#priest!connor

[voukkake]

I want just...

[tikay21]

🐺GRAVITY Crew - Connor 🎸

the Crew arrived at the festival grounds ...

working on Gravity’s stage setup ...

instruments, lights, all that chaos ...

one last look at the bigger picture ...

a quiet moment to take it all in - the calm before the lights go up ...

Connor Conroy-Priest - Lead Tech & Synth - behind the scenes -

start prev - next

GRAVITY Band Saint • Phoenix • Thunder • Hannah Crew Connor • Damon • Marcin • Wesley • Pierce

Poster an additional note about Conn to the backstory you can read here: a little piece of backstory if you’re curious. Back then, I didn’t rebuild all the family members, and I thought I could live with that - but now, five years later, and with the spark that came through Edgewave, I’ve decided to bring the rest of the family back too. Conn is one of them and I realized just how much I’ve missed them/him.

EDGEWAVE stage and festival idea by @aniraklova 😎🤘

[gravebirds0dmnk]

MY RANT ABOUT

Damian Wayne!!!

(part 1)

Let’s talk about Damian Wayne, the biological son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul, grandson to Ra’s al Ghul, a kid who was raised by the League of Assassins and then abruptly dropped into Gotham like a pint-sized wrecking ball. Damian didn’t just walk into the Bat-Family -he kicked down the door, insulted everyone in the room, and declared himself the best Robin before anyone could finish their coffee.

And that’s the thing: he’s not wrong. But we’ll get to that.

People love to hate Damian Wayne. He’s “arrogant,” “rude,” “violent,” “disrespectful.”

Yes - that’s the entire point. Damian is a walking nature-vs-nurture experiment gone rogue. Imagine being raised in a world where killing is standard operating procedure, then being told, "Hey, kid, here’s your dad, the most morally rigid vigilante in existence. No more murder. Also, you're twelve. Try fitting in with these older siblings who all had tragic childhoods and came out emotionally repressed instead of homicidal."

What did anyone expect? Of course Damian was going to be a tiny terror. That’s how he was built.

But people don’t seem to want to let him grow past that. That’s where the real problem lies. They see the early "I’m better than you because I was trained by the League" Damian and freeze-frame him there forever. They ignore the development, the pain, the earnest effort to be more than what he was made to be.

Damian Wayne is a twelve-year-old with the weight of two legacies crushing him. On one side: the Bat - justice, discipline, self-sacrifice. On the other: the Demon - power, domination, control. He didn’t ask for this life. He didn’t get to grow up on movie nights and pizza with Alfred. He was built in a lab of expectations and blood. And then he was dropped into a family that didn’t trust him, because they had no reason to. Imagine how isolating that is.

But despite all of it - the trauma, the conditioning, the sheer amount of emotional dysfunction - he tries. Damian genuinely tries to be better. He goes from "I’ll kill criminals because it’s efficient" to "I can be a hero, and not just my father’s shadow."

He bonds with Dick Grayson in one of the best Batman & Robin runs ever,

he grows as a leader in the Teen Titans, and he earns his place - not because he’s Bruce’s son, but because he fights for it.

And yet, the fandom still treats him like the bad seed. The brat. The mistake.

Let’s talk about that word - “brat.” People throw it around because Damian has an ego, but when Tim acts like a smug genius, or Jason has a chip on his shoulder, or Dick gets a little high and mighty, they’re “complicated.” Damian is branded irredeemable. Why? Because he’s loud about his trauma? Because he doesn't bottle it up in classic Bat-fashion?

People hate that Damian says he’s the best but if you’d been trained since birth to be a perfect weapon and you actually could beat 90% of people in the room, wouldn’t you be a little confident too? Let’s be real Damian could drop someone twice his size and not break a sweat, but he also loves animals, paints, and had a freaking pet cow named Bat-Cow. He’s weird, intense, and has more depth than half of Gotham’s rogues gallery combined.

He doesn’t just represent “what if Batman had a biological son.” He’s the embodiment of legacy, destiny, and defiance. He’s the kid who was told what to be, and chose something else.

So yes, Damian Wayne is difficult. Yes, he’s abrasive. But so was every other Robin when they were introduced. The difference is, we gave them the space to grow. Damian deserves that too.

Let the boy grow. Let him mess up and learn and try again. He’s twelve, for crying out loud. He’s not the brat people make him out to be. He’s a survivor. A fighter. A Wayne.

And frankly? He’s the most interesting damn Robin we’ve had in decades, as much as he's hailed as the heir to both the Bat and the Demon, sometimes he feels more like the heir to chaotic writing decisions and wasted potential.

the fucking clones.

What is it with the League of Assassins and clone factories? Damian's backstory already sounds like a rejected Metal Gear Solid plot. First, we get The Heretic - a beefed-up adult clone of Damian who kills him (yes, kills the 10-year-old version of him)

, and then has the nerve to try and be a “better” version of him by being even more of a brainwashed sociopath. let’s not forget the literal clone army of failed Damian duplicates from Super Sons and Robin: Son of Batman.

These storylines could be tragic and poignant if they weren’t treated like edgelord spice tossed in whenever a writer wants to remind us that Damian's life is "dark and twisted" (as if we could forget). The clone arcs are often just shorthand for “Damian has trauma” without doing the actual emotional work.

why do SOME writers write him as a dumbfuck?

Sometimes Damian is portrayed as a tactical genius who speaks 14 languages and can outthink Ra’s al Ghul before breakfast. Other times, he's a literal moron who charges into a trap that Tim Drake would've spotted from a mile away while blindfolded. You can't have it both ways. He’s either a child prodigy or he’s an impulsive brat. And the thing is - he can be both, if written well. But often, writers just swing between extremes: “arrogant genius” one day, “idiot in a cape” the next.

his bitch ass adopted siblings.

Damian’s relationships with his siblings are the most fascinating and most abused part of his character. His bond with Dick Grayson? Absolute gold - when done right. Dick is the only one who treated him like a kid and a brother instead of a problem to be managed. But let’s look at the others:

Tim Drake: The rivalry with Tim is valid. Damian sees Tim as the Robin he needs to replace to be accepted. But writers constantly reduce it to petty hatred when there’s so much deeper story potential. Damian has insecurity around Tim because Tim was Robin by choice, not birth. That eats at him. But instead of nuance, we get “Damian calls Tim names and tries to stab him (again).”

Jason Todd: This relationship should be compelling! They're both violent, emotionally stunted products of trauma with a “screw Batman” streak. But writers barely touch it or just make them snarky and antagonistic, wasting the gold mine of storytelling there.

Cass and Steph? You’d think Damian would admire Cass’s skill or at least respect Steph’s audacity, but nah — they’re often relegated to cameos, if that. Missed opportunity. Always.

Forced love interests.

Damian Wayne is twelve to fourteen years old in most of his appearances. And yet we’ve had writers try to force teenage romance arcs with Emiko Queen, Djinn from Teen Titans, and even hinted stuff with Maps Mizoguchi. And it’s always awkward.

Look, Damian is emotionally stunted. He doesn’t even know how to have friends, let alone romantic relationships. These “love” arcs feel like writers trying to shove him into the typical young-hero mold — except Damian isn’t normal. He doesn’t need a love interest right now. He needs therapy, a stable environment, and a break from being written like a tiny James Bond with a sword.

Who even is he atp?

Damian is one of the most inconsistently written characters in modern DC comics. Is he;

A cold-blooded killer trying to reform?

A snarky, self-loathing child prodigy?

A guilt-ridden heir trying to live up to his father’s shadow?

A Teen Titans leader who makes ethically horrifying decisions?

Or a comedic, adorable little brother in Super Sons?

