#i would call this mean spirited but i was giggling too much writing the journal text so i think its mostly whimsical

[meatgrinder-0]

fiddleford and stan portal collaboration fanart i made

[fruitoftheweek]

Little Cherry Book:

Chapter 4:Showered in Sin

Chapter 1 Here / Chapter 2 Here / Chapter 3 Here

Hey guys! I'm sorry that it has taken so long for me to update this. I had an idea of what I was going to write but I had a super hectic week so I wasn't able to write this till now. In order to make up for it, I have given you a treat. A 6,502 word chapter. It kinda beat my ass but I had so much fun writing it. It's sweet, it's spicy, it's all the goodness you guys deserve. I was listening to Duvet by Boa while writing this and I think you should too for two reasons. One, it helps set the mood, but also oh my fucking god it's such a good song. Also, Boa is just a fucking great band. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and message me if you would like to be added to the tag list! Love you guys

Pairing: Spencer Reid X reader

Chapter Plot: After a game of drunk never have I ever after a long case, Morgan locks Spencer out of their shared room. Shenanigans ensue and you and Spencer share a couple of firsts.

Series TW: 18+, smut, degradation, piercing, choking, knife play, mommy/daddy kinks, spanking, exhibitionism, Will update as time goes on

Chapter TW: smut, slight mommy kink, having body piercings, choking, slight blood kink (not really, it's just hard to explain), Shared masturbation (male and female receiving), pleading, multiple orgasms, cumming in pants, shower sexiness, aftercare

Word Count: 6,502

Your deep cherry lipstick painted the white seal of the wine bottle you held in your hand as you laughed at something Elle said. Spencer couldn't help but let a small smile pass his lips as he took in your form, hot from the day's work, small strands of your hair sticking to your forehead, a dewy glow illuminating your rosy cheeks.

After a long week, they had found Carl Arnold before he had been able to kill the Dunken family and even coerced a confession out of him. With spirits running high, Elle had suggested some much-needed relaxation before taking off the next day. Since you were rooming alone, you volunteered to host in your room. Morgan had arrived at your hotel room with two bottles of some sort of liquor, one clear and one amber, JJ trailing in toe with your bottle of red wine you had asked for. You pulled out your little corkscrew with the face of an old man on it, knowing she hated his weird little face. You brought it with you on trips, just in case the occasion arose.

And it did arise as Elle suggested a drinking game. Hotch had retired early after calling Hailey to get an update on his very pregnant wife, while Gideon preferred the solitude of a good book late at night. The rest of you sat on the floor surrounded by drinks and snacks. With the supervision gone, it almost felt like a high school party with no parents. You all had all settled on a classic, never have I ever. "We haven't played this in a long time because we already know so much about each other, but it's fun when we have a newbie around," Morgan said giving you a cheeky smile and bumping your shoulder. Already pliable after the couple of drinks you had while Elle explained the game, you nodded before tipping your lips to the cusp of Spencer's ear. "I'll try not to make it too hard for you, pretty boy," you said. The small puffs of air that left your mouth made Spencer's hair stand on end and his feet curl.

He knew you were teasing him that night and he loved it. He decided to keep his knees tucked to his chest for the rest of the night as to not expose the predicament in his pants. He watched the way you lightly sucked on the wine bottle as you tipped it back, a thin river of cabernet leaking from the corner of your lips and trailing down your neck. Spencer wanted nothing more than to lean over and lap it off of you just to see how you would react, but he knew it was the drinks talking. Despite your earlier comment, it was quite obvious that you were targeting him as his head started to spin gently.

"Never have I ever had sex with someone much older than me," Garcia said through her video feed with a cheeky smirk. Derek had insisted on including her even though she wasn't physically present. She sat bundled up in a comfy blanket in her office with a mug of some sort of alcoholic beverage. "HEY! No targeting! Plus, I told you that in confidence at ladies night. How much is much older?" You said, swaying your bottle towards the computer set up on the floor."You know how much older I mean sweetheart." Garcia said with a giggle as you groaned and took a sip."How much older is much older?" Morgan said with a cocked eyebrow, somewhere between impressed and surprised." I was a college student, experimenting with my professor. Not like an old man, but he was 20 years older than me. Definitely not my style anymore though." You said with a grimace remembering him.

Spencer had learned a lot about your sex life during that game, but some part inside of him smirked, knowing that the rest of the team would never know you as he knew you, not unless they too had read your journal. It was the only thing keeping his head clear of the idea of you with anyone else. Not that you were with him in any capacity, but the idea still made him feel something in his stomach. Not the sweet butterflies that came with your smile, but something more like idiotic hornets dangerously bumping against the walls of his stomach.

Spencer hadn't even noticed the uproar of everyone else around the circle at your comment and the second revelation that Morgan had drunk too. He was too busy watching how you had shyly tucked your hair behind your ear, finally letting it down out of your clips for once. You were wearing your pajamas, just a tank top, slouchy sweater, and flannel pajama pants, but somehow you looked more radiant than ever. He had come back down to earth after hearing someone call his name."Y-Yes?" He sputtered out, realizing you had been trying to get his attention."It's Morgan's turn, pay attention." You said, gently smacking your hand down on his thigh.

If he was riled up before, he was unbelievably undone at the slight sting from where your palm had just been. Light enough that it wasn't noticeable, but hard enough that it erupted a Shockwave through his body, centered on the location of the contact. He bit back the whimper threatening to escape his lips as he turned towards Morgan, trying desperately to not watch you from the corner of his eye.

"Never have I been a virgin at 24," Morgan said, beaming in his direction. Spencer took a big gulp from his glass of whiskey."You always do that one, I don't know why you think it's so funny, you're just trying to get me to drink" he said abashedly. He looked over at you, nervous for your reaction, but you seemed unfazed. "Hey, that's a wonderful gift to have, there's something so special about virgins. Maybe it's the idea that everything is new, but I like it. I love virgins." You said, taking a sip from your bottle, gently swaying. You had given up on never have I ever and just decided to drink whenever you felt like it. Maybe it was because you were tipsy, maybe it was the warm flush that decorated Spencer's cheeks, maybe it was the way he was looking at you with sultry, half-lidded eyes. You couldn't tell, but something made you want to find an excuse for you two to be alone.

"Geese, we seemed to have caught a succubus tonight." Morgan quipped."A suck-you-what now?" You said, cocking an eyebrow at him. " A succubus, it's a demon or supernatural entity in folklore, in female form, that appears in dreams to seduce men, usually through sexual activity. According to religious traditions, repeated sexual activity with a succubus can cause poor physical or mental health, even death. In modern representations, a succubus is often depicted as a beautiful seductress or enchantress, rather than as demonic or frightening." Spencer shot out. "Wow, even when you're drunk, your big brain keeps chuggin' along," you said, sloppily ruffling his hair "A beautiful seductress or enchantress, huh?" That time it came out low, inaudible to the others, but it pierced Spencer like a knife."Do you think that's accurate bout me?" you asked, staring up into his eyes, closer than you have been before. Spencer let a cartoonish gulping noise escape his lips as he held back his urge to lean into your touch.

"Ah, it's my turn," you said, leaning back into your spot in the circle and sadly, away from Spencer." Never have I ever done something naughty at our work," you said, looking straight at Spencer "I'll know if you're lying, I can sniff out a liar from a mile away," your cocky smirk leaking out of your mouth. Everyone except you and JJ took a shot."Wow, really you guys? Even you Spence? " JJ said in disbelief, looking around the circle."Never have I ever, my ass" Spencer mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, looking over at you, thinking about your pantieless escapades.

"Look at that, Doctor Reid, you need another drink, let me go fix you one," You said as you grabbed his glass in one hand, leaning and gripping hard into his shoulder with the other. It wasn't seen by the others, but between that and the fiery look in your eyes, it sent an obvious message,' keep your mouth shut or I'll shut it for you.' You used him as leverage to get up, nearly pushing him over as you gracefully stumbled to the hotel fridge. He knew what you meant, but he didn't care, your grip on him went straight into his imagination as he envisioned what that grip would feel like in other places. He kind of wanted to push his luck, just so he could see what he had in store.

And push it he did as you handed him the glass, reminding him that it was indeed his turn to play never have I ever. "Never have I ever slept with my professor," He said, obviously targeting you with a glint of mischief in his eyes."Oh yeah, well never have I ever been a virgin at 24." You said, swaying as you sat down."Morgan already said that, dummy. Never have I ever worn stupid dark red lipstick" He retorted, equally as drunk as you. At this point everyone else had zoned you two out and were focused on other things, refreshing their drinks, counting the ceiling tiles, humming a sloppy rendition of My My Miss American Pie, or in Penelope's case, all three."Yeah, well never have I ever been a complete and utter mommas boy!" You continued, the statement turning Spencer beet red. You watched him clench and unclench his hands, you had obviously struck a nerve. Just as you were about to apologize, he cut you off. "Never have I ever had nipple piercings!" He shouted, pointing at your chest, now drawing attention to the obvious balls framing your nipples that you had once been covered by your long-forgotten sweater.

As he said it, it felt like the world went in slow motion. You could see the instant regret on his face as you dropped your bottle in surprise. It had landed on Spencers discarded whiskey glass and both shattered, wine and whiskey mixing with glass to create a slurry on the ground between them. "Fuck! You Guys!" Morgan said, "You got it all over my clothes." "Me too," Echoed Elle as they both stood up in their soaked clothes. "I think that calls it a night." JJ said, closing the laptop on the image of an already sleeping Garcia." Bye you guys, sleep well," you called after them as you and Spencer rushed around looking for towels to clean up the alcohol with.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Spencer cried as you dropped the last of the glass in the garbage can. As you rounded the corner, you saw Spencer pulling a rather large shard of glass that you must have missed out of his thumb, blood pooling at the tip. Without thinking, you crouched down and sucked his thumb into your mouth." A-ah! What... What are you doing!?" Spencer asked breathlessly, looking down at you with a deep hunger in his eyes. You pop off his thumb and squeeze it at the base, slowing the blood flow."Shut up," You said," This helps slow the bleeding. The sucking applies pressure. My mom used to do this for me... And no, do not psychoanalyze that." You said, wrapping your mouth around his finger, sucking to provide some pressure to slow the blood flow. You could taste the iron in your mouth, but you didn't mind, knowing you were helping your friend.

You were helping alright, helping in more ways than you would ever understand. "Yeah, like I'm the only one here with mommy issues," he said distractedly, too busy surveying your lips wrapped around him. You slapped your hand down on his thigh once more, eliciting a small whimper from him. He couldn't help it, you were a sight of beauty, you always were, but looking down on you right then, Spencer wanted to bottle that moment forever. The tops of your breasts peeking out from the top of your tank top, your eyes filled with a hazy glow, looking up at him to make sure he was ok, and your cheeks hollowing out around his thumb as you delicately sucked on his wound. It was as close as Spencer had ever gotten to anything sexual. He could feel your tongue swirling around the cut, lapping up the last couple drops of blood. He couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if it was another appendage and not his thumb. You sucked on his thumb one last time, harder than you had previously, and before he even knew what he was doing, his hips bucked up, rubbing his hard cock against his pajama pants, finally relieving his mounting orgasm.

You let go of his finger with a pop as your tongue trailed off of the underside of his thumb. Spencer looked anywhere but you, as a wet patch formed through his thin underwear and pajama pants. He hurried to cover it with his sweater, shooting up from his seated position."Um, Um, I'm g-gonna go shower and go to bed." He said, hurriedly scurrying over to where he had left his room key." Sorry partner, I saw Morgan accidentally grab both of your keys on the way out. He's probably asleep by now." You said languidly, leaning back to take in the sight of the soft boy in front of you. Totally flushed with heat, small beads of sweat peppering his forehead, his hands twiddling suspiciously into his sweater in an attempt to conceal crotch, trying and failing miserably to hide his rapidly cooling cum.

He whined a little, lighting a fire in you. He looked so thoroughly fucked out, and all you had done was suck his finger. You knew that you just had to play with him some more. "You know, you can use my shower, doctor." You said, and he let out a small sigh of relief, heading towards the bathroom. "There is one condition, though," You smirked coyly as he halted his motions, his body facing away from you. It was almost as if he was ready to run away at any moment. You walked over to him, slowly, taking your time to tease him. The silence hung heavy in the air as you looked up into his eyes questioningly, waiting for him to ask. "Wh-what is the condition." He said, unable to return your gaze, hands fisted in the hem of his sweater, pulling it down even further. You smirked, dipping your hands up and under his sweater, nearly brushing his spent cock before gently placing them on his bare stomach, just above his waistband. He sucked in a tight breath as you gently swirled your fingers in the short hair that lead from his belly button down to happier places." Before I ask, do you know about the color scale?" you said, fingers smoothing out over his little stomach." Um, k-kinda?" He said, heat flushing his cheeks."Green means good keep going, yellow means slow down, and red means stop right now, ok?" You said, looking up at him as he nods."Come on pretty boy, I need verbal confirmation. I need to know that you understand, got it." You said with a little pinch to his tummy. "Y-Yes, I understand!" He blurted out, standing stiff as a board." Good boy. Now, for my condition. You can shower if you show me what you're hiding." You said, leaning close enough that if Spencer breathed, your chests would meet each other. "What color, Spencer?" you said, languidly drawing lines up and down his torso with your nails."G-Green, Very green." He sputtered out, finally meeting your eyes."That's what I like to hear, sweet boy." You said before your fingers danced below his waistline, now somewhat crusty from his cum."W-wait!" He says, just as you were about to take him in your hand. You instantly stopped and looked up at him gently."We can stop here baby, it's not a problem." You said, beginning to remove your hand from his pants. He grabbed your hand through his pants, stopping your movement."It-It's not that. I don't want to stop, I just want... well..." He said and looked down shyly. "What do you want baby, anything," You smiled up at him. "Um, I haven't had my first kiss yet and I kinda... Well... I kinda..." He said, shuffling his feet, face beet red. Your eyebrows shot up quickly in surprise before letting out a gentle smile."Do you want a kiss, pretty boy?" You said, gently brushing the hair out of his face. He nodded, and you grabbed his chin, bringing him close. "Use your words, pretty boy. What do you want?" You whispered, breath gently ghosting Spencer's lips as he took you in up close. He could see every little pore and dimple of your skin and every color hidden in the depth of your eyes and he knew he needed to have you.

He shakily leaned forward, lips gently meeting yours, so light that if you hadn't seen his actions, you wouldn't have even known if you had touched. You moved your hand down to his throat, giving a light squeeze."Come on genius, use your words," you said as he whimpered. "Please, can I kiss you, please, please?" He begged, leaning into your touch, pleading for you to squeeze again. His efforts shoot straight to your heart. You indulged him in a kiss, not as spicy as the situation would permit, more of a sweet heat. He came in too hot and heavy at first, but you kissed him languidly, gently stroking his cheek to get him in the rhythm. His arms were straight out at his sides, hands clenched as if he was willing every muscle in his body to not touch you.

You let out a small laugh as you melted into his kiss, soft, puffy lips dancing across yours. "You know you can touch me," You said, pulling back, smiling at the smear of your lipstick, now staining his lips, and the endearing puppy dog eyes he was giving you. "Where can I touch you?" He whispered out as if he were telling a secret. "Wherever you want, baby. Wherever your heart desires." You replied, bringing your arms up to wrap loosely around his neck, pulling your bodies closer. He was as stiff as a board as his hands flitted around trying to find a good place to land. He finally settled on weaving his arms around your waist and up to cradle your neck, gently carding his fingers through the hair that fell at the nape of your neck. There was something so sweet in the way he cradled your body with feather-light touches as if you would disappear like smoke if he lingered too long. You reveled in the feeling of you two pressed together, slightly uncomfortable at the stiff material of his pajama pants on your stomach.

"Hey sweetheart," You said, pulling away as he chased after your lips, "I'm feeling kinda sweaty from the day, would you like to join me in the shower? What color?" "G-green, yes please." He said, tentatively pressing a kiss to your collarbone, exposed as the strap of your tank top had fallen down. You unwound from him, taking his hand delicately in your own, instantly missing the warmth his body provided.

You lead him into the bathroom, carefully stepping over the wine-soaked towels discarded on the floor before shutting the door and turning to face him. "I don't want to take this too fast for you because I know it's all very new so always tell me how you are feeling and if everything is ok. I want this to be good for you baby, ok?" You said, squeezing his hand that was still intertwined with yours. "Ok, th-thank you," He said shyly.

"Now, what do you want to do first? You're probably pretty uncomfortable in those pants, do you want me to take them off you?" You said, hooking one of your fingers into his waistband, pulling on in slightly creating a much-needed separation between his sticky cock and his uncomfortable pants."Y-Yes please" He said as you turned on the shower, allowing it to warm up in preparation for cleaning him off before turning back to him. You gently grabbed the hem of his sweater and pulled it over his head, leaving him shirtless in front of you.

Lean muscles were hidden under a layer of peachy soft skin highlighting the gentle trail of dark curly hair leading from his belly button down past his pants. His arms curled around himself as he watched your eyes carefully, ready for some sort of judgment. "I know I'm not really that s-strong or anything but I can work on it-" You cut him off with a gentle kiss right above his belly button, startling him. You looked up sweetly into his eyes and gave him a soft smile, saying "You are so beautiful, Spencer. Morgan calls you pretty boy, but he truly has no idea. I would have you no other way than you are right now."

You gently peppered his chest with feather-light kisses, making him blush. He finally understood why people liked hickeys because as you trailed down his chest, the little wine red lipstick you had left on your lips left marks trailing down his chest. Some part of him wished they were permanent, showing off to all that could see, and they would know exactly who he belonged to. You dipped your hand into his waistband, asking, "What color?" "Green, very green," he choked out as your breath ghosted across his abdomen. You looked so beautiful, kneeled on the floor in front of him, taking care of him so gently and treating him so sweetly that he could feel his cock begin to harden again.

You looked up into his eyes as you pulled his pants down. He let out a soft sigh of relief as he was uncaged from his unfortunate trouser situation. His cock flipped down out of his pants, nearly smacking you in the forehead as you looked up at it in awe. Even though it was only semi-hard, it was bigger than any you had ever seen before. Spencer looked down at you shyly "it's not that much, I-I know but I've been researching techniques to make up for it in order to give sufficient pleasure for you- I mean for whatever partners I may have, not that I am saying that I won't please you, I dream of pleasuring you! ... I'm digging myself a hole aren't I."He rambled, rubbing the back of his neck worriedly. "Spencer, you are huge. Way more than I have ever had before. See?" You said, standing up, gently lifting his cock in your hand, measuring it against your stomach.

Maybe Spencer hadn't noticed because it was proportionate to his body and his big hands, but being held in your petite hands and measured against your stomach, he finally did see how much he would fill you up. The tip of his dick just barely reached past the gems that decorated your belly button piercing. "W-Woah." He said growing harder at the thought of pushing so deep into you. He looked up to your face, which was preoccupied with looking down at how far he would reach up in you.

Tearing your eyes away from him and up to his own, you flushed, knowing that he had caught you staring. "What would you like me to do next?" You spoke softly. Despite being the only two in the room, you two both talked in hushed tones, worrying that anything more than that would burst the delicate bubble you two had created. "Can we match?" He said, and you instantly understood him, despite the odd vernacular. You began to slip off your shirt, but he stopped you with an arm on your shoulder. "C-Can I do it?" He said shyly. "Of course, pretty baby," you barely get out before he drifted his hands under your tank.

He slowly lifted your top over your head as he took in the soft smooth feeling of your skin against his, goosebumps pricking up wherever his fingers trailed. You stood in front of him, shirtless as he took in your form. He had imagined what your breasts would look like. Nipples always hard due to your piercings, what your jewelry would look like, but nothing could prepare him for the glimmering moonstone gems that adorned your nipples and navel. Everything matched exactly, including the delicate necklace you wore around your neck.

The only thing he liked more than the perfection of your body was the features that made you, you. Some might call them imperfections, but to Spencer, all he could see in you was beauty. The gentle bruises on your skin from tangles with unsubs, the soft stretch marks that adorned your hips like little valleys and winding rivers, the slight blemishes, and hairs. He loved it because you were the embodiment of the confidence he wished for in himself. While he was always nervous about his body and how others perceived him, you loved yourself for exactly who you were, and you loved him for exactly who he was.

He pulled down your pants, gently following the twist and turn of the stretch marks as they winded down your hips, making sure to kneel down to pull them all the way off of you as you delicately stepped out, gently grabbing onto his hair to keep your balance as you swayed. He moaned softly at the gentle tug of your fingers while he stared up at you in awe. You took his hand in yours, coaxing him to stand.

You both stood there, taking in each other's forms for a moment, hands still connected as if by a thread at the pinky before you spoke. "We shouldn't waste water. Let me clean you off, sweetheart." He nodded before following after you into the gentle spray of the shower, steam now filling the room. He marveled at the way that the water droplets cascaded down your body, gently running down your curves. "Come here," you said, pulling him into a gentle embrace under the hot water.

Your two bodies pressed gently together, and Spencer couldn't help but think that you were molded for each other. Not in the way that a sculptor may stick two unmatched pieces of clay together with slip, more like one rock that had been split by the earth finally returning together. Something about your touch felt like home as you gently cradled him under the water.

He was so enthralled in your being that he didn't notice you gently scrubbing him with a washcloth until the scent of your body wash permeated the air. You gently scrubbed his back, washing off the sweat of the day and replacing it with you. He melted into you as your hands reached up, lathering his hair with shampoo. He wasn't sure if it was because he realized you should probably be getting washed too or because he desperately wanted to ride his hands along the planes of your body, but he decided to lather up his hands and wash you as well. "You are such a good boy. Thank you for cleaning me up" You said, resting your head gently on his chest, softly swirling the soap around his back, now finished scrubbing all you could from that angle, waiting to turn him around.

He moved carefully, avoiding your butt, still too nervous to touch. "Make sure you get everything, sweet boy. I like to be clean when I go to bed." You said, gently grabbing his hand and pulling it down to cup your butt. He inhales a sharp breath as he indulged in a gentle squeeze, continuing to wash you. He washed your back but his hands would occasionally drift down to your ass, growing more confident as he unknowingly rocked into you slightly with every squeeze, letting out soft keening noises.

