#sc piper

[cinnamon-stixs]

Updated oc refs!! <3

of course I had to do this halfway through working on a video including them.. whoops

Updated info sheets:

[second-stixs]

more stupid blorbos

bases used:

[murdrdocs]

pied piper

murdrtober oct 12th. father charlie mayhew description. between paranoia, extra shifts at work, and the comforting embrace of a catholic priest, you can hardly keep up with everything happening in your life these days. you can only go about it all one day at a time.

includes. SMUT 18+ MDNI, oral (f receiving), paranoia/anxiety, slight religious manipulation, religious doubts, catholicism (but inaccurate i was barely raised baptist)

wc. 5.8k+

a/n: one night only! come one come all and see the weird priest get with the girl who honestly does not know what is happening

You see him often. 

The first few times were from afar. He always elected to sit in a section that wasn’t yours, switching every couple of visits as if he were testing out the spots in the diner. You believed every spot was just like the others—equally as shitty. But there was the spot you liked most. The corner seat in your section, situated between two of the large windows. When there weren’t any spiders or ants nesting in the corner, it was a favorable spot. 

And within the past month, it’s been his spot. 

It’s the longest he’s ever sat anywhere. You initially attribute it to the spot, but then there are things that make you believe he sits there because of you. 

The way his crestfallen expression brightens up when you come over, even if it's barely a noticeable difference. The hefty tips he leaves you, always in cash and always delivered right to your hand. The whispers from your coworkers whenever he comes in on a day where you weren’t working. 

“The priest was looking for you yesterday,” spoken right into your ear as if it were a secret that others would die to be let in on. 

Your coworkers thought it was flattery, maybe his attempt at flirting. But you’d seen what it was like for men to flirt with you through work. The jeers they gave you, the way they eyed your ass in your work pants and made direct advances, no matter how many times you turned them down. That was flirting, not politeness from him. 

Besides, he was a priest, he’d sworn himself to God. Maybe his vice was just a greasy meal once a week, and he didn’t mind a smiling face giving it to him. You didn’t think much of it. 

You didn’t think much of the pamphlet he gave you with your tip today, either. 

“I don’t know if you’re religious, and if you aren’t, I don’t mean to offend. It’s just, um, I preach at this church. Every Sunday.” He scratches the back of his head, watching you look through the tiny pamphlet in your hand. “If you’re interested, everything’s on there. The time, dates, location … yeah.”

You grin down at him. “Thank you,” you say, knowing in your head that you won’t go to a service. Sunday’s are your reset days, a time dedicated to putting yourself in breathable clothing, lounging around a newly cleaned house, watching whatever show you thought about the night before. Church service for a religion you don’t practice doesn’t fit in that schedule. 

Still, you tuck the pamphlet in your apron along with your tip. “I’ll see you next time, Father.”

He nods his head with security, as if he knows that he will only be seeing you at your job and never at his. But he doesn’t say anything, only pulls his mouth into a thin smile before reaching over and taking a final sip from his drink. You walk away from the table, going back to the kitchen and watching him leave from the window. 

You’re lingering. 

Should you stay and say something? Everyone seems to want to speak to Father Mayhew, and you would just be yet another pupil itching to talk to him. But leaving without saying something seems improper. It feels rude. 

You stay put, standing near the door in the lobby, watching the small crowd form around Father Mayhew. 

He looks in his element like this, grinning, nodding along to whatever is being said to him, but there’s something off. He looks a little dissociated, a disconnect between the smile on his lips and the look in his eyes. 

You’re busy analyzing him, pulling up your high school memory of Psychology to throw half assed theories about his attitude around in your head, when he looks at you. It’s quick, nothing but a glance that could have been directed in your general area. Maybe he was simply looking at the door and he ran into you instead. 

But he sees you and he pauses. He doesn’t stop listening, but the grin on his lips contorts for just a second. It loses the rough edge, and then it softens. He looks back at the person he’s engaged in conversation with and you watch as he ends the conversation within the next thirty seconds. 

It’s unprofessional how he dodges those wishing to talk to him in favor of reaching you. You think it’s even more professional for him to grin the entire journey over. 

He says your name like he’s shocked you’re here. 

You’re shocked you’re here, too. 

“Father,” you greet, clasping your hands behind your back. 

“What did you think?” The question throws you off kilter. 

Does he actually care about your opinion on his profession?

Your eyes lift to the ceiling as you think, trying to find adjectives to describe the hour you’ve just sat through. “Um…” you hesitate, flicking through the less favorable adjectives as you attempt to find something positive to say. 

“You thought it was boring.” 

You’re ready to do damage control, your mouth already open with reassurances that are all lies. But Father Mayhew is smiling at you with more conviction than you’ve ever seen from him. When he looks at you like this, he looks more like the young adult that he should be and less like the figurehead of a church that he is. 

You don’t pretend any longer. “It wasn’t that boring, I’m just not a churchgoer,” Father Mayhew nods. He tucks his hands into his pockets and you try not to notice how the sleeves of his black shirt have been rolled up to sit right beneath his elbows. You do get a glance in, though, nothing longer than a second, and when you look back up at him, he doesn’t seem to have noticed. Feeling awkward with nothing else to say, you add, “As you can tell by my outfit. I have been in a church in a while. I didn’t know what people wore these days.”

The implications of asking a Catholic priest to form an opinion on your clothing doesn’t enter your brain until after you’ve said the words, but Father Mayhew doesn’t appear uncomfortable. 

He stands there for a second, just looking at you with too much of something in his eyes. It makes you uncomfortable and you squirm in your church shoes. The movement reminds you of the pain in your toes and on the back of your ankle. 

Father Mayhew’s gaze sweeps down your body, slowly taking in every aspect of you from head to toe. 

“That’s okay. I’m just glad you came. And for the record, I think you look beautiful. Angelic, even.”

God, why is your stomach fluttering from this tiny interaction? You need to get out of here before things go in a direction you hadn’t intended. 

You smile politely at him. 

“Well, thank you for the invite, Father Mayhew. It was … interesting.” 

He laughs as he nods. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. I guess I’ll see you around?” There’s more hope to it this time, like this one excursion has given him the idea that you’ll be back. Will you? 

You stick to nodding, not verbally confirming anything. You turn around, heading for the door, but then he calls your name. 

You turn back around, watching him make up the step that you took away from him. “You can call me Charlie if you like.”

You test his name in your mouth. “Charlie.” It feels wrong without the title in the front. But you still grin, unsure of how often you’ll call him just Charlie, especially when it feels less professional than you would have liked. 

Charlie grins. He says your name once, too. 

And then you reach for the door and step out into the day. 

Despite your initial intentions, you see a lot more of Father Mayhew after that first Sunday. 

He starts to come into the diner just to sit, sometimes steadily sipping a milkshake or a sweet tea while he reads a mass market paperback. In turn, you go to Mass more often, once a month at first, then every other week, and eventually every Sunday, showing your face so often that he starts to look for you in the crowd. Well, at least you think he’s looking for you. 

The crowd he brings in is mixed—some of them younger, drawn in by his relaxed nature that’s a breath of fresh air from the other priests, but most of them are older. You’ve made friends with a couple women, an older woman who sees her grandson in Father Mayhew, and a middle aged woman who understands Father Mayhew better than she’s ever understood any other priest before. 

