#as that was a big part of why i left the religion i was raised in

[junkissed]

leaning on the everlasting arms

member — childhood best friend! pastor's son!joshua x f reader genre — angst, smut, some fluff, bible college au word count — 10.3k (my first fic over 10k wowie!!) synopsis — as kids growing up in the same church, you and joshua were inseperable, until you got to an age where it was considered immoral for girls and boys to be friends. when you find him again just before graduation, he's different than you remember; but so are you. content warnings — female reader, she/her, reader is implied to be smaller (i'm sorry), discussion of gender roles & religion, no religion is mentioned by name but it's heavily implied to be a form of christianity, reader & shua are both seniors in college, reader wears skirts/dresses but not really by choice, this whole thing is pretty blasphemous oops smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, virgin!joshua x virgin!reader, mutual masturbation, phone sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (reader receiving), hints of a voice kink, size kink, praise, begging, really vanilla missionary but it's hot, nicknames (sweetheart, baby, angel) notes — although i am no longer religious, this is partially based off of my own experiences with the extremely traditional christian church i was raised in. however, please keep in mind that this is fiction and does not reflect my beliefs nor joshua's beliefs so don't take the plot too seriously. this piece is not meant to discuss whether certain religions are "right" or "wrong" so please do not comment/send me asks trying to start a debate! we're all just here for a little sexy time with shua it's not that deep note #2 — for those who aren't familiar, the title is the name of a hymn and i thought it was funny bc joshua big sexy arms hehehe

as far back as you could remember, joshua was your closest friend.

his father was the pastor of the church your family went to, and as luck would have it you were both in the same grade, so it wasn’t long before you became inseparable. you saw him at minimum three times a week: sunday morning, sunday evening, wednesday evening.

you spent most of your childhood together. sitting next to each other at every service, sharing your bibles with each other whenever one of you left them at home, sneaking donuts away from the box at the table outside the sermon hall that was supposed to only be for the adults.

you did everything together, and told each other everything. that is, until you reached middle school. boys and girls weren’t allowed to sit in the same services anymore, and you had to stay in separate buildings for every church camp and conference. 

the worst part was you didn’t even understand why. what did they think you were gonna do with him? kiss him? no amount of money in the world could get you to do that! joshua was your best friend. who else were you supposed to climb trees and build forts and sneak donuts with? kissing was stupid.

when you asked your mom about it, she told you the same thing everyone else did: about how men of god had a different path and needed to hear different messages in order to grow up to lead their own churches one day. you thought it was stupid. what if a woman wanted to lead a church, why are men the ones that have to do it? but she would just shake her head and tell you it's just the way things work in the church, you'll understand when you're older.

you were allowed near him less and less until the only time you were able to see him was at the after-service brunch with his family, and even then that began to happen less and less as the years went on.

and of course it was church rules, so there was no arguing with them because that would mean arguing with god, and who were you to question his authority? there would be no special exception for you, no matter how much you protested to your mom that you would never, ever think about joshua like that. in a fit of anger one day you blew up at her, shouting that she had had friends of the opposite gender when she was in high school, so why couldn’t you? it wasn’t fair. but she had just sighed and stared out the window, clearly ending the conversation. many years passed before she finally told you about her life before she came to church, recalling all the times she had been hurt by men she had loved and trusted. you understood then why she had wanted to keep you sheltered and safe, but you still didn’t agree. but then again, if you had been allowed to do what you wanted then maybe things would never have ended up the way they did. perhaps you have her to thank.

back then, all you could do was hold on to the little time you had with him until eventually you stopped seeing him altogether. 

more summers passed and you started spending all of your time memorizing bible verses with your fellow “women of christ”, missing the way you used to spend your time with your best friend.

but then you went off to bible college like had always been planned for you, and everything changed. instead of continuing to follow the strict schedule that was laid out for you, you finally got a little taste of freedom, and you realized what you’d been missing all this time. everything that you’d been taught was sinful, evil, wicked, was what brought you more pleasure than you’d ever known was possible.

you still had to pretend to be a good girl for the people around you, who, for reasons you couldn’t comprehend, were still dedicated to their life of purity. or at least they acted like it. maybe everyone was secretly just like you, hiding their sins behind a friendly smile and a firm handshake every sunday morning.

you weren’t hurting anyone with the things you did in private, and the feeling of rebellion was a kind of satisfaction you didn’t know you were allowed to feel. you were an adult, making your own choices now and facing whatever consequences that came with them.

there was only one consequence. for some reason, all the impure thoughts you had always centered around joshua. no matter what dirty books you read or videos you watched, the man you always pictured giving it to you was joshua.

you hated that after all these years, everything still came back to him. you fought it, tried imagining actors or celebrities in his place instead; characters from your books and movies and shows, anyone but him. you wanted to save whatever memories you had left of him, think of him in a good light like you used to when you were younger, but the way he plagued your mind was worse than the ones in the book of exodus.

but now, in your final year of college, you thought you had finally gotten yourself under control.

that is, until you were leaving one of your bible lectures and all the control you’d convinced yourself that you had crumbled away in mere seconds when you saw a startlingly familiar face standing by the door. a face you hadn’t seen in far too long. 

“joshua?”

“hey,” he says with a smile, like no time has passed at all. like it’s been hours since you’ve seen each other, not years. 

there are so many things you want to say, so many things you want to ask him, but you’re frozen in place. why is he here? where has he been? how did he find you again?

“it’s been a while,” he says with an awkward laugh when you don’t say anything.

you nod, still in a daze. “yeah. quite a while.”

he smiles. “well, anyway, i’ve got a meeting to go to in a bit, but… i just wanted to see you.”

“oh,” you say. what else is there to say? what can you say to make up for the years lost that you’ll never get back?

he looks at his watch, the conversation clearly coming to an end.

“can i give you my phone number?” he says. a deep shade of pink creeps into his cheeks but he either doesn’t notice or purposely doesn’t acknowledge it. “maybe we can talk sometime, catch up.”

“i– yeah,” you manage. god, it’s so good seeing him again. “yeah, that would be really nice.”

you’ve given up on homework for the night, spending your entire afternoon in a daze since you ran into joshua.

so many years, yet you still can’t get his smile out of your head.

you close your eyes, hand dipping below the waistband of your pajama pants automatically. it’s frightening how easily you’re able to bring up a picture of him in your mind, so much clearer than before now that you’ve seen what he looks like all grown up.

and grown up, he has. you had been too stunned to get a good look at him while he was in front of you, but the way he’d changed was immediately apparent and the image in your brain now feels almost unreal. 

his hair was a little longer and a little darker, and he was much taller, with broad shoulders that looked way too perfect in a suit jacket. but his face hadn’t changed a bit. maybe his jaw was a little bit sharper and his smile lines were a little bit deeper, but his eyes were the same ones you had always known. 

your hand slips lower and lower until you’re gently running the tips of your fingers over the panel of your underwear covering your pussy, moaning quietly when you feel how wet you are already.

no wonder it’s been so hard for you to focus all day. you’ve been too busy pushing away thoughts of joshua burying his fingers in your tight, wet cunt, cooing about how good you’re being for him and how long he’s waited for you.

automatically you feel your other hand grabbing for your phone, desperate to hear his voice again. you hadn’t said more than a few sentences to him earlier, but you feel like you’ll go crazy if you don’t hear him while you’re in this state. so needy for him and only him, and he doesn’t even know it.

your fingers shake as you press the buttons, knowing you’re about to get yourself into a whole world of trouble but not being able to stop yourself.

“hey.” he answers on the second ring. his tone is deep and husky, and your breath catches in your throat for a second, not used to hearing him talk like that; the last time you heard his voice was long before puberty, and you’re still navigating how to talk to this older, sexier joshua.

your first thought is to wonder if his morning voice sounds equally as sexy, but you’re immediately pushing it out of your head when you hear what sounds like him stifling a yawn.

“sorry, did i wake you? it– it’s not important,” you start, ashamed of how needy you are that you’d call him in the middle of the damn night, unprovoked, like some kind of bible group booty call.

the regret is already starting to set in. he probably hasn’t changed as much as you've built him up in your mind, probably still the obedient gentleman he was before. he’s probably already well on his way to being the head of a church, so of course he wouldn’t be thinking about you like that—

“no. it’s fine,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. “always have time for you, sweetheart. what’s up?”

you shove down the butterflies that flutter up in your stomach at the name he calls you, a nickname he always called you when you were kids because he was taught it was always polite to talk sweet to a lady. 

except it feels so much different now. talking sweet to a lady as kids was easy, innocent. but one wrong word now would completely change the meaning behind those pretty words of his, and you aren’t sure how to feel about it.

“i… just– it’s been so long, joshie,” you whisper, surprised at the sudden feeling of tears springing up behind your eyes. you didn’t mean for this to happen— you didn’t mean for any of it to happen. not back then, and certainly not now.

he lets the line go quiet, finally sighing into the phone after a long pause. “i missed you… so much.” he murmurs your name, and the way the rumble in his voice goes straight through you immediately reminds you why you called him in the first place.

your free hand toys with the hem of your underwear again, fighting to keep down the whimper that threatens to escape you. “missed you too,” you breathe out. god, you can’t believe you’re doing this. but for the first time in years, the man you’ve been picturing in your head is right here with you, fulfilling some of your fantasies that you never thought could ever come true.

somewhere deep in your stomach you feel guilty about it, getting off to the thought of him and he doesn’t even know it. would he want to know? would he be okay with it? would he hate you forever if he knew?

he clears his throat, snapping you back to attention and you realize you must’ve been silent for a while, thinking.

“um, so, what are you doing?” you ask, trying to seem casual, but it comes out as anything but. nobody calls anyone this late at night and asks what they’re doing without having a dirty reason for doing so. 

all you can do is hope he’s either too innocent to pick up on it, or that he doesn’t believe you’re the type of person who would call for something like that. you wonder if he still thinks of you as that perfect little obedient church girl he grew up with.

“nothing, just–working on… stuff,” he replies awkwardly. clearly he doesn’t want to go into detail about what he’s doing, and you’re already afraid you’ve interrupted his sleep; you’re mentally kicking yourself for all the blunders you’ve made, and you haven’t even been on the phone for five minutes.

“what are you doing?” he asks back, and you freeze, trying to come up with some excuse, anything. fuck, think of something!

“h-homework,” you sputter out, attempting to hide your unconfident answer with a cough.

apparently it works, because he hums in response, the line falling quiet. you hear the rustling of papers on his end, and you press your fingers harder against your cunt, heartbeat racing in your ears.

your fingers brush against your clit a little rougher than you intend, and a little whine escapes your lips, catching you off guard. you slap a hand over your mouth, hoping it had been too quiet for him to hear and he hadn’t been paying attention.

“are you…?” he asks suddenly, and your cheeks flush, caught red-handed in your sinful act.

you clear your throat, praying (both metaphorically and literally) that he doesn’t notice anything off about you. “am i what?”

his silence on the other end of the phone speaks volumes.

“joshua, oh my god, no, i–”

“what did you just say?”

you freeze. “what… did i say?”

when he speaks again, his tone is even. “don’t you know it’s a sin to take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart?”

that nickname again, and now you know he’s doing it on purpose. innocent, pretty words, completely changed in a split second.

you let out a short laugh, scrambling to find a cover. “must’ve forgot then.”

he hums. “i remember you spent a whole month trying to memorize the ten commandments. we must’ve been what, eight or nine? you wouldn’t have forgotten. i may not have seen you since we were kids, but i’ve still known you most of my life.”

“it was an accident, you know how it is. just slips out. of course i remember them all.”

he tsks, and it feels like your heart stops. “did you forget that lying is a sin, too? you’re two for two now, wanna try for a third?”

damn him! damn his good memory and damn his stupid witty comebacks and damn the way he so quickly manages to unravel you.

you scowl and don’t respond to his question, your silence enough of an answer for joshua to know he’s right.

“why did you call me tonight?” he asks calmly.

you answer truthfully this time. “just wanted to hear your voice again. i really did miss you.”

the phone goes quiet again, and for a second you’re afraid he’s hung up, but then you hear him exhale. “it’s late. what are you doing?”

“i’m in bed, josh. don’t worry, father, i’m not staying up past my bedtime.”

he chooses to ignore your remark. “in bed doing what?”

you give him a half-suppressed laugh. “in bed laying down. what else would i be doing?”

“well, with the way you were trying to hide your moans earlier, i would’ve figured you were doing something more exciting. but if you’re just laying down, then i don't want to keep you long, might as well hang up…”

“no!” you squeak out, cutting him off. you swallow, trying to collect yourself as you repeat the word. “no. fine, whatever, you caught me. but– please, stay.” you can hear the plea in your voice and you know you should be embarrassed at how pathetic you sound, but you aren't. the only thing you can think about is joshua, joshua, joshua, and how good it feels to talk to him again.

“i’m here,” he says softly, and you let your eyes close with a sigh, relieved he’s not going to chastise you. but as much as you’ve both changed as you grew up, deep down you knew he wouldn’t. you figure you could do just about anything and he wouldn’t try to tell you what to do. he’d always been like that, and it’s what you’d loved about him; he never tried to control you or shame you for not acting like the perfect little angel everybody wanted you to be. 

you couldn’t say the same about others in the church. maybe that’s why you’d started to drift away from them and why joshua’s friendship coming to an end had left you so devastated. he had been the one and only person you could always count on, and they had not.

“are you still there?” he asks gently, and you realize you’ve been quiet for too long thinking.

“yeah,” you say finally.

“are you still touching yourself?”

you pause, stifling a gasp, taken aback by his forwardness. hearing him say it out loud made everything seem so real, the realization setting in about what you’re actually doing. “n– no.”

and it’s true. your hand has long since dropped away from your pajama pants, too nervous about being discovered to continue.

“well, why not?” he says. “don’t stop on my account.”

your mouth falls open. “i–”

“clearly you wanted something from me when you called. what is it, sweetheart? i can’t help you if i don’t know what it is you want.”

your brain practically short circuits at that, and it takes a very long minute for you to collect your thoughts into a coherent sentence. you want a lot of things, but you don’t know what’s okay to say or not or if he even wants to keep going. which is a silly thought, because he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to know. it dawns on you that maybe… maybe he’s curious, maybe he’s thinking about you, too.

“what kind of help?” you ask, still testing the waters. you think you have an idea of what he means, but you ask anyway. you’ve never done anything like this with anyone else, only by yourself; not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t want it to be with someone who wasn’t joshua.

“you said you wanted to hear my voice,” he says, and you swear his tone has dropped an octave. “then let me talk to you.”

you whine a little, still holding back but not putting in as much effort to hide it. “m’kay.”

“would it make you feel better if i told you i’m hard right now?”

you suck in a breath. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he says. “just thinking about you.”

you feel a rush of emotion at his admittance. pride? satisfaction? whatever it is, it makes your cunt throb, knowing that just the thought of you can get him going.

finally you dare to slide your hand down your pants again, unsurprised when you find your underwear sticking to you with how wet you are. you’re soaking, and you haven’t even done anything yet.

