#and not knowing what I’m doing for church tomorrow and wishing i could just not go and also wishing for the security

[borbealis]

It’s still 77 days until school is out. 79 days till i fly home. 80 days till I’m home again.

I’m so tired tonight…

[handlemehyuck]

LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE BEEP for boyfriend dreamies

♡a voicemail for mark˚ ⋆。

“i keep listening to songs i haven’t heard in forever, not since i was a kid or teenager, and they transport me back to that time. suddenly, i’m wearing pink converse and jean shorts and the t-shirt from my summer play. it’s saturday, and i’m sitting on the stairs waiting for my friend to arrive, sunlight all over the walls. we wanted to have a sleepover, but there’s church in the morning, so she’ll stay as late as she can, probably until we’re dozing off on the couch watching one of the dvds she brought. naturally, i have to think about you because music wraps around your life in a way it never will for me. we’ve probably talked about this. maybe the conversation took a different shape before, but what’s a song that takes you back? what’s a time you miss and revisit through music? do you have time to think about those things? your life is go go go, and i’ve made silly wishes on eyelashes about peering into your head. i’m a reminiscer, and i know not everyone is, but you’re a creative. you’re a writer—music wraps around your life in a special way, so the idea of nostalgia visiting rarely seems unrealistic? but i guess i can’t know until you tell me. i see it often. i see it when i’m out without my glasses. the distant view is blurry, and suddenly, there i am, riding a bike, pink converse on. what shows up in your blurry nostalgia view?”

♡a voicemail for renjun˚ ⋆。

“babyyyy, i had the best time tonight. i feel like i’m covered in stars. areum’s parents have this sprawling backyard, so we collected a bunch of blankets, packed a picnic basket, and stayed out for hours beneath the most beautiful willow tree i’ve ever seen. i wore linen pants and a bikini top—your favorite one. i had a cardigan too, just in case, but the weather was perfect. i really needed to get out of the city. i know you know that, and i wanted to call you because… hmm sometimes i feel like my life is strung together by reminders. reminders of you and other people and things i love. reminders of our beginnings and all the sweet milestones along the way. i think my love could light up all the stars, more stars than i could ever see with my own eyes, enough stars to make a path between your hometown and my own. i’ll bring you back a jar of stardust. it’ll be empty… you’ll think it’s empty. sometimes magical things are invisible, or they just glow in the dark. anyway, it’s late, like 3 am, and i’m honestly glad you didn’t answer. as badly as i want to hear your voice, you should be asleep. i hope this voicemail makes you smile in the morning. i’ll send you some pictures too. see you on sunday. MWAH kisses *giggles*.”

♡a voicemail for jeno˚ ⋆。

“i’m going to my mom’s tomorrow, and i keep thinking about the drive. i rented a car… you know all of this already, but i guess it’s just present in my mind again. i’m staring at my luggage right now, and the entire thing feels wrong. i’m sorry if this sounds horrible, but i’m so used to you leaving. i’ve gotten really good at that. i’m good at being alone. i made sure i love my apartment and feel at home in it when you’re away because i’d fully unravel or find myself at your place more often than i already am if didn’t love it… stopping by to water all of those plants you don’t actually have. anyway, yeah… it just feels weird. i feel like you should be coming. i keep thinking about driving together: which one of us would pump the gas? who would run inside for snacks? what would we talk about in the car? would you drive halfway or drive all the way because you know i’d rather not if the option’s available to me? i know i’ll be fine. i’ve driven long ways on my own before, but it’ll be weird. i’ll be in a guest room. i don’t know what color the comforter is. i don’t know if i’ll like the sheets. my mom knows i’m weird and particular, but will she remember that when she’s fluffing up the pillows? what will i do when i can’t sleep? i love my mom. i haven’t seen her in months, but i close my eyes and daydream about being with you. i yearn for you in the stickiest of ways. it probably falls off of me too and hangs thickly in the air, gets stuck to the bottom of people’s shoes. i’d apologize if i knew, but i’m all caught up on you you you... i’m saying all of this, but i know this trip will be good for me. i know i’m not dependent on you, but last year was one of your busiest yet. and pride isn’t a question—i’ll spend my entire life being proud of you, but i can’t pretend there weren’t nights when the missing was so palpable i couldn’t sleep, so i read or baked bread or watched my toes wrinkle in the bath. it would be good for me to sleep at my mom’s, wake up to a new view, share breakfast, and simple conversation. i know i need the rest. i know everything will be fine.”

♡a voicemail for haechan˚ ⋆。

“if you told me the grass and the trees and the streets are all white, i would believe you. it’s like a blizzard out there. i’ve never seen so much white in my entire life. honestly, it’s kind of freaking me out, making me feel claustrophobic. i look up at the sky, back down again, and nothing changes, apart from the shapes and the saving grace of traffic lights—at least their colors are still clear. could we get by with just green, red and yellow for the rest of our lives?… some food for thought. anyway, it’s snowing *laughs*. i’m on my… third? tea after a few hot chocolates as well. no food so far today, just warm drinks. last time it snowed, you made kimchi jjigae and we ate in front of the window. do you remember that? we brought over my coffee table and the pot, bowls, and rice… i stopped listening to your story, all zeroed in on a snowflake. i didn’t look away until you kissed my neck. that’s quite a dangerous superpower: you have me at will with kisses, but i trust you with my weakest point... it wouldn’t be the same if i make kimchi jjigae and eat in front of the window without you. i should sit at the dining room table or maybe even the kitchen island—give myself a break from all the white. hopefully, i can still see you tomorrow. maybe you can kiss my neck again and tend to a few of my other weaker points… i love you.”

♡a voicemail for jaemin˚ ⋆。

“i want you to come over right now, and i know that you can’t. i also know that i might not see you for a couple of days, but i want to do nothing with you. i wish it didn’t feel silly… or embarrassing to want. i don’t know why wanting is so uncomfortable for me to share, especially because i’ve wanted loudly with you already, over and over again… but i guess i just wanted you to know. i painted my nails and went to the grocery store and chopped bell peppers because if they’re already prepped i know i’ll be more likely to eat them. i hung up some pictures in my room, and i kept thinking about you when i’d step back to make sure each one was straight. you would’ve done that part for me. i want to do everything together, and i don’t want you to feel bad because we can’t. that’s not why i’m leaving you this. i just know how happy it makes me feel when you express your want for me, in small ways, in spontaneous ways, in sexy ways… in uncomfortable ways, when you just want to be held, when you just need me to listen… it never ends with you. it never ends with me. we’re these entities that constantly move together and around each other, and i know i can get where i need to go without you, but it’s so much more fun when you’re here, and we’re in motion together. i’m making tea, and i think i’m going to drink it on the balcony. i’ll have to put socks on and a coat, but i want to hear the traffic noise and look down at people by themselves or in groups walking around and existing. i was existing for a long time. i felt really disconnected from living, but i knew i wanted to—to feel like i was living again. i just wasn’t quite sure how to get back to that place, but i was starting to figure it out when we met. on our first date, i felt like i struck gold. it was in your smile and your laughter, and this feeling that embraced me because all of a sudden i wasn’t nervous. i had only said your name out loud three times, but it felt so comfortable in my mouth. i remember leaving and whispering it to myself over and over again, and i couldn’t help but hope it would become a name i’d say for the rest of my life. so i’m going to drink my tea and enjoy this beautiful city we live in. i’m going to fold laundry and plan dinner. i’m going to think of you and get excited about the next night we fall asleep together.”

♡a voicemail for chenle˚ ⋆。

“i made it through the list of movies you left me. that sticky note is cute by the way. i like the border of little bears wearing scarves. where’d you get it? i almost threw it out on accident yesterday when i was cleaning my kitchen. now it’s living on my fridge. i taped it down on every side so my cleaning, autopilot fingers can’t attempt a second disposal… when you get this, i’d love some more movies. i’d ask for a horror film, but the idea of watching anything scary without you sounds worse than unclogging the shower drain or some other unpleasant household chore. oh! i went out this morning with chaewon, and she’s dating someone new. i started talking about hosting a dinner before i could really think it through. would you host another one with me? no pressure. chaewon told me not to even mention it to you, something about bad luck… she needs to wait a couple months before bringing them around all of our friends—has to pass 60 days of dating. there’s something romantic about a dinner party to me, though. maybe it’s just the wholesome quality time with my favorite people and knowing you’re only a look away. i don’t know if you remember, but you would always trail your fingertip up and down the back of my arm and kiss my cheek every time you got up, never wanting to interrupt the conversation but noticing the glasses in need of more wine. *groan* everything you do turns me on… ridiculous. do you even have a clue? no, i know you do. *sigh* g’night sunshine.”

♡a voicemail for jisung˚ ⋆。

“that fight was gross. i had to shower as soon as i got home, and the clothes i was wearing are already in the washing machine. are you ok? i know we tried to make it pretty again, but it felt ugly even at the end, and your eyes were so red. i hate seeing you cry. i love it actually… seeing your emotions, but never when it’s like that. i was so close to going to your favorite restaurant and picking us up something, but i know you need some time. but, if you listen to this, you can text me if you’re hungry, and i will go to your favorite restaurant. i can leave the food outside or just in the entryway, unless you’re crying again when i get there. then, i will take off my shoes and hug you, and i won’t stop until you at least hug me back. i’m so sorry. i don’t… most of the time i don’t feel insecure, but sometimes it comes out, and it takes this ugly shape that looks alien to me. i hope it looks alien to you too. i don’t want to be that way often enough for it to become familiar. tell me if it ever does. the idea alone makes me feel sick to my stomach. please text me at least. ok. dammit, i don’t want to hang up. i keep thinking you’ll pick up—”

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part ten

authors note: none

song inspo: “with me” by destiny’s child

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: fluff, language, suggestive themes, angst

words: 5.8k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

You’ve never been a person who was big on holidays. 

Never saw the massive appeal. Easter was annoying cause everyone and they mama showed up to church just to show off their kids silk press and frilly dresses. Halloween was too dark. Valentine’s Day was always a toss up, depending on where you and Amir were at the moment. And 4th of July….fuck America. 

But Christmas…..in recent years, it’s starting to become a holiday you really enjoy. You owe a lot of that to Callie and her pure joy and excitement at the "most wonderful time of the year," for gifts, yes, but she loved celebrating “baby Jesus” birthday just as much.

And you couldn't deny that your town was most beautiful this time of year. Stunningly decorated, there wasn’t a non-resident building in town that wasn’t dressed down in HGTV worthy Christmas decor. Walking through town really felt like walking on the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie. 

And the activities were endless, especially for kids. 

Hence your current whereabouts, sitting on a bench with your mom as Callie partakes with a group of other kids in a workshop with some of ‘Santa’s elves’. Your eyes land on her more often than not, knowing you live in a safe area but never wanting to take any chances. You also notice how talkative she is at the table she’s seated at with another little girl. You smile. Seeing her interact with other kids always makes you happy. Once she gets past her initial shyness, you definitely see sprinkles of your extroverted personality in her. 

Checking your phone from a text from Joe, you can’t avoid the pout when met with empty notifications. 

Your mom, forever perceptive, notices this. “When does he come in?”

“Tomorrow,” you answer, unable to contain the smile on your face. You’re not sure who’s more excited about Joe’s return: you or Callie. Probably her, but you’re not that far behind. 

And not even just for sexual reasons. Yes, that’s definitely up there, but also expected. Because one thing about sex with Joe: it’s addictive. 

Having him like that for the first time in years awakened things in you that you forgot existed. No one could make you come like he could, and he knew it, hence his smug disposition during sex. One thing you were starting to realize was that Joe fucked like Roman, but he made love like Joe, and it was a deadly combination. 

You woke up alone the morning after the date, but you knew that was the case because this man literally flew out for one night just to take you out. And dick you down. 

But Joe being Joe, left you a note, like something out of one of those corny but sweet, romantic indie movies. It was thoughtful, but he’s always been thoughtful. 

That shouldn’t have surprised you. 

Just like you shouldn’t have been surprised to be woken up by Callie jumping on your bed, happy to see you and wanting to catch you up on her fun sleepover with Alexis. Alexis, who made sure that the first thing that she checked was the nightstand where that Plan B absolutely was nowhere to be found. 

Used and discarded in your waste bin. That’s where it was. 

The smirk she sent your way, you just knew she was gonna have a million and one questions. And clearly waiting for Callie to not be present to have that conversation was too much waiting, hence your phone buzzing with texts while you watched Wish with Callie.

Alexis: You dirty whore! I wanna know everything.

You: What’s there to tell? You don’t see the box anymore, do you?

Alexis: Bitch, you know what I mean. It was good, wasn’t it?

You: Girl…..good ain’t the word for it. 😩 I’m so tired and sore right now. He wore my ass out. Had me up all night.

You: I stopped counting after 4.

Alexis: 😖 You have no idea how much I love this for you.

Alexis: I’m also gonna take a wild guess that since you took the plan b, ya’ll didn’t use protection? He came in you, didn’t he? 👀

You: Every.single.time.

Alexis: Oh, he down baddddd. 

Alexis: Shit, do I need to get you some pregnancy tests?

You: NO. It was just last night…..I may have to get on BC because that can’t be a regular thing.

Alexis: Well….don’t you want more kids anyway? 

You: We’re not even dating, and you want me to get knocked up by this man?

Alexis: Bitch, you already have one child. Give her a sibling. 

Alexis: And what do you mean you’re not dating? That is your man. Just own it. 

It was a fun exchange, as are most things with Alexis, and it brought up a valid point. Joe was gonna have to either wrap it up or you were going to need to get back on the pill. 

And you knew better than to tell her that this man literally asked you if you were on the pill and said good when you told him you weren’t. You haven’t given yourself time to process that….later date and time. 

But Joe’s definitely been the subject of several dreams that left you waking up feeling aroused. Hence you counting down the days until his return, yes for Callie, but also because you desperately need your insides rearranged in a way only he can fulfill. 

And you also just miss him. 

Plain and simple.  

“I take it things are going well between ya’ll.” Your mom gives you that all-knowing look that all moms possess. You roll your eyes, and she playfully nudges your shoulder. “I’m happy for you, sweetie. You deserve to be happy. You and Callie.”

“We’re just….I don’t know what we’re doing exactly, but….it is going well.” It seems a bit silly to not acknowledge that you and Joe are dating again, but until he confirms as such, you lean on the side of caution. Granted, you know he’s not fucking anyone else, and you damn sure aren’t either. You speak to each other as often as you can, and there’s seldom a conversation that occurs without one or both of you hinting at the mindblowing sex you’ll have once he returns.

Nope….not dating at all.

“Well, he’s divorced now, isn’t he?” You’d eventually caught your mom up on that important update, knowing that she would never really approve if his wife was still in the picture. She wouldn’t outright say anything, but her demeanor would be telling enough. 

“Yes, but—”

“And he’s obviously very interested in being with you. I don’t need to ask if you’re interested in being with him, and Callie would do well in a healthy two-parent household.”

At that, you stop walking, arm in front of your mom. “Mama….you did amazing raising me all on your own. I owe you so much that it’d be impossible for me to ever repay you.” And it’s the truth. Definitely age and becoming a single mother yourself showed you just how much your mom sacrificed to keep a roof over your head and food in your belly. Your mom truly is your hero.

She smiles warmly, placing her gloved hand over yours. “I appreciate that, baby. But, if you don’t have to struggle, why should you? Joseph seems keen on being in Callie’s life and yours as well. What’s holding you back?”

You chuckle at her final question. “That’s more or less the same thing Alexis said.” Only gone for a couple days, you're starting to miss her too. She's been a great source of support the past couple weeks.

“I always did like that girl. A bit on the wild side, but I like her.” Oh, if your mom knew the extent of what that wildness looked like. Not just for Alexis but yourself. You’re certain your mom would have a heart attack if she knew you were a regular at the strip club in college. So much so that the owner knew you by name and often propositioned you for a job.

You’d be lying if you tried to say you didn’t consider it from time to time. 

“Maybe it’s how we got together,” you guess aloud, sitting back against the bench. “I think I still have some guilt about doing that to his wife.” 

It’s a take you’ve found yourself thinking about more and more over the past couple weeks. She may be out of the picture now, but she wasn’t when you first started messing with Joe. She was still his wife the first time you let him take you to bed, and that’s left a stain on your conscience you’re not entirely sure how to rid yourself of.

“I understand that entirely.” Hearing the change in your mom’s tone has you wondering if it’s truly wise to have this conversation with her. Is it still a sensitive subject? “But it seems they divorced before you even came back in the picture. Do you know why they finally went their separate ways?”

Shaking your head, you inform, “no, and a part of me wants to ask, but when he told me about it, I could see it was difficult for him. He had this….sadness in his eyes. And I don’t think it was because of the divorce itself but….something else.” 

A part of you wants to ask him again, feels like it’s information you should know. But, another part of you doesn’t want to pry too much. If it’s a sensitive subject, you don’t want to reopen any open wounds. 

“Well, if this continues to progress, it may be a discussion that needs to happen. Even if it just gives you a peace of mind.” You know she’s right. It’s just not something you’re ecstatic about having to do. “And you probably should also start thinking about what changes you may have to make for this to continue to work.”

Confused, you ask, “what do you mean?”

“He can’t keep flying in and out sporadically just to see his child. Or you. That’s not fair to any of ya’ll and not sustainable. You’re gonna have to relocate to wherever he lives.”

That….that is not something you’ve thought about until this very moment. You know Joe bends over backwards to make these visits work, but it hadn't occurred to you how long this dynamic could continue. 

Your mom must see the wheels in your head turning, adding, “and think about Callie, once she finds out that’s her daddy, she’s gonna wanna be around him as much as possible. It could be easier if you’re a bit closer.”

You don’t know how true or untrue your mom’s take is, but it’s also another conversation that will have to happen between you and Joe. He’s always on the road in general. Will moving really do anything to help with his visits? Relocating is something you’ve never ever thought about. This is your home. You grew up here. Callie was growing up here. You always saw her growing up here.

But, that was also a version where Joe wasn’t in her life. Now he is. So, of course, some things would change.

You just didn’t imagine that is what would change.

Even if your mom’s guidance now has you wondering what it would be like to have a house together, the three of you, Callie, with an actual backyard she can run around in. Not just limited to the space of your apartment. 

“I’m gonna go say hi to Gloria.” She taps your leg, gesturing to her friend’s store. “I’ll be right back.”

Nodding, you sit there, focusing on Callie instead of the nuggets of wisdom your mom just dropped on you. 

