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bqstqnbruin · 3 years

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Always be my plus one

Here we go, y'all. We're ignoring that it's 3:30 in the morning but I'm just yeeting the first part of this into the wild and hoping it goes well. Ignore typos, we all know that everything I post is a first draft.

I need to thank @hockeywocs, @chara-hugs, and @zinka8 (WHY CAN't I TAG YOU) and all the anons who have come into my ask box to help me with this! ily all!

WARNING: some description of child birth

Hope you like it!

Series masterlist

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Part 1: Christmas Day and the day after Christmas

The name for Christmas comes from the shortening of “Christ’s Mass,” a traditionally Christian holiday that celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ to the Virgin Mary and Joseph in a manger in Bethlehem. Although the exact date of his birthday is unknown, around the fourth century the Catholic church fixed the date of this celebration to be December 25th. Other religions and belief systems have similar celebrations around the same time, such as the Winter Solstice, or Midwinter. Celebrations include a mixture of pre-Christian, Christian, and non-secular traditions, such as gift giving, completing an Advent Calendar or Advent Wreath, Christmas music, church services, a special meal with family and loved ones, Christmas trees, lights, nativity scenes, and Santa Claus to name a few.

The day after Christmas, known as Boxing Day in some European countries, is traditionally known as a shopping holiday. In America, this is typically the day when people start to return any unwanted Christmas gifts, stock up for next Christmas on items that are marked down on sale, or see friends that they hadn’t been able to see before Christmas.

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December 21, 2021

“One fifteen means fifteen minutes before I have to clock in. Fifteen minutes before a twelve-hour shift that I’m not ready for and don’t have enough caffeine for,” Anne muttered to herself, staring at her reflection through her car's rearview mirror. “But, fifteen minutes before getting to do something that I thankfully love, something that I enjoy doing.” No matter how long the shift in front of her, Anne had developed a habit of giving herself a pep talk before she got out of her car. “Whatever happens, you’ve helped someone.”

The last part wasn’t always true, knowing that there was the possibility that something could go wrong that she and the other nurses and doctors wouldn’t be able to fix. Lying to herself that everything was going to be ok was the only want to convince herself to go into the hospital every day. Finally mustering up enough courage to get out of her car, she grabs her bag from the backseat, heading in for yet another long day right before the Christmas holiday.

The maternity ward where Anne worked never ceased to be hectic, the miracle of life happening at least once an hour. No matter how much Anne had studied in nursing school, nothing could have prepared her for the stress that could come from the job, the long hours, the potential for something so right to turn so wrong in a minute, the way nothing can go planned since the baby dictated all, the mess that comes with every birth, or the joy that results from a former patient sending her the occasional picture of a baby she helped deliver as they’re growing up.

“Hey, Tyson, come on!” comes from inside the open doors of the building, Anne not paying attention to who it was coming from, causing her to collide with a stranger, spilling her much-needed coffee all over the both of them.

“Shit,” she says, not looking up from the brown splatter on what should be mint green scrubs. “I am so sorry.”

Standing in front of her was a curly-haired boy, about her age, wearing what she was sure was a Colorado hockey jersey. Beyond that, she had no idea. “No, no, it’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Let me buy you another,” he offers, ignoring the persistent calls from his friends to hurry up.

Anne checks her watch: 1:19. “It’s ok. I don’t really have the time, I have to clock in in eleven minutes, and knowing the cafeteria or the vending machines, it would take a lot longer,” she says, trying to get by him. Before he can protest, she gets to the elevator that would bring her to her floor, thankful that it was ready to get her there without her having to wait. The doors start to close, only to be stopped by a hand stuck through them, the curly-haired boy with the coffee stain down the front of him getting on the elevator with her. Anne gives him a confused look, begging him to explain why he was trying to make her late for her shift.

“If you aren’t going to let me buy you one now to make up for it, at least let me see where you work so I can drop one off for you.”

Anne rolls her eyes, unamused by the man in front of her as he attempts to flirt with her. “That would be nice, but the chances of me getting it before it goes cold are slim to none, so you need to suggest something else if you really want to buy me a coffee.”

“Let me get your number so I can buy you one when you aren’t working?” he asks, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. 1:25. “I’m Tyson, by the way.”

The elevator dings, signaling that they were on Anne’s floor, opening the door to nurses and doctors running around, expectant fathers who were probably kicked out of the delivery room for making the mom too nervous pacing the halls, grandparents trying to control younger children who had little to no idea what was going on as they waited in the strange building. Anne walks to the backroom to drop her stuff off and clock in, typing her information into the stranger’s phone as he followed her like a puppy, his friend’s texts coming across the top of his screen asking where he went so they could leave.

“I’m Anne, and I’ve got to go,” she tells him, handing back his phone. There was no way he was going to text her, and it’s not like the coffee was that big of a deal to him. She could go to the vending machine down the hall and grab one during her break, or have someone else on their break do it for her if she needed it sooner.

“Can’t wait for our coffee date, Anne,” he says, winking at her before shoving his hands in his pockets and sauntering back down the hallway.

“Who is he?” her coworker, Jess asked, popping up out of nowhere. “He’s hot.”

“In more ways than one, apparently,” Anne jokes, “he’s also wearing my hot coffee on his shirt.”

“You didn’t,” Jess scolds her, turning her around to see the coffee that was spilled down Anne’s own outfit, knowing Anne’s tendency to be a little absent-minded as she gets wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Anne, you did.”

“Not on purpose!”

“DeFormicola?” Anne’s supervisor, Jackson, pops his head into the room just as she was clocking in, “We need you in room 414.”

“Saved by the bell,” Anne teases, walking down the hall to where all the noise was coming from, trying to throw on the appropriate clothing before she went into the room, struggling to get the gloves on as she entered.

“Ok, Erin, we’re going to need you to push,” one of the doctors says, Anne standing behind him as she watched the baby’s head crowning.

This was her favorite part of the job, helping the mother stay calm and trying to make sure that despite the child coming out of her, she was as comfortable as possible. Normally, she would be with the mom as soon as she came in, Erin clearly nervous as to what was going on. They had to be first-time parents, the dad going back and forth to Erin’s side and behind the doctor, looking mortified each time and clearly regretting what he was seeing.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor says, handing the new baby to a breathless Erin.

“A boy! A boy!” the dad yells, going out to the hallway, Erin clearly unamused by whatever antics he was going about.

“Don’t worry, he’s not the first one to do that,” Anne reassures her, knowing that something like that would happen at least five more times during her shift, hearing the father’s voice repeating the phrase. “I’m going to get him cleaned up and then get him right back to you, ok?” Anne asks, reaching for the baby as everyone else around her tries to clean everything else up.

“Be careful with him,” Erin warns, not meaning anything bad by it. She was definitely a first time mother.

“I will be,” Anne tells her, feeling her phone vibrate in her pocket as she does. “So you have a name picked out yet?”

“We were thinking Matthew.”

Anne turns her head, smiling at Erin. “That’s a good name. My older brother is named Matthew.”

Erin smiles at her, the father finally coming back in, clearly overjoyed by the birth of their new baby. Anne hands him back to his parents, Matthew screaming his head off as they get wheeled into another room.

Anne goes over to the desk, sitting down where she was supposed to be for the start of her shift to do paperwork, but the uncertainty in the hour by hour of the schedule was not surprising. She pulls out her phone, ‘Maybe: Tyson’ coming up across her screen.

“He’s already texting me,” she alerts Jess whose head whips away from her computer to look over Anne’s shoulder at what message the mystery man could have sent her.

“He’s horny.”

“Jessica!” she squeals, wishing she was more shocked by what her friend had said. “Why is that always your first reaction to a boy sending a message?”

She shrugs, swiveling back to her own computer, “I’m normally right. What’s he saying?”

“He wants to know when he can buy me coffee.”

“Horny.”

“Enough.”

“You should date him.”

Anne turns to her, clearly unamused by Jess’s need to continue the conversation. “I don’t have to date anyone.”

Jess lets out a long sigh, Anne knowing that she was rolling her eyes. “I’m not saying you have to, I’m saying you should.”

“Ok, I don’t want to date anyone.”

“Oh, come on Anne,” Jess says, getting up and plopping herself on the desk in front of Anne, fiddling with the wire connecting the mouse to the rest of the computer. “You work in a maternity ward where people become parents every day, and you haven’t even thought of finding a man?”

“You don’t have a point,” Anne tells her, not making eye contact with her.

“My point,” Jess says, leaning over to block Anne’s view of her computer screen, “is that you can’t be single forever.”

“Says who?”

“Didn’t you tell me that you were named after the patron saint of the town your grandmothers were from?”

Anne rolls her eyes, knowing where this was going. It was going in the same direction that this conversation always went in when she had it with her mom every single holiday. “All four of us are named after the patron saints of the towns our grandparents are from.”

“St. Anne is the patron saint of child care, grandparents and mothers.”

“She’s also that patron saint of unmarried women, so your argument is invalid, as usual.”

Jess takes in a breath to say something, cut off by Jackson calling for Jess to go into one of the delivery rooms. “Just don’t say no because you think you have to be single,” she advises as she walks away.

Anne leans back in the chair, rubbing her hands over her face. “This is how Christmas is going to go, isn’t it?” she asks herself.

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December 25, 2021

The number of cars lining her parent's driveway meant that she was one of the last ones there, but knowing her aunts and uncles, she wasn’t the last one there. Her parents were the ones who did Christmas Day for her dad’s family, Christmas Eve being the anniversary of her mom’s mom’s death, and, on top of that, Teresa doesn’t talk to her family over some argument and grudge being held over their parent's house.

Scanning the cars, she didn’t see the one belonging to her brother Matthew, or his wife, Stephanie. “I’ll just leave Harper’s gifts in the car,” Anne mutters to herself, trying to juggle as many gifts as she could while also balancing the box of pastries her mom asked her to pick up for dessert.

Without a free hand to open the door, Anne did everything she could to ring the doorbell with her elbow, praying that someone would come to open the door before she dropped anything.

Her younger brother, Sebastian, opens the door, a disappointed look on his face. “What the fuck is all this for?” he asks, taking some of the bags from her arms to lighten her load.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” she remarks, “Yours is still in my car if you’re wondering.”

“Did you have to get gifts for everyone?” he asks, Anne greeting her aunts and uncles on the way to the tree to put everything down for later.

“Well, it’s Hazel’s first Christmas," she explains, referencing their sister's youngest daughter, "So getting her something and not getting the other children something seemed wrong, and then Jessica took me shopping and kept saying things like ‘oh this would be perfect for Lucy,’ or ‘oh don’t have you an aunt who likes mystery novels?’ And everything went downhill from there.”

Sebby groans, walking with Anne back out to her car to retrieve the rest of the gifts, Anne still holding the box of pastries since they hadn’t made it to the kitchen yet. “Please tell me you didn’t get Aunt Lisa that Agatha Christie illustrated novel that the bookstore was selling.”

“Please tell me you didn’t get Aunt Lisa that Agatha Christie illustrated novel the bookstore was selling,” Anne laughs, Sebby nodding his head. “I got a gift receipt.”

“What did you end up getting Matthew?” he asks her. Anne had texted Sebby in panic on Black Friday, coming home from a day of shopping with Lucy that left her without a gift for Lucy’s twin brother.

Grabbing the rest of the gifts and handing them to Sebby, she closes the door to her car and starts to go back inside. “I found this ‘make your own wine’ kit that I think he would like. That way Steph doesn’t have to listen to him complaining about how the stuff she drinks is ‘too sweet.’”

“What about for me?” Sebby asks, nudging Anne with his elbow as they arrange the rest of the gifts in the already mountainous pile under the tree.

“Oh, I knew there was someone I forgot,” she says sarcastically, Sebby ripping the bow off one of her carefully wrapped presents and throwing it at her. “Ok, now I’m never getting you a gift again.”

Sebby laughs, helping his older sister off the ground. The two of them wander into the kitchen, slipping in unnoticed due to the sheer number of family members and noise that was filling the room. “Aunt Anne! Aunt Anne!” Harper and Skylar squeal in unison when her nieces spot her, hoping that either she or Sebby had grabbed Harper, Matthew, and Stephanie’s gifts. She didn’t think there was anything left in her trunk.

“Hey there, fireflies,” Anne greets them, bending down as they both kiss her on the cheek. “Guess what? Santa stopped by my place and left some gifts for you, but he made me promise that you two were really good today if you want to open them after dessert, ok?”

The two girls nod excitedly, bouncing up and down at Anne’s words. To still be young and believe in Santa, that must be nice.

“Hey, ma,” Anne finally finds her mother, putting down the box of pastries in front of her and kissing her on the cheek. “Upstairs or downstairs fridge?”

“It goes downstairs. Come on, I have someone I want you to meet,” her mother says, dragging you away from your aunts that had aggregated around her. They all had excited looks on their faces, something that instantly worried Anne as she followed her mother down the stairs with the box. She could hear Matthew and Lucy’s voices, knowing that her brother and sister’s wife and husband had to be down there with them, too. “Matthew told me about this friend of his who couldn’t make it home for Christmas,” her mother whispers before she got to the last step.

“Mom, no,” Anne says, already knowing where this was heading. “I told you: I don’t need a boyfriend.”

“But I don’t have a grandson,” her mom whines, shaking Anne’s hand in her own against her chest.

“How is that my fault?”

“If you just find a nice boy, and get married, I just know you’re going to be my child that has a boy.”

“Oh my god,” Anne groans, pushing past her to get to the fridge.

Teresa pulls Anne over to the couches where her siblings were, Lucy sitting on one with her feet in Jason’s lap, Jason’s hand lazily rubbing his wife’s shins. Matthew was on the other, Stephanie nuzzled against his shoulder, all four of them with a glass of wine and three bottles open. Next to Matthew was a guy sitting there awkwardly, straightening his back when he saw you while Sebby tried to contain his laughter as he sat on the floor. “Jeremy, this is my youngest daughter, Anne. Anne, this is Jeremy,” she introduces the two of them before running up the stairs.

“I do have a girlfriend, actually,” Jeremy says, “So I’m sorry.”

Anne and her siblings burst out laughing, Lucy pouring her sister a glass of wine. “If only this were the first time Ma tried to set Anne up with a guy who was seeing someone.”

“I even tried to tell her that but she didn’t listen,” Matthew adds. “It’s better than when she tried to set you up with Adam,” he says, referencing Lucy’s partner at their optometry practice.

“Yeah, his husband wasn’t too thrilled by that potential match,” Sebby says.

They all keep talking, Anne just sitting and listening to them reminisce about all the people their parents had tried to set her up within their desperate attempt for her to no longer be single. It didn’t help that the last time she listened to them about dating was Andy, the boy who cheated on her when they got to college. Apparently going to school half an hour from each other wasn’t enough for him to keep up their two-year relationship instead of shoving his tongue down multiple girls throats before doing god only knows what else.

“When do you think they’ll stop trying to set me up with someone?” Anne finally pips in, accidentally cutting off something Jeremy was saying as she stared at the wine she was swirling in the glass.

“When you get a boyfriend,” her siblings say in unison.

“I hate all of you for doing that,” she laughs. “But, seriously, why is it so important that I have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, you know your mother,” Jason says, putting his glass down on the floor. “She saw what Lucy and I had and then wanted that for all her children.”

Lucy playfully shoves him, kissing him as Anne and Sebby groan. “She just wants you to be happy, and to her and dad, happiness is marriage and a family.”

“Where am I going to meet someone if I go to work or here where they try to bring in non-single non-potential suitors?” she asks, looking over at Jeremy. “Sorry.”

He shrugs, not able to get a word in before Matthew starts, “What if you met someone at work like how Steph and I met?”

“Yeah because there are so many single men walking around the maternity ward,” she says, her phone buzzing in front of her. “What about you, though, Seb, how’s Collins?” Anne asks, changing the subject.

“Eh,” he shrugs, his eyes wandering to Anne’s phone screen, “I’m not sure we’re going to last to graduation.”

“What?” Lucy squeals, causing Jason to jump as she threw her legs out of his lap. “I thought you said she was ‘the one’?”

Sebby looks down at his glass, a stupid smirk on his face. “Nah, that changed. She doesn’t want me to go to law school in Boston, she wants me to stay here or move to California with her.”

“But the adventure of moving with your girlfriend to another state!” Matthew offers, Stephanie rolling her eyes.

“Matthew, not everyone needs adventure like you do, hon.”

Anne’s phone buzzes again, a reminder that she had a text waiting for her. Picking it up before Sebby can see who it is, ever the nosy little brother, she sees a message from Tyson popping up as they continue their conversation about Sebby’s love life and Anne’s lack thereof. . They had only been texting for a few days since their encounter at the hospital, but every time his name came up she couldn’t help but smile, lifting the wine glass to her lips to cover it in hopes of her siblings not noticing.

How’s your Christmas been so far?

A simple ‘eh’ as a response was all that she needed to send. It could be worse, but her mom trying to set her up with a guy with a girlfriend was definitely not something that made for a good Christmas. The only thing that could be worse is if their dad came home early from the flight he was on with a guy he picked up in whatever country he had to go to that prompted him to miss the holiday. Normal dads who had to travel would bring their kids back little trinkets or a postcard, but Anne wouldn’t put it past Tony to borderline kidnap someone from the plane he was flying and bring them home for Anne.

Tyson’s contact comes up again, an incoming call that prompted Anne to step away so she could answer it. “What’s up?”

“You said your Christmas was ‘eh.’ What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” she groans, pressing her back up against the fridge.

“Well, what if I have something that might make it better?” he flirts.

“Oh? Like what”

“What if I said I’m 100% free to buy you that coffee any time tomorrow, since I know you said you didn’t have work, and you can tell me about Christmas then?”

Anne hears her siblings laugh not ten feet away, praying that they couldn’t hear her conversation. Taking in a deep breath, she knew that her cheeks were turning pink at his words. “Sure, that sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks, walking back over to join her siblings.

“I’ll text you details,” he tells her, hanging up.

“Oh, my god,” Lucy yells, interrupting their conversation. “Anne was talking to a boy.”

“What the hell? What makes you think that?” she asks.

“Your cheeks are red," Lucy says, prompting Anne to raise her hand to feel the heat radiating from her face, "Who else would you be seeing tomorrow?” her sister eggs on, her eyebrow raised since she knew she was right.

Anne tries to find her words, unable to think of a name that wasn’t a guy's name to blurt out.

“Is it Tyson?” Sebby asks, Anne’s unlocked phone in his hand.

“You jackass!” she yells, lunging at her brother to try to get her phone back.

Teresa’s footsteps sound down the stairs, her poking her head between the gap in the stair rail and the steps themselves, Anne and Sebby looking like a deer in headlights when they see their mom. “I was coming to say that dinner was ready, but what’s going on here?”

“Anne has a boy she wasn’t telling us about,” Sebby blabs, earning an ‘I’ll kill you’ look from Anne.

“Oh! Annie!” their mom squeals, running down the stairs to pick her up off the ground and hug her. “Why didn’t you tell us about him?”

“I, uh,” Anne starts, still not sure what to say.

“You have to bring him to New Year’s Day at Uncle Vince’s house,” she tells her, the rest of the siblings following Anne being dragged back up the stairs for dinner, her mom announcing that Anne had a boyfriend when she, in fact, didn’t.

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December 26, 2021

“So, are you going to tell me why your Christmas was only ‘eh,’ or am I going to have to guess?” Tyson asks, setting down two cups of coffee in front of them. Tyson had asked Anne to meet him at a small coffee shop that was within walking distance of her apartment, thankful that she didn’t have to drive through Denver on the day where everyone was returning anything unwanted, like her Aunt Lisa returning one of the copies of the Agatha Christie novel that her and Sebby each got her.

Anne groans, the images of last night’s dinner flashing through her mind. “Can we talk about something else, first?”

“Fine,” Tyson says, taking a long sip of the coffee, “What did you get for gifts?”

She raises her eyebrow at him, Tyson mirroring her expression except with a goofy grin on his face. Rolling her eyes, she starts listing off the stuff she got: “My parents got me a new attachment for my KitchenAid stand mixer since my younger brother, Sebby, broke it last time he was over and a voucher for a flight anywhere in the country like they do every year, um, some gift cards from my aunts and uncles, my nieces all did their best attempts at drawing a portrait of me, Sebby told me he was going to come over and make dinner for me, which scares me because he can’t cook, Matthew and his wife got me some books they thought I would like, and Lucy and her husband got me this bracelet,” Anne tells him, extending her arm out to show him.

“I have so many questions,” Tyson starts.

“I might have answers,” Anne tells him, raising her cup to him.

“How big is your family?”

“I’m the third of four, Lucy and Matthew are twins and are about five years older than me, then Sebby is a year younger than me. Lucy has two daughters and Matthew has one. My dad has two brothers; one older, one younger. The older one has three kids, the younger has two and then three grandchildren.”

“Mom’s family?”

Anne looks down at her coffee. “I’m the only one who talks to anyone on that side of the family. My mom and her brother got into a fight when their parents died over what was left to them. My uncle has two daughters and two granddaughters.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking between the coffee and Anne.