“hold on,” you manage, putting the call on speaker as you set your phone on the table beside your bed, scrambling to shove your pants and ruined panties off and onto the floor.

once free, you pick up your phone and turn off the speaker, holding it to your ear with shaky hands.

“all ready now?” he asks softly, and it reminds you of what he used to say before you’d play pretend games together. always making sure you were ready. he was hot back then, too, and you mentally curse yourself for never realizing it sooner.

you hum. “mhm. comfortable.”

“good,” he says, and you can almost hear him smiling. “go ahead and do whatever you’d like. but i want you to tell me what you’re thinking about right now.”

you squirm a little on the bed as you start to circle your clit with your fingers. “thinking about you, joshua,” you sigh, finally beginning to feel relief.

“yeah?”

“yeah. you look even better than i thought you would,” you groan, picking up your pace a little as you slip your index finger inside your walls.

he chuckles. “oh, really?”

“mhm. god, i never thought i’d be doing this. especially not with you.”

“and why is that, baby?”

the name makes you shiver. you’d imagined him calling you it many times, but hearing him actually say it is completely different.

“because—” you whimper, losing your train of thought when your brain suddenly pictures his fingers inside you instead of your own. “i’m so close already, please—”

his tone is gentle but firm. “i want you to stop now.”

“but– ah, feels so good, shua,” you say, moans spilling out of you, finally letting him hear everything you’ve been holding back.

you hear him curse in that low voice through the phone, and your hand stills for a split second in shock, your eyes widening. as far as you knew, he never swore. but then again, there were a lot of things he never did that you're discovering about him now. looks like you weren’t the only one who changed over the years.

“that’s not my name.”

you sit up a little in confusion, pushing your phone closer to your ear to make sure you’re hearing him right. “huh?”

“my name is joshua. if you’re gonna moan like a sinner about how good it feels when i tell you how to touch yourself, you better use my name properly.” he sounds almost angry, but it only spurs you on even further.

you let his words sink for a second before responding. “yes, sir.”

“fuck,” he moans, he actually moans, and if you weren’t already so far gone you would’ve stopped to listen closer, to ingrain the noise in your brain so you never again forget how he sounds. “what did i just tell you?”

“what, you don’t like being called ‘sir’? thought you wanted to be a pastor, joshua,” you say with a smirk, and you know he hears the mischief in your voice, daring him to give you what you want.

it’s probably a good thing he’s not physically in the room with you, because there's no way you would have been able to muster up the courage to say something like that to his face. you wouldn’t have dared to even look him in the eyes, but being on the phone gives you a head rush. because with only his voice and not seeing his face, you can convince yourself that he still isn’t real, that this whole phone call and even your meeting earlier had just been an elaborate figment of your horny imagination, your denial being the only thing saving your last shred of dignity.

“didn’t realize you’d grow up to be even more of a brat than you were before,” he scoffs, and your cunt pulses. 

“what are you doing right now?” you say, a little desperately. the change of subject isn’t very subtle but you don’t care. you won’t lie, you’ve been curious since the start of what he’s doing but he’s been so focused on you he hasn’t said anything about himself. you want to know everything about him— how he’s moving his hands, where he puts pressure, what he thinks about to get himself closer and closer.

he grunts unceremoniously. “i’m fucking my hand and pretending it’s you.”

“me too,” you whimper, closing your eyes as you focus on the movement of your fingers.

after a while he stops responding, and you can hear his heavy breaths over the line matching with your own gasps for air as you curl your fingers inside of you. you figure he must be getting close, but you ask him anyway, because you want to hear him say it.

“yeah– fuck, so close,” he chokes out, and the way his voice gets higher as he lets out a whimper is what finally makes you come undone.

with a moan of his name—his full name—you cum, clenching around your fingers as you struggle to keep your hand moving. your wrist is starting to cramp up a little from the position you’ve been in, but the pleasure coursing through you is more than worth it. it’s almost dizzying, more powerful than any orgasm you’ve had before and when you finally remove your fingers from your aching cunt your head is spinning and your heart is pounding.

you can hear a muffled string of curses through the phone and you know he’s right behind you. thoughts of him sitting on his bed run rampant in your head, imagining his stomach covered in milky cum and his pretty, pretty lips parted as he catches his breath.

the silence is heavy as you feel yourself come back down from your high. you struggle to find something to say after… whatever that just was, so you say the only thing that’s on your mind.

“i really did miss you, joshua,” you say quietly. unlike before, there’s not a hint of teasing in the way you say his name now.

and he sighs contentedly, finally hearing his name on your lips like he always wanted to. “i know. i missed you too.”

you both say your goodbyes and good nights quickly, still basking in enough of the remnants of your orgasms to not be too awkward about it. but after you’re settled in bed (for real, this time) and about to fall asleep, you can’t help but wonder if things between you and joshua will ever be anything but awkward.

a memory surfaces: you and joshua running around at the park behind the church after a sunday evening service, no older than kindergarteners, laughing and playing until you collapse on the grass. your mom called for you both to get ready to go home, and no you’re not allowed to have a sleepover because it’s a school night but maybe this weekend if his mom is okay with it. before you ran off, he thrust his pinky out towards you and you shook on it, making a pact to always be best friends, even when you can’t have sleepovers. it didn’t ever occur to either of you that there might come a day where you wouldn’t be best friends.

you don’t remember what prompted him to make the pinky promise, but you know he’s never broken it. and you can only hope that he hasn’t forgotten it.

it’s a few days later at one of your bible study groups when you see him next, and yet again you’re caught off-guard like a deer in headlights.

you’re sitting with a group of other ladies, annotating material for a test you couldn’t care less about when you hear your name called out– a familiar deep voice you can only pray doesn’t belong to who you think it belongs to.

oh, but it does belong to him, alright. it feels like you’ve gotten the wind knocked out of you when you turn around and see joshua standing behind you, a warm smile on his face that makes you doubt anything ever happened. maybe it really was all just a delirious dream, too many years of yearning built up into one intense wet dream.

he puts a hand on your shoulder lightly, turning you away from the rest of the ladies. “hey, can we talk somewhere?”

and oh shit it was definitely not a dream.

your cheeks burn as you excuse yourself from the table, packing up your bible and pens and shoving everything in your bag as quickly as you can. you can almost hear the snickering already, the gossips whispering to each other that you must have done something unspeakable if the top-student, pastor’s son, joshua hong has to speak with you privately. ah, if only they knew.

you only wish you could go back there and wipe the smirks off of all their faces and tell them about what the perfect little gentlemen they all pretend they don’t have crushes on was doing on the phone with you last night. you wouldn’t do that, not in a million years, but just the thought of it is satisfaction enough. 

joshua leads you down the hall to a room that looks like an empty office. he opens the door for you, then closes it softly behind you.

“whose is this?” you ask, glancing around the room. 

“it’s… mine,” he says almost shyly, gesturing idly to a little engraved nameplate on the desk. joshua hong, pastor’s assistant. because of fucking course he would be.

“oh.”

he clears his throat, and in that moment you realize he’s just as nervous as you are. “listen…” he starts, taking a pause. “about the other night–”

“are you gonna kick me out?” you interrupt.

his brows knit together in confusion. “what?”

“are you gonna expel me?”

“no?” he says, still looking at you, baffled. “why would i do that? i don’t even think i have the power to, even if i wanted. which, for the record, i don’t.”

you don’t reply, focusing your gaze on the carpet instead.

he frowns. “is that really how you think of me? that i just go around tattling to my dad? from that… conversation, i thought it was clear i’m not like that anymore.”

the tips of your ears are burning at the memory of all the things you said to each other over the phone. but it never occurred to you that maybe he was just as sinful as you had been.

you stay quiet, the silence stretching on as shame and embarrassment and a hundred other emotions swirl in your mind and you struggle to figure out what to say.

luckily for you he fills the silence himself. he exhales, looking down at a stack of papers on the desk. “god, you… you don’t know how much i missed you. i thought about you all the time.”

“so did i,” you manage to whisper. “in more ways than you know.”

he gives you a teasing smile. “oh, i have a feeling i do know.”

you hold back a cough and look away, focusing your attention on a painting of flowers on the wall. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“if that’s how you wanna play this, fine.”

your curiosity piques, and you look back at him. he motions to the seat in front of the desk, wordlessly asking you to sit. hesitantly you do, and he starts to sit down at the swivel chair behind the desk, but you clear your throat and he glances up.

“can– can you not sit over there?” you ask softly. “feels like i’m being scolded.”

his expression softens a little, and he rolls the chair back into place, opting to sit next to you instead. “of course.”

except maybe you shouldn’t have asked him to do that, because now he’s sitting toe to toe with you and the closeness is overwhelming. at least on the other side of the desk there was enough distance for you to shrink and hide behind, but here, sitting like this, he can see all of you. and you don’t particularly want to be seen right now.

the tension is palpable as he takes his seat, still watching you. you take the moment to study his features: the slope of his nose and the gentle curve of his lips, the way the light catches on his long eyelashes and the way his broad shoulders look in that perfectly tailored sunday morning service suit.

“i always liked you,” he starts, and your gaze shoots up to his eyes. you open your mouth to ask something, but he shakes his head and you immediately fall silent, letting him finish. “i was almost glad when they made us go to different sunday school classes, because i wouldn’t have to sit there and pretend i didn’t have the craziest crush on you.”

“joshua, i–” you trail off, not even knowing what to say.

he pauses, as if debating his next words. “and i know it’s wrong, but i couldn’t get you out of my head when i… y’know.” his cheeks are flushed but he doesn’t look away from you, eyes searching your own for any hesitance or any sign that you don’t want this.

it’s then that you realize that the boldness you had felt hiding behind your phone, he had felt it too. saying words alone in your room at night was easy. sitting in public, in the daylight, and saying those same words to his face was so much scarier. and knowing that you’re both feeling awkward and shy and a little uncertain of how to talk about it gives you the confidence to keep going.

“when you would what?” you pry. you already know the answer but you want to hear it come out of his mouth anyway. you’ve already heard him say it, but something about sitting in his office, in a church, speaking such filth ignites a spark in you that’s completely different from the spark you felt a few nights ago.

he clears his throat and looks you in the eye, maybe gaining a little bit of that confidence, too. “when i would jerk off i would always wish it was your sweet little mouth instead of my own hand.”

you inhale sharply, and that’s when he finally breaks eye contact, his guilt-ridden gaze shifting to the wall behind you as his cheeks burn redder. “i didn’t feel good about it. felt like i was doing it without your permission, and i didn’t want that. i–”

“yes,” you say hurriedly.

he stops short at your interruption, instantly looking back at you. “yes…?”

“yes, you have my permission. whatever you want, joshua, always.”

his eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly, but you recognize it. even after all these years, after so much has changed, you still know his tells. you wonder if he still knows yours.

he murmurs your name in response, almost like a warning. “don’t say stuff like that,” he says, letting out a shaky breath.

“why not?” you ask, feigning innocence. but you know exactly what you’re doing, and you know exactly how you affect him: the same way he affects you.

he looks up at you. “you really are just as much of a brat as you were back then, aren’t you?” he says with just a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“why don’t you find out?”

he groans, leaning back in his chair. “do you know how long i’ve wanted to kiss you?” he says finally.

“probably just as long as i’ve wanted to kiss you,” you counter, and he raises an eyebrow.

you both stand up at the same moment, closing the distance in less than a second. 

you stare at his chest in front of you to avoid his eyes, until he brings up a hand and gently tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“are– you gonna get in trouble?” you breathe, heartbeat pounding in your ears as you stare at his perfect, perfect lips.

he hums, and it sends a shiver down your spine at the close proximity. “are you still giving me permission?” he asks, and you quickly shake your head yes. 

“always.”

he smooths his thumb across your cheek. “then i won’t be in any trouble at all."

and then his hand moves to hold the back of your neck and he's tilting his head and bringing his lips towards yours and then finally, after years of dreaming about it and even more years of denying it, you're finally kissing joshua and there's so many things happening at once that you can't seem to focus on anything because your mind is so full of everything and nothing and joshua and it all just feels so right.

you’re melting in his arms and falling into his touch and enjoying every fucking second of it. your heart speeds up when his hands slide behind your back, wrapping around your body to pull you closer to him, pressed chest to chest.

he pulls away to kiss you again, and again, and again, and you decide you’d be content to be like this forever, standing in his office in the church building making out like you’re the only two people on earth. 

but finally his lips leave yours, and he takes a tiny step backwards, heaving out a shaky breath as he looks you in the eyes. “what are we gonna do now?”

your heart plummets, doubts racing through your mind. did he not like it? does he not like you? did you really just ruin everything? why did he stop? why did he ask that—

but all your questions are answered in an instant when he coughs and you look down, finally noticing the prominent bulge in his dress pants. oh. that.

when you look back up at him his cheeks are flushed bright red, and he immediately begins to apologize.

“shua,” you call out to him, repeating his name the way you know he likes. “joshua. don’t worry about it. it’s fine.”

in fact, you find it incredibly flattering, that just a few kisses and gentle touches could get him this worked up. maybe it really has been you all along.

with a surge of confidence, you step back towards him, wrapping your arms around him and leaning to kiss him. “are you busy today?” you murmur, your cheek brushing against his.

he shudders, hands automatically finding your waist and pushing your hips against his own. “no. are you?”

you sigh, kissing the corner of his mouth. “not anymore.”

“fuck,” he curses, his grip on your body tightening “you really want to…?” he asks, almost shyly, as if he’s in denial this is really happening.

“absolutely,” you say, and you’ve never meant anything more in your life.

in a second he’s got you shoved against his desk, sending papers flying to the floor as he lifts you by your ass to sit you down on top of it. your kisses turn rougher and needier, your hands grabbing at anything you can reach to ground yourself: his hair, his shoulders, his back.

finally he breaks free, dropping to his knees in front of the desk. “please, let me eat you out.”

you moan out loud, probably too loudly for the thin walls of the office. but the visual of him on his knees to do anything other than pray drives you mad, and you need more of him, desperately. “joshua, please.”

he pushes your skirt up your thighs, moving it out of his way so he can stare eye to eye with your pussy. you whimper and instinctively try to hide your face in embarrassment, but something tells you he wouldn’t like that, so you resist, keeping your hands firmly planted on the edge of the desk.

“fuck, you’re soaking,” he says, his voice broken. “you’re so perfect.”

his hands reach up to tug at the hem of your underwear, and he looks up at you, silently asking for permission to continue. you nod eagerly, lifting your hips off the desk so he can slide them off of you, revealing your glistening entrance.

he whines at the sight, pretty lips parted in shock? awe? as if he can’t wait to taste you. he pushes his face into your pussy, gently at first, but when you moan and bring your hand up to his hair he dives deeper.

the moment he attaches his mouth to your clit, you jump, gasping as you try to shut your legs around his head but his large hands keep you held open. his tongue explores every inch of you, moving back and forth, up and down, mapping out your cunt with his mouth. 

