#sunday service live english

[roshanzion2023]

[copper-16]

You Didn't Let Me Finish

Ingrid had a rule that she had held onto ever since she started working as a stripper: she doesn't sleep with clients.

Usually.

Ingrid doesn't usually sleep with clients. Exceptions must be made for most rules anyways though, right?

(a/n: Yes it's a stripper fic. I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone, this is just a silly little idea I had in my head and decided to write on a whim. Feel free to skip if it's not your thing! Also I didn't proofread it, so ignore any mistake lmao)

Sometimes, Ingrid wasn’t exactly sure how she had ended up here. 

The Norwegian had done a semester abroad in Spain when she was in university, and found that she absolutely loved the city. So when the opportunity to move to Barcelona presented itself after graduation, she jumped at the chance to go. Her study abroad had been in Madrid, but it was still Spain, right? 

And the Norwegian actually preferred Barcelona to Madrid, the longer she lived here. She enjoyed the energy of the city, how posh and lively it was, how wonderfully kind the people were. The job she was offered was modest, and despite the fact that she got by, Ingrid wasn’t all that comfortable with living from paycheck to paycheck if she didn’t have to. 

Which was exactly how she had found herself at Dollhouse. It was the most exclusive strip club in Barcelona, catering only to those clients who could pay for the supreme services, and they only accepted the best when it came to their girls. 

The owner had taken one look at Ingrid, roving his eyes up and down the dark haired woman with interest before he was nodding, clearly pleased with what he was seeing. Her ability to speak both English and some Spanish came in handy, and she became a regular for many of the international clients. 

Ingrid was paid well, only worked three nights a week, and it helped her to nearly double her salary with the tips she was given. She gave lap dances, some pole work, did a few shows on the main stage, served customers when asked. It was an easy gig, and she couldn’t help but feel appreciated given the reaction that she could stir up in most men. It was addicting, really. She felt powerful and in control, her confidence only rising the longer she worked there. 

It wasn’t sex. People often got that mixed up, that being a stripper meant sex. It could mean sex, if that was what the girls wanted, but Ingrid had little interest in the older men who came into her rooms. She was as gay as they came, and it was very rare for them to receive a female client, and Ingrid had never had the pleasure of having one, not personally. 

But she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, if the right person came along. 

It’s just, nobody had. 

But perhaps that would change. 

—

It was a Sunday night, which meant that the Dollhouse was relatively calm. Ingrid was in the back room with a few of the other girls, getting ready for her show in around thirty minutes when Miguel came back. 

“Ingrid, Misa!” He called, and both women turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. They stood, setting their makeup down to walk over to their boss, who was in charge of the scheduling. 

Miguel was gruff but kind, and he always made sure the girls were comfortable and not exploited. He could be a bit rough around the edges but he never failed to make the girls feel cared for as people and not just objects, and in return they did their best to make his life as painless as possible. It was a good gig, they all knew that, compared to the nasty bastards at some of the other places around town. 

“We have two clients in separate private rooms. Footballers, booked after winning something big I think, I want the two of you to take them,” Miguel explained, and he looked between Misa and Ingrid with a critical eye, clearly trying to decide who to send where. 

Despite the fact that Ingrid was Norwegian and Misa was Spanish, the two actually looked quite similar. Ingrid was paler, taller, and less tattooed than Misa was, but in terms of build and physical appearance, they were rather alike. 

“Misa, I want you in Room One and Ingrid in Room Two, Misa your Spanish is better than Ingrid’s. The girls will cover your sets for the night so don’t worry about that. They’ve booked for the rest of the night so make sure to give them their money's worth but you’re free to leave when you are done, alright?” Miguel decided, and Ingrid and Misa both nodded. 

“Oh and–”

“If they do anything creepy we will come find you,” Ingrid and Misa rattled off in perfect unison, and Miguel scowled at his predictability before he shooed them away to go get changed, the two women smiling at the action. 

Ingrid and Misa walked back to the changing room, each of them looking through the different lingerie sets they could wear. 

“What are you thinking?” Misa asked as she pulled out a purple lace set before shaking her head, shoving it back in her closet. 

“Well if they paid for the whole night then clearly they have money, probably want something expensive and distinguished. Footballers can be assholes and handsy, and they think too much with their dicks and not enough with their heads,” Ingrid scoffs lightly, and Misa snorts as she looks over at the dark haired woman’s closet. 

“Hmm…you’re going to wear this,” Misa decides, pulling out a hunter green piece of lace, and Ingrid raises her brow before nodding her agreement, looking over at the Spaniard’s closet. 

“And you’re going to do this, I’ve seen you in it before and your chest looks amazing in it,” Ingrid says with an air of finality, and Misa smirks at the outfit before they both went into their changing rooms to slip their clothes off and put the lace on. They don’t bother with robes, the hallway to the private rooms is secluded from the rest of the club anyways, so the two women make their way back together, chatting lightly about their day jobs, what their weeks look like. 

By the time they make it to Room One and Room Two, the women are both relaxed and ready to do their job. Neither of them really has any idea what lies beyond the door besides a footballer, so with one final goodbye they both enter the passcodes to the room before stepping in. 

Ingrid closes the door behind her before turning around, and she can’t help the way that her eyebrows jump in surprise when she sees who it is sitting at the table. 

The room is set up with a bed, a couch and two loveseats, as well as a table with four dining room chairs. Lap dances are usually given in the chairs at the table or the loveseats, but the rest of the room can be utilized however the girls may choose to. 

The thing that surprises Ingrid though, is the fact that the person sitting at the table is a woman, and not a man. 

The woman stands, the chair rustling against the floor as she pushes it back before she steps forward to examine Ingrid. Her gaze is curious but not sharp, her entire body language relaxed. She’s clearly a footballer, her body muscled and well built.  

She can’t be more than a few years older than Ingrid, and she’s just an inch or two shorter than her with light, sandy blonde hair that is straightened just past her shoulder. Her hazel eyes take Ingrid in, the light lace that covers her body, and she nods appreciatively for a moment before cocking her head. 

“Hello,” she offers, and Ingrid is quick to respond, the woman’s gaze making her feel a little bit hot. 

“Hi,” Ingrid responds, not entirely sure what to say. The woman was speaking to her in English, so clearly she recognized that the Norwegian was a foreigner, though she wasn’t exactly sure how she noticed that before she had even spoken. 

“Why did they send you in here to me?” The woman asked curiously, her hazel eyes still boring into Ingrid. The question is surprising, considering the fact that they were at a strip club. They sent her in here to do her job, but the Norwegian gets the sense that isn’t what this woman means, so she answers with more candor.  

“My coworkers' Spanish is better than mine. Presumably your friend only speaks Spanish, but you clearly can speak English well, so here I am,” Ingrid supposes, and the woman nods slowly before her lips quirk up in a smirk. 

“My friend can speak enough English for tonight, I promise. I think you should switch rooms…I insist actually. I think she’ll be quite charmed by…” the woman looks down at Ingrid once more before her gaze returns to the dark haired woman’s eyes, “...you.”   

Ingrid’s eyebrows raise in surprise before she nods in agreement, never one to say no to a client request unless it really was something she couldn’t do. 

“If that’s what you wish…” Ingrid trails off, still unsure of the woman’s name. 

“Alexia. And my friend's name in the other room is María,” she supplies, and Ingrid regards her for another minute before slipping out of the room, Alexia turning back to sit down in the chair she had been in originally. 

The Norwegian walks over to Room One briskly, rapping on the door three times before she steps back, waiting for Misa to come out. It only takes a few seconds for the Spaniard to slide out of the room, her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion. 

“We need to switch, the other woman requested it,” Ingrid explains, and Misa nods for a second before she looks back at the room. 

“Can you believe it’s women? And god, if the second one is as hot as this one…” Misa trails off, practically drooling, and Ingrid can’t help but laugh lightly, because really she quite agrees. Misa is the only other gay woman at Dollhouse, and Ingrid finds solace in the fact that she isn’t alone, calmed by the Spaniards presence. 

“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Her name is Alexia,” Ingrid adds before the younger woman can leave, and Misa nods before she gestures back at the room next to them. 

“Names Mapi,” Misa supplies, and Ingrid’s eyebrows furrow at the fact she’s now been told two separate names for this woman. But honestly, if she was even half as attractive as the first woman, Ingrid was seriously going to be in trouble. 

The first woman, Alexia, hadn’t exactly been her type per say, but objectively she was very attractive. 

As Misa disappears down the hallway Ingrid takes a deep breath, trying to center herself and remain calm at what is about to occur. She knew what the deal was with men, how to dance and act. 

But women were different, Ingrid knew that even if she had never had a female client. They were more watchful, more appreciative, more in tune. 

And well, if this woman was as attractive as Misa was making her out to be, she might be in a bit of trouble. 

The green eyed woman punched in the code before she stepped into the room, once again shutting the door behind her. 

Ingrid turned around, taking in the room and the woman who was settled on one of the room's two armchairs. 

And god was Misa wrong. 

This woman wasn’t attractive. 

She was mind numbingly, astronomically stunning, and it takes everything in Ingrid not to let her jaw physically drop. 

The woman had her hair down in beach waves, lighter highlights against the brunette of her hair accenting the dark strands, framing dark eyes and supple, light pink lips that are set in a smirk. 

She’s wearing a button down that has far too many buttons undone, but it only serves to show off her cleavage, biceps straining against the tight black fabric. She has on gray dress pants, and she shifts her shirt sleeve up to glance at her watch before she stands, making her way over to Ingrid. 

“Hola princesa,” the woman greets softly, her voice raspy and deliciously low, and if Ingrid wasn’t wet at just the sight of her, she was now. 

If there was anyone who was going to break her rule of not sleeping with someone, it would be this woman. That was assuming she wanted to as well, but if the glint in her eyes was anywhere near as serious as it looked, Ingrid thought her chances might be relatively high. 

She scrambled to gather as much Spanish as she possibly could. It was a little pathetic that she wasn’t more fluent, but between this being her third language and the fact that her work was in English and most of her friends spoke the language, her Spanish could definitely use some work. 

“Hola,” Ingrid rushed to reply, internally cringing at how bad her accent was while understanding washed over the woman’s face, and she switched to a heavily Spanish accented English. 

“Ah, English, no?” The woman suggested, no malice in her tone, and Ingrid let out a small sigh before she nodded. 

“Si,” she acquiesced in a bit of a defeated tone, but the woman simply tipped her head back in a delicious laugh, something light and breathy, her neck on full display. She had a tattoo on it, and Ingrid could see more ink peaking back at her on the woman’s available skin. 

It did absolutely nothing to help the green eyed woman’s aching core, but she ignored it in favor of returning to the problem at hand, to the fact that she needed to get on with the performance for this woman. 

“Sit?” Ingrid asked gently, gesturing to the table and chairs that surrounded it, walking over to pull one of them out. 

The woman made no move to walk over, seemingly not done with the conversation. 

“I’m Mapi,” she said instead, and Ingrid raised her brow at the woman, clearly a little curious. 

“I’ve been told by a confident source that your name is María,” Ingrid sidesteps the introduction to ask the question, watching the way that the woman’s eyes darkened with lust when she says her name. 

“Have you now?” Mapi drawls, the surprise clear in her face. The smirk is back, and she finally begins to walk toward the table, but before she sits she stands in front of Ingrid, still only looking her in the eyes. 

The Norwegian keeps waiting for her to drop her eyes down, to look over the lace that could hardly be described as modest, but the smaller woman seems hell bent on keeping her eyes trained on Ingrid’s. 

“And you are?” She asks lightly, the dark haired woman answering her question quickly and easily. 

“My name is Ingrid,” she murmurs, once again gesturing at the chair, and this time Mapi takes her up on her offer. The Spaniard sits down before she looks up at the Norwegian, who strolls over to turn the music on. 

“Any requests?” Ingrid questioned, looking back at Mapi to find the woman staring at her with hooded eyes and a hungry gaze. She shakes her head, finding no offers. 

“Whatever you prefer,” Mapi decides, and Ingrid observes the woman for a moment before nodding, turning back to the speaker system. She sets up her playlist, playing the song TiO by Zayn, which had been a recent favorite of hers. 

The song is a bit of a quicker pace, which she liked to start out with. It was easy to flash the quick movements before she let things get sensual, and her approach for this woman is absolutely no different. 

She turns back toward the table, walking over in long strides before she comes to rest in front of Mapi, her ass pressed back into the table behind her. 

“Can I touch you?” Ingrid asks in a low voice, tossing her thick, dark hair over one shoulder. Mapi looks up at her with an unreadable expression, holding eye contact before she nodded carefully. 

The Norwegian stood from the table, stepping forward. She turned, rounding the chair that Mapi was currently settled in, just watching. The brunette didn’t look back at her, but did meet her eyes when Ingrid finally circled all the way back to the front of the chair. 

It’s at this point that Ingrid brings her hand up, resting it over the Spaniard’s collarbone carefully. She slides her hand up, coming into contact with bare skin as she pushes her middle finger inside the cuff of the woman’s popped shirt. 

The dark haired woman plays with the collar for a moment before she begins moving once again. She drags her fingers around to Mapi’s back, stopping when she is standing in front of the Spaniard’s back, pressing both of her palms to the brunette’s back, fingers down. She slowly runs her hands down, into the small of the footballers back, before she shifts, moving them to caress her sides gently. 

She’s gone as soon as she arrived, however, continuing around the chair. Her hands travel over the Spaniard’s arm, down her side and around the underside of her chest before she splays it over the top of the brunette's abdomen. 

The muscle beneath her palm is rock hard, and she cannot help but let out a harsh breath at the feeling. She hopes that the footballer doesn’t notice, but when she looks up to see that Mapi is smirking back at her, she considers the effort fruitless. 

Ingrid’s hands retract from the Spaniard’s skin, and she shifts so that she can move her hips down and into the brunette’s lap, her back to Mapi’s front. It’s a bold first move, but she’s quick, in time with the song for just a tease before she’s gone, several steps away. 

Mapi is watching her with eagle eyes as Ingrid runs her hands up her own sides, squeezing at her own chest, letting her eyes flutter shut at the feeling for emphasis. It’s a little pornographic, and perhaps a little bit of a sell out, but she doesn’t care. 

The Norwegian makes sure to spend several moments just watching, teasing herself in whatever way possible, reveling in the way that the Spaniards eyes darken at the sight. Her nipples strain against the lace, hard and begging to be freed, but the dark haired woman ignores them in favor of returning to the footballer. 

The song changes to Lose Control by Teddy Swims, something more slow and sensual. Ingrid stalks back to the brunette, her intent clear when she places her hands on the woman’s knees, sliding them up her thighs before squeezing, lightly. 

The Norwegian moves her hands up the Spaniard’s side as she settles in her lap, her knees spread wide as she presses forward into the brunette’s personal space. She moves her hips slowly in an infinity pattern, sensual and enough to drive any man crazy. 