She shrugs, not really bothered by it at this point. “It’s whatever. I talk to them because I want to, so it’s fine. What other questions do you have, though?”

“The ticket voucher?”

“Yeah,” Anne laughs, “Our dad is a pilot with Southwest Airlines, so every Christmas they give us a voucher to fly anywhere we want. They say they want to make sure that we take time for ourselves, but I think Dad gets some sort of bonus for every voucher he buys.”

Tyson throws his head back laughing. It wasn’t that funny, but seeing him so happy, Anne couldn’t help but smile back at him. “What about you, what did you get for Christmas?”

“My mom and sister flew down and basically restocked my kitchen for me.”

“Ok, that’s a great present, though,” she says. “Where was your dad?”

The smile from Tyson’s face fades, not looking up at Anne. “I never knew him. My mom and grandmother raised me.”

“Oh, Tyson,” she says, reaching out for his hand. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

He shrugs, a forced smile on his face. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything, I don’t think. My mom and my grandmother are the reason I am who I am. I wouldn’t give that up or change it.”

The two of them sit there, Anne trying to think about how many times she helped deliver a baby when the father was nowhere to be found. She normally figured they were busy or just not in the delivery room, not being there all together was something she couldn’t even begin to imagine. “But enough about me. Why was your Christmas ‘eh’?”

“My family has it in their heads that I need a boyfriend,” she admits, Tyson smirking at her words. “And my brother saw your texts coming up on my phone and being the asshole that he is, announced that I was texting a boy, so now, I need to find someone to bring with me to my uncle’s house on New Year’s Day that I can pass off as you.”

Tyson gives her a confused look. “Why wouldn’t you just bring me?”

Anne sits there, a shocked look on her face. “Because they think ‘Tyson’ is my boyfriend, and you aren’t?”

“So we pretend. They don’t need to know,” he shrugs, acting like it was no big deal.

“That would never work,” Anne dismisses him.

“Why not? You don’t think I’m a good actor?” Tyson whines, acting insulted at Anne’s words.

She scoffs, “Ok, one, hockey players are never good actors, and two, Sebby or Lucy are bound to figure out that you are not my boyfriend. Sebby wants to be a lawyer so he analyzes everything and Lucy is just this perfect anomaly of a human who would be bound to figure it out.”

“I think I can play your boyfriend for New Year’s Day,” he says, confidence dripping in his voice.

“No, I can’t have you do that.”

The maternity ward where Anne worked never ceased to be hectic, the miracle of life happening at least once an hour. No matter how much Anne had studied in nursing school, nothing could have prepared her for the stress that could come from thhe job, the long hours, the potential for something so right to turn so wrong in a minute, the way nothing can go planned since the baby dictated all, the mess that comes with every birth, or the joy that results from a former patient sending her the occasional picture of a baby she helped deliver as they’re growing up.

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagines #tyson jost fic #tyson jost oc fic #colorado avalanche #avalanche #nhl #colorado avalanche imagine #avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagines #tyson and anne

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chrispevanss · 4 years

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Sinful Intensions

A/N: A smutty, smutty, filthy, Priest!Bucky AU. I’m not a catholic, and I had to google a lot of this, so if I messed up, don’t come for me.

Warnings: Smut, Oral, Unprotected Sex (remember: no glove, no love), Blasphemy

I don’t own or claim to own the pictures used below

Your fingers slid across the crucifix that hung from your neck as you slowly approached the old church. You hadn’t been there in years, but at your mother’s insistence you decided your niece’s christening was the exception.

The instant you walked into the church your nerves fired up, little pin pricks that made your skin crawl. You weren’t sure if it was God smiting you from above or the old school nuns looking condescendingly at your slightly too short, and definitely too low cut dress that clung to your figure.

The old pew creaked as you sat down, the cool wood pressed against your thighs and you shivered slightly. The church smelled musty, old, but familiar. Your mother’s eyes caught the hem of your dress and she twisted her mouth in disdain.

“You didn’t have anything else?” She whispered “This isn’t the club, you know. This is God’s house! You aren’t supposed to be parading around on display like that,” she spat. You smoothed the material down your thighs, willing it to somehow grow longer.

Before you could brace yourself from the same barrage of words you were sure were going to come from your father as well, mass had started. A man stood up at the front, your brother and his wife cradled their newborn baby girl in front, her godparents sat to the side. You knew you should be focusing on your niece, it was her day after all, but when you looked up and caught the eye of the celebrant, it all went out the window.

He had dark hair, closely cropped, steely blue eyes, and even though he was cloaked in an oversized vestment, you could see that he treated his body like the temple he preached it was. Thick fingers wrapped around the Bible in his hand, a kind smile lit up his face as he spoke of the blessings of parenthood. The joys of raising a child in the church, to walk in and live in Christ. Verbiage you had heard hundreds if not thousands of times growing up.

You unconsciously shifted in your seat, pressing your thighs together to stave off the warmth that began in your toes and traveled north.

“May almighty God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, bless you.” His voice washed over you, pulling you from your less than holy thoughts.

“Amen,” You muttered with the congregation. You stood up, eager to shake the uncomfortable feeling this church gave you. You silently waited as others passed you, searching hopefully for a break in the crowd, when you were stopped.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, I’m Father Barnes.” Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up and met the very eyes you had spent the entire mass getting lost in. He held out his hand and you shook it with a kind smile.

“Y/N. My niece was the one you baptized today,” You slipped your hand from his grasp. He pressed up against the edge of the pew as your great aunt, Agnes shuffled by.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you at church before. Your parents are William and Cindy, correct?” You nodded and stepped out of the pew, following the young priest as he began to walk up the aisle.

“I, uh, church is complicated.” You breathed out, wringing your hands. You half expected him to tell you he was different and to give the church a chance.

“I understand. We all have a relationship with God, some choose to have that relationship in a church, some choose not to.” Father Barnes unlocked a large wooden door and pushed it open, gesturing you into his small office.

You took a seat in an overstuffed, puke green, crushed velvet chair. Gasping as you leaned back a lot farther than you gauged, your knees practically up to your chin. Father Barnes chuckled softly and pulled open a small closet door.

“Why aren’t you judging me for not coming to church and not being on 7 different committees, and basically being the polar opposite of my super fu-super religious parents, Father?” You chewed on your bottom lip at your almost swear, wishing you could sink back even further into the chair.

The young clergyman didn’t answer you as he slipped his white vestment over his head and hung it neatly in the open closet. You stole a glance at the way his black dress shirt clung to his body just so. The way his slacks molded to his ass and thighs. Father Barnes was, in a word, delicious. He moved to stand in front of you, leaning against the old desk, hands planted firmly on top.

“Because I was like you once. Fresh outta high school, I joined the Army with my best friend. Before that though I hadn’t been to church in years, didn’t even know if I believed in God. And then I spent 6 months in Kuwait. After seeing all that death, seeing friends die, I found comfort in God. And when I was discharged a few years later, I joined the seminary.” He looked down and unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt, pushing the sleeves up to his elbows. Heat spread outward as his tattoos peeled out from underneath the shirt he wore, something about the move and his look feeling much more sexual than it should have in front of a priest.

You gasped softly as your eyes trailed up and down his forearms, admiring the work of art his body was. Literally.

“See something you like?” Father Barnes smirked and grabbed your chin in between his fingers, forcing you to stare into those steely blue eyes of his.

“I, uh, um…” You started and he chuckled softly.

“Cause I sure do.” He winked and released his hold on your chin as your mother rounded the corner.

“There you are!” She huffed, walking into the small office, standing next to you, her eyes bore holes into your skull as you sat there.

“We’re all heading over to the house for lunch, if you’d like to join.” She practically sneered. You gulped, and pushed yourself out of the chair.

“Yes. I’ll meet you at the car. I was just talking to Father Barnes about rejoining the congregation on Sundays. You met Father Barnes’ steel blue eyes, his gaze sent a rush of heat through your body once again.

“Alright,” Your mother conceded, turning on her heel and walking back up the hallway, exiting through the large door at the end.

“So, see you Sunday?” Father Barnes raised a brow in your direction and you couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across your face.

“Front and Center, Father.” You purred, stepping closer. You could hear a groan bubble deep in his chest as you let the scent of Pine and Musk overwhelm your senses.

Before Father Barnes could form thoughts that were appropriate for a priest, you had gathered your purse and coat and were standing at the door.

“See you Sunday,” You blew a kiss and winked at the stunned priest before making your way down the hall. You could feel his gaze follow you, and you wiggled your ass just a little, teasing him.

——

Sunday came all too quickly, and at the same time, not quick enough. You swiped on a layer of lip gloss, and adjusted the top of your romper. You wanted to give Father Barnes a tasteful glance at your cleavage, not have your tits on display for the congregation. It was still a church after all.

Your gold crucifix laid delicately against your cleavage as you slid in the pew next to your parents. Father Barnes had already started service, and you smiled softly as he grabbed your gaze. His eyes grew wide at your choice of outfit and you smirked as he stumbled over the Bible verse he was reciting.

You bowed your head, your eyes closed as you attempted to look focused on the Homily. But as interesting and attractive as Father Barnes was, sermons were just as uninteresting. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep yourself from slipping over the precipice of sleep.

As the Homily came to a close, you found yourself shuffling along the worn carpet to the front of the chapel for communion. You followed your parents, almost obediently, keeping your gaze cast down to the floor until you approached the front of the line. You looked up at Father Barnes, feigned innocence clouded your eyes. You opened your mouth and accepted the small wafer, winking as he swallowed thickly. You whispered a meek, “Thank you Father,” as you retreated back to your pew.

As the service came to a close, you found yourself hanging back, almost hopefully, as the chapel emptied. Father Barnes approached you, you couldn’t quite put your finger on the look in his eyes, but it excited you nonetheless.

“Y/N, So good to see you!” He beamed, clutching his old, well-read bible to his chest.

“The service was great today, Father,” You smiled back, following him up the aisle to the doors. “Do you have a moment that I could talk to you, privately?” You whispered.

He nodded, opening the doors into the hallway, gesturing for you to follow him to that same cramped office as before.

“For you? Always.” He unlocked the door, setting his bible and service notes on the massive desk. He moved to the closet, slipping off the white vestment to reveal that same, all-black outfit that made you weak. He carefully hung it on a wood hanger and turned to face you. You shook your head, trying to clear it, and swallowed thickly.

“Everything alright?” Father Barnes leaned against his desk. You hadn’t moved from the doorway. Your eyes met his and you nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just distracted by some personal stuff I guess,” You laughed softly and sat in the same overstuffed chair as last time. Father Barnes unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and began rolling them up his arms, revealing the beautiful, intricate line work of his forearms.

“Alright. What did you want to talk about?” Father Barnes shuffled through his notes from the service. He absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair, pushing the dark tendrils back. You chewed thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you stood up.

Father Barnes’ gaze met yours as you approached, standing close enough he could smell the sweet coconut of your shampoo. A scent that sent a shot of arousal straight through his body. You swallowed thickly as you played with the edge of his collar.

“Wh-What’s goin on?” Father Barnes chuckled uncomfortably, taking a step back. You followed him and cupped his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his. His lips stilled for a moment as yours moved insistently against his. You slid your hands to his hair, knotting the chestnut locks in your fingers and tugging softly. Father Barnes groaned softly and wrapped an arm around you. You gently licked at his lower lip, prodding him to open, he complied and you moaned as his tongue met yours. It was electrifying, the thought of doing something so taboo with Father Barnes. It made you feel alive.

Your hands slid down the front of his black dress shirt, and tugged it from his slacks. You were desperate to feel every inch of him. But he stilled. You pulled back, panting slightly, a smirk danced across your face.

“What is it, Father?” You whispered, a hand reached up and twirled some hair at the base of his neck.

Father Barnes stepped away and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“We-I can’t.” He sighed. Your face dropped, your eyes cast down at the worn burgundy carpet. The clock ticked as the two of you stood in uncomfortable silence.

“You should go.” He finally broke the silence. “We shouldn’t meet like this anymore, either. We can’t. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

You swallowed back the hot tears of embarrassment that pricked at your eyes. You quickly gathered your purse and started for the door.

“See you Sunday,” Father Barnes called from his desk. You nodded softly and walked towards the large doors at the end of the hall.

————

It was three weeks before you dared go near the church again. Confessional was held on Saturday night, you tentatively approached the church, stepping inside, your stomach churned.

The familiar smell of old wood, and must filled you with comfort as you stepped towards the confessional booth. You let out a breath, before speaking.

“Bless Me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was..” You paused thoughtfully, almost laughing when you couldn’t remember. “Many years ago..”

“I see,” The priest mumbled from his side. And you drew in a shaky breath.

“See, I’ve been having these thoughts about a man I considered a friend and a confidant. They have been incredibly impure thoughts, and I acted on them a number of weeks ago. He didn’t return my affections, and I haven’t been able to face him since. He was the first one in a long time who understood why I fell away from the church, and he helped me. A lot. Both personally and spiritually. I saw how good of a person he was and it made me want to be a better person.” Tears rolled down your cheeks and you sniffed softly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

“Is there anything else you wish to confess?” His voice filtered through and a fresh wave of tears streamed down your face as you shook your head.

“N-No Father. That’s all.”

Father Barnes swallowed thickly before he broke the silence.

“I see you are remorseful. But you did commit a sin in the eyes of our Father and must do penance to receive his forgiveness.”

“Yes, Father,” You whispered meekly, wringing your hands.

“I require of you 3 Our Fathers and 5 Hail Marys. As well as regular church attendance.”

Before you could open your mouth, he had already exited the booth, the door slamming behind him. You tentatively pushed the door open, hoping to spot him. But your stomach sank as you realized you were alone. You spent the drive home in silence. You didn’t sleep that night and were nearly late to mass the following morning.

You slid into the pew next to your parents as Mass began, breathing out a sigh of relief. Father Barnes looked haggard this morning. Dark circles under his eyes, and when he spoke, he didn’t have as much enthusiasm or that usual sparkle in his eye.

Communion came and you shuffled up to the front. Your eyes didn’t meet, Father Barnes’ and you held out your hand for the small wafer. The feel of his fingers touching your skin as he placed it gingerly in your palm was electric. You heard him stiffen as you placed it on your tongue and walked back to your seat. You spent the rest of the service with your eyes cast down, your hands in your lap.

“May almighty God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, bless you.” Father Barnes’ bible closed with an audible thud and you glanced up.

“Amen.” You muttered with the rest of the congregation. You stood up as soon as the hymn ended, eager to leave the building.

“Can we talk?” A shiver crawled up your spine, and embarrassment reddened your cheeks as you turned to face the man behind you.

“Good Morning, Father.” You plastered a fake smile on your face as you greeted the clergyman.

“Can we talk? In private.” Father Barnes restated his question before you could put a thought together though, you had already agreed. You followed him out of the chapel to that same office. That same offending office you had been in three weeks ago.

You sat timidly on the edge of the puke green chair and watched as Father Barnes shut the door and began moving around. He removed his vestment, hanging it in the closet, and set his well-read bible and notes on the shelf behind his desk.

“Father, I-if this is about confession last night, I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. I just wanted to say I was sorry for what happened a few weeks ago but I couldn’t bring myself to face you and tell you.” Your head snapped up when he chuckled softly. You scowled at him, how dare he laugh when you’re here pouring your heart out!

Father Barnes didn’t answer, he simply followed his routine of rolling up his sleeves and leaning against the old desk in front of you. He smiled gently and tucked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“First, call me Bucky, when we’re here, I’m a friend, not a priest. Second, well..” He leaned forward and took your lips in a gentle, passionate kiss. You whined softly as his tongue traced your lower lip. He licked into your mouth as he pulled you out of the chair to straddle him. Your knees dug into the edge of the desk, the uncomfortable pain was the last thing on your mind as his hands ran down your back and grabbed 2 handfuls of your ass.

“Fuck,” You whispered as Bucky broke the kiss to trail his lips down the column of your neck, licking and sucking at the soft skin. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging at the chestnut tendrils as a wanton moan escaped your lips. You ground your still clothed core over the bulge that was beginning to form in his slacks. Bucky stilled for a moment holding your hips in place.

“Fuck, doll, if you keep doing that I might not last long and believe you me, I wanna feel that pretty little pussy wrapped around my cock.” He nipped your earlobe, your hands trailed down his front, unbuttoning the black dress shirt, pushing it down his arms. He let go of you for a moment, only to toss the offending material behind his desk. But then his lips were back on your neck, hungrily kissing and sucking at the already tender skin.

Bucky stood up and carried you over to the couch next to the door. His hair was mussed, his lips, kiss swollen as he laid you down and slotted himself between your legs.

You started unbuttoning your sundress, when he stopped you.

“Let me,” His voice was gruff but his actions were gentle as he pushed each button through the hole, slowly revealing your body to him. When you were clad in a simple white bra and plain cotton panties, Bucky sat back on his haunches to admire you.

“God, you’re like a fuckin work of art, babe.” He grunted, leaning down to kiss you, dropping your dress on the floor. Your hands reached down, desperately seeking his belt buckle. You groaned softly when you felt the leather slip from the metal buckle. Bucky’s hands met yours and he quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants letting them fall to the floor with your dress.

“Someone’s a work of art,” You muttered as you trailed your hand down his chest and stomach, marveling at how toned his whole body was. You traced a nail across the linework of a tattoo that sat right on his left pec before dragging your hands back down and toying with the edge of his boxer briefs.

“You just gonna tease me all day, doll? Or are we gonna do this?” Bucky canted his hips forward, nudging your still clothed clit. You whimpered, biting your lip as a fresh wave of arousal shot through your body.

“Buck. Please.” Your nails dug into his shoulders, and you moaned against his neck as he repeated the action.

“Been thinkin’ about this pretty little pussy since I first met you,” Bucky drawled in your ear, he dragged his fingertips down your body, stopping when he reached the band of your panties.

“You gonna do something about it?” You mocked his earlier argument. His fingers curled around the waistband of your panties, bunching the thin cotton between his fingers. Before you could protest, he ripped the material, discarding it on the floor.

“Come here,” Bucky growled, wrapping his arms around your thighs, pulling you to him and kissing the sensitive skin. Breathy moans escaped your lips as he continued his ministrations.

“Oh fu-mmmm” You grabbed Bucky’s hair in between your fingers as he gently kissed your clit.

“Fuck, Princess, you’re so wet.” Bucky slid a finger inside your waiting heat as he wrapped his lips around your swollen clit. You nearly screamed at the sensations overwhelming your body.

He added another finger, scissoring you open, his mouth never leaving your clit. You thought you had died and gone to heaven when the coil in your belly snapped and you came all over his fingers.

“That’s a good girl,” Bucky smirked, licking his fingers with an exaggerated pop as he crawled back up to kiss you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning as he licked into your mouth, usually, you’d find the thought of tasting yourself a complete turn-off, even gross. But something about tasting yourself as Bucky’s tongue explored your mouth turned you on even more.

You hooked your feet into the elastic waistband of Bucky’s underwear and pushed it down, freeing his strained erection. You gasped softly, he was bigger than you had imagined, thick, the tip dripped with precum as you slid your hand up and down his shaft. Bucky’s cock was, in a word, beautiful.

His large hand covered you and he kissed your cheek chastely before moving to whisper in your ear.

“I’d rather cum inside you, than on you.” A shiver ran up your spine, a soft whimper escaped your mouth.

“Do it, then,” You challenged him.

Bucky sat back on his haunches again, spreading your legs as far apart as they would go. He tenderly dragged the head of his cock through your wet folds, both of you moaned at the sensation. And finally, ever so slowly, he sank into you, filling you up, making you feel like you were about to burst.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned as Bucky bottomed out, stilling his hips for a moment, his lips met yours tenderly. He rolled your pebbled nipples between his fingers as he began thrusting. Your toes curled and you gasped against his mouth.

You whimpered a meek, “Faster. Harder.”

Bucky grabbed your calf and lifted a leg over his shoulder. The angle made him feel so much bigger, so much deeper. You were almost positive you wouldn’t walk out of this normally. Bucky’s hands dug into your hips as he thrust into you, almost animalistically. You cried out, fingers tugging on your nipples.

Your head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.

“You’re so fuckin tight, Princess. God, squeezing my cock real nice,” Bucky panted above you. A thin sheen of sweat covered both of your bodies when he pulled out suddenly. You protested at the loss of sensation until he flipped you over, one leg propped up on the arm of the couch as he slid back inside.

“B-Bucky!” You cried out, tears of pleasure streamed down your cheeks as you neared your second release.

Bucky’s hand traveled around your hips, the roughened tip of his pointer finger began rubbing your clit in time to his thrusts. And that’s when everything exploded. You swore you saw stars as your walls clenched down around him. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch and you couldn’t contain the shout that escaped your throat in a fit of passion.

“Ah fuck, baby, just like that,” Bucky cooed in your ear, his arms wrapped around your front and held you up as he found his own release. You moaned at the warmth that filled your belly, Bucky kissed your shoulder softly and helped you lie down on the couch. He lay behind you, cock still firmly tucked into your pulsing cunt.

“Holy shit,” You laughed, reaching down to Bucky’s hands on your stomach and lacing your fingers with his.