You sit in a pew with them, listening to them praise the teachings of the lord as it comes from the young priest’s mouth. You nod along with them, ignoring your confusion as you try your hardest to listen. A lot of the material seems contradictory, either to itself or your own personal beliefs. So by the first fifteen minutes, you end up just staring at Father Mayhew, hoping your eyes hold platonic interest even if your emotions are anything but. 

You’ve begun to crave the routine of it all. Waking up early Sunday morning, showering and getting ready just to sit in a church pew, retiring back home where you cleaned with nothing else on your mind except for how dark and deep Father Mayhew’s eyes are. 

It didn’t occur to you that you were lusting after him until later. 

 The weather had begun to cool down, even though it was never really cold here. You could still feel the implications, recognizing how the night began to greet the sky quicker than before, feeling a bite in the air when you finished a closing shift and sped to your car. 

There was a lot happening in your little town, horrors that you couldn’t even begin to fathom. You didn’t feel safe anymore, you couldn’t feel safe when someone was out there committing crimes that only the sickest minds could conjure up. It was inhumane to the point where you couldn’t imagine a human being conducting the murders. There had to be another force at hand. 

Father Charlie understood this. He preached with sympathy towards the victims, and condemnant towards the perpetrator, but there was something else there too. He preached as if he were inside of the killer's mind, painting an understanding for each of you in the pews. When Father Charlie explained it, the killer was humane, with interests and desires just as you have. He was an extremist, yes, but he was an artist all the while. 

You felt less fear when you had the safety net of Sunday Mass. When you had the safety net of Father Charlie. 

“Am I safe to call you an avid churchgoer yet?” 

You’ve grown used to the sound of Father Charlie’s voice, but you weren’t expecting to hear it so close to you. When you jump in your skin, he laughs under his breath. 

You turn around, your eyes wide and your hand pressed over your heart. Your immediate instinct is to expel the Lord’s name, but you know Charlie’s stance on taking the Lord’s name in vain, so instead you tell him, “You scared me, Father.” 

“My apologies.” He reaches his hand out as if to touch you but he stops midway. “You’ve been coming every Sunday for what, the past two months? Three?”

“Yeah. I guess I would technically be considered a churchgoer.”

He places his hands in his pockets, squaring his shoulders, and this isn’t the first time you’ve noticed how strong his structure is. Still, you ogle like this is new information to you. 

“Do you see yourself becoming a Catholic somewhere down the line?”

You go to disagree, preparing to spew the same opinion you’ve had for a while now. You might be coming to church, but you’re here for the community, not much else. But lately, things have begun to change. There’s no reason for you to not consider it at least. 

You shrug. “Maybe.”

“Why maybe?”

Weighing how to formulate your reasonings, you shift from one foot to the other. Father Charlie doesn’t say anything. He just patiently waits for you to respond. 

“I guess there’s just so much that I don’t understand.”

“Like the rules and sins? Along that territory?”

“I guess, but also just in general. Like foundational. Maybe since I didn’t grow up with it I’m just left in the dark.”

Father Charlie’s face lights up. “How ‘bout this, I will explain it to you. Whatever you want. Even if you want me to go from the very beginning.”

You’re quick to politely decline. “Oh, you don’t have to, Father. I can just look things up. Not like I’ve been getting much sleep these days anyway, might as well use the nights for something a little more productive.”

Father Charlie doesn’t let you go without reinstating his proposal. “Seriously. It would be no problem for me. I get to do the two things I love most: spread the word of Christ and help out those in the community. I’ll give you my number and then we can go from there?”

There’s no room for no in there, so you pull your phone out, hand it over to Father Charlie, and watch his thumbs click onto the digits until you have his number saved in your phone. 

You meet with Father Charlie after Wednesday Mass. 

You come in once the others have trickled out, and Father Charlie is always in the same spot—sitting atop his chair in the center, leaning back with his legs spread, appearing contemplative as you humbly approach the altar. 

Whatever expression he had on his face before he sees you is always wiped away as soon as he looks down at you. He grins, big and comforting, and takes you to a small office off to the side of the church, where he patiently listens to your questions and answers them. 

Comprehension entices you, pushing you further and further into religion’s embrace. Session by session, you start to hate the idea of confirmation less and less. 

It’s all thanks to Father Charlie. 

It’s not necessarily comparable for the two of you, but Father Charlie meets you at your workplace, too. When he jokes about it, likening your work to the same level of achievement as his, you sweetly laugh. 

“Not really the same though, is it? Your job is a little more … aspirational, right? No one really aspires to be a waitress at a diner.”

Father Charlie raises his eyebrows as if he’s reprimanding you for negative self-talk. “Hey. Who knows maybe there’s some kid out there who really wants to make ten fifty an hour.”

The bell above the door dings and you glance over your shoulder to see two customers walk in. They hesitate, looking around, before eventually heading off to a table not in your section. 

You turn back around, a little grateful to have more time to speak to Father Charlie. You haven’t seen him since last Wednesday, and you won’t admit it to anyone out loud, but you’ve definitely missed him. 

You’ve missed the smell of his cologne—something fresh and a little earthy. You’ve missed the low timbre of his voice, the dark stare he fixes you with when he’s explaining a Bible verse, the slight twitch in his eyes when you question something for the umpteenth time. 

It’s a slow day today, no one really comes in at 3 o’clock on a Tuesday, so you take a seat across from Father Charlie in the booth. 

His eyes flicker down as if surprised by your actions. You raise your eyebrows, challenging him to comment. 

“Slow shift?” he asks. 

You nod, taking a fry and placing it in your mouth. “You mind if I sit? Keep you company for a bit?”

He only sits back in his seat and pushes his basket of fries to the center of the table. 

He watches you silently finish off the remainder of his fries and whenever you hesitate, he instantly slides his drink over to you, too. A diet coke, you know it before you even wrap your lips around the straw. 

There’s a lipstick stain left behind, but that doesn't stop Father Charlie from leaning forward and wrapping his lips around the straw once you’re done. When he holds eye contact the entire time, you try to ignore the flashing sign in your brain that tells you there are sexual implications there. Surely, he wasn’t thinking that way. 

Father Charlie continues like nothing happened and you maintain your belief that whatever just happened was really nothing on at all. 

“We still on for tomorrow, right?”

You hum, mentally trying to find a work around for the third time today. No matter how many times you run it through in your head, you just can’t do it. Without enough gas, and short on a paycheck, you don’t think it’s responsible for you to drive to Father Charlie, especially for a meeting that will only last an hour tops. Besides, you picked up a shift tomorrow that ends right when you usually meet with him. 

You tell him this, and you shouldn’t be surprised that he’s quick to suggest a solution. 

Father Charlie is so adaptable to your needs, pushing your meetings back by a half hour or a week if you need. You should have known that a small complaint that was out of his hands would have him scrambling to make up for the inconvenience. 

“It’s really no biggie, I can just come by your place then, if that’s okay. We can do later, too, give you some time to freshen up.”

You don’t see why not. Father Charlie has been nothing but kind to you thus far. Besides, he’s a devout member of the community. You don’t think he could ever mean any harm. 

“Yeah. That’s totally fine. I’ll send you my address.”

Having Father Charlie in your home provides a different atmosphere. 

Thus far, you’ve been pushing down your desires for him. Throughout the past few weeks, you’ve been able to avoid the churning in your stomach when he places a—platonic, you think—hand on your lower back as he leads you out of the office after your sessions. 

