#and THEN (and this was really the worst part) i went to the church garden to see the church garden cat who is my bestie AND HE WASN’T THERE

[fingertipsmp3]

Going to the corner shop at 9am always has me like ‘ah. This is why I don’t go out at this time’

[papirouge]

I never was told to leave a church group before but I had left one, the last one I went to, because they were.. ew

It seemed well in the beginning. No issues until the church let go of the old pastor and this new young guy came in. Single and would sometimes sprinkle in weird incel talk about how single women were the worst parts of Gods kingdom for disobeying his commandment to be fruitful and multiple. Like? What?

Then the sermons got very political. Old people that never had issues before and were pretty nice had become a lot more mean and racist. I saw less women in general? Trump this. Trump that. Democrats are working with the jewish elites and muslims to destroy our Godly nation (I’m living in the US), it was so BIZARRE to hear this being said with no irony or anything and people legitimately believe it.

I left when I attended a midweek meeting that talked about church issues. And it started by discussing how the Catholic Church is a horrible institution for defending pedophiles while others called out how the victims were mostly boys and “priests should have been women the whole time then those boys would be called men, not whatever beta victimhood they want to be” -cue snickers from mostly males- Then the subject was to abortion where some believe it’s a crime against *the state* ie the government because abortion takes away 1 solider from the military and others chimed in with “we’re already below replacement levels, we need more babies!”

And I, being not white, and not caring about white people panicking over being a minority was just really bored of it all. But I did look at a few others didn’t really react who looked at me and we just knew this is just stupid.

And I also, being someone who couldn’t care any less about the american military industrial complex, was bored of the panic people feel about abortion needing to be banned ONLY because the military requires bodies is honestly dystopian to say the least.

Yeah the rest of that meeting went by terribly. I know these people are not representative of anything, but I cant stand how a lot of churches now are becoming mini political centers.

Also, one of the higher up guys in the church quietly left before I did when he was outed as a gay man for sleeping with married husbands. But some people blamed the wives? God was a trash fire that place was.

There were so many good times and a lot of good people though too, like I got to know this old lady who knitted sweaters and scarves for people for free if you asked and all she would ask in return is for you to hang with her 🥹 she used to work as a nurse in the 50s, she couldn’t have her own babies so, she told me, “I ended up for a time as a volunteer to cuddle babies in the hospital!” she was such a beautiful person. She also donated a lot of money to domestic abuse shelters for women.

I'll NEVER understand why Christians fundies act like not having children is a sin/"multiplying" is a commandment for ALL of us. Jesus was a celibate - yet he never sinned. Why can't they make the logical conclusion off of it?

When God told Eve and Adam to multiply it was while they were still in the garden of Eden, and yet, they started conceiving/multiplying only after they got kicked out of the garden. Were they sinning for not multiplying humankind while still in the garden? eating the forbidden fruit is the only and first sin they committed out there - not their lack of offsprings. Breeding kink christians should get their facts straight.

I'm absolutely not surprised by this new generation of young pastor matrixed by red pill content. It was bound to happen. I think it's yet another sign we have to stop relying on "regular" church assemblies and build our own communities.

I really don't get whenever a male get exposed for being a pedophile people go like "oh but if roles were reversed!!" Like- do those people see men reaction whenever boys get abused? They are the one acting like the victims were grownups and how "lucky" they were from discovering sex that turned them into men. Women are the ones consistently frowning upon sexual abuse.

US Evangelicals should really pipe down with their mocking of catholic Priest pedophile when they have no problem handing over their 13 y.o girls to middle age polygamous scrotes. There's a documentary floating around on TikTok of a man who married & impregnated girls as young as 13, their sisters, mom, cousins, etc.

Bless that old lady. Wherever they are, women are the only hope to elevate the bar somehow. I'm glad you're out though. How much time did you stay in that cesspool of a church ? I think documenting crazy church drama from an actual/authentic Christian perspective (instead of a whiny uwu church trauma uwu one) could be the subject of such a cool documentary. Made by Christians FOR Christians, and to warb them off the lunacy of modern churches.

I thought about it but I'm in France and most church are catholic so very geriatric but chill/unproblematic. The evangelicals ones are those were the mess is. They're mostly African too 👀 (I'm from Congo and Congolese pretty much 'own' the network of evangelical churches in France and Belgium lmao) A few months ago a Christian teen rapper got exposed having several gf (in the same time)/having sex with them - they all exposed him on TikTok 💀. They said he was adamant having sex with them with Christian music in the background 😭

If i was around your church I would do an interview of that homewrecking gay dude and expose their husbands. JUSTICE FOR THEIR WIVES. I can't imagine the horror of discovering your husband is cheating with a gay man... Double betrayal. And let's not forget the STDs.... They all should be put to jail IDC

[guessimabasicnerdgirlnow]

Alright, the post from yesterday didn’t show up. Maybe it still will, it has happened before, but I will try to rewrite it anyway.

Dylan’s part

One of the reasons I took so long to catch up with the comics is that I saw rumors of Dylan’s death, and as we all know I love that boy, so yeah. It was a surprise to me that I loved the issue in which it happened so much, of course I can only say so because he was quickly brought back, but really, the story got so good and there were so many good emotional moments and I just. Ughh

I mean. Carnage’s trap? Killing the son of the first guy Venom killed? The recording?? Bringing them to The Church??

I love that Symby actually told Dylan some of their past, even if trying to keep the worst hidden. The way they speak, they are able to look back and see that the start was bad (which isn’t a new thing, but not something that has been constant, with the way characterization changes so often). Dylan also isn’t in the dark, he knows something Symby didn’t want to tell him (Eddie being suicidal). I wonder how he knows it, if Eddie told him or if he got it from a third party (Eddie has never been secretive about anything ever) or idk mind sharing stuff

Dylan’s “I know this…” makes it seem like this is a story he heard a bunch of times. Like, you know, a teen hearing from the hundredth time about their parents’ first meeting

I think that it’s important to note that at this point Symby knows that the blame is shared

This just made me laugh. Disappointing parents. Lol

Carnage says a lot of really hurtful things to both Dylan and Symby (when did they learn how to read people so well?) but in my opinion this was the lowest blow towards Dylan. Like really, imagine being called “little brother” by this guy? Gross!

(I didn’t take a screenshot but I also think it’s important that when Carnage first says that Venom has killed, Symby comes out and says “yes, I have”. The honesty, being able to admit it and still fighting. Symby was at something close to peace with their past when this fight started…)

“Are you scared of rejection?” - I mean, it’s not like this has been a big motivator for Symby from the very start!! It’s not like the pain of rejection has molded them into who they are today!! Red went directly for the heart, and they aren’t done!

“Or do you think you will corrupt him like you’ve corrupted the rest of his family?” - The thing everyone keeps saying they will do, since that one time Peter tried to make Eddie separate from them? The thing they’ve been accused of doing when they were a young slime looking for love? The thing the Agent of Cosmos lore says they are capable of, that the Knull lore says they were made for? The thing they actually did in those weird 00’s comics and in Cates, I think?

Sometimes when stories try to show a character’s core and feelings and fears, they fail horribly, but this? This is perfect. This touches two themes that have been strong in Symby’s story from the start! Symby has always been afraid of rejection. Symby has been associated with corruption for a long time, whether it’s a deliberate lie or a misconception or true.

“Would Eddie be a killer without you?” - *looks at the Garden* *looks at divorced!Eddie* I mean, probably? Eddie has a lot wrong with him that the symbiote didn’t need to help. But hasn’t Eddie himself used this argument a bunch of times before?

“What about Anne?” - Daaamn. I wasn’t expecting Anne to be brought up like this. I wanted to scream and pull out my hair because. It’s so perfect for Carnage’s plan. Anne, Dylan’s mother who he never got to meet because she killed herself after abandoning him. Who died afraid of the symbiote. Who had her life permanently altered and cut short due to such a brief bonding

I wonder, how much of this is new information for Dylan, and how much just hit harder because one thing is to have heard or read about it, and another is to experience the memories

The whole thing with Anne was probably specially hard for Dylan because he was literally born from this. Anne was struggling with these feelings when she got an alien pregnancy on top of it all

And that of all of Eddie’s worst moments that could be here, that it was this one. From Cates’ run, him taking the pills to silence Symby. This is not the worst, in my opinion, Eddie has tried to murder Symby a bunch of times after all. But this is recent. This is after the big reconciliation. Eddie didn’t go back full time to Symby after this.

This is around the time Dylan first met them.

It screams “even now, even the person who loves this creature more than anyone else does, they can’t fully trust it”

Of course it worked. I felt my own heart being torn in two with all of this

“That hurts Venom more than any blade could” - Because again, rejection. And this isn’t just any host, this is their SON 💔

[theorist-influencer-untitled]

6.14.24 Friday

12:23 am

Uncle DD's gang is here again... Awhile ago they went out...

7:06 am

Still,have windblow...

Angels, I got an another on-line loan on "Moca-Moca" still, I don't know how to pay for it as well on my "Tala"....Good lick or Good Luck but that's only around 5k... hmm... Can I say on them if they can add another 5k each for a sing as payment... I'm not guilty at all coz I have windblow...

I will make my coffee...

There is a weird thing happening in the Philippines.... I'm not ashame of it coz why I can't get a job...

7:43 pm

This windblow is really unfair... It started year 2007 then those fucking people are unfair! Pressing me down and getting everyone that supposed to be mine or my group even my cousin white?

Did Mitch become a Queen of giving the simple battery???

10:12 am

Uncle DD is receiveing a lazadah and I saw a money on them yesterday,lots a money I think...

I saw something yesterday that they are counting lots a money... They are on cash on delivery, I think...Buying stuff in Lazadah...

THEY ARE ON CLOSED DOOR MOMENT NOW...

10:29 am

Just got foodish from Ate Liza's Carinderia'Z... With Uncle Jun approval...

10:32 am

If I can just loan from Lazadah I will angels... I don't care if I don't have money....Let's see what will happen. I'm not guilty at all and I'm not ashame at all coz there are people who are destroying me and always removing me to get a job...

10:52 am

Still,have windblow...

I got an approval just for 3k pesoses in Lazadah... I don't know how to pay for it angels... I'm supposed to be getting 100k but they just gave me 3k angels... It is sad...

Why, I can't get a job and this windblow... My old friends are gone... Mitch is a big mystery...

I know I can work but some people won't let me... Whew!

Worst! They took away all my LOVE even my cousin white!!! Daniel is not yet confirming...

12:26 noon

It seems Uncle DD is jealous of Neko... He doesn't want to feed Neko... I asked him if Neko did eather lunch? He just nodded no without any words... why???

It looks like Neko is dying....

12:45 noon

Accidentally listening to Eagle... If you will fall on someone who is taken... It is bitterish... It is good to avoid him like on the case of my cousin white.I said here I will really get him from a FilipiNOSE here but if it is from USA, then it is fine... I just said here I just feel strange. I have windblow and there are group of women who are stealing from me since 2007... Stealing my position and killing me...

But some cases like on Daniel, I never ask to leave a responsibility... We had friendship and we just need to talk... It is really important and I'm losing everyone...

CHURCH OF CHRIST are dirty and plastics!!!

12:54 noon

It is really a big deal for me that I should be the one here for my cousin white... It is my card! It feels like women are smashing me for getting my cousin white here,if it is FilipiNOSE.

I hate the other cousins on Treyes who are plastics even probably on his part, my cousin white... My cousin white will be mine in our family and no one will be with him but me!

6:07 pm

I feel bitterish Angels... I wanna leave Cavite but I know I can't now... I feel hurt... I wanna progress,vanity and travel...

6:29 pm

I feel bitterish... Hating Eagle for being mean and wicked.... Fake CHURCH OF CHRIST!

6:42 pm

Fake Church Of Christ of Eagle....

8:36 pm

Still,have windblow...

Here in Ely's house using wifi... Before going here I saw Uncle DD talking to Ate Aileen, our neighbour here sister of Ate Eden ( which I don't like that much as well )....

Ate Eden's house is in-front of our house, 2 blocks away in-front... I don't like them for a reason that I don't know angels... Ate Aileen's house is on the other village, the South Garden Village....

I just sense an unfair thing at my back....2 days ago I saw Ate Eden is putting a camera on our gate which is good in a way. She is one of the officer's here.

One particular reason that I don't like on ate Eden or their family is ( atrimitidah) or interfering...

Ate Eden is fake on me coz she is one of the officers here in this village, she is handling the gate key, I mean the main street gate key. From the past months and years we don't have a key on that and they gave me a hard time to walk on the other end of the street in this village. The reason why, we made our gate just like a ranch gate or ranch fence.

10:26 pm

Still,have windblow...

Here in my nest now... I feel bitter....I'm thinking of money....The moca2x is weird they gave me 1k pesoses and ask me to pay on 20th of this month a 320 pesoses and I don't have money... What will happen to me? Again, I'm not ashame coz some people got rituals, mature people knew it or some organized group keep on smashing me in call center and smashing my self-esteem. Group of organized people always removing me to get a job...I don't know,why!!!

I'm stressed-out... I'm thinking of money and job... I have lots of creditz that I need to pay my tala,moca2x and lazadah and my credit on Ely and on Marah & Kuya Erning and on Drug Store.

Another thing Uncle DD was really a mysterious person for me as well as that Ate Eden and her family...

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers LOST EDEN ー Ayato Maniac [08]

Monologue

Ever since we returned to our room, after finishing the meal,

Ayato-kun has not spoken a single word. 

I believe that he might be thinking about,

the letter he received,

from Zweig-san, the Vibora King. 

ー The scene starts in the guest room at Eden

Yui: ( Ayato-kun has been seemingly lost in thought this whole time... )

( I probably shouldn’t bother him, right...? )

Ayato: ...Hey, Chichinashi. 

Yui: Eh? 

Ayato: ‘Bout the thing with the Vibora clan. What do you think about it?

Yui: ...Well...

( I’ll just be honest... )

I do believe it would be reassuring to have an ally on our side...

However, if I’m honest, I’m doubtful whether or not we should trust them so easily. 

Ayato: ...Right. I thought so too. 

The Old Hag was part Vibora if I recall correctly...But that’s the only connection we have, right?

Then why would he suddenly claim that he ‘acknowledges me as the King’? 

It’s not like he knows me all that well or anything...It smells fishy...

ー Ayato gets up from his seat

Ayato: I’ve decided. I’ll turn down the offer. 

I think I’d still be much better off by myself, than to have to rely on the help of those suspicious fuckers.

Yui: Ayato-kun...

( But he’s right. If he declines Zweig-san’s offer... )

( Ayato-kun might end up having to fight all on his own. )

( Besides... )

Hey, Ayato-kun. If you do turn down the offer...I wonder if the Vibora will just simply accept that?

Ayato: ...What do you mean? 

Yui: For example, they might try to form an alliance with someone else after you’ve turned them down...