“Yeah..” Bucky chewed thoughtfully on his lip. You didn’t want to intrude, but the words left your mouth before you could think.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, you rubbed the back of his hand with your thumb. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word.

“I don’t think I can be a priest anymore, and after meeting you, I don’t know if I even want to.” Bucky squeezed your hand in his, taking your lips in a tender kiss.

“Wanna go on a date?” Bucky chuckled softly. You laughed, rolling over on the couch to face your partner.

“Only if you shower first, you smell like sex,” You chided playfully. Bucky’s arms tightened around you and you giggled through his assault of neck kisses.

“And then after, we can run away together, and live on the beach, and be naked 24/7, and fuck like bunnies,” Bucky muttered against your neck. You sighed in contentment, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I like that. A disgraced priest, and his sinner girlfriend living on the beach, naked and fucking,” You laughed as Bucky placed another kiss on your lips, pulling you closer to him.

#Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #marvel #the winter soldier #Bucky Barnes Fanfiction #Sebastian Stan #Sebastian Stan fanfiction #marvel fanfic #Bucky barnes AU

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agapaic · 4 years

Text

[19 days] sin city

this drabble is a gift to one of my dearest and biggest supporters, @geoviki, who requested a bonus ‘second kiss’ continuation scene between he tian and guan shan in the ‘sweet tooth’ universe (a crazy rich asians-inspired fic), and i sincerely hope you enjoy it, viki! all my love, xxx

Guan Shan hasn’t set foot in God’s house since he was a kid. His mother goes every weekend when she doesn’t have a double shift, but he can’t bring himself to go with her. Too busy, too cynical. He knows he can’t struggle with his faith when he’s lost it; he doesn’t know if he ever found it. He knows without a doubt that he sins.

As it is, he isn’t burnt in the service, isn’t poisoned by the communion. He thinks that if anyone were to be dealt retribution then he wouldn’t be first in line. Singapore’s elite have bigger, dustier skeletons in their closets than Guan Shan, half-disintegrated with age.

He tells himself this through the readings and prayers and hymns he’s forgotten the words to, glances routinely through the stained-glass windows for a glimpse of an outside reality he can’t see. He can hear it: the rush of mid-morning traffic beyond the grassy verges of the church, neatly protected from the central business district by iron fencing and a half-acre of flower beds and rain trees.

Beneath the lip of the pew, where copies of the testaments, old and new, have been neatly placed and the firm, embroidered hassocks hang off metal hooks, He Tian squeezes Guan Shan’s hand.

‘Nearly done,’ he murmurs, while Father Joshua delivers his sermon on godliness in children and parental obedience.

Guan Shan's gaze slides to his. It’s one of the only things He Tian’s said the whole service.

‘You believe all this?’ he asks, whispering.

‘They do,’ He Tian replies, his lips barely moving.

Fans move lazily above them from the high steepled ceiling, their chains rattling over the din of the priest’s solemn tone. They don’t offer much: the inside of the church is still sticky with heat, and members of the congregation attempt to cool themselves with the service pamphlets or paperback copies of the Bible with broken spines and annotations in the margins.

From the seat in front of them, Guan Shan watches a bead of sweat slide down a woman’s neck, dampness collecting at the high laced collar of her Chanel dress. She has her own bamboo fan, painted with pretty avian sketches.

Guan Shan pulls his gaze away. ‘Which godly child are you?’ he asks He Tian quietly. ‘Absolom or Samuel?’

He Tian tries to hide a grin. ‘Destroyer of kingdoms or a monk?’ he questions, angling his head as if looking behind him. His breath is cool at Guan Shan’s ear. Guan Shan lets him lean close, breathing in sandalwood and khus oil. ‘Are those my only choices?’

Guan Shan sets his eyes forward. ‘Nothin’ else seems to be acceptable.’

‘Yes—they’re a stern lot.’

‘They should put their money where their mouth is.’

He Tian snorts quietly. He releases Guan Shan’s hand, and Guan Shan says nothing when his hand moves instead to rest innocently atop Guan Shan’s thigh.

‘He Tian…’ he starts to warn.

He Tian keeps his expression plain. ‘I told you if you came I’d make it worth your while.’

‘That’s not—’ Guan Shan bats his hand away. The gesture elicits a harsh smacking sound, and a few heads turn. Guan Shan presses his lips into a hard line. When eventually their attention shifts away again, Guan Shan hisses, ‘I’m not doin’ that.’

‘I thought you didn’t care much for His wrath,’ He Tian says, pointing discreetly upwards.

‘That’s got nothin’ to do with…’ Guan Shan breaks off. He Tian’s eyes are glittering. He’s joking with him. Guan Shan clenches his jaw. Murmuring, he says: ‘You shouldn’t mess with people like that.’

‘But you make it so much fun,’ He Tian whispers.

Guan Shan glares at him. He endures the rest of the sermon in stoic silence. Absolom, he thinks. He Tian, the destroyer of kingdoms—and young men’s hearts.

///

They linger outside after the sermon. The air is thick and charged with the aftermath of a morning thunderstorm, the ground wet with rain and the smell of petrichor. Guan Shan breathes in deeply, stepping back while He Tian greets strangers and allows middle-aged women to offer both cheeks for him to kiss, their husbands noticeably absent. They run their eyes over Guan Shan and the suit he’s going to make He Tian return by the end of the day, and He Tian politely evades their desire for introductions.

He knows everyone, Guan Shan realises, but it doesn’t surprise him. He’s seen the He family work a crowd at a party or a charity function. The lingering congregation of a Sunday mass is only another opportunity to schmooze and gossip.

‘Just another five minutes,’ He Tian murmurs at Guan Shan’s ear. ‘My father will have my hide if I don’t show my face for a decent length of time.’

‘How long’s that? By his standards?’

‘He’d have me go to brunch with someone’s mother and their daughter if he had his way.’

Guan Shan fingernails bite into his palms. The thought of He Tian being palmed off to some socialite’s offspring makes him bitter with jealousy. He’s seen He Tian only a few times since the charity function at the She estate, communicated with him mostly in veiled text messages and late night calls.

It’s been weeks since they’d shared the feeling of each other’s lips in a quiet room at the She mansion, weeks since they’d shared kueh with their legs dangling over the edge of a jetty across from Sentosa island. Most nights, Guan Shan still tastes both on his lips.

He’s got little stake to claim over the young heir of the He fortune, but he can’t help himself. He goes where He Tian asks him to, wears the suits He Tian buys him. Fuck, he’s started smoking his brand of cigarettes, too. And if He Tian wants to take him to church one Sunday morning so he has better company than a band of middle-aged women wanting him for themselves more than their daughters… Who is Guan Shan to say no after the first three times?

‘What are you thinking?’

Guan Shan blinks. Another church-goer has come and gone, and they’re alone. He Tian is watching him closely.

‘I want a cigarette,’ Guan Shan says. Technically, it’s not a lie.

He Tian snorts. ‘In the courtyard of our Lady of the Veil? Blasphemy, Mo Guan Shan.’

Guan Shan shrugs. He remembers their exchange at the threshold of the church, where two children no more than ten stood with a coin bowl held out, covered in pool-table green cloth and more cash than Guan Shan earns from a month’s tips.

‘I’m not a Catholic,’ he’d told He Tian, feeling strangely compelled to tell him with an even stranger degree of anxiety about the fact, as if it were a make-or-break moment for something they had that could neither be made nor broken.

He Tian had snorted then, too. ‘Don’t worry,’ he’d said, stepping through the doors, palming the children a few bills to line their pockets. ‘Neither am I.’

Now, Guan Shan watches as He Tian reaches into the lining of his suit jacket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes from the pocket. It’s too warm to stand outside in their Sunday best for long, and He Tian tugs Guan Shan over beneath the shade of an Indian-almond tree, its boughs offering some cool relief to a small section of the church courtyard.

Guan Shan watches He Tian light a cigarette between his lips, the flame close to his fingers. It catches; there’s a cherry red glow. Smoke blooms between them, and then He Tian plucks the cigarette from his lips and holds it out as if it’s a newly picked flower.

‘Here,’ he says. A moment passes, where Guan Shan doesn’t take it. ‘I thought you wanted it.’

‘I do, I just—’ Guan Shan can feel his cheeks starting to redden. He swallows. His throat has gone dry. He can hear the voices of men and women standing before the church. He knows some of them are watching, wondering, eager to know who his family is and where he’s come from and how he has captured He Tian’s attention with such painful, singular attentiveness.

‘You’re not—’ He Tian breaks off with a laugh. ‘You’re not worried that I’ve touched it, are you?’

Guan Shan looks away, and He Tian’s eyes widen.

‘Oh,’ he says. His smile grows wider. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he croons. ‘I didn’t know you were such a puritan. How proud He’d be.’

‘Shut up,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s stance shifts, intrigued. ‘If I’d known it took an indirect kiss to make you blush, Man Upstairs be damned, I’d have put my mouth elsewhere a long time ago.’

‘Shut up.’

He Tian’s laughter is deep as he takes a drag of his cigarette. Some of the women are frowning at him. The hot breeze carries the smoke in their direction, and they waft it away with their fans and paper service pamphlets, rouged mouths pursing tightly. He smiles at them, all affable apologies, and they can’t begrudge him long.

‘They want you to fuck them,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s eyes flick to his, and his smile grows indulgent. ‘I know,’ he says.

‘You’re not gonna do anythin’ about it?’

‘Like what?’

Guan Shan grits his teeth. ‘Like—tell them to fuck off?’

He Tian snorts. ‘They’re old friends of the family. And you forget they haven’t made me an offer, sweetheart.’

‘And if they did?’

He Tian considers him carefully. His playfulness begins to fade. ‘You’re jealous,’ he says. ‘Of them?’

‘They’d divorce their investment husbands if they knew they had a chance with you.’

He Tian taps cigarette ash to the ground. He looks away, squinting at the skyline, considering something, before taking a step forward.

‘Firstly,’ says He Tian, his voice low, ‘if they had a chance with me they’d know it. Secondly, there’d be no divorce or marriage to a man twenty years their junior because their reputations wouldn’t survive the scandal. And thirdly: what the fuck would I want with them when I have the prospect of a whole indirect kiss with you?’

Guan Shan glares at him. ‘Gimme that,’ he says, snatching the cigarette from He Tian’s fingers before putting it to his lips. He nearly chokes on the inhale, eyes watering, and smoke seeps from the corners of his mouth before he can control it the way he wants it to. There’s nothing attractive about it, but he catches He Tian watching him with an indulgent smile.

‘It’s been five minutes,’ He Tian says, taking a glance at his watch. ‘We can go now. I promised to buy you brunch. You’re still happy with Orchard Road?’

‘I’m not finished,’ Guan Shan says.

He Tian’s brows lift. ‘You can’t smoke and walk?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

He Tian tilts his head. ‘Oh?’

‘I meant—it’s not really fair, is it? It’s always—always you kissin’ me, and shit.’

‘Always?’

‘Yeah, with the—distractin’ the guards at She Li’s house and with—’ He makes a vague gesture. ‘—the cigarette and—’

‘Guan Shan—’

‘—it’s only fair that I get to prove my own fuckin’ point too—’

‘Mo Guan Shan—’

‘So will you just shut up and let me kiss you?’

He Tian stares at him.

Then he swallows.

‘If you really want to,’ he starts, ‘I suppose I’m in no position to—mmphh!’

It isn’t tender or soft, and Guan Shan is vaguely aware of the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. He lets it fall, hopes he’s ground it out beneath his foot properly and remembers to pick it up after or risk a fine, but first: this. His fingers tightly locked in the dark strands of He Tian’s hair; He Tian’s lips bruising against his own, the sharp gasps of the women loitering by the church doors.

It’s exactly as he remembers from last time. A crushing pressure, the sense of being caught unawares. No finesse. Guan Shan knows it could be slower, that they could take their time, a pilgrimage of vulnerability and one body learning another, but something possessive in him has taken over—this is a crusade.

He Tian’s answering kiss twists into a grin against Guan Shan’s mouth. Guan Shan swallows He Tian’s amusement down, finds the feel of He Tian’s smile against his lips unfairly alluring. He does his best to try and rid He Tian of it, crowding close until He Tian’s back hits the trunk of the almond tree and He Tian is groaning beneath the pressure of his lips. He tastes the acrid smoke of their shared cigarette and He Tian’s breath mints, feels the humid beat of the mid-morning sun—and He Tian’s hand pressing gently at his chest.

He pulls away, staggering and breathing hard. With satisfaction, he notes that He Tian is, too.

‘I think we’re even now,’ says He Tian, a slight rasp to his voice. His eyes are bright and he runs his thumbnail over his lower lip, which has gone swollen and red. ‘You’ve suitably convinced your audience.’

Guan Shan looks away. ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’

‘Oh?’ He Tian asks, amused. ‘That wasn’t you staking your claim?’

Guan Shan hesitates. Part of him can’t bear to look behind him. ‘Are you gonna be excommunicated?’

He Tian chuckles. ‘I’m sure I can find my way back in. Father Joshua is particularly fond of He Cheng’s hideously curvaceous Bugatti.’

‘Guess that’s somethin’,’ Guan Shan mutters.

In answer, He Tian sweeps a hand through the loose strands of Guan Shan’s red hair that have slipped down across his forehead. The touch is fond and familiar and makes Guan Shan swallow hard.

‘You know,’ says He Tian. ‘You can do that any time you want. Not just to prove a point.’

‘You haven’t,’ says Guan Shan, an accusation.

‘I didn’t want to scare you off. I realise last time I was a bit—’

‘Forceful?’

‘Abrupt,’ He Tian corrects delicately. ‘But still—I don’t want you to think you’re any less mine.’

Guan Shan looks at him. ‘Thought you couldn’t have anythin’ you wanted.’

‘Ah…’ He Tian drops his hand, leans back on the heels of his Louis Vitto’s. Almost boyishly, he says, ‘I thought it was a done deal. You and me.’

Guan Shan neither confirms or denies. Instead he asks, ‘Who’d you trade with to get that impression?’

He Tian nods his head upwards. ‘Did it work? I sold my soul for it. ’

‘And they still let you in?’

He Tian’s look is sinful. ‘They let the worst of us through.’

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. He wets his lips. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘I think you’re on a decent road to redemption.’

‘Is that your way of saying it was a worthwhile bargain?’ Tell me it worked.

‘Is that your way of askin’ if I’m yours?’ Guan Shan asks. All these riddles and metaphors—sometimes he has to bring them back to the ground, make sure they’re on the same page.

‘I—Yes.’

Guan Shan nods, then jerks his chin in a challenge. ‘Make me believe it and I might be.’

He Tian’s eyes flicker towards the church just for a moment, but then he smirks, reaffirming their closeness with one step. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he murmurs, angling his head down, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

#19 days #tianshan #old xian #he tian #mo guan shan #sweet tooth #crazy rich asians #my fanfic

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purplesurveys · 2 years

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1470

What’s your favourite flavour of soda, pop or whatever else you call it? No favorites, I don’t drink soda.

What level of brightness do you usually keep your phone at? It’s always at the brightest possible setting. It drives my sister absolutely insane and she likes to call me a boomer because of it hahaha.

Have you ever attended a religious or private school? I attended a school that ticks both these boxes for 14 years. All-girls, Catholic, private – that was a treat for my atheist, liberal, LGBT+ self lol.

Do you have any pets and are they cuddly? I have three dogs. The cuddliest one I would say is Aki, but he only becomes so when it’s nighttime and is able to behave next to me in bed. Cooper is pretty much restless 24/7 unless he’s in his pen; and while Kimi is more reserved than the two, he never was the cuddly type either and prefers to keep to himself.

What’s the worst job you’ve ever had? I’ve only had one job so far, but it’s nowhere near being the worst.

How many cars does your household own? We have two. We used to have three but we had to let one go during the pandemic.

Do you know anyone named Edward or any nickname of that? There are some mutual friends with that name. I also had a granduncle named Eduardo, but he passed away a year ago due to COVID.

What time do you usually have dinner? Around 7 or 7:30 in the evening.

Are there any cracks or scuffs on your phone? No. It’s fairly new but also the first phone I bought with my own money so I’m 600% careful with it lololol.

What’s your favourite meat? Beef or crab.

Do you need glasses to read or drive or need them all the time? I wear glasses because I'm nearsighted. < Hey, same. I say it all the time but I’m really nothing without my glasses haha.

How did you celebrate your last New Years Eve? I honestly can’t even remember. I think I just stayed home but I did spend time with family in the evening while we waited for midnight to welcome the new year.

Is the internet fast where you live? It’s fast for me, but I’ve heard more than once that the Philippines actually sucks when it comes to internet speed lol so it’s just somehing I’ve been used to, that’s why I think it’s fast.

What is your favourite meal of the day and why? Dinner, just because I skip breakfast and lunch all the time. I also tend to eat out in the evening more often.

Do you like long surveys or short surveys better? Medium ones are generally the best, though sometimes what I’ll do is take several short ones in one sitting and post them in one entry.

Xbox, PlayStation or neither? I live in a Playstation household, always have. We had the PS1 and PS2 in the duplex I lived in growing up, and currently we have the PS3 and PS4 in the living room. No PS5 yet.

Have you ever been to a cocktail bar? Yes.

Do you consider yourself a fast typer? Sure. It’s also kind of necessary in my work so you learn to be fast as time goes by.

What’s the best amusement park you’ve ever visited? Universal Studios in Singapore, so far.

Do you keep the cabinets in your kitchen and bathroom organized? Yeah. My mom hates mess on any level so everything is constantly neat.

Have you ever had a romantic fling? Nope.

Are you a very forgetful person? I can be, but for the most part my memory stays razor sharp.

What was the last movie you saw in the cinema? Knives Out in 2019.

How old were you when you got your first car? 17.

What colour is your shampoo? The bottle is white, if that’s what you’re asking.

Are you doing anything tomorrow? Nothing much apart from taking Aki to the vet, going to mass, and seeing my grandma and cousins at their place.

Do you know anyone who’s gotten pregnant over the age of 40? Yeah, I have a few classmates and friends whose mom had already been older than 40 when they had them.

Tell me a silly little wives' tale you believed when you were a child. That I couldn’t sleep if my hair was still wet.

Who does most of the grocery shopping in your home? Mom.

Have you ever been approached by someone in public preaching about religion? No, thank goodness. There were people like that who would loiter in my campus, but I was never approached by one of them.

Are you listening to music right now? If so, what’s the theme of the lyrics. Nah, I’m listening to a Run BTS episode in the background.

What was the last thing you had to eat? Fried eggplant with some rice.

#survey #surveys

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lookatmerosalie · 4 years

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Love’s Consequences, Seventeen

Sunday mass. It's something I've had to attend my entire life. It's never something I've decided to attend, but have done so anyway for my parents.

I wasn't always apathetic when it came to religion. When I was little, I actually had a strong connection with God. I liked singing at church, and I thought the cathedral was gorgeous. But as I aged, I became more and more disenchanted. I wondered why all these things were taught to me, and if it was truly real. Was there really a divine power watching over me?

By the time I reached middle school, I had a weak connection to the Catholic church. I saw the way my parents would treat certain groups of people and felt guilt. The way my life was going, I felt like I was alone, and no one was watching over me. It didn't feel right.

Today, I still continue my tradition of going to church every Sunday. Stepping into that same white and gold cathedral, my parents leading me inside. We find our usual spot and sit at the pew. Once more people arrive, the mass gets started, and we partake in the opening hymn.

We talk of pardoning our sins, and jump right into the gospel reading. Another hymn, more pardoning of sins. The name of Christ is holy, blah blah blah. It all sounds like amplified white noise to me.

Since I've started dating Austin, my relationship with the church has reached an all-time low. Although my parents have never explicitly stated that they hate gay people, I know their backgrounds, who they were raised by, and what messages have been given to them by the church. I feel like an outsider, even just standing in the pew. All the people around me, though they've seen me grow up and have known me my whole life, would never speak to me again if they knew who I really was.

This time of year, our church prepares itself for lent, Easter, and the rest of the coinciding holy holidays. I can tell that, as usual, my parents are super invested and excited to be here. I find it great that some people can find solace in the Catholic church, but I'm not one of them.

As if I fell asleep and woke up suddenly, the mass is nearly over. I lost myself in my own thoughts, which happens pretty often these days. I must have just gone through the motions until now.

We go up, take communion, and head back to the pew for the remainder of the mass.

"The Lord be with you."

"And with your spirit," I mumble.

"May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirt."

"Amen," everyone responds.

We all get dismissed and file ourselves out of the cathedral. My parents exit with giddy strides and smiles on their faces. I exit with the weight of the world on my shoulders.

"I thought today's mass was excellent. Did you enjoy it, Dylan?" my mom asks me. I nod, not saying anything in response.

The three of us make our way down the street to the parking lot. Across the street, two women with dyed hair sit next to each other. As we pass, they kiss. My parents keep walking, but I could see the stink on their faces from a mile away.

As soon as we get in the car, my dad says, "Right across from a Catholic church? Really? The nerve they have."

My mom shakes her head. "I don't understand how people can choose to live that way. It's downright sinful."