“fuck, never dreamed you’d taste so good,” he sighs against your pussy, leaning away to take a breath after what feels like forever.

your legs are shaking and your cunt is throbbing as you also try to catch your breath. you’re not used to being touched like this and you’re definitely not used to being touched by joshua. so many thoughts running through your head and not a single one of them coherent enough to put into words. all you can do is weakly whine out joshua’s name and tug on his hair, pleading for him to keep going. you need release, and you don’t want it from anyone but him.

he stands up, his pants wrinkled from kneeling on the floor but still tented with a bulge so uncomfortably large you feel dizzy just thinking about it. you don’t even know if he’s going to fuck you or even if he wants to, but god you want to see his cock so bad. too many restless nights spent thinking about it, and now you might finally have the chance to see it in front of your face.

your mouth waters at the thought, and you start to slide off the desk, but joshua stops you. “what are you…?”

you look up at him, eyes blown wide with lust and you don’t even attempt to hide your eagerness. “please let me suck your dick. joshua, please.”

he whines, running a hand through his hair. “god, i want that so bad, but… i don’t think i can last if you do, and i was really hoping to fuck you.”

you close your eyes and roll your head back, moaning at his vulgar confession. but he sighs, and he sounds almost defeated, and you look back at him quickly, afraid he’s suddenly changed his mind.

“i’m not—prepared,” he admits, and you tilt your head in confusion before it sinks in what he means.

“ah. don’t suppose you would have any condoms lying around, would you, mr. pastor’s assistant?” you ask playfully, and he shoots you a glare.

“brat,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear it, and your walls clench in response. “no, i don’t have any. not interested in anybody else, so… no reason to.” he looks like he has more to say, more serious things to say, but he keeps his mouth shut, his eyes searching your face nervously.

your stomach flips at his words, feeling your cheeks heating up. you hadn’t thought you would ever get this far, and especially not with him. because of the kind of school you were at, it wasn’t like the people here were doing the kind of things you’ve been doing—at least not publicly. even if you’d wanted to hook up with somebody (which you didn’t), everyone in your vicinity would shame you for even bringing it up. you may have experience with yourself, but anything with anyone else is completely new territory for you.

you fall silent, not sure how to continue the conversation as all your newfound confidence begins to crumble. what were you thinking? caught up in the heat of the moment, saying things you weren’t sure you meant. you were in love with him: that much you were sure of. but everything that comes after that is too new, too scary, at least for right now. you can barely even comprehend that he just went down on you, but you know you enjoyed it and honestly, you’d give anything for him to do it again. but there’s too much going on inside your head for you to even begin to process that right now.

he calls your name and you blink, looking back at him anxiously. “we… don’t have to. right now, or even at all,” he says gently. the tips of his ears are burning red but his voice is calm and steady.

“joshua, i want to,” you start, clasping your hands tightly together in your lap to give you something to focus on other than the way he’s watching you so intently. “but i– don’t know how.”

“neither do i, baby,” he says. the nickname makes you shiver; even though it’s not the first time he’s called you that, especially after the other night, you’re still not used to it. but somehow it’s comforting, and it makes you relax knowing that he’s still the same person you grew up with, the same person that knows almost everything about you. you’ve both changed so much, but deep down you haven’t changed at all.

he pauses when you don’t say anything back. “we’ll wait, then,” he says and wraps his arms around you, lightly at first but then squeezing when you don’t try to pull away. “we have all the time in the world. no need to rush.”

“we… do?” your voice is laced with uncertainty.

he smiles. “of course. i let you go once already, i’m not letting it happen again. never again.”

you turn your head away from him and hide your face, flustered by how sincere he sounds. he hums, and you can hear the pout in his tone so you fight your embarrassment and turn back towards him to ask the question that’s been weighing on your mind since you first saw him days ago. “this is gonna sound so stupid, but… shua, what are we?”

first you were childhood friends, you were best friends, and then you were nothing. right place, wrong time? and then you were… doing something on the phone together, whatever you could call that. and now you were just sitting on top of his desk, sweating from having almost had sex. how do you even begin to put a label on this?

“well, i’d like to be yours,” he says shyly, and just like that all your questions are answered with six small words. you realize it doesn’t matter what label you have; as long as you have him, that’s all that matters.

“yes,” you breathe, lifting your eyes to finally meet his and you see all the love in his eyes threatening to spill over.

he reaches up to brush a piece of your hair out of your face. “i’m just glad i finally have you back,” he says with a soft smile as he watches you. “we’ll go slow, we’ll wait— whatever you want. whatever it takes not to lose you again.”

you bury your face in his chest with a whine. you’re hiding again, but even the uncomfortable scratchiness of his dress shirt can’t pull you away from him.

“besides, i don’t want our first time together to be in my stupid little office,” he chuckles and holds you tighter against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head that makes your heart flutter. “you deserve better than that.”

you stay there for a long moment, hugging him like it's the last time you'll ever see him. but this time you know it won't be the last. it's the first, the first of hopefully many, many more.

when you feel like you've been standing there too long, you clear your throat and lean your head back to look at him. "so, um… now what?"

he pauses, those pretty lips turned up in a smile. "do you have plans for lunch?"

"no, i just had that study group you pulled me from. i'm free for the rest of the day."

his smile widens. "perfect. you still like grilled cheese, or did you grow out of that, too?"

you laugh, putting your chin on his shoulder as you hug him. "i haven't changed that much, shua."

after taking a while to collect yourselves (waiting for his erection to go back down so you can leave together without looking suspicious), you walk out of joshua’s office the happiest you've felt in years.

he'd wanted to hold your hand, too, but you were still anxious about anyone seeing you together that you'd refused him until you made it to his car. you were probably just being paranoid and no one would care about two responsible adults talking to each other, but all the time you'd spent hiding from your peers had put you on edge.

so, it wasn't until you were safely out of the church parking lot and in the driveway of his apartment complex that you let him touch you, kissing you over the cupholders with his hands gently holding your neck.

it took everything in you not to climb over the center console and sit on his lap in the driver's seat and kiss him as hard and as deeply as you really wanted, but you knew once you started you wouldn't be able to stop. and besides, he still didn't have any condoms. it didn't bother you either way, since you'd been taking birth control since high school to help with your periods, but if it was what he wanted you'd be more than fine with it.

you don't know what you'd been expecting the inside his apartment to look like; probably some tacky cross-stitch bible verses or a wooden cross hanging on the wall, but his apartment just looked like… a normal apartment. a very clean apartment, actually, though you weren't surprised. he'd always been a neat, organized kid, and it looked like that was one thing he hadn't grow out of.

you watch as he puts his keys on a hook by the door, following him into the kitchen and sitting at one of the chairs.

he grins at you as he opens his refrigerator, pulling out the ingredients for your lunch before taking out a pan.

"shua…" you interrupt him, standing up and walking towards him slowly. "you're not— really thinking about grilled cheese sandwiches right now, are you?"

he hums, eyes following your every movement as the pan sits cold and abandoned on the stove. "there are… other things on my mind, yeah."

"so why are you still trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches?"

by now you're close enough to stand toe to toe with him, and you're sure he can feel the heat radiating off your body when he wraps his hands around your waist, backing you against the kitchen counter. "because i wanna make you lunch. maybe i just wanna spoil my girl a little bit."

a shiver runs down your spine at the new name he calls you. never in a million years did you think this is where you'd end up.

"i think you have all the time in the world to spoil me later, joshua," you mumble, leaning in closer and closer until your lips touch.

in a flash he's hoisting you up and sitting you on the counter. his mouth never leaves yours as you slide your legs around his hips to drag him closer, kisses growing deeper and more desperate now that you can finally be alone together.

his hands slide down your body, tugging at the hem of your shirt and only breaking apart for a second to slide it over your head before his lips are crashing against yours again. 

your hands find his hips, experimentally tugging on his belt to see his reaction. immediately he pulls away from you, 

cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. "sweetheart, i still don't have any condoms. if you really want to now, then we gotta run to the store first."

“i’m on the pill,” you burst out, hoping he gets the message. maybe he has some other reason for wanting to, but you're too impatient to wait for who knows how long it'll take to go to the store, and you don't think you'll be able to keep your hands off him for that long. you don't think you'll be able to keep your hands off of him for even a few seconds.

his face goes blank as he processes your words, struggling to understand if you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying. “you’d let me…?”

you grab onto his arms, a desperate attempt to pull him closer, to feel more of him. “raw, yes, joshua. just—please, i need you,” you beg him, cunt throbbing with neglect as you wait for him to answer. 

he buries his face in your shoulder with a groan, gripping his hands underneath your thighs and sliding you off the counter.

with a shriek you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he starts to walk out of the kitchen carrying you. "joshua! what the hell are you doing?"

his face is still pressed against your shoulder, and you can feel his lips tickling your bare skin as he speaks. "i'll fuck you on my kitchen counter any day of the week, baby, but i want to have you for the first time in my bed, please?"

his voice is low and whiny, just as desperate for you as you are for him and it makes you moan with excitement. 

he finds his way into his room, stumbling a little when he accidentally runs you into the wall instead of through the doorway, but you just giggle and kiss him harder until he finally drops you on his bed, immediately unbuttoning his shirt.

you run your hands along his chest as he leans over you, feeling the toned muscle that feels almost wrong to be seeing. his physical changes are much more obvious to you now that he's like this, and you know the image will fuel your fantasies for weeks.

your hands move to his belt again and this time he allows it, letting you unbuckle it and toss it away before slowly lowering the zipper. he's already hard again, and your heart races when you put a little bit of pressure on the seam and he lets out a guttural groan in response.

his arms flex as he reaches down to slide your skirt off, and you help him and kick the fabric away, leaving both of you in nothing but your underwear.

joshua pauses, letting his gaze wander your body as you look away shyly. he hums and you look back at him in confusion. "don't hide from me, sweetheart, please," he says, but it comes out more like a whine; not like he's asking, but like he's begging. it's honestly the hottest thing you've ever heard, and even with your nerves he makes it hard to resist.

"dreamt about this for fucking years. years," he moans as he leans over to kiss your chest, reaching behind your body to undo your bra and let it fall away. you whimper when he brings his hands up to cup your breasts, wrapping his mouth around one of your nipples as he starts to slowly grind against your clothed pussy. you can already feel yourself soaking through your panties, and you're sure he can feel it, too.

his hands are like nothing you've ever felt, and you roll your head back against his pillows, arching into him as he massages your breasts with his large hands. you'd noticed them before, but you hadn't realized just how big they were until they were on top of you and made your body seem almost tiny beneath his massive palms.

"shua…" you breathe, tentative hands reaching up to touch his shoulders.

he looks up at you, mouth covered in spit. "yes, angel?"

you whimper at the nickname. no angel you'd ever learned about in sunday school had acted like you are right now, begging a man to fuck you. and on top of that it was before marriage, too; surely if there was a god they would be extremely disappointed in you. but right now you didn't care if the entire universe was disappointed in you, as long as joshua hong wasn't.

it takes you a few more seconds to build up your courage, but finally you open your mouth and tell him, "joshua, please— fuck me."

he slides forward to kiss you again, before sitting back and repositioning himself between your legs. "anything you want, sweetheart."

he lines his cock up at your entrance, and just before you think he's about to push into you, he looks up at you instead. 

"i love you, so much," he says, and you have to fight the urge to hide your face as you grin and giggle like a fucking schoolgirl; like the past version of you would have, if she'd had any sense and figured everything out sooner.

and, like always, he asks, "ready?", and you nod, and it's better than you could've ever imagined.

the whines that leave his mouth drive you close to the edge already as he begins to thrust into you, slowly, gently, just a little bit at a time but it still leaves you gasping from his size.

he keeps moving at a snail's pace until you reach up, fumbling to grab at his bicep as tears nearly spill out of your eyes and beg him, "joshua, more, please."

he leans over you, pressing his body flat against yours as he starts to rock his hips faster, and you cry out from so much pleasure and so much emotion hitting all at once.

"wanted you so fucking bad, for so long, and now you're finally here," he whispers, his thrusts never faltering despite how close in proximity he is to your face.

you whine as your hands claw at his back, digging in as you struggle to hold on and he curses again, pushing into you harder.

"you said i was better than you imagined," he groans, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. "but you're even better than i imagined. you're a fucking angel, so fucking beautiful."

you gasp his name, falling into your orgasm from his words alone as you clench impossibly tight around him. you always thought of him as the nice kid, the rule follower, but here he is, fucking you through the hardest orgasm of your life and saying such filthy things in between praises and compliments.

"jo-oshua, please!" is all you can manage, still struggling to recover before he crests into his own high with a whimper. his eyes scrunch up as he releases inside you, eyelashes fluttering and sweat dripping down his temples, and you think it's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen. 

a constant stream of curses fall from his lips and you swallow them with yours, kissing him as if you're afraid he might disappear into thin air if you don't hold onto him tight enough.

his breaths are shallow when his mouth falls away from you, resting his forehead on your shoulder with a long exhale.

"god…" he starts, then stops and laughs, and you have to tug on his hair to make him face you again.

"what are you laughing at?" you say, cheeks growing hot when he looks at you with droopy, hooded eyes and a lopsided smile.

"nothing," he laughs. "just god. what a funny word."

"and why is that, baby?" you say as you try to hold back a smile, testing out the nickname.

he grins. "because it gave me you. or maybe it didn't. who knows?"

you finally laugh along with him, remembering what he'd said to you on the phone that feels like years ago. "don’t you know it’s a sin to take the lord’s name in vain, sweetheart?”

the church is humming with activity as you make your way to the front pew, carrying two donuts in your hand. people greet you as they mingle about the hall, talking and laughing. some wave excitedly when they see you, others simply smile and offer their hand for you to shake with a friendly “good morning and god bless!”

being a pastor’s wife isn’t something you ever imagined yourself doing, but then again, a lot of things in your life you never imagined doing. you never imagined seeing joshua again, and you never imagined marrying him, either. you certainly didn’t imagine taking over your father-in-law’s church when he retired and decided it was time for joshua to take his place as head of the church. you always knew he would someday, whether he wanted to or not, but you’d be happy to spend the rest of your life by his side no matter where he was or what job he had.

you’d been almost nervous when you decided it was finally time to tell your parents you had been seeing each other, but to your surprise they had been overjoyed at the news. both his family and yours were “just so glad when it happened to be you!”, saying things like “we’d always known it would happen, back since you were children!”, and “so when are we going to get some beautiful little grandchildren to take to sunday school!”

it had been five long and happy years since that very first phone call, and every minute you spend with joshua has been the best of your life.

you walk up the steps to the stage where your husband is waiting, flipping through his notes for the morning’s sermon. you hand him his donut with a grin, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. he smirks at you, imperceptible to everyone else but you can tell what it truly means.

everybody in the congregation always talks you’re the perfect example of a happy, god-loving couple. such nice looking people, so well put together. but behind closed doors, they’d be horrified by the things you say and do together. wolf in sheep’s clothing, as is your husband’s favorite parable to preach.

it’s not the life you imagined, but it’s perfect to you and him.