You peeled yourself off of him as he rutted into the air, whining at the loss of friction. "Slow down, naughty boy. Bad boys don't get to touch. Are you a bad boy?" you asked as you placed a finger on the tip of his cock, swirling it in the precum pooling there despite the water's efforts to wash it off. "No, no! I'm a good boy! You're just so pretty, and you feel so good, and you smell so nice, and I wanna touch you, and I want you to touch me, please." He blurted out, looking at you with hungry eyes, begging for more friction. "Where do you want to touch me baby?" you asked as his eyes raked over your body, taking in all of his options. "I want to touch your boobies and your- your-" "My what? You can say it, naughty boy." You cut him off in his stammering. "Your pussy, I want to touch your pussy." He said, the hot water spreading the blush from his cheeks down his chest, tingeing his cock with a pretty pink hue. "What naughty words from such a pretty boy. You can touch-" he cut you off, lunging towards your body before you grabbed him by the throat, squeezing experimentally. Not too hard, not too soft. He moaned, and you felt the vibrations traveling up your hands."Let me finish what I was saying. Naughty boys don't get to touch. They get spanked." You said as he mewled." What I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted was that you can touch, AFTER I wash you and after you finish washing me. Only after, you got it?" you said, squeezing a little tighter. "Y-yes." he croaked out. "Good boy," you replied.

You washed out the shampoo in his hair, replacing it with conditioner as he did the same for you. You squirted more soap onto your washcloth, preparing to test him. You took the washcloth in your hand, slowly working over his legs, arms, and chest, teasingly brushing over his overspent cock before returning to cleaning him. He washed you thoroughly, taking care to wash your legs before making sure your stomach and belly button piercing were thoroughly cleaned. Finally, he reached up to wash the leftover makeup off of your face. He touched you like a porcelain doll, worried that you would crack under even the slightest pressure, making you giggle. He flinched, thinking he hurt you, but you grabbed his face in your hands, delivering him a kiss that covered his face in soap.

You both stood there, laughing for a second, relishing the moment before you let out a shy smile. "You can touch my chest now, but make sure you clean my piercings carefully." He looked down at your chest, and now that he'd been given permission, he didn't really know what to do. You could see the puzzled look on his face so you grabbed one of his soapy hands in yours and brought it to your breast. He squeezed experimentally, and you let out a gentle moan. You had been keeping in your arousal to draw out his teasing, but you couldn't hold yourself back as you felt his large hands grasp around your chest and roll your nipple in his fingers.

There was a sweet dichotomy in the harshness of his grasp on your boob, coupled with the gentle twist of your nipple. It was as if he was worried to hurt your piercings, so he made up for it in his grasp. You brought the washcloth down to his cock, hard against his stomach, and began to work him. He whined at the harsh material. "I need to clean you up, baby. You still have a cummy cock. If you beg hard enough when I'm done, I will touch you." You said into his ear as he rested his head on your shoulder.

He was overstimulated, and you could tell, so you decided you wouldn't take as long as you wanted to tease him. But you would still draw it out for your own pleasure. He was bucking and mewling into you as you roughly got him off. It shot you straight to your core, the heat from the shower mixed with his grasp on you, physically and visually, had you closer than you wanted, and deep down you just wanted him to touch you.

When you deemed him clean enough you let the rag drop to the floor. "Beg" you moaned out. "Please, please touch me, I want your hand on me, that's all I want." He whined, bucking into the air. You took pity on him, grasping him with your soap-covered hand. He hissed as your soft touch replaced the rough rag and you could tell he was close. "Touch me, Spencer." You said and his hand shot to your core. His tentative moves giving way to a natural confidence. As he slipped a hand between your folds he could feel you dripping with desire. "O-Oh my god," was all he could stammer out before sinking two of his fingers into your depths, thumb circling your clit. You knew his fingers were long, and you had even fantasized about this exact moment, but nothing could prepare you for his actual length. He had said he did research but that was proven by how quickly he found your g spot and clit. You doubled over in pleasure as his fingers thoroughly fucked you out.

"Spencer, I'm so close, baby. Be a good boy and make me cum." You said, slumping against his shoulder, rubbing yourself against his hand. "Mommy, I'm cumming." He said, looking into your eyes as his body shuttered. His words ricochetted around in your brain, sending you over the edge as you cum all down his hand. You bit into his shoulder to muffle your scream, just as he matched you, cumming down your hand.

You came down from your high as Spencer nearly collapsed onto you. You took extra care in making sure he was all clean before helping him out of the shower and into a towel. He leaned against you the whole time as you got him ready for bed. You forced him to brush his teeth before dragging him to bed.

He sat at the edge, eyes bleary with sleep, taking in the events of the day. You sat behind him, gently toweling off his hair before brushing it and putting lotion on his body. He leaned into your touch, appreciating being cared for, feeling as if everything had been a dream. "C-Can I sleep here? I mean Morgan locked me out and I don't have pants and-" You cut him off with a gentle kiss."Of course, sweetheart, do you want to cuddle? It's ok if you don't or if you want this to be a one-time thing, it's all up to you, baby." You said, gently sweeping his hair out of his face as he looked up with eyes the size of dinner plates. "We can do this more than once? You'll let me? For real?" He asked. "Only if you want to sweetheart. This is all about you." You said, giving him a small smile tinged with a slight sadness. "That's not very fair, I want it to be about you too. What do you want?"

The question knocked you off guard. You're not used to people asking what you want. Usually, people just take and give none in return. The fact that Spencer Reid, your adorable virgin coworker was asking you what you wanted with such a sincere look, caused tears to prick into your eyes. "No one has asked me that in a long time," you smiled, "I would love to do this, and more again with you Spencer. Whenever you want." He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you down so you were lying next to each other on the bed. "Whenever we want" He corrected, cuddling into you.

You surveyed the bite make you left on his shoulder, running your hand over it. "Sorry for marking you up, I didn't mean to hurt you." You said softly as he blushed. "I-I was actually wondering... well... could you maybe give me a hickey? I like that you marked me." He said. You obliged him, giving him long kisses and sucks, gradually working up your force until a large purple bruise had formed on his collar bone. He was gently moaning the whole time, but you didn't want to work him up again as he had already cum twice that night and you didn't think he could handle more. He looked down at it as you pulled away, and you could see a question lingering on his mind.

"What's up?" you asked, smoothing his hair with your hand. "You said you hadn't been asked what you want in a long time, and I was wondering, well... who gave you your piercings?" he asked tentatively and you laughed." You have been reading my book too much, how many chapters have you read?" You said and he looked up at you surprised."You knew? and... well... only 3 chapters. I didn't want to pry into your private life." He said. "You just pried enough to know I want to get pierced by someone?" You asked raising an eyebrow. Before he could get an excuse out, you cut him off. "Well for a genius, you obviously didn't read it that carefully. I said I WOULD like to be pierced during sex, meaning I have not before. These are just standard piercings from a piercing shop, not a big deal, I just like the way they look." You said and he let out a sigh of relief. "Why? d'you get jealous?" you questioned him. He looked down and nodded shyly.

"I can be a lot of firsts for you but if you play your cards right, you can be a lot of firsts for me too. You already gave me a first tonight. You called me mommy. No one's done that before but it was really hot. I liked it a lot." You said matter of factly. "But that is a conversation for another day. It is 2 am and we need to be on a flight at 7:30, so let's get some sleep." You said, turning off the lights and cuddling up close to him. In a matter of seconds, you both were asleep, tangled into each other's arms, both of you feeling, for once, safe and sound.

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

Chapter 1 Here / Chapter 2 Here / Chapter 3 Here

Well wasn't that a doozy. I had so much fun writing that and I think it paid off for sure. Shoot me a message if you want to be added to my beloved tag list, speaking of which.

@spencer-reids-slut @ya-triedit @reidstoychest @flipperpenguins @thatsonezesty13 @jbbarnes-loki @big-galaxy-chaos

[juliasjustanidiot]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗮𝘆 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀 | cc!wilbur soot

the words of ray simmons - cc!wilbur soot x reader

synopsis: you, tommy, and your boyfriend wilbur were to identify the ghost and get out of there. however, some things went a bit off the rails.

tw: slight gore, character death, swearing, uhh horrific themes and a slight anxiety/panic attack.

word count: 3.2K

bonus: this has a lot of platonic mr. tommyinnit content :)

the shrilling sound of screaming from yourself and the young boy behind you rang in your ears as your heartbeat raced with such an intensity you swore your heart was going to combust. the two of you were running as fast as you could down the hallway of the second floor of a suburban home, rushing to get to the stairs and out the front door.

“i can’t die now, i have wives to please!” tommy shouted from behind you, a figure chasing the two of you. you didn’t dare turn around and face it.

“it’s ok, tommy! i have jesus!” you said pulling out a crucifix from your pocket, sticking it in front of you as you ran. the flashlights you two were holding flickered, telling you the ghost was still chasing you relentlessly.

“why didn’t you place it earlier?!” tommy shouted at you as the two of you ran. “you could’ve prevented this thing from hunting us in the first place!”

“i’m sorry, tommy! i didn’t realize that this was all my fault!” you shouted back sarcastically.

“wilbur! wilbur!” tommy called as you both ran around the kitchen with the ghost still chasing you. it was no use, wilbur wouldn’t be able to hear him. at least not until the ghost gave up and the hunt ended. then the radios would begin to work again with the ghost not blocking the frequencies any longer.

this was only tommy’s third ghost hunt and his first time being hunted. to say he was panicking was an understatement.

as your boyfriend sat perfectly safe in the van, you and tommy were forced to run like mad lads around a living room with every exit locked.

you turned the corner finding yourselves in a hallway with doors. you two quickly got to the furthest room and opened it, hurrying in.

shutting the door behind you, you held it closed with your body weight while tommy breathed heavily, shaken up.

a few minutes passed with the two of you like this when finally your flashlights came back on normally and your heartbeat began to normalize, the adrenaline leaving your body.

tommy stopped, flicked the switch on the wall, and turned on the light in what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. a sigh released from his lips, “the wives will be pleased.”

as you let out a small laugh, you could hear over your walky-talky the voice of your boyfriend, wilbur soot from the van. “y/n? tommy? are you guys good?” he asked.

“we’re fine. this thing will hunt in groups, apparently. it doesn’t target specific people it seems.” you informed him, letting him know that the creature was in fact dangerous.

you and tommy exited the room, making your way outside, heading back to find wilbur.

wilbur clicked his tongue. “yeah, as soon as you guys entered the room of the ghost, ghost activity spiked.” he mentioned. “during the hunt, ghost activity went off the charts.”

“yeah, that’s what happens during hunts, wil.” tommy said, matter-of-factly as if he knew so much about ghost hunting and yet he was still a newbie.

“shut up, dickhead.” wilbur responded, a small giggle released from your mouth. you shook your head with a soft smile. there was the brotherly bickering between the two that everyone knew and loved.

“how’s our sanity looking, wil?” you said as you headed out the door of the haunted house, tommy behind you. you decided it was best to get back on track if you wanted to get this job done as soon as possible.

“sanity is looking fine for right now, tommy’s is a little lower than yours, love. which explains a lot, really,” he said, egging tommy on.

tommy was quick to respond as soon as you two entered the van. “oh shut up, you big fuckin-“

you turned around to stare at tommy with a small glare. he closed his mouth slowly, taking the hint.

wilbur passed the two of you, walking to the equipment, picking up an emf reader. “i’ll go in with the emf. it’s the upstairs bathroom, right?”

you nodded in confirmation. “right. be careful, wil. this thing is vicious.” he nodded, putting on a headcam similar to the one you were wearing so anyone could watch from the van.

“actually, tommy, why don’t you stay here? i’ll go with wil to place down the book so we can check for ghost writing.” you suggested, turning your head to look at the blonde-haired teen.

“what? why?” he protested. “i can go too!” he spread his arms, looking at you like a child that had just been rejected- which was exactly what he was. “i’m a big man, y/n! tell them wil!” he looked to wilbur expectantly.

wilbur turned to him, looking him up and down, wrinkling up his nose and shaking his head. “no.”

pointing to a monitor on the wall, you showed tommy his sanity percentage projecting on the large screen. “your sanity is gonna drop every second you step foot in there. mine’s a little higher than yours. it only makes sense that i go in before you so that you don’t lose too much. plus, this is still only your second time doing this. something could easily go wrong.”

“third.”

“plus,” wilbur chimed in, stopping for a moment. “we wouldn’t want the wives to be upset if we lost you.” you turned, grabbing the journal from one of the supply shelves and let out a small laugh. he put an around arm your shoulder, leaning some of his weight onto you.

“pft, yeah. exactly.” you agreed, lifting your head to flash wilbur a smile. he looked to you and gave you a similar one, his brown eyes staring into your own.

tommy watched from where he stood as the two of you did your weird “couple thing” while you both made fun of the boy. his eyes narrowed and his whole face scrunched as he let out a groan. “uuugggh. you two are disgusting!”

“oh, tommy.” wilbur sighed. “still so much to learn.” he released you and exited the van with you following him.

“we’d better get this job done quickly. this ghost is only going to get angrier.” you mentioned, finally getting back to business.

“yeah, well, tell that to the innit man himself. he’s the one who kept getting sidetracked.” wilbur mumbled as you entered the family home’s entrance, turning on your flashlights so you could see where you were going.

“wil, don’t bully the kid, he’s still getting a hang of things. and it isn’t just him that’s getting sidetracked.”

“wilbur? y/n? wilbuuuur.” as if on cue, the voice of a teenager rang through your ears on your walkie-talkies.

with a groan, wilbur grabbed the small device and clicked it on. “what, child?”

“the ghost’s name is ray simmons,” he said loudly, making your ears hurt.

“jesus, tommy, back up from the microphone,” you complained, turning the corner and heading up the stairs of the home.

“is this good?” his voice was only louder making your ears hurt even more. you’ve never wanted to hit a child more than now.

“alright, bye tommy.” you grumbled and shut off your device. “how did you meet this kid again?” you asked wilbur who was trailing behind you. he only let out a chuckle after shrugging.

with a roll of your eyes, you opened the door of the ghost infested bathroom and placed the book on the sink. you waited for wilbur to scan the room for emf, letting him check everything.

“oh, here,” he said as he just remembered something, “look for fingerprints or something with the uv light.” he tossed the uv flashlight to you. you caught it swiftly and clicked it on, shutting off the lights in the room. you started with the door, finding nothing there. you then surveyed the rest of the room, again, finding nothing.

“nothing with the uv. let’s get out of the room for a bit and check the cams. then we can come back and look for writing.” you suggested as wilbur pocketed the emf reader.

tommy and yourself had already set up a camera in the corner of the bathroom to look for a ghost orb and checked for freezing temperatures upon your first time entering the room. you already knew it was freezing the minute you walked into the room, it literally felt like a freezer. but it didn't hurt to check and you were correct. the room was in fact below freezing.

“actually, i think we have our answer for ghost writing.” wilbur pointed to the book with his flashlight from where he stood, illuminating it, and revealing some odd drawings.

“well, quite the artist this one,” you muttered, staring at the strange demonic drawings. wilbur came up from behind you, getting a closer observation of the obscure drawings.

“we’ve got ghost writing, fingerprints. all we need is one more piece of evidence and we’ve got our ghost,” he said, moving to the door to exit. “let’s head back to the van and watch the cams.” with a nod, you followed him out, closing the door behind you two.

entering the van, you noticed something wrong.

“wilbur?” you called, turning your head to see wilbur still walking back.

“yeah?” he looked up to you.

“where the hell is tommy?”

“shit.” wilbur cursed under his breath, observing the inside of the van to find no sight of the teenager. picking up his communication device, he quickly clicked it on. “tommy?” he called.

after a few seconds, you finally got a response. “hi, wilbur!” the boy said, a bit of static also playing through the device.

“tommy? where the fuck are you?”

“i’m ghost hunting, wil!” he shouted into the comms.

you went into the computer and clicked the mouse to watch the camera you had set up in the room.

“no ghost orb.” you told wil. you watched as tommy entered the bathroom on the monitor. “tommy, get your ass out here.” you grabbed the walky-talky from wil’s hand and put it up to your own mouth.

“no can do, y/n! i’m talking to ray simmons currently.” he said to you.

“don’t say it’s name-“

“ray says to leave me alone. we’re talking!” if him and the ghost are talking, that could only mean that tommy was using the spirit box or the ouija board.

“fuck.” you thrusted the walky-talky into wilbur’s chest and walked over to the supply shelves picking up some sanity pills. you popped them into your mouth and swallowed them. stuffing some more into your pocket, you gathered a smudge stick and lighter in case things got a bit out of hand.

“y/n, what are you doing?” wilbur asked as he watched you equip all of your things. he stared at you with a curious look.

“i’m getting our wifehaver.” quickly, you turned on your heel and sped to the house.

“be careful, love!” he shouted to you, worried for your safety. however, he trusted you. you both had been in this job for a while. you knew what you were doing.

storming into the house, you quickly ran up the stairs to the ghost room and opened the door with great force. you found tommy sitting in the tub with the spirit box in hand.

“what the fuck are you doing?” you shouted at tommy, quickly grabbing the box from his hand.

tommy looked up to you, looking confused as hell. “what? i’m talking to ray simmons!” speedily, you clasped a hand over his mouth.

“don’t say the ghost’s name, idiot.” grabbing him by his arm, you pulled him up by his feet and made a beeline to the door. you shoved the sanity pills into his hand, forcing him to take them. “what did it say to you?” you asked, aggravated. he was so stupid, going in alone like that. he could’ve died.

“turns out mr. simmons is quite old! he was also telling me the letter ‘e’ quite often for some reason.”

lifting your walky-talky, you called for wilbur. “yeah?” you heard wil’s soft voice from your end.

“tommy managed to get our last piece of evidence. spirit box. it’s a demon.” you told him, making your way down the steps, tommy tagging along.

“if it’s a demon, it can start hunting at any moment. get out of there, now.” wilbur suggested. you of course already knew that. you didn’t want to stick around any longer than you had to. demons were always very aggressive.

“anything else that it said to you, tommy?” you asked him out of curiosity. as you got close to your escape, you felt a sense of relief. you now had all your evidence. the three of you could pack up and take your pay, and head home. the exterminators could do the rest.

“i think he said the word “ill”.” he shrugged it off. “or maybe it was “kill”? ray is a bit mental, aye?” immediately, you turned your head to tommy with a very troubled expression.

“what?”

as soon as the word had left your mouth, the door in front of you slammed shut. you let go of tommy and ran over to it, trying to open it with all your might.

“oh fuckin’ shitting hell.” you cursed aggressively. you grabbed tommy and pulled him next to you, keeping a protective stance with him behind you.

“wilbur?” you talked into your comms, seeing if you could get a hold of him at all. “wilbur?”

“y/n?” you could hardly make out due to the large amount of static and blockage in your communication. “get- there- now. huntin-“ you couldn’t understand him, but you knew he was telling you to get the hell out of there and you were definitely trying.

tommy shook your arm from behind you, confused and freaking out. “uhhmmm, y/n? y/n? what’s happened?”

“it’s hunting, tommy. you kept saying it’s name and now it’s angry.” you grumbled.

“yeah? well ray’s a pussy.” he argued.

“tommy, if you don’t shut the fuck-“

“aaaahhh!” tommy shouted, pointing in front of you. directing your gaze to the direction that tommy pointed in, your eyes widened at the thing you now were looking at. the adrenaline you had pent up earlier from the chase before now came rushing back.

there in front of you stood a tall man with his face completely drained of color and eyes that were so empty they sent a chill down your spine. his left arm was missing with a hunk of bone sticking out of his flesh and his clothes were completely torn up.

you grabbed tommy, shoved him in front of you and started bolting as the thing chased you.

“dammit, run, tommy!” sprinting, you two made a run for it through the kitchen, and into the dining area, circling around that area a couple times.

“leave us alone, bitch!” tommy shouted to the demon as he started running for the garage.

“tommy! no!” you cried to him, trying to stop him by grabbing his arm, but he was already entering the garage.

unfortunately, before you could warn tommy, the demon detected him and chased him in there where he would be completely cornered.

darting to the garage door, you grabbed the smudge stick and prepared to light it with the lighter you had taken in with you.

peeking in, you saw tommy in the far corner of the garage, there was no way he could escape from the demon in time to make it out alive. you had to do something and fast.

you motioned to light the smudge stick and jump in to save tommy, but with all the pressure and anxiety you were feeling, your hands fumbled and the lighter fell from your hands.

“fuck!” you hissed, picking it up swiftly.

an alarming scream hit your ears, forcing you to turn and look. you wish you hadn’t.

“shit, tommy!” you roared, rushing in no matter what danger there was.

entering the garage, you didn’t see the demon in sight. it seemed to have gone elsewhere, deciding it had done its job.

in the corner of the garage sat tommy, motionless and limp.

fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, repeated in your head as you ran over to his body, dropping the stick and lighter on the ground to touch tommy, trying to shake him awake. “tommy, come on.” you cried out as if he could hear you.

you heard rapid footsteps making their way towards you. grabbing the smudge stick and lighter, you flicked the lighter on, prepared.

bursting in was your boyfriend wilbur, out of breath and panting, searching for you. “y/n! i saw it on your headcam! what’s-“

once he caught sight of you, he let out a deep exhale and stopped in the middle of his sentence. but he could sense something was wrong. “y/n.” he breathed your name, walking over to you as you relaxed with the smudge stick and lighter.

“tommy. he’s-“ you fell apart, breaking into a state of just absolute panic and anxiety. shaking all over, your breathing was all over the place. you grabbed at your hair, tugging slightly to feel pressure on your skull. “fuck. he was- the demon- he’s dead.” you cried out.

wilbur grabbed your wrists tightly, forcing you to let go of your hair. “oh, love.” he sighed, pulling your body to him, placing your hands around his neck and burying your face in his chest while he buried his own into your hair, breathing in your scent.

the two of you stayed like this, your eyes never leaving tommy’s cold body. wilbur took notice of this and finally pulled away, grabbing your face, opting you to stare into his eyes. “hey. you’re ok. you did everything you could.” he told you, trying to reassure you. “you’re ok. yeah?”

you nodded your head, letting out a few shaky breaths. the both of you stood up and headed for the door.

“let’s get out of here.” wilbur put an around you, rubbing your shoulder gently, calming you down slowly.

entering the van, you both sighed. after that job, you knew things would be a bit different now. you would have to be more careful next time you took tommy ghost hunting.