The answer is: all of them, depending on the writer, the phase of the moon, and whether or not DC remembered that continuity exists. There's no solid foundation anymore. He goes from helping animals and crying over Alfred’s death to creating prisons for criminals before they commit crimes (yes, that was real). Like… pick a lane.

IN CONCLUSION:

Damian Wayne is a character bursting with potential, yet often written as a caricature of himself - either the hyper-violent League assassin or the snarky “baby genius” with no emotional depth. And it's a shame, because when he's written with actual care, he's one of the most interesting, vulnerable, human characters DC has. But too often, he's just a plot device, a lightning rod for conflict, or worse — a symbol of edgy storytelling with none of the payoff.

The clones, the weird romances, the uneven sibling dynamics — all of it could be compelling, if they stopped treating Damian like a ticking time bomb and started treating him like the child he still is, who never got the chance to just be a kid.

And maybe , just maybe , let him grow instead of rebooting him back to the same arrogant starting point every other year.

Listen. I didn’t think DC had the guts to give Damian Wayne a real love interest that made sense, but they actually nailed it with Flatline.

Flatline (aka Nika) is a Russian teenage reaper girl, trained by Lord Death Man, who literally kills Damian in their first interaction at the Lazarus Tournament. That’s right - the first time they meet, she rips his heart out.

A classic Bat-romance if there ever was one.

But here’s the thing: their dynamic works because for once, Damian is in a relationship with someone who is like him. Nika isn’t a civilian. She’s not a princess-in-a-tower type. She’s deadly, clever, morbidly funny, and has her own trauma stew to simmer in. She understands what it means to be trained to kill, what it’s like to live in the shadow of a master manipulator, and - this is important - she doesn’t judge Damian for who he was.

They flirt, they fight, and they have actual chemistry. And even more importantly: Nika sees Damian’s potential. She likes that he’s trying to become better. She doesn’t infantilize him, doesn’t try to “fix” him, and absolutely calls him out when he’s being dramatic (which he always is).

They’re goth murder babies in love. It's adorable. It’s deadly. It’s surprisingly tender.

Also: the fact that Damian openly blushed when she flirted with him?? After years of acting like a cold-blooded monk?? That was character growth, baby. Let him be a teenager. Let him have weird assassin girlfriends who wear skull makeup and call him out on his nonsense.

That relationship gave him depth. Vulnerability. Normality, in the most abnormal way possible.

The cursed ship. Damij*n

Now we pivot — HARD — into the chaotic, emotionally devastating, soul-bonded bros or maybe soulmates?? ship that is DamiJon (Damian Wayne x Jon Kent).

Let’s be real: Super Sons was lightning in a bottle. Damian and Jon had instant chemistry, not just as teammates but as characters that completed each other. The edgy, bitter, emotionally repressed assassin kid and the sunshine-filled, awkward, farm boy alien. It’s Batman and Superman, but in middle school. And it worked.

Jon brought out Damian’s humanity. Kinda.

Damian helped Jon grow a spine.

They bantered like siblings but supported each other like best friends.

Their road trip in Super Sons of Tomorrow? ICONIC.

Their team name was "The Super Sons." Like. Come on.

Now. The DamiJon ship could have stayed platonic - and for many people, it does. That’s valid. But for a huge part of the fandom, something clicked: this was Damian’s most emotionally honest relationship. He let his walls down around Jon in a way he didn’t even do with Dick or Bruce.

And then... DC aged Jon up, yeeted him into space, and basically nuked the best dynamic they had in years.

Instead of letting this amazing slow-burn grow into a genuine teenage relationship -or even just a long-term partnership -they forced them apart. Damian went full “brooding alone in the rain,” and Jon? Jon got stuck with awkward adult Superman stories and none of the vulnerability that made him great. I guess.

So the fandom stepped in.

DamiJon fanfiction took over. Why? Because people recognized the undeniable emotional gravity between these two. The way Jon looked at Damian like he mattered. The way Damian saw Jon as a safe place to be a kid. And yeah -whether you ship it romantically or just as friendship - they were each other’s person. A little.

And DC fumbled it.

Badly.

DAMIAN’S LOVE LIFE: WHERE ARE WE NOW?

Flatline: The only canon love interest that actually feels earned and meaningful. The kind of person Damian can have a messy, weird, supportive relationship with. I will go down with that ship.

DamiJon: The emotional bond that broke the internet. A tragic will-they-won’t-they that got derailed by editorial nonsense, but lives on stronger in fan works than most canon DC couples.

Other Attempts (looking at you, Djinn/Emiko): Forced. Rushed. Hollow. No emotional core. Just there to check a box that “Damian has hormones. ”

Damian Wayne, rebellious and guilt-ridden post-Alfred's death, runs off to an island death tournament to punch through his trauma and maybe actually die. Sounds metal, right?

And yeah, on paper? This arc should have slapped.

A secret tournament of assassins?

Damian coping with grief and purpose?

Internal conflict about his mother, his father's legacy, and his own morality?

Literal Lazarus pits boiling under the surface?

Peak edgy teen drama.

Great setup for character growth.

A sleek excuse to throw in new and old assassins, monsters, and obscure DC weirdos.

But the execution?

Wobbly. Rushed. Confused. Repetitive.

DC fumbled it like it was the final Lazarus Pit and they spilled it in a sewer.

Rules are like a video game

Let’s talk about the structure of this whole thing.

You get three lives.

You can die.

You get revived by Lazarus magic.

If you die more than three times, you're out.

But also maybe not because some people still showed up after that?

Uhhh. Okay.

So basically: it’s Mortal Kombat with extra chances.

Except the stakes feel fake, because death is temporary and everyone knows it. So we lose the tension, and instead we just get shock value kills that go, “Oh no! Damian died-wait, nvm, he’s back.”

And then... they just let actual children participate in this deathmatch?

No one — not even Bruce, the most paranoid helicopter parent alive — thought maybe “assassin death island” needed to be shut down?

Character arc is great but..?

Damian Wayne deserved this arc. After City of Bane and Alfred’s death, he needed a storyline that let him explore guilt, identity, shame, and grief. And for a while, it looked like that’s what we were getting.

He’s trying to prove something. He runs from home. He wants to know who he is when he's not Robin. All good stuff.

But the story rushed it. Damian went from:

“I don’t deserve to live”

to

“I beat the Lazarus demon in my head and now I’m fine”

in like, five issues. Maybe 7.

That’s not healing. That’s narrative whiplash.

Worse, we finally get inside Damian’s trauma -the guilt over Alfred, the resentment toward Bruce, the confusion about Talia - and then we speed-run emotional recovery through a hallucination of his inner demon. Cool imagery. Half-baked execution.

This should’ve been a 30-issue psychological arc, not a slightly spiced tournament brawl with a feel-good ending and a hug.

Let’s be real: the best part of the Lazarus Tournament was Flatline. Mostly at least.

She was witty, violent, competent, and emotionally grounded.

She killed Damian with a flirty grin. ICONIC.

She called him out. Made him reflect. Gave him a mirror without being a “fixer.”

Flatline had the perfect amount of chaos and pathos to match Damian, and her presence added depth to the story that none of the other contestants really brought.

But of course... she gets sidelined quickly. Because DC can't let Damian have too much growth or happiness at once. Nooo, gotta reset that character arc soon, huh?

Lazarus guy

There’s this weird demon entity connected to the Lazarus pits that represents death, rebirth, rage, and temptation.

On paper? A perfect metaphor for Damian’s psyche.

In execution? It’s like:

“Hey Damian, fight this literal manifestation of your darkness! If you win, you’re healed!”

And he does. In ONE issue.

Even though the “inner demon” literally says things like “Embrace who you are!” and Damian goes, “NO, I AM MORE.”