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[morganski-19]

part 1, part 2, part 3

Wayne stays at the hospital longer than he should. Rubbing his fingers along Eddie’s pick necklace like a rosary. Hoping that if he just prays hard enough, if his voice can be heard, Eddie will wake up. 

The prognosis isn’t great. Each day that passes marks another day where his chances of waking up get lower. Even though many people have woken up from medically induced comas much later than this. According to the doctors. According to the pamphlets given to him at the start of all of this shit. But those are just words. Words he doesn’t believe fully. 

Six days with no changes. No improvement. Just a tube to make sure he’s breathing regularly and an IV to make sure he doesn’t die of dehydration or starvation. The doctors say that his brain still shows activity, and his heart hasn’t missed a beat since he was last revived. Eddie’s alive, but just how much?

How much longer will Wayne sit in this agony waiting for him to wake up? Or how long until the string of hope just ends six feet under? 

Religion was something that Wayne dealt with sporadically. He was raised Catholic, sort of still is a practicing Catholic. Goes to church when he isn’t too tired, still prays, and goes to confession sometimes. Just didn’t always make sense. But now, it’s all he’s got. 

Eddie’s in God’s hands now. Whether that’s the God in the Bible, or some other deity of the many other religions in the world, Wayne doesn’t care anymore. As long as he’s heard, and this being knows his boy is good. That he was taken far too soon. 

Eddie liked to say there was nothing much for him past high school. That he was going to run out of town as soon as he could and fight to make something of himself. Be a struggling musician, find odd jobs. Anything to keep him out of the monotony of a corporate job. Get him away from the conservative views and stuffiness of this town. Somehow get big enough to prove them all that he wasn’t a failure. Or never come back to prove them all right. 

It would be a sad day when Eddie finally left for good. The trailer would seem empty without the life that Eddie brought. The peace and quiet that Wayne always asked for not bringing any peace because it was too damn quiet. He knew this now because it’s what’s keeping him here each day. 

The beeping of the heart monitor was like the heart beating in his chest. Some noise came from Eddie to prove that he was alive. Almost like he was acting himself again. The motel room he was staying in was too quiet. No music down the hall, no clanking around the kitchen, no yelling at the TV or a book. Just the occasional noise if there were neighbors and people driving to the hospital. It was all the wrong noise, though. 

“Excuse me,” a nurse says as she enters the room. “Visiting hours are over, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Wayne nods, getting up from his chair. Back screaming as it pops itself back into place. It’s his day off, or night off tonight, so he can actually sleep. If it ever comes to him. Might be one of those nights where the ceiling and him have a staring contest. He’s been close, but never quite won one of those yet. 

The Chief’s car sits outside of the motel as Wayne pulls up. It’s only been a day since they spoke last, there can’t be that many updates. Wayne can’t think of any other reason he’s here. 

Wayne invites him into the motel room, the urge to offer him a drink screaming at him, but he has none to give. Hospitality doesn’t come with the room fees. 

“I’m guessing there’s something new, that’s why you're here.”

“Not necessarily. I’m still trying, but until the one guy I normally negotiate with comes out of hiding, that’s when the real talking happens.”

Wayne sits down on one of the chairs, too tired to keep standing. “Why’re you here then?”

“To check on you. I know the hospital life well. It’s no picnic, especially if you’re doing it alone.” He pulls another one of the chairs over to sit down. 

There’s no lie in that. “I’m about as good as anyone could think.”

The Chief pulls two beers out from under his coat, handing one to Wayne. He takes it faster than any beer he has in his life. Pulling out his pocket knife to take off the cap. 

“How long till that friend of yours comes out of hiding?”

Hopper shrugs. “Don’t know. Sent him a few threatening letters, and he still owes me one, so we’ll see. If things were better here, I’d go hunt the man down myself.”

Wayne nods. The company’s nice, he can’t lie. Sitting in solidarity with someone who knows what you’ve been through. Making sure nothing’s going worse than it already is. Like a sponsor through the hospital proceedings. 

When the sun finally finishes setting, the chief excuses himself. Not before handing Wayne a slip of paper with his number on it, just in case anything happens. 

The more days go by, the more Wayne is reminded that he’s not alone in this. Not fighting this battle alone. People believe him, more than just kids. People with influence. It shows in how people keep coming in and out of the hospital room. Saying how they know he’s innocent. That he’s guilty of some things, but not this. 

It makes him think back to that afternoon, snapping at the Harrington kid. It’s so easy to be angry at people who are better off, in so many ways, that vision gets blinded. Seeing someone who went through something similar to Eddie get out, and be conscious while his boy is still asleep. Probably will never have to worry about hospital bills and medical debt. It makes him angry. 

Even if the kid doesn’t deserve it. Wayne has no clue who this kid is and how he knows Eddie. Why he claims to have been there in the week Eddie was missing. What it all means. It doesn’t make any sense. None at all. 

But then the next morning when he’s getting coffee, there’s the kid again coming in beside Dustin. Talking to someone at the front desk before heading down the hall. Right to the elevator, and up to the floor Eddie’s on. 

Wayne heads back to the room, ready to kick him out again or apologize. He’s not sure yet. But, the room is empty. Steve is instead down the hall, talking to Susan Mayfield. Looking serious as hell, and halfway ready to cry. 

Another kid comes out of the room, one who’s stopped by a few times to check on Eddie. Lucas, Wayne thinks is his name. Remembers it only because Eddie had ranted a few times about some kid named Lucas trying to be on both the basketball team and part of the Dragons club. 

The kid says something to Steve before he’s being wrapped in a hug and starts crying. Steve just holding him as this kid breaks down. Presumably about the person behind those doors. Wayne assumes it’s probably Susan’s kid. Remembers hearing that she was in bad shape. Hopefully, that didn’t get any worse. 

Wayne returns to his room, not wanting to intrude. A nurse comes in a while later and asks him to step out for a bit. 

“What for?”

“Eddie’s breathing has improved over the last twenty-four hours. The doctor came in to check on him early this morning, and said that if by noon it was the same, the breathing tube could come out.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Wayne’s hesitant to believe anything these days. 

The nurse nods. “As long as his oxygen levels stay, well level, then yes. It means that his body is well on the way to recovery.”

Wayne nods, taking his coffee to the waiting room. There, he just waits.

Next part

Note: The next part of this will get a bit interesting. I've been having ideas for a while now of making this duel POV between Wayne and someone else, maybe Steve. Mainly because I keep thinking of conversations that would happen, but Wayne would be nowhere to witness it. But I think what this fic needs is a POV not directly in the main relationship that will be happening, to keep it an outsider POV fic. So I'm thinking that the second POV would be from either Robin or Dustin. I'm currently deciding between the two so let me know what you think. I'm also going to start posting this to ao3, and will provide the link to that once I think of a title. I will continue to post the smaller parts here on tumblr, and you will not be missing out on any of the story if you only follow it on here. For now all of the parts will also have the tag #morgan's wayne POV. If that changes, as it probably will since this is no longer just a wayne POV fic, I will let you know. Also, Max is alive, they just got a heavy diagnosis that you will learn of later.

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar, @tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda, @fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77, @here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium, @resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly, @gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight, @devondepresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug, @greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake, @morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs

[wifelinkmtg]

There's "spaghetti western" and then there's whatever the hell this Chef Boyardee shit is

Hello! and welcome back to Wifelink. We're talking about Outlaws of Thunder Junction today, Magic's second product in a row set in a version of Nevada, and let me tell you something: I am not impressed. The mechanics are uninspired, the setting is undercooked, the story is overstuffed, and to top it all off the whole thing smacks of settler-colonialism. AND they yassified Vraska, the monsters!

WE WILL GET TO THE HOT WOMEN, BELIEVE YOU ME, BUT FIRST I AM GOING TO COMPLAIN SOMEWHAT, AS IS MY RIGHT AS AN AMERICAN, AS A HUMAN BEING, AND AS A GAMER

The mechanics we've discussed elsewhere, and I will skim over the main storyline except to say that very few of this Big Villain Heist Team-Up gets enough spotlight to justify their inclusion here beyond getting recognizable names on cards, and that Rakdos' presence on the plane alone ought to be an apocalyptic calamity. I appreciate Jace & Vraska going full blackpilled accelerationist, stealing a baby, and aiming to destroy the multiverse & start over (a novel hybrid of Raising Arizona and Doctor Strangelove,) but I also know, sure as the sun rises, that whatever happens with their villain arc will be a underwhelming let-down.

What I actually want to complain about, though, is the setting. Thunder Junction ain't real, and I don't mean it's fictional, I mean it's plywood facades on a backlot. It's the set for a cowboy film. You feel me? This ain't a plane, it's a god damned sound stage.

Lemme go over the facts: we know Thunder Junction has been settled for a bit over a year. A year! - and yet there's multiple towns, multiple railways, and an honest-to-god metropolis. Less than two years and we already have ghost towns! This is not the product of a bunch of people on various planes all individually deciding to seek a new life in the off-world colonies. All of this represents a staggering quantity of people, material, wealth, and labor, being moved between planes, directed and organized - but by whom? For what reason? How, even? The story is totally uninterested in these questions.

One of the few silver linings to the way the Phyrexian invasion storyline ended was that the Omenpaths had a lot of interesting potential! Different planes would come into direct contact with each other for the first time ever! Different technologies, different philosophies and religions, different kinds of magic colliding, coming into conflict, adapting and adjusting to each other. And after a couple of sets where the interplanar contact was limited to one or two particularly adventurous individuals, we finally get to see what interplanar contact at scale looks like here in Thunder Junction... and it just looks like a John Wayne flick. Did people not bring their culture with them? Is there a big rack of hats and boots and dusters right where people step off the Omenpath? Shuck off those old Ravnican rags, kid, get changed. You'll spoil the aesthetic. I mean, it's baffling.

Luxurious Locomotive (art by Leon Tukker). This is one of the few man-made parts of this plane that I can look at and know where it came from: this is a Kaladeshi design. More of this sort of thing would have made Thunder Junction feel more like a real place and less like a Sergio Leone joint.

There's a side story, No Tells, by Isaac Fellman, which I quite like actually: it's about guilt and betrayal and the inevitable regrets of having moved into a queer housing co-op, and one of the things that makes it great is that we know where Yuma came from (New Capenna), we know why he left (the limitations of "be gay do crimes" as praxis under capitalism), and we know what he brought to Thunder Junction with him (cocktails, pool tables, and his co-op's emergency funds). Fellman has written nothing else for Wizards and doesn't play Magic, and even so he's done more to make Thunder Junction feel like a real place situated in a real history than the rest of the story team combined - which goes to show, one, that we should only let trans people write magic story for the next decade or so, and two, that what I'm asking for in terms of worldbuilding is not unattainable, or even that difficult.

And all of this ties into the colonialism, right? Thunder Junction is being colonized, and asking questions about who benefits, who's sponsoring this breakneck settlement of the plane, what they're after and so forth would require the story to take a good hard look at the process of colonization itself, and Wizards is flatly unwilling to engage with anything that thorny in their products. So, just as Ixalan involved a limp-wristed slant reenactment of the Spanish conquest of the Americas - but it's fine because they're the bad guys and they're technically not even trying to colonize Ixalan and they don't win anyway so no one gets hurt! - Thunder Junction is attempting to present a Disneyland version of Western colonialism. Untamed wilderness! Bringing civilization to uninhabited deserts! How cool and heroic these hard frontiersmen and -women are! I'm told they brought in Navajo cultural consultants for the Atiin, a fantasy equivalent, and I hope those folks were well compensated! The Atiin seem cool, and the one Atiin character we spend any time with is well-written, but the Atiin are not indigenous to Thunder Junction. They're not being colonized. And if there weren't anybody being colonized, I'd probably still dislike the colonial vision of a wild land inhabited only by animals, just waiting for us to shape it to our will with railways and violence, but there is in fact a native race of sapients on Thunder Junction, and these cactus folk get no voice in the story, so if they have some kind of opinion on the rapid colonization of their home and the clear-cutting of their cactus forests, we don't get to hear about it.

Prickly Pair (art by Brian Valeza) Too much of the extremely-limited presence Thunder Junction's only indigenous sapients have on the cards is devoted to cactus-based puns like this one, which is pretty distasteful given, you know, the colonialism.

I'm talking about colonialism not because I think that replicating colonial myths in fantasy fiction is an unethical thing to do - although it is - but because you can see, right, that Thunder Junction's lack of verisimilitude is intertwined with the colonial vision of the world at play here, yeah? The story wants to have cool cowboy shootouts and train robberies and it does not want its cowboy fantasy to be complicated by uncomfortable realities, so it has to avoid all of the basic worldbuilding questions that would tell us who the colonization benefits and how they're profiting off the plane, and in the end we're left with nothing but an empty aesthetic, like a duster hanging off a scarecrow, blowing in the wind.

ANYWAY SO WOMEN

To be honest, under the circumstances I'm not really feeling like giving the fine women of Thunder Junction my usual more elaborate treatment, so we're going to lightning-round this shit, which is at least thematic.

Blood Hustler (art by Anna Pavleeva)

Vampire MILF.

Rattleback Apothecary (art by Loïc Canavaggia)

Snake MILF.

Wrangler of the Damned (art by Michal Ivan)

Cis lesbian haircut, good with a rope.

Obeka, Splitter of Seconds (art by Ryan Pancoast)

BIG

[raphael-angele]

Part 3 of:

Questions I have for PJO readers so I can verify if my headcanons have some accuracy in them:

Sorry. I'm having a religious identity crisis right now.

Did Bianca and Nico ever show sign of being Catholic/Christian?

There are a few things I know about what happened. I know that they moved from Italy to America to get away from the war. I know Hades was present in their lives for some time. I know that he offered Maria to keep them in the Underworld despite Persephone. I know how Maria died. I know they drank from the Lethe to forget what happened before they lived in the hotel.

I ask this question because I headcanon Bianca to be nonchalant about a lot of things.

I know that they were raised Christian because at the time, religion was a big deal. And I headcanon that Maria was a very religious woman and taught her children about religious teachings.

When Maria died and they were basically abandoned, Bianca questioned her faith in God and why bad things were happening to them. She ended up losing her faith and started to see things as if they weren't a big deal at all. Like she couldn't give less of a fuck about it if it didn't impact the whole of humanity.

Let's say that for some reason her faith didn't wash away when she drank from the Lethe.

If she lived, I think she would have refused to believe that their father was a God because then her suspicions would be true that everything she's been taught about God would have been a lie. Because instead of the loving God described to her, this God of a father they have abandoned them. She refused to believe that it was "for their safety" because she thinks that if their father really wanted them safe, he would have thought of another way.

"Bianca, please." Hades begged but Bianca turned her back and refused to listen. "I wanted to take you. I really did. But your mother..." his voice cracked at the thought of Maria di Angelo. "She wanted you to live up there. She wanted you to be able to live a normal life." he explained. "When she died, I couldn't risk you and your brother dying as well"

"So you left?" Bianca faced the God. "You thought it would be best to just drop us off to a hotel like you could just hand us over to someone else to take care of?! No one was even looking after us there! I had to look after Nico. I had to RAISE Nico to make sure he was healthy, and happy, and that he didn't feel alone!"