( I guess I’m just overthinking things... )

Ayato: You mean like the Vibora joining forces with the Wolves or the Alder? I can’t see that happening. Otherwise they would have long done so already. 

Yui: Right...But what about the Church...?

Ayato: ...With those guys in the human world...?

Yui: Yeah...

( The Church is trying to wipe out all Demons living in the human world... )

( However, they might be willing to temporarily work together with them depending on the situation... )

( Kino-kun is the perfect example... )

Ayato: That could happen. The Church basically consists of Vampire hunters, right?

Those guys hold a personal grudge ‘gainst us. There’s the whole situation with you as well...

Speakin’ of which, what ever happened to your pops? Is he still workin’ for the Church? 

Yui: Father...? Well, I’m not sure actually...

( However, I cannot imagine someone as devout as my Father would part ways with the Church. )

( If he is still alive, then I’m sure he’s with the Church... )

Ayato: Assuming that Vibora are hoping to take down us Vampires from behind the scenes...

Then I’m sure the Church will happily work together with them. Your Old Man would do the same, no? 

After all, it’d be a perfect opportunity to get you back. 

Yui: ...

Ayato: I guess we should pretend to fall for their sweet words and join forces with them after all...?

Fuck...What should I do? I guess I’ll have no other choice but to ask Reiji for advi...

...

Yui: Ayato-kun...

Ayato: ...Hehe. What am I sayin’ now...?

Even though I’m the one who claimed I don’t need them...

Anyway, we have lil’ time left to decide. No point in rackin’ our brain over every single possibility. 

I’ve still got these powers when worse comes to worst. I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end. 

Yui: ...

Monologue

And with those words,

Ayato-kun sent a Familiar,

to Zweig-san.

I remained quiet,

and followed his decision. 

*TIMESKIP*

*Rustle* 

ー Yui wakes up

Yui: ...Nn...

Huh...?

*Rustle rustle*

Yui: ( Ayato-kun is gone...? I could have sworn he was sleeping next to me just earlier... )

( I wonder where he went...? )

Selection

→ Go look for him (❦)

Yui: ( I’m kind of worried. I suppose I’ll go search around for a bit... )

→ Wait and see 

Yui: ( I’m kind of worried. But... )

( He might come right back, so I’ll wait and see a bit longer... )

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: ( Doesn’t seem like he’s coming back any time soon... )

ー She gets out of bed

Yui: ( I’m really starting to get worried now...I’ll look around for him a bit. )

ー The scene shifts to the inner garden

Ayato: ...

God, why did all of this happen...?

( I thought I could pull it off even without havin’ to rely on my brothers’ help. But... )

( I’m sure that if Reiji was here right now, he would have been able to give me some kind of advice. )

( As nosy and annoyin’ as that guy might be, I gotta admit that he’s got the brains... )

( Shuu can be more or less useful when it truly matters too. )

( Even Subaru could have been a great asset with his raw power alone. )

( Which leaves Kanato and Laito... )

( They’re a duo of idiots, but how should I put it...? )

( We share the closest connection amongst my whole family... )

( Both of us suffered similarly at the hand of that Old Hag, and we worked together to kill her... )

( I do see us as allies in that regard... )

( But...They’re no longer here. I’m all alone now. )

( Even though I wished for that myself, why am I having regrets now? )

Fuck...This is pathetic...

( Maybe I was wrong. )

( Deep down, I never wanted these powers. )

( But...That shitty Old Fart... )

*TIMESKIP*

Ayato: ...

Yui: Ah, Ayato-ku...

*Rustle* 

Yui: ( I wonder why...? Ayato-kun lacks his usual confident aura... (1) )

( But I can hardly blame him. Of course he’s disheartened being all by himself... )

( I’m sure that he actually wants to make up with everyone. Even earlier... )

ー Yui recalls his words

Ayato: Fuck...What should I do? I guess I’ll have no other choice but to ask Reiji for advi...

...

ー The flashback ends

Yui: ( Despite everything, he still relied on everyone... )

Ayato: Phew...Hm? Chichinashi, is that you? How long have you been standing there? 

Yui: I got here just now.

Ayato: ...Hm.

Yui: Hey, Ayato-kun. Tell me if there’s anything I can do for you, okay?

Ayato: Ah? Why would you bring that up all of a sudden...?

Yui: ...There might not be much I can do. But...

I believe in you, okay...? 

Ayato: ...

Yui: Hm. You believe, huh...? I see. Then how does this sound?

Be on my side forever. If you believe me, that means you’re my ally in this fight, right?

In that case, I want you to stay my ally even in the future to come. ...Can you do that? 

Yui: Of course. 

Ayato: ...Heeh. I see. 

I was thinkin’ by myself for a bit and I realized that it’s important to have allies in life.

I thought I didn’t need them but...

Maybe I was just convinced that everyone would automatically be on my side...

Even though...That shouldn’t have been taken for granted at all...

Yui: Ayato-kun...

It’ll be okay. I’ll forever be your ally, okay?

Ayato: Hah, really? But...I guess that doesn’t sound bad...

ー The Mukami’s observe from the distance

Kou: ...

Yuma: ...

Azusa: ...

Monologue

Ayato-kun is having regrets (後悔). 

Over the fact that he pushed everyone away from him. 

It became painfully obvious to me just how lonely he felt,

as I instinctively grabbed his hand (手). 

I will never, ever be able,

to abandon Ayato-kun.

So just as I thought, things cannot stay like this.

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) Yui literally notes that he appears ‘smaller’ than usual. However, this does not refer to his actual height, but it’s meant to convey that someone seems to have lost motivation and therefore appears less impressive. 

[vicekings]

June 13th, 1993: the Disappearance of John Edward Graves

Content Warnings: Alcohol Abuse, Child Abuse, Spousal Abuse, Violence, Attempted Strangulation, Murder.

Summary: On a stormy summer night, John Graves disappears.

Everyone in town knew that John Edward Graves was not a nice man. 

To call John mean would be an understatement. Everyone in town knew John was a cruel and vindictive drunkard with a hair-trigger temper, along with the strength to back that temper up. They saw his mountainous form lumber into town and instinctively stepped out of his way. People kept their heads down and their voices low. They were especially quiet when they found the courage to whisper out the rumours of how he treated his poor quiet wife. 

Everyone in town knew that John Graves was not a nice man, and no one knew it better than his poor quiet wife, Theodosia Walker. 

She’d fallen into the marriage when she was young and dumb and convinced that, even if the rumours about his rowdiness were true, she could most certainly fix him. After all, Theodosia could fix most anything she’d set her mind to fixing. She’d tend to him in the same way she tended to her pretty little garden: with care and love and plenty of singing. She’d read once that singing to plants was supposed to help them grow. She’d sung to her plants ever since. 

But singing to her husband, well, that had never really helped. As a result, Theodosia didn’t really sing much anymore. 

The simple truth of things was that there weren’t nothin’ in this world that could ever really fix a man like John Edward Graves, because he was the kind of fella that wasn’t willing to be fixed.

———

When John Graves went missing after the worst thunderstorm of the season, the other barflies assumed he’d never made it home. He’d been at Donovan’s Pub into the early hours of the night, only leaving when the owner forced him out. Any offer of a taxi ride made to him was thoroughly refused. John had climbed into his beat up old piece of shit of a truck and took off into the night, never once looking behind him. 

John’s truck was found on the side of the road the next morning. The sheriff had it towed on account of it obstructing traffic. Everyone assumed that John had gotten lost on his way home, what with how drunk he was when he left. He’d probably tried to take a short cut through the woods. He’d probably stumble his way out when he’d sobered up. 

After the mandatory 48 hours of waiting, Mrs Theodosia Walker-Graves went down to the station to file a missing person report. The sheriff bought his dogs out to the site where the truck had been found. From there, they followed the scent until it hit the brook that ran through the woods. The scent trail went cold in the water. The dogs couldn’t pick it up again after that. 

When the sheriff informed Mrs Theodosia that her husband had likely fallen into the brook in his drunken stupor, she tearfully accepted his condolences. They both knew well enough that the brook flowed down into the part of the woods where the bears made their dens. They’d be about as likely to find his body as they would a needle in a haystack. 

An empty casket was buried in a lonely plot at the old church, with the headstone bearing the words John Edward Graves, father & husband, 1955 - 1993. As far as the town knew, the storm and his own stupidity had gotten him. In some way, it really did. 

———

The truth of it was this:

That night, John’s truck had broken down on the road home, and he’d been forced to walk the rest of the way. He’d taken his shortcut through the woods, stumbled through the rushing brook, and made it safely to the other side. He’d come up to the house around 3 in the morning. He was drunk, angry, and soaking wet, and right when he stomped onto the front porch, the power went out. 

Dahlia’s screaming started immediately after. The girl, aged only 4, had been terrified of the dark for as long as she’d understood what the dark was. Her little nightlight died with the power, plunging her room into darkness. The following thunder boom woke her up. Fear seized upon her in an instant. 

She’d always screamed when the power went out, always cried and cried and cried until her mama came to calm her down. On that night, her daddy got there first. It was unfortunate for her that her daddy was who he was. 

John Edward Graves was not a man you could show weakness around. 

He had little Dolly by the collar of her nightshirt when Theodosia burst in, pulling her roaring husband off her wailing daughter. Even in the dark of the room, Theodosia could see the way the handprint burned red against her daughter’s pale cheek. She turned on John with all of the rage of a mama bear, and sharply demanded to know what the fuck he did to her girl. 

What John said in that moment was lost to history. It was remembered only in the mind of Theodosia, who still felt fury burn through her like a hot knife through butter when she thought back on it years later. Little Dolly was too young to truly understand what was going on, and her siblings were quite accustomed to blocking their father’s voice out, but Theodosia held on to every word. 

The ensuing fight travelled down the stairs and onto the porch. Most fights ended with John storming off to his truck to get drunk, leaving Theodosia crying silently out front. On that night, however, John was already drunk, and Theodosia was already crying, and the screaming only escalated. 

Theodosia was almost certain she was going to die. 

Somewhere between claps of thunder, John had gotten his hands around her throat. He’d shoved her hard against one of the porch’s oak posts. With each breath she tried to take, the pressure on her windpipe only increased. She struggled and kicked as hard as she could in a desperate attempt to break free. The lightning flashed, John’s grip tightened, and Theodosia was certain she was going to die. 

In the next clap of thunder, Theodosia found herself falling to her knees. Air rushed into her wheezing lungs, knocking her back. She struggled to adjust to her sudden drop. How in the hell had she gotten free?

The answer to her unspoken question came in the form of her son in her peripheral vision. His daddy’s shotgun was held tight in his shaking hands, aimed squarely at his daddy’s chest. John was clutching at his side and howling at her boy like a wounded beast. 

Every name in the book was thrown at the boy with a shotgun in his hands and fear in his eyes. Jack Douglas, JD, her little Dougey, had taken the gun from its mount above the fireplace and blasted his daddy off of his mama. That should have been it. 

That should have been it, but John was still moving. 

With one arm tight to his side, John lunged for JD. When his fist met JD’s face, Theodosia ran. Every instinct screamed for her to turn back and protect her boy. She ignored the urge, instead lunging for the wood chopping block. It was there that she found the hatchet. 

It was old, it was heavy, and it was wickedly sharp. The very hatchet that she’d brought with her from her family’s farm when the newlyweds first moved into their home now brought an end to that marital bliss. As John wrestled JD for the shotgun, Theodosia came up behind him and buried the hatchet in the back of his skull. 

The first strike brought John to his knees, but it did not kill him. The second, when Theodosia managed to wrench the hatchet from his skull and strike him with it again, also did not kill him. Whether or not the third killed him didn’t truly matter. It was far from the final blow. 

Strikes rained down on John’s body, as fast and hard as the pouring rain. Thirteen years of anger and pain rushed from Theodosia. Thirteen years of putting up with the drunk piece of shit she once thought she could fix. Thirteen fucking years, washed away in a stream of blood and rain. It seemed poetic, in retrospect, that JD stopped her on the thirteenth strike. 

“He’s dead, Mama.” JD whispered, coming to kneel next to her in the mud. 

Slowly, gently, he pulled the hatchet from her hands and set it aside. Slowly, gently, he pulled her into a hug. Theodosia buried her face against JD’s shoulder and cried the last of her tears. 

“We’ve gotta bury him.” JD murmured. 

Theodosia pulled away, wiping her eyes on the back of her fist and nodding. “Go make sure your sisters are okay, baby. I’ll handle him.” 

She could almost smile at that. How many times had she spoken that phrase in the last decade? 

“Dory’s got Dolly, they’ll be fine. I ain’t letting you do this alone.” JD replied, taking her hand and squeezing it in his. 

At 13 years old, JD had not yet grown into the strength he would someday come to know. It took a great deal of effort for him to drag the corpse of his father onto the wheelbarrow, and greater effort still to push it into the woods. His mother followed close behind him with two shovels in hand. When they found the best spot possible, she handed the second shovel to her boy and together they started digging. 

Theodosia couldn’t tell you how long they were out there for. Though both were exhausted, neither was willing to take any sort of break. They dug with the same fervour of the first miners in the mountains, pushing and pushing and pushing until the earth threatened to swallow them whole. 

When the grave was finally fully dug, they unceremoniously dumped the body into it. No prayers were said for John Edward. No real tears were shed. They simply started pushing the dirt back into the ground and buried the man who didn’t deserve any further amount of care with regards to his death. When the last mound was patted down, Theodosia dropped to her knees and pressed her palms against the earth.

“Dougey, baby, I need your help.” She murmured, though she didn’t need to. 

JD crouched beside her, placing his hand at the small of her back and letting his energy flow to her. Theodosia’s gifts reached out, drawing seeds to the freshly dug dirt. The grass rose up beneath her fingers, filling back in to match the rest around it. When she pulled away, it was as though the ground had not been disturbed at all. 

“It’s done.” JD whispered. 

“It’s done.” Theodosia echoed. 

By the time they walked home, the blood in the dirt had washed to the bottom of the gathering puddles. The only evidence of the gruesome scene from before was the bloody hatchet and abandoned shotgun, which they collected and brought into the house. The shotgun was returned to its mount above the fireplace, the hatchet was washed and brought back outside, and the exhaustion was finally allowed by the Walkers to set in. 

Before they could return to bed, Theodosia cracked open the pantry and retrieved what was once John Graves’ good whiskey. She poured two small glasses, sliding on across the table and keeping one for herself. 

“You sure, Mama?” JD asked hesitantly. 

Theodosia nodded. “You’re gonna want it, darlin’. It’ll help you go back to sleep. Besides, it ain’t like your daddy can call it his anymore.” 

She raised her glass, clinking it against his. The two didn’t toast to anything in particular. They drank it down quickly before setting the glasses aside and letting themselves breathe. 

“I’m proud of you, baby.” Theodosia whispered, letting her eyes fall shut. 

