#that was just so weird though??? did someone in their parish pass away that was in the air force??? were they just trying something new??

[bunnyb34r]

Why are the local church bells playing "into the great blue yonder" or whatever that song is called???

[morfinwen]

OC Name: Ian, Lauren, Q, Niner, and Ash.

Wow, this one's old! But answered at last.

Ian

Something really awesome he can do: His coworkers are certainly amazed by his ability to remain in Lauren’s presence when she’s in a temper, let alone how he can talk to her without getting murdered, or even -- sometimes -- calm her down.

A person, creature, or thing he adores: Squirrels. Growing up, he named all the ones he saw in his backyard, and would watch them for hours. He’d love to do the same now, but as an adult with bills he doesn’t have the time. He does have a bird feeder out in his yard specifically for the squirrels.

A secret he’s hiding: No secrets -- Ian wouldn’t be able to keep one if he had it.

Something he truly fears: Something bad happening to his parents.

A fond memory of his: The first time his parents drove to visit his mom’s parents on the Tennessee/Kentucky border. It’s a cozy memory of scenery passing in a blur, what seemed like a continuous stream of snacks and juice boxes, switching between CDs of his and his parents’ favorite music, and listening to his mom and dad tease and flirt with each other (subtle enough to fly over the head of a seven-year-old who still thought kissing was icky).

A place or item which gives him strong feelings: The sanctuary of the church where he grew up. It’s where he was baptized, and where he played guitar during some very moving services.

A dream or ambition for the future: Perform on live TV.

An angsty fact about him: He and Lauren had a falling out in their second year of college. I hesitate to say it was over Protestantism and Catholicism; it was, at least to some degree, but it was also about worldview, the nature of God, the role of tradition and conscience, and perhaps most of all it was about what we owe to people we disagree with. They’d argued about religion before, but it wasn’t until then that they actually understood enough to do more than rebut “Pastor Andrews says” with “Father Vernon says”, and for it to matter enough to them to blow up as much as it did. It took months for them to reconcile, partially because of stubbornness and uncertainty of how to fix things, but also because schoolwork and practice meant they didn’t have the time to figure it all out.

A domestic fact about him: Ian almost always keeps most, if not all, of his windows open. Even when it’s cold (for Tennessee) or raining. It can make things cold, and the smell isn’t always great, but he insists it’s too stuffy otherwise. Lauren is pretty sure it’s a psychosomatic thing.

A random other fact: He once had a dream where he was a dog, Lauren was a cat, and they escaped from their owners to travel the world together. It would’ve made a good movie.

Lauren

Something really awesome she can do: Play Chopin’s Fantaisie-Impromptu (Op. 66) completely from memory.

A person, creature, or thing she adores: Not sure if “adore” is quite the right word, but one of the most important people to Lauren, outside of Ian and her immediate family, is Father Vernon from her family’s parish. He’s known her family since before she was born, listened to their confessions, counseled her parents, baptized her and her siblings. Every weekend she drives the couple hours it takes to her hometown so she can attend Mass at Father Vernon’s church.

A secret she’s hiding: She’s written songs … about fictional characters. She even composed a suite of music for a pair of fictional characters’ wedding.

Something she truly fears: Permanent damage to her hands. Her music teacher once mentioned a friend of hers who couldn’t play the piano anymore after something heavy fell on his hands. If Lauren was the type of person to have nightmares based on things she heard, that certainly would have given her nightmares.

A fond memory of hers: Her grandparents would have a picnic sometime in June, every year. It wasn’t always enjoyable, between the long car drive there with all of her siblings jammed into a cramped place, and the potential for bugs, sunburn, and bad weather, but the park was beautiful, there were so many other kids around that there was always someone to play with even if everyone else had annoyed you, and when it got to be evening they would all gather around, play music, and sing.

A place or item which gives her strong feelings: Mrs. G’s music classroom at the elementary school. In addition to band during school weeks, it was also where Lauren had her piano lessons with Mrs. G on the weekends.

