#i can see why people get drawn in by sunday's plan like genuinely
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And Then It Is Monday - Why Sunday's plan did not (and could not) work
So normally I don't really make longer analysis posts, but I kept seeing people on social media outright supporting Sunday's actions in 2.2, and I wrote something out about why I personally think that Sunday's plan is wrong. I don't know if this is an issue with tumblr as well, given that the people I saw supporting him were on different forms of social media, but regardless.
Before I begin, I'd like to pose a reminder that the opinions in this are mine and mine alone. If you agree, awesome! If not, I'd love to hear your thoughts on it, so long as you're respectful! I have no idea if this is well written or will make any logical sense, but here we go!
(Spoilers for the 2.2 Trailblazer quest under the cut, if that wasn't already obvious)
So the first thing to get off the table: I feel Sunday is a very sympathetic villain, but a villain nonetheless. I understand the people that sympathize with him. I do too, to an extent. He was raised on unhealthy ideals and the belief that he was a "religious figure," one that people looked up to. Other people were allowed to just be, but Sunday always had to be better. He loved his sister, and the people around him, and he wanted to make a better world for them.
But that does not excuse what he did. Making a 'better world' can never come at the cost of taking away people's free will, because that world will never be "better". That's where Sunday's plan falls apart.
Because, yes, there are shitty people in the world, and yes bad things happen. Would it be amazing if we could stop all the bad things from happening ever again, and make the world a much better place? Yes! It would! I would love to live in a world where I don't have to fear for my life and my freedom for an assortment of reasons! But that world doesn't exist--in real life or on Penacony--, and getting it to exist shouldn't be the result of subjugating and controlling other people, because that in and of itself is violence. Albeit a different kind of violence, but violence nonetheless.
Not to mention that things like Sunday's plan and the concept of forcing everyone to act a certain way just to fit this "better world" to me almost serves as a condemnation of human nature and of the very act of choice itself. Your better world starts by saying that some choices are bad, so those choices get taken away, but where does it end? What if someone in charge views a harmless choice as a bad one, and takes away that one in return? Does it stop there, or does it continue, until no one at all is allowed to make any decisions, except those in charge? Who, really, does that benefit?
Consequences for certain choices exist. Generally, society says murder is bad (except for specific circumstances such as self-defense, which technically at that point is no longer even considered murder (at least where I live, it may be different in other areas, but I'm basing this off of my own experience)), so there is a concrete consequence to people murdering people--assuming that they don't get away with it. It doesn't stop people from murdering people, because the liberty of choice is still there, but it shows that just because you can do something doesn't mean you should or that you will escape without consequence.
People are going to do bad things. That is, unfortunately, how humans are. But our responsibility lies in holding ourselves accountable and in promoting growth and healing. That is how you build a better world. Not trapping everyone inside a dream world without any care for their feelings or beliefs, but in getting people the help they need, in fostering a society of positive change and human connection.
And that is why, as "golden" as Sunday's dream may have seemed, it was never going to work. In the end, as the story quest shows, human will and the desire for freedom wins out in the end. When there's a will, there's a way.
#i have otherwise dubbed this as#the reason why if i was in the hsr universe and a part of the main plot the plot gods wouldve sniped me and put me out of commission#just like they did welt and dr. ratio for the 2.2 update because if i were there i would just start yelling at sunday and lecturing him#for being a fucking idiot#if any of this makes any semblance of sense i will be very happy#i can see why people get drawn in by sunday's plan like genuinely#it sounds really really nice#a world where every day is sunday and everyone is at peace#but despite it feeling âniceâ i could never really find it in myself to agree with him#at first i thought that maybe i was just being kind of cynical and then i started to think about it a bit more#which is how this came into existence#i sent this to one of my irl friends first#who was like holy shit this is an essay#honkai star rail#2.2 spoilers#honkai star rail spoilers#sunday hsr#character/story analysis#analysis#penacony#penacony spoilers#hsr 2.2#i dont really know what else to tag this under lmao
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season 3 predictions
(all of which are likely to be made completely redundant by 2x12 but HEY HO LETâS GO)
Sam. I think the opportunity offered to him by Edwin is too great to pass up but I just canât imagine the show and the Richmond team without Toheeb Jimoh. Given that the writers have said theyâve planned these arcs in advance I donât think heâd be written out for the sake of a new acting gig. Therefore because Iâm selfish and desperately hoping he stars in season 3 (and could hardly pop back as a recurring character while on Edwinâs team) I could see him doing a Leslie Knope from Parks and Rec: âI want to leave Richmond better than when I joined itâ. After what I hope will be a promotion for the team I could potentially see him asking Edwin for a yearâs grace to help Richmond win the Premier League, and then heâll happily take him up on his offer.
Iâm also hoping like hell that this would be the push Rebecca needs to see thereâs not going to be a future in the relationship with Sam. Itâs interesting that although Bill Lawrence has openly agreed that the employee/age difference is concerning, thereâs been little acknowledgement of that in the show, so I wonder if thereâs going to be fallout in episode 12 in some fashion. Regardless, I think itâs time to say goodbye to Sambecca.
Keeley and Roy. I am firmly of the opinion that they ainât breaking up any time soon. Thereâs no way in hell Roy has knelt down in front of Keeley so many times without it meaning something, so I am certain that next season will be the planning of the Kent-Jones wedding.Â
I also have a sneaking suspicion that Keeley might end up being the next opening-shot of the season. After episode after episode of her working as Roy/Rebecca/Jamieâs emotional support, we got a tantalising glimpse into her psyche last episode: both with her uncertainties around being featured in Vanity Fair and her ambitions being shaped by her motherâs history. I love Keeley but quite frankly we havenât had enough of her as plot - I really think/hope she might come to the fore next season.
Nate. I fully believe thereâs no way in hell Nate will still be working at Richmond come the end of the season, though I can imagine him walking away in a fit of pique rather than Rebecca firing him. (Frankly, I canât see Ted letting Rebecca do that.) I think heâll end up joining another team - possibly with or without Darth Mannionâs help - and, although a lot of people here want this to be a devastatingly humiliating/humbling experience for Nate, Iâd love to see this as an opportunity for him to genuinely grow outside the confines of Richmond (which forms way too much of his identity - and letâs be honest, canât always hold good memories for Nate when he was literally asking his teammates not to physically harass him on a daily basis). I can definitely see someone - HigginsHigginsHiggins - giving him Sharonâs number to call before he leaves, and I like the idea that in the season break Nate could be dealing with some of his issues and returning to the Nate the Great we know and love.
However, I then think Nate will somehow end up back at Richmond. While you could argue that it would be better for Nate to make a clean break, it would honestly be a waste of Nick Mohammedâs bloody sterling acting talents to keep him away from Nelson Road for too long in season 3. I have no idea how a redemption arc here might look, but it would have to be good, and if thereâs forgiveness to be offered, it should take more than the space of an episode - although I hope they donât stretch it out too long. Rebecca and Jamie were forgiven relatively quickly; it would be a shame and a bad look if Nateâs own forgiveness journey was too disproportionately drawn out.
Iâd also love to see Jamie, Colin and Isaac apologise for their season 1 bullying of Nate. Much as the bullying Nate suffered doesnât excuse his shoddy behaviour, Nateâs own bullshit doesnât excuse what our beloved trio pulled in season 1 - and crucially, we never saw them apologise to Nate or try to make amends. I really love apology scenes and Iâd love to see Nate with some friends beyond Ted and Keeley - and that liâl scene in the Liverpool karaoke bar with Isaac, Colin and Nate doing shots together means I want more of this friendship.
Some sort of Jamie/Nate commiseration over shit dads and over-compensating for the emotional wounds they give us? Please?
More Higgins. In many ways Higgins is the emotional rock for our beloved Richmond: heâs the only one not suffering from some sort of untold trauma or struggles, and is able to live with a relationship with an imperfect father and yet be a fantastic father himself. Iâd love to see a storyline where Higgins isnât on the periphery but straight in the heart of the action, potentially adopting a Richmond boy or two along the way.Â
By saying this, I mean Jamie. If we get a scene where Jamie is invited around to the Higginses for Sunday lunch I will cry. Much like Nate needs space apart from Richmond to grow and heal, Jamie needs close relationships with people who arenât Keeley for security - mature familial relationships, and quite frankly the Higginses are the stable family dynamic Jamie needs right now.Â
Why the fuck does Colin feel the need to remind himself he is not a piece of shit? Enquiring minds need to know. Weâve had episode storylines that focus on Dani, Sam, Jamie and Isaac; I just want one with Colin where Iâm not emotionally devastated by the end of it, thank you Headspace.
This isnât so much a prediction as a plea, but an entire episode where the Richmond boys are the focus. A night out in Richmond, that long-promised pillow fight, them finally taking Colin to go clothes shopping for something that isnât a button-up polo shirt - I honestly donât care, I just need as much of their antics as Apple TV allows.
On a slightly more realistic note, the Himbos Greyhounds content rose significantly from season 1 to season 2, so I can see the writers carrying on with that arc.Â
Ted. Fuck knows. At this point I canât trust myself to predict Tedâs actions - I do think Nateâs going to be leaving Richmond, and so I canât see Ted leaving as well. It would be amazing if Ted used the dubiously-written expose (câmon Trent, you couldnât have given Ted a headâs up or asked for a quote before the article was put online? forget dubious journalism ethics that just...seems inefficient not to approach him for a comment while you were writing the piece) as an excuse to talk more about mental health in sport. I definitely think episode 12 is going to have Richmond rally around Ted, and so I do hope the article isnât going to drive Ted further into hiding and that heâll be at Richmond by the time season 3 comes around.
Ted and Rebecca. I canât have been the only one that caught that little look by Ted when Rebecca left his office in 2x11, right? Certainly the show has set up a whopper of a truth bomb for season 3, when thereâs another heart to heart in Tedâs office, and though it could be anything, my little shipper heart is screaming some sort of romantic confession of love. I donât know, it just feels like there is a...a something between Ted and Rebecca thatâs going to happen in 2x12, and I canât help but think itâs going to lay the foundations for whatever happens in season 3 big time.
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Fresh Blood, Old Scars Part 1
You'd disappeared 15 years ago without a trace- what's Yancy supposed to do when you walk into Happy Trails Penitentiary and don't recognize him, because he's transitioned? canon compliant trans!yancy/reader
Reader: he/him trans man, no physical description
Rating: T
Warnings: mentions of violence, canonical and parental. deadnaming and misgendering before either of you came out (none by anyone who knows the correct name/pronouns)
Word Count: 2,690
âHey Yancy, I heard thereâs fresh blood cominâ in today for some sorta museum heist.â
âOh? Know anything else about these guys, so we can give âem a proper welcome, Bambam?â
âI know some. The first guy, Mark Iplier, claimed to have been in charge of the whole thing, but from what my sources said, itâs the partner that ran the show- just real quiet-like. Iâve been told that he donât say a word.â
âGot a name for this, uh, silent partner?â He chuckled at his joke.
âY/N L/N.â Yancyâs stomach dropped the way it always did when he heard that last name, your last name. Get your shit together. Wrong first name, and Bambam said he and his. Bambam donât use pronouns other than they/them unless theyâre sure. Itâs just some guy with the same last name.
âYance, you okay?â Tiny waved his hand in front of Yancyâs face.
âYeah, yeah, just, uh, thinkin about how best to greet dese guys. The usual, wit Donât Wanna Be Free ready just in case?â
âRight off the bat? You really think theyâre that high of a flight risk?â Sparkles finally spoke up.
âI, uh, I donât trust dem silent-types. Theyâs always scheminâ, got somethin goin ahn in their heads.â And if he's anything like- yeah. Gone before you know it.
âOkay, if you say so. Iâll go let the others know.â Yancy didnât even register who was speaking; he was too lost in memories.
- 15 years earlier-
Yancy knew it wasnât cool to be excited for the first day of school when youâre a senior in high school, but he didnât care. He didnât need or even want to be cool- all he needed was to be your friend. Well, maybe not just friend. Youâd been gone for almost the entire summer, and heâd spent the whole time figuring out how to both ask you out and tell you that heâs a guy.
He practically skipped across the street to your house so you can walk to school together, like you had every day since middle school. He knocked- nothing. Rang the doorbell- still nothing. He checked the back door and the spots where you had hidden spare keys over the years- nothing. All the curtains were drawn, too, so he couldnât see inside. He kept trying as long as he possibly could before he had to sprint to make it to class just barely in time. All day, he kept an eye on the door, waiting for you- the two of you made sure to sign up for the exact same schedule before you went on your vacation. At lunch, he went to the office to see what he could find out.
âY/DN isnât a student here anymore- Mr L/N just told us last week.â
âWhat? Do you know where they went?â
âIâm sorry, hon, I donât. All I know is that Y/DN is no longer a student here.â
Heâd never ditched a class in his life, but that was the last thing on his mind as he ran home, crying. He didnât stop crying for weeks.
-Present -
Heâd never wanted to be wrong more in his life, but there you were. Looking better than heâd ever dreamed, following Mark around silently as he blabbered on about wanting to rally the other inmates to try to break out. No. I lost you once, and it cost me everything. Iâm not about to lose you again. He quickly spread the word to skip pleasantries with the new guys and prepare for the song. As he was, you made eye contact with him from across the room. His heart dropped; you didnât recognize him. You looked right through him, with the same calculating expression you gave everyone else. Of course he wasnât gonna recognize you, dumbass. Youâve been on hormones for years and have had top surgery. Usually Yancy loved that he couldnât see anything of the person he used to be in the mirror, but today he hated it more than anything in the world. Stick to the plan, Yance. He doesnât recognize me, but it might be better this way. This way, I can get him to stay and get to know me as I am now, and he wonât be disappointed that I havenât become anything like what we dreamed of so long ago.
Yancy couldnât have planned it better, Mark practically begging Jimmy to punch him through the wall right before the show started, leaving you alone.
The number went great, as always, but then you showed him a picture of your parents. He knew that picture; you took it when the four of you went on a vacation together before you started your freshman year of high school. He also knew that he had once been in the picture, but youâd cut him out. The tape and staples that had been holding his heart together since you left fell away.
He stuck with his usual response to people citing family for wanting to leave, for the most part. No one at Happy Trails knew about you, and heâd killed his parents before they could leave him, so heâd kept his true abandonment issues to himself. Face to face with you after all these years, though, he couldnât stop himself from adding âtheyâre always just gonna leave you behindâ and a warning about trifling with the past. You flinched a little at both of those, and a spark of hope ignited in his chest- maybe you hadnât forgotten about him, even if you didnât recognize him now.
Then you still chose to leave. The rest of the rather single-sided conversation was a blur to him. Later, as he was tending to his injuries in solitary, he remembered calling you handsome and/or beautiful and your blush when he did. And, of course, you knocking him flat on his ass. Heâd challenged you to a fight, because heâd always been able to beat you before. The part that truly left him confused, though, was why he offered to help you break out.
All heâd wanted for the last fifteen years was to go back to the day you left and beg you to stay. Heâd told himself dozens, maybe hundreds, of times that if he ever saw you again, heâd do everything in his power to keep you with him. On his darker and angrier days, he truly meant everything. But here you are, and he offered to help you leave. This is what you get for even hoping someone might stick around. Letâs just do this. I gotta stop in with the warden first, thoughâŚ
âMe? Out there? With you?â He chuckled. You had no idea that, with that simple gesture, you offered him everything heâd wanted for so long. Fuck, I donât deserve him. I still love him, but he deserves someone better than the angry, selfish man I am. The fragments of his heart splintered even more. âI, um. I done a lotta bad things. And, uh.â He made himself brighten up. âThis is home! For now, anyway. Maybe next time parole comes up, Iâll, uhâ take it and go find you like I should have fifteen years ago. And Iâll spend every minute until then trying to become the kind of man you deserve. âAnyway, I gotta get back to it. You take care now, you hear? And, hey, visitation! Every third Sunday!â You looked down at the box youâd brought with you, and he ran. When he got back to his cell, he cried genuine tears for the first time since that August day when his world turned upside down.
- 2 weeks later, visitation day -
He knew hoping youâd come was a waste of time, and that he was just setting himself up for more pain. Heâd learned the hard way that when you were gone, that was that. But still, there he was, looking up every time a guard walked into the room. As expected, they never called his name. The rest of the inmates gave him a wide berth as he went back to his cell for the night, and they were right to. He was itching for an excuse to fight. No one gave him one, though, so he told himself heâd find one tomorrow and got ready for bed.
When he got to his cell, it took him just one second to realize there was someone on his bed, pull them off, and shove them against the wall. It took him three more to process that it was you, and then another five to step back and let you go.
âSorry for scaring you, Yancy. I didnât mean to. Itâs just⌠itâs visitation day, but Iâm still wanted for the escape you helped me pull off, and I havenât decided if I want to come back for good or not.â He stood there, frozen. You chuckled nervously. âI get it, your turn to be the quiet one. Iâm sorry about that, by the way. There was a lot to process all at once, and I just kinda shut down when I get overwhelmed.â
I know. I remember that you didnât say a single word our first day of high school, Yancy wanted to say. He wanted to say something, anything, but you being there and so close was just too much.
âOkay, so, honesty time; thereâs a specific reason I came back.â You took a deep breath. âI havenât been able to shake this feeling that I know you, somehow. But I know Iâd remember meeting you- no way Iâd forget someone like you. Anyway, I'm probably way off base and ridiculous. I guess I just wanted to tell you?â You ran your hand through your hair. âGod, that sounds even flimsier than it felt in my head. Iâm sorry.â
âDonât be. It, uh. It means a lot that you came back to say that.â
âUh, Yancy? What happened to your accent?â
âShit. Um. Câmere.â He muttered, as he sat down on his bed and pulled you down next to him. He prayed that you couldnât hear how his heart started racing when he noticed your knees were touching. âNo one here knows that the accent isnât how I always speak. Not even the warden. Iâve been here five years and havenât dropped it once. Anyone learns about this, and youâre dead, understand?â He knew that the threat was empty, but you seemed to believe it.
âYeah, yeah, I do, donât worry. Your secretâs safe with me. I gotta ask, though- why fake it? It seems like a lot of effort. You donât owe me an explanation, of course, but since youâre heart-on-your-sleeve about your parents, it must be one hell of a reason. I bet itâd feel good to let it off your chest. I can promise to leave and never come back if you do- a burden shared is a burden halved, and if Iâm gone, you can be 100% sure no one here will know.â
He took a deep breath. âSomething flipped my world on its head, and I needed to distance myself from who I was before. Thatâs an odd phrase, though- âa burden shared is a burden halvedâ. Whereâd you pick that up?â
âOh, um. The mom of someone I loved a long time ago used to say it a lot. It just kinda stuck, I guess.â
âLoved, huh? You break their heart, or did they break yours?â Yancy was surprised he got the words out without his voice shaking or cracking. You were silent for a long time, and Yancy was sure heâd pushed too hard and you would completely shut down or, worse, leave altogether.
âSorry, I havenât talked about this⌠ever." Your voice shook. "Iâve never talked to anyone about this. I donât know if I was loved back, but if so, I was the heartbreaker. I didnât mean to be- I couldnât control having to leave, and I didnât know I wasnât coming back until it was too late. I couldnât say goodbye. Iâve hoped every day for the last fifteen years that my feelings were unrequited, though. Iâm happy to have the pain of an unrequited first love if it means she wasnât heartbroken.â The incorrect pronoun stung a bit, but you didnât know, and youâd loved him back all those years ago. He was invincible.
âHave you tried reaching out? Even if your feelings were one-sided, I think you owe it to both of you to say them, at least once.â He reached out and took your hands without thinking. You didn't stop him, and he felt like he could fly.
âI tried, actually. About eight years ago, I'd, uh, escaped and was finally an actual person again after everything that was done to and taken from me, so I started looking for her. But itâs like she vanished off the face of the earth five years to the day after we were separated. Itâs actually how I met Mark- I got into some deep and shady shit looking. I only gave up last year. Nothing turned up in seven years of searching, so I have to figure that she did something incredibly stupid a decade ago and got herself killed.â
âI didnât die. Just the name did.â Yancy breathed. A half second later, he realized heâd said it out loud, and his heart stopped. You took your hands out of his and scooted away.
âYancy. Are you trying to tell me that youâre- that we- oh my god. It is you. I knew I knew you. Everything else is different, but I should have recognized your eyes. I guess some part of me did. But you- I- I thought you were dead.â
âAs you can see, Iâm not dead, Brain. And for the record, your feelings were definitely not one-sided.â He reached out and cupped your cheek with one hand.
âShit, Pinky, it really is you.â
Yancy had dreamed about how seeing you again would go in a million different ways. Not a single one of those included you practically jumping into his lap and kissing him with a lifetime's worth of love and want.
He let out an undignified whine when you broke the kiss. âWait, wait. You knew from the second I walked in here who I was, didnât you? You tried so hard to stop me from leaving⌠but then you helped me do just that. You chose to stay here when I asked you to come with me. Then I came back, and you got me to say all those things⌠And weâre both trans and wound up here? This is all just. So much. I canât- I canât do this.â You got off his lap and scooted to the far end of the bed.
âWhat are you saying, Y/N? That youâre leaving? Again?â He couldnât keep the bitterness out of his voice.
You stood up and faced him. âYou do not get to play that card. You donât know how much I went through trying to find a way to tell you I was sorry, that I didnât know that the trip was a permanent one until we were on the other side of the country. Dad said that I'd never see mom again, and heâd kill me if I tried to get in touch with you or anyone else from back home. He broke my arm to prove he meant it. I canât stay here to unpack all of this. I have to go. But you can come with me. I mean it even more now than I did last time. Iâm not leaving you, Iâm leaving here.â
You walked to the cell door and looked back at him with a sigh. âBut I know you, and you have a family here. Iâll get you my address- itâs your turn to come to me, when youâre ready. Iâve waited 15 years to be with you again, whatâs a little bit longer?â Without giving him a chance to respond, you kissed him again and were gone.
#yancy x yn#yancy x reader#yancy x male reader#yancy x trans male reader#yancy ahwm#ahwm fanfiction#otp: don't want to be free#self ship fanfic#self shipping fanfiction#self shipping fic
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I Feel it all Over - t. 04 - JJ Maybank
Summary: Kiara surprises you at church and you spend the day with her, JJ, and Pope.
A/N: If you haven't ever listened to them...can I just highly recommended listening to The Maine (whose album You Are Ok this is based on)? Theyâre music is amazing...You Are Ok, American Candy, and Pioneer are probably my favorite albums of theirs. Plus they did an incredible cover of Watermelon Sugar...if youâre a fan of Harry Styles.Â
You Are Ok Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist
â I swear to every god I feel everything tonight with you â
New patrons to the church were usually whole families that came to services, whose fathers or mothers agreed your fatherâs lesson and felt drawn to the âcommunityâ of the Baptist denomination. They responded to the clickbait phrases and did feel lost in their everyday life. It was very rare that any new member, or anyone testing the church out for the first time, would be a single person, a teenager far removed from the beliefs and traditions of the church. But there was Kiara, walking up the few steps into the vestibule. She wasnât here because of any lost feelings; she was here because she wanted to get to know you more. What JJ had told her, and what she had seen for herself on Friday, was someone that she definitely wanted to be friends with. Â
She had no bet to dictate how or when she became friends with you. She slipped into the line of people entering the church, catching sight of you standing by the door handing out pamphlets for that morningâs service. Making sure she was at the end of the line, she waved as she approached, happy to see you. Â
âWhat are you doing here?â You asked, glancing into the church before giving her a quick hug. If your parents or any other family saw they would ask how you knew this complete stranger and why you seemed so friendly with someone who had never been to the church before. Â
âJJ stole you on Friday,â she shrugged, âthought maybe we could hang out after church?â Â
âYeah,â you nodded, a story already formulating in your head to tell your parents. Your mother always said that a lie was the devil on your tongue and the first time sheâd said it you were convinced that the devil had taken out real estate because you lied constantly, and with ease. Sometimes just to see if you could get away with it. âThat would be amazing.â
As far as friends went, you had very few. Your main source of companionship had come from your brothers and sisters, other friends were just acquaintances from youth group or church retreats that you never really felt any deeper connection with. The further away from the fold you felt, the less you found a community for yourself. You had been doubting for so long now that anything within the church felt like a show you were putting on for other peopleâs amusement, the emotions werenât real and niether were you. Â
JJ wasnât the first boy you had ever let yourself like but he was the first person you had ever felt comfortable being yourself around. There was no fear of judgement or rejection with him, nothing you said was turned into a weapon to make you feel guilty or unworthy, you didnât have to pretend to be someone you werenât. You had been nervous to meet his friends, feeling so different from them, but Kiara and Pope had been nice, welcoming, and all you felt was ease. Even now, seeing Kiara had put a more genuine smile on your face than seeing your family visiting for church.
âI wore my best âchurchâ outfit,â Kiara said, gesturing to the maxi dress and sweater she was wearing. The dress was backless and strappy but it was the only thing she owned that wasnât short. Sheâd thrown a sweater overtop, hoping she could play off the dress better.
âYou blend right in,â you laughed, âIâm relegated to sit up front...I donât know if you wanna sit with me up there?â
âLead the way.â
The âpeace be with youâsâ werenât too bad and you lied to your mom when she asked how you knew Kiara, telling her that you had met at Heyward's and invited Kiara to church because she was interested in the tract you had. Your motherâs love for testimony and her conviction that people really did want to be approached on the street and harassed about their faith were enough to convince her that your story was solid. It was enough, even, to give you permission to go to lunch with Kiara after service was over. Â
Kiara hadnât been to church since she was thirteen and her mom decided that she was old enough to choose whether or not she actually wanted to be there. That sort of power and responsibility had been all Kiara needed to ditch Sunday service altogether and spend her mornings out on the waves with the pogues, worshipping a different sort of force. She was a lot less religious and a lot more spiritual now though she listened intently to your father preaching. The opinions were hogwash, nothing to bat an eye at, but the actual teachings were interesting. You seemed relatively invested in those parts too, your notes, Kiara realized, looked a lot more like a theology lesson than a preacherâs condemnation of society. Â
âYou know a lot about the bible,â Kiara mentioned once you were out of church and back at her house, changing into jeans and a shirt of hers. Â
âI like studying religion, theology,â you clarified, âmy grandfather knew a lot about the texts. Not like my dad, heâs just...got his own ideas. My grandfather knew the Greek and Hebrew translations and spent years studying other religions as well. It was so cool to talk to him about it. I like that part, the history, the context, more than the âfundamentalist/evangelical crapâ my dad touts.â
âIs that something youâd study?â She asked, pulling a tank top on over her bathing suit, âlike in college?â
âMy parents wonât let me go to college.â You replied. Â
âThatâs so crazy, my parents would kill me if I didnât go.â
You spent the drive to Kiaraâs dadâs restaurant explaining your parents future plan for your life, including telling her about the boy that your parents wanted you to marry. When she asked if JJ knew you admitted that he did and that you werenât really sure what was going to happen when you turned eighteen. You knew what your parents wanted, for you to get engaged and then quickly married, but that wasnât what you wanted at all. Â
âIf I say that though...thereâs a good chance Iâd be ex-communicated. Not just from the church but from my family. One of my cousins defected and no one speaks to her anymore.â You said, âitâs like a massive stain on her familyâs reputation.â
âYeah but if sheâs happy, does it matter?â
âItâs...itâs not just that I havenât worn jeans or drank a soda,â you said, following Kiara out onto the back deck to eat, âitâs that I donât have anyone outside my family. Itâs not just being sheltered, itâs being isolated. And I know that, and I hate it but...itâs all I know.â Â
âNone of your siblings have done it differently?â Â
âNo.â You shook your head, âI think I wouldâve been fine coasting too...I was pretty much set that this was it ya know? But then...JJ asked me out.â You admitted.
Kiara frowned, âyeah but you donât know whatâs gonna happen with JJ in the future.â
You shrugged, âitâs not just about him...itâs me, feeling happier and more confident.â Â
âTalking about me?â JJâs voice came from behind you and you turned around, watching him and Pope walk up to the railing of the deck. He put his hands on the railing, pulling himself up so he could lean over and kiss your cheek.
âI shouldâve known you guys would crash.â Kiara said, rolling her eyes as JJ climbed the rest of the way up, hopping over the railing onto the deck. Â
âWhatâre you guys up to?â Pope asked, staying on the other side.
âKie mentioned taking the ferry to Chapel Hill.â You replied, âI have to be back before dark though.â
âSo whatâre we waiting for?â JJ said, grabbing your soda and taking a sip. Â
-
The four of you rode the ferry over to Chapel Hill, standing on the back deck the whole time talking. Kiara suggested shopping the moment you got off the ferry, telling you that all she wanted was to see you pick out an actual outfit. Â
âNothing hand-me-down or borrowed, just like a real, honest outfit that you pick out.â Kiara said, taking your hand in hers as she pushed open the door to one of the small stores along the main road. Â
JJ followed you to the back of the store where the sale racks were, skimming through clothes, holding up different things that were still a little too far out of your comfort zone. You shook your head at a spaghetti strapped mini dress, pulling a crossover out to show him, âI like this one.â
âTry it on.â He shrugged. Â
âWhereâs the changing area?â You asked, looking around the small area. Â
JJ grabbed your hand, âover here.â He led you to the curtained off stalls, pulling you into one of them and hanging the dress up. Â
âI have a very strong feeling that if anyone caught us we would be in massive trouble.â You whispered, biting your lip to stop from laughing as JJ moved so that you were looking in the mirror and he was behind you, hands on your hips. He rested his head on your shoulder, nudging his face into the space between your shirt and your neck, kissing the exposed skin. Â
âYeah but youâve never been shopping so what do you know?â JJ replied, as if it was obvious and he wasnât just bullshitting you to stay in the changing room. Â
You turned in his arms, putting your hands over his, âIâm not changing with you in here.â
âFine,â he groaned, âIf I leave will you try on something for me?â
âFine.â You mimicked. You kissed him, initiating it for yourself this time, before pushing him into the curtain. He gave another exasperated sigh as he swept the curtain out of the way and left you to change.