Cool... but shallow.

Like, where’s the tension? Where’s the long, brutal journey of self-reconstruction? Where’s the weight of that trauma? This arc treated Damian’s grief like it could be solved by punching his subconscious in the face.

Lazarus Tournament..

The setup? 🔥 🔥 🔥

The aesthetic? 🔪 Yes please.

The character potential? Off the charts.

The actual story? ��meh. Shiny on the outside, soft and half-cooked on the inside.

Damian deserved a story that let him bleed, break, and slowly rebuild.

Instead, he got anime fights, a quick therapy demon, and a new costume.

It wasn’t bad. It was just half the story it needed to be.

Now..

Let’s talk about:

Who the hell Respawn is (and how wild that reveal is),

Why Damian’s reaction to him is so important,

How DC fumbled something that could’ve been huge,

And why this was the most personal brotherhood Damian never got to explore.

WHO IS RESPAWN?

Short version? Respawn is Damian Wayne’s clone.

Longer version? Respawn is a clone made from both Damian’s and Deathstroke’s DNA - an artificial “son” created as a contingency weapon. Basically a knock-off who had all of Damian’s trauma amplified and none of the love or purpose that Damian eventually found.

He was:

Experimented on,

Raised in total isolation,

Told he was a tool,

Built to suffer.

And the absolute tragedy is:

He’s everything Damian could’ve become if Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and the others hadn’t intervened.

Respawn is Damian without a safety net. Without a home. Without even the illusion of choice.

Almost brothers

When Damian meets Respawn, it’s not just, “Oh look, a clone.”

It’s a straight-up identity crisis.

Here’s someone who:

Looks like him,

Fights like him,

Hurts like him -but never got the chance to be more. Because DC hates angsty siblings obviously.

And the moment that hits? Damian doesn’t reject him.

He doesn’t go into superiority mode or cold detachment.

He sees him.

“I have a brother?.”

BOOM. That line hits like a gut punch.

Because for someone as emotionally guarded and slow to trust as Damian?

To call someone brother means everything. That’s a label reserved for Dick, and maybe Jon or Tim on a good day.

He never says that lightly. And he gives it to Respawn - this clone, this weapon, this discarded version of himself -instantly. Because he recognizes the pain. He wants to fix him.

DC KILLS HIM OFF. OF COURSE.

And what does DC do with this deeply emotional, complex brotherhood?

They kill Respawn off immediately.

It is infuriating.

The emotional fallout is barely explored. Damian is angry and guilty, sure, but there’s no real aftermath. No time to grieve. No deep reflection. Just:

“Oh hey, your clone-brother is dead, anyway let’s move the plot forward.”

This is one of the biggest missed opportunities in Damian’s entire arc.

They could’ve explored:

Cloning ethics,

Legacy and personhood,

Damian’s desire to be more than just a weapon, reflected in someone who never got the chance.

Instead? Respawn is reduced to a plot tool to escalate the Shadow War storyline.

And you know what? That’s a crime.

I'm tired. I'll stop writing this now 💕

[ghostinthemach1ne]

i’m sensing a pattern..

[jazziejax]

𝐈. 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Pairings- Priest!Art Donaldson x Reader, Priest!Patrick Zwieg x Reader

Summary- Odessa and Antoinette get a creepy letter in the mail

Warnings- religious talk, swearing, inside thoughts, not well written…

Jazzie’s Notes!- I just wanna preface this with saying that I don’t really know how to write this style of writing. I have to learn to write well in first person, but then if I do that, I would have to switch person to person all the time. Let if know if this is good or not, don’t be afraid to give feedback. Also, this isn’t meant to offensive to a religious group, I am religious myself. Sorry for any spelling errors!!!

Word Count- 5,313

Antoinette’s life was far from perfect. She lived in a crappy apartment in a sketchy part of New York with barely any money to afford to live. But she tended to find the bright side of most things. She shared said apartment with her best friend, and she always dreamed of living in New York. Plus, her job was a cute diner with a surprisingly stylish apron. She felt like one of those girls in the rom-com movies. Life could be worse.

“Hi, what can I help you guys with today?” The chipper voice of the young lady said as she pulled the notepad out of her blue apron pocket. She looked expectedly around the group that sat at the diner booth.

“Uh, can we get two French toast meals with the strawberry and whipped cream on them, no bacon or eggs on one of them? And two chocolate chip pancake meals with no whipped cream, just the bananas and blueberries. Four milkshakes, one chocolate with no cherry no whipped cream, one strawberry with the cherry and whipped cream, one vanilla with just the whipped cream, and another chocolate with the cherry and the whipped cream.” Said a blonde woman in one go, before looking up to smile at the waiter.

What a…hearty breakfast. Is it even breakfast time?

The girl squinted, caught off guard by everything that was thrown at her so fast, and didn’t write anything down past the ‘no eggs no bacon’ part. “Um, okay, yeah. I totally have all of that. I’m just gonna repeat it back to make sure it’s correct.” The curly-haired waiter smiled, looking down at the small amount of words scribbled on the yellow paper. Before she could even start talking, the blonde girl spoke up again.

“Oh, no need.” She smiled sweetly, which was obviously fake and condescending by the way she then waved the girl off before continuing the conversation she was in with her friends. Antoinette's eyes darted from one person to the next, utter shock but not surprised at how they all just continued to ignore her presence. She offered a small smile, whispering a small “Okay.” Before walking off to tell Lonny what she remembered of the order.

Which also didn’t go in her favor.

“Why the hell didn’t you write it down?” The older man asked, his New York accent thick on his tongue as she looked down at the small piece of paper the girl handed him.

I totally didn’t even think of that.

“I tried, she was going too fast and wouldn’t let me stay any longer to get it correct.” The girl whined. “I can tell you what I remember from my brain.”

My brain, what am I, seven years old? I need to expand my vocabulary.

“I don’t need what you have in your brain, I need the order on paper! I’m running a restaurant here, curly fry, not a school!” The grump yelled, before moving around the kitchen to continue to cook. Antoinette just stood there, arms stiff at her sides as her eyes drifted towards the open box where the orders got dropped off to see the more than half-empty restaurant. Her brows furrowed inwards only a smidge as she looked back over at her boss.

“Lonny, they’re the only people here.” She stated. All she got in response was the slam of the man’s fist against the metal table out of frustration. Not caring, or rather not paying attention, Antoinette continued. “I mean, them and the homeless guy that sleeps in the booth at the very back. And the occasional person with a laptop to charge.” She shrugged.

Lonny then turned, glaring from afar at the girl who was at least a foot taller than him. Granted, he was a short man.

“You’re lucky I like you curlyfry.” The man grumbled. “Now write down what you can remember then get back to work.” He hissed, turning to the batter he had before him. Antoinette was almost tempted to ask, what work? but refrained from making the situation worse. “Okay.” Was all she said before starting to scribble what she caught of the order on the paper.

My handwriting is atrocious, I need to work on that. Ooh, that’s a big word. Maybe my vocabulary isn’t so terrible. Hey, they do say bad handwriting is a sign of intelligence.

“Also, can you go kick out that homeless guy?” Lonny started, talking to the girl over his shoulder.

“Why can’t you?” She immediately asked, not even thinking over the statement. The older man threw his head back, letting out a deep sigh. “Because I’m working. Ya know, the thing you don’t do.”

Antoinette softly gasped in offense, placing a hand over her heart. “I work. I’m getting this order to you right now.” She said, tripping g the paper from the bit pad and sliding it over to the order station. “Plus, Joey’s gonna be here any second for my shift to end. Although a little late. He can handle it though.”