She felt JD’s hand come to rest over one of hers. “I couldn’t let him hurt you. Not anymore.” 

Theodosia smiled, in spite of everything that had gone down on that night. When she opened her eyes, JD was smiling back at her. 

“Let’s go make sure your sisters are okay.”

“Sure thing, Mama.” 

[nick-thecreator]

Aftermath Revival: Human AU Part 3

(This is a flashback btw, there will be a lot of flashback chapters since Salvatore is explaining himself. Also, even though this is a full flashback, Sal is telling the story in a way that won't get the shit beaten out of him [Even though he doesn't really need to change it cause it was technically all Mother Miranda] and so it'll be shorter. He ain't sitting there, telling a half a year long story)

WARNING! Death; Blood; Child Death

Part 2 is right HERE

Part 1 is right HERE

The year was 1974, right in the middle of winter, and Salvatore had returned to the village after being sent out by his uncle for some medical/surgical training at a hospital nearby. A car ride after getting off of the train, and he was dog tired, but he had to get to his uncle first. He carried his bags to his house, unlocking the door, and placed his bags inside, before quickly shutting the door, dashing over to the clinic. He opened the door to the clinic, looking around to see if his uncle was around. Nobody was in there at the time, and a note had been left on top of his desk. He picked it up, putting on his reading glasses so he could read his uncle’s handwriting.

    It read, ‘Hey Sal, I had to meet up with Miranda for an important meeting, so sorry for not being there. Remember to see your father and family sometime today. Also, go to the church at 7pm today, okay? She wants to talk to you. 

Regards, Uncle Florin

    Ps. Remember what we’ve discussed before, about your “future position”, it’ll apply today.’

    He dropped the paper in shock. He had known this day would come, but never now. Maybe he wasn’t as prepared as he thought he was. He placed his hand on his mouth, feeling some vomit come up his throat. He swallowed it back down, then tried to calm himself down with some deep breaths. He sighed, picking up the piece of paper. He folded it up, placing it into his pocket. He looked around the clinic again, going over to a shelf near the desk. He reached up to the tallest shelf and grabbed a briefcase. Pulling it down, he realized how heavy the contents really were. He placed the briefcase onto the desk, opening it. Inside was one of Miranda’s “bibles”, a med-kit, a bottle of what he assumed was rubbing alcohol, based on the smell, and a pastor uniform. He pulled out the uniform. It still had the blood stain from when he was 17 and had to work as a pastor for 6 months, having to work with animals a lot. 

He looked at his watch. 6:35pm. Dammit. The train had gotten to the station incredibly late, and the man who had driven him had stopped for gas and a weirdly long bathroom trip. The church was around a 20 minute walk away. He gulped, looking out the window as he placed the uniform down. The clinic was a ways away from the rest of the village, but he could still hear the activity of the village through the trees and gardens in between them. He stood away from the window, removing his clothes to put on the uniform. He considered washing himself off first, but he just settled with some of the herbs in his uncle’s drawer as cologne. He threw on his uniform, straightening it out so he’d look less like he had been traveling for around 4 hours. He put back on his fur-lined coat to keep warm, putting the rest of his clothes into an empty box, placing the box on his desk’s chair. He closed the briefcase, picking it up before locking up and leaving the clinic.

While walking there, he had to pass through the town. He was stopped a few times by different villagers, asking him how the hospital experience had been, or just what the hospital was like. Many of them had never even left the village before, nevermind going to a full fledged hospital. He kindly answered their questions with his regular doctor-esc demeanor. Sometimes he was stopped for a bit longer than just a couple questions, but he would quickly get back on track. The longest he had stopped was for a group of kids who ran by, with a few recognizing him. They asked where he had been, and what the hospital was like. He tried to keep going, but they had surrounded him before he could. It took their parents, who were slightly behind them, to pull them away so he could keep going. Before he was fully out of the village, he ran into a few more kids from the group, including a small girl with a bride doll. She was only a bit bigger than the doll, but seemed determined to bring it with her. They made eye contact, him waving at her.

“You need help with that?” He asked.

“No thank you mister,” She replied, putting the doll over her shoulder before walking off with the rest of the group, seeming to, on purposely, stay behind the group a little. He just smiled at her before resuming his walk.

 After a bit more walking, he finally reached the church. Looking down at his watch, it read ‘7:02’. Dammit. He formed his excuse in his head as knocked on the front door. Before he could land the last knock, the door was opened by Miranda. He smiled at her, before seeing her deadpan expression. Behind her stood one of her maids, a large case in her hands. 

“Hello Mother Mi-”

“What took you so long?” She asked, interrupting him.

“The train was late, the driver had to stop, and the villagers-”

“Nevermind. You’re here. That’s what matters. Come in.” She stood to the side as he stepped into the church. He looked around the room, noticing that, besides him, Miranda, and the maid, the room was empty of people.

“Hey, where is everyone-”

“That doesn’t matter. Follow me.” She gestured to him and the maid to follow her, walking over to one of the hallways. He quickly followed, the maid walking beside him. While walking, she turned down another hallway that went downstairs. He had been in the church before, almost all over it, except underneath the church. He had almost gone down there once, but he was dragged out by Miranda and brought back to his dad, who later scolded him. He hesitated at the top of the stairs, the maid stopping beside him.

“Doctor, are you okay?” The maid asked. Miranda heard her, turning around to face him.

“Come on Moreau, don’t waste my time,” She commanded sternly. He jumped a bit at her tone, quickly walking down the stairs and following her. She turned on her heels and continued to walk down the hallway to an operating room. Outside of the room stood Florin. When he saw Salvatore, he smiled at his nephew.

“Hey Sal, how was the hospital?” He asked, leaning on the wall.

“It went well-”

“That doesn’t matter now. Ready?” Miranda asked Florin. He rolled his eyes at her interruption.

“Yeah yeah, you have the case Sal?” Salvatore nodded, holding up the briefcase. “Everything still in it?” Salvatore nodded again. “Alright, we’re ready.”

“Good, the patient is in here. Do you need him?” She gestured to Florin.

“No, I should be good.”

“Alright, come in when you’re ready.” She opened the door, closing it on him before he could step in. His uncle placed a hand on his shoulder before he could open the door again.

“Sal?”

“Yeah?”

“You know what you’re getting into?”

“Well, we’ve gone over it plenty of times, so, I’d assume so.”

“No, are you SURE SURE? No assumptions here, you know that.” Salvatore was surprised by his uncle’s tone. He had never been so upfront before.

“Yeah, what’s with the talk? You’ve been preparing me for my whole life, I can handle it-” Florin pulled Salvatore in for a hug.

“Good luck kid…” Salvatore hugged him back, kind of confused.

“Thanks man.” He heard a sniffle from his uncle. “What’s wrong-”

“You should know. We’ve talked about this. After this-” He pulled away from Salvatore, leaving his hand on his shoulder, a few tears in his eyes. “-I won’t be needed.” It finally clicked in his head. He had been told something similar in the past, but he had never considered the worst.

“What? Wait, why!?” He asked, now confused and upset.

“That doesn’t matter now, you’ll find out later.” Florin smiled. “I love you Sal. Never forget that.” He patted his shoulder, gesturing to the briefcase. “It’s in your hands now. Good luck.” Salvatore was about to cry, wanting to stop everything before it even began. However, he knew how important this day was. The day he would take on a village tradition. So he sucked it up, wiped away the tears he had, and nodded, assuring that he was ready. Florin nodded back, smiling.

“Thanks Uncle Florin.” He smiled before opening the door, stepping in. He looked around the operating room. It was faintly lit, a large table in the middle of the room with the patient placed on it. Small tables were around the larger one, tools laid out neatly on them. He looked up to Miranda, who was standing on the other side of the table. She had changed attire in the time that he was talking to Florin. Beside her was a small table with a jar on top of it. The jar contained some black thing floating in a somewhat dirty liquid. That must have been that “Cadou”, labeled as such.

“Come closer, we have work to start,” She stated. He walked a bit closer, his eyes looking down to the patient. His eyes went wide when he saw the patient. They seemed to be a girl in their early teens, sedated by an IV that was running a bluish tinted fluid into her arm.

“Um… Mother-”

“No questions now. We must start before the effects wear off-”

“Who is this?” He asked. She grabbed a journal, holding it so she could read it.

“This is Bernadette. She is 13 years old, and-”

“I was never told that I’d be working on a child,” He interrupted. She looked up, clearly irritated.

“You were told that you’d have to work with villagers. Ages were never specified.” She looked back down at the book. “We will be placing the Cadou in the-”

“Why are we testing on a CHILD?” He asked, in semi-shock. “This is unethical-”

“IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER HOW OLD SHE IS!” She screeched at him, her face going red. He jumped back in shock, before trying to stand his ground again.

“Still. Why a child? Out of anyone?” She clenched the journal.

“So-” She harshly closed the book. “You don’t want to do this then?”

“Not on a child, no. I was told that we would be using adults only, never kids.”

“And why do you give a shit?”

“You know that people have died in these surgeries before. Why would someone want to risk a child’s life like this? And the child of a leading family for fucks sake! And even if she did live, she could become a lycan! Or worse, if there even is worse…” She sighed, walking around the table, getting up in Salvatore’s face.

“You think you have a choice in this?” She asked firmly, using her powers to wrap a mold vine around his neck. “Because you don’t.” He lifted him up a bit, lifting herself up to stand above him. The vine choked him slightly, but not enough to cut off enough air to make him pass out. “YOU work for ME, and will do as I say.” She got closer to his face. “Your cooperation can save you a lot of hardship, but a lack of such will because only more heartache on your end, and trust me, you’ll be alive to experience EVERY. FUCKING. SECOND of it.” She basically spat those words at him as he stared up at her in fear. “So, have you changed your mind?” He quickly nodded, in fear for his life. “Good.” She dropped him back on the floor, him almost falling over from the force of the fall. She lowered herself down slowly, going back to the other side of the table. “If an outburst like that happens again, I won’t be as forgiving. So, for now, just this once, let’s put this under the rug.” He nodded again. “Anyway-” She picked up the journal again. “We will be placing the Cadou in the chest cavity, near the heart. She has already been undressed and cleaned for surgery. Ready to begin.” She looked back up at him, glaring at him.

    “Um- Yes… yes,” He replied, looking down at Bernadette.

    “Alright then, there are some gloves, a mask, and a sterile uniform over there.” She pointed over to a chair in the corner, a surgeon’s uniform, neatly folded on the seat. He went over to it, picking up the uniform. He looked back over to her as she pointed to a side room. He just went in, putting on the uniform, and stepped out, placing his pastor uniform and the briefcase on the corner seat. He walked back over to the operating table, putting on the gloves and mask that were placed on one of the smaller tables. His neck started to feel like it was burning, but he didn’t want to make her even more mad, so he didn’t complain. He moved the light over the patient so he could see what he was doing better. She was naked for the most part, besides a towel covering up her lower half. He was used to working on women, so the sight of breasts didn’t bother him. She had dotted lines across her chest, marking where to cut. Miranda placed a diagram of what to do on a stand next to her so it faced Salvatore. She then tested to see if she would awaken from pain. She did this by using one of her mold vines to smack her across the face. She then used a pointed vine to stab her in the shoulder. Bernadette didn’t even flinch, being in such a deep sleep. Miranda looked back up at Salvatore. “Well, Doctor, begin.” Salvatore gulped, picking up a scalpel, trying to get into the motions as he held the scalpel shakily. The scalpel slowly stopped shaking, being absolutely still before moving close to her chest. Miranda watched over his shoulder, some vines reaching around the table, ready to hand him tools when he needed them.

    The surgery lasted around 5 hours, mainly because it went from the insertion of the Cadou, to trying to save her from it. It was eating at her body, so they rushed to remove it before it could do any major damage. However, it had already taken a toll before they could fully remove it, as it had clung to her heart and started to eat at it. Salvatore had to remove her heart to even attempt to remove the Cadou, so Miranda tried to replace it with some mold. Unfortunately, the mold replica didn’t work, so Bernadette eventually died of blood loss. Once they knew she was beyond saving and brain-dead, they stood over her body, Miranda being disappointed in the turnout. Salvatore, however, was incredibly distraught. He could feel tears forming in his eyes as he looked back up at Miranda. She looked up at him as well.

    “Don’t blame yourself, the Cadou has different reactions to different people. You did well this time. Just keep it to yourself next time,” She told him, walking away from the table to the sink, removing her gloves and washing her hands. He just stood there in silence, looking down at his own hands. He could even believe what he had just done. Once she was down washing her hands, he went over to the same sink, removing her blood-stained gloves before washing the blood off of his hands and face, since some had spurted during surgery. When washing his face, he could feel a few tears escape from his eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was from what had happened, or from the soap that had accidentally fallen into her eyes. He didn’t feel that water would be enough to get her blood off of his face. Once done, he turned to the chair in the corner, picking up the pastor uniform and the briefcase. He went into the side room as Miranda started to disinfect the tools before disposing of the body.

    He locked the door of the side room before starting to take off the uniform, putting on the pastor uniform. While doing so, he brushed his neck with the fabric, making his neck sting. He looked in the mirror, seeing that some cuts we left on his neck after Miranda’s vine had been around his neck. He opened the briefcase, taking out the med-kit and the rubbing alcohol. He started to apply the rubbing alcohol to his cuts, flinching a bit at the sting. He was able to wrap his neck with a bandage, realizing that the briefcase was less for any patient, and more so for himself. He sighed after doing so, putting the stuff back into the briefcase. He stepped out of the side room, the blood-stained surgeon’s uniform draped over his arm.

    “Um, Mother Miranda?” She turned to him, almost done cleaning the large table, Bernadette nowhere to be seen.

    “Yes?”

    “Where should I put this?” He gestured to the clothes on his arm.

    “You can just put them on that table there.” She pointed to one of the smaller tables next to the larger one, the tools having been put away. He placed them on the smaller table, then headed to the door. “Oh, Doctor?”

    “Yes Mother?” He asked, just wanting to leave the church at this point.

    “Will you inform the Beneviento family at some point this week of her death. Just say that she was killed by a bear, and that her body couldn’t have been retrieved.” His eyes went wide a bit. He had heard his uncle use the same excuse when it came to other deaths in the village. It was both nice and unnerving to find out what the true reason was. It did make sense, considering how deep in the woods the village was and the abundance of ways to get lost and die out here. He just nodded as he opened the door, quickly stepping out of the room. He quickly walked down the hallways, stepping out of the church before sliding down the closed door, starting to cry. He loathed the idea of having to tell a family that their child had died, nevermind having to lie about the cause. He hadn’t seen his uncle either, knowing the worst, but not being able to fully face it after what had happened. He put his face in his hands, feeling tears stream down his face...

[eveningalones]

the garden

word count : 1,920

warnings : mentions of homophobia.