Alone in the dressing room, you changed out of your clothes and tried on the floral wrap dress. It tied off at the waist, cutting a deep V and a slit up to your thigh. It was a dress but not like any you had ever worn before. You pushed the curtain enough that you could peek out to see JJ. He was slouched in the chair, texting, while he waited for you.
âI thought you were picking something out?â You said, looking over at him.
He shrugged, âIâd rather see what you like then pick something out for you.â Â
âThanks,â you nodded. Â
JJ watched you as you pushed the curtain back and stepped out of the changing room. âHoly shit,â he mouthed. âWait, donât move!â
âWhat? Why?â You asked as he lifted his phone in front of his face. Â
âI wanna picture of this.â He replied. Sure, he had seen you in a dress before but he had never seen you in a dress like this, one that actually fit you well, that wasnât trying to hide your figure but accentuate it. One that you looked so incredibly happy in. Â
âSo I take it I donât look half bad?â You joked, stepping further out when he had stashed his phone and stood up. Â
âHalf bad? You look...incredible.â JJ replied. Deciding it was worth mentioning, he added, âyou look really happy.â
âI really like this dress. Iâve never really...liked anything Iâve worn before. Like, itâs just always felt like, clothes. This is different.â You admitted.
Your clothes were just whatever hand-me-downs fit you. From siblings, relatives, church members, it was never your stuff, you never chose it, never got to say what you liked or disliked. Â
âOh my god!â Kiara exclaimed, coming over and interrupting your moment with JJ, âyou look so pretty.â Â
âThanks.â You nodded, smiling at her, âI think Iâm gonna get it.â Â
âLet me.â JJ piped up and you looked over at him. Â
âYou donât have to.â
âI want to.â He insisted. Â
There was little further discussion to be had about it, JJ purchasing the dress for you and the four of you wandering around the rest of Chapel Hill, heading in and out of a few different shops. Pope talked to you about his future college plans and you listened intently. Being with JJ was amazing but being able to be friends with a guy, just sitting with Pope and not having to consider anything other that friendship, was so underrated in your life. You had never been friends with a boy either. Â
-
Kiara drove you back to your house after you changed, just getting inside as your sister Praise was setting the table. âHi! Iâm so sorry Iâm late!â You apologized, âKie and I were just chatting and I lost track of time.â
âThatâs okay Ace, mom was just telling us about Timothyâs visit. Are you excited?â Praise asked, wrapping her arms around you in a hug. Â
You hugged her back, âIâm very excited.â You lied. Â
Robert gave you a hug as you walked further into the house, handing off a baby and soon you were outside, supervising kids while your other siblings sat and chatted with your parents around the table. You were only two years younger than Robert but he was married with a kid and another on the way and that automatically made you still a kid. Though you felt less and less like a kid every day. Â
Your parents talked about Timothyâs visit and their own upcoming trip, ignoring anything that actually had to do with you or your interests. Even Praise, in talking about your upcoming nuptials, mentioned that her dress was still in good condition if you needed one. Â
âOh, wouldnât that be amazing Ace? You could wear Praiseâs dress?â Your mother mentioned from across the table, smiling at you as if all her dreams were being realized right there at the table.
âAmazing.â Â
-
The sound of tapping at your window startled you as you sat on the bed, reading before sleep. You walked over, lifting the blinds to see JJ standing there. He waved as you opened the window for him. Â
âWhat are you doing here?â
âI missed you, I wanted to see you.â He replied, leaning into the window space. Â
âYou just saw me earlier.â You pointed out. Â
âI also wanted to know if you wanted to go for a âmidnight swimâ with me, Kie, and Pope?â JJ said, âweâre taking the HMS out. John B and Sarah donât feel like going out and I figured you might.â
âIâm lucky no one caught me last time JJ,â you replied, âI donât know if I can risk it.â
âThatâs fine,â he said, âyou donât have to.â
You bit your bottom lip, glancing back over at your door. Your parents were asleep for the night and the thought of getting to spend more time with JJ was just too tempting for you to say no too. You were sure your dad had some bible verse to offer for you as proof that this was an evil infatuation but you could care less, agreeing to go and grabbing the swimsuit that JJ had given you. âJust let me change.â
âCan do.â JJ turned around, back to the window, and you almost laughed. Â
You changed quickly before climbing out the window, âI better not get in trouble for this.â
JJ led you through the woods to John Bâs house, just like the night of the kegger, taking you down to the jetty. Kiara waved when she saw you and Pope helped you onto the HMS. Â
âI canât believe you let him sneak you out.â Pope joked as JJ boarded the boat. Â
He drove you out on the marsh, parking in an open area where they couldnât be seen by lights at the edge of anyoneâs yard. The HMS didnât have lights itself and they banked on that to keep themselves mostly out of trouble. Kiara lit a lantern in the middle of the boat but otherwise it was dark as they jumped in, JJ hanging back with you. Â
The two of you sat on the bench together, in your own little world seemingly. âCan I try a sip?â You asked, holding your hand out for the beer he was drinking. Â
âYou sure?â He asked.
âYeah, positive.â Â
He passed the beer over, laughing when you took a big gulp and then practically spit in out. âOh my god, thatâs horrible!â You cried, sticking your tongue out. Â
âI warned you.â He laughed.
âNot enough,â you replied, âthatâs really gross.â Â
âSorry babe,â he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you against him and kissing your cheeks and then your lips. âWeâll stick to soda for now.â Â
âYes please.â You replied, kissing him back.
âQuit macking on each other and get in the water!â Pope shouted, grabbing on to the side of the boat and pushing himself up so that the HMS would rock slightly. Â
You grabbed onto JJ more, laughing as the boat swayed. Â
âWhat the fuck Pope, weâre coming.â He grumbled. âIâm trying to spend time with my girlfriend.â
-
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Weed (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}
Title: Weed Rating: PG-13 Length: 4600 Warnings: Potential triggers if you have toxic family members and/or triggers difficult child hoods. Also recreational marijuana use and fluff! Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set November 2nd 1998. Summary: Reader goes to therapy and Javier tries something new.
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âI was quite surprised to hear from you again.â Nancy remarked as she shuffled papers in her notebook, peering up at you from the rim of her eyeglasses. âWhen last we met, you seemed to be well on your way.â She took her glasses off and sat them on her desk, âHave we had a setback?â
You chewed on your bottom lip as you stared across the room at her, âI wouldnât necessarily call it a setback.âÂ
âWhat would you call it?â
âI was doing really well. After everything with the articles, Javier and I went on vacation together and things feltâŚâ You sighed. âI felt like I had finally hit my stride. You know?â
âPerhaps you should elaborate.â
You and Javier had already decided that Nancy was a safe space to discuss your elopement. It wasnât like she could tell anyone about your sessions. Not to mention the fact that you had discussed your aversion to the whole concept at length in previous sessions.
But it still felt wrong to tell her.Â
âWell,â You drew in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. âJavier and I got married.â
âCongratulations.â
âThank you.â You smiled, picking a piece of fuzz off your leg. âIt was perfect. I finally realized I had reached this point in my life where I wanted that. I wanted this thing that was just ours.â
âWhy do you think that is?â
âI mean, you know that Javier and I are private people. Having our lives splashed across newspapers was daunting. Which⌠thatâs actually why Iâm here.â
âYour marriage?â
âNo. My mother.â
Nancyâs brows rose upwards and for the first time she seemed shocked by something you had to say. âYour mother?â
You rubbed your lips together and nodded a little. âShe showed up this weekend. Halloween.â You laughed quietly, staring at a spot on the floor. âSeeing her again⌠it brought up. A lot.â
âWould you like to discuss what it brought up?â
âThatâs why Iâm here,â You retorted, before you sank back against the sofa, raking your fingers through your hair. âFor a few fleeting seconds I let myself actually believe that maybe she had changed. That maybe rehab had cured her. Finally. But⌠then I was thirteen again. I felt so small and⌠scared.â
âScared?â
âIâve worked very hard to make sure my girls have a safe, loving, harmonious life. I even came here. I recognized I had a problem after SofĂa and I⌠handled it. Thatâs what I do. I handle things.â You swallowed thickly, feeling a knot form in the pit of your stomach. âThis isnât new. Weâve talked about her before.â
Nancy flipped through the pages of her notebook, âYes. I recall our lengthy conversation about her addiction. You made a lot of progress, grappling with those difficult emotions that grew from a difficult situation. How did this encounter make you feel?â
âI donât think Iâve slept since Friday night.â You shrugged a shoulder, âJavierâs been great. Heâs⌠always been understanding.â
âBut youâve never fully discussed the details with him, have you?â
You bit down on your bottom lip and shook your head.Â
âWhy do you think that is?â
âBecause itâs a lot. We used to talk about it⌠before we were together. Itâs come up before.â
âYou once referred to her as a shadow on your life. Does it feel like that shadow returned?â
âYes.â You rubbed your hands together, leaning forward on the edge of the sofa. âThatâs exactly how it feels. Sheâs gone â I hope sheâs gone â but I still feelâŚâ
âSmall?â
âShe pulled all the same tricks. She tried to make Javi think I was crazy. She pulled the tears and the blaming and⌠I genuinely donât think she realizes how traumatized I was as a child.â
âWhat stands out?â
You laughed, pinching the bridge of your nose. âGod, I donât even know. There was so much.âÂ
âI would like to try something, if youâre open.â Nancy suggested, âWould you be comfortable laying down?â
âSure.â You kicked off your shoes and stretched out lengthwise on the sofa. âIs this the whole⌠introspective breathing exercise?â
âYes.â
You dragged your hands over your face, trying to will yourself to relax. âAlright. Iâm ready.âÂ
âFocus on your breath. In and out. As you feel the air rushing into your lungs, I want you to think back to your childhood.â Nancy advised you. âPinpoint a moment. Just one.â
You closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing just as she had told you to. You pictured your lungs filling with air and deflating as you exhaled. How many times had you used breathing exercises to manage anxiety?
You let your mind wander back â at first you thought of Javier. Those were easy memories to reflect on. Safe memories. The way heâd held you this morning, the way he tried to chase away all of the bad memories that had returned with your mother. But you werenât sitting on Nancyâs sofa to think about Javi.
âWhat do you see?â
âThe house I grew up in,â You answered, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as you settled into that memory. âWe lived in one of those one-level post-War houses. It was identical to the one next to us, except⌠we had a blue front door. She painted it when she was high, it was⌠It was poorly painted.â
âWho painted it?â
âMy mother.â
âHow does that blue door make you feel?â
âI used to dread it. Every time my dad would bring me back after a weekend with himâŚâ You sighed heavily. âIt wasnât a welcome sight.â
âAnd what was beyond that door?â
âThe place I lived. It was never home. It was just the place I lived.â You werenât sure if youâd ever really had a home before Javier and the girls. They felt like what home had always looked like in books and movies.Â
âIf I was coming back from dadâs house, I knew I was going to be met with hostility. She treated me like a traitor every time I came back to the house. If she had gotten high while I was gone, she was usually passed out on the sofa â that was the best time to come back.â
âTell me about your room.â
âThere was a mural on one of the walls. A butterfly.â You shook your head slowly as you pictured the poorly drawn butterfly. âI used to pretend I was the butterfly, that I could just fly out the window and never look back.â
âDid you feel trapped?â
âAlways.â You shifted on the sofa, trying to find a more comfortable position. âI never felt safe.â
âWhy?â
âThere were always people in our house. Strangers â a lot of strange men.âÂ
âWere you ever harmed?â
âNo. Iâm certain Iâm lucky in that regard. I slept with a chair in front of my door. My dad told me to do that. Even though he wasnât there, he tried to protect me.â
âDo you think these experiences have played a part in how you approach your life?â
You laughed bitterly, âEvery day. Not even consciously. These things are so hard wired into who I am.â
âHow so?â
âBefore Javier and I were together, I was terrified that my daughter would be brought up into a life like my own. Torn between two people who couldnât get along. I knew Javier was a good man, but I still feared that. It makes life very confusing for a child.âÂ
âLetâs touch on those fears. Itâs very common in adults who have suffered from upbringings like your own â they fear repeating the cycle. Is that something you find yourself faced with?â
âAll the time. Everything that happened with SofĂaâs birth brought up a lot of those emotions. I was afraid it would be the trigger. I had never felt that way before. I felt like a stranger in my own body.â You focused on your breathing again, trying to push aside the panic you felt. âSeeing her again this weekend, definitely brought those emotions back to the surface. Javier tried to reassure me. He was great â so great.â
âWhat emotions?â
âShe got under my skin.â You admitted. âI have worked so hard to provide everything for my family. We have a home, we love each other, the girls are safe and loved.â
âHow did your interaction with your mother go?â
âShe showed up Saturday night. We had plans for Josie â a school Halloween party. I let Javier handle it because I just didnât have the emotional bandwidth. I guess she said some shitty things to him, Iâm not surprised. She skirted around it with me on Sunday.â
âWhy did you speak to her on Sunday?â
âJavier had to reason with her. To get her to leave, you know?â You swallowed thickly. âSo she came back on Sunday and we talked. She made excuses, she blamed me, she lashed out. I was thirteen again.â
âWhy thirteen?â
You opened your eyes, turning to look at Nancy. âWhat?â
âYou mentioned thirteen twice. What happened when you were twelve?â
âOh,â You rubbed at the spot between your brows. âMy mother and her boyfriend â I think it was Greg⌠there were a few at the time â but, they had this partyâŚâ You closed your eyes again. âDrugs everywhere. My mother was drunk, on top of whatever sheâd snorted⌠she hadnât even bothered to make dinner for me. So I was in the kitchen, it was in the back of the house, and I was trying to make something to eat. There was this woman who was there and I guess she had wandered away from the rest of the partyââÂ
âTake your time.â
You covered your face, âShe was nice. Obviously very high, but she liked my shirt. It had a butterfly on it.â You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. âShe sat down at the kitchen table and she⌠nodded out and then she made this sound.â You sat up slowly then, pushing your fingers through your hair. âIt was like a death rattle.â
âDid she die?â
You nodded, âRight in front of me. I tried to call 911, butâŚâ You looked at a point somewhere beyond Nancy. âMy mother threatened me. She said if I told anyone what happened, sheâd make sure I never saw my father again. I couldnât sleep for weeks.â
âYou have gone through a considerable amount of trauma at a very young age,â Nancy surmised, closing her notebook as she leaned against her desk. âYet you have overcome it. You have a healthy relationship with your partner, you put tremendous consideration into your relationship with your daughters. But I do think there is more work to be done. You are not an island. You are no longer isolated.â
You pressed your lips together and nodded slowly as you weighed her words. âI know Iâm not. And I do talk about these things with Javier. I always have.âÂ
âIt is okay to let go of the past. You donât have to carry that baggage with you.â Nancy smiled at you kindly, âThis is a minor setback, that you cannot let affect the progress youâve made.â
You chewed on your thumbnail nervously, âI know. And I am aware that Iâm a work in progress. We all are.â
Nancy nodded, âExactly. Focus on today, on the here and now. Donât let yourself get trapped in this moment. Your mother has no control over your future.â
âI tell everyone that itâs okay to cut toxic people out of their lives, but when it came to my own mother I hesitated.âÂ
âWe all want to believe the best in someone. But some people arenât wired to be their best. Thereâs no shame in disconnecting. Focus on your own family.â
You smiled back at her, âThank you. I do think Iâm going to start having sessions again. I want to get through thisââ You gestured to your chest. âI have a lot of pain that Iâm still carrying. I would like to work through it with you.â
âIâm here for you. And, of course, Javier if he decides heâd like to join us.â
âIâm sure he will,â You laughed softly. âHe was willing to come today if I needed support.â
âOur regular appointment time is still open. Feel free to call and get yourself back on my books.â
âThank you.â
 ââ
 Talking about your past hadnât necessarily managed to cure your mild malaise, but it has helped to an extent. You felt lighter. You didnât feel afraid that youâd see Rebecca standing outside of your house when you got home.Â
Maybe a few more weeks of talking with Nancy â before you packed up the car to head to Laredo for Thanksgiving â would do you good.Â
You peeled off your coat as you walked through the front door, hanging it on the hook. âShould I be afraid? Itâs awfully quiet.â You called out, glancing around the empty family room.Â
âIn the kitchen!â Javier called out and you followed his voice. âYou got home sooner than I expected.â
Your brows rose upwards as you looked at the bags of chips sitting on the counter. âAre we having a party I was unaware of?â
âNo,â Javier grinned at you, shaking his head. âConnieâs keeping the girls another night. Sheâs off today.â
âOh?â You tilted your head to the side. âBags of chips, no kidsâŚâÂ
He sat a familiar box down on the counter between the two of you, âIâm finally ready to bite the bullet, baby.â
You couldnât help but cover your mouth and laugh, âJavier!â You moved around the counter, wrapping your arms around him as you continued to laugh. âYou really donât have to try weed, just because Iâm having a shitty couple of days.â
âBut I want to,â Javier ran his hand down your back. âYou said before that it helps with stress and⌠I think weâre both pretty stressed right now.â
âI agree with that, but you really donât have to try something you donât want to. I know how you feel about it.â
âI had a really long conversation with Nadia about it at the party Saturday night. She laid it all out pretty clearly,â He rocked his jaw as you pulled back to look at him. âI can see the merits of smoking occasionally.â
You smiled up at him adoringly, âAnd here I thought I couldnât love you anymore than I already do.â You rose up and pressed a kiss to his lips. âBetter watch out,â You teased, cupping his jaw. âI might have to marry you.â
âDid you tell her?â
âIâve never seen her so surprised.â You told him as you ran your thumb over his bottom lip. âIt was a good session. I think Iâm going to start going again.â
âGood.â
You ran your hands over his shoulders as you leaned against him, âI canât believe youâre willing to smoke. Finally. God, I hope you love it.âÂ
âI like the prospect of being pain free for an evening.â Javier leaned down and rested his forehead against yours. âHow are you doing?â
âIâm here.â You curled a hand around the back of his neck, playing with the hair there. âA lot of bad memories got dredged up.â
âI know you didnât sleep last night.â He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, giving your hip a squeeze. âYou gonna fall asleep on me if we smoke?â
You snorted, âProbably.â You watched him as he moved back to the grab the box off the counter. âDonât you have class tomorrow?â
âIâve assigned it a research day. Theyâll be working on the proposals.â He answered smoothly. âThey need the time to work anyways.â
âIâm touched that you did all of this, Javi.âÂ
He shrugged, âI wanted to do something that would cheer you up, baby. You were pretty out of it last night.â
âLast night was rough,â You admitted as you took the box from him, âGrab the chips.âÂ
Javier followed you into the bedroom, sitting the chips down on the foot of the bed as he watched you open the windows to let some fresh air in.Â
âWhat should I expect?â
You paused, hands on your hips as you turned back towards him. âItâs different for everyone, but for the most part⌠Youâll feel like youâre drunk, without feeling drunk. Warm and fuzzy.â You shrugged. âI just know it makes me feel really calm.â
He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he nodded, âThis can never get out. They wonât let either of us teach.â
âMarriage, pegging, and weed. Our three dirty secrets.â You wiggled your brows at him as you moved to join him at the foot of the bed.Â
You sat the box on your legs, opening it and pulling out the neatly rolled joint from the last time youâd taken a hit. âItâs a lot like smoking. Same in and out.â You explained, sitting the box aside and holding the lighter out to him. âThe key is that you have to let go and enjoy it.â
Javier dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and nodded, âI think after the year weâve had, I can let go and have fun.â
âAnd thatâs growth.â You laughed, before tucking the joint between your lips. He flicked the lighter on, bringing it to the end of the joint and lighting it for you.Â
You pinched it between your fingers, drawing in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. This was exactly what you needed. You could already feel the first tingles as it settled.Â
âReady?â You questioned, holding the joint out between you. âYou donât have to, Javi. I donât mind smoking if you just want to lay here with me.â
He shook his head, taking the joint from you. âIâm willing to try it, baby. I wanna see what all the fuss is about.âÂ
You rolled your eyes. âOf course you do.â
Javier brought it to his lips, tagging a drag off of it before passing it back to you. âWhat am I supposed to feel?â
You snatched it from him and took another breath, âJust let it happen. Donât overthink it.â You held the joint up, smirking as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around it.Â
He had really nice lips.Â
Javier rubbed his lips together thoughtfully, âI feel a little tingle.â He admitted, taking it back from you after you took another hit.Â
âJust sink into it,â You advised him as you took the little ashtray out of the box, leaving it on the bed as you rose to your feet.Â
âWhere are you going?â
âNowhere.â You gave him a look as you sat the box down on your nightstand, before returning to him to take another drag off it. âIâm just making more room.â
Javier laughed as he exhaled. âMore room for what?â
You shrugged, âI was thinking a pillow fight.â
âOh really?â He laughed again, watching you as you picked up the bag of sour cream and onion chips and sat them on the nightstand too. âWhy a pillow fight?â
âBecause it sounds fun.â You plopped back down beside him, taking the joint from him and take another hit off it, âJavier PeĂąa is smoking weed.â
He rolled his eyes, âIâve been corrupted.â
âCorruption looks good on you,â You told him, brushing your knuckles against his cheek. âI miss the hair.
Javier grinned around the joint tucked between his lips, âI didnât let it go until you got your wish.â
You leaned over and kissed his cheek, ruffling your fingers through his hair. âYou look good when youâre getting fucked.â
âSo Iâve been told,â He said as he exhaled a puff of smoke between you, before passing it back to you. âI havenât got a bad word to say about it.â
âGood.â You scrunched up your nose and laughed. âYouâre so good to me.â
Javier beamed, âHave you met you?â
âI donât know if I have.â You tucked your leg beneath you as you angled yourself towards him. âTell me more.â
âWell,â He offered you the joint again. âI do feel tingly!â Javier snorted, âIs this what it feels like?â
âI donât know. How do you feel?â You questioned, toying with the third button of his shirt. âI feel warm.â
âI feel warm too!â He clasped his hands together, looking towards the open windows. âI feel good.â
âThatâs all I want,â You admitted to him, sitting the smoldering joint in the ashtray. âYou know what?â
âWhat?â
âYouâre hot.â
He laughed loudly, sinking back against the bed, his legs still draped over the edge. âYeah?â
You nodded emphatically. âI remember⌠my first day.â You swept your hands through the air dramatically. âI walked into the office and saw you and just thought â hot!â
âOh, was that your first thought?âÂ
You laid back in the bed, settling into the crook of his arm, âMhm.â You sighed happily. âAnd then I quickly realized what a dick you were.â You pressed close to him, nuzzling at his neck. âThatâs how I knew I was screwed.â
Javier laughed, rubbing his hand down your arm, âWe were both screwed.â He hummed, his lips still drawn into a smile as he stared up at the ceiling. âDo you remember New Years?â
âLike eleven months ago?â
He shook his head, âBefore Josie was born.â
Your brows furrowed as you tried to focus on the specific moment he was referencing, âI broke my wine glass.â
âYeah!â He nodded, tilting his head to look at you. âSteveâs a funny guy.â
You shoved him playfully, âAre you going to rhapsodize about Steve now?â
âNo! No.â Javier made a sound that very nearly sounded like a giggle. âHe swears he didnât know that we were orbiting each other.â
âOrbiting each other.â You mocked, sitting up to grab the joint, taking another hit as you laid back on the bed.Â
âHe swears he didnât really know just how bad we had it for each otherââ
âBullshit!â You called out dramatically and you both started laughing.Â
âHe knew. Of course he knew. That jackass.â He took the joint from you and took two puffs off it. âBut that night â son of a bitch â he told me I was holding you back. That as long as I acted like I had feelings for you, you werenât going to ever look for someone.â
You frowned, âHe wasnât wrong.â
âMade me feel like an asshole, baby.â He rubbed his hand over his chest, like heâd been injured. âIt's why, IâŚâ
âWas thatâs why you wanted to drive me home?â
âYeah.â He shrugged, âHe made it sound like I needed to set you free andâŚâ
You dropped the joint back into the ashtray and cut him off before he could finish. You planted your hand over his mouth and scrambled to straddle him. âNo. Weâre not doing sad.â You warned him. âWanna know a secret?â
He licked the palm of your hand.Â
âJavier.â
He nodded.Â
âI wanted to go home with you.â You confessed, leaning forward so your nose brushed against his. âI got myself off thinking of you.â You slowly pulled your hand away, âI was so certain 1992 was going to be a shit year. They were thinking about leaving and everything was falling apart but, I thought â I didnât fuck it up with Javier, Iâve still got him.â
His hands went to your hips, âAnd you do. I could never up and leave you, baby.â
You leaned in and kissed him, âIf we werenât married, Iâd marry you all over again.â
âYeah?â Javier grabbed at your hips and you shivered, you loved how much more every little touch felt like. âI canât wait to tell pops.â
You grinned as you laughed, âHeâs gonna be so fucking excited.â You nipped at his bottom lip. âI hope we run into Lorraine at the toy store again.â
âJesus Christ.â Javier groaned, âWhy bring up her? Iâm feeling good baby.â
You bumped your nose against his, âBecause Iâm vindictive.â You grinned down at him. âAnd I love proving people wrong.â You traced your finger down his nose. âBut I know the Javier that no one can see.â
âYou do.â He parted his lips as you ran your finger over his lips. âWe both know the real us.â
âI really like us.â You mused, âI think weâve done really well for ourselves.â
Javier nodded his head, âI do too.â He played with the hem of your sweater, âDidnât you say you were warm, baby?â
âTrying to get me undressed?â You questioned, giggling as you let him peel the sweater off your body.
âMaybe.â
âTurnabout, babe.â You quipped as you wrestled with the buttons of his shirt until it fell open.Â
âYou know⌠my knees arenât hurting.â He pointed out, running his hand over your bare arms as he looked up at you. âBut I canât tell if I want to fuck your or just hold you.â Javier laughed and you couldnât help but join in on the pure joy that was in his laughter.Â
âItâs funny isnât it?â You questioned, playing with the hair that fell against his forehead. âAm I horny? Or do I just want to be held?â
âWhat do you want?â Javier questioned, running his hands over your skin anywhere he could reach. Which you definitely enjoyed.Â
âAs tempted as I am to take advantage of your very exuberant self,â You leaned down to kiss him, playing your tongue over his bottom lip. âI just want to be held. Right now, at least.â
âWhatever you want, baby.â Javier promised you, leaning up to meet your lips again.Â
Somehow he managed to maneuver both of you up the bed with you still on his lap, while you clutched at the ashtray so you could stick on the nightstand.Â
You rolled onto the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling as you sank into the warmth of the high buzzing through you. Your eyes felt heavy, but you ignored it â you really did need to sleep tonight. But it wasnât tonight yet.Â
âDo you like it?â
âItâs different.â He held his hands up in front of his face. âI feel like thereâs this⌠space in between me and me.â
âWeird, right?â
âAnd my pops does this?â
You nodded, âYour body gets used to it after awhile. Youâre still high just not quite as⌠tingly.â
âItâs nice though.â
You rolled onto your side and draped your arm over his chest. âI want you to feel good.â
âI do.â He brushed his fingers over your hair. âI love you, baby.â
âI love you too.â You grinned, meeting his gaze before you both descended into laughter. âYouâre so dorky.â
âWho me?â
âYes. Youâve got this dorky face thing going on.â You gestured to his face. âYouâve taken five years off. At least.â
âMmm, that could work in our favor.â
You swatted his chest and snorted, âPlease. No. I canât believe she even insinuated that! What a bitch.â
âYou were incredible yesterday.â He told you warmly, stroking his fingers through your hair. âIâm so proud of you.â
âThank you.â You sank into his side. âIâm just⌠if I rest my eyes for five minutes will you still hold me?â
âIâll hold you until the end of time, baby.â
âThat sounds like a long time.â
âYeah? Well, itâs forever.â He kissed your temple. âRelax, baby. Just sleep. And then we can⌠Iâm a little tired too. Hungry and tired.â
âThatâs nice.â You mumbled, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, before two sleepless nights got the better of you.Â
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Cover Me Up
Part 2
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary:Â Steve is still mesmerized by you, but while youâre juggling the lie and his life, you begin to question everything youâre doing.Â
Steve decides that after that night, heâll take every opportunity he can to talk to you.
The first is when he finds you watching TV. Laid back in sweats with your hair piled on top of your head, chewing absentmindedly on a straw. For an hour he racks his brain for the best way to break the silence, too caught up in his own head to even start a conversation.