“Long time no see, stranger.”

And just like that, you’re regretting ever agreeing to leave your place. You should have just done something at the apartment with Callie. Invited your mom over. Baked some cookies and shit. 

Crossing your arms, you refuse to look his way. “Amir, it’s the happiest time of the year. Please leave me alone, and let me stay in my happy place.”

“You’re still upset with me?” He seems genuinely surprised at this, like you cussing him out in front of your daughter’s preschool wasn’t a good indicator of how upset you were. “Gotta let that shit go.”

“I don’t have to do anything but live, be black, and love my child.” Scooting to your edge of the bench, you tell him again. “Now go away.”

“We clearly need to talk this out—”

“No, we don’t need to do anything because there is no we.” You catch Callie’s eyes and remind yourself that you don’t need a part two of the last time. “I told you before. That’s done and over with. In all areas. You’ll never see my name pop up on your phone ever again.”

And that’s a promise.

“You’re so fuckin’ dramatic.” He’s growing annoyed. If only you cared. “Stop playing. What you doing tomorrow?”

“Sitting on my man’s face.”

Your answer seems to take him back. “He still around?” You don’t say anything. “You’re not stupid enough to be fucking him again, are you?”

“Amir, the only reason I was ever fucking you was because he wasn’t around, but he’s here now, and he’s not going anywhere. And without hurting your feelings before Christmas, I can promise you, dick is not something I will ever want or need from anyone else ever again.”

He scoffs, just looking at you with disgust. “Mariah was right. That nigga really does have you acting different.”

At that, your head snaps in his direction. “What did you just say?” Instantly, you see it. The regret in his face in realizing he’s fucked up. “Why were you talking to Mariah?” Your best friend couldn’t take your calls or texts, but she had time to fill your ex in on your private life? “When?”

He looks off, trying to hide the guilty expression you’ve already clocked. “We ran into each other at the store the other day.”

Lie.

Scoffing, you lean back against the bench. And you laugh. All you can do is laugh because never in a million years would you have put these pieces together, but it makes so much sense. 

“Yeah, you can get the fuck away from me. Now.” Seeing him about to open his mouth again, you decide to separate yourself. “Fine. I’ll leave.” 

And you do just that, moving to another available bench where you can still keep a close eye on Callie. It seems they’re nearing the end of the activity. One glance over to your previous seat, you see that Amir is gone. 

Good. 

Pulling out your phone, you send a simple text. 

You: If you were too busy riding Amir’s average dick to message me back, you could have just said so.

There’s barely any time for you to slide your phone back into your purse when it beeps.

Mariah: ??????

It actually takes a lot in you not to call and cuss her out right then and there. You’ve been trying to get in contact with her for weeks and the minute you send her that, she remembers how to reply?

“Mommy!”

You’re grateful for Callie’s distraction. Smile on your face, you see she’s approached you with not only the little girl at her table but a man also wearing a friendly expression.

“This is my new friend! Her name is Taylor!” Taylor appears to be the same or around the same age as Callie, box braids styled into two space buns, and she and Callie share giggles like they’ve been friends for years. In a weird sort of way, she reminds you a lot of Callie. 

“It seems the girls have connected,” the man speaks with a chuckle. He offers his hand. “I’m Darius. Taylor’s dad.”

Your phone goes off and you quickly glance, hoping it’s Joe.

Mariah: Can we talk?

Instantly, you reorient yourself to the conversation at hand. 

“It appears they have,” you agree, offering your name and asking, “are you from around here?”

“Naw. Just visiting some family. Me and my wife.” He looks around. “She should be somewhere around here. Her parents only live about an hour out, so they came to meet us.”

“Oh, cool.” Glancing at the girls, you recognize that plotting look on Callie’s face and wait patiently. Coyly, you share with Darius, “I believe a request is coming.”

“Oh, most definitely.” 

Sure enough, Callie is holding onto your leg, face peering up at you. “Mommy, can we see the fireworks tomorrow?” That’s certainly not what you expected to hear her ask. Callie has never been too big on fireworks. When she was younger, you’d have to lay in bed with her and soothe her to sleep because they made her nervous. Now she wants to go to an actual show? “Taylor is going too, right Taylor?”

Taylor nods happily. “And my mommy and grandma and grandpa.”

It's like the mentioning of additional parties triggers something for her, Callie offering suddenly, “Joe can come too!” 

That gives you a pause. Joe’s never gone out in public with the two of you, outside of the hospital, but that doesn’t necessarily count. It was an emergency, not happy hour.

There’s a bit of anxiety, even though you know your town is the perfect place to do so. You’d put your head on the chopping board that less than five people would actually approach him, asking for autographs and such. They might recognize him, but they’d never approach. 

It’ll also be the first time Callie can refer to him as her father instead of just Joe.

Finally deciding, you answer, “if you want to, baby.” 

You and Darius share a laugh as the girls rejoice together. He pulls out his phone and offers, “why don’t I give you my wife’s number? You two can communicate regarding the meetup and whatnot.”

“Yeah, of course.” Exchanging information, you program Bianca Johnson into your phone, sending her a text after Darius says he’s already messaged her regarding Taylors new best friend. 

It’s in programming the number though that you see an incoming call from Mariah. It’s an immediate decline. 

Mariah: Would you pick up the damn phone, please?

Navigating to her thread, you put her on mute. It’s almost Christmas. You refuse to allow her or anyone else to ruing this for you or Callie. 

________

Personally, you believe that there should be a mandatory set time for Children to wake up on Christmas. Preferably, any time after 10am. 12pm would be even better but highly unlikely given most kids go to bed extra early on Christmas Eve. Callie is no different. You and Joe get her down by 6:30pm which should have given you ample time to bake cookies, finish wrapping her gifts, the whole nine yards.

If only you two had a better sense of self-control, because the minute you were confident Callie was out for the night, he had you bent over the kitchen island. And that was….that was fine, because you’d been thinking about him being inside you from the moment he stepped foot in your place. Hell, from the moment he left. 

But then you somehow ended up riding him on the living room floor, his back propped up against the sofa as you bounced on his dick, surrounded by the toys you should have been wrapping for your daughter. And while you eventually did get the gifts wrapped and cookies baked, you weren’t even able to change from out of your towel and into pajamas when this man propped you on your bathroom counter, spread your legs, and ate you out like he’d been fasting for 40 days and 40 nights. 

It wasn’t entirely surprising. Joe’s always had a big appetite for sex, for you. Not that you were any better. And the fact of the matter was that having a kid meant you had to take advantage of the little free time you had, which you clearly did. 

But it was now coming to bite you in the ass, because it’s goddamn 9 o’clock in the morning, and Callie is jumping up and down on your bed when all you want to do is sleep for another ten hours.

“Mommy! Joe! Santa came!”

It’s nearly impossible to hold in your groan, so you suppress it by turning over and pressing yourself into Joe. Of course, he’s already got his arm around you, holding you against his body. He’s also still knocked out. 

Finding the strength, you shove on his chest. “Wake up.” It’s a bit incoherent, sleep still heavy in you and hindering your speech. Blinking your eyes open to allow the sun shining from the open curtains (courtesy of Callie) to motivate you to get your ass up, you punch him in his stomach. “Joe.”

He grunts, and you smile. “She’s up.” 

Pleased with the fulfillment of her alarm clock duties, she jumps off the bed, yelling, “come on!”

At that, you sit up from the mattress, scolding her, “Calista Manaia Anoa’i, you got one more time to jump off this bed, sis!” Looking back to see Joe still trying to wake up, you shove him again. “You better get your daughter before she gets punished on Christmas.”

This helps to stir him as he lays on his back, hand on his forehead. “Leave her alone.” It takes a minute for you to refocus. His voice in general is sexy as hell, but that morning voice is something dangerous. 

“Her ass is always trying to jump on and off shit.” Kicking off the blankets, you stretch and make your way into the bathroom to do your hygiene routine. Joe is not too far behind, coming in a few minutes later, slapping your ass as you’re bent over the sink spitting out your toothpaste. “Behave,” you warn. The two of you share the sink and counter space to get ready with you finishing first. 

Back in the room, you make up the bed and check your phone, sending out a few, quick Merry Christmas texts, Bianca included. Even though you’ve only texted since yesterday, she seems pretty chill and you have a couple of things in common, kids around the same age, both working as teachers. It’s just unfortunate that she lives further down South. You’re not sure how you’re gonna break that to Callie, but that’s a task for another day. 

Today is an exciting, happy occasion, and you’re not gonna let anything or anyone ruin it. 

Joe is suddenly behind you, arms around your waist and mouth on the side of your neck. 

“Merry Christmas, baby” he murmurs, pressing kisses against your skin. 

Chewing down on your bottom lip, you turn around and lean up to kiss him. “Merry Christmas.” Hands on his chest, you ask, “You ready?”

He looks at you, clearly thinking about what you’re asking. This is what he’d been building up to, but you’re certain there’s some level of anxiety. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he finally answers. You’re not certain if he’s speaking more to you or himself. 

“She’s gonna be happy, Joe. I promise.” Stealing one more kiss, you take his hand. “Come on. She’s gonna start getting impa—”

“Come on!” She shouts from the living room, and you give him a look. 

“That’s your child.” His chuckle follows you out of the bedroom and into the living room where Callie is literally bouncing on the heels of her feet near the Christmas tree. You’re not entirely certain, but you could have sworn there weren’t as many gifts there when you left for your shower and eventually bed. 

“It’s Christmas!” Running over to Joe who swoops her up and kisses her cheek as she tells him Merry Christmas, you patiently wait for your turn, giving her a kiss and hug too before she’s pulling the both of you over to the tree. 

Using your phone, you snap photos and record intermittent videos of her opening her gifts. And in doing so, you’re certain Joe added a couple more when you were in the shower. He’s definitely that dad who doesn’t see an issue with spoiling the shit out of his kid. And as long as Callie remains kind and respectful, you won’t stop him. He’ll definitely hear about it tonight, but you won’t actually interfere.

Alexa playing Christmas songs in the background helps to set the tone as well. Mostly Mariah Carey because it’s literal law that one must listen to All I Want for Christmas is You on Christmas day. Really, starting the day after Halloween. 

You don’t make the rules. 

Literal fucking law. 

Callie suddenly pulls a gift, small and rectangular shaped, that you definitely don’t remember wrapping. “Mommy, it’s for you!” Thinking it’s something she made for you, you put your phone down and take it only to recognize that the writing is clearly too nice to be written by a child, not to mention that it has your name instead of mommy. 

Your eyes land on him. “Joe….what is this?”

“Open it,” he encourages, waiting patiently.

Still in somewhat belief he would actually get you something, you rip off the packaging and gasp. You almost drop it reading the brand name written in gold calligraphy. “Chanel? Thee Chanel?”

“Who’s Chanel, mommy?” 

“It’s a brand, baby,” you answer, distracted because you’re still stuck on the fact that you’re actually holding in your hand something that had to cost at least a thousand dollars. If not a couple thousand. 

“Open it, mommy,” Callie presses. This girl is both nosy but also loves to see people receive gifts. 

And so, you open it, gasping louder this time.

“Joe…..” It’s absolutely stunning, the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen. Gold. An intricately decorated ‘C’ pendant with a diamond in the middle. C for Chanel for most people. C for your heartbeat for you. “It’s beautiful….” 

He moves over to you, helping to remove it from the box. As your hair is already up in a messy bun, he has no difficulty placing it around you, as Callie exclaims happily, “it’s a C!.”

“C for Callie,” you answer her, cupping her cheek before turning to Joe. “Thank you…..” Pulling him in for a hug, there’s something so emotional about this moment, something pure. You’ve never felt so cared for by anyone.

Never felt so loved. 

He kisses your temple. “You never have to thank me for anything I do for you.” 

Hating the fact that tears are brimming your eyes, you punch his shoulder, needing to not be so emotional. “You should have told me you got me something. Now I feel bad because I didn’t get you anything.” 

Thumb caressing your cheek, he answers, softly. “You already did.” Confused, his eyes discreetly focus on Callie who’s back trying to figure out which toy she wants to play with first.

That….that does something to you. 

You look at him, ready to say something, when you see it. See it in his eyes. A deep level of appreciation that indicates a story, a reason as to why this means the world to him. There’s something there. Something more he’s not saying, but you know it’s neither the time nor the place. 

Now….now is the time for something else. 

“Baby.” It’s surprisingly easy to catch Callie’s attention, so you pat the space in between the two of you. “Come here. We need to talk to you about something.” 

Wordlessly, she plops right between ya’ll with that naturally inquisitive expression. 

“Callie….” Joe feeling a bit nervous made sense to you, and you expected as such. But you never thought about your own trepidation in this moment. It’s difficult, but you do your best to push it away. “Do you….do you remember when you asked me about your dad?” She nods. “And why…..why you didn’t have one?”

She nods again, Joe this time grabbing her attention. “Callie, do you know why I came back in your mom’s life?”

She thinks about his question, answering tentatively, “because you missed mommy?”

He chuckles. “That’s true. I did miss her. A lot.” You try not to think too much about his words, to not make this moment about you or you and him. It’s about Callie. “But, I mostly came back because I wanted to meet you.”

Her eyes light up. “Really?”

He nods, “Calista, you are the sweetest, kindest, and smartest kid that I have ever met. And I love every second that I get to spend with you.” Joe brings his hand to gently palm her face. “And I especially love being your dad.” 

You’re not quite sure if you’re breathing or even fully present in the few seconds it takes for Callie to process what he’s just said. But then, you see it, a smile that could light up times square. “Really?” She snaps her head in your direction, looking for confirmation. “Mommy, is Joe really my daddy?”

Sniffling, you wipe at your eyes. Damn feelings. You’ve been way too emotional lately. “He sure is, baby.” 

Squealing, she literally throws herself against him, hugging him tightly. “It’s the best Christmas ever!”

“I love you, Callie.” Joe shuts his eyes, taking in this moment, kissing the top of her head. “And I’ll always be here for you.”

“I love you too, daddy!” If you could capture this moment, capture those words leaving her mouth, forever keep them as a keepsake to be preserved for all time, you would. Because it’s everything you’ve ever wanted for her. To know she’s wanted and loved by both her parents. And finally, that moment is no longer a hope but a reality. 

“Wait!” She suddenly pulls away, grabbing the picture she’d drawn for Joe and given to him as a Christmas gift. “I’ll be back!”

He looks over at you. “What is she—” 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you answer with a murmur, still partially overcome with emotion. 

However, Callie is back in a matter of minutes with that beautiful smile on her face. Flipping it over, she exclaims, “I fixed it.” 

Your eyes immediately land on what she “fixed,” and your heart swells. She’s crossed out Joe’s name with a black marker and instead written above it “daddy.”

“I love it.” His voice is thick with emotion, and you move closer to him, laying against his side. Wanting to be with him in this precious moment. 

Callie wasn’t lying.

This truly is the best Christmas. 

________

“Come on! We’re gonna be late!” 

Callie’s animated voice somehow travels to you and Joe despite all of the hustle and bustle occurring around you, the sea of bodies waiting for the fireworks show to begin. There’s not much distance between the two of you and her, enough for Joe to grab her if need be. 

You walk close with him, you hands locked around his bicep.

His discomfort is obvious, so you assure, “relax. You’re not the tribal chief around here.” He glances at you. “They may notice you, but they’ll leave you alone. Especially since it’s Christmas.”

This seems to relieve him as she explains, “tonight is about her. I just don’t want to take away from that.”

“And you won’t, I promise. Just….just be present in this moment.” He takes your hand in his, giving a gentle squeeze. Continuing to walk with him, your eyes land on Taylor, Darius, and a woman who, even from a distance, looks vaguely familiar. 

“Taylor!” 

Callie rushes over to her new best friend, and the two embrace. You almost wish you had your phone out to take a picture. The woman wears a friendly smile, but instantly, something feels off. She approaches you, asking, “Y/N?”

Nodding, you’re shocked when she pulls you in for a hug and then apologizes. “I'm sorry. I’m a hugger, and I just feel like I know you already.” 

Callie takes this moment to jump back in the conversation, rushing over to Joe and introducing, “this is my daddy!”

That settles some of your anxiety. You’re not certain you’ll ever get tired of hearing her refer to him as such, and you know he won’t either.

“Man, uhh, hi, nice–nice to meet you.” Immediately, you know that Darius most definitely recognizes Joe. “Big fan.”

“Thanks, man.” Joe, understandably, keeps it simple, and you clear your throat. 

“Thank you for arranging this with us. Callie seems to really like Taylor.”

“Taylor too,” Bianca expresses with a smile, as you realize she also has dimples. It’s a little thing, stupid, but as much as you try, you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. “I swear, you would think they’ve known each other for years.”

Joe chuckles. “They’ve hit it off pretty well.”

“I’m sorry.” You hate being so off-putting and direct, especially given all of your text exchanges with this woman have gone so well, but you have to ask, “have we m—-”

“Bianca!”

A woman’s voice calls out, interrupting your conversation. 

She looks past you and smiles, waving whoever it is over. “My parents,” she informs. “Over here!”

Callie and Taylor are immersed in a conversation, as you make eye-contact with Joe who gives you that ‘what’s wrong?’ expression. Answering truthfully, you shrug and murmur, “I don’t know.”

The presence of Taylor’s grandparents snatches her attention from Callie. “Grandpa!”

Turning around, you manage a small, inauthentic smile to introduce yourself when you see it. And everything is suddenly ten ways wrong. 

There’s a brief second where you question yourself, question your vision, question your entire existence. But as he smiles, holding and kissing his grandchild on the cheek, you just know, know that you’re not wrong.

“Dad,” Bianca speaks, but you’re someplace else, someplace much different. “This is Y/N and…..”

She’s talking, but you’ve completely dissociated. You can’t say anything, paralyzed with shock and an overwhelming feeling of heartache. 

That’s why she looked so familiar. You saw her that day at the precinct, coming into his office to inform him of her sibling’s misbehavior. This is his daughter.

This is your sister. 

The daughter he picked over you. 

And this is your father. 

You’re going to be sick.

Partially aware of Joe’s suddenly cautious gaze on you, you place one hand over your stomach. “Excuse….excuse me….I—” You feel like you’re going to pass out, like four walls surround and are gradually closing in on you. Your throat is about to close up. “I have to go.” And you run, you run as far as your legs can take you, away from that situation, away from that visceral blast from the past, away from the overwhelming emotions that are threatening to overcome you. 

And you don’t stop.