It was easier to convince yourself that you were just being typically delusional, holding onto small moments to give you giddiness that would push you through a particularly grueling day. Father Charlie’s small smiles and acts of kindness outside of the four walls that you call home was attributed to being a public servant, a member of the community, a priest. 

But here, when he stands close and stares down at you, sending you a small smile while you attempt to hide the grin that wants to rise to your lips, things feel more intimate. 

You need to get away from this moment. You won’t be the one to tempt a Catholic priest’s faith and devotion, no matter how many times you picture tearing his clothes off and letting him take you right on the couch. 

“Could I get you something to drink?” 

Charlie looks around your living room, taking inventory of the decorations hanging on the walls, strategically placed to cover chips in paint and suspicious holes that you’ve never gotten around to patching. 

“What do you have?” he asks as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket. 

It feels weird to see him out of clerical dress. You’ve always thought the mock neck and collar suited him, it worked well with the square structure of his face. But he looks younger like this—dressed down in a plain white tee shirt, jeans, and a jean jacket. 

He looks like the 20-something year old man that he actually is. 

“Lemonade. Soda. Water. I could make you tea, if you’d like. I have earl g—”

“Lemonade sounds fine. Thanks.”

You stalk off to the kitchen to grab him a glass, filling it with ice and lemonade. It’s a task that takes no more than a couple of minutes, maybe a few at most, but you take as much time as you can, standing in the kitchen cursing yourself. Accepting Charlie’s invite yesterday seemed like no big deal, but now you’re regretting it tenfold. 

If you don’t end up succumbing to your own desires, you’ll end up driving yourself insane.

Either way, you don’t think you’ll ever be the same after tonight. If anything, you’ll just have to hope Charlie doesn’t come into the diner for the rest of the week while you cleansed your mind the best way you knew how—disastrously horny imaginative scenarios and masturbation until you were too sensitive to walk. 

You hand Father Charlie the glass of lemonade, trying your best to ignore the satisfying sigh he gives when he takes the first sip. You smile politely when he does it again, folding your hands in your lap as soon as you sit down. 

He downs half of the glass without interruption, and then places the half-full glass on a coaster atop your coffee table. 

“So,” Father Charlie wipes his hands on the denim gripping his thighs. “Should we pick up where we left off last week?”

Last week, you and Father Charlie got into a discussion about sinning. It was trivial, nothing that hasn’t been discussed before, but it has always been on your mind. After knowing him for some time, you felt comfortable enough to discuss it with him, not exactly giving him complete detail involving your many sins, but you alluded to them enough for him to understand your trepidation towards committing to a religion that frowned upon human nature. 

You found yourselves going in circles with the conversation, and you thought today would be different. Apparently not. 

“Everyone sins. That makes us all sinners,” Father Charlie assures. 

“Well, yeah but—”

He doesn’t let you speak. “For example, when’s the last time you judged someone? Held hatred in your heart? When’s the last time you’ve done drugs, smoked weed? Or,” he shifts on the armchair, bringing himself closer to you as if he’s about to tell a secret. “The last time you masturbated?” 

You stay silent, blinking at Father Charlie. How has the conversation pivoted here? Was he just simply giving an example, one he felt you might be able to relate to, or was this something else?

“I’m not saying that I don’t sin, Father. I’m just saying that I don’t think I could be a sinner, and join a religion that despises sinners.”

Father Charlie’s face contorts into one of confusion. “I wouldn’t say Catholicism despises sinners. Sinning is a part of human life and nature. I’ve always believed this. And yes, some sins are worse than others. But some of the cardinal sins are just preposterous. Those who lust a little too much shouldn’t be given the same punishment as a murderer, that I don’t agree with.”

You blink at him when you notice that the conversation has steered back to lust yet again. “Where are you going with this, Father?”

“Charlie,” he corrects, his tone sterner than you’ve ever heard it before. 

You suddenly feel smaller than you did before. Sitting in your home, on your couch, you feel out of control. 

Charlie stands and approaches you. He looms over you for a second, standing with his torso right in your eyeline. You stare at the material of his shirt for a moment, nervous about the sight you’ll see if you lift your eyes. But when Charlie doesn’t move, you know what he wants from you. 

You look up to find him already staring down at you, 

“The point that I am making is that without sinning, we would not be human. I understand this, but I don’t think the Church will ever understand. They would rather sit by, follow tradition, and let the Church die. But things are changing. Slowly, but they are changes happening.” Charlie kneels down but he doesn’t break eye contact. He slowly raises a hand, and you watch it meet your knee from your peripheral vision. 

“My conversations with you these past few months have been insightful. I … I used to think about the Church like you do. The contradictions, the injustices within the Church… I thought I moved on from that but now I’m not sure.” He trails off, breaking eye contact to stare off to the side. 

“Charlie, are you questioning your faith? Did I make you question your faith?”

His eyes snap back to you. “No.” He takes a moment, as if considering, and then he repeats himself, a little firmer this time. “No. But I am beginning to realize that not all evil should be turned away or casted out. Some evil is natural. We should shine a light on it, give it our attention, give it room and allow it to grow. One can be a sinner, while also being a member of the Church. I am living proof of this.” His hand trails up your thigh as he speaks. You don’t think you’re following his train of thought, mostly because you can’t concentrate when he’s touching you like this. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

You blink down at him. You could ask him to repeat himself, but you don’t think you need to. He might be speaking in a way that’s going in one ear and out of the other for you, but the implications that he’s feeding you with every touch and every glance up at you through the long fan of dark eyelashes framing even darker eyes are clear. 

You know what Charlie wants from you. 

“Yes. I understand.”

He smiles, just a small, almost shy, quirk of his lips. 

“And do you feel the same way? Do you see things how I see them?”

This time you only nod. It happens in a flash, Charlie’s hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling your face down to his. You almost fall off of the couch with the movement, but you hold yourself up with both hands on his shoulders. Immediately you feel the thick structure of muscle beneath his shirt. 

“I need to hear you say it.” 

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you do. You want Charlie, you have wanted him since the first time he sat in your section. But he’s a priest for God’s sake. What type of person willingly sleeps with a priest?

When you tell him this, his nostrils flare and his jaw tenses. 

“What type of person?” he repeats. “A sinner. That’s what you are, right? You told me that when we first started having private sessions, didn’t you? You told me you sin too often to commit to the church. You couldn’t possibly find yourself in the home of Christ if you are out sinning every weekend, and then be forced to confess each and every sin in excruciating detail.” 

His hand slides up your inner thigh now. He tilts his head, staring up at you as if he’s innocent. “And you never did tell me about those sins, did you? About the times you went out partying, brought some guy back here.” He slides his fingers up until they reach the button of your jeans. “Did you let him fuck you right here? Slip your dress up and your panties down for him. Sit yourself on his cock. Let him defile you like you’re nothing but a common whore.” 

He pops your jeans open and glides your zipper down. “You’re not, by the way. I think you’re more than that. If you were a common whore, you would’ve put out by the third, maybe fourth, session. But you’ve been a good girl. You’ve been holding out on me.” He pulls your pants down, quirking an eyebrow up at you when you don’t lift your hips to allow him to pull them down the rest of the way. You eventually lift your hips up, and you watch Charlie smile to himself. 

“I had to be the one to make the first move.” He laughs, but the humor in it doesn’t allow you in on the joke. 