“Yeah, but I asked you, and I want it done now.” The man spat, never once looking back at the girl as he continued to make the dough for his bread at the cooking station.

“Well, I can’t because I have to wait.” She said, starting to take off her apron. Lonny screamed in annoyance, turning to face his employee. “What did I tell you about that word?!” He screamed desperation and anger in his tone.

“That it’s only used by stinky European teenage boys.” Antoinette related like a mantra at this point. “So stop it!” He yelled as she then tried to walk out of the kitchen, actually having to pee. “And what did I tell you about telling me when you have to pee.”

“I just thought you should know!” Antoinette yelled back through the closing kitchen door. She sighed, starting to continue her way to the bathroom before briefly pausing when she realized the table from earlier was now looking at her in irritation and confusion.

Great, they probably heard me talking about having to pee.

She smiled at them, her dimples being the cherry on top of her adorable face. “Your food will be out shortly.” She said as she encapsulated one hand in the other, voice now calm in contrast to her previous yelling. She went to walk about before stopping once more. “Hopefully.” She said before continuing, taking her apron off in the process and laying it on a hook in the back where her bag and coat were.

She wakes in the dingey bathroom, pulling down her pants and squatting over the bowl. Finally, in some semblance of peace, she had the same thoughts she had every time she used the bathroom at the diner.

My calves have to be extremely strong after doing this for four years. Can they hear me? Gosh, I hope they can’t hear me. I think I’d kill myself. Well no, I wouldn’t because that’s a sin.

Finished, the file looked over next to her for the toilet paper, seeing the roll bare but the sake of two thin sheets stuck to the adhesive. “Aw, man. No paper.” She said to herself. She then tried forward, scouring her mind for a solution to such a predicament. Here she was, leaning forward with her rosary handing in her face, squatted over the toilet seat with urine dripping from her privates.

Today couldn’t be any worse.

Just then, the door shot open and slammed into the girl's head. Antoinette yelped at the harsh contact, not even paying attention to the scream let out by the man above her as she focused on her now throbbing head and tried not to fall into the toilet bowl. “Dammit, Antoinette, lock the door next time.” The man groaned. Antoinette held her head as if her hand would bring some sort of red to the area.

“Ok, Joey can you go grab me some toilet paper? We’re out.” She said, trying to focus on how embarrassing this whole ordeal was.

“Uh, yeah, give me a sec.” He said through the door before drifting away.

Antoinette sighed, her head flopping down as she was once again left in that weird position, now even more embarrassed that someone saw her and that she was hit in the head. And it was her coworker.

Lord. I’m sorry but I must die today.

Joey then came back with a new roll of tissue, handing it to the girl through a crack in the bathroom door, even though he could see the girl in the small bathroom mirror. A few seconds after a flush and the sink running, Antoinette emerged with an awkward smile on her face to see Joey standing in front of the bathroom door.

“Hi.” Was all she said, looking everywhere but his eyes.

“Hey.” The taller olive-skinned man said back. They stood in front of each other for a few moments in silence.

“You should go—“

“Sorry about—“

They stared at the same time, pausing before awkwardly laughing.

“I was gonna say sorry about your head. I kinda just barged in.” Joey continued, smiling down at the girl in front of him.

“It’s fine, I was sitting there very awkwardly. Squatting rather.” She stared, brushing it off. “I was saying that you should head on in there and…do whatever you were going to do.” She shrugged. She could feel her heatwave pick up just being in his presence. And the longer she looked at him in those sultry brown eyes, the feeling of a hot pool started to rumble in her lower stomach. She might’ve been a virgin, but she wasn’t stupid.

Well, not entirely.

She knew she found Joey attractive, but the feeling she got when she stood too close to him was not okay in her book. It triggered her fight or flight, but instead of running away or throwing fists at him, she wanted to jump into his arms.

Yeah, I can’t do this. It’s time to leave.

“Well, it was nice speaking to you Joey, have a nice day. Oh, and Lonny wants you to remove the homeless guy from the booth in the back.” She spat out in a hurry as she grabbed her bag from the hook, along with her coat, and walked back to the front. She passed the table on her way out, seeing that they were now eating. “Oh, you guys got your food. Great.” She said with a small customer service smile as she continued walking.

“Yeah, our order is actually wrong—.” The woman from before couldn’t get out much more before Antoinette was cutting her off.

“Sorry, I’m off the clock. Bye.” She cheesed on her last words and walked out of the door, a bell ringing above her head. She scurried to the alley on the side of the building, to see her bike still double-chained to a random pipe in the next building over. It was basically a little game at this point to come around the corner and see if her bike was still there. Sighing in relief, she rushed over to the baby blue bike with a wicker basket in the front. She unclasped her key from her wrist and unlocked the heavy-duty chains she bought with her last few dollars when she moved to New York. This elderly couple had given her the bike when they saw the girl walking in the rain, saying it was their daughter’s old bike. But since the girl was lost and confused in a very nice neighborhood, she had to buy some chains so she didn’t get jacked before she could get to enjoy its labor.

The girl opened the basket in the front of her bike to place her chains into when she paused at the sight of something wrapped in the large bin. The thing was moving underneath the black cloth and Antoinette was just frozen. She glanced around at the alley to see if anyone was watching her but spotted not a single soul. Sighing, the girl reached out and pulled back the back fabric, being sure to keep her head as far away as she could whilst also being able to see within the basket. Seeing that whatever it was didn’t violently react to her movements, she eased forward to see a tuft of sandy white hair.

What in tarnation is this?

Now confused, the girl leaned forward and pulled the cloth back more to see two small kittens in her backseat, one was this sanely blonde color, the darker part of its body being its nose area and its tail. The other kitten was a mix of colors, mainly orange and black with white spots here and there. Antoinette’s heart immediately melted at the sight of the two kittens.

“Awww!” The girl said, pouting at the creatures who lay in her basket. Well, one creature lay while the other moved around in the basket as best as it could. “Well, aren’t you two just the cutest?” The girl gushed as she lifted the blanket with them two in it to place the chains at the bottom of the basket. Once placing them back down, she looked at the cats, who eventually acknowledged the woman above them with tiny meows, as if they were speaking to her speaking voice. Antoinette nearly cried as she continued to fawn over the cute little animals.

“Yeah, you two are coming home with me.” She said as she mounted her bike and washed her way out of the alley. “Des is just gonna love you two!” She said excitedly, closing the top of her basket and riding off into the New York City streets.

“Why the hell are there kittens in the kitchen?” The light skin girl said as she walked into the small flat and hung her keys and coat near the door before turning to her right to see two kittens in the kitchen licking at a bowl of milk on the corner. Antoinette smiled at the girl as the light from her laptop reflected off her large glasses.

“Hello, Odessa.” The girl said formally laying one hand on top of another as she sat straighter in her seat. The lighter girl furrowed her brows, eyeing her friend across from her in the small kitchen.

“What do you have to say?” The girl demanded out of her rather than asked, already tired from a long work day and knowing Antoinette had something up her sleeve.

She’s sneaky for a catholic…Well, aren’t they all? According to history.

“Well, to answer your previous question, these cats are here because some holy being left them in my basket on my bike.” She started. She could see Odessa was about to speak again but she interrupted before she could. “And before you say anything discouraging, I’d just like to say I did some extensive research. The multicolored one is a calico kitten, and did you know that approximately one calico in 3,000 is male? And guess what? He’s male!” The girl with glasses said, faking her shock again to add to the dramatic value in front of Odessa. The leather-clad girl just leaned against the kitchen archway with her arms folded, face stoic. Seeing that Antoinette was waiting for some sort of reaction before she continued, the woman slightly opened her mouth to let out a small gasp, glancing over at the kitten near her feet.