I sit quietly. My dad asks, "Is there anyone at your school who is in a relationship like that?" My heart starts to race.

"Nope, not that I know of."

"Good. I don't want you being exposed to that kind of behavior. It's sickening," he spits.

Thank goodness I'm not exposing myself to that kind of behavior. That'd be a tragedy.

The whole ride home, I have a pit in my stomach and a sense of dread falling over me. Being super old school Catholics, I should've known they wouldn't be LGBT-friendly. I was an idiot for thinking otherwise. I wish I got the cool, hip, modern Christian parents that Sammy has.

"Make sure you wash the dishes today, honey," my mom reminds me before I can escape to my room.

Not wanting to fight, I simply say, "Alright."

I wash off the muck from our bowls and plates and try to put them in the dishwasher as quickly as possible. Midway through, I feel a buzz in my pocket. I wipe off my hands and take my phone out to check.

"I love you," Austin writes. I smile wide and my heart flutters.

"What are you smiling at?" my dad asks, walking in the kitchen. I quickly click my phone off and put it back in my pocket.

"Just a funny post I saw," I tell him, getting back to the dishes.

"Mhm," he says, suspiciously. He continues walking into the living room, but his presence was enough to put me on edge. So, I simply finish doing the dishes in silence.

"I'm going to tell them."

"What? Are you sure?" Austin asks me, a little concerned.

I nod. Although every bone in my body disagrees with my decision, I nod.

He sighs. "Okay. Please be careful."

I nod. "I will. Thank you," I say, kissing him one last time.

Suddenly, I'm back with my parents. The two of them sit on the couch, looking at me expectantly. A surge of pain courses through me, but I walk closer to them nonetheless.

"Mom. Dad. I need to tell you something," I speak softly.

"Spit it out," my dad says, getting up and towering over me.

I take a deep breath. "I'm gay."

The floor opens up into a dark pit, and I stumble in. I hold on to the edge, which was growing by the second, with my fingertips.

"No, you're not," both of my parents say simultaneously. Both of them step on my fingers, one taking responsibility of one hand, forcing me to let go and plummet down.

I scream until I can't anymore. Eventually, it feels as though there's no air left to breathe.

Suddenly, I wake up. I find myself in a dark place, not able to see anything around me.

A familiar voice in my ear whispers, “He’s mine.”

Flashing to another scene, I see six figures in the distance. Two stand out to me: a slim, chocolate haired boy next to a girl with short red hair. They hold hands and the whole group laughs together. They turn around, and I see my friends.

“I told you he’s mine. Why are you back?” Sammy asks, glaring. My heart races and I double back a few steps.

“W-what’s happening?” I say, wanting to cry.

“We don’t need you,” all of them say in unison.

Frozen in place, the man who should be my boyfriend approaches me and repeats, as if some type of twisted mantra, “We don’t need you.”

Blinded by tears, the scenery changes once again. All I can hear is laughter, but it didn’t seem like they were laughing at anything funny. I wipe my eyes and look around to see faceless teens in a school hallway, laughing and pointing at me.

This can’t be real... no...

I jolt up in bed, feeling hot and sweaty. I strip my blanket off from on top of me and turn so my legs are hanging off the bed. I quickly grasp around for my phone on my nightstand, and click it. It’s 2:43.

My heart continues to race from whatever hell I just experienced. I’ve had dreams like that before, but never that painful. And never with Austin.

I try to regain comfort in the fact that none of it was real, and I’m safe again. But the pit in my stomach remains.

Although I’m unsure if Austin is awake, I call him anyway. It rings only once or twice before he picks up.

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Austin asks, clearly panicked. I calm myself a little just from the sound of his voice.

“I’m okay now,” I sigh a breath of relief.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, still concerned.

“If I said I had a nightmare, would you laugh at me?” I ask, scratching my head.

“Of course not. I’m guessing it was worse than usual?” he asks, knowing I’ve had plenty before.

“Yeah. It was rough.”

“Do you want to talk through it?” he asks kindly.

“No. I just wanted to hear your voice,” I tell him.

“Oh yeah?”

I blush. “Yeah. Hearing you makes me feel better,” I admit.

He lets out a brief sigh of happiness. “Everything’s going to be alright, Dyl. I’ll always be here with my voice.”

I smile wide and lay down, leaving the phone next to my ear.

“Is it okay if I just leave you on for a little longer? You don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to,” I ask.

“I’ll stay on as long as you need. I’m here,” he says sweetly. I close my eyes and just listen to the sound of his gentle breath, pretending like he was right there next to me. I quickly find myself falling asleep, Austin still virtually by my side.

The next morning, I’d come to find out that he never hung up.

#teen #teen fiction #bxb #writing #original content #seventeen #love's consequences #gay #lgbt #religion #romance #love #romantic comedy

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micahrodney · 3 years

Text

Thread; Chapter 4 - Through The Looking Glass

The following is a commission for Matthew Caveat Zealot. The morning of the memorial service was especially bitter and cold. A slight drizzle had started which threatened to turn into lake-effect snow at a moment's notice. Kevin made his kids pack up everything just in case they couldn't make it back to the hotel, and the trunk had a fully stocked emergency kit. It was something of a Brown family tradition to prepare for the worst, but this quality had been more pronounced since the accident.

“How's this?” Neil asked, fiddling with the knot on his tie.

“I don't suppose you'd consider a clip-on?” Travis teased, moving in to correct the full-hearted but half-studied attempt at a Windsor knot.

“Can't tie a tie, little bro,” Dawn said, waggling a mock judgmental finger. “They aren't teaching you anything at that school.”

“You're just upset that I'm not in the psych ward,” Neil shot back, running a comb through his hair while Travis fiddled with his tie.

“Injustice of the century,” she smirked.

Kevin, Kim, and Rocky were already downstairs eating the continental breakfast and no doubt having “adult” conversation. Travis was still in the kid's group but only by virtue of sharing a room with Neil. Dawn had been dressed since 7 AM, but only because Kim woke her up by loudly dropping her make-up kit on the bathroom floor a half-hour prior.

She looked quite nice in a simple black dress with matching leggings, though Neil wondered what their mother would have said about the heeled boots that she wore with them. Combined with her unique hair coloration, the whole effect was very “Bride of Frankenstein”. But then Dawn had always been avant-garde in her fashion sense.

Travis was wearing a chocolate brown suit with a charcoal tie. It didn't quite match but then Travis didn't own much in the way of suits. Not that Neil could talk, he had only ever owned the black suit that his father bought for him for the funeral three years prior. Wearing it to every memorial service since probably did not help the mounting anxiety and grief. It was as though a bubble was forming in the pit of his stomach that threatened to consume him the moment he let his guard down. There was the choking sensation followed by the slight urge to vomit.

“There you go. Dad will be proud,” Travis announced, completing the adjustment to Neil's tie.

“Cool. Can you tell him I did it?” Neil joked, his stand-by for keeping the nerves in check.

“If you think he'll believe it,” Travis replied with a weak chuckle.

A moment followed, where the three youngest Brown children sat in uncomfortable silence. They knew what happened next and each was dealing with it in their own way. Dawn was aloof as she always was, but she wasn't drowning her senses in her electronics. There was a stillness to her mind that was a precursor to the waves of emotion that would inevitably hit her around the halfway point of the service. She had notably forgone mascara today, the easier to pretend she wasn't crying.

Travis felt compelled to “big brother” more, and Neil's clumsiness with his tie was a perfect opportunity to let him express that. He wanted to reclaim some of the control he felt he had lost in his life after their mother's death. This was especially potent considering his past addictions. Travis had been balancing on a tightrope across a chasm of chaos for so long, and this day was the hardest one of the year for him.

Neil was unsure how Kim was coping. She was the oldest, he was the youngest and their age gap meant she had been out of the house for most of his life. He had gained a portrait of his older sister in the family meetings and stories from Travis and their father. Still, it was fascinating how incomplete these recountings were. Humans were complicated but at least when you lived with somebody for a time you got to understand how they behaved. Without this context, everything else in their life was as shrouded in mystery as if they were a stranger, and carefully curated stories never did them justice. Sometimes it baffled him how little he really knew about somebody so close to him.

As for Neil, jokes, pointed asides, flippancy: these were his allies. It was not that he was going to try and avoid feeling sad. The pain would come and he would fully experience it, making no attempt to hide his tears when the time came. He just didn't want to cross the bridge yet. Things had to go according to a schedule. If he could contain the emotion, then he was in control of his emotions. Perhaps he and Travis were not so different.

“So,” Travis said, breaking the silence. “Breakfast?”

---

Saint Mary's was Colleen Brown's church as a child. It was just a few blocks from the river and had a rich history to it, about which Colleen could recite paragraphs at a moment's notice. It was founded in 1850 and much of the original foundation was still intact. While clearly weathered, the chapel was remarkably beautiful.

The centerpiece was, as always, Christ the Redeemer upon the cross just above the dais. He was flanked by John the Baptist and St. Peter. Further out on the walls adjacent to the stage were the Virgin Mother on the left and Joseph carrying a depiction of the baby Jesus on the right. As far as Catholic churches went, it was a fairly humble affair. There was just something inherently wholesome about the building which Neil found comforting.

The only people in attendance at this quiet ceremony were the Brown family, Rocky, and a couple of Colleen's friends about whom Neil knew very little. All in all, there were roughly ten people including the priest.

Father Dwight McMahon was a person who Neil had come to know, at least somewhat. He was a family friend long before he took to the cloth. Their mother had described him as an “inspiring young man”, though how they had initially met was unclear. However both Kevin and Colleen had taken a liking to the young man as though he were a foster son, and he had often attended any family occasion of note, at least for the past six years. It seemed only right that he, having joined the clergy around the time Colleen passed away, preside over the ceremony.

“Let us pray,” the Father began, as was his custom.

The attending lowered their heads respectfully and clasped their hands together.

“Most Holy and Gracious God. We meet before your sight this day in remembrance of your daughter Colleen Angelica Brown, who departed three years ago. We seek your guidance and comfort as we honor her memory and uphold the traditions of her family. We thank you for your blessings and tender mercy, for surely you are the light and the way. In humble gratitude, we pray. May our lives please you, oh Lord. Into your embrace, we offer ourselves. For what lies on the journey ahead, God only knows. Amen.”

Dawn swallowed hard. Travis's head was lowered. Their father could barely keep his eyes open. Kim was already openly weeping, and leaning on Rocky for support. As for Neil, he just felt empty. There was a pit where his heart should be. It was the same as every year. A horrible reminder of what he had lost. Neil forced himself to look up at the Reverend, to try and connect with the man who had begun reading off the life story of his mother.

He let out an audible gasp, perhaps mistaken as a sob for how Travis put a consoling arm around him. But it was not grief that overcame Neil, but terror.

McMahon had been wearing the standard black cassock, but now stood draped in off-color robes with a wide-brimmed hood. In that instant, the nightmares he had forgotten about came screaming back into his mind. The deep pit, the darkness, the pool of suffering, and the frozen temple in which gathered a black mass of robed skeletal figures.

“We all want to go home,” McMahon said, his voice now hollow and raspy. “We can never go home.”

“We just want to go home,” came a pale imitation of Dawn's voice from behind him.

“End our suffering,” Travis uttered, his bony hand now clasping itself around the back of Neil's neck.

Neil wanted to scream. He wanted to react in some manner, but it was as though every joint in his body had locked up.

“This is a nightmare,” Neil said to himself. “I've fallen asleep and this is sleep paralysis. That's all it is.”

Hail began to pelt against the windows of the chapel. A ferocious wind burst open the doors, wood crashing into brick with a loud crack.

“You cannot go home,” came a stern and familiar voice. “Because your home no longer exists.”

At once, Neil stood up, suddenly free of the grasp of terror that had consumed him. He turned to the figure who now stood in the doorway; purple translucent lines containing a field of glowing stars.

“Rem,” he choked. “Is that you?”

“It is us,” Rem replied simply. “The thread of this one is broken, difficult to follow. But we have finally found you. You must come with us. The Dreamer awaits.”

“Go where?” Neil asked, still processing the new reality. “I'm in the middle of my mother's memorial.”

“Are you? You are here. Your body's location is ultimately irrelevant for our purposes,” Rem explained.

“Am I... asleep?” Neil asked, desperate for more information.

“Approximately,” Rem replied, his voice growing sterner. “There are complications to that term, but it is perhaps the closest understanding you will grasp. At first.”

“Go home,” the phantom priest bellowed.

“Want home!” screamed the nightmare Dawn.

“Your thread is broken,” Rem explained again. “But you still exist. Were you any different, you would be as they. Lost in time and space, a shadow of your former self.”

The shades moved closer to Rem, their movements foul mimicry. It was as though they were marionettes with a few cut strings.

“Home!”

“We want to go home!”

Rem raised his hand. “Your homes are no more. You return to the Dreamer now.”

With a wave, the chapel and all of its inhabitants vanished. The fabric of reality melted away, revealing a field of stars in which the two now floated. The great planet on which Neil had spent several eventful hours in the prior dreams was directly beneath them, as was the iridescent star.

“You have seen this world as it once was. I will show you what has become of those who once dwelt upon it. Soon, you will understand, Neil Brown,” Rem announced.

Without warning, Rem placed his hand on Neil's forehead, covering his eyes in bright pulsing light from the stars within. His retinas burned, his head throbbed, and soon he felt nothing as the light overtook him.

---

Neil shook himself awake and leaned forward, gasping in shock as the sleep paralysis wore off. The dream had been especially vivid, and utterly horrible. But at last, it was over and Neil was in the safety of...

“Where the hell am I?” He exclaimed.

The young man was surrounded by stars, safely observed through translucent panes held in place by a silvery steel framework. He had been lying on one of several identical beds, though he appeared to be the only occupant, each raised high off the ground the better to appreciate the cosmic light show. The air was crisp and manufactured, the low hum of some alien technology thrummed somewhere beneath him.

This was not a dream.

“You are awake, Binder,” came Rem's rigid voice from just behind.

Neil turned to greet the figure once more, though he noticed that his would-be savior was now wearing a silvery robe which seemed far more opaque than the rest of him. His footsteps were a musical chime on the metallic floor.

“What is this place?” Neil asked, repeating his concern now that a supposedly sympathetic ear was present.

“We refer to it as The Cradle,” Rem explained. “Throne of the Dreamer and safe haven for the Somni.”

Neil tilted his head slightly. “I mean... could you start from the beginning?”

“Nox will give you a more thorough explanation. I am to take this one to her,” Rem replied. “Please accompany me.”

Rem gestured towards the center of the room, where a railed circular platform hovered a foot or two off the ground. Just above it was a tunnel through the ceiling which went up quite a ways. The lift could hold perhaps three of these Somni at once, but Neil barely took up a tenth of the space.

With a slight jolt, the lift began to rise. Neil almost lost his footing at the sudden momentum but was able to steady himself. After the initial shock, the rise was smooth and swift, rocketing the two of them up several hundred feet. The lift tunnel was illuminated by pure white rings of the light in even intervals. The effect was almost hypnotic, not that Neil felt any desire to sleep.

The lift finally reached its destination, placing the two of them on the rear wall of – there was no other term for it – a space station. The room was massive, at least ten times the circumference of the galactic dormitory they had just departed. The silvery steel framework branched out around the room creating a dome-like structure, offering a mostly unobstructed view of the cosmos. At ground level, a variety of holographic panels were erected, forming a semi-circle opposite the lift. Indecipherable glyphs relayed incomprehensible data at lightning speed, observed by a host of these Somni.

In the dead center of the room was one particularly large well-like structure, above which hovered a glowing cerulean orb, bound up in crisscrossing threads of white light. At varying intersections of the impossibly dense thread were tiny golden spheres. A horrible sense of deja vu overtook Neil as he beheld the gentle turning of this web.

“You behold the Threads of Fate,” said Nox, moving out from behind one of the holographic terminals on Neils' left.

She was adorned in a cerulean robe with golden pauldrons. There was a royal aura about her, and given the uniform attire of all the other Somni in attendance, it was clear that she was the one in charge.

“I,” Neil began, but words failed him. So much was happening so quickly. He had no idea where he was, what he was doing there, and what his family must be going through with him suddenly gone.

“This must be quite troubling for you,” Nox offered, grasping his shoulder in a comforting yet strangely hollow grip. It was as though he was being touched by a ghost.

“This is just so confusing,” Neil explained.

“Perhaps we should start from the beginning then,” Nox said.

She gestured to Rem who busied himself at the central well. With a few flourishes from him, the scene changed, and the cerulean gem in the center took on the appearance of a planet.

“Millions of years ago,” Nox began. “We Somni lived as you do. Mortals upon the blessed planet of Somnus. Ours was a paradise, and from our bountiful came a wealth of technology and hoarded knowledge. In time, we began to become aware of not only the existence of other planets throughout the universe which sustained life but entire planes of reality apart from our own.”

The planet's image changed slowly, with a number of the continents now covered in sheets of ice, while others succumbed to wildfires and volcanic eruptions.

“However this knowledge came at a terrible price. We suffered calamity after calamity, which we later discovered to be deliberate attempts to destroy us. The Somni had grown too powerful, and we were becoming a threat.”

“A threat to who?” Neil asked.

The image shifted once more, a black cloud now consuming the entire planet.

“We came to call it Kosmaro: the Nightmare. It is an entity as old as time itself, in constant combat with the Dreamer. One creates, the other destroys. As the final catastrophe rent our world asunder, the Dreamer reached out to a select few of us and granted us with these forms.”

Nox gestured to the room at large. Neil only noticed then that several of the Somni had gathered round to witness this retelling, starry gazes twinkling gently in the dim light.

“So,” Neil interjected delicately. “Why am I here?”

Nox let out an approving noise; a musical hum exhaled from her like a sigh. “For you are a Binder.”

“I've heard that term a lot lately,” Neil replied. “But I have no idea what it is.”

Nox turned her attention back to the well. “It comes down to the Threads of Fate. The history of our universe is one full of opportunity and choice. Yet several events are preordained and must occur according to the whim of the Dreamer. Their dream, their plan. Yet the incidental day-to-day interactions upon which new realities may come to exist are immaterial to them. No matter how many threads are created, all will eventually converge upon a Crossroad.”

Nox pointed to the bright golden stars floating around the threads. Neil could now notice in greater clarity that thousands of these strands all seemed to converge around every one of these points.

“This is a multiverse then,” Neil offered.

“This one is familiar with the theory,” Rem said almost approvingly, before returning to his usual stoicism. “Though their kind has barely begun to scratch the surface of the implications.”

“With a Binder in their midst, perhaps they will learn more,” Nox chastised. She then elaborated. “You see, Neil. Kosmaro has been attacking these Crossroads. And when a Crossroad is destroyed...”

With a wave of her sleeved arm, a single golden star flickered out of existence. The white strands that connected to it floated about aimlessly for a moment, connecting to nothing and seemingly adrift in the void. Another wave and a second Crossroad vanished. Now those few threads which had been connected at both points faded from existence.

Neil swallowed hard, as he remembered the desperate cries of those phantoms.

We want to go home.

And what had Rem said?

You can't.

“My family,” Neil sputtered. “Are they dead?”

Rem, frank as ever, immediately responded. “A few thousand variations of this one's family have been lost to the phenomena, but they number among several quintillion lives. It is of little consequence one way or the other as far as you are concerned.”

“Rem,” Nox warned, her tone approaching annoyed while still retaining its ethereal quality. “The thread from which you originate has not been lost. However, it and many other adjacent threads remain in jeopardy. It is fortunate that we discovered you when we did.”

The image above the well zoomed in on a small section of the web, Two Crossroads were now enlarged, with the threads between them more easily distinguishable. What Neil had once taken for a few hundred were in fact several thousand.

“Binders are Somni who are able to traverse the Threads of Fate to repair the damage done. Kosmaro is as old as time itself, and thus the strain on our universe is an inevitable part of it. Some day in the future, Kosmaro shall, eventually, win the battle. But Binders do their part to delay that unhappy hour as long as possible,” Nox explained.

One of the golden lights dimmed into a dull grey, and the threads were once again floating about in tatters, loosely connected to the other. It looked like a badly frayed knot.

“And to do that, Binders must enter these Crossroads and set the actions right. Things must play out according to the will of the Dreamer. If they are successful,” Nox touched the dimmed Crossroad once more and its light returned, setting the strands right again. “Balance is restored.”

Neil was doing all he could to keep his head straight. In summary, there was a multiverse full of temporal weak points, and these strange alien beings were saying he was one of a select few capable of repairing it.

“How?” Neil spluttered out finally. “How am I supposed to fix those? I've never seen anything like this before.”

“It is better to show you rather than tell you,” Nox said. “But for now, you should return to the world from whence you came. Rem shall be in contact with you, and will come for you when the time is right.”

“Rem?” Neil asked nervously. The stern specter had not done much in their brief interactions to inspire a sense of camaraderie in him. “Can't it be you?”

“Nox is the Voice of the Dreamer. She has matters well beyond the scope of managing this one,” Rem sighed. “I shall serve as overseer and – if the need arises – protector.”