“well, at least it was tommy and not you.” wilbur said with optimism. you turned to him giving him a small smile.

“yeah, but now he’s going to hold a grudge against me and try and get me killed all of next round.” you grumbled.

clicking a few keys on your keyboard, you marked the ghost type as a demon and started up the van, making your way back to the lobby.

there in the lobby, stood tommy’s character. immediately as he saw you two, he unmuted on discord and started shouting and cursing both of you out.

“you two are so fucking disgusting! while i died you two were doing your couple shit and making out through the game and all that disgusting shit!” he blasted into his microphone. “while my chat went ‘aww so cute!’ i was laying there dead and couldn’t do anything about it, you dickheads!”

you and wilbur couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “oh, tommy. we love playing phasmophobia with you too.”

(bonus) tommy’s pov:

as tommy watched in his ghostly form, y/n and wilbur’s characters stared at each, their heads completely inside each other’s, causing the game to combine them. with a disgusted tone, he huffed. “you motherfuckers.”

·  · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·  ·  

edited by @faithajo24​.

taglist: @etheriaaly

[merakiui]

Wow! An imagines blog for afterlife! First one as far as I can see... I wish you lots of fun with this! I wonder what your favourite characters from the game are? For me it's going to be Sian and Quincy (I first think I was going to hate this little devil brat but here I am XD). If you don't mind you can do relationship hc's with them and characters of your choice if you don't mind. I don't really have anything specific in mind, just something fluffy, sorry for that! Welcome and have a nice day!

(Is it really the first? Whoa! My favorites so far would have to be Ell and Verine! There’s something refreshing about Ell’s optimistic energy, and Verine seems so soft uwu But Sian and Quincy are also growing on me too. Either way, you’ve got good taste~ Please enjoy these hcs and thank you for being the first request, anon! :D)

Relationship HCs (Sian, Quincy, Ell, and Verine)

🎤 Sian 🎤

He refuses to admit to his feelings in the beginning. Why, you may ask? Simple: It’s embarrassing.

So he does what any normal tsundere would do in that sort of situation. He pushes you away by feigning his disinterest.

Naturally, his behavior comes off as rude and abrupt, but you’re able to see past that cold exterior.

Whenever you send a smile his way or compliment him for his good work, he’s quick to deny it. Though the bright blush on his cheeks always contradicts whatever he might say.

Sometimes he thinks you just enjoy messing with him, if only to see him turn red. It’s quite cute, and you can’t help but giggle when he starts to yell.

“It’s not adorable, so stop laughing! And don’t call me cute either!”

Once you’re together, Sian drops his rude act and becomes very affectionate. He still gets shy over small aspects of your relationship, such as holding hands in public or even mustering the courage to kiss you whenever he feels like it.

Kati will definitely tease Sian whenever he talks about his wonderful, loving manager, and Cyrille will provide him with all sorts of scientific facts about the prospect of being in love, how long it exactly lasts, and why relationships are so important in terms of social interaction.

Sian does his best to ignore them, but he always finds himself getting embarrassed. “Stay out of my personal life! I don’t need your help!” Yes, he’s also blushing while he says this.

Underneath that tsundere behavior is a sweet boy who does his best to give you a perfect relationship.

He’ll take you to his favorite places to eat, claiming that you have to try some of the foods he normally gets. In return, you’ll open his horizons to the things you enjoy eating.

Definitely goes to karaoke with you! The two of you sing to your hearts’ content, sharing a few laughs at the impossible-to-hit high notes. Sian manages to surprise you the first time you hear him sing, and when you make a comment he gets extremely flustered.

On days where the weather isn’t the best, the two of you might stay inside to play card games, making small bets every now and then. Most of these bets are about the number of kisses or hugs the other will receive, and when that’s on the line Sian plays exceptionally better.

He’s written songs before, and now that the two of you are in a relationship some of these are about you. You wouldn’t have known about this had you not found a journal detailing different lyrics and song titles.

Waiting for a Sian x [insert utaite name here] collaboration.

When you confronted Sian about it, he became a mess.

Sian’s never let anyone see any of his creative work before, so this was enough to bring him close to tearing up out of pure embarrassment. He feels as though he could just die on the spot.

You understand his reaction, so you’re quick to close the journal, assuring him that you won’t pry further unless he willingly tells you more.

It takes a bit before he’s confident to actually show you and explain his thought process behind certain lyrics, but he trusts you enough and he knows you won’t laugh at him.

You’re his biggest muse when it comes to songwriting. (You’re also his biggest supporter.)

You’ll catch him humming under his breath to certain songs, and he’ll even start to mumble lyrics he’s made up on the spot. You’ll chime in with your own input, and he’ll be quick to write it down if it strikes a chord in his inspiration.

Unfortunately, his memory isn’t the best, so he often forgets things like anniversaries and special dates. He’ll always apologize with his head bowed whenever this happens, but you never seem too bothered. How can you be upset with someone as affectionate and caring as him?

In times of need, he’ll be there to assist you, as he doesn’t want you to stress yourself out. After all, it isn’t fair for his precious lover to carry overwhelming burdens all on their own.

You’ll always find yourself waking up beside the best boyfriend in the world, who will do absolutely anything for you. At the start of the relationship, he tried to do so many things to impress you. He cooked, cleaned, and made sure to always message you when you’re apart. Eventually, you had to tell him to just be himself and to stop taking advice from relationship blogs.

Please give this boy all the love in the world, and he’ll return it tenfold—albeit with a flustered stutter and pink cheeks.

🔥 Quincy 🔥

As the future Lord of the Underworld, Quincy’s quick to let others know of his position as a devil. Bow before him because it’s either his way or the highway.

He has high hopes for you and even higher hopes for himself.

Quincy will be especially impressed if you’re forward and confident in the relationship, but if you’re not that’s fine. It just means he’ll have to take the lead, which is obviously the best course of action, right? His judgement is flawless!

Just know that if anyone messes with his beloved manager, he’ll have no problem putting a curse on the unfortunate soul who decided to bother you. It’s all in good fun, so don’t worry about those silly humans who are now suffering under the weight of a heavy enchantment.

“Looks like my finger slipped. Guess you’ll have to use your puny brain to figure a way out of that. Hmph!” (Based on that cocky smirk, you’d say he’s quite satisfied with his work.)

He may even teach you a few things about the different types of magic, as he wants you to be as good as he is. Oh, but not too good! Quincy prides himself on his skills far too much to let anyone surpass him.

Every now and then, he’ll tease you about anything and everything—no matter how insignificant it is. Maybe you were late to clock in and Nyang Lead Manager scolded you, or perhaps you accidentally forget your lunch. Either way, he’s going to poke fun at those mishaps.

“Ehh? How could you forget when I reminded you earlier? Well, I suppose you can have some of my lunch. ...If you can handle it, that is.”

Spicy food is his life. He probably participates in those challenges at restaurants just to prove that he can absolutely own the competition.

Petition to get Quincy on Hot Ones.

If you’re also a fan of spicy things, it’ll be a contest to see who can handle the most spice. He ends up winning most of the time, but that’s mainly just because he’s a devil who’s used to scorching heat.

If you aren’t, he’ll be pleased to hold the title as someone who can handle extreme foods really well.

Quincy doesn’t like wasting his time on anything small, so there will always be a purpose behind what he does.

Your dates are quite the colorful variety, ranging from spending the day mixing up new elixirs to sharing stories about the Underworld. One day he’d like to show you around if you’re up for it, but the scenery might take some getting used to.

He’ll ensure that you’re never bored by dragging you around to do whatever the two of you deem exciting. When you get to relax from purifying vengeful spirits, you might find yourselves in the human world disguised under the deceptive properties of Humanizer to visit amusement parks, food vendors, and even occult shops.

The relationship is upbeat, and it keeps you on your toes. You’re never going to feel bored again with Quincy around.

Despite his teasing remarks and overflowing pride, Quincy values you a lot, and when it’s just the two of you he’ll be very endearing. It tends to catch you off guard; one minute he’s laughing about messing with Sian and the next he’s moving in to steal a quick kiss.

You’ll have to deal with any reptiles or insects that happen to cross his path, as he can’t stand them. But if you can’t handle them either, then you’ll seek out Jamie. At least he can keep them safe from Kirr and Aitachi. And from your spooked boyfriend, who wants those critters out of his sight. 

Quincy will remind you to come to him if you’re ever worried over something. His advice may not be the most ground-breaking, but it’s the thought that counts. He’s willing to spend hours giving you a friendly pep-talk, and you’re bound to come out of your gloom with a fresh perspective.

☀️ Ell ☀️

He’s a ball of energetic sunshine, so be ready for a very fun, joyful relationship!

Ell always puts you first, ensuring your happiness and well-being.

Honesty is key in this relationship, and that’s mainly because he can’t lie due to his constant sneezing.

And that’s okay because he has nothing to lie about anyways! He doesn’t want to hide anything from you; he’d rather you know than try to keep it a secret.

Imagine all of the cute dates! The both of you could go to bakeries and and sweet shops to try all sorts of delicious treats. Ell would be fond of anything sugary, insisting on playfully feeding you while you’re out in public. Or the two of you could visit craft stores so he can get more supplies for his needle felting.

He’s very big on PDA. Expect lots of hand-holding, random hugs, and kisses on the cheek—even around others when you least expect it. He’ll always smile at you, commenting on how charming you look when you blush at his sudden displays of affection.

Though he’ll try his best to tone it down if Nyang Lead Manager says something about it during work hours. He’ll quietly whine and protest as he tries to explain that it’s hard to resist. He just loves you so much! His complaints tend to get cut off once he starts to sneeze, though.

Along with gifting you his needle felting creations, he’ll also play the lyre for you. He’d be so excited to show you all of the beautiful music it can make. Sometimes he’ll play a few soothing melodies if you have trouble falling asleep.

Speaking of sleep, he adores cuddling. You’ll probably wake up each morning with him clinging to you, the blanket cast aside.

If you’re fond of taking photos, he’ll let you use the light from his halo to brighten the pictures. It makes for a perfect ring light, and he doesn’t mind others wanting to use it. After all, Licht and Kati like to use it for their SNS, so you should too.

If you’re ever having a bad day, Ell will be there to make it better. He’ll do all sorts of things for you, hearing you out when you vent to him about what’s bothering you and even attempting to make a few tiny miracles happen. Anything for his favorite person in the world!

There are times when he feels down as well, but it’s not for long. You’ll always be there to cheer him up. He’s fortunate that you have the patience to help him put his negative emotions into words, and you’ll even sit through all of the times he sneezes. For that, he’s very grateful.

His heart beats faster and he gets bashful when you praise him, but he’ll always fire back with plenty of genuine compliments so you won’t feel left out. There’s lots of love to go around.

Overall, the relationship is so sweet and enjoyable. Ell makes sure there’s never a dull moment when you’re with him, and he truly believes that the two of you will be together for a long time.

He loves you with all of his angelic heart.

“I wish we could spend more time together, but Nyang Lead Manager is giving us so much work. It’s really not—achoo!”

💊 Verine 💊

At first, Verine wonders if the reason you chose to be near him is because of the desire to protect such a sickly Soul Reaper. It bothers him to no end, as he does his best to stay strong despite always having to take different medicines and vitamins.

Once he realizes that you’re not there to pester him about his health, he’s pleasantly surprised. He’s used to others giving him looks of pity, so when you offer your support he can’t help but feel warm inside.

It actually takes him quite a while to confess; the stress of it all was like attempting to find the correct medicine for a specific ailment.

Still, he manages to push his self-consciousness aside in favor of his heart’s wishes, and it succeeds! Luckily for him, since Verine believed his chances were very slim.

While Mori considers him to be a paper doll, you think the opposite. Your boyfriend may be physically weak, but he’s got a strong will and is incredibly gentle with you.

Even if he acts like the presences of others disturbs him, he’s actually quite happy to be near the Soul Reapers. He’s always interacting with the Reapers in Diluculo, but he finds that your company is by far the best.

Most of your dates consist of staying indoors, since Verine doesn’t like the overwhelming temperatures of the outside world. (Occasionally, he’ll sacrifice his comfort so that you can enjoy the outdoors every now and then.)

However, the two of you still find plenty of things to do while inside. From watching your favorite films to assisting Verine with his medicinal herb garden, a lot of these cozy dates are quite serene.

He loves it when you cook his favorite foods. Any meal prepared by your loving hands is a gift he treasures—so much so that he thoroughly believes it’ll heal his aches and pains. Sometimes he doesn’t know how to return the gesture, so you’ll have to reassure him that you don’t need anything. Just his love is enough, and that makes him smile a bit.

Verine is touch-starved since most of his living life was spent in a hospital bed and the only contact he ever received was from doctors checking his vitals. So he’s always eager to let you hug and kiss him.

He might not be into cuddling at first only because he’s afraid his constant coughing will disrupt the calm atmosphere, but once you explain that that doesn’t bother you he’s willing to give it a try. He ends up liking it more than he thought he would, which results in lazy days where the two of you just nap in each other’s arms.

He’ll always be there for you no matter what, and he checks to make sure you’re healthy. Your physical and mental health is very important to him.

If the the two of you ever get into a disagreement, he may bottle up his true feelings for the sake of pacifying you. In the end, both of you talk through it, and this allows Verine to slowly but surely open up about how he really feels.

Verine might keep a lot of his emotions to himself when around the others, but with you he doesn’t have to.

“Ah, I must’ve fainted again. I really am useless.”

When he gets like that, just tell this sweetheart he’s in no way useless. He’s perfect in your eyes, even with his coughing and eternal illnesses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Between the Ink and Papers Ch. 1

Summary: Steve and Peggy have been divorced for a year and Sarah is still starting to find her groove in it. However, it becomes a lot easier when she and Typhanie realize it might be time for her dad to start dating again.

Pairings: tattooartist!dad!Steve x Reader, Typhanie x Sarah, Peggy x Logan, Bucky x Natasha

Word Count: 1731

Warnings: Cussing!

Between Ink and Paper Masterlist -- Masterlist to Other Works

Next Chapter

-.-.-.-

Fuck divorce!

The words stared at her, silently taunting, and reminding her that she can curse at it all she wants. Divorce is still a thing. Divorce will always be a part of her life. Shutting the journal, Sarah shoved it in her backpack. She didn’t know what else to add to the pages. So, that would have to be enough. The rule was that she had to write. She was never told how much.

And those two words summarized it perfectly.

“Sarah?”

She jumped out of her skin, knocking over her tea as her stepdad stepped into the kitchen. Logan. “Yeah?” She grabbed the paper towels as he reached for a dishrag.

“Sorry.” He grimaced as he handed her the mug. “Put that in the sink, would ya?” Sarah didn’t argue. She washed it out as he finished cleaning up the mess. The running water was a much needed distraction from the awkward silence in the room. Logan had been married to her mom for about a month and the two still didn’t really know how to act around each other.

Actually, that was a lie. Sarah knew very well. Logan just wasn’t getting the message.

“You’re taking the subway today, right?”

“Yeah.” Sarah grabbed her mom’s wallet off the counter, snagging a couple bills for lunch. “See you next week.” The words were short like most of their conversations. Before he had a chance to say anything, Sarah was shouting a bye to her mother, out the door with her backpack in hand.

Logan huffed, tossing the paper towels into the trash as Peggy came downstairs. She was putting in her second earring, looking around. “Did Sarah leave already?”

“What do you expect? It’s his week.”

Peggy noticed the defeated slump in his shoulders. Logan was trying. He really was. And he cared about Sarah. It was that fact that made Peggy fall for him so hard. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she placed a small kiss on the back of his shoulder. “She’s stubborn, love. Gets that from both her parents, I’m afraid.”

Logan smiled softly, gently squeezing the hands interlaced on his abdomen. “I know. She spoke to me today. Six words this time.”

Peggy’s frustrated groan was followed by a pained laugh. “I promise. Just give it time.”

-.-.-

I know I’ve got a tendency To exaggerate what I’m seeing And I know that it’s unfair on me To make a memory Out of a feeling

“Earth to Sarah, please.”

She blinked, finally acknowledging the hand waving in her face. Sarah yanked an earbud out of her ear as Typhanie took the empty seat across from her. “Sorry.”

“Nah, I know when you get in one of those hate-the-world, emo girl moods,” Typhanie teased. She reached across the table and snagged a couple fries before Sarah could swat her hand away.

“Get your own.”

“Nope.” Typhanie smirked as she took a bite. “So much more fun to steal and see you get all frustrated.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, taking a bite of her burger. “You suck.”

“Actually no. That’s why I don’t date boys.”

Sarah coughed, choking on her food as Typhanie grinned from ear to ear. “Not – Not cool,” she wheezed out, grabbing her water and taking a much needed sip.

“My bad, but I had to kill the sourpuss face. It was getting kinda boring to look at.” Sarah scoffed, pushing the plate towards Typhanie and letting her finish it off. “Seriously, what’s going on?” She grabbed the burger, taking a bite. “Normally a joke like that makes you laugh.”

“Just ready to be back at my dad’s.”

Typhanie’s nose scrunched. She recalled the wedding and how uncomfortable Sarah had been when Peggy had asked her to be her maid of honor. Sarah hadn’t exactly warmed up to Logan yet and there she was, playing such an important role. “That where we’re going after school?”

“Yup. I have a meeting with Ms. Y/L/N after school, but then we’re helping Uncle Buck with the shop.”

“My favorite after school activity.”

“Should I be jealous of the crush you have on my aunt?”

Typhanie giggled. Before she could provide some witty retort, the bell rang. Lunch was over. “Guess you’ll never know.” She threw the food away as Sarah grabbed their bags. The looming building was enough to make Sarah wish school would end already.

But she always wished that. Taking Typhanie’s hand in hers, she pouted and asked, “How much longer till we graduate?”

“570. Then we have college…”

Sarah groaned. “I’ll never survive.”

“Probably not.” Typhanie smirked and took that second earbud, handing it to Sarah. She knew the blonde so well. Immediately, the earbud was back in place – music drowning out the irritation that came from squeaking sneakers and gossiping teenagers.

So I keep sayin’ I hate everybody But maybe I – maybe I don’t

-.-.-.-

“Fuck divorce, huh?”

Y/N looked up from the two words on the page. She was smiling at Sarah, reminding her that there was no judgement here. Being the high school counselor, she was used to talking to students about anything they needed. And Sarah was always one of her favorite people to talk to. She was open with her opinions and Y/N found her so high spirited and passionate.

She just needed to focus. She needed someone to guide her.

“So I’m guessing this means there’s been no headway with the stepdad.”

Sarah shrugged. “He’s trying too much. It’s…weird. I already have a dad and I didn’t ask my mom to bring some stranger into my life.”

“I thought last time we talked you agreed that your mom deserved to be happy.”

“She does!” Sarah huffed, biting the corner of her lip as she looked away. She always liked Y/N’s office. It was calm and relaxing. Notes were everywhere – mostly so Y/N didn’t forget anything – and there was a number of plants that Sarah could focus on when she needed to find the right words. The right emotions. “I – I don’t want him in my life. I don’t need a stepdad. I want to be with my dad. He’s great! And he takes care of me!”

“So does your mother.”

“But it’s different.”

Y/N sighed. She understood. Nothing about divorce was ever easy. Especially when you were the kid in the middle. She remembered a year ago, when everything was first happening. Sarah had fully believed that they would stop fighting and fix things. It was classic. So when Logan came in, she retaliated. Hard. And no headway was being made in that aspect of Sarah’s life.

“You spend the next week with your dad, right?”

“Think you could talk to him about what you’re feeling? You’ve always talked about this honest and open relationship you two have. Getting his input might help you gain some perspective.”

Sarah grumbled, a low whine coming from somewhere in her throat. It made Y/N laugh. “Do I have to?”

“You agreed that as long as we continued these sessions, you would do the homework I gave. This is it.”

“Alright, Doc. Communication with the old man. Sounds…fun.”

Y/N closed the journal, holding it out to Sarah. However, before she could grab it, Y/N added, “Maybe also try writing more than two words, hm? I get that there are days when that motivation just isn’t there, but I need you to try.”

Sarah glanced at the book before meeting Y/N’s gaze. “Okay, then can I ask what you expect?”

“Two sentences at least.”

Sarah didn’t say anything, snatching the book out of her hand and shoving it in her backpack. “Alright. Two sentences.”

Sarah got up and moved to the door, pausing when Y/N called her name. She looked over her shoulder, confused as to what else Y/N could possibly have to say. “I consider three words a sentence. So really, if you think about it, that’s no more than six. And if someone is smart enough to sum up their feelings in six words, they’re smart enough to figure out having a stepparent.”

“God, you’re corny.”

Sarah left, closing the door behind her as Y/N rose to her feet. Finding her planner on her desk, she scratched out Sarah’s name before digging her phone out of her purse. Tonight was ladies night. That meant a quick trip home to change clothes then she could meet up with the girls.

No sooner had the thought left Y/N’s mind than her phone started buzzing. She glanced at the screen, grinning when she saw Carol’s face staring back at her. “Sorry, you’ve reached Y/N’s voicemail,” she answered.

“Nice try. You don’t know how to set that up.”

Y/N chuckled. “Look, I just wrapped up on my last student. Let me get out of the suit and I’m happy to join you guys.”

“Well, there’s been a chance of plans. It’s not dinner and a movie.”

Y/N frowned, slipping her bag over her shoulder and locking up. “Okay. What’s the new plan?”

“Drinks at Sanctum Sanctorum and then Wanda and Val wanted to cash in that promise of getting tattoos.”

Y/N winced. She had wanted a tattoo for so long, but the idea of a needle piercing her skin was enough to make her want to pass out then and there. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“Not if we have anything to say about it. Look, they did all the research and the place looks awesome. It’s not creepy or dark or anything like that. It’s even got a cute name.”

Carol was trying so hard to sell it and Y/N had to give her credit. She was succeeding. Big time. “Jeez, you could sell ice to an Eskimo.” Shifting her phone to her other shoulder, she asked, “What’s the name of the place?”

“It’s so cute! Y/N, there’s no way you can think this place is intimidating. I swear!”

“Carol, just tell me!”

“Howlies Ink.”

Wow. That really was cute. Was Carol sure she got the name right?

“Before you ask, yes, that is the name. Double checked after Wanda told me.”

