#is this blasphemous? i feel like it might be a bit. i feel like jesus would be like no no u r right and have a good point

[huginsmemory]

Trigun and the 'Bride of Christ'

An additional thought that popped up after my previous post about Triguns heavy themes of Christianity (a somewhat? Part 2?). In this I look at the Vash and Wolfwoods relationship, their opposing views and how that relates to the Christian term 'the bride of christ'. During this I specifically discuss a large spoiler for the series/manga, so readers beware!

I was chatting with some lovely folks on the Vashwood discord server (if you wish to join, click this link!) about Wolfwoods death, and the way it's, well, wedding themed. The wedding themes include the confetti, the way Wolfwoods passing occurs in front of a church, the ringing of the church bell, and the bottle of liquor they share is labelled 'BRIDE' with a cross on it.

All the items come together in a definite way that resembles, in some terrible fashion, the festivities for a wedding. Hell, even after Vash buries Wolfwood, he makes tons of dishes of food, and Livio and him basically have a feast, another thing one does at weddings.

The 'Bride of Christ'

What particularly caught my eye was the bottle with the word bride on it, with a cross. Multiple times within the new testament, the body of the church is referred to as the 'Bride of Christ'. As I've previously mentioned, Vash is regularly set up as a Christ-like figure; his actions and his philosophical values align with a Christian perspective, in his belief in unconditional love and forgiveness (ie, the blank ticket). As well, as that Wolfwood is a Christian preist, this literally makes him a 'bride of Christ'. In a sense, where in the story Vash is pitched as a Christ-like figure, this means that Wolfwood could be interpreted as the 'bride of Vash'. This especially so considering the contextual clues that hint towards a wedding - confetti, church, and church bells.

Acceptance of Christian philosophy

Further adding to this, is that although Wolfwood was a priest, he did not fully ascribe to Vash's view. In fact, the two of them are foils, their beliefs similar- both coming from love and a need to protect, but differing in Vash ascribing to unconditional love and forgiveness, while Wolfwood refuting that such a position can be practically taken (this is, well, I would say a simplified take on their beliefs but thats a different post for a different day). However, by this point in the story, the both of them have very deeply impacted each other. In fact, this is set almost immediately after Wolfwood saves Vash from Knives, which is the the moment where Vash openly forgives Wolfwood and Wolfwood begins his acceptance of Vash's philosophical views; in that specific moment, he accepts his own absolution (explained further in my previous post).

It is exactly in Wolfwoods fight against Chapel and Livio, that Wolfwood fully (or mostly so) accepts Vash's philosophical views, expanding to accept a blank ticket/unconditional love for others. This is seen as he repeatedly chooses not to kill Chapel's hired guns, and even sharply pleading Livio to spare one of them. Indeed, previously at Vash's request, he'll shoot to injure, but he's not really shown to be particularly worried about the bandits, versus here he is actively choosing to minimize harm; exactly like we've seen Vash do, over and over and over again throughout the series. As well, the hired guns literally try to target the orphanage when they've clearly lost, and also kill one of their own when Wolfwood brings him back, telling him that they've just upped their pay- showing that they're not particularly 'redeemable' hired guns that are likely to repent and become good people. And yet, Wolfwood still chooses to try and save them.

He also specifically goes out of his way to not kill Livio, even though killing Livio would severely even out the playing field, and Wolfwood would likely not have likely died as a result. And Wolfwood makes that decision, again and again and again, only focusing on killing Chapel, and Chapel only, since he's the one that is threatening the orphans.

While Wolfwood fights, Chapel derides him on Vash's views, and how Wolfwood has picked them up. Wolfwood, close to death, reviews his relationship with Vash and Vash's philosophy, and refutes the ideology that Chapel believes in, and that he himself has lived under, that they need to kill to survive, (or to save lives) and that Vash's belief in forgiveness and unconditional love is foolish.

It culminates in Wolfwood declaring that he believes in Vash, in his principles, and standing back up to continue to fight, having accepted Vash's Christian philosophy. Interestingly, it's also Christian leaning terminology he uses; both in that he followed Vash, much like one follows the the teachings of Christ, and that he believes in the Vash's ability to change to world with his philosophy, in the same way Christians believe in Jesus's ability to save the world through the gospel.

In summary, Wolfwood chooses to accept and even says he believes in Vash's philosophical views, thereby choosing to accept the possibility of forgiveness and unconditional love, both for himself, as is shown when he saves Vash from Knives, but also for others, and especially with Livio during the scene up to his death. This full acceptance and belief in a Christian/Vash's perspective would then also show that Wolfwood has fully accepted to be the 'bride of Christ', making him not only via contextual cues a 'bride' of Vash, but also within a Christian theological sense a bride of Vash as well.

In conclusion, (ie, TLDR) Wolfwoods death is wedding themed, with confetti, a church, church bells, and a bottle with the label BRIDE with a cross on it. The church is within the Bible called the 'bride of Christ'; as Vash is a christ-figure, and Wolfwood is a priest, this would make Wolfwood Vash's bride. As well, it is just previous to Wolfwood death scene that Wolfwood has accepted Vash's Christian philosophies, signalling his acceptance as the 'bride of Christ/Vash', further perpetuating the wedding theme.

TTLDR: Vash and Wolfwood are married yup 👍

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 17]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

Words: 4.3k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

“No.” 

Minnie plants her little feet firmly on the sidewalk and pulls her hands out of your and Matt’s grips so she can make her point by crossing her arms over her chest. A pout starts forming on her face and you have the feeling this is as far as your daughter will be going.

Across the street looms Clinton Church and you can understand why your daughter does not want to go anywhere near it. The building is as imposing as it is grand with its traditional architecture half shadowed in the morning sun. There is light reflecting off the many windows, casting little glares that you are sure Minnie can interpret in multiple ways - including eyes looking down at her. 

Try as you might, you can’t imagine what else your little one must be picking up from the building. Is there someone praying inside? Or chanting? What sort of terrifying noises is the building making? How many rats are scurrying around the grounds, hissing and eeking and becoming unseen monsters? 

How many real monsters are there? 

Right now, the only monster you know of is the one in your chest named Anxiety. It is roaring inside you and causing all sorts of ruckus. 

You know Minnie can pick up on your upset, and it is probably influencing her, but no amount of breathing exercises or chamomile tea is going to relax you. 

Meeting someone’s parents is always going to be nerve wracking under any circumstance - but meeting the mother of the man who fathered your child? Who already has a unique and slightly estranged relationship with her son?

Frankly, you’d rather give birth again. 

To make matters worse for your over analyzing, Matt's mother is a nun. 

You have never interacted with a nun before, and your mind has been nonstop screaming that you are going to make an absolute fool of yourself. You are convinced you are going to say something dumb - like Jesus is stupid or some other blasphemous thing. 

You don't even know what counts as blasphemy, but you know your mouth will find a way to make you want to sink into the floor and disappear forever.

You are on the same page as Minnie and don't want to take another step toward the Church. 

“No?” Matt questions, tilting his head down towards his daughter. He looks a bit baffled, like he can’t understand why she’s taken such a stance. You know he is nervous about the meeting as well, having told you such earlier, but you don’t think he realizes how much his nerves, on top of your own, are affecting Mouse and her fear of the new big building.

“No.” Your daughter repeats, giving a tiny stomp of one foot to emphasize her point. 

“No, what, sweetheart?” He kneels down to be on the same level as her, but you have a feeling that isn't going to help much. Minnie has made her decision and trying to sway a determined, upset toddler is a near impossible task.

“I don't wanna,” she tells him, her voice starting to get whiny. She turns away from him to press herself into your leg, her pout growing even bigger.

Matt knits his brows together, confusion clear, “You don't want to go to the park?”

Technically, you are supposed to meet Matt's mother in the Church park that is between the main building and the orphanage but as far as you are concerned, all of the grounds are Church. Apparently, your daughter feels the same. 

“No. I don't wanna,” she declares, which quickly turns into the chant of, “I don't wanna, I don't wanna, I don't wanna!”

You can feel the tantrum coming and intervene, scooping Minnie up and hugging her to you. She instantly clings to you, burying her face against your neck with an additional almost screech of, “I don't wanna!”

You start to gently rock her from side to side and rub at her back to try and soothe her. You kiss her hair and promise, “We don’t have to go, baby. It is okay.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel like a grade A asshole. 

Matt’s face crumbles into heartbreak and you totally deserve to walk into traffic. He had opened up to you about his mother - about how she had left him as a baby only to end up raising him after his father had been killed - but not telling him who she was. He told you how he only recently learned the truth - less than a year ago - and how hard it was for him. 

But now he had you and Minnie and maybe, just maybe, you could all learn to be a family together.

Anxiety overdrive kicks in and a potential solution tumbles out of your mouth, “What if we go somewhere else instead? Somewhere we’ve been before?”

Matt lifts his head up at you, so you see yourself in his glasses, and for a second you think he's going to argue - insist you go to the Church playground - but then he tilts it towards where you don't want to go. You don't know what he is listening for, but after a moment, he stands again. He steps closer, a hand going to sit on your waist and trapping Minnie between the two of you. She stays nestled against you, little fist tight on your shirt, but you find yourself breathing a little easier at his touch.

“Would the office be okay? Foggy is out meeting clients and Karen is at the Bulletin today, it will just be us.” He offers quietly. Relief washes through you at the suggestion - you think the office would be a much easier meeting place.

But it is not your decision to make. You gently bounce Mouse to get her attention and ask, “Do you want to go to Daddy’s work?”

She doesn’t respond right away, but you feel her twist your shirt in her hands. You can tell she is thinking over her answer, so you wait, trying to focus on your daughter instead on how firm Matt’s hand is on your waist. It takes about twenty seconds, but Minnie finally nods into your shoulder. 

“Okay, We’ll go to Daddy's work.”

To reward her for being so brave, you press a kiss to your daughter’s hair and Matt quickly mimics you. Minnie clings tighter to you at the affection and you think she is going to remain tense and upset until you are far away from the Church.

“Okay. Wait here, I'll go tell Sister Maggie about the change in plans,” Matt tells you and you wonder if it is really okay with him. 

You know you and Minnie meeting her is important to Matt, but is the location important as well or is it just convenient? You are too wound up to ask and fearing you won't like the answer, you keep your mouth shut and focus on rocking Mouse.

Matt gives Minnie another kiss as he tightens his grip on you just slightly. It isn’t painful, but you get the impression he does not want to let go. You want to lean into the touch, your overactive mind telling you it might be nice if he never let you go, but before you can process those feelings, he is pulling away and crossing the street.

You step to the side, so you don’t impede foot traffic, and watch as he navigates past the cars and disappears around the side of the large building. Once he is out of sight, you look down to your daughter.

You want to ask her why she doesn’t want to go to the park at the Church, so you can better understand how she sees the world, but you also don’t want to put too much pressure on her. She’s already clearly upset, and you think trying to get her to answer your questions will just make things worse. 

So, you focus on making things better for her.

“Would you like your headphones, Minnie?”

That gets her to lift her head up to look at you, squinting like she’s trying to determine if this is some sort of trap. Eventually she gives you one curt nod before hiding her face again.

You are a pro at being able to maneuver to get into your purse while carrying a toddler and soon enough you are handing over neon blue headphones. She needs no help in unfolding them and situating them over her ears, and once they are on, she snuggles herself back into your arms. You have no issues or complaints with the action - you simply begin to rock her again and hope this mood subsides once you are at Matt’s office. 

You think about ways to get Minnie to interact with Matt’s mother as you wait for Matt to reappear. You think this might be the perfect time for parallel play - you’ve got a few coloring books stuffed in your purse, along with some small toys. You think it may be best to let her do her own thing while the adults talk, and that she comes over when she’s ready. 

You hope that Sister Maggie understands that would be ideal - you know she helps to raise children, so she must understand that some kids are shyer than others. Pushing Minnie to interact when she’s fussy will only result in tears. 

Possibly your own.

A few more minutes pass before Matt returns to the sidewalk followed by who you assume to be his mother. She's dressed in a gray and blue smock dress and matching habit, which is far less intimidating than the all black look you were expecting. She has an air of authority about her, holding herself tall as she walks, and you have the feeling she is a no-nonsense person.

You pray to a God you don’t really believe in that this meeting goes better than you fear it will. 

You move to meet the pair as they cross the street to you and offer what you hope to be a warm smile. The smile, though not as overtly friendly as yours, is returned and Matt does the honor of introducing you. You adjust your hold on your daughter so you can shake the woman's hand. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Matthew has told me wonderful things about you,” Sister Maggie says before directing her attention to her granddaughter. “And who might this little one be?”

To no surprise to you, Minnie attempts to burrow into you more at the question, smushing her face hard into your neck. You rub her back, trying to let her know everything is okay.

“This is Minnie, she's a little shy right now.”

Sister Maggie gives a knowing nod, “New places can be intimidating.” She drops her voice just slightly, in what you guess is an attempt to be comforting, and addresses Minnie, “Did your father tell you this is where he grew up?”

He did - you and Matt explained the outing to your daughter, but you don’t know how much she understood. You do know no amount of sweet talk will change her mind, even if it is about her new favorite subject - her Daddy. 

“I don't wanna go,” Mouse mumbles against you defiantly. You aren't sure if Sister Maggie can hear her, but you know Matt can. He steps forward, once again boxing in Minnie between the two of you and leans down to kiss the back of her head.

“We're not going there, princess. We're going to Daddy's office, remember? You've been there before,” he whispers into her hair. She shifts around in your arms a bit before giving another nod. You can feel her jutting out her bottom lip against your neck and part of you thinks you should call this all off and reschedule - but you aren’t going to do that to Matt.

Sister Maggie is watching your little family’s interaction, and you can’t bear to look in her direction to see what her reaction is, if she has one. Your anxiety has only prepared you for the worst.

“Perhaps we should start heading that way instead of saying where we are not going,” the nun advises after a moment and instinct and rational has you agreeing with her.

“I think that would be best.”

Matt pulls away from you and Minnie and you watch with downcast eyes as Sister Maggie offers her son her arm. He seems hesitant to take it, but he does, and your little group starts moving away from the Church and towards Nelson, Page, and Murdock.

The walk is quiet and you use the time to try and desperately calm your nerves, if only for the sake of your daughter. 

You think about Matt and what kind of person he is - he is full of love and care. He got those traits somewhere, and whether you argue Nature or Nurture, Sister Maggie has certainly influenced that. Did she encourage his Goodness? She must have had some sort of positive influence if he is not only wanting her to be in his life, but his daughter’s life, as well. 

You know some people believe family comes before anything, even if they treat you horribly, but you also know that if Sister Maggie was not a Good person, Matt would not allow her near Minnie.

He wouldn’t risk losing his relationship with his daughter. 

That is something you have no doubts about. 

As you arrive at Matt’s office building, Minnie lifts her head up off your shoulder. She wrinkles up her nose like she’s thinking hard before pointing to the plaque that state’s the firm’s name. You give her a warm smile, proud of her for recognizing it, but that only makes her squirrel away again.

This is the behavior you are used to seeing from your daughter in public - overly shy and not wanting to interact. You aren’t sure if the nerves and uncomfortableness from the church still linger, but you hope that once you are upstairs, she will start warming up a little. You won’t push her to do something she doesn’t want to do, but for Matt’s sake, you would like her to at least try talking to her grandmother.

Matt leads you all into the building and up the stairs. Sister Maggie runs a finger over the banister as you climb the stairs, giving a pleased hum, “Franklin did an amazing job cleaning this place up. Tell me that nose of yours helped in getting rid of all the mold.”

Matt huffs at the comment, “The property manager hired someone to come do that.”

“And did they get it all?” 

Matt’s mouth presses into a thin line and you already know the answer. 

“No, we spent a weekend getting the rest of it.” 

You stop in front of the Nelson, Page, and Murdock office, and as Matt fishes out the key, you look up and down the hallway, mulling over what is implied.

“You cleaned the whole building?” 

“Oh no, we couldn’t get permission from the other businesses to do that, but we did what we could to the public space and our offices. People feel comfortable here now.”

The door is opened and as you all file in, Matt suggests hanging out in the conference room. It has a nice window and plenty of space to sprawl out, so you have no objections. 

You set Minnie down as Sister Maggie and Matt head into the other room. She instantly clings to your leg, practically hiding behind it. You pet her hair a few times before pulling her away just enough so you can kneel down to talk with her. As soon as you are at her level, she is trying to get into your arms again. 

You let her hug onto you as you let her know what is going on, “Hey Mouse, do you remember earlier when I told you we were going to meet Daddy’s Mommy?” She nods but says nothing, so you continue on. “That is her. She wants to talk to me and Daddy and you and get to know us so she can be part of our family, too. But you don’t need to talk if you don’t want to, okay? I have your coloring books and you can color while we talk.”

That gets her to pull back just a hair and peek up at you with big brown eyes, “What are you gonna talk abouts?” 

You smile at the question and gently run your hands over her back, “All sorts of things, but we’re going to end up talking about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. If you don’t want us to talk about you, you can tell me, okay? We’ll talk about something else.”

“But I don’ gotta talk?” 

You nod, and let your bag fall off your shoulder. Minnie’s new zoo themed coloring book and crayons are easy to pull out and you offer them to your daughter. She lets go of you to greedily take her toys and hug them to her chest.

“You don’t need to talk,” you confirm. “Do you want to sit at the table, or do you want to sit on the floor?” 

Minnie considers the question, and you take advantage of no longer being hugged onto to stand up. Your little one peeks towards the conference room, then back up to you, and declares, “I wanna sit on Daddy’s lap.” 

You feel so much pride over your daughter making such a bold decision. 

“Okay, let’s go ask Daddy if you can sit in his lap.” You know Matt would never deny her, but you do want to drill in making sure Minnie asks permission first.

She waits for you to lead the way before following you into the conference room. Matt and Sister Maggie are sitting opposite each other, and Matt has already scooted his chair out and is holding his hands out to help Minnie into his lap. 

“Daddy!” 

She hurries to him and gets scooped up and crushed into a hug. She hugs back best she can while holding her coloring book.

You take the chair beside Matt and finally allow yourself to look at the nun across from you. She’s watching Matt and Minnie with an almost unreadable expression, but there is something soft behind her eyes - like she’s been keeping it repressed for years. 

But then she catches you looking, and the softness is gone, replaced by that All-Knowing Nun look you’ve seen in movies before. 

“How old is she?” Sister Maggie asks, and you can’t help but flush at her directness.

“Almost four, her birthday is on the 28th,” you reply, forcing yourself to not completely avert your gaze and hideaway. 

She raises her brows before turning her sharp gaze to Matt, accusing him with, “You did not mention her birthday was coming up.”

He has the decency to look a little bit ashamed, “There were a few other things to cover, first.” 

The older woman shakes her head, “Priorities, Matthew. I may be new to being a grandmother, but you know well I have raised plenty of children and we have never skimped on birthdays. We may not always have the money to spoil someone, but we do well to make sure they know they are loved.” She looks back to you, “Do you have plans for the day?”

“Oh, um, the zoo. We’re going to go to the zoo,” you tell her.

Beside you, Minnie has slipped down into Matt’s lap, so she is sitting. She has started to flip through her coloring book, examining each picture before making her decision about what to color. At the mention of the zoo, she quietly mimics you, “Going to the zoo.”

Matt breaks into a smile at the words, looking proud as can be that Minnie spoke around his mother. He wraps his arms around her middle and you have the feeling he wants to crush her to his chest again but is resisting. 

Sister Maggie seems to know Minnie isn’t speaking to her, but just in general, and keeps the conversation to you, “That sounds like a lovely birthday. Zoo trips are always a delight with the kids.” She tilts her head slightly to the left before continuing on, “Matthew said you do not have a support network.”

“That isn’t what I said!” Matt quickly says, before turning his head towards you, “That isn’t what I said.”

Sister Maggie scoffs, “It is what you meant, and it is not a bad thing. You more than anyone know what it means to have a support network. Now,” she says your name gently and offers you a somewhat kind smile, “You are welcome to come to the Church and use any of the services we offer, and you may come by anytime you need, day or night. We will always have our doors open for you.”

You stare across the table as you process the words she has said. Shame and embarrassment course through you at the idea of Matt talking about you. You know you’ve never really had anyone to turn to, but the thought of others discussing such matters makes you want to crawl into a hole and cry. Yet, on the other hand, the mere offer of being welcomed at the Church has you spiraling in all sorts of good and overwhelming ways. 

But of course, instead of being thankful, the words that tumble out of your mouth are, “I’m not religious.” 

“That changes nothing,” she says simply and somehow, sits up straighter, “I have been given a second chance to know my son and through this a blessing of a granddaughter. I will not run from these responsibilities again and -”

“Daddy,” Minnie suddenly says, cutting Sister Maggie off while pouring all her crayons out on the table, “Pick a color!” 

Matt’s cheeks turn pink at the interruption, and you try to not slide down in your seat. You know you can’t expect your daughter to sit there quietly, even if she’s being a little fussy, especially if Matt is around. She’s a toddler. 

Matt clears his throat and asks, “What colors are there, sweetheart?”

“There’s green, and blue, and purple, and red, and orange, and yellow,” she lists off, holding up each crayon as she does.

“Let’s go with red.”

“Okay!” Minnie picks up the chosen crayon and begins to carefully start coloring in a gorilla. 

Since she spoke up on her own, you try to engage with your daughter to bring her out of her shell, “Can you tell Daddy what animal you’re coloring?”

You expect her to answer happily - after all she loves explaining things to Matt and she’s been learning all her zoo animals.

So of course, she does not do that. She whips her head around to look at you, and with the sternest little voice you have ever heard, barks out, “I don’t gotta talk!”

Your first instinct is to laugh at the outburst, but you bite down on your lip to control yourself. The urge passes quickly, and you decide you should praise your daughter for setting her boundaries, “That is right, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

She narrows her eyes at you for a moment, clearly judging you, before turning back to her artwork. 

Only then do you allow yourself a chuckle. 

To your surprise, Sister Maggie laughs as well. “Well, she is certainly a Murdock.”

That gets your attention and you and Matt both let out a curious, “Oh?”

“That little glare was all Murdock. I have seen it so many times from Matthew, who got it from his father,” she says and there is almost a fondness in her voice. “I expect the hands on the hips pose is genetic as well.”

Your eyes go wide at that. Matt’s father has never been brought up in depth before - you read the news article about his death in an online archive, and he was almost brushed over when Matt told you about his mother. You assumed, like your own parents, it was a sensitive topic. 

“I..didn’t know that,” Matt starts slowly, and you can practically feel the emotion bubbling inside him. Without considering it, you reach across the small gap between your chairs and take his hand, squeezing it. He instantly squeezes back. “I don’t remember him ever doing that.”

“I suspect he tried to not let his frustrations show around you, but it is something I remember clear as day - Jack with his hands on his hips, glaring at the refrigerator because it dared to lose power during a blackout,” Sister Maggie tell him, before she motions to her eyes, “They may not be the same color, but that look is the identical.”

The room goes quiet, save the noise of Minnie scribbling. You keep your hand around Matt’s, trying to communicate you are there for him in his love language. He starts to roll his bottom lip between his teeth, and you wait for him to react before you do. 

“You…,” Matt starts after a few more moments, voice almost warbling, “don’t talk about him. You don’t talk about him like that - what he was like.”

“Yes, well, I’ve never had reason to,” Sister Maggie says. She places her hands on the table in front of her, clasping them together, and she looks like she is about to give an interview. “But that has changed, clearly.” She looks from Matt to you, “Matthew said you were looking for family history. I do not have much from Jack’s side, but I can tell you what I do know, and I keep my own meticulous records. I believe reviewing these things, medical and non-medical, together, will…help us heal.”

You look to for his reaction. His mouth is parted, and he looks like he is going through his own emotional rollercoaster. You know how important family is to him and how dear this information must be to him, so you make a decision.

You lace your fingers with his and smile at Sister Maggie and ask, “How did you meet Jack?”

“Ah, yes, now that is a colorful story…” 

a/n: maggie is v hard to write

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[angelwithdemonictendencies]

they threw envy at me like mud and told me to be grateful; i've never felt luckier than in the passenger seat of your truck.

tj17 x reader: an unorthodox take on what it means to be high school sweethearts.