He wastes the opportunity on an offhand joke about an informercial you werenât even paying attention to. Bucky bursts into laughter when you leave the room not long after and whispers his poor attempt at a joke low in his ear each time you walk past them for two days.
Later in the week, he bumps into you at breakfast, nearly knocking your cup of coffee right out of your hand. For a moment he wants to kick himself for making a fool of himself again, but then he notices the slight blush that tints your cheeks when you make your way around him.
The surge of confidence he gets is short lived, snuffed out by the sight of a light blue SHIELD file in your hand. He tries to hold it in, but the stir-crazy Avenger inside gets the best of him and he begins to hound you for details.
You laugh as he reaches almost longingly for it. âJust adding some fine details to a merc case Nat is working.â
He furrows his eyebrows. âI thought she finished that, well, them?â
Coolly, you smile and slide into another lie. âAlmost, turns out thereâs a little underground action, nothing major. But if itâs entertainment youâre looking for, Iâve got a story that involves me, a polar bear, and a bed sheet.â
Steve tries to be casual about it, about you, but Sam is relentless as he teases him for following you around like a puppy. You find it endearing in a way, find yourself growing fond of this friendship, but Natasha leaves you with some form a warning.
âCareful.â Itâs low, whispered in passing with no context, not even a look.
**
Bucky rests his head, and his eyes, back against the wall he was leaning on. Sunday morning briefs were always a drag, but this particular one had been less enjoyable than usual. All he wanted was a burrito and a nap, but Steve had somehow managed to drag him into a conversation just around the corner from the kitchen.
âYou can never have too much backup.â Bucky repeats the last thing he remembers Steve saying and hopes it fits the question.
When he opens his eyes, he sees you and your knitted brows turning a corner. Only a few moments pass before you come back, turning a different corner. It isnât until he sees you pass the same corner twice that he flags you down.
Quickly, you slide the file in your hand behind your back and into the side pocket of your duffle. He flashes a lopsided grin your way as he jogs up.
âYou lost?â He asks.
You hold your hands out and shrug. âNat was supposed to give me a real tour but she got pulled into a briefing. I heard thereâs some crazy high-tech gym here.â You tilt your head to the duffle on your hip.
âYouâre close, but not quite.â Bucky throws a wink over his shoulder. âYou know who gives great tours? Steve. Steve!â He bellows.
Steve takes a moment, caught between wishing he was on a month-long mission in the middle of the mountains and wanting to drag his friend through a few rounds. Instead, he smiles.
He leads you around, pointing out a few of the more notable places on the way. Not so casually, he mentions his room is only down the hall from yours and youâre surprised at how easy he had been making this.
In all honesty, however, the longer you spoke with him, the more days that went by, the louder the whisper of guilt got. It nipped at the back of your mind each time he genuinely seemed to care, screaming that he didnât deserve to be played like this.
Itâs not long before it becomes about more than the spaces within these walls. He tells you about the team, speaks of them so fondly, with so much respect, all you can do is listen. There are a few stories he offers up. A dented wall from Sam wrestling Bucky just a little too hard, a passive aggressive sign about cleaning the fridge still hanging from when Natasha found an old container of something Clint had forgotten about.
Thereâs so much laughter that you begin to feel your heart ache. All your life you had looked for something like this and now here you were. Expected to get the job done and head back onto the road.
You imagine Natasha will try to convince you to stay, but you canât build a home off a foundation made entirely of lies.
âWhat brought you here?â He asks breaking your small shame spiral.
âSorry?â
âAll I heard was that youâve known Nat for a while and sheâs trying to get you to stay?â
âOh, yeah. We ran into each other on a few ops when I was in the CIA. We seemed to work well together, so I kept her number. After I left, she got me started on doing my own thing. Thatâs how I generally prefer it now, working alone.â
âWhy the Avengers then?â
You stop a smile at him. âShe thinks Iâm meant for bigger things.â He nods as you continue walking, contemplating the very vague amount of information heâs been able to get from you. âIs this it?â You ask pointing to a wall of glass. âDoesnât look too fancy.â
Steve chuckles. âThe equipment is pretty standard. Stark wrote some kind of program that will analyze your workouts and techniques and tell you everything youâre doing wrong.â
âLovely.â You mutter.
He leaves you there with nothing more than a smile, a nod, and a promise to give you something more in-depth later. Youâre grateful, as what you were actually looking for was Furyâs office, but itâs not like you can ask without raising any questions. Heading back the way Steve took you, you discover a new corridor with an elevator that looks promising.
Itâs another hour before youâve stumbled into his office. Fury looks up from his desk, eyebrow raised.
âYou know,â You huff. âWould be a lot easier to find you if I knew where I was going.â Wordlessly he hands you a map and gives you a âis that allâ look. Digging into your duffle you pull out the thick file and plop it on his desk.
This piques his interest. âWhatâs this?â
âA full report on the 98 names I cleared this week.â
âOn top of the 63 at the gala? How?â
You cock your hip to the side, the only evidence of your irritation besides your tone. âYes. Itâs amazing what you can accomplish when you know how to talk to people.â He doesnât find the humor in your joke. âI used the gala to drop a few comments about money troubles and the bounty on Steveâs head so itâs only a matter of time before he comes for me.â
âNo one seemed skeptical?â
âListen, I know Nat pushed you into this, but I promise Iâm very good. I put an image out there of an outsider in over her head looking for what she thinks will be easy money. Itâs when he underestimates me that Iâll be able to take him out with ease.â
He keeps his features emotionless except for the slightest twitch of one brow. âImpressive.â
**
âI Just donât see why I need to get that close to get the job done.â
Natasha groans. âIt is too soon for you to be falling in love with a mark, it hasnât even been two weeks.â
You roll your eyes. âIâm not in love with him, and heâs not a mark. I just think itâs a little messed up.â
âSure, messed up for you, but not for the girl taking advantage of a friendship to gain the trust of a man worth $500 million so you can slit his throat easier.â
You look up at the ceiling. âI get where youâre coming from, but Iâm telling you I can do this without the manipulation.â
âWhen did you get soft?â She asks the question and you react as if it were a slap to the face.
âDo not call me soft.â You spit. âIâm trying to save your friend without breaking his heart. Maybe show a little gratitude.â
Natasha recoils. She had never seen you like this. Emotional and defiant. Sure, sheâs had to spend some time reeling you back in, but this was different. For a moment she considers how loyal she knows you to be, but that kind of loyalty took time for you. More time than you had spent here. This was as if you had drawn a line in the sand, for the first time declaring something you wonât do.
âWhat is it about him?â
You shake your head. âThis isnât about him, Nat. Maybe Iâm just a little tired of always having to be the bad guy just to do the right thing.â
**
You had planned on just taking the rest of the night to shift through personnel files, but the moment you turned the corner to the hall that housed your room, you bumped into Tony startling yourself.
He quickly reaches out to steady you. âSorry, I just wanted to catch you earlier rather than later. You may have heard, but thereâs a wedding next week.â
You laugh. âI donât think thereâs a soul with decent internet connection that doesnât know about your wedding.â
You could be mistaken, but you swear you see a blush rise on his cheeks. âRight. Since weâre supposedly trying to get you on the team, I figured leaving you out of that would look bad. I talked with Pepper and sheâs added you to the guest list.â
âThatâs very thoughtful of you, thank you.â Thereâs genuine appreciation in your voice.
He disappears quickly as he had only a few minutes to track you down before some experiment he was working on finished itâs first phase. Natasha would be happy to hear that she wonât have to bribe an invitation out of Pepper for reasons she canât disclose.
You reach down to your doorknob, turning it slightly, aching for today to just be over. The door has barely cracked open when you hear the unmistakable click of a trigger. Â
#Steve Rogers#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers fanfiction#natasha romanoff#Nick Fury#tony stark
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Stay Golden Sunday Reissue: The Heart Attack
Note: This is a repost of an older Stay Golden Sunday that had to be redone for housekeeping reasons.
Sophia becomes very ill one night and is convinced sheâs going to die. The Girls confront the idea of mortality.
Picture ItâŚ
The Girls bid farewell to their guests as a storm rages outside. They praise Sophia for the meal she cooked for everyone, and Blanche says it was even better than the food she ate in Italy. The Girls tell Sophia to take a load off in the living room. They start the dishes in the kitchen, while Rose talks about her familyâs Scandinavian cooking.
Back in the living room, Sophia says sheâs got a âbubbleâ of pressure in her chest. Rose thinks it might be gas, but Dorothy says her mother isnât looking so good. Blanche goes to call the doctor. Sophia clutches her chest as the bubble turns to pain. Dorothy lays her down, while Sophia worries she could be having a heart attack. Blanche says the doctor was out, so she called the paramedics.
DOROTHY: Ma, you know, you donât look good. SOPHIA: Iâm short and Iâm old. What did you expect, Princess Di?
The two discuss their familyâs deaths â which include a fall from a donkey and misfiring a gun while taking out the garbage â to rule out the possibility of heart disease. Blanche and Rose talk about how death should come without pain or illness, getting sidetracked until Dorothy shuts them up. They go to make coffee, while Sophia begins to worry sheâll die. She starts giving Dorothy instructions on what to do after sheâs dead, and says Dorothy was always her favorite, even if she never showed it.
In the kitchen, Rose and Blanche discuss death. Rose says her family members live to their 90s and 100s, which Blanche attributes to the Minnesota cold slowing down the aging process. They also discuss cremation vs burial: Rose wants to be buried with all her sentimental items, while Blanche wants to be buried in Arlington Cemetery because itâs full of men. Sophia tells Dorothy she loves her. When Rose and Blanche return with the coffee, she thanks them for keeping her company. She decides to rest while Blanche goes to call the paramedics again.
BLANCHE: Do you want to be buried or cremated? ROSE: Neither! BLANCHE: What do you want to be, flushed down the toilet like a goldfish?
Rose tells Dorothy itâs probably not a heart attack, as sheâs seen one and theyâre bigger. She recounts Charlieâs heart attack to Dorothy, which happened while they were making love (she told Arnie this back in Episode 3, but this is the first time sheâs told one of the other Girls). She dressed him before emergency services arrived, and his last words were that he loved her. Blanche returns and says the paramedics are held up by the storm, and theyâll just have to wait⌠and pray, as Rose adds.
The Girls crowd Sophia, who wakes up and tells them she had a near-death experience and saw Heaven. She describes seeing her husband and asks Dorothy to get her rosary. Blancheâs main interest is if there are lots of men in Heaven (which⌠why wouldnât there be?), and eventually goes to help Dorothy. Left alone with Sophia, Rose bugs the crap out of her by recounting farm stories.
BLANCHE: What about men? Are there lots of men in Heaven? ROSE: Oh Blanche, come on! BLANCHE: Well you asked her about God and Jesus!
In Sophiaâs room, Dorothyâs going through Sophiaâs things, looking for the rosary. She tells Blanche that sheâs not ready for Sophia to die, and that sheâll still feel like an orphan at her age. She breaks down in tears at the thought, and Blanche comforts her by saying Blanche and Rose are her family too, and theyâre there for her.
In comes Dr. Harris, presumably Elliottâs replacement as their house-call doctor. He inspects Sophia and finds her side is sensitive, so he asks her what she ate recently. The girls list a truly disgusting amount of food, including scungilli, fried mozzarella, and two boxes of Milk Duds. Dr. Harris says itâs not a heart attack, but more likely a gallbladder attack from overeating. Sophia is instantly relieved, but takes back what she said about Dorothy being her favorite now that sheâs not dying.
Later that evening, the Girls minus Sophia (whoâs presumably resting) talk about mortality in the kitchen. They question the reason they worry about things like dieting when theyâre going to die eventually â a thinly veiled excuse to eat some chocolate cake and ice cream. They do eventually get turned off of the dessert when they realize that, while they are going to die eventually, theyâll feel the negative effects of overeating immediately, like Sophia did. They decide to go out for a walk (one hopes the storm is not still raging), and Blanche brings it back around to her favorite topic:
BLANCHE: Letâs go for a walk. ROSE: Right, burn it off! DOROTHY: Are you kidding? After what we ate, weâd have to walk to Canada. BLANCHE: Oh, Mounties! I love Canadian men!
âYou couldnât say âbelch?â What is it, a Viking curse?â
This is the first episode that centers around Sophia, and given the multiple references to her age and health in the preceding nine episodes, itâs fitting that itâs about a health scare. Estelle Getty, who has mostly played comic relief up to this point in the series, gets her shot at carrying the dramatic half of an episode â and she definitely delivers.
To be a little real with you, this episode has been hard for me to watch the last few years, ever since my mother died. She was the one who introduced me to Golden Girls, and episodes like this hurt both because I know now she and I will never have that Dorothy-and-Sophia rapport in old age like I always assumed â my mom was not even 60 when she died â and because I was basically in Dorothyâs position at the time. If I could have chosen a quote to describe the months of my life after my mother died, itâd probably be this one:
DOROTHY: It doesnât matter. You lose a parent, you might as well be six. Itâs scary. And it pushes you right up to the head of the line.
I appreciate that, when confronted with the possibility that she might die, Sophiaâs not accepting or serene even though sheâs very old. I think thereâs a perception that, when you get old, you just have to accept that you might die soon and be okay with it because youâve âlived a full lifeâ or some such nonsense. Instead, Sophia outright says âIâm not readyâ and that sheâd take even one more day of life.
I leave it to other shows to try and teach people to accept death with grace. I prefer Golden Girlsâs way, which is to say âScrew that,â and portray the octogenarian matriarch as not wanting to die. Thereâs something very real in Sophia saying she never really thought she would die.
SOPHIA: 80 years old, and it would come as a complete surprise.
Thereâs quite a bit of real-world backstory to this one, too. Originally, it was intended to be broadcast live, which is why itâs the first episode since the pilot to take place entirely within the confines of the Girlsâ home. According to Golden Girls Forever (quite a treasure trove), NBC had done a live episode of Gimme a Break and attempted to replicate its success with a night of live shows, ostensibly to promote Saturday Night Live. Golden Girls would have been one of about five shows to air its episodes live.
At first all the other shows were onboard, but then showrunners protested the final offering of the night, a detective show called Hunter, couldnât be filmed live. So the live plan was scrapped. Director Jim Drake remembered it as being for the best, since the actresses werenât really equipped to do the show in a single live, continuous taping. While their shows were filmed in front of a live studio audience, they still had the option of doing multiple takes. Somewhat relevant, but hereâs a video of Golden Girls bloopers:
youtube
The other real-world issue that influenced the filming of this episode was one that also cast a pall over the previous episode â the death of Bea Arthurâs and Betty Whiteâs mothers. But while it seemed to throw off the chemistry of the previous episode to a certain extent, if anything it helps this one. There are differing accounts as to whether Roseâs monologue about Charlieâs death was drawn from the deaths of Whiteâs mother or her husband, Allen Ludden. I suspect itâs a combination of both, but you can see sheâs genuinely crying while talking about it.
My only real criticism of this episode is that the final scene doesnât really seem like itâs attached the rest of the story. The Girls talk about their own mortality, and how the fact of dying makes things seem trivial. They donât even mention Sophia, despite the rest of the episode revolving around her. It feels like a discussion they might have after a friend died â or, more accurately, a scene inserted by a writer who wanted to opine about death for five minutes.
Thatâs not even mentioning the fact that the way the Girls behave in this scene is very at odds with the rest of the episode. Itâs just strange to me that theyâd come to the conclusion that, since theyâre going to die, they might as well gorge themselves on rich food, when doing so is the exact reason Sophia had a gallbladder attack â and they just heard a doctor tell her that.
Regardless, this is another great Susan Harris episode, and the first episode that puts Sophia front and center. While itâs a bit melancholy there are enough jokes interspersed throughout to keep it from being a downer.
Episode rating: đ°đ°đ°đ° (four cheesecake slices out of five)
Favorite part of the episode:
The Girls crowd around a sleeping Sophia (see the image at the top of the article), and she wakes with a shout, scaring them all. When Dorothy asks her whatâs wrong, she says:
SOPHIA: What? Youâre sitting on top of me. I open my eyes, I see pores like that, I think Iâm on the moon!
#golden girls#stay golden#stay golden sunday#the heart attack#rose nylund#sophia petrillo#blanche devereaux#dorothy zbornak#s01e10#picture it
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It took me far too long to decide, wow but I shall request #23 please!
23. Happening to sit next to each other on a park bench, reading the same book.Â
you gotta read between the lines || read on AO3
âHere, take this.â
Eddie looks down at the book that May has thrust into his hands. The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin - heâs never heard of it. âWhat-â
âI overheard you telling Bobby that you want to read more so I figured Iâd let you borrow one of my favorites.â
Eddieâs confusion gives way to understanding and is followed shortly thereafter by a burst of affection that heâs sure May would much rather he not put on display while surrounded by their family. And thatâs what this, the 118, has become for him - a family.Â
Itâs something his parents swore up and down heâd never have after he told them about his decision to leave Texas. He might find better job opportunities, but heâd never find anything better than the family he was leaving behind.Â
How wrong they were.Â
âThanks, May. Iâm looking forward to reading it.âÂ
Itâs a statement he means wholeheartedly. After a few months, Eddie has finally found a way to balance his work and home life, but heâs still lacking in any hobbies that he can call his own. Maybe thatâs what reading can become for him - a moment of peace in his otherwise hectic day-to-day schedule.
May tilts her head to the side and stares at him for a moment before holding her hand out to him. âGive me your phone.â
He does as heâs told without asking, even if he doesnât know what sheâs planning to do.Â
Her fingers move across his screen with a speed that Eddie finds a little intimidating. In no time at all, she hands him back his phone. âI put my number in so you can text me your thoughts on the book.â
Eddie shouldnât make a big deal out of this exchange, but thereâs a small part of him that wants to. Heâs an adult, Mayâs a teenager, and she just willingly gave him her phone number. Â And told him to text her. Does this make him cool now?Â
Heâll consult Hen later to find out.Â
âI can do that.â
Eddie starts the book while at work and regrets that decision immediately.
The first interruption comes from Bobby.
âPut that book down, Eddie. Youâre helping me cook lunch.â
The next one is from Chim.Â
âHey, Eight-Pack! Help me clean the truck!âÂ
And then Hen.
âEddie, please come and explain to Chim why Iâm the superior video gamer.â
Then the alarm goes off and Eddie leaves the book behind in his locker. It remains untouched for the rest of his shift.Â
Eddie (9:42pm): iâm not sure who iâd want to be paired up with if i was in this game
May (10:01pm): you JUST got to that part??
May (10:02pm): iâm disappointed
Eddie (10:07pm): iâll try to read faster
May (10:15pm): good
âDaddy, what are you doing?âÂ
âReading a book.âÂ
Chris takes a seat beside his dad on the sofa and leans heavily against Eddieâs arm. âIâm bored. Can we do something?â
âI thought you were having fun drawing,â Eddie answers, eyes still skimming the words on the page in front of him. Heâs managed to make some leeway with the book and now that heâs gotten into it, itâs been harder for him to put it down.Â
âI was but now Iâm not. Please can we do something?â
âChris.â
âI said please.â
Chris peers up at his dad from under golden eyelashes with a pout firmly in place. Heâs only doing it to sway Eddieâs decision and not because heâs genuinely upset but that doesnât stop the sight from tugging uncomfortably at Eddieâs chest. If thereâs one thing thatâs guaranteed to hurt Eddie, itâs his sonâs unhappiness. The reaction can easily be traced back to not being around when Chris was growing up.Â
That guilt that will haunt him forever.Â
Itâs what pushes him to mark the page heâs on before closing the book. âWhat do you think about having a movie night?â
Chrisâs eyes light up at the suggestion. Itâs the best thing Eddieâs seen all day.Â
âReally?â
âOf course. How about you pick out a couple of movies and Iâll order us some pizza?â
Chris nods enthusiastically and is about to get up from the sofa when he stops. Eddie is going to ask whatâs wrong, but the words get lodged in his throat when his son crawls into Eddieâs lap. He wraps his arms around his dadâs neck and plants a loud kiss on his cheek.Â
âI love you, daddy.â
The show of affection is almost second nature for Chris, but Eddie knows a time will come when that stops being the case. Itâs as depressing a thought as it is unavoidable. Chris will get older and doing things like cuddling with Eddie and randomly saying âI love youâ will become nothing more than a rare occurrence.
Until then, he plans to cherish every single one of these moments and then lock them away for safekeeping.Â
Eddie wraps his arms around Chris, holding him as close as he can and kisses his sonâs forehead. âI love you too.â
Eddie (5:45pm): ANOTHER bomb? How many are there?
May (8:32pm): keep reading and youâll find outÂ
With Christopher at Abuelaâs and no shifts scheduled for the day, Eddie decides to take advantage of the cool Sunday weather and go to the park to get some reading done. By the time he gets there, the park is bustling with energy from children and adults alike. It takes Eddie almost ten minutes to find an empty bench but itâs worth it when he settles into his spot. Itâs far enough away from the playground that the sound of yelling is nothing but background noise and close enough to a tree that protects him from the sun in case it decides to peek out from behind the clouds.Â
He leans back in the seat, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. Then he takes the book out of the bag he brought it in, always cautious of how he carries it since itâs a loaner, and dives in.Â
Eddieâs eyes follow the words with anticipation, drinking in every sentence as he reads them, not wanting to miss a single detail. Heâs nearing the end and is desperate to see how the author is planning to wrap everything up. He has a couple of guesses, but the only way to determine if theyâre correct is to finish the book.Â
âExcuse me?â
Eddie flips to the next page.Â
A throat clears and then, âuhm, hello?â
Eddie barely refrains from growling at the intrusion. The point of coming to the park to read was being able to do so  without any interruptions.Â
He is nothing if not polite though, a trait that he attributes to his abuela. His parents mightâve taught him how to behave himself, but it was Abuela who taught him how to go out into the world and greet people with a smile.
âYes?â Eddie says, grin locking in place when he looks up and finds a man with bright blue eyes staring back at him with a hopeful smile of his own. The sun is only just making a home for itself in the sky and the glow from its rays reflects off of the manâs hair and gives him an angelic glow. Itâs almost too much for Eddie to handle.
Almost.
âI was just wondering if I could sit with you?â He gestures to the small part of the bench thatâs empty. Itâs possible that Eddie spread his things out when he first sat down so that no one would be tempted to join him. âIâve done two laps around the park, but there are no other open seats.âÂ
Eddie mightâve preemptively tried to keep strangers from intruding in his space, but he figures he can make an exception for this guy. That decision has nothing to do with how attractive he finds him and everything to do with the manners he picked up from Abuela. Itâs what she would do as well, heâs sure.
âYeah, of course.âÂ
He grabs his jacket and backpack and slides over to the left end of the bench instead of staying in the middle. The man sits on the opposite end.Â
âI really appreciate this, thanks.â
The words have the potential to sound insincere or sarcastic, but coming from this manâs lips, theyâre anything but.Â
âYouâre welcome.â
Eddie wants to say more, find a way to continue a conversation with this beautiful stranger, but he doesnât know how. Heâs very out of practice when it comes to conversing with anyone outside of his family. Itâs not something that he thinks about until it inconveniences him, and this is definitely one of those times. It also acts as a reminder that he should try his hand at putting himself out there again. It might be scary, but he owes himself that much.
Next time.Â
Next time heâll be ready to actually engage in a conversation with someone who piques his interest.Â
Until then, heâll cut his losses for today and jump back into his book. Maybe if he finds the courage to do so, Eddie can sneak a couple of sideways glances at the guy. Thatâs not creepy, right?Â
âAre you reading The Westing Game?â
The question catches Eddie off guard as he fumbles to hold up the book. âYeah, I am.â
âMe too,â the blond says as he turns towards Eddie and pulls out a worn copy of the book out of his back pocket.
Eddieâs eyes are temporarily drawn to a red bookmark sticking out at the end of the book, before settling on the cover itself. The cover is different from his, but the title is the same.Â
Eddie has no clue what the odds are of this happening, but heâs more thankful than ever to May. Not only has the book been the perfect option for him to turn to occupy his free time, itâs also acting as a way for him to continue talking to this guy.Â
âHow do you feel about it so far?â
Itâs the perfect conversation starter and Eddie latches onto it right away.Â
âIâm really enjoying it,â he begins before diving into a more in-depth explanation of his thoughts.Â
He talks about everything from the characters to the storylines that took him by surprise to the theories he has for how the book will end. It all comes rushing out of him in a way that words usually donât and heâs proud of himself up until the guy sitting across from him laughs.
âSorry,â he apologizes, using his free hand to cover a smile. âIâm not laughing at you, I promise.â
Seeing as though thereâs no one else around, it really  feels like Eddie is being laughed at. It picks and prods at a deep-seated sense of inadequacy that heâd really rather not be experiencing on his day off.Â
âWas I rambling?âÂ
âNo, itâs not that. Itâs just, I never said how far into the book I was.â
Mortification seeps into Eddieâs veins in an instant, coursing through his body and making him warm all over. âI saw your bookmark placement and assumed...â
âI just put it in a random spot of the book so I wouldnât forget it.â
âOh.âÂ
This is what Eddie gets for assuming, isnât it? How does that saying go again? When you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you and me?
Itâs safe to say that he has definitely made an ass out of himself.
âSo, I just spoiled the entire book for you?â The guy doesnât say anything, but he doesnât have to. The answer is written all over his face. âShit, I am  so sorry. You came here to enjoy your book and instead you got stuck next to an idiot who doesnât know how to keep his mouth shut.âÂ
âHey, no itâs okay. Really. I liked hearing what your thoughts on the book are. Gives me a better idea of what I have in store for me when I start reading it myself.âÂ
The smile on the blondâs face makes it seem as though heâs not annoyed but Eddieâs not convinced. Had someone done the same thing to him, he would be less than impressed. Itâs why he starts packing up his things to go, making sure to put his book away first. The guy has reserved the right to enjoy some quiet time without Eddie there to disturb him anymore.
âI still canât believe I did that.â Eddie stands up, slings his backpack over his shoulder and twists the fabric of his jacket in his hands. Heâll finish his book at home. âIâll leave you to it.âÂ
He gives an awkward wave and sets off in the direction of the car, all the while internally chastising himself for the foolish mistake. Â
âWait!âÂ
Eddie is tempted to ignore the command, but his still deeply ingrained army training makes it hard to do so. He stops walking and the guy is there, standing in front of him, only seconds later. Heâs holding his book in his hands and Eddie tries not to cringe.
âYou donât have to leave.â Eddie is about to argue otherwise when the stranger adds, âI know you feel bad about the book. But what if you make it up to me another way instead?â
âAnd how would I do that?â
âYou can take me out for coffee.â
Eddie canât keep his jaw from falling open. Out of everything he was expecting the guy to say, this was the last thing he had in mind. âHuh?â
âTake me out for coffee,â he repeats, scratching the back of his neck. âOnly if you want to.â
âI do,â Eddie answers, perhaps a little too quickly. âIâm Eddie by the way.â
âBuck.â Itâs an odd name, but itâs something Eddie intends to comment on. âNow câmon, that bench is big enough for the both of us and I know youâre dying to finish your book.âÂ
Eddie (3:42pm): met a cute guy at the park and accidentally spoiled the book for him
Eddie (3:43pm): and then he asked me out for coffeeÂ
Eddie (3:43pm): also, i finished the book
May (5:02pm): weâre going out for lunch this weekend and youâre telling me everything (your thoughts about the book and this cute guy)Â
Eddie (6:00pm): you got it
Eddie is half-asleep on the sofa when the front door opens. He shifts at the sound, body too heavy to move into a sitting position.Â
âEddie?â
âHm?âÂ
Feet move carefully across the hardwood floor and then thereâs a body sliding into the space right in front of Eddieâs. Itâs a tight squeeze, but Eddie wouldnât want it any other way.
âYou didnât have to wait up for me,â Buck murmurs, wrapping his arms around Eddieâs waist and kissing his forehead.Â
Eddie melts into his boyfriendâs arms the way that he always does. Even after two years together, the novelty of being held by Buck has yet to wear off.
âI wanted to.â
Eddie nuzzles against Buckâs neck, drawing a small laugh out of the younger man.Â
âSomeoneâs extra cuddly today.â
There was a time when a comment like that wouldâve been enough to shame Eddie into pulling away and apologizing. This, being open with how much he craves affection, is something heâs worked hard towards since him and Buck officially became a couple though. Now that heâs allowed himself to have it, thereâs no way heâs ever turning back. âI missed you.â
Another laugh. âI was only gone for a few hours.â
âA few hours too long.â
Buck starts running his hand up and down the length of Eddieâs back and that plus the silence around them lulls Eddie right back onto the verge of sleep.Â
âI have a confession to make.â
âMhm?â
âI lied to you.â
The words are like a bucket of cold water, effectively waking Eddie up. He presses his back against the couch, earning himself an inch or two of space away from Buck. He tilts his head up, sees the guilt in Buckâs eyes, and feels his breath hitch.
âAbout what?â Eddie asks, hating how his voice cracks.
He trusts Buck implicitly and knows heâd never do anything to hurt Eddie, but that canât stop fear from making a home in his heart.Â
Buck has to be able to feel how tense Eddie is but he stills his hand, keeping it pressed against Eddieâs back. Itâs the anchor that grounds him, the only thing keeping him from running away from whatever it is Buck has to say like Eddie so desperately wants to.