A dream or ambition for the future: She doesn’t think winning a Grammy award is out of the question someday.

An angsty fact about her: From first grade until she graduated college, she believed herself to be her parents’ least favorite child. Even now, it’s not so much that she doesn’t believe it as she doesn’t think it’s worth it to spend time and energy thinking about it.

A domestic fact about her: In order to have room for a keyboard in her apartment, she gave up on having a dining table, so she eats all over the place. She’s good about taking bowls and plates back to the kitchen, but there’s constantly cups and silverware lying around the living areas.

A random other fact: She hates her middle name. “Eleanor” sounds like an old lady name, not least because she’s named after one of her mother’s great-aunts, who is quite old, and has the kind of personality that suggests she was born gray-haired, wrinkled, and talking about “in the old days”.

Q

Something really awesome he can do: He is trained in the use of multiple types of swords. It was a quid pro quo with his aunt and uncle: Q spoke to his politically-connected buddy from boarding school and got the ball rolling on an exemption from some nasty tariffs, they arranged for sword fighting lessons for a year. He never participated in any tournaments or anything (too much publicity), but he can say without undue pride that he got to be pretty good.

A person, creature, or thing he adores: “Adore” doesn’t really describe how Q feels about anything.

A secret he’s hiding: He’s not exactly hiding it, but he isn’t open about precisely how rich and powerful his aunt and uncle are, or how many famous (or in the case of some of his cousin’s criminal friends, infamous) people he knows through them.

Something he truly fears: Just the idea of being buried alive freaks him out.

A fond memory of his: He’s got some good memories of some summer holidays during his time at boarding school. Occasionally Q got invited to tag along with someone, a friend of his cousin or a fellow classmate, on their vacation to some super rich resort in some beautiful, exotic location. He’d still hear from his aunt and uncle regularly, and he always had to be well-behaved, but it was less than when he was at school -- at his age, just hanging out with rich and influential people counted as “networking” to his aunt and uncle, so they’d call in to check on him regularly but otherwise left him alone, and in a less formal setting than school “well-behaved” was an easier standard to meet. While parts of those summers were genuinely enjoyable for him, years of living hand to mouth a hairsbreadth away from sleeping on a street corner has added a much rosier shine to those days sleeping in five-star hotels and eating haute cuisine.

A place or item which gives him strong feelings: The family pile. It was where his dad spent his summers, so spending his own summers there growing up was one of the few times he felt connected to his parents. He’s also spent a significant number of holidays and family parties there, so it’s also associated with the exacting standards of his aunt and uncle and the strain of Keeping Up Appearances.

A dream or ambition for the future: He likes to imagine his aunt and uncle getting taken down a peg (or two, if he's particularly angry with them; sometimes he dares indulge the thought of three), though he struggles to imagine a scenario where that happens without notable repercussions.

An angsty fact about him: Virtually all of his t-shirts are band t-shirts, including bands he doesn’t listen to, bands he’s never heard of, foreign bands, fictional bands, and bands with potentially offensive names or symbols (though he usually only wears those at home or when he can be pretty sure he can keep his jacket closed all day). During his time in LA, one of his roommates asked if he wore them because, as an orphan who grew up in boarding schools, it was the closest he got to feeling like he belonged to something. The precise wording was kinder than that, but it still kickstarted a realization that rocked Q’s world for a couple days.

A domestic fact about him: He’s kind of weird about household chores in general. Despite his best efforts not to be as dismissive as his aunt and uncle, he still grew up in an atmosphere of "The Help does that," and it led to a steep learning curve when he moved out after graduation. He’s on top of dishes now and has a good handle on laundry, but sweeping and vacuuming require active thought, he barely registers that mopping is an actual thing, and unless "swipe hand over surface then brush hand off on pants" counts, he has never dusted.