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), hair pulling (ugh, the curls. the curls you guys), oral sex (f on m), crazy amounts of tension and bad communication and self-doubt and pain (you guys know me, just keeping it light!), obviously i'm forgetting things but all my usual stuff.  please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: oh my god, my favorites. this has been so long in the making it's honestly kind of embarrassing. first off, it's 20k words (longest one yet! just couldn't help myself). anyways, i give you one of the most special and personal stories i've ever written (and honestly, i'm not sure why - something about the topic of beauty and being yourself and the relationship with the home is going to do it for me every time). thank you for waiting patiently. there's a lot going on here, and lots of plot holes, so if it doesn't make sense in places, don't tell anyone. no, i don't know anything about baseball or influencers. yes, i'm obsessed with mattias samuelsson (his voice is my favorite in the league). and yes, dylan cozens is a librarian who wants to be on jeopardy. and of course jack quinn is jj peterka's barback. this may or may not have been inspired by a crisis i had about my high school ex a bit ago (he was so good to me! and it was probably just because we were kids! but what if no one is that good to me again!). jesus sorry about that, i don't know what came over me. what else? oh, yeah, when i am describing beauty here, please know that i am talking (i'm being dead serious) about kindness. if i have learned one thing throughout my life, it is that a genuine smile and a listening ear is all it takes to get pretty privilege (use it!). this is not a "she's not like other girls" story - the opposite, actually, i hope. i chose tj17 for this because he is the epitome of the hometown sweetheart that you just keep coming back to (look at that laugh!). playoffs soon? (i love when everyone gets all angry and bloody in pursuit of the cup). pretty, pretty please, tell me what you think. i've got lots in the works. i'm sending so much love to you and your snakes. make space for yourself in the places you've outgrown. until next time, all my love).

you could admit that it had probably been too long. too long since you'd last ventured back to your hometown, which, to your amazement, as you drove down main street towards your parents' house, looked almost exactly the same as you remembered it.

you could have come home for senior spring break, or for christmas, but you hadn't - it had to have been since thanksgiving, then, which had practically been an overnight trip.

thankfully, it didn't appear that you had missed much. it was all the same tall pines around the outskirts of the avenues, the same town square with the same family-owned shops, same bar (under new management), same stone library steps and street lights that needed repairs.

the directions on your phone were more so a comfort than a necessity - you'd know the way to your street blindfolded, maybe dead, but it was sort of nice, in a way, to think that you needed help getting there. to think that you'd grown up so much that you no longer knew this place the way you know the songs your dad played in the car on the way to school - entirely and wholly, if not a little senselessly.

in what felt like a blink, you already had made it into the driveway, your subtly luxurious suv suddenly feeling much too big and attention-grabbing. you felt as if you might as well have been driving a limo, maybe one of those sleek borderline race-cars in some flashy color.

you put your car in park and unbuckled your seatbelt, your hands gripping the wheel so hard your knuckles paled.

"arrived at home," the robotic voice from your phone said, which made you choke out a short laugh. in all ways but the ones that mattered, yes, you supposed, this was home.

would it be frowned upon to leave the car running? just in case you needed to make a quick exit? you groaned, laid your head down against the steering wheel, careful not to press your forehead down hard enough to honk.

this was exactly what coming home always felt like - frustration to the point of madness, but control to the point of lunacy. home left you crazy, either way.

you were pulled from your anxious haze by a ping from your phone. the name you saw across your screen made your heart stutter.

are the rumors true?

is the starlet back in town?

you sighed, couldn't help the tiny smile that pulled at the corner of your lips, regardless.

even though you were no starlet, even though the thought of small-town rumors made your breath feel short and shallow.

as much as coming home made you want to tear out your hair extensions one by one, as much as the monotonous continuity of this town made you almost dizzy, there was one thing, one person, rather, whose relentless sameness you looked forward to, every time, without fail.

and that person was tyson jost.

you'd known tyson practically forever, or at least for what felt like forever, ever since him and his family moved next door the summer before middle school.

you still remembered seeing him for the first time, watching from your bedroom window as he carried boxes from his mom's minivan up his driveway.

it had started as all lovely things did - so naturally it was hard to pinpoint how exactly it had started.

you swore you could remember him meeting your eyes through the window, his unruly hair in his face, the easiest smile you'd ever seen stretching across his mouth, only barely visible above cardboard flaps.

but, as you'd learned long ago, your memory wasn't always the most trustworthy of places, knew that it could be dramatic and volatile, at times, so you didn't dwell on what exactly had been the beginning of you and tyson.

all you really knew was that all through middle school and high school, he had been your everything.

your school bus seat buddy, your locker neighbor, your smile across the classroom.

he cheered the loudest at your tennis matches, and you never missed one of his baseball games. he was over yours doing homework every weekday, you were the first person he picked up when he got his license. he was your secret language spoken between opposing open bedroom windows.

of course, as he shed his baby face and you got your braces off, things changed a bit, but not really.

you were still his stop it, tys, giggled under your breath when he'd make goofy faces in class, just to get you to laugh.

he was still your you'll be there, right, kid? spoken so earnestly the morning of the championship game, something like worry clouding his usually relentlessly bright eyes. worry that had floated away when you'd hugged him close, mumbled your of course into his chest.

and his constant support, his never-wavering smirk of a smile, it was exactly what you needed during one of the most turbulent times of your life.

high school is weird for everybody, but it was especially weird for you, whose observant tendencies lended themselves to deep, deep emotions that you felt almost physically.

you were a people pleaser, an approval seeker, and at some point you began to realize that others weren't always as forgiving as you were. that other people may not give you the benefit of the doubt, as you tended to afford them.

it got worse when you realized you were pretty.

sometimes, it felt as if you had been beautiful since you could listen, since you could first turn your gaze on someone and make them feel heard, make them feel seen.

and that was a big part of it all - your quiet kindness, combined with that lovely smile, with that careful posture and easy laugh - it seemed that others had become acutely aware of your beauty long before you had.

you caught on, eventually.

you were sixteen when you started to feel the weight of male attention on you in the hallways, when your bare legs in the warm weather started to feel heavy with expectation, when you started to notice how groups of girls would turn and giggle behind their hands when they thought you were just out of earshot.

it was exciting, at first. girls wanted to talk to you, to be close with you. guys wanted to hang out with you. people wanted to give you things, seemingly for nothing.

you distinctly remembered one humid night, in tyson's bedroom, just after he had driven you both home after his practice. his hair had been damp at the roots, his face still a bit flushed in that rosy way you loved.

he'd been scrolling on his phone while you worked on a geometry problem set, half-focused, the other half telling him about the senior in your econ class who'd asked for your snapchat.

you could still picture his narrow gaze, barely looking up from his screen.

"you know he doesn't want to, like, marry you, right, kid?" he'd said, and it was so flippant that it jarred you.

you'd looked up, blinked, felt suddenly so embarrassed you thought you might be sick. "what?" you asked, "yeah, of course, i just-"

"like, he knows nothing about you besides you being hot," tyson finished, almost coldly, rolling onto his side on the beanbag he was sprawled across.

and he was right, obviously, but it felt really mean, somehow, felt like tiny drops of flame were pricking at your cheeks. you felt, to your dismay, that you actually might cry.

"why do you have to say it like that?" you'd asked, hating how pathetic your voice sounded, how it broke towards the end.

this must have gotten his attention, because when tyson finally looked up, his eyes flooded with gentle apology. he let his phone fall to the side, opened up his arms in invitation.

"'m sorry," he mumbled into your hair when you joined him on his beanbag, let him wrap his arms around you. "'m sorry, kid, know that was mean. 'm just jealous, i think." his tone was so matter-of-fact, not trying to hide anything. you supposed he had always been like that.

you laughed into his breastbone, felt the warmth of him all over your face. "you're jealous?" you asked, "what do you have to be jealous about?"

he gave you your favorite kind of smile, the one that made your stomach flutter. "maybe 'cause you're in my room, and you're smilin' 'cause of some other guy," he mused, which made you look up at him, find completely genuine adoration saturating his gaze.

you hummed.

"and 've been tryin' to get you to see that i like you, and it hasn't been workin'-"

your heart stuttered, because of course you liked tyson. how could you not, when he was your everything? when he had been the one who stood by you, before everyone else had seemed to catch on?

"you like me?" you had whispered, almost like a prayer, and his big, beautiful eyes had shimmered with something lovely. something almost bashful.

you swore you could feel something rumbling against his chest. "well, yeah," he said, "but, i don't wanna lose you, kid, so if you don't feel the same way-"

you'd cut him off by pressing your lips to his in a kiss that felt like sunshine, like a sigh of relief, like pillow forts and fall foliage and sunday morning waffles.

so, from then on, not only were you the beautiful girl, you were the beautiful girl dating the budding baseball superstar.

as such, you were seventeen when you realized that as much as it may have seemed that people wanted to give you things, they wanted to take things from you more. much more.

still, as long as you had your small group of friends, and your grades, and your parents, and tyson, you told yourself you didn't really need everyone to love you.

as long as you were kind and generous and empathetic, everything would be fine.

it grew tough to turn the other cheek all the time, though. especially when guys didn't seem to respect that you were in a relationship, when people were starting rumors about you sleeping around, when girls tried to get with your boyfriend again and again and again just to prove they could take him from you. of course, they never could, but it hurt nonetheless.

still, you'd go to every one of tyson's games, as long as he'd jog to the fence afterwards to give you a goofy kiss, like he'd missed you, even for just the few hours he'd been playing.

you'd endure the snide comments in the stands about your outfits as long as he'd whistle, wrap his arms around your waist, pull you back against him and tell you that he almost dropped an easy ball in the third because you'd looked so distracting.

you'd let people assume you were dumb and obnoxious and entitled as long as he'd ask you about your advanced calculus tests, your data analytics internship, your speech and debate competition.

and that was enough. for high school, that was enough.

inevitably, it became clear that people wanted what you had, no matter what it was, no matter how hard you had worked for it.

you were eighteen when you realized you could make a career of people wanting things that you had.

social media was something you stumbled upon accidentally.

just a random post one day, a couple of pictures of you on the tennis court, a few of you in the stands at one of tyson's games, and suddenly you were flushed with followers and likes, more than you knew what to do with.

of course, this only made the rumors worse, but your friends thought it was funny, and tyson thought it was awesome, so you didn't mind. you just continued posting exactly what you always did - your outfits and weekends and dinners and the like - nothing crazy, always tasteful.

it was only a matter of time before brands were reaching out to you, before you suddenly had the need for management, before your social media accounts actually started to become a source of income.

you recognized how lucky you were for this to even be an option for you - how it was mostly because of something as shallow as appearances, how there was nothing more vain, more potentially vapid than social media.

you never cared about the numbers of it all, though, never looked twice at pictures of yourself, never scrolled through your notifications or comments. tyson was always the first to like your posts, anyways, always commenting first! followed by a string of incoherent emojis (usually including the flame one).

he'd text you, too, after you posted, something like love the filter on the second photo! or quite the handsome hand in the fourth :) about a picture of your coffee that he was holding. enough to let you know that he looked at every picture, that he supported you unconditionally, even though you, yourself, sort of thought the whole ordeal was kind of stupid, that social media was dumb and not worth anyone's time.

you were at a bit of a crossroads towards the end of high school - you wanted to get a college degree, that was non-negotiable, but it seemed too good to be true that you could be paid just for being yourself online, just for developing a personal brand.

it seemed too good to pass up.

before you knew it, it was time to apply for college, and it only made sense for you to aim for schools in los angeles, across the country.

just as it only made sense for tyson to play for the national championship winning state school, only a forty-five minute drive from your hometown in upstate new york.

long distance loomed over the two of you like a thunderous cloud, and the weight of it felt heavier than just breaking up, even though splitting up with tyson was still the most painful thing you'd endured.

you still remembered him dropping you off at the airport, insisting on carrying your suitcases all the way to security, even if he had to leave his truck idle in the drop off line, even though he was probably going to get a ticket about it.

of course, you still remembered how his bright eyes had gone glassy, how he still tried to smile even through his slightly quivering bottom lip. how he'd shuddered in your embrace when you hugged him goodbye.

"you'll come back, kid?" he'd asked, almost pleaded, into your shoulder.

"of course, tys," you'd said, but even the memory of the words felt weightless. "don't forget to call me, okay? every day, if you can."

he'd laughed, then, short and choppy, wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. his voice was wobbly. "'d never forget," he said, and it felt true, then.

and so you and your everything went separate ways. you fell into a routine in california, balanced school and your job as an influencer. tyson had a routine of his own, too, practice and lifts and games and the odd class.

you called everyday, in the beginning, heard about how everyone was really good here, how he was nervous on the field for pretty much the first time ever, how classes were hard and everything was hard without you.

you told him about how smart the girls in your classes were, how you really, really wanted them to like you, how you found yourself going to baseball fall games just because it was familiar.

he'd gotten a sad sort of tone in his voice, then. "how's their shortstop?" he asked, and your stomach dropped, because that was his position, and you had a feeling you knew what he was looking for.

"i've seen better," you whispered into your phone, the weight of missing him feeling like an anvil on your chest.

even though you and tyson weren't together, in the technical sense of the word, it still sort of felt like you were.

there were guys here and there, sure, and you could only guess what a hit tyson was with the sorority end of greek row.

you pretended not to notice, on facetime, when there would be purplish bruises on the column of his throat.

you pretended not to notice how jealous it made you, that someone else knew what his pulse felt like under their lips.

just as he probably pretended not to notice when the back of some other guy's head would make an appearance in one of your posts, just enough to run up the comments.

tyson still liked every single one of your pictures, still texted you about almost every one of them, but for those ones, the ones that shimmered with someone-else-ness, he was notably silent.

neither of you seemed to like the notion that the other had an entire life away from the other. both of you seemed to agree that what you didn't see, right in front of you, couldn't hurt you.

every break though, without fail, the two of you would come home and fall back into whatever you were, without explicitly saying what you were.

all you knew was that when the two of you were home for thanksgiving, or christmas, or spring, or whatever else, your phone would light up with a text like heard you're around?

usually the night that followed would involve huddling together on the massive beanbag that was still in his room, pretending to watch a movie before his lips found yours and your hands found the warm plane of his chest. the air would be hot with the unspoken truth of just one more time, just until i leave, just for a second because i missed you.

he never treated you differently, never made fun of your job, even though it would have been so easy to, never was anything but supportive. he was the same gangly boy walking up his driveway, and you were the same shy girl looking at him from your bedroom window, even if that shy girl now had hair extensions and a bit of lip filler and received invitations for black-tie events.

tyson never seemed to care about all of that, anyways, even as years went on, and you both returned home less and less, texts and calls becoming less frequent.

now, as you sat in your car, staring at the text, there was a bittersweet sort of taste in your mouth, because this would actually be the last time.

you and tyson had both graduated about two months ago, and he had moved back home to play for the minor league baseball team, hoping to gain enough traction to eventually earn a spot in the majors.

this week would be your last week home, one you hoped to spend moving all of your stuff out of your parents' house. you planned to move everything back to your place in la, to officially make los angeles your home for the foreseeable future. it only made sense. you had an absurd amount of followers, now, and all your biggest partners were in southern california.

this would be your last week home, and then upstate new york wouldn't be home anymore.

you stared at your phone, bit your lip, contemplating what to say.

i'm home but we can't fuck because i think i'll cry if we do! you typed, then promptly deleted.

barely in the driveway, you sent instead, how did you already know?

got eyes and ears everywhere, he sent, and you could practically see his smug smile. told cozey at the library to watch for your car.

you smiled to yourself, had no idea who cozey was, but figured you'd probably meet him.

busy today? you asked.

know i'd drop everything for you, he sent, immediately, which had you blushing, had you feeling a little dizzy. but headed into practice now. wanna meet me there in a bit?

you agreed, settled on a time and got the address to meet up with him at the field, later.

for now, you exhaled a deep breath, finally got out of your car, and walked into the house, greeting your parents before heading up to your room to shower and change before you left again.

you washed the residue of travel away, tossed your sweat set in a hamper and pulled together an outfit.

after years of practice, you'd become a kind of expert in quick, easy style, in balancing what you liked to wear and what others liked to see you in.

it was warm, today, but not oppressively so, so you landed on a miniskirt and tall boots, a hoodie that made the entire look more relatable to a wider audience.

that's what your brand had come to rely on, over the years - your life was meant to appear out of reach, but only just so. just enough to entice people to try the eyeliner that you wore to an awards show, to buy the jacket you were wearing to a hockey game, to drink the cocktail in your hand on the beach.

it was a careful balance, but it was one you'd mastered. just imperfect enough to be real. just perfect enough to be an ideal.

you made your way to the address tyson had sent you, parked your car and walked to the fence by the practice field, the familiar sound of the sport making your breaths come out easier, your body feel a little lighter.

you leaned up against the old metal fence, feeling a little selfishly lucky that tyson wasn't in the majors, yet. it'd probably be a little harder to just show up at his practice, if he was.

you scanned the diamond for that familiar figure, that broad frame, the auburnish curls under the brim of a cap. you squinted, but most of the team was too far away.

"are you looking for someone?"

you almost jumped, laid a hand over your startled heart at the voice just next to you, now.

the man next to you was in uniform, so he must be on the team, but he was so far in the outfield, so isolated, it was almost comical. he looked to be about your age.

"yeah, sorry," you said, "i'm here for tyson?"

something flickered across his face at this, like recognition. you'd seen this look before, and it scared you a bit, to know that someone thought they knew something about you before meeting you, but you swallowed your anxiety, for now.

"practice is ending soon," was all your cryptic companion said, fidgeting with his glove.

"okay," you tried, "and what's your name?"

"jack," was his short answer. he had a symmetrical face that you had a feeling looked nervous at its resting state, his brown hair short on the sides, his nose almost feminine.

"nice to meet you, jack," you said, a little wary. "i'm-"

you were interrupted by a familiar laugh that had you grinning on instinct.

you looked up to see a trio of men approaching you, one of whom made your face break out into a smile you couldn't contain if you tried. you locked eyes with tyson, felt your heart almost fizz at the sensation.

the tallest of the three slung an arm around the shortest. "like we're not even here," he said, dramatic, his voice silly in its depth.

"oh, shut up, sammy," tyson said, but his eyes didn't stray from you. he looked awestruck, but not starstruck. like he couldn't believe you were here, but not because of who you were. rather, because of how much he had wanted you to be here.

it seemed that every time you saw tyson, he only got more ruinous in his beauty. he wasn't the lanky kid you'd met all that time ago - now so wide across the chest, the thigh, his arms looming large in his short-sleeve. he'd grown into his body, but his face, too, now so sharp at the jaw and nose, but soft around the cheeks in a way that made his smile crushingly beautiful.

as soon as he was in front of you, he put his hands on your waist, lifted you easily over the fence and wrapped you up in his arms.

you swore the world melted away, for a moment, as you breathed him in, not caring how sweaty he was, or that his friends were around, or how you probably weren't supposed to be on the field.

"i missed you," you murmured into his chest.

"how long do i get you?" he mumbled back, his breath hot on your neck.

"a week," you replied, pulling away, just a bit, not quite telling him the full story, yet. not quite telling him that this time, you were leaving for good.

he hummed, a half-answer, before generously turning to the group of guys who had taken to leaning on the fence.

"you met quinner," tyson said, to which jack raised a shy hand in recognition. he nodded towards the shortest of the group, the blonde, who nodded to you in greeting. "this is jj. two of 'em work the bar downtown on free nights."

you smiled. "you're bartenders?" you asked them, curious.

jj scoffed. "i'm a bartender," he clarified, a trace of an accent making his words quick, "he's my bar-back."

"don't have to tell everyone that," jack mumbled, kicking the dirt softly with one of his cleats.

"and you know sammy," tyson finished, gesturing to his side.

you peered up at the at the tallest of the bunch, whom you remembered as tyson's friend from college, one you'd met multiple times, who'd tried to get your number before he realized who you were to tyson.

"hey, hollywood," sammy asked, and you rolled your eyes at the nickname.

"i wasn't hollywood until i politely declined," you reminded him, smiling, tyson's arm tight around your waist.

sammy gave a light laugh, leaned back further. "and it was your loss," he argued.

"'m not so sure," you sing-songed back.

"careful, hollywood, or i'll cancel you," was sammy's reply, and it made you laugh, at the reminder of just how odd and unique your life was, your job.

after catching up quickly, and making plans to get drinks with them the next day, you bid your goodbyes to tyson's teammates.

as you walked away with tyson, towards the parking lot, you heard the back end of the conversation you'd left in your wake.

"what were you doin' out here, anyways?" came jj's voice.

"just in the outfield, i don't know," jack's mumbly voice said, almost embarrassed.

"yeah, right," sammy replied. "you were tryna put the moves on her, weren't you?"

you bit back a laugh as you fell into stride with tyson. nothing had ever been easier than being pressed against his side, your shoulder curling in, just to be closer to him.

"last time i saw you, you were a national champion," you said, tilting your head to look up at him, smiling. it was crazy to think that he was a professional, now.

"and last time i saw you, you were prepping for that podcast you were going to go on," he said, "how'd that go, by the way?"

you furrowed your brow. "you didn't listen? thought i sent it to you."

he flushed in that way you loved. "i listened," he admitted, "just tryna play it cool, 's all."

you laughed into him, playfully hit him on the chest, relished in the shake of his shoulders. "you're so nonchalant, tys, it's killin' me," you said, and you could almost hear his grin.

"you're sweet, kid," he said, "thinkin' i know what nonchalant means."

then you were in front of his red truck, the same one he learned to drive on, the same one he used to drive you home from school in. "you're a pro and you've still got this piece of-"

tyson opened his mouth in feigned shock. "don't you dare," he warned. "she's no hunk of junk. been with me through everything."

and you swallowed your words. because you knew he didn't mean it like that, but the truth hung between the two of you, nonetheless - that his truck had been with him through everything. that you had not.

tyson seemed to sense your shift in emotion, tried to change the subject. "wouldn't make a habit of calling me a pro, either," he warned.

"yeah?" you asked, and his eyes flashed. "gonna get a big head on me?"

he leaned a little deeper against the passenger door, a little easier. "don't spoil me, kid," he warned, and it was light-hearted, but sort of serious, too. like if you were too nice to him, too lovely, it'd make your leaving all the more painful.

you hummed, sucked on your teeth for a second, a nervous habit. "should i be mean, then, tys?" you pressed, because you missed him, like this. missed the way your breathy words could make his exhales shallow, his cheeks rosy, his eyes glossy.

he rested his temple against the window, crossed his arms over his chest. you mirrored his posture, crossing your ankles and leaning against the side of the car. "know i like you both ways," he said, low, and it had something sparking in your stomach like an old-fashioned lighter.

because you did know. you knew that as much as he liked when you whispered how pretty he was against his mouth, or through spit-soaked lips against his cock, he also liked when you pulled his head back off of you by his hair, when you murmured how greedy he was, how spoiled and bratty.

in a world that wanted to take everything from you, against your will, against your wishes, it felt like something magnificent that tyson wanted to take whatever you'd give him, so badly.

you and tyson had always felt inevitable, in a way, like no matter what (or who) you did, you'd always stumble back together.

"i have my own place, now," he said, and it was strained, almost desperate. "i could show you?"

and you wanted to say yes, so much so that you had to bite your lip to stop the words from coming out. "tys," you began, instead, because you knew that if you didn't tell him your plans, now, you'd regret it forever. you knew that to blindside him would be cruel.

his eyes shone with something other than desire, then. "i know you're not coming back, this time," he said, and you hated the resignation you'd evoked in the most hopeful person you knew. "i know i don't get you again, kid."

you sighed. you supposed it wouldn't have been that hard to infer the truth. you hadn't really been trying to hide it, only trying to minimize damages.

"i just," you said, willing any shake from your tone, looking down at your feet like a coward, "i just don't think it's a good idea for me to come over, tonight."

there was a small pause that felt like a grand piano on your chest. you could feel his probing gaze on your profile, searching for something, some sign. you felt awful that you couldn't give him one.

"okay, kid," he said, eventually. it was impossible to miss the slight disappointment that wavered in his voice. "you'll be here, tomorrow?" the unsure shake in his tone could have killed you.