You expected Charlie to go slow. In the brief moment where he continues pulling your jeans down your legs, you thought he would take his time, prolonging each moment and every movement. But he doesn’t do this. He speeds taking off your pants, throwing them off to the side without much consideration at all. One of the legs almost hits the glass he has on the coffee table, and you watch in horror as it barely misses it. 

Even if the glass was knocked over, you don’t think you would have wasted time to clean the mess up. This was your main priority now. 

There’s no hesitance to his movements. He’s done this before, maybe more recent than you think. 

He’s presented with your cunt, still clothed by the thin layer of your panties. He licks his lips, a small smile tugging up one corner. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s noticed how soaked you are, definitely soaked through the cloth.  

He reaches his hand out and pushes his fingertips beneath the waistband of your panties. He pulls them down slowly, presenting your bare cunt agonizing inch by agonizing inch. And then, when he has your panties thrown off to the side, he doesn’t waste anymore time. 

His big hands grip the outsides of your thighs, calloused fingers pressing into the miscellaneous bruises you have. As soon as he finds them, he digs his fingers into the tender spots, holding you still even when you writhe around in his grasp. Charlie keeps you still, his mouth remaining flush against your cunt, not like you’re trying to get away from that. 

The discomfort paired with the pleasure is a new one for you, and you fear that once this is all over, you’ll crave this combination more and more. But you know you won’t ever want it from anyone that isn't him. You only trust Charlie to give it to you like this. 

You trust Charlie to devour you while you sit on your couch, your hands tangling in his dark hair, pushing his nose into the low cut bush that tickles his skin. You trust him to guide you to an orgasm. 

It’s like he’s your pied piper. 

Charlie puckers his lips and sucks, gliding down from your clit to your entrance throughout. He flicks his tongue out, lapping up your essence, and then shallowly inserts the pointed tip into your walls. He flattens his tongue then, nuzzles his nose into your clit, and shakes his head. 

Your nails scratch Charlie’s scalp and he groans right into you. You watch his eyelids flutter, long lashes fanning out, so you repeat it. This time he comes up for air, licking his lips just before he pants into the open air. 

You feel heavenly, but you can’t help but worry that you’re at fault when you let Charlie have you like this. You’re the one who leads a mostly normal life. You never consider the religious implications of lying with a man at night, because that’s not who you were. But Charlie had never suggested that this was the kind of person you were. You were just having trouble figuring out if that was just a falsehood by omission, or if this simply isn’t the man that Charlie usually is, and he’s been turned this way by you. 

Guilt begins to perch on your shoulders, taking the shape of a vulture. It sits at bay for now, but you know it’s there. 

It’s too much for you to handle right now, too much to consider when your brain is mostly fog, so instead you spread your legs a little wider and tighten your hold on Charlie’s hair. 

The heels of your feet dig into Charlie’s back and you feel something beneath his shirt. A form of abrasions, healing skin raised off of his back. Your eyebrows pinch together and you bring your head down so you’re looking at Charlie instead of the raised bumps in your ceiling. You’re about to ask him about it, his name beginning to form on your lips, and then Charlie sucks your clit into his mouth and twists the finger he has in your walls. 

Your orgasm kills the unasked question. 

Charlie grins up at you the entire time; you feel it while you’re noticing the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

The relationship you have with Father Charlie is weird. It’s unorthodox.

You’ve attempted to keep things separated with Father Charlie after that first night. You refuse to address him by just his first name. You’ve kept up with your sessions, but they only happen in the church and never at your home. You’re trying to be considerate of his faith. 

But things aren’t right. 

You still aren’t a confirmed member of the Church, but you find yourself at mixers, knowing the names of the others, even beginning to address the Sisters like you’re one of them. Father Charlie stands at your side the entire time, a smile on his face, a look akin to that of a proud mentor in his eyes. 

Either way, you still find comfort in him, especially when the killer—Grotesquerie is his name, Sister Megan told you one morning over coffee—continues to strike. 

That’s where you find yourself now, seeking comfort from Father Charlie in the center of the otherwise empty church. It’s Wednesday, service will be starting soon and you should be heading out for your shift. But you couldn’t possibly leave and drive on your own without expelling some of your worries. 

“I’m scared, Charlie,” you admit for what feels like the first time, your voice wavering. 

Charlie shushes you. He takes a step closer, circling his arms around your shoulders and running a calloused hand over your hair as he pulls you into his chest. “Don’t be. There’s no reason for you to be scared, okay? He’s not targeting you.”

You shake your head. “How do you know that? You can’t know that.”

“I do. He’s going for sex workers. Remember what Sister Megan said in her article? ‘Women of the night’. That’s not you.”

You are still with your head against his chest, your ear positioned over his heart. The thrum of his heartbeat is steady, something that should be comforting. You can’t be comforted right now, though. “I know but … I just can’t … I can’t–” The words won’t find you, not without your eyes and nose burning at least. 

Charlie inhales, the sound restricted by his teeth. He rocks you side to side, the circle of his arms sliding down to your waist. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, how about I make sure you get home safe? Alright? What time are you off?” 

You shouldn’t have agreed, but you did. 

That night, you lay with Charlie on your couch. Your bed felt too intimate, too inappropriate for a relationship that was not really supposed to be a relationship at all. You try to sleep, and eventually you do. 

You dream of Charlie, standing in the center of your living room, watching you get off. His hands are bloody and his back is scarred. 

When you wake up, he isn’t there. 

[lizzisimss]

Stevie CC List:

Body: vibrantpixels_armThicknessSlider, vibrantpixels_calfSliders, Sammi_xox_BellyOverlay_N1_TattooLeftLeg, cowplantpizza_wiltingroses_tattooset, terrahji_melichryses_Vitiligo Overlay_Historian_Merged, Pralinesims_Nails_Female_N27_SugarMilk, nesurii_lightitup-highlight, Simbience_HauteSkinblend, tamo_Eyebags01_SkinForehead_V2, Pralinesims - UltimateEyebrowCollection_MaxisMatch, MoonchildLovesTheNight - Stretchmarks, [AS] Lip Preset 9, bellessims_nose5, SC-SweetBod, PS - Eyes_N157

Make-up: JH Cosmetics - Eyeshadow 103, [ d r e a m g i r l ] 3 D_l a s h e s_V6, JH [COSMETICS] EYESHADOW #126, JH [COSMETICS] LIPSTICK #135, JH [COSMETICS] LIPSTICK #150, breezytrait petals makeup pack (merged), TwistedCat_Glow_Eyeshadow, Twistedcat_Lashes_NO1, TwistedCat_Lashes_NO2_glasses, TwistedCat_Limelight_Eyeshadow, TwistedCat_Mirage_Eyeshadow, TwistedCat_Mirage_Lipstick, TwistedCat_Prism_Lipstick, TwistedCat_SourFruit_Blush, Pralinesims - UltimateEyelinerCollection

Accessories: serenity_EvaEarrings, serenity_EvaNecklace, [arethabee] milena necklace, ilkupSolarEarringsMERGED, [arethabee] ashley earrings, [SC00]SeniorYearChain, TwistedCat_Pearl_Earrings, Pralinesims - UltimateEarringCollection, Pralinesims - UltimateNecklaceCollection_Female