Hades looked at his daughter as tears brimmed her eyes, threatening to roll down her cheeks. "You call yourself a God when a God is supposed to look after you, and guide you, and love you!" She yelled "WHERE WERE YOU?"

"Bianca, I left you at that Hotel because it was the only place where I knew your safety would be guaranteed. Zeus wouldn't have been able to find you there, you'd be safe, and you'd be well taken care of. I couldn't bring you to the Underworld because it's not what your mother would have wanted."

"What she would have wanted was to have you raise us"

"I couldn't." Hades cried. "I couldn't have looked after you here in the Underworld. You would've been unhappy, and lonely, and depraved. You wouldn't have wanted it" he said. "This" he gestured to all around him. "This is Hell. This is what your mother was afraid where you'd end up. And she was right about how terrible it is and how terrible it would have been if you stayed here."

Bianca stared her father right in the eyes just as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Then what difference would it have made?"

[wszczebrzyszynie]

your space mining au makes me insane! I love it so much!!!!!

question: what is the difference between an earthian and a spacian? if the only alien life is skulk?

this might be a silly question/has already been answered so if so sorry

not a silly question at all! a very good one in fact

There are no biological differences between people born on Earth and people born in space; frankly, its often impossible to tell by just looking at someone. The main difference is cultural - Earth is the mother planet of all humanity, and despite its sorry state its still just that. People on Earth kept their culture in a way only Earth really can; they all have different customs, languages, religions that are still shaping that world, even if its nothing like it was hundreds of years before. This is quite a contrast to space as a whole - while it was colonized by different countries from Earth, which definitely left an impact on the universe (thats kind of the main thing of this setting), it grew past that. Space is progessing at a rapid pace, and Earth is being left behind. Spacians use different languages; universe is a big place, and even its divided parts between former Earthian and now Spacian powers are too big to grasp, often being a mix of different former Earthian cultures, so the languages were... hm, standardised, construced by mixing different ones into one (which is just space esperanto, or if you want to be more specific, space interslavic, i guess). The easiest way to tell an Earthian apart from a Spacian is by how they speak. Earthians tend to have an accent. Thats how Martyn and Jimmy recognise each other. Because of that, as well as the way Earthians are raised (very community-centered, children being raised together by adults in their settlement, very very social, going far beyond biological families), they tend to gravitate towards each other. There is the idea of earthian support or earthian trust, which is why Martyn manages to convince Jimmy to go with him so easily. Spacians dont really have a reason to do that. Space itself is way more progress focused, and people just... live differently there. There isnt exactly... a discrimination campain against Earthians as a whole? Which is important. Different people have different... opinions about space and about Earth but there isnt a govnerment fueled giant wave of new-space xenophobia or anything. The tensions were high durning the wars (which is when the Earthian terrorist thing that Pearl, Martyn and Grian were a part of happened) but since then a lot has changed. A lot of worldbuilding in that regard is vague on purpose

[dreamersbcll]

Chinese Satellite

instead i look at the sky and feel nothing

1/4 - inspired by this

——————————————————————————

Tara didn’t need anybody’s help. It was just her, the vacant bodies beside her, and an empty echo that made its home in her head. Over and over again. Repeat until death.

She wasn’t always like this. Cynical. Cold. Careful. Withdrawn. There was once a sweet little girl inside her, one who lived and breathed for family, bedtime stories, and sleepovers with her friends.

There wasn’t a particular moment where Tara realized that everything had changed— that everything wasn’t exactly what it seemed. She was a good girl, obedient, even to a fault. All she wanted to do was please her family and be just like her big sister.

Sam was an excellent big sister. She made Tara dinner every night and kissed Tara’s face all over. Nothing was better than the ages of five and ten, innocent to the world around them. Mothers could be good. Fathers could stay. Everything was going to be alright.

But around Tara’s sixth birthday, she suddenly understood and grew a conscience. Her father wasn’t always there, and Mami wasn’t all that nice. She understood why Sam had her listen to music on her iPod at night and why she never spoke to her father until he spoke to her.

The most confusing part was how everything was smoothed over, a rug over a million little toys. The Carpenters never spoke of their irregularities, their lack of proper family. They barely talked to each other in kind language, as the house was divided into three groups: the father, the mother, and the prodigal daughters. Tara didn’t understand why they weren’t the parents she thought she knew. She also didn’t understand why they didn’t talk about it.

Yet the Carpenter family was good at doing one thing together, and that was going to church. They went to church on Sunday, and the girls went to bible study every Wednesday.

There were so many rules. So many hymns. So many confusing messages. Tara was overwhelmed each time she crossed the threshold, her body tensing and her breathing growing ragged.

Somehow, Sam could see Tara’s cowardice and her fears, so her big sister took care of her. The two learned how to talk to God, how to pray, and how to listen for the voice that they yearned to receive.

Together, never alone. Two sets of bony knees hit the wooden floor, two sets of elbows pressed against unforgiving pews. Two heads bowed in unison, and two mouths moved quietly to words they hoped would save them one day.

Soon enough, Tara knows the rules inside and out. She must keep her head bowed and let the stiffness of her body in prayer become a permanent fixture in her body and mind. Eyes averted, preferably closed, but at least turned away from God’s sight. She wasn’t worthy of his glance.

However, it was the last part of prayers she was awful at. No matter how hard she tried, it always ended in numerous Hail Marys and lashings from her mother, all for the sake of correcting Tara’s sinful behavior. God wanted her arms up, hands grazing the heavens, close enough to touch but never meant to be touched.

Tara thought that was ridiculous. She knew better. It was all about making sure God knew that she was raising everything in her life up to God, letting him know that her piggy bank, her teddy bears, and even Sam were all offerings of surrender to God. She raised her hands to God, hoping he would reach down and touch her, even bless her sinful skin.

It didn’t make sense. She can’t touch God.

She’s not sure she would, even if she could.

But she couldn’t deny the hold that religion had on her. The comfort and safety of something that would always be there, even when Tara turned her back on it. Nobody would ever stay with her like religion had, as her father soon left two years later, taking Sam’s heart with him. She soon realized that her mother was never her friend, and she couldn’t depend on her comfort once Sam decided that Tara couldn’t worship her anymore.

Religion would always have her. God would always be there. Or so she thought.

God, to her, was Sam. It was the way Sam smiled at Tara when she did something right. Or how her big sister’s hands could soothe Tara’s worries and fears with the touch of a hand. God shined through Sam and bathed Tara in light and unconditional love. Sam loved her the way God was promised to love her— even though he never could rival her big sister’s love.

And then Sam leaves in the middle of the night, vanishing into the unforgiving darkness she would never be able to fight through.

Tara’s suddenly alone, no one else around her to care for her or love her.

Her Mother tried to reason with Tara, and tried to force her to understand that Sam’s departure was actually a blessing in disguise.

Christina would find Tara in the dead of night, staring out the window to a starless sky, trying to find her light. Her mother would wrap a hand around Tara’s shoulder, nails digging into the skin that she made.

“You don’t need your sister anymore. She is a sinner, and sinners choose their destiny. Do not follow her down the devil’s path. That only leads to pain and destruction,” she whispered, her mouth grazing the edge of Tara’s ear, forcing goosebumps to grow down her body.

“Samantha made her choice, mija. It’s time for you to choose now: God or the Devil. You know what the Devil wants. You know where he lives. Don’t be stupid. Ve con Dios.”

Tara tries to ignore her mother’s relentless demands and efforts to force her down the path she lived. She knows that God isn’t real because why would someone like that strip Sam away from her? Why would God take away someone that Tara believed in more than him?

The answer was clear. God wasn’t there. The Devil wasn’t real.

But damn it to hell, she would be lying if she said she didn’t pray anymore.

God ripped it all from her hands, all her hopes, dreams, and love, and swore it was all gone. She only had him now, and she had to trust in him if she ever wanted to feel loved again. Nobody else would ever love her unconditionally as he did. Tara had to give in. It was all she had left.

God ripped out all she had just to say that he had won.

God won.

But she gave him all.

And it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Religion was futile. It was an echo. Nobody was there. Nobody was going to save her. Why bother? Why pray for her sister to return when Sam left her just like God did?

Yet, Tara still finds herself at the mercy of the book and a chain of heads dangling from her hands.

She knows, and she knows well, where this path leads her. An echo in her head, words falling on ears that were never there. Always the disciple, never the divine. Always the believer, never the chosen.

And yet, she still sank to her knees and lowered her head, signing her fate away to someone who wasn’t listening.

[electrospherevaults]

A Dance With My Clone

[Find other stories from the 2024 Friday Writing Challenge here]

Cloning had recently been defined as an illegal theft of the soul. Not unexpected an outcome, really; ephemeral cloning lacked the charm to hold imperfections – they thought of these bodies made of flesh and marrow and blood as cheaper machines, and thusly they were stuck in a valley of uncanny gestures and stiffer movements. They were automatons, the same ones that would collapse when ordered to conduct an orchestra when all they were programmed for was to shove coal into a steam engine – except they breathed.

She understood that flesh and blood held more than that, however. Sure, it was true that the technology always operated under a veneer of grime and slime, a grey morality as she called it, through which bad men got away with doing worse things than they would be normally allowed to do. And if you proved you enacted against a clone and the original person was unharmed, was the crime still of the same significance? It was no surprise that so many parts of the known galaxy had long enacted such strict laws against the practice.

But she was lonely. An only child, a single heiress to the House of Fern – one of the oldest known names in the galaxy – and her daddy, whom she had loved very much, passed away suddenly in his sleep many years ago. More debts remained from him than friends, and thusly young Amelia Fern had to get crafty quickly.

And the rest, as they say, was history. She performed the first cloning, willingly, and she performed the first public appearance with her own clone. They danced under the moonlight together, two droplets of water identical to each other, observed by both top scientists and top men the entire night. A reproduction so perfect had never been achieved before.

A reproduction.

The word held importance. To create a copy of yourself is considered anathema in most major religions, but Amelia Fern argued that a reproduction held merit. She reasoned that without reproductions many pieces of art would have been lost to history, to rot and decay, and we would have forgotten what made us who we are. She saw her clone in the mirror and saw not just another being of flesh and creation, but an art form perfected. She saw herself perfected. And she saw not just friends and family, but company for the rest of her life, now stretching beyond her wildest imaginations.

And now her empire was to crumble in one swift signage, one flick of the wrist done kilometers away.

Sir Johnsen knocked on her door. He knew Amelia had stopped consuming the news through modern means, and relied more on others to relay them to her. The House of Fern had re-established itself as an untouchable modern bastion of progress and art. Why would the commoners’ law affect her again now? Johnsen rang the doorbell and knocked with more force.

She finally opened the door. Her slim cheeks and her red bow as familiar as ever.

“Amelia, I-”

“Mistress Fern is awaiting you in the lounge, Sir Johnsen.”

“Ah,” Johnsen responded, recognizing Amie the maid. A grave mistake. He left her his coat and his hat, and proceeded further inside the mansion. He did not need to address the help Amelia had cloned out of herself to help around the manor. The last heir of the House of Fern instead concerned herself with more pressing manners, such as lounging by the sofa, feet on the pillow next to her, sipping on a singular glass of wine from the second bottle she had just ordered Amie to open for her. She raised her glass and welcomed him with a big courteous smile. He relaxed a bit.

“I heard about the ruling,” he said, tone almost hushed, feeling as if he was being watched. “I thought I would pass by and check on you.”

“You need not to worry, dear,” Amelia responded. “Business will keep booming.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She brought the glass to her lips, a few drops spilling on her dress below. Johnsen, ever the pretend-gentleman he thought himself to be, turned his gaze away. She smirked once she was done. “You would be surprised by how many senators and lords still seek a body. Some even choose to have a body double even! Imagine that depravity, dear Johnsen!”

“I see…” he said hesitantly, taking a look around. He coughed, and he then saw Amelia right in front of him, offering him her glass, with the lipstick still printed on its lip. He brought it closer. The wine had a sharp taste, and her smile was even sharper, laughing the bitter aftertaste of those mushed grapes with joy.

“Don’t forget, my dear,” Amelia said, as she poured herself another glass, “that we made this business together. You were the last one that stayed loyal to my ailing father, may the gods rest his soul, and it was also your idea to pursue this trade.” He turned around, but she only smirked. “I am not complaining! A lady from one of the most esteemed houses of these lands does give a lot of credence – and I do love my sisters running about and helping me around my manor.”

She turned to look towards the maid, the one who had answered him at the door. She offered a gentle smile back to her mistress. He could only feel ambivalence about the creature; she was not Amelia, no matter how much she dressed them like her. In the end, he could only let out a weary sigh. “I am glad you are taking all this in much better humour than I am, because frankly…”

He stopped and turned around. Only a slight giggle followed after him. “Always the pessimist,” she retorted with some slight indignation and scorn in her voice. Gauloiserie wine was not for those faint of heart, or stomach – and gods knew if she has had anything to eat all day. “How about we change the subject…”

Johnsen turned to look at her. Music started playing. Eulenlieder. He winced.

“Would you like to dance?”

“I will see you in the morning, Amelia, after you’ve sobered up.”

He walked out the door after grabbing his coat in a hurry. And she laughed as she awaited his frustrated arrival in the morning. But until then, the night was young, and the bottle still half-full. “Amie,��� Amelia dictated, leaving her glass on the floor as the music picked up. “Dance with me.”

Amie, who up until this day had never refused a call from the mistress she shared a face with, complied. She opened her arms, assuming the position, and took on the lead. Perfectly practiced, exceedingly well performed. A step left, a nudge right, a swing and pirouette – the former ballerina knew these rhythms well. She knew the rhythm her mistress dictated. It was said that Eulenlieder had been their mother’s favourite, the one she danced on her wedding day. This was the same dance that made her and Amelia famous too; a rhythm they knew by soul, through beating heart to beating heart, exercised out in the open on the ballroom of the Fern Mansion that fateful night all those years ago. She was not the Amie that danced with Amelia; she couldn’t have been. But Amelia did not mind. She preferred it that way, some might say. Not before long, they settled into their rhythm, dancing together as they had danced hundreds of thousands of times before. Amelia, the daze from her wine slowly replaced by the comfort of her perfume adorned by the maid that she made in her own image, laughed gently.

“You remember our first dance, my dear Amie? You remember how we swooned them together, just you and me?” She allowed herself to fall, to be caught by her hands. Amie never let her down. She never let her fall. She never let her go. She laughed, charmed as she hung in mid-air, her maid holding her so delicately and so assuredly. She pulled her back up, and they continued their slow dancing. The song was coming to an end. “You were, by far, my finest creation, my dear,” she said as she rested her head on her shoulder. Amie let her. She was shaking, feeling her breathing against her neck, the delicate hands they shared still intertwined. Her mistress closed her eyes. She instead turned her gaze away, out towards the glass window. She saw her reflection combining with hers; two drops of water that splash against glass on a rainy day, now finally conjoined. They formed a greater whole, what Amelia called a greater purpose.