âRemember that first day we met?â
Of course Eddie does. How can he forget the day that changed the course of his life forevermore? âYes.âÂ
âAnd how you thought you spoiled The Westing Game for me?â
âYes.âÂ
Years later, Eddie can still remember how mortified he was on that day when he realized what he had done. Theyâve told the story many times whenever people ask them how they first met, and the story usually ends with a lot of laughter and Eddie hiding his face in his hands.Â
âItâs maybe possible that I withheld the truth just a little that day.â
âWithheld it how?âÂ
Buckâs hand curls into a fist at Eddieâs back, a surefire sign that heâs nervous.
âYou didnât actually spoil it for me.â
Eddie must still be a little sleepy, thatâs why Buckâs words donât make sense. âWhat do you mean?â
âThat wasnât my first time reading The Westing Game.â
The admission takes a minute to register but, once it does, Eddie is left reeling. âDo you-does that-you mean I didnât spoil it for you?âÂ
âTechnically no.âÂ
âTechnically?â
âThat was my first time reading it in a couple of years, so I had forgotten a lot of the details you mentioned, but I did remember the way it ended.â
Eddie blames the late hour for his lack of filter and for saying what he does next.
âI want a divorce.â
Buck reels back like heâs been slapped and maybe, in a way, he has been. Thereâs hurt written in the lines of his face, but also understanding. Itâs almost as if he was expecting this reaction. He opens his mouth to respond, to say what, Eddie isnât sure. Because realization dawns on Buck and he says, âweâre not married.â
âYeah I know.â
Buck uses the arm that is still slung over Eddieâs waist to do away with the small space between them and tuck Eddie against his chest. âYou scared me for a second there.â
âYou scared me too.â
âIâm sorry I lied.â
Eddie rests his hand right over Buckâs heart, feeling his accelerated heartbeat thrumming under his fingers. He closes his eyes again and lets it lull him back to sleep. âItâs fine. You can be the one to tell our family that you were so desperate to date me that you lied so you could ask me out.â
âI hate you.â
Eddie tilts his head up just enough to kiss Buckâs neck. âLove you too.âÂ
Eddie (1:02am): buckâs been lying to me this whole timeÂ
May (10:02am): did he finally tell you about the westing game?
Eddie (10:55am): you knew??
May (11:02am): yeah he told me a year and a half ago
May (11:03am): i think it makes your meet cute even cuter
Eddie (12:02pm): i cannot believe this. deceived by my boyfriend and my pseudo-niece on the same day.
May (12:15pm): donât be so dramatic
May (12:19pm): you, me, chris and maddie still going ring shopping this weekend?
May (12:20pm): i better not have interrogated your boyfriend about his taste in jewelry for nothing
Eddie (2:03pm): yeah, weâre still on for this weekend. Iâll see you then.
#buddie#buddie fic#911 fic#911#evan buckley#eddie diaz#buck x eddie#prompt fill#my writing#benjisvictor
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What areas of life would you say are out of the purview of a Dom? I remember a while back you responded to a post about a Dom telling their sub to vote for a particular political party and you seemed very against that. I would also assume any life-altering decisions (ie. moving, having a child) must be made by both partners, not merely decided by the Dom. Where do you set these boundaries in your relationship and where do you think is a reasonable place for others to set them?
Well, I try to be open-minded about the reality that all submissives are different and all relationships are different. So I think where those lines should be drawn can vary really dramatically depending on the people, the relationship, and other factors. I think if a submissive doesnât feel assured that if they let go of an area of control, that their needs will still be met, and that the responsibility will be handled well, then that is âtoo farâ for them. But itâs also just possible that something may not be âtoo farâ in an unhealthy way exactly, but may just not be a way that the sub or the couple wants to do D/s.Â
I think what you may be trying to get at is, what things are *always* too far? This is just my opinion that is largely based on my own instincts, which I think is all any of us can go on because we donât have definitive answers on what may or maynot be damaging in D/s. But in my mind, D/s shouldnât be used to change who someone is, to try to control their addiction or mental health. Those are the two main things that come to mind, I guess.
I think itâs great for D/s couples to support each other's mental health, but not to try to control it or take responsibility for it. I donât think rules or punishments or rewards should be used to try to require a sub to avoid addictive behaviors or mental health behaviors. I just think itâs messy and potentially dangerous, and is kind of trying to âplayâ psychologist. I also think itâs bad to see it as your responsibility even. I donât think itâs good for partners to feel like âwell theyâre having a bad day so itâs my job to figure out how to make them happyâ or whatever it may be. You canât take responsibility for someone else's wellbeing on that level. Try to support how and when you can, but donât feel like itâs your job to fix their mood, cure their addiction, correct their mental health issue,etc.Â
With identity or not changing who you are...thatâs pretty subjective. But I donât think itâs good to feel like youâre being asked to let go of a piece of what makes you, you. Or I donât think itâs good if a sub feels like theyâre having to become something or someone that just isnât natural to who they are. In my mind, red flags related to identity and D/s would be things like trying to force a âtomboyâ sub to wear dresses, or trying to cut off contact with the subs friends or family, or saying crap like âwhat you want doesnât matter, you should find all your pleasure in pleasing me.â or âYou donât need to think for yourself.â or âDaddy is always right.â in genuine ways. As roleplay, pretend, dirty talk, that is no big deal. But genuinely thinking that a sub shouldnât have needs and desires of their own outside of pleasing their dom, genuinely thinking a sub doesnât need to think for themselves, genuinely thinking that a sub should always pretend their dom is right...those things all suggest to me that the submissives identity is being ignored and I donât see that as okay.Â
The identity reason is why I agreed with that ask about voting. I see voting as a way that we express our moral values and/or our moral priorities. And our personal values are just such a big piece of what makes us who we are. That the idea of a dom trying to tell a sub they have to vote the way the dom wants them to...that just tells me that the dom doesnât value the submissives values/beliefs. Which to me is quite dehumanizing, really.
I agree with you that big decisions like moving or having children shouldnât be solely decided by a dom. In my mind that falls into the âidentityâ category. I think adults need a say in major decisions in their lives for their own mental wellbeing and sense of importance, respect, etc. However, in general, I donât think that allowing an area of your life to be controlled by your Dom has to *at all* mean that itâs solely his decision. Even in the areas where CD has explicit control, I still get to share my opinion and preferences as much as I want. Itâs just that he gets the final say, or like 51% of the vote. Which for me is really important. Even on insignificant issues, if I wasnât allowed to express my preferences on something, I wouldnât feel respected in the way I need to feel respected in order to have a loving relationship and to feel like a true partnership. I can feel respected if he hears what I want and tells me no. I can feel respected if I tell him how I think something would be best handled, but he decides to handle it another way. I canât feel respected if he doesnât even want to hear my preferences and opinions. Thatâs not to say that he specifically asks my opinion all the time, particularly on âsmallerâ issues he might just tell me what he plans to do. But, I always know I can speak up and share my opinion whenever. And for bigger issues he always makes things a conversation and explicitly invites my input. He doesnât want to decide big things entirely on his own as that wouldnât feel good to him either.Â
As far as where we draw our lines? Well, some of the âkinda farther out thereâ things that CD gets the final say on would be where we live/move, big financial decisions, health care decisions for our dogs, health insurance decisions, our work/life balance, we practice sexual availability, etc. As far as what's too far for me? None of these are things CD would want to control but...when we have kids, what I eat, how I speak, and I just generally need to not feel micro-managed. For example, I wouldnât be okay with a D/s style where he gave me a scheduled that mapped out every 30 minutes of my life all day long. I wouldn't be okay with having to ask to go to the bathroom. I wouldnât be okay with being given âbusy workâ. I wouldnât be okay with him wanting to do âtoo muchâ for me, like in general I wouldnât want to feel like he was treating me like child. Iâm sure there are others. Itâs kinda hard to really think about because weâve never really sat down and created boundaries, weâve just always kinda naturally felt things out. Most of our D/s is based around domestic stuff and letting him lead our relationship. So if he wanted me to start mopping the floor on Sundays he knows he could just give me that rule pretty much without even asking. But he also knows things that are more emotional or sensitive for me that might be harder for me to let go of, so if he wanted to encourage me to work on something weâd talk about it and heâd ask in a case like that. So overstepping just isnât an issue weâve had, even though we donât have a formal list of what is off-limits. I think weâre also just kinda lucky that our natural inclinations for what we both like him to control are pretty similar. But anyway, most of these things I that I say would be âtoo farâ for me, arenât about being âtoo farâ for D/s in general they are just things that arenât right for the type of submissive I am personally.Â
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Shout-out to you-know-who-you-are for reminding me to post this because I honestly didnât even realize it was Sunday. Whoops!
Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4088 Chapter: 14/? Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.
In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isnât happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.
Follow the link or read it under the cut!
KO-FI and commission info in the header!
Chapter 14
âIâm not sure why youâre so worried about solving the problem right this second.â Touka examined her fried squid with a little too much interest to be genuine before delicately catching a piece between her teeth and nibbling it away from the stick. Her apparent disinvestment in their conversation did not fool him for a moment.
âTheyâre brothers, closer maybe than Hashirama and I.â
âDoesnât take much,â Touka interrupted with a scoff, her words muffle around the mouthful of squid.
Tobirama ignored her. âIzuna means a lot to Madara and having a wedge like this between the brother he loves and the husband heâs contractually stuck with, itâs got him in knots. Heâs moping. But you didnât hear me say that because every time I use the word moping he gets prissy and starts yelling about the difference between moping and thoughtful silences.â
Pausing to let an older couple pass in front of them in the busy marketplace, he shared a secret look with his favorite cousin.
âDoes he get that squinty look? The really hot one where he starts puffing his chest out?â
âEvery time,â Tobirama answered.
Touka laughed as she pulled the last of her squid off its stick, popping the morsel in her mouth and tossing the stick in a public trash bin when they passed one. âShame heâs so mouthy, really. You got lucky in the looks department but heâs too loud for my tastes.â
âI kind of like him the way he is.â Sensing her eyes drilling in to the side of his head, Tobirama huffed. âYes, I know. Donât bother saying it. This is supposed to happen in a marriage but â and I never thought I would have to say this about myself â getting attached like this probably isnât really the best idea.â Knuckles brushing against his own was Toukaâs way of expressing sympathy out here where so many strangers could see them.
âBe careful,â was all she said, simple words that carried a depth of meaning very few would be able to discern.
âNo promises,â Tobirama shot back. She rolled her eyes at him but let the subject drop.
When they turned the next corner they were treated to the sight of the afternoon sunlight laying a golden crown around the tower that made the center of their village. After getting caught up in a meeting with the Sanitation Committee about why burying their garbage right next to a residential area wasnât a great solution such a vision was more than welcome, reminding him of the few reasons he did think this village was a good idea. He had missed his usual lunch hour before of the meeting and so ended up taking a late break with Touka as she came off patrol. Now that they were done eating he would have to go back to the drone of paperwork.
Sometimes he really missed risking his life on missions. At least it was never boring.
He had planned to part ways with Touka after she saw him back to his office but they never made it that far, stopped in the hallway by a large crowd of people and immediately drawn by the same curiosity as everyone else had been: raised voices. Both of the shouting voices were unfortunately quite familiar. It wasnât the first time that Tajima and Butsuma had argued in public, something that had been growing more and more common since the first time after Tajima caught Butsuma yelling at one of his sons, and the only reason Tobirama hadnât made any attempts to rein his father in was the fact that it didnât seem to be affecting how well the rest of their clans worked together.
From what he could understand of their yelling it didnât appear that Tajima had gotten the message on that. It seemed like the longer they worked together and the more people joined this venture they had pioneered the more paranoid he grew about everything that went on around him. Tobirama wished he could say that Butsuma balanced him out with level-headed responses but unfortunately much the opposite was true.
âHe is my son, not your own! It should not be for you to say where he goes and when!â Tajimaâs voice sounded livid and his face, when they finally fought their way through the crowd, was red with anger. Not an unfamiliar sight.
âThis mission requires a certain skill set and Izuna matches that perfectly. Should I pretend the entirety of the Uchiha clan does not exist when assigning teams for each mission?â Butsumaâs face was hardly faring any better and his body language was just as aggressive, much to Tobiramaâs tired irritation.
âYou do as much whenever it pleases you from what I can tell!â
âI beg your pardon?â Butsumaâs eyes narrowed. Tajima did not take the warning.
Stepping forward almost threateningly, he made wide gestures to match his accusations. âDonât think I havenât noticed how often my clan members get sent away and pushed to the side while you keep your own children close and pair them with the Hyuga.â
âAre you trying to say something about my administrative choices?â
âI think you understand what Iâm trying to say,â Tajima snarled. âYou and the head of the Hyuga clan have been getting a little too close for me to ignore it any longer.â
âThere is nothing for you to ignore. It isnât my fault if you choose to jump at shadows and secret plots that donât exist. I stand by my decision. Your son Izuna was chosen for this mission because he is well equipped for it and Tobirama has been assigned to the land expansion project for the same reasons. That this project happens to work closely with the Hyuga has nothing to do with you!â Unlike his counterpart, Butsuma did not bull his way forward but rather settled his legs in to a firmer stance and stubbornly crossed his arms.
Across the room Tobirama lifted his eyebrows. This was the first he had heard of being assigned to any new projects. Sure he was good with numbers and had a knack for thinking of things in long term views, something that coming up with budgets for future expansions would need, but he was hardly the only person with a head for arithmetic in the whole village. Plenty of other people could take his place crunching these particular numbers.
Clearly Tajima seemed to think so as well, although his issue didnât seem to be with Tobiramaâs placement but more with the other people working on the expansion plans. The red covering his face deepened another shade as he clenched his fists with rage.
âLies! Do not lie to me! You have the nerve to send my son away on a mission to risk his life while keeping your own safe at home and oh! What a coincidence! Working closely with the Hyuga!â
âWhat exactly do you imagine is happening that has not already been covered in our very public meetings?â Butsuma demanded, clearly tiring of this argument.
âYou are undermining me and my clan! Have you forgotten that this village was only made possible by my clanâs equal contribution? You did not build this empire alone and it is not for you to rule by yourself! I refuse to sit idly by while you replace us with an inferior clan just because you think you can control them better!â
âBe careful what you say to me, Uchiha.â Drawing himself up a little taller, Butsuma at least made a good impression of a man insulted.
Tobirama was contemplating the pros and cons of hiding under a rock for the rest of his life when he heard Touka sigh to his left. When he looked over her face was drawn in to an expression that practically dripped with exasperation, body language screaming her desire to call both of the men before them six kinds of idiots. Pretty much her usual reaction to any sort of interaction with either of their two founders.
âDo you think they know how stupid they look?â she murmured under her breath.
âHmph.â Tobirama leaned closer to murmur back. âDo you think they realize what a poor image they make of themselves every time they do this in public? What a terrible example to follow.â To make such fools of themselves or to insult another prominent clan so brazenly, he wasnât sure which was stupider but he did know the answer to his own question. Neither man probably realized how badly the people in the room were judging them.
âSo? Do something about it then.â
âWhat, and solve all their problems for them? Theyâre going to have to grow up some time.â Tobirama sniffed haughtily like he had no idea what she was talking about and Touka snickered. She tried to swat his arm for being cheeky but he dodged easily, moving as little as possible as in an effort not to draw his fatherâs eye yet.
There was no escaping her pointed look however.
âFine, alright. Iâm leaving my administrative duties to you, I hope you know. Enjoy covering my paperwork.â She groaned but, amazingly, didnât fight him on it.
Saying he would do it and actually forcing himself to step forward to interrupt the stupid measuring contest going on between the pair in front of him were two different matters, though. It was hard to find a place to insert himself without screaming over top of them to get their attention, something he was quite sure would only get him in more trouble than it would solve. His opportunity came in the form of another dig from Tajima.
âHow are the people meant to trust the man who leads them if that man will send their children away to die while his own sit safe at home?â
âIt is the nature of shinobi to die,â Butsuma retorted in a cold voice. The blankness of his voice, a brief reappearance of the typical Senju control over their emotions, was enough to shock Tajima in to silence and give Tobirama a moment to make himself heard.
âRather than make a spectacle of ourselves,â he stepped in with a mildly reprimanding tone, âI have a solution if you would both hear it. There are several of the Nara I can list off the top of my head who would be more than capable of taking my place on the land expansion project if I accompany Izuna on his mission. Father, I agree with you that Izunaâs skill set is particularly well suited for this task but Tajima-sama does also have a point. He should have back up. Allow me to go with him; it will make a good show of unity.â
Both of them stared at him with matching expressions of shock. Now a step behind him, Touka turned aside to hide her amusement. It took effort to hide his own exasperation at two grown adults who couldnât make themselves behave like civilized humans until they were handed a perfectly obvious solution by someone more than twenty years their junior.
âThat would be acceptable,â Tajima admitted gruffly, the first to shake himself out of his stupor. Not to be outdone, Butsuma cleared his throat and nodded, visibly ashamed of allowing himself to get dragged in to such a public display.
âAgreed,â was all he said but to anyone who knew him well there were entire layers of embarrassment and resentment buried in that one word.
Nodding back to them, Tobirama very carefully did not sigh. âExcellent. I will find Izuna and have him relay the details of the mission to me. Might I recommend Nara Shikou as my replacement? He displays excellent attention to detail each time I have worked with him.â
Without waiting for an answer Tobirama dismissed himself by turning on his heel and striding forward as though entirely unaware of the large crowd that had gathered to watch the altercation play out. People scrambled to dodge out of his path but he kept his eyes forward, continuing down the hall until he was alone with only Toukaâs chakra trailing along at his heels like a small cloud of contained laughter. She followed him until he was just around the corner from Izunaâs office and then stopped him before he could go on.
âGood luck cousin,â she said. âTry not to let him smother you in your sleep.â
âThanks,â he told her dryly.
She left with a wave and Tobirama took a deep breath before approaching Izunaâs door and waiting until his knock was answered with a curt âEnter.â He wasnât surprised to be met with a glare or to discover that he had interrupted some sort of meeting, probably instructions for filling in while he was gone. The two women Izuna was speaking to took one look between them and bolted without waiting for permission to leave.
âWhat do you want?â he demanded.
âIâve been consigned to accompany you when you leave for the capitol so Iâll need you to catch me up on the details of the assignment.â To his absolute lack of surprise, the irritation of Izunaâs face slipped down in to outright distaste.
âAre you serious? For fuckâs sake. I donât need a babysitter â and I donât need help! Especially not from you!â His entire face pinched in a sour look.
Tobirama watched the other man throw up his hands and mutter darkly to himself, questioning for a moment why he had bothered to do this. A brief but well-timed flare of chakra from the floor above them was all it took to reminded him of why. Madara, whatever he was doing, was apparently having a bad day. Hopefully the news that his husband and his brother would be spending some âquality timeâ together might help improve his mood and clear the dark little cloud that had been hanging over his head lately.
Drawing the length of his ponytail forward over his shoulder and tugging fitfully at the end, Izuna gave vent to a deep sigh of defeat. âI canât get out of this?â
âBoth of our fathers agreed on it.â And he would not be the one to mention that it had been his own idea.
âUgh. I seriously do not need your help! I can do this on my own!â
âI am sure you are more than capable. For the purposes of this mission you may consider me an emergency exit strategy and an extra pair of eyes.â
âHmph.â Izuna glared at him. âThatâs about all youâre good for, Iâll bet.â
Really it wasnât worth letting him start a fight over something so petty. Tobirama refused to rise to the bait. Instead he sidestepped the insult and tried to steer the conversation back to business.
âDo tell me if Iâve missed any details but as it stands what I know of the mission is that we are going to the capital to escort the Daimyoâs niece as she travels in secret. To be honest I didnât look too hard at that request since I didnât think I was being assigned to it.â He shrugged, pleased to see even Izuna couldnât find anything wrong with that. At least he wasnât sticking his nose in everyone elseâs business.
âThatâs close but not really it. Apparently the Daimyoâs niece has been travelling to a secret location several times a week and wonât speak about where sheâs going. He wants us to tail her and stay completely out of sight. If sheâs in trouble he wants us to take out whoever might be hurting her. If sheâs colluding with his enemies he wants us to gather as much information as possible and bring him evidence of her crimes.â For a moment he looked up to the ceiling as though running through his memories to check if he missed anything. âAnyway, weâre supposed to keep a low profile on our way to the capital and meet with his representative in the market district, at the Red Dog Tavern. Theyâll tell us where she leaves town and when to wait for her. We canât be seen.â
âNothing too complicated,â Tobirama murmured. Stealth missions werenât his favorite, he usually found them quite boring even if he did have the patience of a rock when it was necessary to get that all important paycheck.
Izuna leaned towards the window to check the position of the sun. âI was just giving my assistants a few last minute instructions and then I meant to head out. Donât suppose youâre all ready to go?â
âGive me half an hour.â
âFine. Meet at the north gate in thirty minutes. If youâre not there â well, youâre a sensor arenât you? Iâm sure you can find me and catch up.â
Tobirama held his tongue and turned for the door. Thirty minutes was more than enough time for him to make it home and grab the mission pack he still kept ready at all times even though he hadnât found much time for anything other than paperwork since moving here. But there was something else he needed to do before leaving.
Out in the hallway people appeared to be returning to work and a quick scan for their chakra signatures showed that Butsuma and Tajima had ended their fight in one manner or another, now heading in opposite directions. He could only assume to cool off after embarrassing themselves so thoroughly. With so many people in his way it took a minute or two longer than expected for Tobirama to make it up to the next floor and poke his head in to an office he hadnât actually spent much time in, both despite and because of who was inside.
Hashirama looked up with a big smile when he entered and Tobirama nodded in return, flicking his eyes over in Madara's direction.
âCould you give us a few minutes?â he asked. His brother stared.
âLike, alone?â
âYes, you idiot, I would like a few minutes alone with my husband if that isnât too much trouble.â
âSo cute!â Hashirama was up out of his chair in a flash and shoving his way out the door. âMaybe Iâll nip down and visit Mito! Oh this is fun!â
He was gone almost before he was finished speaking and Tobirama was shaking his head as he stepped inside and closed the door behind himself. Madara watched him curiously with a hint of trepidation that he entirely understood. âWe need to talkâ wasnât usually the sort of conversation opener that implied anything positive was about to come. Â
âItâs not anything bad,â he hurried to say when it looked like Madara was starting to brace himself. âI just didnât want to leave without saying anything to you.â
âLeave?â
âAfter this conversation, yes. Iâm being sent along with Izuna on his mission.â
Madara rocked back in his seat, eyes wide with surprise. âKami save us all.â His response startled Tobirama in to a wide eyed expression of his own.
âIâŚthought that would please you.â
âSending you both off alone and unsupervised? If neither one of you kills the other I will be greatly surprised.â With a low groan he ran a hand through his hair. âYou two donât exactly have a great track record for getting along so far.â
Tobirama scrunched his nose. He deserved that. âRegardless, weâll need to make at least some sort of effort. Iâm not certain how long this should take, hopefully no more than a week all told even with complications, but I wanted to let you know where I was going before I disappeared without warning.â
âI appreciate that,â Madara told him quietly.
âRight.â His message delivered, Tobirama wasnât really sure what else to say. Yet strangely he wasnât sure he wanted to leave yet either. He did ask for a half hour and if he wanted to waste chakra on a body flicker it would take less than a minute to flash home, retrieve his kit, and reappear at the meeting point.
âYouâll be careful?â
âI- yes?â The question threw him a little. He couldnât remember the last time someone asked him to be careful on a mission. Usually it was just implied.
âGood.â Madara cleared his throat and valiantly strove to maintain eye contact. âIâm too young to be a widower so neither one of you are allowed to actually die, understood? A little maiming at most if you absolutely canât control yourselves.â
Not bothering to fight the sudden smile, Tobirama nodded. âIâll do my best.â
He hovered for a few another minutes, unsure of what to say and almost hoping Madara would ask him something else, but the moment was made awkward by neither of them quite knowing how to handle it. This was the first time since they were bonded that they would be separated for longer than a day or two and of course it came now that neither of them laid awake at night wishing for a way to escape from the other.
Eventually Tobirama decided that there was little point in standing around staring at each other and he murmured his goodbyes. Madara's gaze burned hot on his back as he let himself out of the room. Their conversation hadnât lasted very long so he still had quite a bit of time; he used it to walk home at a leisurely pace and take in the sights of the village for no other reason than it pleased him to do so. It truly was amazing what all these clans had accomplished together, the peace that they had built and maintained after so many years of warring senselessly against each other.
Once he had his things he set off again for the north gate at the same easy speed. He could have used his time to say goodbye to Hashirama but surely Madara would mention where he had gone and it likely would have taken longer than the thirty minute time frame to remove himself from his brotherâs clutches. Hashiramaâs goodbyes had never been quick.
When he arrived at the gates he still had several minutes to spare but he found Izuna already waiting with impatience stamped across his face. He took one look at Tobirama, huffed, and turned away to set off down the path without so much as a word of greeting. It didnât surprise him, really. That was probably the sort of behavior he had to look forward to for most of their journey â but he had chosen this for himself so he could hardly complain. If not a chance to make friends or make peace this could at least be a chance to come to some sort of agreement. Even if that agreement was simply not to argue too much in front of Madara.
They both cared for the same man and wanted him to be happy and so they would both need a plan to work towards that goal. If Tobirama could find nothing in Izuna not to hate then he would do his best to find something tolerable in the man and focus his attention on those qualities. Or maybe he would just drag them out to the sparring fields so they could beat on each other without fear of worrying anyone else or causing undue offense.
Actually that was a decent idea. He would need to keep that option in mind should this venture prove a complete failure.
Several long steps brought him up to walk at Izunaâs side where his brother-in-law gave him an evil look most people would save for a particularly disgusting piece of garbage or an enemy that had haunted them for years gone by.
âJust donât get in my way, Senju,â he growled.
âLetâs talk exit strategies,â Tobirama deflected. Talking about the mission was probably a lot safer than giving voice to any of the several responses that leapt to mind.
Thankfully Izuna allowed the change in subject, though he contributed only begrudgingly and continued to make himself as difficult to work with as possible. It took everything Tobirama had not to snap at him before they had traded a dozen sentences back and forth but he held on to his temper with a white knuckle grip and told himself that if he could just make it through this one mission, if he could just prove to Izuna that they could live with each other in some way, the rest of his life would be a lot more peaceful.
And Madara would be a lot more happy.
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Driving Lessons
Hey guys, Iâm back to writing! havenât had the motivation for a while but now I do! And hereâs a suggestion from a while ago, where reader teaches Arthur to drive!
Warnings:Â None! A little bit of fluff.
âNow press on the pedal slowly and easily.â
The car lurched forward, promptly slamming your back to the seat. With the wind knocked out of you, you breathlessly huffed, âArthur!â
He immediately eased up, taking his foot off completely as the car slowed to a crawl. âSorry.â He murmured sheepishly.
You sighed. âThatâs alright, just remember itâs sensitive.â
He nodded, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he turned his attention forward. The car sped up again, this time a little more slowly.
âGood,â you praised. âNow test out the brakes. Just like before, ease your foot onto it.â
He shifted, and you felt the car slow down, although the initial stop was hard. You braced yourself with your hands on the dashboard to keep yourself upright, the seat belt cutting uncomfortably in your torso.
He looked at you, the apology clear in his eyes. âThis is harder than it looks.â
âYouâll get used to it,â you assured him. âIt takes everyone a while.â
Although you werenât sure how often youâd let him drive in the first place. He asked you out of the blue one day to teach him. And after some thought, you decided to do so. Heâd never be able to obtain a license, however. And itâs not like a horse and buggy were a common sight these days. You couldnât afford a horse, anyway.
So you found yourself in an empty parking lot on a Sunday afternoon, thankful that the accompanying store was closed that day.
Maybe one day heâll find use in this world, especially if he was never going to return to his own life. Automobiles werenât an occurrence in his time yet, even in sophisticated civilization like Saint Denis still relied on horses and trains. He never saw a car until he was warped to your time period.
âRidinâ horses is a lot easier.â He grumbled.
âYouâre the one who asked,â you reminded him. âJust be glad this isnât a stick shift.â
He stared at you blankly. âA what?â
A giggle escaped you. âThatâs a whole different matter altogether,â you pointed to the gear shift. âNow this stays until you want to park or reverse. This car is an automatic. But with a stick shift, you have to move it in a pattern constantly while youâre driving, or it stops working.â
His blue eyes widened in surprise. âNow why would someone get a contraption like that?â
You shrugged. âSome people just prefer it.â
He exhaled in disbelief. âOkay, what next?â
âPractice steering.â You said.
After ten minutes and a couple of near heart attacks, Arthur had managed to understand pedal pressure and steering to a relative science. He was smarter than he gave himself credit for, and you were silently thankful that he was able to grasp it fairly quickly. He kept his hands on ten and two on the wheel, and you could see his blue eyes dart from between the rear and side view mirrors. Although his entire torso stood stiff against the seat, and no matter how many times youâd told him to relax, he didnât.
It took him a little longer to grasp the concept of the gear shift. Trying to explain reversing was more difficult than you imagined, and had to coach him multiple times, many narrowly avoiding a light pole. Eventually heâd figured it out, although you kept him driving forward from that point on.