Antoinette smiled before continuing. “And that quiet and mysterious beauty is a ragdoll kitten. They have an above-average life span, fully grown at 4 years old, quiet by nature, as you can tell. And they are one of the largest cat breeds out there, which is also kind of confusing because you’re supposed to mix other breeds to get a ragdoll cat.” She said, trailing off at the end as she looked at her laptop in confusion, those two facts not making much sense in her mind. Shaking off the thought, the spec-wearing girl looked over at her cooler friend, who just stared at her. Antoinette put on her best smile.

Well, not her best. She was sort of anxious about the whole situation so the smile was kind of awkward, the girl showing all of her adult teeth while her eyes waited on an answer, her brows giving away her concern.

After a moment of silence, the two just looking at one another, Odessa cracked first.

“We can’t keep the cats.” That was all she said before all hell broke loose.

“But, I did so much research on them! I could probably work as a veterinarian with all the knowledge I know now.” The girl in pink whined.

Odessa just started, moving to put her hands in the pockets of her leather pants, the tattoos on her arms showing.

“It was basically a sign from God- well the universe that I’m meant to keep them. They just appeared in my basket, begging for my care.” She continued, changing her words when she saw the girl's brow spike at the mention of the guy up above. That still didn’t get a reaction out of the girl, Odessa just moved across the small kitchen and past the tiny table to the fridge. Antoinette followed her moments within her seat, desperation etched into her face.

“I mean, it won’t cost us much. I can use the bin we use for our socks as their litter box and just use sand from the cigarette pot downstairs.” I’m grasping at freaking straws here.

Odessa turned around once she had the beer in her hands and used the counter to pop the lid off. “And for now we can just give them milk, ya know since we always have some that go bad and we’re lactose intolerant anyway.” She continued, taking her glasses off her face to look at her friend.

Odessa cringed at her words, and leaned against the counter now, which was only about three feet away from the other girl. “That sounds like a terrible life for these poor kittens, Antoinette. And us.” She said before taking a swig of her beer. “We can’t afford them.”

“I mean, it's not like we’re poor. We can take care of them.”

“We have a box television in the year 2023…” Odessa started, “And it’s not even in our living room, it’s in the kitchen and it’s the size of a basketball.” She finished, pointing over to the small television on the corner of the table that softly played reruns of old television shows with the antenna that aimed at the small kitchen window. “We don’t even have fucking cable.”

“Language,” Antoinette muttered. “I mean, at least we get to watch Sex & The City and Living Single for free.” She smiled over at Odessa, who gave her a simple stare. “We can’t afford them, Bennie.” She said softly.

Antoinette then deflated, shoulders sagging as she leaned back in the old wooden chair. She had lost all hope as soon as the girl said that name, Odessa only calling her that when she was serious about something. Mainly because Odessa hated nicknames. “Okay, I’ll find them somewhere tomorrow.” She softly whined before putting her head in her hands. Odessa pursed her lips in sadness, patting the girl on the shoulder for comfort before making her way out of the kitchen. It only took her about three steps before she was in what most would call a living room, but Odessa liked to call it her room. Since it essentially was her room.

The far wall was made of brick, with a green couch in front of it that let out into her bed and a small back circle table in the middle, on top of an ugly carpet.

The girl sighed as she turned and dropped down onto the couch, letting her back hit the seat cushions. The old ceiling light hurt her eyes and made her already terrible hangover headache worse, so she threw her arms over her eye, placing her face in her elbow. Getting home late last night from one of her small concerts, she liked to call them, at the bar she worked at, she got a little too wasted. It was a recurring theme for her honestly.

Get up, go to work at the bar, wait till 10 to start performing, do that until about 2 am, get drunk afterward and either go home with whoever she decides to lay with that night or go to her humble abode. She didn’t perform every night, but when she did, that was usually the routine. And now she was suffering the consequences of getting drunk and staying up until 5 am when she had to work only hours later. At least she didn’t perform tonight, now she could stay in longer since it was only 6.

Her head becoming too much, the girl sat up from the couch to head to the bathroom to see if she could salvage some pain pills. But before she could, the sight of a pile of letters caught her eye. Reaching over, she grabbed the small pile to sort through.

Bill, bill, bill, creepy letter, postcards, bill, rent, perfume samples…What the hell?…

Odessa paused at the sight of the letter, the off-white paper wax-sealed with a red stamp. She squinted, looking at the seal to see if she knew the symbol from somewhere. Looking at it in just the wax form, she couldn’t quite make it out but she knew it looked familiar. Standing up, she kept her eyes on the letter as she walked back to the kitchen.

“Did you see this creepy ass letter in the mail?” She asked, standing the the archway and turning the letter to face Antoinette, who had her head propped on her chin as she sadly looked at places where she could drop the kittens off. Speaking of kittens, they now lay in the girls’ lap, curled into one another in almost a yin and yang symbol.

Antoinette looked up, squinting at the girl who was blurry since she didn’t have on her glasses. Odessa walked forward, placing the letter in front of her roommate.

Placing her spec on, Antoinette inspected the letter more, immediately recognizing the symbol. She furrowed her brows, glancing up at the even more confused Odessa. Gliding her long bare nails under the wax seal, she popped the envelope open and pulled out the letter. “Ohh, handwritten.” She said to herself as she looked at the unfolded paper.

She was silent as she read through the letter, causing Odessa to just stand before her and wait for the girl to speak. She watched Antoinette read the letter, her face going through a mix of emotions. First, her brows raised in surprise in the beginning as she hummed in contempt. Then her eyes widened as she continued before she got to the end of the letter and gasped.

“What is it?! You’re making my blood pressure rise.” Odessa said, watching the girl intensely.

“It’s from Saint Mary’s.” She started, not looking up to see Odessa cringe at the words. “They said a lot has changed in the last four years. Mother Agnes died, and they refurbished the church and built it. And they even have new staff, but the community is failing. They sent letters to all the kids that grew up in the foster home to see if they’d come to work there to improve their quality of life. Pay and free housing included.” She finished, looking up at the girl before her.

Neither of them could look each other in the eyes at the news, both of them still processing everything. Mainly the information about Mother Agnes dying. There was a sense of relief as if the girls had been haunted by everything that woman did to them. And in a sense, they were. They’ve endured too much pain at the hands of Mother Agnes. So much pain that they had to live with their whole lives, and leaving there didn’t help as much as they thought it would. They just now had a place to express such feelings out loud. Although they never did. Conditioning at its finest. Just thinking about their youth made Odessa want to break down and cry after so many years of pushing those memories away. And Antoinette…she could have a panic attack just being back at such a place.

After a moment of silence, Antoinette read over the letter again and again while Odessa just started in thought, someone finally spoke.

“We should do it.” She said softly, not looking up in fear of Odessa’s reaction.

“And why the hell would we do that?” The other girl asked harshly, offended that Antoinette even thought of such a possibility.

“Because it could help.” She answered softly. “We could use the money.”

“We have money. You and I both work.”

“You said it yourself, Des,” Antoinette said looking up, her hands slightly shaking as she played with the letter in her hands. The thought of going back wasn’t doing her psyche any good, but she felt as if this was a good opportunity. Maybe this could be good for us. “We don’t have the money.”

“I said that about your cats. Me and you are living just fine.” Odessa spat, her words harsh as she looked down at the darker-skinned girl. Antoinette subtly flinched at her tone, looking back down at the letter in her hands. Odessa saw her small movements and immediately felt bad, she wasn’t making the situation any better.

“It could be good for us.” Antoinette started again, not looking up this time. “We could go there and help out. Make it a better place than it was when we were there. Be nicer to the children so they…don’t end up like us.” She said. Her words hung in the air for a moment. “I mean, what other place is gonna offer us free housing and a job?”