“Take heart, Neil,” Nox said soothingly. “It is a long road you have ahead of you, but we shall be your allies every step of the way.”

With a popping sound, all the lights on the station dimmed. The room slipped away to darkness, and Neil Brown felt himself falling once more into nothingness.

#writing #cosmichorror #commissionwriting #shortfic

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fideleluc · 4 years

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introducing lucien montel, the graduate chair

“ for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard ” (2 peter 2:8)

hey hey! my name’s tays, i use she/her pronouns, and i live in melbourne, australia, and thus the aest (soon to be aedt) timezone. it’s been a little while since i’ve rped, but this group was just utterly irresistible so here we are! if you’re interested in plotting you can hit me up on here or discord (mightay morphin power ranger#9316) without any further ado, here’s luc montel!

stats.

full name: lucien henri montel known as: luc montel age: 25 dob: january 13, 1995 gender: cis male nationality: french religion: roman catholic course: currently studying a masters of social work, graduated a year prior with a bachelor of arts majoring in theology

bio.

( luc’s original bio ended up being i don’t even know how many words long so this is a very much summarised version, but if you have a bit more time on your hands you can read the full thing here! )

luc’s mother first learned she was pregnant not long after she graduated from highschool. she wasn’t sure exactly who the father was, but even if she did, she wouldn’t have told him - all of her friends, likely him included, had a pretty huge falling out near the end of their exams, and she was still too proud to turn to them for help, even after her own father kicked her out once he heard the news. she’d been working hard and saving up for years to get a shot at getting into a good school, something no one else from her area really saw as a likely prospect, but all her savings ended up getting funnelled into hotels and food while she tried to support herself on her own in the city.

the only way she could really pass time was to go for walks, and on these walks she ended up going past a church that seemed to be drawing her in - it was purely by chance that the priest, father pascal, was outside one time and was able to notice her hesitating, long enough for him to actually invite her inside. she had given up on religion after her mother left her and her dad, but still, when she was invited to their next mass, she ended up going - and she never really stopped. the congregation ended up being her entire support system while she was pregnant, getting her a well-paying job doing after school care for a catholic school and helping her find a cheap place to stay.

luc was born on a chilly january morning, and got baptised a week later. there was no question of whether or not he’d be raised as part of the church - the only time he was able to sit still was when he was listening to father pascal’s sermons, and he took his first steps just outside in the garden. he was taught, essentially, to do good, to be accepting and generous and kind - and he never questioned it. his mother, who’d started on a teaching degree, was careful to teach him about other religions, and though his own devotion to catholicism never wavered, it still fascinated him.

although he and his mother were better off than she had been only a few years earlier, they didn’t have a ton of money they could give - so they made good on their weekly promises to help the world with their time. luc was especially passionate about it - learning to cook so he could make things for bake sales, riding along with other members of his congregation to help out in food kitchens, doorknocking for any sort of donations people in his neighbourhood would want to give without hesitation or embarrassment.

even when he got older and his friends had moved on to more entertaining hobbies, he continued on with attending mass and keeping up with his charity work, brushing off his friend’s accusations that he was being forced into it. truly, their own interests mostly bored him - he never really had a long enough attention span for tv or movies, and he couldn’t engage in video games like they could. one thing he could join in on, though, was football - if he wasn’t doing something for the church or indulging in his also newlyfound passion for cooking, he was out on the oval.

when his friends moved on further still to getting girlfriends and drinking, luc, again, couldn’t find himself as engaged in it as they were. though he’d happily drink with them, for the most part, he put his hand up to be the designated driver and was perfectly content staying their lookout when they got close to making scenes in public. he had a few girlfriends in highschool, but the relationships never lasted long - and again, he didn’t mind. at times he’d worry that he was missing out, but it was never a concern that lasted long, especially when he saw how desperately his friends needed someone to shepherd them at times.

although he’d never been a hugely academic kid in the past, when it came time to think about university, he felt that, out of an obligation to his mother more than anything else, that he had to work just as hard as she had when she was his age to make up for the opportunity she’d missed for his sake. st margaret mary’s hadn’t been a realistic dream, but he’d figured he may as well apply - when he actually got in, with an offer of a scholarship on the side, he was almost tempted to throw it away thanks to his own doubts, but his mother quickly put an end to it. before he knew it, he was heading off across the city to the old building - a theology major.

despite his devotion to the church, he hadn’t initially planned to join chastity club, if for no other reason that is just seemed a bit extreme for him - but when he came to a meeting out of a mix of boredom and curiosity only to find that something was distinctly wrong, he couldn’t stop it from becoming the major focus of his mind for the next few weeks until he could figure out what was really going on. when he was finally able to piece together the truth, he was conflicted - on the one hand, these were people using his faith to cover up criminal activity, bringing as much shame to the church as the people who twisted the lord’s words into messages of hatred, but on the other, it could be what these people depended on, and to have that taken away from them could be disastrous. instead of being angry like he knew he should’ve been, luc was overcome with a familiar urge to help - and so he did just that.

he went to another meeting, and before they could say anything, he told them how easy it had been for him to find them out, how if he, someone with no connection to any of them, could discover the truth, then it wouldn’t be long before the staff would be following in his footsteps. he told them that, so long as a cut of any fundraiser went to an actual charity, he’d be happy to give them an actual, believable cover.

he hadn’t actually thought they’d take him on. before he knew it, though, his actual studies were being pushed to the side in favour of planning, organisation, research - though he was sure to carve out a few hours a week to catch up on his actual work, most of his time was going towards the chastity club, and not just because he wanted to help them. even if it was just a cover to the rest of the club, to him, those cuts he got from the fundraisers were the only thing that mattered - he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, what he was taught to devote himself to all his life. helping people.

as time went on, the idea of turning in the club became more and more impossible - not only was he actually able to make some wider good come out of it, but truly, the people he was surrounding himself with were like family, even if he had to turn a blind eye to half of what they got up to. he’d convinced himself that turning them in would be a far worse action than letting them stay running, and it’s a belief he’s held onto like a lifeline - but at the same time, he can’t ignore a worry that’s been growing louder and louder in the back of his mind. he never sees the consequences of the dealing. he doesn’t actually know if they’re doing more good than harm. he’s relying solely on faith, the same faith he has in god and that god, he believes, has in him.

he can only pray it’s well placed.

personality.

luc is nothing if not passionate. although it may take him a while to make up his mind about getting involved or starting a task, once he does, he’ll put his absolute all into it without turning back. no matter the exact motivation, whether it be his religion, his friends, or just a desire to do something, he works and believes with his entire heart, and once he’s dedicated to something, it’ll be almost impossible to tear him away from it.

since he was a kid, luc has always been generous. whether it’s with his possessions or even just his time, he’s one of those people who’ll throw their jacket around you if you mention it’s just a bit chilly and then refuse to ever take it back no matter how much you insist. the only way his mother eleanor was able to survive when she was pregnant and virtually homeless was through the generosity of what would end up being his parish’s churchgoers, so the first idea luc was ever taught to embrace was the idea of giving, something enforced by both her and the church itself.

part of what makes luc so convincing for the school board is that he’s an unfalteringly polite person. unless he has good reason to be angry at someone, he’ll try to greet everyone with a smile and see them off with a wish for them to have a good day, treating them like a friend even if they’re written in the first pages of his bad books. he’s always willing to listen to someone else chat and support them when they’re feeling down, no matter what mood he’s in or what’s at stake, and his consistently gentle, patient manner make essentially any lie he tells convincing.

although he was never known for his academic prowess, luc has never not been curious. once an idea intrigues him, he’ll do whatever he can to learn more, and rarely feels as if he ever has enough knowledge about the subjects that interest him, still willing to add more or take different perspectives.

luc has never been known for his spontaneity - though he’ll commit with his whole heart once he’d decided to do something, he’s very careful in making those decisions. he’ll often spend nights lying awake contemplating ideas, throwing himself different scenarios and seeing if they change his views, trying to look at things from every possible angle before making a call on something. though something he does may be stupid and may be risky, he’ll only take that risk if he’s absolutely sure it will pay off. his caution even comes through in the way he speaks, each word carefully chosen to keep things as civil as possible.

though luc is known to many as being gentle and polite, usually because he just is, that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of nothing less than being purely furious. though it usually comes from a place of love and devotion, often in response to some injustice or cruelty and rarely occurring at the drop of a hat, when something does anger him, he has no problem speaking his mind if he feels something could be done about whatever’s happened. he just can’t fathom the idea of people sitting by and letting bad things happen, and couldn’t live with himself if he just sat back and watched while someone got hurt. he has a lot of faith in people, and when people let him down, it cuts him deep.

luc was always a restless child, and that’s something that’s continued into the present day. he doesn’t often make it known - but that’s just because he’s always desperate to find something to occupy his time. whether he’s keeping himself busy by studying, planning a fundraiser, cooking, or even just going for a walk, he can’t just sit still and do nothing. the only exception to this is when he’s learning or listening to something, such as when he’s in class or church, but if he has no interest, all he’ll be focused on is how badly he wants to get up and move around again. he simply can’t relax until something that needs to be done is done.

as sociable and polite he is when in church or running fundraisers, luc is truly independent. as much as he enjoys the company of others, he’s equally comfortable in his own company, and much prefers to go over problems in his own head rather than voice them to someone else. although he’ll passionately speak out to help others, he rarely voices a concern if something has to do with him alone - it’s not that he doesn’t want people to worry, but he just figures he has everything under control as far as he’s concerned. he has no problem working on his own, and despite his own insistence when he gets a chance to assist others, he often refuses help for himself, no matter how big or small the problem is.

headcanons.

luc isn’t too sure how he went from being lucien to just luc when he was a baby, but it’s still what he introduces himself as now.

luc has never once had a moment of doubt about god’s existence, but he doesn’t think he really has much say in what happens on earth - he was taught by his childhood parish’s priest father pascal that humans were given free will because god trusted them, specifically trusted them to do good and take care of one another, and that’s a trust luc has always tried to uphold. even so, he does still think he’s always watching and may be able to give some signs, but he mostly turns towards asking saints when he needs specific help with something.

he still follow’s his mother’s belief that all gods from all religions are just aspect of the same spiritual belief of there being something bigger, and learning about those other religions still fascinates him, hence why he majored in theology when he was still studying for his bachelors - he’s still happy to follow his own god, though.

although he would never force any of his atheist friends to come to church or believe what he does, the idea that anyone would choose to believe there’s nothing over believing there’s something does baffle him somewhat.

he still goes to mass every sunday, but he doesn’t hang around the church as long as he did when he was younger - it’s partly a matter of time, partly a matter of the congregation. they’re lovely people, don’t get him wrong - but even after so many years, it’s still not his parish.

luc isn’t all that much of a tv or movies person - unless it’s about something he’s interested in, he struggles to sit down for long enough to care about what’s happening even for just an episode, let alone a whole series or film. he may have a comedy or just something light on in the background while he cooks, but he doesn’t go out of his way to watch much.

although he’s studying for a masters in social work and does want to do something to help disadvantaged people in his country, he has genuinely considered becoming a priest.

although he hasn’t played since he was in school, he does still love football - he doesn’t often watch it, but if he gets a chance to go out on the oval, he’ll take it without hesitation.

the only language he’s fluent in is french, but he does know enough english to get by and did try to learn some latin from father pascal for certain bible passages - it didn’t really stick.

even though much of his free time is spent studying or organising the chastity club’s cover, he will still try to take a few hours every so often to go and help out in some soup kitchen or another.

he’s deadly afraid of insects - moths especially freak him out

when he was young, he’d often fall asleep with the sound of his mother’s radio coming through the wall, and still now when he’s struggling to sleep he’ll find some radio stream on his phone and listen to it until he nods off.

as much as he tries, he can’t keep a plant alive - he’s made many attempts to grow his own herbs or fruit trees, but to absolutely no avail.

when he’s studying he’ll chew on the ends of his pens, and if he doesn’t have a pen, he’ll bite at his bottom lip - if one were to look closely, they’d notice a patch of it is faintly scarred.

luc has so, so much love in his heart, but despite his few brief relationships, he’s hardly been able to turn any of that love into romance - not yet, anyway.

as willing as he is to help cover up the chastity club’s true nature to the school board or anyone he feels should be hidden from the truth, he doesn’t go to any of the parties they sell at, and hasn’t ever tried any of the product. it’s just not his thing.

he stayed in student housing until he came back to get his masters, and now rents a small place a short walk from the school - when he was furnishing it, he made sure to get a pull-out couch instead of just a regular one, just in case anyone ever needed a place to crash.

he still has the same copy of the bible he poured over as a kid, though out of fear over how worn it’s gotten he mainly keeps it safely in a drawer of his bedside table.

luc is very optimistic and has a lot of faith in others - though he does think things through thoroughly just in case something can go wrong, and is constantly aware of that possibility, he has a lot of hope on his side.

misc.

pinterest starsign: capricorn sun, gemini moon myers-briggs type: isfj-t enneagram: type 2 (the helper) hogwarts house: hufflepuff alignment: neutral good aesthetics: sun coming through a stained-glass window, rainbow dappled on skin. a voice lost in a chorus. a borrowed coat on a chilly morning. the ever-present smell of something cooking, always making enough for plenty of leftovers. restless legs, restless mind. faith that keeps your heart beating, fury that boils your blood. a tongue bitten so frequently it bleeds. unwavering eye contact, no matter how elaborate the lie. burying your head in the sand. murmured passages from a book with worn pages. doing all you can, but still lying awake, wondering if you could be doing more.

#st:intro #( about. )#- took a genuine million years to find a decent gif for this which isn't a brilliant sign going forward #- turns out his fc is a lot more villainy than i'd first thought! ah well. probably too late for a change. we can live with it

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henderistic · 5 years

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Your Crush in SVT is Left at The Alter (long post)

(They have a crush on you too)

[Requests open!!!]

A/N: So I actually have a valid excuse as to why this took so long surprisingly, pretty much I’ve had a UTI (tmi, sorry) for the past week, probably more and only found out yesterday, I’m on antibiotics now so I’ll be good as new shortly! Sorry for the wait

Genre: angst, fluff if you read to the end of each member’s reaction

Very Important!

↳ all members in this will like all genders/sexes since I don’t want to leave anyone out, also four members will be gay (picked by a random number generator) in this scenario! P.S. don’t leave your s/o at the alter please

S.Coups: Seungcheol, everyone’s favourite teddy bear leader, was currently punching and kicking things as you watched in astonishment, never knowing him to be violent.

It had been a lovely day for a wedding, the sun was shining and it wasn’t too hot, something rare for July. But then again everyday was a good day for a wedding when it came to your friend. He had been anxiously waiting for this day for over two years now and you could see it in his eyes while he was getting ready. His eyes had been sparkling since he had sat down in the stylist’s chair, one he trusted with his life as she had produced an astonishing amount of fan favourite looks. You had been sat in the corner watching him, quietly sulking to yourself when Jeonghan came over, looking at his phone and muttering something about how the groom wanted your approval for his hair and makeup. You took a big breath in and got up, hoping neither boys had noticed your glum expression.

Seungcheol looked at you in the mirror with a gummy smile, “so- how is it? Think carats will go crazy for this one too?” he chuckled. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll love it, but don’t forget this is your wedding,” you forced a smile. “Hah! It’s mostly her’s really, I just agreed to whatever she said!” It was clear he had noticed your face falter at his comment, a look of concern quickly gracing his face but disappearing as soon as it had begun.

“Anyways, I wanted you to put my boutonnière on, it’s the flowers that go on the lapel,” he told you, almost solemnly. You gave him a grin and began putting them on, well trying was the correct word. You shared hushed giggles before the stylist couldn’t take it anymore and put it on him correctly. As she was doing this you two ended up staring at each other, almost how they do in movies before they kiss. Your moment was ruined though when the loud voice of the wedding coordinator tore through the room, “okay everyone, showtime!”

The entire thing felt like a blur until the bride walked down the aisle, not in her dress but just casual clothes. She marched down the aisle, forcefully grabbing the mic out of the MC’s hand. “I’m sorry to do this to everyone but the wedding’s cancelled. In all honesty I never truly loved him,” she finished, the entire crowd in shock. Knowing Seungcheol would be heartbroken you took him outback for some air.

“How are you holding up?” you asked in a slightly higher pitch than normal, hoping not to upset him at the angriest you’ve ever seen. He let out a ragged sigh and said “how do you think?” You knew it was a rhetorical question so you softly put your hands on his shoulders, giving him the beginnings of a massage. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lash out at you, it’s not your fault. In fact, I’m glad you’re here because that means I have someone I truly love with me.”

(Gay) Jeonghan: It was a destination wedding, it had to be since gay marriage still wasn’t legal in South Korea. It was beautiful, a winter wedding in Norway with the two grooms paying for flights and accommodations, easy for them with Jeonghan having worked in the Korean music industry for many years and his fiancé being the vice-president to an up and coming company. You were seated in the second row, on your old friend’s side. He looked absolutely dashing in his tuxedo, waiting for his soon-to-be husband to walk down the aisle. You could tell he was nervous just by looking at him, his hair slightly disheveled after running his hands through it so many times and how his eyes could never focus on one place.

Everyone quickly went hush hush and the doors open, revealing the fiancé, his arm wrapped around your friend’s father as his own had disowned him for being gay many years ago. Instead of matching Jeonghan’s beaming expression he had a somber look on his face, as if he was already regretting his choice. Once the crowd saw this whispers were about, the ceremony master having to ‘shhh’ them. As soon as everyone was quiet he began to take uneven steps down the aisle, dread growing more and more apparent on his features the closer he got to the alter.

Suddenly, a voice breaks the music playing, “I can’t do this!” To everyone’s shock, it wasn’t a closeted homophobic guest but Jeonghan’s groom himself, “I can’t risk my career and my family hating me just to marry someone who won’t even be around most of the time!” The now ex-fiancé said before storming off, aggressively unlinking his arm from his ex’s father’s. The music had entirely stopped by now, leaving everyone in stunned silence with gasping faces, yours included. You could tell Jeonghan was fighting back tears, his entire future, gone in a moment, having to deal with the backlash of an entire country worth nothing now but as soon as he saw you in the crowd he called you outside. With your heart fluttering you followed him, he looked around to make sure the coast was clear and asked to kiss you. You weren’t sure what you were thinking but you agreed, thinking deep down you were just a rebound but he knew otherwise.

Joshua: (took some liberties here and went for a Roman Catholic wedding as it’s my religion and I feel Joshua would like to get married in a church but I am biased lol) The hymn “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee” had begun, signalling the large wooden doors to be opened and reveal the procession. First came the cross bearer with a silver cross hoisted onto a wood pole, then came the middle aged priest dressed in mainly white with yellow detailing. After this the rest of the clergy came, then followed the bridesmaids and groomsmen, the ladies dressed in red, knee length dresses with small pieces of matching red fabric on their shoulders, the men in traditional dress suits. After this came the two people of the hour, first came the bride, she was wearing a modest slightly off white dress with a train following behind her like a river, her arm in arm with her father. After that came Joshua, he was with his mother and looked dashing in his tuxedo, with a small boutonnière of red roses on the right side of his chest.

The hymn finished once everyone had made it to the alter, two wooden chairs being brought out for the couple. The mass went normally, the two readings and then the gospel, all of which consisted about something about Christ and his ‘bride’ the church or just love in general. After the gospel, instead of the homily it was the actual wedding ceremony. The priest began asking a few questions before asking the one everyone had been waiting for.

Being asked if she took Joshua to be her husband made her face drop, the entire parish noticing and their smiles being quickly wiped off their face. She began stuttering before saying “I can’t” and running off. Everyone watched her leave, most with mouths wide open in shock. The priest looked solemn as he had to say “I know this doesn’t seem right but we must continue with mass,” motioning for the groom to sit down. Everything was now off, and when the church was called to reply everyone mumbled, except when the priest said “For those who have been wounded both emotionally and physically,” everyone was clear as day when they responded with “Lord hear our prayer.”

After the priest allowed everyone to leave after communion, the music was happy and out of place with everyone having serious looks. The clergy left first, then the parishioners, well most parishioners, Joshua stayed last, along with you. You played with the hem of your skirt/the fabric of your pants before deciding to get up and go over to him. You could tell he had been crying from your place in the church, but getting closer you didn’t realize how much he really had been. You asked softly if you could sit beside him, to which he nodded in agreement, trying to suppress his tears.

You both sat in silence for awhile, you admired the cross hanging on the wall behind the alter, it was large and domineering in a sense. The quite soon became uncomfortable as you could tell how much he was suffering. Trying to comfort him you placed your hand on his thigh, just above his knee, and gave him a sympathetic smile.

He placed his own hand over yours and looked away, breaking the deafening silence with a strained voice, “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered to you.

“Anything for my,” you paused, feeling bitter about the entire situation, “friend.” You had liked Joshua ever since you met him, maybe even loved him, so when you saw his now ex-fiancée run away from him it made your blood boil.

He had spaced out a bit after you said friend, only coming back to reality to say “friend?” You nodded, slightly confused but trying hard not to show it on your face. “Oh,” was his only response.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

“Uh yeah,” he stumbled, “I just thought you thought of me as more,” he laughed it off. At his sudden words you squeezed his hand and he looked at you and smiled in between tears.