A random other fact: Thanks to growing up outside the occult community, Q is unaware of the various taboos and 'bad words' within the community, and more than once says something offensive. Fortunately, this never creates any real issues for him, as everyone he does it to or in front of is aware he's not doing it maliciously. In fact, to most of them it's more like a small child 'swearing' because they misunderstood or mispronounced something, or saying something offensive out of innocent ignorance. Q is not best pleased when he finds out: being unintentionally offensive is one thing, being unintentionally adorable is worse.

Niner

Something really awesome she can do: She’s very good at mental math -- basic arithmetic, conversion from metric to imperial or types of currency, multiplying large numbers. Most people are more impressed with this ability than Niner herself is: she’s never had to work at it, and for most of her life it hasn’t been terribly relevant.

A person, creature, or thing she adores: Niner has a lot of younger siblings. She adores them all. Around them, she will drop the pretense of caring about nothing, and show full enthusiasm for anything they like.

A secret she’s hiding: She hasn't told anyone about the abusive relationship in her past.

Something she truly fears: For werecats, the threat of getting caught by animal control and getting euthanized or ending up as somebody’s housecat is about as probable as your average person getting struck by lightning, but few werecats are completely immune to fearing it. Niner in particular finds it horrifying.

A fond memory of hers: Her last year hanging with her parents and immediate siblings was a pretty good one. Since their kids were all on the verge of striking out on their own, her parents allowed them more independence than they ever had before, but there was still the safety net and companionship of family. They also made a point of visiting some places that they’d talked about visiting for years but hadn’t gotten to. It was basically a year-long vacation, and made Niner more aware of her independent spirit.

A place or item which gives her strong feelings: An alley behind a bar in Atlanta, Georgia. It’s where her relationship with Marrow ended. It’s also where one of her recurring nightmares, on the rare occasions she has one, takes place.

A dream or ambition for the future: Werecats travel a lot, but they tend to remain in the same country, and after their roaming days as young adults, they tend to remain in the same geographic area. Niner’s roaming days might be over, but she wants to visit another country. It won’t be easy, considering that she lacks money, a birth certificate, and a general idea of what other countries there are out there, but Niner can be dedicated when she really wants something.

An angsty fact about her: Tied in with her desire for independence is a belief that she needs to rely solely on herself, that other people can’t be trusted or that asking them to bear even part of one of her problems is infringing on them.

A domestic fact about her: Niner’s favorite place to sleep is Q’s windowsill. It gets a good amount of sunlight, and the size is just perfect.

A random other fact: She once worked as a cashier. It was just for a single shift, she got paid under the table, and frankly she was terrible at it, but the hot dog stand guy was desperate, and Niner really needed the money.

Ash

Something really awesome he can do: Ash can make a vegetarian version of just about anything. He considers it a gift. To others in the household (particularly Connie) … it’s amazing, but not in a good way.

A person, creature, or thing he adores: A crocheted frog that ‘lives’ on a shelf in the kitchen. It was a gift to his great-aunt who owned the house before him. It’s not what most people would consider cute, it’s probably older than he is so it’s got some noticeable wear and tear to it, but to little bitty Ash it was a benevolent spirit watching over the kitchen, smiling kindly to everyone who entered, and never telling on the small boy sneaking cookies before dinner.

A secret he’s hiding: It’s not quite a secret, more a deeply personal family matter that Ash is aware of but doesn’t share with anyone. His aunt Lily isn’t technically his aunt. She’s a half-dryad who, because of complications tied to her conception and birth, is bound to a tree on his grandmother’s property and traveling too far from it is painful for her. Obviously this isn’t something they can share with normal people, but it’s a sensitive enough situation that no one outside of Ash, his mother, grandmother, and aunts knows the details.

Something they truly fear: Ash is a naturally patient person, but he is not inherently non-confrontational or easy-going. And he is not the kind of person to just stand by when something makes him angry. He’s not exactly scared of losing his temper and doing something he regrets, but he is concerned about someday ending up on a slippery slope and reaching a point where he wouldn’t regret it.