“We go back just so we can be in debt to those people?” Odessa stated, ignoring what the girl previously said about helping the children. “So they can treat us like some charity case? Like they did when we were foster children?” She continued to ask, staring at the top of Antoinette’s head since she refused to lift her eyes from the wax she was ripping off the paper envelope. “I’m not going through that again, not for some people who didn’t give a damn about us then.”

“There’s new people.”

“Yeah, and who do you think taught them what they know?” She asked, folding her arms. There was a thick silence between them.

Antoinette nodded, never looking up. “You're right.” She closed her old laptop and adjusted the kittens into her arms. She then tucked her laptop under her arm and stood up. “I’m gonna go to bed now, good night.” She said softly, walking past Odessa and into the small room on the other side of the living room. Odessa sighed, placing her head into her head as she heard the girl's door softly close from her place in the kitchen.

Antoinette didn’t come out of her room after that, but Odessa could hear her shuffling around in the very small space. She now lay on her bed couch, looking over at the skinny door every time she heard the slightest moment from the room. She would wait to see if the girl would come out in the middle of the night like she always did to ask her random questions, say a random fact, or go to the kitchen to get some water and get caught up in the small television. But none of that ever came.

As soon as Odessa thought sleep was about to finally meet her halfway, she got caught in the words Antoinette said earlier. About helping the children.

Now, Odessa was far from a children's type of person. She was far from a people person, honestly, but she had to make a living somehow. So, for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why she was so affected by the girl's words as soon as they left her mouth. But deep down, she knew why. And so did Antoinette.

Even in the foster home, Odessa would always protect the younger kids from punishment. Taking all their lashing so she didn’t have to hear the cries of children being hurt. Antoinette is one of those kids when the others would blame things on her. And she would take their pain with no words since the age of fourteen. She never vocally expressed the pain she felt emotionally, mentally, and definitely not physically. That mentality infuriated Mother Agnes to the point she would single the girl out and beat the girl harder to see if she could make her break. But Odessa only let tears slip when she was alone.

Now Antoinette didn’t know the severity her words would have on Odessa’s mind, so she couldn’t blame the girl. But she knew that the girl was right. Odessa would do anything in her power to make sure no other kids ended up like her. She would do anything to not hear the cries of pain from children who busted and wanted to be accepted and loved.

And with that thought, she got up from the bed and walked over to Antoinette’s room. She opened the small door that led to the tiny room to see the girl’s back facing the door, looking out the window at the city as she lay in bed and petted the two cats.

“I changed my mind.” She said softly.

Antoinette glanced over her shoulder. “About the cats?” She started. “Nah, I think you’re right. I don’t think I can care for them properly.” She said sadly, turning to look back out of the window.

“No, not about the cats,” Odessa stated.

There was a pause between the two, Antoinette processing the girl's words. She then sat up in her bed and turned to face the girl at her door, five feet away from her. “What made you change your mind?” She asked softly.

“You were right. About everything.” She shrugged, biting her lip. She was anxious about the whole situation. Coming to such a conclusion about her feelings and the thought of going back to the town brought more bad memories than good. But also to how her best friend would react. But that was all washed away when she saw the girl smile.

“Can I bring the cats?” She asked, pointing to the sleeping kittens in her bed. Odessa giggled, looking at the pleading smile on her friend's face.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, they’ll have more space to grow. Its a better life than here.” She said shrugging.

Antoinette then gasped. “Oh! Now I can get one of those cute wax melt sets so I can’t write back to them.” She smiled excitedly. “Oh, this is gonna be so great!”

Odessa smiled at the girl's excitement. “Now get some sleep, we have some things to sort out before we head up.” That was all she said before she closed the door behind her and made her way back to bed. She let out one final sigh before closing her eyes and letting sleep take her away.

Antoinette smiled at the door as it closed before looking down at the animals at her side. “Ya see, prayers do get answered, guys.” She said, holding up her right hand that was wrapped in her rosary, showing it to the sleeping cats. “Oh, you guys can’t hear me. Or understand me. Or understand religion. I need to go to bed.” She hugged before plopping down onto her pillow with an anxious smile and closing her eyes.

Let me know if you guys like the story and if you’d liked to be added to the taglist!!!

[denimbex1986]

'...Locke has previously described Bailey as being “perfect” for Heartstopper, but speaking exclusively to PinkNews ahead of season three dropping on Netflix, he and Connor revealed that there’s one other star who they’d love to have a cameo.

“Andrew Scott. He’s my answer to most things,” Connor said. “He’s brilliant. That would be great.”

Locke agreed, and made a direct plea to the BAFTA-winning star of Pride, Sherlock and His Dark Materials. “I don’t think I can top that. Andrew, come join Heartstopper.”

After his Golden-Globe-nominated turn as the hot priest in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s mammoth hit Fleabag in 2019, Scott has remained very booked and very busy.

Earlier this year, he starred as depressed gay writer Adam in Andrew Haigh’s ghostly romance All Of Us Strangers, another hit that earned him a Golden Globe nomination.

He also recently starred as brilliant scammer Thomas Ripley in the Netflix adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr Ripley, while romance film, My Notes on Mars, in which he stars opposite Past Lives’ Greta Lee, is in the works.

When the internet isn’t cooing over his TV and film work, they’re dribbling over his bare arms, which can often be seen on display at red-carpet events and awards ceremonies...'

[transmasc-tabris]

well, getting along wonderfully so far

[jesuistrestriste]

i have no idea why but i keep thinking abt the concept of priest!mike faist and it’s rotting me from the inside out. someone pls tell me that you see the vision.

update: couldn’t resist so i wrote smth up

[connor-sent-by-cyberlife]

"When I think back I remember he always reminded me of a beautiful piece of art in a museum. Something I was allowed to admire from afar, but would never be able to touch or call mine."

(click for better quality)

³ᵈ ᵐᵒᵈᵉˡ ᵖᵒʳᵗ ᵇʸ ᵐᵉᵗᵒʳᶤᵃ ᵒᶰ ᵗʷᶤᵗᵗᵉʳ

[allthishumanityforfree]

[relentlessgrief]

It's COCKtober 🍆🎃 u know what that means 👀👅 D**k sucking awareness month 😯🙆🏼👅 send this to 12 of ur closet hoes 👭😈 that love that d**k 🍆🍆🍆💦💦💦 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃🎃🎃🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃🎃🎃🎃 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 THOT-O-WEEN 🎃is upon us !! If you get this message ✉️ you are queen 👸of the thots!!! Forward this to 7⃣ of the 🍆ThOtTiEsT🍆 thots 💁that you know will get some 👉👌 soon !!! If you don't, be prepared 🙍for 6⃣9⃣ days of bad luck ⚠️ 🍀 ‼️ATTENTION ‼️💀👻ALL HALLOWEEN 🎃🕸HOES 😚💅ITS TIME TO GET SPOOKY ☠️YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS👏GET 👊FISTED👊 BY A 💀SKELETON 💀SHOVE ✊🍭CANDY 🌽🌽CORN🍬IN YOUR 👉P***Y 😽AND 🙅DONT 🙅‍♂️FORGET 😩🙌TO SUCK SOME 💏DRACULA 💉D**K 🍆💦 SO PUT 🔛 YOUR 👗👑 COSTUMES AND GO 🚪DOOR TO DOOR🚪👀👅💦BEGGING FOR THAT 😍GOOD GOOD😍 SEND THIS TO TWELVE1️⃣2️⃣☠️SPOOKY 👻🍑SLUTS🌮 TO 👁SHOW 💁🏼THAT YOURE READY TO GET SOME 🍫CHOCOLATE🍫 COVERED🍆D**K🌽 BOO!! Sorry did I scare you?! WASSUP GURL😉😉😊 ITS COCKTOBER 😈🌚🍂🍃🍁 AND IF YOU👈🏽 ARE GETTING THIS👇🏽😘 IT MEANS UR A HALLOWEEN 👻🎃👻👻🎃 👻🎃👻 HOE😏😩😩👅💦💦 every year in Cocktober the jack o slut🎃🎃🎃 comes to life🙀😻😻🙌🏽👏👏🙌🏽 coming to harvest 🍁🍂🍃 his hoes for THOT-O-WEEN😏😏💥💥🎈🎂🎉 send this to 15 other Halloween Hoes or else you a TRICK🎃👻👻 🎃 IF YOU GET 5 BACK UR A THOT-O-WEEN TREAT😋😋 IF YOU GET 10 BACK UR A SLUTTY WITCH BITCH👄😍✨🔮 BUT IF YOU GET 15 BACK UR THE SPOOKIES

"...?!?!"