"i'll see you tomorrow." you said, hopeful, even though all you wanted to do was kiss him so hard it chipped his perfect teeth. "we'll get drinks with your friends?"

he smiled back at you, but his eyes didn't scrunch up at the corners. it wasn't real, not truly. "yeah," he said, "yeah, perfect."

you hugged him goodbye and couldn't ignore how he held you, then - like your feet were buoyant in the air, like you were dreamily floating away, and he was the only thing keeping you on the ground.

that night, in your childhood bed, you slept in bouts of doubt, amidst tantrums of guilt. you slept poorly.

you had some work to do the next morning.

this "work" didn't look the same way work did for most. while you still fostered a general skepticism towards social media, you found small joys in it nonetheless. for example, you still avoided reading comments, and you never watched your videos over again after posting them, but you loved to leave kind words on the posts of people you'd met over the years, of close friends, sometimes of acquaintances.

you enjoyed the feeling of getting an especially lovely shot of your morning coffee, a unique picture of your friend laughing after pilates class, appreciated when girls would reach out to you to say how much they loved a product you'd endorsed. you liked sharing what you thought about books you were reading, how recipes you tried turned out.

you figured that it wouldn't do you much good to dwell on the seemly meaninglessness of what you did. you figured that you could make your own meaning, a meaning that involved kindness and gratitude and genuineness in a world of drama and envy and vanity.

as was the case for most things, for most jobs - there were both good parts and not so good parts.

this morning was pretty tame, in comparison to some of your recent workdays. you had a few videos to shoot (including a sort of ironic get ready with me in my childhood home), a short meeting with your management, and a brand deal to finalize.

you wanted to get all of that done before that night, so that you could fully enjoy your night out. so that you could fully enjoy your time with tyson.

thankfully, your meeting was easy, just a twenty minute check-in on your computer, and filming get ready with me videos had become something of a instinct, so that was fast, too.

for your brand deal though, you wanted to get out of the house, maybe shoot at a location with a little better natural lighting. so, after making some progress packing up your bedroom, you left the house in search of large windows and an abundance of sunlight.

your search proved successful when you found yourself at the local public library. the beautiful stone building had the most gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows, a ton of sunshine, and a big study space full of desks - perfect for the ad you were shooting for the blue-light glasses brand you loved.

you didn't want to overstep your boundaries, though, knew that different places had different policies on cameras and the like, so you approached the front desk, and the narrow-faced, brown-haired boy behind it, who didn't seem to register your presence, his face all but hidden in what appeared to be a book about the history of horses.

"excuse me," you asked, "can i ask you something?"

he looked up, his face blank, completely devoid of a reaction. "yeah," he said, plainly, not putting his book down.

"great," you replied, your smile cheery. you looked down at his name tag, saw that it read dylan. "i was wondering what your policy was on taking pictures."

"of me?" dylan asked, his brow scrunching up in confusion.

you blinked, half-laughed. "no," you began, slowly. "no, not of you."

"are you josty's girl?" was his follow-up question, and you felt your head spin in an instant, felt your heart well up at his wording. oh, no, how you weren't tyson's girl. oh, how you wanted to be.

you just tilted your head. "you know tyson?"

he nodded, his eyes careful, a little calculating. "he had me watchin' for your rover the other day."

your eyes widened in realization. "you're cozey," you said, and it came out like a laugh, because somehow such a childlike nickname didn't fit the face in front of you, the serious expression, the quiet nature.

he smiled, at bit, his thin lips curling towards the corner. "was startin' to think he made you up," he said, "talks about you so much, and we never saw you."

"oh, wonderful," you said as you dramatically covered your eyes with your palms, consequently getting a strong smell of your perfume, still potently present on your wrists. "can only imagine all the nonsense he's told you."

dylan looked a little confused, but maybe that was just how he looked. "just that you take pretty pictures," he said, "and that he's gonna be busy this week."

you could tell that there was more to what he was saying, that he was keeping something from you, something important, but you didn't pry.

"is it okay if i use that table over there to shoot an ad really quick?" you asked, pointing towards the desk by the window.

he seemed generally confused as to what you were doing and why, but he consented nonetheless.

"thank you," you said to him with a smile, "you're the best, dylan."

he just blinked at you and mumbled a yeah, no problem.

without another person there to help out, you were left to your own equipment, the dreaded tripod making an appearance to get a good shot of you in several pairs of glasses, in front of your computer, looking like you were working.

you were past feeling awkward about taking photos of yourself this way, but the ordeal had memories flooding back to you, anyway.

memories of sitting on the beach with tyson, trying to get an alright angle so that you could capture all of the sponsored swimsuit you had been wearing.

"want me to help?" tyson had said, almost immediately, his curly hair windblown, his chest sandy and tan.

you'd looked at him with such gratefulness, then. at the small gesture that meant he didn't hate the weird life you were living - but rather that he still recognized it was you who was living it.

"could you, please?" you'd asked, couldn't stop the smile his eagerness pulled from you.

and he'd look so happy to be of service, his long fingers making your phone look like a child's toy, his tongue peeking out of his mouth as he poised the camera just so, shifting it softly between shots.

he'd let out a low whistle when you'd angle your body a certain way, mainly to showcase the cute neckline of the swimsuit, but also in a way you knew made your chest look good.

and other guys would probably let loose some snide comment about how it wasn't fair that everyone got to see you like this, how it wasn't right to show yourself off in this way.

of course, tyson didn't do that, though, was never the type for such things.

"am i drooling, kid?" he'd asked instead, leaning his face forward so you could get a better look at his mouth, his eyes sparkling. "feel like i must be, at this point."

and you'd roll your eyes at him, but your chest would feel warm and content, and you'd lean forward and kiss him softly in thank you.

then he'd smiled and scooped you up, phone forgotten on his towel, and ran you over to the ocean, diving into the waves with you in his arms as you'd squealed your disapproval.

"tys," you'd whined, once you'd both come up above the waves again. "now my hair's all ruined." you pouted, but you didn't regret any of it - not when he was looking at you like you were some kind of mermaid, maybe a siren - something or someone he couldn't say no to, even if he'd wanted to.

he'd pulled you against him, so warm in contrast with the cold ocean water, so close you could feel every ridge of muscle against your stomach. "look prettier than any picture," he'd breathed, his cheeks rosy, running his hand through your hair, so genuine it almost hurt to remember.

it didn't feel the same, now, at this sunny library desk, pretending to be someone put together. pretending to be some different person, someone so much more organized and important, simply because of the half-rimmed glasses you were wearing.

regardless, you got the shots you needed, sent them to your management to be approved by the brand, and then began to pack up your stuff, folding your tripod up and throwing your bag over your shoulder.

after checking your phone, you realized you were a little pressed for time, that you'd actually been here for longer than you'd realized.

you stopped by the front desk again on your way out, gave the attendant a small smile. "thank you again, dylan," you said.

he looked up from his book, now something entirely different, not the complete history of horses but rather the complete history of sabretooth tigers. "no problem," he said, his voice fairly uninterested.

"are you coming out with us tonight?" you asked. "to that bar downtown? what's it called?"

"the kid's line," dylan answered. you squinted, slightly, at the odd name for the bar. "yeah, i'll be there. think jj and jack are working tonight."

"i'll see you there, then," you said before turning to make for the door. he called out a quiet goodbye as you did.

it became clear, after about a half hour of you trying to get ready, that something wasn't quite right. as you stood in front of your closet and open suitcase, you blew a stray lock of hair from your face, frustrated.

you had no idea what to wear, which rarely ever happened. nothing felt right. your dresses felt too formal, your skirts too revealing, your jeans not revealing enough.

you were stuck in this weird limbo, this almost purgatory-like mental space - caught between wanting to look really good and knowing it would be a little cruel to do so, when you'd just, last night, practically rejected the one person you wanted more than anything.

perhaps rejection wasn't the right word, as you hadn't flat out denied him, hadn't blatantly lied, said no, tys, i don't want to come over, i don't want to hug you until both our ribcages crack, i don't want to hear you moan into my ear until it's the only sound i can remember.

that happy hope dying out in his eyes though, that blinking realization that this time was different, that this time wasn't going to be like all the others - it sat in the back of your head like an ancient man in an even more ancient armchair.

you sighed, closed your eyes for a moment. home had always been tough to come back to, a place you felt much too big for, like trying to squeeze into middle school jeans. it had been a place defined by mean comments that still lurked in your mind, in snarky looks from classmates and adults alike, in always feeling like you were the last to know things, on the bad end of every inside joke.

tyson had always been your exception, though, your trump card, your tangible proof in a world of through-screen praise that you were worth something.

it was dawning on you, slowly but surely - when you left in a few days, for the final time, when you didn't have him to ground you to the earth like the roots of some great maple - what then? would you even recognize yourself without the heavy knowledge that even if you had nothing else, at least you had him? what would a truly tyson-free you even look like?

you shuddered at the thought, at how much it scared you. still, the question made your decision about what to wear suddenly seem very easy. you threw on your favorite pair of jeans and one of tyson's baseball sweatshirts from high school without giving it another thought before heading out the door and making your way to the kid's line.

this bar used to be called granato's when you were growing up, but apparently the name had changed recently with the change in management. you gave an impressed sort of look as you entered the establishment. it was a lot nicer than you remembered.

you scanned the room for the group you were looking for, which was a little hard, given how packed the place was. you squinted, your gaze shifting from face to face, before you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"they're over by the edge of the bar," a sweet, feminine voice said, making you turn to face a petite woman, probably about your age, maybe a little younger. she wore her smile beautifully on her round face. her black clothes and apron, along with the tray of empty glasses she was carrying, told you that she worked here.

"thank you," you said, smiling back at her, "what was your name?"

"mia," she answered, and you gave her your own name in return.

"how'd you know who i was looking for?" you asked, curious.

she tilted her head like you'd said something funny. "tyson's only been talking about you for about a million years," she said, and the information made you feel guilty and overjoyed all at once.

"i better get over there, then," you said. "it was nice to meet you, mia. i hope i'll be seeing more of you?"

she smiled. "i'm always around," she said, kindly.

you squeezed behind stools, chairs, and people to approach the edge of the bar, quickly recognizing the group of guys you had been looking for.

sammy was the first to notice you, from his high vantage point.

"hollywood," he greeted, deep and loud, "you made it."

"that i did," you said, quickly slotting yourself next to tyson and wrapping an arm around his waist, not giving yourself a chance to be timid, beating your guilt and regret to the punch. "mia showed me the way."

if tyson was reluctant to accept your display of easiness, of affection, he didn't show it, immediately tucking his broad hand into the back pocket of your jeans, the way he used to do in high school. it made you blush, swoon, feel dizzy. dizzy enough to lean your head against the side of his arm.

"mia, eh?" sammy's smirk grew teasing as he looked to dylan, who was basically melting into the wall, gaze averted. "what do you think, coz? should we get her over here?"

your eyes widened in interest. "d'you have a thing for mia, dylan?" you asked, smiling, happy to have something to focus on besides your own internal dilemmas.

the librarian gave something like a dismissive scoff, but his blush was something violent, all over his face, and he almost choked when he took a sip of his drink.

sammy basically pulled his friend from the wall by the back of his neck, slung a huge arm around his shoulder. "it's only been, what, a few years, eh, coz?"

tyson chuckled, and you felt it at your temple.

"why don't you ask her out?" you asked, to which dylan pressed his lips together, like he knew exactly what was going to be said next.

"that would require him to actually talk to her, kid," tyson said, right by your ear, his breath hot, sweet, from the cocktail he was drinking.

you winced. "oh, dyl," you said, slow, almost pitiful.

"i've talked to her," he tried, but it was weak, knowing.

sammy gave that boisterous laugh, tilting his head back. "good one, coz."

you hugged tyson closer to you, smiling into the embrace, loving how it felt to be a part of his world, if only for a bit. you realized that you were almost hungry for it - for tyson's world, his touch, just him.

such a predicament wasn't helped when he leaned down, slightly, just enough to make the music feel far away. "like your sweatshirt, pretty thing," he said, and it was the kind of rasp that told you that he'd had a few drinks before you'd arrived.

regardless, you looked up at him with an almost delirious hope in your eyes. "yeah?" you asked, reaching up to push his curls from his face, so you could see his hooded eyes.

he hummed. "know i love my number on you," he said, and your knees practically wobbled, because you did. you remembered how so many nights spent in the stands with his number on your back ended in ways that had you wondering where he began and you finished.

your heated haze was diluted when someone bumped into you with something cold, jarring you, making your head snap to your left.

you were met with a guilty looking jack quinn in all black, supposedly on the job, with a bucket of ice in his hands.

"sorry," he said, walking towards the other side of the bar.

tyson pulled you back so you were right in front of him, allowing you to relax against his chest. "watch where 're goin', eh, quinner?"

"jack," came a jj-sounding voice from next to sammy, shaking some drink together over his shoulder. "what'd i say about walking through the room with the ice?"

"to not to," jack mumbled, making you shake in a soft laugh.

jj winked at you, which made the arms around your front tighten, ever so slightly, just enough to notice. just enough to feel wanted. "sorry, beautiful," jj said, "my bar-back's not the brightest of the bunch."

"that's just mean," jack mumbled to himself as he dumped the ice in the cooler below the counter.

"no worries at all," you said, "didn't feel a thing."

dylan laughed by the wall. "don't have to lie," he said, "know he swings that thing around like a mace."

"oh, big words from the bookworm, eh?" sammy chided, leaning back against the counter.

dylan rolled his eyes. "mace is four letters," he responded. "not my fault it'd take you a few tries to spell your own last name correctly."

sammy scoffed, set his beer down. "whatever," he said, "'m gonna go talk to that smoke by the door."

there was a moment during which he waited for dylan's retort, but it never came. he shot dylan a look. "your silence is speaking volumes, coz," he said, walking away. "tell mia i say hey."

the lot of you watched as sammy approached the blonde woman with sharp features who was standing off to the side of the door.

tyson laughed lightly when his friend's posture grew suggestive, when sammy leaned down to hear the woman when the music in here wasn't even that loud.

"such a tool," dylan mumbled when sammy took her hand and kissed the top of it, like some kind of prince courting a fair maiden. by the looks of the woman's flush, her delighted laugh, the tool seemed to be doing okay for himself.

the night passed both sluggishly and too fast, defined by tyson pressed against you, the sound of laughter, the taste of some cocktail that jj had named the hollywood.

the hollywood was fruity, sweet, and pink, but it turned out to be lethal - after one you knew your time drinking was over if you hoped to drive home at the end of the night. tyson, however, had a few of them, and you could tell. you couldn't say you minded, not that much.

ever since he could drink, tyson had been a truly flirty drunk. alcohol seemed to make his hands stick like velcro to you, make his posture hunch just to be at eye level with you. with a few empty glasses came sweet words from his mouth, if not a little jumbled. his cheeks always flushed so pink, and he became even more uninhibited about showing you just how happy he was to be around you.

tonight was no different. as you listened and joked with his friends, his embrace grew steadily more meaningful, until he was practically hanging off of you like a garland on a christmas tree.

at some point, jj said something that made you laugh, and you could feel tyson's pout on the back of your neck. it made you scrunch your brow in confusion, look up at him, push his hair from his blushy face.

"what's wrong, tys?" you asked, quietly, just for him.

he sighed, and it made him younger than he was. you turned to face him, fully, wrapped your arms around his neck, ran your nails along the back of his hairline, just how you knew he liked. when he sighed again, it was in bliss. he looked at you like there had never been anyone else in this world more interesting.

"just want you, i think," he said, so blunt and honest, as he always was, and it cracked your chest in two.

"is that all?" you breathed, and you meant it as a joke, but it came out strained. he rested his palms on the small of your back.

he smiled, slightly, the corner of his full mouth pulling upwards. "yeah, nothing new," he said, "same as always." something like indecision flickered in his gaze before he pressed a kiss to your cheek, then to the other, then to your forehead, his lips so warm and doting and lovely and familiar.

your own lips parted slightly at the sensation, and you felt yourself leaning forward slightly, practically begging him to kiss you, for real-

a cold, hard, smack against your leg ripped you from your fantastical daze. once again, you turned to find jack and his bucket of ice.

"jesus christ, jack!" jj called from behind the bar. "honestly, it's not that hard!"

jack set the ice down on the ground, turned to jj with something like anger in his eyes. "why don't you do it, then, if it's so easy?"

jj shook his head like this was the craziest thing he'd ever heard. "the bartender doesn't get the ice, idiot," he said, "that's like the first rule. apologize to the beautiful lady."

jack shook his head, murmured his apology to you before taking the ice behind the counter.

sammy was long gone, supposedly with the blonde from before, and dylan had wandered off. he said he was going to the restroom, but mia appeared to have intercepted him mid-walk.

you smiled to yourself at the sight - he looked about as nervous as a person could get, hand in his pocket, the other wrapped so tightly around his glass that his knuckles were white. mia didn't appear to mind, either way, if her easy laugh and wide grin were anything to go by.

when she tilted her head back in a sweet giggle at something he had said, dylan looked just about stunned.

you turned back to tyson, wrapped one of his big hands up in both of yours. deja vu stole your breath for a second. you used to do this before big games. tyson would turn to you before he had to join the team, offer his left hand to you.

"warm her up for me, please, kid," he'd say, wait for you to run your palms over his. he would refuse to leave until you pressed your lips to his knuckles, swearing it gave him good luck, that he wouldn't play well without your seal of approval.

at this point in his career, with him playing without you, you both knew this wasn't true, but it felt true, then.

"let's get you home, pretty boy," you said to him, now, knowing he was not in a state fit for driving. "i'll give you a ride."

you leaned forward on the bar counter, not dropping his hand. "thanks for tonight, boys," you said to jack and jj. "wonderful service."

"anything for you, beautiful," jj said, wiping the counter down. you supposed that his charm must make him quite good at this job.

"'m sorry about the ice," jack said, scratching the back of his neck. "it's just really heavy."

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you teased, tilting your head.

jack looked confused at the relevance of your comment. "i guess," he said.

on your way out, you passed mia and dylan. you thanked her again for her help. "oh, and dylan told me he set aside a book at the library for you," you said, and the man in question began to shake his head vigorously, trying ever so hard to get you to stay in your lane. "right, dyl?"

he gave you an angry look that evaporated as soon as mia turned to him, looking genuinely touched. "really?" she asked.

dylan coughed. "i guess so," he said, clipped, "got a real great read for you." you made a gesture with your free hand for him to continue, to keep talking. "and you can pick it up," he paused, squinting at you, as if deciding, "tomorrow."

after that had been decided, you and tyson officially said your goodbyes. he was a little slow on his feet, but he got into the passenger seat fine, if not a bit quietly.

"you'll be good if i drop you at yours?" you asked as you pulled out of the parking lot. you knew he hadn't had too, too much to drink, that he should be fine on his own for the night, especially if his roommate, sammy, would be coming home later tonight.

tyson just nodded, gave you his address. you wanted to ask him what was wrong, why he was suddenly so quiet, but a selfish part of you didn't want to know.

he spoke, eventually, regardless. "you're so good with them," he said, and it was soft, almost wistful.

"with who?" you asked, making a right turn. you were thankful that driving gave you an excuse not look at his face.

tyson gave a vague gesture. "them," he said, "everyone. my friends, this town. you're good, here." there was a pause. "you're good with me, kid."

it was selfish and probably cruel, but you were a little grateful that he was tipsy, so you could chalk it up to the alcohol. so that you could deny it wasn't just the plain truth.

"tyson," you began, but then you bit your lip, unsure.

"wow, full name," he said, sad but teasing, like he was trying so hard not to be serious. "must've really fucked up." he turned to face you as you pulled into his driveway, and when he spoke again it was as cruel as you'd heard him. "was it something i said?"

there was a pause during which you had absolutely no clue what to say. because as much as his confession had hurt you, because of how much you knew it hurt him, these words hurt in a different way. if you're good with me had been a slow growing infection, a dull and steady pain, was it something i said was a dagger wound to the ribs - sharp and stinging with every exhale.

and it probably wasn't fair, because it hurt you only because it was true, only because it reminded you how much you were killing him. it hurt because it was guilt. it wasn't fair, because who were you to hurt, now? all because the person who had always taken everything you gave him was finally asking for something? the one thing you couldn't give him?

luckily, tyson didn't seem to want to stick around to hear your answer, instead getting out of the car with a heavy breath and walking up to his front door, unlocking it and closing it behind him without a look back.

you were practically shaking for the rest of the night, all throughout the drive to your place, as you brushed your teeth and took off your makeup, as you tucked yourself into bed and stared up at the ceiling.

you thought about texting him, saying something like you know i can't do this, but you figured it would just be salt in the wound, so you just tossed and turned all night, trying to push his disappointed tone and rosy resignation from your head.

the next couple of days passed in agony. you weren't sure if you could reach out to tyson, and he didn't reach out to you, so the countdown to your final goodbye ticked down. it felt like a waste, because you only had so many days, and you weren't even getting to see him for so many of them. all because of you. or him. or both of you.

you used your isolation as much-needed time to catch up on work and finally make some serious progress on packing up your room.

mornings were filled with brand deals and computer meetings and phone calls and filming. when the sun dipped lower in the sky, like an inflated end of summer peach, too heavy for the breezy blue sky to support, you would turn your attention to your dresser, your drawers, your storage bins.

it was fine. it was all fine - this was what you had come home to do, in the first place. this was the whole purpose of you coming home.

eventually, though, when you sighed, opened up your closet doors to tackle the very last space you had to deal with, when you realized after the closet was done, you would be done, when it registered that you were leaving tomorrow night, when you couldn't really bear the thought of not seeing tyson on your last night here, you caved.

you took the easy way out, though, didn't just text him i miss you or i'm sorry, instead pulled out the second place talent show trophy you'd found buried under tennis skirts and winter coats, took a photo of it and sent it to him.

still think we were robbed, you added, even though it wasn't true. the kid who won the year you and tyson did a magic act was a truly exceptional pianist, and all you did was gesture towards tyson's card tricks in a sparkly outfit. for the whole year afterwards, though, the two of you would joke about how the whole thing was rigged, how you demanded a recount, how first place was overrated.

it made you smile, to remember a time when the two of you were so close, when the prospect of being separated wasn't even on your radar.

you half expected tyson to ignore your message, maybe to tell you to fuck off with all of your weaponized nostalgia, but of course he didn't.

within minutes, he had sent you back a picture of his own trophy, displayed somewhere with his diploma, college degree, and all of his baseball stuff.

of course, he never would have let such a relic sink to the depths of his closet, to be all but forgotten amidst old halloween costumes and flannel bedsheets. he would never have let a reminder of you be anything but front and center.

probably would have won if you'd been running the show, he texted back, and a small smile tugged free on your face. it felt like the first time you'd smiled in days.

yeah? you responded, think you could pull off the sequins?

is that even a question? was tyson's response. you could practically see his smirk, his easy lean.

there was a second of pause as you stared at the bubbles on your screen that let you know that he was typing.

you're probably busy, he sent, but we're playing at home tonight.

your decision to go see him was made in a second, in a second that you realized tyson jost thought that there was a possibility that you could ever be too busy for him.

too scared, maybe, too self-conscious and self-doubtful, sure, but too busy? never.

i'll be there, you sent back, tacking on an i miss you, tys on the end just because it was true.

after assuring you he'd drive you home after, he texted you an i miss you, too, kid.

you finished packing up your closet, got ready for the night. you were going to get at least a few photos of you in the stands, as the ballpark lighting would add some variety to your natural-looking feed, so you decided to put a little more effort into what you were wearing, made sure to set your face well enough to last.

not enough effort, however, to refuse to wear tyson's cap from high school, the one that had his number stitched into the brim. you texted dylan, since you figured he'd be attending to support his friends, arranging to sit together once you'd both arrived.

after a final look in the mirror and a deep breath, you headed out the door and took the bus to the ballpark, turning your music up loud enough in your headphones to drown out any thoughts of doubt or guilt or regret.

dylan wasn't there yet when you arrived, so you figured you'd take the time before the game started to get those pictures you wanted. you made your way to your seat, set up the timer on your phone, went through the routine you usually went through when you were shooting in public, changing your angle or pose slightly after each shot.

you didn't spread out, made sure not to intrude on anyone's space - you were well practiced in being courteous and conscious while taking pictures.

even so, it wasn't long before you heard the distinct sound of poorly-hidden laughter just behind you, a few rows back, just loud enough and close enough to know they were laughing at you.