A fond memory of his: He and Danae took a lot of walks in the country when they were in high school, usually by themselves, but sometimes with one of his aunts or one of her siblings. One especially beautiful summer evening, they sat by a lake for a couple hours and talked about their dreams for the future -- not just what they were likely to do, but what they really wanted to do with their lives.

A place or item which gives him strong feelings: The abovementioned lake. He spent a lot of time there growing up, and there’s good and bad memories tied to it. Mostly good.

A dream or ambition for the future: He has a lot of plans for the house. He’s not sure yet whether he wants to try to turn it into a school for enchanting, or turn it back into a bed-and-breakfast type place for occult people. The former is more appealing to him personally, but the latter works better considering that there’s already a bunch of different occult types staying there.

An angsty fact about him: Ash is the least angsty person in the household, honestly. He’s very grateful for that.

A domestic fact about him: He hates dust. Dishes can stack up for a meal or two, laundry gets done mainly because otherwise he’d have no clothes, mopping only happens if the floor is sticky, the fridge is cleaned out on a schedule, but dusting happens every day.

A random other fact: He’s watched several YouTube videos trying to learn how to yodel. It’s gotten put on the back burner, now that there’s people in the house who could hear him no matter how tightly he shuts the door or how quietly he tries to do it, but he still hopes to learn how someday.

Thanks for asking!

[seanfalco]

Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part I}

Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None yet, other than maybe some sacrilege? (I’m not Catholic and I know this is probably not going to be everyone’s cup of tea) but there will be smut in later parts.

a/n: I got this prompt (below) & at first wasn’t sure what to do for it, until @midnightseance inspired the idea & @immortalled encouraged me to go for it lol. Thank you two for being my sounding boards 💛

Prompt: Initially I wasn’t gonna request anything because I... didn’t really have anything in mind but then I had a brain blast. I request you writing something you’ve really wanted to write but maybe have talked yourself out of. Like something you thought no one would want- like this is your sign this is your signal. I want to read it! Watching you write something your heart is fully in is one of my favorite things i’ve seen since following you. It doesn’t matter what it is I want to see it!!

Requested by: Anonymous

masterlist

You’d always thought Catholic churches were gorgeous — the architecture, the sculptures, the stained glass windows — so why did you feel this gut churning sense of dread at the sight as you approached.

“You sure I’m not gunna burst into flame as soon as we cross the threshold, like in some sort of horror movie?” you leaned in to whisper in your fiance’s ear and he scoffed.

“If that actually happened in real life, then I probably would’ve spontaneously combusted years ago,” he answered wryly, his eyes flicking to his parents on his other side.

“Right,” you muttered, taking a deep breath as you passed through the large double doors with the rest of the parishioners.

The inside was just as beautiful as the outside and you gaped at the sprawling windows, glittering colourfully as the sun hit them just right, while trying not to think about how anxious you felt. As you filed into the pew with your fiance and his parents, you could feel eyes on you from all sides as people whispered under their breath.

“Is that Matthew’s fiance? She looks rather plainer than I’d expected.”

“Is it true they’re having the ceremony here? She’s not even Catholic.”

“Well, she must be converting.”

Sinking down in the pew, you felt very out of place, and it was obvious to those around you that you were an outsider. You’d never been to a Catholic Mass before, much less any church service, really, and truth be told you weren’t really sure if you even believed or not, but this was what your fiance’s family wanted, though you knew he didn’t really care either way.

Matthew wasn’t exactly what you’d call a good Catholic boy — you’d definitely performed several cardinal sins with him already: sex before marriage, masturbation, use of contraceptives, the list goes on. But either way it wasn’t like you had much of a choice in the matter, you were joining the Catholic Church for better or for worse.

Soon the service began and you listened quietly, trying to pay attention, but amidst all the standing, sitting, and kneeling, you were getting dizzy trying to remember it all, and you tried to follow your fiance’s lead, but you were always a beat behind the rest, feeling more self conscious by the minute.

