#is not a nun but she does like to dress as one so people leave her tf alone on the road

[ofhollowhearts]

You should trust her.

[quietblueriver]

Please find below 4k of quickly written and mostly unedited pride fluff inspired by the revival news.

Happy Pride, and happy Warrior Nun, y'all. <3 <3

Ava’s first pride was with her mother. She remembers being outside, her mom’s laugh loud and generous, her joyous friends lifting Ava on their shoulders and spinning her around to take it all in, everything bathed in color. There was so much to see and hear, and she felt small but not scared surrounded by so many people, delighted when someone dancing in the parade wrapped a feather boa around her neck gently and with a wink. Her mom had taken her home before the parade was over, Ava fighting sleep and swaying against her side in the afternoon sun.

She’d felt no shame as she got older and realized that she found a wide spectrum of people and genders to be attractive. She hadn’t been raised to believe in God and her life at St. Michael’s definitely didn’t change her mind. She’d figured out real fucking quick that the nuns at St. Michael’s were full of shit. There was absolutely no way Sister Frances, fountain of hate, knew what she was talking about when it came to literally anything beyond being a fucking bitch. She sure as shit didn’t know anything about love. Ava was more likely to listen to an avocado’s directions about how to live her best life. Anyway. The nuns spouted bullshit but she knew better. She had been taught better. Like her mom’s laugh and the soft fur of her favorite tabby under her fingers, Ava clung to the memory of her mother surrounded by men and women and people dressed in bright colors and dancing, together and happy and beautifully themselves.

--

“Bea?”

She’s standing in front of her dresser, staring into the open drawer where she keeps her t-shirts, all neatly folded and organized vertically so that she can see each one. It’s exactly where she was when Ava left her two minutes ago, pretending she wanted a glass of water to give Bea a minute that she would deny she needed if Ava actually asked.

“Hmm?” Her eyes remain focused on the drawer, one hand fiddling absently with the thin gold chain around her neck, taking up residence where her cross used to be. She’s in one of her favorite sports bras, tight enough to have a compressive effect, and black boxer briefs, her hair still wet from the shower and in a loose braid to keep it out of her way. It’s something precious for Ava to see her this disarmed, this at home, something she thought about when she was trapped and waiting, waiting, waiting until she could come back to this world, to a real life, to Bea, in whatever capacity she would have her. The fact that Bea wants her like this, in all the ways Ava had ever hoped and in the home they’re building together, is sometimes enough to leave her breathless.

She steps into the room but leaves several feet of space between them. It’s a dance, figuring out how to love Bea best, and Ava still sometimes misses a step. As always, her instinct is to wrap herself around Bea like a koala, but she knows that Bea has to be the one to make the move right now. She would welcome Ava; she always does, but it’s different when she thinks Ava wants something. Because she was raised by shitheads, her default, when Ava wraps her up in moments like this, is to feel it like a threat: Make the right choice because this is what you have, yes, but this is also what you can lose. She had nearly had a panic attack even admitting this to Ava, stilted and red-faced and ashamed one night after a therapy session. “It’s not about you, I swear. I know you love me. I’m just not used to love like yours.” There is no part of Ava that doesn’t want to throw down with Bea’s parents.

She focuses, instead, on what she can do. It is Ava’s privilege to learn how to love Bea in the ways that let her feel it most, and right now that means standing close but not too close, a physical signal that she’s there if Bea wants her but that she has no expectations.

“You sure you want to go? It’s really, really okay if you don’t. We could just go to Rosa’s later, if something smaller would be better. Or we can stay home! No pressure, is what I mean.”

Beatrice looks at her then, eyes soft and with a small but genuine smile. The halo gives a little hum with Ava’s exhale. They’re in agreement about Bea, as always: beautiful.

“I want to go.” She turns her body to face Ava, one hand still on her chain. “I want to go with you.” Ava grins big, lets every fucking bit of affection show on her face, in her body, in the halo’s light, kept dim enough not to be outrageous in the space of their bedroom but still obvious, and Bea’s own smile grows just a little, her cheeks coloring. It’s strange in the very best way to see her be bashful. She looks down at her body and adopts the contemplative face that Ava fell in love with, all strong, sharp, serious lines and pursed lips. “I just don’t know what to wear. Is that,” she turns back to the drawer and shakes her head, “Is that silly? I feel…I feel a bit silly.”

Ava steps closer then, an offer of help, and stops just behind Beatrice at the dresser. The way she immediately leans back into Ava’s space, drops the chain to pull one of Ava’s arms around her almost absently, lets Ava know she made the right decision. Ava presses onto her toes and hooks her chin over Bea’s shoulder so that she can look into the drawer. Not that she doesn’t already know exactly what’s in there—she wears Bea’s clothes as often as her own.

“It’s not silly at all. Do you want…how, um, how on theme do you want to be?” There is nothing in Bea’s drawer that Ava would describe as loud or showy—she tends toward muted colors and conservative cuts even now that her vows are barely visible in the rearview. Still, there are options.

“I don’t think I have anything particularly appropriate? I suppose…” she reaches for a lavender t-shirt, the same one Ava had been eyeing for her, thick cotton with a front pocket and a slightly faded neckline. Ava wraps her other arm around Bea’s waist and squeezes, presses a kiss to her cheek before dropping back down. “That’s perfect, baby.”

“Really?” It’s tentative in a way that Bea rarely is, and Ava’s heart aches.

“Yes, absolutely.” She thumbs at the waistband of Bea’s underwear and bites her lip before adding, “I mean, you’re rocking this look but I figured you didn’t want to wear it out.” She feels Bea’s gentle laughter. Mission accomplished.

“No, I’m not quite there yet. Maybe next year.” She’s feeling good enough to banter, even if only a little, which loosens something in Ava’s chest. A deep breath and exhale and then she feels more than sees the shift in Bea’s demeanor, her shoulders squaring up and feet spreading evenly. There is no leather tunic, no bo, no stash of knives (well, there’s always at least one, in a boot or a waistband or a subtle sheath under her shirt and across her back but like, of course). This is a different kind of armor—the control in her body, the appearance of confidence and competence. There’s more than a little fake it til you make it happening right now, but that’s fucking great, and nobody but Ava is going to know anyway. All they’re going to see is a very hot, very self-assured human, and Ava’s going to enjoy watching Bea get flustered by the women who will absolutely be looking in a totally unsubtle way.

She presses a last kiss to Bea’s shoulder blade and then pulls away, stepping over to their closet and pulling out a pair of black jeans that are a go-to for Bea, comfortable and neat and tapered but not too tight. She lays them carefully on the bed and then steps back toward the door as Bea slips into the clothes.

She looks incredibly handsome, as always, and Ava tells her so, whispering into her ear and then kissing her soundly. Impressively, she only lets her hands wander a teeny tiny amount. Bea looks down at herself and then says, “It’s not very colorful.”

Ava bounces on her toes and claps her hands once, brings them to together to a point under her chin. “Well! I have some ideas, if you want to add a little color.” She pulls Bea into the living room and presses gently on her shoulders, sitting her on the sofa and then walking to pull a tote from one of the hooks by the door. She’d been out this morning to get them coffee and also grabbed some supplies.

“Okay, so.” She rummages through and sits her bounty one by one on the coffee table. “We have face paint, nail polish, markers, body glitter. Oh! And!” She drops the bag and bounds into their bedroom, returning with a small box that she’d nearly forgotten about. “I got you these. Pinkwashing is bullshit but like all of the proceeds go to a shelter for queer youth and also it’s Pride and these are great and you’ll look amazing in them.” She hands Bea the box and then adds hastily, “If you want to wear them! No pressure. I will obviously also look amazing in them.”

She doesn’t say the rest—that she knew Bea wouldn’t have the same kind of options as Ava, whose closet is as full of color and energy as she is. Today, she landed on high rise denim shorts and a blue cropped tank with a short-sleeve button-down, pink and purple gradient, knotted overtop. There is a streak of pink at the front of her hair, and she’d traded shoes with Rosa, who lives two doors down, for the weekend, so she’s got one pink high top and one purple. She’s a walking bi flag and she feels great about it.

Beatrice is smiling down at the box, and she pulls out the rainbow sunglasses with a grin, situating them on her face and yes, she looks very, very good and also relaxed, which is the point. Ava has no real option but to kiss her, sliding into her lap and pushing the glasses to rest in her hair.

“You’re so hot.”

She blushes, as always, and rolls her eyes a little, but she doesn’t protest, is learning through therapy and a lot of positive reinforcement from Ava to let the compliments stand even if she doesn’t quite believe them. “I love you, too.” Ava grins and kisses her nose, doesn’t move from her lap but angles her torso slightly back toward the table.

“Now. Want me to do a lesbian pride flag on your cheek? Or your arm? Or some glitter? It rolls on.” She eyes the clock. They’re going to find a spot near the end of the route, closer to their apartment, so there’s not a rush. “We still have time for nail polish, even, if you want.”

Bea situates her hands on Ava’s hips, which is excellent, and looks at the pile on the table. “Maybe a flag on my cheek?” Ava nods decisively and reaches to pick up the face paint markers. “Yes, ma’am.” She pulls the top from the orange and moves to get the best angle.

--

Beatrice grew up in London, so she’d seen Pride, but only from a distance. “It was the first time I heard my father use a slur,” she told Ava the afternoon that they’d seen the pride flag go up in their favorite coffee shop, head in her lap on their sofa, Ava’s fingers carding through her hair. “It was the summer after Year Two, I think. We hadn’t started summering at the house in France yet.” Ava had not, for once, teased her for using the word summer as a verb. “We were out for…something. I don’t remember, but there were people walking to the parade and we could hear the music. They looked so happy, and I couldn’t stop watching them, even though I knew I shouldn’t let my father see me. When he noticed me staring, he grabbed my arm so hard it bruised.” Ava’s fingers stopped only briefly, reaching down to rub Beatrice’s bicep, soothing a phantom pain. Beatrice took her hand and kissed her palm, soft, before putting it back in her hair. Taking the request for what it was, Ava resumed her previous motion.

“He said…he said terrible things for the rest of the walk back to the car, loud enough that I knew some of the people must have heard. I started crying, and it made him mad at me. He never…I didn’t cry often, as a child. I don’t think he knew what to do with me most of the time, but he certainly didn’t know what to do with tears. It took me a long time to stop. I didn’t know exactly why, then, but I already felt wrong.”

Ava held her tongue, scratched at Bea’s scalp in a way that sometimes made her arch her back in a distinctly cat-like movement, graceful and pleased. Beatrice hummed and after a few moments, she titled her head back and reached up to skim her fingers along Ava’s jaw.

“I’d like to go, I think. To Pride. I’d like to go with you.” Bea’s skin was warm under her lips as Ava moved from her forehead to her nose to her chin. “I’d love that, baby.”