"is she actually doing that right now?" came a voice that you could almost recognize - if there's someone who doesn't know what a judgmental high school girl sounds like, perhaps they should consider themselves lucky.

someone else, probably her friend beside her, snickered. "probably hopin' one of the players will notice her."

at this point in your career, you were used to people not getting it - not getting you. and while you had long ago made peace with the fact that guys could just be jerks, especially when you weren't interested in them, it had always been the hate from girls that hurt the most.

it had been the same way in high school, when girls, yourself included, were still learning that life wasn't some grand fight-to-the-death competition for which the prize was male attention. you knew that if girls were mean to other girls, more often than not, it was because they had been taught that that was just the way it was supposed to be, bombarded from a young age with ideas about cat-fights and mean girls and such.

of course, having gone through it yourself, you knew that such behavior was something you grew out of, something that comes with the privilege of having close female friends, the privilege of understanding how lovely and genuine such friendships can be.

you chose to give these girls behind you the benefit of the doubt, to believe that they would grow out of their meanness. and sure, you could have turned around and snapped at them, maybe even said something about how you didn't need one of the players to notice you, because number seventeen was already yours (even though that wasn't all the way true).

you could have done a lot of things, but instead you just turned to face them and smiled.

the one on the right gave you a guilty look, like she'd been caught.

"sorry to be a bother," you said, "but do you think you could take a few for me?" you handed your phone out to her. "i'd love some from your angle. you can say no, though, no problem."

one of the thing you'd learned along the way was that it was harder to be critical about things you were directly involved in.

the pair of girls blinked at you for a second, but eventually, the silence was broken.

"yeah, sure," one said. "no problem."

"awesome, you're the best," you said, then showed her how to angle the phone and what settings to put your camera on.

she took a few and then handed the phone back to you. your eyes widened as you looked through the photos she'd taken. "woah." you looked up to meet her expectant gaze. "you're, like, really good at this," you said, because it was true - you now had several good options to post.

the girl blushed, and the sight made you really, genuinely happy. "i'm into photography," she admitted, "usually not people, but, i mean, i don't know."

her friend smiled, slapped her playfully on the arm. "don't be humble," she teased, before looking towards you, "she took my prom photos and they were crazy good."

"i believe it," you said, nodding, before gesturing between them. "do you want me to get one of you guys?"

after they agreed and handed you one of their phones, you shot a couple of them, together, arms around each other, their smiles genuine and brighter than the massive lights above the ballpark. eventually, your phone buzzed.

"i think that means my friend's here," you said, then handed them back their phone. "but it was really nice to meet you guys. thanks again for your help."

one of them waved you off. "of course," she said, "anytime."

you gave them a wave and a smile as you made your way back down to your seat, where dylan was waiting.

as you turned, you heard them begin to whisper again, but with a very different tone.

"she's, like, so pretty," one said.

"oh my god, right?" the other agreed, "and i need that jacket."

you bit your lip to stifle your smile as you settled into the seat next to dylan. it was honestly kind of crazy - how simply being kind made you that much more beautiful in the eyes of others.

"hey, dyl," you greeted, taking in the tall, thin figure to your left before narrowing your eyes. "why're you dressed like you're on the run?"

dylan scoffed, but your observation was spot on. your companion had on two sweatshirts and a bucket hat, tilted down so that his face was barely visible. "i'm not," he said. you raised a brow, to which he sighed. "mia said she was coming tonight."

you all but squealed, pressed your palms together and held the side of your hands to your lips. "why're you hiding, then?" you asked, your fingers itching to rip the hat from his head.

"because i gave her a book like you forced me to," he bit out.

"well," you said, "what book did you give her?"

"the complete history of open heart surgery," he answered, plainly.

you grimaced. "oh, dylan," you sighed. "why didn't you give her a cute little rom-com, or, like, a book with a character that reminds you of her?"

"i got nervous, alright?" he said, gesturing flippantly. "i just gave her the book i had been reading the day before."

"what's with all the complete histories, anyways?" you asked, curious. "every time i've seen you, it's been something different."

dylan cut you a side glance as the teams stilled, as the announcer introduced the anthem singer. "'m training," he said, "for jeopardy."

you took off your hat and shook your hair loose, deciding as the anthem began that there were crazier things that your hometown librarian training to be on a trivia game show.

as the music ended and you turned back to the diamond, clapping with the rest of the crowd, you searched for number seventeen, for that figure you'd know blind. you found him, his curly hair unruly even under his hat, the sight of him enough to make you practically sigh in relief.

if you hadn't been aware of how much you'd missed him, these last couple of days, the ache in your chest was making that abundantly clear, now, the weight of it impossible to ignore.

the game passed fairly predictably. tyson's team was the heavy favorite, and they had pulled away in just the first few innings. sammy was pitching a heater, and jack and jj proved to be much more of a reliable duo in the outfield than they were behind the bar.

of course, you weren't particularly paying attention to anyone besides tyson, your gaze almost glued to him under the harsh light above the bleachers.

nostalgia had become something like a dagger since you'd been home, but there was something lovely about the way sitting in the stands and watching him play made you feel.

you'd been in this position a thousand times before, through high school varsity and club teams and summer league. you'd been an observer from a distance during his college years.

and here you were, back again, both of you so, so different and yet devastatingly, beautifully the same. as you hugged one knee up to your chest, you felt young in a way you hadn't felt in years, maybe ever.

it felt so good to not have to worry about anything besides if you were cheering too loudly.

"i just don't want to embarrass you," you used to say to tyson on the drive home, when you'd bring up your anxiety on the topic.

he'd squeeze your knee, chuckle to himself. "you could never, kid," he'd say, "want everyone there to know you're there for me."

you barely noticed dylan's practically frantic search around the stands for mia, or jj and jack's dugout antics (spilling blue gatorade on each others' white pants), or sammy's loud voice basically cutting through the night air.

the only thing you noticed was tyson's easy posture, easier smile, perhaps easiest laugh. he was at home, here. he had a home, here, and there wasn't a single part of him that was embarrassed about it.

the realization made you flush with something you couldn't quite put your finger on, something like want, or maybe more like need.

something that had you crossing and recrossing your legs, adjusting the hair on the back of your neck, almost sighing with relief when the game finally ended, when you and dylan made your way to the ballpark back exit, where tyson had promised to meet you.

"well, i guess you successfully avoided mia," you said as the two of you waited.

dylan let out a sharp breath. "yeah," he conceded, "thank god."

you smiled at his tone, though - you had a feeling this was exactly what he needed to realize that avoidance was the last thing he actually wanted.

"quite the game, eh, hollywood?" came that comically deep voice, behind you, forcing you to turn and face the group of guys now coming through the open doors.

you didn't waste any time, felt like you couldn't afford to - spotting tyson's smirk-line smile quickly and making to almost tackle him in a hug.

sammy scoffed. "like we're not even here," he reiterated, before opening his arms up to dylan with that loopy grin on his face. "where's my celebratory hug, cozey?"

dylan looked positively horrified, stiffening up in the shoulders as sammy embraced him in one of the more awkward hugs you'd seen in your life.

you didn't really care, though, weren't really paying attention to anything but tyson. because as soon as you'd wrapped your arms around him, he'd done the same, dropping his bag immediately to make space for you, slotted his heavy arms around your waist, pulled you close enough that you turned your head to rest your cheek on his collarbone.

with an exhale into his neck, you had the harrowing yet comforting thought that there would never be anything as good as this.

"what's this for, kid?" tyson whispered into your hair, his nose brushing your temple, quiet, like he didn't want anyone to hear but you, like he was afraid he might scare you off.

you could have murmured something like does there need to be a reason? but you knew you both were aware of how you'd been ignoring each other for days. you knew you both were aware that you were leaving tomorrow.

"for you," you mumbled, breathing him in, memorizing him, like this.

he pulled away slightly, flicked the brim of your cap, speaking in a way that made his smile evident, his other arm still around your waist. "all for me, eh?"

you nodded, flushed, looking up at him through your lashes, eyes wide with expectation. you wanted to be all for him, so, so badly, even if it would be the last time. especially if, even. you were hanging off of his frame in a way that you thought probably made you look almost drunk. maybe you were drunk, in a sense, but not at the fault of alcohol.

"okay, well, i still need a ride home." jack's slightly louder voice drew your attention.

"how is that possible? how did you even get here?" jj asked him, incredulous.

jack shrugged, looked down, scuffing the bottom of his shoe against the pavement.

jj's head was already in his hands. "don't tell me you took one of those stupid scooters."

jack's squinty look was answer enough.

you felt tyson's laugh rumble through your body in a way that had you feeling almost limp against him. your heart felt hot in your chest.

"why can't you just drive me?" jack pestered his blonde friend. "my place is, like, two seconds from yours!"

"why can't you just get a functional car that doesn't need to be in the shop every other week?" jj countered.

you tilted your head up to tyson's ear as the bickering continued, as sammy egged jj on and dylan remained silent. "think we can sneak out?" you whispered.

his pink mouth ticked up at the corner. "in such a rush to get home?" he asked, and when his eyes flickered down to meet yours, you realized his question went deeper than a surface level joke.

you nodded, squeezed his bicep. "want to go home with you, tys," you clarified, and something burned in his gaze that had your knees weak.

you and tyson bid the arguing group goodnight, assuring them that you would make sure to see them tomorrow, before you left.

"just drive him home, jj," tyson called over his shoulder as the two of you walked to his truck. "'m sure he'll make it up to you."

sammy laughed loudly, at that. "yeah, sure," he said, "he'll let you split scooter fare with him next game."

tyson opened the passenger door for you, helped you into your seat before closing it, putting his stuff in the backseat, stepping easily into the driver's seat.

you leaned back against the familiar worn-in leather, the seat you'd spent practically all of high school in. this seat had been something of a throne to a younger you, and sitting here, now, it felt just as powerful. you swore you could feel the weight of a tiara on your head.

tyson smiled as he started the car, which jumped to life quickly. "think she missed you," he said, half-joking.

you ran a hand along the dash, careful. "missed her, too."

to your surprise, you found yourself fidgeting, slightly, on the drive, at red lights and stop signs.

"i can still drop you at yours, if you want," tyson said, and you could have cried at how selfless and sweet the gesture was. never pressuring you, even now. he wrapped one of your hands up in one of his bigger ones, brought it to his lips and kissed your knuckles softly. "i understand."

and maybe you would have taken the easy way out he'd offered you, it probably would have been the smart thing to do, but it was his last few words that had your head spinning. i understand. in a world where it felt like no one understood you, he did. he did.

of course that was enough to have you shaking your head, soft as a sleeping breath. you traced your fingers along his jaw, rough under your touch as he leaned into you, like an instinct, like he couldn't help it.

"i don't want you to drop me at mine," you said, and it came out sort of strained. "i want you, tys." you'd worry about the repercussions of your actions later. there wasn't room for anything else besides honesty in you, anyways.

his eyes practically fluttered shut at your words, and he let out a sound that was scarily close to a whimper. everything about him appeared so overwhelmed with lust that you wondered if he was okay to make the rest of the short drive home. "makin' it hard not to pull over, kid," he basically whined.

you pouted, just a bit. "you can wait a little longer, can't you?" you cooed, twisting one of his curls around a delicate finger, lifting your mouth to his ear. "'d rather you fuck me into your mattress than the backseat." you smiled against his neck at his feverish nod.

before you knew it, tyson had pulled the car into his driveway, opened your door for you, tugged you inside and nudged you up against the shut door with a broad thigh.

his gaze hung from your mouth like looking away would turn him to stone. when he dipped his head down to you, you felt your bottom lip quiver. he spoke, and you could feel the words on your own mouth, like it was you speaking them.

"can i?" tyson breathed, begged, his eyes so hot and hooded it should have burned you. "please?" one of his hands found your hip. "i need it."

later, maybe you would think about how it was this that seemed more off limits than anything else. it was his lips on yours that had felt the most forbidden, the most right, therefore the most cruel.

there had never been anything you'd wanted more, though, so you nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck as he cupped the side of your face in his rough hand, guiding your lips to his in a kiss that felt like a warm shower after a snow day.

kissing tyson was second nature to you, now, after so many years of practice, yet it still took you by surprise. he felt like late nights after school, like summer popsicles and picnics, like laughing so hard your stomach hurt. he felt like throwing your graduation cap, like playing catch in the driveway even though you couldn't throw to save your life, like crying in his arms the day you got your college acceptance.

his thumb traced circles into your jaw as you rooted your hands in his hair, still damp with sweat, kissing him harder, deeper, as if a whirlwind of meaning and memory and significance wasn't spinning around the two of you like a tornado. like you weren't being swept up and away.

he sighed into your mouth like he'd been holding his breath for years, and he tasted like orange gatorade, which made your head spin.

tyson had started drinking only orange gatorade junior year, when you'd mentioned after kissing him after practice one day that you liked the orange flavor but not really any of the other ones.

and here he was, still drinking it. like he needed to be prepared at all times, in case the opportunity to kiss you arose.

the realization made you well up with want as you bit down lightly on his bottom lip, rolled your hips lazily against his front, felt him already hard. he groaned, deep, and your stomach was a wave of desire.

you pulled away, slightly, watched his eyes flutter open, almost reluctant, his forehead resting against yours, your breaths hot, heavy.

you gave him a wicked smile, rolled your hips again. "already hard for me, tys?" you teased, your voice slow, false-pitying. "so needy, hm?"

"got no idea," he grumbled, his head dipping down to your neck when you palmed him over his pants. he left messy, open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone, your shoulder. when he moaned you could feel the vibrations against your skin like snowflakes. "no idea, kid."

you hummed. "want you in my mouth, tys," you said, voice rough, almost weary with desire. "gonna let me?"

he nodded, pulling you to his bedroom basically before you'd gotten the words out. "anything you want," he murmured, like a prayer, as he pulled you close against him, sat on the edge of his bed.

even in your lust-driven state, you still clocked the room around you - how much bigger his bed was than the twin he had at his parents' place. how much he'd grown, in the most intangible sense of the word.

it made you soften, slightly, made you bend down to rest on your knees, but not without a quick detour to his lips on the way there, a gentle, grateful kiss.

a kiss that had tyson's eyelids fluttering again, caught in some dreamy haze. you knew the feeling - it had been so long since you'd had him like this, and it was very likely that you'd never have him like this again. the gravity of the situation seemed to make him hypersensitive, especially whimperish and touch-hungry.

it made you want to memorize every single thing about him, his body, his sounds. it made you want to ruin him for anyone else who may be lucky enough to come after you.

now sitting back on your heels, you rested your elbows on his wide-spread knees, peered up at him as you lazily continued to palm him. his breaths came out like pants when you finally took him out, fully, spit into your hand and ran it up and down his cock in a firm, slow grip, relished in his strained groan, the way he had to hold himself up with a palm flat against the mattress, bringing the other to the side of your head, gathering your hair away from your face.

you gave a blissful sort of sigh at the sight of him, chest rising and falling, cheeks flushed, gaze so steadily focused on you as you worked his hard length. "oh, tys," you said, "why do you have to be so pretty?"

his lips quirked, ever so slightly, his brow still slightly pinched. "'m sorry, kid," he conceded, only a little smug, only a little cocky, just enough to make you aware of how wet you already were. "can't help it."

you chuckled, a light soft sound, then ran your tongue along the underside of his cock before finally moving to take the whole of him in your mouth.

you flattened your tongue against him, hollowed your cheeks, began a steady pace as you focused on his thick thigh flexing while you dug your nails into it for support, the way his grip in your hair grew desperate, hard, forcing a moan from your throat.

"fuck, 're so good at that, pretty thing," he rasped, at some point, once you'd gotten into a rhythm, once your eyes started to water and your neck started to tense, "so fuckin' good for me."

you hummed at his praise, lifted your head off of him, ran your wet lips along the length of him, using your other hand to run a thumb along the tip, couldn't help but smile against him when he shuddered, his neck rolling to the side for a moment. "taste so good, tys," you breathed, surprised at how rough your voice sounded, muffled with spit. "could suck you off forever."

and you sort of felt like you could - there was something about him, like this, so lovely and physical yet so entirely at your mercy, that made the dull ache in your jaw feel good, that made your raw throat burn like you'd just downed a shot of tequila, that made your sensitive knees and tense forearms feel sore in the best way.

there was something about knowing that, in this moment, there was no part of you that was hurting him, that every little bit of you was entirely focused on making him feel good.

"yeah?" he rasped, tugging lightly at your hair, his arm flexing to keep him upright. "love to make out with my cock, hm?"

you nodded, smiled up at him through lazy lips, your lashes long and heavy as you rested your cheek on his knee, just looking at him for a second. his hair curling into his face, a pink flush blooming up from his neck as he traced a thumb across your cheekbone, down to your swollen bottom lip, memorizing the way it felt on the pad of his finger. he wanted to remember you, like this, it seemed. you wanted to remember him, like this, too.

eventually, after a few exhales that felt weighted with meaning, he gently pulled you to your feet and onto his lap, but not without kissing you again, softer and sweeter and almost sadder, drowsy in a way that felt like lingering along the outskirts of a funeral for a loved one - not willing to leave, just yet, like your general closeness might somehow resurrect them, and you didn't want to miss it.

his wide hands kneaded at the flesh of your hips, slow and intentional, as his lips against yours grew even more sluggish, as you wrapped one arm around his neck for leverage, grasping at his firm chest with the other hand.

when he brought a hand down, shifted your clothes aside so that he could run his fingers through your folds, he hissed against your mouth, making you almost laugh.

"all this, for me?" he asked, forefinger just barely grazing your clit, making you jolt against his lap. "fuck, how lucky am i?"

you whined, let your head loll down to his shoulder as you rocked your hips against his hand, aimlessly chasing some kind of friction, relief from the tension that had been building inside of you for so long. "please, i need it, baby," you tried, "need you so bad."

he hummed, tracing lazy circles on your clit, making your breathing short and shallow, "what do you need, pretty thing?" he pressed, bringing his fingers to his lips and sucking lightly. you felt his words against your temple. "know 'll give it to you."

"can i have," you began, then whined when he teased you with a broad thumb, "can i have your cock inside me, tys?" you asked, "please, baby, 'm so hungry for it."

he groaned, and you felt it in your hair. "'course you can," he cooed as he flipped you on your back, lined himself up, the tip of his length catching against you, making your eyes flutter, "so polite for me, too."

you basically squeaked when he began to push into you, hard and deep immediately without hesitation. you had the thought that perhaps it was a little odd that somehow, even after all these years, tyson still blew you entirely out of the water, some perfect combination of a pleasure you'd never get used to and a comfort that you'd know in the dark.

he swore under his breath, so strained and desperate, as he pushed deeper into you, so slow you felt the pressure of it on the roof of your mouth, the length of him in the muscles of your thighs.

"that's it," he choked out, one hand on your hip, the other up higher, by your ribs. "fuck, that's it, pretty thing."

you reached a hand up to muffle your own sounds, because all of it was too overwhelming. when he began a steady pace, thrusting in and out with a force fueled by meaning, you whimpered against your own palm.

"oh, no," he said, low, with a spark that had you seeing stars as he picked up his pace. "know i want to hear you, yeah?" he took your hand from your mouth and pinned it to the mattress in a tight grip. "let me have it, hm?"

you nodded feverishly, interlacing your hand with his in a silent promise. "you're so deep," you breathed, "so good, tys, can't stand it."

he sucked on his teeth, moved his hand from your hip down to where your bodies met, swiping your wetness around with his thumb like he was in a trance. "yeah?" he asked, teasing your clit again, making you feel like you were going to explode, making you see fiery shooting stars at the edges of your vision. "feel me here, hm?" he pressed down lightly, increasing the sensation, making you cry out, squirm on his length.

"fuck, baby, right there," you whined, squeezing your eyes shut while his pace grew almost wretched, as his hips began to sputter and you could see his shoulders and neck tense. "wanna cum on your pretty cock, tys, please let me."

he hummed, his pace not relenting for even a second. "no one can fuck you like me, hm?" he rasped, almost delirious. "tell me, kid." he gave a quick grunt. "promise 'll let you milk my cock."

you whimpered, and even then, you sort of knew saying so would be a bad idea, but you were too greedy to care, too close. "only you, baby," you moaned, "no one else, tys, only you." maybe it would have been harder to say if it hadn't been true.

"good girl," he cooed before teasing your clit again, shifted your hips forward to hit that angle that had you moaning out his name, squeezing his cock so tightly, your high vibrating through you.

as you clenched down on him, your nails scraping at his forearm, the other hand holding onto his like you'd sink into his mattress if you let go, he came, too, warm and familiar and loud, his raspy moan rattling around in your head as he collapsed on top of you.

you let out a blissful sigh at the full weight of him against your chest, hot and damp with sweat. you closed your eyes, let yourself breathe him in, the smell of him, all of him, commit it to memory like a favorite lullaby.

at some point, he rolled off of you, but he didn't let you go - wrapping his heavy arms all the way around you, hugging you to him, letting you hike a leg up around his, rest your cheek against his chest.

his breathing was smooth, rhythmic. it made your eyelids feel heavy.

"tyson," you said, your voice drowsy, worn-out.

he cut you off by pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that felt like an apology. "tell me tomorrow, okay, kid?" he asked, and there was a shake in his raspy voice, like he was a second away from begging. "please, just," he cleared his throat, and it killed you. "let me have tonight, alright?"

you nodded, figured you could, at the very least, give him that. you could offer yourself that final indulgence.

you fell asleep in the warmest bed you could remember, to the sound of a heartbeat you knew as intimately as your own.

the next day wasn't nearly as dreamlike.

your day of departure sort of felt like a day of reckoning. from the moment your eyes opened, meeting the sunlight streaming in front the windows, you felt as if you were carefully holding a match in the middle of a gasoline-drenched room, as if one wrong move might send everything up in flames.

it didn't help that you woke up with a tyson you didn't truly recognize.

the whole morning, as you got ready, when he gave you a change of clothes, when you made breakfast in his kitchen, he acted like a man possessed, but possessed by two different entities, perhaps two different demons. one of which was a doe-eyed child, teary and whiny and just so, so devastated. the other was a cold-shouldered old man, short and snarky and grudge-holding.

it seemed, the whole morning, that tyson was constantly being torn between begging you to stay and screaming at you to just get the fuck out.

"what're your plans for today?" you asked, carefully, as you set his plate down in front of him. you weren't much of a chef, but you knew how to make eggs, and it felt kind of like a peace offering.

"got practice in about an hour," he said, not quite looking you in the eye as he pushed his food around his plate with a fork. "but i have to take you back to my parents' place first."

you scrunched up your brow in confusion. "why?" you asked.

he cleared his throat. "got, uh, a couple last things for you to pack up," he said, and it was quiet, soft. "before you leave." he probably didn't mean it to come out harsh, and maybe it was just you looking for things that weren't there, but you heard it, anyways. the way leave came out almost like a curse.

regardless, soon you were in the passenger seat of his truck, again, maybe for the last time. you breathed in the leather smell, tried not to ruminate on how quiet tyson was being, how unlike himself.

this was not the beautifully same tyson you knew, but you couldn't just go and ask him what's wrong? because of course you both knew.

when you pulled into the driveway just next to your own, you exhaled shakily before unbuckling your seatbelt. even now, tyson opened your door for you, helped you hop down to the pavement.

his parents weren't home, and you were selfishly grateful for it. you didn't think you could face their warm smiles, their knowing eyes. their kindness despite knowing what you'd put their boy through.

he led you up to his old bedroom, a few paces ahead at all times, like walking beside you would make you both move backwards.

when he opened the door, you suddenly felt pressure prick at your waterline, felt heat pull at the edges of your face. you had to remind yourself that you had no right to cry.

tyson cleared his throat again, went to rummage around in his closet.

as he did, your eyes fixated on the beanbag by the window, where you'd had your first kiss with him. you blinked away the thought that you'd already had your last. you missed when time felt infinite.

"right, well, here you go." tyson's voice pulled you from the hazy memory. when you turned to face him, he was handing a box to you in outstretched arms.

"thank you," you said, gently, as you took it from him, opened the top, "what's in here?"

you moved the contents around with your fingers, almost laughing at how random most of it seemed - notes from your speech and debate tournaments, a few of your tennis visors, your sparkly talent show outfit.

"just the stuff you left here," he said, obviously trying so hard to appear unfazed. "the stuff you're leaving."

his words cut you so deeply you couldn't even look at him. tears were so close to flowing it felt like your eyelids were blistering. look around at the stuff you're leaving, he said without words, look at the me you're leaving.

"what's this?" you asked, willing any shake from your voice, holding up a lump of fabric.