[stoneagedevil]

“I’m Not in Love” | Human!Alastor x F!Reader

TW/CW: Suicide, guns, hunting, allusions to murder, initial unrequited love, grief, death, hysteria fueled by grief.

PART 2: “Reunion”

-♥️-

He remembered the day he met you. It was a Monday, and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. The summer sun’s rays beat down on the back of his already tan neck, and he knew he wouldn’t hear the end of his mama’s scolding while she gently applied aloe once she saw how scorched he was.

Mama. She sent him to pick up a few things from the store for supper tomorrow. He couldn’t do it the day before, as there was church and the stores weren’t open.

Maybe if he went Saturday, or even Tuesday, it would’ve saved him the trouble of meeting you. You bumped into him, change flying from both your hands as you both scrambled to pick up your funds.

“You should watch where you’re walking.” He warned. At this rate, who knows if he even has enough to get what his mother asked?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you. Here, this quarter can’t be mine, I’m over some change.” You shyly held out your hand, the quarter at the center of your palm.

“How do I know you haven’t stolen any other change?” He swiped the quarter from your hand, not trusting of you at all. Your eyebrows furrowed. Did you really seem like that much of a street rat?

“Why would I go and do a thing like that?” You tilted your head at him, and the question stilled him. Maybe he was being too harsh with you. No one intentionally bumps into another person.

Unless you planned this entire ordeal and wanted to steal his change with your little thieving hands.

He was back to not trusting you again.

“Just count your money. Tell me if it’s right.” You said, desperate to make this stranger not think so ill of you.

He didn’t like that you were telling him what to do, but he counted anyway. “I’m a nickel short.” He frowned.

You sighed, looking at the change you had left. You had a nickel, but it was part of the original amount you had. What little you scrounged up. “Here,” you held out your nickel, “it was my fault that I bumped into you. Take it.”

The hand that previously swiped the quarter from you hesitated at the chance to take this coin. He was too harsh with you.

“Go on, take it. It’s alright.” You encouraged. You put on your best smile to show how pure your intentions were.

His shoulders relaxed, and a soft smile appeared on his face, as if yours was contagious. “Thank you…”

“Y/N.” You finished.

“Y/N. I’m Alastor. I apologize for my behavior, and I appreciate your honesty.” He said, slightly looking off to the side.

That was the start of this horrible situation.

—

I'm not in love

So don't forget it

“I don’t love her mama!” He pouted at his mother. Normally he wouldn’t dream of going against his mother’s words, but this was different. He was growing up. He was a man with aspirations. He didn’t have time for love. You were just his friend to pass the time. A phase.

It's just a silly phase I'm going through

Even when you patiently awaited his calls on the telephone, he didn’t want you to get any ideas.

And just because

I call you up

Don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made

You both grew up. Him into a strapping young gentleman his mama worked so hard to raise, and you, a vision. A beauty filled with a fiery determination that no one could put out. Except for him.

I'm not in love, no no, it's because

He wasn’t in love. Why? Well, because! He…he just wasn’t! It didn’t matter how much time you spent together. He just wanted to see you. He just wanted your company.

I’d like to see you

But then again

That doesn't mean you mean that much to me

Just friends. A mantra he’d been repeating to any other person in his life who brought you up. He wished everyone would stop this nonsense. When you were away, he simply missed talking to someone about anything, surely.

You could be replaced. Surely.

So if I call you

Don't make a fuss

And yet you always would make a fuss. Always fawning over him, asking how his day was, how work at the radio station was, what he ate that day. Silly inconsequential questions.

Don't tell your friends about the two of us

I'm not in love, no no, it's because

“I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a party my friend is hosting. She said I could bring a date.” You twisted the telephone cord around your finger, nervously hoping he’d agree to it.

“A date? Don’t tell me you’ve been telling your friends I’ve been courting you. You know it would never come to that.” He said, defensively. His cheeks were warm and his stomach felt funny at the notion of accompanying you as your date for the night.

Your throat felt tight. Maybe throughout all of these years, it truly was hopeless. A blink of an eye, and a decade went by since the day you both met, and he still hasn’t asked to court you. Maybe you were reading the glances he gave you wrong. Maybe his face wasn’t warming at you. Maybe he never thought your jokes were funny, and he laughed out of pity. “N-No, no. I haven’t told them anything like that.” You paused, sniffling. “It was only an invitation. I could ask another, if you aren’t interested.”

“Please do.” Space. Perhaps what he needed was time away from you. You were making him feel things that he didn’t like. That he didn’t understand. Maybe he hated you, and he just didn’t know it.

Be quiet, big boys don't cry

Big boys don't cry

Big boys don't cry

Big boys don't cry

So if you meant nothing, why was he tearing up at the thought of you going to a party with another man?

Big boys don't cry

Big boys don't cry

Big boys don't cry

His father told him men don’t cry. His mother told him big boys don’t cry, but it was okay because he’d always be her little boy. So here his eyes and heart were, stuck in the middle of two parents that weren’t even here. Not even his mother to comfort him.

I keep your picture

Upon the wall

He looked at the portrait of you and him that you gifted on the anniversary of your friendship. The five year anniversary. You’d carved the wooden frame yourself, imagery of activities you’d both done together sculpted out of the walnut. Bullets and antlers from the times you went hunting. Champagne flutes and feathers from your times dancing in the clubs. A microphone and a pencil from the times you’d sit in during a broadcast of his, drawing him until he was finished.

And within the frame, you and him. You wearing the biggest smile he’d ever seen you make. Him with the softest one he’d never seen himself make.

It hides a nasty stain that's lying there

So don't you ask me

To give it back

It wasn’t anything special. He didn’t hang it up right away in his room because he was excited to see it everyday. There was just a blemish on the wall. Nothing more.

I know you know it doesn't mean that much to me

You knew. One of the only friends you’d had didn’t care about you as much as you thought. Even if you tried to convey how much you cared about him. But you could lead a horse to water, that didn’t mean you could make him drink.

I'm not in love, no no, it's because

He wasn’t in love. It was what was under the frame that made his heart race. Only the bad memories under the portrait that formed a stain. Not your smiling face.

Ooh, you'll wait a long time for me

Ooh, you'll wait a long time

“Alastor. I just want to know. How much longer will you drag my heart around?” Your tears were camouflaged in the rain, but nothing could hide the sadness in your eyes.

He was planning on walking you home, but you stopped in the middle of the route to interrogate him on his behavior. His heart tightened as he felt backed into a corner.

“You’ll be waiting a long time for me. You might even be dead before I can catch up.” Why did he say that? Whose words were coming out of his mouth? It sounded wrong. It tasted horrible. It felt even worse.

Ooh, you'll wait a long time for me

Ooh, you'll wait a long time

It was him that needed to do the catching up. But the most important things typically come too little too late, didn’t they? You walked home alone that night. You expressed your wishes never to see him again, and that maybe he’d get his wish.

I'm not in love

So don't forget it

It's just a silly phase I'm going through

And just because I call you up

You didn’t answer his calls, and the wetness in his eyes never ceased. He slammed the telephone onto its cradle harshly, pulling at his chocolate locks. Denial. Caught in the middle of two organs again, this time his heart and brain. One that yearned for the love that was within arms reach, and one that couldn’t comprehend such a thing that was so freely given to him of all people.

Don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made, ooh

He treated you so terribly. How could he do something so terrible to someone so sweet?

“You’re no better than the cretins you kill, Alastor. Mama would be ashamed of you.” He told himself, voice cracking.

Ever since his mother passed, it was like he shut off any emotional facet in his life to protect himself.

I'm not in love

Liar. He just picked up an apology bouquet.

I'm not in love

Liar. He planned on confessing and apologizing. Feet taking him straight to the home he never got to drop you off at that night.

He was a liar. A liar knocking on the door of the home in which you resided in with your aunt ever since your parents passed away.

The door opened, revealing the face of your aunt, button nose red and cheeks showing tear stains; something he’d come to grow familiar with in your absence.

“Alastor?” She questioned. Her voice was wet with grief.

“I’m here to apologize to Y/N.” He said, uncertainly. A deep sadness wafted from the house, squeezing between his ribs and slithering around his heart. Something wasn’t right.

A choked sob rang out into the space between him and your aunt. “She’s- she passed away. I’m so sorry.” Her hand cupped her mouth, as if willing the words back into her face. Maybe if she held out a little longer in voicing your demise, you’d have come back.

It was like the ground was ripped out from under his feet. The floating feeling he had at the utterance of your name was replaced with mortal dread. His head had a mind of it own, shaking back and forth unconsciously. No.

“What?” What else could he say? Did he even say anything? Or did he imagine the word he just said?

—

It’s not like you’d be missed. Your parents were gone. Your aunt had another mouth to feed that she couldn’t afford. It was a decision you should’ve made a long time ago. Alastor didn’t want you, and it truly wasn’t a surprise. Deep down you were a terrible person.

You’d hurt people who tried to woo Alastor. No sane person does that.

You loaded the hunting rifle Alastor had gifted you. Maybe it was a subtle (but rather expensive) way of him telling you to follow through on the plan you made all of those years ago.

You looked in the mirror, looking deeply at yourself. At the person in front of you. “Well Y/N, this’ll be the easiest game you’ll ever shoot. She’s not running anywhere.” You pressed your forehead on the barrel, opting to not taste gunpowder for the split second before the afterlife - if there truly was one.

A deep breath.

One.

Two.

You never got to three. You didn’t like landing on three because that’s when everyone expected something to happen. You preferred to rip the bandaid off. To pull the trigger on pulling the trigger, so to speak.

Suddenly, everything was cold, and then so overwhelmingly warm.

—

The apology/confession flowers were turned into apology/confession/memorial flowers as soon as he stepped foot into the cemetery he’d gotten used to. It was the same one his mother was buried in.

Now the weight of the location was that much heavier.

Your plot was just filled in. Just a few flowers placed onto it. He set his bouquet down, his bouquet being the biggest. He wished he realized how much he cared about you, as he obviously cared about you the most. Everyone saw it but him.

His throat closed around a sob. He obviously cared about you, and how absolutely awful. The one to care about you the most hardly showed it at all. What did that mean for the other people in your life?

What a terrible human being he was. It was subhuman the way he acted. He should’ve let those men that tried to court you live their lives. You could’ve been engaged by now. Happy without him instead of dead because of him.

“Y/N. I’m a selfish liar. You know how you always said my mama knew best? Well you’re right. You were always right, and she was right too. I’m so unbelievably in love with you it scares me. I’m someone different with you.” He lowered himself to the Earth, cheek and chest pressing into the fresh dirt as if to hug you for one last time. He wished to sink into the dirt and lay with you. “I’m all alone. And now I know how you felt. I wish I could bring you back so you wouldn’t have to be. I- you were my greatest adventure. I truly didn’t deserve you. I still don’t. I- I’ll spend the rest of my life and afterlife indebted to you for the unconditional love you gave me. I’ll give it to you in return. I love you.” He curled into a fetal position, knees planted on your plot. Sobs racked his body, and his lungs gasped for air to combat the onslaught of grief that struck him. “You hear me?! I love you!” His fists pounded on the ground, hands joining together to form a cup that housed the dirt that kept you from him. He writhed in a pain that was purely internal, dirt-filled hands coming up to his hair and rubbing the earth into his scalp as his fingers pulled at his strands of hair harshly.

He couldn’t see it through the tears. He couldn’t see it through his tangled fringe that fell over his eyes. He couldn’t see it through the dirt that began to cake his face, turning into mud with the mixture of dirt and tears. He didn’t even feel it.

A chain, white in color and glowing clamped around his throat from beyond the grave.

A deal that would last for forever had been made, one from the land of the living that bridged to the underworld. The very first of its kind; fueled by the most intense love ever felt by two beings since Lilith and Lucifer.

He wasn’t just in love. It was far greater than that.

-♥️-

Thinking about adding a part 2 to this. I hope you enjoyed.

[thedaredevilsgirl]

False God

Priest!Stephen Strange X Reader

Warnings: Small discussion, SMUT: sex without a condom.

Hi, this is Ray. In this short excerpt we have Father Strange so in love with one of his devotees, since a little forbidden love never hurt anyone. This excerpt was taken from a story I've been planning for some time, inspired in Thou Shalt Not Covet by @daydreamtofiction and the song False God by Taylor Swift. Please let me know what you think and if you think I should start posting the first chapters of this story. I hope you enjoy it. -Forgive any grammatical errors, English is not my first language-

⋆ ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏❂﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏⋆

... "I need an answer, God," the priest says, now on his knees, begging the Lord to respond and help him with his dilemma. "I just need an answer."

It is at that exact moment that Strange hears the heavy church door opening and closing, rising to look at the candlelit hallway that highlighted a silhouette so familiar to him.

Stephen feels his breath falter; the vision before him, walking toward him, was wicked and sinful for his thoughts, yet still seemed deliciously divine.

You were there, soaked from the heavy rain falling outside, the dress you had worn earlier at the festival now clinging to your body.

"It’s late," Stephen says, after gathering the courage to finally speak to you. "What are you doing here? You should be home by now."

"I need to confess," you explain, your voice trembling, perhaps a little nervous.

"It’s past midnight, the church is closed, come back tomorrow," he didn't mean to be harsh, but thought it was the only way to get you to leave quickly, though he was wrong.

"I need to confess," you repeat, making it clear you wouldn’t leave until you got what you wanted. "God’s house doesn’t close to a believer, no matter the hour. You, of all people, should know that, Father Strange."

Being called Father Strange by you hurt. Just days ago, you were close, perhaps even friends. He had grown used to hearing your sweet voice calling him Stephen, until he had given in to temptation during the trip to New York. Hearing you be so polite with him now reminded him of how greatly he had erred.

"You’re right," Stephen knew he would regret it, but he already felt so guilty for everything he had done with you that he couldn’t deny your wishes any longer.

The two walk silently to the large confessional in the corner of the church. He could hear everything even through the wooden wall, listening to your trembling breath as you prepared to speak, watching through the small window as you made the sacred sign of the cross.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," you begin.

"Tell me what happened, and we will decide your penance."

"I am engaged," the small reminder of this fact made Stephen’s heart ache in his chest. "And he is a good man, a really good man, but I don’t love him. In fact, I feel like I’ve never truly loved him, but my family adores him, and this union would be great for everyone."

"The church does not support a marriage built without true love," the priest says, trying to hide from both you and himself that, in reality, he was more than pleased to know of your lack of love for that idiot your family had chosen for you.

"I know, I know, but I must marry him; it’s what everyone expects of me, what they’ve always wanted for me, and I simply cannot ruin their plans," the pain in your voice and exhaustion was palpable, trying to be the perfect daughter and feeling like you had to carry the world on your shoulders. "So I must marry him, try to love him, respect him, and be faithful to him," you take a deep breath before continuing. "But that’s the problem, Father. I’m in love with another man. More than that, I lay with this man, and forgive my words, but damn, I loved every bit of it."

Stephen says your name in a warning tone. "I think we’d better not talk about this," he doesn’t have time to finish reprimanding you, as you quickly interrupt him.

"But the next day, he left me. He said the best night of my life had been a mistake that couldn’t be repeated, said we should stay away from each other. Suddenly, I lost a faithful friend, a confidant, and he broke my heart."

"Stop, please," he pleads.

"And I should be happy about that," your tone rises, emotions overwhelming you. "I should kneel before God and be thankful, go back to living my life as if none of this had happened, but I can’t."

"Stop," Stephen repeats, not knowing what he could do if this went on.

"I can’t, because all I can think about is him, his voice, his advice, his touch," the sound of your footsteps in the booth is audible. "And I don’t know what to do anymore. I find myself in the middle of the night wishing he were there with me, craving his kiss, touching myself wishing he would touch me that way, desiring every part of him, desiring you."

The priest felt he might explode at any moment, give in to his temptations, and worst of all, he wanted it. He had wanted it for a long time.

The curtain on his side of the booth suddenly opens, and he finds himself face to face with you, panting, still wet from the rain, tears streaking your face.

"So tell me, Father," you move closer to where he was sitting, "tell me what I should do when all I want is you?"

"This...this isn’t right," it was the first time in years Stephen found himself stammering with nervousness.

"I KNOW, DAMN IT, I KNOW," you shout, unable to contain yourself any longer. "But I can’t, I can’t resist anymore. I’ve tried, I’ve been trying since the day I met you, and I know you’ve been trying too. Don’t lie to me."

Your hand rests gently on his face, making him sigh. He had missed your touch so much in the past weeks.

"Please, don’t do this," Strange whispers, looking at you, his beautiful blue eyes now darkened by his dilated pupils. He does nothing to pull away, one of his hands moving directly to your waist.

"Tell me to leave, and I will. I’ll only step into this church again on my wedding day, and then you’ll never see me again. But I know you want me here, I know you want me."

He couldn’t resist anymore, not now, not ever.

Stephen pulls you tightly by the waist, guiding you to sit on his lap, finally kissing you again. This time was different; it wasn’t gentle. Instead, he poured all the longing he had felt into that kiss, aggressively holding you tightly as if you might slip away from his arms at any moment, his hand moving up the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, deepening the kiss even more.

"I missed you," you whisper between kisses.

"I don’t think I could put into words how much I missed you."

His other hand slides down one of your thighs, removing the friction of the wet fabric of your dress from your body. The only thing you could feel in that moment was the immense pleasure of his body’s heat against yours, sighing in pleasure as his finger neared the wetness already forming in your panties.

You are quick to unzip his pants and touch his already hard cock.

Everything happens quickly, both of you burning with desire, just wanting to feel each other and quench the longing that had consumed you for weeks.

He doesn’t even bother removing your panties, just pushing them aside and making you slide down onto his cock, a long moan escaping your lips, tears of pleasure welling up in your eyes.

You move, experimenting with the different position, holding onto him even tighter, watching him and unable to contain your sounds of delight with each new movement.

Stephen feels himself nearing the edge, and he doesn’t care if he’s coming too quickly. All he could think about in that moment was how beautiful you looked riding him, the most divine vision he had ever seen in his life. If he were to go to hell for this, it didn’t matter—it was worth it.

He wraps a finger around your necklace, with its silver crucifix, pulling you in for one last kiss as the two of you reach your climax.

You rest your head on his shoulder, recovering, feeling his arms holding you tightly.

"Don’t leave me, Stephen, please," you whisper. "I need you."

"I won’t, not ever," his hand gently caresses your back, comforting you. "I promise you."