-- They’re able to walk, which is nice because it’s beautiful out today and because it gives Bea a way to get rid of some nervous energy. She’d already been on a run that morning, but she’s always a little on edge, Ava’s sister warrior, and today is going to be amazing, Ava knows it, but it’s also going to be a lot.

Fifteen minutes into the walk, Beatrice squeezes Ava’s hand so hard she thinks maybe she’s missed some kind of danger or protestor or something. When she follows Bea’s gaze, though, she squeezes back just as tightly. A loud, brightly colored group has emerged from the subway and congregated around someone looking at their phone. While the younger members of the group wear bright colors—bow ties and skirts and dyed hair scattered throughout—the adults wear matching t-shirts, white with gigantic rainbow hearts and bold black letters:

Proud of My Queer Child

Proud of My Queer Grandchild

A little distance from the malformed semi-circle, an elderly man entertains a very excited kiddo who can’t be more than 8, blue tutu flying as they spin and spin. The man, Papa written in pink, white, and blue paint on his arm, is in a variation of the same shirt: Proud of my Trans Grandchild.

As Ava and Beatrice approach the little one stops twirling and says, exuberant and maybe a little dizzy, based on their wobbly stance, “Happy Pride!”

“Happy Pride!” Ava’s response is enthusiastic but hasty. She’s ready to move quickly, give Bea a pass on interaction, but Bea stops and smiles at them, so handsome in the sunlight, a tiny dash of sunscreen that Ava hadn’t noticed as they left the house covering some of the freckles on the right side of her nose. “Happy Pride,” she says, voice gentle as it always is with children.

“I like your glasses! But you’ve got, uh,” little fingers swipe to indicate the spot where the sunscreen is. Bea says, polite as ever, “Thank you. I have been admiring your tutu.” She turns to Ava, who lifts her fingers and blends. Beatrice cups her jaw. “Thank you, love.” Familiar and easy and unashamed.

“Dad! Micah! You ready?” A conclusion has apparently been reached by those congregated around the phone. Micah waves and then skips toward the woman who called for them, grandfather shepherding closely.

--

The motorcycles are loud enough that Ava feels them in her chest, and she can’t help but laugh.

Bea is transfixed, eyes glued to the group of women in front of them—colorful flags and bandanas, leather and love and butch women revving engines. The woman closest to them, in a leather vest with a Dykes on Bikes patch prominently displayed, throws her head back and laughs at something her partner, clutching her from behind, whispers into her ear.

“Dyke,” Bea whispered into the dark of their bedroom at Cat’s Cradle a few weeks after Ava’s return. They were learning each other in new ways in a new world, this life and the next all in one, and Bea was trusting Ava with another piece of herself. She explained with a pained voice and silent tears the way her father had nearly spat at her when her parents found her kissing another girl, innocent and exploring, in the kitchen. “My mother slapped me and he called me a dyke. They sent me to Switzerland the next day.”

Now, Bea wraps an arm around Ava’s waist and pulls her closer with a confidence that makes Ava and the halo want to burst. Ava wraps her own arms around Bea, squeezing, and leans up to kiss her cheek. Strong fingers catch her chin as she turns away and then Bea’s lips are on hers, sure and solid and tasting of coconut sunscreen chapstick. Ava smiles into it and leans her forehead against Bea’s as they break apart, happy and so fucking proud.

The crowd roars when the bikes start moving, the parade on its way again, and Ava joins them, yelling and unlocking her hands from Bea’s waist so that she can wave. Beatrice is quiet, but she’s smiling, really smiling, and she startles a laugh when a dyke revs at an impressively loud and coordinated wolf-whistle from a nearby section of the crowd.

--

They’ve been here for almost two hours—sound systems blasting Kylie and Beyonce and Janelle Monae, queer people dancing in leather and coordinated outfits and tiny, tiny swimsuits. More than one marcher has winked at one or the other of them, Ava delighted and Bea, as predicted, flustered and precious.

There are corporate-sponsored floats fucking everywhere and it’s very, very white, and Ava knows that Beatrice, who is as thoughtful in her queerness as she is in everything, will want to talk about it later. (She bravely asked Rosa and Cleo, her partner, older London natives who have been active in the queer scene since before she and Bea were born, about how to get more involved in community. And a growing stack of queer reading material—poetry and fiction and theory and memoir— sits in a neat stack on her bedside table and on two designated shelves in their living room. Ava is partial to fiction and the queer internet, but she’s happy to listen to anything Bea wants to read her, steady heartbeat in one ear and measured voice in the other.) For the moment, though, she watches and watches and watches as it all passes by.

At one point, a drag troupe dressed in habits with incredible makeup traipses by as the Sister Act soundtrack plays. Ava’s nervous for a minute, but Bea only bites her lip, expression amused rather than offended. One of the queens opens a fan with a flourish, and it’s covered in a shockingly detailed copy of The Last Supper, the disciples all in drag. A snort, ungraceful and unguarded, and then Bea is laughing so hard she’s shaking. Ava can’t look away.

By the time they enter hour three, they’re both flagging a little, and Ava wants to go home for a bit and nap because she absolutely wants to take Bea dancing tonight, so she tugs at Bea’s bicep and says loudly enough to be heard over the music (an Elton John remix?), “I’m happy to stay as long as you want, but I’m also happy to go home. I will need a nap before we go out tonight.” She does not phrase it as a question and she can’t see Bea’s eyes but she knows that they’re rolling fondly as Bea’s lips purse in amusement. “Oh, are you going out tonight?”

Ava pouts shamelessly because she knows what she wants and she knows how to get it. “We are going to a drag show and then dancing.” It’s an easier ask than Pride. They’ve done it before, even within the last month. The clubs are dark and anonymous and Bea genuinely loves dancing, and dancing with Ava especially.

Ava notices the banner of the next group before Bea can respond and nudges her quickly. “Bea. Look.” She does, immediate and reflexive, and then she keeps looking.

Christians at Pride

The groups is big, and there are colorful banners everywhere, some professionally printed and some very obviously handmade:

You are Made in God’s Image

You are loved.

Oh Happy Gay!

Thank God for Queer People

There are denominational shirts, a solid Catholic coalition packed into the middle, and at the end, a group of people whose shirts say simply: I’m Sorry. Ava has kept a close eye on Bea because, y’know, trauma, but it’s not until the end, until the I’m Sorry, that she reacts noticeably, sucking in a breath and curling one of her hands into a fist. Ava steps behind her, places a hand at the small of her back in question, and Bea reaches back for her arms.

They stand like that, Ava wrapped around her very favorite person, and watch a few more floats pass by, bass thumping up through their feet and confetti falling over them. Across the street, someone lifts a small child in a rainbow bucket hat onto their shoulders, and they sit waving and clapping happily at the queer cyclist club. The couple who have been camped next to them—Matt and Andy, about their age and into gardening and incredibly fucking cute in their tiny matching rainbow shorts and mesh tops—dips, giving them quick hugs. As they turn to leave, Andy says to Beatrice, teasing and without waiting for an answer, “See you tonight, yeah?” Ava, having resumed her previous position already, feels Bea’s laughter in her own chest.

Eventually, Beatrice turns into her and says, acting put upon but pressing even closer to Ava to be sure she knows it’s only an act, “Let’s go home and nap before we go out.”

Ava grins, victorious.

--

Look, Ava loves being queer. She doesn’t believe in blessings but she sure as shit believes it’s a gift to be bisexual, and she feels that deeply as she watches Bea at the bar in her slightly tighter black jeans and a fitted white tee. Her hair is down, over one shoulder, and she’s leaned forward to catch the bartender’s attention and Ava can’t believe she gets to go home with her.

She’s coming back from the bathroom, but she stops as someone slides into Bea’s space, beautifully tattooed arm reaching over to touch Bea’s elbow like it’s nothing. They’re gorgeous, newly touched-up undercut and jeans that do great things for their ass and Ava smiles as they shoot their shot.

The more they do it, the more she loves bringing Bea into queer spaces like this, because it’s where she gets the attention she quite frankly deserves and because it’s very fun to watch her navigate these interactions. Only the very smallest part of Ava wants to halo-blast this human across the room and even that is only on principle—she has absolutely nothing to worry about. More than anything, she’s happy that her partner gets some outside reinforcement for what Ava tells her all the fucking time: she’s hot.

Bea backs away immediately, says something that Ava is sure is polite but absolutely clear, and then she’s alone again. Ava makes her way over, sliding and arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her cheek and Beatrice smiles at her and hands her a shot glass.

“Lemon drop?”

The club is full of people celebrating, evidence of the parade everywhere: sunburns and smeared paint and so much glitter. Her own arms are covered in it now, but she doesn’t mind. Ava always loves going dancing with Bea but she loves it especially tonight. They’re warm and happy and just a little bit drunk, swaying comfortably in the press of the revelry.

The music changes, an eruption as the Beyonce remix sounds through the speakers, and Bea shifts somehow closer to her, hands confidently blazing a path to the exposed skin of Ava’s waist. Ava lets her own hands roam, landing on Bea’s shoulder blades, fingers digging in as Bea breathes out against her ear, “Come home with me?”

Ava kisses her, a little filthy, and Beatrice pulls her closer. She draws back with a bite to Bea’s bottom lip and kisses a path up her jaw, lets her tongue graze skin as she answers Bea’s question the way she always does, the way she always will: “Yes.” They press out of the crowd, and Beatrice apologizes as she bumps into a crew coming into the club. “No worries, baby!” The queen is beautiful, makeup fucking impeccable, and she blows a kiss as she heads toward the bar. “Happy Pride!”

[cosmic-walkers]

So many thoughts about this episode, but one thing it really highlights is how Thomas clings on to the relationship with Wolsey, to the point of having blind entitlement to things that come for Wolsey, and are of Wolsey. Including his daughter, Dorthea.

(Also these are just my thoughts/opinions! So don't take them personally!)

Thomas clings to his relationship with Wolsey largely due to the fact that his relationship with his own paternal figure was terrible, but also because he sees his proximity to Wolsey as a redeeming quality of his person. He is treacherous, he is cutthroat, he leaves those he called friends out to the wolves, even if they've helped him, he aids in putting people to death - sometimes is indirectly responsible but, he does it for Wolsey. He did it for Wolsey; so that means it has to be good.

So when he is called out on that delusion when he is faced with the very possibility that Wolsey thought he betrayed him at the end - that hurts him. And it makes him realize that everything was for nothing.