What are you doing here? you asked yourself for about the tenth time, grimacing as you quickly sat once more, glancing around hastily. It was obvious you didn’t belong, and your fiance didn’t even seem to care. In fact, he didn’t seem to be paying attention at all.

And that was when you saw him, quite possibly the last person you had expected to see.

Stepping up to the pulpit, he was dressed in black robes and a white collar, but you’d recognize him anywhere -- those wild curls, kind eyes, and breathtaking smile.

Kay.

Your Kay— no, not anymore. He’d gone to seminary school and you were marrying someone else, remember?

He was older now, and even from where you sat you could see the faint lines creasing his face, but he was still as gorgeous as you remembered him and your heart constricted for a moment as memories assailed you, overwhelming you — of awkward fumblings in the back of your car, of stumbled “I love you’s” for the first time, of —

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?”

Matthew’s voice in your ear snapped you out of your thoughts and you weren’t sure if you were grateful or annoyed.

“Huh? What do you mean?” you replied, trying to compose yourself, though you still felt like you couldn’t quite catch your breath.

“You went white as a sheet,” Matthew answered with a frown and you shook your head, your eyes returning to Kay.

“Is that your Priest?” you asked instead and your fiance glanced at you curiously.

“Yeah, he’s pretty new though, why?”

“He’s uhm, he’s just so… so young,” you whispered, stumbling over your words. “I thought priests were usually supposed to be, you know… old?”

Matthew snorted softly. “Don’t tell me you have the hots for him too.”

“What?” you hissed, glancing past him to see if his parents had overheard; they hadn’t seemed to and Matthew merely looked amused.

“Oh yeah, he’s rather popular with the other church girls, but I can’t see it,” he scoffed and your lips twitched angrily.

“I dunno, I can see the appeal,” you murmured under your breath. “I think he’s rather handsome.”

Your fiance rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he mumbled and you ignored him, turning back to the front. For a moment Kay’s gaze seemed to pass over you and he froze, his words dying on his tongue as he faltered, his eyes going wide with shock, and he hastily cleared his throat, unable to look away.

Smiling uncertainly, you met his gaze and his reaction seemed to answer the unvoiced question that had been plaguing you since he’d stepped up to the pulpit.

Clearly, he remembered you.

What were the odds that he’d be the priest here, you thought, settling back in your seat. It seemed like some sort of cruel cosmic joke, taunting you. Or maybe it’s a sign? a little voice in the back of your head whispered. Maybe, you agreed hesitantly… if you believed in that sort of thing.

——

The rest of the sermon seemed to go by much quicker, though every time Kay’s eyes passed over you he seemed to tense slightly, while your knotted stomach would give a flutter, too lost in memories you hadn’t thought of in years to remember much of the message.

So when your fiance’s mom asked you what you thought of the homily, you had to lie through your teeth, sorry God, and hope she didn’t question you further.

“Yeah, I wasn’t really paying attention either,” Matthew muttered as you filed out of the sanctuary after his parents and turned down a side hall toward the Parish office.

Shit, you thought frantically, you’d almost forgotten you were to meet with the Priest after Mass to speak about converting and beginning that process. Which meant you’d be meeting with Kay. Great.

“Ah, Father, there you are, lovely sermon,” Matthew’s mother exclaimed and you gave a start, your heart leaping into your throat as you turned to find Kay approaching.

Cool it, [y/n], you told yourself, trying to calm your pounding heart. How many years has it been? Besides, you’re getting married and he’s a fucking priest for Christ’s sake —shit, sorry, God. He chose this life over you, remember that.

“Father, this is our soon to be daughter-in-law, [y/n].”

Shit, you were being introduced, say something, [y/n].

Luckily, before you could decide whether to pretend you’d never met before or explain that you already knew each other, Kay was reaching out to shake your hand, and wordlessly you slipped your hand in his.

“How do you do?” he murmured, holding onto you a beat longer than was proper, but you didn’t exactly want to let go either.