Everyday: [AxA] - JillHair, [greenllamas] SLASHER_Trowma_Top_Patterns, [greenllamas] MIMOSA_Juice_Jeans, [boonstow] checker sandals, [arethabee] piper waist chain, [WS] Winter Wear Stuff - Ribbed Beanie

Formal: [greenllamas] SLASHER_Penny_Hair, HUIEN- Cecilia Suit, Trillyke_Heartbreaker_Loafers_Female

Sports: [arethabee] bloom hair, [VXG] GLITTER_Aisling_Top_Patterns, pixelunivairse-Arizona Jogger, [Jius]LowTopSneaker05, NucrestsyuHatSeamlessCapLifted

Sleep: [Aladdin] Salma Hair_V3, serenity_NightimeSweater, serenity_JennShorts, [Jius]HouseSlippers02

Party: [AxA] – BeccaHair, serenity_OlaTop, [greenllamas] SLASHER_Jennifer_Skirt, [Jius]PlatformHighBoots01, [RONA] Dr.Martens Wincox

Swimwear: CLUMSYALIEN [EIRENE HAIR], [AxA]-StylishGlasses_Female, serenity_CassiePinkSwimsuit_Body, serenity_LaraSlides_LogoVersion

Warm Weather: [oakiyo_x_QICC]Sweater_Weather_Sienna_Hair, [RIMINGS] Fur Bucket Hat, [AxA]-AvrilTop_Graphics, Madlen Tia Boots 1, Trillyke_Laces_and_Spikes_2022_NaRa_Torn_Tights

Cold Weather: simstrouble_UnisexHair_Ronnie, Cement-yuHAT_CottageCasual_FishermanCap, MARSMERIZING_Wendy (SWEATER ONLY)_FTop, DREAMGIRL_STITCHEDCARGOPANTS

Tray files are available on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/lizzisimss

Please consider supporting if you wish :)

[dreamsandroots]

Pan of the Infinite Realms

To sing in mourning: bittersweet.

Occasionally during these weeks following his passing, I have found myself struck, in contemplation of the father as mythical being, by the image of Pan, rustic God of the wild, goat-horned satyr, famed piper and, by all accounts, general mischief-maker. In spite of Pan’s status as an outcast from the snowy-peaked heights of Mount Olympus—a figure who categorically refused the pomp and grandeur of Zeus’ impetuous brood—the wild God’s unimposing presence was epic, even if only for its tacit reach. There’s something of Pan in the attention to proximity: of being aware of the boundaries between self and those in orbit that plays out through this self-distancing, a recurring displacement of the shapeshifter as he moves along the parallax gap between a retreat into ostracism and the act of caring from afar. Pan: everything, anything, and perhaps especially all those things you hadn’t altogether noticed. Frederick, my father, was, to me, the epitome of the unspoken imperative, quite in contrast to the loud souls surrounding those types of men I’d observe who couldn’t keep their words, their habits or their worldviews contained. 

Frederick was never loud, in my recollection. There was a song-like cadence to the inflection of his words, even in those rare instances when he’d engage his booming voice—for there are times when, no matter the family dynamic, the semblances of a father’s authority is demanded. When he spoke, it would often border on the mumble, such that one was inclined to strain in order to hear the words being said. To the uninitiated, this might have seemed the behaviour of the anxiously unsure: of one whose emotions had gone cold, held back and kept tight under guard. It’s true that Fred was not loud in his emotions or his moods, but he showed his love for family and community through his actions. He was generous in his attention, even if it only ever emerged from the outliers. He’d always ask how you were getting on, always eager to hear what you’d been up to, and especially what you thought about the secret whispers of existence or the ways you navigated the various folds of the space-time continuum. His presence, though soft, or at least one that was registered only with a deceptively light touch, became important for those of us who knew the value of having someone to watch over the situation with careful and sympathetic eyes. Someone who made the effort to see you.

Pan was said to be the ugliest God. Well, I think I’ll let that specific part of the constellation skip over into incoherence, unless I wish also to implicate myself and my dear siblings, my fellow autochtha, in this charge of unsightliness. But I can say that there was perhaps some evidence of an aversion to beauty as an ultimate value in Fred, if by ‘beauty’ we mean the type embodied by magazine spreads or movie screens. And if ‘aversion’ is too strong a term here, perhaps ‘indifference’ will do more aptly. In their wedding photos, both Frederick and Veronica (who, among many other things is the mother of his children) look stunning, so it’s not as if he couldn’t lean into, or be swayed, by the gravity of the aesthetic. But in his later years, and personally, for me, in his most handsome of forms, Fred would let his face grow wild until his big bushy beard would catch crumbs. He’d eat heartily without regard to the shape of his tummy. He’d sometimes let the cobwebs grow and the ‘bits’ on the carpet meander at his apartment in Parramatta. When I helped Veronica clean his cottage late ‘22, when he’d been admitted to Campbelltown hospital with the double threat of a UTI and Covid-19, I marvelled at the community of spiders he’d left prospering on his top window by the front door (which was actually his side door, but that's a longer story).

Pan was a much loved piper. I remember how special I felt to be a part of the band at Sadlier at our little church close to our home in Ashcroft and the school I attended. Well to be honest, just between you and me, I wasn’t really part of the band per se, I was really just sitting at the back with the rest of the band, singing along. But I’d go to the rehearsals each week where at least a couple of siblings would be strumming guitars and Fred would play flighty green melodies on his flute. And as far as Fred was concerned, I was part of the band, same as anyone.

In his image, I’m reminded of talk about the fruit freshest from the vine. By which I think I mean to say that even in his advanced age there was something young and carefree to his presence. Being the youngest, I made a particular point of contrast with the oldest member of the family, even if only in our respective ages. I think there was something in me that embodied the audacity and recklessness of youth: the freedom to take the fool’s role and the rebel's cause. It may just be my imagination but I always felt that Fred appreciated my sense of mischief, and perhaps encouraged it to a degree, if not outright endorsing. I mean, he’d never tell directly if he did. Fred was 38 years old when I was born so I never had the pleasure of knowing him as a younger man. In many of the photos we have of his earlier life I notice how broadly he used to smile. When I look at these photos I imagine in the moments of their taking, he’d felt a sense of self-purpose and that he had faith, either in himself or something beyond to which he was connected, and that he held the ideas he brought into the world passionately, close to his heart. As his youngest child I can only smile in the hopes that I can continue this legacy. That we all can.

The man I knew may not have smiled as openly or as vigorously—or at least not for those pointing cameras at him—but humour was never far from his grasp, his bag of tricks always ready at hand. His impish joy would shine brightest in those moments when you were the only one to catch his underhanded joke over the busy dinner table, and he’d smile just as broadly when you passed the same joke back to him ten minutes later. Even once his health began to slide, over these past few years, he was never despondent, never faithless. He was the type who'd crack jokes to the nurses as he limped, blood trickling down his face, and looking as if he’d just barely scraped through a minefield.

Various stories abound regarding Pan’s ancestry and progeny. Some place him as the son of Hermes, others that he was the foster-brother of Zeus, and thus Hermes’ uncle and teacher in music. Other tales have him being older than Zeus, a son of Cronus and Rhea. It’s hard not to think, in this tangle of identity, of those generational traits and recurring faces that are familiar to any who are part of a family tree that takes particular stock of their ancestors’ tales, and holds them close. In this sense, Pan becomes something quite personal, taking on a specific form and imbued with a particular emotional intensity.