âCan I try on the road?â he asked as the two of you sat idly in a parking space. The sun had since disappeared; the sky a gradient of blues and purples as the last light of the day were fading.
âProbably not the best ideaâŚâ you sighed, your gaze traveling toward the street.
âWhy not? You said I learned quickly.â
Looking at him again, you smiled. âYou did,â he rubbed his arm lightly. âBut with our luck, some cop would pull us over, then itâs both our asses for letting you drive without a license.â
The corner of Arthurâs mouth twitched slightly in disdain from the mention of the law. âThis world oâ yoursâŚso many rules,â he murmured. âBut canât I try? At least for a few minutes?â
âYouâre that determined, huh?â
Arthur let out a soft sigh. âSânot so much the determination as it is the freedom, I guess,â he explained. âI miss being able to ride out whenever I wanted to. But horses ainât the main method of transportation no more. Now yâall got cars, and need special training to use âem.â
You listened to him speak, staying silent.
âSo itâs just my way of gettinâ some sort oâ freedom,â he continued, his eyes soft. âEven if I canât drive by myself, itâs just a little reminder.â
Freedom. âAw, Arthur,â you cooed, running your hand along his arm to intertwine your fingers with his. âDo you honestly feel trapped?â
He squeezed your hand and shook his head. âYouâve been great to me, Y/N. Even if ya had to keep me inside for a while. I just gotta get used to modern times still.â
If only, you thought to yourself, If only you could give him what he wanted. After a moment, you gave him a small nod. âYou can drive on the street, but only for a few minutes.â
He smiled widely. âThanks. Iâll be careful, I promise.â
With a smile as genuine as that, you didnât have to say that you believed him. Heâs been careful so far. Slowly, he drove out of the parking space and approached the exit of the lot. You didnât have to remind him to look both ways, or which lane to slide into. It was almost as if heâd been driving for much longer. Then again, youâve watched this man drive a train and take control of horse drawn carriages no problem.
He progressed down the street at a near crawl, and you kept your eyes out for any other drivers or police cars hidden around any corners. Thankfully, it was fairly empty. Youâd never been more relieved to live in such a small town.
You alerted him to keep track of his speed. Coming up to a stop sign, you reminded him to brake. He did, softer than last time. He kept his eyes out, briefly acknowledging the other car as it passed by.
With a dead end coming up, you indicated him to turn down another street. He did so, using the blinker and easing around the corner. The movement was slightly jerky, yet much better than you anticipated. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the smile on his face remaining still. You wondered if he was imaging himself on horseback instead.
âHey.â
He glanced at you.
âWanna drive home?â you asked.
He blinked. âReally? You ainât worried about cops?â
You shrugged. âNot many people out today, so weâre probably good.â
A wide grin crossed his face. âAlright, well⌠show me the way.â
And from that moment, Arthur proved he was a wonderful driver.
The ride was only ten minutes, yet youâd almost forgotten that heâd just gotten behind the wheel the first time earlier that evening. Neither of you spoke much, although the atmosphere was relaxing. You didnât have to remind him of anything, he kept himself in check pretty easily. You had to wonder if he ever did drive before, yet you highly doubted it.
The last light of the day had long since disappeared when he pulled into your driveway, expertly putting the car into park and killing the engine. As you unbuckled your seatbelt and clutched the door handle, you realized Arthur hadnât moved. âArthur?â
He looked at you again. Silent, although the happiness etched in his face didnât seem to dim. He reached for you, his hands gingerly on your cheeks, pulling you closer. Your lips met, tender and warm. He held you for a moment before pulling back. âThank you for that.â He murmured.
You smiled at him. âYouâre welcome,â you answered with an equal softness in your voice. âMaybe next time, Iâll let you drive to the park.â
He nodded once, the expression not changing. âSounds like a plan.â
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What it Feels Like to be Single in the Modern Christian Church
I was recently discussing singleness in the church with a friend, and it made me realize I have a lot of thoughts that I just want to get out about the subject. I have so much more to say about this, but itâs a start. I felt like maybe there might be other people who feel the same way about it that I do. Maybe if we all know we feel the same way, we wonât feel as alone anymore. Take it or leave it as you wish, this is just an opinion of an older single christian woman drawn from my personal experiences.
Being single is hard. Being 34 and single is even harder. But being 34 and single in the modern day christian church? Without trying to sound dramatic, it feels like your life is over. Let me tell you what walking into church every Sunday feels like for me. I feel like a leper. Like I have some horrible disease that everyone is afraid of catching. Like if someone gets caught talking to me, something bad will happen to them. I canât tell you the amount of times Iâve tried to shake peopleâs hand and say good morning during greeting time and been ignored. You know the time Iâm talking about. The time where the pastor says âsay good morning to your neighbor!â and you hope that someone will just notice and say hello to you. I also canât tell you the amount of times Iâve been on the other end of a dirty look from a wife whose husband turned around to greet me and say hello. No, I am not trying to steal your husband from you just because he said hi. You could say hello to me and introduce yourself though and see that Iâm not. Maybe we could be friends. I would like some friends.  Â
You see, I feel the modern church today has lost its way. What is supposed to be a group of people coming together to encourage each other, build each other up, worship our Lord, learn about Jesus, do life together, and bring other people in to show them His love has turned into a married personâs social club. People are more concerned with their cliques and their social status within the church than they are the reason we all supposedly go to church in the first place. Jesus. And if you want to be in the group, to be accepted and to be thought of as an equal....well you better have a spouse at your side. Married couples only hang out with other married couples. And if youâre single? Trying to navigate your way in the midst of a sea of couple cliques to any real friendships feels nearly impossible.
Itâs hard enough to be single in church at a young age, but as you get older, things really change.  The amount of times people have looked at me with great concern because Iâm not married at âmy ageâ is quite disheartening.  It seems that in the church if you arenât married by the age of 25, something is gravely wrong with you.  And if you make it past 30, well you better accept your fate that you are going to be alone forever.  Youâre thought of as left overs; not good enough for anybody to want.  If someone was going to marry you, they wouldâve done it long ago.  But the thing is, it seems people donât take into account your life story.  Maybe you werenât a christian in your 20â˛s.  Maybe you donât want to get married and you like being single.  Maybe you were married and something happened - your spouse left you or youâre a widow/widower.  Maybe you just arenât ready.  Maybe your person just hasnât shown up yet.  Maybe you were abused and are still healing. Â
I spent two years at a church, attending every Sunday, hoping that somehow, someday I wouldnât be sitting alone every week. I loved the sermons. The preaching was quite honestly the realest, most genuine and Bible based I have ever heard. There are things that were talked about I had never heard preached from the pulpit in my entire life. I would cry almost every week, learning more and more about what true relationship with Christ actually looked like. I looked forward to each week eagerly. But I was always alone. After discussing my dilemma of feeling alone every week, someone told me that I should be the one to be proactive. Instead of showing up every Sunday and expecting someone to come to me, I needed to go to them. So thatâs what I decided to do. I jumped in wholeheartedly trying to find a team to serve on and a community group to join. What I learned, though, is that sometimes thatâs not enough. As I went through the 4 week class to be able to join a team to serve on, I realized each week that I was the only single person there. At the end of the class, I was put on a team to help out with. I was so excited! I finally had my chance to get connected with people, to help serve and to use my gifts that God had given me. However, after 3 weeks of helping, I never heard from the team leader again, and still havenât to this day. I also joined a class to be put into a community group. Every week for 6 weeks, I was there. I was determined to finally get involved and meet people. I was also, again, the only single woman in the entire class full of married couples. Every week I thought to myself, âWhere are the single people? Where are the single women I can be friends with? And where are the single men? Are there even single men my age in this church?â I had a very clear realization the last week of the class that being single in church makes you invisible to others when a married couple came up to me and asked me if I had been there the entire course. When I said yes, they told me that they had never even noticed me. At the end of the 6 weeks, I was told by the pastor there wasnât really a place for me. There wasnât really a small group for me that I could join like I was looking for. Imagine being told that there isnât a place for you in the midst of a church body of about 1,000 people. Thankfully I did find a nice group of awesome women to hang out with eventually.
Every week at church we were given announcements about family reading plans, family park days, family retreats, marriage classes, marriage counseling, marriage sermons...you name it. But what I noticed was the lack of resources for single people. If we donât get our resources, sermons and info from the church, where do you think we will turn to? The world, of course. If we arenât accepted and given the chance to be a part of a body at church, where do you think we will turn to? The world. If we donât find our spouses and friends at church, where do you think we will turn to? The world. Is it right? No. Is it what happens? Unfortunately, yes. And where are the single people in church anyway? More importantly, where are the single men? Why is there such a wide gap in the ratio of single women to single men in the church? I suppose that question is for another day entirely, as it seems single people in church all across the United States are asking the same question. I feel the answer is a complicated one.
I do remember a brief time where I finally did have someone to sit next to in church. I was so happy that I was no longer sitting alone, that I had someone to share in this time with. And I also remember that the people who I was once invisible to now wanted to have full conversations with me. They wanted to talk to me. I was no longer invisible. As happy as that made me, it made me realize that we as a church really do our single people dirty. I was the same person. Nothing about me was different. I hadnât changed. But what had changed was the fact that I was no longer sitting alone. I was with someone. Â
I suppose all this is to say....if you are feeling alone in church, feeling down on yourself, and feeling less than because youâre single, Iâm here. It doesnât matter what youâve gone through and why youâre single. I am here with you, and we arenât alone. I want to be here for you. I donât want anyone else to feel the way I have. There are people who do care about you, and who want to have friendships and relationships with you. I know itâs difficult to find in church, but weâre out here. Donât give up hope. Donât give up on gathering together with other christians and hearing the Word of God every week. Itâs so important. When all this is over, and we can all be in church together again, I will come find you and introduce myself. Maybe we can sit together.Â
#single christians#singleness#christian singles#singleness in the church#single christian men#single christian women
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Sunday Seven AKA A Better Late Than Never Friday Five
Okay, so last week was very busy for me, so I accidentally didnât write out a Friday Five during the week, and Friday, I worked on an article and watched the second season of Derry Girls for the third time instead of remembering that I hadnât scheduled anything. So, since this is a Friday Five two days late, weâll call it Sunday Seven. Thereâs no theme this week. Just have seven random things from the last week of my life.
Seven: I Am Over A Month Behind On Comics
So, I subscribe to several series, and I often pick up random books that interest me from my local shop. This local shop holds my subscriptions for me until I pick them up. The last two months, theyâve called me at the end of the month to check and make sure Iâm okay because Iâm going four weeks before picking up my books. I picked up my books, but have yet to read them. So, no one ask me any comic book questions for the foreseeable future because who knows when Iâll catch up? hahaha
Six: Margot Robbie Is Great
For an upcoming listicle, Iâve been watching a lot of Margot Robbie movies. Iâve mainly been letting movies play while working on other things, but seeing the differences in the roles sheâs played is pretty amazing. I know a lot of people base their opinions of her on her Harley Quinn role, but sheâs been in such a huge variety of things, mostly in smaller roles. Her command of accents is actually really impressive. Iâm curious to see some of the projects sheâs working on next.
Five: When Does Fall TV Come Back?
Seriously, Iâm lost without a TV schedule to follow. I often plan a lot of my pop culture writing around what Iâm watching. Knowing that Agents Of SHIELD and The 100 are ending next season, and that both wonât return until 2020, makes me realize that I watch a lot less serial television than I used to. And I love serial television. Clearly, I need some show recs for the fall, or I need to catch up on the shows I fell behind on.
Four: Watch Derry Girls
Speaking of television, Derry Girls is great if you arenât already watching it. I think Iâve already watched both seasons three times each. Iâm relieved their doing a season three. Honestly, I could probably watch about ten seasons of this show and not get bored. Iâm not usually big on comedies anymore for some reason, but I genuinely love this show.
Three: Iâm Reference Worthy
Iâve had a few coworkers ask me if they can use me as a reference lately, and I canât figure out why? Do I seem like I would give good references? I mean, Iâm good at my job, but I canât figure out why suddenly Iâm the person people want to give them a reference. (To be fair, Iâve been asked in the past, and no potential employer has ever called me to get information about someone, so, really, do companies even check references anymore? Who knows?)
Two: I Hate Seafood
For some reason, everyone around me lately has also been really into seafood. I just want you all to know I hate seafood. I can eat shrimp every once in a while, but other than that, nope. I wish people would believe me when I say I hate it and stop trying to convince that I just havenât had the right fish. Not everyone likes the same things. Itâs okay, guys.
One: Miraculous Ladybug
If youâre a comic book fan, or a superhero fan in general, and youâre not ashamed to watch a kidâs show, this one is for you. I find the Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir adorable. The mythology developed in the show is fun, itâs got a serialized story, but plenty of episodes stand on their own, and itâs, like I said, adorable. I would watch a live action movie version of this show in a heartbeat. (BTW, so many Ladybug gifs are actually hand drawn animations by fans. That fandom is a talented bunch.)
Thatâs it for now. Hopefully, youâll have a new Five on Friday.
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{fic} Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed (part 6)
Fandom: Â A Court of Thorns and Roses Rating: Â M Chapter Warnings: Â References to abuse Relationship: Â Lucien/Cassian Word Count: Â 1,664
Here on AO3.Â
Read the rest: Â Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4Â Part 5
Holy shit, I canât believe I finally updated this. Here it is: the chapter I started almost seven months ago, for the fic I havenât updated since September. (I told you I hadnât abandoned it.) Thank you so much for the love this fic has gotten. I honestly canât believe it.
__________________
It wasnât that Cassian needed an excuse to see Lucien. It was just that his copy of Rosemary for Remembrance was due back, and he didnât want to give Nesta a reason to stop speaking to him again. And it was mere coincidence that he happened to show up during one of Lucienâs shifts.
âHeâs in the stacks,â Nesta told him before heâd even opened his mouth to ask.
âHi, Nesta. How are you?â he responded blithely. âIâm well, thanks.â
âIf youâre trying to pretend youâre not here to see Lucien, youâre failing utterly,â Nesta said, not looking up from her book. âElain mentioned the cookies. Sweet of him.â
Cassian deflated. âYeah, it⌠it was. Howâs he been doing?â
âWhy donât you ask him yourself? Heâs in the biographies.â
âYeah, youâre right, sorry. IâllâŚâ Cassian nodded at the shelves, then headed off (rather sheepishly) to the northwest corner of the main floor.
It only took him a minute of searching to find Lucien. He was reshelving a truly obscene number of books on Benjamin Franklin. Cassian felt himself relax as he took in the scene. Lucien was humming absently, lining the spines up as he slid each book onto the shelf. His hair was braided down his back, and his eye was clear. It was a good day.
Lightly, Cassian tapped on the side of a shelf. âHey.â
Lucien turned towards him, and his eyebrows raised in surprise. âHey, Cass. Fancy seeing you here.â
âYeah, well, I thought Iâd drop by. Had to, uh, return a book, and I know you work on Wednesday afternoons, soâŚâ Cassian trailed off, feeling his face heat. âAnyways. I wanted to say thanks for the cookies. They were delicious.â
Lucien laughed â really laughed, not the quick, bitter things Cassian was used to hearing from him. The laughter reminded Cassian of a drink of champagne, bubbling and light and sweet, and it made his head spin. âIâll tell Nesta to tell Elain you said so. She said she usually makes sugar cookies, but I thought youâd like chocolate chip better.â
âI do,â Cassian admitted.
Lucien pushed a last Franklin biography into place, then turned fully to face Cassian. âI think her exact words were, âCould seduce a man with cookies like that,ââ he said.
Cassian had to take a moment to remember how to breathe. One of Lucienâs dark eyebrows quirked up, like he was asking a question.
âCertainly could,â Cassian finally said.
A smile flitted over Lucienâs mouth, and he turned back to the shelves. âI saw you teaching that class,â he went on. âThe kidsâ taekwondo one.â
âYeah?â
âMmhmm. Cute.â
âI â uh, I just like teaching,â Cassian said. âItâs fun. They learn fast.â
âBet you donât get kicked in the balls as much when youâre teaching adults, though.â Lucien shot him a grin.
Cassian groaned. âYou saw that?â
âAbsolutely. And documented it for posterity,â Lucien added, tapping his pocket where his phone must be. âOr blackmail, I guess, whichever comes up first.â
âYou do, and Iâll get Azriel to hack your phone,â Cassian threatened. âDo you want your ringtone to be the Spongebob theme song? Yeah, I didnât think so.â
âJokeâs on you â I love Spongebob.â
Cassianâs heart swelled for a moment with something he didnât want to put a name to â something that matched to Lucienâs heart, quickened when he smiled, ached when he was hurting. Seeing Lucien here, so obviously â well, if not happy, perhaps, then content â made that part of him expand to engulf his whole chest.
âReally, though,â he said softly. âHow are you?â
Lucienâs teasing smile faded. âBetter,â he admitted. âNesta was pretty cool about me missing work.â
âYeah, I thought she might be.â Cassian leaned back against the shelves. âYou look⌠good.â
âDonât I always?â was Lucienâs lighthearted reply. He didnât look as faded and drawn as he had a few days ago. Theyâd texted a few times since then, but Cassian felt better with a visual confirmation of what Lucien had told him.
âYou do,â Cassian said anyways, and was gratified â if a bit surprised â to see twin spots of color appear high on Lucienâs brown cheekbones.
âSo,â Lucien said after a moment of flustered silence, âdid you just come over to compliment me? Because I donât know if Nesta would approve.â
âI told you â I had a book to return.â Cassian hesitated. âI did, uh, have an ulterior motive, though.â
âYeah? I figured you must.â
Cassian rubbed the back of his head, running nervous fingers through his hair. âRhys is throwing a party? Gala, whatever. Something business-y. He invited me, and I thought you⌠might wanna come with, as my plus-one.â
Heâd been tossing the idea around for weeks, wondering whether to go through with it. Heâd never been the biggest fan of parties, but Rhys had widened his ridiculous eyes and managed to persuade him it would be fun, Cassian, come on, loosen up a little! Cassian hadnât been able to tell his brother no.
âI dunno, Cass,â Lucien said. âWho allâs going to be there?â
âBunch of big shots, probably. CEOâs like Rhys. Why â oh.â It hit Cassian suddenly. âGod, sorry, Lu, I didnât even think about that.â
Tamlin.
Cassian kicked himself. Why hadnât he thought of that? No wonder Lucien wasnât sure if he wanted to risk it.
âI mean, I know he doesnât have any power over me now,â Lucien said, the words sounding recited and rote. âBut ââ
âNo, I got it,â Cassian said quickly. âForget I said anything. I promised Rhys Iâd go, but you wanna come over, like, that Sunday? The day after? I owe you a cooking lesson.â
Lucienâs expression relaxed again. âYeah, thatâd be nice. Maybe we could make chocolate chip cookies so I donât have to rely on Elainâs good humor when I want to be nice.â
âAre you asking me to give you a cooking lesson?â
âBaking. Yes,â Lucien said. âMaybe. Would you⌠be okay with that?â
âMore than okay. Lucien, Iâd l- Iâd really enjoy baking cookies with you.â
âItâs a date.â Lucien smiled, and Cassian couldnât help smiling back. Lucienâs smile was intoxicating â contagious. It was a weapon handmade to take Cassian down with a single blow.
âOh, is it?â Cassian said, raising his eyebrows.
âIf youâd like it to be,â Lucien said, and he reached up and tucked a stray curl behind Cassianâs ear. âCan you blame me? After all youâve been doing for me?â
Cassianâs hand caught Lucienâs barely an inch away from his cheek, gently, so as not to startle him. âI donât â Lu, I donât want it to feel like youâre paying me back for anything,â he said. âI know thereâve been⌠people in your life before who feel like you owe them. Iâm not one of those people. You know that, right?â
ââCourse, Cass.â Lucienâs thin hand flexed under Cassianâs, and Cassian could feel the tendons move just under his thin skin, could practically feel the blood rushing through his veins, a hummingbird rhythm beneath his fingers. Careful not to squeeze too hard, Cassian, youâll crush it. âFriends⌠donât owe each other. And you know I trust you, right?â he said, the edge his voice usually carried smoothed under a strain of genuine concern Cassian hadnât heard from him before. âI know youâd never â youâre not like him.â
Before Cassian could respond, Lucien yanked his hand back. âI mean, obviously,â he went on, his free hand running over the shelf of books in front of him, pushing them into place even though they were already lined up perfectly. (Nesta would be proud.) âYouâre way better-looking.â
âOh, really?â Cassian asked, slipping back into teasing. âThatâs a comfort, at least. By the way â you admitted weâre friends.â
Lucien scowled. âNo, I didnât.â
âYou did! You said friends donât owe each other.â Cassian grinned, leaning on the wooden shelves. âAdmit it. Weâre friends.â
âWild horses couldnât drag it out of me.â But Lucien gave him a small, sideways smile. âI should get back to work, but⌠Iâll ask Rhys to drive me over on Sunday. Iâll bring the chocolate chips.â
âCome over for dinner.â Cassian caught Lucienâs hand as it rested on the now-empty library cart. âStay over for the evening. Okay? I wantâŚâ
Cassian paused, and it felt like the air around them held its breath. Lucienâs eyes, the warm brown and lifeless gold, were still fixed sideways on him.
I want you to be happy, and I know I canât do that, but I can do this.
âI want to spend time with you,â Cassian finished. âNo obligations. No Feysand talking business over us. Just cookies and conversation. Yeah?â
âYeah,â Lucien said. âYeah, okay. I canâtâŚâ His eyes dropped. âYou know I canât promise what Sundayâs going to be like.â
âI know, Lu. Itâs okay if Sunday turns out to be a shitty day. Letâs plan on it, though. Dinner. Baking. Sunday.â
Lucien nodded. âIâll expect to hear all about the party. Hours of shit-talking. You better take notes.â
âIâll keep track of every terrible rich straight person and their terrible fashion choices,â Cassian promised. âIâll even take pictures. You can pop some popcorn and open up Snapchat and watch them roll in.â And then, because he could tell where Lucien was going to worry, he added, âTrust me, itâll be really nice to have someone to talk to. That partyâs going to be a nightmare, they always are, and Rhys and the others will be schmoozing CEOs.â
âYou came here to invite me to a nightmare?â Lucien teased.
âWouldnât be a nightmare if you were there,â Cassian said with a grin, âbut Snapchat is the next best thing.â
âBetter be.â Lucien shoved Cassian backwards with the tips of his fingers. âGo on, get out of here. I have a job to do. I can kick you out now, you know.â
Cassian laughed. âAll right, all right, Iâm going! But Iâll see you on Sunday?â
âYeah,â Lucien said, and he smiled. âSunday.â
#acotar#acotar fanfiction#lussian#lucien x cassian#lussian fanfiction#acomaf#acomaf fanfiction#acowar#acowar fanfiction#lucien#lucien vanserra#lucien kelly#cassian#nesta archeron#mine#I can't believe I've done this omg#bebt
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New Beginnings (Jackson Neill and Sam Nightingale)
This is a Leap of Faith AU featuring Sam Nightingale and Jackson Neill. It runs parallel to the third chapter of another fic Iâve written about Jonas Nightingale and Sonny Carisi. You donât have to read that one to read this. It would probably be helpful to know the Leap of Faith plot line, though, and to know that in my AU, Sonny Carisi is the sheriff instead of Marla. You can read more details on AO3.
Rated Explicit, 18,000 words.Â
âIâve got some information on your sheriff.â
âI donât want to hear it,â her brother answered, turning toward her.
âYou need toââ
âNo, Sam. I told you, heâs off-limits.â
âLook, I donât know whatâs going on with you two, but this is something you need to know. About his family.â
âFamily? Do you hear yourself? The man is sheriff, if we mention his family heâll throw us out of townâif weâre lucky. If not, you can say goodbye to your big brother for five toââ
âWould you listen to me? For once?â she asked.
âNo, SamâTheyâre not a part of the show.â
âWell she canât be, because even you canât fake a return from the grave.â
Jonas had begun to turn away, and he stopped, looking back at her. âWhatâŚâ
âOh, youâre interested?â She saw his jaw clench, saw his eyes flash. She wasnât intimidated. âHe had a wife, Jonas. She died two years ago, car crash. Now he lives with hisââ
âStop,â he said, and the harshness in his voice surprised her into silence. Glaring at her, he repeated, âHeâs off-limits.â
âI told you we couldnât make money off these people!â she suddenly exclaimed, unable to contain her frustration. âI donât work miracles, Jonas, remember? You have to let me do my job.â
âYou do your job, then,â he said. âThereâs a whole town to pick apart.â
Her lips parted. She couldnât have explained why, but those words hurt. Her stomach burned, but she wouldnât acknowledge the sting behind her eyes. Jonas started to turn away, again, and hesitated, looking back at her. His eyes softened.
âI always listen to you, Sam,â he said. âBut you have to trust me. Weâll make it work, we always do. Thereâs another way.â
âWhatever you say, Jonas,â she told him. He sighed. âNo, really, Iâm sure itâll all just magically work out.â
She thought he was going to say something else, but he reconsidered. With a single, sad nod, he left her standing alone. She watched him walk away, and she hated the churning in her stomach. It was getting more and more difficult to keep the show running, to keep the ends tied, and she was no longer as sure as sheâd once been that things would continue to work out.
âYour brother, yes?â
Sam turned toward the sound of the voice, startled, and glanced the man over, taking stock: khakis, white shirt, blue tie, gray cardigan. He had graying stubble across his chin, and his hair was a bit mussed from the wind. He was handsome, with watchful, attentive green eyes. Teacher, she guessed, or perhaps psychologist.
âIs he always so dismissive of your concerns?â
âAre you a shrink?â she asked.
He smiled. âNo. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?â
Reporter? She frowned. She wouldnât have pegged him as a journalist, and she didnât like being wrong. âWhat kind of questions?â she asked, even though she knew she was about to nip this conversation in the bud. There would be no interviews.
He tipped his head, regarding her, and she fought the urge to shift her feet. She didnât like the way he was looking at herâlike he could read her. Reading people was her job, and she had no desire to be on the receiving end.
âDo you believe what your brother preaches?â he asked.
âWhat paper do you work for?â
âI donât. Iâm writing a book, actually.â
âA book. On what?â
He waved a hand toward the empty stage, with a flick of his wrist, and said, âSo-called miracles are a dime a dozen at these types of shows, and they can almost all be debunked in a matter of minutes. And yet, people show up, night after night, town after town, lining up to hand over their hard-earned money. Iâve gotta say, the concept fascinates me.â
âBut youâre not a shrink.â
âNo. I have a doctorate in new American religions.â
âThis is not a new religion,â she said.
âNo. Letâs just say I needed a break from studyingâŚcults. Iâve been to a lot of these revivals. I will say your brother is one of the mostâŚcharismatic. I can see why womenâand menâare drawn to him.â
âIâm afraid you missed the boat this time aroundâIâm pretty sure heâs filled his bed for the weekend, but you can always try your luck in the next town.â
He laughed, his eyes crinkling in genuine amusement. âThatâs a shame,â he said. âI bet heâs fun.â
She hesitated, caught off guard. She wouldnât have guessed he was interested in her brother. Based on his body language, sheâd thought he was sort of interested in her. âI was kidding,â she said.
âSo was I,â he answered with a smile. âHeâs not my type. Although Iâll bet he is fun. Letâs hope whomever heâs sleeping with can keep up.â
âIâm sorry, did you come to talk about my brotherâs sex life, orâŚ?â
He laughed again, and she tried to ignore how attractive his laugh was. She scowled and crossed her arms, and he made an attempt to appear serious. âSorry,â he said. âNo. Actually, I didnât even know your show was going to be here. I was on my way toââ
âOur bus broke down,â she cut in, tapping her foot to show her impatience. âIâd hate to keep you, thoughâIâm sure weâd be quite boring to someone asâŚeducated as you.â
A small frown wrinkled his brow, and he said, âIâm unsure how Iâve managed to insult you.â
She was again taken aback. âIâm not insulted,â she said, although she was feeling self-conscious. To someone like him, her lack of education must be glaringly obvious. She wasnât used to feeling so insecure, but his eyes were too watchful. And why was he being so polite and pleasant? She was being intentionally rude, and he was worried about hurting her feelings?
âDo you mind if I talk to some of yourâŚperformers?â
âAngels.â
âAngels, then. May I?â
âWhy are you asking me?â she said. âThey can talk to whoever they want.â
âIt seems pretty clear that you run things,â he answered, further surprising her. âAlso, I wouldnât want to give the impression Iâm sneaking around behind your back. Or that I have any underhanded motives. Iâm not interested in...insulting their faiths. Iâm only interested in honest conversations, from those willing to engage.â
âOh, please,â she said. âYou already said the miracles can be debunked. A professor of religionsâsurely discrediting faiths is part of the job.â
âFaith cannot be discredited,â he answered. âCertain aspects of religions can be disproven, some cannot. Faith itself requires no proof. And Iâve never claimed to have all the answers. If I believed that, I wouldnât continueâŚlearning, trying to learn, researching.â
âSearching,â she suggested.
It was his turn to look surprised. He considered. âI suppose thatâs fair, yes,â he said. âWould you answer some questions?â
âNo,â she said. She needed to get away from him. For some reason, heâd scrambled her thoughts and frazzled her nerves. âSorry, I justâŚdonât have time,â she added. She started to turn away, and his voice stopped her.