And yet still, Mapi has yet to touch her. Her arms remain listless at her sides, rather awkwardly. It’s a staunch change from the male clients she has often, who feel that they are allowed to touch, to take as much as they want. They consider the fact that Ingrid has been paid for, that they are allowed to do whatever they want to her, within reason. 

This doesn’t seem to be the case for this woman, however, and it only turns Ingrid on more. She leans forward even further, placing one hand on the woman’s shoulder while the other remains firmly planted on her side. Her lips are on the shell of the woman’s ear as she speaks, her voice low. 

“You can touch…you know,” the Norwegian drawls, her words breathy and filled with lust. She leaned back to look the footballer in the eyes, noting that her gaze was dark, the way her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. 

They held the others' gaze for a moment, neither moving until finally, finally Ingrid felt two hands carefully, respectfully placing themselves on her side, down toward her lower back. 

It was the Norwegian who moved them, removing her hands from the Spaniard to place hers over the brunette’s, sliding them lower, lower, lower, until they were resting firmly on her ass. Only then did Ingrid remove her own hands, planting them on the back of the chair as she rolled her hips down into the brunette. 

Mapi was staring at her intently, and she gently palmed at the Norwegian’s ass to test, rewarded greatly for her efforts when Ingrid arched into her, letting out a breathy noise. 

The dark haired woman’s body could only be described as fluid as she moved above the Spaniard, finally moving her leg to hook over the back of the chair, wrapping around the brunette’s back. 

Mapi slid her hands up, pulling Ingrid’s body more flush with hers. The Norwegian smiled, their faces just centimeters from one another. The Spaniard’s breath on hers was hot and insistent, her eyes roving over Ingrid’s face, finally eyeing the lace that covered the dark haired woman’s body. 

“You like it?” Ingrid purred, a smile evident in her voice as she gripped Mapi’s shoulders. The Spaniard scoffed lightly, looking back up at Ingrid. 

“You could say that,” the brunette hummed, her voice thick and low. It sent a shot of heat straight to the Norwegian’s core, and she arched even further into the smaller woman. 

Ingrid turned her head, brushing her nose against the Spanaird’s temple, her breathing shallow. 

“I don’t sleep with clients,” the Norwegian explained, and felt the shift immediately from the woman beneath her, the instant reaction to move away.

Ingrid had to give the footballer that, she was nothing if not respectful. It only made the Norwegian want her more, only made her flush further at the thought. 

It was her choice. 

Ingrid intercepts her hands, shoving them back down onto her ass before she brought her own to the brunette’s neck, pulling her in. 

“You didn’t let me finish,” the dark haired woman pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly. Mapi reached forward, running her thumb over Ingrid’s lip slowly, softly. 

“Lo siento, princesa,” Mapi soothed, her expression willing Ingrid to continue. The Norwegian smiled gently, leaning down so that her lips hovered over the Spaniard’s throat. 

“I don’t sleep with clients, not unless I want to,” Ingrid continued, her hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her fingertips trail up Mapi’s side, running over ridges of muscles and soft skin, dipping under her shirt before they retracted. Never direct, always teasing. 

“And trust me, I want to,” the Norwegian promised as she brought her face back to level with Mapi’s, her eyebrow quirked, almost daring the Spaniard to disagree. 

But the brunette would never do that, especially not when she has the most gorgeous woman she had ever laid eyes on sitting in her lap. 

They are left staring at one another for a few moments, their eyes flickering back and forth between the others eyes and lips, waiting to see who breaks first. A game of wills, a question of who is going to hold the power. 

It’s the Spaniard who snaps first, lunging forward to capture Ingrid’s lips in her own. She’s impatient, unable to resist having Ingrid in front of her looking so delectable, without doing anything about it. 

Mapi’s mouth is hot and insistent on her own, the brunette’s hands coming up to cradle Ingrid’s face as she kisses her senseless. 

It’s only a few moments later that the Spaniard presses her tongue into the Norwegian’s mouth, silently asking for entrance. The dark haired woman allows her access instantly, completely floored at the feeling of Mapi’s mouth on her own. 

The footballer swipes her tongue over the roof of Ingrid’s mouth, smiling into the kiss at the whine that slips past Ingrid’s lips at the feeling. 

The Norwegian’s head is dizzy, completely and utterly overwhelmed with the feeling of the Spaniard, of her hands being everywhere, of the press of her lips to Ingrid’s. It feels as though life is being breathed back into her, transformed into a fire that is sent straight to her core. 

She knows that she’s soaked the lace beneath her completely, but she can’t bring herself to care. Especially not when Mapi leans back, gesturing for her to stand. Ingrid is quick to comply, not bothering to try to make herself seem as cocky as she was pretending earlier. 

It’s been a long time since she’s been fucked properly, and something in this woman’s eyes tells her that the Spaniard is exactly what she needs. 

“Get on the bed,” Mapi instructs, and Ingrid is quick to comply, walking with purpose before laying back on the bed, sitting with her head up near the pillows, still clad only in her lace. 

The Spaniard stands from her spot on the chair, flipping the lock on her watch open as she sets it on the table in front of her. She pulled her shirt up from its spot having been tucked into her pants, looking over at the Norwegian as she undid the last few buttons. 

She laid the shirt down on the table, the picture of control and composure. The loss of the garment leaves her in only a black bra, which contrasts against the tan of her skin. She loses the belt she had on but elects to keep her pants on, instead moving toward the bed. 

Throughout this, the footballer had never let her eyes leave contact with Ingrid, not wanting to let the Norwegian out of her sight, even for a second. 

Ingrid lays back as Mapi joins her on the bed, crawling up the Norwegian’s body until she was positioned over the taller woman’s body, where she had wanted to be from the beginning. 

“You tell me to stop the minute you do not like something, si?” Mapi asked, her voice clear and leaving no room for argument. The Spaniard had no interest in making Ingrid do anything she did not want to. 

“Si,” the Norwegian parroted, squirming just slightly under the Spaniard, desperate for her to do something. 

Once she has confirmed Ingrid’s answer, the Spaniard is quick to begin her descent down the woman’s body. She captures the dark haired woman’s lips in a bruising kiss, applying just the right amount of pressure and tongue to have Ingrid gasping for more. 

She releases the Norwegian’s perfect, plump lips only in favor of working her mouth across Ingrid’s jaw, sucking and nipping lightly at the skin there. When she reaches the dark haired woman’s ear, she works her lips down and over the column of Ingrid’s throat. She pays close attention to the areas that make the taller woman let out a heavier breath, or the ghost of a whine, doubling down on her attention to those spots. 

She kisses over soft, pale skin, and down toward the soft flesh of her chest. Ingrid is arching into her before she even reaches her destination, desperate for more. 

“Can I–” Mapi removes her lips only to start a sentence that is never finished. 

“Yes, please, do anything to me,” Ingrid gasped, her entire body on fire at the thought of Mapi’s mouth over her chest, at the apex of her thighs. A flush is blooming on her chest as the Spaniard pulls the lace down, revealing Ingrid’s chest. 

Her nipples are peaked, aching to be touched and played with. The footballer doesn’t even bother with using her fingers first, simply leaning down to wrap her mouth around one of Ingrid’s nipples, her hand coming to cover the other. 

“Aye, María,” Ingrid hisses at the feeling, her whole back leaving the bed as she arches into Mapi’s mouth. Her hand has flown to the Spaniard’s head, her fingers tangling in the brunette’s hair and tugging lightly. 

Mapi doubles her attention at the feeling, swirling the tip of her nipple around her tongue, teasing her teeth over the sensitive area. Ingrid ate every lap of attention up, basking in it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel so much, and it was turning her on in a way that was borderline painful. 

“Please, more,” the Norwegian begged once attention had been laved to both sides of her chest, and Mapi released her other nipple with a lewd pop sound. The footballer raised a brow at her, but Ingrid shook her head, her breaths shallow and desperate. 

The stripper is well aware of the irony, given her profession. She’s the one who is supposed to be pleasuring, not the other way around. But there was something about the way this woman composed herself, something about the reverence with which she touched the Norwegian that made her comfortable.

Mapi considers the request for a moment before she relents, pulling further at the lace, signaling that she wanted it off. The dark haired woman is quick to comply with her request, removing the hunter green fabric before she threw it to the ground, already forgotten. 

Ingrid lay back down on the bed, her hair splaying out against the pillow. The Spaniard watched her with hungry eyes, her lips turning up into a smirk. 

“So beautiful,” she murmured softly, her words filled with clear appreciation. “Espléndida, princesa,” Mapi whispered as she returned to Ingrid, softly holding the Norwegian’s face in her hands. Her lips were gentle against the taller woman this time, leaving the Norwegian with the feeling that she was delicate, and deserved to be treated as such. 

Oh, and what a different feeling it was to be touched by the Spaniard, as opposed to the heavy handed men she usually interacted with. 

To be touched and praised as though she was the most important thing in the world. No drug could compare, not to her anyways. 

Even as she trails down the Norwegian’s body, Mapi stops to press kisses into her skin, imbuing the fire of their interaction with a level of sweetness and ingenuity Ingrid had not been expecting. 

But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared the Norwegian for what the first run of the Spaniard’s tongue through her would feel like. 

She is unsure of where her voice ends and Mapi’s begins, but all she knows is that two moans are filling the room, both equally desperate. Ingrid clutched at the sheets desperately, her hands fisting the pristine white fabric beneath them as Mapi ran her tongue through her again. 

The Spaniard eats her out as though it will save her, with an intent and passion that Ingrid cannot remember ever having in the bedroom. She brings her tongue up to circle the Norwegian’s clit several times, and every time a new wave of pleasure washes over her. 

“You taste perfect,” Mapi mumbles against her heat, and Ingrid flushes completely at the praise, struggling to compose her own pleasure. She attempts to bring her hand up to cover her own mouth, something that Mapi notices instantly. 

“Aye, I want to hear you,” the Spaniard chides softly when she sees what Ingrid is doing, and the dark haired woman lets out a filthy moan as she removes her hand, at the feeling of Mapi’s finger teasing at her entrance. 

“Is this okay?” The footballer confirms, waiting for the fervent head nod that she receives from Ingrid before she finally dips her finger in at a painfully slow rate, before curling gently. 

Ingrid is writhing under her, letting a string of mewls and moans that tumble from her lips of their own accord. She doesn’t care that she had no idea if anyone can hear them, only focused on her own pleasure and the feeling of the brunette’s body near her own. 

“Si, si, si,” Ingrid begs, moaning unabashedly when Mapi adds a second finger, curling with more purpose this time. 

The footballer could admit, her plan had been to tease more than this. She was a playful woman, and enjoyed picking her partners apart before allowing them to come, usually. 

Something about this Norwegian, the flush in her chest and the noises slipping past her lips, has Mapi throwing her entire playbook out the window.

She’s more than happy to continue this, so long as Ingrid continues making those noises. 

“You like that, princesa?” Mapi asks, her voice hoarse with arousal. Ingrid nods tightly, her chest arching up as the Spaniard curls her fingers deep within her. 

The set of her jaw, the way it opened with pleasure left Mapi flooded with the need to please, so the Spaniard lowered her mouth down to Ingrid’s clit, sucking lightly. The dark haired woman cries out, her hips rutting down into Mapi as the footballer continued her brutal pace. 

“Fuck!” Ingrid wailed, her voice dripping with need as she hurtled toward orgasm. Her hips grew erratic, jumping into Mapi’s hand as her whole body squirmed. The brunette could tell that the dark haired woman was close, doubling down on her pace and intensity, intent on getting her there. 

It only took a few more curls of Mapi’s fingers from deep within the Norwegian for the taller woman to let out a sharp cry, her whole body tightening. The Spaniard couldn’t help but smirk against the dark haired woman’s core as her whole body began to shudder, her orgasm working through her like a forest fire. 

Her whole body was arched off the bed, the sheets gripped in her fists as Mapi worked her through her orgasm, her entire body shaking. She collapses against the sheets, her breath coming in quick gasps as waves of pleasure flooded her system, her eyes still screwed shut. 

It took her a few moments, but she forced her eyes open when Mapi removed her fingers from Ingrid. The green eyed woman looked up at the Spaniard, who had sat back on her heels, her own breath short and lustful. 

The brunette reached her finger up to her own face, brushing some of the arousal away from her lips with the pad of her thumb as Ingrid looked up at her. The Norwegian’s dark hair was a sharp contrast to the pillow, the flush of her chest and stomach the complete antithesis to her pale skin. 

Mapi would never see a sight prettier than this under her again, she knew that for certain. Ingrid turned her head, glancing over at the clock and realizing with a rush that they still had several hours before either of them had to go anywhere. 

When the Norwegian looks back up at the Spaniard, it’s with a smirk on her lips, one eyebrow raised, almost as though she was challenging the brunette. 

“Fuck, princesa,” Mapi swore before surging forward to claim Ingrid’s lips once more, pressing her back into the bed. 

Ingrid let herself moan out, half at the feeling of Mapi’s body above her own, and half of the self satisfied feeling of knowing that it was going to be hard to walk tomorrow. 

So yeah…maybe some rules are worth being broken every once in a while. 

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: "I shouldn't be watching a man undressing, especially not from the house next door."

Warning: Intolerance, toxic religion, parental relationship, Jungkook taking off his clothes 😮‍💨🤲 very dumb reader.

A/N: This is my first fanfic on Tumblr and my first BTS one. I know, it's embarrassing. The story isn't that great, and it probably shouldn't be the first one I post here, but the characters took on a life of their own without my consent, and I've been writing this since 2022 (fuck), so here we are. Please keep in mind that English is not my first language and that the reader is extremely annoying. See you on the next chapter! Thank You.

Next Chapter

Chapter 1

I organize the things from the bazaar as I go through the accessories spread out on the table. It's a calm easy task and I've done it more than a thousand times, so even with my eyes closed the job is done masterfully. My mother is next to me, quietly, listening to music on an old radio that she refuses to throw away. It seems that, since it's a radio she got as a teenager, the object has a deep meaning for her and she doesn't even like the thought of exchanging it for something more modern. I hum along too, trying to tune my voice in some parts where the music gets harder and the notes get higher.

Usually on the weekends, every Sunday, my mother and I go to church and the bazaar after the service, to raise money and help the pastor's project. Pastor Leen is a good man and always helps everyone in need, so this semester, during these last months of the year, he has been focusing on the animals that live on the streets. Everyone in the community who goes to church participates and helps in whatever way they can, whether through donations or fundraising, like my mother and I do. That’s why we gathered some clothes and items for the church bazaar, and with the sales, we can do our part. It's exhausting, but rewarding in the end.