“Good, I’m good,” you managed to stammer, his smile still doing things to your pulse.

“So, uhm, shall we step into my office?” he asked, finally letting go of your hand, almost seeming to have forgotten he was still holding it.

“Actually, we’ll be on our way. She’s in your hands now, Father,” your future in-laws exclaimed, and you waved as they exchanged a few more pleasantries before making their exit.

“Do I need to be part of this meeting too?” Matthew asked suddenly, as soon as his parents had gone and you turned to frown at him, sharp suspicion filling you, but you kept your mouth shut and swallowed it, not wanting to cause a scene in front of Kay.

“I… I suppose not,” Kay answered hesitantly, and a look of relief flashed across your fiance’s face.

“Sorry to run. I’ll see you later, hun,” he exclaimed, planting a distracted kiss to the top of your head before striding away, already pulling his phone from his pocket and you scowled after him.

“Sure, make me go through all this for you and then don’t even stick around,” you muttered under your breath as you watched him go.

“Er… shall we?” Kay prompted, holding his office door open and you gave a small jolt, shaking yourself out of your thoughts to enter the dark room, Kay reaching for the light switch as he followed.

“Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing to the set of chairs facing his desk before hanging up his robes and taking a seat as well, facing you. “[y/n],” he exclaimed, familiarity leeching into his voice now that you were alone. “To say I’m surprised to see you here would be a bit of an understatement.”

“That makes two of us,” you replied, looking around his office.

“It’s been so long,” he murmured, gazing down at his hands, “you look so —it’s uh, it’s good to see you,” he said, cutting himself off and you desperately wished you knew what he had been going to say instead.

“You look good,” you replied, offering him a hesitant smile, your eyes flicking over him. “Am I supposed to call you Father, or--? Because, I’ll be honest, that’s kinda weird,” you admitted, and Kay grimaced slightly.

“I mean technically you’re supposed to, but…” he paused to clear his throat, “—I agree, it is a little … strange,” he admitted as well and you were glad to see he hadn’t changed too much.

“Right? It’s too close to calling you ‘daddy’,” you muttered, realizing too late what you’d just said, feeling your face heat with embarrassment, as across from you, Kay had turned nearly as red as you felt, and he quickly cleared his throat, hooking his finger under his collar in discomfort.

“Let’s uhm, let’s talk about what you’ll need to do to join the Church,” he said, quickly changing the subject and you heaved a breath, thankful to ignore that awkwardness.

“Right, yeah,” you agreed. “So, what exactly do I have to do?”

Composing himself, Kay folded his hands atop his desk. “Well, usually new converts wishing to become baptized in the Catholic Church have to attend a series of classes for nearly a year—“

“A year?” you yelped, cutting him off, your eyes widening at the thought.

“—But,” Kay continued wryly, “we usually make exceptions for those marrying into the Church, letting them join on a more condensed timeline, opting for uh...private lessons,” he explained, his voice constricting at the word private.

“So… you’re saying I’ll be taking one on one lessons... with you?” you asked, chewing the inside of your lip. This sounds like a bad idea.

You were already painfully aware of the fact that you’d never truly gotten over your feelings for Kay and now you’d be spending one on one time with him on a weekly basis, all the while knowing it was only so you could enter into a marriage you didn’t truly want. Already your heart was racing and your mind was reeling with memories all clamoring for your attention.

You didn’t know if you could do this. If you should do this.

But part of you wanted to, if only to be close to him again.

“Will that… be a problem?” Kay asked slowly, as if he had to force the words out.

“No,” you answered quickly, “no, that sounds good.”

Liar.

“Are-are you sure? I mean, with our, ahh… history, I wouldn’t want —“

“I don’t want anyone else.”

At your words Kay’s eyes widened and you could practically hear his breath hitch from where you sat and for a moment neither of you spoke, the words hanging in the air like a confession and you felt your face once more grow hot.