âItâs Sam, right?â When she hesitated and looked back, he said, âIs it Sam Nightingale?â She felt a flutter of unease, and it mustâve shown on her face. He held up a hand. âJust Sam, then,â he said, before she could figure out how to answer. Then he lowered his hand, extending it toward her. She shook it automatically, before she even realized what she was doing. His palm was warm, and she felt an unwelcome pull of desire at the touch. He held her hand for a moment. As he released her, a small smile curved his lips, and he said, âJackson Neill.â
  âWhat did you tell them?â
âI told them that the Lord values patience.â
Sam smiled, but it felt tight. âYou know weâll settle up as soon as we can, Ida Mae,â she said.
The older woman put a hand on her shoulder. âI know, Sam. You and Jonas always come through. But latelyâŚthings are tighter and tighter. And the Angels are getting antsy.â
âTheyâll be paid, I give you my word.â
Ida Mae sighed. âSam, you and I are the only ones who know how bad the books are. With the bus breaking down, weâre gonna have a hard enough time just getting out of this town, let aloneââ
âSunday night, weâll have a miracle. Weâll get the money.â
âThese people donât have much to give,â Ida Mae said.
âWeâll give them something so big they wonât be able to resist,â Sam said.
Ida Mae hesitated. âWell, sugar, I know you have a planâyou always do. But even Jonas canât make it rain unless itâs Godâs will. And with the sheriff already snooping into our financesââ
âJonas has the sheriff occupied,â Sam cut in. âAnd donât worry about Jonas, he can take care of himself. Weâll get the money for the bus, and the Angels will get their pay. Just tell them to have faith for a little longer.â
Ida Mae sighed. âItâs not faith theyâre lacking, love,â she said. âAnd speaking of faith, what should we do about the professor snooping around?â
âIs he beingâŚobnoxious?â
With her eyebrows raised, Ida Mae said, âObnoxious? Lord, no, the boyâs charming as all get-out. Iâm trying to keep Ornella away from him. But heâs asking all sorts of questions about Jonas, and youââ
âMe?â
âWants to know if you and your brother are true believers,â Ida Mae said. She rolled her eyes. âHe seems to think maybe Jonas is conning us all.â
âHeâs not a cop. And his book isnât about us, specifically. JustâŚlet him poke and prod if thatâs what he wants. Weâll be out of here Monday morning. He might be charming, but he doesnât stand a chance if he decides to take on my brother.â
âEavesdropping is a terrible habit,â a voice said, and Sam and Ida Mae turned toward the sound, startled. Jackson held up a hand. âOne in which I never partakeâintentionally. I apologize, I didnât want to interrupt, but I canât in good conscienceââ
âHow long have you been there?â Sam asked.
âToo long,â he admitted with a grimace. âSorry.â
Sam looked at Ida Mae. âThanks,â she said, touching a hand to the older womanâs arm. âIâll see you at rehearsal.â Ida Mae nodded and, casting a look at Jackson, left them alone. Sam put her hands on her hips and faced the professor. âDo you just get your rocks off by going around listening to people talk about you?â Heâd lost his sweater and tie, and she couldnât blame him. It was still early, and the day had already grown hot.
He raised his eyebrows. âI rarely stumble upon people talking about me.â
âI doubt that,â she muttered.
He grinned, and she had to clench her jaw and narrow her eyes to keep from smiling in return. âYou said something about letting me poke and prod? Does that extend to you?â
âIâWhat?â she asked, flustered. She felt her cheeks beginning to heat and cursed herself.
âWill you answer some questions?â
âOh,â she answered, blushing more furiously than ever.
âCan I buy you a cup of coffee, orâŚa slice of pie or something? Ask a few questions? Itâll be painless.â
âPoking and prodding is rarely painless,â she said.
âI promise to be gentle,â he answered, and her heart stuttered in her chest. She tried to tell herself that the nervous flutter in her stomach, the hollow ache in her lower belly, the hot flush in her cheeksâthat these things had nothing to do with desire. She tried to tell herself that she wasnât alarmingly attracted to him.
She was an accomplished liar, but even she couldnât fool herself this time.
He tipped his head a bit, regarding her.
She cleared her throat. âWhy are you soâŚâ
âPersistent?â he suggested with a small smile.
âInterested,â she countered. âI guarantee, I have nothing to add to your book, ProfessorâDr. Neill, or whatever I call you.â
âJackson.â
âI canât get you an interview with my brother, if thatâs what youâre looking for. Youâll have to try to pin him down yourself.â
âIâm not interested in talking to your brother,â he said. âWell,â he added, bobbing his head, âI am, but thatâs notâHow about lunch?â
She blinked, surprised. âDoes that mean the offer of pie is off the table?â she heard herself asking. âBecause I was sort ofâŚwarming to the idea of pie.â
He chuckled. âLunch and pie, of course,â he said. âAnd coffee.â
âFine, but I promise you, youâre gonna be disappointed.â
âI doubt that,â he said, smiling.
  There was something oddly sensual about the way he ate apple pie, and she had to keep reminding herself to pull her gaze away from his mouth. If heâd noticed, he hadnât commented. Heâd been asking her innocuous questionsâWhat kind of music did she like? What was her favorite book?
They were personal questions, not related to Jonas or the revival, but they werenât overly personal. Heâd been making small talk all through lunch, and sheâd even asked him a few questions of her ownâhow long had he been teaching? Did he have another career path in mind? How long was he planning on traveling the country, researching revivals?
By the time their pie arrived, however, sheâd begun to feel guilty. She didnât like the feeling, and she didnât like feeling as though she owed him anything. Nevertheless, sheâd agreed to answer questions for his book. He was buying her lunch and hadnât yet asked one question pertaining to Jonas or their show.
She realized she was staring at his mouth, again, and forced her eyes up to his. âLook,â she said, setting her fork down and putting her elbows on the table. âI appreciate the whole nice guy routine youâve got going on, alright? Whatâs your favorite color, whatâre your hopes and dreams, did you turn out like this because your father was a piece of shit alcoholicâbut you donât have to pretend to be interested in my life.â
âWhoâs pretending?â he asked quietly.
âYouâre worried about offending me, donât be, Iâm not breakable. Ask me what you came to ask.â
âWas he abusive?â
âWhat?â she asked. Her heart was suddenly dancing nervously in her chest. She didnât know why sheâd mentioned her fatherâJackson hadnât asked her about her childhood.
Jackson leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, as well. She had to fight her urge to sit back. She had to struggle to hold his steady gaze. âYour father. Was he abusive?â
She didnât mean to answer. She never discussed her childhood, not with anyone. Ida Mae knew a bit, because sheâd been around a long time. But no one except Sam and Jonas knew what it had really been like.
Jacksonâs expression was kind, his green gaze perceptive, and she heard herself saying, âNot to me. Not when Jonas was around.â
âWas it just the two of you?â he asked.
âItâs always been just the two of us.â
âAh,â he said.
She frowned. âDonât say ah like you understand something. I know you think my brother is a fraudââ
âI donât know what your brother is or isnât. I havenât spoken to him. But I did speak to yourâŚAngels. And they love him. Oh, they made jokes. Even hungover, Jonas can run circles around any evangelist, and just imagine if he ever tried it without a hangover. Heâs slept with half of every town youâve been to, and the other half is jealous. Heâs the only gambler who always manages to break even without ever winning. But they love him. I donât know if they all believe what he preaches, but they believe in him. He may be a con artist, but unless heâs really bad at itâwhich I doubtâheâs not in it to get rich. Most of these guys live in mansions and drive fancy cars and wear ten thousand dollar watches when theyâre not out slumming it in these small townsââ
âMost of these guys?â she repeated, cutting him off. âLook, Professor, my brother might drink, and sleep around, and gamble, andâŚbend the truth. But life isnât handed to everyone on a silver platter, and we do what we have to do to survive. Maybe you think thatâs an excuse, a copout, aâŚjustification for bad behavior, but my brotherâŚAll he ever wanted was to sing, to perform, toâŚto make people happy. My earliest memories are of watching him sing in church, or dancing in the backyard, he used to put on shows for me and my toys, andââ She broke off, giving her head a shake to clear it. She hadnât meant to get nostalgic. âBut as for conning people? Maybe you donât think itâsâŚgodly to convince someone to, say, buy a car they donât need.â
âI would hesitate to use the word âgodlyâ applied to any man,â he said.
âMen feel godly all the time. I daresay even you,â she added. âMaybe you donât like the word. Maybe youâd preferâŚpowerful. Itâs the same thing in the end. But some men convince people to spend their money on cars or TVs or timeshares in the Caribbean.â
âYour brother convinces them to spend their money on miracles,â he said.
âIf he can talk a person out of an addiction, is that a miracle? If he can convince a girl who hasnât spoken in three years to talk to her parents, is that a miracle? If he can get a man who hasnât walked without crutchesââ
âPeople with blind faith are susceptible to manipulation,â Jackson interrupted. âAnd desperate people who want to believe in miracles can, in fact, create their ownâŚunexplainedââ
âWhatâs the difference?â
âThe difference is, if youâre only in town for three days, itâs easy to convince a man heâs no longer addicted to nicotine or gambling orâŚsex, or whatever. But after youâafter Jonas leaves town, how long do you think it takes for those cravings to return? What youâre talking about, it can work for trained hypnotherapists, or psychologists, but without the proper follow-up careââ He stopped and let out a breath. âIâm sorry,â he said, surprising her. âI didnât mean toâŚâ He waved his hand, grimacing.
âPreach?â she suggested.
He smiled. âRight. Would you like more coffee?â
She glanced at her cup. âNo. Thanks. I have to get back and set up for rehearsals.â She slid her plate aside and put her hand on the table, turning to get up.
He reached out and touched her wrist, lightly, stopping her. âI know it might feel like itâs too late toâŚchange the course of your life,â he said. His expression was earnest, and his fingers were warm against her wrist. âItâs not. There are so many thingsââ
She pulled her arm away and pushed to her feet. He leaned back in his seat, looking up at her, and she could sense his disappointment. Or perhaps it was merely frustration.
âYou think of yourself as open-minded, but youâre a lot more judgemental than you think you are. And it might be easy for you to point fingers at Jonas, but Iâd say youâre the one with the savior complex. I doubt that worked well for you in those cults you mentioned.â She saw his wince and continued: âI donât need you to save me, Dr. Neill. And trying would be a waste of your time.â
âSam,â he said when she started away. She thought he might get up, follow her, but he didnât. She wasnât sure if she was disappointed or relieved.
âThanks for lunch,â she said, walking away from him.
  âYouâll have your money Monday morning.â
As the mechanic walked away, Sam lowered her head and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and finger. The bus was fixed; now they just needed to pay for itâor sneak out of town before Monday morning. Jonas had talked the motel owner into comping several rooms, one for Jonas and the rest for the Angels. Sam couldâve had one for herself, but she chose, as always, to stay on the bus. They might not have to worry about the vehicle being stripped, not in a place like Sweetwater, but old habits died hard. Without the bus, they would be screwed.
She didnât know if they could get enough money from the residents of the town, even with a âmiracle.â Getting money from Sweetwater would be like getting blood from a stone, but she couldnât convince Jonas of that.
He had no idea how dire their finances really were. Jackson had been rightâJonas wasnât in the game to get rich. He didnât care about money. He did care about keeping himself, his sister, and their choir fed and sheltered, he cared about keeping liquor in his flask and fuel in the bus, and he was willing to sweet-talk, schmooze, and seduce to keep their operation running. But, money? That was Samâs department, Samâs and Ida Maeâs. Jonas knew that theyâd been creative with their books and lax on their taxes, but he didnât ask for details.
And Sam didnât volunteer them. Jonas had already done a few short stints in small jailhouses. She would do whatever she could to keep him from anything more serious. Plausible deniability might end up saving him in the end.
They were going to need a big miracle on Sunday, and her brother wasnât going to like it. Not when he found out what she had in mind. She didnât like it, herself, but the boy was their only hope. Their only other option was to load up and sneak out of town before the kind and generous, and desperate, residents realized theyâd been swindled.
âSam, weâre missing three speaker cables.â
She lifted her head. âMissing?â
Jed cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. âUh. We had âem last night. ButâŚâ
She suppressed a sigh. Maybe Sweetwater wasnât as sweet as it seemed, after all. Why someone would steal the cables, and not the speakers, was beyond her, though. âThereâs one extra under the driverâs seat of the bus. Take that for now, stagger the speakers further apart for rehearsals. We can make do being down two speakers if we have to but Iâll see what I can do.â
âThereâs a hardware store, they might have something?â
She shook her head. âGo on with the setup. And, Jed? Everything is going to be locked up tonight, got it?â
âYes, maâam.â
She turned and saw Jackson talking to Ornella. The young woman had her hand on his arm and her brightest smile plastered on her face. Jackson had his head tipped toward her, eyes focused on her face while she talked, but as Sam watched, his gaze flicked up to hers for a moment. She faltered, flustered.
She gave herself a mental shake, frowned, and took off, striding toward town.
As she neared Main Street, she caught sight of her brother, and she slowed to a stop. He was on the baseball field with a boyâthe boyâin a wheelchair. She felt a nervous wiggle in her stomach. Jonas seemed to be showing the kid something on a keyboard the boy had across the armrests of his chair.
Donât get attached, Jonas, she thought. We need him.
She stood there for a few moments, and it occurred to her that there must be something wrong with her. Attached? Heâs not a stray dog, heâs a child, she thought, with the acid of self-loathing churning in her stomach.
âHeâs good with kids.â
Sam jumped, whirling toward the sound of the voice, cursing herself for being caught off guard. She never let anyone sneak up on her, and Jackson had now managed to startle her three times in one day. She tried to glare at him, but his expression held wariness and contrition, and she couldnât maintain her dirty look. He didnât deserve it, anyway.
âHeâs good with everyone,â she muttered, turning away from the professor and starting along the sidewalk.
âI owe you an apology,â Jackson said, trailing along behind her.
âNo, you donât,â she answered. âDonât worry about it.â
âSam, please,â he said. She stopped, turning to face him. âI had no right toâŚpresume to tell you what you should do with your life. I justâŚI donât want to judge, I just want to understand. If youâll give me another chance to observeâŚâ
âObserve?â she repeated. âOrnella would be happy to show you around. She knows all the backstage secrets, believe me, and she loves to gossip. Youâll have a good time with her.â
âIâm not interested inââ He stopped, a small frown creasing his brow, and regarded her for a few seconds. She resisted the urge to fidget. âIâd like to spend my time with you, if youâll allow it.â
She was again caught off guard by his directness. He kept throwing her off. She couldnât imagine why he would be interested in her company. âI canât stop you,â she said.
His expression tightened. âAbsolutely, you can,â he said, quietly. âIf you tell me to leave you alone, you wonât see me again.â
She didnât want that, and the realization alarmed her. She almost told him to go away simply because she wanted him to stay. She bit back the words and said, instead, âDo you have a bad back or anything?â
He hesitated, blinking. âExcuse me?â he finally asked.
âI might need you to carry something. Iâm headed to the school to see if I can talk them out of some cables, but we also have a split hose, we need water jugsââ
âSay no more,â he interrupted, holding up a hand. âJust load me up and tell me which way to go.â
She laughed in spite of herself. âFine, you can tag along,â she said. âPrepare to be bored.â She cast another glance toward her brother and the boy as she started up the sidewalk.
âMay I ask something, and this is without judgementââ He hesitated, looking sideways at her as they walked, waiting for her permission. She nodded. âDoes your brotherâJonasâbelieve that he can heal someone like that kid?â
âAre you just asking if heâs a conman?â she asked.
âNot exactly,â he answered. âIâŚâ He looked over his shoulder. âLook, I have my opinions on the monetary aspect, and I have my opinions on the religious aspect. But I can see a real smile on his face right now, and I could see theâŚsort ofâŚlove he has for performing, when he was rehearsing. You said he canâŚtalk people into or out of things, addictions, whatnot.â
âWhich you pointed out was probably temporary and most likely dangerous,â she said.
He grimaced and waved a hand. âForget anything I said that soundedâŚjackassy. Iâm genuinely curious about his motivations.â
She sighed. âDoes Jonas believe that he can heal people?â She hesitated.
He stopped walking and, after a couple of steps, so did she. She turned toward him, and he surprised her again. âOff the record,â he said. âWhile I canât and wonât condone theâŚfleecing of desperate people, I also wonât go around trying to discredit what I donât fully understand. You have my word, I wonât use anything you say about your brother against you, or him, orâŚthe show.â
She had no real reason to trust him. Sheâd only just met him, and sheâd learned early on that people were built to lie. Even so, she did trust him. She was fully aware that it might come back to bite her, but she found herself answering honestly. She could still see her brother, out in the field, and she felt a twinge of guilt for talking about him.
âNo, he doesnât think he can heal people, people who areâŚreally sick, orâŚor hurt, but that doesnât mean he canât help people,â she said. âLook, my brother can beâŚabrasive, obnoxiousâŚloud, brash, overbearingâŚegotisticalâŚâ She frowned. âWell, no, actually, if anything he thinks too little of himself, butâŚall the other things, he can be a lot to take, I get that. I can hardly stand him myself, half the time.â She paused, trying to gather her thoughts. Sheâd just spouted a bunch of negative-sounding adjectives, and she wanted to make it clear that they were just a small part of who Jonas was, just the armor he wore against the world.
âHe doesnât believe in himself, but you do,â Jackson said.
She opened her mouth, and closed it again, frowning. Finally, she said, âIâve seen things I canât explain. Iâm not delusional, if thatâs what you mean.â
âOf course, itâs not. You have faith in your brother.â
âYes,â she answered, and he nodded, seeming to accept that.
âSo,â he said, resuming their walk. She fell into step beside him. âWhat kind of cables are we looking for?â
  Jackson had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His hair was damp at his forehead and the nape of his neck. Sam kept sneaking glances at him as they walked; she couldnât help herself.
He kept looking at her, too, and every time their eyes met she felt a pleasant flutter in her stomach. He had an endearing little half-smile, and he somehowâwithout even tryingâmade her feel attractive.
She was sweating, too, even though he was carrying the heavy stuff: the coil of green garden hose that sheâd borrowed from the hardware store, the wound lengths of speaker cable sheâd convinced the high school A/V club to offer on loan, and an armful of books salvaged from the discard bin at the library. She was carrying two empty water jugs. She felt a little guilty, and not just about the disparate weight distribution.
âYour shirtâs going to be filthy,â she said, glancing at the dirty hose wrapped around his arm.
He shrugged a shoulder, offering her that half-smile. âItâs just a shirt,â he said. âWhen my kids were little, I think I went through five a day.â
She tried not to think about the way her heart had just stumbled. âYou have kids?â she asked, after taking a moment to gather her composure. She didnât think he was marriedâhe wasnât wearing a ringâbut she hadnât asked.
âMmhmm,â he said. She was looking straight ahead, now, but she could feel his eyes on her. âTwo. Theyâre currently at Disneyland with my ex-wife and herâŚboyfriend.â
Sam noted the hesitation, of course, and glanced at him. âIs that weird for you?â she asked.
âWhich part?â
âYour ex having her boyfriend on vacation with your kids.â
âHeâs a nice enough guy. The kids like him. I guess I just feel weird about the word.â
âBoyfriend?â
He laughed. âYeah. What about you? Do you ever look around these towns and think about starting a family?â When she didnât immediately answer, he said, âSorry, too personal?â
âI donât think about it, much,â she said, which wasnât exactly true. Sheâd been thinking about it more and more, lately. âBut a town like this? No. I mightâve come from the sticks but Iâm never going back. A place this quiet might be good for a while, but I like the city. The noise, the pace, everything. Iâd go crazy in a place like this. Is this what you want?â
He sniffed, looking around. âIt has its appeal,â he said. âThereâve been times when I wondered if I shouldâve raised my kids in a place like this, where everyone knows everyone and you can hear yourself think. But, no. Maybe when Iâm eighty and ready to retire.â
She smiled. âYouâre not gonna retire off this book youâre writing?â
He chuckled. âEven if I can convince more than three people to read it, no. Iâll teach until they throw me out.â
âTeaching religious studies to a bunch of obnoxious twenty-year-olds?â she asked. âIs it really that great?â
Grinning, he said, âThey can be obnoxious, yes, but I used to teach eighth graders. Trust me, theyâre scarier.â
âIâll bet youâre everyoneâs favorite professor,â she said. âYou probably grade on attendance and bake the class cookies.â
He laughed, turning his head to look at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement. âBake cookies?â he repeated.
His beauty in the bright sunlight stole her breath, and she had to struggle to keep her voice steady. âTell the truth,â she said.
He was still laughing, and she wanted to kiss him. The impulse shocked her. âOnce,â he said. âI baked cookies one time.â
She laughed, trying to ignore her flush of desire. Hopefully he would think she was just overheated. âI knew it,â she answered. âWas it a birthday? Or did you just feel guilty about giving them a test or something?â
He cleared his throat.
She stopped walking, looking at him. âSeriously?â
He turned to face her. His expression was sheepish. âActually, I gave a test that everyone but one student failed.â He hesitated, and she knew that wasnât the whole story.
âBecause?â she prompted.
âBecause my wife moved out and took the kids to her motherâs house and filed for divorce within the span of a week and I wasâŚâ
âCranky?â
He smiled. âSomething like that.â
âThatâs rough,â she said. âWhyâd she leave? Did you cheat on her?â
He seemed startled by the idea. âNo,â he answered.
She read his expression. âShe cheated on you,â she said. It wasnât a question, and she saw his throat bob as he swallowed. âSorry,â she said, and she meant it. âBut hey, on the bright side, now youâre free to sleep with all the pretty young college girls thatâre no doubt falling at your feet.â
He regarded her in silence for a few moments, chewing the inside of his lower lip. âI would never sleep with a student,â he finally said. âIt would be unethical.â
âSo if I enrolled in your class?â she asked, but she felt a surge of guilt for making a joke just to cover her own discomfort. âSorry,â she repeated. âLook, I didnât mean toâŚoffend you, or whatever.â
âIâm not offended,â he said quietly. âAnd for the record, Iâm not trying to sleep with you.â
She tried to think of something to say. âIâŚâ
âNot because I donât want to,â he added, shifting the stack of books he was holding. âBecause, also for the record, I find you very attractive, and to answer your question, if you were enrolled in my class, Iâd be distracted all the time and probably bake a lot more cookies.â He turned and started walking, but slowly, and she fell into step beside him. âSex is all well and good, Samââ
She snorted. âWell and good? I donât want to speak ill of your ex, but she sounds like a bore.â
He smiled, and finished, âBut romance is better.â
âIsnât the point of romance to get to the sex?â she asked.
âThe point of romance is romance,â he said. âMaking breakfast in bed, or sending someone flowers on a random Wednesday just so they know you were thinking about them? Celebrating your six-month anniversaries andâŚwaking up early each morning just so you have longer to spend curled up together? Nicknames, secret jokes, holding hands, showering togetherâcrying together, all of it.â He turned toward her again. His shirt was stuck to his sweaty shoulders and back, and they were never going to make it to the bus if they kept stopping. âForgive me, Sam, but it really pains me to think you havenât had anyone love you the way you deserve to be loved.â
âYou donât even know me,â she muttered. Her heart was racing. She was caught between her instincts for fight and flight. There were sarcastic, cruel words perched on her tongue; her feet were itching to run. âMaybe Iâve been loved exactly the way I deserve.â She didnât know she was going to say it until the words were hanging in the hot air between them.
He studied her face, and she forced herself to keep her gaze from dropping. âI donât think so,â he said, and his voice was soft. He let out a breath. âI donât mean to make you uncomfortable. And, at the risk of undermining my, uhâŚrugged masculinity, these books weigh about ten times what they did when we started out.â
âAnd itâs hotter than hell,â she said, as they started walking.
âItâs a shame your brother canât give the county a little rain.â When she shot him a look, he said, âIâm serious. This place is about to blow away.â
She looked around at the town. Sheâd meant what she said: she wouldnât want to settle into a small town, Sweetwater or any other. That didnât mean she couldnât see its appeal, though. âItâs a shame,â she said, quietly. She squinted up at the cloudless sky.
If he could make it rain, we wouldnât need the kid, she thought, looking toward the deserted baseball field. Her brother was nowhere in sight, and neither was the boy. Jonas isnât going to like it.
  âWhoâs the guy whoâs been snooping around?â
âWhat guy?â Sam asked without looking up.
âThe old guy who looksâŚsoft and professor-ish.â
She lifted her head. âHeâs not old,â she said, without thinking. She saw Jonasâs smirk, and clenched her jaw.
âJust soft and professor-ish?â Jonas teased. âMaybe he should do something about the gray, then,â he said, pinching at his own hair near his temple.
âHe is a professor, heâs got a doctorate in new American religions. Heâs writing a book about revivals. And not everyone has a love affair with vanity,â she said, and her brother laughed. âBesides, heâs only six years older than you.â
Jonas tipped his head. âBy my calculations, that makes him eight years older than you,â he told her. âIâm tempted to ask how you know, since it seems unlikely youâd come right out and askâŚâ He narrowed his eyes, regarding her, and she felt herself flushing. âYou Googled him, didnât you?â
She crossed her arms to keep from fidgeting. âItâs my job to dig up information on people,â she said, hating the defensiveness in her own voice.
âOh, so you found something we can use? Great, weâll make a believer out of him.â
âNo,â she said, harsher than sheâd intended, and she saw Jonasâs smile. She cursed herself for continuing to rise to his bait, but his smile was gentle, now. That was somehow worse. Jonas understood her as no one else ever had. âDonât worry about it,â she told him. âHe wonât cause problems. If I have to, Iâll keep him distracted until we leave town. He wonât follow us, heâs got a hundred other revivals to visit.â
âIf you have to,â Jonas said, softly, and she could see the sadness in his smile. She didnât want his pity. âSam,â he said, with a sigh. âYouâre allowed toââ
âDonât tell me what I can or canât do,â she cut in, because she didnât want to have this conversation. âI get along fine, thanks.â
âRight,â Jonas said. âGod forbid you actually care about someone.â
âYouâre one to talk!â she exclaimed, but they both knew that caring about people had never been his problem. Their father had always said he was too sensitive, but Sam knew the truth. Jonas had always felt things deeply, had always loved wholeheartedly, and heâd always been fiercely loyal to anyone who treated him with kindness.
Yes, he could convince a widow to hand over her wedding ring, but she would do so with a smile. Yes, he could take a different person to bed each night, but he never left them feeling disrespected or unappreciated. Yes, if he felt cornered or betrayed, he could cut a person in half with the sharpness of his tongue.
Jonas loved performing. He got his high not from the dollars landing in the baskets, but the smiles on peopleâs faces. Their money kept him fed, but their cheers were what nurtured him. Jonas was the most alive when he was on a stage, and he took no pleasure from fooling people. When he convinced a man to quit smoking, it didnât matter if it was really Godâs will or not. What mattered to Jonas was that heâd impacted someoneâs life, that heâd left a mark. Jonas wanted desperately to be loved, to be appreciated. To be respected.
Sam knew the feeling. It was something they shared, a remnant of their childhood. Theyâd spent their formative years searching in vain for the love of a parent. Theyâd craved affection and acceptance, and theyâd turned to each other. Heâd been her best friend, her protector. And then sheâd become his protector. It had been a gradual shift. Every punch from their father had left more than a physical mark. Every cruel word had added an invisible scar.
Jonas felt things deeply, and Sam trained herself to keep her own feelings buried. Sheâd made herself into an emotional shield for him, the way heâd once been a physical shield for her. It had been the two of them against the world for as long as she could remember, and she didnât know any other way of life. Until recently, sheâd never allowed herself to fantasize about anything else.
They often argued. In fact, there were few things on which theyâd ever seen eye to eye. But Jonas was the one person who would never betray her. She loved him, even when she wanted to strangle him. If it werenât for him, she might not believe herself capable of love.
But Jonas, he deserved the kind of all-in loveâbreakfast in bed, celebrating half-year anniversaries, flowers on Wednesdays, cuddling in the early morning light, affectionate nicknames, kisses both passionate and tender, holding hands on the sidewalk, shared showers, shoulders to cry on, private jokes, gazes filled with adorationâthat he secretly craved. The years on the road were slowly eating away at him. Each performance gave him joy, but the rest of the life was wearing on him.
No matter whose bed he was in, he always fell asleep alone. He didnât have to tell her that. They didnât typically discuss their sex lives. Nor did she care about what he did with whom. What she cared about was the fact that, lately, even the performances couldnât completely erase the sadness from around his eyes. The highs were no longer outweighing the lows.
She couldnât stand to watch him destroying himself.
She wanted to set him free, and she didnât know how. She wasnât sure who she was without him and the show. She was terrified to examine herself in the mirror, afraid that she would see nothing but an outline, a shadow, in the reflection.
âLook, Iâm not some helpless little girl anymore,â she said. She was horrified to feel tears burning her eyes, and she gritted her teeth, forcing them back.
âYou were never helpless,â he answered quietly.
âSo you donât have to worry about me,â she said. âWhat you need to worry about is the show. We need to use the kid.â He knew that Jake was the sheriffâs son, now. She hadnât been the one to tell him, and she hadnât asked him what had happened.