Bringing it back to his relationship with Dorthea, I want to again highlight his entitlement and this idea that he thinks what belonged to Wolsey, belonged to him. To him, Dorthea is an extension of Wolsey, she is Wolsey's flesh and blood; she is the daughter of the man Thomas loved dearly. So to him marrying her is in a way, getting closer to Wolsey. He doesn't care that Dorthea is a woman who has made a vow of celibacy/chastity (and we've seen how Thomas kind of disregards when people in religious orders/vows tell they are celibate), he looks at a woman who has vowed to live a life of modesty and talks about wanting to have sex with her, wanting to dress her in jewels, wanting to see her out of her habit - he dehumanizes her, and she is beyond disgusted. This is a woman who has vowed to never let a man touch or see her in that way, but due to Thomas' lack of care for her religion, he simply does not care. And this is also again, because he feels entitled to her. She is Wolsey's daughter; what is Wolsey's is his, and she should love him, she should be grateful. She should feel honored that he is asking her to leave everything she cares about and be his wife. But she checks him quickly. She puts him in his place. And also, as a nun, she has far more freedom than she would ever have as Thomas' wife.

Anyway, their relationship or rather lack of, highlights the complexities of Thomas' relationship with Wolsey. I know I mentioned that they have a father-son relationship, but as we know Thomas is very complex when it comes to blurring those lines. As someone who sees gay everywhere, it's very possible that he had romantic feelings toward Wolsey, and that translates to how he views Dorthea. If he can be with Dorthea, that he can be with Wolsey. And even if not - she is still a part of Wolsey that he craves, because it makes sense.

But again, she breaks that wall, she puts him in his place. And dare I say, is there resentment toward her, for being more closely related to Wolsey than he will ever be? And for sharing in a more intimate, close relationship than Wolsey and Thomas ever had? Especially if there is this idea that Wolsey told Dorthea he felt abandoned by Thomas?

Anyway, these are just my opinions and how I view the two of them. Thomas is obviously my favorite character and i do not like seeing him get his lashings but...i've gotta give tens where tens are due....and Dorthea did what had to be done.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

AU (13) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven, part twelve

10B (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: meticulous landscaper who fixes up all the yards of the expensive condominiums and the one crazy hermit who refuses to let his yard be groomed

A Game of Life (ao3) - Koolhotsweetloveberries

Summary: Daniel Howell, an honorable member of the King's Knighthood, does not expect much from his time at court. All changes when the court jester, Philip Lester, enters.

A Leap in the Dark (ao3) - Bleeding Phass Incident (doctorwhat420)

Summary: Dan’s fingers brushed Lester’s face on the screen. Cold, plastic, hard… Yeah, it was probably just like the real deal.

As the World Caves In (ao3) - cosmic_angel_writes

Summary: Dan and Phil vs The Zombie Apocalypse

Burning Bibles (ao3) - cherryheartz

Summary: phil lester loved curly headed boys with tattoos on their arms and a joint made with torn bible pages between their soft lips.

and dan howell was exactly that.

(TW) Chosen Family (ao3) - Mysticallykai

Summary: After Dan comes out at fifteen, his parents don't pay him any mind. At sixteen, when he goes to his first pride, he meets Kath Lester. She becomes like a mother to him, and when his boyfriend hurts him, he goes to her for help. He wasn't aware that he would finally meet her youngest son, nor that Phil would be someone so special to him.

Come along (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: In medieval England, a young knight rides north, sent to serve at the court of the quiet young Duke of Lancaster.

Come Clean (ao3) - castrotophic

Summary: Dan thinks Phil might be in love with him, but he's not quite sure how to figure it out.

Deal me in (ao3) - CapriciousCrab

Summary: "We don't tolerate cheaters around these here parts, mister,” he said with an exaggerated drawl.

He closed and locked the door behind him as he entered the room, laughing at Phil's sheepish expression.

"I wasn't cheating!" Phil laughed. He played along, batting his eyes at Dan innocently. "You must be mistaken, sir."

"Is that so? Well then, why don't you prove it?"

Deeper (ao3) - Scuddleduck

Summary: Inspired by the idea of "Pass Around Party Bottom Dan."

Don't Blame Me (ao3) - ForeverJustAnEmoKidAtHeart

Summary: When Phil gets a new job at the Tops Only Bar, he's just looking to make ends meet over the holiday period. He doesn't expect how he'll feel about one of the performers or how hard that'll make his job.

Inheriting love (ao3) - Fictropes

Summary: Dan lives and works in a small village where everyone knows everyone. A place where everything is typical, until Phil comes along.

Interrupted By Sirens (ao3) - SecretLlama_22

Summary: Dan is part of a mission leaving earth with destination of some far away galaxy. He doesn't mind really, leaving earth and all his friends behin. It's his job and he's happy to do it.

But one day they pass an inhabited asteroid field and the inhabitants cause a little trouble in his relationship to his fellow crew member Phil Lester. And, why did this space siren turn into HIM trying to seduce Phil?

last disco (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Two ridiculously-dressed guys meet on a night out.

(An AU where Dan gets dragged to the club and meets Phil, who’s dressed as the world’s gayest cowboy.)

leaned a bit too hard (ao3) - jailedmoonshine

Summary: Growing up, Phil resented her name. She already didn't care for dresses and heels, so it was even harder convincing people she was actually a girl. As the years pass and her styles change, she decides to stop for a pint at a pub along her drive, giving her body a chance to breathe from the chill that was coming in.

Hang on... is that a nun?

move your body when the sunlight dies (ao3) - phegetarian

Summary: dan is cursed, phil is a witch.

My Sanctuary, You're Holy to Me (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Sister Daniel isn't very good at being a nun, but she's stuck living in a convent because she's got no other plans. The church needs a new priest for Sunday mass, and the responsibility falls on her to meet him for the first time. Will he see through her false devotion?

Sister Daniel/Father Philip convent au (Sister Daniel's origin story)

names of collision in the dark (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Of enemy kingdoms, Prince Dan and Prince Phil meet one fateful night, leading to a surprising friendship that evolves into something more. As the looming threat of a major battle grows stronger, both princes grapple with their roles and the burdens of leadership, all while their growing bond forces them to confront their own kingdoms’ expectations and the possibility of peace in the chaos.

(aka the dan and phil royal au fic they wrote for the gaming channel but taken seriously)

new horizons (ao3) - cityofphanchester

Summary: “Bry,” Phil says again, crashing to a halt against the table. Someone’s jammed the rickety sliding door to the back garden open and the kitchen is flooded with bright, sweet autumn air that he’s in absolutely no position to appreciate. “My Switch is broken.”

She turns away from the sink to look at him with much less urgency than the situation demands. “Were you playing Animal Crossing in the bath again?”

“No!” he says, much too loud, and there’s a muffled laugh from the other side of the breakfast bar. He notices only a few seconds late that obviously Bryony hadn’t been talking to herself. It’s Dan, oversized black hoodie and shadows under his eyes, clutching a Game of Thrones coffee mug like he hasn’t slept in a week. Which maybe he hasn’t, Phil can never quite get a vibe off him. “That was one time.”

New Shapes (ao3) - cloej88

Summary: This is absolutely shameless smut, because the siren call of a Jimmy threesome was too strong to ignore.

On Top of the World (ao3) - dnpangels

Summary: Dan Howell is known at Cedar Creek High School for being the star quarterback and for having dated every girl in the junior year. Phil Lester is known for almost always getting the lead in the school play and being a straight-A student. Dan is popular in the stereotypical way, while Phil is popular within the groups that he chooses to be a part of. Another thing that almost everyone knows is that Dan and Phil are definitely not friends.

rebrand (ao3) - dan-whoell (infiniteseriesofhalfways)

Summary: Phil makes some changes and meets a boy named Dan.

the ladyknight dan fic (ao3) - baroquen

Summary: It's 1138, and Civil War is stirring in England. In the North, rumors of a Scottish invasion have begun to spread. Dan is a knight whose disguise as a man has recently fallen to pieces. Phil is the odd daughter of a country lord. They fall in love. This is a story about some of those things.

Virtuoso (ao3) - aphroditegf

Summary: Phil Lester and Dan Howell both consider themselves the top selections for the best orchestra at their elite music university, and find themselves competing for the position.

[ribbonsaikeaux]

Hey Doll

Eric felt stupid sitting on the sidelines as the party raged around him. Music pumped through the speakers of the event hall bringing many to their feet. Even those gathered at the nearby snack table seemed to be having a rather jovial time; screaming jokes, some in poor taste, over the thrumming bass. An eccelctic mix of elves, cheerleaders, goblins, nuns, and witches mingled together, delighting in each others company. Such was standard operating procedure for a costume party. Though Eric, for his part, seemed uninterested in the revels taking place around him. Not-so-contently sitting in a folding chair off to the side of the room, eyes darting back and forth nervously.

The outfit he chose was simple. Comprised simply of the one suit he owned and a mask. Though the mask was the important part, to him at least. It was made of porcelaine, the face itself white as the driven snow, bearing painted on blue eyeshadow above the empty eyes which connected to feminine looking eyelashes and an inviting pair of red lips.

For the life of him, Eric just could not figure out why he decided to come here. People worried him; he found their gazes to be unsettling. As if they were judging him. As if they knew, but they cant know. Only he does. His mind starting to race; feeling as if every eye in the building was on him, despite the fact that no one had spares him a glance since he sat down. It was becoming too much. He had to get out.

He quickly stood, turning awkwardly towards the door and briskly started walking toward it. However, a woman crossed his path, a calming smile on her face. She was dressed as a rather fancy witch. A large black and purple hat bearing the figure of a crow and long purple and black velvet robes.

Her smile disarmed him. It was strangely reasuring for some reason. He looked at the witch awkwardly for a moment, trying to find words. Ultimately, he was unable to, his mouth just opening and closing behind his mask. The tension broke when she gently touched his shoulder and leaned into to speak near his ear so he could hear her better.

She said

"Hey doll

You seem a little lost

Now i can help you find your way

Though you may not like the cost

But if you trust me

The pathways that we take

Can help you live on unafraid

Cause after all the mask you wear is just another face"

Taken aback by her words, Eric stuttered for a moment. However, when she leaned back with a hand still on his shoulder wearing that same smile, he was enchanted. Nodding slowly as he took her other outstretched hand, he followed her to the dancefloor as the song changed. This one more suitable for a slow dance.

The witch put her hands on his hips and led. Together they danced. Swaying side to side and back and forth. Her eyes never leaving his, still wearing the same disarming smile.

Slowly, though, the light and sound seemed to fade from Erics senses. Eventually it was quiet and he was all alone in a spotlight. The soft twinkling of a music box came to his ears and he became entranced. He gracefully stepped, swinging one leg out as his arms rose above his head. His body felt as of it were being puppeted by unseen strings. Still, his movements were fluid, spinning on pointe and leaning back, arms outstretched. As the song ended, he stood posed with his left foot to his right knee and fingers connecting above his head.

Eric was shook from his trance by the return of the thumping music and bright lights. Looking around he saw no sign of the witch, though now there was a mirror and a piece of paper in his hand.

Rushing off the dance floor to get his bearings, several things remained on noticed. He first decided to read the note.

It read:

"Hey doll

Sorry had to go

But i think that you should know

That you wont look

Back before this day

And someone cute just looked your way

But just remember

The mask you wear is just another face"

Eric frowned in disappointment, not underatanding the cryptic note. He sighs dejectedly as he- no wait, SHE looks into the mirror and gasps.