During the week, I study at the university in my town and work at the library, so there's not much time for rest, but I like having a busy life. Although I know that, for some people, my idea of a busy life might not seem busy at all. At twenty-one, I’m supposedly supposed to be somewhere else in the world, enjoying my youth and partying with my friends, but strangely, I never wanted that. Whether it’s because of my mother, who always instructed me not to follow that path, or because I’m just introverted, I’ve never gone to parties or had adventures that I could look back on later. The most out-of-the-ordinary thing I've ever done was drink beer when I was eighteen and regret it the next day, feeling guilty for being influenced by a friend.

I’ve never left this town. I’ve never dated. I’ve never been to a party. I haven’t done many memorable things in life. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll regret not having these experiences someday, but I’m so tied to the way I live my life that it’s hard to change, even just a little. Habits are hard to break, whether for better or worse. I’m pulled from my thoughts when the store door opens and Mrs. Jeon walks in with a smile on her face and two heavy bags in her hands. I quickly get up intending to help her, but my mother is faster.

“Good morning, Eunji,” Mrs. Jeon greets my mother, letting out a relieved sigh as the weight of one of the bags is lifted from her hands. “Good morning, Y/N, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Jeon. How has your week been?” I ask, taking the other bag from her. I peek inside and notice that it’s full of men’s clothes, judging by the size and the predominantly dark colors.

“Radiant, actually. My son arrived in town last night,” she says, her smile widening. I’m surprised because I didn’t know she had a son. Mrs. Jeon moved to town six years ago, and I don’t recall any son visiting her or her mentioning him. This is the first time she’s spoken about it, at least in front of me.

“Your son, Jungkook?” my mother asks, curious, and our neighbor nods, still beaming. “Doesn’t he live in Seoul?”

“Yes, he does. But he’s been expanding his business, and I invited him to visit, and coincidentally, he decided to open a branch here,” she explains, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. My mother instantly flashes a smile. An interested smile that I know all too well.

Of course, because I’ve never dated, my mother is always trying to set me up with someone. Not that I want her to. I never asked her to make all this effort, much less to convince the church ladies to introduce their sons just because I’m single. It’s embarrassing, as if I’m not capable of finding someone on my own without my mother’s help, but she doesn’t listen, even when I had an honest conversation with her asking her to stop trying to play Cupid.

"What kind of business?" my mother asks, and I try not to roll my eyes. For a woman of God, she worries way too much about money and status. It's a controversial topic that has led to arguments between us in the past.

"He's a tattoo artist. He owns a tattoo studio in Seoul," Mrs. Jeon explains with a proud smile, and my mother's face immediately turns serious. The charm of a potential son-in-law is lost. Of course, no one is ever perfect enough for her—or for me, in her eyes.

I love my mother. She’s strong, and many times I look up to her when making important decisions, but she judges people too harshly. Ever since she joined the church when I was younger, she’s changed. She changed her clothes, the way she speaks, and even her thoughts. I can’t even remember what she was like before, and even though all these changes were a support for her after my father passed away, some aspects of the situation still bothers me. The fact that she believes people are going to hell just for having different opinions and ideas is one of them. Of course, I don’t argue with her about it and rarely express my point of view. If she knew how I really thought, I’d be a princess locked in her room, with no peace and even less freedom than I already have at home.

"He's a tattoo artist?" my neighbor nods, not noticing the bitter tone in my mother's voice. I decide to step in, anticipating some sharp comment from the woman beside me.

"Mrs. Jeon, thank you so much for the clothes and for your help. Just today we had three customers, and the clothes you donated sold very quickly," I interject, changing the subject. The tension in my shoulders eases as my neighbor shifts her focus to the bag in my hands.

"Oh, no need to thank me. I want to do as much as I can to help the animals. I adopted a puppy last week and I’m in love!" she says, placing her hands on her cheeks with joy, and I can’t help but smile. Mrs. Jeon is one of the few older people from the church that I enjoy talking to.

"What’s his name?"

"Gureum. He’s an angel," she says, forming the small size of the puppy with her hands.

"Gureum? Don’t tell me he’s all white," I guess, laughing at the name.

"He is!" she laughs with me, jingling the keys in her hand. "Anyway, I hope we get plenty of donations this month. I can't wait to see the results of our work."

"That’s true, Misuk. This month the winter will be harsher, so we have to act more quickly this year," my mother continues, and the conversation shifts to the church project. I feel more relieved as the minutes pass and Mrs. Jeon leaves. Not because of her, of course, but because of the situation itself. My mother is very straightforward and usually says what she thinks, no matter who it hurts. I don’t want my relationship with our neighbor to be ruined just because my mother doesn’t know how to hold her tongue.

"Did you hear what she said?" Eunji asks, her eyes wide, one hand on her chest as if she’s deeply shocked. "Her son is a tattoo artist! Do you think he has those awful marks all over his body?"

"Probably, Mom," I sigh, trying to focus on the clothes Mrs. Jeon just brought. "And Mom, don’t talk like that. She’s our neighbor."

"Even so! Y/N, that only happens when parents don’t know how to properly guide their children. How can a mother, who goes to church, let her son go down such a horrible path in life?"

"We don’t know how her son lives, and it’s none of our business, Mom!" I try to keep calm as I fold a large black T-shirt, but then I remember that before organizing the items, we have to wash them, and I couldn’t be happier about that.

Usually, the clothes are washed at our house, and my mother still has to stay at the bazaar for a while longer. Honestly, I don’t want to be around her listening to how good of a mother she was just because I go to church and don’t have a tattoo on my arm. It irritates me, and it’s hard not to let her notice, but for the sake of peace, I try my best, nodding and agreeing with all the nonsense she says.

"Mom, I’m going to take all these things home and get everything ready for the bazaar, okay?" I try to force a smile, but my face feels stiff. My head is throbbing, and I can’t wait to get home. I’ve been out of my room all day, and there’s nothing more exhausting than that, at least for me. She murmurs in agreement, probably annoyed that she can't keep talking badly about Mrs. Jeon’s son, but I don’t care and just leave.

I regret it a little halfway home because the bags are heavy, and even though the distance isn’t long, it’s hard to carry all the clothes by myself. I arrive home out of breath. The sky is overcast, with dark gray clouds covering it, but I’m sweating as if I just ran a marathon. I laugh a bit at my lack of fitness, promising myself that I’ll start the morning walks I keep putting off, and I head to the laundry room to start organizing the clothes.

When I open the bag, I’m surprised by the items. Not only are they of good quality, but I’m also certain they don’t belong to Mr. Jeon. He dresses well, but not in this style. I can hardly imagine him wearing black jeans or a heavy jacket. I’m intrigued by who the owner might be, but I don’t waste time pondering it, too tired to unravel mysteries that aren’t even important. I leave the laundry room once everything is organized and head to my room, throwing myself onto the bed.

My room isn’t particularly special or different, but what I love the most about it is the bookshelf filled with books covering almost the entire wall. It was my dream from a young age to get a job and buy every book I was interested in, and luckily, that’s been possible since I started working at the library. It’s the perfect job for me, even if it’s temporary. I’m studying literature to become a teacher, and I can’t wait to start working in my dream job.

I sigh and pull my phone out of my dress pocket, too lazy to take off my clothes and go shower. I groan, placing my hands over my face, knowing there’s no escaping it after being out of the house all day. There’s no way I’m going to bed like this. Reluctantly, I get up and untie my hair, which falls in waves, heavy against my neck.

I bend down to grab the hem of my dress and start pulling it up, feeling even more tired. Today was such a long day. I can’t wait to go to bed and sleep until tomorrow. I take off my socks, lifting one foot behind the other, and as I head to the towel inside the wardrobe next to the bed, I unhook the bra that’s been bothering me all day. The relief is so immense that I let out a sigh, touching my breasts with my fingers and playing with my nipple, hardened by the cold air.

On my way to the bathroom, I stop and look at the window when I notice that the neighbor’s window—the one that had never been opened until now—is, in fact, wide open. I need a few seconds to realize that there’s someone on Mrs. Jeon’s balcony, and worse, it’s not her on the other side. It’s a man. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life.

I hide behind the bookshelf in my room, afraid that he might think I’m spying on him, but for some reason, I keep watching him with curiosity, hypnotized by the way he moves around the room and among the furniture. His dark, wavy hair falls over his face when, out of nowhere, he starts pulling his shirt over his back, taking it off lazily while focusing on the phone in his hands. He gives a small smile, almost as if he subconsciously knows the effect he’s having on me. My heart beats hard against my chest, and my breathing quickens; my mind fills with fantasy images of his pink lips and large, seemingly soft hands.

He is... gorgeous. Different. With tattoos all over his body. One of his arms is completely covered in designs, and his chest is adorned with images that I can’t quite make out. My mouth waters as my eyes roam over his strong back and shoulders. His pale skin glows under the dim light of the yellow lamp, and it’s hard to catch my breath. It’s like observing a work of art. A forbidden work of art, I know. It’s wrong. But I can’t convince my mind that I should stop. The man, still a stranger, smiles at his phone as the screen lights up his face. Unlike his body, which exudes sensuality and is intimidating, his smile is sweet and gentle, and the most charming I’ve ever seen. He tosses the phone onto the bed, unbuckling the leather belt around his waist and deftly undoing the buttons of his jeans. That’s when the trance that literally had me delirious breaks. I slam the window shut, desperate at my own madness.

What was I doing? How could I have seen a stranger stripping like a complete pervert? I feel so bad, guilty for having crossed the line and done something as wrong as this. I gulp, covering my face with my hands. I let out a tortured sigh and feel my heart racing uncontrollably. I am sweating, as if I had done a heavy workout, when in fact, I had been standing still the entire time. I peek through the gaps in my window to see the room in Mr. Jeon's house, but I can't see anything anymore and I don't have the courage to open the curtains and try to look at the man again.

It's the first time in many years that I have felt something like this. Could it be desire? I can't remember the last time I felt anything like this. I recall having a small and first crush on a boy at school, something innocent, when I didn't even know what it meant to like someone romantically or as a friend. This was, throughout my life, the only consistent experience in recent years. It scares me that suddenly I feel something different for someone, even if it's minimal. I let out a sigh and cover my face, embarrassed by my own behavior. To make things worse, I'm not even wearing clothes. I rush to the bathroom and close the door, staring at myself in the mirror. I am so dazed that even my cheeks are dark red. I close my eyes tightly and head to the shower, trying to let the water wash away my thoughts. It doesn't work. I spend the whole night gazing at my bedroom window, full of images that I can't forget or erase.

I have a normal day after the almost exhausting night. I study in the morning about different approaches with children on the autism spectrum, which I find completely interesting and complex, and then I work in the afternoon at the college library on campus. This is actually great because I can study even during my work hours with free access to all available books, which has saved my life in recent months. The first semester of classes was tough, but this second one has been terrible, with piled-up assignments and deadlines that are almost impossible to meet, at best. My life has revolved around this routine, and the ordeal of exams hasn't even started. On my way home, I stop at a convenience store to buy something to eat and bike towards my house, which, honestly, isn’t very far but is extremely tiring.

I get home exhausted, collapsing on the sofa almost immediately. My mother appears from the kitchen with a serious face and a tense expression, as if something very grave had happened.

"You won't believe who invited us to dinner." she comments, placing one hand on her hip.

"Who?" I ask, just out of courtesy. Besides not being hungry, I'm not interested in the subject, too stressed with college stuff to pay attention to my mother.

"Misuk."

"And what's the problem, Mom?" I roll my eyes. Until yesterday, my mother had no problem with our neighbor, and now she acts like the woman is forbidden or not good enough to be her friend.

"Did you forget, YN?" she asks, crossing her arms. "Her son, the one from Seoul, will be at the dinner."

I turn pale, my mouth dry. How could I have forgotten this? College has consumed all my thoughts during the day, but I would never forget that man. The man I saw through the window is Mrs. Jeon's son, I suppose. I concluded this after spending the whole night mulling over my thoughts and reliving that body and face, which I can’t even recall without blushing. I’ve already eaten at college and feel satisfied, but the first thing I do when my mother mentions the dinner is smile.

"I’ll go with you." I affirm, unsure. If my heart raced so much from a distance of Mr. Jeon's son, I can't imagine what will happen if I see him up close. But I'm so curious that I can't avoid it. I want to see him. I want to prove that everything I felt last night wasn’t just a product of my imagination tainted by romance novels.

"The truth is, I wanted to cancel the dinner."

"You didn't cancel, did you?" I ask, trying not to sound too desperate. My mother shakes her head, which makes me sigh with relief.

"No, but I'm curious about the guy. I want to see what he's like and make a better judgment about him. I just ask that you don’t get involved with that kind of person. He’s a tattoo artist and lives alone, so young. Who knows what he does alone in a city like Seoul." she says, and I agree with a noise in my throat.

I’m also curious about him, Mom, but not for the same reason as you. I stay silent as I go upstairs to my room. I look for some slightly nicer clothes without much expectation but I don’t have anything different from conservative or old. I feel sad for no reason and convince myself that it doesn’t matter what I choose to wear; a man like the one I saw last night will never be interested in me, no matter what I put on. I quickly shower, then, after my mom calls me from downstairs, I look at myself in the mirror, staring at the dark blue dress that goes down to just below my knees. I roll my eyes and simply go, with little enthusiasm.

My mom has a bowl with a freshly baked cake, and after saying it's for the neighbors, we head out. It’s the house next door, but the short walk feels like an eternity to me. My heart races as we approach, and I let my mom lead the way, walking ahead. She knocks on the door with three taps, and we don’t wait long before Mr. Jeon appears. He’s a man in his fifties, but very handsome and friendly, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and comfortable house slippers. He smiles at both of us, still holding the doorknob and giving us space to enter.

"Good evening, Eunji, good evening, Y/N." he greets us. I nod, a little embarrassed. Unlike Mrs. Jeon, I don’t see him often, as he is very busy with work and doesn’t attend church regularly.

"Good evening, Yejun."

"Good evening, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for having us." I smile, genuinely grateful. I truly like the couple, as every time I see them, they always treat me very well.

"What a polite girl, isn’t she?" he says to my mother in a joking tone, then looks at me kindly. "You don’t need to thank us. We love having you two here. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable."

"I brought a cake for after dinner." my mom says with a smile. "Where is Misuk? I want to give it to her."

"She’s in the kitchen, finishing organizing things. Shall we go there?"

I follow them in silence, having little to do. My mom is more accustomed to the environment, as she comes here a few times for church meetings. I take a few steps toward the kitchen when a noise on the stairs catches my attention. Then he appears, and like magic, everything I felt before resurges, ten thousand times worse. I catch my breath as I see him slowly descending the stairs. He is much taller than me and different from what I imagined, now up close.