Y/N snorted. “Alright. Sanctum Sanctorum and Howlies Ink. I’m in.”

She could already hear the squealing on the other end of the phone. It sounded like Carol was declaring she was in. There was no backing out now. This was going to be a hell of a night.

-.-.-.-.-

Tag List:

@fullofmultitudesfullofshit

@abundanceofcarolines

@patzammit​

[littledarlinwrites]

Dream a Little Dream Of Me

1940s!Bucky Barnes x Reader

This is for @teamcap4bucky Summer Sun and Fun Game! Thank you so much for hosting and for being so patient with me when I screwed up the due date. This was specifically written for @majesticavenger, I'm so sorry for the wait, but I hope it was worth it! Anywho, this is the first time I've wrote 40s!Bucky and I'm hella needy at the moment 'cause life, so leave me some love y'all! (Also, as soon as I can jump on my laptop I'll add a keep reading link, I'm not savvy enough to do it on mobile).

You trudged up to your Brooklyn apartment, your cat howling on the fire escape outside your bedroom window to be let in. A tired smile graves your face after a long day of work. A job you were grateful for, but bittersweet under the circumstances, patients sick or dying, and men going off to war only to never return either physically or mentally. You couldn't wait to hide away in your apartment for the rest of the night, draw a hot bath, listen to a radio program before nodding off to sleep. And, if you were lucky, maybe your apartment pen pal had sent you another note attached to your cats threaded collar. The thought of it made you pick up your pace as you climbed your apartment buildings staircase.

You practically ran into your apartment and to your bedroom window, flipping the latch and looking for the paper that was typically wrapped around your cats collar and tied with a baby blue string.

You found the paper, tying the baby blue string to an embroidery hoop with the others you collected. Today the note was short, just a song suggestion, something he would do on a rough day. You drew your bath water while turning up the radio station to catch the song. It wasn't until you were crawling into bed that the song played. Moonlight Serenade. You just hoped Lucky, the nickname he had told you to call him, was somewhere listening to it too.

The following morning you rushed around to get ready for the day and out the door in time. You scribbled your note to Lucky and wrapped it around the cat's collar before shooing it out the window.

----

Bucky laid on his bed, window open, waiting for the furry creature to make its way to him like it always did. Nox, she had said was the cat's name. Usually Bucky appreciated cats from a distance considering they would make him sneezy and itchy, but he couldn't help but enjoy the conversations with his pen pal. Luna, she had said to call her. A nickname her mother gave her due to her infatuation with the giant orb in the sky. He won every single match after he started talking with her, and he didn't consider that a coincidence. 

Bucky heard the mewling from the black cat before he felt it curl up on his chest. He scratched the cat behind its ears causing the cat to purr contentedly before he began unfurling the note attached to its knitted collar. 

“Silently if, out of not knowable

night’s utmost nothing, wanders a little guess

(only which is this world) more of my life does

not leap than with the mystery your smile

sings or if (spiraling as luminous

they climb oblivion) voices who are dreams,

less into heaven certainly earth swims

than each my deeper death becomes your kiss

losing through you what seemed myself, I find

selves unimaginably mine; beyond

sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears

yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:

yours is the darkness of my soul’s return

–you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars”

-E. E. Cummings

Bucky read the poem three times before reaching for a piece of paper and jotting down some words. He wrapped the piece of paper around the cats collar, tying it with a frayed blue string from his work shirt and turned over to get a couple hours of sleep, if only his heart would stop fluttering like a hummingbird in his chest.

----

Walking through your door was a complete relief, even more so after stripping your nurses outfit and stockings. The hot shower relaxing your stiff and sore muscles. You donned your nightgown before opening your window for your cat to come home while running a brush through your wet strands. Eventually you heard the telltale meowing of your hungry cat before you heard its soft padding jumps to your floor from your window. You manage to scoop the black cat into your arms before you have to chase him through your apartment. You pull the thread holding the note onto his collar and unfurl the note to read it.

My lucky star

You shine so brightly

My lucky star 

You guide me through the night

My lucky star

You give me hope

My lucky star

You guide me home

My lucky star

You help me more than you know

My lucky star

Oh how you glow

My lucky star

Please never let me go

The words set fire to your face as your stomach erupted with a swarm of butterflies. You pulled out your journal, pressing the note between the next set of empty pages. You turn your radio on humming along to the song as you lay in your bed fighting sleep just to think about Lucky just a moment more.

When you wake in the morning you grab a paper and something to write with as you write down a couple lines to a song, one of your favorites, before you got ready for the day, humming the tune on your way to work and all through your day. Except, you forgot to leave the window open for your cat to get out to pass on the waiting note.

----

Bucky was fighting sleep waiting for the cat to prance his way through the window before making a home on his bed. Sleep clawed at his mind, his eye lids weighed heavy and sore with a need for rest. And just like that, Bucky fell asleep for the first time without the sound of a cat purring on his bed.

He woke up and walked to the shipyard, loading and unloading pallets until the sun hung low in the sky. He felt off kilter all day. Like he was just a hair off with his footing and could never get it quite right. He was a bit more clumsy than usual. All signs that he should cancel his match tonight and back out while he still could, but he trudged on, assuring himself that he could use the money so maybe he could take his lucky star out on a proper date. He made his way to the Y for his match pumping himself up, he just couldn't help this nagging feeling though that he was missing something.

----

When you got home from work your humming abruptly stopped when you saw your cat staring at you in the middle of the room, tail twitching every so often. Your shoulder slumped when you realized you never let your cat out with your note. You moved slowly to refill the food bowl before making yourself a small dinner. Your gut sinking by the minute that something was wrong. You went to bed that night hoping the feeling would pass by morning.

When you woke you realized you were running late. You dressed quickly before running out the door and to the hospital before checking your patient list, a relatively short one, but you had patients to attend to nonetheless. You made your way through your rounds before stopping at the last bed. A mess of bruises, a boxers fracture, sprained wrist, 2 broken ribs and the rest bruised, a black eye and a concussion. However, one look into the man's eye that wasn't swollen shut took your breath away. You decided then that blue was your all time favorite color. You checked his pulse, administered his medication which involved rousing him from his slumber, and making sure his bandages were fresh and in place. You turned to leave but stopped short at the site of a baby blue work shirt with frayed edges. You thumbed over the loose threads and noticed it was missing a few as if they had been pulled and cut for a purpose. The faintest whisper escaped you.

"Lucky?" A few beats passed before you heard the man you were just attending to clear his throat.

"Luna?" He asked confused. Your hand flew to your mouth as you gasped. You couldn't believe the man that made you blush on more than one occasion, that had worked his way into your dreams even though you had never seen his face, was now your patient.

"You okay there, doll?" He asked. When you barely nodded telling him yes he began to move as if to get out of bed sending you into a flurry of motion. 

"Lucky, you're hurt-"

"Bucky. I mean, my real name is James Buchanan Barnes, but most people call me Bucky." He grits out as pain shoots through his ribcage.

"Well, Bucky, you're hurt, you shouldn't move much quite yet." He nods as he waits for the wave of pain to pass.

"What happened to you?" You can't help but ask.

"I, uh, work at the shipyard during the afternoon, but at night I box. Damn good at it too. Guess luck just wasn't on my side last night, doll."

"Uh, Y/N. My name that is. My name is Y/N." A smile made its way onto Bucky's face.

"Why didn't you write back, doll? Didn't think my on the spot poem was that terrible." The giggle that managed to escape you at his humor about his poetry was like music to his ears, and he decided that he wanted to hear that sound forever.

"Sorry, that was my fault. I wrote you a note, I really did, but I forgot to open the window for my cat to deliver it. I loved your poem actually." A blush crawled upon Bucky's face at your words. 

"What was the note?" He asked curiously. 

"Oh, just some lines from a song, nothing special."

"It's always special coming from you, doll. What was the song?" This time it was your turn to blush.

"Dream a Little Dream of Me." You replied bashfully.

"What lines?"

"Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me."

"That's one of my favorites, doll."

The rest of your shift you spent at Bucky's bedside talking music, poetry, family, pets, friends, where your apartment was and everything else under the sun. You told Bucky you would come by tomorrow to spend the day with him since it was your day off. You couldn't wait to come back, although it was bittersweet realizing there would be no note to come home to. 

When you woke the next morning you heard a tapping at your door. You opened it to reveal Bucky standing there with a bouquet of flowers with a note.

I dreamt a little dream of you.

[usualsuspectsfinalproject]

The Usual Suspects (1995) Final Project

COM 323: Films of the 1990s

Introductory Video

The Usual Suspects (1995) Trailer

Production

The first inkling of The Usual Suspects film came to director Bryan Singer as he read an article in the magazine known simply as Spy. It was a passage regarding the famous 1942 film Casablanca in which the character of Louis Renault says that they need to, “round up the usual suspects.”

With a title now in mind, Singer and his screenplay writer Christopher McQuarrie could get to work. The screenplay for The Usual Suspects took McQuarrie around five months to create. He had used elements of one of his previous, not published works to forge the story. McQuarrie combined several real-world elements into the film’s screenplay including the true crime story of John List who killed his entire family then took on a new identity for some 20 years until he was caught. According to an article from The Guardian, “A lot of the inspiration for Keyser Söze, the villain, came from the character of Yuri in the 1980s thriller No Way Out – a spy within the Pentagon who may or may not exist.” The name “Keyser Söze” is based on one of McQuarrie’s previous coworker’s name, Kayser Sume. When trying to adjust Sume’s surname, McQuarrie used a friend’s Turkish dictionary to discover the word “söze,” which means “talks too much,” which, in hindsight, is hinted at through Roger Kint’s nickname “Verbal” and his self-admission of being talkative. The name origin also potentially explains why Söze is described as "supposedly” Turkish. Similarly, characters mention that Keyser Söze‘s father might be German. His first name Keyser seems to be a reference to the German word “Kaiser” which means “Emperor.”

Once the screenplay had been completed to Singer and McQuarrie’s liking, they began to show it to studios, hoping to find an interested party. However, that turned out to be much harder than anticipated. Despite the excellent writing by McQuarrie, the vacancy of the cast and non-linear storytelling elements scared off most studios. The film’s rough start is described in “Usual Suspects, Unusual Devices,” by Martin Barker and Thomas Austin. The journal article reads, “It almost didn’t get made. Its director Bryan Singer and writer McQuarrie tried 130 film financiers before finally cutting a deal with two European sources. Even then, the deal almost fell apart just days before filming was due to start, when one backer withdrew. Finally, a recut of the distribution and video rights brought in combined finance from Polygram and Spelling International.” So, they finally found some hope in Europe with the PolyGram film company, though the actors were going to have to be paid significantly less than their usual fees. The actors which they cast were okay with the lower pay, however, as they wanted the opportunity to not only work with Singer’s direction and McQuarrie’s script but also the other actors involved. In fact, in 1993, Kevin Spacey had met Bryan Singer and told him that he wanted to act in Singer’s next production.

The Main Cast - “The Lineup”

When the film began production, the budget was set at five and a half million dollars. Perhaps due to funding or other factors, there were only three shooting locations for the entire film. These were the cities of Los Angeles, New York City and San Pedro, CA. The film was shot in only 35 days, which is quite short compared to other films. Although it would seem the most prominent issue for the film would be the lack of financial backing, it turned out to be the actors themselves. Director Bryan Singer could not keep his main five actors in character, especially when they were all together like the famous “lineup” scene. Several scenes would take much longer than expected to film due to the actors being unable to stay in character because they would laugh with one another. In the final take of this scene, the characters are seen giggling, this is partially purposeful to show their camaraderie but much of it was the actor’s genuine laughter, particularly during Fenster’s delivery of the line.

The Usual Suspects (1995) “Lineup” Scene

Another less humorous issue that plagued the shoots was the size of filming locations. They had to film in many confined areas which made the job of cinematographer Newton Thomas Sigel all the more interesting. In order to combat this issue of space, he used creative zoom tactics and dolly movements to simulate motion which made the space feel larger. The film wrapped shooting two weeks prior to its estimated date. However, one day Singer had a feeling that the mystery of Keyser Söze was unfinished. He felt that the film needed to convince the audience that Dean Keaton was Söze to up the ante of the twist ending. From this revelation came one of the film’s most crucial and shocking scenes. The sequence is the one at the very end, where Kujan stares at the board whilst past dialogue looms in the background as he pieces together the mystery. I have attached the video clip below:

The Usual Suspects (1995) Ending Scene

Marketing

The advertising campaign for The Usual Suspects started off with an unusual issue. The studio executives were worried that audiences would not know how to pronounce “Keyser Söze.” So, they thought a good way to combat this was to create posters and television advertisements which read, “Who is Keyser Söze?”

Though, many people still mispronounced it despite their efforts. The film itself initially aired at the now famous Cannes Film Festival in 1995. Here, it was met with a good reception from both critics and fans. Before it could get its full theatrical debut, it was shown in select screenings in Los Angeles and New York City, two of its filming locations and general movie hotspots. After these showings, it was aired in many theaters around the country and grossed around $23 million, which shattered its small budget numbers.

Reception

Despite successful monetary gains from the film, the critical reception after its full release was less than ideal. Overall, most critics felt the film was either predictable, confusing or only created to give its cast Oscar nominations. Famous film critic for the Chicago-Sun Times, Roger Ebert, gave the film a terrible one and a half stars, writing, “The story builds up to a blinding revelation, which shifts the nature of all that has gone before, and the surprise filled me not with delight but with the feeling that the writer, Christopher McQuarrie, and the director, Bryan Singer, would have been better off unraveling their carefully knit sleeve of fiction and just telling us a story about their characters – those that are real, in any event. I prefer to be amazed by motivation, not manipulation.” Other critics gave it similar ratings like USA Today’s two and a half stars. Though there were some outliers at the time, like reviewers for The Independent and The New York Times who gave it positive reviews. One of these reviews was from Lisa Schwarzbaum of Entertainment Weekly, who wrote, “Dense with plot intricacies, thick with atmosphere, and packed with showy roles for a hip ensemble, The Usual Suspects is fun to watch — a celebration of cool actors having a good time playing sweaty and devious lowlifes.” However, her opinion seemed to be in the minority.

Fast forwarding to today’s view, the film seems to have had a shift in opinion. The three most popular film reviewing sites, IMDb, Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic gave it an 8.5, 89% and a 77, respectively. Notably, the audience score on Rotten Tomatoes is a whopping 96%. Clearly, there has been a change of thought towards the 1995 film over the years. Today, the film is included on many lists of “top” films. Some of these lists include top movies of the 1990s, top crime dramas and even best films of all time. Many even cite this film as a “classic” or a “must watch” which is a sign of remarkably high praise. Some of the more well-known lists it has made were curated by the American Film Institute and the Writers Guild of America. Not to mention, the film has won numerous awards, even back in the 1990s. Some of the most notable awards being McQuarrie’s wins for Best Original Screenplay at the Academy Awards, the BAFTAs and the Independent Spirit Awards. Along with Kevin Spacey’s win for Best Supporting Actor also at the Academy Awards among many others for the cast and crew alike. So, even if the critics did not seem too keen on the film back in ’95, there still were many who supported it enough for them to score such high accolades.

Since the film’s release in 1995, it has found its way into different areas of popular culture through references, homages and other nods to the film. In fact, there was even an official remake in Hindi called Chocolate in 2005. But looking beyond this remake, acknowledgements to the film can be seen all over from a monologue by Stephen Colbert to Family Guy cutaways to Key & Peele skits and perhaps most famously in Scary Movie (2000).

Many of these come in the form of citing famous lines from the film or re-hashing crucial scenes such as Kujan’s piecing together Verbal’s fabrications or Verbal’s shift from limping to walking normally. Along with loving references to the film, there has been a bit of controversy as well. Actor Gabriel Byrne, who played Dean Keaton, claimed that the film’s production was temporarily halted due to Kevin Spacey’s inappropriate behavior on set. Byrne stated for The Sunday Times, “I mean, he was kind of a joke in that people would say, ‘That’s Kevin,’ but nobody really understood the depth of his predations. It was only years later that we began to understand that [filming] was closed down for a particular reason and that was because of inappropriate sexual behavior by Spacey.” Director Bryan Singer has since spoken out about Byrne’s claims. He denied the allegations against Spacey. 

The Neo-Noir Genre

The neo-noir genre is defined by Mark Conrad in his work The Philosophy of Neo-noir as, “...any film coming after the classic noir period that contains the noir themes and sensibility.” The genre is a revitalization of the classic film noir, hence the prefix “neo” which means “new.” These films aim to capture a similar essence to the past noir crime films. They maintain similar characteristics in their writing style, cinematographic choices and essential themes. Some of these themes include crime, mystery, twists, paranoia, vengeance and deception. The way in which neo-noir differs from classic noir is seen through its use of updated technology and tackling of more modern societal problems. These films are also defined by the way in which they approach character. In classic noir, the motivations of the criminal or the detective were typically clear. But in neo-noir there is often a blurred sense of the world, where the character’s motivations are unknown or misunderstood and there is no clear division of good and evil as well as reality and fiction.

The way in which The Usual Suspect’s plot unfolds and its conflicts are battled perfectly fits the neo-noir outline. Writer J.P Devine describes the film in an article for Central Maine’s website as, “...a game of chess, a masterpiece full of fake clues, twists and turns that flows from light to shadow and back again. ‘The Usual Suspects,’ as most filmmakers know, rests somewhere near the top of the list of the greatest film noir thriller-capers of all time.” First and most obviously, the baseline of the entire film: crime, criminals and police. These three elements defined the classic noir genre at its core and have continued to define the neo-noir predecessor. Next, the film is based around one central mystery who is “Keyser Söze?” Neo-noir cinema most commonly revolves around questions or figures like these who the viewer and the characters will spend most of the film trying to pinpoint their identity. As the viewer watches Kujan stare at the board after Verbal has left the interrogation, both the character and the audience begin to piece together the fabrication of Verbal. As Verbal is seen shifting from limp to upright walk it all falls into place as the real Söze drives off uninhibited. This moment is exemplifying two examples of neo-noir cinematic patterns, the twist and deception. Verbal has fooled everybody, the viewer included. He has fabricated the perfect story to lead everyone off his trail and onto Keaton’s, who is confirmed dead, which means Söze would be too. As Stanley Orr explains in his, “Postmodernism, ‘Noir’, and ‘The Usual Suspects,” “Throughout the course of the film, Verbal installs himself on the periphery as mere documenter, ‘alone returned to tell the tale.’ Seemingly innocuous, Verbal diverts suspicion by focalizing upon Keyser Soze and Dean Keaton. In the last moments of the film, Verbal leaves Rabin's office under a new aspect: his ‘hand flexes with all the grace and coordination of a sculptor's’ (McQuarrie 120).” He has convinced everybody that he – the talkative, limp-footed “Verbal,” does exist while simultaneously convincing that the mysterious, all-seeing crime boss, Keyser Söze, does not, just like the devil.

Along with the plot and structure of the film fitting the neo-noir genre, so do the characters themselves. In the journal article, “Rounding up ‘The Usual Suspects’: The Comforts of Character and Neo-Noir” by  J.P. Telotte, the author notes, “The Usual Suspects offers an especially telling illustration in this regard, particularly of the impact of character in the neo-noir. It is a film that begins with a mystery and almost literally invites its viewers to play at guessing that mystery, at ferreting out the clues to its narrative and anticipating its twist ending. Moreover, that mystery depends totally on the film's conception and our own orchestrated and convention-driven misconception-of character, a set of reactions that pointedly flies in the face of our anticipation of narrative conservatism and undercuts one sort of pleasure or comfort we have come to expect from our films.” As explained previously, Keyser Söze is a brilliantly written character along with his Jekyll and Hyde-esque counter-part Roger “Verbal” Kint. Both of their motivations seem unclear for most of the film until the twist is revealed. Once they are established as the same character, many of the the motivations for Söze fall into place such as his paranoia that the man on the boat was going to expose him. Hence why he sent the criminals on a wild chase for some non-existent drugs on the ship. He wanted that man to be dealt with without the “lineup” knowing exactly why.

Also, the conflict between good and evil can be seen through both Söze and Keaton. Keaton’s struggle is more obvious and active throughout the film. He wants to escape the life of crime and live a morally and legally “good” life with his girlfriend, however, he finds it difficult to fully separate. Over and over he tries but he keeps being pulled right back. He cannot create true division between the good and the evil within himself. Similarly, after Verbal is revealed as Keyser Söze, this conflict comes over the audience. Initially, one feels themselves almost inclined to tip their cap to Verbal for his performance. Despite knowing the crimes he has committed, the viewer cannot fully write off Söze, he tows the line between likeable and truly evil in the minds of the viewer. The way in which the audience finds turmoil in supporting or disdaining his character is comparable to how readers feel about Satan in John Milton’s epic Paradise Lost. Something draws the audience into these characters despite or perhaps because of their wicked ways. In “Usual Suspects, Unusual Devices,” Martin Barker and Thomas Austin explain that, “The Usual Suspects rewards its viewers with the pleasures of unpacking its cleverness, and at the same time it rewards us by enabling us to demonstrate (to ourselves, to film-going friends) our cleverness in deciphering its deceits. It rewards with frissons of delighted shock the terror of a conspiratorial view of the Underworld: an attractive/dangerous stock of appalling characters. It rewards us if we are willing to play with the notion that authority is a mixture of inept and corrupt – but that corruption may be as nothing in the face of an awesome corruption so demonic that the petty authorities who think they run things are just self-deceivers.” His character is the encapsulation of the neo-noir genre’s blurring and bending of right and wrong, of good and evil, of reality and fiction. He lives his life miles ahead of those who wish to unravel his mystery. By the time anyone can wrap their head around his deceit, it is too late because, in devilish fashion, like that... he’s gone.

Works Cited

Derschowitz, Jessica. “What Critics Thought of 'The Usual Suspects' When It Came out 20 Years Ago.” EW.com, 16 Aug. 2015, ew.com/article/2015/08/16/usual-suspects-20th-anniversary-reviews/.

Telotte, J. P. “Rounding up ‘The Usual Suspects’: The Comforts of Character and Neo-Noir.”Film Quarterly, vol. 51, no. 4, 1998, pp. 12–20. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/1213240. Accessed 28 June 2020.