Pan, to me, is the spirit of a quiet, smiling face or a particular high-pitched tenor to the questioning voice. Or sometimes he’s a mood: a restlessness that borders on nervousness which, in the end, drifts towards the gentle silence that can emerge between careful minds. He's an inclination to pull the brightest light close to the soul in order to reflect, but not close enough to hinder its flight-path. An idea that comes to you as if from nowhere, before realising that even all of those sweet secret moments in which the ‘self’ reveals its ‘self’ had been, in part, passed down to you along the river's flow. Pan is everything, the interdimensional Möbius loop as well as the tangled mess of phone cords you keep in an old drawer.

In Plutarch, a story related by the historian Philip, tells of Thamus, an Egyptian sailor bound for Rome who had heard a divine voice proclaim that “the great god Pan is dead!” In his compendium, The Greek Myths, Robert Graves writes that Pausanias, while touring Greece roughly a century after this declaration was recorded, had “found Pan’s shrines, altars, sacred caves, and sacred mountains still much frequented.” Perhaps it’s only in this way that we know the value of the wild: once it has been all-but purged from our hyper-aware state of self consciousness.

Perhaps the death of Pan struck such a chord to those in this time of Thamus because it was more than the story of the death of a God, it was also the death of a way of thinking about ‘The Gods,’ which over aeons had shifted, from the rustic ideals of nature as life-giving, passed down through our various oral, aural and psychical transmissions had mutated into the icons of those grandiloquent beings that stood beyond reach as if looking down in judgement from above. If a God could die, it meant that the Gods were like us after all. Let them die to let them live. Let us honour the Gods as being like us, rather than placing them on a pedestal of worship. In this, Pan was perhaps closer to Gaia and Hades than he ever was to the self-assured Zeus. Not transcendental—in the sky—but of the earth below.

I’m not going to pretend that Frederick had any particular inclination towards the Greek gods, or at least he ever shared it with me if he did. He was more into the druidic mysteries and his runes, the teachings of the elders of the Navaho, and the stories of the carpenter of Nazareth than he was in the usual classical fare of ancient history as conceived in ‘the West.’ As such, I should point out that this is in part my picture that I paint over the outline of the father, in the hopes that he won’t mind too much me placing him there, and in fact might find himself at home with the figure of Pan who I have come to love and respect, two archetypes blending.

For the love of the father, his kindness and his gentleness and all of the ways that he shined in his own way I offer three silent cries to the dead God: Pan of the infinite realms. Long may you return to us, and especially in those moments in which we forget what we’ve forgotten.

[hdwonkavedereita]

Wonka il Film 2023

✔️ 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐈 ▶ https://t.co/nCToQN6x3w

:: Trama Wonka ::

Il giovane cioccolataio Willy Wonka arriva in una nuova città con il sogno di aprire una cioccolateria alle Galeries Gourmet. Tuttavia, i suoi primi sforzi sono vani, dato che Wonka incontra l'opposizione dei tre affermati cioccolatai del luogo, Slugworth, Prodnose e Fickelgruber, che gli aizzano contro la polizia. Inoltre Willy è stato raggirato dalla sua padrona di casa, l'avida signora Scrubbit, che esige un affitto esorbitante e costringe il giovane a lavorare nella sua lavanderia quando non si può permettere di pagare.

Mentre viene sfruttato dalla Scrubbit, Willy conosce Noodle, Abacus, Piper, Larry e Lotte, anche loro costretti a lavorare nella lavanderia, e i cinque gli raccontato che Slughworth, Rodnose e Fickelgruber gestiscono un cartello del cioccolato, con sede nelle fondamenta della parrocchia gestita da Padre Julius. Grazie a un sotterfugio, Willy riesce a evadere dalla lavenderia e a cominciare a vendere il cioccolato insieme a Noodle, a cui rivela che la sua passione per il dolce nasce dall'ultimo regalo fattogli dalla madre prima di morire: una barretta di cioccolato.

Wonka si accorge che un misterioso omino arancione che lo segue da anni gli ha rubato i cioccolatini e, dopo averlo rintracciato, lo cattura. Prima di fuggire, la creatura rivela di esssere un Umpa Lumpa di nome Lofty, esiliato dalla sua tribù anni prima quando Wonka aveva rubato dei preziosi chicci di cacao a cui lui era stato messo a guardia.

Wonka e i suoi amici guadagnano abbastanza soldi per aprire un negozio. La Scrubbit però, avvertita dal cartello del cioccolato, ha aggiunto sudore di yeti ai cioccolatini di Wonka. La folla entusiasta all'apertura della cioccolateria comincia a sviluppare problemi di irsutismo appena assaggia i cioccolatini e l'inaugurazione si trasforma in un disastro. Dopo che il suo negozio è stato devastato, Wonka viene avvicinato dai membri del cartello, che si offrono di saldare i suoi debiti in cambio della sua immediata fuga dalla città. Wonka accetta e, lasciati i suoi amici, si imbarca su un battello, ma Lofty lo convince appena in tempo a tornare indieteo e combattere il cartello, che ha tentanto di ucciderlo piazzando dell'esplosivo a bordo.

Mentre Abacus, Piper, Larry e Lottie vengono rilasciati dalla lavanderia, Noodle è destinata a rimanervi prigioniera. Wonka e gli altri salvano la ragazza e Wonka le rivela che lei è la nipote di Slugworth, che ha corrotto la Scrubbit affinché la tenesse rinchiusa così che Noodle non potesse reclamare la sua eredità di famiglia. Tentando di annientare il cartello, Noodle e Wonka entrano nella loro base segreta, ma vengono accerchiati dai nemici che vogliono annegarli nel cioccolato. Vengono salvati appena in tempo da Lofty e, grazie al contabile Abacus, rivelano alla polizia le frodi fiscali e la corruzione perpetrata dal cartello, in cui membri vengono arrestati. Mentre la folla assaggia finalmente il cioccolato di Wonka, il giovane scarta la barretta lasciatogli dalla madre: la donna aveva messo in essa un biglietto dorato in cui gli ricordava che il cioccolato è migliore se condiviso. Wonka divide quindi la barretta con i suoi amici.

Noodle ritrova la sua madre biologica e Wonka acquista un castello abbandonato e comincia a costruire la sua fabbrica di cioccolato.

Cast e Regia: Il cast di "Wonka" include talentuosi attori che interpretano i personaggi con grande abilità. Ogni membro del cast contribuisce a creare una dinamica coinvolgente e a dar vita alla storia. Il regista, con la sua visione e il suo stile unico, dà vita alle scene d'azione e crea un'atmosfera ricca di suspense.

Dove Guardarlo: Per vivere l'emozione di "Wonka" al massimo, ci sono diverse opzioni per guardare il film completo. È probabile che il film venga proiettato al cinema, offrendo agli spettatori l'opportunità di immergersi completamente nell'azione e di godere degli effetti speciali sul grande schermo. Inoltre, potrebbe essere disponibile anche in streaming su piattaforme come Netflix, Amazon Prime Video o altre piattaforme digitali, che consentono di gustarsi il film comodamente da casa.

Conclusion: "Wonka" è un film avvincente che promette di offrire un'esperienza adrenalinica. Con un cast talentuoso e una regia esperta, lo spettatore viene trasportato in un viaggio pieno di suspense e tensione. Che siate appassionati di film d'azione o amanti di storie avvincenti, "Wonka" è sicuramente un film da non perdere per le sue scene ad alto tasso di adrenalina e la trama coinvolgente. Quindi, preparatevi a vivere un'esperienza mozzafiato con "Wonka" e godetevi il film completo.