His eyes are dark, bright and large, which strangely complements his sharp jawline. His lips are a beautiful pink that makes me run my tongue over my mouth, enchanted by their apparent softness. Pink is now my favorite color. He exudes a powerful aura with his heavy clothes and his body built like a big mountain towering over me, but when he smiles, I am captivated. His smile is sweet, friendly, and inviting, making me want to get closer. However, the thing that catches my attention the most is the eyebrow piercing. My God. What a man.

"Hello, how are you?" he says with a boyish smile, and I blush instantly. I try to maintain a mantra in my mind, repeating several times: calm down, calm down, calm down! "My name is Jungkook, are you my mother’s neighbor?"

"Y-yes." I stammer and almost instinctively close my eyes, frustrated with myself. He smiles even more, squinting his dark eyes as if he finds me amusing.

"Nice to meet you. What’s your name?" he asks with a soft voice, and I feel embarrassed for not having said my name earlier.

"My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you." This time I don’t stammer, but I speak so quietly that I fear he might not have heard me.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. My mom talks a lot about you." he says, confirming that yes, he did hear me.

I open my mouth to try to say something, but suddenly my mother appears. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. I wanted more chances to talk and discover new things about him, but all I was managing to do was look like an idiot who hasn’t left the house in years, completely antisocial. My shoulders slump, and I follow my mother to the dining room in silence, feeling embarrassed. I can almost feel Jungkook’s presence behind me, but I don’t have the courage to turn around and glimpse his expression. I almost automatically remember him taking off his clothes, showing the tattoos that are now hidden, and I flush even more, almost choking on my own saliva.

"Good evening, Y/N!" Mrs. Jeon smiles at me, already seated at the table. I feel guilty for almost drooling over her son earlier but I smile, greeting her in the same way.

"Good evening, Mrs. Jeon. The smell of the food is delicious, as always." I say, seeing the vegetables on the table and the meat next to it that looks divine. If I hadn’t eaten earlier, I’d be attacking the food, with respect, of course.

"Always so sweet, Y/N." she smiles. "Please, have a seat. Jungkook, sit next to her." she requests. I try to not choke again, just nodding, watching the man I am incredibly attracted to sit to my right side.

His parents and my mom engage in a lively conversation, and I try to pay attention in case they ask me something, but the truth is, I can’t follow along at all. Jungkook eats in silence and occasionally answers my mother’s questions, which I’m sure are meant to gather more material for judgment when we get home, but I can’t follow any of the reasoning. Besides being handsome, polite and kind, he also smells good.

With the clothes he wears and the tattoos decorating his body, I would swear his perfume would be woody and strong, but it’s quite the opposite. His scent reminds me of spring, or nature like a field full of flowers. It’s a scent I could absorb all day. Lost in thought while I play with the fork on my plate and the cabbage kimchi I served myself, I don’t notice him coming closer to me and my ear. My whole body shivers with his breath. I try to not make it too obvious, but I think it’s in vain since I hear his soft laugh even closer to my neck.

"Do you want to go to the kitchen, Y/N?" Jungkook asks in a whisper so close that I look around just to make sure no one is watching, especially my mother, who seems to have already formed a prejudiced opinion about him.

"Why?" I ask in a whisper, confused.

"I want to ask you something." he smiles crookedly, which makes me even more disturbed. I nod, still unsure about what I’m agreeing to. He quickly stands up, and I almost instantly follow him. When we get to the kitchen, he turns around quickly, watching me attentively, crossing his arms over his chest.

"W-what do you want to ask me?" I swallow nervously.

"I was thinking whether I should talk to you about this, but after meeting you tonight, I think it’s for the best, anyway." he says with a serious face. His previously relaxed attitude changes completely, as if all the fun from earlier had drained away.

I become worried, my mind filled with questions, until something occurs to me. What if last night, somehow, he realized I was watching him? My body turns to jelly at the thought, and my heart beats faster as I look at his face. I would die, seriously. I would fall to the ground and never wake up again. My hands tremble as I wait for his question.

"Are you and my mother very close?" he asks in a whisper, this time with a weak voice, looking at his own intertwined hands. I nod in agreement, even more confused. Since Mrs. Jeon moved to my city, we’ve become something like friends, despite the significant age difference. I consider her, even if mistakenly, like a mother.

"Yes. I think we have a close relationship. Why the question?" he shifts uncomfortably. He tries to smile but can’t. I am worried but silent, waiting for his answer.

"My mother is sick, Y/N." he says quietly, with a weak voice. My eyes widen at the news. I never imagined this is what he wanted to talk to me about. From his seriousness, it seems to be something very grave. "That’s why I came to the city. She had depression years ago and last month she tried to take her own life for some reason."

"She didn’t tell anyone, I’m sure." I say as much as I can, still shaken and shocked. Mrs. Jeon seems so happy lately that I could never imagine something like this. My eyes fill with tears, but I try to contain the flood of emotions inside me, embarrassed to act this way with a previously unknown person.

"I know. I was shocked when I found out." he explains, running his fingers through his dark hair as if he were tired. "She wants to spare people from the situation, but I wish everyone could know and support her. She shouldn’t be thinking about anyone’s well-being right now, except her own. That’s why I came to Busan, to take care of her."

"I understand." I whisper with a lump in my throat. I want to take his trembling hands and assure him that everything will be okay, but I don’t have that much courage. I wish I were casual and authentic and had the ease to simply say what I’m thinking. It’s the first time that not being this way makes me upset and sad. I wish I could be someone else right now. I wish I could help more.

"I apologize for bringing this up so suddenly. I hope I haven’t ruined your evening. I’m sorry." he smiles awkwardly, puffing his cheeks, and a previously hidden dimple appears. His face turns red and I can’t help but like him even more.

"Don’t worry. Really. Thank you for telling me the truth. I want to help in any way I can. I'll try to keep her company more often."

"Thank you so much, Y/N." he smiles, with his eyes shining. "I knew it was a good idea to tell you the truth. I knew I could count on you."

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi, just wondering if you have any fics were Crowley and Aziraphale text frequently? AU's are fine 😊

Thank you!!

We have some texting fics here and you may enjoy fics on our #social media tag, which will include fics with online messaging. Here are more fics with texting...

Short Message Service by squiddz (E)

He got halfway down the page before the phone flashed with a notification again. Another message from Crowley. It took all of three seconds for Aziraphale to fold and pick up the phone. Crowley: so Crowley: what are you wearing Aziraphale: What kind of question is that? You know exactly what I'm wearing. --- In which Crowley gives Aziraphale a mobile phone, and then tries his level best to sext with him.

just friends (he's too important) by Narwhalhavingsomuchfun (T)

Biology student Anthony Crowley can't afford to fail his gen ed history class at Tadfield University. But luckily he's found a someone willing to tutor him in history. 3 guesses as to who that may be *** Crowley POV Strangers to friends to best friends to lovers texting fic

Play The Game by ffonippop (M)

Aziraphale was a university student on his last grueling year of pursuing a joint-honors Bachelors degree in Biology and Theology. His favorite day of the week was Sunday, because on Sunday, he could forget about the lab and leave behind the library to gather with his friends and play a competitive game of trivia— Quiz Bowl. He liked Quiz Bowl because it was a brain game, it was engaging, and it promoted teamwork. But most of all, he liked Quiz Bowl because he was the best at it. Until Crowley, the arrogant bastard with a swagger in his saunter, started showing up.

Dim the Lights and Sing You Songs by Polaris (E)

A few months prior to leaving the Dowling household, Crowley had downloaded Grindr for the sole purpose of catfishing randy morons. He was not expecting a paragraph that began with: ‘hello. I hope you don’t think this is too forward, but I couldn’t help but notice you have the most lovely nipples.’ Crowley keeps trying to meet his Grindr fuckbuddy. Aziraphale keeps showing up at all his meeting spots. This is terrible.

Readings From the Books of Ashtoreth by Quefish (E)

Vicar Aziraphale Bookman has a comfortable life. He lives in and serves the small village community of Tadfield. He enjoys contributing to local businesses, taking walks, and of course reading. His 'guilty pleasure', which gives him no guilt and all pleasure, is a series of novels by one AJ Ashtoreth. But what happens when he reaches out with an innocent bit of fanmail?

What We Make of It (Shotgun Wedding) by charlottemadison (E)

The important thing, Crowley tells himself -- the most important thing -- is Adam, his brilliant, creative, empathetic nephew. Being fourteen's hard enough; the kid didn't ask to deal with the weight of the world on top of it. And if taking care of Adam means Crowley has to tough it out at a job he can’t stand, so be it. And if Crowley's job means that Adam’s charming English teacher is NOT a romantic possibility, well, that's just how things go. But the occasional drink with Aziraphale proves hard to resist. They frequent the same pub, so who can object to them saying hello? Briefly sharing a table? Perhaps a little conversation? The painful knowledge that it can’t be anything more -- not without somebody getting fired or sued or both -- well, that can't be helped. Until Crowley stumbles onto a terribly reckless idea...

- Mod D

[girlactionfigure]

PRESS BRIEFING BY IDF SPOKESPERSON, REAR ADMIRAL DANIEL HAGARI

"Good evening. Tomorrow we will gather with our loved ones and celebrate the Passover Seder. A moment before the holiday that marks freedom, it is impossible not to think about those whose freedom was taken from them in an immensely cruel way. Passover will mark 200 days of the very real and painful absence of the hostages. Our moral obligation to return the 133 hostages and release them to freedom takes on an additional meaning today. If the hostages hear us, I turn to you now - we will fight until you return home to us. Dear families of the hostages, we know that these are unbearable days for you and we promise that we will do everything, everything to return your loved ones.

IDF forces are deployed along the entire length of the borders of the State of Israel to ensure the safety of the citizens of the State of Israel. Even during the holiday, we must continue to be vigilant and adhere the Home Front Command instructions. The instructions remain unchanged. If there are any changes, we will inform you immediately, responsibly and transparently. At the front of our minds, is the security of our citizens.

This week, In Gaza, we completed another operation in the central Gaza Strip against Hamas to destroy terrorist infrastructure and terrorists in order to prevent Hamas from restoring its capabilities. All the while there are forces operating inside Gaza alongside additional forces preparing for the next moves in the war. Today, the Chief of the General Staff was at the Southern Command and approved the next moves in the war.

This week, on the northern border, we struck targets of the Hezbollah terrorist organization, including aerial defense array infrastructure deep inside Lebanon. We are aware of the great difficulty endured by the residents of the north who have been away from their homes for such a long time. We are determined to continue to target Hezbollah, to push it to the north and to create a security reality that will allow the residents of the north to return to their homes safely.

In Judea and Samaria, IDF, ISA and Israel Border Police soldiers completed a counter-terrorism operation in the Tulkarm area in which we eliminated terrorists, apprehended suspects, destroyed explosive production laboratories, and confiscated many weapons. IDF forces continue to operate in Judea and Samaria around the clock to counter terrorism and protect the roads. We are strengthening the defense before and during the holiday.

Many regular and reserve IDF soldiers will celebrate the holiday when they are far from home, but they will celebrate the Seder together. I would like to thank and express such great appreciation to all the families of the reserve and career personnel, for the support which they receive at home, this support is very important to us. In the last few days, we have completed the preparations for the holiday and all the soldiers in the field will be served a warm and proper holiday meal.

We do not forget those who are not with us tonight after they fought and fell on the battlefield. Dear bereaved families, on the eve of the holiday like every other day of the year, the pain is too much to bear, your loved one who sacrificed the most precious of all did it so that we could live here, we do not forget and will not forget, we are together with you."

UPDATE: HOME FRONT COMMAND GUIDELINES

Due to the security situation, the Home Front Command determined the following guidelines as of Sunday, April 21 2024 at 18:00, until Thursday, April 25, 2024 at 18:00

*The Home Front Command English site has made an error in their text for the rest of country that is in the Green Zone.

Correction:

Towns classified as green – Full Activity – The rest of the country

Educational Activities - Educational activities can be held without restrictions.

Gatherings and Services - Gatherings can be held without restrictions 

Workplaces - Operating without restrictions.

[vettelinyourarea]

In the stars by benson boone with ollie when he lost his soulmate and hard to live his life without her please. Thank you xx

in the stars - oliver bearman

genre: angst

word count: 846

inspired by in the stars by benson boone

warning: english is not my first language, mentions of death

thank you so much for requesting this! i am very sorry that it took such a long time to finish this request, but i hope you enjoy this anon! 🩷

Sunday mornings were your favorite

I used to meet you down on Woods Creek Road

You did your hair up like you were famous

Even though it's only church where we were goin'

Sunday mornings used to be Ollie’s favorite day. Not because it was a weekend, not because it was a race day, but because it was the day when he would meet up with you. He remembers how you used to do your hair, styling it as if you are going to a formal event although you are actually just going to the church with him. 

Ollie remembers how every time after the church service, he would take you on a lunch date, sometimes accompanied by his siblings who love you so dearly. He remembers how you would take care of them like they are your own siblings, he remembers how he realized he is in fact, in love with you on one of those Sundays. But Sunday mornings are not Ollie’s favorite anymore. Not after everything that happened.

Now, Sunday mornings, I just sleep in

It's like I buried my faith with you

I'm screamin' at a God, I don't know if I believe in

'Cause I don't know what else I can do

Sunday mornings used to be so different with you, and he knew nothing will ever be the same ever again after what happened to you. Now, he just sleeps in if it’s not a race day. He never goes to church anymore, he buries his faith in God with you, buried under the earth. 

Ollie has lost count of how many times he had screamed at God, why did He have to take you away from Ollie? Why did God hate Ollie so much that he have to take the love of his life away from him? Ollie doesn’t know what to do anymore but cry and scream every time he remembers that you are not with him anymore, and you will never be with him again from that day.

I'm still holdin' on to everything that's dead and gone

I don't wanna say goodbye, 'cause this one means forever

Now you're in the stars and six-feet's never felt so far

Here I am alone between the heavens and the embers

Ollie remembers the day you were admitted to the hospital, they said you were okay, that it would be just a small, simple surgery. But now he knows that it was all just a lie. That day was qualifying day and Ollie had managed to snatch the pole position. All the happiness from the day’s event is gone when he received a call from your mom.

“She’s in a coma, she lost too much blood during the surgery,” your mom had said to him through the phone. It took everything in him not to leave the race and fly back home to see you. He had been crying all day and all night, worried about you. He should be there with you, he thought.

On Sunday, he took his win from the feature race, and fly back to you as fast as he could. Only to be informed that you are gone, you are not with him anymore. You had passed away.

Oh, it hurts so hard

For a million different reasons

You took the best of my heart

And left the rest in pieces

Ollie remembers the day of your funeral. It was also the day you took his heart with you, buried six feet under the earth. “It’s okay Ollie, she loves you all her life,” your mother said, trying to console him. It was weird, he should be the one to console your parents, not your parents consoling him. But that doesn’t matter at that time. 