If Emily was to compare her life to the bible, she would be able to claim that she was Eve, her faith was Adam, and you, oh you, were the serpent. Sent to the church to taint her, to taint the garden.

You would be called vile and every action you took was one against god. Each and every move you made would cause the downfall of the garden. While Emily believed herself to be Eve, in more than one way, she was the garden; beautiful, peaceful, and so full of love it was sickening to you.

You, even if Emily would protest it, were less like the serpent and more like Adam; young, naive, and willing to do anything to prove yourself to those around you. That mentality put you in the position you were in in the first place. Not wanting to disappoint your mother despite having been away from home since sophomore year of college. She wanted you to find purpose and truly believed you’d find purpose with God, but all you found, and all you’d ever wanted since your arrival was Mother Prentiss. Her charming smile and charisma drew you to her like bees to sunflowers, or more like the Serpent to the garden.

You had only been living in the clergy house for a few weeks, not far off from the main church grounds. If you had believed in the God the priests praise so highly, you’d be able to convince yourself that this really was a punishment like your mother had said. Your mother had convinced herself, as did many other churchgoers, that being gay was a sin. The memory of her cursing you, packing your bags and shipping you off to the church. She knew a few of the clergy members and they set up what your mother called ‘the only way to salvation.’  You begged her to try and understand, to be forgiving and love you for you, but the woman was stubborn and cruel.

‘You’re what?!’ Your mother’s voice raised from the understanding tone that she had before you began spilling your heart out to her.

You took in a shaky breath. You could feel your chest tightening and the tears burning in your eyes. ‘I’m gay mom, a lesbian.’ The words falling from your lips again cause the woman before you to rise from the chair at the table, the feet of the chair scraping your dining room floor. It felt as though your heart was thumping out of your chest. Like every breath you took was made of glass.

That’s when the silent praying began before she sat straight up. ‘Okay, we can fix this–fix you. I’ll call the priest and we can get you set up to figure all of this,’ She waved her hand in your direction. ‘Out. Make it better.’

Hail marys and our fathers or whatever. You were never sure. You never paid much attention when you went to church to know the prayers. Nobody worth paying to, until you’d arrived at the church. At first, you tried so hard to fit in, to abide by the church rules, but then she arrived. Three weeks into your stay you met your first female priest and to say that it was the closest you felt to reaching salvation would be an understatement. Of course, there were women in the church, but none of them could ever compare to Mother Prentiss. Nothing could compare to the feeling you got when you looked at her or when she looked at you. That first time she saw you made you change all your thoughts in the whole religion thing, but it also changed how you went along with being there. You were barely obedient before, not many ‘yes Fathers,’ but eye rolls and scoffs which soon became ‘yes Mother’ or ‘of course, Mother Emily, anything.’ It’s not that you wanted to please her, at least not in the way you were expected to, but you wanted her to notice you. To see you. You just wanted someone in this dull clergy house to really see you.

It was like you had faded into the masses, the same mundane tasks, the same meals every day, and the same fucking faces until Emily arrived. She was so beautiful. The light at the end of this never-ending Catholic tunnel. You knew that she noticed you once or twice in passing always giving you a kind smile or short wave. She was placed three rooms down from you and you made it your mission to get her to see you outside of the clothes the church provided. You knew that Emily would return to the house late after securing the church, so you made sure to wear your shortest shorts and thinnest shirt to grab water in the kitchen, knowing that she’d be returning then. The same night as Sunday mass was when your late nights almost paid off.

You’d been in the cold kitchen for roughly fifteen minutes, having already grabbed a glass of water and now it was just a waiting game. You didn’t want what you were doing to be too obvious, didn’t want her to pull away. The kitchen was dark, dimly lit by the moonlight coming in through the window. Just enough to keep you, or anyone else, from bumping into any of the old wood furniture. You were ready to give up when you heard the door in the main room creaking open. You were grateful for how old the building was, making it so easy to know when people were moving in or out. You moved quickly to the sink, pretending to be filling the cup, back turned to the kitchen entrance.

‘You’re up late.’ You feigned shock and turned around to Emily. Bewildered eyes meeting Emily’s brown ones. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Is everything alright?’ You nodded, trying to ignore how Emily’s eyes raked up and down your body. A slight gasp when she noticed just how thin your tank top was.

‘Um–just couldn’t sleep, needed water.’ Emily moved closer to you, reaching down, pulling out a chair to sit at the dinner table. Never removing her eyes from yours. Something about the way she was staring at you, replaced the cold you felt being in the kitchen, with a warmth. Something all-consuming.

Emily continued searching your face for another emotion, trying to read you for some sadness. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’ You cocked a brow at her, not moving from your spot, leaning on the counter with a cup of water in hand. You’ve yet to drink from it.

You shrugged, placing the cup on the table and taking the seat closest to Emily. It would have been too close if you shifted even in the slightest, but you stayed at a safe distance, putting your elbows on the table and leaning forward, making a conscious effort to make sure if Emily wanted to, she could look directly down your shirt. You could feel that she wanted to but continued to make eye contact glancing down to your lips every so often.

‘I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. This house is just kinda creepy.’ Emily chuckled, leaning back in the chair. An action that should be simple, but your knees touched. Your bare skin touching her clothed knee made every part of your skin feel like it was on fire.

‘It’s old, yes, but hardly creepy,’ You pulled your bottom lip in with your teeth, shifting in your seat, pulling your knee back. A brief moment of disappointment in Emily’s face caused the corner of your mouth to curve up. ‘I always find that when people avoid sleep, something is on their mind. So, what is it?’ You leaned in closer on the table. You wanted her to look, everything in you wanted her to notice what you were trying to do.

‘Do you know why I’m here? Why I was sent here I mean,’ Emily cleared her throat, maintaining her composure. A quick nod, motioning you to continue. ‘My mom called Father Preston to tell him that I needed to be reconnected with God, but it was actually because I’m gay. I spilled it all out to her and she sent me here. No hesitation. Told me that she couldn’t love me if that was the life I choose. So I’m here.’ Emily sighed, eyes still searching for you to break. You knew that’s what she wanted, but you couldn’t give that to her yet. She then placed a hand on your knee, your next breath got stuck in your throat.

‘I am so sorry,’ She spoke your name softly. You never want anyone else to say your name again, this would be enough to satisfy you for life. ‘The church doesn’t hold those views, not here. If she had told Father Preston the exact reason, he never would have allowed it. No one should use the word of God in the way your mother did.’ You scoffed and Emily furrowed his brows in confusion. Her hand moved up your thigh as she shifted forward and you looked up at her giving her a long sigh to hide the noises you were holding in. How was she causing such a reaction from you?

‘I’m not angry about it, being here hasn’t been the worst thing to happen to me. It hasn’t been since you arrived,’ Emily was going to remove her hand, but you went to place yours above hers. ‘You seem different from the other priests. Kinder.’ She smiled at you. You took ahold of her hand on your thigh.

‘Every priest is different. I had a bit of a questionable past compared to the other guys. I think I’ve had more fun than they did.’ Her tone changed from pure concern to more playful. ‘From the looks of it, you like to have fun too. No one in this is house is up past 8:30.’ You laughed, remembering your water and using your other hand to take a sip, intentionally spilling some down your chin. The cold giving you chills as the water trained down your neck and through the valley of your breasts. Emily followed the trail, giving in to the temptation.

‘It depends on the kind of fun you’re talking about, Mother Prentiss.’ Her breathing hitched at the title. You wanted to test the waters by using your hand to slowly move hers up your thigh, over your hip, and lightly brush past the side of your breast. Her breathing became shallow, pupils dilating as she tried to keep her composure, You placed her hand on your cheek, leaning into her touch.

‘I don’t–I don’t think this is appropriate.’ Emily whispered trying to simply convince herself to move away from you. Emily then moved her hand to softly swipe her thumb on your bottom lip, then the top. You slightly opened your mouth as her finger moved, taking her thumb into your mouth and sucking slightly. Then Emily broke, pulling away abruptly, pushing the chair back as she stood. You remained still, looking up at her. Her frantic expression and quick breathing made you smile. ‘I have to go. I can’t–we can’t–have a good night. I’m sorry.’

Emily was quick to get upstairs, you sighed as you watched her go down the hall. You were so close and now you were left wet and on a mission.

[flowersoldier]

THE FLOWER GIRL AND THE WOLF

Chapter 3: Midgar

ff.net  AO3

Aerith took Cloud for a walk in the slums the next day. Okay, maybe he shouldn't say it this way, it sounded like he's a dog to her. The blonde still wore his coat to hide his ears and tail from the people and Aerith wore the same pink summer dress and red jacket.

“So, what do you think of my home?“ Asked Aerith then and to be honest the wolf didn't know how to answer.

“Uh...well, your place is great. But the rest of the slums...���

“I know, it's not the best place to live in. But it's my home.“ The girl shrugged.

To be honest Cloud couldn't understand how anyone wanted to live here. It's dirty, it's stinky...It's just not a good place to live. “It's weird not being able to see the sky.“

“I don't mind that.“ Said Aerith with a quieter voice. “The sky's kinda...scary.“ The blonde tilted his head, confused, before looking up at the plate. He didn't understand what she meant. “I mean...it's so endless...you never know what might come from it.“ Cloud couldn't say that he understood what she's talking about, but he nodded anyway.

Then, the flower girl was as cheery as ever and dragged him though the slums. They had a snack here and there and Cloud learned to appreciate the humans cooking skills. In the end they had something they called ice-cream. That, too, was really delicious and from all the sweet things people ate this might be his favorite. As Aerith told him more about the human way of life, he noticed a drop of ice-cream running down her jaw. He stopped listening and only stared at the drop, while fighting the urge to lick it off. But this time the urge was too strong and he leaned in to lick it off her face. Aerith stopped talking and only stared at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks once he pulled back.

Only then did he realize his mistake and looked away, his face growing hotter by the second. “S-sorry. Wolf habit...“ He mumbled embarrassed, pulling his hood down to hide his face completely.

“It's okay.“ He heard Aerith say, before he felt her pushing the hood away. And then something soft touched his cheek. Cloud didn't have to look to know what it was. He felt his face getting even hotter then and he turned away from Aerith and pulled his hood back over his face to hide it. Aerith giggled behind his back.

Then they decided to go back to the church. There were flowers she had to take care of, too. Her words. Cloud protected her the whole way there, scaring away all the monsters that wanted to attack Aerith.

Inside the church, the blonde just sat on the ground and watched the girl tending to her flowers. He watched her fingers, using her magic touch on the plants, and his mind went back to the time she petted him when he was in his wolf form. How soft and warm they felt, as she gently ran it through his fur. The thought alone caused a cold shiver to run down his spine.

“What are you thinking?“ Hearing Aerith's voice so close to his ear made him jump in surprise.

“Huh? Nothing.“ He answered and noticed her eye twinkling mischievously. “What?“

“I think you're lying.“ The wolf only hummed, not knowing what to say about it. He knew he's a bad liar sometimes, so fighting it will make him more suspicious.

Cloud helped her taking care of the flowers whenever she needed him, but for the most part he just looked at her and tried very hard not to stare like a creep. It was...really weird. These feelings he suddenly got when she's around. It kinda felt like back then, when he had a crush on Tifa but more intense. The blonde shook his head. No, he shouldn't have a crush on Aerith! She's human and he was a wolf. This wouldn't work!

“What are you thinking, Cloud?“ Asked Aerith again, now her whole attention was at him. It was kinda embarrassing.

“Just...“ He began, trying to think of an excuse quickly. “I think I'll miss this place.“ What he actually meant was that he'll miss her. Aerith smiled sadly, giving him the urge to cheer her up again. But he was never good at cheering people up...

“I'll miss you, too, Cloud.“ She said honestly, making his face flush. The wolf stared at the flowers, as he got the weirdest idea ever.

“What if...“ He mumbled, but then stopped himself. No, this was a bad idea. Elmyra wouldn't want that, even if Aerith said yes.

“What if...?“ Repeated Aerith, looking at him with big, curious eyes.

Cloud shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “Forget it. It's nothing.“ He only glanced at her, when he heard her scooch in. She was sitting very close to him. Too close.

“Tell me.“

He had to look away from her eyes. “It's nothing. Just...I just thought you could come with me.“ Cloud felt so stupid now that he said it. It was the worst idea ever.

“To your pack?“ Asked Aerith thoughtfully.

Cloud shook his head and looked away from her. “Forget it.“

“No! I'd like to come with you and meet your family!“ Said Aerith, crawling over his lap so he was forced to look at her. That was even more embarrassing than just sitting too close together.

“And what about your mom?“

“Well, thank god I'm old enough to decide stuff on my own.“ She replied with a playful tone in her voice.

-----------------------------

After spending some more time in the church they went back to Aeriths place. The kids in the Leave House near her home greeted them happily again, as did every other citizen of Sector 5. She was very popular among the people it seemed. Aerith told him she helped people when they needed it, so it made sense that everyone loved her.

“Cloud?“ The woman suddenly stopped when they stepped on her territory. “I, uh...I'd like to talk with my mom alone for now, okay? Could you...?“

“I'll wait out here till you're done.“ Finished Cloud for her.

“Huh? No you don't need to stay outside! I thought you could go upstairs instead.“

Aerith was really nice, it took him so much strength not to smile too much. “That's fine. I like to be outside. Go in and talk with your mom.“ Also with his enhanced hearing he could probably hear every word when, even when he's upstairs.

“You're really sweet, Cloud.“ Aerith gave him one of her radiant smiles that never failed to take his breath away. His heart thumped happily that this smile was only reserved for him. “You don't have to stay here all the time though. Just look around more, or something, I don't want you to get bored.“

Cloud couldn't help but roll his eyes, the little smile of his was still present though. “Don't worry about me. Go.“

“Okay. I'll get you when we're done talking.“ Aerith giggled and then finally went to the house. Cloud stood there and watched her till she eventually vanished behind the door. Only then did he move. He just walked around the garden, looking at the flowers she planted there, staring at the fish swimming in the pond and held himself back to grab one and eat it raw.

Then he went up the little flower covered hill, where Aerith spoke to the flowers the day before. He kneeled down and stared at the yellow lilies swinging lightly in the breeze. People who could talk to the planet...Until now Cloud thought it's just a fairy tale. But Aerith proved to him that this was very much real. He didn't think she'd lie about these things. And she looked very serious when she said that the flowers' voices couldn't reach her.

Cloud glared at the flowers. “Why aren't you answering her?“ He growled lowly at the plants. Then he sat down, being careful not to squish any flowers and kept glaring at them. What was it that he heard about these special people? There are many different versions of the same story. One said they were humans. One said they were wolves. Another said both kinds existed. Also that these people were the ancestors of the whole shape shifting wolf species. So if Aerith was one of these people...did that mean she had a very old bloodline that reached all the way to both their ancestors? Maybe if Aerith will go to his pack with him, she could probably learn more about her heritage? The people in Cosmo Canyon were very wise and surely knew a thing or two about these people.