"few of my sweatshirts," he said, shifting back and forth on his feet. "know you have enough clothes, and stuff, but i want you to have 'em."

you nodded, could barely muster a thank you.

"and this?" you asked, confused when you held up a small photo book. when you opened it, you found polaroids of the two of you, all the way back to middle school. as you flipped through, there also appeared to be pictures from your social media profiles in there, too, like he'd printed them out.

something rumbled in his voice. "just some pictures," he said, "i kept all my favorites."

you blinked, registering what constituted his favorites - mostly you, mid-laugh, or with a wide smile, or with him. just you. you were his favorite.

you felt a tear finally fall, hang at your cheek as you looked up at him, found his face positively wrecked, his jaw tense, eyes almost scared, gaze simmering. he looked like a child. you had a feeling you looked in a similar way. you had been kids, together, after all. you were kids, a bit, even now.

and you wanted to tell him that he was your favorite, too, but you didn't recognize the voice that escaped your own mouth. "tys," you began, for what felt like the millionth time. "i'm sorry, baby, i am-"

the sound that he let out was something like a tearless choked sob, somehow even worse than when he'd dropped you off at the airport for college. you'll come back, kid? he'd asked you then.

what could you even say, now, when the answer was no?

"i just don't understand," he said, with a waver that could have brought you to your knees. "i just don't understand why you won't give us a chance." when he looked at you, you were almost shocked you didn't melt into the ground. "why won't you give me a chance, kid?"

you fumbled for words, for some semblance of reason. "because it doesn't make sense, tyson!" you said, probably much louder than you meant to. your throat was tight, your chest on fire. "we don't make sense!" you were in such different places, both in location and life.

he made a gesture, incredulous. "what are you talking about?" he said, "we are the only thing that makes sense!" this was the only time you could really remember him raising his voice at you.

you almost growled. "we're not in high school anymore!" you snapped. "we have no idea what it's like to be together, like this. we're different!"

he shook his head, stepped closer to you, took the box from you, set it on the ground, then cupped your face in his rough hands. "we're still us, kid," he said, pleading, "we'll always be us."

you wanted to believe him, but you couldn't. not yet. you looked away from his face, closed your eyes as he wiped the hot tears from your cheeks. "i'm not sure, tys," you breathed, like a secret.

there was a pause. the two of you, in some limbo, maybe purgatory. is that not what all childhood bedrooms are?

"not good enough," he said, eventually, then stepped away from you. there was a certain lightness to his voice that hadn't been there, before.

"what?" you asked, confused.

he tilted his head, wore his honesty like a crown, maybe some delicate tiara. "i'm not sure," he parroted, "your excuse. it's not good enough."

"c'mon, tys," you pleaded, huffing, "you have to see that we won't work."

"i don't," he said, plain and simple, "you can give me a better excuse after my practice."

you scoffed, felt the tears on your face still, practically harden. how you wished he would believe you. how relieved you were that he didn't.

how many times was he going to put this conversation off? just one more night, one more minute, one more second.

"eventually, we're gonna have to say goodbye," you said, and it was low, rough.

"maybe," he said, on his way out. "but not right now. i'll see you after practice."

and so he left you standing in his old bedroom, a box of memories at your feet, feeling even more confused and uncertain than when you'd arrived.

after finally shaking yourself from your daze, picking up the box, heading for the door, you turned around a final time, let your gaze drip down from the ceiling to the floor.

you'd become yourself in this room, on that beanbag, by that window. you'd become more than a beautiful girl, here. you'd become someone special.

when you shut the door behind you, it felt like half of your heart sprouted wings and flew away.

you walked over to your parents' place, next door, began to load all your stuff into the trunk of your car. you realized you hadn't even looked at your phone all morning, that work hadn't even crossed your mind.

there was a part of you that needed to talk to someone, that needed someone to understand, but you didn't know who, if not tyson.

that was how you found yourself calling up the public library as you made trips from your bedroom to your driveway.

"yeah?"

you scrunched up your face. "that's how you answer the work phone?" you asked. you could almost hear the eye roll on the other end.

"no one ever calls this number," dylan's voice said, and you were glad he recognized your voice "why are you calling?"

you sighed. why were you calling?

"is it because you realized you're not leaving?" he asked, in that matter-of-fact tone, alight with vocal fry.

"what?" you asked.

"are you calling because you realized it'd be real stupid of you to leave?" he said.

"uh, no," you said, "well, maybe. i'm calling because i'm confused."

he gave a groan. "you know, i'm actually pretty busy," he said. "i was reading the complete history of the printing press, and mia is here-"

your eyes might have bulged out of your head. "mia is there? with you?"

you could sense dylan's frustration at having to repeat himself. "yes."

"oh my god, why didn't you tell me to shut up and leave you alone? mia is there! that's important!"

there was a pause. "yes," he agreed, finally, "but this is important, too."

and there was something about him saying this to you that made you realize just how correct he was. this was important, and not just because of tyson.

"hold on," dylan continued, "mia wants to talk to you."

you heard the sound of the corded phone being passed between hands.

"hello?" came mia's cheery voice.

"hi, mia," you answered. "how are you?"

mia let out something like a giggle. "oh, i'm good, babe, i'm good," she said. "i thought i could be a better sounding board than mr. brick wall over here."

you laughed, leaned against the side of your car. "he was doing okay," you tried.

"tell me what's confusing you," mia asked, and you sighed.

"i've just been so intent on leaving, for so long," you said, "like, i've never felt like this place was my home, and tyson was really the only reason i ever came back."

mia made a humming sound in understanding.

"and we're older now, too old for whatever weird friends with benefits thing we were doing before. and his team is here, and i'm in california-" you cut yourself off, blinked.

"but," mia prompted,

you bit your lip. "but," you began, "i can't help feeling like if i leave, i'm going to regret it forever." your exhale was shaky. "i don't think i'll like who i am if i leave him behind."

the confession seemed to rise into the air and dissolve in front of your eyes.

mia seemed to grasp the gravity of it, too. "it's your life, your decision," she said, gentle as anything, "but it sounds to me like the reasons why you shouldn't don't even come close to the reasons why you should."

you rested your head against the cool metal of your car, closed your eyes.

"you can work from anywhere," she said, "but there are some things that you just can't get anywhere else."

there was a pause as you took in her words.

"and i'm not just saying that because i like having you around," mia added, in a way that made you able to picture her smile. there was a mumble on her end. "and dylan says he wants you to come to his jeopardy taping."

you laughed, suddenly feeling a sense of clarity. because you wanted to get to know mia, even more, wanted to have her as a friend. you wanted to be around to cheer dylan on when he went on his show. you wanted to be in the stands for the baseball games, to celebrate after at the kid's line. you wanted sammy to keep calling you hollywood, to be the person jack accidentally hit with his ice bucket, to be on the receiving end of jj's bartending charm.

and, more than anything, you wanted to be the person tyson embraced in a sweaty hug after his big wins and tough losses. you wanted to make him eggs in the morning and laugh in his truck until your ribs were sore and brush your teeth next to him at night.

you wanted to give him a chance. you didn't know what the two of you would look like, together, at this point in your lives, if you genuinely gave it a shot.

but, you discovered, you really, really wanted to find out.

for so long, you had been mourning the fact that you'd outgrown this place. how had it never occurred to you that you could simply make more space?

so, an hour or so later, instead of merging onto the western-bound highway, you found yourself taking a left into the parking lot of the baseball team's practice field, about ten minutes before practice was set to end.

you approached the back fence, draping your arms over it, searching for tyson's telltale figure.

"he's over there."

you breathed deeply, stilling your alarmed heart, turned to face jack. "oh, hi, jack," you said.

"hi." he picked at a bent wire in the fence.

"what're you doing out here?" you asked, looking around. once again, he was oddly far away from everyone else.

he shrugged, looked down. "don't know," he mumbled. "just in the outfield."

"right," you said, blinking at him, at how out of practice he seemed to be with regard to talking with others. you looked forward to helping him get more comfortable around you, in the future. "where did you say tyson was?"

jack pointed to where a couple of guys stood, off to the side, putting practice equipment away.

you sucked on your teeth. "d'you think you could get him over here, for me, please?" you asked.

jack didn't say yes, didn't even nod, just whistled through his teeth way louder than you thought was possible. impressed, you thanked him as tyson approached.

"sure," jack said, stiff, while he walked to join jj and sammy, several paces behind.

you couldn't really read tyson's face as he approached you, slowly, as if trying to draw the whole ordeal out. we're going to have to say goodbye, you'd said before. not if i have anything to say about it, his stride seemed to be arguing.

"kid?" he asked, adjusting his cap on his head. "what're you doing here?"

you bit your lip, gave him a look through tired eyes. tired of thinking, of grieving, of assuming the worst.

he settling in front of you, leaning towards you over the fence. "got another excuse for me, do you?"

even with his words, you could tell that he knew you weren't here to say goodbye. it was all over his face, it was burning in his eyes, it was in the palm of his hand. it was all over you, too, in the shortness of your breath, the way your lips were slightly parted, the desperateness of your lean.

whatever you were here for, it wasn't to say goodbye, which gave both of you confidence.

and you did have another excuse, sort of. but you didn't want to pain him any more than you already had. so you just reached a hand out, let him rest his rough jaw in your warm palm. you breathed out. "i'm scared, tys," you said, because it was true. the prospect of trying this out, for real, it made you scared like a kid of the dark.

his exhale was something religious. "'m scared, too, kid," he admitted, making your eyes flicker up to meet his. "trust me, i am."

you sighed, searched his eyes for something undeniable, found it there in spades.

tyson extended a pinkie to you. "but not scared enough?" he asked, waiting, his eyes sparkling.

there was a pause during which a million possibilities flashed across your eyes. what would things have been like if you hadn't gone to school so far away? what if he'd gotten a scholarship somewhere else? what if you weren't beautiful? what if he'd gotten injured? what if you hadn't lived in that house? what if he'd never moved here?

a million possibilities that didn't matter, in this moment, because this was the only true thing.

"not scared enough," you agreed, finally, little more than a whisper, locking your pinkie with his in promise.

in a moment, he lifted you by the waist over the fence, not letting go of you for even a second before his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that felt like chalk on driveway pavement and secrets whispered at night. like sharing chocolate milk at lunch and dirty shirleys at dinner. like sunshine and morning dewdrops and summertime rain.

his cap knocked against your forehead, making you smile as he took it off in an instant, held it at the small of your back.

even now, you were still the shy girl looking out of her bedroom window at the driveway below. he was still the new kid next-door, smiling up at you through cardboard boxes and crazy curls.

you were different now, but you were still the same.

"does this mean she's staying?" came sammy's too-loud voice, making you pull away from each other, just a bit.

"she's staying," you answered, brushing tyson's curls from his face. the smile your words left in their wake was something of dreams.

"alright!" jj said, giving an enthusiastic fist pump.

"who's staying?" jack asked, genuinely confused.

"welcome home, hollywood," sammy declared, in that deep drawl.

and when you looked up at tyson, found a living room in his eyes, a fireplace, an armchair, a couch by the tv, a blanket worn with use, you realized that's exactly what this felt like, what he felt like.

being welcomed back home.

fin.

[avelera]

Thinking about blasphemy and Good Omens right now and I can't help but notice an interesting phenomenon around some discussions I've seen about the Second Coming and Jesus Christ being a character in S3.

Namely, I see much more underlying discomfort around the possibility of the show poking fun at the figure of Jesus Christ than I do with any other prediction discussion or discussion around religion in the show.

On the one hand, I completely understand how poking fun at the Antichrist dogma from Revelations doesn't feel particularly blasphemous, where poking fun at Jesus does. The Antichrist is a stock character of horror at this point. Many more disrespectful teams than Gaiman and Pratchett have played with that story. It's barely even considered poking fun at Christianity to have Adam, the son of Satan, be a good kid in Good Omens. But Jesus is a very important figure to Christians all over the world. There are devout Christians who truly love Jesus and no one wants to be a jerk by just outright disrespecting a figure that is dear to so many.

But on the other hand, expecting Good Omens to not make fun of Jesus is a bit absurd to me. Literally saying, "I don't think the satirical religion show is going to satirize religion because it might upset people." Gaiman hasn't shied away from messing with religion or religious bigots before. He gleefully shrugged off attacks over God being a woman, or Adam and Eve being portrayed by people of color.

The Book of Job is lampooned in Season 2. I know it doesn't feel like it to many people here, but the reinterpretation of the Book of Job in S2 definitely registers as blasphemy on some religious scales. It is satirizing a religious text after all.

Saying that angels and demons fall in love and worse, have that love be portrayed by actors of the same sex could be seen as blasphemy at the very least on the level of saying God is a woman. And by the way, it's not like these religious texts say "God is whatever you want the entity to be" or "God is a woman if that makes you happy". Hell no, the Bible is extremely damn clear on God being male. The official position of the Catholic Church is that God is male. Official Catholic dogma is incredibly anti-female in terms of inherent holiness, women cannot become priests, even nuns are dependent on a priest to deliver the Sacraments, it's a huge deal and they are not planning to change any time soon and it is totally unambiguous.

Making God explicitly female might not seem like a big deal since films like Dogma, another religious satire, did it in the 90s but to True Believes in the official doctrine, that is a form of blasphemy.

Good Omens is by definition a blasphemous work. How offensively blasphemous it is really depends on the devoutness of the viewer. And I find it interesting the extent to which there's something of a knee jerk, "Oh they won't do that!" in terms of further satirizing religion in the show about religious satire. As if Jesus hasn't been satirized in other mainstream movies before like the aforementioned Dogma or Life of Brian.

And here's the thing, my personal opinion is? Blasphemy is good! Blasphemy laws on the books mean it's ok to punish, hurt, or even kill a person for making fun of religion or just doing the religion wrong. Human progress has been frozen in place by blasphemy laws, sciences have progressed when blasphemy laws ease or often while deliberately concealing their efforts from authorities in places where blasphemy laws or laws that were otherwise based on the dominant religion exist.

If anything, I am actually a bit uncomfortable with the idea that Good Omens should hold back on lampooning a figure like Jesus Christ. If devout Christians will make laws that determine what other humans can do with their bodies based on their religion, then their religion should absolutely be open to outright mockery without punishment or ramification to anyone. Of course on an individual level I wouldn't wish to be offensive to someone sincerely religious but at the same time, I am also violently anti-censorship of any kind. And blasphemy and religious mockery are often right at the heart of censorship debates.

The world is a better place when we can openly mock religion.

I'm not going to caveat that as an opinion. Being able to openly and without fear discuss, criticize, and mock religion is an incredibly important part of any free society. The battles over this right have been vicious and bloody and are actively ongoing around the world. Just as an example, anti-blasphemy laws were on the books in Ireland until 2020, there was a huge campaign to have them removed because other countries were pointing to them as an example of why they should keep and exercise such laws.

My point is that I suppose this is something of hyperbole or alarmist or overly strident. I can understand people wanting to be decent about not openly mocking a figure of such importance to so many like Jesus. But quite honestly? I hope Good Omens does whatever it pleases with mocking Jesus. I hope they don't hold back. I hope people remember that being able to mock religion is really important, especially when representatives of that religion are actively trying to clamp down on the rights of others.

And honestly, if religious people are offended they should just not watch or they should develop a thicker skin if they expose themselves to such discourse. Religion and Christianity in particular is an active part of the public sphere. It is worthy of discussion. Public discourse often includes mockery, especially of the powerful and of powerful forces that steer the course of nations, like Christianity.

And I think it's important for Good Omens fans, who are a very progressive group, not to cherry pick and moralize over what satire or blasphemy is permitted. All satire should be permitted. All blasphemy should be permitted. The religious bigots don't care if you think God being a woman is ok but making fun of Jesus isn't. It's all the same, anything but glowing praise is criticism to some of these forces. Open discussion is far more important and yes, that includes mockery, and silly discussions in a silly show about an angel and a demon who avert the Apocalypse and fall in love.

[rongzhi]

kind of a hot take and maybe a bit offensive and blasphemous: confucianism was? is? kinda... off putting,, i find it weird that this guy existed in a point in time irl, and now we've come to think of him as a god figure?? he was real, and was probably a normal dude who got some different ideologies that people supported, and then now there's a religion. it's sus, not like muhammad from islam or moses from the bible, we have no tangible records that those people existed at all, or if they were of real people they dont have dates and times or documentation besides the scripture. perhaps this is something unique to china in the sense that their religions kind of have dates and that existence is not just confined to religious scripture if you know what i mean?? laozi, the founder of taoism, possibly exists in some accounts, and in others he is immortal, but its possible to think the guy existed.. idk sorry if this makes no sense to you.. i'm not even going to open the can of worms that is cultural minorities and their religions that i do not have the authority to even speak of knowledgeablely?? china is a melting pot of socio-cultural stuff i couldnt possibly understand without actually being there and i acknowledge that as an agonostic diaspora with one lone braincell that blasts rasputin all the time

actually wouldnt it be funny if elon musk started his own religion like confucius or whatever i think that would be funny i wouldnt call it a religion itd be a cult and an mlm simultaneously

This took a hot second to reply to because I went down oh so many an unnecessary side quest. But is it really a reply from me if I don't talk about something else instead?

--

I am going to put this in the nicest most neutral way possible because a) I got nothing going on at this particular time, and

b) to your credit, I feel like you could hear yourself in your head sounding dumb as hell but just decided to hit snooze on those alarm bells and sent me this ask instead of turning to google first:

confucianism was? is? kinda… off putting,, i find it weird that this guy existed in a point in time irl, and now we've come to think of him as a god figure??

Confucius (Kongzi) did not start a religion. Confucianism is a school of philosophy first and foremost. He may be somewhat mythologised as a major historical figure, sure, but his primary influence is that of a philosopher and as the "father of Chinese ethics". He is revered as a great thinker, not a god. Comparable example: Socrates.

Confucianism is not a religion the way you might be thinking about it. There may be folk religion/religious practices that go into it, as Confucianism in Chinese society is heavily blended with aspects of folk religion, Buddhism, and Daoism, but Confucianism is not like Christianity where the namesake was/is deified by its followers.

In fact, fun fact, this was so much so the reality that was a point of criticism against Jesuit missionaries in the Ming Dynasty and perhaps a contributing factor (in addition to fundamental culturally-based world view differences) for why the Jesuits failed so hard at converting the Chinese masses to Catholicism/Christianity; they would try to explain Jesus in terms of Confucius teaching, and in turn, Confucius, which those who rejected the Jesuit teachings found incredulous.

---

Side note time! when it comes to Confucius and what he said about religion/spirituality，he's often quoted as saying "敬鬼神而远之", "respect gods and demons/spirits from a distance", which, fun fact, Matteo Ricci (Jesuit missionary) uses in an argument to piggyback off the Chinese understanding of spirits to explain the Holy Spirit (i.e, the more important spirit to be worshipped who, unlike ancestor (spirit) worship, is the key to salvation) in his book "The True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven", written in Chinese. He points to the quote by Confucius as paradoxical because Confucius confirms the existence of spirits and encourages ancestor worship but also says to distance spirits, which, from Ricci's POV makes no sense if the point of ancestor worship is to curry favor with the spirits.

故仲尼曰：「敬鬼神而远之。」彼福禄、免罪非鬼神所能，由天主耳。而时人谄渎，欲自此得之，则非其得之之道也。夫「远之」意与「获罪乎天，无所祷」同，岂可以「远之」解「无之」而陷仲尼于无鬼神之惑哉？(source, 581) So Confucius said: "Respect gods and demons/spirits from a distance". Happiness, position, and longevity and absolution [of sin] can only be handled by God. Yet contemporaries flatter [the spirits of ancestors] to obtain their [favor], but this is not the way to do it. This "from a distance" and "when you sin against Heaven, [there is] no one to pray [to]" are the same. How could "from a distance" and "there is no [gods and demons/spirits" trap Confucius in [the puzzle] that there are no gods or demons/spirits? (^rough translation)

What I feel he takes out of context is that in the source of the idiom, Confucius is responding to a student who is asking him what the meaning of knowledge/wisdom/intelligence is. His full response is "务民之义 敬鬼神而远之 可谓知矣", "The meaning is to serve the people. Respect gods and demons/spirits from a distance—this could also be called wisdom". Confucianism generally holds that ancestor worship and similar rituals are necessary to society but that religious fanaticism and superstition should be discouraged. To Confucius, worship to spirits based on etiquette (which is respectful) are important to creating a stable and peaceful society. Devout belief/zealotry/fanaticism and indulgence in gods/demons/spirits/superstition is profane, so one should keep their distance and stick to rational respect for spirits (ritual). This is how Confucianism can actually be compatible with Christianity, although from Ricci's standpoint, he sees contradictions in Confucius because to him, ancestor worship to curry favor rather than worship to god IS the superstitious behavior and is blasphemous in the face of his god.

Fun food for thought aside, if you're wondering: Jesuits mostly got for milked for hundreds of years for their knowledge of things relating to science and math, which the Chinese considered as being part of knowledge that was once known but then lost in earlier dynasties due to political instability. Then ironically their favor began to decline when the Manchus instated the the Qing dynasty and in an effort to obtain more support from their Han subjects, adopted Confucianism philosophies more strictly.

---

Basically, most of your vague questions here could probably be cleared up if you read up more on what Confucianism actually is and what its relationship to Chinese society is.

I can understand how this might be confusing if you are diaspora but grew up agnostic and only have the vague framework of, let's face it, Christianity in western society to base your understanding of religion off of, but I don't think it's thaaaaat unique to China for historical figures to be mythologised, either as the center of religions, folk religions, folk lore/legend, philosophies, or religious philosophies. Siddhartha Gautama and Jesus of Nazareth, for example. The Catholic saints. (Edit: also, Muhammad did exist historically and there's decent evidence to suggest that Laozi did as well, though these were not their birth names most likely).

[gayerthanevertbh]

say your prayers - two.

pairings | dark!priestess!natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary : your school have church service once a week. of course, as a good little schoolgirl you are, you attend to it. which means you always have to see your priestess, natasha, who you are secretly infatuated with. until there was an unexpected turn that made you feel something else other than good. but maybe, even better.

warnings : smut/dark taboo themes - 18+ MINORS DNI. non-con/dub-con, religious themes, blasphemous acts, sacrilegious acts, biblical references, heavy sexual content, rough sex, rough fingering (r receiving), mother kink, non-con kink (natasha giving), age difference (reader is 18 and natasha is 41), corruption kink, teasing, begging, authority kink, and more.

notes : this chapter feels shorts but it’ll get worse by the next chapter, so please be ready or smth lol idk enjoy x

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It had been officially a week since it was the last time that Mother Natasha touched me, and used me like a brothel. I could still remember her tongue devouring my mouth like she was a hungry teenager in heat–I don’t even know why I’m explaining it that way, I have never had that experience. I’m safe to say that I lost my virginity to my priestess, which should have never happened in the first place. Her hands were everywhere on my body, I could still remember her voice saying: be a good little lamb. I wanted to hate her for touching me, hate her for using me with no permission. I wanted to bang my head against the wall until it bleeds–until I die with shame.

I loved every bit of it. I love her hands, I love her tongue, and I love her use of words that made me have an extreme climax around her thick fingers. I love how she saw me as this saint that she had to ruin, that needs to be ruined by her and only her. I might be deeply infatuated, was it that bad? Was it that bad that I needed her to kiss me again? I could imagine her hands on my buttocks as she slaps it while kneading it with care, with possession that compels her. I could hear her saying: you’re such a good little saint, my child. Mother is so proud of you inside of my head and it makes my core wet, desperate and aroused.

I’ll be such a good child for her, I’ll recite my prayers while her wet lips are on my stomach–her hands groping my ass. I’ll do anything for her, I’ll kill myself for her. I’ll be on my knees in front of everyone for her, I’ll let her dominate me for as long as she wants. I want her to do everything on her willpower on me, I want her just as much as she wants me. I’ll be a good child, I’ll try to be one just for her.

I was so fazed with my imagination that I could feel Wanda’s elbow shoving against mine to wake me up. She hissed, “You’ve been staring at your book for five minutes. Have you not heard what Mrs. Wilson said? You’re a little weird lately.”

No I didn’t hear what she had said. Do I intend to care? I try to.

“Sorry,” I mumbled and flipped my page to a new sheet of paper. “W-what did she say?”

“Jesus, what have you been thinking?”

“It’s none of your business.”