Jun: You weren’t sure why he fell for her, in fact not even the media knew. The person in question was Jun’s fiancée, a seemingly cold hearted woman who only cared about herself and the status her soon-to-be husband brought her. Hell, she didn’t even seem interested in learning Jun’s native language. You tried to push these thoughts out of your head, you really did, while walking into the wedding hall and finding your place. It didn’t help that Jun had been your long time crush, he was so wonderful and kind, always caring more about others than himself, the complete opposite of his new bride.

Your thoughts were cut short though when the groom saw you and rushed over. He clearly wanted to greet you with a hug but looking behind him nervously and going for a smile and handshake instead. “Hey! I’m so glad you could make it,” his voice bright, although he continued in a whisper saying “really sorry you aren’t one of my best (wo)men but my lovely lady wouldn’t allow it.” You really had to bite your tongue before you said anything to cause a rift in your friendship, he truly was headover heels with this girl. “That’s fine,” you forced out a smile, “oh look at the time, you should go get in position!” He thanked you and made a comment about how he didn’t know how he could live without his human clock.

It had been over an hour and the bride had been a no-show, Jun was sitting down and so were the rest of the wedding party, you knew at this rate they wouldn’t be able to complete the ceremony and get married and it looked like he knew that too. After five more minutes of waiting he told everyone he would try calling her, excusing himself outside. After another five minutes of waiting and now Jun was no where in sight you went to find him. Once you found him you came across a heart wrenching scene, it was the man who you felt like you had know for eternity crying, throwing his ring like you would throw a ball for a dog to catch.

“Isn’t that expensive?” you chimed in, hoping you could help him in some way, “so what if it is? She clearly doesn’t care about me,” he sobbed, pulling you into a hug. You decided enough was enough and to stop being so proper, “I know it’s probably the worst thing to say at the moment but I’ll never understand why you love that woman.” Jun looked you in the eyes with a heartbroken look, “I guess she always was just a rebound from being scared to admit my feelings to you...”

Hoshi: Everytime they looked at each other they practically had love eyes, it was almost sickening. So when the news of their engagement broke, everyone was happy, or in your case feigning excitement. You were truly happy for Soonyoung, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that when you had met the Seventeen boys Hoshi had been your bias for months, and it came as no shock to you that you had a crush on him in an instant. He was even nicer and humble, not to mention handsome, than what was portrayed on camera. That was 5 years ago, and him and his fiancée had been dating for 3 years, known each other for 4, so you couldn’t help but be jealous of her.

You current situation wasn’t any better, in fact it was worse, she had brought you along to all the bridal appointments and were now helping her get ready because you were Soonyoung’s closest friend that was tight lipped enough to not tell everyone else about the planning. You sat behind her, trying to fix her hair into a neat fishtail braid, something you had learned from your friends back home, and were having to use all the self control you had to not ruin everything for her. Her dress was beautiful, her makeup was beautiful, everything about her was elegant today and you couldn’t help but feel some self pity about it. Having just completed the braid, a loud iPhone alarm goes off, signifying that it was go time.

You sat in the pews, looking at the bouquets that one could’ve mistaken for paintings and admiring the white wedding arch decorated with small clusters of baby’s breath and fake cabbage butterflies. The entire cathedral was a site to behold, but even the scenery didn’t take away from the bride’s beauty, wearing a mermaid dress with a long train of crinoline. Even though she looked stunning, there was a sense of discomfort on her face. Soonyoung could see it clear as day on her and mouthed to her ‘what’s wrong,’ she just shook her head and walked out, dropping her bouquet of white roses. The crowd gasped in shock, and looked at him with anticipation, expecting him to run after her but all he did was sit down next to you in the front row and sigh.

It had been twenty minutes of a stuffy uncomfortableness lingering in the air that guests began to come to terms with the fact the woman of the hour wasn’t coming back. As they left in droves, your best friend turned from his position of counting the tiles by his feet to look at you. “Y/N,” he sighed, “do you want to go on a date?” his eyes widened at his own suggestion, “I’m not using you as a rebound if that’s what you think, I just know that you’ve had a crush on me since we’ve met and really I’ve come to really appreciate you,” he trailed off. You smiled and held his hand, nodding your head to silently agree.

(Gay) Wonwoo: You were happy he was happy, that was true, but you upset that the reason he was so happy was because he was marrying someone other than you. They made a cute couple, no one would deny it, not even you, but it was still hard to have your long-term crush not recognize your feelings.

It was the day of the wedding, you were getting ready after purchasing the attire you planned on wearing tonight, grief clearly making your time management skills go out the window.

“If Wonwoo was here he would’ve reminded me to get it earlier,” you sighed. He truly was your lifeline whenever life got stressful, always reminding you to eat and even shower, often times he would tell you to bring your laundry over so you could do it together and as a bonus you wouldn’t have to pay for it like you normally would. It hadn’t been like that in awhile, making you crave it even more. In fact, he didn’t really speak to you after his boyfriend proposed to him, it was like he wanted to distance himself from you. It was hard focusing on making yourself look presentable with all these thoughts floating around in your head, but you managed to do so on time, and putting the last finishing touches on your hair you got your wallet and/or purse and walked out the door, not forgetting to lock it or else your now distant best friend would scold you.

The wedding was being held at a fancy hotel, complete with valet and a young blonde woman greeting all the guests and checking to make sure they were actually invited. After she had confirmed you belonged here, she gave you directions to the banquet hall the ceremony was taking place. As soon as you walked in you knew you were in the right place, watching as Jeonghan took out the camera he was toting around and zoomed in on a plate of ham, BooSeokSoon rooting him on. You were making your way over to them before a light tap on your right shoulder alerted you that someone wanted your attention.

Turning around you find Wonwoo, looking nervous and a little red, “how do I look?” he asked shyly. He was clad in black dress pants with a blue dress shirt and a suit jacket matching his pants, his hair was curly and he had on those iconic circular glasses instead of his regular contacts.

“Wonder-fabulous,” you sounded breathless. He giggled at your choice of words, and hid his face under his hand, trying to instinctively bundle up his shirt material to make those cute sweater paws you fell in love with. You stood like that for a moment, just staring at each other and smiling before he was called over by the aforementioned Ham Recorders.

You watched him rush over there and sigh when he was out of ear shot. It was nice the whole event was informal since no one could officiate their wedding and make it legal but at the same time it was even more difficult as this meant you got to interact with your best friend more than in an official ceremony.

You made your way to the buffet only to be surprised when you arrived and saw who the head that was talking to your mutual friends.

“Oh, I didn’t know Wonwoo invited you,” the fiancé said. It’s not that you two had any true bad blood in between you, it’s just that both of you couldn’t stand each other but tried to get along for your friend’s sake. He quickly excused himself and you were left alone again, happy to gather your food.

You had just begun eating when the blonde lady from the front of the hotel came up to you and asked if you had seen the second groom, you looked confused and she said that he was last seen with you. You said no and she left to tell Wonwoo the bad news. You watched her leave and saw that after she told him he made a b-line straight for you.

He looked surprisingly calm for the situation he was in, something normal for him but you would’ve thought even something like this would make him crack. It wasn’t until he whispered into your ear “it’s okay if he left, I’ve got you and that’s all I need,” before sending a discreet wink.

Woozi: “Hey, how are you holding up?” You really didn’t know why you even bothered to ask, his ex fiancée had left him at the altar, who would be okay after that experience? Too caught up in your thoughts you didn’t hear the furious scribbling stop until you heard a sound of indifference come from Jihoon.

“Look, I know that whenever you’re dealing with something you throw yourself into your work but please, talk to me,” you told him as you tip toed over. He put his pencil down and looked at you after you sat down beside him, the pain in his face evident. “I just don’t feel like talking about it right now,” he sighed. Woozi was always strong headed so you knew that trying to pry his lips open would never work, settling on putting your chin on his shoulder as he went back to work. He pushed his notebook away and got out his computer, opening up whatever program he used to make music, he had told you several times but you had already forgotten.

You watched him as he diligently worked, not saying anything. The song was a ballad, that you could tell just from the instruments he was using and the slow pace of the song. He had played the small clip so many times in the past hour, making minor adjustments each play, that you would surely remember the part for the rest of your life.

Bored out of your mind you took a look at his opened notebook and read the lyrics, trying to picture how he would fit them into the song. You were so focused on trying to imagine the final product that you almost didn’t see the message of the song, it was about his situation but there was a twist, his true soulmate was there trying to comfort him. You began to softly smile, still looking at his chicken scratch handwriting. Jihoon must’ve noticed this and began blushing a bright pink hue.

“Is this about us?” you asked quietly, he just nodded at you and looked away with a grin on his face.

Dokyeom: It was currently raining, but that wasn’t the thing that had dampened Seokmin’s mood, in fact “dampened” wasn’t even a good word for it, his mood was completely drenched by the fact he had just found out the woman he was supposed to marry had been cheating on him since they had gotten engaged. Really, the rain just added to his already sour emotions.

You had your arm around him as he recounted all the times she had acted suspiciously, light tears coming out. You looked around and saw everyone cleaning up and knowing he had always been a busy body with too much energy you suggested you both help. He didn’t even bother to look at you as he shook his head, eyes transfixed on the ground. “I need someone to make it fun though,” you trailed off, hoping he would agree. Seokmin let out a sigh and got up before shuffling over to a chair. You hadn’t known him to be religious but it looked as if he were praying, and so you decided not to disturb him again.

You picked up a flower arrangement, admiring it, and took it over to a woman who seemed to have become the de facto florist. “I’ve never seen him like this before,” she whispered to you, all you could do was nod in agreement. Seeing that, she only gave you a sympathetic grin and pointed over to the row of chairs Seokmin was sitting in, asking you to take off the decorations on the back of them.

You took the white sheets with brightly coloured ribbon off one by one, resting them in the crease of your arm. Once you got to Dokyeom you tried to carefully take off the decor without disturbing him but he piped up before you could even touch it, “can I admit something? And promise not to run away,” he said in shaky voice.

Confused, you responded, “I promise.”

“I love you Y/N”

Mingyu: You got off the bus, bidding a small “thank you” to the driver and made your way to the Seventeen dorm. Very few members were still living there, in fact it was barely a dorm anymore, more just a few roommates living together but that’s where you hoped to find Mingyu as he wasn’t at his house. He had been left at the alter a couple of weeks back and was now very distraught, the last time you had seen him he wouldn’t stop cleaning your house even though you had invited him over to relax. He was always like that, he liked to clean and found it reduced his stress, a very desirable trait in a partner. That wasn’t his only desirable trait though, or at least you thought so, he was tall and handsome, plus he knew how to cook, true husband material.

The walk was fairly short, although the cool spring weather you hadn’t dressed for made it feel like an eternity. You arrived at the apartment complex and punched in their number, a loud bzzz! coming from the machine to alert you had been allowed access. You walked up the five flights of stairs, even though they now lived in Gangnam the elevator seemed to be always broken. Winded, you knocked on their door to have Jeonghan greet you, it was only him, Vernon, Seungkwan and Jun, everyone else had moved out because they wanted more space and privacy, like Minghao, or they had a spouse, like Seungcheol who got married last fall. All the remaining boys had their reasons for staying, and with so few people left everyone had their own room.

“Looking for Mingyu?” Jeonghan asked, you nodded, “he’s in Vernon’s bedroom cleaning. I miss having him do all the chores sometimes, it’s just too bad it has to be for such a sad reason.”

You made your way to Hansol’s room, giving Seungkwan a short wave since he was having a conversation with someone you presumed to be from Jeju as he was speaking in dialect. You got to the back room and knocked, the owner answering the door. “Mingyu,” Vernon looked back in his direction, “Y/N is here.”

“Oh Y/N! I’m so glad you’re here, you can help me orgina-“ you cut him off, “Mingyu, I think you should take a break.”

He pushed the shirts he had been folding and looked at you, you looked back and heard the door close quietly. When he heard the door as well he began to look nervous, prompting you to ask him if he was okay.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, you raised your eyebrows in suspicion, “okay maybe I’m not- but it’s not for the reason you think.”

“Oh?” was the only answer your brain could form, “I guess it’s because I’m here, alone with you. You know after she left me I took a moment to myself and I realized you’ve always been there for me you know? And I’m so thankful for that and I-“

“Mingyu, is this a confession?” you asked him, shocked. He shyly smiled and nodded.

Minghao: They has absolutely nothing in common and had you not known better you would’ve thought it was an arranaged marriage. It didn’t even seem like they were in love really, they spent all their time apart, her with her friends and Minghao with you. His fiancée didn’t seem to mind though, as she spent many hours with people she was attracted to.

It came as no shock that when she had called off the wedding just days before hand and he didn’t seem phased, although the attendees and media sure as hell were. Now here you were, sitting on the couch in his living room as he scrolled through his phone. You stared at him, wondering how he remained so stone faced.

“Staring isn’t polite Y/N,” he said with a cheeky grin, still on his cell phone, you rolled your eyes at his comment and he laughed, shaking the whole house in a pleasant way. Clearly, he was paying some sort of attention to you.

“I just don’t get how you can be so unaffected, she left you days before the wedding for God’s sake,” you half mumbled, taking a sip of your water with lemon and ice, he only shrugged at you and proceeded to put his phone down. It looked like he desperately wanted to say something but was holding back.

Finally,he cut the silence, “I guess it’s just easy when you’re actually in love with someone else,” he said, as if it were a fact even the old lady down the road would know. You raised your eyebrows at his comment and asked who. As soon as you asked him he flushed a bright red, trying to divert the topic but only nonsense words would come out of his mouth. Having enough after about thirty seconds of him looking like a fish out of water you picked up your phone and began scrolling through social media.

You heard Minghao take a deep breath so you looked up, only to meet his eyes when he said “I’m in love with you.”

(Gay) Seungkwan: You and Seungkwan had practically been best friends since the second you met, his energetic extroverted personality drawing you in. You had been there for all the ups and downs life threw at him, including dating, so when he told you he was dating his now fiancé you were estatic. Time went on and the two of them got closer and closer, but seeing them like that sparked something in you that had you feeling guilty for the past four years, you fell in love with your best friend. You knew you would never act on the feelings but it pained you to see the two together, this eventually ended up with you acting cold and distant when they were together, which was often.

When the news of the engagement came to light, Seungkwan immediately asked you to be his best man/woman/gnc person. Hearing this, you cried for the entire night. Feeling foolish and knowing it would absolutely break his ever sensitive heart, you agreed. You might have said no had it not been for how delicate he was to his friends and family. Little to both your knowledge that being moral support and attending the fittings wouldn’t be the end of your work, because now you were searching the hotel frantically for a missing man and listening to the constant ringing of a phone trying to contact a person who clearly didn’t want to be found.

Having turned the entire place upside down, and nearly on the brink of tears you had to return to one of the best people you knew and tell him that his fiancé went MIA. You came into the room to find Seungkwan, puffy and red, being comforted by his mother. As soon as he saw your face he knew and began ugly crying. You rushed over and he pulled you into the biggest bear hug while you whisper countless apologies in his ears. After what felt like an eternity you let go of each other to find the room had completely dispersed, leaving only concerned party goers talking to hotel staff. At this point you knew you had to take advantage of the situation and said “I’m so sorry this happened to you, but just know I love you,” purposefully vague. He let out the first smile of the night and told you he loved you too, in whatever way you wanted him to.

Vernon: To say the entire thing was a shit show was a huge understatement, in fact you weren’t sure there were any words that could describe what had just went down. It had started off lovely, a small church in Miami overlooking the water. The two of them had decided on the location as none of Hansol’s American family knew Korean and English was the international language. His fiancée had worn a beautiful princess dress, which she managed to spill champagne on while getting ready for for the wedding, no big deal and she clearly didn’t care since she was already drunk off her ass. Next came the actual event, she had staggered down the aisle, holding onto her father for support, him looking pissed which at the time you assumed was because his little girl was drunk even before the reception. Everything was going fairly well after that, although the fiancée did slur her words quite often but that wasn’t even a problem in comparison to what happened when the priest asked if there were any objections. As soon as he had finished his sentence an old woman, who You later found out to be the bride’s mother yelled throughout the room that she didn’t want her precious daughter marrying some “foreigner.” Before Hansol even had time to object that he was more Korean than American his fiancée agreed and left with her parents.

The sound of Vernon crushing the beer can he had been drinking brought you back to reality and made you look at him. He opened his mouth for a few seconds and took a deep breath in, “hey can I tell you something?” You slightly smiled at him and nodded, “anytime.” He closed his eyes and paused for a moment, “maybe it’s best she left because I still haven’t gotten over my feelings for you,” this statement made your heart race at 100 miles per hour and your face light up with elation, “is that so?” you questioned. “Uh yeah, I-I hope that’s okay,” he stated in a startled tone, beginning to look away, before he could though you caught his chin and just stared at him with a smile, unable to form words.

(Gay) Dino: It had just been revealed that the man Chan was supposed to marry, although unofficially, was already married to a woman. The entire crowd was gobsmacked and silent, including the groom who wasn’t cheating. The air was heavy, like the maximum of 300 people had a 1000 in it. It made sense though, everyone had just watched the man that had lied and quite possibly cheated walk out of the wedding hall after revealing such a revelation.

You had always known Chan had a bit of a temper, at times it could even be attractive, but he only made things worse when he said “that’s fine! I love someone else anyways!” to his ex fiancé while he was leaving. Everyone was uncomfortable, but something supernatural was forcing them to stay. After about fifteen minutes, when everyone had come back down to earth, people started to quietly pack up and leave.

Once all the guests had left Dino was just standing there, staring at the ground lifeless like a porcelain doll. You hadn’t left as you thought it would be quiet rude to leave someone so vulnerable, not to mention he was your best friend. You began walking up to him and he started to slowly function, but only in a robotic manner. Taking his shoulders you guide him to sit down while he was still staring at the floor.

Once you’re both in a more comfortable position he looks at you and pipes up, “you know, I wasn’t lying when I said I loved someone else.”

You looked at him, nearly uncomfortable at his confession and tried to tell him through body language to go on. Chan took the hint, “um- well I don’t know if you want to hear it,” he tried laughing it off.

“Well you can’t just tell me that bombshell and not expect me to ask questions,” you said in a quieter than usual whisper, almost as if you were trying to keep the wind outside from hearing you both.

“Well, you’re the ‘someone else’ I’m talking about.”

#seventeen reactions #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen

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catholicartistsnyc · 4 years

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Meet Kyra Matsui

KYRA MATSUI is a Toronto, Canada-based artist and jewelry designer. You can find her work at her website Iron Lace Design, her Etsy shop, and Facebook.

Kyra spoke to the Catholic Artist Connection about her work:

I live in Toronto, Canada. I've lived here my whole life aside from college in Ottawa. I actually live in the house where I grew up. I inherited it from my parents.

I am an artist who is a Catholic. I don't specifically call myself a Catholic artist because my work isn't primarily religious. My mission, as I see it, is to do the work that I am good at, and to serve it as well as I can. There's a bit in one of Madeleine L'Engle's journals about the importance of not allowing yourself and your worries about your inadequacy to interfere in serving the work that you are doing. That has been very helpful in vanquishing fear and ego.

Where have I found support in the Church? Primarily online. I'm a convert, and the people supporting me through and after my conversion were almost all in online communities. I've formed very strong friendships and community through groups of lay people, primarily. I read a lot - I came to the Church through reading, and one of the things that really attracted me was the witness of Catholic writers, especially Flannery O'Connor and Thomas Merton and the Desert Fathers.

I still feel very new as a working artist. I've only been selling my work for about five years, and those years have been personally tumultuous, so I don't have a strong sense of that yet. I haven't met anyone yet who is doing the kind of jewelry that I make, so I've had to effectively invent my own apprenticeship. I had a background in amateur costume history - I fell in love with costume history when I was a teenager - and I've dabbled in fibre art, so that's the skill set I'm drawing upon, treating chainmail like fabric. So I have my eye on some jewelry design and metalworking courses, but I need both the time and the money to take them. Eventually!

Where do I find spiritual fulfillment? At Mass, and in prayer and conversation with friends. I attend Mass at St. Michael's Basilica downtown when I'm able - I have four special needs children and I'm a single mother, so regular attendance is difficult.

Where do I find artistic fulfillment? I'm still quite new as a working artist, but I spend a lot of time at the Royal Ontario Museum, and at the Art Gallery and the research library. In the past couple of years, I've been able to fly out to go to the Met and the MFA in Boston, and that was glorious.

What is my daily spiritual practice? I slide in and out of various types. I usually manage the morning offering, I have done the morning and evening Psalms, and I'm in a messaging prayer group with a few other women of deep faith, and we trade prayer requests on and off throughout the day.

Daily artistic practice? As I mentioned, I'm a working mother, so I'm really good at working in short bursts and with frequent interruptions. My craft is quite physically demanding, so I can only do a maximum of four hours per day. The rest is experimenting, playing with new techniques, research, administration and marketing.