---------------------------

Cloud woke up when he felt someone touching his arm. He must've fallen asleep and the sun was gone already. How long was he asleep? Looking up, he saw Aerith hovering over him, smiling gently. Yep, that was a great sight to wake up to. “Hey, sleepyhead. Sorry, it took us longer than I expected...“

Cloud yawned and sat up. “It's okay.“ He did expect it to take that long, after all Aerith wabted to leave her relatively safe home and travel the world. Of course her mother wouldn't agree immediately and try to talk Aerith out of it. “You'll stay here then, right?“

“What are you saying? Of course not.“ Aerith giggled and knelled down to be on eye level with him. “It took me a while but I was able to persuade her. I'm coming with you, Cloud. I have the feeling I can learn more when I'm out there. You know what I mean?“

Of course he did. “Yeah.“ Aerith gave him one of her bright smiles again, before extending her hand. “Come. Let's eat dinner and get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.“ Cloud frowned. She wanted to leave tomorrow? He thought she'd tell him to wait a few more days to prepare and say good bye to everyone...But it wasn't really his business now, was it? If she said she's ready, she she's ready and he won't question it. The blonde took her hand and let her help him get up on his feet, while doing the same to her. When he let go of his hand, it took him quite a lot of self-control not to grab her hand again. And so he just followed her back into the house.

Elmyra looked quite concerned throughout the evening, but they never once talked about the journey ahead of them. And after dinner they all went to bed. Just like the night before, Aerith scent all over the pillow and sheets lulled him to sleep. The only difference was that he had a quite pleasant dream for once.

[nineteenninety-six]

Escapism

REQUEST:  hi! could i please request tommy x reader, where reader is married to a very wealthy man in a position of power, and they both know there will be disastrous consequences should anyone find out about the affair?

So I feel like this will might need a second part since I barely even touched the request but hey tell me what you think.

I also saw 1917 on Saturday and it’s an amazing film, I definitely recommend you to go see it

Trigger warning; mentions of abuse, orgy, drugs & drinking.

WORD COUNT : 2260

[PART TWO] [PART THREE] [PART FOUR]

They shouldn’t be doing this, (Y/N) knew that, but she couldn’t find it in herself to stop the affair between her and Tommy.

(Y/N) was married to Stewart Langley, a rich and powerful man from high society who got anything he wanted simply because he had money. That was also the reason why he got (Y/N), despite the fact he was over thirty years her senior. It was no secret amongst the elite in London that Stewart had practically bought her. Her own family didn’t come from the same society and class as Stewart but they were still very rich since her father was a lawyer.

It was a charity dinner where (Y/N)’s father had introduced his family to Stewart Langley, who he had worked with a few times and it was not long after that night did (Y/N)’s life become a nightmare. (Y/N) had lost track of the number of times she prayed and wished to go back in time to before that blasted dinner before her life was ruined due to the greed and ego of men.

When her parents told her that they set up an arranged marriage between her and Stewart, she didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. She didn’t believe them at first, she had just entered her twenties and Stewart was the same age as her parents but she quickly realised that they were serious. (Y/N) was by herself, she didn’t know who to turn to for help and she was also an only child so she had no-one to stand up for her or for her to confide in. She was utterly helpless and alone, her own parents had thrown her away.

Two weeks after they told her, (Y/N) was standing in a church, trying her hardest to keep her tears at bay and her voice steady as she stood opposite Stewart reciting her vows. She never thought that her wedding day, a day that she had been dreaming about since she was a little girl, would be the worst day of her life and that she would be crying all day.

At first, she couldn’t understand why her parents had set up the marriage but after the wedding when she saw them attend gatherings and social events that they would never have been invited to beforehand, along with rumours that they had bought a new bigger house, it dawned on her that she was bought by her husband.

(Y/N) lived a luxurious life with her husband but that didn’t make it a good or nice marriage. Stewart was a verbally abusive man, he also became physically abusive on the occasion when he drank too much or had taken drugs, for the most part, she was able to lock herself in her room but it took a bad interaction with Stewart for her to realise that it was better for her to hide away in her room rather than to try and help him but the silver lining of the whole situation was that Stewart didn’t force himself on her, he told her that he was too old to have children so the only reason he got her, was to essentially show her off and besides, whenever he did want to sleep with someone, he would visit the brothel in town.

Stewart threw a first-anniversary party to celebrate their first year of marriage, though it was more like a business function where Stewart invited all his friends, co-workers and business associates and spent all night speaking with them, while (Y/N) was tucked into a small corner of the room nursing a glass of wine and occasionally talking to a wife of one of the many businessmen that flooded the room.  

The party is where she first met Thomas Shelby. She had heard whispers about the newly elected MP and the rumours that surrounded him about how he was a gangster or at least involved with gangs back in Birmingham. It didn’t surprise (Y/N) that Stewart had invited him, he had been trying to get involved in politics for a while now and so it didn’t matter that Thomas Shelby was a Labour MP as Stewart thought he would be able to bribe him to change parties and join the conservatives.

“Congratulations.” A voice she never heard before brought her out of her people watching.

“Sorry?” (Y/N) cleared her throat and turn to face where the voice came from.

The man in front of her was handsome, with his dark hair that was shaved on the sides and his bright yet icy blue eyes.

“On your anniversary. Congratulations.” The man’s eyes bore into her, it was slightly unnerving.

(Y/N)’s lips twisted into a bitter smile, “Thank you….”

“Tommy. Tommy Shelby.” The man answered her unspoken question.

“Thank you, Mr Shelby.”

Tommy opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Stewart shouting out (Y/N)’s from across the room, motioning for her to join his side. Tommy could see (Y/N)’s shoulders droop at the command and he frowned at the sight.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening Mr Shelby.” (Y/N) gave him a small smile before walking over to her husband.

Tommy swiped himself another drink before tucking himself into the corner that (Y/N) just vacated and kept eyes on the couple, thoughts and speculations about them whirring around in his head.

The next time they met, it was at a fundraiser but unfortunately (Y/N) couldn’t run away and hide this time, Stewart’s arm was either tightly wrapped around her waist or tightly gripped around her wrist, so tight that she had no doubt that it would leave a bruise.

“Mr Shelby!” Stewart approached Tommy with a wide smile, a smile that meant that he wanted something and that he wasn’t opposed to bully or bribe his way to ger it.

“Mr Langley...Mrs Langley” Tommy shook Stewart’s hand with a tight smile and tipped his head at (Y/N).

Stewart opened his mouth but paused, glancing at (Y/N) “Darling, I’m sure I saw Mary-Anne around here somewhere, why don’t you go over to her whilst I talk to Thomas here”

“Of course.” (Y/N) nodded, she nodded at Tommy before she left them.

Mary-Anne was the wife of one of Stewart’s friends and was the only person that (Y/N) could tolerate even a little bit. It wasn’t like they were friends or anything but (Y/N) could spend time with her without having the urge to throw herself out of the nearest window but even so, she needed a drink or two get through an interaction with her which is exactly what she did. After quickly downing the glass of wine in her hand, (Y/N) picked up another before making her way over to Mary-Anne and the rest of the wives.

“(Y/N)! Oh there you are, I wondered if I would get the chance to see you today” Mary-Anne giggled as she spotted (Y/N) making her way over.

“I’m sorry, Stewart just wouldn’t let me leave his side” (Y/N) falsely giggled, acting as if Stewart and her were deeply in love. The rest of the women in the group laughed and giggled as well, falling for her lie.

(Y/N) spent the rest of the evening with the women, a headache slowly forming as time went on.

When the live band stopped and was replaced with soft music coming from the phonograph and the many tables of food were taken away and replaced with more alcohol, (Y/N)’s stomach twisted and she began to feel sick. She knew what was coming and she was desperately looking for a way out.

This happened every time these type of people met up, they spent a few hours getting drunk under the guise of a fundraiser or any other type of meeting before it became dark which is where the prostitutes were invited in along with drugs and more alcohol. For the most part, when this happened in the past, she was able to hide in an alcove somewhere and become invisible amongst the activities that were occurring in the room, though she really didn’t feel like hiding in the same room tonight.

She found a way to escape when the prostitutes both male and female were brought in along with the drugs and everyone was distracted. She quickly walked through the many halls of the mansion they were in, she didn’t want to run through them and catch unwanted attention, so she took her time. Once she found a door that led out to the back garden, she stepped through and took a deep breath of the cool fresh air. She tried her hardest to calm herself but she couldn’t stop the shaking of her hands or the tears that spilled over, she told herself that she shouldn’t be upset, she was living a better life than most people in the country and had more wealth than she needed but she would trade all of it to live a humble life with a man she chose herself and loved wholeheartedly.

Trapped in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her until the person spoke.

“I’m guessing you’re not fond of the activities that are occurring inside either eh?”

(Y/N) whipped around the sound of the Brummie accent and stared in shock at the man who stood opposite her.

“Mr Shelby! I didn’t expect anyone else to be out here, I apologize.” (Y/N) quickly brushed away her tears as she spoke to the man.

“No need to apologize, I’m the one who interrupted you.” Tommy’s gaze was strong and piercing but (Y/N) didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“You’re not inside with your husband and the others?” Tommy spoke again, his eyebrow raising.

(Y/N) scoffed and let out a strained laugh, “No, not my type of scene. You?”

“Can’t say it’s my type of thing either.” The corner of Tommy’s lips quirked up as he made his way over to where she was standing.

“I don’t know much about you Mr Shelby but I feel like none of this is your scene. You know the fundraisers and charity balls with the upper class, no offence.”

“Please, call me Tommy but you’re right, none of this is me. Am I that obvious?”

“Probably not to the average person but I like people watching.” (Y/N) threw a small smile at Tommy who grinned back. There were a few moments of silence before Tommy spoke again,

“Your husband...how’d you meet?”

“You don’t know?” (Y/N) quirked an eyebrow.

“No, should I?”

(Y/N) smiled again, she felt comfortable around Tommy, “It was an arranged marriage but it’s a known secret that he pretty much paid for me. You know, as if I was some object.” “What do you mean he paid for you?” Tommy looked mildly disturbed, something that (Y/N) thought was something that didn’t happen often.

“He worked with my father a few times and at some charity ball my father introduced him to me and my mother and the next week I’m being told I’m getting married and before I know it, two weeks after that I’m in a church marrying a man who’ve I only met once. Then I start hearing whispers that my parents bought a brand new house along with the fact that they’ve attending private clubs, the types that charge you an exorbitant amount.”

Tommy let out a low whistle.

“I know right.” (Y/N) let out a small laugh, “I do wonder how much I cost him though. Not that it would have made an impact on his wealth, he’s still as rich as ever.”

“Hmm, I guess that makes sense, he does look much older than you.”

(Y/N) laughed again, “He is much older than me. He’s over thirty years older than me, around the same age as my parents.”

“How old are you?” Tommy asked

“Twenty-four”

Tommy let out a scoff of disbelief, she was only a few years older than his youngest sibling Finn. He’s never met her parents but he felt anger at them on her behalf.

“Do you still speak to your parents?”

“No, I was absolutely furious at them and refused to talk to them. They said that I was overreacting and that they were still my parents but...parents don’t sell their child off do they? But anyway, after a few weeks of weak attempts to reconcile they finally stopped.”

“You were not overreacting, you had every right to be angry.” Tommy consoled her.

“Do you have any children Tommy?” (Y/N) asked.

“I do. I have a son, Charlie.” Tommy smiled as he thought of his son.

“You’re married?” (Y/N) glanced at his hands, looking for a ring.

“No...Charlie’s mother died when he was young.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.” (Y/N) gave Tommy a sympathetic smile. “How old is Charlie?” “He’s seven, getting big now.”

“Mr Shelby!” A shout caught their attention, it was Tommy’s driver “The party is over now sir.”

(Y/N) turned to face Tommy and held her hand out for him to shake it, “I should leave now before Stewart gets impatient for waiting too long or becomes suspicious but it was nice meeting you and I thank you for your company.”

“Pleasure’s mine, goodbye Mrs Langley” Tommy shook her hand and watched as she walked away.  

[storiesforallfandoms]

private ceremony ~ thomas shelby; peaky blinders

word count: 1155

request?: no

description: after some trouble with his men, tommy and his bride to be decide to have a quiet, more intimate ceremony before the chaotic one

pairing: thomas shelby x female!reader

warnings: swearing

i’ve been binge watching peaky blinders the past week and i just wanna write about thomas shelby so much. cillian murphy is the most beautiful man, don’t @ me

Tommy sighed heavily and leaned against the windowsill. He put a cigarette to his lips and struck a match to light it. He took a long drag and held the smoke in his mouth before exhaling.

Today was supposed to be the best day of his life. He was getting married to the woman of his dreams, he was always told a man’s wedding day was the best day of his life. And yet it was currently like every other day, chaotic as ever, except maybe ten times worse because he knew it wasn’t supposed to be like this. His family couldn’t stay civil just for one goddamn day just for him. They always had to be a mess.

Tommy ran a hand over his face in frustration. He was starting to dread his own wedding day, and the decision to get married at all. How could he possibly ask her to become a part of this life?

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Tommy looked up to see his beautiful bride to be, already dressed in her stunning white dress. He couldn’t help but smile, all his frustrations washing away just by seeing her.

“I’m not supposed to see you in that before the wedding,” he told her. “They say it’s bad luck.”

“Seems your luck is already bad today,” she told him, leaning against the windowsill next to him. She held her hand out for a drag from the cigarette. He passed it to her and she took a long puff. “Your family driving your insane?”

“As they always do,” he responded. “Couldn’t get their shit together for my wedding day.”

“Did you expect anything less?” she teased him. “You’re lucky my family are scared of yours, or else it would be twice as chaotic.”

"Arthur’s got some delusion in his head that because your father hasn’t spoken to any of them yet it means he thinks he’s better than our family,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Dumb fuck takes things way too personally.”

“My father tried to speak to him before the wedding, Arthur nearly swung at him for whatever deluded reason. Dad nearly left right then and there, almost refused to give you his blessing.”

Tommy shook his head and rolled his eyes. He didn’t know what had gotten into Arthur lately, but he was having a hard time putting up with it.

He blew out another puff and put one hand on yours, intertwining your fingers. “I’m so sorry if my family ruin our wedding day.”

(Y/N) shook her head. She hated to admit that she had been questioning the wedding day as well. Of course she loved Tommy with her entire heart, and she had no doubts in her mind that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, but their wedding day was currently far from perfect, and it was really pissing (Y/N) off.

Suddenly, a smile spread across her face. “What if they don’t ruin our day?”

Tommy looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

She stood and took Tommy’s hand. He followed her from his room in his house out to the chapel where they were supposed to be wed. The two snuck into the chapel without anyone noticing.

(Y/N) led Tommy to the office of Jeremiah, the preacher that was to marry the two of them. He was reading over what he was to recite for the wedding when (Y/N) knocked. He turned and greeted the two with a smile.

