I was just wondering how Aspen was.” Sloane’s voice chimed, deceptively light. “You’re starting to get a little unhinged behind a man that has never wanted you.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone and Camille took the opportunity to go for a kill shot. “Imani. She’s my real competition. It’s never been you. And I’m sorry, Sloane, it never will be.”

There was more silence and guilt start to set in – Camille knew she had been cruel but she couldn’t help it. There were all these forces against she and Jameson. She just wanted to protect what they were trying to build. Sloane was a threat that she could handle easily…or so she thought.

“For a minute, I started to feel bad for what I’ve done. I’ve been there. Wanting something I don’t deserve.” Sloane said slowly, her voice was calm…almost eerie. “You and I…we’re a lot alike. But unlike you, I knew when my time was up. You’re greedy enough to want more.”

“Sorry for what you’ve done?” Camille got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Oh you’re curious about that, are you?” Sloane’s tone was almost teasing, but it carried an undercurrent of malice. “Sloane…” “I just told the truth. For once in my life, I told the absolute truth. You probably have a couple of hours before it all blows up in your face.”

Camille froze, her grip tightening on the phone. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see,” Sloane replied with a laugh. “Enjoy your baecation while it lasts. But remember this – I saved you from living a lie. Even when you’re angry, remember I did you a favor.”

The line went dead, leaving Camille standing there, her heart pounding. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. She heard the front door open and jumped when Ella called her name.

“You ready to go, girl?” 

Camille had to give the girl a smile – praying she couldn’t see the underlying tension. “Of course. Let’s…let’s go.”

He was second-guessing himself but as Jameson lifted his hand to twist the doorknob, there wasn’t much he could do to stop. He should have spent the day sleeping and resting -- but he couldn't fully let go of his anger. He heard movement in Imani’s room and figured it was her. Irritation was burrowing underneath his skin. The past four days had been stressful. Psychological warfare with Imani was rough. Every sweet thing he did with Camille, Imani made sure she topped it with – what was his fucking name? Who was he kidding? He didn’t give a shit.

The door swung open and he came face to face with her…, which immediately ignited his agitation. “You realize you aren’t the only one here right?” He said abruptly, leaning against the door frame.

Imani was on her phone, checking a few of her emails. She missed the group’s excursion to the slopes because she couldn’t decide what to wear, so she stayed behind and was glad she did. She was tired of seeing Jameson with Camille. She needed a damn break, but of course, fate wouldn’t allow it. Because there was an angry Jameson standing in her room. She exhaled her annoyance and turned her head quickly to stare at him. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Have you lost your damn mind? Don’t you know how to knock?”

“I didn’t think you cared about manners. You know we all heard ya’ll fucking last night, right?” Jameson asked her, his emotions heightened by the fact that she seemed ready to have it out with him.

That meant her mission was accomplished. Imani wanted Jameson to hear her having sex with Isaiah. She wanted to do anything she could to make him jealous. “My bad.” Imani didn’t bother to look up at him. Instead, she kept scrolling through her phone. 

“Your bad?” He questioned, face frowning up as he moved further into the room without invitation. “You don’t think that was fucked up?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry,” Imani said. She didn’t give a damn about what Jameson had to say. “Is that better for you, friend?”

“That’s it?” He said, agitated by her lack of remorse...and the fact that she called him friend. “Y'all couldn’t go rent a room somewhere or something? It was nasty. Genie won’t tell you that. Neither will EJ but I will.”

She paused, squinting her eyes at his audacity. EJ and Genie were on a separate wing than they were. She didn’t think they heard her at all. Her goal was to only capture his ears and it seemed like that was accomplished. “Jameson, you haven’t said nothing to me this whole trip. If you not EJ or Genie, I really don’t give a fuck about what you have to say.”

His brows furrowed in confusion as he moved further into the room, arms folded over his chest defensively. “And what would you like me to say to you?” He asked, tilting his head. “You ain’t said shit to me either. All you do is follow that nigga around giggling.”

The civil war Imani and Jameson had been engaged in the past two days was intense. They hadn't caused too much of a fuss but each was determined to one up each other…despite the fact that their last conversation consisted of each declaring the desire to be friends. They had failed.

Imani chuckled, “Ain’t we supposed to be friends, now, right? That’s what you said on that damn podcast. It shouldn’t be that hard to talk to your friend.” 

“Did I lie? We agreed to be friends.” Jameson glared at her, the dots connecting in his head. Was she…mad about him saying they were friends? “Are you mad at me for not talking to you regularly? It’s complicated with us. I didn’t know what to say. I just figured…we parted on good terms so we were good. But the way you acting, I’m starting to think we ain’t.”

She looked at him through squinted eyes. “The way I’m actin’? I ain’t the one that’s bustin’ up in your room policin’ the way you fuck! That’s you!” 

“We gone act like I didn’t come in here for a fucking reason?” He retorted, matching her energy. “You fucked that nigga where I could hear you!”

“And the other day, you had that bitch whimperin’ where I could hear so I don’t think we any different.” 

“That was a fucking kiss, Mani. I ain’t fucked Cami in days because I knew you were down the hall. That’s the difference between us.” It would have been easy to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about but they were too deep in the game to lie. “I don’t get off making you feel like shit.”

She tilted her head at him. “Why the fuck does it matter what me and Isaiah do at night? You moved on. You coulda fucked Camille if you wanted to!” 

And there it was. The first time either of them had vocalized the root of the shit they were battling about. He couldn't believe her audacity.

“You moved on first.” Jameson told her coldly. He didn’t even bother broaching the other topics. “You left me. You said ‘one day’. Next thing I know, you tonguing down some random. You moved on first.”

The elephant in the room seemed to grow bigger the more each of them talked. When he finished speaking, Imani lapsed into silence but he could see that she was mentally calculating. 

She clenched her jaw, tired of holding back all of the truths she spared him from. “I never moved on! You wifed a bitch and sang your heart out about her. None of them niggas could say I was theirs like Camille can say you hers.”

He couldn't let himself hope. Jameson forced himself to ignore the fact that she declared she had never moved on from him. He forced himself to ignore the way his heart thudded. Instead, he got angry. It was easier to deal with anger than fear. 

“You think I gave a fuck about that?!” He shouted, “You ain’t post them but I still saw it! I’m at home drinking just so I can sleep and not dream of you but you was out having the time of your life!” He clapped his hands together, punctuating each word he uttered. “Song after song about you before I made anything about her! I made ‘em until I couldn’t mourn anymore! You should be fucking happy it took me six months to even think of somebody else because if I was the nigga you think I am, I coulda had ten bitches the day you left my house.”

Her voice was stuck in her throat. Imani remembered all of his pain and suffering she heard through Midnight and instantly she felt a tinge of guilt, but she shook her head. The feeling died out quickly when she reminded herself they were in a fight. “You think that shit was easy for me!?” Her voice rose a few octaves as she threw her hands up then touched her chest. “I thought that doing that shit would make me forget about you and the mistake I made! But nothing fuckin’ worked. I was fucking alone! All I had was thoughts of you.” 

That damn thudding in his chest began again. His heart skipped a beat and he shook his head, doing his best not to ignore everything else she was saying. He couldn't highlight the good shit and ignore the bad. Jameson forced himself not to comfort her. 

“You chose to be alone, Mani. You left me and you left Genie. That was your decision.” He told her heatedly. “Don't compare that to me. You didn't see me with anybody until Cami. You on your third fling and this nigga got a post. You call him daddy. Let him fuck you down the hall from me. You ain't having it hard.”

“I was doing what I thought was right for us!” She chose to ignore his other claims because those flings meant nothing to her. They weren’t Jameson. She could never be as serious with them as he was with Camille, because her heart was with someone else. 

“I was doing what I thought was right! I let you go, I didn’t fight. Stop comparing that!” “How the fuck is it any different?” She yelled. "It killed me to let you go. But you just kept going."

Instead of granting him a response, she pushed his forehead with her index finger and said, “Fuck you, Jamie! You don’t know how I felt. You don’t know what the fuck I went through.”

They broke each other’s heart trying to do right by one another. Before he could respond that he was doing the same…she pressed a digit to his head. What the fuck?

He came right back, his eyes screwing up to see her finger pressed to his head in disbelief. He lifted his arm — knocking her hand from his head as he gazed at her fingers. The diamond shone brightly, almost shocking him. It was the one he bought her. Had she always worn it? “We did that already. Before you gave that nigga pity pussy, I showed you how to play the fuck you game. Unfortunately for you, you stuck with that nigga now. You made that bed, lay in it.”

She could tell he was talking shit. Made the bed now lay in it? He had proven himself jealous. He wanted her. Why wasn't he taking her? Why did he ignore her obvious feelings?

Imani laughed loudly. “You really want me to believe that you havin’ better sex than me? That you don't want me?” She retorted. “Nigga, you pent up as fuck. I see it all in your face.” 

Jameson kissed his teeth, rolling his eyes. It was true but he'd be damned if he admitted it. Sex with Cami was fine. They both got off. It was normal, typical sex. Radically different from what he had with Mani. But he didn't think he had anything to prove to her so he didn't answer. “I ain't ask you to believe shit. I'm just telling you that I know he not getting the job done. You forget that I know how you sound when you really want it.” 

She smirked, knowing she was right. Imani rolled her eyes at him. “Get the fuck out my room.” She said. “Oh, and take my watch off while you’re at it.”

He blinked at her, head jerking to the side as he tried to process what the fuck she was saying. “Fuck that and fuck you. This my watch.”

“Why the fuck are you even wearing that shit anyways!?” She said with her hands on her hips. “Camille ain’t gave you no other shit to wear?”

“It's my fucking watch. That's enough reason.” Jameson replied, frowning at her. “You said it was a mistake to leave me — you should be happy I'm wearing it.”

“I should be happy? I should be happy you’re wearin’ the fucking watch I gave you while you parade around here with another woman?” She repeated through squinted eyes. “What kinda sick fucking game are you playing?”

“Same game you playing.” He responded with venom, gesturing to her hand. He had seen it when she pushed his head but he was so angry at her that he didn't comment. “You fuck that nigga wearing my ring?”

Silence lapsed between them and Imani curled her fingers into a fist, wanting desperately to hide the damn ring…but he had already seen it. Fuck. She forgot to take off the ring when he came into the room. “And what if I did?” She finally said. She only wore his ring to calm herself down. It was the only piece of him she had and it brought her comfort. But it was not working right now. She was mad as fuck. “I know you fuckin’ that bitch wearing my watch!” 

“Mhm. I do.” He confirmed, lashing out just as she was. He just kept staring at the ring on her finger as if he were lost in his own thoughts. “I can't take the fucking thing off and it's your fault. I tried but I can't.”

Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at him. “What the hell you mean you can’t take it off, Jamie? You need me to fuckin’ help you?”

“Don't.” He mumbled, glaring at her. “Don't touch me, Mani. I swear to God…”

His words were a challenge for her. “Or what? The fuck you gone do, Jameson?” Imani glared at him as silence fell between them. Without another word, she reached out and grabbed his wrist.