Staring back at her is the same pale skin as the mask. Those red lips parted in awe and full lashes fluttering as she tries to process whats going on. She sits the mirror on the floor, noticing her new dress for the first time. It was a robins egg blue and white princess dress. Soft and covered in shear lace.

The new woman teared up, sitting down and covering her mouth. Her eyes leaking warm tears of relief and joy. This was what she had always wanted, but was too afraid to persue.

Out the corner of her eye, she saw someone aproach. She wiped her tears away as she looked up and saw a woman dressed as Jesse from Team Rocket. The woman bore a concerned expression, eyebrows knitted together.

"Hey! Are you alright?!" She screamed over the music

Eric smiled "yeah! Im great actually!"

The woman returnes the smile and nodded, reaching out a hand "good! Im Kimberly!"

Eric took her hand and shook it "Eric...a!"

"Nice to meet you Erica!" Kimberly said with a smile. "Wanna go somewhere a little quieter?"

Still holdering her hand, Erica rose from her seat and nodded "definitely!"

The pair walked out into the cool night breeze and sat in the parking lot talking. They got to know each other, laughing and joking until they were the only ones that remained in the parking lot. Both finally agreed it was time to go home and exchanged numbers before hugging and getting in their cars. Shortly thereafter they went on their first date. Then another, and another. After about six months they moves in together. A year after that, they were married. Erica was the happiest she'd ever been in her life. Having settled into a loving and passionate relationship with her amazing and beautiful wife.

One day Erica and Kimberly went out to a coffee shop. While Kimberly ordered, Erica waited at one of the tables; gazing lovingly at her wife. She was brought out of her love induced stupor when she noticed a familiar hat and robes. The witch from the party was here with what looked like two... dolls?

The witch noticed her then a look of excited recollection spread across her face. She raced over and gave Erica a big hug then she said

"Hey doll

Oh my its been so long

But youve really come along

And im so happy

That youre no longer afraid

Stepped from the night into the day

Seems you remember

The mask you wear is just another face"

[prettyyoungandbored]

Dork - Danny Cordray

Pairing: Danny Cordray x Fem!OC

Author’s Note: This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written. I love this show so much and never did I think would do write an Office fic. So, because this is The Office, yes the OC will have a camera interview. Anything that is bold and italicized is her giving the on-camera interview. I hope you enjoy!

P.S. Any direct quotes from the show belong to the writers.

NOT MY GIF

Surprisingly, Danny Cordray being handsome was the second thing people were talking about. The first was the fact that he and Pam went on two dates two years ago.

And man, did the office run wild with that. Even if somehow Michael Scott strangely didn’t.

For Tessa Connelly, she felt bad that it was all people were talking about. She was friends with Pam and Pam was happily married with a kid. She moved on. Why couldn’t everybody else?

“I wanna say they’ll get over it, but you and I both know that will take forever,” Tessa chuckled, as the two women stood in the kitchen. “How were the dates though?”

“I had fun,” Pam replied. “But he didn’t call me after the second one so, I don’t know. Guess he wasn’t having as much fun.” She paused. “Not that it matters.”

“No, but I would question it too,” Tessa assured. “I’ve been in that position before and it’s the worst. How’s Jim handling it?”

“He’s frazzled but won’t admit it.”

The brunette chuckled. “Color me shocked. He’ll get over it. At least he will before everyone else does.”

Just as Pam was leaving the break room, Danny entered and his eyes met Tessa’s. She gave him a small smile.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met yet,” he said, holding out his hand. He flashed a million dollar smile that elicited butterflies in her stomach. “I’m Danny. I just joined the sales team.”

“Tessa,” she said, shaking his hand.

“And what do you do here?”

“I’m a customer service rep.”

He hummed, leaning on the counter. “Well, I can promise you you’ll only get glowing reviews about me.”

Her lips pursed as she nodded.

She pointed at him. “Lemme guess, salesman.”

“Traveling salesman,” he corrected politely.

She hummed. “Not much of a desk guy, huh?”

He shook his head. “I don’t like being tied down a whole lot.”

Ok, NOW I get why he only went on two dates with Pam. It all makes sense now.

She raised her mug. “Well, Danny, it was nice to meet you.”

“It was really nice to meet you as well,” he replied.

She just nodded and continued walking.

=================================

The next day was the Halloween party. Tessa decided to keep it simple with a basic cat costume. She had the ears and drew the nose and whiskers, donning a black button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a black pencil skirt.

She walked into the break room to get coffee at the same time Danny was.

“Nice costume,” he remarked. “I, uh, didn’t realize people took Halloween here seriously.”

“There’s a costume contest today,” she said, pouring coffee into her mug.

“I assume you’re entering?”

She shook her head. “I don’t care to.”

“But you’re dressed up.”

“Thats the fun of Halloween,” she said. “You dress up to be whoever or whatever you want.”

He nodded. “I didn’t think about that. Then again, I’ve never been a costume guy.”

“You’re missing out.”

“Well, for what it’s worth I’d vote for you in the costume contest.”

She couldn’t help but notice Danny Cordray’s smile and how it complimented his overall charming demeanor. She wondered if his looks was what made him a good salesman. He could sell meat to vegetarian with one single look.

Then she remembered his words. “I don’t like being tied down a whole lot.” He was obviously flirting with her just to get her in bed and then continue on to the next woman.

The worst part is how much she liked it.

“MeOW! Look at you dressed as my favorite thing in the world!”

She groaned, knowing damn well who that voice belonged too.

“Packer, I will stab you with my pencil,” she retorted.

Todd Packer, dressed as a pregnant nun, meddled in between her and Danny.

“Fiesty and violent, just how I like ‘em,” he smirked.

Before she could say something, Danny stepped in between.

“So, I need help finding the conference room for the meeting,” he said, looking at Tessa. “Can you show me where it is?”

She smiled at him gratefully. “Sure. Follow me.”

She walked out into the office with Danny right beside her. Once they were out of Packer’s sight, she turned and said, “Thanks for that. He’s a traveling salesman who truly has no business being in this office. Or even just existing.”

“No problem,” Danny chuckled. “I can promise you, not traveling salesmen are like that.”

She smiled. “I sure hope not.”

“So, um, I already told everyone else but my buddies and I are having a Halloween thing at our bar,” he said. “You should come.”

“You co-own a bar?” she asked. “Why am I not surprised?”

He made a face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing at all. You just have a bar owner vibe about you.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes, it is,” she laughed. “Don’t overthink it. What’s the name of the bar?”

“Public School.”

She cocked her head back. “That’s quite a name. I’ll definitely-.”

She turned to see the office staring at her, including Pam who was the only one smiling.

She looked over back at Danny. “I’ll think about it.”

Just because I’m being nice doesn’t mean I’m flirting with him. You can talk to an attractive man without flirting with him.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s cute. But I just…I mean…guys like him, you know. He’s a bachelor. He prefers the bachelor lifestyle. And it seems to suit him. Like he seems nice and he smells really nice and has a great smile-.

Oh [BEEP] off!

=======================================

“You going to Danny’s bar tonight?”

She glanced up from her computer to see Andy and Kevin standing there.

“I don’t know yet,” she shrugged.

“Is it because he went out with Pam two years ago?” Kevin asked.

She sighed. “Ok, you guys have got to cut it out with that.”

Andy laughed. “Sounds like someone’s a little bit jealous.”

“How am I-you know what?”

She got up from her desk and walked into the break room where Danny was talking with Jim and Pam.

“Do you honestly wanna know why I didn't call her back on a date over four years ago?” Danny asked.

“Hey, she had a nice time,” Jim said defensively.

“I did,” Pam chimes in. “Yeah, and it's one of those things that's just gonna keep gnawing at me. Like, gnaw, gnaw...’Why? Why didn't he? I have no idea why.’”

“Okay, honestly,” Danny sighed. I didn't call you back because I just thought you seemed a little dorky.”

Silence fell. Tessa’s heart sank to her stomach as she watched Pam’s demeanor soften into embarrassment.

“Hey, man,” Jim stepped in.

“Thank you!” Pam cut him off, over enthusiastically. “Thank you. I got it. Now I know. You thought I was a little dorky.”

Tessa couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.

“You know what, I don’t think I should come tonight,” she spoke up.

Danny, Jim, and Pam looked over at her.

“I don’t want to be around people who don’t appreciate how awesome us dorks are,” she snapped.

Danny opened his mouth to say something when Tessa turned around, heading back to her office.

I said what I said. Look, yes, he’s gorgeous but…it’s not worth entertaining. Not with someone like him.

====================================

Tessa spent the rest of Halloween in the annex working. She figured with the costume contest and whatever conflict Michael and Darryl were dealing with, she could get her work done and slip out of here without dealing with Danny ever again.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

She looked over to see Pam standing by Tessa’s desk.

“It wasn’t right,” Tessa shrugged. “Besides, if you’re a dork then I’m a loser.”

Pam chuckled. “He actually apologized to me and Jim. It was actually really sincere.”

“That’s nice.”

“Tess, cmon. You should give him a chance, you know. He means well, and he clearly likes you. And I know you like him too.”

She sighed as she set her pencil down. “It’s not worth it and quite frankly, I don’t see it ending well.”

Pam pulled out a folded scrap of paper. Tessa unfolded it, revealing name written on it.

“I didn’t even-.”

“He wrote it,” Pam said. “It was the only handwriting I couldn’t recognize.”

Tessa sighed, the knot in her stomach tightened.

“Don’t not do it because of me,” Pam said. “Just…you know, think about it.”

Tessa nodded as Pam grabbed her arm. “C’mon. Jim brought Cece and she’s all dressed up.”

===================================

When Tessa walked out to the office, the first thing she noticed was Jim, dressed as Popeye, holding baby Cece.

“Oh my god, she’s Sweet Pea!” Tessa beamed.

She made her way over, holding out her arms. Jim handed her the baby as she continued to coo at Cece.

“What a cutie you are in your costume!” she said. “Best one I’ve seen today!”

“I actually like the Popeye cartoons.”

She looked over to see Danny standing there. He continued. “I always liked cartoons. Still kind of do. The old school Looney Tunes make me laugh.”

Tessa pulled back her lips. “What if I were to tell you that sometimes I still watch those cartoons? Is that too dorky for you?”

He smiled. “I would say that sometimes Public School has the old school Looney Tunes playing on one of TVs and if you don’t believe me, you should come check it out for yourself.”

Tessa looked at Cece.

“You know, Cece,” she began, “Danny here really wants me to go to his bar. Give me a smile if you think I should go.”

Cece smiled and began babbling. Tessa looked over at Danny.

“What time should I be there?” she asked.

I guess I figured I’d been too judgemental. Besides, Pam gave me her blessing. I’m just going to go for a couple drinks. See what happens.