She spent a long time swaying gently with her to the left and to the right, her mistress lulled by their rhythm that the proximity of familiarity afforded. She knew her, after all; she was her, after all; it was always her, after all.

Before she knew what transpired, she snapped her neck like a twig.

The last heiress of the House of Fern collapsed on the floor. The rain outside intensified. From the rooms adjacent, more maids came out; valets and waiters and staff Amelia kept in order to afford her still luxurious living, without having to change the amount of people that stayed in this manor.

After all, it was only her.

[daydream-cement]

The Cedars Have Eyes Ch. 18

Characters: Larissa Weems x OC (Fern Rogers)

Synopsis: Fern experiences the afterlife.

Authors Note: I say this every time, but THIS was my favorite chapter to write.

You awoke. Your surroundings were just as you hoped the afterlife to be. A prairie. A tall grass prairie. You felt like you were back home in Wisconsin.

The grass raised high around you. Big and little bluestem. The purple coneflower. The grass swayed gently in the breeze. You took a deep breath in and released it slowly. It was nice to have a few moments without any pain.

You sit up slowly, taking in the surroundings. You see oak trees and a herd of bison in the distance. This certainly wasn’t modern times. To your left, you see a small group of people standing around and talking. One of the women in the group was a tall blonde with her hair pinned back, you grew excited at the familiarity if the woman. When she turned around, you were disappointed to see that it wasn’t Larissa. She waved at you, however, beckoning you to them.

You stood and walked to the group. You let your hands dance across the tops of the grass, enjoying the sensation as they passed across your palm.

The woman met you part way. She wore the biggest smile on her face and was dressed in traditional colonial clothing. When she was close enough, she took your face in her hands, “It’s wonderful to meet you, Fern Rogers. We can’t thank you enough for all you have done.”

Her voice was incredibly familiar. She was the voice from the Council of 12 Cedars. Your expression caused her head to tilt, “I'm Lesil Davies. Shapeshifter.”

“One of the Council?”

“Self-appointed leader.” She shrugged. Her demeanor screamed that she was stern and in control. Maybe she was a distant relative of Larissa, “But I don’t want to talk about me. We need to talk about you.”

“Me?” You ask, curious to know why you were the woman of the hour, so to speak.

“Come. We will sit and I can explain.” Lesil led you back to the others, introducing them one by one along with their power. Alias wouldn’t look at you as she introduced him. You couldn’t tell is he was ashamed of himself or if he was ignoring you out of spite.

Together you sat on a log and for a moment you watched the 11 others interact with one another. Everyone seemed to be in a celebratory mood.

“You have freed us, Fern. Our souls have been held captive, but killing Crackstone once and for all freed us, even Alias there.” Lesil held your hands in hers as she spoke. She had a mothering air about her, “We can finally be at rest.”

“Why did Alias help Crackstone?” You had to ask. His answer when you were in the crypt wasn’t enough.

Lesil gazed over to the other outcast, her look turned sad, “They were in love when they were kids. They couldn’t be separated. Just adored one another, but Joseph really began to cling to religion after his father died, using it as a weapon against others rather than a tool for good.”

“Outcasts didn’t always scare him. He loved Alias’ abilities. Joseph’s love turned controlling and after a while he just used Alias to help only himself. It was hard to watch Alias continue to love him even after Joseph murdered him too.” Lesil turned back to you. It was obvious she was incredibly upset talking about this subject, but she persisted, “Alias saw how you and the sequoia fought for one another. It really put his relationship with Joseph into perspective.”

You looked down to your feet, pondering her statement. Larissa. You hoped she was okay, “I miss her.”

“I know. She misses you as well. Your sequoia is a smart one.” Lesil seemed proud to say it. Their kinship as shapeshifters gave Larissa a special place in Lesil’s heart.

“Who will watch the forest?” You ask. Now knowing they were all at rest, they had no reason to remain on the earthly plane.

“We were hoping you and your sequoia could do that for us.” Lesil’s eyes flashed with knowing. She knew what was to come. After all, the cedars have eyes.

There was a rumble in the earth almost like it wanted to break apart under your feet. Your face fills with concern and once again you look to Lesil for answers, “What was that?”

“Your time with us is running out.” Lesil only smiled. Gosh, you hated how cryptic she could be. Then she gave your arm a squeeze before she stood, “It was wonderful knowing you, Fern. You will do great things.”

She then left you alone. You weren’t alone for long, however, as Alias took her place. Immediately you frown. You had no trust for this man.

“I-I wanted to apologize and thank you.”

You could only stare at him, confused by his words and skeptical at his potential motives.

He pushed onward, “I was sure he still loved me, but I’m not sure he was capable of that anymore. When you were with your sequoia, I just… I knew what Joseph and I had wasn’t right. I needed you to kill me. I needed you to kill him. Everything needed to stop.”

Your face remained expressionless. You were terribly sad for Alias at his heartbreak, but you were proud that Larissa’s and your love seemed to hold such power, “I’m glad that I could help.”

The ground shifted again.

“It’s time, Fern. Watch over the forest and your sequoia.”

You didn’t know what it meant, but Alias was smiling at you. It seemed to be positive. Then he pushed you. He gave you a firm shove, causing you to trip over the back of the log.

You didn’t hit the ground, however. Instead you awoke with a start to the sound of cracking. It continued. Getting louder and more severe. You had experienced this before in your dream. The coffin was caving in around you.

———

Larissa and Rowan sat on the docks. They were covered in soil and they were exhausted. After a long night’s digging in the greenhouse and at your gravesite, they finally transferred the sequoia tree from one place to the other.

Rowan’s head was against Larissa’s shoulder, “Maybe it just takes time.”

“I cannot believe that it didn’t work. I was sure that the sequoia would have woken her up.” Larissa wasn’t crying. She wanted to, but it was almost like her tears had ran out.

Rowan didn’t know what to tell Larissa. Part of her wished the shapeshifter would give up so both of them could begin healing, but who was she to judge the other woman’s grieving. Rowan took Larissa’s hand between her own, only able to offer physical comfort at the time. She looked down at Larissa’s hand and saw the silver band with diamonds sitting on her ring finger, “What is this?”

Link to Chapter 19

[omniblades-and-stars]

8 and 9 for Crash and Korak i haven’t been totally normal and not bonkers at all about them in a while

8. Have they had struggles with their identity, be it due to internal or external reasons?

Crash: I don't know that Crash ever struggled with accepting who she was for herself. She bucked against her society's expectations and treatment of her because of her gender, but she did not have a period where she wasn't sure who or what she identified as. But the external pressures were great and terribly and so she just left. Her homeworld failed her, and she felt like she didn't owe it anything just because she is a woman.

Korak: I think Korak may have struggled at first. Not necessarily a great, earth-shattering period of struggle. His life as an older teen and young man was filled with a lot of trouble, both about his identity and just his station in life in general. Realizing that he had no desire to marry a nice batarian girl or have a bunch of kids or keep living under the fucking Hegemony, it was all part of a big upheaval in his life.

9. Are there cultural or lore specific aspects to their identity? If applicable, does their species affect it?

Crash: What? Like how she left Tuchanka feeling bitter and unfairly burdened with the expectations the krogan place on their women for carrying their species forward? Is her identity specific to her culture or species?

No, I don't think so at all.

I'm just kidding, of course her identity has a lot to do with her culture and species. Often times in spite of it. Her choice to leave and go "freelancing" like many of the males of her species do, is informed my her cultural identity. How she presents herself, wearing armor, toting at least one gun at all times, is very much informed by how we see the krogan in the canon operate. Or how we see the men operate.

The part of her that's asexual and aromantic may or may not be informed by her cultural identity. We see a lot of krogan who seem wholly uninterested in "romantic love", but we have some examples of others that do. Regardless, what's most important to her is her friendships, her "found family" if you will. She's happy and fulfilled, and living her best life.

Korak: Honestly, it's difficult for me to answer this one, as we aren't given a lot about batarian culture other than like some basic beats about why they're the worst people ever and the Hegemony sucks (that part is definitely true). So it's hard for me, as I haven't done tons of work figuring out cultural touchstones and social expectations other than really basic like religion stuff, to say what part, if any, of his identity is informed by his culture.

But I think … it would be kind of silly for it not to be. We're all informed by our culture and society, both in the ways that we follow along with it and in the ways we actively push back against it. So, even though I haven't really thought about specifics, of course there are going to be pieces of his identity that are colored by where he was from and how he was raised.

[ray935sworld]

VR's academy of supernatural riders (Part 6: Lego, unwanted apologies and a phone call)

Mention of religious belief. They don't allign 100% with the taught practice as this is from my own believes that I decided to copy. I do not intend to disrespect someone or a religion.

Mention of injuries

Alex was raised Christian. He always followed their believes, at least those that went along with his morally views. Still he couldn’t help himself but believe in past lives. The thought that a soul would just disappear to heaven didn’t sit right him. Thinking that there was something like a past life in between or before going to heaven gave him chill he couldn’t describe.

He sat in his corner, his head on Luca’s shoulder, trying to sleep. No, he didn’t really try to sleep. He knew he wouldn’t fall asleep when he didn’t knew what was going on with his brother. There was no reason to lie about that.

Maybe Marc was paying off a debt of his past life. That would explain the accident. Afterall there was no rational explanation for it. It would also explain his constant injuries. It would explain why the arm was still a pain to him.

The irony was clear. What used to be his worst injury was now actually the least of his worries. Not to mention the eye. It was nothing compared to that. Back then, they had worried if he could ever use it. No he worried he might never be able to use his brain again.

Looking back, Alex realized that Marc must have been a terrible asshole if his theory was true. He already suffered a lot. How much debt did he had to pay?

“Do you think Marc was an asshole in his past lives?” Luca didn’t believe in past lives, Alex knew that. He chose to ignore it. “No. Not if he was anything like this Marc” “He is an asshole in this life.” He reflected. “He always destroyed my Lego-houses because he wanted the stones. Just because he didn’t like mine. Mine were beautiful. I used all the colours. His were organized. Who built organized Legos?” They haven’t played in years. Why did he think about it now?

He remembered how they played together. They even had small bikes and tried to rebuild tracks. They raced against each other which mainly meant waiting for the point they just put them at the finish line screaming they’d won.

“Yeah? What a mean kid” “And on track- he always told me I couldn’t take the corners like that. But he did it the same way! He is such a hypocrite. Have you seen his riding style? That’s fucking dangerous! Look at his scars.” “If you now tell me about his track war crimes in italian, I’ll drag you to the ranch. As if I haven’t heard enough about that already” Alex couldn’t help but giggle about it. “Maybe I didn’t had to worry about you and Vale getting along all the time. Maybe you’ve got more in common than I thought” His voice was playful. He didn’t mean it of course.

He didn’t know how long they sat there. Alex was a mess of memories. The older man that was sitting in the waiting room with them had already left. His wife had surgery for ovary cancer. Everything went well. She just needed radio therapy and she’d live to see her grandchildren graduate.

The kid and the mother were gone as well. Her other child, an even younger boy had ear surgery to fix a small problem that had grown wrong.

After that he went back to counting the minutes and thinking about everything and nothing. At some point he realized something else. “I haven’t called our parents yet” he admitted. A mix of guilt and relieve made itself known in his chest. Yes, his parents didn’t know that Marc was hurt but that also meant they didn’t had to worry like he did right now.

Now it was only Luca and himself. And the stars. It was already dark outside. A young nurse had come to them at around 7pm and offered them something to eat. Alex denied it immediately. He felt like throwing up. The thought of having to swallow something made him want to throw up. Especially bread.

Luca had given him a worried glance and paid for a big bottle of water, two apples and two packs of nuts. As soon as they were alone he made a point of asking (forcing) the older one to at least eat a little bit and drink something. If it wasn’t for Luca, he wouldn’t have listened.

“That’s okay” It wasn’t, Alex reminded himself, but Luca wouldn’t risk making him feel worst than he already did. “No it isn’t… If Marc gets worst… They have a right to… You know” “Yeah, so… What are we going to do?” “I… I don’t want to tell them when we know nothing but it’s been so long and I’m not sure if that’s good or not.” “We could wait until we have at least a vague certainty.” “But if it’s a bad certainty? Shouldn’t they know immediately? I know I wasted that chance but still.” “Maybe. I think at the moment it’s the most important is to do what helps you the most. What feels right to you, Alex?” “Not telling them” he admitted. “Okay, then we’ll wait” Luca agreed.

It was like a bed time story. He almost fell asleep when it was past 1am. It had been a long day after all. The mess of emotions tired him. So he asked his boyfriend to grab him a red bull. He couldn’t fall asleep yet. Luca bought two. One Acai, Alex favourite flavour and a tropical-yellow one, the one Luca preferred. Both knew it’d be a long night and both being sponsored by energy drinks, the needed level of caffein was higher than normally. It probably wouldn’t even affect them as much.

Luca sometimes texted his friends. They didn’t tell them what happened obviously. Alex read the texts as well. He understood written Italian very well, but Luca had to explain some inside jokes.

It was a good distraction. It helped him focused on different things other than the obvious. They later went through the Italians gallery. He told him the stories behind his favourite pictures. Alex knew most of them already. Not that that mattered.

He loved to hear how Migno had once accidently sat Bez hair on fire. Or how Cele had once gotten a speaking-stop after asking to many ‘why?’ questions and Franky had used the opportunity to put some kind of thick mechanical tape over his mouth. He screamed like a baby when the pulled it off and with it came the first hairs of the beard of the youngest off. Or what unhinged spooky stories Pecco had told them when none of the academy boys were adults yet and they had decided to camp in the garden of the ranch.

The hours passed and it felt like days.

With every hour he wasn’t sure if he it was good or bad. The only updates they got were “We don’t know yet” “We can’t say anything certain at this point” “Please have some patients. His injuries are really severe” It was never good when someone was in a long surgery. But if he needed it? It was good if they didn’t hurry and took their time to do it right, wasn’t it?

It was in the middle of the night when an exhausted looking doctor opened the door. He didn’t care about the time. He didn’t want to look at a watch right now either. He knew he’d just be terrified if he knew that his brother was in surgery for well over 12 hours. The head of surgery was exactly like he imagined her earlier. Old but not senior. Around 50, maybe early 60 if she has a good skin cream. Her eyes were tired. He didn’t had the energy to notice the sad look in her eyes as she approached him.

“So, how is my brother?”

“You must be Alex Marquez?” she asked looking at the Spaniard who had hurried to stand up and get to her. Another, way younger doctor was there. He was probably around 30. He gave them a neutral look with a kind nod.

“Yes I am.” Luca seemed a little bit lost like he wasn’t sure if he should leave them alone or listen. Alex answered the unspoken question by taking his hand, their fingers intervened, pulling him closer. “That’s Luca, my boyfriend. Is it okay if he listens too?” “Yes, of course it is, as long as you agree.” She gave them a small smile.