He jerked his hand away from her. It was insanity but…this was exciting. Arguing with her, yelling shit they probably could have just sat down and talked about. It lit something inside him. He hated it…and loved it. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out for her. Jameson jerked her closer by her neck, grasping her loosely. He opened his mouth to say something but…what could he say? What else was to be said? He didn’t think about Camille or the fact that this was their friends’ engagement trip. All he could think about was that she had carried a part of him with her. He never took the watch off for that reason but it didn’t occur to him she felt the same way.

Jameson angled his head, his movements sleek and precise, and finally kissed her.

She was hesitant at first. Then Imani’s hand was on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, wanting a taste of him, because she didn’t know if it would be her last. Imani pulled away just so she could catch her breath. “I missed you,” she said. Her lips found his again. 

He caught the words she whispered and any common sense that would have stopped him from cheating on Camille fled. All he could hear was her. All he could feel was the way she touched him. For the first time in a year, he felt like himself again. “I missed you too.” He answered honestly, his hand releasing her wrist and anchoring against her hips as he slowly dipped…then picked her up, gathering her in his arms.

It was disgraceful. It was wrong. But fuck it felt good to hold her again. He knew he wasn’t going to stop. It had been over a year. Thirteen months, nineteen days, and six hours since he got to kiss her. He suffered, feeling the ghost of her under his skin while he did his best to pretend everything was fine. He went to therapy, he said and did all the right things to get his life back on track – and none of that felt as good as his fingers grasping a handful of ass and hearing her whimper.

The two stumbled backward, tipping over onto the bed. Imani straddled him, Jameson’s hands were roaming. They sat that way – kissing, tongues tangling and stroking one another, heads shifting left and right. Both of them were desperate for each other. The door was wide open but pausing to ensure their privacy didn’t appeal to either. Jameson reared back, his hand leaving her ass and straight down into her velour tracksuit. 

Imani hissed against his mouth, breaking the kiss to peer down between them. She watched his hand fumbling until they pushed her panties aside and dipped between her folds. His fingertips grazed against her piercing and she moaned. She was already wet and part of her hated to admit it – but it was their argument that did it.

They were toxic. They were each other’s drug of choice. They had both gotten clean but the addiction lingered like a shadow. Something they couldn’t outrun, no matter how many times they tried to walk away.

Imani leaned over him, her breath shallow, her pulse racing. Her hands framed his face and forced Jameson’s gaze to meet her own. They didn’t exchange words but they understood each other immediately. They were choosing to be together…at least for this moment. Imani slowly lifted his shirt, waiting for him to stop her but he didn’t. All he did was pull his hands from her pants, lifted his arms, and let her.

She saw bare chest and shoulders, broad and just the same as always. Then she saw nothing. Jameson tilted her head back and took her mouth again.

Imani didn’t waste time. They had none to spare. She rolled her hips hard against him and raked her acrylics across his shoulders and then down his chest. She felt her fingers against his biceps and then his abs – searching for more while Jameson shoved his hand back down the tracksuit that neither bothered to rid her of.

“Fuck,” he groaned against her mouth. “Baby, now.” Imani murmured.

Like a man given his orders, Jameson shifted slightly to the side and began to fuck her with his fingers. Imani’s eyes fluttered closed as she rocked herself on then off his digits. Every time she slid forward, she ground her hips down – taking his fingers but beckoning his dick to harden against her. She was practically out of her mind but she had enough sense to hold on to him, her arms wrapping around his neck as he panted against her ear.

For a few minutes, she rode him like that – both of them alternating between kissing and watching his fingers twist and thrust inside her. She could feel the orgasm racing up her spine but it felt so out of reach.

Imani opened her mouth to beg for more but his thumb pressed to her clit and she inhaled sharply. Just then…they heard the front door slam.

Imani froze but Jameson didn’t stop. He kept stroking her, kissing her neck. Maybe it was because she missed him. Maybe it was because she could hear footsteps downstairs. Whatever it was…it made her shudder against him. She came on a gasp so quickly that it shocked them both. Jameson lifted his free hand, covering her mouth as she kept circling her hips, riding out the high…until he couldn’t take it anymore.

They heard the footsteps below but Jameson moved like he had all the time in the world. He pulled his fingers free, rising from the bed, and hiked her higher in his arms. Kicking her bedroom door closed, he did the same to the shirt she had peeled from his body – doing his best to make sure it was under the bed. Then he strode into the ensuite bathroom and kicked that door closed behind them too.

All Imani could do was hold on to him, not saying a word. It would have been smart to stop but as their eyes met – she knew they wouldn’t. Jameson lowered her to stand…and then he locked the door.

The soft chime of her laptop pulled Genie’s attention away from the mug of tea she’d been nursing for the past hour. After breakfast with EJ, her father had finally arrived. Genie was so excited that she didn’t care about skiing or sledding or whatever activities EJ had planned. She sat with her father and felt like a kid again – following him around the house and helping him get settled. Finally, he left her to get some rest and she had pouted.

Instead of going out into the cold, Genie decided to do some work. She had emails to go through. Offers for gowns to events, modeling offers, and even fashion jobs but one in particular caught her eye. She glanced at the screen, her brow furrowing at the sight of a name she hadn’t seen there in…a while.

Sloane.

Her first instinct was to delete it. Whatever Sloane had to say couldn’t be good, and Genie wasn’t in the mood for more drama. She and Jameson had truly rooted her out of their lives and she was glad to keep it that way but curiosity got the better of her. With a sigh, she clicked the email open.

The message was long, rambling, and filled with justifications and excuses. But the gist of it was – Jameson was once again the object of her obsession. Sloane’s words were laced with guilt and a desperation to come clean.

“I never meant for things to go this far. I swear it was just meant to convince Jameson to talk to me. I’ve only ever had you guys as friends for real. I knew once he forgave me that you might too. I only gave her advice on how to get become friends with Jamie — what he liked, what he didn’t. I recently saw that they were together and I asked Camille about it. She wouldn’t even talk to me. Once she got what she wanted, I was history. I’m sorry, Genie. I had no idea that she was like this. I just wanted my friends back and I used her to do it. I didn’t realize what a mistake that would be.”

Genie’s heart pounded as she reread that section of the email. A mix of disbelief and anger bubbled up inside her. Camille? Sloane coaching her? It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be true. Why the fuck would either of them think that’d be a good idea?

Then again…it was. It worked. Camille got close. Genie knew Sloane wasn’t telling her this from the goodness of her heart. She was probably pissed that Camille and Jameson were dating.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she slammed the laptop shut. No. If Sloane had something to say, she could say it to her face — or at least over the phone.

Genie grabbed her phone and unblocked Sloane’s number before dialing it. It rung but then had no answer. Genie quickly flipped the laptop back open and sent three words in response to the email: Call me. Now.

The line rang once – the number unfamiliar to Genie – before she picked up, her voice tense. “What the fuck is this email about?”

There was a pause, and then Sloane sighed. “Look, I messed up, okay? I didn’t think it would go this far.”

“I don’t care about your explanation or your feelings. Tell me what’s going on?” Genie snapped.

Sloane launched into the story, her words tumbling over each other in her haste to explain. She admitted to coaching Camille, giving her tips on how to appeal to Jameson — how to get under his skin. It was supposed to be for friendship reasons but Genie wasn’t naive enough to buy that shit.

Her grip on her phone tightened as Sloane’s confession unraveled. By the time she finished, Genie was shaking with anger.

“So you told this girl how to play Jameson? It was all a lie?” Genie’s voice was low, dangerous.

“To give her credit, I think she really does want to be with him. But…” Sloane said weakly. “But?!” “If you play games to get what you want, you’ll always be playing. Isn’t that way you and Jameson stopped being friends with me? Trust? You can’t trust Camille. Just like you couldn’t trust me. Eventually, she’ll start playing the same games to get what she wants.”

Genie hung up without another word, her mind racing. She couldn’t let this slide. Not again. 

She looked all over the house for Camille but of course she wasn’t there. It wasn’t until EJ told her that she’d gone skiing with his sister that she realized the truth. Genie got dressed, ignoring EJ’s questions – simply saying she wanted to ski too.

It took almost forty-five minutes for her to make it to the damn mountain. By then, she was hotter than fish grease. She had stood back and let Sloane have her way. She knew the girl was no good and still let Jameson linger around her. She wasn’t going to do it again. Especially not when EJ said he wanted something good for himself.

When she saw the two, Ella spotted her first. Genie greeted her future sister in law warmly but cut her eyes at Camille. “We need to talk,” she told her, asking Ella to wait for them at the lift.

Camille nodded, agreeing quietly. “What’s going on?”

“I just got off the phone with Sloane,” Genie said, crossing her arms as she glanced around to make sure they couldn’t be heard by Ella. “Care to explain why she’s telling me you aren’t to be trusted?”

Camille’s pretty went pale and Genie almost felt sorry for her. Almost. Until she started lying. “I…I don’t know what she's talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Genie snapped. “She told me everything. How she coached you, how you followed her little plan to befriend Jameson. Was any of it real, Camille? Or was this just some weird ass game to you both?”

Camille opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“That’s what I thought,” Genie said, her voice shaking with anger. “You played my brother. You used him.”

“No! I didn’t!” Camille said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just – I didn’t expect to fall for him. But I did. I love Jameson. Sloane is the one – ”

Genie took a step closer, her eyes blazing. “No. You don’t get to play the victim here. You don’t get to pretend that it’s just Sloane. You manipulated him too. And I swear to god, you’re going to fix it.”

“But I…How?” Camille asked, tears brimming in her eyes.

“You’re going to tell him the truth,” Genie said firmly. “Everything. Or I will.”

Camille’s breath hitched. “Genie, please—”

“No,” Genie interrupted. “Jameson deserves better than this. He deserves the truth. EJ said you were good for him. That you were his new beginning but it’s the same old shit. You’re no better than Sloane. Tell him or I will. And the last bitch I snitched on, my brother cut her out the same night”

Camille trembled, her eyes wide. She fully believed Genie. Time after time, Jameson had told her how much his family meant to him. She knew Genie was serious.

Without another word, Genie turned on her heel, her anger still simmering as she approached Ella. She couldn’t believe she’d ever been willing to give Camille a shot. But one thing was certain — Jameson was going to hear the truth, no matter what. Whatever he decided from that point on was his business.

The water pounded against their skin, a steady rhythm that mirrored their hearts. Their clothes had been discarded in a pile on the floor. Steam filled the small bathroom, swirling around them, blurring the edges of reality. Jameson stood under the stream, his eyes closed, trying to breathe through the tension that threaded through his body. Imani was in front of him, her legs spread and her hand pressed against the stone wall to keep herself balanced. 

He pressed forward, gripping the base of his dick tightly in his grasp as he watched her welcome him in. They both exhaled in relief, pleasure making their skin tingle. The water cascaded over them and covered the sounds they couldn’t help but make. 

One of her hands came back and pressed to his thigh, pulling him forward but Jameson resisted. He only pushed the head into her, pulling back and fucking her with only that. Imani whined – he barely heard it over the spray of the shower but it was there. She turned back to look at him, frustration furrowing her brow. 