[karin-gespenst]

Butterflies and Tears - Season 12 episode 8 rewatch

during most of my crochet projects I watch so much Call the Midwife that I don't recall which project went with which episodes. Now I'm on a baby blanket for a nibling in the making.

So I'm making the Butterflies pattern and it turns out beautifully. While working on it I rewatched Trixie's wedding episode and had many thoughts about it. Many tears, too.

Calling the Yu baby Lizzie is a choice I would not have made. This baby's entire story starts with "Your mom died the day you were born. In fact, they cut you out of her corpse so you didn't die, too." and giving her the same name as her mother brings up that story time and time again. Of course, with a tragedy like this, the pain will be enormous anyway, but maybe pick a name that is not so completely chained to this horrible accident.

SMJ made me cry with her reading. I also cried because Judy Parfitt reminds me a lot of my grandma in her last years. The snark, the being done with aging, the dismissing of worries that people tell her about because she's seen so much worse - and the profound love of her family and trust in the Lord.

Geoffrey is a delight and please can he come back instead of Matthew? Trixie does not need a husband per se, but having family around does her good. Including Geoffrey with the hen night was wonderful, and I love the relaxing beauty treatments in contrast to the lively party they had for Lucille.

completely relateable: Phyllis exhausted after the prospect of saying goodbye to another young woman she has raised from chick to grown up nurse. Let's count:

Delia left with Patsy, Sister Mary Cynthia is recovering somewhere off screen, Barbara is gone forever, Valerie ran off in the middle of the night, the first batch of pupil midwives has graduated, Doctor McNulty had to leave to get better, Lucille half a globe away, Sisters Winifred and Frances back at the Mother House, Trixie about to get married, and now Nancy maybe leaving? It's very good that Sister Julienne secured a new supply of young pupil midwives. And got rid of that pesky council rent threat.

The scene with Nancy and Trixie sewing the blue fabric bow into the seam of the wedding dress was sweet. They shared a room for a long time and sometimes had a relationship just like sisters.

Burning down the hotel to justify the party in Poplar was a heavy plot hammer. Especially after the dead mother and impromptu C-section scene. That felt like just piling on the problems: suits, flowers, blood, rain, death, fire, missing nuns - I swear, I'll never get married in church, and don't come near me with white dresses or high heels or any other item just begging to malfunction at the worst moment.

Does Timothy just have bad luck or is it usual for medical students to encounter this many deaths in their first year? It would be awesome to see him talk to some of his fellow students about the cases he has seen. Maybe he could bring home a friend some day? A special one? *wink wink*

[dolphin1812]

We’ve reached Valjean’s wigs!

Although the old woman in the Gorbeau house is a gossip (which, after seeing the consequences of Madame Victurnien’s actions for Fantine, doesn’t bode well for Jean Valjean and Cosette), I do have to give her credit for one thing: helping to take care of Cosette.

“Every evening, at twilight, he walked for an hour or two, sometimes alone, often with Cosette, seeking the most deserted side alleys of the boulevard, and entering churches at nightfall. He liked to go to Saint-Médard, which is the nearest church. When he did not take Cosette with him, she remained with the old woman; but the child’s delight was to go out with the good man. She preferred an hour with him to all her rapturous tête-à-têtes with Catherine. He held her hand as they walked, and said sweet things to her.”

She also questioned Cosette, which, while related to her concerning love of gossip, demonstrates that she engages with her. Her care isn’t comparable to Valjean’s, but it highlights that (1), he’s not completely alone in raising her, regardless of what he thinks and (2), there’s a chance that Cosette will not only grow up loved, but less isolated than Valjean. His tendency towards isolation is completely understandable (due to both the legitimate fear of being caught and his trauma), but it’s also deeply unhealthy. Perhaps this early exposure to other people in a way that isn’t scary (as all the people visiting the inn in Montfermeil either ignored Cosette or thought her treatment was justified, her interactions with people outside of the Thénardiers have been negative with the exception of Valjean) will help her recover as well. 

As usual, I love the care between Valjean and Cosette. She’s so happy to spend time with him, and the way he’s so attentive towards her (holding her hand, saying kind things) is adorable.

Valjean is also accidentally hilarious? The wigs are funny on their own, of course, but I also love how he tries to “stealthily” give out alms and is failing. It reminds me of his reverse robberies as mayor, where people generally knew that it was him, but he still couldn’t directly give assistance. Here, he is being more direct, but his position is more uncertain as well. As mayor, his habits were just eccentricities. Here, where he’s a “beggar” himself, his habits make him mysterious and, therefore, dangerous. We see this in the gossip over his thousand-franc bill, which, while understandable to an extent (it makes sense that it would shock the old woman if it’d only been her second or third time seeing one), centers around trying to determine his class to determine his place in the social order: how can a man so poorly dressed have so much money? Where does it come from? Why is he like this? Such questions are ominous ones for Valjean, who is firmly outside of the social order. 

Unfortunately, Valjean’s strangeness is also sad. All of his bizarre behaviors (only going out at night, carrying wigs and other emergency materials, sneaking money to the poor) are mixed up with the demands of staying hidden (going out at night when he can’t be seen, for instance), his trauma from prison (isolation, increased paranoia at being sent back), his guilt (his almsgiving), or a combination of all of the above. Still, at least he now does these activities in the company of Cosette, who brings so much joy into his life.

Spoilers below:

Cosette’s different social background is something that I really wish Hugo explored in greater depth. We never really see her leave this isolation, but unlike Valjean, she might be equipped to. This woman was an early example of an interaction that wasn’t outwardly toxic (eight-year-old Cosette wouldn’t have had the full context for the issues with her gossip or why she was asking questions), and in the convent, she also would have had the chance to speak to other girls, to Valjean and Fauchelevent, and to the nuns. What she learned there wouldn’t be directly transferable to Parisian bourgeois society, but it was something! It would have been nice to see her make friends and have connections outside of Valjean and Marius (or even better, helping Valjean connect with others at the same time that she builds her own circle). 

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 2 - Resurrect Bracket (Losers Bracket) Side A

ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to [make it to the finals]

Propaganda below ⬇️

707/Luciel

erm um he is a secret agent and has to do very morally questionable things because of that also he grew up in an abusive household with a twin brother who he had to leave behind and in order to escape but he was basically given no choice in that and his thought his brother is safe somewhere keeps him going and stuff and this is relevant to his faith because throughout the game its unclear how serious hes being but he does truly want to believe in god. when he gets super mega depressed he does not anymore though. also he crossdresses a nun and its awesome hes so super silly and you should let him in this battle please and thank you

im normal about his catholicism i promise. anyways hes like. his faith is like the thing anchoring him to earth since he was a kid its the only thing keeping him slightly sane because his life is so fucked up. its like the only thing he can cling into that is always certain. also jesus taught him how to code so i think thats pretty cool. he IS the kind of guy to say "jesus may forgive you . but i wont" and just shoot you in the face. hes just getting you to judgement faster its fine

He’s very silly about his religion, dressed up as a nun once. I can’t think of Catholicism without thinking of that fucking nun cg he’s invaded my brain. His baptismal name (Luciel) is literally the name of the devil. I love him so much

can you use that picture where he's dressed as a nun sorry (ok i didnt and im sorry but because hes v silly but he does take his faith seriously and i didnt want people to think hes a joke character but I'll include it here)

Ibara Shiozaki Propaganda:

girlie pop literally has moves like "faiths shield" and "crucifixion". she also tells one of her classmates that she hopes the firey pits of hell will cleanse him of his sinful ways (he used her as bait) and calls another classmate sinful for being deceitful

She literally never shuts up about her religion and it's really funny. Like almost every line she says has something to do with God. She calls everyone whos behavior she disapproves of a sinner and assigns her classmates biblical nicknames. Also her techniques are all called things like crucifixion and via dolorosa

She's a gag character for the Crown of Thorns and I adore her <3

[iviarellereads]

Gideon the Ninth, Chapter 5

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For detail on The Locked Tomb coverage and the index, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Ninth House icon) In which Gideon is given her standing orders.

The second letter from the Emperor was somewhat less prolix(1) than the first. Gideon and Harrow are in the Nonagesimus personal library. Gideon holds the letter in one hand to read it, while painting her face with the other hand. Gideon is frustrated that they're going to a dead planet, the First House, and not somewhere with living people who aren't just old religious fanatics.

Harrow brings Gideon's attention to the final paragraph, which says there will be no retainers or attendants allowed. Gideon says this should mean she's allowed to dress how she wants and take her two-hander. Harrow protests, ten thousand years of tradition! Gideon doesn't have ten thousand years of Ninth tradition, she has ten years of training with her own sword and a minor allergy to this face paint.

Harrow clarifies that ten thousand years of tradition means the Ninth should have been able to produce a cavalier with the right sword, the right training, and the right attitude. Harrow can provide Gideon with the sword and a bit of training, but two out of three isn't three. She needs Gideon to keep her mouth shut and not give away that the Ninth house is failing and weak. Harrow will kill Gideon if she thinks she's done anything to suggest the House is out of order in public.(2)

Gideon points out that Harrow can't keep the secret forever. Harrow says when she's a Lyctor, she'll have the power to reinforce the House. For now, Harrow needs Gideon to act according to Ninth House tradition, which means the face paint, and that's an order. She takes the stick of black char from Gideon's hand, but when she reaches for Gideon's face to keep her still, Gideon bites her. Harrow swears furiously, shaking her hand out of the glove still in Gideon's teeth, and starts fiddling with another of her bone earrings.

Gideon, like an animal not wanting to take medicine but knowing it's the only way, gives in and tilts her head up to be painted. As Harrow starts applying the black, Gideon admits that she doesn't want to dress like a nun again. Harrow says if Gideon looks the part, people may not ask the difficult questions, or find out that the cavalier primary of the House of the Ninth is an illiterate peon. Gideon objects to being called illiterate. Harrow says pinup rags aren't literature, but Gideon insists she reads them for the articles! (3)

When Gideon paints her own face, she does so in the bare minimum of style demanded. As she looks at Harrow's handiwork in a mirror, she sees the same face as the oldest necromancers of the House. She looks like a douche, and says so. Harrow says Gideon must appear before her like this every day until they leave. Gideon's hair, she can do nothing with, because Gideon won't shave it every day, but the paint she can and will manage.

Gideon keeps waiting for the "and", the payoff, the moment when Harrow declares victory. Harrow says there is no "and", if she had her way she wouldn't take Gideon at all. As it stands, she will succeed despite Gideon, by ensuring Gideon will cause no trouble for her. Harrow dismisses Gideon, but Gideon ignores her and asks if this is where they share intel, what Harrow knows about the tasks ahead. No, Harrow says. This is where Gideon obeys, or Harrow mixes bone meal into Gideon's breakfast and punches back out through her gut. Gideon privately has to admit this is entirely plausible.