My perfect day would be to go see an amazing display at a gallery or spend a few hours researching historical costume and jewelry, and then come home and spend a few hours at my workbench trying out new designs. I love it. I think the things that are most important to an artist are exposure - to be in conversation with research or art or people who inspire you - and play. Holy leisure, the time when you are really absorbed in trying things that interest you, and pushing at yourself to develop new skills.

How do I financially support my artistic career? As I said above, I have a house because I inherited it. I was my parents' only child, and the house passed to me when they died a few years ago. I'm very grateful. Otherwise I couldn't afford to live in Toronto - it's a very expensive city.

I support us about half with my work and half through a government system that provides children's caregivers with financial aid, called the Child Tax Benefit. My oldest has multiple disabilities and we receive a stipend to help with his care. Business is continuing to grow, and I'm hoping to be able to fully support us within a couple of years.

I sort of fell into working by accident - I had been active in the Catholic blogging community ten or twenty years ago, and I had made a lot of friends, so when I started selling things I made, I had contacts who would help. It's been largely word of mouth. I recommend both having a strong online presence (web page, instagram, Facebook) and being ready to talk to people about what you do.

If you are an artist in Toronto, the ROM and the AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario) both have relatively inexpensive memberships, and they're a wonderful way to see a lot of beautiful things. Toronto is littered with great coffee shops and brew pubs and bars. I like C'Est What! and Northwood and Bar Raval, and I hole up at the Toronto Reference Library for hours. I'm told the Robarts Library at University of Toronto is fantastic, and I'm planning on going once things start to reopen. There's a bunch of options for co working spaces and classes through Craft Ontario - I was just about to go down and look before the pandemic happened. Soon.

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rorykillmore · 4 years

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and this one is for @mikexxwheeler who asked for something with mike and villanelle, who were a BLAST to go back and write for since it’s been a while since we rped them together

merry christmas jace!!! consistently our friendship is one of the things that brightens up my life the most, and i wanted to tell you how much i appreciate you just... reaching out to me and maintaining that even during the times when we’re not actively writing together or anything. even if it’s just one of our silly memes or a joke about whatever crazy thing a politician did recently (or linking the star wars holiday special in its entirety, which of course we then proceed to drop everything and watch.) it always just. instantly lifts my mood to get a message from you, and being friends with you is one of the things i’ve treasured most over the years. as carrie fisher would say... [weird emotional musical number set to the tune of the star wars theme]

She’s not the kind of person who drops ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ into her internal monologue without actually preparing for the worst that could happen. She isn’t stupid.

“Are you sure you do not want to be seeing Star Wars, or something boys your age should like?” Villanelle asks conversationally as she and Mike wait in the concessions line outside the movie theater. “Apparently there’s a new one out.”

“Yeah, but I heard it sucks,” Mike tells her with thinly veiled disdain. “They made the main character, like, the granddaughter of Palpatine, or something.”

“Which one is Palpatine?” asks Villanelle, who hasn’t seen a Star Wars movie since she was about twelve. “Wait -- is he -- ?”

Mike nods grimly, and Villanelle throws back her head and cackles in abject disgust.

“It’s not funny. It’s gross.”

“It is really gross. I’m laughing as a coping mechanism.” Shaking off any unwanted thoughts of crusty old men fucking, Villanelle squints down at the ticket she’s holding. “So what is this movie we’re seeing? ‘Demons’?”

“Yeah, it’s a re-release of an old one. A horror movie, I think. It actually came out in like, 1985, I think, so I just missed it.”

Villanelle cocks her head thoughtfully to one side. “The horror movies that came out in the 80′s were the best. They were so campy and stupid.”

Mike laughs. “Yeah, I figured it’d be fun.” And then his smirk turns into a more genuine smile. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Villanelle shrugs and takes a sip of her soda. “This is what friends do, right?”

It isn’t as rhetorical a question as it sounds, but Villanelle is pretty sure of the answer, at least. Movie nights are nice, normal things that people do. Even she isn’t compelled to mess this up too badly in the course of only a couple of hours. So her aside, what could possibly go wrong?

They enter the theater together, snacks and drinks in hand, and Villanelle barely pays attention to the woman in the shiny silver mask who hisses “Ow!” as she accidentally cuts the side of her face.

---

Really, it’s no wonder that Mike barely had to bribe her to tag along. Villanelle likes movies. She’s always liked movies. And this one is the perfect combination of campy and gory, so she is comfortably enjoying herself right up until the scene where one of their characters cuts their face on a weird looking demon mask -- and proceeds to begin to turn into a demon themselves.

“You know, this is basically just a zombie movie,” Villanelle leans over to murmur to Mike. “They probably just called it ‘Demons’ because Italians are so Catholic.”

But Mike is busy frowning at the screen, surprisingly unimpressed by the gnarly display of body horror taking place in front of him. “Wasn’t there a lady out in the lobby who cut her face on a mask like that?”

“Was there?” Villanelle raises her eyebrows in surprise. She does vaguely remember it now that Mike has brought it up, but she shrugs. “Probably just part of the immersive experience.”

Teenagers. So easily spooked by movies like these.

“Hey. What the hell happened to Rosemary?” A guy in the row in front of them growls, stoking the fires of Mike’s unease.

“I’m pretty sure that was where she was sitting, too. She’s missing!”

It is a slightly... strange coincidence, but Villanelle only twists around in her seat briefly to make sure they’re not attracting any attention. “She probably just went to the bathroom. Relax.”

“Go check.”

“What?”

“Villanelle, if we’re about to get stuck in the middle of a demonic apocalypse, we’d better get a jump on it.”

Villanelle grimaces in irritation, but reminds herself that Mike has survived the odd supernatural possibly-apocalyptic scenario on occasion before. She needs a refill, anyway. “Fine. But you are coming with me.”

“I can’t go into the girls’ restroom,” Mike protests.

“You can wait outside. Just in case I get turned into a demon, and it’s up to you to warn the rest of the world.” Villanelle gets up and starts inching her way out of the aisle without waiting for an answer. It isn’t long before she hears Mike shuffling behind her, following as she knew he would, ever incapable of resisting a taste of adventure even if it is under completely ridiculous circumstances.

Villanelle never would have imagined she’d have anything in common with Mike Wheeler, of all people. But sometimes she thinks he’s been through so much that at the end of the day - even if he hasn’t yet admitted it to himself - he wouldn’t ever be able to settle for a normal life again either. So in that way, they are the same.

“Arm yourself,” Villanelle tells him as they reach the lobby, only half-joking. She gets a flat look in return, but then Mike does pick up a broom a janitor left propped up against the side of the wall, raising his eyebrows at her as if to say ‘happy?’

Villanelle gives him a cheeky little thumbs up before she steps into the women’s restroom. There is no need for her to arm herself, because - as always - she has come prepared, a knife strapped to her ankle, a tiny hand-sized pistol tucked into her jacket lining.

(She’s not the kind of person who drops ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ into her internal monologue without actually preparing for the worst that could happen. She isn’t stupid.)

But when she steps into restroom, everything seems calm, almost to her vague disappointment. What has she become, if she is very nearly craving the unlikely possibility of demonic mass hysteria? She misses the good old, simple days. When she was content to get her adrenaline rush by slashing a few throats, and never stretched her imagination unreasonable lengths beyond that.

There is a woman standing in front of one of the sink mirrors. Villanelle assumes she must be Rosemary, if the way she is dabbing at her face is any indication. The cut on the side of her cheek looks normal, and Villanelle decides she’ll just get a quick closer look before delivering the all-clear to Mike.

“Do you need a band-aid for that?” Villanelle asks, sidling up and quickly slipping into Girl Talk Mode. “I think I have one in my purse...”

“That’d be great,” Rosemary says with a relieved smile, and now that Villanelle is closer she notices... there’s an unusual amount of blood dripping down her jaw, for a wound that seems comparatively shallow. “It’s weird, I just can’t get it to stop bleeding.”

Fortunately, Villanelle hadn’t been bluffing, and really does have a bandage in her purse. She fishes it out and offers it to the other woman, watching closely as Rosemary uses it to cover the wound and...

...Within seconds, it bleeds right through.

Okay. That is definitely not normal.

“Mike?” Villanelle calls back out into the lobby. “I thiiink we have a problem.”

“What’s happening?” Mike calls back to her, but Villanelle doesn’t answer him right away. She’s too busy watching in growing, morbid fascination and disgust as the wound starts to pulse and throb, like there is something under Rosemary’s skin burrowing its way to the surface to get out.

“Mike,” she calls more insistently.

“What! I can’t come in there!”

“Oh my god, it’s not like there is a force field, or something --” But Villanelle’s retort breaks off into a horrified shriek as the wound on the side of Rosemary’s face explodes.

“Villanelle!”

This time, throwing all caution to the winds and evidently deciding that his dignity is not as important as Villanelle’s life, Mike comes rushing into the restroom just as Villanelle is flattening herself against the wall to avoid the worst of the oozing... pus... no, she does not want to even describe it internally.

“What’s happening to her?! Is she --”

Rosemary’s screams turn feral, and Villanelle has to interrupt Mike’s question to pull him out of the way as she slashes at him with... are those claws?

“It’s the movie! I fucking told you it was just like the movie!” Mike shouts. Rosemary rounds on them again with wild, animalistic yellow eyes, and Mike... promptly smacks her right in the face with the broom handle. Her neck snaps back at an unnatural angle.

“Ha!” Villanelle laughs, recovering in the midst of all this chaos. “Nice hit.”

“Thanks. Wait, I mean -- what do we do?!”

“Run?” Villanelle guesses, unsure if there is any way to actually kill this thing. Rosemary’s seems to be snapping her neck back to its normal position, and neither of them stayed in the theater long enough to know if the demons had any significant weaknesses.

Mike spares a moment to shoot her a frantic look. “But she’ll get out and spread the virus to other people!”

That sounds like their problem, Villanelle wants to say, although she supposes she can easily enough see how a supernatural pandemic might eventually become her problem as well.

Rosemary lets out an unearthly snarl and lunges forward again. It is not so much the threat of being scratched and turned, or at least dismembered, that makes Villanelle react (although that alone is obviously enough) -- as does the sight of her wide, gaping jaws. And all that slimy pus stuff she’s drooling everywhere.

“That is fucking disgusting,” Villanelle tells her, before pulling out her pistol and firing three close range shots into the woman’s head.

It... works. Effectively. As one might expect.

Rosemary stumbles back and falls into a pool of her own blood, twitching unpleasantly in what seems to be a round of dying spasms. Villanelle fires one more head shot, just to make sure.

“O-okay. I think you got her.” Mike sounds slightly shaken, and it’s only then that she remembers that she just brutally shot a person right in front of him. Then again, she is not really sure Rosemary counted as a ‘person’ at time time. Never the less, Villanelle lowers her gun and turns so that she’s at least half-obscuring Mike’s view of the body.

“That was kind of easy.” She scrunches her nose up a bit.

Mike takes another steadying breath, but he’s doing a better job of composing himself than she might have expected. “...Yeah. Uh. I think we maybe just... prevented an apocalypse?”

Villanelle considers that for a couple of seconds. It almost feels kind of anticlimactic. “Huh,” she finally says with a shrug. “Guess I will add it to my resume. Stop it at patient zero, that’s what I always say.” Or what she would always say, if she’d ever been involved in any humanity-threatening spread of disease before now.

“Is now a good time to say ‘I told you so?’” Mike quips in return, and Villanelle gives him a passive-aggressive (but also sort of playful) shoulder check as she passes on her way to the restroom’s exit.

“I guess we call the police. And they can call in Hazmat people to clean up the body, or something.” Already, she’s kind of wondering how exactly they’re going to explain the weird, meta experience of watching a movie and then having that movie repeat itself in real life. Then again, it’s probably par for the course for the cops around here, by now.

“Wait,” Mike says suddenly. “What about the mask?”

Ah. He’s right, she realizes, following his gaze over to the lobby display where the mask still sits. The apparent source of the virus, if the movie lore holds up.

“Well, we have gotten this far by being genre savvy, so I don’t think we should have it over to the police,” she muses.

“Yeah, no way. One of them’ll cut themselves while they’re joking around, or something, and infect the whole police station. Always happens.”

“So... we keep it?” Villanelle tries to run through some other, smarter possibilities in her head. “Burn it? Bury it? Throw it into a volcano? We could do that. There’s one out in the Prehistoric Wilds.”

Mike starts to grin, and Villanelle squints at him suspiciously. “What is so funny?”

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Just... the volcano thing. It’s just like in Lord of the Rings.”

Villanelle pulls up short as their very first conversation comes ebbing back to her. Unexpectedly, what accompanies it is a trace of amused warmth. And she grins back at him briefly. “Guess we’ve come full circle.”

“We really have.”

Villanelle makes a note to get out of there before he remembers to make a communism joke.

#im not going to spoil what the concept of this fic actually is but when you read it #ask yourself: how could i not?#fic #christmas gifts #OH ALSO I ALMOST FORGOT #body horror cw #?????

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chonacatibog · 4 years

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Commitments: Lent 2020

Photo from IG:@chonacatibog: “ When it comes to my small #IndoorGarden, it's always a satisfaction when i see my rescued plants regrowing and doing much better than ever! 🌱🌿 ”

I was in my second, or third year in college when I decided to tear the walls down that kept me from God, the walls that stood boxing Him in--the very same walls that maybe I did build influenced by society, the world, maybe my family and friends, and probably even the Church.

Coming from a family who practiced the Catholic religion quite seriously, I still wouldn’t call myself religious then. (I still prefer not to be called religious today, though!) I went to Church on a weekly basis. I took down notes during religion classes and performed well during exams. I enjoyed whenever my grandparents invited their friends over and did their regular activities as a CFC household. (I genuinely miss those--as of writing!) I enjoyed the mass songs taught to me by my Titos and Titas never fully understanding what the songs meant. And when my parents separated, I was taught that God was not pleased because it’s a violation, a disrespect, or something to that effect, to the Sacrament of Marriage. I went to a semi-Catholic school in high school and was part of quite a prayerful community. I prayed, sure. I prayed with my family. And I was taught at a very young age that whenever two or more are gathered in prayer, Christ is there with them. (Matthew 18:20). So I did pray. I understood then that when I needed help with something, I only had to pray and ask God. I have memorized a lot of Catholic prayers but never truly knowing what they really meant. I have some Bible Verses memorized as well, and sometimes used them--for the benefit of none other than me--but mostly, I’ve learned, they’re taken out of context.

But it wasn’t actually until God surrounded me with people who are actually qualified to be called His disciples that I truly, truly, truly understood: I know nothing about who the Lord really is!

Looking back, I still thank Him for placing these people in my life. Some I’ve already lost in touch with; some remained and are still actually my good friends!

I think I just also have to mention that not all these people are from the same religion as mine yet they illuminate the light of God, no doubt. And if there’s anything I’ve learned from all those years of seeking and getting to know Him, it’s that He shouldn’t be caged in a religion, in a practice. I understood He’s far greater than that. He is in every person I meet and encounter who practices love, especially when it’s just so hard to love. Just as Christ did. And just as He still always does up until this very time, this very moment.

Love. God is Love.

And for this year’s lent, my commitment would be to learn more about love by practicing love, always. To everyone. At any given time.

I know myself and I know it’s not going to be an easy task.

Ever since I began my commitment and my declaration (to self) that I am a child of God and that I love Him above anything else in this world, I became more conscious of the things I’m doing, and feeling, and thinking. Is it right to feel this way? Is this the right thing to do? It is not an easy task and getting an answer isn’t always one plus one equals two. I have learned that the world is not black and white and there’s actually a blurry line between right and wrong.

Although I have always tried to be conscious of the things I do, many many times I still fail to follow Him. I am an impatient person. I judge other people, sometimes way too quickly, whenever I feel like they’re standing on a wrong belief. Sometimes, I find it hard to listen. And most of the time, I let my pride eat me, totally consumed, instead of the other way around. At the end of the day, I am still a disappointing, always-sinning, failure. And although I think I could have had a total control over my actions, it’s a cycle that almost never ends. And it doesn’t help that I keep forgetting that each time I feel frustrated, I beg for forgiveness and pray that He grants me with a heart just like His.

---

Just a few weeks and days ago, the entire Luzon has been placed under an Enhanced Community Quarantine as a safety measure against the COVID-19 virus outbreak. What a time of great uncertainty!

While I am privileged to have a roof above my head and resources that will help us get through these troubling times, I acknowledge the fact that there are brothers and sisters out there who are forced to risk their lives everyday to serve fellow neighbors, countrymen, and their families. I’d like to think there’s a reason why God has placed this burden on our shoulders just in time for Lent. I am not saying that it is a reason to celebrate, but it is a reason to slow down, grow much much much stronger in prayer, remain vigilant and in search for Truth.

Provided the many painful news we receive everyday, I have been in such a crazy emotional roller-coaster ride--the emotions being mostly negative, by the way. I hear news about increase in the number of cases, and I get anxious. I hear news about the government’s incompetence, and I’m angry. I hear news about other people’s indifference, and I’m furious. I hear news about fellow Pinoys abused and just neglected during these times, and I’m just heartbroken.

I notice, once again, that my feelings lead me to becoming a disappointing, always-sinning, failure. I confess that I have spoken against other people. I refused to listen. I refused to put my shoes in their shoes to maybe look around where they’re coming from. Thinking about those things now, I also confess I still have this little voice in my head telling me “those things are straight-up, unadulterated, absolutely wrong and there’s nothing to even consider about it, not worth listening to!” I try to justify how I feel by telling myself “God wouldn’t like it either!”--so it’s just right to be angry at these people, forget about your relationships with them ‘cause they are not worth your time and understanding!

Awful. Just awful. God wouldn’t like that either.

This Lent, I confess I have committed all these mistakes and that these were all made out of the lack of love. I always pray for God to help me become more like Him, less like me. And while I know God always wants to help me with this, I am the one who wanders away. I commit, and then I forget.

So today, I am going back to keeping a journal. Writing, anyway, has always helped me think better. For example, before I created this entry, I didn’t think I’d write this much!

Moving forward--and there’s nowhere else to go but forward, the question to answer is: What is love? How would Christ exhibit love at a situation like this? How do you best practice love?

Let’s see what God has to say.

Dear Lord,

Thank you for reaching out to me the past days. You know how weary my heart is now. And how eager I am to finally change my ways--especially now that, I think, the world needs it more. Forgive me for all the mistakes I have made.

Teach me Lord to see things the way You see them. How do I best practice love at these times, Lord?

#love #christ #jesus christ #catholic #lentenseason

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vipclifford · 5 years

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dazed and confused pt.4

A/N: this was very self indulgent but idc

Calum’s fingers bounced upon the keyboard, none being pressed, leaving the document blank before his eyes. His copy of Les Miserables laid open by the side of his laptop, endless annotations and highlights filling up the novel. He flicked through its pages, looking for a suitable topic to write his essay about. Literature was fucking difficult.

Most thought to focus on the revolution, or Valjean’s character development over the chapters, but Calum wanted something else. Something creative. Something to show his professor he was truly invested in the course.

His phone buzzed, Calum’s brows furrowing st the sound. He was certain he had turned the sound off as an attempt to remove distractions. On the screen was a message from his mother. His daily Bible quote.

Calum sighed, hand rubbing over his face before setting the phone back down where he found it. He still hadn’t told his mother about Noah.

It was only natural, he thought. His mother was a devout catholic, attending mass every Sunday morning and helping out her Christian community whenever she could. A necklace with a wooden cross rested permanently on her collarbone. Growing up, his mother had started a small group with her close friends who had children around his age, making them meet weekly to discuss the word of God. He didn’t hate it, having eventually found friendship between the other teenagers in the group. It just wasn’t his favourite thing to do.

But now Calum was in college and he had just turned 19, and he felt so different from the young boy who had his communion for the first time.

He knew that his mother finding out about Noah would shatter her heart. He knew of the disappointment and shame he would bring onto his family. He knew that it could also sever the ties he had with them. He would be alone.

“Calum,” Michael spoke excitedly as he barged into his room. “My bro, my best friend, the coolest guy I know.”

“What do you want,” he replied monotonously, not looking up from the pages of his book. He was clever enough to see through his endless string of compliments.

“Crystal’s coming over tonight,” he explained, sitting down on the edge of his roommate’s bed. “So, you know. I think you might rather sleep somewhere else tonight, if you know what I mean,” Michael smirked, meeting Calum’s unamused look.

“You guys are like rabbits,” he complained, nose scrunching up in disgust .

“Trust me when I say that if you liked women you’d understand.” Calum simply rolled his eyes at his words, saving his blank word document before closing his laptop. “So?”

“I could probably crash at Noah’s if he’s not busy, I don’t know,” he shrugged, grabbing his phone. He swiped left on the notification from his mother, leaving his lockscreen on display. It was a picture of himself and Noah. His lips were happily pressed against Noah’s cheek as his boyfriend laughed about something he couldn’t quite remember. It was one of his favourite pictures.

“He’s literally in love with you, of course he’ll let you stay over,” Michael said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was.

“No he’s not,” Calum answered all too quickly. It was Michael’s turn to roll his own eyes, unwilling to listen to his weekly speech about how much he rejected love. How it’s all just chemicals in the brain, loading you up with enough serotonin to make you delusional.