“Jamie…” she muttered, biting down on her lower lip. He gave her a little more, hands gripping her ass and pulling her cheeks apart. She gave him a giddy little smile, eyes closing as she tried to rise to the tips of her toes and slide back. One of his hands moved to grasp her waist and he kept her steady.

He couldn’t help the little delirious laugh that left his mouth. He was here with her. She wasn’t a vision or a fantasy. He was pushing into her, ignoring the way she tightened and soaked him. He was doing something wrong but it felt so fucking good that he didn’t think he’d ever find the decency to feel guilty about it. “Yeah. That’s how you sound when you really want it.”

He couldn’t see her face but he heard her words. “Shut the fuck up.”

They couldn’t spare the time, not really. But Jameson didn’t care about being found. He didn’t care about getting caught. All he gave a fuck about were the 415 days he spent without her. The nights where he wondered who got to cuddle up to her. And he decided a few extra minutes for dick couldn’t hurt her.

Jameson froze, bracing as she tried to buck back and force him to act. “Say sorry.”

Imani turned back to glare at him, the words not falling from her mouth. It was ludacris but Jameson grinned down at her, his fingertips digging into her hips to keep her still.

“Say it.” “No. Fuck you.”

He pulled out of her, opening his mouth to retort but there was a knock on the door. Imani’s head turned and she shot up, standing up straight. She stumbled back and Jameson caught her – keeping them both steady as she stared at the door.

“Y-Yeah?” She called out. “You good?”

He heard the voice call out to her and recognized it as Isaiah. He must have been who they heard come into the house. Jameson wondered how much he heard. Imani seemed to wonder the same. She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Answer him,” he said softly, wrapping his arm around her waist as he pressed a kiss against her neck to relax her. Imani did what he said and replied to Isaiah, shouting to be heard over the shower. “I’m f-fine.”

“You sure? You ain’t come out of this room all day. I missed you on the slopes.” “I’m sorry. I’m just…not feeling good.” “Let me in, baby. I want to check on you.”

He hated hearing the word ‘babe’ fall from his lips about Imani but Jameson didn’t say a word. He stroked down her thigh, fingertips eventually grazing at her clit. “You want him to check on you?” He teased her, fingers brushing against the silver piercing between her legs. Jameson tugged it down, twisting his fingers so they hit her clit and the piercing within seconds of each other. Imani tensed but didn’t stop him.

“No! No, I’m okay. I’m just… craving…um…caviar.” “...Caviar?”

Jameson snorted with laughter and Imani slapped her hand against his wrist, trying to silence him. He responded by moving his fingers faster, strumming her clit as his foot parted her legs even wider.

“Y-Yes! Caviar!”

She didn’t even eat caviar but Imani would give anything for him to get away from the damn door. Jameson had her legs trembling and she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before she couldn’t hide the fact that she was in bliss. 

“I can see if we got some in the kitchen.” “W-We don’t. Can you go to the market?” “Which one?” “Either one! It doesn’t matter!”

Her voice picked up urgency as she twisted her hips, joining his hand in getting her off. Jameson leaned in, kissing her earlobe before he whispered lowly. “I think we about to get caught. You want him to hear how you sound when you really cum?”

Imani shook her head, refusing Jameson’s request. Isaiah was saying something else but she couldn’t hear him – didn’t want to hear him. All she could hear was Jameson whispering against her ear, all she could feel was his fingers stroking her clit and then moving – wedging inside her. “C’mere. Let me hear it.” He whispered against her ear. She didn’t know if Isaiah was gone or not but Imani knew one thing for sure: she couldn’t hold back any longer.

She gasped, buckling under the pressure as she came with a strangled moan. The orgasm hit her harder than she expected and she crumpled forward, bending at the waist as she tried to escape his hands...but he wouldn’t let her. 

“Tell me you sorry.” Jameson said and Imani didn’t have it in her to deny him anymore. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, grasping his wrist to pull his hand away as she kept coming.

He pushed her hand away, quickening his strokes and adding his other hand to rub her clit. “I can’t hear you.” 

“Baby please, I-I’m sorry.” She yelped, her voice cracking from the pleasure. 

She expected him to be obnoxious about getting an apology but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m sorry too. For everything that led us here.”

Goosebumps spread across her skin but she didn’t have time to process what that meant. No sooner than he said the words, he was pressing into her while she was coming but he didn’t stop at the head. He kept going, pushing in and then pulling out to watch as she coated his dick in her release. “That’s pretty.” He murmured, one hand moving to her ass as the other reached up to grasp her hair. “My baby so fucking wet.” He turned them both in the shower, making her press her hands to the glass enclosing them in the space before his pace increased.

Imani’s jaw dropped as he thrust. He was trusting her to keep them both from falling against the glass and she didn’t have much faith in her abilities. Everything was trembling. Her thighs, her arms, her whole damn body. And there he was – fucking her like they weren’t under a time limit. Like they weren’t in situations with other people.

And she loved every minute of it.

Imani rose to the tips of her toes, rocking her hips hard against him. Their bodies clashed, water splashing between them as their thighs met. Jameson was so hard that it almost hurt him but he didn’t stop. He kept going, angling his hips to dig into her as deeply as he could. He hit that one spot that could damn near blind her and Imani yelped – the sound echoing throughout the bathroom.

“Baby, don’t stop.” she cried out, arms buckling as her body pressed to the glass. She gave up the pretense of holding anything up. He had a firm grip on her hair still. Head pulled back, hips jutted out, she was at his mercy. He slapped his palm against her ass, watching the cheek ripple and a groan left his body. Good. She loved to know that he was going crazy just like she was.

Jameson let her hair go and Imani’s face pressed to the glass, cheek against the cold as her hands reached back to grasp his thighs.

“W-Why you fucking me like this?” she whined, eyes rolling as he throbbed deep within her. “Because,” he grunted, being more honest than he wanted to be. “I love you. I need you. And I missed the fuck out of this pussy.”

That seemed to be the answer her body craved. Imani felt the rush hit her again. Jameson could feel it coming. She squeezed and pulled at his dick so good that he was shocked he hadn’t finished inside her yet. When she lost the ability to speak, he pressed her fully against the glass and bucked his hips – moving so fast that to peer down between them would be like looking at a damn blur. Her ass rebounded each time he pressed forward and Jameson pulled her cheeks apart again – arching her hips the way he liked. 

“I missed this dick so much.” she cried out, shaking as she came and confessed. “Nobody can fuck me like you do.” Her body was trembling uncontrollably as she released wave after wave of warm wetness onto him. The powerful way her pussy clenched tightly had him shaking too. Pulling him in and throbbing with every pulse of pleasure that erupted from within her. The hot water had faded into warm and was bordering on cold now but he didn’t give a shit. Jameson kept going as his soft grunts echoed off the walls of the shower.

“Fuck your pussy, baby,” she muttered, gasping out for breath. She was delirious after her third orgasm but he wasn’t done. He wanted another from her. It was that need to prove to her how he felt. The words weren’t working anymore. Words had failed them both. But when they got like this – they said everything they ever needed to say.

“This mine?” He asked her, moaning when she bobbed her head – nodding so fast that he barely got the question out. “You mean it?”

“Mhm!.” “My fucking baby. That pussy welcoming me home?” “Yes!” She cried, choking the word out with a groan. “Say it’s mine again.” “It’s yours, daddy! I promise.” “You gone give my shit away again?” “Un-uh! I’m never giving your pussy away again.” “Swear it.” “I swear, daddy!” “I’ma make sure you keep that promise.” “Jamie, please. I can’t. I can’t anymore. Cum.” “Not yet. One more. Then I’ll give you everything.” “You promise?” “I swear, baby.”

Imani nodded her head and hiked her leg up, resting it against the shower bench, and went to work. She sensuously rolled her hips against him, looking back over her shoulder and meeting his gaze.

She recognized that wild, borderline delirious look in his eyes. It was the same one she had. “Tell me this dick is mine.” she demanded. She had given him everything, had bared her feelings out throughout sex and she wanted the same from him. When they got out of this shower, she wanted to know he was hers. 

Surprise ignited in Jameson’s eyes and the tightening in his gut told him that he liked her possessiveness. After a year of believing she was apathetic to him, it fed something in him. 

“This your dick.” He told her with a grin. “Say it again,” Imani demanded.

He watched as her hand wedged between her legs, rubbing her sensitive clit. Her legs shook but she fought the urge to close them as his dick swelled within her. “This your dick, baby.”

“Again.” She demanded once more. “This your dick.” He told her seriously, moving his hands to brace against her hips and help her cum around him. “I belong to you. I’m not living if I’m not with you. I’m just existing.”

He watched her face soften as he confessed and Jameson leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. He slowed down, giving her deep and hard strokes as she squeaked out his name. He felt her cum around him again and his eyes shut as he wrapped his arms around her. He was done for. No good anymore.

Imani’s head fell back to his shoulder and she dragged his hand up her body, resting his hand against her neck. “Choke me.” She moaned out, knowing exactly what he needed. Jameson did as she asked, his thumb and ring finger pressing tightly against the sides of her neck. He didn’t do this with Camille. Comparing the two women never felt right but he had done it. Cami liked to be coddled and petted. He had done it and he enjoyed it. But this? Wild, reckless, uninhibited sex with Imani was heaven. She hummed happily and Jameson lifted his leg – resting it against hers on the bench as he jerked once…twice…and then emptied himself inside her.

They ground their hips against each other, Imani moving in the opposite direction as he did – dragging out their orgasms. Jameson twitched, grunting each time he sunk into her. Peering down between them, he watched his dick – covered in his nut and her cum slide in and out of her. He knew right then and there that he was never going to let this girl leave him again. They were going to have to figure this shit out. He loved fucking her but he loved the way she held on to him even more. His arms were right tightly around her and she sighed happily when he released her neck.

Imani sank into his embrace, silence taking over as the two of them listened to the cold water running and splashing against their feet. Jameson dropped his foot, leaning over to shut the water off and then he pressed his face against her neck – taking a deep breath and holding her tightly.

“I love you, baby.” Imani whispered. “I love you too.” Jameson replied.

Isaiah’s brows furrowed in confusion as he padded down the hallway. His mind still stuck on the whimpers he heard. Caviar? Caviar? Why the fuck would she want that? He shook his head and took a deep breath. Whatever Imani needed him to do, he would do it without question. He was determined to impress her. She was unlike any girl he had ever met – independent, beautiful, and successful in her own right. She was the dream girl of every man. He knew he needed her on his team. 

Entering the kitchen, he spotted Camille sitting at the island with a steaming mug in her hands. Her hands were shaking but still, she blew into it gently – sending plumes of hot steam swirling into the air. Walking over to the fridge, he opened it with hopefulness, searching for caviar. He didn’t want to go outside again. Isaiah was tired of the cold already. To his disappointment, there was none. 

Camille asked him sullenly, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, Mani just asked me for some caviar.” He said. 

“Caviar? Why would she want that?”

“I don’t know, man. She’s been in the room all day. She told me she wasn’t feeling well and wanted some caviar. Then I heard her in the shower, breathing all heavy and shit. It was fucking weird.”