⋆ ﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏❂﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏⋆

@ironstrange1991 (You commented that I could tag you in the posts about Stephen, so I hope you like it )

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my next stories 💞

[slippinmickeys]

The Unseelie Court (12/16)

As the clock drifted closer to 5:00 pm, the air in their office became a little thinner, a little less fraught. They had both come down from the excitement in Skinner’s office and had finally settled into a comfortable silence. One that Mulder eventually mustered the courage to break. 

“Do you want to come over tonight?” he asked, feeling somewhat sheepish. He could think of nothing better than spending a Friday evening with Scully, of waking up late, whiling away the day in bed for the whole of the weekend. 

Scully smiled at him. “I wish I could,” she said. “But I promised my mom I’d head up to Baltimore tonight. She committed to bringing the baked goods to St. Agatha’s on Sunday and I promised I’d help her bake.” 

Mulder’s heart fell and it must have shown in his face. 

“I might be able to get out of services if I tell her I have to work,” she said. “Maybe I can get back into town tomorrow afternoon.”

That would still give them an uninterrupted 24 hours. 

“I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“I’ll remember you said that.” 

***

“Do you remember Teddy Abernathy?” Her mother asked in a delicate tone that meant that she was meddling and was more than aware she was doing it. “He’ll be at church on Sunday, and I thought I might reintroduce you.”

They sat at Margaret Scully’s small kitchen table, having eaten a casserole and a simple green salad. Nevertheless, her mother had set out her good china, and a vase of cut hydrangeas overwhelmed one end of the table, the flowers having turned from pink to green in the light of the late summer sun. 

“Is he the one with male pattern baldness or the one with the weird underbite?” Scully asked cheekily, standing up to collect the two delicate plates and trundle them to the frothy sink. 

Maggie scoffed. “He’s the ophthalmologist with a summer home in Rhode Island,” she said tartly, reaching for her glass of chablis. “He’s also a very nice man.”

‘Nice,’ was usually Mom code for ‘devout.’ 

Scully began scooping the leftover casserole into tupperware so that it could cool. It wasn’t the first time her mother had tried to play matchmaker, but it was the first time she’d done so while Scully was in a relationship with Mulder. 

“Mom, I appreciate you looking out for me,” she said from the sink. “But I’m not in the market right now.” A spoon she was holding slipped from her hand and disappeared into the suds. 

It felt odd to be on her own after several consecutive days and nights spent in Mulder’s company. Coming to Baltimore had been a rapid depressurization from the immersion, and she found herself suffering a kind of nitrogen narcosis, fumbling her way through a conversation she didn’t want to be having, her fine motor coordination on the fritz.

“You work too much,” her mother went on. “It doesn’t have to be anything serious, but there’s no harm in seeing what’s out there. If you want a family—”

“Mom—” she said, the word coming out more sharply than she'd meant it to. 

Maggie pulled back, miffed, and Scully sighed and walked back to the table, sliding back into her chair with an eye to making amends. 

“I know you’re just trying to help,” she said, reaching out and giving her mother’s hand a brief squeeze. 

“I shouldn’t have mentioned your having a family, Dana,” Maggie said, accepting the olive branch. “That wasn’t fair of me.” Scully pressed her lips together, remembering her mother’s reaction to Emily. “It’s just–I want you to be happy. I want you to have a full life. Dating someone can—”

“I am dating someone.” She wasn’t sure why she said it. Maybe to just get her mother to stop, maybe because it was nice to actually say out loud. 

Her mother’s face changed from one of concern and sympathy to pleased curiosity. Scully instantly knew she should have kept her mouth shut. 

“How did you meet?” 

There was no getting out of it, now. 

“Work,” she said, standing up once again and busying herself, grabbing the last of the dinner dishes to take them over to the sink. 

“Dare I hope it’s a charming prosecutor with his sights set on the gubernatorial office?” her mother joked. 

“It is not,” she said, knowing she was committed now to having this conversation. 

“Is it—” her mother started, and then stopped. “Oh. Dana.”

Scully turned to her mother, confirming her suspicions with a look. 

Margaret Scully took a deep breath and then set her glass of wine onto the table with calm precision. 

“How long?” she asked. 

“Not very,” Scully answered, leaning back against the countertop. 

“And does he make you happy?”

Scully didn’t have to think very long before answering. “Yes,” she said, her head dipping down to look at the floor.

“He loves you,” her mother said, a statement. 

Scully nodded, unable to meet her mother’s eye. 

A moment later, Margaret was standing in front of her, had reached out and had her hand on Scully’s cheek, lifting her head so that she could look her in the eye. 

“Loving a man like that…” her mother started, then sighed. “I knew a lot of Navy wives. A lot of Navy pilots. They were all good men, but some of them…some of them flew too close to the sun.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “Be careful.”

***

Discomfited, Scully retired early. She wanted some time to herself, and she was also expecting the blood test results on Daly Carmichael from the state crime lab. She fired up her laptop, but nothing had yet come in. Maybe tomorrow. 

Her mother’s guest room was an amalgamation of furniture from each of her children’s past. The wardrobe in the corner had been Charlie’s, the dresser, Bill’s. She lay back in the brass queen bed trying not to think about all the nights her sister had slept in it. 

Without really thinking about it, she grabbed her phone and called Mulder. He picked up after the first ring. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm as soft flannel. “You make it up there okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “The beltway was a nightmare, but I got here in time for dinner.”

Her mother’s house had a quiet, homey atmosphere, insulated from the greater world. It gave an air of being muffled and warm, where the loudest thing was the ticking of a mantle clock and the oven light gave a reassuring yellow glow even at midnight. It was a place that always smelled like paraffin wax candles and roast chicken, a place that felt like a hug the moment you stepped into it.

“How’s your mom?” Mulder asked politely. 

“Good,” Scully said, settling back to listen to the pleasant drone of Mulder’s voice. “She wants to set me up with an ophthalmologist.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Your last firearms qualification score was 98. Not your usual 100. Might be time to upgrade those specs.”

“You’re a riot,” she deadpanned. 

Downstairs she could hear her mother turn on the dishwasher and moments later pad up the stairs and past Scully’s door. 

“Let me guess,” Mulder went on. “Upstanding churchgoer? Drives a Benz?”

“Catholic as the Pope,” Scully confirmed. “Not sure about the Benz, but he’s got a summer house in Rhode Island.”

“So do I,” Mulder breezed. “If that’s the sum total of necessary qualifications to date a Scully woman, I could—”

“I told her about us,” Scully interrupted him. 

“You…did?” he seemed genuinely taken aback. 

“It was either that or agree to an Italian dinner in Inner Harbor with a balding eye doctor.”

Scully imagined sitting across the table from a quiet-spoken and affable Teddy Abernathy. He’d make polite conversation and cover the bill, but he wouldn’t request a table so they could both see the door. He wouldn’t call her with a random bit of esoterica in the middle of the night, wouldn’t lift a string of barbed wire so she could scoot under, wouldn’t wordlessly hand over a Red Vine the very moment her blood sugar dipped below 70.

“You’re going to make your own decisions, but personally I would have taken the free branzino for a week or two before breaking the bad news to my mom. Prescription sunglasses ain’t cheap. And it’s not like you’d have had to put out. Good Catholics save themselves for marriage, you know.”

“Someone should have told me that a few weeks ago. Now I’m never getting into heaven.”

Mulder chuckled drowsily in her ear. 

“How’d she take it?” he asked kindly. 

Scully sighed, didn’t want to tell him that her mom had been a little reticent. “She’s worried Bill’s going to take a swing at you at Thanksgiving.”

“All I’m hearing is that it went well enough that I’m invited to Thanksgiving.”

“That’s your takeaway?”

“I’m an optimist.”

Scully smiled into the receiver and yawned. “Listen,” she said. “Mom and I are going to get started here early. I got out of Sunday mass. I was hoping to get on the road around noon.”

“You want to come directly here?” His voice was tender and rumbly. 

“I was told it would be worth my while,” she said suggestively.

There was nothing but hissing silence for a moment. She could picture him on his couch with his phone to his ear, the front of his jeans getting tight with pressure. 

“Shit, Scully.” 

She smiled. “I’ll call you before I leave, give you an ETA.”

“Okay,” he said, all his clever quips used up. 

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

She pressed the button before he had a chance to respond, smiling to herself. It was fun to be on the giving end of teasing for once. 

Looking one last time at the display on her phone, she frowned. It was nearly out of battery. And she’d left the charging cord she normally traveled with at the motel in Adrian County. Sighing, she turned off the phone in an effort to preserve whatever battery life remained. It would be an analog weekend until she got to Mulder’s.

***

Scully was frosting the final cupcake as her mother slid the last two pies into the oven. 

“You were always the most efficient of my children,” her mother said. “But that would have impressed even an admiral.”

Scully smiled and set the finished cupcake on the paper shopping bag her mother was using to receive them. It was 11:45 am. 

“Are you sure you can’t stay for the afternoon and help me carry all these into mass tomorrow?” her mother asked hopefully. 

“I need to get back,” Scully said, and her mother smiled knowingly. 

“How about I box up a half dozen of these and you can take them to Fox,” she said, nodding toward the cupcakes. 

“Mom—”

“I want to!” her mother said, all enthusiasm. 

She’d been downright chipper about Scully’s new relationship all morning long, no doubt trying to make up for her lack of enthusiasm the night before. 

“Let me grab one of the Christmas tins. I think they’re in the basement.”

Maggie was down the stairs before Scully could argue, and she heard her banging around and opening various boxes. 

Scully’s overnight bag and laptop case were packed and next to the door waiting for her. She’d slept terribly the night before, her rest beset by nightmares from the fairy grove. Not only had Mulder been branded in her dreams by the Unseelie courtier’s symbol, this time he had been chained to the tree, his two different colored eyes boring into hers. “Stay away!” he’d warned her when she tried to get close to free him. She’d startled awake and considered calling him, only to remember that she barely had any charge on her phone. 

Another bang echoed up from the basement.

“Mom, can I give you a hand?” she called down the stairs.

“No, I know right where it is!” came Maggie’s muffled voice. 

If the sounds drifting up the stairs were any indication, that probably wasn’t the case. Scully sighed. Then, eyeing her luggage, she grabbed her laptop and set it up on her mother’s kitchen table, figuring she had at least enough time to check her email to see if the Carmichael bloodwork labs had come back. Mulder would want her to walk him through them, even if they showed nothing. 

Sure enough, there was a new email waiting for her from the state crime lab. She opened the attachment and scanned the results, her brow creasing more and more as she read each line. 

“Found it!” Her mother said from the top of the stairs, startling her. She was holding a small Christmas cookie tin. When she looked at Scully’s face, her smile faded. 

“Dana?” she said. 

“Mom,” Scully said. “I need to use your phone.”

[2screamingpears]

A not-complete list of wonderful changes, translation and localization I noticed when I went to see Book of Mormon in Madrid!

Hey! So I went to see The Book of Mormon last month in Madrid, and since I had watched (bootlegged) and listened to the original production, I was able to enjoy some changes they made so it could be enjoyed by spanish audiences!

First off, I should say that it wasn’t a replica production (and I think I much prefer this one!). The choreography was amazing, and definitely more elaborate than on broadway ! Here, have a look: https://youtu.be/NZ5UxjN2MPs?si=UErYQUODo5Qs-EMC

Some of the first changes I wondered how they were going to make was the opening number: both Hello and Hola have the same syllables but hola cannot be used, since the accent falls on the first syllable in hola and the second in hello….. so spanish mormons just end up saying how are you (¿qué tal?) 😂

Second change comes during the second number, two by two: one of the jokes is weirdly untranslatable, which is the addendum at the end of the phrase “we are the soldiers of the church of jesus christ (of latter day saints)”. Since in spanish “of la-tter day saints” (5 syllables) would be “de los úl-ti-mos dí-as” (7 syllables), they changed it to “yo-soy-mor-món” (i am a mormon) which fits! There is a joke lost, but mormonism isn’t as widespread as it is on the US, so it’s hardly noticeable.

This one is mostly to update the content, but during two by two when the trip to japan gets announced, the mormons are excited about soy sauce and godzilla (instead of mothra)

Next comes a change i also wondered about: how do you make a joke out of Elder Price’s wish to go to Orlando, of all things? In the English version, Elder Price would like to go to orlando because of Sea World, Disney and putt-putt golfing: spaniards have no cultural knowledge of what Orlando is, so the translated line is “Orlando! Disney me espera, soy fan de Frozen” (Orlando! Disney is waiting for me, I’m a Frozen fan) which really drives home the ridiculousness of choosing that place as your mission trip. Also, if you watch the video i linked, the joke is super amplified through choreography, which is part of why i love this production so much.

Hasa diga eebowai gets one change Very right: instead of saying fuck you god, they say “me cago en dios” (i shit on god) which is a very common way of cursing about things in spain: you can shit on the milk (me cago en la leche), on your mother (me cago en tu madre) and indeed, you can shit on god!

One fun localization comes in at the end of All-American prophet, a song that’s basically a sales pitch or infomercial : the fun little gag at the end where Elder Cunningham says “if you order now, we’ll also throw a seat of steak knives” gets changed to “if you order now, we’ll throw in a thermomix for free” For people who don’t know, a thermomix is The Product everyone gets from infomercials/ through independent sellers: it’s a chopper/blender/cooker/scale/kitchen robot, very convenient! My mother has one :) one of the ugandan ladies asks Cunningham about the thermomix inmediatly after finishing the number and he excitedly begins explaining the whole shtick every middle aged spanish lady has heard before, that got a big laugh :)

In the sequence before spooky mormon hell dream, when Elder Price’s so happy that he finally reaches Orlando, he throws in another elsa joke, saying that he’s blonde like her, so thats why she likes her😂

During Spooky mormon hell dream, one change that got Such a big laugh was seeing the four people that are in hell according to Elder Price: Genghis Khan, Hitler, Jeffrey Dahmer and, instead of Jonnie Cochran (idk even who he is) we got Silvio Berlusconi, politician and founder of communications company Mediaset, which runs a thrash tv channel called Telecinco (and that’s what he’s in hell for, according to the song)

The thing elder cunningham always says “tomorrow’s a latter day” gets changed to a saying a lot of catholic old people say, “mañana dios dirá” which both fits in the metric and localizes it, since mormonism isn’t that well known.

And that’s it! It was such a wonderful performance, and a testament to the beauty of translation: even if i know I understand English fairly well, seeing the jokes on my native language made everything 100x times funnier! Strongly recommend!

[spencewalterreid]

Family Tree

Summary: Deeply religious 6-year-old Ethel Cain grapples with her turbulent home life with the help of her best friend, Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Ethel Cain (p, young age)

Category: Angst, hurt/comfort. Some fluff.

Warnings: Discussions of child predators, suicide, allusion to molestation, brief sexual scene but not exactly smut, cigarettes, STRONG religion, allusions to physical abuse from a parental figure.

Word Count: 4.5k

Author's Note: Those of you that have been paying attention to my recent posts know I'm starting a new series: Preacher's Daughter. Essentially, a chronological account of Ethel Cain's life, with the addition of best friend Spencer Reid. First couple chapters are going to be strictly from Ethel's point of view, but once we get to Western Nights, it'll start flipping between Ethel's POV and Spencer's POV, which will be trying to solve the case of the adrenaline-fueled murders of Willoughby and Ethel as they traverse the west coast. I understand this probably won't be as popular as the Spencer-centered fics, but I hope you guys stay with me!! This was really fun to write and I have a feeling it will only get moreso <3 Please let me know what you think!! Leave as much feedback and as many suggestions as you please, they really help me out. Feedback from you guys is what keeps me going. With all that being said, enjoy the first chapter!

July 8, 1972

It gets hot in Nebraska. Blistering, really. Ethel writhed in the grass, trying to find a spot that was still cool, damp from the morning dew. She’s lying under an oak tree in the yard in front of her father’s farm house, mud pressing itself into her white sundress. She’s drenched in sweat, which she thinks might be contributing to the ever-increasing dirt patch under her. The grass tickles the backs of her shoulders as she turns on her side toward the boy beside her, folding her hands under her head.

Spencer had been her best friend since she could remember. She met him when she was two, her mother would tell her. Back then, his hair was always combed back, the curls politely laying into one another. Now, eyes closed and a faint smile on his lips, his hair was wild, brown chunks across his forehead and the ground behind him. His arms were out next to him, fingers splayed against the soft greenery. He’s gotta be hot in that, she thinks, observing his short-sleeved button-up shirt and long, tan pants.

Hearing the shuffle of the grass, Spencer turns toward his companion and attempts to open his eyes, but quickly squeezes them shut again to shade himself from the sunlight with his left arm, then cautiously tries again. He succeeds, gaze landing on the gaunt girl.

“What are you thinking about?” Ethel asks, voice soft.

Spencer shuffles back into his previous position for the most part, but leaves an arm across the upper half of his face. “I dunno,” he sighs. “I’m thinking I don’t wanna get up tomorrow morning.”

Ethel frowns. “What do you mean? We have to. Church is tomorrow.”

“I know that,” he groans. “But I have school on Monday, and it sucks to cut the weekend short,” Spencer replies. “Just because you get to sleep in every day…”

“I don’t sleep in,” she counters with a pout, admiring the soft slope of his chin and the bristle of his shirt in the passive breeze. “Daddy gets me up every morning no later than 8.”

“I have to get up at 6,” he whines, “and my mom never wakes me up in the mornings.”

“That’s because she’s got the devil in her,” Ethel whispers solemnly. “His voice keeps her up at night, so it’s hard for her to wake up.”

Spencer turns over completely this time, still shielding himself with his hand, but looks hard at Ethel. He fights the urge to roll off of his shoulder which is now digging into the hard ground. “I wish you’d quit saying that.”

“Daddy says she’s got the devil in her,” Ethel repeats reasonably, nodding to herself. “It isn’t her fault, Spence, Lucifer can tempt anybody.” She reaches a hand out to touch his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she smiles. “I’ll keep praying for her, and-”

“Ethel!”

She snaps upward and Spencer quickly follows suit, catching sight of her father looming at the end of the porch, frightening and large, thick arms folded across his chest. “You have no right to be touching my daughter like that, boy,” he shouts, stomping down the steps and crossing the yard to the tree. Spencer scrambles up to his feet, glancing back at Ethel for a moment before her father’s firm hand is covering Spencer’s small bicep.

“He didn’t do anything, Daddy!” Ethel cries, standing up as well to try to pull Spencer back.

“It’s okay, E, I’ll-”

Her father shoves a hand against her chest, knocking her to the ground. “You mind your business, child, I’ll deal with you shortly,” he spits, glaring down at her before dragging Spencer behind him, across the street to his house.