Connor's not even sure what to SAY to this.

[theboost]

None of the Highlander sequels were good but I was entertained by all of them in their own way

[geekitygeek]

.....i wonder if we could ever convince connor to voice some smut on quinn 😳😳😳

[samishin]

My @dbh-bb2023 art for chapter 3 of "Stupid Sexy Priest" by @connorsjorts

It's getting spicy.👀🔥Read chapter 3 here!

[replicantdeviancy]

The longer Connor spent in the priest’s company, the more he became convinced of two things. The first was that effortlessly charming, that wit of his a clear display of intellect as well as his rather delightfully complex personality. The second was that the faint inclinations of a deeply hidden sorrow existed inside of him, something masked by the man’s wit in equal measure to its pleasing effects on his character. He was sweet, but withdrawn in a way many may have never even noticed. He didn’t enjoy having the spotlight on him when that light shone beneath the surface layers, yet pieces of him did emerge, fragments of the man which held so much of Connor’s fascination tonight. His thoughts hanging on the possible meanings of these little things James held close to his chest, the detective was just a bit more easily startled by that audacious mouth & the cheeky things that spilled from it.

The double entendre hadn’t slipped past him, though he held back his surprised laughter in the moment. It may have been all sass, but they felt like promises in a way. Something to be kept, or perhaps broken, leaving him longing. Whatever the case, it hinted at a potential for the future. Connor didn’t often think of the future, usually stuck within the past or happy to remain in the present. It wasn’t usually his own past he ventured into, preferring others to his own, as the thoughts in his head were so loud when he was alone, or silent completely as numbness overtook. He would rather keep the numbness, spending sleepless nights standing on his apartment balcony in his bedclothes, a cigarette between his lips & the light polluted dark skyline of Detroit overlapping the far off lights of Windsor across the river.

They were close to the water now. He could smell it in the air, hear the faint wail of a cargo tanker’s horn in the harbor miles away. He considered showing James his favorite view outside of his apartment that evening, if he were so inclined. Neither of them appeared to be the type to bed down early, & technically, neither had any pressing responsibilities the next morning. Connor smiled to himself as his date joined him & escorted him into the restaurant, locking the car with the FOB in his jacket pocket as they went. James was becoming a bit of a bad influence on him. Connor was certain that if he mentioned this small musing, the man would surely feign shock, maybe even teasingly scold him, but he would more than likely find it to be immensely amusing. The detective had the appearance of one who was so perfectly put together, one who must have had everything figured out. Few knew him as the rebellious creature that he truly was. He wanted the priest to know that side of him, He wanted to see if they were a similar type of kindred spirit as he hoped.

The place was relatively quiet for the dinner crowd, which was expected for the middle of the week. Connor certainly wasn’t complaining. He wasn’t a fan of having to raise his voice over a crowd to be heard. The cozy spot by the window was just what he’d hoped for, though as he was slipping his jacket off to make himself comfortable, his date surprised him by ducking over to his side & pulling the chair out for him. It gained an immediate look of innocent bewilderment from the younger male, only for a darling smile to grace his pretty visage as this small act of chivalry sunk in. It had been a very, very long time since anyone had done that for him. “I guess I was right about you being a gentleman.” His jacket was set aside as he settled into his chair with an appreciative yet shy glance in James’ direction. Though of course, neither of them could help themselves with a bit of wit when the opportunity presented itself, & this small instance was ripe for the taking. His eyes followed his date back to his side of the table, lids softly heavied with a demure wantonness. “If you keep this up, I might just let you put those skilled fingers of yours to use,” he practically cooed, his voice gently husked. One side of his lips tipped upwards & he threw a cheeky wink at the older man.

Suddenly he was very grateful that there were hardly any patrons present. The two of them were likely to scare off somebody by nights end.

A warm smile helped lighten the mood & the detective laughed softly, clearly very pleased with himself. He felt for their waiter, but the night was young & he hadn’t felt this enthusiastic in a long time. If Connor wasn’t working, he really was either with his small but tight knit friends group or with his family. As if summoned by mere thought alone, Connor heard his phone vibrate with a text message coming in. He considered taking a look, but decided against it, as he was far more invested in the man before him than the digital conversation which was to come. He could leave his siblings in shock & awe later. Right now, he wanted to give James his undivided attention.

Waters were brought, menus handed over. That must have been a small detail that confused the European when he’d come to America; ice in the water. It wasn’t a normal thing across the pond, or so Connor recalled learning somewhere along the way. It left him curious as to how the many countries which experienced hot weather, including the very Mediterranean Italy, managed to survive the summers without ice water. Just one more thing to motivate him into going someday. He thanked the server & gathered up his menu to look it over, though he wasn’t really looking all that closely. He was more interested in his date. “So, what would you suggest?” he asked. The attentive way he eyed the older man made it obvious that his query wasn’t rhetorical. He really didn’t have a clue when it came to British food, but he was eager to learn. “I don’t eat fish much, but if you recommend it, I’ll try it.”

It sounded strange having a kid his age asking for recommendations on pub food, but one couldn’t really blame him. Connor hadn’t had a typical life, growing up in a somewhat isolated suburb & going to private schools. Only his best friend really had an inkling as to Connors experiences, the older man having been adopted into the household of a wealthy & famous painter. Maybe it was why the two of them got on so well; that they were both used to culture but firmly down to earth.

Connor just hoped that his date wouldn’t think he was being silly, or that, at the very least, he would be sympathetic to his ignorance.

It always amazed the Briton how different cities could be from one another. He'd reached a stage where he could practically tell where just by how the buildings looked, the layouts, everything down to the tarmac and types of traffic lights. Some were well kept, pristine as though barely a moment had passed since completion, while others looked as though they were barely holding together with potholes big enough to really ruin someone's day -- - and their car, most likely. He supposed comparing the US to the UK wasn't fair, he knew England too well to mistake it for anywhere else or vice versa. The main one being just how massive streets and roads were, particularly if he compared it to the likes of London where some of the urban areas had a claustrophobic feel to them with the endless rows of houses packed so tightly together that it barely felt like London at all, but somewhere else was struggling for space. Maybe it was, in its own way, only there was far less room elsewhere for it to spread into so everything was just crammed inside tighter and tighter.

Did US cities ever have the same problem? Then again, everything seemed bigger in the States. The streets, the houses, the cars, the stores, Mcdonalds' portion sizes made the UK's large fries look minuscule in comparison. Not that he'd complained, of course, he'd happily scoff them down every now and then when he was near one and just felt like gorging himself on some fast food. But it was all part of being in the USA, far away from where he was born, where he was raised or even where his permanent residence was. Maybe he was more of a nomad these days?