As Isaiah spoke about Imani’s request, he noticed Camille’s facial expression change slowly. She already looked upset but it was like something had turned her stomach. Confused by her reaction, he narrowed his eyes at her and asked, “What?”

Camille swallowed before speaking again, “Do you know about her history with Jameson?”

Isaiah’s jaw clenched at the mention of that name. He despised Jameson and the feeling appeared to be mutual – all the sharp and icy looks he had been given him this whole weekend was proof enough of that. And then there was the way Jameson looked at Imani. Isaiah didn’t even want to think about it. From what she had told him, he was her ex. But Isaiah wasn’t worried. He knew he could give Imani more opportunities than that nigga ever could. 

“Nah, all I know is he’s her ex.” Isaiah replied with a nonchalant shrug. “I ain’t worried though.” 

Camille seemed defeated when she spoke again. “You should be. I-I don’t think she’s fully over him and she might have invited you out here for the wrong reasons.” 

Isaiah shook his head and waved off her concerns. “You trippin’. Me and Mani good. I’m a go get this caviar for her. I’ll be back.” He walked away to brave the frigid cold outside. Camille’s words stayed in his mind. But he quickly brushed them aside – what did Camille know about their relationship anyway? Jameson may have been Imani’s ex, but he was not Isaiah. 

He couldn’t quite believe that this was reality. Even as they both dried off and he tugged his underwear and pants back on…it didn’t feel real. Jameson kept staring at Imani, wondering if she’d disappear if he blinked too much. They had long since turned off the shower. Jameson sat her on the counter, cleaning up the mess they had both made before they redressed…and now he was standing behind her, holding on as if she’d fade away if he let go. “We got a lot of shit to work out…but I can't tell if I'm just imagining you. Is this real?” He pressed a kiss to her head, sighing softly in relief.

“It’s real.” She turned to face him, gazing into his eyes. Imani grabbed his face. She sighed, “I’m sorry for everything, baby. I wish I did so much shit differently. If I could go back, I would. We woulda worked this shit out and it wouldn’t be all…complicated like it is now.” 

It was insane how he relaxed the more she spoke. When he woke up that morning, he’d done it miserable and pissed at her. And now there he was – putty in her hands. “I can’t blame you too much,” he said softly, contradicting the heated words he’d spat out earlier. “I didn’t make you feel safe. I’m gonna make it uncomplicated. I’ll talk to Camille.”

He felt guilty about it. Camille had only been his girlfriend for a month but they were working towards building something. This was going to come out of left field for her but what else was he supposed to do? Imani was everything. And he was tired of pretending she wasn’t.

In the heat of the moment, she had forgotten about Camille and Isaiah. Imani felt terrible about them being casualties in their mess, but with him in her arms, she would do it all over again if she had to. “I’m sorry about that too.” 

He sighed softly, leaning in to kiss her. “You ain’t sorry. Just like I’m not sorry about that dickhead being shown the door.” Jameson shook his head, sighing softly as he pressed his forehead to hers. “We kinda fucked up, baby.”

She chuckled lowly. Imani dropped her hands, resting them on his shoulder. “I know. I know. You my fuck up though.” She said, kissing him again. “I don’t want to leave.” Imani sighed, knowing they spent far too much time in the bathroom. But it felt like they had only been in there for five minutes. She wasn’t ready to face reality just yet. 

“Me either.” He said softly. “But we have to. We at least owe them the truth.” He knew it wouldn’t change the fact that they were guilty but at least the truth would be out. “I gotta go talk to Camille. C’mon.”

She didn’t want to let him go, but she had to. Once they told their truths, they could be back in each other's arms again. “I’m ready, Jay. I need last night to be the last time I’ve slept without you in my arms.”

Jameson tsked softly, trying not to smile at how affectionate she was being. He had all but considered this lost. He began backing up to the bathroom door and unlocked it. “Don’t remind me about last night. I still owe you for that.” He pulled the door open, waiting for her to exit first. He still had to find his shirt but he was in no hurry.

Isaiah couldn’t shake Camille’s words and the muffled moans he heard from the bathroom before leaving to go to the market. He thought she was just being paranoid until he spotted Jameson down the hall, out of his and Imani’s room as he walked toward it. What the fuck was he doing in there? He glared at Jameson but was met with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes. Isaiah opened their room door, walked inside, and slammed it close behind him. 

Imani’s back was turned to him, but she jumped and glared at him. “What the hell, Isaiah!?” She said, sternly. 

Ignoring her question, he stared at her coldly. “The fuck was he doing in here?” Imani believed she had time to gather herself before she told Isaiah about what happened with her and Jameson, but Isaiah running into him let her know her time expired. 

Imani felt terrible about what she did even though she didn’t regret it at all. Her relationship with Isaiah was similar to her other flings: going nowhere. She could never give any of them her heart, because Jameson had it and this time, he came back to claim it. She hated that Isaiah had to be a casualty, but she was still dumbfounded. From what she knew about Isaiah, he seemed like he was sweet and kind, but here he was towering over her with his fists balled and his eyebrows furrowed. 

Imani stood up, exhaling softly. “Isaiah, Jamie and I slept together,” she paused, glancing at him. Horizontal wrinkles appeared on his face as he stared at her with his eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into all of this mess.”

Isaiah tsked, shaking his head. “Damn, Imani, it’s really him over me, huh?” He chuckled in disbelief. “You really dragged me out here to play me for some square ass nigga.” Isaiah couldn’t believe it. What did that man have that he didn’t? He was paid, definitely had more money than what Jameson could offer. He could get Imani whatever she wanted. Women would drop everything to be with someone like that, so why didn’t she? 

Her eyes squinted and her body tensed as he insulted Jameson. She wanted to allow him to be angry, but her patience could only take her so far. “I’m sorry – it’s not even like that.” she said softly. “But let’s be real with ourselves, you and I both know this wasn’t going anywhere.” She knew she wasn’t the only one on his roster of women. The man had access to anything he wanted. She saw how he angled his phone away from her while she was near and she heard all of the gossip surrounding him. Pussy was flying at him. How could a stable relationship ever be built off of that?

He stood there with his fists balled, never breaking his intense gaze on her. A quietness fell between them before Isaiah opened his mouth again. “Man, fuck you. I was ready to drop everything for you.”

“Fuck me?” She said, her voice strained and eyes squinted. “Nigga, fuck you. We’ve only known each other for a month and I know you got other hoes.”

“I was gone drop all of them for you!” He said, raising his voice. 

She exhaled, rubbing her forehead as she searched for the right words to appease him. “Look, I’m sorry, Isaiah. It ain’t have anything to do with you. It’s nothing against you. You’re just not him.”

Isaiah chuckled. “I’m not him? I know. I’m better than that nigga. He can’t spoil you like I can. I got you here on my own private jet. You ain’t gone experience no shit like that in your life ever again.” 

Imani rolled her eyes. She was done with being polite to him. She wasn’t familiar with this side of Isaiah. He was always kind and sweet to her, but now? He seemed like an asshole who had too many chances. “Trust me, I don’t need to be with you to experience any of that. I got my own shit. Now get the fuck out of here.”

He stepped closer to her with a heated glare and she peered at his clenched fists. Imani stared right back at him with her hands over her chest. She wasn’t scared of this man. “Fuck you! I can go get another bitch like you easily. You not special.” He countered. 

“Well then go find the bitch and get the fuck out of here!” She yelled loudly, tired of going back and forth with someone she wasn’t vested in. Imani pinched the bridge of her nose. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she looked at him with a death glare. Isaiah finally stepped back and pivoted on his feet. 

He walked into the closet they shared, mumbling something. Imani didn’t care what it was. She was just happy to hear him packing his things along with it. 

Jameson approached the door, wariness and anxiety inside him The soft hum of the heater filled the hallway with warmth but  it did nothing to ease the chill in his chest. He still felt the heat of Imani’s kisses against his lips, the feeling of her body fitting perfectly against his. He wanted to go back to that – to be anywhere that wasn’t this cold, broken place. He opened the door, stepping inside and stopped short. Camille was already back – sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

Her snow suit was on and her suitcase was repacked. Confusion furrowed his brow but Jameson shut the door behind him, inspecting the rest of the room.

Two dozen roses sat wilting in a vase on the dresser—an ironic reminder of the fleeting romance he had tried to build with Camille. He could still see the way he and Camille were that morning – warm kisses and affection between them. But in the light of day, the heat he had with Imani had put it to shame. Now he was guilty of something he never wanted to do again: Cheating

“Hey,” she said softly, as he closed the door. “I was waiting for you. Where have you been?”

Jameson looked up at her, his heart twisting. There was no excuse he could give her besides the truth. That’s what he was here for anyway. “I…was with Imani.”

He heard her sigh and saw her head nod dutifully. “Yeah, I figured.”

He took a deep breath, his voice low and pained as he continued on. “I... I slept with her.” He could have just broken up with her and hid the truth but that wouldn’t be fair. If she was going to hate him, it should be for the right reasons. He deserved her scorn and her anger. 

The words hung heavy in the air and slowly Camille turned around. “What?”

“I slept with Imani,” he said, his voice strained. “It just happened. I didn’t plan it and I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t just lie either.”

He took a good look at her face, realizing she seemed upset even before he spoke. She gripped the sheets in her hand, eyes glossy with tears. “You...really slept with her?”

Jameson nodded, guilt etched into every line of his face. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to fight how I feel about her, but it’s not going away. I thought I could move on. I wanted to move on, Cami. I wanted it to be with you but I just – I love her.”

“You told me she wasn’t good for you.” Camille muttered.

“She isn’t.” He said softly. “I’m not good for her either. But she’s my heart. And I’m hers. I always have been.”

Camille’s eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head. “No, Jameson. You don’t mean that. We’ve been so good together. We can work through this.”

He stepped closer, his voice desperate. He wanted her to hate him, yell at him. Not beg him to stay. “Camille, you deserve someone who can give you their whole heart. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m so sorry.”

She stared at him, her chest rising and falling as she tried to process his words. “You can’t leave me for her. Not now.” 

Jameson reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “I never wanted to hurt you. You’ve been incredible, but I don’t want to live the rest of my life lying.”

Camille’s shoulders sagged, and she let out a bitter laugh. “You know what’s funny? I was going to tell you the truth – all of it – but I didn’t want to ruin things. I didn’t want to lose you.”

He frowned. “The truth? What do you mean?”

She wiped at her tears, her voice trembling. “I didn’t just show up in your life by chance. Sloane sent me. She told me how to get close to you, how to make you fall for me. At first, it was just a game, but then... I started to care about you. I really did.”

Jameson stared at her, his jaw tightening. “A game?”

“A game. You seem to like them so much with Imani so why not with me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was supposed to convince you to forgive Sloane.”

The room fell silent, the weight of their confessions pressing down on both of them.

Jameson finally spoke, his voice low. “So was this whole thing was a lie?”

“No!” Camille said softly. “Not all of it. I love you, Jameson. I really do. We…we made something really beautiful together and I –”

He shook his head, stepping back. “So everything I thought this was, it wasn’t. I felt so guilty. I still feel guilty…but clearly this wasn’t meant to be.”