***

July 9, 1972

The church is packed like a can of sardines. In a town like this one, everyone goes to church. It’s non-negotiable. Ethel sits in the second row back, twisting in her seat to try to get a look behind her. Spencer isn’t here yet. On any other day, Spencer would attend with the Cain family, but given her father’s impressive ability to hold a grudge, it didn’t surprise her when he failed to offer this morning. It’s 9:32, two minutes past the time Pastor Dan would start service.

“Quit ‘yer squirming,” Dad demands, a tight hand on her shoulder to pull her back down to her seat.

“Spencer is late,” she whispers, talking to herself more than her father.

Dad screws up his face in disgust, scoffing. “Don’t you worry yourself about that heathen. He’s where he belongs, with his filthy mother.”

“Please don’t talk about him like that,” she frowns. “He’s nice.”

“He’s a sinner,” Dad growls, “Now hush.”

Ethel folds her hands in her lap, defeated. Undoubtedly, she’s worried about her friend. She didn’t see him after his front door slammed behind him and her father yesterday afternoon. She assumes his mother was probably asleep, she usually was these days. Spencer said she hasn't been feeling well recently, but if she’s honest, Ethel can’t remember a time where his mother was feeling anything but lousy. She barely hears the words leaving the pastor’s mouth until her father pinches her harshly on the arm. 

“Pay. Attention.”

She bites her lip and tries to listen.

“It is our duty as God’s children to take in those who need to hear the Word. Those who put themselves above the Lord, those who lie, those who cheat, those who commit adultery. Those who do not repent for their sins shall surely perish, Amen?”

A chorus of agreement amongst the crowd rings out. Ethel worries her bottom lip. Her father shoots her a pointed look, but says nothing.

“Romans 6:23,” he begins, spreading a bible across the podium in front of him. There’s an opaque rustling up and down the aisles of parishioners hunting for the verse. “‘For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ God expects us to sin, for we are all imperfect; however, when you admit this in the face of our Lord, you shall surely be forgiven. Amen?”

Again, a mindless repetition of the word. Ethel has never liked that part of church. Every Sunday, the same speech more or less, and she doubts anyone in the room thinks twice about it aside from herself. She doubts anyone in the room disagrees with anything he’s ever said. Like last week, when the sermon denounced all who lie, even when it is to save themselves. She recounts all the lies she’s told, or at least tries to.  There are far too many to catalogue, even if she wrote them down each time. When Spencer threw a rock at her window a few weeks ago, scratching a nick into it when he tried to get her attention after her father kicked him out. She’d blamed it on a falling branch. Or when his mother called that morning, demanding he be sent home immediately, though he was at school at the time. Ethel insisted his mother was overseas and got confused about the time zones. When her father asked why his mother would need him home if that were the case, she didn’t have a good answer. She wore long sleeves for a long time after that, and that was the second time one of her sisters let her use makeup. When her father asked where the bruises had gone, another lie: you hadn’t left any in the first place.

Ethel is pulled out of her thoughts when the entire room falls silent at the creak of the door. She whips around in her seat, ignoring her father’s warning hand on her thigh. She grins when she sees her friend, but her face falls pretty quick after that. He’s wearing a sweater, and she’s worried about his warmth even if it is his Sunday best. He catches sight of her and tries to yank a smile onto his quickly-reddening cheeks, but fails miserably. He tugs his sleeves further down his hands.

Spencer is a small boy as it is, but he looks downright tiny swallowed up in his second-hand clothes. His oxford shoes pad dully against the old, scratchy carpet as he travels up the aisles. He sits in the pew behind Ethel, next to a stately old woman who immediately recoils and scoots as far away from him as she can. Ethel smiles at his proximity, and he offers a shy wave.

The pastor remains silent for another few seconds for emphasis before continuing. “You know, in all my years of preaching, there’s one thing I’ve noticed,” he says, closing his bible and leaning his elbows against the podium, left ankle crossed atop the right. “Those who do not attend church regularly are often the ones with something to hide.”

Spencer feels so hot he may catch on fire at any moment.

“I’ve seen people – heathens,” he looks at Spencer, then away just as quickly, “--show their face in the house of God knowing damn well that they are representing the Devil. Do you know what happens to those… individuals?” he continues haltingly, as if it were a tall order for him to refer to Ethel’s friend as a human being. Her stomach twists at the thought. “God strikes them down.” He opens his bible again, rifling through it. “Psalm 28:3: ‘Do not take me away with the wicked and with workers of iniquity, who speak peace to their neighbors, but evil is in their hearts.’” He slams it shut. “That means,” he presses on, and now Ethel thinks he’s purposely looking anywhere but their direction, “that those who lie to God’s children and worship their own false deity in private are not to be considered one of us. The Serpent is cunning, and will try to convince you his cause is just; do not be fooled. These… these creatures… will say anything to make you believe they are of God. Do not believe their lies.”

Ethel glances back toward Spencer, a look of apology in her eyes. Her father pops her in the back of the head. “Eyes forward,” he hisses. She obliges. Spencer sinks further into his pew, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. 

***

The fresh breeze blowing through the valley the church house resides in isn’t as refreshing as Ethel hoped it would be as she shuffles out the door, accompanied by the other youths, the adults trailing a bit behind. As much as her father would abhor it, he can’t see her in the throng of people, and her hand finds Spencer’s as she falls into step next to him.

“Hey,” she whispers, squeezing encouragingly. He chances a glance at her.

“Hey back.” He looks sad. She tilts her head.

“What happened yesterday?” Ethel looks behind her subtly to make sure no one’s paying attention. She concludes they’re in the clear. 

Spencer kicks a rock out of his way and lets go of Ethel’s hand, opting to shove his own into his pockets. “I’m just glad Mom wasn’t roused enough to hear it,” he says.

“I’m sorry.” She tilts her head down and forward to try to catch his eye under his thick curtain of hair, and notices for the first time a red-blue splotch of colour next to his nose. “I didn’t know he’d do that to you.”

“Really? You didn’t see that coming at all?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “I’ve seen what he does to you. It was only a matter of time.”

Ethel sighs, pulling Spencer out of the crowd and to the side of the building, hidden by the shrubbery. “Daddy is nice to me,” she insists, a trying expression on her face. “He loves me.”

“I don’t believe you,” he replies, squinting his eyes. “Your dad loves you just about as much as God loves me.”

She doesn’t quite know what he means by that, so instead of saying anything actually reassuring, she says, “God loves you. He loves all of his children.”

Tears well up in Spencer’s eyes. He crosses his arms and slumps against the dirty panels on the side of the church. “Why, then? Why is he keeping my mom sick, why does he let your dad be mean to you?” He yanks his arms out of the position they were in, in favour of digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, roughly shaking the tears loose.

Sometimes words were futile, Ethel realizes, even if she hadn’t learned how to describe that to herself yet. Making the best choice she could think of, she takes a step forward and gathers her friend into her short arms. “I’ll pray for you,” she says into his ear. Spencer hesitates before placing his hands gingerly onto her back. He nods, even though he knows her prayers are redundant. If he’s a heathen, God probably wouldn’t even take a second glance at Ethel. No one who associates with someone like him is worth God’s time, probably.

“Thank you,” he says anyway. Sometimes you just need to let people think they believe in something. Even if they’re lying. Spencer has learned it makes people feel better to lie, they find it comforting, even if he hasn’t learned why yet.

***

December 13th, 1972

Ethel squints at the mirror, cross-legged on the carpet of her bedroom floor. She studies the red on her lips, garish if she’s honest, and tries to convince herself it makes her look pretty. She tilts her head this way and that, and considers if a different shirt might compliment it more.

At the sound of a knock on her door, she just about jumps out of her skin. “Um- Hang on!” she shouts, rubbing the back of her hand against her mouth to remove the lipstick. The door opens. “I said-” she looks up and sees her big sister, Joanna. “Oh.”

Joanna grins, pearly white teeth matching perfectly with her long, wavy blonde hair. Ethel always admired, maybe envied, her sisters. They were all beautiful. Slim, but not skinny like Ethel. They always looked happy, their joy contagious in its exuberance. They were kind, godly girls. All three of them. Joanna was the oldest, 19. She presses the door shut behind her.

“Oh, honey,” she coos, kneeling down on the carpet next to Ethel. “You can’t just wipe off red lipstick.” She gets on her hands and knees to lean past her little sister and pick up a box of Kleenex, pulling a couple tissues out before setting it down again. She wets it with her saliva. “Tighten your mouth,” she instructs, pulling her lips taut against her teeth. “Like this.”

Ethel complies, and Joanna sets to work pulling the pigment away from her skin as best as she can. “You really shouldn’t be using my makeup, you know,” Joanna chides. “If Dad saw this-”

“Please don’t tell Dad!” Ethel pulls away to sqeak, putting her hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry, I won’t-”

Joanna puts a soothing hand on Ethel’s shoulder. “Hush. I’m not gonna tell Dad.”

Cautiously, Ethel returns to her previous position and her sister continues her work.

“All I’m saying, you could get yourself into a lot of trouble. You have a knack for that lately.” Satisfied with the result, or at least as satisfied as she was gonna get, Joanna crumples up the Kleenex tissues and conceals them between her palms. “You’re very pretty just as you are, you know that?” she leans in just a bit, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Very pretty.”

Ethel giggles. “Not as pretty as you,” she replies, dragging out the last vowel. Joanna smiles that perfect smile yet again, ruffling Ethel’s hair.

“I’m going to the store, do you want to come with me? I’m gonna get some ice cream,” she says with a wink. In a hurry, Ethel scrambles onto her feet, eager to get out of the house.

Passing through the living room, they’re stopped by the news on the TV.

“Earlier this evening, Dan Sanderson was found hanging in the front yard of his Nebraska home. The Sanderson family is not disclosing-”

The TV is shut off before it can continue. Ethel glances at the couch to investigate the loss, and notices her father for the first time since leaving her room. “Daddy?” she inquires, tears filling her eyes. “Isn’t that-”

“Pastor Dan,” Joanna interrupts, reaching for Ethel’s hand. “Oh, my God,” she gasps, pressing her free hand to her mouth.

Ethel sniffles, a hiccup bubbling in her throat. Dad exhales sharply, rubbing his face. “Church should be interesting,” he comments with a chuckle, before bringing a glass of whiskey to his lips. “Where are you girls going?”

“The store,” Joanna replies, voice distant and distracted.

“Leave Ethel here.”

The two glance at one another from behind the couch. Their father still hasn’t even bothered to spare them a well-meaning look.

“But-”

“No. I’m not asking. Be back in 20 minutes, Jo,” Dad demands, and knowing better than to argue, the older girl concedes.

“Yes, sir,” she sighs, letting go of Ethel’s hand. She leans down to kiss her younger sister’s head. “I’ll be back soon with some chocolate chip, okay?” Joanna asks, fingertips against Ethel’s cheek.

“Okay,” she nods.

Ethel stays put until a few moments after the door clicks shut, processing the death of the pastor. She’s never known anyone who was dead before.

Dad looks at her for the first time today, sitting up and poking his head over the couch. “Come here, darlin’.”

She crosses the room with tiny, shuffling steps, coming to stand next to the soft leather sofa. Dad takes her wrist, not unkindly, and pulls her toward him, and she has to get onto the furniture to comfortably follow his tugging. He nestles her under his arm, fingertips rolling the hem of her dress distractedly as he unpauses the TV.

“Do you want to watch cartoons?” he offers, knuckles against her lower thigh, just above her knee.

Ethel doesn’t reply, eyes glued to her father’s heavy, broad hand on her dress. 

“I asked you a question.”

“Okay,” she says, for the second time in the last two minutes.

Satisfied, Dad lays his head back against the arm of the couch, and Ethel nestles herself into his side. They stay like that for a while, bold two-dimensional colours casting an uncomfortably blue glow over the room. Joanna comes home unceremoniously, puts the ice cream in the freezer, and trudges back to her bedroom. Ethel assumes the other two are probably also in their bedrooms. She realizes she hasn’t even spoken to them in a couple of days. They’ve been distant lately.

“Daddy?”

“Hm?”

When she looks up, she sees his eyes are closed and at some point, he’d finished his glass of whiskey; it’s sitting empty on the side table.

“Can I go see Spencer?”

Suffice it to say, Ethel does not leave her bedroom for the rest of the evening and the better half of the next day.

***

December 17, 1972

Dad took over for Pastor Dan the very Sunday after his death. Ethel wondered if they’d take a week off to mourn, but honestly, she should have known better. It was silly, in retrospect.

Her sisters actually happened to like Spencer, which was very lucky for Ethel. That meant while Dad was in front of the congregation, she got to sit next to her friend. They walked together today, a nice change of pace from driving with Dad. The only reason Dad let them go together was the promise that Joanna, Hope, and Allison would go with her. They were considerate enough to walk a good distance behind Ethel and Spencer.

The sermon made Ethel sick. The look on her father’s face as he talked about a father’s duties was… personal. He watched her and her sisters for most of it. She sank under his unforgiving stare as he spoke about protecting your brood, about keeping them close, and keeping them pure. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she liked that it made Spencer hold her hand.

***

March 23, 1980

“Aren’t you- worried- your dad- will come in?” the boy asks between presses of Ethel’s lips to his. She isn’t sure of his name (William? He said Will, she thinks?), and she’s less sure she cares.

Ethel shakes her head. “No,” she mumbles, hands firmly on the boy’s shoulders, knees on either side of his hips. “He’s out cold.”

She slides her grip down his biceps, then to his waist, and pulls the hem of his shirt up his abdomen. He obediently lifts his arms to allow her to yank it over his head, then makes quick work of removing her own top. 

For a moment, she has the instinct to cover up. One of her biggest insecurities (aside from the evil, ungodly thoughts in her head) is how skinny she is. She’s all leg, skin and bone from head to toe. She tries to eat more, really she does, but she’s nauseous so often that it’s hard to keep it down. She wonders fleetingly why Dad hasn’t said anything about her continuously dwindling figure.

Her spiral is interrupted when the boy groans, going to grope her chest. He drags his thumb across a stick-n-poke tattoo, a cross just below her collarbone. Ethel’s stomach lurches, sending a rush to her head. I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be doing this. This is a sin. I can’t take this back. God will know I’m not a virgin. He’ll know I’m not pure anymore. What if Daddy can tell? What if he doesn’t love me anymore? What if he stops-

She groans when he rocks his hips into her, making his erection very apparent. In that moment, she really could not give a damn about her father – for that matter, either of her fathers.

***

March 29, 1980

“You sure you don’t want a puff?” Ethel offers, cigarette dangling from between her index and middle fingers. Spencer shakes his head, which is currently resting on his interlocked fingers, elbows bent out to the sides as he stares at the night sky.

She finally got Spencer to come over again for the first time in a long time, considering the last visit ended with Dad damn near strangling him in an alcohol-fueled stupor (which is becoming more and more common), insisting he “had the devil in him”. 

“Suit yourself,” Ethel shrugs and takes another drag. “Do you ever think about having sex?” she asks bluntly, snuffing out the cigarette on a shingle and turning her head toward Spencer. He chokes on a breath, sitting up slightly to get a better look at her.

“What?”

“Don’t what me. Don’t act like you haven’t considered it,” she says, sitting up on her elbows. “I mean, seriously, Spence. Have you even had your first kiss?”

He deflects expertly. “Have you?”

Ethel holds a puff of air in her cheeks then blows it out sharply, laying back down and interlocking her fingers over her stomach. She considers telling him. For the last week, she hasn’t stopped thinking about her night with that boy. It felt nice to finally go all the way, felt nice to not walk away from a sexual encounter feeling positively filthy. To be able to call the shots for once, not worry about the stakes of your performance quality. Ultimately, she decides against it. “How’s college?” she asks bitterly.

“No, E, what were you gonna say?” Spencer sits up completely, crossing his ankles under his shins.

“Spence, drop it, please?” Her voice is soft, almost scared. It sounds like a prayer, breathy and secretive, like if she said it too loud, the request was sure not to be granted.

“What happened?” he matches her tone, sweet and calm, just as he always has been. Ethel thinks she’s never heard him raise his voice before, even minimally.

“I snuck a boy in,” she replies before she can stop herself. “We, uh. We did it.”

She wanted to use the word. The dirty one. She wanted to use the word she couldn’t use while that boy was inside her, no matter how hard he tried to get her to. She wanted to swear, really she did, but she couldn’t. Funny, the lines a 16-year-old-girl draws.

“How do you feel?” Spencer picks up her hand, toying with the couple of rings on her fingers.

“A little chilly, and the roof isn’t very comfy,” she replies, wiggling to emphasize her point, but careful to keep her hand in his grip.

Spencer glares. “You know what I meant.”

Ethel sighs, deep in her chest. “I don’t know,” she replies. “I mean, I liked it. It felt good. I just…”

“You can’t stop thinking about him,” Spencer adds delicately, not managing to meet his friend’s eye.

“Yeah.” Ethel swallows thickly, dragging her fingertips of the hand Spencer has held captive against his palm.

Spencer shifts a bit to get closer and adjust his grip, commencing a massage on the back of her hand. “I’m always here with you. If it gets to be too much…”

“I know,” she whispers, voice cracking. She drops her chin to her chest. “Thanks.”

Ethel lets Spencer keep her hand but lays back against the roof, closing her eyes with a sigh at his nimble fingers working the muscles.

“He was pretty, you know? Real pretty. Sharp,” she says, and she imagines the pinched expression on Spencer’s face; eyebrows knit tightly, lips pursed. “I like him a lot, Spence. I think I could fall in love with him,” she continues with a dazed smile.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he says. “For that matter, you shouldn’t have even been having sex before you got married. It’ll be hard to go to confession when the preacher is your father.”

She knew he wasn’t judging her. It wasn’t unkind, the way he spoke to her. She’s grateful for that.

“I know,” she mutters, smile falling. “I just…” She opens her eyes to find Spencer watching her carefully with exactly the expression she expected. “I wanted to believe someone could find me beautiful.”

“I find you beautiful.”

She could cry at the sincerity, and almost does. She swallows the lump in her throat.

“Yeah, but not beautiful enough to make love to me, right?” Ethel scoffs, shaking her head.

Spencer stops his ministrations on her hand, laying it gently on his knee, still carefully clasped in his own. “Maybe,” he whispers, eyes downcast. Ethel perks up at this, sitting up and leaning on her elbows.