“Ah, the soon to be weds,” he said. “Isn’t it bad luck for you two to be together before you’re wed?”

“We’re hoping to be wed a bit earlier than expected,” (Y/N) responded. “If you wouldn’t mind following me.”

Jeremiah gave Tommy and confused look as (Y/N) walked away. Tommy shrugged and responded, “She’s not telling me, either.”

“Come on!” (Y/N) called.

Tommy and Jeremiah followed her out the back door into the church’s garden. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm. The flowers of the garden were freshly bloomed and, unlike the inside of the church, it was calm and peaceful.

(Y/N) stood in the middle of the garden and turned to Tommy, a smile on her face. “Let’s get married now. Our own private ceremony, just the two of us, and Jimmy.”

“Even with everyone already in the church?” Tommy asked.

(Y/N) nodded excitedly. “We can still have our ceremony for our families, but for our actual nuptials and our vows, let’s just have this one private moment before we’re swarmed by family.”

She turned to Jeremiah, “If that’s alright with you, Jimmy.”

He chuckled. “Of course, it’s perfectly fine with me. And I promise I won’t tell a soul.”

(Y/N) turned back to Tommy and extended a hand. “What do you say, love?”

He couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “I love you.”

She giggled and Tommy took her hand in his. Jeremiah started a shortened version of the wedding prayer, one that cut out the bible verses he was to read and the asking if anyone were to object, and went straight to the vows.

“Do you, Thomas Michael Shelby, take (Y/F/N) to be your lawful wedded wife, for better or for worst, for rich or for poor, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?”

Tommy looked down at his beautiful fiancée, unable to contain the smile on his face. “I do.”

“And do you, (Y/F/N), take Thomas Michael Shelby - ”

“You’re fucking right I do,” (Y/N) cut Jeremiah off. Both men chuckled at her enthusiasm as her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “Sorry, Jimmy.”

“Well, this isn’t a traditional wedding at all, so cursing is allowed,” Jeremiah decided. “I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may now kiss the bride.”

Neither needed to be told twice. The moment the words were out of Jeremiah’s mouth, Tommy had his arms wrapped around the small of (Y/N)’s back and he was kissing her deeply and passionately. All the world around them disappeared and it was just the two of them. No fighting families, no overbearing brothers, no Peaky Blinders business to worry about. Just the two of them, husband and wife, finally wed.

They could've stood there all day, and just be happy with one another. Unfortunately, Jeremiah had to break the two of them up.

“Congratulations, you two,” he said. “I hate to break up this beautiful scene, but the two of you will have to go in soon. The wedding is supposed to start in a mere few minutes.”

They looked at one another. For the first time all day, neither of them were dreading the wedding. (Y/N) took Tommy’s hand on hers and kissed him once more before the newly weds entered the church for their big, more chaotic ceremony.

[awhilesince]

Monday, 2 August 1830 (travel journals)

5 25/..

11 1/4

ready in 3 /4 hour – saw them all off at 6 20/.. – then went to the barracks near an hour there 88 in 1 stable 28 young in another – fed every 2 hours – ordinary allowance per day 8 lbs. [pounds] avoine 12 fourrage 15 straw (paille) besides sonde (mashes)? at noon – 1 very strong large norman (gray) 3000/. others 1500/. to 2000/. price – all stalons – some as colts bought at 400/. from 15 to 50 mares allowed them per annum – several crosses between this Country breed and barbes – some English horses – the man said they got thicker in the neck by the climate 8 of the horses aux caux – some sent every year – one a very fine gray sent because he coughed a little and they were afraid of his wind – some Turkish horses some de Limoges and some Norman, and some pure breed of the Pyrennees Gray or dark bay pretty little clean legged animals 1 man to 4 horses – all apparently very gentle all done by kindness – the manège not so fine as I expected –

drizzling rain from 6 25/.. – thick no view – back at 7 1/2 wished to be off in an hour – no horses till 2 – breakfast – went to my banker – all business at a stand – choice whether to take 25/. or not – yes! for £50 circular –

appalling news from Paris paid the bill here for us all – always give 6/. to the servants find Jean gives 2/50 more for the servants – so it seems we give altogether 8/50.! Sat writing journal and to my aunt till 2 –

off at 2 6/.. – Tarbes really a nice little town – 3 churches – the cathedral a small poorish concern, nor much of transepts near side aisles at all – the church I was in this morning (St. Anne’s) a poor little place, but almost as good as the cathedral – the steeple that seems to have belonged to a tolerably good church is merely part of what is left and now filled with forage for the cavallery – neat barracks (saw them this morning) built for them very lately – I have been more comfortable at Tarbes than anywhere – have nowhere had so good a room –

drizzling rain Till from 6 25/.. to after 12 – then began to clear a little and on leaving Tarbes fair and streets dry and atmosphere clear enough to leave the mountains pretty distinct – quite a farce to compare them with the alps – Tarbes seems placed at the foot of a wide Extended circular gently rising rich fertile plain stretching out obliquely on the right into a sort of isthmus or neck

the high pyrennees sweeping about 1/5 of the circle left Towards the front – and below them a low range of hill extending all round to the neck closed in by a low range quite in the distance the low range in front covered with wood – the other parts yellow with corn stubble (harvest everywhere since before Bordeaux got in) or ploughed land; or wooded or green under vine cultivation – the lands here seem no where more than 4 feet English at most – look like filons, threads – great deal of bled de Turquie – just out of Tarbes pass thro’ orchards of peach trees oppressed with vines –

Fahrenheit 74° at 2 40/.. and quite cool and pleasant – the dust just agreeably laid – the church of Ibos high squary mass (left) a fine object – 1 small tower – the houses of the town not seen till one mounts the hill – and seems a large one had been taken down as low as the roof of the nave –

at 2 began to feel a little indigestion pain and now at 2 3/4 feel it more was it the mutton last night – I never by any chance touch meat without feeling it, and have it not when I stick to my vegetables! –

as we reach the wooded range of hill 3 traverses up it, get out – walk to the top of the hill and 1/2 way over the ridge in 20 minutes and got a good heating in spite of the fine cool hair for the man urged his horses up as fast as he could without stopping and it was hardish work to get much before him –

mountain side wooded chesnuts – near the top heather – top brackens which completely subdue the heather and merely a bit here and there to be seen thro’ it – a few black sheep (hill and heather always make good mutton) and a few horses, i.e. mares and foals – a little scattered generally straw thatched? village – small enclosures – hedges full of thorn and sloe and wild roses hedge row trees – chiefly oak – a few chesnuts gravelled road – fine oaks each side the road and straw thatched and some blue slated neat farm houses here and there vines, a few peaches and much maize –

picturesque straw thatched cottages – women with their red capulets bound with black spinning with a distaff under their arm and the bobbin Twirling against their aprons – beautifully green pastures – fine chesnut Timber as well as oak, hiding the picturesque cottages –

how I enjoy this – I might be – could fancy myself in England save for the capulets, and odd little low narrow waggons and bells and clumsy gear of my 3 abreast carriage horses –

another village – fête here too and dancing to a fiddle and clarionet – peaches and nectarines in the hedges – have no where seen hedge cut and laid – always or buckheaded rather short or clipped – great many pollard oaks, particularly in hedge rows – these pollard oaks form capital hedges for shelter – wherever not cultivated the top of this ridge covered with bracken, and right look up pretty little valley – mountain-top valley evidently small green enclosures by hedges –

road mended with pretty well broken boulder of mountain (primitive?) limestone – dark coloured, veined with quartz? have only seen one patch of oats – standing and another in swathe nothing but maize and a few potatoes –

at 3 55/.. neat white washed hotel des voyageurs a few little accacias and platannes round it and shearing (a man and woman) a good plot of oats – a man and woman courting by the roadside he putting his hand into her right pocket hole and another pair walk amorously set me wrong between three and four which ended in incurring cross about four

about 1/4 hour on the top of the hill and at 1 1/4 very fine view descend into the beautifully wooded rich charming vale of Pau? sprinkled in all directions with towns villages and pretty thatched white washed cottages and farms – water would make it lovely quite – ‘route bordée et ombragée de bois touffus (pollard oaks) – de chênes and châtaigniers all along – the at 1st thro’ a forest and very beautiful Itineraire Midi page 70 says ‘ou est Toujours dans les riches et fertiles plaines de Tarbes’ – these ‘bois touffus’ pollard oaks are really beautifully and thickly umbrageous – should not have dreamt they could look so well – pollard from a thick trunk perhaps 10 feet high from the ground – small enclosures – pretty low hedges – small dun cows picturesque straw thatched or blue slated white washed cottages – charming (very small dun oxen dragged the little waggons and carts on the Top, the plateaus of the hill – pigs lying and feeding under the oaks –

at 4 29/.. good post house in the very picturesque scattered one long street (trees and gardens between the neat houses) village of Les Bordes-d’Expoey red-dun cows with bells and regular dun mare with one young mule and a brown mare with ditto – green champs Elysée of oaks at this end of the village under which herds pigs lying and feeding – Lombardy poplars – Charming the women here with white bound with black capulets and black aprons and spinning as they walk – lock under the left arm and spinning with left hand and twirling the spindle with right hand – said George 10 sols de payé – oui – said the postillion ce quelque chosée pagata –

off in 8 minutes – all the walling done with boulder stones in a cement chiefly blue slated cottages – vines creeping high in the trees – wood côteau – low line of hills right – higher range wooded at bottom heather at top (right) – groves, as it were of pollard oaks – why pollard? postillion from here whip slung round his shoulder with a large worsted tassel as the german postillions sling their bugle horn – the men wear Ayrshire caps – white with red tassel at the top – or one postillion as have observed before wellington blue without tassel –

I enjoy today’s drive exceedingly –

Long straight road before me from Bordes d’Expoey the hedge row trees generally pollard oaks forming sort of avenue all along – all the women spinning but have only once seen some women heckling short line – woman astride white black bound capulet and white handkerchief and blue coarse linen? small white spotted gown with her long petticoats covering even her toes – I think she had her knees much stuck forming a hump on each side not ungraceful under the petticoat and certainly not looking masculine –

so many people afloat on the road near all the villages must be a general fête? – quite in the basses Pyrenées now – left the high pyrennees on descending the hill into the beautiful valley of Bordes d’Expouey or does mist hide everything (left)? at a little distance (right) a low nicely wooded fertile range which wheels round towards the front of me but soon wears itself out ��

a great many of the country waggons on the road – most of them drawn by 2 little dun oxen and 2 little horses wrapped up in linen sheets white first the leaders – the road all along quite gay and in places thronged with waggons and people –

the women that ride have their petticoat slit open fore and aft I see and thus it so covers gracefully will covers the whole leg and foot – get prints of all this and the waggons at Pau – pass malle poste at 5 3/4 – strange to find common sense only among the Pyrennees – where else do the women ride astride! where else do they not torture their horses and themselves by a position equally dangerous to the one leg unnatural and uncomfortable to both? –

at 5 3/4 a little drizzling rain begins – Fahrenheit still 73° – all alive in Pau a fair or fête or what? a fair? enter by long small boulder stone paved street (paved or boulder-stoned as at Tarbes) – desperate to walk on in thin shoes – a sort of gateway (2 posts) spacious street – of splashed dirty white good 3 story houses – full of people carts and business –

at Hotel de France Pau at 6 – heard all the news from Lady Stuart – dinner wrote to my aunt not directed at 7 1/2 – came to my room at 10 20/.. – Fahrenheit 74° at 11

left margin:

Fahrenheit 73° at 4 1/4 p.m.

reference number: SH:7/ML/TR/5/0027 - 0031

[tinkerd]

Interview with Anne Both & David Litchfield first published on www.readingzone.com