It was the one question he had to ask but was too afraid to actually get an answer to. His shoulders were tensed. He felt his muscles close around his bones. It almost hurt. His pulse was shot. He felt his hands shaking. The tiredness he felt was away, just like his exhaustion. The only thing that mattered was whatever he would now hear.

“Please understand, before I say anything else, that your brother is severely injured. We are talking about bad injuries even in your career field. There are wounds no medicine can fully cure. And in your brother cases, he sadly is one of those examples. He-“ “What is that supposed to mean? Is he… gone? He’s dead?”

Saying it out loud broke a part of him he already thought was broken. He felt Luca holding his hand tighter. But it didn’t make sense. She would have say it right away, not talk like that.

“He isn’t pass the dangerous time. He is still at a very critical point. His body is weak. Exhausted from the injury and we can’t know… How long he can survive in that state. There is nothing we can do for him at this point. He- His injuries were deep and very, very bad. His body kind of hit the emergency button. He is in a coma and we can’t do anything about it. You can imagine it like… Like a computer, you close everything you don’t need to focus the energy on that one part that needs it.”

Focus Alex. Focus.

He didn’t know what to say to that. It felt like a thousand punches right in the stomach. It was like someone put their hand through his chest and pulled out his chest just so he could see his heart beating.

The doctor continued her explanation. She saw her lips move. Word after word. Marc. She was talking about Marc. He should listen.

Only some fragments made it to his brain. He could hear the blood running in his ears. It was loud. Why was it so loud? He needed to listen.

No. Doctors weren’t supposed to apologize. She wasn’t meant to say sorry. ‘Sorry I cant save your brother. Sorry you have a dead brother. Sorry I have to tell you that you are going to watch your brother slowly died’

“… has internal bleedings… a lot of blood has collected in his pelvis… broken bones… spine…” No. Panic rise in him.

Not focus. Don’t focus. He had changed his mind. He didn’t want to hear it anymore. Scary. It was too scary. Marc would be okay. He’d be okay. Luca had promised it. “…brain injury we can’t locate fully when he is that weak.”

He wanted to return to his delusional thoughts that allowed him to believe the injuries weren’t major.

He felt his legs gave in. He felt like falling but he didn’t. Then he heard the sentence that gave him the rest. “It is unlikely he is physically able to overcome his injury. I am so sorry.”

No. No, Marc wasn’t a helpless case. He wasn’t doomed to spend the rest of his life fighting for a chance of survival that was impossible to catch. He had to see him. He needed to see that what his heart was telling him – that Marc would be okay and fine and that everything was a lie – was true.

He knew she was still speaking when he heard himself asking “Can I see him? Now. Please?” He didn’t care that he had interrupted him. She looked at him sad. Like she felt sorry for him. He didn’t need her pity. He needed her to save his brother.

She agreed and showed him the room. They walked through the corridors. It was early morning so only a few staff member were around. Still it was too much, even though Alex didn’t realized that they were there. His mind screamed for his brother.

“That won’t be a problem” she confirmed. “But… are you absolutely sure? He… His injuries took a tool on him and he needs, like I mentioned, he is depending on machines. He doesn’t quite look like he normally does” She spoke to him like someone would speak to a child.

Under different circumstances Alex would probably be angry at her for it, but now it was what he needed. Easy explanations. Saying the obvious. Telling him what to expect. He just nodded.

He felt his body physically hurting and the thought of seeing Marc as weak and exhausted as predicted took a tool on him.

He felt his muscles move without his agreement.

With every step he moved closer to his boyfriend. His shoulder now pressed against his side. Luca had already pulled him in, under his arm and tried to stabilized him. He refused to let go of Luca as they got closer.

They went inside and he wished he didn’t. He suddenly realized deep down he wouldn’t leave this hospital soon.

“You don’t have to” the younger man told him. His voice was warm. He meant it. He would go with him or sat in a dark corner trying to find the courage to face his brother. But that wasn’t an option for the Marquez.

“I do” he answered. “I don’t want him to be alone right now” “Okay, we’ll go to him but if it’s too much, we can leave anytime or just you if you want me to stay with him.” “Thanks” he whispered.

If he didn’t know that the body in the bed in front of him, he wouldn’t even be sure if the mess of scars, red skin, machines and bandages stiffed with tubes, was even human.

He sat down and stared at the body trying to see his brother under the white cover of the hospital bed. But he couldn’t see his face. The muslin covering his cheeks. And his head. His hair was shaved. He couldn’t even see his eyes. They were closed. The material was sticky. Maybe sweat or tears or blood. He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

He sat down next to him. He moved the chair closer. Wanting to talk to his brother, asking him to wake up. He failed. He knew his voice wouldn’t be able to admit that the abused skin was the man he knew since birth. It didn’t make sense that the boy who learned about the world with him was now not moving. He failed to understand that the kid that taught him how to laugh and be happy, taught him everything he knew was not responding to his presence.

He sat there just looking.

He sat there for minutes and more minutes. He let time passed.

Then he looked up. Luca was standing a little bit away. They looked at each other, both wanting the other to say something and decide where the moment would go. Neither of them did. Luca wanted to but he needed to know what Alex needed.

“Luca” His name still sounded right in his mouth. It was time. That was the only thing he knew “Can you call our parents?” he asked, knowing he wouldn’t be able to recreate the events without breaking down. He’d just cry until his voice went dead. “They need to know about this” Luca understood. “Of course” It was out of the question that he’d do it.

Luca turned around to leave. In his mind he had already pulled out his phone when Alex stopped him. “Luca, wait!” He sounded so desperate it worried the Italian. “Yeah?” “You’ll be back, right?” His hands had started fidgeting with Marc’s sheet. A habit he had whenever he was nervous. “I will always come back to you” he promised and crossed the room with fast steep.

Carefully he put his hands on his cheeks. He turned his face towards him and gave him a soft kiss. “Marc hates it when we kiss in front of him” “No he doesn’t. He just likes to make fun of us” “Maybe” He kissed him again just to prove his point.

Then he left promising he’d just be in a quiet corner in the hallway not to disturb other people.

He thought about what he was supposed. He thought about his possibilities. He went through them in his head, weighting what was better and what would just make everything worst. A plan was forming in his head. He sighed, feeling unsure about leaving Alex alone for too long.

Luca had pulled out his phone. He was leaning against a wall, knowing no one would hear what he was about to say. He went through his contacts. He looked at the different names. Roser Marquez. He looked at the contacted and closed it again.

Next one. Julia Marquez. He stared at the picture of Alex and his dad that he had sat for him during a vacation once.

Roser had insisted he had their numbers. “In case my idiots are giving you trouble, querido, vale?” “Vale” he had agreed. It still felt weird to answer with his brother nick name, as if he would ever agree to something.

He swallowed, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say.

He chose the contact he needed and pressed call. He put it against his ear and leaned against the wall. He waited a few seconds. He probably wouldn’t answer. It was unlikely. Maybe he should see it as a sign. Throw away the plan and –

“Who the fuck calls at this time?” Maybe that was his actual sign. Maybe he was supposed to go through with his plan. Maybe he had to.

“Asshole, do you know what time it is? Who is that even?” “It’s me. Luca.” There was a break at the end of the line, like he was thinking. “What happened?” His voice had lost the morning angriness he always had when he was woken up too early.

He knew he meant what he would say. It was cruel. He didn’t want to ask him but he had to. “I am so sorry for what I am about to ask you. I wouldn’t if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Please believe me that, Franky.”

[whilereadingandwalking]

On October 4 at the Newberry Library, Lauren Groff (Fates and Furies) and Rebecca Makkai (The Great Believers) came together for a conversation about craft. The event was part of the Writers on Writing series presented in partnership with StoryStudio Chicago.

Groff is currently on book tour for The Vaster Wilds, which she says is a historical fiction triptych made up of three books “singing in different registers about how we got where we are.” In 2019, she threw all three books into her editor’s lap and “ran away crying.” She wanted to “send three books across time, sort of skipping a stone,” all in their own ways examining women in religion and nature.

For both writers, each book is purposefully very different from the last. Makkai even feels that she has to almost detonate the last book with the new one, shift completely. Themes might emerge from their books, but it’s not something they actively push for—you tell a story, and the bigger vision will appear. Groff tries not to over-intellectualize her books for risk of “killing” them. As long as you “write into your urgencies,” she says, patterns will inevitably appear across your work.

Groff has a unique drafting process, which she attributes partially to her OCD and the need to work both with and around it. To break her perfectionism, she writes her drafts long-hand, straight through, no editing. She can’t read her own handwriting, so there’s little rereading: when she’s done, she puts that draft in a box, and starts over. What she remembers is what will be important—what she cuts provides a meaningful backbone to what she keeps. “By breaking, I’m building,” she says. Each draft builds on the last.

Makkai noted that Groff scatters omniscience throughout her books, using it in unexpected moments. “For me,” Groff explains, “omniscience is a way of disrupting the linear timeline.” If a protagonist lives step by step, an omniscient voice breaks through vertically, like spikes, shaking up the storyline, reminding the reader that the character is just one person in a big world. 

Omniscience isn’t a popular point-of-view these days, and Groff has a theory about why. “I’m attracted to omniscience always, and I actually think it’s because I was raised in a Godly family,” she says. People are afraid of God nowadays, and their secular distrust and faith in the individual experience lead them to believe that 1st person POV is the most stable, truthful one to use.

Makkai’s students nowadays are drawn to polyphonic, multi-person perspectives in their novels, incorporating more and more voices. She wonders if, to Groff’s point, as we as a society decide that only the individual can faithfully transmit their own experience, and we work to privilege more and more voices, if students are attracted to including as many voices as possible rather than shift into what they might feel is a more prescriptive 3rd person POV.

Sometimes, writing a book itself can be a religious experience. Every time Groff writes a novel, there’s a point when “the world is sort of shrinking into the book, and then, the book blooms outward”—and suddenly everything you see is part of the book. Makkai says that she knows her book is ready and good when she’s clearing her mind during yoga, letting all thoughts go, and what’s left is the book. 

[diabolikpersonals]

someone in the watch party today (sorry, I don't remember who asked this!!) asked if we could make the next installment in dialovers, what would the game be like? and I didn't have a good answer at the time but I thought about it a lot and I think I've come up with it lol

(sorry this is a super long post, I went into way too much detail. cw for canon-typical dialovers stuff including suicide and incest)

so I started by thinking of which parts of dialovers haven't been adequately explored yet, in my opinion, and that got me thinking about yui specifically. I've seen posts lately saying that the more recent dialovers content has been about the relationships between the boys more than it's been about yui and her partner, which is a trend I've noticed too. I don't hate this trend, because closely inspecting the familial and friendly relationships in dialovers is honestly my favorite part of it, but the big drawback of it is...what about yui?! is she not also a part of our big fucked up family! shouldnt we also be analyzing her character! shouldnt she have full character arcs of her own in the games!! a close reading of the non-romantic relationships and an important, central part for our main character...we CAN have both things!!

so I decided I wanted my hypothetical dl game to have a plot that revolves around yui's character. it's my interpretation that some of her themes are family, belonging, feeling loved and wanted. the very first thing that happens in dialovers, where our story begins, is yui being abandoned by her father and left to fend for herself in a house full of people who want to hurt her. when her father shows up later and insists he loves her and wants to protect her, how can she believe him? she was left to die. even if she becomes close with the vampires as the story progresses, the fact that she was abandoned doesn't change, and it still hurts. and I used to poke fun at the scene where she finds out she's adopted, right? I was like "you're in a house of vampires, why are you so stressed out about the fact that you're adopted? isn't that the least of your problems?" but that is the ROOT of the problem!! yui is learning that this isnt even her first time being abandoned. her birth parents didnt want her, her adopted father apparently didnt want her.......and that's why yui gets so heartbroken in scenes where she's abandoned or left behind by the diaboys. if not them, she has NOBODY to go home to.

yui wants to be loved! she wants a family that wants her too! she wants a home where she can stay with people who love her and will protect her! so what's a good way for us to pick that apart in a dl game?

I imagine the church contacting her again; it wouldnt be the first time it's happened, but I don't want yui to just be able to say "no thank u" and start a gunfight and then walk away this time. I want the vampire hunters in the church to capture the diaboys, injure them, lock them up, all under the guise of protecting yui. with her loved ones taken, yui cant just refuse to go with them—so she has to, and this game mostly takes place in a church as a result.

now that yui isn't clueless about what the church does, the church intends to make her into a vampire hunter too. she can train there, and the members of the church will protect her until she can protect herself. (I imagine a named minor character will be her mentor and stuff.) they use sweet words that conflict yui a lot, insisting that they're her family (and these are probably people yui knows and grew up with, so they're not just saying it for nothing!!), using her religion to sway her opinion (this is the right thing to do, as one of God's children), yui would be able to help innocent people as a hunter, etc. Make her really think about what she wants and which "family" can provide her with it! It's not as simple as wanting to stay with her boyfriend. The idea that this family, the one she had been with before the events of HDB, who raised her....didn't actually abandon her and they really want her after all........it's tempting!! yui's heart is torn! she WANTS to believe that those people loved her!

but still, hurting the diaboys is too much. yui doesn't want to do that. throughout the game, yui visits [certain diaboy(s) depending on the route ur playing] to create a plan to rescue them. the members of the church figure out she's visiting them, and shake their heads and lament the fact that these demons have brainwashed her.....but they let her continue meeting them, because they want to show yui the how cruel and animalistic these monsters can truly be. they keep the diaboys starved, and even tempt them with yui's blood while keeping her just out of reach...and of course the diaboys get hungrier, angrier, more desperate...until they really do look like the monsters the church has been describing...!

"but nat, how am I gonna get sexy scenes if the diaboys are being held captive" dont you see, masochistic target audience?! it's about the DENIAL!! it's about the thrill of knowing just a few feet away, this vampire is shaking in desperation to go fucking crazy on you and the cell bars are the only thing stopping him from tearing into you right now, but who knows how long those cell bars will even last?! doesn't he seem to get even stronger and more violent the hungrier he gets— and when you finally get a moment together, with nothing between you, and he needs to make up for lost time...!!