Ebert, Roger. “Ebert's Most Hated: Roger Ebert: Roger Ebert.” Roger Ebert | Roger Ebert, www.rogerebert.com/roger-ebert/eberts-most-hated.

Ebert, Roger. “The Usual Suspects Movie Review (1995): Roger Ebert.” Movie Review (1995) |  Roger Ebert, www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the-usual-suspects-1995.

Gelly, Christophe. “The Usual Suspects or the Potency of Falsity.” Mise Au Point. Cahiers De L'association Française Des Enseignants Et Chercheurs En Cinéma Et Audiovisuel, Association Française Des Enseignants Et Chercheurs En Cinéma Et Audiovisuel, 1 Apr. 2014, journals.openedition.org/map/1646?lang=en.

Hoad, Phil. How We Made The Usual Suspects. 4 Jan. 2016,             www.theguardian.com/culture/2016/jan/04/how-we-made-the-usual-suspects-bryan-singer-gabriel-byrne

Schwarzbaum, Lisa. “The Usual Suspects.” EW.com, 25 Aug. 1995,           ew.com/article/1995/08/25/usual-suspects/.

Sharf, Zack. “'The Usual Suspects' Reportedly Stopped Filming Due to Kevin Spacey's 'Sexually Inappropriate Behavior’.” IndieWire, IndieWire, 5 Dec. 2017,  www.indiewire.com/2017/12/usual-suspects-kevin-spacey-sexual-misconduct-bryan-singer-1201904039/.

Travers, Peter. “The Usual Suspects.” Rolling Stone, Rolling Stone, 25 June 2018, www.rollingstone.com/movies/movie-reviews/the-usual-suspects-93781/.

“The Usual Suspects (1995).” Rotten Tomatoes, www.rottentomatoes.com/m/usual_suspects.

[cluttermind]

Without A Parachute (3/?) - No Judgment

Summary:  Emma worked tremendously hard to give herself a better chance. From group homes, to living in her car, to ivy league student, this English Major’s only solace was escaping her reality through books. One night, Emma comes home to find a small package with only her name on it written in beautiful calligraphy. The package contains a thick, brown leather journal. Emma soon learns that the fiction she writes in the journal eventually becomes reality. Will Emma learn to control this gift, or will she fall too fast into the temptation to change too much? With the help of her good friends August, Robin, and Elsa, and the mysterious, intriguing bartender of The Jolly Roger, Emma discovers just how easy it is to lose control, and how difficult it is to pick up the pieces.

Rating: M 

Words: 10,482 total / 3,335 Ch 3

Read on ao3: Beginning | Current

Note: Thought it was time to finally post this here! Thanks for reading friends! I hope you like this one - I had a lot of fun (maybe too much fun) writing it. Here's a little fun fluff and sweetness and lots of pop culture references before things get ~interesting~ Next week will probably be a hiatus while I finish up some [online] finals but a LOT happens in ch 4 so I hope you stay with me. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

//

Chapter 3

“No Judgment”

I can be your lover or your shoulder to cry on

You can be whoever you like

When you're with me, no judgement

You can get that from everyone else

You don't have to prove nothing

- Nial Horan, No Judgement

Emma worked at the bookstore all day on Friday. Being there always made her feel a little better. She was surrounded by books and all the things Belle brought back from her excursions. Bell had recently gotten a new shipment from an independent publisher she had recently found. Rose and Petal Books, while stocking many popular titles, had an extensive collection of lesser-known novels from independent publishers along with a plethora of local authors.

One book in particular caught her eye and there was only one copy sent in the box. The book was bound in a soft, brown leather with its title engraved and filled with gold foil on the cover in beautiful cursive. Into The Page . There was no barcode to scan for inventory.

“That’s odd.” Emma commented to herself, turning the thick book over in her hands. She opened it up to skim the pages and noticed that it was a journal filled with handwritten content. Something about the book felt faintly familiar. While the title was beautiful, there wasn’t anything remarkable about it. She figured it might have been someone’s manuscript that was sent to the publisher that got mixed in by accident.

“Hey Belle,” she called to her boss who was at the register, reading.

“Find something interesting?” Belle asked as she walked over to where Emma was in the back room.

“I think they accidentally sent us someone’s manuscript?” Emma handed her the journal.

“Hm. That is interesting.” Belle gently flipped through the book. “I’ll call the publisher tomorrow. It’s getting late, why don’t you head home for the night.”

Emma looked at the clock. It was 8:00, only an hour till closing anyway. “Sure. I’ll see you next week?” Belle nodded and gave Emma a quick hug. Before leaving, she hung up her apron and turned her phone back on. Emma usually turns her phone off during work and uses the time as an escape from everything. There were a few texts coming into her group chat about the meeting Elsa and Robin were at. Essentially the meeting was going to run long, lots of signs needed to be made before Sunday’s protest about something or other. Emma wasn’t really up-to-date on this particular one. August offered to come help because he was bored.

There was a text from her roommate Sarah to her and Claire that came in half an hour ago.

Sarah to group: Hey, Josh is coming over to cook me dinner and you know ;) can y’all stay out till like midnight? Maybe 1 if things go really well ;) Don’t want any distractions tonight ladies

Claire to group: Yeah I’m staying with Danielle tonight - we’re hitting up the Alpha Delta Pi party tonight

Emma sighed. Her friends were busy and she wasn't in the mood to spend hours making posters and signs after working all day. But the library would be open for a while longer. She could use the computers and scroll through Reddit for a few hours.

Emma to group: Sure thing. Have fun :)

Then she remembered someone she could waste some time with. She walked towards The Jolly Roger and opened the door. It was starting to get crowded but it wasn’t too hectic yet. Emma made her way to the bar and noticed Ruby there along with a man she hadn’t met yet.

“Hey Ruby,” Emma said, smiling. She and Ruby had gotten to know each other since they had first met at the pub. Ruby was a junior majoring in art. She also hated Macroeconomics, the class they were in together, but it was filling a graduation requirement. They studied together a few times and always ended up begging Killian for free food. Emma always ended up paying though, sneaking the money under the plate before she left.

“Hey! Looks like you’re in better spirits today. You okay?” Ruby responded, referencing the previous night that Emma would very much like to forget.

“Nothing that sleep couldn’t fix,” she lied. While the initial shock of yesterday was gone, the pain, the anger, the self-doubt still lingered.

“If you’re looking for the Captain he’s upstairs.”

“What?” Blush rose to Emma’s face.

“Killian. He’s upstairs. Took the night off. Just take the stairs behind the bar, walk two floors up and you’ll be at his door. I’m sure he won’t mind!” Ruby explained.

“Oh. Thanks.” Emma headed up the stairs, and hesitated at the door. Through it she could hear the sound of a guitar strumming. Maybe he didn’t want company. Maybe he’d rather be alone. Maybe he didn’t want to see her . She could just go back and sit at the bar and talk to Ruby for a while. They weren’t super close but she could find things for them to talk about. It was also getting busy downstairs though. Pull it together Emma. She knocked on the door.

The sound of the guitar stopped and seconds later Killian opened the door. He was surprised and happy to see her. “Hello, Swan. What brings you here? A little early for a booty call no?” Killian grinned, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Oh it’s never too early,” Emma played along staring right at Killian who was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed at his chest. “My roommate sexiled me and I needed somewhere to crash for a while.”

Killian stepped aside to let her in. He was wearing just a plain black v-neck t-shirt and grey joggers. It was odd seeing him out of his work attire - a black button down with two buttons undone at the top and dark, a black vest, and slim-fitted jeans. He watched her as she walked in and closed the door, distracted by her being.

“Sexiled?” Killian teased. “Well if you insist, love. Can’t leave a beautiful woman unsatisfied now, could we?” Emma slapped his arm.

“You know what it means. Sarah kicked me out so she could fuck her boyfriend without interruption. Honestly the warning was appreciated because even my ear buds can’t tune her out.” Emma explained. She took her jacket off and draped it over a stool at Killian’s kitchen Island. His apartment was beautiful. It was an open concept with a gorgeous kitchen, a beautiful island, a ridiculously comfortable sectional, with an oversized chase at one end and a large TV mounted to the wall. Speakers were all over. The doors to his bedroom with glass french doors, making the one-bedroom apartment look bigger than it is. “Sorry for not texting before, I thought you’d be working and was coming to sit at the bar for a while. Ruby told me you were up here.”

“No worries, love. I quite enjoy the company,” Killian said, moving to flop down on the chaise part of the couch. “And it’s clear that you find me so irresistible that you just had to see me tonight instead of one of your other friends.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Oh I can resist you just fine. Everyone else was busy.”

“Ouch!” Killian feigned pain, his hand going to his heart. “So I was your second choice.”

“4th actually.” Emma teased.

“Keep telling yourself that.” He winked and patted the spot next to him. “How about a movie? Anything in particular you’re interested in watching?”

Emma kicked her boots off and flopped down next to him. They were so close their arms and legs were touching. He nudged her foot playfully and he turned on the TV and opened Netflix. She shrugged against him. “Whatever you’re watching is fine. I don’t want to disrupt your evening.”

“You’re not disrupting anything, love.” Killian responded, handing her the remote. “Snacks?” He got up, taking the warmth of his body with him and Emma suddenly missed the closeness.

“When have I ever turned down food?” Killian laughed. She adored the sound of his laugh. It always made her smile. Emma scrolled through Killian’s watch list on Netflix. Ozark, The Witcher, The West Wing, Grey’s Anatomy . The last one made Emma giggle under her breath. So Mr. Bartender is a Grey’s fan. She made a mental note to tease him about that later. Not like she was the one to speak though. Ever since August let her use his Netflix account she’s been on that binge as well. Killian tossed a bag of popcorn in the microwave. “How was your day?” Emma asked, genuinely caring about the answer.

Killian groaned. “Infuriating. It was a lot of inventory and ordering and arguing to get things here on time. I prefer working the bar to that any day. How was yours?”

“Eh, it was fine. I spent all day working down at The Rose and Petal.”

“The bookstore?”

“Yup.”

“Aye, my grandad loved it there. Belle still owns it?”

“She does. Your grandfather lives here? What’s his name? Maybe I’ve seen him.”

Killian leaned back against the island, gripping it a little tighter as his eyes moved from Emma to the floor.  “Nah, love. He used to live here. He passed away 2 years ago, just after I opened the pub.”

Emma’s face softened. “Killian, I’m so sorry.”

He looked up at Emma. “He was a professor at Cornell. In the English department actually.” He tilted his head and smiled a bit. “You remind me a bit of him.”

Emma smiled back. “How so?”

“He loved academia and his research and teaching. He always had a book in his hand. Sometimes he’d lose all track of the world around him when he was working or reading. He was a fountain of useless knowledge. He knew little about music but always asked me what I was listening to, only took his coffee black except for at the pub, and asked me how my day was every time I saw him and always cared about what the answer was.” Killian reminisced. He had spent nearly every summer growing up in Ithaca with his grandma and granddad. Killian still couldn’t believe that he’s gone. “He always made me smile and loved telling me about what he was reading. He was my best friend.”

“He sounds wonderful.” Emma noted, blush creeping to her cheeks feeling both sad for Killian’s loss and flattered at the sentiment that she reminded me of someone he clearly loved so deeply. When Emma wasn’t physically at The Jolly Roger or with her friends or at work, she was usually texting Killian. They talked about nonsense most of the time but there was something comforting seeing his name pop up on her phone after long days. In retrospect, she wasn’t surprised that it was him she made her way to last night when life had shaken her to her core. Emma knew he’d be the one to help her hold the broken pieces together. If she was being honest with herself, it still felt as if those pieces were scattered on the floor. And from the look in his eyes, she could tell he had some pieces there as well.

“Aye. Wonderful.” Killian said. Although it was unclear who exactly he was talking about as he looked at her. Just then the microwave went off, breaking his trance. He opened the hot bag and poured the popcorn into a bowl. “So what’re we watching?” He asked, reaching to grab and open a bottle of wine.

“Well I saw this really fascinating documentary on sharks the other day that I wanted to show you.” Emma explained.

“Sharks, huh? What about them?” KIllian asked, intrigued.

Emma brightened, and animatedly explained the general plot. “So there’s this group of sharks that are living in the water around New York City. And there’s this big storm that’s coming, but no one is listening to the people telling them about the storm so of course no one prepares for the storm. So two tornadoes form over the water picking up all the sharks -”

“Emma.” Killian interrupts her, turning to look at her. “That’s the plot of Sharknado.”

“Sharknado 2: The Second One actually.” She corrects him.

“We are not watching Sharknado 2.” Killian says, chuckling. He hands her a glass of white wine which she accepts as he takes his place on the couch next to her.

“Sharknado 1?”

“Swan.”

“You mean to tell me you have no desire to watch Ian Ziering fight some flying CGI sharks?” She joked. She was clearly teasing him, enjoying the way he laughed at her ridiculous suggestions. Truth be told she’s seen all the movies multiple times. Who doesn’t love a flying CGI shark and an awful romance plot? Emma and her friends had multiple drunk movie nights last semester to watch them all. They provided a good laugh.

Killian laughed. “Aye, how about a real movie?”

“A REAL movie?” Emma feigned offense. “Clearly you have no respect for low-budget disaster films.” She grabbed a handful of popcorn, popping some into her mouth.

Killian nudged her playfully. “I think the low budget disaster movies have no respect for the viewers.”

“That’s the point! But fine.” Emma paused, thinking of a movie. “How about Sharknado 3: Oh Hell No?”

“Again with the flying sharks! You know that you have not listed a single shark documentary yet, love.” Killian jokes, taking a sip of wine.

“What about The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society?” Emma said, taking some popcorn. “It’s one of my favorites. Also Sharknado 4: The 4th Awakens, Sharknado 5: Global Swarming, and The Last Sharknado: It’s About Time are just not as good as the first three so I’m out of flying shark suggestions.” Killian stared at her, jaw nearly hitting the floor at the absurdity of the existence of 6 Sharknado movies and the fact that Emma has clearly seen them all. But her actual suggestion was sincere. It was an intriguing story of love and war and literature that Emma had seen at least 10 times. It reminded her of the power that books had.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Killian said eventually, choosing to let the Sharknado movies go. He searched for the film on Netflix and hit play when he found it.

About 20 minutes and a glass of wine later, Emma had snuggled closer to Killian. Partially for warmth, partially because her body reacted instinctively to his being so close. Killian, feeling that Emma was cold against him, reached behind them to grab a blanket, tossing it over them and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned in closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder.

Her favorite film about writers and readers and the power of literature and love pulled all of the pain of the events of yesterday back to the surface. The weight of her professor’s words were sitting on her chest like a boulder and she couldn’t bear that weight alone anymore Eventually, Emma spoke softly. “I didn’t tell you the whole story last night.” The words spilled effortlessly out of her mouth. There was something about Killian that made her feel safe.  

Killians eyes stayed on the movie as he rubbed his thumb reassuringly over her shoulder. “Aye, I figured.” He wasn’t about to push her to tell him. He wanted to let her know that he saw her and that she could some to him on her own terms.

“Professor Gold told me I shouldn’t be a writer. That I don’t have what it takes and that I should consider another career.” This caught Killian’s attention. He shifted so he was looking right at her.

“What?!” Killian’s accent was thick with concern.

“He was apparently doing me a favor.” Her eyes were wet. Control was slipping from her grasp. She desperately needed to let go. Emma had tried so desperately to tell herself that none of her professor’s words mattered, to pretend like they didn’t affect her. Truth be told, she barely slept last night, constantly being woken up by recurring thoughts that he was right, that she wasn’t good enough, that she was a fraud.

“What kind of person thinks that’s a bloody favor?” Killian interrupted the tightening spiral of her thoughts.

Emma paused, letting the spiral start to slowly unwind. “What if he’s right?” She whispered. The question she’d been asking herself she had finally said out loud. A single tear escaped from her eye that Killian was quick to wipe away.

“He’s wrong. And you’re too stubborn to let him be right.”

“I just - I don’t know if I can do this.” Emma fell apart. She had held everything together until this moment. She didn’t know if she had what it took to survive Cornell. She didn’t have the support system most people had and she certainly didn’t have the resources others did growing up. Her average grades weren’t helping her imposter syndrome. What if she was here by mistake? What if she would never be good enough? What if she didn’t deserve to be here? Tears escaped her eyes faster than Killian could wipe them away.

Killian pulled her close, rubbing her back. “Shhh, love. Shhh. Yes you can.” He kissed the top of her head. Why? He had absolutely no idea. He hoped it would comfort her. “You made it this far. You got here. You got to this point. Fuck what Gold says. Fuck what anyone says.” Emma let herself relax into his arms locked tightly around her as she choked on sobs, tears falling to his shirt.

Then Killian remembered what his brother used to say to him when he was struggling. “You get to make your own choices. Make them based on what makes you happy.” He gently brushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Does writing make you happy?”

Emma looked up at him. “It’s the only thing that makes me happy.”

“Oi, now I’m slightly offended!” He joked, smiling at her.

Emma tried to fight the smile pulling at her lips. “Your ego is ridiculous.”

“But I got you to smile, no?”

“You always do.” Emma wasn’t joking anymore. The way he looked at her made her heart skip beats and the way he cared for her scared the hell out of her. Something about Killian drew her to him and she didn’t doubt he felt the same. He ensured she was fed during late night studying and provided distractions when she needed a break. It was Killian she found herself going to when she needed to scream to someone.

They returned their attention to the film. While Killian had no idea what was going on, Emma was mesmerized, whispering some of her favorite lines under her breath along with the movie. Killian spent more time watching her than the move, enamored by the way she memorized her favorite parts, the way her brow furrowed when characters she didn’t like appeared, the way she gently hit his chest to shush him every time he attempted to ask what was happening or who a particular character was.

Eventually the movie ended. Emma reluctantly sat up, sighing as she removed herself from Killian’s arms and the warmth of his body.

“Thank you for letting me interrupt your evening. It was nice to be in a bubble for a bit and feel something other then . . . I don’t even know.” Emma said quietly. Killian turned to look at her.

“Then stay in the bubble for a while longer, love.” He held his arm out to her and she settled against him. Emma rested her head on Killian’s chest, draping her arm around his waist. His fingers traced lazy circles on her back. He wanted to be her escape, her bubble where things were good and where she could cry if she needed to. And she had the urge to be his.

For a while they laid like that - content in each other’s arms, clueless to the world around them, shutting out all the pain they both felt. In time they fell asleep for the most restful night either of them had in a long time.

[tommyquackson]

unrighteousness | t. holland | epilogue

Not My Gif

summary: the epilogue to the unrighteousness series :(

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut but no actual stuff

note: wow....it’s done :((( but it was fun to write and thank you everyone who liked or rebooted or commented on this series it means a lot. make sure you request to see more imagines :)

The castle was noisy today, it had been fairly quiet the month after the battle but today the entirety of hell was in good spirits. Fancy decorations had been out up the night before and even the sky seemed a little brighter. Today was your wedding day, you were going to marry the devil. It was almost absurd, the thought of marrying Lucifer, but here you were, in a black dress getting married in unholy matrimony. You of course had Katie and Frankie helping you get ready, except they had a few tears in their eyes, as did you. You were nervous but more excited, hands shaking in anticipation. You hadn’t even seen Tom today and it was almost 7pm. You’d all decided to have a night ceremony so that you could be married under the stars (and so that the more light sensitive demons could attend).

“Im not moving too fast am I?” You ask your now best friends and bridesmaid.

“Please, love knows of no time. My mother used to say if it’s true love you could be married the day you met and be happy for eternity. You and Tom have true love y/n.” Frankie speaks, looking you in your eyes through the mirror while skillfully tightening your dress.

“Focus on the positive y/n, i’m sure they’re are many bad things in your mind, but everything will be perfect. As soon as you see Tom, all your fears will run into The Pit” Katie whispers into your ear, while braiding your hair into a bun. You’re grateful to have her as your maid of honor.

There’s a knock on the door, that interrupts everyone conversation.

“Angel? It’s me, I know i’m not supposed to see you but I missed you and the boys were driving me crazy.” Tom speaks through the closed door.

“It’s okay love, we’ll be together shortly. Don’t go crazy. I love you, now go back with the boys before I tell Haz you’ve escaped” I laugh, playfully shouting at him.

“I love you too, also there’s a special guest for you.” He says before the door cracks open and someone slips through, you turn around and see Zendaya with Noon on her shoulder.

“Z!” You’d missed her and asked Tom if she was able to come, he had told you probably not because she was still living. You’d searched forever for a way to get her here, but it looks like Tom figured it out.

“I would never miss your wedding, as soon as I found out you and tom were engaged, I began making a gift -“

“WE began making a gift” Noon squeaks cutting her off.

“Oh sorry, my lord. We began making a gift” She rolls her eyes and shoos the large bird off her shoulder. Tessa barks at him.

“Tess! He’s a friend! Be nice.” You look at the dog with pointed eyes.

“Sorry, hello bird” She now speaks at the bird. The dog and bird begin having a conversation that only you can hear.

“Oh, here’s your gift” Z flicks her wrist and a rectanglular box appears in her hands. You grab it and thank her, opening it. It’s a book, It’s empty like a journal and has symbols and jewels on the cover.

“It’s a magic spell book. There’s hidden spells and potions that you can ‘unlock’ by learning some easy magic. You seemed really interested in it when you were staying with me.” She says explains it to you.

“Thank you Z, I love it.” You have Frankie place it in your chest of things that you have to move to Toms room.

You all fall into easy conversation while you finish getting ready. Zendaya agreed to be a bridesmaid for you and got into her dress that’s you’d had made just for her incase. Frankie and Katie got into theirs and help each other so their hair while you did Zendayas. Once you were all finally ready, Katie went out to tell the boys to go get in position. Tom would wait at the aisle, then Katie and Harry would walk down, followed by Frankie and Sam, then Jacob and Zendaya then Tessa would be the flower dog. Finally Tony would walk you down, and give you to Tom. Paddy and Noon were the ring bearers and Haz was going to officiate for you. It was your dream wedding and the closer you got, the closer you got, the more excited you were.

You finally stood right in front of the doors, that led to the castle steps, where the ceremony was. All of the boys were lined up and ready to go. The sun was setting when Katie and Harry started walking down. You watched as your best friends and now family walked down in front of you.

“Ready kid?” Tony asks from beside you.