[neuropri5m]

call us prism ⋆ 20, any pronouns

queer+trans+genderfluid+boygirl+xenogender+t4t

plural+autistic+mentally ill+schizoaffective+phys disabled

⋆｡𖦹°‧☆

disability, plurality, aesthetics, fashion, queerness, activism, nonhumanity

⋆｡𖦹°‧☆

dni: basic criteria, radqueer/transid, ddlg/abdl+supporters, “alter economy”/“alter pack” users, lesboy antis, cripplepunk/madpunk antis

byi: do not send chainmail, tone tags preferred when necessary, we block freely

⋆｡𖦹°‧☆

art sideblog: @pri5m-png

⋆｡𖦹°‧☆

multiple code - N++$ l P[gf/qr] l A(b r--/^) l S.H +/H ~ Mcw/Hf/He/Uv+/Sa+/Sg+/Sh+/Sd+/Sc+/Smcd*+/Smfh*+ l Ot l Ms/ds l Wc$! l C l OF+ | Fp^+/a+/div+/mw+ l Mpsy!+/spi!+ l Rf/p/qp+/r+ l V++!- l X+ l G+ l Jst l S(r/o+) l R--

syscourse code - 👇/💜/📘/🔸/🔵/🌖/🟩/🌲/☁️/🥖/🐊/🐌/🐬

alter intros under cut

the mansion

alexei ⋆ he/she/it ⋆ 🍇

amira ⋆ they/she ⋆ 💍

callum ⋆ he/they ⋆ 🦄

cyan ⋆ he/they ⋆ 🧊

dorian ⋆ he/they/it/thou ⋆ 💉

eos ⋆ they/it/she/he ⋆ 💕

eros ⋆ he/she ⋆ 🏹

five ⋆ he/any ⋆ ☕️

glitch ⋆ he/they/xe ⋆ ⚡️

linkin ⋆ they/he/it ⋆ 🔪

lucy ⋆ she/it/they ⋆ 🎀

mal ⋆ she/it ⋆ 🥀

mars/lucky ⋆ any/all ⋆ ✨

micah ⋆ they/he ⋆ 🧷

nilla ⋆ it/they/he/she/dream/pink/soft/rip/gore ⋆ 🍰

oliver ⋆ he/him ⋆ 💿

piper/robin/quinn/reece ⋆ they/h3 ⋆ 🪀

silas ⋆ he/she/they/it/thou ⋆ ⚰️

soleil ⋆ she/her (+he) ⋆ 🌤️

valentine ⋆ it/he/she/they/xe ⋆ 🍁

the underground

connor ⋆ he/they/it ⋆ 🍨

incubus ⋆ it/he/they ⋆ 🧨

lace ⋆ she/it/they ⋆ 🍧

mia ⋆ she/it ⋆ 🍥

red/damascus ⋆ he/it ⋆ 📌

silver ⋆ he/they ⋆ 🔗

the laboratory

ericka ⋆ she/they/xe/it ⋆ 💊

joker ⋆ they/it ⋆ 🃏

junie ⋆ she/they ⋆ ✏️

kellin ⋆ he/they ⋆ 🧩

mercedes ⋆ they/he/she/it ⋆ 💵

nathan ⋆ they/he ⋆ 🔬

prince ⋆ he/it ⋆ 👑

the experimenter ⋆ he/it ⋆ 🩻

the overseer/celia ⋆ they/it/she ⋆ 🪼

zacharie ⋆ he/xe/they ⋆ 🧪

zinnia ⋆ she/they/he ⋆ 🐛

the observatory

archelaus ⋆ he/they/it/thou/thon ⋆ 🏛️

aster ⋆ they/it/rainbow ⋆ 🌦️

nova ⋆ she/they/it/thou ⋆ 🌙

the city

alex ⋆ they/she ⋆ ☄️

asra ⋆ he/any ⋆ 🪄

digi ⋆ they/it/bit/byte/0 ⋆ 🎮

ellis ⋆ he/they ⋆ 🎫

emery ⋆ they/them ⋆ 🧸

gabriel ⋆ they/he ⋆ ⚖️

julian ⋆ he/they/it ⋆ 🍷

kaz ⋆ any/all ⋆ 🫧

lazarus ⋆ he/it ⋆ 🫀

léon ⋆ he/him ⋆ 🍯

miles ⋆ he/they ⋆ 🕸️

thomas ⋆ he/they ⋆ ♟️

the forest

bingo ⋆ she/they ⋆ 🧁

bluebell ⋆ he/they/it ⋆ 🪻

clover ⋆ he/she ⋆ 🍀

eli ⋆ they/he ⋆ ☀️

lily ⋆ she/they/nym/vaer ⋆ 💐

lottie ⋆ she/they/it ⋆ ��

lynette ⋆ she/her ⋆ 🕷️

owen ⋆ he/they ⋆ 🦕

pixie ⋆ any/all ⋆ 🧚

sylvie ⋆ she/they ⋆ 🔮

[frontporchconsign]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: RU Apparel Piper Peasant Dress Black Turquoise 3/4 Ruffle Sleeve Size L.

[mirandamckenni1]

The Devil Went Down to Georgia (Official Video) - Mia x Ally The second single from our album has officially dropped! PLUS our tour is named after it! See us play it live on our South/East US tour this fall tickets at www.miaxally.com Credits: Videography - David 'speve' Kayne Engineer - David 'speve' Kayne Assistant engineer - Jon Tan, Josh Lu Band - Electric Violin: Mia Asano Bagpipes: Ally the Piper Guitar - Dov Beck-Levine Drums - Dominic Rosario Marraffa III Bass - Mike Petillo Mix and Master - Jack Kosto Vocal tuning - Kristina Fisk TOUR DATES 10.25 - Albany, NY - The Egg 10.26 - NYC, NY - Gramercy Theatre VIP 10.29 - Hopewell, VA - Beacon Theatre 10.30 - Asheville, NC - Grey Eagle Tavern 10.31 - Charleston, SC - Music Farm 11.2 - Jacksonville, FL - Jack Rabbits 11.5 - New Orleans, LA - House of Blues 11.7 - San Antonio, TX - Sam’s Burger Joint 11.8 - Dallas, TX - Deep Ellum Art Co. 11.9 - Oklahoma City, OK - Beer City Music Hall 11.10 - Kansas City, MO - Voodoo Lounge 11.12 - St. Louis, MO - Delmar Hall 11.13 - Louisville, KY - Headliner’s Music Hall 11.15 - Knoxville, TN - Bijou Theatre 11.16 - Cincinnati, OH - Ludlow Garage 11.17 - Nashville, TN - Eastside Bowl 11.18 - Atlanta, GA - City Winery 11.20 - Washington, DC - Union Stage 11.21 - Philadelphia, PA - Ardmore Music Hall 11.22 - Amherst, MA - The Drake via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBmYKmAvuko

[michaelbranch]

2023: A Year in Review

A year of trying to settle in as a family of 5 (plus pups Rocky & Molly). The twins have been growing like weeds and, along with their sister, have provided endless torment and entertainment.

So, what have we been up to? Here’s a brief look in pictures.