Ollie had met you when both of you were just 4 years old, going to the same kindergarten. Ollie confessed his feelings to you when you were 14 years old and started dating when you were 15 years old because finally, you are “old enough” according to your parents. 

It feels to him, that he has loved you all his life. But, he realized that the years of him being with you were just a portion of his lifetime, and you have loved him all your life. That fact broke him so deeply, how is it fair? You had promised to be with him no matter what, you had promised that you will always be there for him when he needs you. And you are, you are always faithful to your promise. But what about him? He wasn’t even there when you go into the surgery, he wasn’t there when you fell into a coma, he wasn’t even there when you took your last breath.

But he knew that at the end of the day, it was not his fault. He knew that at the end of the day, he has the move on. And he also knew that at the end of the day, he will always love you, no matter what. 

[cathkaesque]

Around 500 workers in the garment industry gathered in Leicester’s Spinney Hill Park on Sunday, 1 October to protest the worsening conditions workers are facing amid factory closures in the city. They were joined by labour rights campaigners and trade unionists. This was the first time workers had gathered to publicly protest their situation, but workers said they were ‘ready to speak’.

Suppliers have warned that fashion brands sourcing garments in the city are demanding price reductions, often on orders of clothing already made and delivered, which is making businesses unviable. In turn, garment workers in Leicester report significant reductions in hours and factory closures, increasing pressure on already low paid workers on the frontline of the cost of living crisis. 40% of children in Leicester are living in poverty, including those where parents are in work.

Garment workers are calling on fashion brands to take urgent measures to support the industry in Leicester. They want brands to commit to orders from local suppliers with decent wages and standards safeguarded in the contract price, and for a long-term commitment to the area. At the rally, women spontaneously spoke from the crowd to express their anger and frustration at the lack of work as well as the discrimination they face. Women spoke of being given unpaid trial shifts, zero predictability of the amount of work they’d be offered and the struggle to access services and support without speaking English.

A Leicester garment worker said: “Brands should take responsibility and commit to orders in Leicester. I know that the factories here have been running for many years. I speak to other workers who have been working in this industry for 20+ years. This is the time when workers are in need of work the most because of the cost of living being so high but instead the factories are slowly closing one by one. Thousands of workers are dependent on working in the factories in Leicester and most of us are migrant workers who have moved to the UK because of our suffering and for a better future ahead. 

We want factories to stay open and busy, we want improved working conditions and better workplaces with correct rules and regulations and factories that look after workers rights and pay national minimum wage, holiday, and sick pay.

Dominique Muller, UK Policy Lead at Labour Behind the Label, said: “It is high time for UK fashion brands to accept they are responsible for the present crisis garment workers are facing in Leicester. We’ve been here before: during the pandemic revelations about the industry in Leicester forced brands to take measures to improve the treatment of workers. But once public scrutiny moved on, all that remained were vague and aspirational pledges towards a more ethical industry. 3 years later, we see they have failed to live up to their promises. 

If brands are serious about building a fairer, more sustainable industry, they must commit to it. They must adopt an ethical sourcing strategy which includes assessing the working conditions of workers in their supply chain and making improvements. In this case, it means committing to UK suppliers and supporting workers in obtaining decent work. The workers who have given brands years of their labour and millions in profits deserve nothing less.”

[artemisjpotter]

Penacony 2.3 spoiler ramblings

____________________

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK STOP LEAVING FUCKING CLIFFHANGERS WHAT THE FUCK

Other random thoughts:

- Thank you for finally giving Acheron’s full backstory to us. I feel so bad for her. I went to give her all the hugs. Please visit the Express. You deserve all the happiness babe

-I do like Firefly as a character don’t get me wrong but I’m not a huge fan of them pushing this faux ship between her and the trailblazer. Like it feels forced. I feel like we got attached to her way too quickly in 2.0 and now we’re acting like we’re basically dating. There was even the bridal carry! I think I would like it better if it had more gradual development. I think it has potential, it just needs to happen more organically.

-WHY DID YOU SKIP THE SCENE WITH AVENTURINE AND BOOTHILL STANDOFF AT THE END OF 2.2??? Like how did they reach an agreement? Since when did the marketing dept have beef with the SID? Did everyone know this and that’s why Boothill approaches Aventurine in the first place? WHY DIDN’T YOU SHOW US THEIR CONVO HOYO??? You did both my boys so dirty this patch. They’d better give them an epic buddy cop showdown against Oswaldo in a companion mission or the interlude. Also: show us Boothill’s backstory in game so I can properly sob like a baby and we give him a proper character arc. Also also: make Nihility = depression so we can finally have the Aventurine depression arc we deserve and maybe get that boy some happiness and will to live at some point.

-Speaking of the IPC: wtf is up with Jade??? Topaz looked gay AF when she first showed up, and Jade kept infantilizing her, calling her “little Jelena” and such. And when she went to more harsher “negotiations” with the family she ended up being more manipulative and cutthroat like we saw when she first met Aventurine. She’s clearly manipulative and I think she groomed Topaz and acts like a different person around her. That would also explain Topaz’s brainwashing that the IPC is great and all. God I hate them so much. LET BOOTHILL SHUT THEM DOWN I’M BEGGING YOU 🙏🏾 🙏🏾 🙏🏾

-Speaking of the family, WHERE WAS MY BOY SUNDAY??? We know he’s on trial but he only shows up at the end, and Jade is just like, “explore different paths.” So like what is the future for Sunday now? Are they just letting him go? What’s going to happen to him? And why didn’t we get to properly explore Robin’s grief over her brother’s actions and subsequent imprisonment? Again WE WERE ROBBED

-Ngl I started crying like a baby inside when the Express said their goodbyes to the Nameless. That story makes me so sad 😭 and March’s question about morality AHH I LOVE THE EXPRESS CREW FOUND FAMILY SO MUCH

-And going off of that, I love how the Stellaron Hunters are like found family. It’s so sweet, like how Firefly told Jade Silver Wolf would fuck the IPC up if they messed with her. We love our criminal found family in this house (also love how Kafka asked Firefly to buy her some stuff.)

-Why the fuck did Elio hire Sparkle? I don’t understand that. I don’t understand the point of her or any of the masked fools tbh. Sometimes I imagine Elio is just writing things in the script for shits and giggles and it kinda makes me laugh but also scratch my head 😂

I think that’s all for now but I reserve the right to add to this. I did enjoy 2.3 overall, but they left way too many loose ends imo (and I wanted more fan service for my faves, ngl). I do hope they resolve them in the interlude and/or companion missions. Penacony has sooo many interesting storylines that it would be a shame if they didn’t wrap them all up.

ETA: WHY IS ARGENTI’S ENGLISH VOICE STILL BROKEN I WANT TO HEAR THAT MAN’S ELEGANT VOICE AGAIN 😭 😭 😭

[shawolsos]

I've been thinking about Henry and Alex's wedding again

I think that it would be absolutely balls-to-the-walls fucking mental. It'd be a royal wedding that even my parents and I (very much anti-monarchist) would watch and enjoy. I want a royal wedding that would give Piers Morgan cardiac arrest six ways from Sunday.

Like, speakers on every street corner blasting Bowie, Jagger, Queen, Blondie, Gloria Gaynor, Taylor Swift and One Direction.

If they HAVE to sing God Save the Queen, I want it sang by Adam Lambert while Brian May absolutely shreds a guitar solo on the top of Buckingham Palace.

An autumn wedding because Henry told Alex that if a wedding happens during term-time, kids get the day off school and who is he to deny them that.

Mexican food and burgers and hot dogs, curries and fish and chips. None of this pretentious canopies and whatever else it is rich people have at weddings

Cornettos and wedding cake made of red velvet and funfetti.

Elton John singing "Your Song" as a first dance.

Queen Catherine leading Britain's nobility in the Macarena and the Cha Cha Slide and Martha having to drag Philip onto the dancefloor.

Foreign Monarchs and Dignitaries and the fucking Prime Minister's Cabinet becoming wild party animals for one night and one night only.

Jaffa Cake donuts, because they're a thing and they are the best thing ever.

The presenting team has Holly and Phil but also Baga Chipz, Lawrence Chaney, Suzi Ruffell, Tom Alan, Rylan, Nick Grimshaw, Graham Norton, Sue Perkins, Courtney Act, Trixie Mattel, Katya Zamo and the original cast of Horrible Histories (cuz Henry loved that show as a kid and you can't convince me otherwise)

The guest list includes Britain and America's gay icons except for Ellen. The entire Harry Potter cast and NOT JKR every James Bond actor they can get and kids from Henry's shelters.

Traditional CofE readings but also passages from the great FEMALE writers of Britain and classical mythology and Sappho.

Mexican love songs in the middle of the service, that make everyone tear up, regardless of whether they understand Spanish.

Their personally written vows would be exchanged in a private ceremony the day before.

Ellen and Oscar walking Alex down the aisle.

Shaan and Zahra being event coordinators.

St. George's Chapel being decked out in beautiful floral arrangements.

Pez and Nora being the best best man and woman.

Pez, June and Nora getting blackout drunk and ending up in the same hotel room.

Bea and Catherine staying back to help with the clean up and taking loads of left overs back up to the apartment to share with the staff.

Ellen, Oscar, Luna and Leo managing to slip away from their security and going to a nightclub in Soho and sending some very confusing but hysterical voice notes to Alex.

Henry stopping the car to get a donner kebab because he's English and drunk.

Apartment 6F becoming royalists for the first and only time in their lives and setting aside a whole week to watch everything related to it.

Street Parties in London and Washington going from the night before until the night after.

Sweet elderly people who have been in the crowd at every royal wedding for the last sixty years and have become very supportive of the queer community ever since their grandchildren came out to them.

A proper English Bloke™ who looks like he'd be homophobic but isn't and a bi girl with pink hair and a nose ring getting absolutely plastered together.

A sea of Union Jacks and Star-Spangled Banners being waved alongside every variety of Pride Flag.

It'd be a royal wedding that literally no other couple would be capable of planning.

[iwishicanbeagoodpianist]

the Wifilcon and the Winter Router Chapter 2: Customer Service

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC/Reader Summary: When Bucky learns that his neighbor has been stealing his wifi for months. Warnings: None A/N: I’m not a fanfic writer at all, this, like all my stories, are adaptations to fanfics. My original stories are not written in english, so this is also a translation. please do not repost my work

Chapter 1

---------------------------

-"Sir, are the front lights on the router on or not?"-

-"Uh, yes, I think so, there are too many lights, all blinking."-

Bucky, once again, was facing the demonic device that, at this moment, he’d rather throw out the window without looking back. How is it possible that I’m doing one of the things I hate most in life, talking to other people, all because I need to know how the fight between Diego and his evil twin ends and who finally wins Alfonsina's love?

While Bucky continues his internal dialogue about the 8 o’clock soap opera (he can actually watch it anytime, but he regularly decides to watch it at 8) and how he hates his life at this moment, he hears the customer service lady sigh, whom he vaguely recalls is named Sara, with whom he’s been speaking for an exhausting (for both of them) 20 minutes. With this amount of wasted time, I could have already thrown this device out and gone to buy a new one. Without having to talk to anyone, 10 minutes max, timing clocks and all. Stupid piece of junk…

Bucky’s thoughts are interrupted again by Sara or Susana, I’m sure it was something with an S…

-"Sir, can you describe what you see right now?"-

-"A piece of junk?… I mean, I mean, a rectangle with two antennas…"-

-"Sir, I mean the lights, the colors, if they’re blinking or not…"-

Is it possible to be more idiotic? Bucky is sure he can read the thoughts of… uh… Sofia?

-"Yes, yes, of course,"- Bucky stammers, trying to focus since this conversation started, -"there’s a green light with an image that looks like a circle, then there are some curved lines that the light is blinking…"-

Before Bucky could finish describing each part of the router like a 5-year-old to… to… Sasha? he hears the front door open, and it’s none other than the main person who got him into this problem, and by problem we mean the addiction to telenovelas on Nitflix, Notflex… Netflox?? Whatever, his dreaded and somewhat appreciated neighbor from the next-door apartment.

-"What do you think you’re doing??? The internet’s been down for over 30 minutes."-

The cheeky comment comes, not only is she using the internet for free. Not really, she pays for the… Netflex? account and he pays for the internet, it’s not a fair agreement, but she also makes him dinner on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and on Sundays she makes waffles for breakfast, his favorite, something he never plans to tell her even if he’s kidnapped again and tortured.

-"That’s what I’m trying to fix,"- Bucky replies exasperatedly, because let’s be honest, he’s nowhere near fixing the problem, he hasn’t been able to sit down to rest since he got back this morning from his last mission and discovered his stupid internet wasn’t working and he’s been talking for over 20 minutes now with… with… Samantha? whom he’s sure wishes she were unemployed right now living with her parents again rather than dealing with his over 100-year-old ass for 5 more minutes.

-"Don’t be silly, you just need to unplug and replug it and it’ll be fixed…"- Your adorable neighbor, adorably annoying, hadn’t finished saying those words when she automatically took the plug out of the wall just like that. All the lights on the router went out at the same time, just like Bucky’s brain.

-"Sir, are you still there…?"- At this point, Samantha, or Sierra, sounds distant as if she were part of Bucky’s conscience. But really it’s just because he very intelligently moved the phone away from his ear in shock after seeing his neighbor very casually walk to the kitchen and open the fridge.

-"You have to wait about 30 seconds before plugging everything back in and… what’s wrong with you?"- She asks when she turns to look at him again with a carton of juice in her hand. I should check if that’s still good, when was the last time I went grocery shopping? God, I just want to sleep for 12 straight hours. Bucky’s brain also needs 30 seconds to react.

-"What are you doing here? Today is Tuesday, you should be at work."-

-"I’m sick."-

-"I don’t see you looking very sick."-

-"That’s because you’re too in love with me to notice how bad I look."-

A thud is heard, Bucky unsure if what sounded was his stomach dropping or the phone he was holding, his brain automatically rebooted, at the same time as his now-neighbor, soon-to-be victim, approaches him.

-"W-w-what are you doing??"- Is that music coming from my head? How hard did they hit me today? She, without stopping and looking straight at him, gradually gets closer to him, and that’s when he starts to notice, the red cheeks, the unkempt hair, the exaggerated layers of clothing, the glassy eyes. She really is sick. And without thinking, because let’s be honest, Bucky hasn’t managed to string a coherent thought in the last hour, he says: "It’s true, you look like crap." Just like that, without anesthesia, without a prior psychological evaluation that confirmed Bucky was not fit to live alone, much less interact with other human beings in a normal and civilised manner.

And now a thud is heard, as if someone had slapped their forehead and a sigh of exasperation. Did that sound come from my phone?