A SHELTER FOR SADNESS TEMPLAR PUBLISHING JANUARY 2021

A SHELTER FOR SADNESS is a profound and moving picture book about how a young boy manages his feelings of sadness, not by ignoring them but in giving his sadness the space, care and thought that it needs. We asked author ANNE BOOTH to tell us what inspired the picture book, and illustrator DAVID LITCHFIELD about how he approached the illustrations: Q: What for you are the key ingredients for a great picture book? ANNE: For me, the words have to leave room for the pictures, the pictures have to capture the feeling of the words and extend the story, and both the words and the pictures have to be the best they can be for the demands of that book - be it a funny or a sad book or any other type. DAVID: Oof! that is a BIG question. I'm still trying to work that one out if I'm honest. For me what I personally love about picture books is that you can be transported to the furthest part of someone's imagination but still recognise yourself, and the world, in its pages. It's escapism but also empathy. It's crazy looking animals and creatures but they are experiencing some of the most human emotions of all. There are so many different ingredients that go into these books. But for me I think the ultimate goal is to tell a story that connects with children in the most imaginative way possible. Q: Can you tell us what you wanted to achieve in this book, about how we deal with sadness? ANNE: I hoped it would be good for both children and adults, and that it would help them cope with the type of sadness which stays with us and has to be coped with alongside everyday life. I wanted children to be told that they can build their sadness a shelter as early as possible, as I think that telling children to be 'resilient' (which is a good thing in itself) can sometimes be abusive - it can sometimes really be just saying 'don't tell us you are sad, even though as adults we are doing things which make you sad'. I think children have lots of things to be sad about - big and little things - and learning to build a shelter for their sadness can, paradoxically, help them have permission and space to be happy. DAVID: My hope for the book was to get children - and adults - to talk more about their emotions and how they are feeling. Don't just bundle them up inside. It's important to recognise how you are feeling, recognise that it's there and it exists. And talk it through with someone. A parent or a teacher, or just someone that you trust. The worst thing we can do as human beings is pretend that these feelings are not real and that we should just get over it. Q: Was there one thing that helped inspire the text? ANNE: Yes. I went to a talk at my church, and the speaker quoted this passage from Etty Hillesum; 'Give your sorrow all the space and shelter in yourself that is its due, for if everyone bears grief honestly and courageously, the sorrow that now fills the world will abate. But if you do instead reserve most of the space inside you for hatred and thoughts of revenge - from which new sorrows will be born for others - then sorrow will never cease in this world. And if you have given sorrow the space it demands, then you may truly say: life is beautiful and so rich.' (Esther 'Etty' Hillesum (15 Jan 1914 - 30 Nov 1943) I wrote our picture book text in response to Etty Hillesum's words, so I was trying to expand on her idea that we need to give shelter to our sorrow / sadness, as I thought she had such a wise and beautiful vision, which was, amazingly, born out of her immense suffering as a Dutch Jewish woman under the Nazis, and someone who would actually die in the Holocaust. It was written as my creative response to her words, so writing it actually helped me to think and pray about my own sadness, and I felt it would be a good picture book, to help people cope with sadness that just can't be fixed, but which we need not to overwhelm us or turn us to hate or bitterness. I loved the idea that if we give shelter to our sadness we can truly say that 'life is beautiful and so rich'. Q: Was it a difficult text to write, as it is so pared back? ANNE: I think that because it came after the talk, and hearing Etty Hillesum's beautiful words, and after meditating on, and praying in response, to them, I didn't actually want to use many words. I wasn't paring back anything as such, I was just trying to find my best response to her words, and the writing of it came all at once, but I think the writing wouldn't have come that way if I hadn't already experienced and thought a lot about sadness for years, and hadn't deeply connected with Etty Hillesum's words. Q: Why did you decide the main character would be a boy? ANNE: As I was writing from my own point of view, and in response to Etty Hillesum, I suppose I thought the narrator might be a girl, but I was open to any interpretation. I'm not sure if it was the publisher or David who decided the main character would be a boy, but I am very happy with that. I hope it speaks to boys and girls, men and women, and I think that there is actually something good about it being a boy, as from a very young age, little boys are told to 'man up' and are put under particular pressure not to cry or express sadness - all part of toxic masculinity - so hopefully this will play a part in countering that and telling boys and girls that there is nothing to be ashamed about being sad. DAVID: I'm not sure how this was decided. For some reason I just instinctively drew a boy when I was sketching the book out. I think that's a case of me very much seeing myself in the character as I was making the book. Perhaps an argument can be made that some boys need more help in facing their emotions than girls. But to be honest, I think I just instinctively recognised myself in that character and drew him as a boy. Q: David, what drew you to this text, why did you want to illustrate it? DAVID: As soon as I read Anne's manuscript I knew that I 100% wanted to be the illustrator. I received the project over two years ago and I couldn't start straight away due to other project commitments. I was so scared that Templar would not be able to wait for me. But I was so happy and relieved that they decided to wait until I had finished the other books I was working on. The text just really connected with me and it stirred up some very raw emotions in me. I also recognised that it would be unlike any book I had ever drawn before and the challenge of creating it was something that I really wanted to take on. Q: How did you decide how to depict Sadness? DAVID: There have been a few really fantastic books recently that depict sadness and other emotions as an actual character. Some of my favourites are 'When sadness Comes To Call' by Eva Eland, 'Me and My Fear' by Francesca Senna, and 'Ruby's Worry' by Tom Percival. All of these handle these sensitive subjects so beautifully and visualise what an emotion could look like in the real world. I see our book very much as a continuation of these series of books and the themes they follow. They were definitely a big influence on me when I was drawing the book. In terms of the look of our Sadness, I came up with a number of ideas in my sketchbook. One was a very ghostly, scary looking thing. The other was a teardrop and one was a cloud. But then I just thought about what a typical six or seven year old might draw if I asked them to visualise their sadness. All these confusing and conflicting emotions might come together and it felt like a really messy, scruffy scribble would fit the bill perfectly. Also, I remember trying to articulate how I felt when I was young and the words just wouldn't come out. So drawing a confusing, mess of emotions just felt right. It's also a really great character to draw. you really do feel like you are getting some emotions out of your system and onto the paper when you draw Sadness. Q: David, Can you tell us how you create your images and that special luminosity in your pages? DAVID: Everything starts in my sketchbook and I will plan the whole book out with lots of scruffy sketches. But once I start making the final artwork I usually begin by making lots of very messy watercolour washes, letting the different colours naturally mix into each other. I will also take photos of other textures such as the bark of a tree, or concrete or the sky. I will then scan all of this into my computer and experiment with overlaying each of them together until I find a look and feel that I like. These will then generally take the form of a background for a spread. The characters and buildings I will usually draw out in my sketchbook and then scan these into my computer also. Using Photoshop I will position these over the backgrounds and add other textures over them and just see what works. Basically, its a lot of experimenting and seeing what works with all these different types of media and textures. The luminosity is just an extension of what my art teachers have always taught me about shade and light. But I do like to play around with light and the atmosphere that can bring to an image. I think I really appreciated the drama of light from watching too many Steven Spielberg films growing up. Q: Do you have a favourite spread? ANNE: I love them all! I think the last page is so, so beautiful and gives me hope, but that is because of all the pages that came before, so I couldn't choose! I think David has done an amazing job - the book is so beautiful. DAVID: I like a lot of them. I love the penultimate page where the boy and sadness are walking through the blooming garden. I like the spread early on where Sadness is going through all of the different ways it is feeling and all the different actions it is taking. But I think my favourite image is the simple one of Sadness and the boy sitting together on the log. They are not saying or doing anything, they are just together and there for each other. That's one of my favourite illustrations I have ever drawn in fact. I love it. Q: Will you be creating any more picture books about emotions? What are you working on now? ANNE: I would love to write more picture books about emotions. I have an idea I am trying to find words for - it isn't coming as easily as A Shelter for Sadness but I hope it can work. I also have a little picture book story I am working on, and I am revising and rewriting a middle grade novel, and am waiting to be given edits for an adult novel and should be starting a second adult novel, so I have lots to be getting on with! DAVID: I hope so. I think I will always try and convey emotion in my books and hope that the reader can recognise their own emotions in these stories. Q: Where is your favourite place to work? ANNE: I work in bed (where I am typing this) and in a little writing hut my husband built me in our garden. I also write sitting on the sofa or at the table. When the pandemic is over, I am so looking forward to working in a coffee shop again! I do find it very helpful, when I have lots of work to do, to go away for a few days, to somewhere like Gladstone's Library in Wales, or beautiful retreats in England or France or Ireland I have been to. DAVID: My favourite place to work doesn't actually exist yet. I would love to create art in a cabin in the woods, surrounded by nature. Unfortunately I haven't found that place yet, but I have hope that I will one day soon. At the minute, due to lockdown, I'm drawing my books in the corner of my bedroom, which is not ideal as I'm quite messy and it's quite a small space. It can get a bit frustrating. But, every once in a while I can pretend that I'm in that cabin in the woods and everything feels right again. Q: Where are you most likely to be found when you're not at your desk? ANNE: Maybe out with my husband, walking our dog, or reading in bed, or sitting watching something lovely - I really appreciate good TV and films and I love watching them with other people. I love chatting with family and friends and visiting them. For a post-pandemic answer, I want to leave my desk and travel to see friends and family. DAVID: Mainly riding my bike with my two sons, or walking our dog Maggie, or listening to music very loudly on my headphones. Thank you Anne and David for joining us on ReadingZone!

See original post here: https://readingzone.com/index.php?zone=sz&page=interview&authorid=623a7c5192eb0909e0d251c44bae33c1

[dillydedalus]

april reading

oh yeah this is a thing. anyway in april i read about uhhh.... first contact (twice), murderers on skis & victorian church politics

the yield, tara june winch a novel about indigenous australian identity and history (now and throughout the 20th century) in three narrative strands. imo the narrative strand that consists of a grandfather writing a dictionary of his language (wiradjuri) in order to prove a claim to some land is by far the strongest, but overall i liked this quite a lot. 3/5

land of big numbers, te-ping chen a solid short story collection focused on modern china and young(ish) chinese people, both in china and the diaspora. i particularly liked the stories that had some slighty surreal or speculative elements, such as one about fruit that strongly evoke emotions when eaten and a group of people stuck in a train station for months as the train is delayed, which imo use their speculative aspects in effective (if not super subtle) ways to talk about society. 3/5

the pear field, nana ekvtimishvili (tr. from georgian by elizabeth heighway) international booker prize longlist! a short, fairly depressing read about a 18-year-old girl at a post-soviet school for developmentally disabled childred (but also orphans, abandoned children & other random kids) who is trying to get a younger boy adopted by an american couple. there seem to be a lot of novels set at post-soviet orphanages etc & imo this is a well-executed example of the microgenre, with the pear field full of pears that are never picked bc they don’t taste right as a strong central image. 3/5

the warden, anthony trollope (chronicles of barsetshire #1) ah yes, a 6-part victorian series about church politics in an english town, exactly the kind of thing i’m interested in. not sure why i committed to at least the first two entries of the series but here we are. despite this lack of interest (and disagreement with most of the politics on display here) i found this quite charming; trollope has a gift for an amusing turn of phrase & making fun of his characters in benevolent ways. 3/5

the lesson, cadwell turnbull first contact scifi novel set on the virgin islands, where an alien ship arrives one day. the aliens seem benevolent & share helpful technology, but also react with extreme violence to any aggression. they claim to be on earth to study.... something, but it’s never entirely clear what. the book makes some interesting choices (like immediately skipping over the actual first contact to a few years in the future, when the aliens are already established on the islands) but i thought much of it was kinda disjointed and confusing. 2/5

the heart is a lonely hunter, carson mccullers look, i get it, it’s all about the isolation & alienation (& dare i say loneliness) of 4 miserable characters projecting their issues on the central character singer, who is kind and patient and also deaf and mute, thus making him the perfect receptacle for their issues without really having to connect with him as a person and how that isolation hinders them socially, artistically, emotionally, politically, but like... i didn’t really like it. i didn’t hate it but i just felt very meh about it all. 2.5/5

acht tage im mai: die letzte woche des dritten reiches, volker ulrich fascinating history book about the last week(ish) of the third reich, starting with the day of hitler’s suicide and ending with the total surrender (but with plenty of flashbacks and forwards), and looking at military&political leadership (german and allied) as well as prisoners of war, forced laborers, concentration camp prisoners, and everyone else. very interesting look at what kästner described as the “gap between the not-anymore and the not-yet.” 3.5/5

firekeeper’s daughter, angeline boulley) i’ve been mostly off the YA train for the last few years, but this was a really good example of contemporary YA with a focus on ~social issues. ANYWAY. this is YA crime novel about daunis, a mixed-race unenrolled ojibwe girl close to finishing high school who is struggling with family problems, university plans, and feeling caught between her white and her native familiy when her best friend is shot in front of her and she decides to become a CI for an fbi investigation into meth production in the community. i really appreciated how hard this went both with the broader social issues (racism, addiction) and daunis’ personal struggles. there are a few bits that felt a bit didactic & on the nose (and the romance... oh well), but overall the themes of community, family, and the value of living indigenous culture are really well done & i teared up several times. 4/5

the magic toyshop, angela carter i love carter’s short stories but struggle with (while still liking) her novels so far. this one, a tale of melanie, suddenly orphaned after trying on her mother’s wedding dress in the garden, coming of age and awakening to womanhood or whatever. carter’s really into that. it’s well-written, sensual as carter always is, and the family melanie and her siblings are sent to, her tyrannical puppet-maker uncle, his mute wife and the wife’s two brothers, both fascinating and offputting (& dirty) make for an interesting cast of characters, but overall i just wish i was reading the bloody chamber again. 3/5

barchester towers, anthony trollope (chronicles of barsetshire #2) (audio) lol tbh i still don’t know why i am committing to this series about, again, church politics in 19th century rural england, but it’s just so chill & warm & funny (we love gently or not so gently - but always politely - mocking our characters) that i’m enjoying it as a nice little trip where people do some #crazyschemes to gain church positions or fight over whether there should be songs in church or whatever it is people in the 19th century fought about. it’s very relaxing. there also is a lot of love quadrangleyness going on and that’s also fun. trollope has weird ideas about women but like whatever, i for one wish mrs proudie much joy of her position as defacto bishop of barchester, she really girlbossed her way to the top. 3.5/5

semiosis, sue burke (semiosis #1) i love spinning the wheel on the “first contact with X weird alien species” & i guess this time we landed on plants! plant intelligence is interesting and the idea of plant warfare is really cool. i do like the structure, with different generations of human settlers on the planet pax providing a long-term view but this allows the author to skip over a lot of the development of the relationship between the settlers and the plant and locating the plot elsewhere, which i think is ultimately a mistake. i might continue w/ the series tho, depending on library availability. 2.5/5

one by one, ruth ware a bunch of start-up people go on a corporate retreat to a ski chalet in the alps, avalanche warning goes up, one of them disappears, presumably on a black piste, the rest get snowed in & completely cut off when the avalanche hits and then they get picked off *title drop* (altho really not that many of them). nice fluff when i had a miserable cold (not covid) but fails when it tries to go for deeper themes... like an attempt to address classism and entitlement sure... was made. also like what kind of luxury skiing chalet does not have emergency communication devices in case internet/phone lines are down...  i’d have sued just for that. 2/5

fake accounts, lauren oyler the microgenre of ‘alienated intellectual(ish) probably anglophone person has some sort of crisis, goes to berlin about it’ is my ultimate literary weakness - i almost never really like them, they mostly irritate me & yet i can never resist their siren call. this one is p strong on the irritation, altho at least the narrator does not ascribe much meaning to her decision to go to berlin after she a) discovers her boyf is an online conspiracy theorist (probably not sincerely) and b) gets a call that said boyf has died, it’s really just something to do to avoid doing anything else. but other than that it’s so BerlinExpat by the numbers, like she lives in kreuzkölln! put her somewhere else at least! there is one scene that elevates the BerlinExpat-ness of it all (narrator asks expatfriend for advice on visa applications, expatfriend assures her that it’s really easy for americans to get visa, adds “especially now” while literally, as the narrator remarks, gesturing at the falafel she’s eating) other than that, the novel is.... fine. it’s smart, but not really as smart as it thinks it is, which is a problem bc it thinks it’s just sooo incisive. whatever. 2/5

the tenant of wildfell hall, anne bronte this is reductive but: jane eyre: i could fix him // wuthering heights: i could make him worse // wildfell hall: lmao i’m gonna leave his ass anyway i enjoyed the part that is actually narrated by the titular tenant of wildfell hall, helen (which thankfully, i think, is most of it) because the perspective of a woman who runs away from her abusive alcoholic of a husband is genuinely interesting and engaging, while gilbert, the frame story narrator who falls in love with helen, is.... the worst. i mean he’s not the worst bc the abusive husband arthur is there and hard to beat in terms of worseness, but he’s pretty fucking bad. imagine if helen had found out that gilbert attacked her secret brother over a misunderstanding, severely injured him & LEFT HIM TO DIE & then (when dude survived & the misunderstanding got cleared up) apologised like well i guess i didn’t treat you quite right! she’d have to run away from her second husband as well! poor girl. 3/5

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 12 May 1838

7 25/..