But getting around on his motorcycle made it important to adapt to the changes, falling into his surroundings with relative ease, thankful for that feel each place gave him. Which was even more important outside of Britain, given the fact that both in Europe and the States, they drove on the opposite side of the road to what James was accustomed to back home. Needless to say, there had been a few occasions where he'd half forgotten on a little outing, though luckily nothing had happened and he'd been quick to correct his mistake. Just another thing he could imagine Connor giving his younger self a telling-off for. "Well, if I make it to retirement age, I'll let you know. Might even make you a scarf and post it to you." There was a look in his eye that said he was about to keep going and it likely wasn't going to be pretty. "Really show what these talented fingers can go." He teased with a wiggle of his fingers, half scoffing to himself as he pictured the look on his mentor's face if he'd been there to hear him say that.

Heck, he'd likely have gotten a smack around the ear for that one.

"Ah, triplets." A lot seemed to make sense, bits and pieces falling into place. From what he'd learned over the years, he had been under the impression that a lot of twins, triplets, and so on, often had particularly strong bonds together. Not all of them, of course, but it did seem more prominent than other siblings. Though he supposed a lot of it also came down to their surroundings and other family as well. Said other family that Connor hadn't mentioned yet. Something he'd have to keep in mind for later. "So, there's three of you handsome rapscallions running around on God's green earth..." He'd definitely have to keep a note of that as well just in the off-chance that he ever came across the others. "Might've guessed you're the big brother of the group." It wasn't something he knew from personal experience, though he had been told a few times in his younger years that his friends had viewed him as a big brother. He may not have been the mature older sibling like Connor was, but he was definitely the troublemaker and unintended leader of the friend group. If something was bothering them, or they needed advice, it had always been James they'd turned to, knowing he'd never turn them away, regardless of the matter or even what time. He'd happily drop everything for the people he cared about.

That was still true to this day, even though the list of close friends had grown far shorter, long since adding space between his life in the past and his life now. It was just easier that way for all of them, keep everyone at arm's length so fewer feelings were hurt when he inevitably had to leave all over again. No more sneaking out for a few pints in the middle of the night.

No, now he just did that whenever he felt like it -- - alone.

"It's something... not many people are willing to give much of their time, these days. Don't blame them for the most part, everyone's got their own shit to deal with, piling more on top could be the straw that broke the camel's back." The man shrugged his shoulders in thought, not judging others for their decisions, whether they wanted to but couldn't or didn't want to simply because they couldn't be bothered, who was he to pass judgment on them. "But those few who do step up, by whatever means... it can make all the difference." He realised that he probably sounded as preachy as one would likely expect of a priest, which was amusingly not in line with how James conducted himself. The rare times that it did happen only made it all the more hilarious to him. "That concludes my little surprise lesson for the day..." He openly mocked himself after that little speech, more than willing to laugh at himself.

Yet it was when the detective mentioned envying him that the Northerner paused for a moment and just looked at him, that smile waning from his eyes. He envied it too, the thought of being entirely simple, living a simple life, being a simple person in a simple house, on a simple street in a simple city. As boring as some might think, to James, it practically sounded perfect at this point, a genuine goal he had set out if he was able to survive that long. But that was all it was, wasn't it? A fantasy, a hope. He knew full well that he wasn't a simple man, he hadn't been ever since the day he'd watched his parents die right in front of him and the existence of demons and Hell was thrust upon his young and rebellious mind. "Yeah... it was." There was a sigh that left him as he spoke, longing for the simple life he'd tried to portray himself as still having at that moment. No, it was just an act, a goal that would keep him getting out of bed every morning.

One day.

Bringing up a hand, he pawed at his own face, fingers gripping the sides of his mouth and thought for a moment as they pulled over, almost as though he was comforting himself. Though again, he wasn't even aware of it. Suddenly he lowered his hand, a grin claiming his lips as he caught sight of the restaurant just down the street from them. "That's the one..." He was practically beaming ear to ear at the mere thought of going there again and satisfying the craving that had been eating away at him all day. It didn't quite live up to his own standards of traditional British fish and chips but it was probably the closest he was going to find on that side of the Atlantic. "Oh, I'll show you all right." James smirked at that cheeky wink thrown in his direction, only fuelling that mischievous energy as the man got out of the car, straightening to brush down his suit jacket and trousers to get rid of any creases. He had to admit, he probably looked more like a businessman on his day off, only sparing some casualness for his shirt with two of the bottoms undone at the top.

Making sure the car door was closed, James moved over to the detective's side, that cheeky smile riding up one side of his face. Gesturing towards the restaurant, the Brit was quick to make his way, pushing open the door as he stepped inside. Getting the two of them a table, he followed as they were shown to one by the front window, a candle lit in between them. Though with a sudden flare of manners, James stepped to the opposite chair, pulling it out for the American and waiting for him to sit so he could push it in for him. "After you, signore." He teased a little, unable to stop himself at this point. "I do have some manners, you know." A thought took him momentarily before he let out a quiet smirk. "Sometimes."

[coolgrl111]

Idk if you're taking bot rqs rn, but if you are, can you do a Connor Murphy bot and his gf has to attend his funeral

-🪱

a/n: STOP this is so sad!! i wanted to try my best to write it as well, hope you enjoy…. shedding tears as we speak 😖😖

connor murphy bot link

—

you don’t cry at the funeral.

everyone expects you to, of course. you can feel their lingering eyes on you. hear their soft whispers. their pitying glances. teachers who recognise you from the hallways but don’t know what to say.

mrs. murphy pulls you in for a hug that lasts a little too long. she smells like vanilla and maybe something artificial. when she lets go, she presses a single red rose into your hands, her fingers cold and shaking.

“thank you for coming,” she murmurs, like you could have stayed away. like you would ever consider not attending, standing in the damp grass, staring at a casket that shouldn’t even exist.

you place the rose on top of it with the others. red against the reflecting polished wood. it looks wrong. all of this looks wrong.

the priest is talking, something about healing and grief, but his voice fades in and out like a radio signal that won’t quite tune in. you don’t want to hear it anyway. the grief you are feeling isn’t irreversible. you already know there’s no healing from this. no coming back from the space connor left behind.

someone sniffles behind you. you wonder if it’s real. if they actually miss him, or if they just feel like they should. no one treated him kindly while he was alive. why pretend to care now?

there are too many people here. more than he would have expected. more than he would have wanted. some of them are people who hated him. people who laughed at him in the halls, who whispered his name like a sick joke.

you want to turn around and ask them where all this kindness was when he was alive. maybe to even sock them in the face, like they truly deserved. some sick fantasy in your head wished that it was them in the casket and not your beloved boyfriend.

but you just stand there, your hands curled into fists at your sides, your nails biting into your palms.

you think about the last time you saw him.

the way he looked at you, like he was already halfway gone. the way his voice cracked when he said your name.

“i’m just so tired.”

you should have held on harder.

you should have told him that he was wanted. that he was needed.

that he was loved.

but the words are worthless now. they belong to the living.

connor is gone.

your connor is gone.

you think about all the widowed women around you. the ones dressed in black with their hands folded neatly in their laps, faces drawn tight like they’ve spent years practicing grief. most of them are old, the way widows are supposed to be. you wonder how they do it. how they wake up every morning knowing the person they loved is never coming back.

you always thought being widowed came with age. that it was something that happened after a long life spent together, when the hair turns gray and the bodies grow frail.

but you feel like a widow.

an 18 year old, a teenager. a widow. it just didn’t feel right.

connor was yours. even when he pushed you away, even when he got lost inside his own head, even when you fought and it felt like neither of you could ever win—you were his, and he was yours.

but now, there was nothing.

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