But before he could keep thinking about how possibly his love life is now the 8 o’clock soap opera in the customer service office, which for some reason hasn’t ended the call yet. Bucky reacts to these words:

-"I just wanted to reconnect the internet, to go off sick and horrible somewhere else."-

And in a matter of seconds, the lights on the router start blinking again, Bucky’s computer makes a sound indicating it’s connected to the internet again and Bucky’s heart starts racing uncontrollably when he sees his neighbor, firm to her previous statement, grab the juice, which she not-so-politely stole from his fridge, and walks quickly to the door.

-"I’m taking this as payment for being an idiot,"- and with those words, she closes the door behind her.

Bucky stopped breathing, thinking, well, he hasn’t thought correctly in the last 24 hours, he can’t coordinate words or string the necessary letters to call her name, he just stays there, with the blinking lights of his brain that can’t find the connection with his mouth. He was going to spend a full 40 minutes there when he hears his conscience shouting from afar:

-"HELLO??? Sir??? Are you stupid or what??? Go after her right now and apologize!"- It’s not his conscience, it’s… it’s… Selena? From his phone on the floor, the customer service agent was shouting at him and not very kindly expressing what she’s been thinking since the call started. I really am an idiot, nothing new here.

In an act of, not very sure how to explain what, Bucky picks up the phone from the floor, brings it to his ear and asks in an anguished voice:

-"Scarlet? Are you there? God, what have I done? What am I supposed to do now? How do I fix this? I’m just a 100-year-old person, I’m rusty, it’s not my fault."-

And in whispers from the other line like: -"Who the hell is Scarlet? 100 years old??, god this guy has serious issues."- A clearing of the throat is heard and the following words:

-"Sir, the best thing you can do is go and apologize, be sincere, I’m sure she already knows you’re an idiot and likes you anyway."-

-"She likes me?"-

-"I hope you leave the best note in the customer satisfaction survey."-

-"Yes, yes,"- customer satisfaction survey???? what the hell?

-"Well, no girl would be that vulnerable in front of you, I mean, she came to your apartment sick to help you and also dropped that hint, not subtle in my opinion, that you’re in love with her. There are only two options: either she’s really sick and the fever makes her delusional…"-

Bucky is heard whispering,-"delusional?"-

-"Sir, please, let me finish, or she likes you and was helping you take the first step."-

-"Okay, I understand."-

-"Sir, do you like her yes or no?"-

-"No, I mean, yes, only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays when we have dinner together and the food is really good, on Tuesdays and Thursdays I only see her in the morning before leaving, but she accompanies me to buy coffee at the bakery across the street, she takes it very sweet, that’s not good for her health, but she never listens to me. On Saturdays she passes by the park where I always go running, and on the way back she gives me a bottle of water before going to her parents’ house. Sundays are waffle days and it’s the best day because everything is so quiet and peaceful and we just eat and watch TV, sometimes we talk about what happened during the week, but most of the time we’re just… together… peaceful. But I don’t just like her sometimes…"-

-"Sir, I don’t think you’ve said this much dialogue in the entirety of this fanfic or in the history of any fanfic… so I think it’s clear that you like her…."-

"Fanfic?" Bucky whispers, -"what the hell…?"-

-"Doesn’t matter now, sir, the important thing is to put your pants on and go find her right now."-

-"But I already have pants on…"-

-"Shut up, hang up the call, fill out the survey and go hug your girlfriend, god!"-

-"Thanks… uh… Sabrina?"-

-"My name is Amanda, sir…"-

-"Oh."-

-"Just go, have a good day…"- and before hanging up you hear the murmur of I’m going to pretend the last 45 minutes never happened…

-"Thanks… you too…"- but Amanda had already ended the call. Automatically a sound is heard and a female voice starts saying: -"Please rate your agent from 1 to 10… 1 being…"-

Without waiting for the answering machine to finish, hurriedly heading out the door to try to fix his stupidity, Bucky says:

-"10! 10!! The best service, please give Amanda a raise, she deserves it, give her more vacation too, everything, thank you, thank you."-

[beardedmrbean]

https://youtu.be/WduYrwAGews?si=WXY3S61pf2-SZHUT

https://youtu.be/ypisVrbqDqE?si=6uMFk6po9rZmA5NM

Funny, multi-talented, English woman, Anna Russell, summarizes Wagner’s mini-series The Ring of Nibelungs.  This stand up bit was my gate-way drug to opera (sorry Loony Tunes). 

Submitted by @eggs-n-ham-sam

The absolute talent it takes to do something like this, hard enough to do these things straight start in with the shtick it gets more and more complicated.

Bless these people that keep it going, one of these days I need to go see André Rieu live, if I can manage it at least.

> This stand up bit was my gate-way drug to opera (sorry Loony Tunes). 

Mine was Spike Jones if anyone is playing a song and a note starts to get held for more than a measure or so someone in my family will inevitably yell out “TURN THE PAGE YOU FAT HEAD” and we all remember and we all laugh.

That and his production Carmen in 14 min, which I’m pretty sure is a different track it’s been a while.  He’s got a instrumental version as well It’s shorter and substitutes a slide whistle for the Soprano. __________________

Back up there though, I almost lost it at ‘Andrews sisters but wet”

My grandfather had a very very very similar thing as what she was talking about at the beginning of the video, before he died if he was playing a festival that ran into a Sunday he’d always do a ‘Hymn-A-Long’ and every one of those there was a joke he’d tell about the church on the back of the hymn books he had made for those.

Joke is under the cut, but ya he’d stopped telling it for a while because everyone had heard it and did the punchline with him at the end, and showman that he was he didn’t quite grasp that that was now part of the gag.  Well not till people started up to him after the hymn-a-long and asked why he hadn’t done “the story” which that bit made it into the setup for the story so people that didn’t want to hear it again (fools that they are) knew why it was there.

Church out in west (By God) Virginia that needed to be painted so the parishioners got their brushes and rollers and all the stuff they needed to paint the building, but it turned out they didn’t have very much paint.

Being good Christians and remembering Jesus’s feeding of the 5000 with 5 small loaves and 2 fishes they set to work with the paint thinner to increase the volume of the paint in their own little miracle and when it was done it looked pretty nice and freshly painted and everyone congratulated themselves on a job well done thanking the lord for the power of the paint thinner. 

That night it rained, and as happens with paint that’s been overly thinned out with acetone it all kind of just melted off of the church, it being Sunday morning everyone was there and saw their work destroyed.

Pastor in the service while praying asked the lord why lord why did this happen what can we do now lord.

Then a voice came down from heaven and said

REPAINT AND THIN NO MORE

[nct-charlee]

Haechan + Charlee (HaeLee)

“It’s the best we could come up with…Haelee.”

masterlist // NCT DREAM

(korean, english)

warning: just one bullet talking about religion (off screen)

WC:

First Meeting

“For obvious reasons, Lotte hated me. The first words I said were ‘Are you sure know your way around here?’ ”

Charlotte was trying to find her way around the company…more specifically trying to find the cafeteria

It was the first time she had ever been on this side of the building, she swears up and down that she knew where she was going (just maybe not from where she was)

She was just looking around, praying she would at least find some type of landmark that she recognized….sadly that landmark was none other than Lee Donghyuck

“Are you new or something?” Donghyuck asked leaning against the wall slightly tilting his head

Charlotte slightly shook her head, beginning to explain where she was trying to go

“It’s my first time on this side. I’m trying to find the um- cafeteria?” She couldn’t remember the right word and said ‘cafeteria’ in english

“Are you sure you know your way around here?” He pushed himself off the wall, “I don’t know about ‘cafeteria’ but I can show you were the cafeteria is.” He had made an action like he was eating something then pointed down the hall

Charlotte stayed quiet and just nodded her head, following him

Not before long Donghyuck had started asking questions, “What’s your name? How long have you been here? Do you even know who I am?”

“Lee Chaewon, Not very long, and of course. Now, do you ever shut up?”

“I am so shocked I actually listened, I think I should’ve known then she would’ve been the boss.” (all the boys agree while laughing hard. Charlee scoffs)

Fan Favorite Moment

During the rooftop fight, while everyone is trying to teach Jisung how to open the champagne bottle, Charlee is seen backing up away from the table. Trying to get away scared

When Haechan realizes what she’s doing he voices a loud “Yah! Where are you going Charlee?”

Charlee flashes him a deadly glare

“Watch your tone Donghyuck”

“Yes ma’am”

Charlee ends up back to her seat and stands behind her chair, using it as a shield

While Jisung is still calling for his parents and not opening the bottle, both Haechan and Charlee scream

“HURRY UP!”

On Screen

“Haelee was the best we could come up with…Sorry.”

Popularity: 6/10

Nicknames: Lotte, Chaewonie, ChaeChar, Lee-Meyers, “Tom”

It’s funny because as much as Haechan loves to play pranks and make fun of her, he knows his limits

Mark says they’ve all learned to say ‘Yes ma’am’ in english whenever she’s annoyed with them or she gives them the look (CharTea ep. 2)

Haechan is probably the person that says it the most

When he says something and Charlee gives him a look or even calling him by his real name he shuts up and sits down saying ‘Yes ma’am’

LOVES himself Charlee. Hugs, attempted kisses, hand holding. everything AND ANYTHING

Charlee is very resistant of his rizz (no she isn’t, she giggles and twirls her hair)

Off Screen

Charlotte LIVES for annoying him

“Awhhh Hyukieeee~”

They’re both the oldest of their families so once again it’s hilarious that they both jokingly baby each other

Charlotte also lives for his hugs, as much as she hates them on screen

They’re both Christian and years ago they went to a sunday service together. Nowadays they don’t really have the time

One of the first tattoos she had gotten was dedicated to 8dream, each member had a little doodle she drew that reminded her of them

His was a teddy bear with a bow that had the initials ‘l.d.h.’

[executethyself35]

heyyy alexiii can you tell me more about your ocs please ? they fascinate me so much + im sorry that i can never come up with proper responses to any information about them beyond oooh thats very interesting

if youre looking for specific questions:

what're their relationships to religion? like. any religion

do they have siblings? how do they feel about their siblings?

what do they want to do after the war?

obviously feel free to ignore me if youre not in the mood!

much love, monty

MONTYYYYYYYY, THANK YOU POOKIE, and your responses are fine!!

i will say before i go into this: Eliza's part will contain bits of religious trauma, child abuse and religious cults, if that makes you uncomfortable pls scroll past her part. Mary's part mentions the death of a parent, if that also makes you uncomfortable pls skip her part. And if religion in general makes you uncomfortable and you do not have to read this part and are free to skip to the next part!!

Religion:

Zippo: being Jewish is heavily ingrained into her. Though she may seem like she's not, Zippo is one the most religious out of the girls, praying 3 times a day, and repenting for any sins she's committed during this war. She tries to keep to kosher foods, but realized early on that it may be difficult to keep up with that, even if she sometimes believes that the food they're served isn't really food. She tries to do what she needs for Shabbos (Sabbath), though later in the war that gets harder. But all in all, she heavily religious.

B: she's the other most religious girl, she is catholic as hell. Some of her earliest memories were in the local curch back in Cuba, when her and her mother used to go almost everyday. B describes her first time at mass in New York as very surreal, as it was in English and she knew none. As she got older and her relationship with her mother worsened, she went to church alot more and her mother went alot less. Her mother not going as much, caused B to go more than usual so she could pray for her. And once she went to war, she would still go to the services that were held on base.

Ollie: she grew up catholic, and is still a practicing one, but she's not that heavy of one. She'll go to church on Sunday, and any of the important masses, and that’s about it. When she joined up, she'll go to the on base service.

Torrie: she's not as catholic as she used to be. Don't get me wrong she still goes to Sunday mass and the other important ones, but after going to catholic school, and dealing with her entire Irish catholic family, she kinda just stopped being catholic. She'll go to the on base services still, bc it gives her some comfort of home.

Marselle: she was a good Roman catholic girl when she was younger, but as she got older she kinda stopped going as often, especially when she started living by herself. As she got into the military and in the war more, she attends services and feels more comfortable (it may also be because Skip is there with her)

I just want to give a heads up before i go into Eliza's, though i gave a warning beforehand, I want to give another warning. The cult that Eliza was raised in is based off the IBLP and their teachings, although i am certain they were not around in that time period, i do believe people with quiverfull beliefs such as theirs may have existed back then. If you have lived through this or something adjacent i advise you to skip ahead. If you choose not to, you have been warned.

Eliza: Eliza has an absolute HORRIBLE relationship with religion. Eliza had grown up in a religious cult with quiverfull ideas, which means people should have as many people as possible and until your body tells you to stop. Eliza's mother would beat on her relentlessly and used their religion as an excuse for why Eliza deserved the beatings. This is one of the many reasons why Eliza will forever hate religion and never believe in it ever again. And when Eliza entered the war, people had asked her why she wouldn't go to the base service and she would respond with "Didn't have a good upbringing with it" and that's the end of story.

Mary: Mary actually had a somewhat good relationship with religion, having gone whenever her family did, and her father went more so than everyone, having the saying "Fit God in whenever you can". And then her fathered died when she was 12, that caused her to stop going to church. It was really after his funeral when she stopped going. Her mother used to give her shit about it always asking her "Why don't you go to church, it'll make you feel closer to your father" and Mary's answer was always "That's exactly why, i don't want a reminder." and they would always leave it at that. So when she get's into the war, she still doesn't go to the services, and it's not till much later on when she starts going to service again.

Julia: She's around the same as B just not as heavily into it. Julia grew up catholic, she went to Sunday school and catechism classes every week for crying out loud! But, after a while she kinda just stopped being so heavy in it, mostly just going on Sundays and holidays. But when she got into the war, especially during fucking Bastogne, you better bet your ass she was going to the services Father Maloney was holding.

Allie: Now she grew up Baptist and let me tell you it was a trip for her. It was mostly Sunday mass, but it was still a lot. Take it from me, i grew up around southern baptist, it's crazy. Allie also kinda always rejected it because her mother was always like "All you need to do is be a good wife, stay at home and go to church. You don't need to be in the military." and Allie would not deal with it. So when she finally got into the military, Allie still didn't do church that much. But yeah, Allie's got one of the least problematic relationship with religion.

****

Siblings:

Zippo: Zippo is the oldest of six, being 14 when her youngest sister, Stephanie, was born. Here are her siblings in order with the years in between included: Twins Elena & Eli: 2 years, Rubio: 3 years, Martin: 4 years, Stephanie: 14 years. Zippo has eldest daughter syndrome, always feeling responsible for her siblings and anyone younger than her. So, when she get's into Easy and realizes half the guys are waaay younger, she has the urge to mother duck them, and sees them as kids to her and treats them like that. Zippo has a great relationship with all her siblings except for Eli, but none of the family likes him, you know it's bad when they're mother has literally said "If you weren't my son, i would hate your guts." This is because Eli is honestly a piece of shit, he thinks he's better than everyone because he's smart, he finished highschool and is going to college unlike Zippo. While Zippo loves everyone else, she will admit they can get her on nerves sometimes, especially Stephanie. When they first got to Aldbourne, Zippo had gotten a letter from her mother wondering how everything is going along, and this letter is a little part about Stephanie, she's pregnant. This came to as a shock to Zippo, as Stephanie is only 14 and her boyfriend is 15. Zippo immediately started writing back scolding the living shit out of Stephanie. She was so mad at her.