Tears streamed down Camille’s face as she sank onto the bed. “It was real. We were real.”

“Were we?” He asked softly. “The woman I thought was so good for me isn’t real. Do you like the shit you told me you do? Do you feel the way you told me you do? All those nights I rambled to you about Imani. About what I wanted out of life. I was talking to a woman I don’t know.”

Camile shook her head. “So what if I don’t like jazz, Jameson? So what if hate cooking? I lied about little stuff! How I feel is not a lie!”

“If you’ll lie about the little shit, you’ll lie about everything.”

She shook her head, wiping the tears away from her way brusquely. “Like you’re one to talk. You just finish fucking another woman!”

Jameson was silent for a moment, nodding. “You’re right. I thought I was moving forward but really…I wasn’t. I was just existing. I’m sorry, Camille. I’m sorry it ended like this.”

Her heart was heavy as she watched him and he could see the moment she accepted that it was over. She didn’t say a word but he took a step closer to her, pressing his hand to hers. This time, she let him. “I’m sorry I pulled you into my life. I’m sorry Sloane pointed you in my direction. I hurt you and I’ll regret that forever. I hope you find someone who makes you happy, Camille. You deserve that.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving her alone in the room, the sound of her quiet sobs echoing behind him.

Camille stepped out into the biting cold, her breath visible in the frosty air. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, her mind spinning with Jameson's words. She dragged her suitcase behind her, trying to make a quick escape. She didn't see Jameson or Genie as she left the house and wanted to keep it that way. Her heels crunched against the snow as she made her way down the steps of the house, desperate to escape.

“Excuse me?”

She turned at the sound of a man's voice and came face to face with Kendrick Adesanya. He stood by his car, dressed in a wool coat and scarf, his hands in his pockets. His expression was one of mild surprise but quickly shifted to concern as he took in her tear-streaked face and trembling hands.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer.

Camille shook her head, wiping at her face hastily. She could see Genie in his face and the reminder of the woman sent her spiraling. “No, I’m not. I need to get out of here.”

“Where are you going?”

“The airport,” she said, her voice tight. “I can’t stay here.”

Kendrick frowned. “Well, do you need a ride?”

She hesitated, her pride warring with her desperation. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Kendrick said. He opened the passenger door of his car, gesturing for her to get in. He moved across the snow and ice, reaching for her bag. Free from the heavy thing, Camille made her way to the car.

He placed it in the backseat and then Kendrick slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the car humming to life. Relief flooded through her system. She was on her way.

As they pulled out of the lodge’s driveway, Kendrick glanced at her. “Are you sure you want to go straight to the airport? It’s late, and you seem... upset. I can get you a room somewhere for the night.”

Camille shook her head vehemently. “No. I need to leave. I can’t stay here another second.”

Kendrick was quiet for a moment, his hands steady on the wheel. “Did something happen? Are you...you're Camille, right? Correct me if I'm wrong but you were supposed to be there with Jameson.”

She hesitated, not wanting to spill her humiliation, but the weight of the day pressed down on her. “It’s just... so much. Everything’s falling apart. Jameson and I are over. My life is chaos. And I couldn't stay there any longer.”

Kendrick glanced at her again, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know what’s going on, but running might not fix it.”

Camille let out a bitter laugh. “Trust me. Running is the best thing for me right now. My boyfriend is in love with someone else, your daughter wants my head, and I can't trust anybody.”

He sighed, his tone softening. “I'm sorry about Jameson. I don’t know you that well, but I’ve been around long enough to see when someone’s at their breaking point. If you need to talk, I’m here. No judgment. As Genie's father, I can confirm that her bark is worse than her bite. ”

Camille stared out the window, her fingers tightening around her bag. “Thank you, Mr. Adesanya. But I think I just need to get away.”

"Call me Kendrick."

The rest of the drive was silent, the tension in the car palpable. When they reached the airport, Kendrick pulled up to the curb and put the car in park.

“Take care of yourself, Camille,” he said as she climbed out.

She paused, looking back at him. “Thanks for the ride. And being so kind.”

He gave her a small smile. “Anytime.”

Camille shut the door and walked into the airport, her heart heavy and her mind racing. She didn’t know what she was running toward, but she knew she couldn’t stay where she was.

[ethelschapel]

do you have any idea about the story of willoughby and ethel and logan and can you explain it?

We don't know much about either character, especially Logan as the only real source material we have about him is the song Western Nights. However, I'll start with Willoughby as he's been hailed Ethel's first love. House in Nebraska is about him, the song clearly stating Ethel's extremely strong feelings for him but also outlining his departure or death or whatever happened to him that caused his split from Ethel. There's speculation that he died, that Ethel did something that caused him to leave her. A lot of what we know about Willoughby is purely conjecture, however in one way or another, Ethel and him separated before she met Logan and long before Isaiah.

There's an excerpt from a page of "Diary of a Preacher's Daughter" which Hayden posted herself saying, "As for me personally, I lost Willoughby that night. The only thing I've ever truly loved in this wretched life and I left him curled between the couch and the coffee table when it all got too loud. "Be mean" is what he'd tell me, every time I'd start my shaking. What he didn't tell me is that you can be mean and still be a coward. Some things you have to learn on your own."

You can read the full thing here.

Again, we don't know the full story surrounding Willoughby and probably never will until the book is published but that excerpt could lead us to believe that he died in the tornado. There's also another piece of source material, a fictional magazine called "Thoughts and Prayers for Ethel Cain," available to read here where the question "What about Willoughby Tucker? I know you two seemed pretty close before he moved away, have you kept in contact at all?" is asked. There's another interpretation here that he moved away, that Ethel could've done something to drive him away etc. I have to reiterate though that it's not confirmed what happened to him.

You may have also heard about the "B-sides" which are said to be all about Willoughby. You can find some collected information about them in this Reddit post. Note that although some of these things have been "confirmed" the artistic process is unpredictable and a lot of what's been discussed in asks and lives may not make it to the final project. The B-sides are also probably not coming for a while but Hayden has not scrapped the project as when saying her next project will have nothing to do with Preacher's Daughter she said, "no this doesn't mean b-sides are scrapped."

There's a lot to be revealed about Willoughby Tucker however he is a very important and frequently mentioned character by Hayden and the fandom.

Now, Logan is a different kettle of fish. He is Ethel's second love interest but is abusive, supposedly using Ethel for sex if you were to interpret the lyrics of Western Nights.

There's little known about Logan and he's very rarely mentioned by Hayden so just like with Willoughby, most of his lore is speculation. He is however a criminal, outlined by the line "Breaking in to the ATMs," and Ethel is dragged into the lifestyle alongside him. If it helps you visualise him better, Hayden has said before that Logan is a "hunky daddy." So...do with that what you will!

Either way, the relationship between the two is short-lived as he dies in a police shootout after robbing a bank causing Ethel to go on the run, ruminating on her relationship with Logan and how the abuse is a mirror of her relationship with her family, shown through the song Family Tree.

The most recent piece of lore we have was posted by Hayden on tumblr where she summarises the plot of Preacher's Daughter. See that here.

As I've said, it's not likely that much will be revealed until the book is out. I'm not Hayden and I don't have access to her head so understanding every detail is hard to do. I've tried to give different interpretations, piggy-backing off asks and source material that Hayden has posted herself, because the particulars are unknown and there's lot of contradictory things spread around. Art is meant to be interpreted though so do with this information as you wish.

If you want to do some of your own reading/listening, here's some other sources that could be useful:

. The lore page on Reddit

. Preachers Daughter document

. Thoughts and Prayers Mag

. Alt Press Mag

. The Line Of Best Fit Mag

. Artist Decoded

There's also another document which gives the basic interpretations of the story rather than lyrical analysis.

I hope this was helpful! And I hope I've made it clear that literally most of this needs to be taken with a grain of salt lol.

[thewordfortheday]

I think we all need undisturbed places of dwelling where there is peace and rest. We all need a place where there is love, peace and safety. I love that our God cares about seeing us in peaceful dwelling places and secure homes. He knows we need such a place more than anything. In Isaiah 32:18 the LORD says, “My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.” 

Even if your house is unimpressive, very middle class and ordinary, if Jesus is given preeminence, it becomes a home where there's righteousness, love, joy and peace. 

Prayer: Dear Lord, thank You for the secure homes and peaceful dwelling places You have blessed us with. Though my home may not be great or grand, I am thankful that Your presence is here, granting us peace and rest. I pray that You will be the center of my home, and bring peace, joy, love and security. In Jesus’ Name, Amen

[mothiir]

story time with isaiah

I can’t stop writing for these boys I love them.

Cw for caning, descriptions of blood.

—

—

It has been just under a month, and the Emperor — in His most glorious and unending mercy — has seen fit to continue to conceal your existence from the rest of Isaiah’s battle brothers. He and Reuben benefit from your redemptive labour, as you atone for your extensive sins by darning their socks, polishing their armour, and keeping their dormitory spotless.

With a little satisfied sound, you set aside your mending. You have been piecing Brother Reuben’s hair shirt back together, and your fingers are raw from handling the tough wool. Isaiah smells the iron tang of your blood.

You stretch your arms up over, closing your eyes as your joints click. Isaiah looks up from his current dedication — transcribing the life and times of Saint Celestine onto fresh parchment in his neatest handwriting — and sees that you are relaxing back into your bunk. His brow furrows a little. It is not time for you to sleep, and you show no signs of engaging in contemplation of the Emperor’s many noble deeds — though perhaps you are doing this internally? 

“Free time is an affront to the Emperor, little mortal,” he says, dipping his quill into ochre-red ink to outline the title of the newest segment, wherein Saint Celestine engaged in combat with a daemonette of Slaanesh and defeated it. This segment is an especially lengthy one, and well-illustrated, and he wants to do it justice. “Ensure at all times you keep Him in your thoughts.”

”Yes, my lord,” you say, eyes snapping open — a sure sign of guilt. One of your hands protectively rests over the hair shirt, probably recalling the last time that Isaiah had seen fit to bless you with more work. “No need to tear this, lord, I am more than happy to keep the Emperor in my thoughts while uh —“

Isaiah sighs, setting the quill down. Since the dormitory now only holds two Templars, he and Reuben have been able to redecorate, hammering the unused bunks into a workstation, pushed up against the wall. Their trunks serve as an adequate chair, tough durasteel enough to support the bulk of an Astartes — providing the Astartes in question is not armoured. 

“I am not going to tear the shirt, girl. I tore those socks because you showed an uncouth amount of joy in finishing your work for the day. And — besides, that is not the subject of discussion,” he says, thankful that Brother Reuben is not here, otherwise he would once again find himself rehashing an old absurd argument. Brother Reuben had objected to ‘his underwear being used as part of a pointless lesson and now she is upset and my feet are cold’. 

You had, admittedly, been a little upset — uttering little hitching squeaks, like you were swallowing back sobs — but Isaiah maintains it was an important chance to practice the virtue of patience, and you had restitched all of the socks in record time, so what was the harm done?