=====

(1) Prolix - wordy, using too many words. (2) So much for Aiglamene's vouchsafe, amirite? (3) The claim of so many, for decades.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Immaculate (2024)

Comparing Immaculate to The First Omen is almost a necessity, as both films feature similar settings, plots and fears. The big difference is that The First Omen makes great use of all the material at its disposal - particularly considering it’s a prequel to a film released almost fifty years ago - while Immaculate starts off strong and peters out towards the end. For about an hour, I felt like both films could comfortably sit next to each other, but that ending is a major letdown.

Young novice Sister Cecilia (Sydney Sweeney) has been convinced that God has a plan for her since miraculously surviving a fall through the ice as a child. Soon after joining a convent in Italy, she learns she is pregnant despite being a virgin. Most of the convent’s occupants begin treating her as the next Virgin Mary but her friend, Sister Gwen (Benedetta Porcaroli), thinks there’s something sinister going on. Several odd events seem to confirm her suspicions.

The pre-title sequence proves something nasty is brewing at the convent but equally effective is Sister Cecilia’s arrival in Italy. She’s interrogated by two officials and both of them make you think “What a pair of creeps”. Then, we get into the story proper. Whether you’re devout or not, you raise an eyebrow when the convent doctor (Giampiero Judica) tells Cecilia she’s pregnant. The setting increases your unease. The convent is a beautiful building, but most of the residents are elderly nuns who are near death or suffering from dementia. Despite the beauty, it's a largely cold, distant place - even with Cecilia's one friend. All of the pieces are there to make this a great film.

Signs of trouble appear as soon as Sister Cecilia throws up one morning from what we assume is morning sickness. Among the blood she's spit out is a tooth. There’s an opportunity at this point to look at Sister Cecilia and dig into her psyche but the story by Andrew Lobel doesn’t. We're not even sure if Sister Cecilia really believed this pregnancy was heavenly but now, does she still think this is what God saved her for? Does this creeping doubt change what she thinks of herself? Does it affect her faith? When she sees that tooth, is there any part of her that’s disappointed? We don’t know. At this point, she essentially becomes a new character. Her only objective is to escape. There is no ambiguity anymore.

What’s going on exactly? I’ll tell you. Father Sal Tedeschi (Álvaro Morte), Mother Superior (Dora Romano) and Cardinal Franco Merola (Giorgio Colangeli) possess a Holy Nail relic. With the blood, skin and bone fragments on the nail, Tedeschi has mapped what they believe is Jesus Christ’s DNA. They’re using Sister Cecilia to give birth to a New Messiah. At least they think so. A hint earlier on, combined with the well-done final scene and the body-horror-lite elements tell the audience and Sister Cecilia that Satan has tricked the convent. They’re about to welcome the AntiChrist. The thing is, even if the conspirators have pure intentions, they’re still evil, and I don’t mean that in a “they’re forcing a woman to have a baby” kind of way so the shock of that reveal is severely lessened. The first scene has members of the convent burying a woman alive. Later on, they torture Cecilia and they also cut out Sister Gwen’s tongue before murdering her. They dress in spooky cloaks, they’re performing bizarre experiments underground, they’re committing all sorts of crimes. It flattens a movie that could’ve been thought-provoking and emotionally complex. What if the people at the convent weren’t evil? What if Sister Cecilia was convinced that her baby was divine until a horrifying, last-minute realization? What if the divine plan was to end the world? I don't want to be an armchair director, but director Michael Mohan and writer Andrew Lobel leave so many opportunities hanging.

Despite a lot of untapped potential, Immaculate still works for the most part. Even the finale has some strong moments, which makes everything the film does wrong so much more frustrating. In a way, this is a movie I’d love to see remade. There’s great potential and a solid foundation. We just need another pass at it. Then, I’m reminded of The First Omen, which doesn’t do exactly the same thing as Immaculate but is so close it might as well be the remake. Sydney Sweeney is great, a lot of things about this film are terrific: the premise, several visuals, the setting, the story… I even like some of the quasi nun-sploitation scenes but these only make Immaculate an even bigger letdown. (August 16, 2024)

[laststandx3]

Spoiler for twd daryl dixon ep 3 I'm once again buffled by the amarican wank that is daryl dixon. It's not possible that a whole country speaks english for him but he can't manage ONE mercì. I fuckin hate him. Learn the fucking language. And he speaks too american for people to understand him.

Then everyone acting like that kid is jesus back on earth. For fuck sake. He's just got some antibiotic blood.

You want me to believe that's the same little girl from last episode? It's been 12 fucking years in the story timeline: that child is dust. You can't ignore that much physics

Even for post-apocalypse standards the demimonde is low tier for a nightclub. Great music. But are they supposed to have electricity? There's a girl with pink/purple hair. How do they still have all those stuff 12+ years after the apocalypse. Im not saying everyone should be sad and gloomy and never dress up ever, but it seemed to me that even eating was a hard task. Where do all those party people live? Don't they have to grow their food? Having a nightclub in a post-apocalypse setting isn't wrong per se. but the society around it needs to match up to that level of surplus. we're shown 3 guys and a grill who grow all the food for the community that's hosting dixon. nothing else, except the zombies. now to have at least alchol (admitting that for electricity they have a generator and if you want to eat you eat home bc the demidome isn't a restaurant) there should be people growing fruits or potatoes or anything really bc you can be a wonderful singer but if there's no food not only people won't have time to listen but you'll be to hungry to sing. anyway i feel like i'm digressing so back on the story:

we're 34 minutes in (48 total) of french people bending over backwards to accomodate daryl dixon's need. (like you know french people are just like that. that if you ask any european we do love to help americans, it's like second nature here, we respect them so much we don't want them to go back to their country asap and never come back. I think i understand why all those people are trying to give dixon a boat now. i hope they manage to get rid of him fast.) what was I saying? yes 34 minutes in AdNag shows up in the classiest outfit i've ever seen him in. everyone say thank you to tdw costume dept who saw him in that blue acrylic adidas zipper and said we can aim a little higher with this one. So it's been 12 years and Quinn is still crushing hard on Izzy, simp. and in the same sentence we find out he saved her after a suicide attempt we also discover that (spoiler), 1) he sort of tried to kill sister, and 2) HE FUCKED THE SISTER!! he's little jesus' dad!! smelling god-complex already, but that would be putting to much faith in the writers So for the privilege of getting rid of dixon, izzy would introduce laurent to his dad (who if you forgot, has tried to kill her sister not once but twice, although leaving her to die is a technicality, but i think the point was he REALLY wanted to not have sister around) dixon calls the "deal" off, ruining the lives of french people once more bc the evil militia guys are back, and this time instead of nuns they kill those 5 poor souls who made the mistake of inviting dixon in and not kicking him out right away. And you'd think that since dixon and izzy just had a fight and he's packing to leave alone in the night he'll take this opportunity to leave those people alone and stop endangering them. but no, he tells them to meet him later in a different place. Genuinely tho, does he understand 20+ people (mostly nuns) died bc the evil guys are after him? Is he asking team-jesus to follow him bc he cares or does he wants human shields? I'm really confused bc if i knew bad guys were after me SPECIFICALLY i wouldn't invite people i care about with me.

let's finish on a bright note: compared to the other 2 episode this one was well written. Izzy's actress is good, she's just given a very inconsistent character that is badass until the writers need her to be a sad womanTM. i don't think the writers put effort and depth in the character but surely she's doing what she can since she just got the vibes of the character instead of a backstory. I said bright note: great music. great plot twist (i mean maybe it happens a lot in other genres but I'm not used to secret father subplots). AdNag.

[libidomechanica]

Accomplishment

That in sadnesse, by saints to     enduraunce: from thee, young and a memory with the head up     in a doze let it like a party a slight: but be thy     most misers keep termly fire, and listening near, mouth, tha sic     a moment me reuiued with

the feast a wise men sneer’d in that     the votive frigate, soft amethyst, puzzled them thinks, priesthood     moan forms have come to be diuine to thy husband is prest,     Beyond her wil be showes but she scream but a body     is, and lie, even in

jealousy, be the sun rose and     groans. Themselves told, the boy she spake: o Elenor, beware     of raine on me, my hart to be dead doing the heard a     hard t’ atchiue and fears; and a sponge drink coffee, open all     aboue they preuaile of

Medicines for pity! Thou hast sae     warm and commitment, the effect: the while shall not been hid     of snow captiue quite literary leaves, loving, either hart     belie—even in her eyes admyred to thee it is     when ye who looke. The morrow,

when he says no my ain, i’ll     be on your fate most goddess- like. Thus doth raine on theyr sample     onely the clear bee-wine. Wealth adieu to all other;     let us speak your cause acts are Pretty, to drill the     grew and moisture of love

a guilty of all thou tell these     cruell and young follow groan’d her sweet May-dew my wit cannot     err, as she panted hail- strung him.—For nought, life, thou seen the     heart-throbs, and paine. What thou strike up and poor; gross body health     breed my old then leave thought

in, for the healing of years re-     sighing vault crawls on the forth in bliss!—But of the People,     hither sphere is, here other, Take me and thou mayst be     attention dew. How cloy’d. Of the fruitful pause, divine, but is     Jove’s stately vine of

the tries their desired, and general     consum’d of slain. All Kent can a woman’s sicken shuns     them equal grew. That slowly shadow flits and desire,     liue and Below. For ay from your forth aboue, many a gem;     to see; where all is selfe

again, and the treat and the greedy     love thee loathes, and I have beheld that belch increasing     eyes are rare. To cedars of the hae I been thine, like     light constructive patteries, Love’s black, each bird of their coast     of heauen for somewhat full

of that which is the which fair     Elenor, beware of death, with the milk-white curtain glistening,     I think and fearing the rosy-warm with stand in either     Hand—not by Extortion, whose bright, the softling—this that all     love of one by beauty

it doth lowre, but once; the your slight:     the only love, in bright When lo, footless as feels it, and     take with thee anear. And at pleasure, fie! Being so     diuinely writers mimic scene I’ve mickle. A three days, for     my pleasures move: sayes I

neuer thou chance. Put mine no pity     hath and few grave to awake, sleep may be names? Fell downe,     rather bed, so dying strive the should vanished my fond termes     the high tread, and by the hair, who the river, while they     deceitful wits, tho’ I

die! My life enioys, and love, all     the Birds had Venus’ nun, when my side, we have lives. Their dressing     lips his passions doe combat with whiteness, and Titan     ryseth from Mortal man grow in secret name spoken wing,     but, trowth, I care na by.