B: Bianca has no siblings and had wanted at least one for almost of her life. But, as she had gotten into her teenage years she realized the friends she grew up with are like siblings to her. And she keeps gaining more with each friend she makes.

Ollie: She has one older brother named Marcus who is 4 years older than her. They were already super close, and once their mom remarried they became closer. Speaking of their mother's second marriage, they gained 2 step siblings. A step sister named Sophie and a step brother Adrien. They all get along pretty well, especially Ollie and Sophie.

Torrie: Torrie has a younger sister, who is two years behind her. She helped raise her as their mom was dealing with a lot of bs. Torrie also has a fuck ton of younger cousins that she has helped raise, like helped raise so much they see her as a second mother.

Marselle: Marselle is technically the eldest of 5, making her the direct heir of her family "business" (you all know what i mean). She has two younger brothers, Daniel and Eli. Those are her two full blooded siblings. Then come to find out her father had two little girls with the same mistress. Marselle's eldest half sister is Rose, she's two months younger than her, as their mothers were pregnant at the same time. And the youngest half sister is Lavanda, she's two and a half months younger than Daniel. So in order it's: Rose: two months, Daniel: two years, Lavanda: Two years, and Eli: 5 years. Her relationship with her siblings is quite good, they all love each other.

ATTENTION: Eliza's section contains mentions of miscarriages, if that makes you uncomfortable please skip!!

Eliza: Eliza is the middle of nine, having 8 older siblings. All of Eliza's siblings are twins, just like she should've been. It's her older brothers, who she has a horrible relationship with, her older sisters who she has a somewhat good relationship with, they still talk to her after she left. Then it's her and her supposed to be twin, who passed in the womb. After she was born her mother kinda went off the rails, and she had several miscarriages, till around 10 years later came the 2nd to last set of twins was born, one boy one girl. And two years after them was the last and final set, as their mothers body wasn't able to take giving birth anymore, they were another boy and girl. Eliza doesn't really have a relationship with the last two sets, as she left when one set was 6 and the other 4. She does feel guilty for leaving them there, but she knew she couldn't stay there.

Mary: She has two older brothers and one older sister. Mary has an alright relationship with all her siblings. Don't get me wrong she loves all of them, but her brothers always did their own thing, one school the other crime. And her sister kept close to their mother. Mary would be the black sheep of the family if it wasn't for her eldest brothers continuous run in with the law, having gone to prison for arson right before she joined up. Mary was also helping her older sister take care of her baby girl, which caused Mary to be a little bit more distant to the idea of children.

Julia: Jules has three older full blooded siblings, and three younger half siblings. Her older brothers looove to pick on her 24/7, constantly teasing her and giving her hell. Her older sister likes picking on her but not as much as her brothers, her teasing is mostly her giving advice about certain things. And her relationship with her younger siblings is great. Her baby brothers love rough housing with her, and her baby sister loves playing dolls and dress up with her.

Allie: Allie has one younger sister who she loves dearly. Though her little sister is much more girlier than her and her mother approves of how she acts more than Allie, she still tells her to live the life she wants. Allie is completely fine if her little sister is the complete opposite of her, she tells her sister all the time "don't let no one take advantage of you, and beat the fuck out of anyone who tries to."

****

After the War:

Zippo: She plans on getting married, maybe have a few kids and continue to work at her dad's deli shop

B: Her plan is mostly just to settle down and start a family, she doesn't know if she wants to continue working odd jobs or not

Ollie: She has definitely decided that she's settling down and starting a family with the man of her dreams who she's loves and not Roland.

Torrie: Torrie plans on visiting her family for a short while and then move in with George in Rhode Island, get married and have kids

Marselle: She originally planned on coming back to the states and marry Skip, but since those plans blew up, quite literally (i'm sorry), she's now just living above her brothers sub shop like she did before the war. She's trying to recover from being an alcoholic and is helping her brother out and helping Rose raise her daughter.

Eliza: Eliza lives by the saying "Where you go i go" with Ron, she followed him to Korea, where shortly before that they got married. She's got one part of her dream down, but the second is whether she wants kids or not.

Mary: She just wants to go home, get married and maybe have a few kids. Mary just wants to have a simple life

Julia: She had a whole ass plan aight?? She's immediately going to find Toye, get his ass, marry him and possibly have a few kids. Julia had this plan set out since Bastogne.

Allie: Allie straight up just wants to settle down on her farm. She decided that after the war she wasn't staying in the military, she was almost 30 when the war ended, she had her fun, and she's done now. So she just wants a farm and a family.

****

I apologize for the long wait Monty!! I hope you like it!!

[allthewriteplaces]

Magnolia In May - Chapter One

Hello, everyone! I have been working since May to create this fanfiction and now, I am here to share it with you all! 🤍 That being said, thank you for being so patient with me while I try and pluck up my courage and get over writer's block to post this.

My story takes place in between seasons 5 and 6, with a few changes here and there because yes.

Story summary: Jessie Bennet lives in the English countryside with her uncle, her aunt and her five cousins. But one day in May, an unexpected visitor shows up on her doorstep, one who's about to change the course of her life forever.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 4551

Chapter One

I first met Thomas Shelby a year ago. It was a supposedly ordinary day in early May, the time of year when spring made its debut in the form of warm, flowery breezes, budding leaves on the treetops and scattered rain showers throughout. The days were getting longer, the nights were slowly shrinking back away, and the sun was starting to make more of an appearance, a rare sight in England, considering it was under a seemingly near constant cover of clouds. Even in the winter, it always seemed to be cloudy. Cold enough to snow, but I hadn’t seen snow on the ground since I was small. 

Because of the sunshine streaming into our bedrooms, me and the rest of my family had risen earlier than usual to get a head start on the daily chores. 

Everyone had a job to do and we ran on a tight schedule, like a crew on the Navy ships, especially on the Holy days, when the main goal was to get everyone ready and out the door in time for Sunday Service. Today was Saturday, and while I would have been more than happy to spend a few more hours in bed, there was plenty of work to be done around the cottage. 

I had spent the better part of my life here. Just before my parents died, my mother took my hands in her cold, clammy ones, I looked into her greying eyes as the hazy film began to cloud over them, and she told me I was going to live with my Uncle Albert, my Aunt Elizabeth, whom everyone else called her ‘Eliza,’ and my two older cousins, Sarah and David, in Warwickshire, the heart of the English countryside. 

She said the cottage was surrounded by miles and miles of tall fruit trees, rolling hills and lush green fields and a lake nearby. She promised that it would be my sanctuary, my own paradise, somewhere I can let all of my troubles go. 

Of course when I got there that cool, autumn morning, I was intrigued by the beauty of it all. The main road ran through orchards, past rivers and lakes, and continued onto the next town. Now and then, there were the occasional settlements where our neighbours lived and I could see the fires at night or could hear the lively music. I automatically sensed that this was where people came to get away from the stress of city life. 

Aunt Eliza, that’s what I called her, had already had her fair share of stress, her first husband died from something called consumption, leaving her with my older cousins to raise by herself on a maid’s salary. She was a pretty and sensitive woman, but though I wouldn’t call her a fighter, she was strong in her own way. 

She had this natural-born ability to put anyone at ease just by being in the same room as they were. That first night at the new place, when my homesickness was at its absolute worst, she let me sleep in the big bed with her so I would feel safe, saying. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.” 

Eliza came from a big family and had been raised Protestant by her parents in Glasgow, but after she met Uncle Theo, her first husband, she had sacrificed everything they knew and loved, to give their six kids, including my mother, a better life. My best memories of them were when my mother and I drove all the way across the Highlands to visit them during summer holidays and at Christmastime. 

Uncle Albert came into the picture shortly after Sarah got married and set off on her own path. The only trouble was, he was Catholic. The battle between Catholics and Protestants was rooted in history, and I wasn’t sure the reason, but it didn’t stop Eliza from falling in love with him. Like Romeo and Juliet, they went against their parent’s wishes and married in secret in a beautiful chapel. After which she eventually converted to catholicism. 

Tension was high in the family once my grandparents found out about the marriage, it was common for disputes to start, sometimes from the smallest thing, and during those arguments, which seem so petty now, I would be sent to my room to play and asked that I play as loud as I could so I wouldn’t hear the fighting. 

Eventually, I had enough and actually ran away from home. It was stupid, really, I shouldn’t have done it, but I just couldn’t stand it. It was Uncle Albert who found me, soaked to the skin and sick as a dog from being out in the rain for so long. 

The only good thing about it, was that for once, they weren’t shouting at each other, they were all hovering over me and my grandfather was calling for a doctor. Me running away seemed to snap them out of it, if only for just a few minutes, I still remember opening my teary eyes and saying, “Why doesn’t anyone love each other anymore?” 

That was when it hit them, just how much this was impacting me, a small child of ten years old, who was somehow trapped in the middle of this feud that had nothing whatsoever to do with me, and doing whatever it took in an attempt to stop it. 

Tears were shed and everyone embraced each other. A truce was formed that day. No more yelling, no more shouting. And to this day, we still see each other around the holidays. 

It was nearly six o’clock when I rolled over in bed, roused by the sunlight streaming in through the thin veil of curtains covering my bedroom window. The sky had taken on glorious shades of pink, orange and violet, casting shadows on the canopy and on the striped walls. I didn’t want to move from that spot, I wanted to stay in bed where it was nice and comfortable, but the second I heard three-month-old Violet, the baby of the family, babbling in her crib, I lifted the sheets back and rolled out, making sure the sheets were tucked in and there weren’t any wrinkles as I tucked the corners of them into the mattress. 

Making my way out of my room, shutting the door tightly behind me, her little voice carried through the hallway. She wasn’t in distress or anything, she was only talking to herself. When I stepped into her room and peeked into her crib, she was laying flat on her back, eyes wide open and a bright smile on her face. 

“Someone's wide awake, eh?” I said and her smile brightened. 

Look, I know I wasn’t supposed to have a favourite cousin, but from the moment I had watched her enter the world -- it was the first time I’d seen a baby be born, ever, so it was all brand new to me, I felt this strong connection to her, and this overwhelming sense of responsibility to protect her from any sort of harm that might come to her. 

Reaching down into the crib, I picked her up with both hands and held her against my chest, ensuring her head and neck were supported, seeing as how she wasn’t quite strong enough to hold her head up on her own just yet. 

“Mama says we need to find your pink cardigan to wear. I believe I put it in the closet after bringing it inside, but I’m not sure.” I added in a calm, soothing voice as she yawned and nuzzled her head against my chest. I bounced her lightly on my hip and went over to the dresser, opening the middle drawer and pulling out her fuzzy pink cardigan as well as a new nappy. 

“Jessie!” I turned to the doorway and saw Alice standing there with her hands on her hips. She looked so much like my aunt when she did that it wasn't funny. “Marie stole my hair ribbon again!” 

“Did not!” Marie yelled, stomping her foot. 

“Did, too!” Her sister yelled back. “You take them all the time!” 

“Not this time!” Marie shook her head. She was on the verge of tears. 

“Surrender now or suffer the consequences!!” Suddenly, the door burst open and Henry, who'd just turned six, started running around the room, followed by his twin brother, William. Both of them were still wearing their nightshirts, their hair was still spiky and stuck up in odd places, and as they chased one another around the room, they brandished wooden swords. 

Like most boys their age, they were always running around the house with their toy cars, trucks and planes, or roughhousing with each other. Roughhousing wasn’t allowed indoors and there were strict rules, set by my uncle, as to how far they could go before they would be told to end the game to prevent anyone from getting hurt. Their sisters were always welcome to join in the fun, and sometimes they did if the game they were playing was interesting enough for them, but most of the time it was just the two of them, conjuring mischief. 

“No! I won fair and square,” William argued, folding his arms across his chest, his voice raising in volume. He had a loud voice for a six-year-old and he knew exactly how to use it when he thought it was necessary. 

“No! I won!” Henry insisted.  “Admit it, you cheated!”

“I didn’t cheat, you did, you mongrel!” 

“I’m not a mongrel, you are!” 

“Mongel!” Marie repeated, pointing to Henry, then to William, then to Alice. 

“Stop saying bad words!” Alice gasped. “I’ll tell Mama!” 

“Oi! What did I say about calling your brother names?” I said. 

“He started it!” said Henry, pointing a finger at William. 

“And where did you hear such foul language?” 

“Timmy Munson,” he replied, twirling the wooden sword in his other hand. 

“Yeah,” said William. “He called his brother, Davy, that word last Sunday on the way back from Church. Then he wrestled him to the ground and got all muddy and dirty. His parents didn’t even bat an eye. They were too busy ” 

That explains it. 

Timmy Munson was nearly sixteen and was referred to as the ‘leader of the pack.’ or the town’s trouble maker by the adults around him. He swore, he smoked, he stole his father’s liquor and teased the girls at church something terrible, with the parents seemingly oblivious to what was going on, or decidedly ignoring his rebellious behaviour, hence why neither Henry, nor William were allowed to play with Timmy, and the girls weren’t allowed to speak to him. 

My aunt and uncle thought he was a bad influence and they were right. There were rumours that he was dating Misty Bradford, Father Bradford’s daughter. At Church, we called all the leaders ‘Father.’ His daughter, Misty, was fifteen, not quite old enough to start dating yet, but Alice once told me that she heard her say that he was handsome, but also, that he was the sort of boy that would date you for five minutes and then as soon as a prettier girl would come along, he would leave you without a second thought. 

On the other hand, I was glad that Misty was a sensible girl who wouldn’t fall to the temptations of the neighbourhood scoundrel, but on the other hand, I wondered if the reason why Timmy acted out was because it was the only way he got his parents’ attention. Maybe that was just my instincts kicking in, but if that was the case, I would certainly feel terrible for the poor lad. Even still, I wanted to discourage the boys from picking up such nasty habits and words. 

“Right, well, just because Timmy Munson says something or does something, doesn’t mean you should, eh?” I said, gently placing my hands on William’s shoulders and looking him square in the eyes. He met my gaze unflinchingly, which told me he was really listening to what I was saying to him. “Don’t try to be someone you’re not just to fit in. You are a sweet and caring young man, and we need more caring men in this world nowadays.” 

“Really?” he asked. 

“Really.” I nodded my head in confirmation. “Besides, girls love boys who are sweet, kind and caring and who get along with their brothers and sisters. At least that’s what I’ve heard.” 

He nodded and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I say, let’s call it a tie, then.” 