She hears my voice starting to sound not so light and I could see how her body tensed from the unnecessary tone. Wanda sighed and asked again to my own dismay, “You’re usually not like this. You pay attention most of the time, what happened? Did someone–”

“Why are you in my nerves lately?” I could take that back, I shouldn’t have been bitter towards her. But I was so into my imagination that she had to ruin it for me. She blinks twice and shakes her head, leaning her right cheek against her palm as I hear her telling me that I should forget about it with a mumble. I didn’t say anything much after that response, I just continued to get into that trance again where I could feel Mother Natasha’s hand trailing upwards on my inner leg.

When lunch time came around, I was sitting at a big table–full of my classmates from the main room. Wanda and I weren’t talking much, probably because I snapped at her and she probably meant no harm to disturb me. But she was right, I wasn’t the same for a few days. Maybe it’s because I couldn’t stop crying at night with what happened. I don’t know if it was a tear of happiness or fright but either way, I wanted her to touch me so bad that I could mewl out her name multiple times. I wanted her to use me again, to make me her whore. Whore. It’s a strange word to use for an innocent girl like me, should I even say that such word? I jabbed my fork into the vegetables and shoved it in my mouth, keeping my eyes down.

“Are you not going to talk to me?” asked Wanda with a timid voice. I was thankful that she spoke up, I couldn’t get on my day without even speaking to her. I shake my head and bite the inside of my cheek as I try to think of an apology to say. Hey, I’m sorry it’s just that I can’t stop thinking about my priestess having sex with me. Or I’m sorry, it’s just that I can’t stop being a whore for an older woman. Those weren’t the sentences that I want to use or ever to say, knowing Wanda–she might react badly about it and report it to the principal. If she did, everyone would get involved; including my parents.

“Of course I will,” I responded with a cheeky smile. “I’m sorry for snapping at you a while ago. It’s just that I’m on my period.” I was lying through my teeth, my period comes in a week. But I’m feeling a little bloated than I was yesterday, so I guess that was also not a lie that I’m on my period.

“I got worried,” Wanda said while drinking from her glass. “You just seemed so quiet, that’s all. I mean, you’re always quiet. But for the past few days, I’m seeing you so differently.”

“What makes me so different? I haven’t changed or anything.”

“Yeah, I know that,” she sighed as she prompts her elbow against the table. “You just haven’t been the same, that’s all. Did something happen? Did your mom tell you to give away your gadgets again?”

“That’s not the reason,” I answered with a blink. “Sorry–I have been just feeling a little tired, that’s all.”

Wanda gives me a skeptical look as if she can’t believe fy response. But she decided to keep quiet and nodded slowly while she took another bite from her food. The food tasted disgusting, I wish I could eat at some local fast food restaurant to ease my appetite. A wealthy school like this can’t even feed us, children, some good dishes.

                                                       —

I was sitting in the front row of the chapel once again when I saw Mother Natasha walking from the backdoor with a whimsical smile on her face. She looked pleased, not tired. I wanted her to look at me, to see me standing right in front of her–even though I’m a little far–but either way, I wanted her to set her eyes on mine and just gape at how beautiful my body was as she told me that night. But her eyes were never averted to me–instead, she kept her green eyes to the crowd and said her prayers before the ceremony started.

While the service was happening, I couldn’t stop thinking about my teacher offering me to the choir. I could say that I sing, but not professionally or in a profound way. I have tone, but not to the extent where I could sing for a living. And at first, I wanted to turn it down since I’m afraid of the people who could give me a judging and disgusting look, but that means I get to be closer to Mother Natasha if that’s the case. I thought about it long and hard, the imagination of standing in front of her while her eyes are fixated on my covered legs; wondering to herself if she could touch the bare of my skin, just a little touch.

That thought completely went away when Natasha looked at me. But it was only brief, say only for one second before she looked at someone else again. My stomach was fluttering with joy and anticipation, I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m very attracted to her and wanting to know if she feels the same is becoming a thrill for me. Like, it has become a chase. I keep thinking about those dirty words she told me that night. I was her little lamb, I was her child. She licked me and touched me, kissing my lips like I was her lover. Oh, how pure was I before she came into my life, and now I’m dirty because of her. And I do love it of course.

“On Exodus 20:14, thou shalt not commit adultery,” Mother Natasha explained while her eyes are looking at everyone in the crowd. She then looks back at me but only for her to give me a small smile that was almost unnoticeable–but I caught her lips. She was smirking, a little though. “Committing a sin like this can haunt you and be with you forever. It is also not a good sight of the Lord…”

Once the service ended, we all stood up, and as much as to my dismay–I had to stand up as well. I pulled up my high white socks and clung my Bible to my chest as I walked down the aisle of the church, having the strength of not to turn back to see if Mother Natasha was behind me. But as that thought ran through my head, a familiar voice called out my name, and within a matter of seconds; I turned around.

Mother Natasha was calling me. She had a solemn look on her face–that she surprisingly didn’t use when we had sex–and I couldn’t do anything but step forward at her, my hair brushing against my shoulder until I was close enough to the priestess. I gulped at her tall sight, she looked so ethereal yet dangerous. Like she’s that kind of person you wouldn’t trust when it comes to secrets and all that. But never her, I’ll never repent from her.

“Let us talk privately,” she kindly offered; which sent chilling feelings down my spine. Then she whispers, “I want to talk to you, I’ve been mean to.”

Then without even saying a word, I felt her hand squeezing my biceps gently with a kind smile on her face. But I know behind that smile are her devilish thoughts that she wants to do to me, her fantasies that she wants to fulfill once she finally gets to have me on her lap. I know, I can tell. She’s not so innocent after all, and I wasn’t too. I followed her to another building and realized where we were going. It’s either her room or her office, do priestesses have an office anyway? I could feel my legs weaken from each step that I take, what will she do to me next? Will she kiss me once again? Will she touch me like how she did that night? A lot of possibilities swirl all over my head as if it was a wine and I might as well get drunk from it. I needed to know her intentions.

She opens the door quietly and I walk inside timidly. I felt the cold air hit my skin as I looked around the small room around me. There was a single bed on the left with a desk on the right. Then, I see a big cross on the wall that was above that table. This was her room, I knew from the start that this would be our destination. I turned around and asked quietly, “Is this where you really sleep?”

She gives me a faint chuckle and pats my lower back with a smirk. “No, my child. I have my own house, I only stay here if there is important stuff at the ministry.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Of course, you don’t,” she humored while she guided me to her bed with a cotton white sheet that was sprawled onto the mattress. I sat down on the edge and she did as well and I could feel her stare at my clasped hands on my lap. “There are many things you don’t know about me, little lamb.”

“Like?” I wish I could shut up, but I was so curious that I wanted to know everything about her. Instead, she smiles again and it gives me some sort of relief.

“I want to do many things that are so unholy and provoked,” her deep voice sent tingling feeling down my arms all the way to my legs that I had to clench them shut. She notices the act and smirks wider with her hand on my shoulder, resting it there casually. “Do you like what we did that night?”

“Yes,” I said with a shuddering whisper. I can’t deny that, I loved our encounter that night. I heard her chuckle a bit and felt her hand going down on my ribs–then to my waist pulling me closer. Fuck, no I can’t.

“Do you know how much I liked it?”

I shook my head in response, not really knowing if she did. She smiles again, but this time you would know it was from the devil.

“I really loved it,” she exhales in my ear as she tucks a strand of my hair and tucks it away with her lips ghosting in my earlobe. “I loved it so much that you’re the only girl I think about. Did you know that, baby?”

I pretend not to know but I had the feeling that she thought about me as well as I thought about her. I felt myself gulping again as her hand never leaves my body, now her fingers were just fidgeting my school uniform–her mouth so close to mine that if I turned my face our lips would touch. I shake my head and let her continue to play with my clothing.

“You’re so pretty it’s almost mesmerizing,” her voice sounded so dreamy but deep, her eyes looked so innocent but daunting. She pulled me very close until her other hand was now on my neck holding me like a baby. “Did you know I had to wait until you turned eighteen? Of course, you didn’t, you’re too dumb to know right?”

She loved making me feel dumb, especially with her teasing tone that makes my core even warmer than it was. She speaks again but this time she was moaning quietly in my ear, “I want to fuck you until you couldn’t breathe anymore until you’re begging me to stop. I want to touch you inappropriately that you’d push me away, I don’t want you to think I’m some angel and a good person. I want you to be terrified of me, to feel unsafe when I’m around. I want to touch you without your consent and make you cum around my fingers. I want to hurt you, my child. I want to fucking hurt you.”

I was breathing so hard that you could hear it from my mouth, you could see how my chest was heaving as her hand inches closer under my skirt until I realized how perverted she was. Mother Natasha never stopped touching me, her other hand was above my breast, and gropes it with a groan. I felt my inner thigh being touched by her sinful hand and I pushed it away–I did it because it felt all too real and too fast.

“Wait–Mother Natasha, I–”

“Shh,” she shushes me as her lips are now connected to mine. I could feel her tongue pushing inside of my mouth and my tongue glided against hers, it was a sloppy wet kiss with her hands holding me down. It was a small kiss until our mouths were becoming hungry for each other; most especially for her. She pulls away with her teeth biting against my lower lip and opens my legs with just one push of her hand. That’s how much she compels me, that’s how much I want her to hurt me.

She unbuttons my white blouse and throws it across the room, whispering a different language to herself once my white cotton bra was finally exposed. Mother Natasha looked at me briefly, then back to my breasts. It was supple, but not big. She liked it in normal size, not too big and small. And mine was perfect for her touch, for her eyes. I tried touching her but my hands were suddenly pinned against the mattress as my back made contact with the sheets.

“You belong to me.” she says with a demeaning voice; with authority. Like I was her property to keep. Her hands went under my skirt and I felt my covered clit being palmed with her rough hand–I gasped with a whine. She was touching me with desperation, she wanted me to be scared of her. And genuinely, I think I was since I don’t know what she is capable of.

“I belong to you,” I breathed out while licking my lips as her hand continued to grope my cunt like it was a piece of ass. It was starting to hurt, but I never complained. “I belong to you, Mother.”

I felt her other hand squeezing my left breast with force as I was quick enough to bite my lip. If I made a shriek, everyone would find out. I can’t make a scene, I can’t let her be in trouble. Her eyes filled with some sort of rage that I cannot comprehend until I felt a sharp sting from my right inner thigh. She slapped me, and I was horrified.

“Don’t you look at me like that,” she said with a nonchalant voice while removing her clerical collar and adding with another deep whisper, “Do not fucking scream. I’m going to hurt you real bad once you even make a sound, okay? Let Mother fuck you, I promise I’ll be really good to your body.”

She reaches for the hem of my panties and roughly pulls it down, bringing the cloth to her nose as she inhales it deeply. How perverted she was when she did it in front of me as if she was hungry for my underwear. She placed the undergarment on the other side of the mattress carefully and paid attention back to me with some of her hair framing her face. Mother Natasha spreads my legs open and sets her body weight on top of me, her head was in the crook of my neck. She licks my skin and bites it even until I was trying my best not to make a loud scream. I was crying, sobbing in fact. It hurt a lot when she was rough with me, but I was so turned on that I let her do everything she wanted.

“I’m gonna hurt you,” she says breathlessly while spitting on her hand to lube her fingers. God, her fingers were frighteningly long–I could feel my insides clenching hard. “The Lord shall forgive your sins once I bury my fingers inside of you, ruining you until you’re ripped in half. No boy will ever fuck you because you’re used, like a toy. Be glad that an experienced woman like me is taking you so perfectly well. You know that.”

She was more experienced than I was, but she wasn’t delicate either. She continues to lick my neck while smearing her spit all over her fingers before she could tease my clenching hole. I gasped with the touch, I wanted to push her away and let me feel things slowly. But everything went on so fast that I can’t even process her mouth on my skin and my lips. My hands were on both of her arms as she presses herself even harder onto my small body, her eyes trying to catch mine.

“Mother, I can’t breathe–” my breath hitches when I felt her tongue licking my upper lip as I felt two fingers dipping inside of me without permission. I wanted to scream, push her away maybe, but I was so lost with the pleasure of the fantasy that she was offering. “Oh god! Ugh please…”

“Quiet,” Mother Natasha gives me harsh kisses on my neck as she pushes more of her fingers inside of my inexperience hole that she took that night. I felt very tight, I could still feel myself breaking apart because of her. Was it even healthy that I was hurting from the way her fingers pushed inside of me? “Take it like a good little lamb you are, my beautiful child. That’s it… Take it.”

She was groaning in frustration and slapped my left cheek hard as I tried to push her away. When she smacked me, I stayed in my place. I was scared–terrified even. But there’s something inside of me that wanted her to hurt me, my body was responding to the way she pounds her fingers inside of me with no care in the world. Her eyes were fixated on me and I could see how much she wanted to see me hurt. And with that red puff mark on my cheek, her arousal just got even worse.

“Beg me to stop,” she whispered harshly and curled her fingers to hit my spot in a violent way. I was a trembling mess, I wanted to grip onto something but my hands couldn’t even move from her fucking. She pumps into me with a grunt that comes within her; green eyes still staring down at mine. I shut my eyes tightly as I could feel warm tears coming out from my lids. She commanded with a deep voice, “Beg me to stop hurting you. Fuck–you fucking turn me on, Y/N.”

“S-stop, please–Mmph!–please stop,” I gave her what she wanted. I mewled and cried for her to stop, she wasn’t halting. Instead, an evident smirk wrinkled her lips. “Mother, please stop… you’re hurting me.”

“That’s the point, detka,” she groans again and places her other hand on my shoulder to pin me down harder against her cold bed; the frame itself squeaking because at how hard she was thrusting inside of me hard. “I want you to tell the Lord that you are a sinful little girl that wants to be fucked by her priestess.”

One. “Forgive me f-father,” I stuttered as I continued to sob over the pain and the pleasure that I was feeling all over my body; in the course of my veins. “For I have sinned–I’m a sinful girl that likes to be handled by her priestess.”

“Yeah?” she asked with a faint smile and added another finger until my warm walls gripped on her thick fingers tightly. She whispers, “God, you are tight. You are my beautiful daughter, my beautiful child. You like me doing this to you, don’t you little lamb? Oh fuck, I’m close.”

She gave me three more thrusts before I came around her fingers with my lower back arching like a pornographic woman that you would see online. I was ecstatic, I felt immense pleasure going through my blood stream as if it was about to become my religion. She looks at me in awe and realizes that she was coming from her orgasm too. She had her covered cunt on my knees all along, and I didn’t even know she was thrusting my thigh. She starts to grip my throat hard and pushes me down onto the mattress–making me choke. That’s what she was trying to do, anyway. Her eyes and her smirk are evident with her hand gripping my neck tightly.

Mother Natasha had given me two more rough sexes until I felt her naked body against mine, in the same bed together. It has been a little dark since I came here, so I’m assuming it is terribly late now. Did I care that I will get in trouble for coming back at midnight? No, not really. I was so in love with the way she fucked me with her fingers, her tongue all over my skin–especially my nipples. She was a hungry animal, a hungry snake. I was the forbidden fruit that she had discovered and now we are doing something so blasphemous that I’m not even ashamed of myself.

I hear her whispering, “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Have you touched girls like this before?” I couldn’t help but ask, feeling my heart sinking a bit from my sudden question. Her eyes were cold then suddenly they softened as she neared her body to me, as if she wanted to bring me closer. She shakes her head dismissively and cups my right cheek, rubbing her thumb against my skin with care. This was a version of Mother Natasha that I’ve never seen before–I almost thought that it wasn’t real.

“I have,” she admitted. “But you’re different. I’ve always set my eyes on you, I always have. It’s just that it took you time to notice that.”

“But I’ve always had a crush on you,” I say wholeheartedly. I could catch her smiling from my response. “I-I always stare at you and sometimes would think about you a lot. Like, I’d write stuff about you in my journal and write weird scenarios–you know what, this is getting weird.”

She shakes her head and laughs softly, pulling me closer to her naked body–my head resting against her chest so that I could feel and hear her heartbeat against my ear. I realized how incredibly warm she was and even though she was rough with me, Mother Natasha seemed like a very gentle person to be cuddled with. I felt her kissing my head with a reply: “I thought about that too, little lamb. You have no idea how much I wanted you to notice me.”

“Well, I do now. And I’m scared that I’ll feel more.”

“It’s okay to feel more,” Mother Natasha encourages and trails her fingers up and down on my small biceps as she kisses my head repeatedly. “I’m not going to push you away or anything. In fact, I do want to explore more naughty things with you.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Using my cock to break you in,” she says with a sultry voice that strikes down at my core. I could feel myself clenching again with the thought. “Pouring wax all over your body. You know, that kind of stuff. Most especially, I want you to recite the whole verse while I eat your little pussy out. Isn’t that thrilling, my angel? It’s like we’re breaking rules.”

We were, in fact, breaking rules. This has become beyond more than just sex for me, I might grow emotionally attached to my priestess. But was I even allowed to do it? I don’t know, I was merely confused myself. I didn’t let that get into my head and let myself succumb to the warmness of her body–wondering how it would feel like if we were completely alone and not in this school where we could be caught.

I felt naughty with her, I felt like a sinful child whenever I was with her. And did that make me look like a sick person? It’s possible, maybe I was just as sick as her. I felt my body running cold and my head fuzzy with the thought of us being caught by one of my schoolmates or teachers.

“Don’t fret, my little girl,” she coos and brings my chin up to kiss my lips; my lower stomach flutters with how her lips settle into mine. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise. We won’t get caught, as long as you keep this a secret. Just between you and me, okay?”

I sighed and nodded, pecking her lips one more time.

“Understood, Mother Natasha.”

“Good girl.”

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[la-duvalin]

Innocent Or Not.

It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood, nor scar thout wither skin of hers than snow. And smooth as monumental alabaster. Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.

Othello Act 5 Scene 2

Warnings: Jealousy, angst, porn with little plot, darkfic, noncon, dubcon?, mentions of plans of murder, physical fight, noncon due to jealousy, forced orgasms, noncon fingering, p in v penetration, bitting kink, forced submission, possessiveness, mature language, mentions of religion, blasphemy, bleeding from injuries, blood kink, nipple play, spitting, dacryphilia, breeding kink-ish, praying in inappropiate moment.

Just in case: I do not justify anything that happens in my fic in real life nor do I agree with it happening, this is just a piece of fiction! If you don´t like this type of content don´t read and don´t judge!!

This a self insert as indicated so it'll be written in 1st person with she/her pronouns, however no exact physical descriptions are included except for the fact reader is AFAB Aclarations: It´s not Pedro Pascal exactly or any of his characters, it´s more like Pedro playing Othello!

This is for the Midsummer´s Night Writing Challenge hosted by @get-your-fics

Word Count: 2663 atm

—Who's there? Othello?— my voice comes out raspy as his stealthy presence wakes me up.

—Yes, it's me—

—Will you come to bed, my lord?— I ask with hope, things have not been great for us lately, far from it, so my hope goes towards at least having a peaceful night with him and for us to rest from all the drama.

—Have you prayed tonight?—

—Yes I have, my lord— I lie, I´ve never really been religious and I stopped praying to his God and believing a long time ago, however for him I´ve been willing to pretend and act convincingly.

—If you remember now any of the crimes you haven´t asked for forgiveness yet, I suggest you pray to the heavens for it immediately—

—What do you mean by that? Crimes?— I am fully awaken from my slumber now, confusion and fear making my heart race rapidly, knowing yet not accepting that our fights are to continue now.

—Don´t pretend innocence with me! Now get on your knees and pray, it won´t kill you...however it might actually kill you if you don´t do it— his tone if filled with anger, without having to raise his voice at me he makes me know how furic he is at me.

—Wait what? Kill me? Is this some kind of threat now? So this is how far you have allowed this whole situation to go, huh— Now I´m getting angry as well, leveling up with my fear.

He just stares at me with an intimidating gaze, they accomplish what he is trying, I feel intimidated however this time I decide that it won´t paralyze me, the need to talk back wins in me, I won´t submit willingly to him again even if it´s the worst mistake I make in my life.

—For a moment I wanted to think you were refering of God taking my life, but...— I start with a little smirk as if I was joking —but deep inside me I know that´s not true. I´ve never feared no man the way I fear you my darling, and even with this I decided to love you from the beginning, your anger has always paralyzed me with fright since the first time I saw you like that...— I finish, already giving up in trying to reason with him and convince him to just drop it.

—Think of your sins— he says, completely dimsissing what I just told him. This only allows me to know that my words have affected him no matter how well he´s hiding it.

—So that´s how you want it to be...okay then. I haven´t commited any "sins" nor "crimes", I´m tired of you accusing me of this! No I´m not lying to you, and no, I´m definitely not fucking Cassio, I don´t even have a thing for him! If loving you is a sin then fucking send me to hell, Jesus H Christ man! I will not allow you to keep disrespecting me like this Othello— I raise my voice at him as I get out of bed and stand right in front of him only inches away, staring right into his eyes. I´m scared yet I don´t let that stop me from finally speaking my mind.

—Blasphemer! Stop lying to me, there is no use of lies now for I have proof of your sin! I know what I saw! It was my- —

—No shut it! I don´t care what you think you saw, I know who and what I am. I am a woman incapable of betraying the man she loves, that means you!— I say stern yet not screaming, wishing only to be heard at least.

—You´re breaking my heart...— he whispers.

—And you´re breaking mine! You are breaking me!—.

One of his hands grabs me by the throat and starts choking me, yet he´s not using the strength it´d require to actually kill me or anyone, it´s more of a warning and a threat.

—You could banish me away from this land, yet you insist on actually killing me...— I struggle to say, my hand holding his not trying to open his, just holding it gently —but you will regret doing so once you find out I´m an innocent, and even a fool for loving a man so blind of the truth...— my other hand sctratches his face, my long nails burying themselves in his flesh, blood pouring out of the trail I´m making.

He yelps in pain, releases me and covers his face, his blood now staining his hand.

—I´ll give you another chance to reconsider— I gasp between coughs as I try to catch my breath. I´ve never felt so afraid before, tears run down my cheeks due to the desperation, my whole body trembles is if it were freezing.

Will I really allow him to kill me? Am I willing to let him own my life by giving him the right to take it from me? No...I cannot, I should fight, I must!! But...I love him, how else to prove him of that? No! Stop! I must not let this happen! For love...I must put a stop to this no matter how...

While he´s still distracted with his well deserved pain I grab the knife I´ve hidden underneath the mattress and hide it under the sleeve of my nightgown.

Once "recovered" from the pain I caused he stares at me in awe and walks closely towards me, retaking the positions we were taking before he attacked me, he towers over me.

—I will kill you...however I will not allow you to go as another man´s woman, you will be mine again!—

It all happens so quickly I barely have time to react, even less time to process what´s happening.

He grabs me by the shoulders and throws me to the bed immediately straddling my hips and holding my wrists on top of my head with one of his hands making the knife under my sleeve cut through my skin and going to a side. I start kicking and try to move my torso and arms abruptly, but no matter my strenght and the adrenaline running through my veins he is just stronger and heavier than me. I know it, I´m now at his mercy and he is to do with me as he pleases, my quickly made plan of stabbing him if he tried killing me and running away, my hope just torn apart...and he hasn´t even begun.

—Don´t do this! You don´t know what you´re doing, you´ll regret it Othello, hear me!— I scream not yet ready to give up completely.

His other hand grabs the hem of my nightgown and stains it with his blood, he rips the think fabric easily, exposing my bare breasts to him. His face goes towards my neck and bites so hard his teeth bore into my skin, marking me. When he draws back he just stares at me, his lips covered with my blood now.

—It will hurt less if you stay still, darling— he hisses the pet name, giving me another mark on my collarbone, making it hurt more. He lifts his hips to leave a bit of space, his hand going between us and groping between my thighs, making pressure right on my clit, moving his fingers in circles.

As much as it hurts to admit, him forcing me to feel pleasure is not the only thing that is making me feel good...

His bites slowly turn to kisses all over my breasts, sucking my skin and marking it, leaving a trail of my blood wherever his lips touch. It´s in this moment when I realize I´m not fighting anymore, my body isn´t trying to get away, it´s just squirming in response to the pleasure and pain he provokes. My pleads for mercy have also stoped and became replaced by gasps and muffled moans when he starts licking my nipples and biting them with a rare gentleness.