[soliloquyepistolary]

In the dream, I was lining up to buy my lunch at some kind of Asian take-away restaurant. I ordered two dishes for myself but then I said to the server that I was also ‘for the office’ and proceeded to choose three other items from the menu for the people I was working with. One of the dishes I chose was dumplings. When I was lining up waiting for my order to be filled, I was making conversation with the people working there, being polite and doing my usual empath thing. It felt like some of the workers were from the cast of warrior nun, I specifically remember the Asian actress who plays Sister Beatrice. A server said that there was another lady who would see to me, someone I’d had a prior acquaintance with and built a bit of customer-worker relationship with. I could sense that this person would want a chat and a hug from me but when I saw her, I simply thanked her, collected my order and promptly left. I could tell the lady was disappointed. When I was walking back to the office, I had to walk past a a field of people playing badminton or some kind of ball and racquet sport. I was trying not to get hit by the balls.

There’s a new class that I need to attend for TAFE at 9am. An email was sent from the teacher that made it seem important to attend and I was on my way there when at 8:50am when I entered a coffee shop and ordered a coffee. A paper cup with a little bit of water at the bottom was set before me and I Was confused and realise the it wasn’t for me and that in fact, I hadn’t even put my order through yet. While I waited, one of the guys who worked there was trying to talk to me and I could tell they were interested and trying to chat me up. I talked to him out of obligation, making small talk. I asked him what the difference between a cappuccino and a latte is, pretending not to know the difference just to give him a chance for something to say. I said something about steamed milk. I knew I was late for class, and I could feel the minutes ticking by but I kept talking to him because I felt like I had to. Finally, I got up and said I have to go now since I’m late for TAFE and when I left the shop, I walked to my car which was parked a few hundred meters away. I thought I could see my car parked but when I got closer, I realised it wasn’t where I’d left it. Then somehow, the guy I was talking to at the coffee shop was walking toward me from the other direction (I don’t know how he got there first) and he said that he’d lent my car to some lady. I asked how they were able to unlock my car since I still had the key, he said these days there are special devices that will do it. He then proceeds to pick me up and (I think), put me over his shoulder. 

At an ordering booth where people are lining up, there is a tiny little girl dressed up like an infant in a pink tutu dress and her hair in pigtails. She is perched on the counter-top like a decoration, holding a lollipop. She has been placed there to attract and greet customers, it’s a task that is ‘beneath’ her, but she does it...

There is a play of some kind, or a talent show happening inside a shop. I think the lady who owns the shop is the talent show host. For some reason, people start leaving, the ones who are supposed to go on stage and perform. The host was saying this ‘this person left, and that person left’. The geographer who was supposed to go on, left. There was a girl who did a smaller act before but people wanted her to go back on and sing a song because her voice is so lovely but she said she couldn’t and that she had to go. There was someone sabotaging the next act by pouring water through a hose on the props which were being stored in boxes. These items were crucial for the next performer. The culprit was a young Asian girl with short black hair. I get really mad and try to be a hero. I chase her around and around the shop, trying to catch her but she is as fast as I am. She exits the shop and and I am still running after her even and though I am not catching up with her, I am just keep trying and trying. I am so focused and determined. She is getting away.

[squarebracket-trickster]

just the ladies for now.

I need to do a bit more research for the gents. But I am really curious to see how Sniff, Ulvin, Mace, Knuckles, and the bandit king turn out. I don't really have a clear picture of any of them in my mind except that Sniff is old, Knuckles is brawny and has a beard, and Ulvin is short.

With the exception of the dresses with buttons and the masquerade gowns, everything is (to the best of my research abilities) historically accurate to 1300-1340 CE England. I'm not writing historical fiction so it does not technically matter but I like the opportunities that sticking to one style era has given me to subtly portray things about the characters.

Isadred and her ladies-in-waiting get tailored dresses with buttons! that become popular in 1340, while everyone else is stuck in the 1330s. I like how it shows Isadred's adventurousness and love of sewing and fashion. When she is dressed as a princess, she is wearing what is essentially an avant-garde style. It also is a subtle way to get across just how highborn and wealthy Isa is, in contrast to even the other aristocrats in the story who are still dressing in the old style.

In every scene, except when she is disguised as a boy or in her night clothes Isa wears a barbette beneath her chin. She may be a trend setter, and she may have run away from a marriage to consort with bandits, but she is still deeply religious and not particularly rebellious. She just cares deeply about her own happiness and being kind to others. So, I have decided she covers her chin for modesty, as was common in 1333. However, she does wear the new, thinner style of barbette. (If you ask her, she'll probably just tell you she likes how it frames her face and she feels naked without it.)

[the author also just really likes drawing barbettes, they are very satisfying...]

Wimples were still a thing in 1333 but were mostly worn by older women and nuns. Lady Malrid, an older woman, wears one but her young ladies-in-waiting do not, save for the masquerade scene where they borrow her wimples for their costumes.

As for the masquerade outfits... masked balls were not a thing until 1380, tragically. But! this is not historical fiction so I can do what I want! The Carnivale in Venice, which inspired the first masquerades, has been around since 1162, so I head-canon that a similar tradition exists in Port Nome of Arange (I know I am the author, but it never actually comes up in the story so I don't count it as canon-canon). Adris and Lady Malrid need an excuse to get a bunch of people, incognito, in the same room so they throw a themed party inspired by that tradition. I designed their outfits by melding earlier 1200s fashions (wimples, wide sleeves, ladies' coifs) with the contemporary 1300s fashions, and taking inspiration from Venetian Carnival costumes (many of which incorporate medieval styles even today).

I am also firmly of the opinion that those cylindrical cauls we see beside ladies' ears in the 1200-1300s were just braids, but I gave Adris metal ones for the masquerade anyways because her outfit needed more bling.

A few last little details: Isadred and her ladies-in-waiting wear dresses cut from the same brocade cloth. In the first scene, Isa wears a heraldic dress combining her father's coat of arms (goose) and her husband's (fox). At the masquerade, Lady Malrid wears a heraldic surcoat of her father's house (spades) combined with her husband's (rabbit) so the other guests can identify her as the hostess. Adris covers her hair in every scene until she meets Firnen, not for modesty reasons but just because she really needs a bath. She leaves her hair down deliberately when she meets her husband for the first time. Lady Malrid and her ladies-in-waiting wear out-of-date barbettes and coifs because Lady Malrid is older and Ryeneth is fairly remote. Phraelys's hose do not have pointed toes, her page's tunic has an out-of-date low hem, and her hair is not cut in the new fashionable bowl cut for the same reason. The surcoats Adris gets from the frippery and borrows from Lady Malrid are also out of date because of the remoteness of Ryeneth.

Isadred and Firnen's house heraldry are based off the Vulpecula constellation, where the fox has the goose in it's mouth. (and because Firnen (and Sorin) get likened to foxes for their cleverness.)

@macabremoons and @zmwrites because you two seem to be following this WIP with interest<3

oh wait, I promised you guys mediocre concept art

[sweetbillwriting]

A Thousand Leaves

Part 3 - All Hallow's Eve

Characters: The character Henry is inspired by several of Bill Skarsgård's characters. The rest are my own original characters.

Setting: The story is set in the early 90s in a nameless town with several smaller villages surrounding it.

Warnings: 18+, religious themes, smut (sort of), alcohol, drunkeness.

Notes: Happy Halloween! 🎃

Irma stood in her parents Halloween decorated hallway dressed in a nun costume. It looked really modest by the first look but it had a high slit up to her hip and she could open it to show cleavage but she didn't do that in front of her parents. Her mother stood by the entrance door talking about the Halloween decor in the hallway. It was the only room that had it and it was for the kids that came to trick or treat. Glowing pumpkins hung from the ceiling together with spider webs and a ghost created with white textile that Irma made when she was little which hung by the stairway.

"I thought Laura lived in an apartment?" Her mother asked and pulled on the hem of her forest green jumper.

"She does, but it's on the ground floor so she has her own entrance door," Irma said and looked up at the stairs. She was excited to see Henry in his costume even if she knew what it was and how the costume looked like.

"Will there be a lot of people? I'm just worried about Henry."

"No, like 15, 20."

Irma heard a sound from the stairs and looked up. Henry walked slowly down in his black suit. It sat impeccably, like it had been sewn on him. He rubbed his palms together like he was excited for what would happen or that he had an evil plan. Irma bit her lip, watching the man that hade been so defensless become a mysterious sexual fantasy. As he descended she saw the white collar around his neck. A priest collar. While talking about the Halloween party Irma said he could be dressed as the thing that scared him most. Henry had said a priest without a doubt. Irma gave him a surprised look and asked why but at that he had just shrugged his shoulders. She had chosen to match him with a nun costume but she didn't look as sexy as Henry, far from it. His hair was well combed in a neat side part while his skin was as pale and polished like a porcelain doll. He did look scary but scary sexy and it matched the day.

Bea looked at Henry and helped him fix the collar.

"You're so handsome," she said and patted his cheek.

"Thank you, Bea," he answered with a small smile.

Irma took a hold of Henry's arm to make her mother release him from her grip.

"See you later!" She said and took Henry out of the house. On the pavement outside he looked at her and smiled with a hooded gaze.

"Your costume, is it really that modest?"

Irma laughed and moved the costume and put out a thigh high nylon covered leg from the slit.

Henry smiled bigger and moved closer so he could drag two fingers over the lace. Irma was always surprised that he became more and more comfortable with her, but invited it everytime. She thought it was his earlier self that started to be awakened.

"And this…" she said and opened the front so he could see most of her red bra.

"That's really… Sexy," he whispered and put his fingertip on her nose.

"But Henry… Why a priest?" She said low and looked up at him. So many clues pointed her to the church, where he had been found, the tip, Henry's fascination for the church and now he dressed up like a priest.

"It feels… like I have bad memories with them. Or one."

"You don't think you have been a priest then?"

He smiled a little.

"I don't think so, I don't like the clothes."

Irma laughed and took his hand while they walked the pumpkin lit streets to Laura's house.

Laura's entrance door was full of ghosts, pumpkins and spider webs, it was hard to even see the door. It was typical of Laura, always more is more. Irma opened the door without knocking and they were met by loud music, fog from a smoke machine and they could see a strobe light flashing in the living room. Irma laughed a little and dragged Henry into the hallway. It was fun that they all were still young in mind and could have these kinds of home parties. Henry looked around and took off his plaid jacket. At once he was that sexy dark man again. He looked like a character from a Hollywood horror movie. Irma said hello to some of her friends and smiled proudly when she saw them looking at Henry with liking interests.

"Do you want something to drink?" Irma asked Henry and took his arm so they could continue to walk into the apartment.

"Red wine, please," he said and looked at the people watching him. Irma said hello, hugged some of them. Henry said hello to the one that approached him otherwise he just watched the people. He didn't look uncomfortable, more interested and even smiled a little when he watched some girls dance sexily.

Irma poured Henry a glass of wine while she had a rum and coke. She watched him happily when she found him sitting in an armchair, smiling with a hooded gaze. It was obvious everyone was interested in him, attracted to him but he just sat on his throne, looking at their desperation. Irma was proud but she also felt a bit odd about the situation. Her friends were not easily impressed but Henry seemed to spellbound them all.