“I mean, I don’t want anyone else for a teacher,” you amended, clutching your hands together in your lap.

I want you.

“Oh, y-yes, that’s… that’s good,” Kay murmured, taking a deep breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “We’ll start next week then.”

You nodded as you stood. “Sounds good to me.”

“[y/n]—“

Opening his office door, you hesitated, glancing back at him as he quickly called your name.

“Yes… Father?”

Kay swallowed thickly. “It… it truly is good to see you again.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, it is. Til next week, then.”

———————

Everything Tag List: @magic-multicolored-miracle @midnightseance @etherealsxnder @iamsexytrash @orions-nebula @slutforrobbiebro @super-unpredictable98 @misskittysmagicportal

[birdybirp]

Dye Together

Based on a conversation in a Discord days ago. Copia loses a bet and goes to Fae for help.

Totally SFW, just cutting for length. 

Once a year, the Church of Emeritus holds a charity drive. It’s a chance for the higher ups to rub elbows with benefactors and get fatter checks to fund the church for another year and beyond. Each parish had their own week of fundraising festivities, but the main abbey went all out. Events, parties, auctions. It was like a small carnival had taken up residency in the church’s walls and everything was bustling with activity. 

While everyone else was having fun, though, Fae was stuck in her workshop. 

Papa II had acquired a painting to use as an auction piece for the final gala held on the last night of the drive: Arthur Fischer’s Satyr Satisfies Nymph, confirmed to be the original. Fae did not understand how he got his hands on it, but she was now in charge of restoring damage that it had sustained since its creation in 1900. 

Not only did she have the stress of restoring an original historical painting, Fae had also been painstakingly restoring a tongue inside a woman’s vagina for the last two hours. But that was fine. Everything was fine. She’s a professional, and it’s no big deal. 

She covered all the windows in her workshop just to be on the safe side. 

Fae was trying very hard to focus on the colors and not the content of the painting, blaring music from her workshops’s speakers to keep her mind from wandering too much. She had to get this done by the next evening. If she got distracted by her own embarrassment, she wouldn’t get done in time. 

“Excuse me, Sister?” 

“Ack!” Fae jumped at the voice that shouted over her music. The sudden movement caused her brushes and stool to topple onto the cement flooring with loud clatters. She steadied herself to see Cardinal Copia standing in her doorway. She had forgotten to lock her door. 

Flushing the same red as her hair, Fae turned her easel away from the Cardinal’s eyes and scrambled to grab the remote off her table and turned off the music. 

“Cardinal, hello!” Fae tried her best to sound chipper and not like she was so nervous that she was short of breath. 

“I apologize,” Copia murmured, also looking a little embarrassed. “I knocked, but I don’t think you heard.” 

“Oh, it’s no problem. I shouldn’t be playing my music so loudly.” There was a pregnant pause between them, both of them shifting back and forth on their feet anxiously. 

 “Do you need something?” Fae prompted. 

“Ah, yes,” Copia pulled himself together and his voice shifted to the more proper tone he used during mass. 

“I require your assistance for something, Sister.” Copia started. 

“Of course, how can I help?” Fae agreed immediately. She would say yes to almost any request within reason, but that was especially true if the cardinal asked her. 

“Well, you see,” nervousness crept back into his voice. “You’re aware of the charity event, yes?” Fae nodded. “You dye your hair, correct?” 

Fae blinked at him. Her fire engine red hair was the farthest thing from natural, so the question didn’t even need to be asked. 

“Uh, yes,” Fae nodded, seeing he was pausing for an answer. 

“The upper clergy always offer silly rewards for certain fundraising milestones,” Copia explained. “This year I agreed to, uh, dye my hair for the gala if we raised  a certain amount by a certain time and it appears we have done just that.” Copia trailed off and coughed awkwardly. 

“And...?” Fae prompted, feeling like she knew where the conversation was going but didn’t want to assume. 

“And I was wondering if you would be able to... help?” 

“Help dye your hair?” 