âNo.â
âNo? No? Iâm telling you, we donât have a choice, not if you want to get out of this godforsaken town.â When he was silent, she narrowed her eyes. âYou do want to get out of here, right?â
âOf course,â he answered, but she wasnât sure he believed himself. âBut heâs the sheriffâs kid, andâŚJakeâs been through enough.â
âOh, really? The world is cruel, Jonas, you know that. The sooner the kid learns thatââ
âHe knows about the cruelty of the world, Sam,â Jonas interrupted. âThe one thing he has left is hopeâfaith. I wonât take that from him.â
âEveryone in town says itâs psychosomatic,â she said. âThereâs no reason for him not to walk, no medical reason. Itâs in his head, Jonas. All you have to do is convince him that God wants him to walk, andââ
âNo,â he repeated, his tone harsh.
âHe believes in you. He will believe in you.â
âYeah,â Jonas said, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. âYeah, Sam.â She could hear the rawness in his voice, and it alarmed her. He was too emotionally invested, already. âAnd what if itâs not all in his head, huh? He doesnât need someone like me coming in andââ
âIs this because youâre sleeping with his father? Youâve done miracles on kids before.â
âThis is different and you know it.â
âEveryone in town loves the kid. You canât give them rain, Jonas, but you can give them something they want just as much. Theyâd each give their last penny to get that kid on his feet, you can see it in their faces when they look at him, when they talk about him. If youâre looking for a change, we can change. We can figure something out, but we have to getââ
âSam.â He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. When he looked at her again, she could see the weariness around his eyes, the unhappiness around his mouth, the defeat in his posture. âI love you, sis,â he said, quietly. âBut I canât discuss this right now.â
Before she could say anything, he turned on his heel and strode away. She stood, staring after him, stunned. She was feeling a little bit of everything at once, all the emotions swirled together to leave her with a general sense of unease.
Her gaze shifted, and she caught Jacksonâs eyes. He always seemed to be around; her eyes always seemed to find his. Heâd changed into jeans and a gray t-shirt that accentuated the muscles in his arms, and she thought, soft and professor-ish, my ass.
She didnât think he was close enough to have heard the conversation. He certainly wasnât trying to eavesdrop. She could feel his concern, though, could see it in his expression. He was worried about her, and she didnât know how to deal with that. She didnât know how to feel about it. She turned her back on him and walked in the opposite direction of her brother. And Jackson.
  âItâs Jackson, right?â
The professor turned. âJonas Nightingale, at last,â he said, extending a hand. Jonas looked him over while shaking his hand. âDid Sam tell you I wanted to ask a few questions?â
âNo,â Jonas answered. âActually, I came to talk about her.â
âYour sister?â Jackson said, suddenly wary.
âYou seem to have spent most of the day with her,â Jonas said. âAre you trying to screw her?â
Jackson blinked in surprise. âExcuse me?â
âYou heard me.â
âFirst of all, vulgarity aside, Iââ He stopped, raising his hands when Jonas stepped closer.
Jonas poked him in the chest, and said, âSheâs had enough assholes in her life. If you hurt her, Iâll bring hellfire raining down on your head, professor.â
âI appreciate your attempt to look out for your sister, hereâCould you back up, please? Thanks,â Jackson said, smoothing the front of his shirt when Jonas took a step back. âI have no intention of hurting her, and I only met her this morning.â
âIt only takes a few minutes,â Jonas said.
âNot for me, it doesnât,â Jackson answered.
Jonas laughed, pointing at him. âTouchĂŠ. So. Jackson. Whatâs everyone been saying about me behind my back? Come on, donât make me buy the book.â
âSo far as I can tell, everyone loves you,â Jackson said. He saw something like guilt flit across Jonasâs features. âThey wouldnât be here if they didnât.â
âHey,â Jonas said, spreading his arms. âWhatâs not to love?â
âI met you forty-five seconds ago.â
âWell, I like you, doc,â Jonas said. âYouâre an honest guy, I can tell. Iâll bet youâve never told a lie in your life. Donât let Sam scare you off.â
âIâm notâthereâs nothing going on betweenââ
âCareful, now, donât make this your first lie,â Jonas said. He pulled his flask from his back pocket and unscrewed the lid. He held the flask toward Jackson, raising his eyebrows.
âNo,â Jackson said. âThank you.â
Jonas smiled as he took a drink. Replacing the lid, he shook his head. âSo polite, too. Ask me some questions, professor. I love to talk about myself.â
âAlright. Why do you do what you do?â
âDo what I do?â Jonas asked. âYou mean the Lordâs work?â
âIf thatâs what you believe, then yes,â Jackson answered.
Jonas narrowed his eyes. âI think we both know the answer,â he said, all traces of humor gone from his expression. âWe rip people off. NoâI rip people off. I use their secrets against them, I manipulate them, I give them false hope, and I take their money. And then I never see them again.â He shrugged, spreading his arms again, the flask glinting in one hand. âDo they go back to drinking? Cheating? Hitting their wives? Who knows. I get my money and I leave.â
âPeople ask for helpâŚnot hitting their wives?â Jackson asked, feeling ill.
Jonasâs expression contorted, and Jackson didnât doubt the sincerity of his pain. âOh, doc, you wouldnât believe what sins people confess,â he said, softly. âThey want God to cure them. So I put my hand on their forehead and I promise them absolution if they change their ways. And what promise does the bruised and battered young woman beside them get? What assurance does she have that the beatings will stop? Nothing but the word of a conman. We can phone in an anonymous tipââ He stopped, licking his lips as he gathered his thoughts. He shook his head and looked at Jackson. âWhat kind of man needs someone like me to tell him not to hit his wife? Not to fuck around on her? Not to hit his kidsââ He pulled in a deep breath. âYouâre an educated man, right, professor? Me, I never graduated high school, so maybe I just donât get it.â
âThere are a lot of terrible people in the world,â Jackson said. âBut thereâre good people, too. I have to believe that the good outnumber the bad.â
âAnd what absolution does a man deserve after hitting his wife and kids?â
Jackson swallowed. âI donât know the answer to that,â he said.
âWhat kind of redemption is there for a man who offers false hopeââ He stopped again. He opened his flask and drank the last of his liquor. He shook the empty bottle. âI need a refill,â he said.
âWhen you look into the face of a child with a black eye, and you see yourself,â Jackson said, âwhat do you do? You can tell me that you offer absolution to the father and take your money and leave, but I donât believe you. I donât believe you because of your sister, and Ida Mae, and Ornella, and every person Iâve talked to about you. I think what you do is tell the man that God will give him the strength to be better, you tell him that he has the power to change and be forgiven, and you take his money. And then? You get that money into his wifeâs hand along with the phone number of someone who can help her. And then you whisper into that kidâs ear, and you tell him that God is on his side, not his fatherâs, and that he will survive the hell in which heâs currently trapped and he will thrive in the world, and there will come a day when his father can no longer touch him.â
Jonas opened his mouth but couldnât find any words to speak.
âIs that false hope? Maybe. I donât know,â Jackson said. âMaybe sometimes yes, sometimes no. Maybe they get away. Maybe they donât. Nobody can save everyone, but false hope is still hope, and sometimes thatâs all we have to get us through the day. Hope for tomorrow. You want to know what people say behind your back?â Jackson bobbed his head, raising his eyebrows, and said, âThey say a lot, Mr. Nightingale.â
He turned and walked away, and Jonas stared after him, stunned into speechlessness.
  Sam didnât have time to worry about Jackson or the sheriff once the show started. She had to make sure the microphones were working, that the Angels were on their marks, that Jonasâs earpiece was working. She had to make sure she knew which audience member was sitting in which seatâand she had to make sure that the sections were clearly marked, because otherwise Jonas wouldnât know where to go.
She had to make sure Jonas was soberâshe could smell the alcohol on his breath when he got to the stage, but she could also smell the coffee. Heâd made an attempt to sober himself up, and she followed up on that by pumping him full of water. She made a mental note that they might need to add an extra two minutes to his wardrobe change for a bathroom break, but they would cross that bridge if it arose. Once Jonas was on stage, he was usually able to push everything else aside and focus on the show.
She had to make sure there was water readily available for him and for the rest of the performers and crew. She had to supervise the collection baskets: if they were circulated too soon, people would begin to feel antsy and might even decide to leave; if they were passed around too late, people might not want to pay for a show theyâd already seen.
There were a lot of things to worry about, but she was relieved, once the show started, to see that Jonas seemed fully committed. He was in top form, and he barely looked at the kidâJakeâwhere he sat near the corner of the stage. And he didnât, as far as Sam could tell, look at the sheriff a single time during the performance.
He sang. He danced. He smiled. He flirted.
He was kind, compassionate. He was witty, funny.
He went in every direction Sam pointed him, without hesitation, and even Sam, whoâd seen his act more times than she could count, was impressed by the advice he was doling out. He was the best heâd been in years, and Samâat first relieved by his performanceâgradually became aware of an uneasiness growing within her.
As Jonas drove the revival toward its conclusion with the velocity of a barrel traveling Niagara Falls, she could see his increasing desperation. If she didnât know better, sheâd think he was performing for the last time.
The thought filled her with dread.
  âYou disappeared after the show.â
Jackson stood in the doorway, looking out at her. âYou had a lot going on,â he answered. âI didnât want to bother you.â
âYou werenât avoiding me?â
âNo.â
âDo you like me, Jackson?â she asked.
âYes.â
âI mean, like me, like weâre in junior high andââ
âWhatâs wrong, Sam?â he asked quietly.
âCan I come in?â
He stepped aside and pushed the door open wider. When sheâd walked into his room, he closed the door with a soft click and turned to face her.
âI looked for you,â she said. âI was afraid you might be gone, that Iâd never see you again.â
âIâm sorry,â he answered. âI felt like Iâd forced my company onto you enough forââ
She stepped forward and kissed him. He made a sound of surprise, but it quickly turned into one of desire when she pushed him against the door. His hands rose to her face. He was kissing her in return, but she could feel his hesitation, his wariness. She pressed closer against him, running her hands down his sides. She reached for the button of his jeans, and he pulled his mouth away from hers.
âSam,â he said. His hands were still on her face, his palms warm against her cheeks, and she met his eyes. âYou can talk to me,â he told her.
âI donât want to talk,â she said. âJust for tonight, I want to feel something good.â She hesitated, holding his gaze. âThatâs not true,â she admitted. âNot just anything, I want you. I want you, Jackson, if youâŚif youâll have me.â
He searched her face for several seconds. He bent his head, watching her eyes, and kissed her. His lips were gentle, and she could feel the pads of his thumbs, soft against her cheeks.
He made her feel vulnerable and safe at the same time, a combination that she could scarcely comprehend. She would normally flee at the first feelings of vulnerability, but in spite of her apprehension, she didnât want to run. Something about him called to her, and had since sheâd first laid eyes on him. He looked at her as though he were seeing her, the real her, the woman she kept hidden away from the world.
He turned, and she felt the wall against her back. She ran her hands down his sides again, but this time she didnât reach for his fly. She took hold of the bottom of his shirt and slid it upward, and he lifted his arms, pulling his mouth from hers long enough to let her tug the shirt over his head. Then he claimed her mouth again as she slid her hands over his stomach, his chest, his arms. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, all of it.
He turned his head and his lips were soft and damp against her jaw, the crook of her neck, her throat. She tipped her head back against the wall and held onto his shoulders, arching against him, needing to be closer.
âJackson,â she said, and she could hear the plea in her own voice.
âSam,â he answered against her throat. One of his hands slid under her shirt, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric of her bra as he cupped her breast. He sucked gently at the sensitive skin of her throat, and she made a sound, desperate to feel more of him. She lifted a leg, hooking it around his hips, and she could feel his growing arousal.
âI need you,â she breathed, something sheâd never said before. âPlease, Jackson.â
He grabbed the backs of her thighs and lifted her. She threw her other leg around him and held onto his neck. He covered her mouth with his again as he spun, carrying her toward the bed. In just a few seconds, he was lowering her onto the mattress, still kissing her. His arousal was nestled between her thighs, and she shifted, trying to pull him closer, her legs still around him.
His hands were hot against her stomach, and he pushed her shirt up, his fingers splayed over her ribcage. He pulled back, and she reluctantly dropped her legs away from his hips. A moment later, his lips were pressed against the bare skin of her stomach, and a shiver passed through her.
While he trailed kisses across her belly, one of his thumbs found her nippleâwith uncanny easeâthrough the cup of her bra. She grabbed at his bare shoulders; she couldnât remember ever wanting anyone as badly as she wanted him. She wanted him to hurry, but she also wanted the moment to last forever.
He seemed to have no intention of hurrying.
His mouth was slowly driving her insane with needâand that was only her stomach. The ache between her legs was building, and she wanted his tongue to move a few inches lower. His thumb was lazily teasing her nipple, and she wanted the barrier of her bra to disappear.
She wanted all the barriers between them to disappear.
He turned, reaching back to slip off her shoe. She made a sound of protest, when his mouth left her skin, that shocked her. He chuckled lightly, but instead of embarrassing her, his laugh only made her want him more.
He pulled off her shoe and sock, and then the other, dropping them to the floor. In just a few seconds, his fingers were at the button of her jeans, but his movements were still unhurried. He lowered her zipper and gently tugged the jeans over her hips; she shifted her legs, trying to make it easier, wanting the restricting garment gone. While he was pulling her jeans off and tossing them aside, she levered herself up and stripped her shirt over her head, throwing it past the edge of the bed. She unhooked her bra and pulled it off, too.
Jackson turned, his gaze sliding up the length of her body until their eyes met. He leaned forward and kissed her lips, but it was quick. She felt his hand on her inner thigh and she spread her legs further, wantingâneedingâto give him better access. He shifted, and his middle finger found her clit through the thin cotton of her panties. His mouth closed around her breast at the same moment, his tongue flicking her nipple, and she gasped in surprise at the dual assault on her senses. She grabbed at his hair, tipping her head back as she arched, involuntarily, against his hand.
His fingers were gentle, massaging her through her dampening underwear, and he matched the rhythm with his tongue on her nipple. The pressure within her was building at an alarming rate; his ministrations were hurtling her toward climax more quickly than sheâd imagined possible. She shifted against his hand, again.
âJackson,â she said; his name was all she could manage.
He lifted his head and his mouth found hers. He kissed her while his fingers moved faster, rougher against her panties, and she arched her back, gasping into his mouth as her orgasm crashed over her. She shuddered against his hand, her muscles clenching as she tried to draw him closer.
He released her mouth and she pulled in a deep breath, blinking as she tried to make sense of how quickly heâd taken her over the edgeâand the fact that he was still half-dressed. Before she could say anything, he took hold of her hips and shifted her further up the bed. He hooked his fingers into the elastic of her underwear and slid the panties past her thighs, down her legs, discarding them. In a heartbeat, she felt his breath between her legs, and she closed her eyes, once more saying his name.
His mouth closed around her, his tongue finding her sensitized clit, and she bucked against his face, gasping. Her hands were buried in his hair, and all she could do was hold on. Tremors rippled through her and then, almost without warning, she came again, crying out his name as she arched against his mouth.
He pushed to his feet and she watched, barely capable of rational thought, as he stripped out of his jeans and underwear. He was back in a moment, trailing kisses up her thigh, over her belly, across her breasts, her chest, up to her mouth. She shivered, running her hands over his shoulders, down his back, cupping her palms around his bare ass to pull him closer. She could feel his erection against her hip and she shifted, turning her mouth from his.
His hand was between her legs again, and she bit back a moan, closing her eyes for a moment. âWait,â she managed, and his fingers stilled. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her. âI want you,â she said, reaching a hand between them to wrap her fingers around his erection. A shiver passed through his body, and she felt him twitch in her hand. He held her gaze, his eyelids heavy with desire. He lowered his head, pressing his lips against hers.
She couldnât remember the last time sheâd been kissed so much, if ever.
He pushed himself backward, slipping his erection from her grasp, and she blinked in surprise as his warmth disappeared from her body. She levered herself up on her elbows, watching as he tore open a small foil package. She didnât know where it had come from, or how heâd had the presence of mind; sheâd certainly been thinking of nothing so responsible.
She watched him roll on the condom before dragging her gaze up to his. She saw his lips curve into a smile, and she held out a hand, motioning for him. His body once more covered hers, and his hands were all over herâgently kneading her breast, tracing the curve of her hip, trailing along the hollow of her shoulder, tickling her inner thigh. She couldnât keep track. Her skin was tingling everywhere heâd touched, her whole body on fire with desire.
So far, heâd gotten almost nothing in return.
Sam pushed at his chest, and he didnât resist as she rolled him onto his back. In a few moments, she was straddling his stomach, and his hands were resting lightly on her hips. She ran her hands over his chest. He shifted his shoulders and she felt his stomach tightening against her inner thighs. She could feel his erection behind her, and she kissed him while she shifted her hips backward. He groaned against her mouth, and she reached between their bodies, taking his arousal in her hand.
He flexed his hips beneath her, pushing himself into her palm, and part of her was sorry that heâd already applied the condom. She wanted to feel him, his silky length against her hand. There was no time to worry about it, though. She could see the tightness in his expression, could feel the quivering of his muscles beneath her, and she levered herself up.
Holding him loosely in her hand, she positioned herself over his erection. His lips were parted, his fingertips pressing into her hips.
As she lowered herself partway down, she withdrew her hand and paused, meeting his eyes.
He was breathing shallowly through his mouth, his bright gaze fixed on hers. He slid his hand from her waist, and his fingers once more found her clit. She gasped in surprise, sinking down his length. He smiled, stroking lazily with his thumb. He shifted his hips beneath her, the muscles in his abdomen tightening.
She didnât immediately move, taking a few moments to savor the feeling of fullness. She spread her palms over his stomach, relishing the way he quivered at her touch.
He needed release, though, and she wanted to watch his face as she pushed him over the edge. Bracing her hands on his abdomen, she started moving her hips, watching his eyelids droop. His thumb was still massaging her, and she increased her rhythm, determined to bring him to climax before he could make her lose control again.
He wasnât moving his hips beneath her, but she could feel the tension in his muscles, could sense the effort it was taking for him to hold back and let her set the pace. She worked her hips faster, harder, and both of his hands were back at her waist, holding onto her. He said her name on a breath as he thrust upward, once, involuntarily, filling her completely as he came inside the sheath of his condom.
His hand fumbled its way between them, again, even as the tremors were still wracking his body, but she was already coming apart before his fingers found her most sensitive spot. At the light pressure of his fingers, she cried out, tightening around him, closing her eyes as her third orgasm stole her breath. She jerked and shuddered against his hand, and then heâd curved an arm around her shoulders and was pulling her down for another kiss. She collapsed against his chest, feeling weak and shaky as their mouths met.
He wrapped both arms around her, holding her against himself. She had to pull away from his mouth to draw a ragged breath, and she laid her cheek against his shoulder, shivering from the aftershocks of her orgasm. He kissed the top of her head.
âSam,â he breathed into her hair. She could feel the thud of his heart.
âJackson,â she murmured in return, and his arms tightened around her.
  Sam eased out of bed and quietly began gathering up her clothes. She was holding her shirt clutched to her chest, bending down to peer beneath the bed for her bra, when she realized that Jackson was watching her.
âYou donât have to leave,â he said, quietly.
âOh, no, itâs alright,â she answered, feeling self-conscious. âI should get back to the busâŚâ She snatched her bra off the floor and straightened.
He was lying on his side, with his hand beneath his cheek. âWould you think less of me if I asked you to stay?â he asked. His voice was soft, and so was his expression. She felt a flutter in her stomach, something close to nervousness.
âLess of you?â she asked, confused.
He smiled. âSorry, is that not possible?â he said. His tone was light, joking, but she felt compelled to reassure him.
âThatâs not what Iââ She chewed her lip for a moment, gathering her thoughts. âI wouldnât want you to think I donât respect you,â she said.
âAnd I wouldnât want you to think Iâm needy,â he answered. âItâs late. Come back to bed.â
Normally, she would bristle at something so close to a command. ExceptâŚit didnât sound that way, not when he said it. And as she regarded him, she found that she really didnât want to leave. Lying there with his hair mussed, his jaw stubbled, his eyes bright and watchful, nakedâthough covered from the waist down by a tangle of blanketsâhe was both sexy and adorable. Appealing, in a way that frightened her.
She was afraid of how badly she wanted to crawl under the covers beside him, to curl into his warmth and drift to sleep with his scent in her nostrils.
What could it hurt, though? After Monday, she would never see him again. He would move on to another revival, and she and Jonas and their revival would move on to another town.
She walked to the edge of the bed, dropping her clothes to the floor. She wasnât sure why she felt so shy as she crawled onto the bed, or why she felt just a bit emotional about the fact that he pulled the covers up over her. He leaned over and kissed her, and she expected him to want more. She wouldnât have objectedâher body responded quickly and naturally to hisâeven though she was tired and inexplicably emotional.
After a quick kiss on her lips, however, he kissed her shoulder and settled his head on the pillow beside hers, putting his arm over her. She turned her head a bit so she could see his face. His eyes were closed, and she felt herself relaxing into his heat.
âGoodnight, Sam,â he murmured. She didnât answer, but she found herself turning toward him. He lifted his arm, and she curled against his chest, closing her eyes. His arm once more settled over her, and he kissed the top of her head. Within a minute, he was asleep. She could feel the steady drum of his heart, and his breaths were soft and even. The rhythms of his body quickly lulled her into an easy sleep.
  When she woke, she was alone in the bed. She was surprised. She was normally a light sleeper, and wouldnât have believed that someone could get out of bedâespecially when the last thing she remembered was being tucked up against his bodyâwithout waking her.
She stayed there for a couple of minutes, listening. She could hear Jackson moving around in the bathroom. She could also smell bacon and eggs, and coffee, and knew that heâd gotten breakfast. After a moment, she spotted the white takeout containers beside the television. Her stomach rumbled at the scent, and she frowned. She wasnât about to invite herself to share his breakfast; she already couldnât believe sheâd crawled back into bed and spent the whole night with himâlet alone being curled up in his arms likeâŚlikeâŚ
She sat up and shook her head to clear it. What the hell is wrong with you? she thought. She leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed her shirt off the floor, quickly pulling it over her head. She was debating whether or not to throw on her jeans and sneak out, but before sheâd made a decision, Jackson stepped out of the bathroom.
He was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved, button-up shirtâwhiteâthat was open at the collar. He hadnât shaved but appeared to have smoothed his hair.
Not only had he managed to leave the bed without waking her, heâd gotten dressed and, presumably, left to get breakfast. She couldnât remember ever having slept so soundly.
He saw her sitting on the bed in her t-shirt, and he smiled at her. Her heart did a strange little skip in her chest. It was a real smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was genuinely happy to see her, and she wasnât sure how to process that.
He walked over to the bed. âGood morning,â he said quietly, still smiling.
âMorning,â she muttered. She knew that her hair was a tangled mess. She was probably a scary sight, and she was naked from the waist down, covered only with the sheet. âYou seem cheerful.â
Grinning, Jackson put a knee on the edge of the bed and leaned over, bracing his hands on either side of her hips. He kissed her; she could taste coffee, and she could smell his cologne, and desire bloomed in her belly. She sank back against the pillow, and he followed her down, smiling against her lips.
She found herself smiling in return; she couldnât help it. He lifted his head a bit to look at her, and she suddenly forgot that she had messy hair and no makeup and morning breath. When he looked at her, she felt beautiful.
âI donât usually stay until morning,â she admitted quietly.
He kissed her, again, and said, âIâm glad you stayed.â
âI just made myself sound like a whore,â she muttered.
He gave his head a little shake. âLonely,â he countered, his voice and eyes soft. He rolled onto his side, propping his cheek on his fist as he looked at her. âSam, I donâtâŚknow you very well, and IâŚdonât want to ask for anything youâre not ready to give. But Iâd like to get to know you, and I want you to know that Iâm willing to try and make that work, whatever it means.â
After a moment, she turned onto her side, too, so they were facing each other. âMy real name is Samantha Newton,â she said, quietly. âBut that feels like a different person. Jonas chose the name Nightingale, and that feelsâŚtruer. I donât even remember my mother, and my father wasâŚthe meanest sort of drunk. He wasnât so nice when he was sober, either, but it was worse when heâd been drinking. And he hated Jonas, because Jonas was everything he wasnât. Smart and funny, creative, kind. And happy. When we were little, he was so optimistic about life, it seemed impossible that even our father could beat it out of him.
âBut he did, a little at a time. I could see it happening and I couldnât do anything.â
âYou were just a child, Sam.â
âWe were both kids, Jackson. He sacrificed hisâŚlight, for me. And all I can think is thatâŚI donât deserve it. I havenât done anything in my life to be worthy of what heâs given up for me.â
âSam,â Jackson said on a sigh. âIâd argue that youâve given up just as much for him, but thatâs not really the point. I canât tell you how to live your life, but I can tell you it isnât over. Thereâs still time to have the life you want. You think you canât leave him, that you owe him the rest of your life, but I promise you, he doesnât want that. If you want my opinion, I think itâs likely that heâs carrying the same guilt you are. That he couldnât protect you, that heâs not worthy of what youâve given up.â
âHow do I set him free?â she asked. It was the question sheâd never been able to ask Jonas, the one sheâd never been able to answer for herself.
âBy being happy,â he answered.
She considered that. It seemed so simple, and yet⌠âIâm not sure I know how,â she admitted.
He lifted a hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. âI wish I could answer that for you,â he murmured. âBut I have absolute faith that youâll figure it out, and when you doâŚIâd love to hear from you. Maybe look up one day to find you walking into my classroomâŚâ
She smiled. âYou donât sleep with your students,â she reminded him.
He chuckled. âI meant for a visit,â he said. âBut if you decided to enroll, well, weâd both just have to suffer through the semester.â
She laughed. âMaybe you could let me observe for free, and I wouldnât technically be a student.â
He was still smiling, but his eyes were serious as he regarded her. âI look forward to it,â he said.
She shifted toward him, and he met her kiss halfway. She rolled onto her back, pulling him with her, and he covered her body with his as he kissed her. His hand slid beneath her shirt, and her nipple hardened against his palm.
He lifted his head to look at her. âWill you spend the day with me?â he asked.
She studied his face for a few moments, noting his sincerity, his hope, and a touch of nervousness. âYes,â she said. Kiss me again, she thought, amazed that she wasnât tired of his lips, yet. Smiling, as though reading her mind, he touched his mouth to hers.
  âIs it true that Ida Mae and the Angels havenât been paid in months?â
âJonas, Iââ
âIs it true, Sam?â
âI told you I was worried,â she said, feeling defensive. âBut you didnât want to listen.â
Jonas nodded. She expected him to argue, to point out the fact that sheâd never told him just how bad their financial situation had gotten, but he didnât. âI know,â he said instead. âAnd Iâm sorry. Youâve been carrying a weight that wasnât yours. But that ends now.â
His words, and his obvious resolve, filled her with apprehension. âWhat are you saying?â she asked.
âYouâve been running the show for years, Sam. And all Iâve done is make your job harder. Butââ
âNo, Jonas,â she said, grabbing his arm. âYouâre wrong. You are the show. Youâre the one people come to see, youâre the one whoâs kept everything together. Kept us together. You saved us, over and over again, and I started to take it for granted that youâthat you always do whatever it takes. You always come through for us, for the Angels, for the show. I took it for granted and Iâve let you give up tooâno, Iâve asked you for too much, and you never say no.â
He smiled. âI say no to you all the time, sis, you just donât listen.â
âNo,â she stressed, squeezing his arm. âYou drag your feet and complain and put up token resistance and then you do it, you do everything, you chip off pieces of yourself and fling them to the crowd. And the rest of us? We just tag along, living off your sacrifice.â
âYouâre giving me too much credit.â
âNo, youâre not giving yourself enough,â she countered. âJonas, you think you sold your soul. But you didnât. I sold it, or at least brokered the deal. This isnât the person I want to be,â she said, spreading her arms. âI tried to force you to convince a kid that you could heal him and I tried to convince myself that it was justifiable because it was for the greater good. That the possible trauma to an already traumatized kid was anâŚacceptable risk. And you balked. And IâŚI wouldâve done it anyway. I wouldâve forced you into it because thatâs what I do, isnât it? I let you do all the feeling, all the caring, and I justâŚtake care of business.
âI donât let myself get emotional, right? I met somebody I actually liked and I didnât even know what to do because itâs been so long.â She saw Jonasâs gaze shift toward Jackson, who was at the other end of the tent talking into his phone. âAnd something happened between you and the sheriff, something more than just sex, you canât tell me otherwise. We deserve to be happy, Jonas.â
Jonas caught Ida Maeâs eye and motioned her over. When the older woman had joined them, Jonas put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. âI want you to know that youâboth of you, and the Angelsâhave been my salvation, you two especially have kept me going through some dark times. Ida Mae, I will make it right, I give you my word.â
She patted his arm. âWe never doubted you, my boy,â she said with a smile.
âI will take care of it,â he told Sam.
His sister shook her head. âJonas, youâre not listeningââ
âNo, Sam, I am listening,â he said, quietly. âIâm hearing you, I promise. You two have stuck with me, and I love you for it. I just need you to trust me a little bit longer.â
âSon, you know Iâm with you to the end,â Ida Mae said. Jonas bent forward and kissed her cheek, giving her a hug. Then he looked at Sam.