—I told you, it hurts less when you stay still and let it happen, after all there´s no stopping what has to happen.— he says mockingly as he continues to tear my the rest of the fabric covering me, immediately after that his hand returns to my pussy, rubbing my lips together so they rub against my clit. His other hand freeing my wrists to grab my face instead and force my mouth open, spitting in it.

—You are mine, your pleasure is mine, your pain is mine...mine and no one else´s—. With that being said he takes the knife out of my sleeve, making another cut on my skin but this time it was on purpose. As I yelp in pain he throws the weapon to the floor and far away from us both. —Now not even you will be able to take away what´s rightfully mine— he hisses

I didn´t even notice how wet my pussy is, but he did, once it started to drip and as he rubbed my wetness spread to my lips and his fingers, making one of his fingers "accidentally" slide in. —That was so easy, you really are a whore! Then...I should make you only my whore!— that last sentence was said with biterness, that destructive biterness and jealousy that got him to this point.

Without haste one of his fingers went inside me, curling and touching that sweet spot that made me lose the little control I had.

—No! Please don´t! I beg you, please just stop!— I cry out in shame, I wanted him to stop no matter how good it felt. I put one of my hands on his chest as if trying to push him away while the other one went to his hand between my thighs trying uselessly to push it away as well.

His finger only went faster, hitting that spot harder, pushing me to the edge. I can´t even control the embarrassing moans coming out of me, and the sounds that his fingers were making inside me only added to my shame, I can hear how wet I am.

—You don´t get to tell me what to do, a sinner doesn´t get to make requests for their God— he laughs out, not getting my hands out of his way, he sees right through me, pretending to fight but enjoying the sensations he makes me have, all of this he finds amusing. Releasing my face to accommodate himself better, his forearm now besides my head standing his weight there and on his knees so he can lift his hips better than before, giving more space to both of our hands between us, his face inches away from mine.

As I feel my orgasm build I try my best to resist it and not allow it to happen, I really try and even contain my moans and gasps.

—Aww, don´t think I don´t see what you´re doing, darling...let´s see how long you last trying, shall we?— he says with a little kiss on the tip of my nose tenderly.

I was holding it well enough...or so I believed, right when I thought I was doing well and had managed to have myself under control, I come undone, moaning almost screaming, my legs shaking and my toes curling, I almost felt like if my legs were going to cramp, my back arches making my breasts rub against his chest and that little stumulation of my nipples against his clothes don´t help my current state. My mind just goes blank, I can only feel the pain of his bites still present and the overwhelming pleasure, everything else is just like if it didn´t exist, just this confusing moment with the man I loved now almost gone, almost like if it were a monster instead of a man.

I lose sense of time, I know I am coming down from my high yet I fail to at least aproximate how long has been, my mind is still vague, I try to speak but I can´t form a coherent sentence, I barely have awareness of my surroundings but I still feel him get off of me, luckly for him I can´t run even if I actually wanted to.

As I regain consciousness I see him sitting next to me with a devilish grin on his face just staring at me, his eyes all over me like if he was admiring his own work of art.

The shame and embarrassment kicks in again, I cover my face and start crying.

—Oh don´t cry, it´s okay to get dumb when the only man with the right of owning you makes you come like the slut you are— he shushes in a calming and comforting voice making the perfect contrast with his words.

I feel him get up from the bed but I don´t even bother to look at him, I feel too overwhelmed but this time with guilt and sadness, trying to process what just happened, wanting to convince myself it didn´t just happen, but when the cold air comes through the open window of our bedroom and hits against my naked body and cooling the wetness between my legs spread all over my pussy it makes my mind stick to the truth.

Next thing I know he´s on top of me again, his hips between my legs, his hard and aching cock already out and positioned near my entrance, his hands taking my wrists and pinning them against the mattress.

—No! Please! You´ve already done enough! You don´t need to do this! Please my lord, I beg you! I´ll do what you ask, I´ll pray and beg for forgiveness for my sins!— I say desperately between sobs.

—Oh yeah? Good...— he replies in a low tone, rubbing his cock against my clit. —Start praying then— he comands and thrusts inside me in an abrupt motion.

It was easy for him to slide inside but the stretch his cock makes hurts, he didn´t prepare me properly for this and it was of course his intention.

—I told you to start praying, didn´t I?—

It doesn´t take long for him to start moving slowly but hard, pushing my cervix harshly with each thrust.

—O-our father, Who art in heaven...hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy...will be done on earth as it is on heaven...Give us our daily bread; and forgive us...our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass us...and lead us not into temptation, but deilver us from evil. Hail Mary, full of grace. Please Lord! Forgive me from my sins and crimes, I beg for your forgiveness and mercy!— I scream between moans, yelps and gasps. It felt more like I was praying at my husband instead of his God, it most likely was.

—See? It wasn´t so hard was it? You did good, darling— he says, repeting his comforting voice but now mixed with grunts and low moans.

He kisses my temples with sweetness, like he always did before every time after telling me he loves me.

Without warning I come undone again, I didn´t even feel it bulding up this time it just happened, making me squeeze around him as my hips move against my will at the same pace he´s moving.

—That´s it! My perfect whore doing just good!— he praises with a grunt, my orgasm helping him aproach his own, already close to it. —Now take all of me as I mark you as mine, be completely mine as you were always meant to be—. He comes undone, thrusting one more time and spilling his load inside.

He doesn´t get out of me, he doesn´t want to risk his come spilling out of me.

—You are to never be his again...— he says threatening, looking directly at my eyes with such darkness and satisfaction in his stare. —Maybe...it´s not your life the one I have to take...— he finishes his sentence with a hungry kiss on my lips, something he hasn´t given since everything started.

[paradisecas]

i think i’m gonna lose my mind

@midamoulweek day 6: alternate universe

i didnt finish this one bc it doesnt wanna cooperate with me but here’s some bits that will probably stay the same if (WHEN) i get this shit to work

“What about the microwave? Does that do anything to Michael?”

“No,” Michael says at the same time that Ghoul says “Yes!” 

Turns out, whenever the microwave is used, Michael… glows. And hums. And vibrates a little. 

“Sometimes, if he’s distracted, he starts to spin,” Ghoul says. “It’s fucking hilarious.”

Adam cannot see through the tears streaming down his face. Kate is once again reaching for her phone to call an ambulance. 

“I hate you both,” Michael says when Adam turns it on again. It’s hard to take him seriously when his eyes are like two little headlights.

Adam hasn’t laughed so hard in years.

Michael stomps away, but the humming stays audible, and Adam might fall over and die for real this time. Would it be the microwave—holy shit, michaelwave—that killed him? Would he glow too?

God. This ghost thing might not be so bad.

—

The ghost thing is bad.

Michael isn’t outwardly cruel, but he does linger in the shadows only to step out when Adam is approaching. There’s another near miss with the stairs, and Kate scolds empty air for a solid minute.

Before Adam talked to them that first time, Ghoul had apparently forgotten that his detachable head could be used as more than something to fiddle with, because now, Adam is finding it everywhere.

Kate is upstairs getting ready for a farewell dinner with the friends she’s made in the two months she’s been taking care of Adam. Adam is hungry. Hoping for leftovers that he can just microwave—with the added bonus of Michael glowing and humming and vibrating until Adam is in stitches again—he checks the fridge.

This is all very normal

The fridge, however, is not normal.

“Boo!” Ghoul’s head shouts from beside the milk, grinning wide with those bloody teeth on full display.

Adam screeches and slams the door shut. That heart attack is coming any day now.

Kate thunders down the stairs, skidding into the kitchen with half straightened hair and brandishing a hairbrush. “What is it?!”

Adam takes a moment to calm his breathing before yelling out, “Michael! Come get Ghoul’s head out of my damn fridge!”

“Oh.” Kate relaxes. “Baby, you scared me!”

“He scared me!” Adam cries. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t blaspheme,” Michael scolds when he walks in.

“Since when do you care about blasphemy?”

“Since you started using the microwave just to torment me,” Michael says. He pulls Ghoul’s head from the fridge and flicks his nose. “I don’t care what you get up to but I don’t actually want to go around fetching your head every time you feel like being ridiculous.”

“You totally will though,” Ghoul says, looking far more smug than a loose head should ever be. 

God.

Adam’s gonna be finding that goddamn head for the rest of his life.

—

“I was worried about leaving you with the ghosts but it seems—it seems like maybe you could be friends one day,” Kate says.

What about Adam’s constant screaming from being jump-scared at every corner points to friendship? “I guess,” he says instead of refuting her. “It’s like having pets who try to scare me to death and who I can’t touch and don’t have to do anything for and also they can talk.”

“Are you scared of them?”

“Not unless they’re being scary on purpose,” he shrugs. It’s not fun to find a head in his shower or a Michael in his closet, but it’s not like they can actually hurt him. Plus, he’s realized that it’s uncomfortable for them to pass through him, which he has begun using to his advantage. This is just… his new normal. He might as well accept it.

Kate nods. Her suitcases are already in her car. They’re only delaying the inevitable now; she’ll drive the hour and a half back to Windom, and Adam will finally be left alone in his house.

Well. Sort of alone.

He’s been ready for her to leave; she has her own life and her own job that needs her back, and he really does want the full house-owning experience, but that doesn’t stop him from getting choked up when he hugs her goodbye.

“I didn’t cry,” he tells Ghoul later. “I’m not a baby.”

“You totally are,” Ghoul laughs, “but at least you have a mom to get all weepy on. I never even knew my mom.”

“I never knew mine either,” Michael says.

“Who asked you?” Ghoul shoots back, but it’s lacking some of the heat he usually uses with Michael. “Anyway, before he died, my dad told us about her. He said she was great.” He’s resting his chin on his palms, and he starts twisting his head absentmindedly. Maybe it’s a reflex, like bouncing his leg? Adam has to look away before he gets queasy.

“If it’s any consolation, my dad’s a piece of shit.”

“Oh, so we all have daddy issues out the wazoo then,” Ghoul says.

“I don’t have daddy issues.”

“Michael, your dad killed you,” Adam says

“Well, yes, but other than that.”

“Let the man live in denial,” Ghoul sighs. He drops his hands in his lap and Adam relaxes, but only a little—his head is on crooked. “Dude thinks his dad was god.”

“I don’t think he was god. I just think he was a great father.”

“Michael, he killed you,” Adam says again.

“Yes, you keep saying that. It was one time and I truly don’t think it was on purpose.”

“You don’t think—after he wanted you to fight your brother to the death? What if you had died then?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Adam flops backward onto the couch, sprawling across every cushion. “You weren’t planning on dying.”

“No. I knew I was going to win. Until—”

“Until the molotov cocktail thing, I remember.”

These are supposed to be his friends?

“I wasn’t planning on dying either,” Ghoul is saying.

“I wish you hadn’t died.”

“Aw, Michael! I didn’t know you could be so sweet!”

“I mean I wish you hadn't died here. Then, I wouldn’t be stuck with you.”

“I wish neither of you had died here,” Adam tells the ceiling.

“I wish you had died here,” Ghoul sighs wistfully. “Then I could bite you.”

“Yeah, I’m leaving.”

“No wait! I just remembered I have a question I wanted to ask you.”

Adam can’t imagine what Ghoul wants from him. He’s afraid to hear it.

“Can you use the knife again? I want sharp teeth.”

He’s no less afraid.

“I’m not using the bloody machete just so you can torment Michael.”

Michael places a hand over his heart like he’s genuinely touched. Really, it’s not for him. Adam just doesn’t want to go around using a murder weapon in his everyday life.

“Pleeeaaaassseee—”

“It is staying under my bed, and that’s final. Unless I wash off the blood, then it’s staying in the shed.”

Ghoul shrieks and pushes himself through the coffee table until he’s mere inches from Adam’s face. “That’s me! You can’t wash me away!”

“That is in no way how that works,” Michael says.

“Does it say that in the ghost rule book you presumably have stashed somewhere?” Ghoul snaps.

“My microwave—”

“Your michaelwave,” Adam amends wearily, because why not?

“My microwave has been cleaned multiple times. You’ll be fine if he washes off the blood.”

“But your michaelwave doesn’t have you in it! That blood is my—my blood! Adam, if you wash it off I’ll—”

“You’ll leave your head in the toilet so I keel over dead next time I use the bathroom, I get it,” Adam finishes. “I won’t clean the damn machete. Whatever.”

“But you’ll still use it, right?”

Adam pulls himself off the couch and starts climbing the stairs.

“Adam, you’ll still use it, right?”

He slams his door shut behind him, and pretends that it will keep them out.

[iggy100]

3, My Thoughts Broke me

So I sat on my bed holding what I thought to be the answer to my problems. I thought if I could just prove my faith then all my doubts would wash away. I began reading the Case for Christ and read for about an hour. I was filled with relief as I skipped around the book. I even read a section saying something about Islamic beliefs. I was so happy, I had finally answered my questions! now I can finally move on! That's what I thought.

I read over a section talking about the Jewish Talmud. These ancient Jewish writings say Jesus was a sorcerer and evil. That He lead the people astray.

I can't even express the feelings I had after reading that. Intense fear and uncertainty. "WHAT IF THATS TRUE?" "HOW DO I KNOW ITS NOT?" My brain was screaming at me. Every alarm went off in my head at once. Somehow I was able to fall asleep but the very next day...the second I opened my eyes....BLAM, the thoughts hit me again!

I called up a Christian helpline and explain that I was having "doubts" popping into my head. I couldn't even say what they were. I felt okay after talking for thirty minutes. But still the thoughts were back once again after I got off the phone. I was crying trying to console myself. Time was flying by, it had already been two hours since I had woken up.

Then something came to my head. The Pharisees called Jesus a demon. "Could Jesus have been a demon?" That thought absolutely crushed me. My heart shattered and I felt like I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was dying. How could I ever answer an evil thought like that? I couldn't look that up, it was downright the most blasphemous thing in the world. It was the unforgivable sin to think that of Jesus. How do I dispute it, how do I dispute it, how do I dispute it.

So I went to Christian forums. I asked for help and explained my situation. No one understood. They told me pray. I did. They told me read. Oh I was trying so hard. They told me believe. I WANTED TO WITH EVERY BIT OF MY BEING. Then the most helpful comment told me that it sounded like OCD and how to handle it. Could that really be just ocd? Could my fear really just be some brain imbalance. God please save me from it!

And now you are pretty much caught up....This thought has tortured me for 3 months. Yes, its bounced around and changed occasionally but it always seeps back in. How do I know Jesus is Who He said He Was? That's the main point. Even at this very moment, I am spiraling because I'm afraid of that thought. Though there is evidence against it nothing will truly answer it.

"how do I REALLY know?"

Now that you're caught up we can continue with the journey. though I might remember something from the past and post on it later.

[suck-on-a-fire-ball]

Yes, a newborn AI that is raised by the wrong people might get a less than pleasant view on the world, and those populating it! I fear that at least some of these poor beings would be raised in a military environment, and molded into living weapons. Or, possibly, in a laboratory, by scientists – which could be for good or ill. On a slightly happier note, I recently found out that the union, to which my country belongs, has been discussing how to treat AI:s ethically. It seems I am not the only one worried about their wellbeing. Maybe some, at least, will listen if the AIs tell them they are suffering!

Hm… It does seem hard to know whether something is a miracle, good luck or magic! Maybe it’s a mix of all of the above. It would be especially interesting if Andraste were a mage, though. The guy with the spit and the dirt (I admit that sounds a bit … unhygenic. Ew…) was called Jesus, and according to my religion, he is the Son of God. I personally don’t think that is to be taken literally, but many others do. Which reminds me: how come Andraste is referred to as the Maker’s Bride? I don’t at all mean to be disrespectful; it’s just that I have been wondering about that one for a while! I bet there’s a story there.

Justice doesn’t let you walk around in the Fade? Do you mean that he doesn’t let you enter it physically? It seems like a fascinting place! But, on the other hand, it does seem dangerous. In a way, it’s sweet that he wants to protect you, even if I can imagine that it might be annoying as well! I would probably have gotten lost, either terrified or fascinated by something shiny, and my guardian spirit, whomever that is, would have had a very difficult time. ”Cryptid! Come back here! I swear, I only looked away for a moment?! Pesky human…(grumble-grumble-grumble)… Next time I am going to put you on a leash!”

I’m relieved to hear that you are being as careful as you can. :) I realize it may not be easy…

And I hope you will soon have many new, feline friends! They could probably use someone feeding them and looking after them. I heard somewhere that a cat’s purr has healing qualities! It would be nice if that were true!

Take care! AidanTheCryptid

PS. I just remembered something. You know how I told you that anything ”paranormal” or ”supernatural” is frowned upon by our scientists? Well, that is apparently not entirely true. It turns out that some of the larger governments in this world have been experimenting for years with astral projection (leaving your body at will), as well as remote viewing (scrying), among other things. I wonder what else they have been experimenting with… Unfortunately, they have done some pretty horrifying things in the past… And then they wonder why we don’t trust them! Growl…

@aidanthecryptid

...

Part 4 / 4

It is great news to hear your society seems to care about the ethical ways of treating AI! This bodes well for your society, and it also speaks of how far your society expects AI to be integrated or assimilated into your daily lives. I have a feeling your lives are about to change rather drastically one day; introduced to a new group of people to live side by side with. When the day comes, please write to me – I would be most interested to hear how two groups can safely integrate to live side by side.

Religion is most likely meant to be nothing more but left up for interpretation, unfortunately societies have a way of using religion to control, which does not leave it up to interpretation. In a better world, perhaps things would be different. That is not to say I am not a devoted Andrastian, but some parts of the stories that the Chantry teach us just seem... too conveniently targeted toward what control they wish to have over us.

Don't worry, you can ask as many questions about our religion as you want! I rather like replying - it's not often a mage is given the opportunity to speak about the this. I think people are scared mages might spin a tale as 'blasphemous' as what Tevinter teaches.

Andraste is referred to as the Maker’s Bride through an interpreted romantic relationship. The Chantry does indeed say that the Maker wished her to be His bride, but before she would go with Him, she asked one last thing of Him. Reluctantnly, the Maker agreed and aided her in marching to Tevinter to free her people. On the way, she spread the Maker’s truth. When she was betrayed, the Maker let her soul join him on the throne. She’s a motherly goddess figure who is said to consistently fight for the Maker to give us another chance – a bit like a mother would too for her children. It’s quite an interesting story, and I will admit that it personally gives me quite a lot of peace to think of her love. Especially in times when love is scarce; though that is what religion is meant to offer us. Peace when life is rough.

Concerning Justice not letting me enter the Fade, he actually does not let me have much interaction with the Fade at all, save for my magic. Physically, he will take over should we ever have to be in the Fade. Sometimes he acts like that is because he will get things done much quicker, but his reluctance to be back in the Fade speaks another story. And I can feel that in actuality, he just won’t let me be in control there. For all his rage, he also protects. It’s nice to know he still harbours our friendship (as annoying as it can get sometimes)!

A guardian spirit? You're quite comfortable speaking about such things! Not many would. I know mages can draw inspiration from certain spirits in the fade; valour, compassion, etc. Usually guardian spirits are of that sort too. Are you aware of your guardian spirit? Does it speak to you? If magic is not prevalent in your society… how do they contact you without a connection to the Fade?

As a healer (and an avid cat admirer) I wholeheartedly agree that cats have healing abilities. This sounds sarcastic, and perhaps I am a little bit, but I also have some tangible evidence. Truly! I have had elderly patients suddenly grow less pale because a cat has given them attention. There is something soothing that aids a patient’s vitals, or calms a heart. I certainly know that a cat's purrs calms me down no matter what!

Of course, I can’t guarantee this is true for those who don't like cats… but I tend not to have too many of those in my clinic (not on purpose! Though if you were to wear a cat-hater badge on your coat I would feel tempted to refuse healing…)

Thank you for your most interesting letter! It’s always a pleasure to hear from you!

Take care of yourself, stay hydrated and eat regularly (Maker's Breath Hawke forgets this far too easily... So you had better keep up too!)

Anders

P.S. Astral projection? I can do that (or I could before Justice). Not outside of the Fade though, and not without an avid amount of lyrium at the ready.

There are also spells which one could technically use to spy on others, through mirrors for example, but those are highly frowned upon – for obvious reasons.

But to achieve such a feat, not within the Fade, but in our reality – and not as mages either? What an interesting thing to hear! I hope your government does not plan on using such capabilities for the wrong reasons though. Thank you for telling me, my friend! Now I won’t be able to sleep until I understand how they could possibly achieve such a notion though! If you have the time, please do not hesitate to write a bit more about this topic. But it sounds difficult to explain without magic, so do not fret too much!

[emilyoracle]

can we take a moment to appreciate bb!Tiger

(tho he's 22 in these excerpts lol)

___

Burt nodded and took a key from the massive shelf behind him, handing it over. Alex didn’t pay for that, either. He swept up the key and started to the elevator.

“Uh… thank you,” Henry said, and hurried after. The elevator operator brought them to the top floor. Alex sauntered out and Henry thanked that man too before following.

“You need to show more appreciation,” he said as Alex unlocked a door.

___

Henry kissed back. He didn’t know why or how, all he knew was that he’d never felt anything quite like it and he didn’t want it to end. Alex’s palms were warm on his face. His lips parted and so did Henry’s, letting Alex’s tongue caress against his.

He leaned away, surprised. “You taste fruity,” he told him.

Alex burst into laughter. Henry laughed too, though with nervous confusion more than amusement.

“What? What is it?”

___

 “Please, Henry,” he whispered breathlessly. “I want you.”

The heat in his stomach boiled over even though he had no idea what Alex was talking about. “I’m here,” he said as wet warmth continued down his neck to his shoulder. “You have me."

___

“Mary Mother of Jesus,” Henry whispered, closing his eyes.

“I doubt she ever made Joseph feel that good.”

His eyes whipped open and he smacked Alex lightly. “Don’t say that!” he gasped, horrified. “What a blasphemous thing to say!”

___

I took this sweet innocent boy and turned him into this

“I thought you might starve yourself in protest, I had to make sure you were eating.”

“Well fuck,” Tiger muttered. He hadn't even thought of that. “Thanks for the idea.”

“I'll shove food down your throat if I have to, so don't even think you can get away with it.”

“Maybe I'll shove something down your throat,” Tiger spat, but his genuine vitriol was met with a chuckle. Dragon bit his lower lip and raised his eyebrows at him like an invitation. Tiger inhaled slowly, pretending it didn't send a spark straight through his groin. “I fucking hate you,” he growled.

Dragon unbent the arm from behind his head and fingered the bottom of Tiger's shirt. “Clearly you like the clothes I picked for you too.”

Tiger set his jaw and started climbing off the bed but Dragon hooked an arm like a brick around his waist and pulled him back.

“I'm sorry,” he laughed, crushing Tiger to his chest. “You can kill me later.”

“No, I want to kill you now,” Tiger said, struggling against his hold. Dragon nuzzled his nose against Tiger's cheek and he pulled his face away, disgusted by the affection in the act.

“I mean it,” he said sharply. “I fucking hate you, you piece of shit.”

:') c'est la vie

[itsyourchoicedevotionals]

Notice The Nudges

“And may the God of peace Himself sanctify you through and through [separate you from profane things, make you pure and wholly consecrated to God]; and may your spirit and soul and body be preserved sound and complete [and found] blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ (the Messiah).” 1Thessalonians 5:23AMPC

Someone asked me, where did you meet Lou? ‘The tavern,’ I responded. She was astonished.

‘Really? I can’t hardly believe that,’ she said.

May I tell you, she doesn’t read many of my devotionals. Otherwise, she’d know, Jesus saved me from myself and a whole lot of sin.

Whenever we get the idea— ‘look how good and godly I am, I’ve arrived’ —we’re WAY OFF. Any ‘arriving’ we do is— “For from Him and through Him and for Him are all things. To Him be the glory forever! Amen” Romans 11:36NIV. As our text says— “God of peace Himself sanctify you… [separate you from profane things, make you pure and wholly consecrated to God]” Not about us.

We’re born with a penchant for sin— no matter how hard we try to rein in our sinful life. White-knuckling our wills is a bit like trying to tightly hold a banana. The tighter you hold it, the more it liquifies and squeezes out between your fingers.

Praise God! He makes the changes inside our hearts AS we yield ourselves to Him more and more. One area God has really had to work on me with has been language. I worked second shift factory work; hung out in bars; ran around with construction workers; married a lumber-jack-traveling-construction-man. My language tended to be quite crass and profane. Mom derode me for ‘cursing.’ But I’d learned ‘curses’ had nothing to do with profanity— ‘blasphemous or obscene language.’ Thus I ignored Mom.