“Really? I mean, maybe I should just strip now,” she says with a grin. Spencer returns it.

Ethel lays back down, a giggle bubbling up in her throat. Spencer remains quiet and lets the smirk play against his mouth for a while.

“Are you getting cold?” he asks, rolling his shoulders.

“A little. Sleepy, for sure.”

Spencer stands up and pulls Ethel with him. Before ducking back in through the window, he stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Be careful with that boy, okay? Take it slow, keep your eggs in different baskets.”

Ethel rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, virgin.”

Spencer goes home that night with a flurry in his stomach and an uncomfortable tension in his pants.

Tag List: @darkmatilda @lizzys-sunflower.

If you'd like to be added, let me know!

[harlowtales]

Ok Mice!

Jack x Reader go to the ballet for a holiday classic. Jack does his best to appreciate fine art 🩰 🎄🐭

18+ Romance/Humour

“Hun are you ready?” You asked your boyfriend. We’re going to be late!” You were busy putting the finishing touches on your makeup and hair while Jack was walking around looking clueless in his underwear.

“Have you seen my favourite sweater? He asked scratching his head. “Swear I had asked you to put it out for me on the bed.”

“Jackman, it’s right there. You put your pants on it.” You said exasperated you always had to get both of you ready.

“I don’t want to wear these pants. I wanted to wear the other ones.” He said to you which put you over the edge.

“Listen. You are a grown man. Wear. What. You. Want.” You said slowly so he knew you were really pissed.

“Ok you know what I love the pants you put out. I change my mind.” He said with a peck on your forehead and a smile. He could tell he was getting on your nerves but didn’t mean to. He felt helpless around you and had to make so many decisions all the time it was nice to feel cared for. This was fine most of the time as you loved your boyfriend so much, but not when he was making you late!

“You got the tickets in your phone?” He asked you as you both scurried down the long hallway to your box seats.

“Got it!” You said and showed your phone hastily to the ticket taker who swiped the barcode and hurriedly showed you to your seats.

“You look beautiful by the way.” Jack said and kissed your hand that he was holding as the lights in the theatre went down to start the show.

“Thank you baby you look wonderful too.” You complimented him back sincerely. Your good friend was in this holiday season’s rendition of the ballet classic The Nutcracker and Jack and you were honoured guests. Because of you the Jack Harlow foundation had saved the struggling ballet company from collapse.

As they finished the first number Jack was so impressed he stood up and said “Woooo!!” To which you wanted to hide. The entire house looked at him.

“Jack…baby…you don’t do that at the ballet.” You lovingly corrected him in a hushed whisper. “Just a polite clap will do and not too loud either.”

“Oh shit my bad.” Jack said turning red. He had never been to the ballet before and you could see the headlines tomorrow “Rapper Goes to Ballet.”

“Babe” Jack whispered “Where’s your friend? Is he the other dude in the tights and shit?”

You mustered all your patience and explained yes that your friend was the only other guy on stage. Jack felt kind of like a fish out of water. He had been to classy parties before but they were still parties. This was like being in church. He started to squirm and get too hot in his sweater. “I gotta stretch my legs.” He whispered and stood up before you could object. You wished he would have waited until intermission to get up because he drew attention again.

During intermission you found him animatedly chatting with the ticket takers who played basketball at his old high school Atherton.

“Them MFs we played against from Lex got a fucking beating bro. I took the shot from half court and was nothing but net bitch!” Jack was boasting as he acted out his high school glory days shot.

One of the boys tapped him on the shoulder as you were behind him listening to his story with your arms folded. “She behind me ain’t she.” He said as he turned to find you not impressed.

“Hi baby you want a glass of wine before we head back in? I’m so excited for the 2nd half.” Jack said with an exaggerated grin plastered on his face.

“Jackman...” You started to say in his full government which meant nothing good.

“I been having some knee trouble since tour and just wanted to walk it out is all.” He assured you. “Let’s get some refreshments and head back.”

You knew he was full of it but was so adorable you took your glass of wine and kiss from him with a smile. You knew the ballet would be torture for him but appreciated he supported it.

“Ok Jack no getting up and no hooting and hollering.” You precautioned before the second half started.

“I got this. I can do cultured shit. You ain’t gotta lecture me damn.” He said a bit annoyed. The curtain lifted and dancers in mouse costumes crept onto the stage. “Okay mice.” Jack said getting into the story.

You giggled covering your mouth and allowed that one infraction as at least he said it quietly and had stopped fidgeting. Not 15mins later you looked over and he was nodding off. You thought it was suspicious he had been completely still and silent for 15 whole minutes.

You nudged him as the house lights came on. “Babe! Wake up!” You said partly annoyed and partly grateful you got to enjoy the last half without any interruptions from him.

He had DJ’d the night before, had an early workout session, and studio time. You knew he was exhausted. “Let’s go meet the dancers!” You said excitedly

Jack saw how you lit up at the ballet and realized he had to do more things with you that you liked. You loved his friends but more often the both of you needed time like this. “Jack Harlow!! Can you sign my ballet shoes please!!” One of the dancers said jumping up and down.

“Of course!” Jack said and asked for a sharpie marker. He knelt down and signed her satin ballet slippers as she tried to stay calm but the look on her face showed how much she wanted to scream.

“Mr. Harlow, thank you for your generous contribution.” The head of the ballet troupe said shaking his hand.

“Of what you saw.” You ribbed him chuckling

“Thank you it was a beautiful show.” Jack said graciously

“It was dope. I just don’t like having to sit and pay attention so quietly for that long.” Jack said honestly

“Well maybe we need to get you in some tights then!” The troupe leader said a little too enthusiastically.

Jack just laughed in response but said to you as you left the dancers backstage area “I know you’d be so jealous if I put on them tights.”

“Why would I be jealous? I love the ballet.” You said

“Yeah but think how nice my shit would be sittin in them things and then I’m twirling around and lifting girls above my head and seeing all up their tutus. You’d cut a bitch.” He laughed

“Jackman. No offence but me and Neelam need to get you etiquette classes.” You said seriously

“I can be classy babe it just feels weird.” He said “I will never embarrass you like that again I swear.” He apologized

“Damn right you won’t or I’m making a bet you will be in tights if you lose!” You laughed

@jacks-daycare @ride4harlow @itsyagirljaz

[osemanverse-events]

🎁🎄 to: @catboylister from: @bazwillendinflames

Rowan is supposed to spend his Christmas with Bliss. Now they’re broken up, he’s resigned to spend Christmas alone in the apartment. Except Lister, struggling with being sober at Christmas parties, has the same ideas. They spend Christmas together instead. After all, it is a time for family. 

LISTER

When Rowan wanders into the living room, I wave at him and he jumps, clutching his chest. Once, it would have hurt my feelings but his reaction only makes me laugh. 

“Boo,” I say. 

“Fucking hell. I thought you were still in bed,” Rowan says. 

I stretch out, grinning at him. “Turns out you wake up earlier and not feeling like shit when you’re not hungover.” 

Rowan pats my head. “Growth.” 

It’s only ten but usually I’d only be up this early if someone dragged me out of bed. Or if I hadn’t slept. Instead I woke up without a headache. Being sober isn’t easy but there are moments that make it feel worth fighting for. Seeing the look on Rowan’s face is one of them. 

He disappears into the kitchen and flicks on the kettle. 

“Make me a tea,” I yell at him. 

“Piss off,” Rowan says. 

Still, a moment later I hear the cabinet open followed by the clang of two cups being taken out. It’s comforting, the background clatter. 

It hadn’t been planned, us spending Christmas together. Rowan was meant to be with Bliss and her family. I usually spend my time off partying. But the temptation they hold is too strong, especially without Rowan or Jimmy by my side. 

I always feel out of the loop of family dinners. My siblings barely recognise me, although they appreciate the gifts. Mum said I spoil them, but when I was their age I was desperate for a Nintendo DS. Now I can afford to buy them Switches, I couldn't resist. 

 I remember watching Home Alone with Mum at age twelve, grumbling about being too old about it as we snacked on Celebrations. She made me eat all the Bountys. The memory is warm, nostalgic, and for the first time I wish I was back home. She has a real house now - I bought it for her as soon as I could afford - and my three little brothers will have more than a council flat to run around in. 

I sent Mum a text this morning, although I don’t expect a response. We share a tendency to reply late or not at all. We’ll call tomorrow. 

Still, I have my second mother in Rowan, who brings me my tea in a Red Dwarf mug, a charity shop find by Joan. His own drink is in one of the expensive, glossy black mugs that Cecily picked out when we moved in. 

“Thanks Ro.” 

He drinks his own tea. We sit in silence. It’s nice to just sit and relax. It feels like Rowan is my friend instead of my coworker. Of all the changes since that week, the bond with Rowan and Jimmy is my favourite. I’m no longer just orbiting. 

Jimmy used to feel like the glue holding us together. He's gone to Kent for Christtmas, his Mum is back in England for the week and Pierro is hosting them. Me and Rowan were invited but let him have his family time.  

Even without Jimmy here, it’s comforting to have Rowan by my side. 

He stretches out his legs and sighs. 

“What do we do today?” Rowan asks. 

I shrug. I don’t know what normal people do on Christmas Eve either. I don’t have the cooking talent to make anything festive and Rowan runs the kitchen like the military. We made a gingerbread house together last week, before Jimmy left, and chaos unfolded. The house collapsed but it had enough icing to still taste good. 

Apart from that, we don’t usually spend Christmas together. Jimmy goes to his grandad, sits in the local church service unbothered and unwinds. I spent my holidays at parties. Rowan with his sister or Bliss. 

“Lister.” 

I look at Rowan, still expecting an answer, and shrug again. 

“I don’t know. Watch shit tv?” 

Rowan grabs the remote. We scroll through Netflix until deciding on Love Actually. We both hate this film - almost every story line is creepy - but settle in to heckle anyway. 

Rowan gets up and returns with a plate of toast. When I reach over to steal it, he sighs and then a second one when I eat half of his. 

“I can’t believe Kiera Knightly is only seventeen in this,” Rowan says. 

I pick at my shorts. She does look young and it is weird she’s in a love triangle with two older men. I try not to think about it too hard, moving the conversation to the 2000s fashion of the film instead. 

When it gets to the door stop scene, we groan. 

“I bet there’s fan art of you and Jimmy doing this.” 

Rowan wrinkles up his nose. “Don’t say that.” 

“I get written out of those kind of fics.” 

“I wish they would write me out,” Rowan says. 

I laugh. At a certain point, you just have to find it all funny. Away from the crowds, with our phones abandoned on the table, it feels less suffocating. All that pressure will be back soon, so I lean back and make the most of it. 

“Love actually is all around us,” the film narrates, at the conclusion. 

I turn to Rowan to point out how cheesy it is to see him tearing up. 

“What’s wrong Ro?” 

He looks away. “I don’t know. Bliss.” 

If they hadn’t broken up, Rowan would be at her house now. Instead he’s stuck with me awkwardly patting his arm as he wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. 

“I know we didn’t make each other happy. I just miss how good things were, at the start.” 

“I miss her too,” I tell him.

 It’s true - Bliss was mine and Jimmy’s friend. She made us laugh and didn’t care when we looked ratty instead of polished and perfect. And she did make Rowan so happy at the start. 

 “We’re still friends. I was looking forward to Christmas with her. A normal one, no press or anything. With someone I love.” 

I put my plate aside and pull him into a hug. It spills crumbs on his lap and the expensive sofa, but it's worth it as Rowan slumps against me. We haven't been this emotional together since Jimmy went missing or I nearly died. It feels odd that a film provoked the same reaction. 

“I’m glad you stayed,” Rowan says into my shoulder. 

“This is better than getting fucked up at some party,” I agree. 

“Was that seriously your plan?” Rowan asks. 

“It’s what I do.” I’m aiming for nonchalant but my voice catches. “Used to do. I don’t want to be like that anymore.” 

“We’re here for you,” Rowan promises. 

He shuffles away as we watch the credits roll. 

“Don’t be so sad Ro,” I say, “you are spending Christmas with someone you love.” 

I’m only messing with him but it results in a real smile on his face. “Yeah,” he says, “I am.” 

“Come on then,” I say, matching his grin. “What next?” 

I might not be spending Christmas with Mum. But I am home. I’m with my family. For the first time in a while, that’s more appealing than getting shit faced at a party. 

Like Rowan said. Growth. 

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Ikemen Villains - Elbert Greetia

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support Cybird by buying their stories. Expect grammatical errors. Not 100% accurate.

He responded with a smile that was so captivating that I almost forgot how to breathe.

But then一

???: “Is that you, Kate?”

(Huh? This voice...)

Kate: “Danny?”

I turned to look at the familiar voice and saw a colleague from the post office waving his hand with a surprised look.

Danny: “Long time no see! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Elbert: “And you are?”

Danny: “Hi, I’m Danny. Kate’s coworker, well, former coworker. And this is my girlfriend, Loretta.”

Elbert: “Elbert Greetia.”

The woman introduced as Loretta was staring at Elbert with a starstruck expression.

(I hope she snaps out of it before Danny notices her.)

Danny: “I see you snag a handsome boyfriend. Where did you two meet?”

Kate: “Huh!? Um, while working at the palace?”

Danny: “Why the question mark? Also, didn’t you just start working at the palace a few weeks ago? And now you’re getting married?”

Kate: “I-It does seem quite fast. Ahahaha!”

(I didn’t consider coming up with a plausible explanation that wouldn’t raise suspicions for acquaintances.)

As I forced a smile and broke into a cold sweat, someone suddenly wrapped their arm around my waist and hugged me.

There was only one person here who would do such a thing.

Kate: “Elbert?”

Elbert: "You, too, should only look at me."

(!?)

I couldn't help but blush as he sweetly whispered over my shoulder.

Kate: "Ah. S-Sorry."

I could only squeeze out those words as my voice trembled.

Danny: "He really loves you."

Danny: "Tell me more about it next time, okay? Sorry for interrupting you guys. Best wishes!"

Danny took his girlfriend with him and smiled as they walked away.

(How will I explain this next time I see him?)

Elbert: "Sorry."

Kate: "It's okay! I was struggling, and you helped me out."

Elbert: "That's true, but as I stared at you, I couldn't help but want you to turn around.” **

Kate: "Huh?"

Elbert: "What's wrong?"

Kate: "Nothing!"

He doesn't seem to have any intention of teasing or flirting with me.

(It seems like he simply expressed what he was thinking.)

He removed his arm from my waist, but I couldn't move from the spot, and my cheeks were taking their time to cool down.

(He probably didn't have any deep intention. I should quit reading too much into it.)

Wanting to shake off my restlessness, I turned my gaze to my surroundings.

(Thank god. Everyone stared at us when we arrived earlier, but now, most of them are absorbed in their partners.)

I felt happy and frustrated as I saw Danny and Loretta laughing together in the distance.

(I can't believe these happy couples could disappear.)

Elbert: "I bet none of them ever thought that their current happiness would be destroyed."

He seemed to be looking at the lovers with the same feelings as I was, and I could sense the sadness in his mumbled words.

(What's happening here must be stopped.)

Kate: "Let's do our best not to let their happiness be destroyed."

Elbert: "Yeah."

Elbert: "They can still make it."

("Can still make it?")

The words stuck with me, but the sadness in his profile as he gazed at the happy scene made the question stuck in the back of my throat disappear.

After the party, the cultist stopped us and told us we had passed.

He also told us that the wedding would take place tomorrow and assigned us a room to stay at the church.

That night, we sneaked out of our room and found multiple coffins in the basement, confirming that the lovers had been stabbed to death after examining their bodies.

(They were probably killed during the ceremony since they were still wearing their dresses.)

Elbert: "Are you okay?"

Kate: "I'm fine. Let's complete the mission to save more unfortunate lovers from suffering."

(I used the word "complete," but now that we know Amour is guilty, he has to take the killer's life tomorrow.)

I wanted to stop this whole thing, but just thinking about his hands getting dirty hurt me so badly.

(Elbert was considerate and concerned about the possibility that I might get hurt.)

(He's kind and grieves for the misfortunes of the couples, and yet...)

Elbert: "You don't have to look so sad."

Elbert: "I guarantee your safety. I won't let the couples die anymore, so一"

???: "What are you doing here?"

(----!)

I turned around to see a sharp-eyed cultist staring at us from across the hallway, holding a lantern.

Elbert then covered me with his back to hide me.

Elbert: "We were just taking a night stroll. What about you? What are you doing here at this hour?"

Sharp-eyed cultist: "It's none of your business. Please go back to your rooms. It's not safe to go out here at night."

(That's an unusual choice of words for a cultist.)

Elbert also seemed to sense this, and after a few seconds of contemplation, he spoke up.

Elbert: "You don't seem to be a member of this group."

Sharp-eyed cultist: "----!"

Elbert: "Does what we saw in the basement have anything to do with this?"

Sharp-eyed cultist: "You've seen it. Well, then, to make the story short. I'm一"

The guy revealed an unexpected truth, and we made a certain promise before parting ways.

Female cultist: "Then, I'll call the groom for you."

Kate: "Yes. Thank you for everything."

Wearing the jet-black dress from the black box that Elbert had brought, I saw off the female cultist who helped me get ready and do my makeup.

(I've never seen such a gorgeous, beautiful dress before. I'm a little uneasy.)

As I grew restless, I turned my head to the door after hearing it open.

Kate: "Elbert, thank you for the dress."

Elbert: "..........."

Kate: "Elbert? Something wrong?"

Elbert: "No. It's nothing."

Kate: "Can I really wear this dress? It's yours, right?"

Elbert: "I found it after accepting the mission. I thought it would look good on you, so I got it."

Elbert: "Does wearing the dress bother you?"

Kate: "----!"

Elbert: "Does it?"

Kate: "No! I'm happy. Thank you."

Elbert: "As I thought, it looks good on you."

Elbert: "Maybe I should just lock you up like this."

(What?)

I felt a hint of darkness in the way he stared at me.

It was similar to the heavy, intense gaze he had when he was contemplating whether or not to cut the roses blooming in the garden.

I felt my entire body entangled in the beautiful dress he had given me and his gaze, and a shiver ran down my spine.

Kate: "You're good at giving compliments! I almost took you seriously there for a moment."

I couldn't help but avert my gaze.

Kate: "Come on, let's go, Elbert. Let's go get married."

Elbert: "Yeah, sure."

Elbert: "I pledge my undying love to you, my pretend bride."