“Absolutely. I love him Tony, i love him so much” You sigh, your body was tightening and you just wanted to run and kiss Tom already.

Finally, the music starts playing and you and Tony exit the doors. At the top of the steps is Tom, looking right at you. You smile widely and see him smile back. He begins tearing up, causing you to bite your lip to stop from ruining your makeup with angel tears. When you get to Tom, Tony kisses your head and hugs Tom.

“I’m happy for you both, whole family is.” He speaks before walking down to stand with the other groomsmen.

“You look absolutely gorgeous angel. Your mixed match wings are really doin something to me. God, am I lucky” He bites his lip and his eyes flash blue.

“Thought there was no God down here?” You giggle

“There’s not, but he still gave me you” He grabs your hands and turns you both towards Haz.

The ceremony is shorter than expected and full of tears. You both say your vows and wipe each other tears.

“Well, under the united power of heaven and hell. I pronounce you, King and Queen, Wife and Husband” Haz finishes up. Before you can think, Tom pulls you into a kiss so tight you feel love pour into your soul.

Everyone cheers and hollers for you both, as Tom puts a real crown on your head. everyone bows and curtsies while clapping for you. After that, everyone files into the ballroom where you and Tom have your first dance. You both walk around the ballroom, thanking everyone and talking to people. They congratulate and wish you well. After hours and hours of dancing and singing and Haz doing some weird thing called karaoke, you and Tom get ready to head to your honeymoon.

You go up to your rooms and gather all your bags and suitcases.

“I could just eat you up angel” Tom growls as you place all your last minute stuff into a bag.

“Tommy! Be patient and wait until we get to Earth” You laugh at his eagerness.

“Or” He walks up behind you and places his head on your shoulder while holding your hip. “I can fuck you into this mattress and fill you up so you get pregnant” He whispers in your ear. You spin around in his arms and rest your hands on his chest.

“Or, you can be patient and do that and more when we get to Earth.” You tease, turning back around to finish packing.

“You’re gonna kill me before I even get there angel” He groans flopping down on the bed.

“Don’t be a drama queen. Now where are we going first?” You ask finally flying towards the gates and to a portal.

“Our first stop of our month long honey moon where we live like humans? Italy baby” He winks, throwing himself through the portal with you following him.

[andromedan-writing]

This is a long personal writing for you know who you are. I remember....

So I woke up today and immediately started crying. So this is gonna be a mess but I need to get it out. I’m sorry that it’s so long. Our six month anniversary just passed. We met for the first time six months ago. That day changed my life. These are the memories that make me refuse to give up on you just yet. I don’t wanna believe what your friend told me. He told me you were using me for sex. I don’t buy that. Partially because we were planning a lot more in the future. Also, you always said you missed the cuddling more. Now I’m missing it too. Also, I just want you to know. That whole weekend I wanted to tell you I was falling into another pit of depression. I was seconds away from telling you on your birthday but then your roommate walked in. And I didn’t really feel comfortable telling you how I’m unwell in front of him. So no. You didn’t know what was going on. And the reason I was angry at you that day wasn’t really all what I said it was. I was upset because I was depressed, and when you’re with your “friends” I sometimes feel like you ignore me. I mean, I even walked back to my seat and you didn’t even acknowledge it. They’re not good influences. I know I shouldn’t have gone that day, but I just really wanted to be with you because I love you. And I know I shouldn’t have picked that fight and for that I’m eternally paying the price. Because you are the best thing to have ever happened in my life. So I decided when I woke up today to try and remember the good things that I would have made a whole thing for our anniversary anyway. A brunch date, possibly a part picnic or something, and I was gonna dress up really nice for you that night. It would’ve been a good day. So I want to keep that good spirit up. I'm sorry this is really long. I know you blocked my number and probably didn’t read this. But If you ever do, just know that I still love you. And I don’t ever want you to forget that there are genuine people out there who truly love you for you, and want to see you thrive and be your best. I love you for who you are and nothing more or less. I love that you still like my little pony, and your drive for revolution and how Sherlock Holmes and mysteries make you glow. I love to see you truly smile when you can let go and be yourself. I know that you’re actually vulnerable sometimes and I love you for that too. You gained weight over winter break, so you say. I still love you. You’re weird. So weird. I love it. Sometimes you can get all dark but I still love you. Your kinks? Love them. Probably have them too. Am I secretly a furry like you claim? Maybe. Screw you for that. You like to party and have a very impulsive side to you. I love that. Sometimes I need a little push to do something outside my comfort zone. And sometimes you need to calm down. We work there. You’re also really funny and I love your taste in things. Also you’re really handsome so like. yeah. And if you ever want to come back I’ll be here. There’s nobody like you, and I love you for who you are. These are all the good memories that I want to remember: I remember how when we were apart for a bit, and finally got to see each other again, you’d pick me up, spin me around, and carry me across a whole room just to hug and kiss me again. I remember talks about our future. Constantly. Especially this winter. The house, the names for kids, the idea for a wedding. You said you wanted to build a house and I love that idea. Do you remember the idea you had about a wedding? It was spectacular and fun. A black dress then change into a cheap white one. Just a giant party. I fell in love with the idea. I remember you saying how I would do all these things. Not your future wife. Me. I. I remember slow dancing for no real reason, just to dance and feel one another. Both in your room and mine. I remember the day when it was after the improv show where we skipped it to make love, and when we were done and dressed , we opened the door and our friends were there. I was just in a bra and shorts with a cardigan, and you and your friend blasted showtunes and used me as a prop dancer with you, twirling me around and singing to me . I remember the day we went into town, and looked through the old bookstores, because you wanted more Sherlock Holmes to read. Around town, it just felt perfect and natural, us walking together. I remember how you’d call me “my love” all of the time and it made me melt. I remember the first night I saw you get high, I refused to go out with you, just waited around in your room playing music. You came back and we had the craziest conversations and you were so confident and passionate about what you loved. The second time you got high around me, it didn’t fully hit you, and we decided to try and make it count anyway. That was the night after where we all played poker and uno and I was higher than you. I remember all the firsts. The first text. You wanted me to take a walk with you that first night after we met. I was so nervous and I texted my friends saying “I think something is happening here. This guy is acting like he likes me” Because I didn’t get the text until I was in bed. But that morning I decided fuck it. Let’s take this chance because something amazing could happen. I was right. I remember reaching for your hand, trying to be clever, when you were playing chess. I remember you saying that you were gonna go on a smoke break and I should come with. I remember our conversation where you said that you felt something really important here and we should give it a shot. I immediately agreed because I felt it too. I remember our first kiss. Our first night. You said “I finally found you.” I felt the same way. I finally found you. The one I was looking for my entire life. I remember the first time I said “I love you.” I thought it wouldn’t count if I said it in French. I know it was early. But I knew right then and there that I loved you with all of my heart. All of my soul. I remember how when we touch our foreheads together, it’s like our souls become one and make love in our minds. You don’t even have to touch me. You liked to take control there. I let you. Every time, it was magical. I remember when we went to the bar and danced and you gave me that look which said “wait until we get back to your room.” I remember how you protected us girls when that creepy dude tried to swoop in. I remember us making brownies in my kitchen, and you like the extra fudgey, while we were watching Agatha Christie. I remember our texts when I was away. I missed you so much. You made me blush in the middle of an airport restaurant. I remember you boys sitting in your common room and playing magic, and I was helping you. I had never played before, yet you trusted my advice. I remember the fist time I kissed you in front of everybody. We were splitting up to go to the store into different cars. We were just leaving and in a split second decision I decided to turn around and run to you to kiss you. Everybody kind of expected us to be together but not that fast. We thought we were being so sneaky. But everybody saw the way we looked at each other, the way we always at right next to or on top of each other. I remember the advice you’d give me, trying to help me live in the moment and be more confident. You’re the first person to ever get me to stop thinking about my old love from five years ago. With you, I realized that everything about you was more than I could have ever dreamed. I forgot about him, for the first time since 2013. I was living in the moment and I was so happy to be there with you. I remember how in the last month you started saying “we” instead of just talking about yourself. It shocked me. I never expected somebody to think of me with them as a “we.” You made me fall deeper in love. You don’t know this, but I was looking at promise rings. I found some online on your birthday. I remember how our ideas would always bounce right off each other. For when we went hiking, our conversations about the world, and map planning even. It was as if we fit so well in the universe just had to make it known. I remember our tickle fights. I hate that I’m so easy to tickle. But I also love how that’s what I would have to do to wake you up sometimes. Your feet are so ticklish. I remember how recently just me undressing was enough to drive you to the edge. I dressed up for you on your birthday. We had so many more nights planned. I remember us talking about our spring break plans. Us and your friends for four days in the Vermont house. I still can find it in five seconds on a map. I was very committed to being a navigator there. You were adamant about making it work and still having me be there. We were gonna share a room, a bed, the master, and it was going to be perfect. I remember looking up house costs in that area of Vermont. We could theoretically do it. I remember us playing xbox in your room. You helped me remember how to play call of duty. I was always a sniper up at the top. We worked well as a team. I remember when I was away you’d text me about how you were always daydreaming of me. All day. “Some of them are super cute. Some of them are downright nasty.” I didn’t object. I remember how my neighbor said she knew we were having sex because she heard me giggling. We never really took ourselves too seriously with that, did we? No matter what it was always fun. I remember driving all the way out to see that other Oldsmobile. We made it a day trip. We even ate food from McDonald’s right outside the beer store. Although you didn’t want the car in the end, it was still a great journey. I always loved our car rides. I remember our first big car ride. When we all went into town to eat, and then we went to the market. We finished up early and the day was still young, so we decided to just take my car out and blast music and drive with no destination in mind. I still had a journal entry I wrote about that weekend. It was like something out of a movie. I remember when my mom came up for parent weekend and she took us out to eat. She really liked you. I remember her telling you that I complain a lot. You already experienced that by then. I remember how we’d always support one another no matter what. When we had fights, it was mostly because we were worried about each other. Or it was simple miscommunication. But when we were down, we’d always try to pick each other back up. You said to me “my friends don’t understand how perfect you are for me.” I understood, as your friend claimed you were a bad person and were using me. He didn’t understand. We talked about you not letting your friends judge me anymore, and you said you were gonna talk to them. You said to me “promise to never let me do anything to make me lose you.” You threw your vape into the gunk for me based on that promise. You said to me “I love you more.” I finally believed you. You said “I try not to bet on losing odds.” You said to me “I’d do anything for you.” I told you if you kept making me blush I’ll have to spend the rest of my life with you and you said “too late.” You said, even in our biggest argument, that “I want to be with you forever.” You said to me when I told you that you can never know what someone else is thinking, “I could love you more than you could ever know.” I finally believed you. You said to me that you “promise a hundred times over” to not randomly dump me. I believed you. Because I could never imagine a future without you in it. And to be honest, that’s why I’m still holding out hope. I had to make a choice recently. A lot of them. And then I remembered all of our good times and how you make me feel. Even still. In my opinion, I feel like this isn’t over yet. You may have ended this chapter, but I don’t feel like the book is done yet. We could still have many more good memories to come. Just please remember the good times and know that people do care about you.

[jodellejournals]

christmas season in your 20’s

it’s been weeks of writing one journal entry to another and never ever posting them. i’m going to be honest, i may have become quite a boring and angry adult… or at least, that’s what i think of myself now. you know what they say that creating a mistake in the ‘real world’ could not just be fixed by a simple ‘sorry’? i’ve always known that it’s true but what i have learned in the present is, you can’t also revive a past relationship with a person if a huge mistake has already been made. it’s just like putting band aid on a broken glass. what i am trying to say is, being and becoming an adult can really taint a person’s heart and maybe that’s why some hearts have turned so cold, they could no longer feel anything. it’s not kindergarten where the teacher makes a peace agreement for both parties and then you’re friends again with your classmate as if nothing happened. simple and easy just like that. but not in the adult world… there will be legal documents presented, a bunch of emails exchanged, endless phone calls for transactions, and more snotty, snobbish, mean people. now i know why adults are always mad — because their days are full of very serious responsibilities and one single mistake can lead to a domino effect. that’s why they put on a straight face, pull every bit of themselves together, and build a facade for the entire working day. sad, i know. so have i become that cold, boring, always-angry, and harsh adult? maybe, in a way, to those who deserve the cold harsh truth. i hate to say this, but you really have to treat people the way they treat you because an understanding heart also gets tired and so you should not always be the ‘bigger’ person but the ‘responsible’ one who stands up and fights for what is right. there i said it… finally. therefore, i just graduated from always being the ‘understanding’ one and my younger self is probably applauding me now. she should be. i have learned to protect her in every pitfall, after all.

so what now, for christmas? well, i try to detach myself as much as i can from all the stress and focus on the holiday spirit. so for that matter, i only remember christmas seasons in my hometown and celebrating them under cold morning skies (the right kind of cold this time), breezy misty air, being engulfed by the scent of hot chocolate from my christmas mug, countless presents of different shapes and sizes perched under a gigantic tree, wrapped carefully in reds and greens, and little santas, in contrasting heights, dancing (and sometimes singing) from across the living room. days before the actual christmas, me and my cousins would attend misa de gallo or more commonly known as the simbang gabi at saint clement’s church, a fifteen-minute walk from our home. that time, i still remember not being able to take communion so i just attended the mass as attentively as i can with high spirits despite being sleepy. 5am has always been a magical time for me since most people are asleep and the city is awake in all its glory. it’s even more magical if it’s the christmas season — the glow in people’s eyes are one shade brighter just like the spotlight focused on the manger. the baby jesus has always been a sight to behold and i just can feel the kindness and compassion radiating from everyone during those times. then after almost an hour, mister sun would already start peeking and that’s when i would rush to the gates of saint clement’s church, running past geese, stray cats and dogs, and flock of birds, just so i can buy the best bingka ever in the world. i really mean it. people would gather around the lady preparing the delicious local treat and when i’d finally get mine in a small brown paper bag, i’d eat two to three warm and moist bingkas out of around eight of them on our way back home. at least that’s what me and my cousins thought... because one particular sunrise, after our walk from the church, we found out that both the main door and gates were locked and we forgot the key. oops. so my sister, around all of nine years old that time, climbed the gate with the help of my elder cousin but we still waited for around half an hour until one of the househelps heard us and opened the door. phew! what an unforgettable simbang gabi experience that, until now, it’s still fresh in my memory. these are just glimpses of the kind of christmas that i have grown up with. there were still lots of stories especially in the past two decades.

at the very start of the millennium until the late 2010’s, christmas seasons were really the best of times. me and my family — and i mean entire family that consists of aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces, grandchildren and godchildren, cousins from first to the nth degrees, househelps from the laundry woman to the cook, waiters and waitresses from our humble eatery, and even neighbors would spend christmas eve all together in our ancestral house wearing christmas colors and everyone was just merry and full of light. i can only remember happy smiles and endless laughters, nonstop exchange gifts, unplanned dance numbers, throwing jokes from time to time, more sips of red wine while munching on salted peanuts for women, and chugging stacks of beer for the men. the kids, as i am one of them back then, were snuggled up in our cozy corner of the living room with giant pillows, stuffing ourselves with probably holiday cakes or a bag of doritos, checking christmas messages on our phones, giggling and sharing stories, all dressed up in our best clothes for the most beautiful time of the year. and my, it was really the most beautiful time when the clock strikes midnight! everybody hugs and kisses, chants ‘’merry christmas”, and some family members would even go outside to greet neighbors and passers-by. we would play holiday songs, dance some more, make a toast, until our feet would get tired... but the celebration would not just end then and there. me and my cousins would still stay up ‘til the wee hours of the morning, just enjoying the merry christmas, chattering over anything and everything, until sleep would take over upon us. in the morning sun, around 9am, everybody would be out and about for christmas mass. sleepy would we be but, of course, we could not miss attending the special mass with the family! then we would have lunch afterwards at our home, with lechon, ham, rice, and fruit salad, as the main dishes. we’d go on through the rest of the day slowly but blissfully, listening once again to the christmas classics and even the not-so-classic ones, just taking all the joy in. over the years, my favorite christmas tune is ‘star ng pasko’ by abs cbn artists and it has remained a constant for eleven years. on sunsets, i always make sure to look at the sky, digesting what a christmas and year it has been. at night, i make sure to savor each passing moment, looking at the well-lit streets of my city, calm and peaceful from our car window, wanting time to slown down a little bit more just so it could still be christmas.

i have realized now that maybe christmas is more special when you are a child — all things beautiful, all things merry, all-forgiving, all-giving, all-accepting. untainted from the adult world. even when i look back now, i have come to see the difference in the way my eyes would lit up in the christmas photos over the years. instead of cringing, i have quite become saddened because i remember that little girl i used to be — all smiles and trusting, believer of all good things in people’s hearts, understanding, giving (sometimes too much and too soon), and accepting. most of all, untainted. now, i could not just be like that freely because the world can be cruel for the soft ones. remember when we see old photos of ourselves when we were in our tweens, wide-eyed, plastered with cheeky smiles, crowned in the fad hairstyle during that time? that’s the happy child in us who saw the world in rose-tainted glasses. we have just learned how to hide that child over the passing of years because we got accustomed to the rules of the real world.

so what is christmas season now two decades after what i have been accustomed to? as cliché as this may sound, christmas is in my heart. there may be no flight back to my hometown, big parties and exchange gifts, snuggles with cousins ‘til the wee hours, christmas mass in the morning, feasting on homemade and handmade christmas lunch, opening presents all together, listening to the holiday tunes in the living room, and watching of the city lights on christmas night itself, but the spirit and essence of the yuletide season will forever stay alive. i have realized now that christmas is in the quiet moments — that blissful silence on the way back home after a christmas party which radiates hope, light, and joy; or that comforting silence full of contentment, peace, and gratitude while sharing a meal with your family on noche buena. this year, to save me from tears, i will still celebrate christmas the way i used to know it — in the quiet moments, in my little corner of the world, in the ways that i can in this new world that we are living in, in my twenties, where i still make sure to keep christmas in my heart.

[headoverhiddles]

Bonsoir [Lafayette x Reader] Part Two

Description: You, an American patriot from a loyalist family, catch the eye of the Marquis De Lafayette one night at a tavern. After your first night with the enigmatic frenchman, you realize how turbulent life can really get in a time as turbulent as this. 

Warnings For This Chapter: Smut in the form of mutual masturbation. And the mild Lams remains. ;) 

Notes: Here’s the second part out of five! The next part will have a lot more smut and a lot more camaraderie with the rev set like the first part, but for now, here’s this sexy Frenchman being a cool general! Yee! (Also there’s a lot of actual historical stuff in this chapter, so in case anyone wants a reference for Dickinson, use the dumpster fire 1776 one) 

||Read Part One||

As Lafayette had predicted, hostilities came to a head when, as it has come to be known since, the battle of Lexington and Concord claimed forty nine American lives. 

“Can’t blame the ol’ redbellies for firing off a shot by accident,” you father huffs, reading the paper, “Happens all the damn time in the army!”

You scowl, your heart burning for the many who lost their lives at the barrel of a treacherous British gun. You wish you could go and join the men on the streets calling for freedom, but you could in spirit, at least. You content yourself with the fact that there is no way your fellow colonists will stand for this.

Now, upon congressional rule, the army is headed by the esteemed Virginian veteran, George Washington. Lafayette, Alexander, John, and Hercules have all joined the ranks, and you have been left, as every woman has… to await a rare letter or two that will slip through tory gloves.  

----

Lafayette turns from the bleak, chilling fields, walking back into his own tent. It had been a while since he had taken a break; the troops had been on the move, and since Laf had volunteered without pay, he had been given the position by Hancock at last. Now, he was internally weary, but as he was appointed major general of the continental army under his idol and surrogate father in a sense, Washington, he couldn’t show the troops.

The French soldier sits down on the edge of his cot, lighting a candle and rubbing his hands over his face. It was cold. He was glad to be serving, ecstatic beyond belief, truly, but it was so, so cold. Memories of the past battle come back in bursts, the blood he got on his sword, the blood he got on his face as he yelled out commands to his troops. 

All for the cause of freedom, nothing more. 

Warming his hands around the flame for a minute, desires began to brew as the warmth returned to his body- the lady he had taken behind that tavern many nights ago still stuck in his mind, It had been too long since he had had a good night in bed with someone, followed by a nice, deep rest. Laf was jumpy, his skin crawling, bouncing from foot to foot daily- he couldn’t seem to relax.

He needs to relax.

Before he can continue to contemplate his evening activities, Alex is in his tent with whiskey. Laf raises both eyebrows in question, and Alex holds up a hand.

“Von Steuben.”

“Ah,” Laf nods knowingly, turning back to his candle.

“Anyway,” the aide de camp muttered with a sly smirk, “John’s busy, therefore not here right now to enjoy it- or me- so we’re gonna.” He pauses. “The booze, not me.”

“I am tired, Alexander, mon ami, merde...”

“Come on- you’re the crazy drunk, remember?!” Alex moans, uncorking the bottle and taking a drink, “I’m the slutty drunk, John’s the loud drunk, and Herc’s the funny drunk, yada yada. We all have our roles, and just because we joined up doesn’t mean we abandon those.”

Lafayette gives him a look. “Are you not exhausted?”

“From manning George’s journal? Hell no. If I had your post, I’d probably be just as bouncy, but you’re like… ten times bouncier than I am usually!”

“I know,” Laf sighs, but at Alex’s invitingly quirked eyebrow, the Frenchman is unable to hold back his grin. He gets up, shoving Alex over so he has a spot back on his cot, and accepts the bottle, taking a long drink. Just as he pulls the bottle away from his lips, his breath catches.

“Remember me over a couple beers with your friends?”

Laf practically shoves Alex up in a burst of energy. “You, out out out, shoo. Go find John, help him finish his work.”

“What the hell, why?”

“Because, mon Alexander- I have my own work to do.” As he pulls out the letter paper from under your ring in his bedside table, he feels his heart beat faster. Is this really the state to be writing a letter to a lady in? He’s run down, desperate for a single touch, and every second word reminds him of something wicked he would give a thousand bottles of whiskey to experience.

(y/n) will appreciate my words, he assures himself, dipping the quill in ink with a slight smile at the memories of that night in the alley.

A couple of weeks later, you receive a letter, as does he. You’re at the table, thankfully having snatched up the mail before anyone else in your family could- your heart races as you scan the letters, and find The Marquis signed at the bottom, along with General Washington’s stamp of approval on the front for mailing.