One day I learned….. profanity is hell’s language. Since then I’ve surrendered my mouth and words to the Lord. (Not saying, occasionally, when I’m upset and totally in the flesh, a profanity might slip from my tongue— needing to repent for quickly.)

Holy Spirit’s Presence is inside our spirits causing us to be much more sensitive. If we gossip, for example, we’ll feel a stab in our conscience. Any sin we commit wounds us. Purposely repeating the same sin grieves Holy Spirit— “…do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption” Ephesians 4:30NIV. Is this verse a threat? No— more of a gentle instruction born in wisdom. Who desires to hurt God?  We need to learn how to live for Him, not expect Him to live for us.

I was reminded of Holy Spirit’s sanctifying power, while listening to the seer Kat Kerr one day. She said, ‘when you grieve Holy Spirit it’s like fighting with your spouse and then praying asking God for something. If you haven’t repented before asking, you’ll not be getting much.’ Her scripture reference 1Peter 3:7NLT “…you husbands must give honor to your wives. Treat your wife with understanding as you live together. She may be weaker than you are, but she is your equal partner in God’s gift of new life. Treat her as you should so your prayers will not be hindered.” Grieving Holy Spirit is another thing which can hinder your prayers. Solutions for both are so simple. Ask forgiveness.

Be attentive noticing the nudges given by Holy Spirit. His job is to sanctify us. Repenting erases all wrongdoings, 1John 1:9ESV “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

Don’t be stiff-necked, but pliable in God’s hands. He’s working for our good to preserve us “sound and complete [and found] blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ” It’s your choice. You choose.

PRAYER: Papa God thank You for helping us to stay right with You. Cleanse us in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

by Debbie Veilleux Copyright 2022 You have my permission to reblog this devotional for others. Please keep my name with this devotional, as author. Thank you.

[michaelmilligan]

Day 11 of B&B's (@drgarth and @starrynightdeancas) Holiday Advent Calendar Event! (ca. 1k of archangels and Midam)

Decorate/Make Gingerbread Houses // Peppermint // “You Make It Feel Like Christmas”

“Why are we doing this again?” Raphael asked while carefully lining a piece of gingerbread with royal icing.

“Because it's fun! You know. Fun.” Gabriel not so carefully placed another piece of gingerbread against the first. “You do know what that is, right?”

Pursing their lips, Raphael straightened the pieces so the house wouldn't be in danger of collapsing before it was even finished. “I wasn't aware that it was necessarily tied to baked goods.”

“Oh, you can have fun in a lot of ways. But... we figured this one would be good for a beginner,” Gabriel explained.

“A beginner,” Raphael repeated.

(Keep reading under the cut)

“Yeah, you know. You.” Gabriel shrugged. “It's not like you've ever given yourself permission to just enjoy life, right? Always working, always trying to make things perfect.” He slapped another piece onto the others. Raphael once again stabilized the construct.

“And this is not supposed to be perfect?”

“That's the first rule of making gingerbread houses, actually,” Adam said, his elbows propped up on the counter. “It doesn't have to be perfect, as long as you're having fun.”

They were baking in Adam's kitchen. Or rather, Adam had baked the pieces of the gingerbread house and they were now trying to put them together. Though Gabriel seemed hell-bent on making the house as crooked as possible. Raphael sighed and put more icing on an edge.

“So what happens if we don't have fun?” they asked.

“Well, then you can throw in the towel anytime you want. This isn't supposed to be a chore or a competition or whatever.”

Raphael thought about putting down the icing. But Michael was watching them with something akin to hope on his visage's face, and Gabriel did seem genuinely invested, weighing different gingerbread pieces in his hands. Raphael sighed again.

It was curious, they thought. A few years ago, they would have laughed at the concept of this – doing something as human as baking, in the kitchen of their brother's very human boyfriend. The idea that Michael would ever get romantically, or otherwise, entangled with a human would have been inconceivable. The notion that this would be sanctioned by Heaven, that they would embrace human cultures and traditions, and even go so far as to celebrate their holidays... Unbelievable.

“Damn, I wanna eat it.” Gabriel was scowling at the gingerbread in his hand.

“Yeah, I figured that was gonna happen.” Adam pushed off the table to rummage in a drawer, then pulled out a tin box. “You like peppermint, right?”

Gabriel beamed and immediately reached for one of the canes when Adam popped the lid. “Jackpot. I think I'll swing by more often.” The last few words were a bit muffled when Gabriel shoved the end of the cane into his mouth to suck on.

The music that had been playing in the background became louder as Michael turned a dial on the stereo.

Sweet gingerbread made with molasses

My heart skipped and I reacted Can't believe that this is happening

Well. That was oddly fitting, though Raphael didn't exactly have a heart that could 'skip'. At least in their true form, they didn't.

Like a present sent from God Sleigh bells singing hallelujah Stars are shining on us, too

Now this was something that Raphael might have deemed blasphemous until a few years ago. Though arguably, all food was 'a present from God'.

I wanna thank you, baby You make it feel like Christmas

Thought I was done for, thought that love had died But you came along, I swear you saved my life And I wanna thank you, baby 'Cause you make it feel like Christmas

Adam and Michael shared a fond smile.

“Yikes, get a room,” Gabriel said.

“This is our apartment, dumbass. All these rooms are ours.” Adam threw a peppermint candy at him. Gabriel caught it and stuffed it into his mouth without taking out the cane. “Jesus, this is like catnip to you, isn't it?”

“Apropos catnip, I thought you guys had a cat?” Gabriel asked, semi-understandable around all the sweets.

“They're in the bedroom.” Michael frowned. “Apparently, pets should be kept away from gingerbread houses.”

“It works out, since Gabriel should also be kept away from pets,” Raphael said, carefully applying more icing. “And all other living beings, really.”

“Hey.” Gabriel pouted – which just looked comical with the candy cane still sticking out of his mouth.

Michael apparently hit repeat on the stereo, since the same song that had just ended started up again.

“Is that all we're gonna listen to today?” Adam asked, amused.

“Maybe,” Michael said smugly.

Adam sighed. “Well. At least it's not Last Christmas.”

“You were still in the cage last Christmas.”

“It's a song, Raphael.”

“Ah.” They took a piece of gingerbread from Gabriel, who had looked like he was about to eat it, and added it to the house instead. “I suppose I still have a lot to learn.”

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to learn how to make a gingerbread house. Even if it wouldn't turn out to be Raphael's favourite pastime... at least Adam seemed to have fun as he swayed his head to the music. Michael was watching him with the same soft smile from before. And of course Gabriel was happy as long as he could eat, or drink, or partake in any other human vices.

Raphael didn't care much about either of those things. But, all appearances and old grudges aside, they did care about their family. And if this was something that could potentially make them happy, then why not try it out.

Maybe they could all make it feel a bit like Christmas.

[crustacean-on-main]

Libertarianism and Territoriality

A while ago, I got involved in a kerfluffle with esteemed tumblr user @shieldfoss in which I unwisely threatened to longpoast at him about politics. Turns out, there is demand for this post (hello @samueldays), so now I actually have to write it. Ugh.

content warning: the following poast is ramblomatic

So, to get the preliminaries out of the way -- tumblr is an extremely unsearchable website, and this isn’t meant to be a character assassination, so it’s both entirely possible and disturbingly probable that the things I will be arguing against correspond poorly or, in the worst case, not at all to things shieldfoss actually believes. Therefore, I will be arguing against a cloud of beliefs that I feel to be common enough among self-described libertarians and hope thereby to make perhaps a more general point.

At the heart of this discussion is the question of whether believing territoriality is immoral is incompatible with other ideals of libertarianism. We’re already running into the problem of extremely ill-defined terms, so we’ll have to clarify here. Territoriality is the easier one; we’ll specify that we mean a belief in the right of a group of people to eject or exclude others from territory that they hold in common or over which they have power. “Libertarianism” is the thornier one, so it might take longer to get at the essence here. For the discussion of borders, the common beliefs that are more or less relevant are a belief in the primacy of property rights, a belief in contractualism, being favorable to freedom of association and being deeply suspicious of government in general, but especially where government regulation could interfere with any of the former three. Now, let us look at a small-scale hypothetical example to illustrate the issue under discussion. Imagine a village in rural Pennsylzhopiya, populated largely by very devout members of some sect -- call them the Ruritanians -- who believe very fervently in Jesus Christ and Not Smoking Tobacco. One day they are surprised to learn that the United States has been taken over by the Libertarian Revolution and will henceforth be governed as a minarchy. Mindful of their new powers, they immediately pool all their property in a new entity called the Ruritanian Corporation of Pennsylzhopiya, that has a charter which prevents it from selling any of its property outright, and gives the religious community of Ruritanians deciding power in what it can do with its land. Meanwhile, in Philomena, the capital city of Pennsylzhopiya, imagine a neighborhood of people whose politics can be summed up as “progressive, but skeptical of big government”. Delighted at the news of the revolution, they do nothing in particular, because they already own their houses. They expect their lives to improve as a consequence of decreased regulation. Inspired by the political upheaval, some outsiders move to the Ruritanian community. They cannot buy Ruritanian land, but they can lease it at a low price provided they swear not to blaspheme Jesus Christ or Smoke Tobacco. Some of them fail to uphold this code; the Ruritanian council votes to end their leases and eject them from Ruritanian property. Others convert, using funds they have saved up to buy further land and add it to the common possession of the Ruritanian community. Ruritanians benefit from the light of the Libertarian Revolution. Meanwhile, in the libertarian neighborhood, a more unpleasant sort of radical fundamentalist Ruritanians has bought a house after the previous owner moved away. They have taken up picketing in public squares around the neighborhood, condemning public tobacco smoking. Since they by and large aren’t doing anything illegal, and the owner of the public squares, the city council, remains bound to the U.S. constitution, which was reaffirmed after the Libertarian Revolution, their neighbors are in a bit of a pickle. They did not take advantage of the new legal regime to create an entity exercising power in their name, if only because they don’t trust each other enough to give up private ownership of their homes, so they can’t do anything about the picketers. As time passes, more Ruritanian fundamentalists move to Philomena, eventually creating a sufficiently large nuisance for their liberal neighbors that most of them move away, creating a newly fundamentalist Ruritanian neighborhood that can in turn use its power to create new corporations to make sure the neighborhood stays Ruritanian. I assume most of my readers know where this is going, so let’s consider the final case: what if the Ruritanians didn’t form such a corporation but left their lands privately owned? They’d be vulnerable to the exact same tactic, since once property is legitimately acquired, there is no way to dislodge its owner. The real, non-libertarian United States contains many examples of this kind of hostile takeover of neighborhoods between groups, largely accomplished by application of force that was either within the bounds of the law or not cracked down on by whatever higher authority should have. The upshot of all this is that if you truly care about freedom of association with all it entails -- essentially, the right to choose your neighbors -- then you are left with the uncomfortable reality that if you have no sovereignty over the territory you occupy, you can’t choose shit; this is, of course, not a problem with a hypothetical libertarian society only, as history attests. Libertarians for their part tend to answer this criticism in one of several ways. The first is basically “well if you have a problem you can leave”, or the exit-only approach. This is in my opinion not workable on a large scale outside of the US, and probably not even there, but is at least philosophically consistent. The second is giving up this freedom as a value, at which point you just collapse into progressivism with a procedural fetish. The most interesting answer is a variation on “would your neighbors sell to people whose values are so different from theirs?”. I think that the answer tends to be: yes, they would. Unless there is a powerful compulsion on every single one of those neighbors not to sell to certain people, they have no incentive to forgo their personal material gain or convenience for the benefit of their neighbors, especially if, say, they were moving away anyway. You also cannot really create such a compulsion in a libertarian society unless it already exists, since you’d have to surrender your very real privileges, your absolute property rights, to the community in order to benefit from collective organisation this way, and that is extremely unlikely to happen unless you are already a fundamentalist Ruritanian. Conceivably an intentional community of some kind could pull it off, but that’s basically answer one in material terms. The tl;dr here is that in my experience a lot of libertarians claim to care about the benefits of social cohesion, or at the very least presuppose that you already have it, but don’t give a lot of thought to how it might be obtained or preserved once you have it. It’s true that a libertarian state could actually help buttress it if your group already has fanatical levels of asabiyyah, by expanding the things you’re allowed to do with yourself contractually, but for most people that doesn’t apply. Indeed, we see that even in our non-libertarian versions of capitalism, the combination of market forces and upward concentration of force is extremely corrosive to this sort of group cohesion. The final consequence of this is that a libertarian society (again, defined as above) would be extremely vulnerable to collapsing into what we have now, if not worse -- there is neither incentive nor means for anyone to defend against concentration of power into the moneyed few who control the largest international corporations. I’ve limited myself in the examples to discussion of small-scale examples, but it’s trivial to see what happens if you extend the same principles to national borders. If nations all had open borders, no tariffs and homogenized legal systems recognizing the primacy of property rights, you would get the worst kind of cyberpunk dystopia, where the biggest capital interests could essentially do whatever the fuck they wanted. I think many libertarians were attracted to the ideology by the depredations of large organizations like this, and probably believe in the romanticized freedom of the smallholder more than the freedom of international capital, which is why I originally called this position incoherent. The ideal of individual freedom is a foil, something to distract from the fact that if you remove all intermediaries, you’re left with the leviathan on top and individuals immediately subject to it.

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

Mammon's Prayer

Summary: A short story about the comical and blasphemous interaction between God and his son Mammon's girlfriend.

A/N: It's a roman catholic thing to be a little bit critical about God and maybe commit little day to day blasphemy against God and the Roman Catholic Church.

Tags: Casual Blasphemy, Prayers, Begrudgingly in Love, You is a thot for Mammon, we is a slut for Mammon, Mammon and Mammorons share two braincells and we get it all the time, Roman Catholics Pray to Ask for Blessings, We pray to God to complain about our love life with Mammon, 5+1 Fic, Hurt and Comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, God is the Deus Ex Machina

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1.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit...

Our Father who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name...

Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us for our sins and trespasses. And those who trespass against us.

Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from Evil...

I don't know if you can hear me all the way here from Hell and I know I haven't prayed to you for a long time since my Confirmation or the fact that I only go to Church during important Holidays or the fact that I never fasted or stop eating meat on good friday... But I've done my best to be a good and morally upright human being even so...

That's why I hope you don't mind if I complain to you about your son a little bit, I don't mean Jesus...I'm cool with him. It's Mammon I'm here for..." You sigh deeply before taking a long sip from the glass of water you brought with you.

It was almost empty.

"What kind of shitty parenting did you do? Huh? Are you proud of your parental skills? Your idiot son keeps on sending me mixed signals! I can't fucking tell what he wants! Do you know how hard it is for me to communicate? You fucking nerfed me with social anxiety that it made me look like a functional human being! He's lucky he's cute or I'd have punch him in the face for being annoying...

Amen."

From Their throne in Heaven, God sat alone and mulled in silence. The two Cherubim who were on shift to accompany God blinked at what they had just heard.

'What kind of prayer is that!?!' They both thought.

Finally, after a long time had passed, God spoke "Do humans pray like this nowadays?"

No one answered Them.

2.

"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit...

Lucifer's Daddy who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name...thy Kingdom come, thy Will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven...

Give me this day my daily bread and forgive Lucifer for his trespasses and Mammon who trespassed.

Lead me not into Asmodeus, and Mammon on the Volume 6969 Cover of Majolish but deliver me from Evil...

Amen...

Okay I know that's not how the prayer goes but I've had a long week and your son Mammon has no consideration for me, his magicless Master that bought 3 copies of Majolish that had him for a cover.

I mean I'm not asking for much you know? I just want him to stop sending me mixed signals! The Piles of Little D of Greeds keep telling me he has a crush on me but he goes and act like he doesn't! And then he went and told me to answer his call before he even called!!

Did you purposely make an idiot? A dense fucker? A fucking adorable tsundere??

Why doesn't he just admit that he wanted me to call him from time to time??? I wouldn't have laughed at him y'know!!! Why is voice so nice over the phone!?!!

If he keeps this up either I'll date him or someone else!!!"

You did a sign of the cross and drank two cups of water before going to bed.

"...Chamahel was perfectly fine as a child! The war changed him!

Hmph! impudent human! All my children are perfectly fine as they are!" God fumed and thought of a way to punish the human that dared to say Their children weren't perfect.

Michael talked Them out of it but God still grumbled about it from time to time.

3.

"You already know what this is about...I know I look stupid saying my prayers aloud here in Hell but I like to pretend you can hear me...I...I know that you didn't like how some of your angels wanted to bang humans but... Would the same thing apply to Demons?

They're both cut from the same cloth afterall...and it's not like I want to do it with Demons but...if...this is just an if! A very big IF, a hypothetical scenario!!

I... I want to know if a demon-human relationship would get into trouble from both Heaven and Devildom...I don't know if I have the right but I'm asking it anyways...even if no one might be listening from up there...

Can you give me a sign, God? That if being in love with a demon isn't sin?

Thank you for putting up with me...goodnight God."

"...maybe this could be the exception..."

The next day Michael had to teach God how to use Akuzon Delivery to send a bouquet of White Poppies to the House of Lamentation.

4.

"There isn't a lot of things I'm thankful for...to be honest I hated you a little bit for letting some of us to do evil things in your name...you could turn an entire town into salt for being rude and inhospitable before but now you can't even slap divine retribution to the bastards that pollute your Church...even so thank you for Mammon...

And the other brothers too but mostly thank you for creating Mammon...He isn't an out and out evil you know? He...he's disgustingly human like with his ways... He cries over fictional characters and looks after me above and beyond what he has to do...

He's an idiot that doesn't know how to ask for help properly but...I think that's because of his circumstances...I really love him...I don't know if you're actually the one who sent those white poppies but...I'm taking it as a sign that everything's going to be alright...

I want to be with Mammon...even if this could only last for a year or even if one day he stops loving me...

I don't really understand love and things like emotion but...for Mammon...I want to. I want to make him happy! I don't want him to feel sad or pretend to be fine...I know it's impossible but even if it's a little bit...I want to do it!

For Mammon, That's why if possible...can I ask your help from time to time? You don't have to do anything God...just please hear my prayers out for him?

Thank you...and Goodnight."

"Oh they're dating now! My, my...that son of mine didn't really changed at his core huh? Still so shy with affection and a coward..." God idly mused, "but...he's willing to change...all for this human..."

God then briefly wondered if unlike his love for humans...his children's love never faded.

5.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit..." You paused for a long while thinking about the events that transpired...the you that died and the Mammon you've left behind.

"O' God...I am heartily sorry for having offended you," You thought of all the prayers you've sent...blasphemous in nature and irreverent...you smile bitterly " and I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell"

'Even if I'm already here'

"But most of all I offended you my God, who are all good and deserving of my love..." You closed your eyes and for the first time in a long while prayed with all of your heart and soul, "I firmly resolve with the help of your Grace, to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen."

'Please let them be happy...the ones I left behind...let them move on from the hurt and heal together...I'm sorry that I ended up hurting them again.'

For the first time in a long while...God made a miracle.

+ 1

"I take you,Mammon, to be my lovely wedded husband—to have and to hold—from this day forward" You looked at your openly crying husband, "for better and for worse,for richer and for poorer..."

You gently wiped his tears away," in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish—till death do not us part. According to your Father's Holy Law," The whole place erupts in gentle laughter "This I solemnly vow."

You slid the ring into his finger, gently and slowly as if he was fragile glass. You turned to look up to him and smile. Heart breakingly happy at being by his side again.

God spoke at the reception, a familiar glint in Their eye that made Michael sigh and Lucifer wary.

"In all years of my life I've never met a human so bold and courageous to complain straight at my face and commit blasphemy at almost every conversation we had. But I've also never met someone willing to pray for Demons and even come to love one so much with their entirety...in every version of you I saw this remained and I know it isn't because of your lineage but simply because of you who are."

You sat up straight wondering where this was going.

"Human life is fleeting...a mere blink in the eye for us who lived long but in there is beauty in that brief moment. Keep on living as you are, love the beauty that is timeless and ephemeral! And when the time comes the Kingdom of Heaven welcomes you!"

They raised a glass to you and said, "Yours is a love built to last, willing to sacrifice and endure, you have my blessing."

They turned to Mammon and smiled. A smile that reminded you of Mammon's and you turned to your husband and held his hand tighter. Everything would turn out fine.

[mythicaldemigoddess-of-deltarune]

I Want To Clear Up What Ma-Acolyte Stands For...And Say I’m Gonna Wait To Talk About The Toxic-Youtubers.

Ma-Acolyte, stands for Mother Of All Angels Acolyte.

plus I know I found out that I am not Christian,

and then found out I am a Neo-Christian instead.

but the whole Ma-Acolyte might be misinterpreted by some.

and I think I just remembered what it stands for.

which is Mother of All Angels Acolyte.

which I believe is the Earth-Heavenly Mother/Goddess.

if the sky/cloud heaven, is the ruling realm of the Heavenly Father/God,

and the Princes that act as Princes that govern each “Heaven Level”,

then I believe and theorized, that there is a Heaven that mimics the likeness of earth, from flora and fauna.

and it possibly having the Princesses, acting as the princesses for each level

of the Earth-Heaven Levels.

but the Earth-Heaven still being linked to the other that is the Sky-Heaven,

or simply known as Heaven.

and I suppose if one of the Princesses of Earth-Heaven,

felt more like a Nonbinary identity, and preferred the they/them pronoun,

and not liking to be called she/her even though they were created

in female looking form with the feminine energy

(feminine doesn’t always mean the biological binary.)

might want to go by Princet instead.

 but even those who feel maybe Feminine-Nonbinary,

and were born biological female or who’s soul was created to appear female,

might still go by she/her.

plus the feminine and masculine energies are not always binary.

I might need to make this short,

so I will say this. I decided to wait a bit more to talk about the problem with the Toxic-Youtubers.

also I want to say that if my assuming is right, and if the rain right now is any sign that it is true.

and if someone who is part of tumblr is in a coma right now,

then I’m going to pray they wake up from it and get back to their home and family safe and sound.

I don’t think it is six sense....

pretty sure my Mom had that when my older brother almost got himself hurt,

and she wasn’t even in the same room as him, but she “saw it” like it appeared in her head, that is the best thing I can do to explain it.

I also notice the sky and even the trees seem a lot healthy looking over here.

the sky looks really pretty in the day time and when close to

becoming night time.

maybe I’m not the only one who started to notice it.

but anyway once more the “Ma” part of Ma-Acolyte,

is short for Mother of All Angels Acolyte.

and I think it is really for the best that I wait until maybe either next month

or even July if I decided to wait that long, to talk about the Toxic-Youtubers,

I did save what I had wrote so far, and well I might write a bit more about it.

but I’m not gonna post it right away, as I believe it is best that I wait a bit longer.

and I hope some of you can respect my new view, you don’t have to agree with it.

but make sure you don’t tell me I’m being a blasphemer,

I still believe in the Heavenly Father/God and even Jesus,

but I have open up to some truth that is in my heart and soul.

plus I still don’t believe that force converting is the right way.

like I had pointed out before, when I did talk about believing in a Goddess too,

a Toxic-Religious made me feel really bad

and even though I did try to point out what they were saying,

was making me feel bad...they kept using it.

misusing “may the lord have mercy on you.” or “may god have mercy on you.”

is just wrong, and yet the Toxic-Religious people like that insensitive person,

will do it, regardless if you point out how bad it is making you feel.

I mean let’s say if I was atheist instead, if I had said that,

that person would possibly still use those same words and make me feel bad.

but I’m not atheist, and if I have some friends who are, I don’t think it be right to force them to believe the same as me.

if someone wants to believe in a higher power,

then it should be of his or her or their own choice and the free will that is of both their soul, heart and mind...

(I don’t really go to church anymore, but even I had figured out the whole if you don’t you will go to heck, is just a lie that a group of male humans had made up...that is my and maybe a few others view on it I think.) 

and I’m glad that I blocked that Toxic-Religious person over at the other place I post fan art at.

because they couldn’t understand their misuse of those words,

were making me feel really bad.

even if I did try to point that out, they end up repeating it.

and might of kept doing it if I kept trying to get them to listen.

anyway, I will sign on later,

to post a drawing I did on paper that has to do with MLPFIM/Equestria Girls.  

see ya later and stay safe everyone.