Part 1┆Part 2┆Premium End┆Epilogue

[kisskissbanggang]

Disavowed - pt. 1

[2k Words/10min. Read - [CENSORED] x Reader (Check Tags for Spoilers) - SFW/✨Mildly Spicy✨/Very Suggestive (Smut to Come) - Church, One Night Stands, Mutual Drinking, Hickeys/Love Bites, New to Town, Hot Mess MC]

Sister Judith was in firm judgment of your turtleneck on this sunny Saturday morning. Thankfully, she was seemingly satisfied once you explained you’d moved from somewhat warmer climates. Not to mention your heater in your rented room wasn’t working. Clearly, this was a reasonable clothing choice and not something you pulled on in the five minutes you were able to get into your closet. 

None of this was true, of course, but you couldn't afford to lose this job right after landing it and moving here for it.

It wasn’t like it was her fault you’d gotten carried away, so it wasn't like you needed to burden her with the frightful appearance you had driving like mad back to your apartment that morning before arriving just in time for your first formal meeting. 

Yes, instead of telling the truth, you sat in Sister Judith’s office in Pinewood Falls Prep, your back as straight as a board and your sweating hands demurely clasped on your knee. 

And for what it was worth, you’d almost questioned the sister yourself. All your correspondence, at least from what you remembered, had been with Jacqueline. You knew the school was in a religious area, but you naively hadn’t realized you’d actually be an office manager for a private Catholic school. Jacqueline had brightly greeted you from the empty reception desk when you’d arrived, with a picture of the Savior himself on the wall behind her. So now it was just you and Sister Judith. 

It was like she could see what you were hiding under your turtleneck. Perspiration was starting to gather under the band of your bra. 

“I hope you have hobbies,” Sister Judith clucked while she paged through the various paperwork and employment contracts she’d pulled out of a file for you. A permanent frown was etched into the lines of her surprisingly soft face, unhelpful to her eternally judgemental tone. “I can't say there's much of a night life here.”

“No, ma’am,” you hurriedly replied before realizing how confusing you were being. “I, er, I meant to say I do have hobbies. And it’s no problem, there not being any night life. That’s what I meant.”

You’d already figured out where there was night life, hence the turtleneck. If Pinewood Falls was the pretty and devout golden child, then Briar Bay was its hardened, spinster older sister. And if you hadn't been berating yourself the entire drive back to your rented room that morning, then you would've even been ecstatic that it was “just” a 30 minute drive away. Yes, there wasn’t a night life in Pinewood Falls, and you didn't know it yet but you would grow to wish you had gotten some hobbies instead. 

Sister Judith slid over your paperwork and a pen, but her hand remained on the writing utensil despite you reaching for it. 

“I’m not supposed to turn you away regardless of faith, so I’m not going to,” she gravely began. “However, I will say I do take stock in the spiritual well-being of my staff.”

You swallowed a thick ball of hot air. “I – it’s funny you mention that – because I was, er, actually was actually going to ask what time service begins tomorrow morning, ma’am.”

The tiniest hint of a proud smile pulled at the Sister’s tight line of a mouth. “Promptly at 9:00AM, child. You'll want to get there early for a good seat.”

You were running late.

As it would turn out, politely refusing your landlord’s offer of joining everyone for a homemade dinner in the communal living room in favor of accidentally getting tipsy on wine in your room was not a good recipe for a decent night’s sleep. 

You should've accepted the invitation and had a nice time, really get to meet Seungmin and your other housemates, but all you did instead was scour every dating app and social media outlet for whoever your elusive one-night-stand was.

Especially because your search was fruitless. 

Especially because it was still bothering you. You’d had rough nights before, ones where you didn’t quite remember all that happened, but you’d never not remembered what someone’s name or what they looked like before. It was unsettling at the very least. 

Having come too late to get a good seat, you walked up and down the outer sides of the pews in an excruciating horseshoe maneuver to look for an acceptable substitute until none other than Sister Judith met your eye. 

That may have actually been a blessing. Now that she saw you, you could've dipped. However, your hazy tryst in Briar Bay had mentioned one thing you did remember. 

“You live in Pinewood Falls? I'm moving there in a couple weeks. Have you seen the church there?”

“Do I look like I go to church?” you’d laughed. 

“You should try it,” he had teased back, “maybe we’ll run into each other.”

It was precisely this playful jab that had driven you nuts the previous night. You’d swiped through dating apps, clicked through webs of social media circles, trying like crazy to see if any of these local men jogged your memory. But, alas, there was no luck. Even though you hardly remembered anything after your umpteenth drink, no one sparked any recognition on your behalf. Too old, too young, too tall, too scruffy — you didn’t recall much, but you were positive you’d know him when you saw him. There were little, tiny bits of details you could almost sort of remember. His slight stubble had scraped into your neck before he left you a perfect de facto roadmap of hickeys. You recalled standing just as tall as him standing up on your toes – if not a little taller, judging by the way you could recount how it felt to wrap your arms around him. None of these men at mass seemed to ring any bells. Maybe his ominous little tease had been just that: a tease. 

To your benefit, sitting in the back few rows gave you a perfect view of the whole ritual of mass. It'd been years since you'd been to church. Your experience was mostly being dragged when you'd visit your grandmother, so now you watched the congregation in front of you to figure out when to sit, stand, kneel, or bow your head. Overall, it was a fairly harmless service. The old priest was pleasant enough, and his homily lacked any of the fearmongering or outright judgment you’d been dreading. In lieu of the small gaggle of altar servers you were accustomed to seeing, seated to the side of the pulpit were a deacon and an associate priest, two young men assigned to the church. This made sense, you figured. A seminary was just a few hours away, and there was a whole line of framed alumni portraits in the main corridor of Pinewood Falls Prep, all the young men and women who went on to serve Christ. You didn’t pay much attention to the names of either man amidst all the ritual, but to that matter you never even caught the name of the head priest himself. 

You honestly felt a bit at peace, at least until the priest began to prepare the body and blood of Christ. Your heart leapt into your throat again. There was no way you’d take communion. You only just started going to church again, it was way too public.

But wouldn’t Sister Judith see if you didn’t take communion? Wouldn’t she care?

The latter question practically answered itself. Of course she would care. 

Your mind raced. It wasn’t a big deal to get communion. It’d make a good impression and you could get a better view of the congregation, maybe spy your anonymous rendezvous. The thought of you two locking eyes and recognizing each other gave you butterflies, to be honest. He’d been so hot that it frankly felt unfair to hardly remember anything. You couldn’t even remember how you got back to his place, except your car was right outside in the morning. A small, bashful smile tugged at your lip as you did suddenly recall the way his belt had caught onto the waistband of your jeans. His solution had been to simultaneously unbutton your jeans with one hand and unbuckle his belt with the other, swift as the devil.

Great time to think of the devil, you almost laughed out loud to yourself. Your palms had gone sweaty. Great time to get distracted overall, really. The first row of churchgoers arose from their pews to line up for communion.   

Still, once you'd uncorked that bottle it was hard to close. Anything you could remember of the hazy night was playing at full volume in your head. The musk of his cologne mixing with the perspiration brought about by your fooling around, his pleading groan in your ear, the first time he'd nipped at your neck hard enough to leave a mark. You only vaguely remember goading him on to do it again and again. 

You were wearing another turtleneck despite doing everything you could to cover the marks. And even if you could confidently hide the ones on your neck, the ones on your cleavage were stubborn.

It was finally time for your row to get up for communion. Your hands were sweating for some reason. The breaths coursing through your lungs were made of razor blades.

This really wasn’t a big deal, you reassured yourself. You’d take communion and everyone would be happy with you starting as the perky new receptionist for Pinewood Falls Prep. Really, this was setting up a good image. You’d treat yourself to an expensive coffee or something after this.

By now, it was almost preferable to cling onto the few memories you had of the other night. You didn’t remember the first time you kissed, but you could recall the way he cursed when you first touched him. The whole night had felt like you were incredibly in sync.

Probably.

Oh jesus.

How were you even supposed to take communion? Your mind scrambled to remember how this was supposed to go, there was a whole back and forth and everything. 

Oh god you were so out of your element. This was such a terrible idea. What even compelled you to do this? You could’ve just stayed in your seat. You could’ve just stayed home. Did you even really need this job?

You swallowed a stiff breath and steadied yourself as you did your best to remember. First you were going to bow your head when you got up there, right? And you would raise your cupped hands for the priest, and he’d say something.

What would he say?

“The body of Christ.”

Your gaze snapped up from where it’d been focused on your shoes.

That voice. It was so familiar. Where had you heard it before?

The priest said it again to the next member of the congregation in line. You strained to hear better over the organ playing, maybe crane your head just right so you could see ahead of you. 

There was no way this was what you thought it was.

Dread filled you, starting from your feet and snaking its way up your throat. You were drowning in it already, no room to breathe and your heart beating so hard it could crack a rib.

What the hell did the old man say this guy’s name was at the beginning of service?

Up ahead, you’d finally traversed enough of the aisle of the church to begin to make out distinct features of the young priest. A mop of richly dark brown hair, the waves tamed into a respectable undercut, still failed to keep all the fringe out of the father’s eyes. Gentle chin, strong neck on broad shoulders, adorable nose to complement his gorgeous pout–

Father Chris. That’s what the older priest had said.

Chris?

Your mind flashed white.

No.

Fuck.

Yes?

Jesus Christ. 

You slept with a priest.

[To be continued.]

[sam-vdl]

Letters to the wind ✿ SDV novel

1.Dismissed

And there it was, signed with a bright red pen at the bottom. My termination letter couldn’t have come at a better time, at least I try to tell myself that. I wish Stevie was here, she’d know what to do. She heard me rant about working in corporate for years, she would understand. I sign my letter and shake Mister Bloom's hand. “I wish you well.” I can tell he doesn’t mean that he’s probably tired of laying so many people off this past week. You could tell when someone got the note when they came out of his office with red eyes, either full of sadness or fury. I walk out of his office and head towards the parking lot, his face is everywhere. Flyers, billboards, social media… I can never escape this corporation. I hit a sign of his stupid face near my car, a family of four looking at me with empathy. I want nobody’s pity or ‘understanding.’ I want out, away from this town. My shitty apartment, that makes New York studio apartments look like mansions, I'm selling it. I don’t have a plan yet but I’m taking my van, loading my stuff in and I’m going. 

  ✿ 

Nami purrs when she sees me get her food out. That little orange devil is crazy but I love her a lot and I always catch myself talking to her like she can comprehend what I'm saying. “We’re going to drive you across the country tomorrow Nana. I’m so done here.” She meows and walks over to the window looking out at the garden, she always does that when she wants to go out. I slide open the door for her and walk with her to my little conservatory, which consists of kale and tomatoes. Before she moved, my sister and I loved making fresh tomato paste for our self-made pizza, but I still can't throw the dough right. Before I knew it Nami was nibbling at my tomatoes. ‘Nami no please, I don’t want to clean up your vomit later.’ She meows when I pick her up and head back inside. As I look at my small Satan with little whiskers covered in tomato paste, my mind wanders off. I’d have to leave this all behind if I want a fresh start, but I don’t want to give up farming. My phone pings, stopping my train of thought. 

I mean I could go over to Pelican Town, it’s a temporary escape until I find something for good. I look at Nami and bop her nose. “We’re going to Pelican.” I text her back that I’m heading towards her tomorrow. I need this so bad. 

Stevie found love in Pelican when she moved there after escaping her small-minded town a few years back. Since then she’s been upholding a farm with Shane. I haven’t met him yet but she’s told me a lot about him. She’s been his rock through some pretty bad times and his letters to her are one of the sweetest gestures I've ever seen. Our backgrounds are very similar but I don’t think something like that is in the cards for me at Pelican. 

2. Pelican Town

I get on the bus with Nami in her carrier, I wish I had brought a novel or a puzzle book. I don’t live that far from Pelican Town but an overnight stay is necessary, if I want to stay for dinner and beyond. Transportation back to my town is sacred, my last bus back is at 8 pm. Yes, it’s an option ofcourse but when you haven’t seen each other in so long that hour comes fast. Plus like she said, their cabin is free. I choose to stare out the window for the next 20 minutes. There isn’t anything to look at, just fields of corn with maybe -if you’re lucky- a little village behind it with a church towering over the other buildings. After what felt like hours of pondering, the locomotive comes to a screeching halt. I stand up and head out, The Pelican Town bus stop isn’t far from the shops, so I decide to walk over to Pierre’s for a little drink and lunch before I head over to Stevie’s place. 

✿ 

I stand before the soda aisle thinking about what goes best with a club sandwich. I hear some commotion behind me, but I brush it off. “Excuse me.” I turn around when I feel a tap on my shoulder. A blonde girl looks up at me, I don’t know what she wants so I just stand there waiting for some kind of interaction. “Are you incompetent?” I don’t process what she’s saying, suddenly it hits me. “Oh, you need something behind me?” She nods, “Wow, what a smart guy. Yeah Sherlock I need something behind you.” I step aside, “Yeah, yeah ofcourse. My bad.” She grabs a boba tea and disappears into another aisle. Jeez, I just got here and I’m already embarrassing myself. 

I head to the register and see someone yelling in front of Pierre. “Coupons! 20%!” A group of people are forming a circle around this guy. I look at Pierre, he looks distraught. The man hands out coupons while others already walk out with one in their hand. I stand at the counter as I watch the walk towards Pierre. He laughs and taunts “Your loyal customers, just face it. Joja is the better market around here.” I give him a dirty look when I hear Joja come out of his mouth. I whisper to Pierre, “No wonder he’s such a jerk.” I’ve formed a little bond with him over the times I’ve visited Stevie. When she just moved I came here more often because she hadn’t found her place yet here. The man turns around laughing to himself and walks out. 

I hand Pierre my items, “I thought you worked for them,” I sigh, “Not anymore, I got fired two nights ago. He looks up and hands me my change. “Maybe it was for the best kid, I don’t like to intrude but it seems like you’re taking it like a positive thing. A new beginning.” I give him a little smile, “Yeah, that job was eating me alive. Keep the change.” I hand him back my 5 Gold.” He smiles and throws it in his piggy bank on the counter. “Have fun with Stevie.” 

3. Blueberry pie

My heart skips a beat when I see Stevie’s place in the distance. She’s busy watering her crops, she doesn’t see me coming. I put my bags down next to her house and walked over to her, “Need some help?” She recognizes my voice and puts her watering can down. “Sammy! I’m so happy you made it!” We hug until I hear the door behind me open, “Shane, come here, I want you to meet Sam!” He walks over to us and reaches out his hand; “Hi, I'm Shane, Stevie’s boyfriend.” I shake his hand, “Nice to meet you man, I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.” Mara smiles and picks up her can, “Well now that you two have met, Shane honey would you mind showing Sam his cabin?” He nods. “Follow me, man.” 

✿ 

I walk into Stevie’s place once I’ve unpacked my bags. The house smells amazing, “Stevie, what are you doing it smells amazing in here.” She gives me a spoon of leftover dough, “Blueberry pie with berries from our farm.” It tastes heavenly, “Now this is what I’ve missed all this time. Mine always turn out sour.” She laughs, “Don’t worry I ’l make it every time you’re here. By the way, you had some stuff to tell me.” I started filling her in on everything, my termination, the incident at Pierre’s and the girl I saw there. “No way, well I’m glad you got fired. It sounds wrong but that job was eating you alive. Shane still works for Joja, it’s hard to let go, I mean after all it’s still his income.” Shane sits next to me, “No way you’ve worked for them? In corporate?” I nod, “Yeah, just pages and pages of statistics, data control, import and export. Gives me a headache just saying those words.” He scoffs, “Can’t stand that place. I work there purely out of convenience. Morris is on my ass every day with his motivational speeches.” I think back to the man who was at Pierre’s, that has to be him. “So that was Morris at Pierre’s this afternoon. Every Joja manager seems to be an asshole.” 

A silence fills the air, Stevie tries to break it when the oven pings indicating that her pie is ready. “Sammy, you didn’t tell me who the girl was at the market.” I chug some water, “Well, I haven’t seen her yet. She seemed irritated with me, maybe she’s just having a rough day.” She starts slicing up pieces and puts them on a cake platter. “Describe her, this isn't a large town maybe Shane and I know her.” I smile, and I feel my cheeks fluster, “If I’m honest Stevie, she has to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. That’s probably why I blacked out when I turned around. She had blonde hair, kinda curly. A heart locket-” Shane scoffs “That’s Haley. And it wasn’t a bad day for her, she’s always like that.” Stevie gives her boyfriend a look, “Well she is beautiful, for sure Sammy.” I drink the rest of my water while I look at Shane staring Stevie down. He turns to me, “Look dude, can I be honest with you?” I put my glass down and nod. “Haley is kinda conceited, she knows her beauty and how men think about her. You gotta be able to handle her being straight-up rude sometimes.” 

I think about it, “Well there has to be more to her right?” They both look at me and then at each other. “Guys c’mon, I wanna get to know her. Sure she has an attitude but I promise that’s not all that there is to her. I just know it. I’ll be back for dinner” I grab a piece of pie and head to my cabin. Shane chuckles “You’re friend is her next victim honey. I’m sure of it.” Stevie grabs a blueberry pie slide for him and herself and sits down. “I don’t think he’s going to back down Shane. The important thing is that he knows what he’s doing.” Shane pulls the plate towards him, “I don’t think he does.” 

4. Rosewood Farm

Stevie gave me the task of getting eggs from the chickens, I wish I could have my own. In the future, when I know where I'll end up. I remember the postcard I got when she first got here, her farm came with two chickens to her name. I wish I could tell you their names, but it’s a weird inside joke that would take years of your life. Stevie walks in with two more chickens, “Sammy, these are Cluck Norris and Chick Jagger.” I chuckle, “Well it does  suit them, you can put them down, I'll add some hay for them when I'm done collecting eggs.” The chickens start roaming around like crazy once they hit the ground, and the morning rain bangs on the wooden roof of the coop. “So, what’s there to do when it rains?” Stevie looks at the stables: “Well we can ride into town and go to the saloon. It’s one of my favourite places in Pelican, I met Shane there.” I smile at how she talks about him. “I’m so happy you found him, I see how happy he makes you.” “Well if I’m honest…” She sighs and sits on the wooden crate in the corner. 