Lafayette sifts through his letters, opening each to see if it is from either King Louis (!!) or Hercules (!!!). Herc was away for the time being, under with the Sons of Liberty and loving it.

Then, he sees your name.

“She has written me,” he whispers aloud, and bites his lip.

You carefully thumb at the parchment, excitement fluttering in your stomach. It’s late, nobody else is awake, and your room is illuminated by the light of a single flickering candle.

“He wrote me,” you whisper with a relieved laugh.

Outside, you can hear the shouts of drunken men dawdling home from the taverns, but you can only concentrate on his quill strokes:

My dearest (y/n),

The conditions here in the camp have been less than pleasant, but I am determined to keep my morale up! I have been busying myself with learning the English language- I am pleased to inform you I am better with my words than the last time you heard from me in person- or so Hercules assures me.

Lafayette reads your words:

My dearest Marquis,

The stormy tempers of the subdued men here in New York have been mildly quelled by the army’s success at Fort Ticonderoga- I am ecstatic to hear of your safety and victory, but remain in dismay at the British occupation here.

Your eyes travel down his letter:

I hope that you are well- when I learned of the British capture of New York, I feared your sharp tongue would get you into trouble. Mais, I consoled myself with the single fact that you are not Alexander, and will not get yourself killed for it; adversely, you are a smart young lady who could find her way out of King George’s court itself.

Lafayette’s fingers felt the parchment, finger slowly running over his lip as he smirks at your next passage:

This is my first formal letter to you, but I feel we are past the common niceties in that I can disclose my current state when I think of you. I think of all of you, my Dear Marquis, even now as I write this… I pray this letter does not fall into the hands of the bastards who sift through our mail for dirty money, but if it does, so be it- let the world know how talented you are in pleasing a woman.

You giggle to yourself, reading Lafayette’s next words:

I must confess, (y/n), your eyes and lovely body have haunted me whenever I close my eyes. I even find myself replacing you with my hands, imagining you are here with me for comfort.

You shift in your chair, crossing your thighs to rub them together. You miss the feel of him between your legs, there was no doubt- you missed his European charm, the soft graze of his fingertips on your cheek, the feral glint in his eye and his rough growl as he fucked you up against that wall…

Your fingers tug at the hem of your skirts as you curse the many layers you wore. Settling for you palm, you rub slow, circular ministrations against your clit as you continue to read his letter:

I know it is bold of me to say such things, but you know that I am a bold man, and we are far past formality, I think. At night, ma cherie, I think of your lips around my cock, your hands on my chest, through my hair, my hands through your hair, and I am- what is the word John has used? – undone.

“Oh,” you sigh quietly. You’re right by the first floor window of your house. People could see your face if they were so inclined to glance in, and it thrilled you just as much as the people passing the alley that night. You’re drawing closer and closer, your hips canting down as you shift against the stimulating velvet of the armchair-

“Mon dieu,” Laf murmurs, reading the end of your letter over and over. He can already feel himself filling out the breeches of his uniform, the usually comfortable garment tightening significantly.

At night, Laf, I moan into my pillow thinking of you, hoping nobody can hear my desperate pleas for you. I dream of the war effort to no end, but I dream of you on the battlefield just as well, leading a battalion bravely in polished boots, gorgeous blue and gold that I would tear off of you the minute you returned to your tent, muddy, out of breath, and ready to take me.

“Ah,” the French general groaned, unbuttoning his breeches and sighing at the relief. His hand finds his hardening dick.

“Laf,” you bite your lip, rubbing a little more. You need him faster, harder-

“(y/n),” Lafayette moans, leaning back on his cot and licking a stripe up his hand. He then gives himself a long stroke, and shudders.

“Please,” you beg, almost feeling his lips on your flushed cheeks, your neck... You hadn’t been properly fucked since that night, and your blood was rising.

Laf can feel the arousal buzzing under his skin. It has been a while since he let himself relax like this, and it’s perfect… perfect… just like (y/n)’s beautiful body…

“Oh my god,” you whisper, feeling the wave of your orgasm begin. “Ah, ah, ahh…”

“(y/n), we have a guest,” your father’s stern voice suddenly cuts through the pleasure, and you cover your mouth as they walk into the room, squeezing your eyes shut as you come hard. After a second of rushing adrenaline, you right yourself, getting up, and turn with a smile as polite as you can muster.

“Afternoon, sir.”

“Madam.”

“This is John Dickinson, of Pennsylvania. He served as first delegate to the Continental Congress,” Your father says, “A calm, cool, conservative man, and the only voice of reason in that damn madhouse.”

“I had hoped we would all remain in such a state,” Mr. Dickinson chuckled, giving you an appreciative once over, “But alas, the rebels seduced the hands of my fellow statesmen into signing that ridiculous declaration.”

“Ridiculous,” your father echoes.

“-But, I am a man of honor and humility, and I have joined the ranks by duty, if not by principal,” he smiles at you. You smile back, teeth grinding at the pompous man.

His eyes flicker down to the table you had just been sitting at, covered in the discarded wax of a seal and the opened letter from Lafayette.

“Your… husband, has written from war, I take it?”

“No,” your father is quick to frown, “(y/n) is free as a bird!”

“Not yet,” you grit out defiantly, fuck biting your tongue in front of these two regressive assholes, “The damn British still walk our streets to keep us in check.”

“Is that not the way of the world, madam?” Mr. Dickinson volleys back, a condescending smile still tugging at his lips, “Being kept in check by those more powerful than we?”

“We’ll see just how powerful they are when George Washington is through with them,” you growl back in his face, and your father jumps in.

“Ah, is it that time already to make your long journey back, sir?!” he asks with a scowl your way, and you look back down at your letter, pleased with yourself.

You bite your lip when they’re gone- though you only spent that one night drinking with them, nobody knew your tongue better than the rev set, as you had fondly begun referring to them in your mind. As you read over the last few lines with a genuine smile, your eyes suddenly widen, a gasp ripping from you.

If it would please ma mademoiselle, I would send for you to visit the Forge as soon as you wish to, or are able. I look forward to seeing you again- et, the boys are dying for a little drinking competition as well.  

-       Yours,

The Marquis De Lafayette

The letter flutters from your hands to the oak table as your heartbeat picks up in excitement. He does care for you! He wishes to see you again, in person! As well, you would get to see the army first hand, meet the esteemed commander in chief, see Alex, John, and Herc again!

Your father saunters back in after seeing the delegate off. “Well. That Mr. Dickinson is a fine suitor- a man of power, sound political views, a man of property and wealth, strong English morals and a gentleman.”

You think back to the way Dickinson’s eyes had roamed over you, frowning at the memory. Gentleman? You knew a real one.

A grin begins to form on your face as you pick up the letter again, clutching it to your chest. “I’ll be damned if I marry someone like that. I’m afraid I may have discovered someone far better suits my tastes.”

[secretforthxmad]

So take my hand and home we’ll go 

a clexa au that doesn’t make sense

Lexa has increasingly concerning nightmares. She will wake up in the middle of the night confused and afraid, squinting through the darkness infinitely certain that something is about to jump out at her. Beside her Clarke will be sleepy and confused and will attempt to pull her in closer. The room will be dark and blue and everything and nothing. And Lexa will feel horribly alone.

And she doesn’t understand why she’s afraid.

The dreams don’t bother lingering - dissipating the moment she opens her eyes, leaving the breathless fear. It happens often. Too often, that Clarke has taken to leaving a candle flickering in the corner of their bedroom, fire hazard be damned. In the mornings she will have forgotten about how she waited, patient, excited, for a creaking door. Or how she stared out of their bedroom window expecting for someone to stare back.

Clarke gives her space, on days when all Lexa does is hear noises that aren’t there. Clarke doesn’t bring anything up, doesn’t push her. But Lexa thinks it’s beginning to feel like she’s keeping a secret.

—-

“Let’s go out for dinner tonight?”

Clarke hums in agreement, tongue peeking out from between her teeth as she attempts to spread the jam evenly onto her toast. And Lexa feels terrible for being distant and confused, for messing up their routine and muddling the way they intertwine. When Clarke successfully creates her perfect sandwich, she beams, twinkly and bright, and Lexa falls a little harder, watching her pack their lunch so tenderly. The city is vibrant, a blur of colours in the streets below as cars whizz by. Their apartment is cozy and sweet. She is happy. But why is something wrong.

“You know,” Clarke says, her voice much nearer than expected. Fingers brush against the back of her neck, jolting her, and she feels Clarke gently playing with the strands of baby hair, an apology. “We could go to the park after, the one you love so much.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

The beauty of Clarke’s chuckle gets covered, muffled, when Lexa sees a face, an extra face, in the reflection of their kitchen window. She can feel the throaty giggle from where she’s seated, shoulder pressed against the side of Clarke’s waist. But her ears seem to have started ringing, her eyes locked onto a moving figure in the reflection.

“Flatterer.”

She blinks. And the gaunt, pale face in the window is gone.

Her heart clenches. She misses it.

Why does she miss it.

—-

Dinner is an overwhelming success.

Clarke has a delicate bun, curled and pretty, and the way the light in the restaurant shimmers across the angles of her face makes Lexa feel as if she’s with an angel.

They chat and talk and Lexa blatantly ignores the figure crouched at the corner of her eye. It’s grey and dripping and all Lexa wants to do is to focus on her girlfriend for the entirety of their date.

Clarke fights to pay for the bill, and they have a playful tussle over who gets to take out their wallets. It’s light, airy, happy.

The waiter compliments their relationship.

“Relationship goals, the both of you,” he exclaims. Lexa agrees.

But. The park. It’s secluded and empty and dark. They walk between the trees, silent, soothing. Except for the ringing in Lexa’s ears.

There’s something she needs to remember. Some rule. A rule? Maybe? There isn’t any wind but the trees seem to be swaying, beckoning, leaves rustling. It’s too loud.

“Do not talk to the trees,” she blurts. They know. They listen. She knows that. How does she know that.

Clarke tilts her head, confused. Neither of them were talking. By the time Lexa’s blush dissipates, she’s already forgotten why they can’t speak to trees. Clarke doesn’t bring it up, she never does. She instead links their arms together to rest her head on Lexa’s shoulder. It’s peaceful.

But Lexa can’t help but feel something staring.

She tries to peek, to the corner, where the lights are hazy and the park seems to blend into the night, but there’s nothing there. Curious. Lexa swore there was something in the trees. Somethings. Up in the branches and watching them. With a final glance at the darkness, she tugs Clarke in closer, soothed by her warmth. She tries to ignore the painful itch between her ribs at the sight of the darkness in the trees.

It’s probably just stress.

—-

Lexa thinks she is beginning to remember more. She stops actively avoiding the darkness in their storage room, or blinking rapidly at the windows, or downing energy drinks instead of sleeping.

And once she’s accepted the fact that maybe she isn’t going insane, the clench in her heart eases. But instead the itch spreads. Although, she probably should not call it an itch, not when it’s something she can’t satiate. It’s gnawing, fluctuating, in her chest, as though it’s trying to pull her in a certain direction. Lexa doesn’t know what to do with the itch, neither does she know what to do with the pair of eyes that follows her everywhere.

She writes her experiences down in a little moleskin journal she’d found in the bottom drawer of her office desk, even attempting to sketch out the things she sees in her dreams. Maybe if she’s brave enough, Lexa thinks she will give the journal to Clarke as a form of explanation. Her written words are easier to digest than if she had to run it through her voice.

—-

Horror is just a genre in movies. Horror isn’t her childhood.

The new world has an abundance of horror movies, ranging from documentary style films with enormous budgets, to amateur, shaky-cameras filming an empty street at night. What they all have in common is the jumpscare tactics. The people in the city do not believe in ghosts. It’s not tactile, not scientific, and is only used as a means for money.

She and Clarke have taken to weekly movie nights. It happens every Friday evening. After a week’s worth of work and grating obligations, they settle together in the lumpy couch that Clarke adores and have a movie date, pressed against the other, soft and warm and comfortable.

Lately, all they’ve been watching are horror movies. She wants to scoff at the shrill screams of the protagonists when they encounter any form of supernatural because of their dumb actions.

“Stupid,” Clarke will say, tucked into her side, fidgety in anticipation, “just leave.” Lexa agrees.

Oftentimes Lexa wants to grab the characters by their shoulders and tell them to stop. If you don’t bother them they won’t bother you. And the protagonists are often grating and rude and disrespectful - Lexa doesn’t blame the spirits for coming after them.

“Just leave,” Clarke repeats. “Leave and never look back.”

But that’s what Lexa did. When she was young. And now she is paying for it. She squints into the bleak darkness of their kitchen from her position on the couch. It’s lit only by the brightness of the television, and she sees someone. Not a someone. Something. Floating above their counter and spinning and spinning and spinning.

The back of her neck prickles. For some strange reason she awaits cold hands. Expects wet cold fingers to press into her back and push her. She doesn’t get that. She gets Clarke’s warm breath puffing against her skin as another ghost pops up on screen.  She swallows the odd disappointment to bask in the affection, closes her eyes and leans into Clarke, comforted and loved.

The movie ends and Clarke floods the apartment with light. Even their balcony is lit, twinkling and homely from the fairy lights. The lights are harsh and Lexa has to blink slowly to stop her eyes from hurting. But the light is also soothing. The spinning silhouette is gone. In place is Clarke twirling and dancing in the kitchen as she whips up supper.

Lexa chuckles and joins right in.

—-

She remembers so much more now. She remembers exactly how the houses would wobble and lean when the storms hit. She remembers that there were exactly five ways to get to her home from the sea shore, and seven ways from the edge of the forest. But that’s just bits and pieces of something so large. She can’t remember where she lived other than how to get to her home from that forest in the middle of nowhere.

Lexa lived beyond the sea and beyond the forest. It floats in her memories, foggy and unclear, hazy from the years gone by. She misses it sometimes, when there’s a small moment of silence for her to actually remember. Now she lives in an apartment with her girlfriend. An apartment that looks over the city’s skyline, that has windows, that lets in the morning sun in the perfect angle, that has wooden floors perfect for Clarke to dance on in her socks. She loves it all. But Lexa misses the eternal fog and the black waters and how there’s always something in the corner.

There were planks, she thinks. If you are brave enough to wade through the choking smog and black water. Thin strips of wood barely able to hold the weight of a human. They stretch out far and away from humanity. Nobody’s actually ever found their little community. No one will. Not if you weren’t born there in the first place. If you walk long enough in the forest, you’ll find yourself standing on the black sea. That’s where she lived. In a tiny village built with stilts and planks and so much love.

Lexa remembers running and giggling above the water, looking back at the disembodied head. Costia. Sweet and kind and so silent. She remembers the matted hair and blood. She also remembers her smile.

But Lexa doesn’t remember how to get there from the city. The forest could be anywhere. Even the black waters. That could just be something she’s conjured in her mind.

Even so, Lexa thinks to bring Clarke there one day, if she ever manages to broach the subject. She’s certain that Clarke will think her insane.

Sometimes, in between writing proposals and work, she tries to imagine how they’ll get there. Navigate the forest, perhaps. It’s safer, maybe. With enough water and food in case the forest decides to be mischievous and makes them walk for days. She thinks Clarke won’t believe her if she ever told her about her childhood. But she wants to bring Clarke anyway. She misses her family, misses Anya’s rickety little home on stilts filled with knives and daggers and bones, misses the ever present fog and all the dark figures standing just beyond her periphery.

—-

She slips her journal into Clarke’s bag one day. Her free day, when Clarke leaves to her studio and she spends the day reading. She likes those days - they’re peaceful and quiet and neither of them have to worry about work.

Lexa spends the entire day reading the same paragraph. Her mind races and back-pedals. It conjures up a galore of possible outcomes, each of them getting from bad to worse. In the end she gives up trying to predict the future and tries to hold on to happier memories.

The ache and itch gives her a respite, but the ever elusive figure remains firmly in the corner of her eye.

Clarke’s childhood is pretty, and clinical. Like everything in this new world she lives in. Two parents, Abby and Jake, a suburban house with bicycle rides and top grades and internships. Nobody believes in anything in this new world. She thinks Clarke may believe her though. Hopefully.

She loves Clarke.

But even their first meeting felt scripted - Clarke tripping and crashing into her at a sidewalk. Three streets past her old apartment. She remembers everything about that day.

“You’re the one who couldn’t even look up from her phone to walk,” she had said, sopping wet from the drink Clarke had spilled all over her. And Clarke? Clarke was laughing.

“And you’re the one who- oh my god you look like a raccoon.” The face Clarke had was torn between beyond amused and apologetic. And it was that moment that Lexa knew her life would change

Sometimes she wonders how she would have phrased it if she could go back in time to change it. She was shy and awkward and everything came out harsh. Maybe she would have apologised and stuttered. But maybe Clarke wouldn’t have offered her a coffee as an apology. And maybe they would have gone their separate ways, never to meet again. She likes to think that their souls are too connected to let that happen.

But everything else about Clarke isn’t scripted. Not the way she rasps and talks and laughs. Not the way her nose scrunches up when she gets annoyed. And definitely not the selflessness ingrained in her soul. She hopes Clarke won’t leave.

Clarke returns that afternoon, paint sticking to her fingers and staining her shirt, holding a bag of take-out. She kisses soft and gentle and Lexa expected everything but that.

They talk well into the morning. Clarke’s face is heartbreaking when Lexa talks about her nightmares and the missing blocks in her childhood. There’s a determination in the furrow of her eyebrows and the way she holds Lexa that night.

—-

Lexa knows her birthday is coming up, and she knows Clarke is planning a surprise. There’s a palpable tension in the air, with her dreams and stress getting to her, and Clarke running around getting things in order while trying to hide that she’s doing just that.

Clarke’s side of the bed will be long cold by the time Lexa wakes - and it’s unnerving because she often wakes up before the sun has a chance to rise. There’ll be a muffin on the table, along with some tea, and a little handwritten card with a reason.

The reasons get more incredulous as the week goes by.

–

“Babe, there’s a patient who is in urgent care, his hand is stuck in a teapot. Will be back early tonight. Love you.” Beside the message there was an adorably drawn flower with the words “Have a good day” written along its stem.

“Raven managed to set fire to her hair. Gotta save her, love ya <3” With a background drawing of a cartoon fire enveloping cartoon Raven, all drawn with highlighters.

“Our neighbour found a pot of gold, Im going to steal some. See you later! I love you.” And a leprechaun, a blonde leprechaun that looks very similar to Clarke’s cartoon persona, grins back at her from her spot on the post-it.

She folds all of them neatly and adds them to her growing collection - filled with other doodles from Clarke, on napkins and scrap paper and newspaper clippings.

–

Lexa wakes up on the day of her birthday disoriented. She wakes with a start, heart palpitating, into darkness. A quick check of her phone certifies that she has officially turned twenty-three. Clarke shuffles, disturbed by the movement, and tries to pull Lexa in closer.

“Babe?” Her voice is thick and drowsy. “What time is it?”

She tries to reply, but there’s a lodge in her throat and she’s still trying to grasp onto the tail of her dream. Instead she passes her phone to Clarke, who barely opens her eyes to squint at the screen before slamming them shut and burying her face into her pillow with a groan, the phone forgotten.

“Happy birthday baby,” she greets, muffled, “now let’s sleep.”

Lexa turns, presses a kiss on the side of Clarke’s head, breathes in the soothing scent of her soap, and stares straight at the hazy figure squatting beside their bed.

It stares back, what seems to be its eyes glowing at her.

She blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And it’s still there. Silent and motionless and just, there.

The gnawing between her ribs splutters and stops. The more she stares at it the quieter her head feels. But it’s disappearing, slowly, edges fraying and willowy, just like her dream. At some point she falls back to sleep, and the next time she wakes up Clarke starts off the birthday schedule with birthday sex, and everything is forgotten.

Almost.

There’s always something watching them. And for some reason she’s more comforted by that than afraid.

—-

“Do you.” Clarke swallows. They’re both nervous, and emotional. And the guilt Lexa feels triples. “Do you want to try getting home?”

The emotions playing on her face must be evident, because Clarke draws in closer, soft and careful, as though she is dealing with an injured animal - and flashes of two-headed baby deers appear in her mind before fleeing. The blue of Clarke’s eyes floats back into focus.

“I’ve heard stories, from when I was young, about what’s beyond the city,” Clarke says. She takes a slow breath, an uncertain smile on her face. “If nothing else, it’ll be a fun camping trip. Just you and me, and the romance of the great wide unknown. How about it? Let’s try to find your home.”

The prickle in her eyes begin to morph into a sting. But for that moment the itch in her chest ceases. She tries to stop her voice from wavering, tries to clear the lump in her throat.

“You are my home, Clarke.” It’s true. Clarke, even with her splotchy red cheeks and messy, tangled hair, is her home. She never needs anything more than Clarke.

But Clarke is offering her more. To find her childhood, find answers. To find Anya and Lincoln and Gustus.

—-

Her birthday is quiet and peaceful, just the both of them, in their little apartment filled with light and love. The entire day is emotionally charged, and they spend majority of their time close to the other.

She gets a painting for her birthday, it’s murky and grey and the majority of the piece seems to have been covered by a fog. But it’s everything to her. There’s an accuracy in the way the painting seem to move, courtesy of Clarke’s talent. She cries a lot and kisses Clarke with tears streaming, salty and sticky and snot-filled.

The painting gets hung up above their headboard. And for the first time in a long while, Lexa doesn’t get her dreams. The looming presence seems to have pulled back, and all Lexa can see and feel is Clarke. She’s going home, with her safe haven.