Much Love,

Michael & Lauren

Olive & Jaxson turned 1! As you can see, at first they weren't too happy about getting older lol.

And our big girl Pipster turned 4; although she occasionally acts 14.

Easter came. Along with it candy, egg hunting, and time with friends and family.

Derby neighborhood party with a little kid racing (not sure if anyone bet on them though lol).

The first Branch family cruise was a success (minus no bags for the first couple days thanks to the airline). Also included the first flight for the littles. Not for the faint of heart.

Plenty of pool days! Special shout out to our awesome neighbor Michele for letting us splash anytime.

Our little Pip's had her 2nd year of summer camp. This year she went to The Academy and spent her days in a gymnastics environment jumping, being helped by the big kids, and apparently napping on the gym mats.

Piper improved in her climbing; getting on the big walls in her harness and the twins got their first taste of the climbing walls. Our most regular family hobby, we work to get all the littles solid exposure.

Olive and Jaxson had plenty of firsts. Swim class, Jax's first haircut, trampoline park, and more.

Piper also had plenty of firsts. Her first concert (Blippi), solo bike ride, hospital stay (fixing her umbilical hernia), 4 wheeler ride, ski trip, pedicure and more. This will also be her last year in pre-k Montessori; she'll be going to public school next year.

Michael had a good year too. He completed a Spartan race with some friends and got into cold plunging/ice baths as a new part of his regular health routine.

Lauren embraced her inner Swiftie with a concert and concert film.

We celebrated America in style with pool time and fireworks.

Five years in the books for us.

We were able to get some additional vacation time in as well. A long weekend at Great Wolf Lodge, some time with Laurens med school friends in Hilton Head, SC, and Michaels mom came with us on a great trip to Chattanooga, TN.

Of course we enjoyed the Fall season festivities. We took the little's to the pumpkin patch, the Jackolantern Spooktacular in Louisville, Boo at the Zoo, and did a bit of trick or treating with a princess (loved it), Barbie (took to it well), and Ken (didn't care for anything but eating the candy).

We enjoyed our Friendsgiving tradition with one hosted at our home, one for the neighborhood, and Thanksgiving Day at Nana and Pop Pop's.

Happy Holidays from our squad to yours!

[cinnamon-stixs]

Drawing my OCs as Chappell Roan song covers: Part 2

Piper as the cover for Casual

Why: It fits their backstory PERFECTLY. At first I wanted to use Rose for this one because of the mv's mermaid theming, but the song itself fit Piper way more.

Original cover:

[second-stixs]

whenever I have a lot of motivation to draw but no ideas, i like to do these 'draw the squad' base thingies :)

the only real rule when it comes to them is if you're gonna post them, either tag/link the og creator or include the original images in your post.

bases used:

[smikdrawsjunk]

naem posted:

I would like a grouchy bearded dwarf with fairy wings please bonus if he is playing a bagpipe

"Made by a MacIntyre piper more than 800 years ago the 'Faery' bagpipes of Kinlochmoidart, are thought to be the oldest Highland pipes. The legend is that the MacIntyre piper had a dream where a “faery” (fairy) came to him and said: “Heat up your poker until it’s white hot and pierce the bottom of your chanter side to side and it will make the sweetest sounding pipes in Scotland.” The chanter is the part of the bagpipe upon which the player creates the melody. The 'Faery' bagpipes are said to be the first with two holes." -- https://www.transceltic.com/blog/sc...20creates%20the

It was this guy. Many fairies really love the bagpipes and the grumpy old bastard (literal) that is the Bagpipe Fairy is considered the most metal fairy ever. He's gotten drunk with Baba Yaga, brawled with Scandinavian mountain trolls, and is the face of "The Bagpipe Witchfuckers". The grouchy old winged men of the fairylands are old as stone and yet are some of the lesser known (or at least least popular) types of fairies in the mortal realm and that's the way they like it.

[portergage]

Story of the Century.

[lizzisimss]

Teens of Mount Komorebi Part 6 CC List:

Body: okruee-misc-face-details-SKINDETAIL, [AS] Lip Preset 7, EVOXYR - Visions eye presets, heihu-xingzuo_birthmarks, nesurii_lightitup-highlight, Simbience_HauteSkinblend, Pralinesims - UltimateEyebrowCollection_MaxisMatch, PS - Eyes_N157, lutessasims_nose_presets, SC-SweetBod

Make-up: JH Cosmetics - Eyeshadow 104, JH Cosmetics - Eyeshadow 121, [ d r e a m g i r l ] 3 D_l a s h e s_V6, Pralinesims_Lip_N236_LucidDream, TwistedCat_Frosty_Lashes, TwistedCat_GlitterBomb_V1_Eyeshadow, TwistedCat_Mirage_Eyeshadow, 4w25 - CutenessIntensifiesBlush, Pralinesims_Nails_Female_N27_SugarMilk, Pralinesims - UltimateEyelinerCollection, GPME - Nose Blush, Pralinesims - UltimateLipstickCollection

Accessories: [boonstow] luna moth earrings 1, serenity_HuaNecklace, TwistedCat_Pearl_Earrings, alexaarr - StarHoops

Everyday: okruee-magnolia-hair, okruee-magnolia-hair-bow-acc, [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Cropped Turtleneck Sweater, [greenllamas] GREENHOUSE_Sage_Skirt_Duo, [oakiyo_x_QICC]Sweater_Weather_Jora_Boots

Formal: miiko-usagi-hair, okruee-adonis-hair-roses-acc, HUIEN- Yuna Sling, [Jius]LeatherPumps06

Sports: okruee-hilda-hair, [boonstow] random top 04, euno 0524 Leggings HQ, [boonstow] colorblock sneakers

Sleep: okruee-delancey-hair-v2, DAISYPIXELS_yfbody_Susan_Nightgown, Madlen Tsuki Slippers (Adult), DAISYPIXELS_yuBlush_Face-Mask

Party: [arethabee] kimberly hair v2, [greenllamas] SLASHER_Amandla_Top, [greenllamas] MIMOSA_Juice_Jeans_patterns, [boonstow] kawaii platform sneakers, [arethabee] piper waist chain

Swimwear: miiko-denise-hair, [boonstow] daisy summer set, serenity_LaraSlides, adrienpastel_SP34_glasses

Warm Weather: SIMANCHOLY-AmberHairV2, euno 22 1227 Y2K top, GCSSkirt_Sep22PlaidPatternedMidiSkirt, [Jius]PlatformSneakers02

Cold Weather: okruee-ana-hair, pixelunivairse-Jess dungaree shorts, [SUNBERRY]UG High slipper SOCKS 2-23.2, [IDAVALLEN] - WILLOW TIGHTS SET, CLUMSYALIEN [RAE SCARF]

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[macaroni-rascal]

Will Laurence Fournier Beaudry/Nikolaj Sorensen ever bee good enough to win anything substantial? Worlds/Olympics? Can anyone ever capture the hearts of the judges to beat P/C? LOL I really don't like P/C and I'm like anybody but Trump (P/C) (ya know?)

I think they definitely have potential! It depends on how long they want to stay in the game, I don’t see an olympic gold medal in their future, but you never know. I could 100% see a world medal in their future, and a national title or two.

Actually, I was thinking the other day, could you imagine if Lolo and Nik beat Piper and Paul at this years nationals, the righteous fury of Carol Lane would keep hearths warm across Canada for the next full quad