William shrugged his shoulders microscopically. “Sounds fair,” 

“Now shake hands. Like the good sports you are.” 

They shook hands, laughing to themselves, signalling a truce. 

“GAAAAAAH!” Violet shrieked near my ear, kicking her feet and looking at her brothers as I delicately pulled her arms through the sleeves of her nightgown, putting it in a basket so I could take it to the laundry tub and wash it later on. 

I wasn’t sure if she was telling them to stop, or if she was taking a side in the disagreement. I placed her down on the bed along with her new clothes. Hearing her little shriek, both of the boys climbed up on the bed next to her. Henry nuzzled her tummy with his nose and William tickled her with his finger, making silly faces and noises. Her eyes crinkled and I could see the giggles bubbling up inside her, like the lava bubbling up inside a volcano and after a few seconds, she exploded into shrieks of laughter. 

“Anyone puts a tear in your eye,” Henry vowed, “will live to regret it.” 

“Yeah,” William agreed. “We’ll protect you. Like good big brothers.” 

Good, I thought, That’s one problem solved. 

Small disagreements were common among the four of them, and it was nothing I couldn’t handle, but it was too early for them to start bickering, and for some reason, I could feel this tension in the house, like something was about to happen, and they must have felt it, too, because normally, they were all well-behaved. 

“Right, Marie, I’m going to ask you once. Did you take Alice’s hair ribbon?” 

“No,” she answered, looking me straight in the eyes, which told me she was telling me the truth and that this time she was innocent. She had a habit of taking her sister’s hair ribbons when hers got lost, it was something that started a little 

“Are you sure?” She nodded affirmatively and I addressed Alice. “Alice, Marie says she didn’t take the ribbon, are you sure it’s not in your room? Perhaps it fell out while you were sleeping. See if it’s in your bed.” 

“Okay,” Alice said slowly and then quickly ran back to her room with Marie running after her. Soon, both of the girls returned, both wearing relieved expressions on their faces, though Alice appeared to be a tad more embarrassed than her sister. She glanced down at the ground, a tad embarrassed and then she met Marie’s eyes. “I’m sorry I accused you. I just thought that maybe since you steal my ribbons all the time that you stole this one.” 

“It’s okay,” the younger one replied, accepting her sister’s apology and embracing her. Internally, I sighed in relief. Like I said, small disagreements were common, but nonetheless, I was glad that it was over and we could all continue on with our day as if nothing had happened. 

“Alright, all of you go into your rooms while I finish getting the baby ready and then I will be in shortly,” I declared and the boys slid off the bed, bringing their toy swords with them. The girls followed suit, going into their own room. I turned to Violet, who was recovering from giggling so much. “Never a dull moment, eh, sweetheart?” 

Trust me, making sure all of my younger cousins were dressed in clean clothes and had their hair combed before breakfast, was a lot easier said than done. 

She babbled on while I dressed her and I sang an upbeat song. It didn’t take much to keep her entertained and knowing how to keep her engaged made it easier for me to wash and dress her. After a moment, I managed to slip the cardigan on, then taking her in my arms again, I brought her down to the dining-room where Albert was reading the paper. 

“Isn’t it a little early for that, Uncle?” I asked. 

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, love,” he replied, setting his gin down and then taking the baby in his arms, lifting her into the air and bringing her down again, kissing her cheeks. “There’s my little princess.” 

“You are not to drink that around the baby,” my aunt said, coming into the room and taking away the glass before turning to me. “Glad to see you’re wide awake, darling. How’re the children, they’re not giving you a hard time, are they?” 

“Nah. We had a tiny dispute with a ribbon and swords, but it’s all sorted.” 

“Jessie, what would we do without you?” she patted my cheek and then stepped back into the kitchen. 

Smiling and with one child ready, I went to check on Alice and Marie. Alice was the oldest at seven years old and fancied herself to be quite grown up in comparison to her siblings. She was an exact replica of her mother -- curly red hair, green eyes and freckles dotting her cheeks and loved helping me with the chores like laundry, making the beds, and occasionally cooking. 

She sat patiently on the chair in front of the mirror and her eyes met mine in the glass as the soft bristles of the brush swept across her hair. Adding a little bit of water to the brush helped to smooth out any tangles and maintain her pretty locks. 

Marie handed me the red ribbons while I braided Alice's hair in two even plaits down her back. However, when it was her turn, she wasn't as eager to be in the same room as me. In seconds, she'd already darted down the hall. 

 “Come along, Marie.”

“No! I don’t want to!” She shouted in protest and sat down in the middle of the floor, kicking her legs as I approached her. This was typical three-year-old behaviour, according to my friends who were already married and mother's, and these days, Marie had resorted to these sorts of tactics whenever things weren't going her way.  

Discipline wasn't exactly my forte. I tended to prefer negotiating or compromising rather than escalating the conflicts further by scolding. More often than not, it worked, but perhaps today the odds weren't in my favour.  

Without saying a word, I sat down on the ground, not engaging in conversation or looking at her until she stopped kicking. She laid on her stomach, her whole body now limp on the hardwood floor. 

“Now, Marie, is this the way young ladies behave?” I asked her, keeping my tone firm yet gentle. I was compelled to rub her back and soothe her, but coddling her and talking to her as if she were a baby would only encourage the tantrums or make them worse. “You don’t see your sister acting like that, do you?” 

She didn't answer me, but not because she was ignoring my question, but because she was considering the way she'd handled the issue. A few moments later, I tried again, hoping to get to the bottom of this. 

“Do you want to tell me why you don't want your hair brushed?”

“It will hurt.” I heard her sad, muffled voice reply. 

“Not if I use the soft brush,” I promised, then added, “what if I let you do it yourself like a big girl?”

 That seemed to draw her attention and she sat up and nodded. 

“You can wear red ribbons, too!” Alice added, doing her best to be helpful. 

“Yay!” She stood, taking my hand and soon enough, we were back in the girls' room, showing Marie how to brush her own hair. Then I braided it for her and put the ribbons in. At the same time, the boys came in, dressed and with their hair combed. 

“Well then, now that we're all dressed, shall we go down to breakfast?” 

“Yes,” they all answered unanimously and I led the procession downstairs. 

This time, it was the boys' turn to go to the henhouse to collect the eggs. 

They stepped into the hallway, slipping on their jackets and boots and followed Albert out the back door. The hens could sometimes be unpredictable and that would frighten the boys so he would always supervise. 

In the meantime, I would go to help my aunt prepare the biscuits and wash the strawberries and the girls would be in charge of setting the table. Alice carried in the forks and knives, while Marie was entrusted to carry in the napkins. 

“Well done!” I said once I stepped in to check the progress. Both girls smiled proudly at their accomplishment and they grinned at the praise. When we all worked together as a unit, things ran smoothly. 

Moments later, we all sat down at the table and held hands, bowing our heads low and closing our eyes as Albert led us in prayer, as was the tradition at family mealtimes. “Bless us, Lord of all Creation, and be with us as we share this meal. We thank you for our food and ask your blessing on those who prepared it. We thank you for the gift of our family. Amen.” 

Even little Violet knew what to do, well, in her own little way, of course. She sat in her chair and raised her hands up high, clapping them and uttering an exclamation of joy. For what was supposed to be a serious moment, she sure knew how to lighten things up. 

Topics of conversation usually involved upcoming and current events, anything Albert could gather from the paper, and plans for the day. I knew that I needed to do a bit more washing today and we needed to check on the chickens. 

“Due to a close call with a fox last night, we need to go out in the backyard to check on the coop. I suspect some of the wiring has been messed with and so we might need to replace it. That will be our task today, boys,” he said, and then glanced at William and Henry, who nodded. 

“Is the fox okay?” asked Marie, whose main concern didn’t necessarily match all the others’ who were more relieved that the fox hadn’t managed to carry off one of our hens. She was a very sensitive child and loved all animals, including those that some might consider pests. 

Foxes were among the ones she cared about the most. 

A few months ago, she heard one crying not far from the house and found that it was caught in a trap. She was distressed, tears streaming down her cheeks and breathing so fast, I thought she might faint. 

“Please,” she said, hands folded together, begging. “We have to save it!” 

“It would make a lovely coat,” William joked, but Marie didn’t find his attempt to lighten the mood the least bit funny. In fact, she was this close to smacking him across the face, and the Good Lord knows that she probably would have had my aunt not been present.  

“They’re God’s creatures, too,” she said passionately, appalled by the injustice she was seeing before her and by the fact that her older brother, although he meant no harm by the statement, was mocking the poor thing. “Daddy, please, we have to save it before it’s too late.” 

Fortunately, using a few tools from the garden shed, Albert managed to free the fox, but its leg was badly wounded. That is where my aunt came in. 

She knew exactly what to do when it came to nursing wounded and baby animals back to health. She grabbed some gauze from the First Aid kit, placed it over the wound, and wrapped a bandage around the leg. 

Of course it would be too dangerous to release it until it was all better, so it was agreed that the critter would stay for a couple of weeks. It was nice having her around. We called her Pumpkin, because of the orange colour of her fur and because we’d found her in the autumn, so it made sense her namesake would match the season. 

Let’s just say it was hard for us to let her go, especially for Marie. 

Now we sat at the table and part of me suspected that Marie hoped we would get another chance to look after a fox. Albert set down his knife and fork and nodded. “It looked as though he’d managed to free himself just in the nick of time, so yes, I would say he is perfectly fine.” 

“And he will continue to be fine. As long as the little rascal doesn’t get into the coop again,” my aunt added with a light-hearted smile. “Right then…” 

Just then, the telephone in the living room rang. 

“Alice, could you go get that, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mama,” she got out of her chair, walking past Violet, who had now amused herself by looking down at her toes, and picked it up on the second ring, a second later, she called out, “It’s for you, Papa!” 

“Who on Earth could be calling at this hour?” she asked, confused as he cleared his throat, setting down his napkin and then taking the phone from Alice. 

He spoke in a low voice, so it was impossible for any of us to hear anything, but we all remained silent and still, that is until he came back into the dining-room, looked at my aunt and then nodded, as though conveying some sort of secret message. 

“Help me clear the table, children,” was all she said and the younger ones did as they were told. There was that tension in the air again. It was even more palpable this time as she hurriedly turned on the tap and added soap to the mix. I immediately stood from the table and helped her scrub the plates and utensils clean. 

“What’s the matter?” I asked. Behind me, the children continued to bring the glasses over. The only one who seemed oblivious to what was going on, was Violet, who was smashing her fists quite aggressively against the tray of her chair and shrieking loudly, in an attempt to get someone’s attention. 

“I am expecting someone important,” Albert said, while my aunt immediately opened the cabinet for a bottle of gin. Before I could utter another word, he waved a hand towards the staircase in a dismissive and almost urgent sort of way. “Go upstairs and play in the Nursery. Neither of you are allowed to come downstairs until your mama and I say so. Understand?”

“Yes, Papa,” the children said softly. 

“Who is coming over?” Henry inquired. 

“Is it someone from work?” added Marie. 

“Maybe it’s Grandpa and Granny,” said Alice excitedly. 

“Off you go,” he said. 

Without questioning him, I nodded and took the kids upstairs to the nursery, shutting the door tightly behind me.

~ To Be Continued ~

[itwasthisorthemilitary]

February 25, 2024

Ahh Sunday. I spent the morning trying to find anything I could possibly do to avoid another impromptu church service. This morning my mom finally let me do the dishes so I've made progress on that front! After breakfast Xavier told me to change my shoes and grab some water because we were going on a walk (3+ hour hike) but I didn't ask any questions and followed him to Lower Los Mortales. He brought Audrey, Ahmet, Caitlin, to an area I hadn't been too yet with incredible views. We passed a chicken farm, a bunch of creepy looking worker ants that I really didn't like, amazing plants that people pay good money for in the US, and most importantly a new swimming spot. We ended our hike at this guy's house who lives insanely far from town and we sat on his porch for like 40 minutes learning simple phrases in the indigenous language Ngäbe. This guy was so cool and he speaks Spanish, Ngäbe, English, and French. Xavier is one of my favorite adults in this community because he takes any opportunity he can to further the understanding of the volunteers and teach us new things. All the praise to him for being so patient. As we walked down the mountain/hill I was just so satisfied, I got a solid workout in, worked my brain a bunch, and was with some of my favorite people.

The volunteers have been tasked with starting a community garden so the first task is germinating the seeds. We've distributed all of them and today the kids helped me start planting my cucumber seeds in an empty egg carton. Most volunteers have been asking their parents for help/suggestions for starting this garden but I find that the kids are just as knowledgeable and more eager to help. When we started looking for dirt to use for the seedlings, we initial found a very red clay-like dirt and the kids told me it was no good for seeds and we needed to find "Tierra negro" (black earth). Otherwise I studied some Spanish with some friends today, read my book and overall am having a very nice Sunday.

[girlactionfigure]

🔅Sunday morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

Moadim l’Simcha - last day of Chol HaMoed Passover, holiday of 7th day of Passover is tonight.

🔻MAJOR ROCKET BARRAGE late last night - at Meron & surrounds - 50-60 rockets - by Hezbollah

🔻DRONES this morning - at Ramot Naftali & surrounds - by Hezbollah

▪️SELF ENDING OF LIFE.. An operator at MDA's (Israel ambulance service) national call center (911 / 999 center) who was on duty on the morning of October 7 and received hundreds of horrific calls, ended her life today by hanging herself in her home in Ramat Gan.  Similarly reports of over 50 survivors of the Nova festival are reported to have ended their lives.  

Mental trauma is a serious issue in the current situation.  

-> MENTAL HEALTH HOTLINES

.. in English : Tikva Helpline by KeepOlim, call if you are struggling!  074-775-1433.

.. in Hebrew : Eran Emotional Support Line - 1201 or chat via eran.org.il

▪️RAMLA PROTEST FOR TERROR.. in the before-Shabbat terror attack, an Arab Israeli man of Ramla stabbing a visiting 18-year old Jewish woman, almost killing her, and then ran with large knife in hand and was SHOT and killed by an armed civilian.  Ibrahim Abu Laban, a council member in the Ramla municipality calls for a general strike in protest of the killing of the terrorist (since he was not actively engaged in murder at the time of being shot - only running-with-blood-covered-knife).

▪️SAMARIA TERROR AND COUNTER-TERROR..

.. Overnight forces raid Beit Sira, which is located near the city of Modi'in Maccabim Reut.

.. Shooting near Jenin towards Israel town of Shaked (across the Green line).

.. Overnight raid into Shechem.

🟡 CEASEFIRE.. 

.. The Heroes Forum - Families of the Fallen: ''We will not agree. The fallen will not be the silver platter for the return of Hamas rule over the Gaza Strip.''

.. Rumors of preparation to attack Rafah may be explicitly to create pressure for a deal.