“Whatever, just piss off tonight, yeah?”

Calum twirled the metal spoon mechanically around in his cup of coffee. It was barely considered a coffee, for it was loaded up with enough milk and sugar to mask its bitter taste. Whatever Noah was talking about was going in one ear and out of the other, completely merging into background noise. Instead he watched the small tornado in his drink.

“You alright?”

He looked up to meet concerned eyes staring back at him. Calum nodded, taking a sip from the hot drink. ‘Still bitter,’ he thought, nose scrunching up slightly in disgust.

“My mind is just elsewhere, sorry,” he explained with a careless shrug, eyes scanning their small table for a small packet of sugar.

“Here,” said Noah, handing Calum a small packet of sweetener. He always scolded Calum for opting for sugar, telling him sweetener was a much healthier option that still got the job done. He took it defeatedly, too lazy to stand up to get the sugar he wanted. “You want to talk about it or be distracted from it?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, pouring the sweetener into his drink. He swirled the powder around, refusing to look up and meet Noah’s gaze. “It’s something I should probably talk about but I don’t want to.”

“Maybe you’ll feel better if you talk about it?” Noah suggested, unsure of how to handle the situation. Instead they sat quietly for the next few minutes as Calum debated whether or not to speak.

“What was it like for you when you came out to your parents?”

“Uh, I was fifteen I’m pretty sure, and the three of us were sat at the table. They were both on their phones or reading a book or whatever. And then I said that I had something to tell them, and my mum asked me if I had a girlfriend. I said no, obviously,” he clarified with a small chuckle. “Then I just said ‘I’m gay,’ and they were like ‘okay.’ They didn’t even look up from what they were doing. They were just completely fine with it, acting as if I had just told them my favourite colour.”

“That’s good though,” Calum mumbled. “That’s exactly how people should react. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”

Noah grasped his boyfriend’s hand, fingers lacing before giving it a gentle squeeze. He stood up from his seat suddenly, fingers still interlocked as he suggested to ‘go for a walk.’

Calum’s arm was swung over Noah’s chest, bare leg tucked between his. The thin layer of sweat over his body made the sheets stick to his skin. A lazy smile pulled on his lips as he thought of what they were doing five minutes prior, fingers tracing the purple bruises on Noah’s collarbones. His boyfriend would occasionally press kisses to his neck, the stubble he sported tickling his skin.

“I don’t think I could ever come out to my parents.”

“Why not,” Noah asked a few seconds later, after letting his heavy confession simmer in the air.

“I can’t imagine a single positive outcome that would come from it. My family is very Catholic, they’d excommunicate me themselves,” he chuckled bitterly, his way of trying to make deep discussions feel less serious. “My parents would never speak to me again and I don’t want to lose them because of something I can’t even control. I didn’t choose to be attracted to men and I didn’t choose to be born into a Christian family. It feels like no matter what I do I can’t win.”

“Nobody is pressuring you to come out right now. You do that when you’re ready, when you feel mentally strong enough to deal with whatever consequences that may come,” Noah explained, fingers threading methodically through Calum’s hair. “And your pessimistic ass is only thinking about the worst possible outcome.”

“It feels like it’s the only one,” he murmured, rolling onto his back. Noah grabbed Calum’s hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“Whatever happens, remember that you’ve got me, and all of your friends, and whatever future boyfriends you may have by your side to deal with it.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Imply that we’re going to break up,” Calum said with an obvious tone. He could see Noah’s lips stretch into a cheeky smile from the corner of his eye, instead choosing to focus on the ceiling.

“You don’t want to break up?” Noah grinned, rolling over onto his side face him.

“If I did I wouldn’t be lying here in your bed, babe,” he replied easily, ears burning red. Noah smiled at his words, deep dimples indenting his rosy cheeks. He placed a hand on Calum’s jaw and turned his head, forcing their eyes to meet. “What? Do you think we’re going to break up eventually?”

“I don’t want us to break up either,” he confessed before rolling over closer to Calum, joining their lips together in a sweet kiss. “You just don’t tend to talk about your feelings. So anything you let slip about how you feel about me makes me really happy.”

Calum found himself back in front of that same blank word document a few days later. His phone buzzed with a message from his mother, a Bible quote about perseverance.

He thought back to his conversation with Noah while his fingers typed and deleted a reply like a scratched vinyl. He threw his phone gently across the room and onto his bed as soon as he hit send, the device burning his hands like acid. Now he just had to wait for a reply.

‘Hi, mum. I’ve been dating a boy for the past few months. I know that you believe in God and that it says in the Bible that it’s a sin, but you don’t have to be scared because it also says that God created everyone in his image and that everyone is of equal worth. I’m sorry if this upsets you. Hugs from Calum.’

tag list: @aftermidnightclifford @alongcamethedevil @5sobsessed @rainingcal @calssunflower

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1279

Are you and the last person you kissed in a relationship or just friends? I don’t keep contact.

Has anyone ever pointed out that your laugh was unusual? Hmmmm, I don’t think so. I feel like that would be the type of comment that would get to me so I definitely would’ve remembered it.

Would you get a lip piercing? I don’t plan on getting any piercings.

Nose piercing? Nopes.

What are you currently waiting for? For this fucking day to end so I can be closer to Thursday and to the weekend.

Do you have feelings for anyone? Nah.

Have you ever run over an animal? Nope. I’ve had extremely close calls with animals who suddenly dart into the road, but fortunately these have all been situations wherein I got to hit the brakes with nobody behind me.

Have you chewed gum after someone else already has? That’s disgusting, no.

When people sneeze do you say ‘bless you’? Sure, out of habit and just to be polite.

When was the last time you were on a bouncy castle? I don’t think I’ve ever been on a bouncy castle, but I’ve been on a lot of bouncy other things haha, like inflatable slides, soccer balls, Anpanmans, etc. The last time would probably be a nearly a decade ago; I definitely haven’t been near one in a while.

Have you ever went on a bouncy castle whilst drunk? Well no, because the ones I’ve been on were situated in school fairs, which is the last place I would want to be drunk in.

Have you ever entered an art competition? No, I have no justification to join one haha.

What is one thing you will never do? Try hardcore drugs. < Same.

What is one food that you detest? Pineapples.

Did you have a rebellious phase growing up? Yeah I was a bit of a handful to raise, but I’m in firm in my stance that it had a lot to do with the way I was raised. I grew up mostly without a father figure because my dad worked abroad and I felt neglected by my mom who had her own shit to deal with. There was no stable support system to lean on, so I ended up lashing out a lot in my puberty years. Unfortunately everyone else just saw a rebellious child and not a plea for help.

These days when I show off my achievements on social media, I’ll see congratulatory comments from my mom’s friends and she’ll usually go on about some “late bloomers grow with time” narrative and it pisses me off because nobody knows how much I’ve had to grow and mature and learn how to be happier all by myself, all from scratch. If I had just received the proper care and attention early on, I wouldn’t have had to do any catching up to begin with.

What religion were you brought up with? Roman Catholic.

Are you still that religion? Jesus no. I darted out of there as soon as I gained the consciousness to think about these sorts of things.

Do you often find yourself questioning your future? Sometimes, but I do my best to not let it get to me.

How many friends do you have on Facebook? Over 670.

What sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school? I started with punk rock in the first half of high school, so I had my Rancids, H2Os, Against Me!s, Cro-Mags, etc on my iPod. It evolved a little bit towards more indie, folksy sounds towards the latter half - Banks, alt-J, Hozier, Twenty One Pilots - which I largely attribute to the crowd I was part of at the time.

What pet names do you use with your significant other? I’m pretty straightforward so baby works out for me. Other, more specific pet names just grow naturally with the relationship, I think.

What’s the name of the store you usually get your groceries? S&R.

Have you ever seen a theatre show? Yeah. Most of them have been required.

What’s your favourite vegetable? Broccoli or bell peppers.

Have you ever missed a flight? Never. I’ve experienced several delayed flights, though, which is always such a hassle especially if the delays happen in provincial airports since they never have any recreational offers to keep passengers from getting bored other than TVs that run the same damn five ads.

Do your neighbours have any pets? Have you ever met them? Yeah, a lot of have dogs. I’ve met some.

What color is your bedroom door? Brown.

If you were ever to become famous, would you grow annoyed at fans? Only towards obsessive ones who wouldn’t give me time to breathe or would go so far so as to stalk me or my loved ones. But I am a fan too, so I imagine I would actually be understanding of those who would ask for pictures or whatever as long as they were polite and not at all intrusive.

Have you ever met your favourite band/singer? Nah. I am terrified of meeting celebrities HAHA so I’ve always shut down the chance. I’m pretty sure I would actually turn down the chance to meet BTS if I hypothetically suddenly got the magic keys to that door.

Are you embarrassed by any of the songs/singers/bands you like? No. I feel like that sort of thing just happens in like high school, when your friends are still a bit judgmental. Nowadays I don’t see why I should be embarrassed of anything I like, especially if it’s not hurting anyone.

Have you ever written a story? I’ve made attempts but was always terrible.

Think of the last poem you wrote: What inspired you to write it? My homework that required me to write said poem hahaha.

Do you have a chance with the person you like right now?

What’s the weirdest thing you were scared of as a child? Watching commercials at night. It’s still a slight fear of mine but it’s mostly dissipated now.

Are there any embarrassing stories your family tells about you? About me? No. I don’t have a lot of those since I was a really shy kid who barely moved a finger anyway.

In your opinion, what is the funniest TV show? I have a *really* soft spot for Perfect Strangers, which I actually revisited yesterday :) The show was never super popular so it’s near impossible to find clips online, but when I checked YouTube I did see a slight increase in short snippets from the show so I had a really fun time binge-watching yesterday.

What is the maximum number of children you’d ever have? Three, but that’s pushing it. Ideally, I’d have two so my first would have company.

Have you ever been concerned you had a serious illness? Mental ones, yes.

Are you comfortable with who you are? For the most part, yes.

Would you date someone even if you knew you’d get made fun of for it? No. Why would it be any of their business?

Does popularity matter to you at all? I mean, yeah in the sense that I honestly aspire to be well-liked by as many people as possible. But I don’t necessarily want to rub shoulders with popular kids.

Would you ever consider homeschooling your children? Continued from sometime this week ider. No. I don’t think I’m capable of teaching, and generally I’d want them to be able to learn in a more open environment where they can have regular contact with different kinds of people.

Who told you about the band/singer you are currently listening to? Well Angela got into them first and since we’re best friends, there was a certain point where she just decided to loop me into conversations that involved them. I was impossible to sway for a long time, but then one day a video compilation of them showed up on my feed, and for some reason I actually watched it, and I watched all the way through, and I was immediately intrigued – particularly by J-Hope haha. I then asked Angela to tell me more about them and the rest was...financially irresponsible history HAHAHAHA

Do you ever read fanfiction? OMG yes. Funny you should mention that because my favorite author uploaded a brand new fic this morning, which I obviously couldn’t get to all day because I had to go to work. I’ll be reading it in all its 44,000-word glory tonight :D

Would you rather die in a plane crash, ship wreck or fire? Plane crash. Instant and mostly painless.

What are your top five favourite TV shows? Breaking Bad, BoJack Horseman, Friends, The Crown even though I was never able to continue it since...andddd that’s all I got.

What is your favorite superhero movie? Not a fan of superhero movies.

If you died next week, what would be the cause of death? Stress from overworking. I’ve FINALLY started to consider taking a leave for the first time this year because I’ve just realized just how fucking exhausted, burned out, and overwhelmed I actually already am from having no rest at all in the last 13 months.

Have you ever taken a break from Facebook or other social media? Why? Yes, I do mass deactivations when I’m severely depressed. These days I can’t really afford to that anymore, though, since my work is closely tied to social media.

Who is the most talented person you know? Probably Andi.

Are you currently platonic friends with anyone you’ve had sex with? No.

Where did you and your current interest go on your first date?

Have you ever experienced two people fighting over you (physically or mentally)? What happened? Nah. I’ve had two people like me at the same time, but there was never any tension to watch out for since they mostly didn’t know each other.

Have your parents ever thought you were gay? What happened? I think they know I dated Gabie and that we broke up because they’ve stopped asking about her. Everyone knew we were best friends, so the fact that they’ve avoided her as a topic for a whole year is able to tell me something.

Are your parents more liberal or conservative? Dad’s on the liberal side, mom dances around on the spectrum a little bit. I know she’s fine with things like tattoos and having LGBTQ+ co-workers, but she’s also conservative especially towards matters like religion.

What year are you going into at the beginning of the next academic year? No longer in school.

How far away does your closest family member live? A few footsteps away.

If you’ve seen both, did you prefer the Disney version or the Tim Burton version of Alice in Wonderland? It’s not my type of movie/genre to begin with.

Would you have sex before marriage? Why or why not? Yes. I don’t see the big deal; I’ve already done it anyway.

Are you more liberal or conservative? Liberal.

Who is your favorite Harry Potter character? Ooh not sure. I haven’t gone back to the books in a while, so I don’t remember if there was anyone I had an attachment to.

What’s the worst that could come out of letting gays marry? Nothing.

What’s the most sexual thing you’ve done? Had sex...I guess? And a bunch of stuff that comes with it.

Name something that you are against. Racial discrimination.

Why are you against it? Because it is infuriating to see, and it shows me the very same treatment can happen to me or my family as well and that scares me, especially since some people turn particularly violent towards people of color.

Have you ever played the Tomb Raider games? No.

Do you like it or hate it when your partner is clingy? I imagine I wouldn’t enjoy it if I’m not as into whoever my next partner would be.

Beatles or Rolling Stones? I don’t listen to either.

When was the last time you changed your opinion on somebody? Not so sure about a whole change in opinion because that hasn’t happened in a while, but I grew more grateful for my manager today because I finally mustered the strength to tell her that I’m begin to struggle mentally with work and she not only encouraged (read: begged) me to file a damn leave for once, but she also got sushi delivered to my place.

What was the last thing that made you feel proud and why? Andi was telling me about their day today and how they handled being misgendered by a prof, who then proceeded to throw a fit when he got corrected, and how they, again, maturely handled said fit. I was proud of them because there are a million ways that incident could’ve turned out, but they dealt with it in an extremely mature and calm manner considering they were the one who was wronged.

Do you feel uncomfortable when people you hardly know confide in you? If it was about an extremely personal problem I would probably be taken aback at first, but I still would definitely make some time for them and help in however way I can, since they apparently trust me enough to confide.

What was the last thing to fascinate you? The music video for My Universe! Super cool to watch and I love that they made a short film out of it too.

Is there a certain noise/sound which scares you? Doors being slammed shut, because that’s what my mom does when she’s furious. She did that when I was a kid and she does it to this day, so I get extremely nervous when I hear the sound, even if it happens by accident.

Do you have a favourite microorganism? Nope.

Out of the people you know, whose birthday is next? My cousin Bree.

If you have pet fish do you bother to name them? I did when I had them as a kid.

Do you keep your eggs in the fridge? Yes?

Have you ever owned chickens? Nope.

When did you last listen to music? Like five minutes ago. I tried to have a jazz playlist on but I realized I wasn’t in the mood for music so I changed my background noise to have a random VLive on instead.

#surveys #survey

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valhalla-awaitsfor-us · 4 years

Text

My last 10 years, a little catharsis by me

In the last 10 years happened a lot and I changed so fucking much. I just wanted to write it down before going crazy with feelings

Trigger warning

School years

10 years ago I had just changed schools. I was twelve and my new school was Catholic. I’ve never believed in anything. It was the first time I went to Mass, and I remember confusing the word "Osana" with Obama. Everyone laughed, myself included. In my old school people were not very nice and education was deplorable. But I had one or two friends, and my crush, who was also my friend. The first year after changing schools I lost contact with all of them.

In the first year of school I met who I considered my best friend for the longest time. For two years she was my only friend. At that time, I was extremely afraid to speak out loud, I was afraid to look people in the eye, I was afraid not to think like the rest. In retrospect, my social anxiety began at the time, but I didn't know it. Not yet.

Two years passed and the school made us decided between 3 modalities of studies: “Social Sciences”, “Natural Sciences” or “economics”. I chose social and my best friend economics. We were separated, but I thought it would be fine. I made a new friend. A girl I connected with right away. My old crush from the other school texted me, and we became friends again. My grades were decent and life was good ... And then naughty rumors spread about me. My new friend stopped talking to me, and started bullying me like the rest of the school. They made me trip over on the stairs, nobody talked to me, everyone laughed. The school never intervened. In fact, they blamed me. I remember that on a 15th birthday, the birthday girl had a giant screen where people could send messages to be projected. All were congratulations on her birthday. And then, suddenly a humiliating message addressed to me appeared on the screen. More than 200 people saw that message. Sometime later my crush got a girlfriend and stopped talking to me. And shortly after that I discovered that my father cheated on my mother with more than one woman.

For a full year I was alone and scared all the time. Alone at school, alone at home. I only had my dog. For a whole year I was almost mute. I start writing suicided notes, that then I would burn. My depression started at that moment. And yet, I didn’t know it.

When I turned 16 bullying decreased. My new friend, the one who had also made fun of me, apologized and we became friends again. It was a… decent year, I guess. My father knew that I knew, but he never said anything, and I kept hiding the secret, feeling how it was eating me alive which each day passing.

I was 17 in my last year of high school. It was a good year, full of decisions and emotions. I felt comfortable, comfortable to be myself for the first time in my life, even when I didn't know who I was. At the end of that year, my classmates and I went to the typical “graduation trip” that every school makes in my country. A trip to the snowy mountains of Bariloche. For a week we were going to ski during the day, and go clubbing at night. During that trip I got drunk for the first time, and in tears I confessed to my friends (yes, plural!) that my father was cheating on my mother. It was the first time I said it out loud and I felt liberated. When we returned from the trip we continued studying. I started going out to clubs to dance and gave my first kiss one of those nights with a drunk idiot. When the year ended I only failed of math, but I was already used to it. In my graduation I fought with my mother and ended up crying.

College

I decided I was going for a 4 years’ degree, Im not sure how to called it on English, in Social Communication.

But first I went to study English in New York for a month. During that month I lived in the campus (We don’t have campus in Argentina, so it was crazy for me!!), and my roommates were from Peru and Brazil. There I met 5 girls who changed my life. The six of us became very close, even though we have lost contact in the present day. During that month I felt a freedom that I had never felt. I felt really alive. Live to not be afraid to express myself, live to defend myself and make me respect, live as if to forget, for at least 4 weeks, that I had anxiety and depression. That month was the happiest of my life.

Then, I had to go back to Buenos Aires. I tried to get accepted into university to study "Social Communication", and I had to take 4 exams. I passed 3 with honors, but I failed in math. But it didn't matter because by the time I failed the exam I didn't even want to study that anymore. I decided that I would be a film student. And I did it. I enrolled for a 3-year film degree.

In college I met my best friends. The two girls I met at school are my oldest friends. But the people I met in college are my family. And when everything finally seemed to be calming down ... my father left us, my aunt died and my dog died. All in less than two weeks. I remember that my aunt died a week before Halloween. Because I went to a party at the house of a friend's acquaintances and got drunk. I ended up making out with a guy who had been flirting with me for a while. It was my first and last made out session to the date. He tried to contact me after, but I never answered his texts. I still think about him.

My mom fell into severe depression.

I had to take care of keeping my father away, and going to appointments with the lawyer with her for the first few years. I lost contact with my paternal grandparents. My grandfather stills ignore me when he sees me.

I still miss my dog every day and I know that I am guilty of the circumstances of his death.

But I keep studying, becoming my mother's emotional rock, and allowing her to heal. I was 18 and alone, dealing with everyone emotions, and just wishing to die. My father harassed me in the meantime.

But I keep studying and graduate at the age of 21.

My mother never thanked me, with words or actions. Now she is obsessed with living the perfect life and dating a bunch of men. She is unstable and sometimes I don't sleep waiting for her to come home safely. I don’t feel attracted to anyone, I don’t feel like having sex. I’ve never had my “sexual” awakening so Im starting to think Im in the ace spectrum. She said Im just frigid ad Im gonna die alone if I don’t star using my body to get men… We live fighting and I'm exhausted. Im not the daughter she wanted, and she is not scared of telling me that.

This past year I specialized in script writing along with a friend. But I'm still unemployed, and all my free time makes me think things I shouldn't be thinking. My depression evolved. Before it was just sadness and now it's also rage. But I no longer feel guilty for speaking my mind or looking people in the eyes. I'm fed up. All my life I lived feeling bad, but what these last years’ taught me is that I am worth more. And although anger is not the right way, it sometimes helps you to leave behind those negative feelings that people like me usually have about ourselves. I was so fed up, so angry, that I start speaking my mind. Yes, my anxiety is still there. But I came a long way from that shy girl who would talk for a whole year. Im watching my cousin grow, and the inspire me to do better. I fight with my friends but I love them, and I know they will always be there for me. I feel numb most of the time, thanks to my depresion, but at the same time I cant deny Im changing in some way.

And that… that think is a good start.

#me #sol #personal

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