“Sometimes I worry about him, he’s very absent some days and I'm scared his thoughts get to him a lot more than he shows.” I can tell she needed this conversation, I know Shane struggles mentally but I never thought about how Stevie must feel about it. We’re no strangers to our dark times so I’m sure they can be there for each other when it’s needed. “You know I'll always be here when you want to talk about it. I get that it can be scary but I’m sure Shane has improved a lot and appreciates everything you’ve done for him. Even if he doesn’t show it directly. I can tell that from his letters.” Stevie nods, “Yeah, he does.” Silence fills the air, I try to break it by pointing out that the rain seems to have stopped. “You wanna head to the saloon?” I nod and we head out to the stables. 

  ✿ 

Country music fills the room, “Two beers please.” I put down some cash, “I’ll pay Stevie, for letting me stay in your cabin.” She smiles and puts her bill away. “I’m glad you’re here, it’s been way too long.” As we chat, the door flings open. I’m sitting with my back to the door, so all I can see is Stevie's eyes that widen when looking past me at the person who just entered. 

“Dude, you can not believe who just walked in. And she’s not a regular customer either.” I stare at her confused, and suddenly it hits me. “No way, did Haley just come in?” She nods with a smirk on her face. “You have to go talk to her, it’s the only way to get to know her cause no way she’s making the first move, or any move for that matter.” I chuck the rest of my beer and head to the corner of the bar where she’s sitting. 

“Oh great it’s you again.” She says irritated. “Buy me a drink if you want my attention.”  I sit next to her and sign to Gus to get two beers. “No, beer is for loser men who want to drink their issues away. A rosé and a beer for….” I take this opportunity, “Sam.” I hand her her drink, “Sam? Sam what?” I sigh, “Sam Wilde.” She takes a sip of her glass and traces it with her fingers uninterested. “Wilde? You sound like a gunslinger.” I chuckle, “Well what if I was?” I could tell she didn’t expect somebody to talk back to her banter. “That would make you a lot more interested than you appear to be now, Sam.” She smiles through her words. She empties her glass and stands up from her barstool, “See you around, Sam Wilde.” 

When I turn to watch her leave, I see Stevie looking at me patiently waiting. I return to our seats and I’m immediately hit with “and?” I smile, “I think I got somewhere, she said I sound like a gunslinger.” Stevie looks confused, “And that’s progress?” I take a sip and look towards the window where I can still see her walking away in the distance. “To me, it is.”

[minecraft-fanfiction-house]

Take a bite out of my sight

Chapter 2 "Laminated Bell"

Part 1 ±

--

CottagedBeastInMe “Post”

Hi, I’m Llamari a (24) Witch Jewler apprentice, who lives in a mountain village. For the past few weeks I'd had a commission to work with an eye, which is pretty uncommon Usually, people who herd goats would commission me for it and give them away in gifts or hold onto it for the memory(since most get them in portraits with pictures of their goat).

Lamination takes 22-77 for the lamination and checking on the eye. I work on it 2 hours a day after 12 PM (after church), and after 5 with the coven guild because I just love being told I might be doing something wrong. Eh :P I don't, but I'm not bothered by it their nice when they're not criticizing you I promise :[]

An errand-ger with some dirt stains and a donkey came by, and I never bit my tongue for someone more than when a coven elder insulted that their donkey was not worth laminating an eye for an eye.

The coven I works closely with jewelry and potions, using gems as a power source rather than with lightning. I'm an apprentice on the jewelry side I usually help out with the jewelry craftsmanship. So I thought the merchant must've mistaken ours for being the doctor's coven because of our similar builds being two than one coven on the hillside, and having the same silhouette through the window(But I'm also guessing due to my set-up with working with eyeballs and rabbits eye for some lunch made it a good assumption). Though they'd informed me that they needed to restock in potions, I think since the  Villager was told to find the other coven here, for spare healing potions.

They chatted with me as one of the coven heads got a spare potion from their office. 

It was quieter and so was the cricket I thought I'd id be complaining about my work. But no.. No.

They peeked over my shoulder, like everyone does to see what im working on. Their donkey is inside resting on the hardwood ground. And they so politely ask.

“Is this from the vindicator that left, after their eyes were spooned out?”

It had a glowing hue, that was what was bothering a sweet old lady. Hah, it glowed, the client, GAVE ME THEIR DEATH WISH TO FINNISH-

If a vengeful, kid or parent to whatever illager is at the mansion, is gonna see them and get some movie flashback and burn this village to the ground.

[No I don't know how or any of the details, it's usually something witches in the coven can choose to work with. Kinda feels like treating crystals like pain medication to swallow. i only work with jewelry and tea potions].

–

“Hello, anything I could get for you.” Tomorrow was a lackluster day, with the quietness paving an empty street corner.

A tired sigh left their lips “A Goat pie” 

“Ah sorry, we have a shortage of raspberries.” They shakingly explained, their arms jittering to their collar and counter.

“Oh hey, isn't that the villager that commissioned that eye lamination.”

“No”

“You aren't even lookin inat them, they're wearing those glasses I fixed up”

“I've never seen them with glasses, how would I know?”

“I’m worried about the genetics of you not getting glasses yet.” 

Looking across the table are eyes agreeing. 

“What?”

A witch taking a bite of tiramisu from their satchel of baked goods explained, “You're getting the same age as your parents when they needed glasses.”

Llamari pulled down her hat to her eyes, looking at her phone. With the only response, she gets in a short time.

Good call, she had recognized their clothing. Still wearing the same mountain robe, with dried crimson brown stained by their collar, it had looked like a less messy spill of raspberry. When it came across the thought that it was blood.

The lamination witch assumed it was the goat, even though they'd never seen them go up the mountain that much. 

Most unemployed Villagers aren't always walking up to attempt to get hit by a goat's horn. Maybe she could've asked questions

–

SomeGoldNugget: “Can I use isopropyl, would the alcohol go inside the eyeballs though? Or can I just put them in the jar with the alcohol? I have some rabbits and I'd like to preserve some eyeballs and possibly other parts of the rabbit.”

                                                              CottagedBeastInMe: “I use Formaldehyde, from the nearby medical store. I don’t really know, and I don’t usually eat eyes since I might make it a habit and eat a customer's pet eye Heh ’(T - T)”

Typo: Delete your typo.

CottagedBeastInMe: Too lazy to typ ooo

—

Tiagi oak wood pillar’d across the bar, to keep the roof of wine’n’whisky steady. For the customers empty the stools of the bartender table.

The shopkeeper of the sweet ol bar got up from the bartender's mixer, their back turned away to all the colorful glasses of deep magenta, turquoise, and purple (though some blue glasses were there too like sprinkles). The Shopkeeper tried steadying their breath, staring at the door like it was aimless. 

The door stifled open, and there was nothing much to be cleaned for today.

The packager finally broke away at the door handle. The small window had the sun peeking out of its clouded pillows, their backs glazed in the warm citrusy light, with the two uncomfortable villagers fumbling out. 

The bartenders dusted themselves off and walked off in a huff of tiredness. 

The packager rubbed the corners of their head, snapping the inside of their vest. They stretched their back, ruffling their tired and degrading attire in wrinkles

I suppose the broom closet wasn't as comfy as their boss made it out to be. Albeit, with a lack of enthusiasm and sarcasm.

The door jingled open to a green robe figure, dosed in the sun's orange hue, the patterns were of smaller mountain rocks, and river patterns on the bottom of their robe. 

“You got any crates of booze.” 

“...” Shopkeeper became less disoriented, “Yeah, ya morning drunkards.” The nitwits laughed themselves inside, scraping the wooden stool to sit on closer to the hallway. More duller than the wooden patterns of the bar's interior, the nitwits made themselves welcome.

Shopkeep gazed at one of the Nitwits attire having a tiger on their robe. As jungle villagers never had their nitwits have teeth to drape around their shoulders, no status, unlike the nitwits in the mountainside village. That the shopkeeper knew deeply, with their eyes sinking inside the trivialized glass bucket and its crystal triangular design.

..I suppose the town here has a name... But villagers don’t usually hang up signs. The roads that can only get to the forests right down the taiga forest were lit halfway of the road, just in the middle. Standing on the ledge of the mountain, you can probably see it through those binoculars.

The wind caller drops emeralds on the wandering trader's hands, as an older windcaller yanks their hair to straighten up.

The sun dazed began to cuddle with the clouds, snuggling in its blanket lightyears away.

A carpenter and a weaponsmith sat next to each other. They’d be the last to order drinks before it rains hard. To the relief of the rest of the shopkeepers on this road, the time for closing was soon, and they could bring out priceless decorations.

The jukebox started to play, as the bartender poured wine and beer, the aroma of apples can be smelled by any passing villager outside. Nothing outstanding to them, nothing peculiar. The day is calm in the shopkeeper's mind, leaning on their jukebox. 

Humming to the words of a song heard on a rainy day, “My Lonely Heart” (‘Hot Summer’ by Break Beat)

“Oh lookie here, an iron nose and An iron dumbass walks into a bar.”

A clean librarian joked, taking a chug of whisky with stain’s of whisky in their sleeves.

The taller metal-looking villager looks down. Their lips quivers, as their armour clanks to their slouching. 

They both had Redstone poppy emblems glowing quietly. The other gaurd that entered afterwords, with a small wooden bell bouncing off their armour from their chastel questions the ‘compliment’ and insult

“Isn’t iron-nose a compliment?” The wandering trader pops in-between the average height iron guard and iron-shaped nose gaurd, “It means someone's smell is stifled with blood, here in there.”

“Here n there?” They rolled their wrist, as if it was a vague direction, everywhere .

“Well not this village, maybe, it could just be a shared interpretation with the word.” They jostled their head, moving their fingers to the music, “Rarity, but i quite like it.”

Their were moments to take in for the iron guard, and the middle villager of a doors height, rolled out a scroll.

“Where here from the bell report of sightings of any raid activities, suspicion, and reason for… Leaving.”

The carpenter and weaponsmith were listening, the words couldn't echo against the walls with the music cushion. but the Guard noticed their changed postures. The weaponsmith had taken their face back, and the carpenter leaned to the side. 

The carpenter swirled their cup. They were about to ask something, but awkwardness was a fear. The noise of the stool scratched the floor.

The carpenter was already up. 

Would that even say a lot about the type of observational skill a guard has to hone? 

The shopkeeper left the gaze of the wandering trader to the guard. They walked up to them, their iron on their Chatelaine is humble, with their keys, a religious trinket of a creeper's head inside an old old legend on the design of a spawner with a simple square rotated 90+ degrees(Diamond shape), with a single elongated string of teeths from some canine.

“You might want to stay for a while, the village has had a big scare. Or, such a lousy one.”

They fester a conversation with the guard, nimbly looking up.

“Ah, do you have a storage room for us to sleep in?”

“Hah, you don’t ask for an inn. We do have storage.”

The Emerald eyed Guard, was quite thankful, a small smile behind their nose and in his emerald ore eyes.

The sun was falling, as the guards waited in the bar for more guests to feel safer to loan a message.(Add scene of shopkeeper telling them that)

The Flag-bearing Illager sat by the roots of a winding tree.The sun speared their eyes hitting the iron bucket, with a burnt poppy inside the bucket that illusioned one floating to the side of an invisible flower…

They laid their heads to see a laminated Bells ribbon around a tree, with rings of flowers hanging off the branches, rotting. 

The Illagers eyes meet another, not glowing, or blinking..

The vindicator eye showed the vibrant cold hue of blue dancing with the greenery dark reflections of the forest. Hands in a gentle clench slide to their left cheek, slides behind their nose.

Their hands fall as they look down deeply to the soil and flowers reflecting reds and white petals. You could see the glow in their eyes, as if they were a sea filled with red rose petals and white alyssum. 

They twirl their finger around their neck.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

YES

yay thank you python again

[nobody-writes-here]

Flash Fiction: With Eyes to See (3/3)

Final Part! CLICK HERE FOR PART ONE 3k words total, queer religious body horror. CW: body horror especially eyes, evangelical religious fundamentalism, homophobia, as well as brief mentions of needles and possible trypophobia.

February 25, Dear Diary, I could not find you for several days and when I asked Mom she told me she had you in her room. I know that she knows now because she definitely read what I wrote and she told me that I cannot be a lesbian because that is a sin and I am only 12. She said it is good for me to want to make friends, but that I should keep my heart and mind safe from temptation and not think about such things. I have been very curious about what is inside my face, and on recommendation of Doctor Matthews I have decided to stop poking and picking at things for now. My anatomy book with the pictures says that the pupil is a hole in the eye to let light in, and I do not know if this means you could put something in it, like the dull end a needle or something, or not. It certainly does not look like a real hole when you look at it in the mirror. It also says that the eyes are directly connected to the brain with nerves, and it looks like you really could put a little piece of pointy metal right through like Daniel was talking about. I wonder how it would feel, how hard it would be to push it through. Some of the old pictures show the doctor holding a funny looking hammer too, but it looks very soft in the mirror. The internet also says that they stopped doing them because sometimes it made people stop thinking altogether. I don’t think that sounds so bad, but maybe there is just something wrong with me. Sammy.

February 26 Dear Diary, I am beginning to worry that I might be a lesbian. Layla has been coming to our church more, and I definitely like her more than I have liked any of my friends that are boys. I do not want to be a sinner. I am usually very good and I do not want to ruin that. I have tried so very hard to do what Jesus says, but I think I might have done sin anyway without even meaning to. I wish Layla was not so pretty or that I could not see her. I don’t know what to do to fix my brain. I am not sure if it can be fixed. I have prayed to God and Jesus to fix it every time I think about it all day, and I will do the same tomorrow. Sammy.

February 27 Dear Diary, I have had a very good idea. I asked Daniel if his brother’s project had mentioned anything about lesbians. He said definitely, that they used it to fix lesbians all the time, though I’m not sure if he was telling the truth about it being part of the class project because he laughed like he does when he is trying to impress a girl. Either way, I think it could help me not to think about it, which would help me not to sin, which would be a good thing. I don’t think it would be hard. I could run the metal under the lighter we use for candles, the way Mom did the one time she was trying to get out a splinter in my foot with a needle, and then just put it in real slow and careful. It all looks very squishy in the mirror, so the pokey thing should not be difficult to squeeze in between my eye and my skull to get to my brain. I don’t think I would want to change too much though, so I would only wiggle it around a little, not enough to scramble up the front of my brain like an egg just to make it all be quiet for a little while. I would have to do it in the bathroom with the door locked, where my parents could not interrupt me. It will be better to wait and tell them after, so they do not know I am living in sin until it is taken care of. Maybe, after this I will not need a Diary or therapy anymore. If my brain is fixed, that won’t be a problem, though I might still write from time to time so you don’t get lonely. Adieu for now, my friend. Sammy.

[elizacinnamon]

I love your ideas about barchies wedding!! I’ve always pictured them as eloping too, I always imagined they’d do it pretty much as soon as they get engaged because Betty would struggle to deal with the “pressure” of planning a wedding with Kevin and Veronica in her ear (because they’re both the type to want on over the top wedding so would get overexcited about planning one) and the expectations Alice would have of the day and all events leading up to it. Then Archie would just want to be married to Betty but wouldn’t care about “a wedding”. I could imagine the reactions after would be super mixed too. Jughead and Tabitha would be happy for them, although Jughead would be shocked and maybe a little bitter initially. Cheryl and Toni would also be happy for them. Reggie would be happy too, I think Kevin would be happy for them but slightly annoyed he wasn’t in on the secret. Veronica I think would say she was happy but probably have a bit of a meltdown too. Alice I think would be furious and Mary would be happy for them but hurt she wasn’t invited or included.

I agree with all of this and the assessments of the characters reactions! But in reality, I can see it going like this:

One night, Betty walks home angry and upset because she spent the entire day having her wedding planned for her. Her mom booked a Church venue without even asking (when she’s stated she’s not religious) and Veronica booked her an appointment to wedding dress shop at Kleinfelds in NYC (also not her vibe). Kevin is trying his best but also sending her a million wedding TikTok trends and she’s overwhelmed.

“Arch, let’s just elope, I’m over it,” she says jokingly, throwing the comforter over her head.

“Okay, let’s go to the courthouse tomorrow,” he replies, completely serious.

Betty peeks her eyes out. “Baby, I was joking.”

“I know, but let’s do it. Your mom’s driving you crazy, Veronica and Kevin are driving you crazy. I don’t want us stressed on our wedding day. I want it to be us, promising the rest of our lives to each other. That’s all I care about. Let’s go in the morning and get married.”

They decide to go for it. Betty slips on an old white sundress with pink flowers, Archie wears a suit. Since Riverdale is a small town, they wake up early and head straight to the court house. But as they are sitting and waiting for their time slot, Betty notices Archie looks a little off (it’s evident since she knows him better than anyone). Worried she asks him if he’s okay.

“I’m thinking of dad,” he says in a small voice. “I just wish he was here.”

Betty puts her head on his shoulder. As she does, it hits her. Fred isn’t there. But their mothers are still alive. And so many of their friends still live in their town. Even Polly is back. Though their family is difficult, time is precious and it may be worth inviting everyone in for the most important moment of their lives.

“I don’t want to elope,” Betty suddenly says, standing up. “Arch, this isn’t what you wanted. You always said weddings give people something to celebrate, something good to fight for. We should have our family and friends here.”

Archie looks at her confused. “It’s okay, Betty. I just want to marry you. And I want to do it today.”

“Oh we’re getting married today,” Betty says, walking closer to him. She cups his face with both her hands. “I said I didn’t want to elope here. I have a plan.”

They get their marriage license from the court house but don’t say their vows. They rush out and within a few hours, they get the word out to everyone. Tabitha brings food from Pop’s and Cheryl brings flowers from the grounds of Thornhill (picked by Britta). Veronica, though disappointed, still makes Betty go to the local dress shop and buy something off the rack (if not Kleinfeld, she still won’t stand for Betty to get married in a sundress). Toni whips out her old camera and agrees to be the photographer. Alice and Mary are in shock but grateful to be invited and agree to help with the set up.

Later that night, after dark, they get married in Archie’s backyard under the glow of string lights and with their closest friends and family watching. Though the whole town isn’t present, it gives everyone there a reason to celebrate and fight for good.

They eat burgers drink beers from six packs in lieu of a sit down dinner and drink a strawberry shake with two straws as their wedding cake. All night, they dance to a music slightly fuzzy from Kevin’s blown out stereo; Bingo runs in circles during their first dance on the back patio, everyone watching with teary eyes. At the end of the night, everyone “sends them off” in the Jalopy (Archie drives down the street, stops the car to kiss Betty passionately, and then turns around and drives straight back to their house).

For their rest of their lives, they say it’s the perfect wedding. No amount of months or years could’ve planned a better one.