âPromise me youâll be okay, Jonas,â his sister said.
He smiled. âI promise. Weâll be okay,â he answered.
âIâll do whatever you think is best,â Sam said after a few moments of silence.
  When Jonas walked onto the stage with his guitar, a hush fell over the crowd. Sam could see a ripple of confusion pass through the audience, saw people exchanging glances. She saw her brother look at the sheriff for just a moment before quickly looking away. He looked at the kid in the wheelchair, up front near the stage. The boy offered Jonas a smile of encouragement, and in that moment, Sam knew that Jonas would give up everythingâhis very lifeâto be able to help Jake.
He believes in you, Jonas, she thought. Thereâs still a chance.
The Angels were on their marks, but they were silent. Jonas walked to the middle of the stage.
âJonas?â Sam asked, softly, into her mic. He looked over at her and nodded.
Jonas faced the audience and started playing. Sam felt Jackson squeeze her hand, and she looked over at him, grateful for his presence.
Jonas started pacing as he played Pachelbelâs âCanon in Dâ on the guitar. The audience was silent, still not sure what to think. It wasnât gospel music, and it wasnât what theyâd expected, but it was a song that Sam knew had always soothed him. It was difficult to play on guitar, and heâd never performed it on stage before. He seemed to play it effortlessly, though. He walked the stage, scanning the audience, meeting their eyes, reading their desperation.
He transitioned from Pachelbel into âRise Up,â and the Angels, led by Ida Mae, started singing a subdued version of the song. He walked back to his spot on the center of the stage.
âMy name is Jonas Nightingale,â he said, his gaze skimming the faces. Some were familiar, the citizens of Sweetwater; others were new. âBut that wasnât always the case,â he continued, and another murmur passed through the audience. âWho here has read Romeo and Juliet?â he asked. He nodded as half the audience members raised their hands. âThe nightingale didnât bring good fortune, did it?â He smiled as a nervous titter of laughter rippled through the tent. He ran his fingers over the strings of his guitar, gathering his thoughts. âI chose the name because all I ever wanted to do was sing. My father was less than encouraging of that dream. But my sister, Sam,â he said, turning to look at her with a gesture of his chin, âshe always believed in me. She told me once, when I was nine and she was seven, that God was going to send a whale to rescue us. Sheâd learned about Jonah in Sunday schoolâthough sheâd mixed up bits of it with Pinocchio, I think,â he added, winking at Sam as the audience laughed again.
She could do nothing but watch him, mesmerized, as she held Jacksonâs hand in a deathgrip.
Jonas looked at the crowd. âI was sitting in my closet with a broken arm and a bloody nose, gifts from our father, and I told my little sister that there was no such thing as God, and that no one was coming to rescue us. I looked her in the face, and I told her to grow up and to stop believing in fantasies. I was cruel, because I was hurt.â He paused, and the silence in the tent was tangible. âAnd my sister put her arms around me, and she said something that I will never forget.â
âJonas,â Sam breathed, as tears burned her eyes at the memory of his pain.
âShe said, âthen you save me and Iâll save you.â I dropped out of school to go to work after our parents died, determined to make sure she graduated even though she was a pain in the ass about it,â he said, and she laughed, glancing at Jackson with a shrug and a nod. âSo I was working, scraping pennies together wherever I could, and our local preacher asked me to sing at the church picnic. I didnât get why heâd ask, I was a sullen little heathen who hadnât stepped inside the church in years, but I wanted to sing. I memorized some gospel, and I memorized some scripture, and I got up there in front of all those patrons in their Sunday best, me in a ratty old suit of my fatherâs that was too big, and I put on a show, by God. I was angry about it, at the start. And then something changed.
âPeople were smiling, and I started to suck up their energy like a sponge. Aside from Sam, I donât think Iâd ever made anyone happy in my life. Now, someone had put out a bucket for donations. The very idea of charity made my fists clench, but Sam told me it wasnât charity. It was payment for my performance. She called me a prophet for profit.â He paused, cocking an eyebrow at the crowd. âGet it?â he asked, and he was answered with nods and some laughter. âJonah, Jonas. Prophet,â he said, shrugging a shoulder. âNightingale. I think you can follow the logic of the boy I was.â
He paused again, running his fingers absentmindedly over the guitar strings.
He glanced over at Sam, and she knew what he wanted.
âD-three,â she said, quietly. âDry well.â
Jonas looked at the third seat in the section marked D. He walked toward the edge of the stage and hopped down, swinging his guitar to his back. âWhen Sam was a senior in high school, our well went dry,â he told the young woman. âWe didnât have a drought to worry about like you folks, but we couldnât afford even basic repairs on the house, let alone the thousands of dollars the well-driller quoted us. I was hauling water from the creek for bathwater, and we were boiling it to drink.
âAnd then one day Sam came running into the store where I was working to tell me that they were out at the house drilling. By the time I got there, it was too late to stop them, and I panicked, because I had no way to pay for the work. One of the workers tried to calm me down, and I punched him in the face. He was about twice my size and promptly knocked me on my assâmore out of surprise than anything else. He couldâve squashed me like a bug. Even so, I jumped up ready to fight.
âIt was the preacher who grabbed me and pulled me back. Heâd stopped by to tell me that the church had taken up a collection to pay for our well.â Sam could see the tears shimmering in the young womanâs eyes as Jonas put a hand on her shoulder. âI know you feel guilty about all the help that youâve been getting from your friends and neighborsâŚâ
âFlorence,â Sam said.
âFlorence, but ask yourself this: if your roles were reversed, would you hesitate to help?â She shook her head, and Jonas continued, âThe rain will come, I promise you. You will get back on your feet. I know it feels hopeless. I used to lie on my bed, staring at my ceiling, my stomach full of knots and acid, unsure how Iâd provide our next meal or pay the following monthâs electric bill. But someone told me that when you feel like youâre drowning, thereâs usually someone willing to throw you a lifeline if you look around. You just have to be willing to take it.â He straightened and looked at the sheriff again.
âA-fourteen,â Sam said. âAlcoholic.â
Jonas walked over to the man, who looked up at him apprehensively. âWhen I was nineteen, I stole a twelve-pack of Pabst from the gas station. It was easy. The attendant was in his seventies and more likely to fall asleep behind the counter than not. I used to steal cigarettes because there was no way I could afford to buy them.
âAnyway, I got hammered, and I was wandering around town, and someone offered me a ride. The preacherâs wifeâthe same preacher whoâd let me perform at that picnic, whoâd organized a fund for our well. His wife drove me onto a two-track a mile from my house, and we had sex in her car. I was so drunk that I barely remembered it in the morning, but I remembered enough.
âShe was more than twice my age, but I knew that I was responsible. Iâd made the choices that led to that road. And I couldnât confess, because I wanted to protect her. I wanted to protect her husband. And I wanted to protect myself. So I just let it eat away at me, and I drank more and more until I got caught stealing a bottle of vodka from the station. I spent the night in jail, and it was the preacher who picked me up in the morning.
âHe knew already. I donât know if sheâd told him or if heâd just guessed, but he knew. And do you know what he did? He forgave me. He told me that we donât have to be defined by our poor choices, that thereâs always time for redemption if weâre willing to work for it.
âIâve found myself in ditches, in strangersâ beds, in jail, even passed out beneath a church pew. It always starts the same. I feel like Iâm drowning, or suffocating, like thereâs no way out of the hole Iâm in and the sides are caving in on me, and all I want is to shut off my traitorous mind for a few minutes, just to get some relief. The bottle helps for a bit, doesnât it? But itâs a false prophet, my brother, and you know as well as I do that it solves nothing.
âThat preacher forgiving me didnât solve anything, either. All that did was add to my guilt. Confessing our sins is the first step toward redemptionââ
âHarold,â Sam said.
âHarold, but the final step is forgiveness. Not from others, but from ourselves. We have to accept that our transgressions are a part of us, but they are not all that we are. The world can seem hopeless, but I promise you that the alcohol makes it worse. Things arenât as bleak as they seem from the bottom of the bottle. Ask for help and you shall receive it.â
Jonas turned, adjusting his guitar. Sam said, âC-seven. Cheating on his wife. His nameâs Scott.â
Jonas took a breath as he approached the man. âI wonât lie, Scott,â he said. âIâve slept with married women, and men. I told myself it wasnât that big a deal because they were clearly unhappy in their marriages. I tried not to think about their spouses, and how they would feel. I tried not to think of each and every one of them as that preacher. But they deserved better, and your beautiful wife here deserves better. You can change, Scott, and maybe sheâll forgive you. But you,â he said, turning to the young woman.
âJanie.â
âYou deserve better, Janie,â he said. âDonât settle for someone who doesnât treat you with respect. Donât settle for someone like me.â
âAt least you werenât married!â someone called out, and Jonas lifted his head, holding up a hand.
âNo, I wasnât married,â he said, âbut I was still hurting people. Qualifications are dangerous, my friend, because we start to give ourselves permission to put our own desires ahead of everyone elseâs.â
Sam gave him another seat, and Jonas turned in that direction.
For the next hour, he traveled through the crowd, confessing his sins, admitting his moments of weakness and despair. There were more and more heckles from the crowd as many of the people grew restless and irritable. This wasnât what theyâd come to see.
Jonas turned and walked onto the stage. He faced the crowd and waited while they grumbled amongst themselves. Finally, they began to quiet, their curiosity getting the best of them.
âI canât offer you a miracle,â Jonas said, and there were a few angry shouts. Jonas paused. âIâm not even sure I believe in miracles,â he continued.
âYouâre a fraud!â someone shouted.
Samâs stomach clenched. She was afraid for him. She wanted to protect him, because she knew that their words had the power to hurt him.
âYes,â Jonas agreed.
âNo!â Jake shouted, and Sam looked toward him, surprised. The boy wheeled his chair forward and faced the crowd. âYouâre not listening!â he told them. âHeâs talking about life! Donât you get it? Life is a miracle!â Sam could tell by her brotherâs expression that it was something he and the boy had discussed. âWeâre all alive!â Jake said.
Sam saw Jonas glance upward at the sound of thunder outside. Thereâd been several short, dry thunderstorms since theyâd been in Sweetwater, and no one seemed to pay any attention to this rumble. Except Jonas. Sam could see something else on his face, something like hope.
âJake,â he said, and the boy turned to look at him.
âYou came to save us, Jonas,â Jake said.
Jonas shook his head. âNo, son,â he answered. âTheyâre right, Iâm a fraud. But it ends tonight.â He looked out at the crowd. âThese Angels behind me have stuck with me when I didnât deserve it. My sister has given up her own dreams so that I could stand on a stage each weekend. Iâve lied, robbed, cheatedâEveryone here has sinned in some way, small or large, but youâre not alone. Iâve committed more sins than all of you. Tonight is about atonement. Itâll take me longer than one night to pay them back, but for the rest of you, youâll notice the baskets at the ends of these aisles? Thatâs all the money thatâs been collected from the citizens of Sweetwater. I trust youâll take what you gave.
âAs for those of you we owe money,â he said, nodding toward the garage owner seated in the front row, âyou will be paid. Over the next week, Iâll be liquidating my assets to pay my debts. If you donât want to wait, I have a title Iâll sign overââ
âJonas,â Sam said. He looked over at her and offered a small smile.
âI only ever wanted to make people happy,â he said. âI wanted to sing, I wanted to make people smile, and I wanted to make my sister proud.â He looked at the crowd. âYou have no reason to believe me, but I want you all to be happy. If I could, I wouldââ
âNo,â Jake repeated, and Jonas looked down as the boy rolled himself over the nearest basket. âYou came to save us, Jonas!â he repeated. âI believe in you, you just have to believe in yourself.â The boy shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of dollar bills and change, dropping the whole mess into the collection.
There was a loud clap of thunder, and Sam saw more people looking up at the tent, now.
âYou said, music is life and life is magic and we just have to listen and believe. Well, I do,â Jake said.
âJake,â Jonas said, and Sam could hear the rawness in his voice. He stepped toward the edge of the stage but stopped when Florence, the young woman with the dry well, got to her feet and walked to Jakeâs side.
âI believe that everyone deserves a lifeline,â she said, dropping money into the basket. She ruffled Jakeâs hair, and the boy smiled up at her, his relief evident. She looked up at Jonas. âAnd new beginnings,â she added.
One by one, people started rising and making their way to the baskets, dropping money into the collections. Jonas took a step backward, and then another. He looked at the sheriff as the man walked over to stand beside his son.
Sam felt like her heart was going to explode in her chest.
She saw people looking around at each other, and looking up, and she suddenly realized that the pounding sound wasnât just her heart. It was rain, beating against the tent. She called her brotherâs name, but he didnât seem to hear her. The crowd surged toward the exit, and Jonas watched as the sheriff took hold of Jakeâs chair and wheeled him into the crowd, calling to his deputies to make sure people stayed calm as they tried to get outside.
The Angels filed off the stage, also headed outside. Jonas looked over at Sam as she and Jackson walked onto the stage.
âRain, Jonas,â she said, unnecessarily. âCome on.â She reached for his hand, but he stepped back, pulling his guitar strap over his head.
âYou go,â he told her. âIâll be right behind you.â
âJonasââ
âIâll be right out, I promise,â he said, turning to set his guitar on the stage.
She hesitated, but Jacksonâs hand was light at the small of her back, and he offered her a smile when she glanced at him. She let him walk her toward the exit flap, following the crowd, and they stepped out into the pouring rain. She turned her face up into the wetness, laughing in disbelief. Jacksonâs arm went around her shoulders, and he pulled her close to kiss her temple. She turned toward him, pressing her wet lips against his, clutching the front of his soaked shirt.
She knew by the reaction of the crowd that Jonas had stepped outside, and she turned toward him as people spread apart to let him pass. Â
Jonas walked over to the boyâs chair. Jake looked at him, still smiling, and Jonas lowered himself into a crouch. Sam suddenly realized what he was doing, and her heart leapt into her throat. She held tightly to Jackson, thinking, Please, please. He needs thisâthey need this, please.
âJake,â Jonas said. âItâs time.â
The boyâs smile faltered. His hair was plastered to his forehead; rain dripped from his face. He shook his head. His chin trembled. âI canât,â he said.
âYouâve punished yourself long enough,â Jonas said. âLook at me, son. You were wrong, I wasnât sent here for the rain, Jake. I was sent here for you. To tell you itâs time.â
Jake stared up at him, and Sam could see the kidâs fear. But she could see the faith. The belief and hope. Sheâd told Jonas that Jake believed in him, and it was true. She was still terrified as she walked over to her brotherâs side.
âJonas,â she said, and he looked up at her. She shook her head. âYou donât have to do this,â she told him. If it didnât work, he would lose everything of himself. She didnât think he would ever recover.
âYes,â he answered. His gaze cut toward the sheriff. âI do.â The sheriff started forward, but he was too far away to make it through the crowd in time. Jonas looked at Jake and said the boyâs name.
Jake swallowed, and gave a little nod. âGet me up, Jonas,â he said, quietly. All around them, people had begun to quiet and were turning toward the boy. Under the drumbeat of the rain, a hush spread through the crowd.
Jonas reached an arm behind Jakeâs back, grabbing him under his arms. Sam was holding the chair to keep it steady; Jackson was beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Through the rain, she heard the sheriff call Jonasâs name.
Jonas lifted Jake to his feet and held him up, seeming to support all of his weight. The sheriff stopped at the edge of the crowd, and Jonas closed his eyes against the reluctant hope shining in the other manâs gaze.
With his eyes closed, Jonas said, âYou can do this, Jake. Have faith.â
Please, Sam thought again. If youâre up there, if youâre listening, please help him.
âJonas,â Jake said. âLet me go.â
Jonas opened his eyes and slowly lowered his hands, holding his breath. Sam wasnât breathing, either. Jake looked at his father and stepped toward him. His knees started to buckle, and the sheriff started forward, but Jonas and Jackson grabbed Jakeâs arms before he could fall.
The boy straightened his legs and lifted his chin. âLet me go,â he repeated, and Jonas and Jackson exchanged a look through the wet darkness. They pulled their hands back, and Jake stepped forward, slowly. He paused, and then took another step. The grass was slick from the rain, but his footing held. He took another step, and then his father, unable to wait any longer, met him halfway and grabbed him in a hug, lifting his feet off the ground as he kissed his sonâs neck.
Jonas sank to his knees on the ground, dropping his chin to his chest. Sam felt hot tears on her cheeks, mingling with the rain. She put her hand on her brotherâs head. He drew a deep, shaky breath and opened his eyes.
The sheriff was standing in front of him. Jonasâs eyes slid up to his, and he swallowed. The sheriff took his hand and hauled him to his feet, and Sam could see the emotions stamped on her brotherâs face.
He pulled his hand from Sonnyâs grasp and said, quietly, âI need to go.â
âJonas,â the sheriff said as Jonas turned away. He grabbed Jonasâs arm, pulling him back around. âNo more walking away,â he said. He slid his hand into Jonasâs dripping hair and bent forward, kissing him.
Sam turned toward Jackson, but Jackson was no longer beside her. She frowned, looking around, peering through the rain, but she couldnât find him in the crowd. She glanced at her brother. He didnât need her now.
She made her way through the throng of celebrating people, and still there was no sign of Jackson. He canât be gone, she thought. Not without a goodbye. She didnât like the painful tightness in her chest or the lump in her throat.
She clenched her jaw, forcing back her tears. If he was gone, she wasnât about to chase after him and beg him to spend more time with her. Maybe he needed time to process whatever had happened at the tent. Maybe heâd just decided it was time to leave. Either way, she had no intention of forcing her company onto him.
She turned toward the bus but had only taken a few steps before she stopped, cursing herself. She thought of his face, already familiar. His eyes, always full of kindness and good humor. His courage to be unflinchingly honest, even when facing the possibility of rejection.
He wouldnât just leave with no explanation, she thought. Not Jackson. Sam didnât trust very many people, but she trusted him, already.
She turned the other way and started through the rain.
When she reached the motel, his car was not parked in the lot. She walked up to the door with her stomach full of butterflies. Heâd left it ajar, and she pushed it open, walking inside. The lamp was on, and there was a note beside it. His suitcase was gone, and everything in the room was neat and tidy. Heâd made the bed even though the housekeepers would have to strip the sheets, anyway.
Sam picked up the note by the corner, trying not to get it too wet as she stood, dripping on the carpet.
 Sam,
Given half a chance, I would beg you to come home with me. I know thatâs not fair. You barely know me. Whatâs more, you deserve above all else to be happy, and you need to decide for yourself what will do that. I hope with all my heart to see you again, but if I donât, please know that I will never forget you.
Everyone deserves a new beginning, Sam. Like the kid said, life is a miracle.
Meeting you was a miracle, too.
Please be well. Please be happy.
 Yours,
Jackson
 She stared at the signature for a long time as her clothes made a puddle on the thin carpet. Yours, Jackson.
There was a business card with the note. Jackson Neill, PhD was printed on the front, along with Professor of New American Religions.
His classroom and phone number were written on the back.
She let out a breath she hadnât realized she was holding and nodded once. âOkay,â she said, and she felt the knots in her stomach loosening.
  Jackson Neill looked up from his desk, and his lips parted in surprise.
Sam stood in the doorway, watching as the corners of his eyes crinkled, as his mouth curved into a smile. His happiness to see herâunmistakable and unadulteratedâsoothed the butterflies in her stomach, and she found herself smiling in return.
He put his palms on the desk and started to rise, but she held up a hand, stopping him. He sank back into his chair, his eyes tracking her as she walked toward him.
Sheâd been nervous, after not seeing him for weeks, afraid that sheâd somehow imagined the connection theyâd shared. One look at his face, however, had dispelled those worries. She stopped at his desk, holding his gaze.
âProfessor Neill,â she said.
âMsâŚ?â
âNightingale,â she answered. Sheâd decided to leave her fatherâs name behind for good. âYou can call me Sam.â
âWhat can I do for you, Sam?â he asked, and his soft voice was like a caress.
âI was told I might be able to observe your class,â she said. âDoes that offer still hold?â
âFor as long as youâre in town,â he answered, searching her face.
âThat might be a while,â she said. âI enrolled this morning. Figured Iâd ease into the whole higher education thing.â
âNot my class?â he asked.
She put her knuckles on the desk and leaned forward. âNo. I was afraid there might be a conflict of interests.â
âHowâs that?â he asked, and she could see the amusement sparkling in his eyes.
âI was hoping I could convince you to have dinner with me.â
âAre you asking me out on a date, Ms. Nightingale?â
âYes.â
âThen I accept your invitation, with what I hope is not an indecent level of eagerness.â
She grinned at him. âI missed you,â she admitted.
He leaned forward, and she pressed her lips against his. When he pulled back to look at her, he said, âIâve missed you, too, Sam.â
âSorry it took me so long. I had things to take care of,â she answered.
He shook his head. âYouâre right on time,â he said.
#leap of faith au#jackson neill#sam nightingale#smut#angst#samson#new beginnings#working something out
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a while ago I wrote an original story and submitted it to an anthology. it was about girls flirting at a con (all though you werenât allowed to mention fandoms by name which was a hassle). it didnât get in and I moped for a bit and I didnât post it here but after the stuff I read today I donât feel quite so bad about it so whatever, also here on ao3
~~
At nine in the morning the con wasnât quite the bustling zone of bodies it would become in the afternoon. It was why Hazel had talked herself into buying a deluxe ticket, she wanted to avoid as much of the crowd as possible. While she was certainly enjoying being around so many people who shared the same interest as her she didnât want her anxiety to flare up too badly that day.
 The convention hall was large and split in to two sections, a dealers room and an artist alley. Last year it had been crammed in with the autograph area as well but theyâd since moved it to a more suitable location while still being in the same building.
 Saturday was going to be the busiest day of the con and Hazel had only planned on sticking around for an autograph she missed yesterday and a panel for a show she loved. Most of everything sheâd planned to do sheâd gotten done yesterday, today would mostly be about going up and down artist alley in the morning and looking for trinkets and fan made items. Tomorrow would be scouring the dealers room for last minute Sunday deals.
 She was tempted to stop at a few of the dealersâ booths but reminded herself that last year sheâd spent all her money there and hadnât gotten anything from artist alley at all. She was determined this year to get something, sheâd already missed out on buying a handmade plush of one of her favourite characters.
 At least it was easier to dodge around people with so few of them there which made getting to artist alley simple despite being so far from the entrance of the hall. Whitle a few of the artists were still setting up or werenât there yet, most were at their table sipping on coffees or some form of caffeine and looking as bleary eyed as Hazel felt. She could sympathize, sheâd woken up early to take the subway in to town and she didnât have to trek boxes of materials with her.
 A button booth caught her attention and she bite her lip in consideration. Her bag was already carefully decorated with only a few buttons, it doubled as the bag she took in to work and had been cautious at over decorating or drawing attention to it. She didnât care for the arguments that sheâd had with boys before who wanted to quiz her on her interests. But surely one more couldnât hurt, she argued with herself as she stepped towards the booth and looked down the rows and rows of buttons.
 She recognized a few characters from popular shows, the kind that were common at artist alley and were known as bigger fandoms around the net so even if you werenât in the fandom youâd still recognize them. Some were from science fiction shows sheâd watched and those ones were already really tempting her. Her eye caught on one in particular though, her brow furrowing asshe tried to place a name to the character.
 âIf you can figure it out you can have it.â A voice drew her attention and her head shot up in surprise to look at the artist who was manning the booth. She looked amused, like she was expecting Hazel to get it wrong.
 Her skin was darker than Hazelâs tan skin and her hair was much longer than Hazelâs own which only fell to her shoulders. Where hers was a light brown the artists was a deep black and kept up in a braid that kept her face clear and Hazel could see way she crinkled her eyes as she smiled.
 While Hazelâs mother had named her for the colour of her eyes that were similar to her mothers â and because sheâd thought âHazelnutâ was a cute nickname for a kid â the artists were a much deeper brown that Hazel could get lost in. At the thought she felt her cheeks get warmer but cleared her throat as she processed what the artist had said.
 She couldnât help but quirk her lips up in amusement at the challenge. âYou promise?â She asked and nearly backpedaled when she realized that could have come out as flirting. Thankfully the artist just grinned and slightly tilted her head to the side, causing her long dark braid to dislodge from its place.
 âNo oneâs been able to yet, I guess it makes sense, the show only got a season.â
 âIs that a hint?â Hazel raised one eyebrow, for all her normal anxiety at talking to someone she didnât know she also couldnât resist a puzzle of sorts.
 âAs much as youâll get one.â
 She must have been feeling braver than she thought because she blurted out, âDoes it come with coffee?â
 The artistâs eyes widened for a second and Hazel felt a stirring of guilt in her stomach which turned into cool relief when the artist just laughed in a genuinely amused way. âMaybe if you get lucky.â
 Hazel breathed out a sigh of relief, glad she hadnât screwed that up by possibly hitting on a straight person who could have gotten insulted at her for it. It was never easy to tell and since sheâd become sure of her sexuality and attraction to girls it made dating even harder for her.
 Pushing her luck a little more Hazel ducked her head a bit and smiled coyly, âCan I at least get a name now?â
 The artist stuck out her hand, it dangled with the bracelets that she must have also made that were being sold at her booth. âIâm Meenu.â She flashed Hazel a grin. âAnd you areâŚ.â
 âHazel.â She took Meenuâs hand which felt warm and dry to her own and she tried not to linger too much, letting her hand fall back down to her side.
 âWhat a coincidence.â Meenu reached for her coffee and held it up, âI like a shot of hazel.â
 Hazel snorted at the joke, âIâve heard that one before.â
 Meenu pouted, deflating only a little, âGive me time, Iâll come up with a new one.â
 âAt this point I think Iâve heard every pun.â Hazel wrinkled her nose, âOr well,â She admitted, âMade them myself.â
 âIf I got a nickel for every time someone tried to use âme and youâ as a pun with my name I could buy out Hollywood. Even if thatâs not how you say it.â Meenu confided and she looked like she was long since sick of it except then another slow smile crossed her face, âExcept of course maybe if you were to offer me and you I might listen to it.â
 It was said so ridiculously and coupled with Meenu wiggling her eyebrows that Hazel broke out into laughter. She honestly didnât want to leave this booth at this point, she was having fun with Meenu which was nice considering none of her friends had been able to come that year. That Meenu also was very attractive and seemed conductive to her flirting certainly also helped.
 Hazel tried to play it cool, âIâll think about it.â She grinned to show she was joking and bounced back on the soles of her shoes. âBut maybe Iâm just in to you for the free stuff.â
 âItâs only free if you make the right guess.â Meenu reminded her and leaned back in her chair. âWhich so far you havenât.â
 âHavenât tried.â Hazel was quick to correct.
 âNo guess is still the wrong guess.â Meenu said, playing along.
 Hazelâs eyes darted back down to the button that had started this whole conversation and she stifled her laughter. As soon as Meenu had said the show only had one season sheâd been quick to guess what it was. In a move that made her feel more confident than she was she leaned in to whisper her answer to Meenu glad that it was morning and she could still be heard without the buzzing of the convention around them.
 Meenu straightened, her mouth falling open in surprise as Hazel pulled back.
 âSo am I right?â Hazel asked and stamped out the worry that sheâd guessed wrong based on Meenuâs face.
 Meenu started laughing, a sound that was delightful to Hazel. âI didnât really expect you to get it.â Meenu said when she stopped laughing, âI was planning on offering you pity coffee for losing, figured youâd get my company so it was still winning either way.â
 âBut I do get the button right?â Hazel pointed down at it, grinning widely, and acting like thatâd been all she was after.
 Meenu had that crinkle around her eyes again Hazel noticed. She nodded her head. âYou get the button.â She rested her chin on one of her hands, elbow on the table. âIâd offer coffee now but I canât really leave my booth until my sister gets here to help watch it.â
 Hazel deflated a little, âTo be honest I hadnât intended on staying for very long, just artist alley this morning, off to a signing, and then a panel. But how about I give you my number and you can let me know when youâre free?â
 Meenu tapped her fingers on her cheek idly, âIâll tell my sister to get her sooner rather than later.â Hazel felt a bubble of excitement in her stomach as Meenu pulled out her phone and was glad she managed to recite her own number without fumling. Then Meenu plucked the button off the table and held it up for Hazel. âFor the victor.â
 Hazel couldnât help but giggle a little and took it with her thanks. âIâll wear it with pride.â She promised and pinned it to the strap of her bag instead of the front of it. She was afraid the conversation was starting to feel stilted and she wavered in leaving but eventually pulled herself away with a grin and wave to Meenu.
 She reminded herself that this wasnât it, Meenu would text her and then theyâd get coffee and- her phone buzzed in her hand and she looked down at it curiously, opening up the message and seeing it was from Meenu.
 âSee you soon!â
 âCanât wait.â She texted back and smiled to herself, wondering if Meenu was the type to go for a kiss on the first date because it certainly seemed tempting. As she put her phone away her hand brushed against the new button sheâd gotten.
 It was a cute button, artistically drawn and had Meenuâs signature just barely visible underneath the character on it. Still the best thing sheâd gotten out of artist alley, she thought, was Meenuâs number and the promise of a date.
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#beej writes#ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ#look this is the only original work I've written and I feel self conscious putting it up#but ah well
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