Still. Perhaps this is a chance to impart a gentler kind of lesson. Good relations with lesser mortals is an essential part of serving the Emperor. 

“Have you ever heard the tale of Saint Celestine?” he says instead. To his surprise, you brighten up. 

“Yes, my lord! I saw the latest holo about her before uh — before my world was cleansed in Holy Fire. Though of course it may have been a corrupted version of the story and uh—“

You are babbling. You often do this, and Brother Reuben has assured him that it is not a fault in your genetics, but a natural consequence of your human frailty. Isaiah cuts you off.

”I will teach you one of her many victories,” he says, “and of how her undying faith in the Emperor brought glory to both her and those who fought beside her.”

He turns away from his manuscript, folds his hands in his lap, and begins the tale. Saint Celestine was once a member of the Adepta Sororitas’ Order of Our Martyred Lady…

—

Just over an hour later, he finishes up the tale of how she appeared in glorious golden raiment to the beleaguered defenders of the city of Karlstadt, who were standing proud against the hideous assembled forces of heresy and ruin. How she had drawn her blessed blade and sliced apart the daemons arrayed before her. How she had blessed the inhabitants of the city, before fading into the rising sun like a dream of better times.

“That was beautiful,” you say. Isaiah had been staring off into the middle distance, allowing his eidetic memory to take hold of his tongue — but at your voice he focuses on you, gratified by the adoration in your eyes. The Living Saint is a balm to the faithful, and a scourge to the heretic.

“It is, is it not? Now, you recite it.”

Silence. You blink at him in puzzlement.

”You recite it,” he prompts. “So that you may tell the story to others.”

”Oh — uh — well, once there was…”

”No, no, no,” he says. “That is not correct. You must recite it exactly as I did, with the same words — this is how it was taught to me, and it is how it must be taught to you.”

”The — the exact same words?” you say, starting to grow flustered, your hands twisting into the hair shirt. The movement agitates the wounds on your hands, filling the air once more with the fragrance of your blood, and it gives Isaiah a splendid idea. 

“Yes. Do not worry, I will help with your memory — I understand that it is far inferior to mine.”

He looks around for a suitable implement. His warhammer is too heavy; his bolter far too precious. He reaches up to one of the unused wooden shelves and, with very little effort, rips it out of the metal brackets, before splintering it with a single crushing fist. 

“…my lord?” you say, sounding nervous. Isaiah smiles in what he hopes is a soothing way. 

“Do not be worried. I understand that your lapses in memory are not a sign of heresy, only of your own feeble genetics. This is a method that I was blessed to experience as a neophyte, before my implants worked fully, and it worked very well.”

He extracts the longest piece of wood, and uses his thumbnail to polish it, turning ragged pulp into a more suitable smoothness. He swishes it experimentally. Perfect.

“Now,” he says sunnily. “I will say a segment of the tale; you will repeat it. Every time you get it wrong, I shall give you a little tap with this. The pain focuses your mind, and ensures that next time you will not forget!”

”Uh — I do not think that is necessary my lord —“

You are hunched like a Jerboa about to bolt, smelling of fear. Isaiah sighs. 

“Girl, please do not be ungrateful. I am trying to bestow the Emperor’s kindness upon you. Now give me your hand.”

Your arm trembles, but you still extend your palm, fingers curled protectively over it. Just as he is about to begin the exercise, he recalls Brother Reuben’s fury at his torn socks. Ah. Yes. Anything that will hinder your ability to work is probably going to cause issues with his battle brother — and baseline humans take so long to heal. 

The soles of your feet? No, he cannot have you unable to stand. Your back? No — you need to hunch over your mending. Your face? Some of the serfs ritually scar themselves as part of their penance.

No. Not your face. That is a little dramatic for something as trivial as learning a story. 

And then it occurs to him in a lightning flash — of course! 

“Kindly lift your skirt up and bend over the bed,” he says, thanking the Emperor for His guidance. If you struggle to sit down then that is no problem — you can sew standing up! And you can sleep on your front, so it will not even affect your lengthy and inefficient spells of rest. 

You make a strange strangled sound. 

“My — my lord?” you manage, and that warm feeling kindles once more in his belly. Bringing a waif to the Emperor’s light; imparting unto you stories normally reserved for Astartes. It makes him feel all happy and tingly in a way he usually associates with a battle hard won, or an especially entertaining heretic burning. 

“Hurry up now,” he says, indicating the bunk. You look behind you, as if expecting Brother Reuben to materialise with his usual rebukes, but he is busy in the chapel (though Isaiah cannot imagine what possible issue his brother could have with this plan). 

Trembling like a new fawn, you bend over the bunk, propping your elbows on it. 

“Your skirt too,” Isaiah says, helpfully. “If fabric gets into the wounds it can cause infection, and that is a serious matter for a baseline.”

You inch your skirt up in little shuddering movements that Isaiah finds absolutely hypnotic for reasons he cannot quite understand. You bare plump, tender flesh — thighs sweeping up to the curve of your buttocks, which quiver under his gaze. 

“Do you not have any undergarments?” he says. 

“I did,” you say, after a moment. “They uh. They vanished.”

How baffling. Humans are absentminded to the extreme — perhaps you mislaid them? He will have to ask Brother Reuben of their whereabouts. 

“Now,” he says. His mouth feels odd — a little too dry. He swallows a few times, rolling his tongue against the soft insides of his cheeks, wondering briefly — absurdly — if your skin would feel as soft against the press of his fingers. ”Let us begin.”

—

You start off so well, parroting back the first few sentences he recites for you almost down to his intonation. Alas, you are still only a human, and the mistakes soon begin —

“…for Saint Celestine appeared in —“

Wssshhh goes the instrument, and you squeal. Your buttocks jiggle in a way that would definitely distract a lesser man; but Isaiah is completely devoted to the Emperor’s word, and thus does not take more than forty five seconds to watch them move as you squirm in pain. He thought the strike was gentle, but your flesh is softer than butter, slicing open with the least touch. 

“You missed something out,” he says, after his momentary pause. “Try again.”

”I am sorry — ow that hurts — uh — “

This time, you get the phrasing right (‘miraculously appeared’ not just ‘appeared’), and proceed until —

“—her hair of gold — “

Another strike. The flesh of your rear splits like ripened fruit, and you yowl. 

“Hair of black, eyes of gold,” Isaiah corrects patiently. It is just as well he has taken you under his wing. The way you squirm and squeak is most immodest, and he is certain that none of the other serfs take discipline with the same lack of dignity. 

“Hair of — hair of black, eyes of — eyes of gold —“

He forgives you the stammer, but he cannot forgive the lapse that follows, as you describe Saint Celestine’s armour as ‘radiant’ rather than ‘luminous’. This time, Isaiah is most careful with his blow, and your skin only flares bright pink, rather than splitting asunder. You still whimper and wriggle as though he has made you bleed, which is most unbecoming. 

“Do try and endure the pain,” he tells you. “There is no need to be so…squirmy.”

Once again, he thanks the Emperor for guiding you to him, and not to a man with less moral fortitude, because the way the blood slicks over the curve of your rump and glistens would almost certainly lead a lesser man to sinful contemplation. 

The next lashes — earned through forgetting four of Saint Celestine’s thirty eight titles — have you blubbering, your face pressed into the blankets. Your buttocks, and the upper parts of your thighs, are streaked purple and pink with bruising, and blood drips down towards the backs of your knees. It smells bright and fresh — somehow more pleasing than the foul blood of xenos or heretics. Perhaps because it was shed by a penitent in service to the Emperor, not one of His enemies? Though Osric and Jean’s blood never smelled quite so…delicious. 

Hm. When did he last eat? Maybe he has been fasting overly much. That must be the reason his stomach tightens so.

You burble a slurry of sound into the mattress — even to his trained ear it barely resembles Gothic. 

“You’re not even halfway through memorising this,” he chides, and you manage another hiccuping attempt at repeating the conversation between Saint Celestine and her former Battle Sister Augusta. It is a most touching soliloquy on the importance of placing your faith in the Emperor, but —

“—and I will — I will do I must and take Him inside me, and let His will fill me like a flood — nay, like an ocean. His Holy Fire will spill deep inside my body —“

— for some reason it sounds a little different when you say it. His cheeks warm. 

Still, the technique is working. He finds he has to hit you less and less as you continue; the pain sharpening your mind, clearing the fog of doubt, permitting the Emperor’s words to penetrate. 

Finally, your approach the denouement, where Saint Celestine addresses the Emperor directly in prayer —

“My Lord, I beg of you to fill my humble body up —“

He strikes you without thinking.

“Wha — what did I get wrong?” you squeal, and it takes a moment for Isaiah to focus. He is staring at the jiggle of your thighs as you heave in desperate, pained breaths — by the Emperor’s light, clearly he has not done his job in teaching you how to best conduct yourself, because you are responding to proper discipline like a whore. Your spine arches as you try fruitlessly to escape; your eyes are wet and red-rimmed; your lips slick with spittle. Do you realise what you are doing? Ignorance is no defence against judgement; Isaiah could build a new monastery with the bones of those he has slain whose only crime was ignorance. 

Isaiah presses one hand on the small of your back, pressing down just enough to calm your twitching. He feels your heartbeat echo up through his palm; the scent of your blood fills his nose, and saliva puddles on his tongue. He is a Black Templar. His purpose is to slay the enemies of the Emperor; to crush them beneath his boots, to lay waste to their cities and hear the lamentations of their children, before they too are cast onto the pyre to ensure the rot does at the root. He is stronger than you. He is better than you, and your mewling is not effecting him, it cannot be effecting him —

”Keep going,” he says, his voice a low, hungry growl. “Finish the tale.”

” —yes. Of course. Saint Celestine thus spoke to the Emperor: “Fill my humble body up with Your Grace and Your Judgement, and let me then be a vessel for Your Will, bringing Your light to the dark and Your hope to the hopeless. Amen.” 

“Amen,” he echoes. 

—

He helps you clean up, for he would be a poor teacher indeed if he left you in a puddle of your own blood to contemplate your lesson. He waves away your protests that you can take care of yourself — it is a small matter for him, just requiring a little water and a clean rag. Your flesh is already swelling, puffy and tender, and when he runs his palm from your calf to your back he can feel the difference in temperature: from cool thighs to fever-warm buttocks. 

The apothecary insists that Astartes be thorough in their care of themselves. Thus, Isaiah takes care to repeat the gesture a few times, his large hands — each of which easily encircle your thighs — skimming with utmost consideration over your bruised flesh. 

“There,” he says, when he has attended to your wounds to his satisfaction. He tugs your skirt down to cover your modesty, pleased that he has fufilled his duty of care to you. “Is it not wonderful to learn the Emperor’s word?”

You prop yourself up on your forearms, turning back to look at him. “Yes,” you echo. “Simply wonderful.”

Isaiah beams at you, absent-mindedly lifting his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean. He has probably been fasting too much; a Templar must remain well fed to best serve the Emperor. 

“You can have the afternoon to recover,” he says, magnanimously. “We can commence your next lesson in a ten day — or whenever your schedule allows.”