[cough] anyway, we can graduate from masochism to sadomasochism, right? it's my game after all. caged vampires are sexy. and yui can sneak out to offer them her blood anyway, even if it means it will hurt a lot >///< so you'll get your sexy bloodsucking scenes, ok!! pic relevant. use ur imagination.

there's too many diaboys for me to go into detail about what their routes would be like, but to be flexible with it…I'd hate to just keep them in a cage the whole time, right? so let's think about what the church can do. kino's taught us that the church has weapons that can take away a vampire's powers temporarily. using those, it'd be easy to let the diaboys out so the church can use them for their own purposes. they can be threatened into doing the church's dirty work, for instance. they can be tied up somewhere while yui's mentor makes her take practice shots at them, that'd be an awesome scene!! we can put certain diaboys together and watch them turn against each other, we can keep them alone and watch how they spiral out of control………tons of fun to be had.

and the main villain? seiji komori of course!! that bastard!!! he's gonna have all sorts of chances to say the creepiest stuff to her in this game, ugh. all that stuff about yui being tainted by the vampires' evil, all that stuff about marrying her (eugh!!), or killing her if she can't be redeemed..........so much religious trauma here. he'll make a great, very hateable villain.

so yui has to strike a balance between obediently training as a vampire hunter and helping out the diaboys. the choices the player makes can probably be labelled as sadistic or masochistic, with the sadistic choices resulting in her treating the diaboys more cruelly (yknow, to pretend in front of the church members!! or is she not pretending...? heheheh) and the masochistic choices resulting in her treating the diaboys very kindly.

choosing too many sadistic options will give you an ending where yui sides with the church for real. depending on the route, she could become a hunter and kill the one she loves herself. or, after the church successfully gaslights her into thinking the diaboys were brainwashing her, she could think of herself as tainted by their demonic energy and take her own life in shame.

choosing too many masochistic options means the church won't trust her. it'll result in an ending where the church is out to kill yui and the vampires (again, the specifics will depend on the route). they'll treat it like a mercy killing, like yui had been tricked by the vampires all this time, and only the player will be left knowing this isnt the case :(

and when u pick the correct balance of sadistic and masochistic options, u get the vampire ending!! it's tough to describe the specifics because, of course, I'd like it to be different and uniquely interesting in each route. but in general, yui should come to some conclusions about her identity and where she belongs: her true family should be with the diaboys, I think that's obvious. they love her, they want her, they won't abandon her. she also has to reconcile stuff about her religion: what does it mean to her now, after all that? what is her relationship with God? does yui still think of herself as a sinful person for who she loves and how she loves them? is that what yui's religion has been about all this time, and can she recontexualize it based on her experiences? did yui learn something from her time in vampire hunter training after all?

and THAT'S the diabolik lovers game I'd make, if I could B)

[clunelover]

I did talk to BFF about my sister and it was overall positive but kind of challenging emotionally. Part of the issue is that she’s like "oh I’ve let that all go now, I’m not mad at her at all" but like…she is and I can tell from how she talks about my sister when the topic comes up. She also is convinced that I feel like I’m in the mom role and therefore have to protect my sister…not quite! My sister puts me in the mom role and I hate it, more like! But she brought up the good point that part of the reason she doesn’t say things about her baby in the chat that includes my sister, is because I never talk about my kids in there either…and I was like "oh yeah, cause my sister’s replies are always sort of off and they bother me so then I stop." Like this time I shared a pic of E after they came back from their first ever basketball game that they went to with Girl Scouts, and they were all pumped and had been given a cool hat with the gay pride flag inside the outline of Wisconsin, and I said something about how they were all of a sudden SUPER into basketball, and my sister just said "lol." Hard to explain why that made me annoyed I guess but it did! lol.

Anyway I was all distraught after she left, just feeling bad about things with my family, because it feels like I have to accept things as they are (but I don’t want to!) or get proactive about trying to change things, meet people where they are, etc (resentful that everything is on me as per usual! I don’t think these people consider meeting me where *I* am!)

Anyway I was turning that over and thinking about what exactly to say to my sister (cause I think she misunderstood my "hey you should invite us over" message but also I shouldn’t have said it in the first place so I was going to send some sort of "hey never mind, I was being controlling and trying to manage your relationship, do whatever you want" message but the thought of what exactly I’d say had me VERY UPSET and then something dawned on me - why the f am I spending so much mental energy on my sister who, regardless of what she actually feels towards me or my kids, isn’t really emotionally available to be the kind of sister/aunt I wish for…I should instead be trying to nurture relationships that DO make me feel good (or…dare I say…forge new ones??)

So I set up a dinner with me and BFF and my other best friend for next weekend. If I can decide some likely dates I’m going to invite over a family who we were pretty close friends with before we moved to this house, try to reconnect with them a bit.

And I was mulling over how else adults create community and find friends, and then I picked E up from camp and they randomly said "I think there are four Jewish kids at my camp" and I asked how that came up/why it was on their mind…they said "I don’t know"…I guessed it was maybe because we have common Jewish last name and so people often assume we are Jewish (they said no, that wasn’t it), and THAT led us to a discussion of religion in families and I was saying how daddy and I both come from families where our parents were raised very religious and then they decided not to raise their kids that way, so my parents didn’t take me to church and daddy’s mom didn’t take him to temple, which is fine, although maybe we would have liked those things and we never got to know. And that made me realize, oh yeah, religious communities are one big way adults meet each other!

I shared all of this with Jeremy later and said for various reasons I’m not that interested in joining the UU church in town, but I’d be interested in checking out a Quaker meeting, and he said "whoa, I was just today reading a substack post by someone I like, about how they are an atheist but attend Quaker meetings, and I thought it sounded really great! Let’s do that!" SO all this to say, I think we’re going to try that tomorrow! Posting here partly for accountability so I actually do it.

[klvm0nn]

can you tell us more about the monastery au :O

UPD: no longer relevant. New Attica lore post…anytime soon!

“You’re asking me about my AUs??? I’VE WAITED YEARS FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME ABOUT MY AUS!!!!!!!”

Honestly…I’m so honored and grateful for your interest!!!! Like thank you so much

TW! Mention of SA, violence and other Billy’s stuff. AND ALSO PLEASE CHECK ALT FOR TRANSLATION

I also want to apologize if my English negotiation skills are unsatisfying, I’m not a native speaker-

So, as I said earlier, my au is about Billy not being broken into a sorority house, but into a monastery. Although I changed his backstory and gave him certain motivation for killing girls, I tried to keep Billy’s personality and character cuz these funny things are the reason why we love him!:)

Backstory!

You know…Simping over a bastard who sexually assaulted his own little sister is kinda dubious if we talk about the 1974 black Christmas and the sister-daughter story is too nasty, speaking of the remake, so…

In my AU Billy is raised in a strict, religious and kinda poor family, as all the money go to the church. He is raised by his mother and a stepfather, who is actually guilty for the religious fanaticism in his family. Poor Billy was also molested as a child and teenager by saint fathers (i hope i called them right cuz I literally have no idea what name do they have…)

These conditions formed three things in Billy: love for rock and rebellion, hatred for religion and sociopathy.

Here’s a little chibi art I made a month ago for article, where I explained my setting’s lore! The article is in Russian tho, so unfortunately I can’t show it to you. CHECK ALT!!!

So, remember that part from remake where Billy was in asylum? The same thing happens here too, but why he got in there?

When Billy’s mother got pregnant by his stepfather, Billy was terrified. He really loved with all his heart the little tiny girl who was ready to see the world. The problem is, the world was too cruel. He didn’t want her to be molested, he didn’t want her to be pressured by strict rules of religion. So, one day, he made an attempt on the life of his stepfather. In any case, unsuccessful. He survived and Billy was sent to the asylum, from where he later escaped. After the runaway, Billy found his new home in the attic in one of the most big Canadian monastery.

With wounds on his heart from the duplicity of religions, since then he has taken revenge on the hypocritical nuns. He sent threats, made obscene calls, did nasty things, and even killed with impunity, until one day he was caught by a nun.

Who’s that girl?

The second main character! Her name is Martyr Efsevís! But everyone prefers call her Martha, as she’s not a martyr at all.

A long time ago, a nun lived in this monastery. One day an incubus came to her and defiled her. She bore him a child, who was Martha. This nun was expelled, but Marta herself was left in the monastery for education, as they wanted to raise a pious nun from her. Fun fact! Her color palette only contains black and white, these are her natural colors: white skin, black hair.

When she found out about Billy…She was charmed. Billy’s actions, manners, presence…Everything about him seemed like another world to her. She really wanted him to show her the world of darkness. The world that best suits her true nature. That's why she won’t tell anyone about him.

He was still worried and annoyed by her tho- their relationship will develop, but now he just hates her.

OOF. FINALLY.

It was really fun, but complicated. Hope I could handle the challenge to tell about them properly. I still a little bit worried cuz I think my description of Martha shows her like a Gacha demonic Mary Sue, BUT SHES NOT LIKE THAT I SWEAR😭😭😭 I’m also planning adding more side characters, so I’ll keep you in touch!

I ALSO REALLY WANT TO APOLOGIZE IF THIS POST IS TOO BIG!!! Still hope you enjoyed reading about these dummies! Love y’all❤️

[hey-scully-itsme]

yelling into the void for a minute don’t mind me. Brief rant about Christian theology and excessively reductive tumblr posts under the readmore lol

it’s fucking exhausting how a lot of people on this site talk with authority about American religion, evangelicalism, and calvinism without a real understanding of any of those things, even (sometimes especially) if they were raised in them. I was mostly raised in the Free Presbyterian and Orthodox Presbyterian denominations with a dash of independent Baptist for flavor and read quite a lot of theology in college, from early church fathers to Luther’s writings and Calvin’s Institutes of the Christian Religion. I’m not a theologian (god forbid) but I’m not just talking out of my ass here. Key disclaimer: i was raised in denominations which prioritized knowledge of the theology above nearly everything else. Very intellectual. This stuff rubs me the wrong way in part bc it is going against messages I got as a kid about the Right Way To Be Christian And A Person which is largely nonsense and so i don’t think this is that big a problem, I just happened to see a reblog chain that made sweeping, somewhat ahistorical claims right as the caffeine from my morning tea hit.

anyway pretty often i see posts that casually make claims like ‘all calvinists left for america because they were all considered crazy fanatics by European Christians who believe in enjoying life’ (somewhat ahistorical on a number of levels and very England-centric, but makes people feel like they’re ’setting the record straight’ about calvinism in America and is broadly speaking more correct than the standard American lines about the puritans so it’s whatever) and ‘all calvinists think enjoying things is a sin and that’s why everything is the way it is in america,’ (broadly speaking somewhat true, often reductive), but the one that set me off was more specific and thus annoyed me more.

Someone in a post, painting themselves as an authority on calvinism, claimed that ‘Calvinism puts Christians in competition with each other for spots in heaven’ which is a significant misrepresentation of several of the five central teachings of calvinism (specifically limited atonement, unconditional election, and irresistible grace, three of the five points of calvinism which are often referred to as TULIP). This competition idea is not a calvinist teaching (though some calvinists may emotionally feel themselves to be in competition with others) and more importantly it elides the differences between calvinism and other common strains of Protestant theology in America, differences which are key to actually understanding American christians, their goals and fears. The post also claimed that this was a large part of what made calvinism such a terrible and unfeasible system, which would be true if that were a calvinist teaching, which it distinctly is not. Calvinism is bad for other reasons.

The reason it is incorrect to say that calvinists compete with each other to be saved is because it is a fundamental calvinist belief that you cannot do anything to ensure your salvation. Contrary to tumblr’s beliefs about the Protestant work ethic, which is an outgrowth of other calvinist teachings, this is like the number one identifying feature of calvinist theology (as opposed, you could maybe say, to Calvinist culture). You could live an entirely ‘good’ Christian life, and when you die, you might find out that, whoops, you simply were not one of the elect and are condemned anyway (this is a very fun thing to be taught when you’re six years old). Conversely, you could be the world’s worst piece of shit and still turn out to be one of the elect in the end. There are, of course, a million hairsplitting caveats and varying interpretations, but if you go back to the Institutes, this is essentially what you find. It is a fundamental calvinist belief that you cannot do anything to make god save you. Emotionally, some calvinists may feel that way, but it’s not universal by any means.

If you want to read more in-depth on the specific theology than my off-the-cuff tumblr post (please do if you want – as i said above i am merely moderately read-up on the subject and not trying to pose as a final authority) look up ‘unconditional election’ and ‘irresistible grace’ or just ‘TULIP calvinism.’ you will get weird Christian results tho, sorry. Quick definitions: unconditional election means if god chooses you, he chooses you regardless of who you are or what you’ve done. Irresistible grace means that if you are chosen, you can’t resist – you will be saved. Calvinists believe you cannot reject god (though they may try to obfuscate this).

The belief that you cannot choose to be saved, by the way, is what distinguishes calvinists from arminians. The distinction between those two groups in America is one of the things it’s VERY helpful to understand if you are trying to understand modern american Christianity.

[pearlcscent]

☆ ana luisa fun facts

libra sun leo moon, my venusian fiery girl

her family moved to the usa before she was born; her parents were able to secure great jobs but they require a lot of travel/commitment so ana doesn’t see them very often.

she was raised in a brazilian community, and she had relatives that would watch her after school from time to time.

she became close with her neighbours and often hung out with them and their kids.

as ana’s interest in singing grew, her parents got her a vocal coach at age 9 that ended up mentoring her up until recently.

ana took a “break” a while after seven left; she just needed some time off and hasn’t gone back. she started smoking then.

her vocal coach is still very present in her life, acting almost like an aunt to her. she’s one of ana’s closest friends and probably the biggest mother figure in her life.

ana was quite a lonely child although she could mask it very well; on the outside she was a happy girl with a big smile on her face, always down to play, as charming and friendly as can be; she did everything in her power to fit in and be liked (still does).

i haven’t settled on how seven and ana met although i know she befriended him much to his dismay.

she looked at seven and saw herself in him, so she had to get to know him the way she wanted to be known herself.

ana was definitely annoying at first, always sticking by him regardless of his disregard for her. she didn’t ask a lot of questions at first because she knew she’d find out why and how and what eventually. she talked to him like they had known each other for years, treating him like an imaginary friend who was supposed to know all of her trauma and experiences since day 1. it led to seven asking questions and overall curiosity, which lead to regular conversation, which lead to them becoming actual best friends

eventually you would never see one without the other and they’d spend hours and hours just talking. they’d spend nights together on the roof of ana’s apartment with snacks and eventually alcohol, talking. some days just being in each other’s company was enough, and it was nice.

one day seven heard ana singing and it blew him away. she hadn’t shown that part of herself to him yet and it was the final puzzle piece she was  holding onto. something about sharing that with him felt very scary, since all that people would praise her for or pay attention to her was her singing. she didn’t want to perform for seven in order for him to like her. she wanted him to like her for just who she was so she never sang around him or mentioned she was part of the choir in her church.

ana grew up religious; relying on God for comfort and company. all of her community was very involved in the church, and the most time her and her parents would hang out together would be at church. she was part of the choir and she adored being on stage; it was the only time her parents seemed to pay attention to her and they’d parade her to show off the precious doll they call daughter. this was the start of her superiority complex but also need to be constantly performing in order to get an ounce of attention.

her relationship with God changed once she and seven became closer. suddendly religion was in his voice and mind, then his stare, his touch, his company and loyalty… she didn’t need God anymore, she had seven. and once he left, her sense of faith crumbled and i think she’s still trying to figure that out.

ana thrifts a lot! she also has diy-ed quite a lot of the stuff in her room. she loves to find antique and cool looking items, she loves clutter and making her room look lived in in contrast to other spaces in the house. ana has painted her room a million different times.

she bagged a job at her local thrift shop after going there so much and helping out people in the store (her friendliness and charming smile make her very good at costumer service) despite not having any openings at the moment. the lady that runs it grew a liking to her.

i think ana is looking for a seven replacement unconsciously, and g is the one for the job. we’ll see how that goes for her <3