1 25/..

dull morning F58° at 8 am felt cold – put on knee-caps again (had I not worn them yesterday or Thursday) and worsted stockings – all ready to be off and breakfast and off to Waterloo at 9 ½ - Calêche took Oddy and George – had not room for Lion – the forest of Soignies in process of down cutting – sold by the ex-king a little before the revolution to the Bank of Brussels (said our Waterloo guide) and now selling off by the Bank, to be turned into agricultural land – jolting pavé all the way made A-‘s back of neck bad – alight at the village of Waterloo at 11 10 opposite the  little garden where the M. of Angleseys’ leg was buried – just go in and see the outside the building for which had afterwards to pay 0/50 – then our woman guide took us to the church and fetched the old man to let us in for which paid him 1/. the entrance end crowded with monuments to the English etc. etc. killed 16, 17 and 18 June 1815.  one monument to the memory of 24 officers and 375 non commissioned ditto and privates of the 70th Highlanders – the M. d’ Anglesey here 2 years ago, and dined in the room where his leg was cut off, and sent the people a portrait of himself – from the church to the little churchyard the English officers buried in the middle in the avenue of limes – at entrance end of it, Sir Alexander Gordon buried aid de camp to the duke of Wellington who never comes without going to his grave – Sir Alexander was in the act of speaking to or had just been speaking to the duke when the cannon ball took him off – M. [Mise], banker of Brussels, has a chateau at Waterloo, and is the principal proprietor – In returning went into a café, en haut, for which gave ½ fr. asked for sols for a franc the full change for which the woman was reluctant to give me till she heard what she was to have for herself – then got into the carriage at 12 again opposite La poste a neat looking Inn where the duke of Wellington had slept, and drove off to the village of St. Jean and alighted (did not go in) at an auberge at 12 ¼ - there our man guide joined us, and there commenced our little tour – the man was one of 3 servants at the farm of St. Jean (aetatis 17 at the time – the master se sauvait) – where so many of the wounded were – the house and farm buildings and court yard full – passed this for some distance and then direct to the montagne de Lion, the great tumulus erected 7 years afterwards on the spot where the prince of Orange was wounded (in the shoulder) – the whole height 200ft. from surface of ground to top of bronze lion weighing 1048lbs. cast by Cokerill of Liège – the apex of the tumulus 100ft. diameter – conspicuous from far – ascended to the top by steps cut out in side of the embanked earth and faced with wood – 5 minutes ascending and 35 minutes at the top – enjoying the fine prospect (charming day – nor hot nor cold, nor wind, nor dust) and conning over our plan of the battle bought at St. Jean village of where we left the carriage – got a thorough understanding of the different positions and then at 1 35 down again and off to Hougoumont thus written by the duke of W- in his despatch from La belle Alliance, instead of château de Goumont, an easy mistake now perpetuated by the celebrity of the written and the writing – an English officer who had fought in the battle (of no great appearance) was on the mountain with a party of ladies and gentlemen while we were there – but from what I overheard our guide seemed the better of the 2 – the proprietor of the quondam chateau de Goumont, M. de Goumont, is now living in the neighbourhood of Brussels? did the man say – government bought the place of him and leave it as was after the battle as a monument of the battle – good taste – the then outbuildings form the present farm-house – the chateau (the chapel and well house remain) was burnt down and all the wounded as many or [more]

SH:7/ML/E/21/0096

French than English perished in the flames – the French under Jerome Buonaparte and General Foy finding they could not take this key of our position, set it on fire – the wood then close in front of the garden that made it so strong, is now cut down and turned into common ground – the place was at the time exceedingly strong undercover of this wood – the French had no idea of the strength of this position – the duke of Wellington arrived from Brussels in the morning of the 17th and took up this position – the French did not arrive till evening – it rained the whole of the 16th and 17th Friday and Saturday night and day so that on the 18th many of the men fought up to their knees in water or mud – vide the account of the battle given by Sir Walter Scott in Pauls’ letters to his kinfolk – A- had been very poorly in the back of her neck and sickish perhaps from the rough pavé in coming but on leaving Hougoumont at 2 5 thought she could make the round by La belle Alliance (double distance) and off we set across the fields – merely looked at the house in passing slowly by – as we stood opposite it was the room on the left of the door where  the duke of Wellington and Blucher met in the evening of the 18th ‘se mutuellement saluant vainques’ according to the inscription over the door – La grange (the barn) adjoining this room was built after the battle – Napoleon who had rested there quite s’y reposait à midi, proceed with his imperial guard about 2/3 of the way to the 2 monuments (going from La belle alliance to St. Jean the left to Sir Alexander Gordon the right to Alten and his Hanoverians – close on each side the road to Nivelles) and seeing the battle lost wished to fall there with his guard, but Soult said ‘Sire les Anglais sont assez heureux’ and Napoleon turning his head round 3 times (said our guide) criait, sauve qui peut, and himself made the best of his way to Nivelles ........ and Paris – Did Soult thus add to his masters’ happiness or to his reputation? Marius sitting on the ruins of Carthage, and Napoleon at St. Helena!!! Our walk from Hougoumont to the carriage at the hameau (village) of St. Jean took us 1 5 hour till 3 10 – sat 10 minutes in the carriage till the horses were put to and off back again at 3 20 and alighted at Bellevue at 5 10 – the servants dined and so did we very comfortably – our dinner on the table in about ¼ hour – sat over it quietly – paid all – capital Inn – our apartment (n°99) really very spacious comfortable but somehow nor A- nor I had felt well at B- and were not sorry to be off – Off at 6 55 – of the 2 routes equally good, equally beautiful, and of the same length (taking the whole distance from B- to Louvain) said Mr. de Profts’ proxy , I chose the one I believe I went with Lady S- and Lady VC. in 1829, viz. by Tervuren (the other its by Cortenberg [Kortenberg]) and a beautiful drive it is of 2 postes tho’ the road is for the greater part like a green-sided fosse 8 or 9 ft. below the surface of the beech forest thro’ which it passes – at 7 ½ descend to goof white-washed village and steep ascent out of it, and at the top the road se bifurqué – the 2 roads meet – we keep straight or rather inclining left – the other road, right, and enter a fine beautiful perspective as of a long green aisle beech avenue which continues ½ hour (our 4 horses allant bon train) till 8 when in ten minutes we change horses at goodish little town of Tervuren – from there the postboy charitably drove us generally on the parterre – the 2 leaders fresh and spirited and A- nervous – passed 2 good handsome chateaux? country houses just out of the town – the avenue to Louvain chiefly of poplars – but the light had failed us long before our alighting at comfortable hotel de Suède at 9 ¾ - 2 very good bedrooms and  servants rooms for 8fr. – the servants supped – A- and I would take nothing – had the beds warmed – Oddy curled A-‘s hair as she lay on the sofa, and she was in bed (after taking the juice of an orange warmed with hot water) before 11 – I sat writing  out all but the 1st 6 or 7 lines of today till 12 5 according to my watch as I have gone by it today but the women of the house here said it was only 9 when we arrived instead of 9 ¾ - was she not wrong? she was expecting the last railway train from Brussels – 4 trains a day arrive here, - the last at 9 ½ pm. – very fine day – F58 ½° now at 12 10 tonight according to time as I have noted it during the day

[firstumcschenectady]

“Humans: Needing Love and Comfort”

(a sermon dialogue with Rev. Lynn Gardner of the Unitarian Universalist Society of Schenectady and Rev. Sara Baron of the First United Methodist Church of Schenectady)

Part 1: Our awareness of our need for mothering (which is our need to be loved, and comforted)

Lynn: It started when I was on my yoga mat. It was early one morning last spring. I hadn’t been sleeping well, and I was up as the sun was rising, moving through familiar yoga asanas, gently stretching, moving, breathing. I was in child’s pose… curled over bent knees, forehead resting on the mat, when the crying began. Everything that my body had been holding in was let loose in a torrent of tears, growing into deep sobs. Worry, grief, fear, sadness, loneliness and anger, pouring out. My heart ached thinking of all those who were suffering alone or separated from anyone who was familiar.

On the day we were born and received the gift of our first breath we depended on our mothers, our parents, or other caring adults in order to survive. As we grew, those needs changed, but our need to be loved and cared for is still part of us. That morning on my yoga mat, I rocked, and cried, feeling the vulnerability of being human… that we need one another. This may be our vulnerability AND our strength.

Sara: The past year has been one of developing my identity as a mother. My child was born 51 weeks ago today. It has been a very long time since I’ve needed mothering as much as I have since I became a mother. It turns out that the capacity to give my child what he needs is dependent on having enough of my own needs met and, quite often, I can’t fulfill both sets of needs on my own, and am dependent on others to hold me up so I can hold him up.

I was raised upper middle class, and I’m white, and I have internalized the message that self-sufficiency is “good.” Which means I’m REALLY BAD at asking for help, and that hasn’t made me need it less. The pandemic has complicated EVERYTHING. When I needed help the most it felt least safe to receive it. When I hit the end of my capacity and could go no further, when tears filled my eyes and I simply could not do what I needed to do, when without love and comfort and support I could no longer offer love and comfort and support… I have spent this year learning that I need to be mothered well in order to mother well. For me, at least, this applies both to parenting AND to pastoring. To offer love and comfort to my congregation ALSO requires that I have something to give, and that means I have to reach out when I need love and comfort too.

Part 2: Stories of times we have received loving, comforting care when we needed it

Support can come in a wider range of formats than I ever knew. There was, for me, one day when everything I needed to do most profoundly exceeded my capacity to do it. Before that day was easier, after that day was easier, but on that day I could simply go no further. I remember texting 3 friends. It was August, and nothing felt safe, especially not in person. One friend got in the car to come help. Another stayed on the phone with me until she arrived and let me cry while being heard. The third texted back and forth all day assuring me that I was allowed to make things easier on myself, and it didn’t mean I was failing as a mother to do so.

Those three friends comforted me that day, they let their love for me become support when I needed it. I think it is fair to say that they mothered me, and BECAUSE they took care of me, I was able to take care of my child.

In some ways this story seems too small, and in other ways it seems … archetypal. Looking back at my life there are innumerable times when my pain or burden was too much to bear. In every one of them, I reached out for support. Sometimes I reached out directly to the Divine, which for me means I disappeared into nature and silence for the hours I needed before I could form words again. Other times I have reached out to family or friends (or my own pastor), and let them hold me up. It is in being held - in any medium- that I can regain my own self-regulation and find my way again.

Lynn: Isn’t it amazing when someone shows up in simple yet deeply caring ways? 21 years ago I went to stay at my parent’s home when my Mom was nearing the end of her life. She had been diagnosed with cancer just five weeks earlier. She was at home with hospice care, laying in a bed where she could look out and see her garden, and my father and sisters and I were caring for her and for one another. A long time friend called and asked if she could come by. She arrived with three hot-fudge brownie sundaes, one for me, one for her, and one for my Dad. Let’s go for a walk, she suggested. We walked and ate. She listened, and we cried and laughed together, and also held space for the comfort of shared silence. That was the most delicious sundae I have ever eaten.

Each of these moments in our lives have served to remind us that we are not self-sufficient, we do not walk or work alone. It is because of our connections that we are.. It is because we have been nurtured that we are functional and able to offer nurture.

Part 3: Growing us into capacity to give mothering

Sara: Our sweet baby is teething. It is miserable for everyone involved. We are very thankful in our house for pain medication. But sometimes it isn’t enough. Sometimes he hurts, and nothing we can do makes the hurt go away, and it is awful. In those moments, all we can do is be with him and assure him he isn’t alone. It doesn’t feel like enough in the moment, but I also wouldn’t dream of letting him suffer alone.

There are many sources of pain in life, physical, spiritual, mental, and emotional. In some cases we are able to do things that change them, like feeding people who are hungry. In many cases we cannot change reality, or the pain people experience, when they are grieving. In those cases all we can do is be with one another, and assure each other we aren’t alone. It doesn’t feel like enough, but the difference between being alone and being supported is significant. Our congregations can be communities of practice… where we continue to learn about giving and receiving care.

This has been one of the worst parts of the pandemic, that the means of support and comfort we are used to offering grieving people have been taken away. I invite those who are safely ready and able to loosen their COVID restrictions to think about how to offer love and support now that wasn’t possible before.

Learning the limits of what comfort I can give has never felt enjoyable, but it seems like the capacity to be a mother grows along with my awareness of my own limitations.

Part 4: The Divine as Nurturer, and Faith as Subversive when it comes to nurture.

The Gospel lesson we read today in the United Methodist church instructs us to “abide in love,” and expounds eloquently on the subject. I believe that this is what faith is all about. In Christian and United Methodist lingo we talk about “sanctification” which is the process of letting go of whatever is not love and being filled up with love so that you can respond to every person in every moment with pure love. In our models, continued faith development is all aimed at sanctification. (John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement believed that people could reach perfection in love during their life times. ;) I share that as an interesting historical fact.)

In real life though, things are complicated. In many circumstances it is not clear what the most loving response actually is. What looks from one angle like loving nurture looks from another angle like enabling. These days I find myself reminding myself several times a day about the process of emerging from cocoons. That is, when transformed creatures emerge from cocoons it is a slow and seemingly painful process. Over the years many well meaning humans have tried to ease creatures ways out of the cocoon, only to learn that the moths and butterflies are permanently damaged by having the process eased. There is a fine line to walk in care for others, and I find I am never clear which side of it I’m on.

Lynn: Receiving care can also be complicated. Sometimes we just need someone to help us, or for someone to comfort us, but we don’t ask, and feel resentful. Or we don’t know who to ask… or we tell ourselves we don’t deserve it, or that someone else needs it more. And sometimes, it is so hard to just allow ourselves to be cared for… to really receive the love that is being offered.

Prior to seminary, I worked in child care for 20 years. Over those years, and while raising our daughter, I have held and rocked many a tired cranky little one. Whether you have done so yourself or not, I invite to imagine holding an overly-tired toddler, who is crying and pushing away, resisting their need for sleep with every ounce of energy they have. They are so tired… and so upset… not wanting to give up, to let go, and to sink into the arms that are holding them.

Unitarian Universalism affirms that each of us is worthy of love…. That we are each more than our worst mistake. That we are each worthy of care and comfort. We are all held by a larger Love that will not let us go… even when we struggle… even when we push away… I can imagine the Holy whispering, “shhh…. Shhhh….. I’m right here.”

Sara: I’m also deeply aware that while the Divine, faith, and Biblical teaching all call us to love, in our society the expectations around that love vary according to the bodies we occupy. Lynn and I have been reflecting on the human need to receive mothering - the human need to receive love and comfort - and suggesting that faith communities may be sources of giving good care so those in them can then give good care to the world. Yet, I keep thinking about the realities of “emotional labor” and the ways that female embodied people, and people of color, along with others thought in society to occupy subordinate positions are subliminally taught to offer care and nurture to those who are male embodied, white, and empowered. Kate Manne in “Down Girl: The Logic of Misogyny” talks about the ways emotional labor is thought to be the work of some and the privilege to receive of others, and how this is encouraged with “carrots” and enforced with “sticks.”

This awareness brings some of the deeper challenges of celebrating love and comfort into view. Humans need love and comfort. Humans can give love and comfort. But often the giving becomes the role of some and the receiving the roles of others. I believe that one of the subversive narratives of faith is inverting those roles, and making the giving of love, comfort, and nurture the role of all people - especially the ones in power.

So, dear ones, may we receive the wonderful mothering of the Divine and of the people of faith, and may we soak in love and comfort so that we are able to share it with abundance.

Amen