”Yes, my lord. Thank you my lord,” you say. “All hail the Emperor and His most bounteous mercy.”

”All hail,” Isaiah says, already planning how to best explain this to Brother Reuben — while also making it excruciatingly clear that Brother Reuben needn’t trouble himself with the serf’s continued holy education. No, Brother Reuben can focus his considerable energy in locating the poor thing’s missing undergarments — a role far more befitting his station. “And next time,” he adds, licking the last of the blood from the back of his hand. “Refrain from squirming and mewling like a slattern. Have some self control.”

[queerprayers]

Hi! This advent I really want to honour my faith rather than just celebrating christmas in a secular sense. I found your post about advent and the liturgical new year inspiring, and I was wondering if you could point me towards some ideas or resources for advent practices or ways to go about worship specifically for this period - everywhere I've looked just talks about lighting candles, which I'm not able to do in my current housing. Do you have any suggestions?

Thank you for your blog and everything you write here, and I hope you have a wonderful new year <3

Happy Advent, beloved! Candles are great (including fake ones or felt/crafted ones)—or you could recreate a similar weekly/daily thing, like hanging another star in the window. But that's not your only option. Here are some thoughts! (I also said some similar things last year you might find interesting.)

One of the most meaningful things about my Advents growing up was the fact that it was visibly not-quite-Christmas. We put up our tree maybe a few days before but we didn't decorate it until Christmas Eve. We didn't listen to Christmas music till Christmas—we listened to Advent music. We put our nativity set in the window, but gradually—we would set up Mary and Joseph traveling to it, and I remember waiting to unpack the baby Jesus until Christmas Eve. (The wise men were on the bookshelf until Epiphany.) I've put a painting of the Annunciation on my altar, but Christmas stuff will wait. 

It's very important to me to make each season distinct materially. The things around me, the music I listen to, the books I read, the prayers I say, change tangibly—in Advent and Lent especially. My emotions come and go, what I'm thinking about is different every day, but it's Advent because I am doing Advent—and not yet doing Christmas, no matter what the music in the grocery store or the parties I'm invited to tell me. (I don't refuse to find joy in them, I'm just conscious about the fact that I'm in a different season. It's not as big a deal to me as the Lent/Easter divide, though, which I will defend with every part of me.)

I love liturgical colors for this reason, too—my church isn't very extravagant and mostly looks the same throughout the year, but the altar cloth is a different color. I know exactly what season it is just from that. (Our Advent is blue to honor Mary, but most people's is purple like Lent with maybe a pink Gaudete Sunday.) My home altar also changes color, so I have that visual in my room as well.

So do it on purpose, candles or no. Maybe wait on a few Christmas-y things, like ornaments or music (don't worry, Christmas has twelve days and then you can keep doing it all through the Epiphany season if you want). Make it Advent, whenever you start! 

Historically, Advent traditions have been very similar (or identical) to Lenten ones. The Orthodox church calls Advent the Nativity Fast. It's been a penitent preparation. Things we may associate with Lent, like going without things or structured prayer, can find a home in Advent as well.

Secular celebrations and consumerism have affected Advent as well as Christmas, with countless calendars and just in general by filling our lives with Christmas themes that might make us forget Advent has its own themes. (To be clear, I support anyone celebrating Christmas—once a religion evangelizes/colonizes/rules, it has no right to accuse people of appropriating its holidays. I am simply talking about how the cultural practice differs.) Advent has themes of peace and love and hope, but it's got more specific themes than that, scarier stuff than that. It's about Christ's coming in the Incarnation, but it's also about Christ coming all around us every day, and Christ's promised future coming.

Spend some time with Isaiah, spend some time with meditations on Mary (I just read some of Catherine of Siena's words which are here as a reading for March 25.). From the poem I posted, you can tell I spent some time with Joel last year. Here's the Revised Common Lectionary daily readings for these seasons—you could start a habit or do it for a season or explore some passages every once in a while. You can find the Book of Common Prayer's traditional Advent prayers here (The Collects >> choose Traditional or Contemporary language >> Seasons of the Year). The ancient "O Antiphons" accompany the Magnificat starting Dec. 17 (here's a booklet with commentary & Latin chant). Forward Movement has several podcasts, if you want to pray daily while commuting or taking a walk or right before bed.

There are a million Advent devotionals out there—you can find one from an author you like, or search your/a denomination + "advent devotional" or "advent prayers" and you'll probably find something. For some social justice oriented ones, I've found Red Letter Christianity's Reflections from Bethlehem (by Palestinian authors), Justice Unbound's Boundless: An Anti-Colonial Advent Devotional, and the UCC's Abolition Advent Calendar. Cole Arthur Riley (Black Liturgies) is doing an Advent series on her Patreon. Jan Richardson posts art and poetic blessings throughout the year.

In terms of books, I recommend:

Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas

Preparing for Christmas (Richard Rohr)

Celtic Advent (David Cole)

WinterSong (Madeleine L'engle & Luci Shaw)

Advent for Exiles (Caroline Cobb)

If you want poetry: Accompanied by Angels (Luci Shaw). 

I'll tell you a secret—most devotionals are meant to be read every day, but no one will know if you don't do that. You can start them at any time and read as much as you like whenever you like. Don't not start one because you don't think you'll be regular about it. 

And of course, you don't need a book to say "Advent" on the front for it to be an Advent book—or music or anything else. I'm about to start God Hunger: Discovering the Mystic in All of Us (John J. Kirvan) which I picked up at a book sale but it's on the Internet Archive! I'm drawn to poetry and Marian hymns in this season, and things that talk about the end of the world and prophecy. Whatever Advent is to you, surround yourself with it—and anything you're just starting to think about, you can explore.

The beautiful news is? The years spiral on, and Advent returns. Every year we're confronted with it, and every year I never do exactly what I wanted. But I've found some stuff to bring with me, some books to reread, things I know further my practice and things that don't. And when the spiral returns to this distinctive place of waiting for something already in our hearts, of hoping for something we don't understand, of inviting in someone who has already snuck in like a thief in the night, we can try again.

So happy Advent, and may yours be visibly, tangibly, purposefully Advent. May you be the impractical kind of hopeful and the holy kind of scared. Christmas is a miracle slowly being tended (rather than Easter's miracle erupting from the ground)—not that there's no blood, no surprise, but that for nine months Life itself grew quietly. So keep watch. Make your life a womb, make your Advent a narrowing toward the humanity God enters. Tend the darkness and bring in some light—a candle is just a way to do that, but there's so much light in the world. Here's to finding it.

<3 Johanna

[cuties-in-codices]

Congrats on the bachelor’s. Ang good manuscripts about justice, torture and execution? Its for my end of studies project lol

sure! it kind of depends on what you're actually looking for though. i could point you to hundreds of manuscripts that portray gory martyrdoms, torture in hell, fictional executions etc. in some shape or form (see my latest compilation of isaiah being sawn in half!). those aren't necessarily indicative of real-world practices/norms of justice though, if that's what you're interested in. anyways, here's some stuff i had to think of that might or might not be relevant to your question. keep in mind i'm not an expert on the contents of these manuscripts, i just collect images. :)

1.) the livre de la vigne nostre seigneur (france, 1450–70) is, imo, the place to go if you're looking for cool depictions of hell, demons torturing sinners etc... as for real-world methods of execution, scenes like the one on fol. 30r might be somewhat insightful (christians being persecuted and tortured by the antichrist in various ways):

Oxford, Boudleain Library, MS. Douce 134, fol. 30r

2.) as for justice, i had to think of the sachsenspiegel, which "is one of the most important law books and custumals compiled during the holy roman empire" (wikipedia). here are some impression from a 14th c. edition, one of the first/original ones. every page is composed of the legal text on one side, and matching illustrations on the other. so, for example: at the bottom of the first image here (12v), there's an illustration for the law that said that pregnant women should only be penalized/tortured in a relatively mild way (penalties "on the skin and hair"):

Heidelberg, UB, Cod. Pal. germ. 164, fol. 12v and 20r

3.) here's another manuscript that contains illustrations of henchmen of the antichrist getting creative with torturing people (bavaria, c. 1440):

Berlin, SBB, Ms. germ. fol. 733, fol. 6v and 7r

4.) now this one's niche, but i personally really really love this 15th century (bavarian) series of images depicting ways in which various sinners/sins receive different eternal punishments in hell. each miniature is dedicated to a different cardinal sin or violation of one of the ten commandments. to give you an impression, here's a selection of sins and their punishments:

unchastity and gluttony:

envy and wrath:

adultery and false testimony:

Nürnberg, STN, Cent. V, App. 34a, fol. 114r-123r

regarding medieval ideas of justice, i feel like this series illustrates the same concept that can be found in dante's divine comedy: "the punishment of souls by a process either resembling or contrasting with the sin itself" (see contrapasso).

so those were just some manuscripts that came to mind -- maybe some of this was useful to you, either way best wishes for your project. :)

[reddje]

losers fic writers what are ur losers middle names since they don’t have canonical last names 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

i’ve been writing losers club / it fics for seven years so i’ve had plenty of time to perfect their middle names so here they are

eddie

eddie’s middle name when i write him is always isaiah. it’s biblical, it’s pretty, and i just think eddie’s mom is very much about pretty perfect things and edward isaiah kaspbrak is just a pretty little name

richie

alwaysssss wentworth! always! richard wentworth tozier is so ingrained into my mind that it’s almost canon to me. i just think wentworth and maggie are the type to name their kids after themselves and when richie was born they were like okay cute, little boy, dads name as his middle name.

stan

i think stanley asher is so cute and it’s also a popular name in hebrew and it goes well with his last name so i do love it. truth be told i did do a little digging when i was 14 and needing a middle name for stan and asher was one of the names that kept showing up on popular jewish names websites so it kinda just stuck w me. stanley asher uris ur so famous to me <3

bill

william henry 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ william henry denbrough 🤷‍♀️ and georgie’s middle name is james, even though he’s the only one with a canonical middle name 😭

mike

mikes middle name is william bc it’s his dads name , but i also think he could’ve been named “michael leroy hanlon” after his grandfather. i tend to go with william though !

ben

benjamin alexander!!! so so cutie pie just like he is.

bev

beverly grace just screams at me idk. i just feel like her dad would’ve picked it, and she hates it, but richie found out about it and calls her by it all the time and it’s grown on her hearing him call her it. (bc they’re bffs)

[themultifandomgal]

Isaiah Jesus- We’re Getting Married

When I told my brothers that Isaiah and I were getting married, they were not happy. I am the youngest Shelby, as Arthur puts it 'our baby sister'. Thankfully though my brothers came around and now here I stand smoothing down my dress as Esme places my vail in my hair

"You look beautiful YN" Lizzie gushes

"Thank you, but so do you both" I look at Esme and Lizzie through the mirror in front of me

"Ready?"