[the-bored-society]

Heat Part 6: Amber's POV "My mum and dad died exactly 15 years ago, today. I remember the day vividly, the way the police officer looked when telling me, the way my small frame shook with sobs–" "What do you want for breakfast, Amber?!" My bitch of a flatmate, Kara, interrupted my brooding. "Shut up! I don't want to talk right now," I growled in return Footsteps echoed through the halls, the clickety clack of her obnoxiously loud heels getting louder with each step. "What are you doing?" "I- Look. I can't talk right now... today is- it's the day that-" I sucked in a deep breath as if trying to prevent tears. Kara leant over my shoulder, peering at my journal. "Okay, 3 things," she began when she was done reading, "1) What have I told you about writing in that blasted journal?! It just upsets you! 2) You're 17, 15 years ago you were 2, and it's a proven fact that babies can't retain information learned before the age of 3, so that part is a load of bull shit. 3) If today is the anniversary of your parents' death, why do I have a memory of you taking a whole week off work a couple months back to mourn the "exact day they died, this time Kara I swear it"?" she demanded in a condescending tone. "Awful good memory you have going on up there for someone so old." I might be 17 in age but I'm no older than 5 in spirit. "Shut up you cow, I'm 25. If you think that's old you have another thing coming for you." "Whatever," I mumbled. It didn't matter anyway. None of it did. The truth of the matter is I have no idea when my parents died. I'm probably about 17, but there's no guarantees there either. The only things I can recall of my childhood is the time I spent in that orphanage. That bloody awful orphanage. "Quit brooding, it's time to eat." Kara strutted out the door, heels clicking once more. When we arrived in the living room/dining room/ kitchen (3 in 1 yay!) I steered myself towards the glass bottle resting contentedly on the cabinet. Kara began talking without turning back to look at me. "Well I pitched your idea to my boss today. Guess what? He loved it! Who would have thought– what are you doing?!" "Pouring myself a scotch, want one?" I put the stopper back on the bottle and put the cup to my lips, enjoying watching the mahogany liquid swirl around and around. "Huh. That's interesting. Last time I checked, not only was it 9am, but you were 17. Underage." "Oh fuck off. If my childhood taught me anything it's that–" "No! Stop right there. You can't use that excuse now, you used it to get out of grocery shopping, Ha. Only once per week at least, Am! What did I make you promise when you asked to move in? "No angsty teenager shit in the house." I mumbled. "EXACTLY! No angsty teenager shit in the house!" She repeated excitedly. "Fucking cow." I tried to take a sip of my probably very delicious drink, but it was pried out of my hands. "You have a problem. At least wait until later." "Bitch." "Love you too!" She chirped. And that was how I lived my life in that tiny flat in London. I don't know where I'd be if Kara hadn't taken me in. Probably on the streets begging for food each day. Honestly though, by now if it wasn't for me, she'd be in the same place. See, Kara works as a paralegal in a law firm but she's bloody rotten at law or really anything that pays well. That's where I come in. I basically do her work for her because it's not like I could get a job anywhere or even go to college, and it's the ideas I give her that let her keep her job. I'm not being ripped off here though because everything she makes she shares with me. It's just the way the system works. After Kara left to go back to work, (strange intervals, I know) I sunk into our couch and switched on the telly. The first thing that came up was the local news channel because Kara likes that shit. It's all lies anyway. I mean today they're blaming a car crash in Greenwich on some type of apocalypse. Like I said, utter shit. Flipping through the channels some more I found BBC's Sherlock and decided that would be good enough for now. 2 hours later, when Kara came home for her lunch break (I honestly don't know what she does at this office that lets her come home so often) I was in the exact same place. "Wow actresses must wear so much waterproof mascara what with how much each of them cries. It's truly a mystery of life as to how that shit doesn't smudge." "Get a life," came my flatmate' unsympathetic grunt. "Hey there was some shit on the news you might like." "Hmm? Do tell, Am." I switched back to the news and leant back, eager to show Kara how fake it was. "Oh my god. I saw that," she exclaimed, her eyes wide as saucers. "Oh fuck off no you didn't! Stop buying into this media shit!" "No, Amber, I swear. I was actually there. At that crash." "Fine some lunatic crashed his car. Whatever." I really liked using the word whatever. "Not just that, there was a hole by his head, so hot I could feel it from a mile off. And he didn't crash his car, the tires melted." There was an eerie air to her voice. "W-well that means nothing. There was a fire. No apocalypse." I know I sounded like a girl in denial, but I just couldn't believe it. I can't believe anything unless I see it myself. "Whatever lets you sleep at night." It had gotten awkwardly silent and while to some that might mean the end of a conversation, to me that just meant a change of topic was in order. "Why do American girls like British guys so much? I mean, seriously, they're all pretentious snobs." "Like American guys aren't all jerks?" "God! All guys suck!" "Whoa I think I just realized what reversed sexism was!" She laughed. "Oh. Yeah. Oops." I giggled a little. I didn't want to be sexist, but all the men I had ever encountered had been assholes. And I mean serious assholes. "Okay I need a smoke, wanna come?" "Um, excuse me? Why are you trying to kill yourself?!" "Sorry, Mum. I'm not stopping any time soon." I stuck my tongue out at her like the mature adult I was. "Bitch." "Cow." With that, I made my way out of the apartment and onto the roof. Smoking is horrible for you. I understand that, but I can't just stop. Some guys at the orphanage would smoke with me every once in a while, and honestly it was the only good period of my childhood. So I'm addicted now. If I could stop, I would, but I can't, so whatever. When I got onto the roof though, it felt like it was 50° Celsius. My cigarette pack was melting in my pocket, and I could feel the plastic seeping through my sweatshirt. What the fuck?! "Kara! It's so fucking hot in this city! Something's wrong!" I yelled, forgetting I had neighbors. "SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LITTLE ¢***!!" Echoed the voice of the man that lives across the hall. "NOBODY LIKES YOU MR. DANARIOUS!!" I screamed right back. "Stop shrieking at our landlord!" Kara poked her head out of the staircase. "Good, you're here. We need to leave." "And why the fuck might that be?" She answered calmly. "My cigarette pack just melted in my pocket?!" "Ha. Serves you right trying to poison yourself." "Focus, you prat!! It's that hot! I... we need to leave." "Look who's finally believing in the apocalypse." She smirked. "No! This is not that! It's global warming or some shit, so we need to go somewhere cold like the arctic!" "I have a job, Amber. We can't just up and leave." "I'll call, have you moved." I exclaimed, a plan falling into place in my head. "Good luck with that my boss is a fucking toe rag, but you can try." I grabbed my mobile and dialed into her office. "Hello?" It was the secretary. I'd met her once last year at the office Christmas party but couldn't remember her name. "Hello, is this the Grant & Wayne law firm?" "Yes, and who might this be?" "I'm Kara's aunt Ida, is she in?" "Not right now, you'll have to just call back." Hanna replied, coldly. HANNA! That was her name. "Is this Hanna talking?" "Why, yes, how did you know?" "Oh Kara's told me the most wonderful things about you! Said you were the best secretary in the place!" "She did, did she? Always loved that girl. Would you like to speak with her boss?" "Oh would you, dear? That would be lovely." I could practically hear Hanna beaming over the phone. "Hello?" This time it was a gruff male's voice. "Hello sir, I'm Kara's–" "I don't care. Get to the point." Wow this would be harder than with Hanna. Only one thing left to do. I began to cough and wheeze and cough some more. "Look Mrs. Whatever, I don't care if you're dying, you're wasting my time." "It's those damn Harin Pharmaceutical drugs! I swear the maker knew what they'd do and sold them to me anyway! I'll sue!" I choked out, knowing perfectly well that Kara's law firm represented them in court. "I even have evidence!" This had her boss's attention. "Oh, madam, please, you don't need to do that. Would you like me to give Kara the week off?" "The month actually, I feel it will take that long to recover." "Oh well um, she's an employee, I can't just let her off for a month." "It's okay hun, I live in Aspen Colorado, you have a branch there, correct?" "Yes but–" "So it's all settled. Nice talking to you dear." "You too?" And I hung up, leaving a bemused man on the other side of the line. "Wow. That was..." Kara began, staring at me in shock. "Fucking awesome?! Yeah, I know. Now get packed, we're going to Aspen!"

[the-record-columns]

Nov. 22, 2017: Columns

A Thanksgiving Than You…

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

               In last week's column, in which I wrote of the various items I might have taken to the Friends of the Library's Wilkes Antique Roadshow, I mentioned several pieces, including a beautiful Helene Curtis Empress Permanent Wave machine from about 1918. I was given this amazing piece of history by Arlene Staley of Arlene and Friends Hair Designs at Melody Square in North Wilkesboro.

I have been meaning to mention this machine earlier, but had not gotten around to it. However, because we are full-swing into the Thanksgiving and Christmas season, we get much more company at our offices of The Record and Thursday Printing than most other time of the year, and I have written often in this space that my visitors are very often the best part of my day.

               Well, this past Friday evening was the North Wilkesboro Downtown Partnership's annual event, Light Up Downtown. We opened up our offices and our apartment upstairs for company, and had probably the most visitors at any Light Up event in years. We call our apartment The Mayflower, named for the last business which occupied the space, The Mayflower Beauty Shop, and the front door still proudly displays the name, yea these 50 years since it closed.

               I will now tie all this together by reminding you that there is a story which goes along with almost everything that makes up the "poor man's museum" which our offices have become. That 100 year-old permanent wave machine almost looks scary to one who has no idea what it is for, and it often catches the eye of young and old alike, as they make their way though out office. When that happens, if time and circumstances allow, I tell them a short story.

               Being my mother Cary's baby boy, I went wherever she went. One day, I found us climbing up the 26 steps to the Mayflower Beauty Shop on B Street (now Main) in North Wilkesboro. "What are we doing here?" I queried. "I am going to get my hair done; a permanent." she replied.

               Up the steps we went and, sure enough, it looked as though they were going to blast her off into outer space by the time they got all those curler things rolled onto her hair. I was almost scared for her, but she was pleased with the results and that was good enough for me.

               In no time, or so it seemed, we were climbing those same steps again. We had basically the same conversation ending in, "I'm going to get a permanent." When I protested that she had just gotten one, she assured me that it was time for another. "Then it's not very permanent, is it?" I said. My mother got tickled, and, before she could explain that your hair grows out and such, I said to her, "Looks to me like they should call it a 'temporary.'" She was still laughing as we made our way into the Mayflower Beauty Shop.

               My mother Cary never drove a car. In her later years, when my father could no longer drive, she would periodically call me to take her to the beauty parlor, always remarking that she was in need of another "temporary," as she called getting her hair done for the rest of her life.

               And that, quite often, is one of the pleasures I get from the collection of old, odd, and eclectic things that make up the "decoration" in my office. My parents have been gone for 22 years this past spring, and I simply have no words to tell you how much I miss them. Also, most of their contemporaries are long gone, so any chance to remember them and share a story

 about them is priceless to me.

               So, among the many, many things I have to be thankful for during this week of Thanksgiving, one of them is always going to be my company. Because these people so often, without ever having any idea that they have done so, bring a special memory of my parents to mind, and ever so politely allow me to share it with them.

               It instantly makes their random visit the best part of my day.

               Another note on last week's column: For the Wilkes Antique Roadshow, I chose to take an absolutely gorgeous 1880 oak portable toilet, cleverly designed to look like an end table, and suitable for the finest bedroom décor. I was confident it would be the hit of the show. I was wrong. No one gushed to me about how great it was, and the appraiser, Mr. Schweikert, spent about 30 seconds telling me it was in good shape for what it was, and he then priced it at about half what I had in it. I suppose it remains a good thing that I buy things to keep, and not to sell. And, the last note: I have already picked out the piece to take next years event, and I can guarantee that this one will be the hit of the show. Me and Pearl Bailey both say so.

 Truly thankful on Thanksgiving

By LAURA WELBORN

               While it is easy to get ready for Thanksgiving and to remember to be thankful, how do we continue this mind altering practice?

               One way is to write down five things we are grateful for each day, by breaking it down into smaller pieces we can look closer at our lives and the small things to be grateful for.  Do this at night before you go to bed- this is important for several reasons the most important is that this is what you will have on your mind as you sleep.

               Too often I read a murder and mayhem book or watch a scary movie before bed and I have bad dreams all night. This helps wire your brain in a positive mode. Then the next morning when you wake up read the five things you wrote down, and it will start your day in a positive direction.  I think the practice of children saying their prayers before bed is a wonderful mindful practice tradition that we should carry over even after children are grown.  

               Then there are the times of crisis in health and situations where being thankful seems more than we can bear.

               Still do it.

               Make yourself do it even though it may seem cheesy.  Keep this in a journal so you can go back and look at what you were thankful for, or as a legacy of gratitude when you are gone. And if you look back and see the dates of when you were in tough times and yet still found something to be grateful for - it can inspire you to just how resilient you were.  This small practice actually helps the brain develop resiliency and the ability to overcome tragedy.  When your brain reads the words you wrote down the day before it releases serotonin -- which is like an antidepressant medication.  

               Praying for others has this same effect, the release of serotonin (the feel good hormone)  I try and write gratitude Christmas cards where I write why I am thankful for that person.  This really helps me get into the Christmas spirit and gives me a boost of serotonin, plus passes on a happy thought to another person.  I think of it as the next step after Thanksgiving towards Christmas. Gift giving is thinking about another person and intentionally thanking them.

               One more thought.

               On Nov. 7, we lost Eric Payne- longtime friend of many and strong supporter of Wilkes Heritage Museum.  My memories of Eric brings me a smile with his hats to fit all occasions and playing his accordion New Years Eve.        My favorite memory of Eric was this past fourth of July.  Eric had finished several rounds of chemotherapy but his spirits were high and he rode in the parade in an antique fire engine with his friend, Tom Graves. Tom and Eric joined us on the deck at our apartment to watch the fireworks and when I asked him if he enjoyed riding in the parade he said, "I had the time of my life." He then smiled and was one of the loudest to ooh and aah over the fireworks.     I will always keep this memory close to my heart and remember to see each experience as "the time of my life" being thankful in the moment as Eric was.

                  “Oh, the Humanity”

By HEATHER DEAN Reporter/Photojournalist

It's always a hard thing to lay a dear friend to rest, especially one who has fought the battle with cancer.

               Cancer sucks. So does Dementia, Alzheimer's, Lou Gehrig's disease, and a thousand other ailments that we watch our fellow humans suffer with everyday.

               Funerals are never an easy thing to attend. But you know what I love about funerals? It brings together people that I would have otherwise never met, get to meet someone that loved and adored this person, and hear things about them that I would have never known. It bonds people in a way that we could never be in life.

               This was the case at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Wilkesboro on Saturday, at the funeral of Eric Payne, as I listened to one of his school chum's reminisce.

               This man and I had never met, but he echoed in his sentiments of the sweet soul that I knew Eric to be. For instance, it's hard to imagine Eric Payne ever being mad. And his school chum said he had never seen Eric mad, except once when someone was cruel to his dog. Eric loved his dogs.

               I've had the privilege to get to know and adore both Marilyn and Eric in the past several years, what with the historical Ghost Tours and Wilkes Heritage Museum goings on. I want to share with you my favorite story that Eric told me about he and Marilyn's marriage.

               Eric had said that they had never really had a fight; that in fact, whenever a quarrel did arise, the three words that would stop the discussion immediately and have them both in a fit of giggles was "Oh! The humanity!"

               He told me it started when he and Marilyn were watching a documentary about the Hindenburg.

"You can hear the news announcer live on radio giving details of everything that was transpiring. And then the newscaster exclaims "Oh! The humanity!!"

               "And we've used it ever since to diffuse whatever quarrel was arising."

 Maybe it gave them perspective- whatever was going on, it's not as terrible as being blown up in a blimp.

               Maybe it was their secret code, as most married couples have, for "you irk the crap out of me sometimes, but I love you more than life."

               Maybe it will just be something that the two of them shared, like no one else can, who knows?  

               What I do know, is that when I think of my friend Eric, I will forever remember the smile on his face, especially when he looked at his wife, his family, his friends, pat his chest and say "Boy, now this is the life right here."

               I'll miss that man and his accordion.

                            RIP

                     Eric Payne

    July  26, 1942-November 7, 2017

 Heather Dean is a theatre major working in jouralism. She keeps pinky promises, and never turns down shenanigans. You can reach her at therecordofwilkes@gmail.com  

 Best friends

By EARL COX

Since its reemergence as a nation in 1948, Israel has suffered opposition on nearly every possible level. It has been attacked repeatedly in the military arena by its Arab neighbors, in the public relations arena by the world media, in the political and diplomatic arenas by the United Nations and the European Union, and in the religious arena by mainstream Christians and their Replacement Theologians.

               In recent years, however, a groundswell of support for Israel has arisen, creating a new and powerful friend for Israel in the form of Evangelical Christians. From all over the world these Evangelical Christian believers, including many Americans, are proud to be labeled as "Christian Zionists."

               They use their political, financial and spiritual leverage to help Israel withstand whatever attack might come next.

               Without the Evangelical Christian community standing in the breach with both prayer and action, the United States may have entered a free-fall in its foreign policy that would have ended in a far more hostile environment for Israel.

               The Obama White House encouraged, aided and facilitated the destabilization of the Middle East, as evidenced by its use of either diplomatic or military assets (or both) in Libya, Yemen, Tunisia, Egypt and Syria. Amidst all the political and social upheaval in the name of democracy, the result was the elevation of Islam, Islamic-centered constitutions, and Islamists being "elected."

               The longstanding tradition of the US being Israel's closest ally was arguably dismantled by the previous U.S. administration through positions and policies detrimental to Israel. While the Trump White House is working to reverse this, there has always been one ally that has remained steadfast to Israel … the Evangelical Christian.

               In America, many members of Congress and the Senate, various pro-Israel Christian organizations, conservative Christian media and Evangelical Christians in positions of influence are working to help guide the policies of this current administration as they relate to Israel ending the "blackmail foreign policy" of the Obama administration.  Remember the remarks of former White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel (who is the current Mayor of Chicago)?  Rahm Emanuel sought to tie the US pressure against Iran's nuclear program to an Israeli unilateral land-for-peace giveaway. This "blackmail foreign policy" may have been far more severe if those remarks, said behind closed doors, had not been widely reported. Evangelical Christians shout the loudest about the lack of balance toward Israel at the United Nations, in the media and on college campuses where anti-Semitism and BDS cmapaigns are on the rise.

               Israel is one issue that energizes Evangelical Christians. As events in the Middle East continue to spiral out of control, Evangelical Christians are a valuable asset for Israel. It is this courageous and vocal group that makes up the hedge and stands in the gap for the nation of Israel and the Jewish people.

               Many people will remember back when Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu himself acknowledged that Evangelical Christians are "Israel's greatest friends." A few years back speaking to a large group of Christians in Washington D.C., Prime Minister Netanyahu said, "Israel has very few friends, and these Evangelical Christian leaders are the best friends that Israel has in all the world."  This sentiment is something which he has reiterated numerous times since.

               Many Evangelical Christian organizations in Israel, with support from Evangelical Christians around the world, are providing food and other assistance to thousands of Israeli immigrants and poor families. Others have provided portable concrete bomb shelters to protect Israeli residents living along the borders with Gaza and Lebanon. Christian radio and television networks in America are broadcasting Israel's message around the world. Millions of Evangelical Christians are proud to be considered Israel's best friends and supporters.

               They are not ashamed to speak out against the pro-Muslim and pro-Arab agendas of anti-Semitic hate groups.  These same Evangelical Christians are hard at work helping to pass pro-Israel legislation at the local and state levels as well as influence policy at the national level.

               The God of Israel does not need anyone to support Israel, but He tends to work through the hands, hearts and voices of men and women who seek to serve Him. One voice Israel can count on is the heart-felt cry of the Evangelical Christian, who stands with the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob who happens to love Israel and the Jewish people whom He calls the 'apple of His eye.'

 A Lamb, a turkey, and Dressing

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

The Thanksgiving season is filled with traditions that celebrate family, food and a grateful heart.

If you close your eyes and imagine the perfect Thanksgiving gathering, chances are you will see family and friends gathered around the table with a grand meal featuring a beautifully prepared turkey. There will be a wide variety of side dishes with a generous offering of dressings and gravy.

Everyone has their favorite side dish. I posted the question to our Facebook followers. What is your favorite side dish for the Thanksgiving meal?  Variations of dressing or stuffing with gravy or cranberry sauce were by far at the top of the list.

Here are a few other favorite sides, Lynn Akers likes corn casserole, Robin Brueckmann has Mennonite heritage and enjoys corn pudding and shoofly pie. Karen Goodsell enjoys her grandmother’s recipe for Squash Casserole. Laura Crews is crazy about roasted Brussel sprouts with lemon pepper seasoning. Ann Graves is wild about Minnesota wild rise. Terri Reid enjoys a good Waldorf salad with her turkey. Micheal Nelson likes Strawberry salad. Bill Evans loves fresh turnip greens, and Vivian Hopkins likes Cranberry Salad. Dena Burton-Claus loves her dad’s creamy, flavorful mashed potatoes.

The last Thursday in November is our National Day to gather, be grateful, eat, play and for many get ready for the excitement Back Friday.  We do this every year, and in great part we have the author of Mary Had a Little Lamb to thank for the holiday tradition that brings so much joy. The story goes like this. Sarah Josepha Hale was a widowed mother of five children; she was a poet, writer, and editor.

Sarah became the literary editor of Godey’s Ladies Book, which became the most read magazine of the 19th century and it would be this platform that would give great momentum to her big project, which was to establish an annual day of Thanksgiving nationwide. On October 3, 1789, President George Washington proclaimed November 26th 1789 as a day of Thanksgiving for that year.

Sarah believed that America would be well served to have a set day every year to celebrate our great American Festival of Thanksgiving and for many years she would write letters to political leaders including five U.S. Presidents for this cause. It would be her letter written to President Abraham Lincoln on September 28, 1863, that yield the favorable response she was seeking. On October 3, 1863, President Lincoln’s Thanksgiving Proclamation was signed. There would be other Presidential Proclamations signed. However, it was this one that set the stage for many of the Thanksgiving traditions and foods we celebrate with today.

It is not in doubt that there was an event at Plymouth in 1621 where various people gathered for a meal and prayerful Thanksgiving. There are other recorded dates on which various forms of Thanksgiving was celebrated.  

The story of Sarah Josepha Hale is one for which we can be thankful. Sarah married David Hale, and for nine years they dedicated two hours, a day to study, and it was during this time that Sarah would gain confidence in the power of her mind. David died of a stroke, and Sarah became a widowed mother of five. Little did Sarah know that she would make a difference in the lives of three hundred million Americans. Mary’s Little Lamb would bring joy to countless children around the world and the turkey, dressing and all the other delightful sides and other traditions would give us all something to celebrate.

In our collage, President Lincoln is portrayed by our friend Authur Lightbody from Waxhaw NC. Photo credit: Titus Lightbody.