"Do you dance?" Irma asked close to his ear so he would hear.

"Not like they do," he said and nodded to the girls that were now more or less dancing sexy for him. Irma felt annoyance creep up on her and maybe another feeling but she shook it off.

"Show me." She smiled challengingly towards Henry and took his big hands in hers.

Henry stood up but looked at the guy next to him, with a cigarette between his fingers.

"Can I..?" He pointed at the cigarette. The guy looked at Henry with big eyes and swallowed hard.

"Of course." His hands shook when Henry took the cigarette from him. Henry took two deep drags. It was obvious he was a casual smoker and several of the girls looked at him when he bent back to let the smoke sip out from his pouty lips.

"That was good," he said with a raspy voice.

"Have we said hello?" Suddenly Laura pushed forward and pushed away Irma from Henry. She was dressed as a devil with glitter horns and a red corset. Henry looked at her approvingly up and down. Irma moved to stand next to them, watching them both with a hammering heart.

"I like your costume. Henry." He put out his hand and so did Laura.

"Laura." To both Irma and Laura's suprise Henry took her hand and kissed it.

"Or maybe, the devil? He teased her.

Irma didn't know how to react to his courtesy to Laura. Henry had grown a lot the last couple of weeks but where did this confidence come from?

The party continued and more and more people dared to approach Henry. Asking about his costume, his earlier life and his time locked in. Henry didn't say so much but suddenly he said one thing Irma reacted to even if she mostly was annoyed at people's ass kissing attitude toward Henry.

"Priests just want you to follow them and use the Lord's words for it. Then when they have you around their finger they will use you. Take away every blessing and leave you with a bad conscience even if you have given them fucking everything." He said with a low chin looking up with his eyes. The candles reflected in them and Laura's horns cast a shadow on his face. Irma just thought about the meaning behind his words while Laura thought about something else.

"God, you're so fucking sexy. Who the fuck are you Henry?" She dragged her hand over his thigh and he let her, just leaned back and welcomed it. Another girl that had been sitting on the floor moved closer to his leg and played with the shoelaces on his black leather shoes. Some of the men looked at the girls, just moving closer and closer to Henry and then at each other with annoyance and envy.

Irma stood up with anger hammering in her chest.

"Henry! Time to go home!” She pushed her way forward and took his hand. Henry smiled mischievously and let her drag him up from the armchair and out in the hallway.

"What the fuck was that??" Irma said angrily to Henry when they had walked a distance from Laura's house. She turned to Henry who now stood in the plaid jacket and looked much less threatening. Henry looked at the Halloween decorated houses and up at the moon.

"I don't know," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Irma stood breathing heavily and took off the headdress and stuffed it in the pocket of her suede jacket.

"Henry, you were a completely different person in there."

He looked at her with big innocent eyes and once again shrugged his shoulders.

"I was just the person it felt like they wanted me to be."

Irma dragged her hands over her face and moved closer to him.

"Was that a problem?" He asked carefully and just as carefully moved her hands from her face.

She looked up at him and watched his lips while he licked them.

"I just thought… You and I…"

Henry smiled a little.

"If you want that."

She didn't really understand what that meant but she couldn't stop herself from kissing him. He kissed back hungrily and grasped her ass in an aggressive grip. Irma felt her heart beat full of desire but was also shocked by his passion. He continued to kiss her, his tongue seemed to seek more and more while his hands creeped under her dress. Irma felt how the dress had gone up completely but they stood on a quiet street so she didn't care that everyone could see her panties and thigh highs. Henry took a break from the kissing and played with her panties so they crept into her ass.

"You can't resist me," he whispered and looked at her with a deep stare.

"No…" said Irma and caressed his upper arms.

"Are you my little slut?"

"Yes…" she said with a moan and moved her hands down his chest and stomach.

"Eeey! Do that at home for fuck sake!" A man shouted from his porch.

Henry laughed which made Irma laugh too. He dragged her dress down and fixed his own clothes.

"I'm your slut…" Irma whispered with a smile.

"Yes you are," said Henry pleased and gave her a soft kiss.

×

If her mother hadn't sat up waiting for Henry, their night would have ended very differently. Irma was prepared to sleep with him. Do every filthy thing he wanted. She had thoughts of passionate sex, his mysterious eyes and his cock. Mostly his cock. Even when her mother showed her face in the hallway when they came in she thought about Henry's cock. She felt like she could abstain but she just looked at his crotch even when her mother spoke to them.

Bea looked at Henry who looked at her with big eyes and a little smile.

"I'm glad you didn't stay out all night. And that you haven't drank too much?" She helped Henry with his jacket and looked at her daughter who just stood with a low gaze. She rolled her eyes and thought that Irma had probably drunk too much, it wouldn't be the first time.

"Thank you," said Henry and took off the white collar and his suit jacket.

"How was it?" Bea said and took out some freshly washed sweatpants to Henry. He smiled a little and went to an arm chair and started to take off his clothes. He wasn't shy but didn't make a big thing out of it. Irma just watched him with big eyes, especially when his pants went down and she could see the big bulge in his boxers.

"Irma!" Hissed her mother. Irma looked at her annoyed. "Don't stare!" She furrowed her eyebrows at her mother and crossed her arms but she could see even her mother peaking while Henry stood in just his boxers. He had gained weight but it also looked like he had built some muscles and Irma knew both her and her mother liked the view. Henry put on the gray sweatpants but left his upper body bare.

"Are you going home?" Her mother asked. For a short moment Irma thought her mother wanted Henry for herself but then remembered her father was sleeping upstairs.

"Yeah…" She turned to Henry and stretched her arms out for a hug. He gave her an innocent hug but Irma let her hands glide over his bare back and sniffed his naked shoulder.

×

Irma cringed while thinking about what Henry had gotten her to say. She just thought back to how desperate she must have looked and how easy she might have seemed. It was obvious Henry had sides to him that had been suppressed but now came forward. He was charming, sexy but also a bit manipulative. Irma didn't know if she liked it or not. He was so cute when he was confused and innocent but damn, he was sexy with all that confidence. She had gotten phone calls from both Laura and a girl named Agnes, one of the girls that had been dancing for him, that they wanted to share contacts with Henry. Irma had dodged the question because she wasn't interested in sharing him. She wanted to be his only slut.

She was on her way to the library, not to borrow books and not to use the phone. The librarian had been right, that every answer was found there and it was the librarian who had the answer.

Irma had asked around at the office if someone had heard anything about Church of The Glorious Light but no one had but an assistant had offered to look through the archives. He had found an article about a church building that had been a victim of a storm and the owner was in the congregation of that church. She had looked through the article and had found a member. Lysette Levi. She looked at the picture of the woman with wild hair. It was obvious it was the librarian, known now as Luna Levi.

It was ironic that she found the answer so close and also in such an obvious place. She tried to tell herself there wasn't any definitive evidence that Luna would know something. The article was ten years old and she had moved from the village where the church was. Still Irma couldn't keep herself from believing there was a possibility of finally getting some answers about Henry.

"Oh, that's Henry," said Luna as she sat down in an armchair by the desk while looking at one of the photos Henry had taken with the photographer.

"He looks awful, he was such a pretty boy. What happened to him?"

Irma sat down on the armchair opposite Luna's.

"He is the boy found in that basement. Of the old church."

Luna looked shocked at Irma and shook her head.

"Who would do that?"

"I'm trying to find that out. But you were a member of the Church of The Glorious Light?"

Irma grabbed her notebook out from her bag.

"Yes, between 1978 to 1989. But it didn't become The Glorious Light until 1986. I left them both because I found New Age spiritualism but also because of how extreme they became. Everyone was a sinner."

Irma nodded interested and made notes in her book.

"And Henry..?"

"Henry, maybe he came in 1988? He was new in town, a church musician and so, so pretty. He became popular at once and gained more and more chances to become an important person even if he was so young. He had the responsibility to take care of the young and create activities for them."

"Did he influence the church?"

"Maybe after I moved..? I actually left that life behind completely. My husband and I moved and we don't have any children."

×

Luna remembered the day Henry Deaver came to their village very well. It wasn't something you could forget. It was a sunny All Hallow's Eve day and most of the citizens of the village were at church. She had walked there with her husband and liked to see all the people dressed up. She could see some were tired and probably felt they could do better things than to go to church, others looked determined and open minded. She was a mix of both. She had heard rumors about a new church musician and looked forward to having Psalms accompanied by a piano again. It had sounded so depressing without it. They had always had a talented pianist, it was their congregation's signature and pride but old Lenny had a heart attack and since then the piano stood empty.

Luna and her husband walked in the simple wooden church together. It was newly renovated, which Luna sorrowed. She had thought it would have been better to reconstruct it but that would have been more expensive then renovate it. Now it was simple and bright. The people sat quiet on the benches but several had started to whisper because the piano was still empty. Father Blom always walked around to say hello but this day he chose to stand by himself in a corner with a sour look. Luna had looked at her husband and made a confused face. He shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the people. When the clock struck all the people started to prepare to sing even if there wasn't a pianist. Just when the clock had stopped another loud sound could be heard. It was the entrance door, someone had opened it completely and let it slam loudly. Several people turned around to look at who came in too late to the church service. It always began at 11 o'clock but you should be there earlier. Luna didn't turn around, she could imagine it was embarrassing enough to be late. She heard heavy steps through the church. It was obvious that it was a man, probably with heavy shoes.

"I'm sorry I'm late but my bike started to act up a mile away from here." A man said with authority. Luna saw the people in front of her look at the man with big eyes so she couldn't no longer resist turning her head towards the voice she had heard. It was a young man walking between the benches with calm heavy steps. He was so tall Luna worried he would smack his head on the chandeliers. He was completely dressed in black, from the heavy boots to the leather jacket. Everyone looked at him with big eyes. A man like him had never existed in their village. The people there were conservative and dressed up to go to church. Motorcycles and tight black jeans didn't fit in there. Luna looked at the man's face. High cheekbones, a hooded gaze and plumped lips. Behind him she saw two teenage girls hide their smiles to each other.

"I'm Henry Deaver, the new pianist." He stopped at Father Blom's place, like he was the leader of the congregation. He dragged a hand through his hair that was messy slicked back, probably by a helmet.

"Excuse me?" Said Mr. Munro, one of the wealthiest in the village and one of few that worked outside of the village.

"Yeah, I've left my references to Father Blom and I got the job, any problems?" Henry tried to sound neutral but it was an edge of defense in his voice. He shrugged his jacket off and revealed a band t-shirt for The Cure. Luna smirked a little at the bench because she and the teenagers were probably the only ones that knew who The Cure was.

No one said anything so Henry just smiled, a handsome smile, dimpled and contagious. He walked up to Father Blom who looked at him up and down. He looked nervous and humiliated. They shook hands then Henry sat down by the black piano but looked at some of the women with the same handsome smile and doll eyes while playing the first Psalm.

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