"Yeah" I smile turning around to Lizzie

"I'll go let Arthur know" she says leaving the room. A few minutes later Arthur knocks the door with his hand over his eyes

"We're all decent you can come in" I tell him. He takes his hand away and I can already see the tears in his eyes "don't cry because you'll make me cry"

"I'm sorry. It's just... my baby sister is getting married"

"Ok no smudging the makeup" Esme says stopping both me and Arthur from crying

"I think Isaiah is waiting" Lizzie places her hands on her hips

"Your right. Come on" Arthur holds his arm out for me to take.

As I wait for the doors to open to reveal Isaiah I start fidgeting

"Don't be nervous"

"I'm not. I'm excited. I love him Arthur"

"I know you do" finally the doors open and in walk Lizzie and Tom, then Esme and John. Then in walk my bridesmaids and finally Arthur walks me to Isaiah who's stood at the end of the aisle looks so freaking good. I notice he's got a tear running down his smiling face which cause me to cry a little. Arthur gives Isaiah my hand then kisses my cheek before taking his seat next to the rest of my family

"Welcome" the priest starts "today we are here to witness the marriage and bond between YN and Isaiah. Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do"

"I do" we both respond

"Before we start. Is there anyone here who has reason that these two should not marry?" Thankfully neither Isaiah or I have to be nervous about anyone standing up "since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church" Isaiah and I hold hands

"I, take you , to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honor you all the days of my life" Isaiah says looking into my eyes. I repeat what he says

"May the Lord in his kindness strengthen the consent you have declared before the Church and graciously bring to fulfillment his blessings within you. What God has joined, let no one put asunder. May the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, the God who joined together our first parents in paradise, strength and bless in Christ the consent you have declared before the Church, so that what God joins together, no one may put asunder. receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the father, and the son, and the Holy Spirit. Who has the rings?" The priest asks. Charlie steps forward with both of our rings. Isaiah then takes my left hand

"Receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the father, and the son, and the Holy Spirit" he then places the ring on my finger. I repeat

"Now let us humbly invoke God's blessing upon this bride and groom, that in his kindness he may favor with his help those on whom he has bestowed the Sacrament of Matrimony. In the sight of God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss" the room is filled with applause while Isaiah and I share a kiss.

It's now the after party at the Garrison and I've changed into something a little more comfortable so I can dance in. Isaiah and I had our first dance then Arthur clears his throat

"Can I have everyone's attention" I take Isaias hand in mine "I'd like to raise a toast to my sister and now brother in-law. Now when you first starting courting I wasn't happy" this makes us all laugh "in all seriousness though, I saw the way YN looked at you and the way you looked at her. It's a love that can't be ignored. I can't wait to see where life takes you both, but no babies yet I'm still not recovered from this wedding" again this makes everyone laugh "to YN and Isaiah"

"To YN and Isaiah" everyone shouts before we all take a sip of the champagne. I turn to my now husband and look up at him

"I love you"

"I love you too" he leans down and kisses my lips.

[aheathen-conceivably]

Dearest Zelda,

First let me say what a joy it was to receive your latest letter! Truly I was so delighted upon seeing it in the mailbox that I ran straight for Isaiah. He is not one to worry, but when our latest contact to the address we had for you in New Orleans once again went unanswered, I fear even he had begun to grow concerned. 

I am delighted to read that your silence was not without good reason, and to see the wedding portrait you sent of you and Antoine as well as the photo of your daughter. How she has grown since we last saw her! She is not much younger than our eldest now, who I fear every day is so like your brother there is simply no one thing in this world that can tame her.

It does sound like your Violette is much the same, and how much joy it brings me to think that perhaps it is Florence’s spirit manifesting through them.

Our youngest have also begun to grow like weeds, much to my chagrin. Does it ever seem like sometimes you awaken and it’s as though the grass has grown a foot overnight? That is oft how I feel looking at them, and Rosalie seems to desire all the independence of her namesake. 

She wasn’t but a day over six when she began poking into Rosella’s old room, curiously pulling forth toys and books from the gathered dust like a miniature treasure hunter. Truthfully, I could not tell you why your brother and I had yet to bring the room back into the light of day. Once you took the portrait from it it was like a pall had lifted, but I feared that stirring it would upset your brother’s long-standing grief over your mother, so I daren’t say a word. 

But as children often do, Rosalie saw little of that other than a space to call her own, and we have now finally found the heart through her to give it a new life. I do hope your sister would love to see her in there, playing dolls and writing grand romantic stories for them aloud to her ever attentive twin. It is a joy to see them rediscover the beauty in the world that pain often hides, is it not?

Have you written to Virginia as well? I fear she may not be quite as conscious of the time that has gone by. With the dissolution of The Women’s Political and Social Union, her work has turned increasingly to involvement with the Women’s Labor League, eventually coming to the attention of the Labor Party themselves. 

I will admit that I am not as informed on the goings on of London as I perhaps should be, but even still it came as no surprise when the party nominated her as their candidate for Member of Parliament. As she so painstakingly explained it, the party itself has suffered great losses from their prominence in the 20s, what with the general bias of their associations with the communists and their seeming inability to stop the rampant unemployment that has taken hold even here. 

I suppose she is fully aware that this was the cause for her nomination, as she was able to run more on the merit of her charitable associations than the negative reputation the party has recently taken on. Yet if she was surprised that this platform worked, she has never let on; but her work in the House of Commons has all but taken over her life since her election in 1931. How I do miss her and Wally, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing that she keeps her seat in the upcoming election of ‘35, even if it means we will see less of them than ever.

I imagine that what little free time she has is now spent nearby at Oxford, where Wally was accepted upon his graduation from secondary school. While I’m sure being the son of a governing member of parliament was not a mark against him, I have no doubt he was accepted there on the merits of his intelligence alone. Even from the small amount of time he spent here in his teen years, it was clear to me what a bright boy he was. 

I am told he is majoring in physics there, a field that even in the briefest explanations Virginia has given me is quite beyond my comprehension. I suppose what else are we to expect with Virginia as his mother? I’m sure he’s had but the most informative, intellectual upbringing, even when it must have been colored by the high expectations that I can only imagine your sister set for him.

Despite her near constant work and best attempts to shield her vulnerability, there are moments when we speak and it seems as though Wally's departure brought forth much of the buried sentimentality within her. I suppose under it all she is but a mother like us all, proud of her child and yet sorrowful as his life grows beyond her own.

Before I sign off your brother has instructed me to ask you to include the most minute of details regarding your predicaments with the soil in your next letter. He has also asked me to attach a veritable field guide of advice, although I have told him that everything you have written points to the fact that you are in waters we could not navigate any better even if we tried.

I must admit that when I hear the word soil I think simply of the ground beneath verdant green grasses or darkened Bramblewood canopies. It makes me realize just how little of the world I have seen, but also how lucky we have been even in the throes of what seem to be such tumultuous times. I can only hope that such good fortune will last in England for many years to come, and that some of our knowledge may bring success to your efforts as well.

I must once again thank you for the photo of you and Antoine on your wedding day. We’ve placed it in our living room next to the photo of your mother and father when they were wed, as seems only right. In return I have also included a photo of all of us when we were last together to visit Wally’s new home in Oxford; although I’ll be the first to admit I do hope we spend the next high holiday together in Henford instead. Anything that close to London makes me long for the forest more than anything else.

Your mother once told me that she sent you every photo we took, and that you have been collecting them over the years. I hope this can make a welcome addition to such a tradition, and do always know that you are welcome here should you ever find need of solace in the place you once called home. 

Your sister in marriage,

 Summer Darlington

Previous / Next

[anamericangirl]

What’s a good reason to not take my own life? I’ve been feeling this way for years. Been to multiple treatment programs. Seen by several different therapists. Anti-depressants. I frequently go outdoors to exercise. Try to fill up my life with being optimistic about my (admittedly nice) job, hobbies, travel, and volunteering. And yet I’m still no better than I was 5 years ago and I have no hope about a happy future. “Your family will miss you.” Ok, and? I think it’s selfish to tell people in pain to continue living like that because some people might temporarily feel sad. They’ll eventually move on. My friends too, especially the ones who are happily married “to their best friends” and having babies and are so happy that they forget I exist.

Hey anon I hope I am not too late! I am just getting out of a hurricane and was without internet access for several days so i apologize for the delay.

But there are so many reasons not to take your own life. In fact, I can’t think of a single reason why you should.

I know it’s tough right now and trust me, I know that depression makes it all feel pointless and worthless and can plague you for years but even though if feels like forever I promise you these feelings and this depression and your circumstances are TEMPORARY. And it would be a tragedy for you to take your life over temporary circumstances and not see what is possible on the other side.

Yes your family and friends will miss you but you should stay because your life has purpose and meaning! Therapy and anti-depressants are good and I’m glad you’ve been trying those things because that means you don’t actually want to die - you just want the pain to stop. And that’s completely understandable and also manageable!

It’s great that you’ve been continuing to exercise and do volunteer work because those things can definitely impact your mood, but they aren’t the source of true joy, peace and happiness. Now I’m a Christian so I’m sure it won’t surprise you for me to say this, but what you are looking for and what you need can only come from God. I urge you to put your faith and trust in him and give him your burdens.

The devil has a hold on you right now, don’t let him win!

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” - Isaiah 41:10

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. - Jeremiah 29:11

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” - John 10:10

“Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.” - psalm 55:22

“The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the LORD delivers him from them all.” - psalm 34:18-19

But now that I’ve gone on my spiel, here are some reasons I think it’s good to keep living. Not all my original thoughts but ones i agree with.

1. You matter

2. No one else is you.

3. Your younger self

4. Your next favorite song.

5. Warm blankets.

6. Thunderstorms

7. The fact that you’re in control of your future.

8. Experiencing new cultures.

9. Making new friends.

10. Road trips.

11. Sunsets and sunrises.

12. Reading good books.

13. Learning a new language.

14. Adopting a pet.

15. Fresh baked bread and cookies.

16. Getting packages in the mail.

17. Autumn.

18. Pumpkin spice.

19. Drinking coffee in the morning.

20. Beaches and being able to sink your toes into the sand.

21. Stepping on crunchy leaves.

22. Recovery.

23. Falling in love.

24. Rain.

25. Petting puppies and kittens.

26. Drinking water.

27. Trying something new and loving it.

28. Your favorite artist putting out new music.

29. A new season on your favorite TV show.

30. Planting a garden and growing your own vegetables.

31. Farmers Markets.

32. Trying out the newest local coffee shop or restaurant.

33. Karaoke

34. All of the people you have yet to meet.

35. Horseback riding

36. Stars.

37. Ice cream.

38. Ice tea.

39. Scented candles.

40. Learning something new.

41. Museums.

42. Going to the movies.

43. Hearing your favorite song come on the radio.

44. Learning to make a new recipe.

45. Your life is precious.

46. You are enough.

47. Random acts of kindness.

48. God looked at the world and thought it needed you.

49. Your story could save someone else.

50. Looking back on this time in 10 years and realizing you made it.

There’s an endless amount of reasons to stay alive and I hope some of them resonate with you.

But if you are desperate please reach out to the suicide prevention hotline at 988. If you are outside the US then you can find the number for your location here.

Please know that I am praying for you and please reach out to me again if you want to. I would love to keep up with how you are doing 💜