“Yes,” he nodded. “I’ve never done it before and I’d rather not pay to have it done because I’ll want to change it back as soon as possible.” He glimpsed the easel just to Fae’s right. “But if you’re busy with work, I don’t want you to trouble yourself.”

“Oh, no, no trouble at all.” Fae insisted. “The layers I just painted need to dry, anyway.” A lie, but she wouldn’t pass up the opportunity for quality time with Copia. They had been speaking more often lately, and she had found herself looking forward to time she could spend with him. In a purely platonic way, she assured herself. 

“Thank you,” Copia was relieved. “I would ask the ghouls to help, but I’d much rather be in the hands of someone I completely trust.” 

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Fae smiled and ignored the way his words made her heart feel. She righted her stool and sat down, gesturing for Copia to sit in another chair across from her. ‘So, what’s the plan?” she asked. 

“Plan?” Copia echoed her, confused. 

“Yeah, what color are you dying it? Do you want to bleach it first?” 

“I hadn’t really thought about it...” Copia muttered, fingers anxiously tapping on the table in front of him. 

“So you don’t have anything?” Fae asked, and he shook his head. She glanced at the clock on her workshop wall. It was getting late and a lot of places would be closed. “Do you want to do this tonight?” If they could postpone until the morning, they’d be able to pick something up. 

“My schedule is entirely filled tomorrow, right up until the gala, I’m afraid.” Copia sighed. “I’d need to get it done tonight or I’ll never hear the end of it.” He was clearly annoyed that he even had to do this and wanted it over with as soon as possible. 

‘Well, uh,” Fae thought quickly. “I have bleach and the dye I use? Would that work?” 

“I suppose it would,” Copia looked over Fae’s hair and shrugged. “They didn’t say what color I had to have it, just that it had to be something unnatural.” 

“Uh, okay!” Fae tried to keep her peppy tone even though the conversation felt like some kind of weird business deal. “It will take a few hours,” Copia’s eyes widened a little. “But if you need to do work or something, you could bring it to my room and work on it there while I do your hair?” Fae offered. 

“Or we could just do it in my room?” Copia suggested. 

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Fae could imagine her leaving a mess of red all over Copia’s bathroom and towels. “I don’t want to ruin anything of yours, so my room would be better I think.” 

“All right,” Copia acquiesced. “I will meet you there once I gather my things.” He stood and made for the door before stopping. “I realize I have no idea where your room even is,” Copia laughed awkwardly. 

“Oh,” Fae stood and approached him. “Then I can help you with your things and then take you there, yeah?” 

“That would be very kind of you, Sister.” 

-----

Fae walked with Copia through the crowded halls, carrying some books and papers. Copia had more papers as well as some pens and other miscellaneous things from his office. Though there was a sea of people meandering around, Fae darted easily through them, giving a polite little “excuse me” to every person she passed. She was so fleet-footed that she left Copia in the dust. 

“Uh, Sister Fae!” He called after her. She stopped and turned, surprised that he was so far behind her. She waited for him to catch up and then made sure to stay right beside him. It was obviously too slow for her liking, but she was trying to be polite. 

As they got closer, Fae tried to think of what the state of her room was when she left that morning. Did she leave her dirty clothing scattered around again? When was the last time she cleaned? She was now regretting her decision to insist on going to her room. 

When they arrived at Fae’s small room, the first thing that struck Copia were the plants. Bright, healthy plants covered the room, and some hung from the ceiling. The walls were covered in paintings and crafts, including one large framed painting of a sunny landscape to make up for the lack of windows. It reminded Copia of stories his mother used to tell him of green witches that lived in the woods. 

“Bathroom’s this way,” Fae rushed Copia through the room before he could look too closely at anything. She set his books down on the counter, next to three more plants, and darted back into the room to get him a chair and something to write on. Copia stood awkwardly in the center of the bathroom while Fae busied herself getting everything ready.

Before he was a cardinal, he had lived in a similar room. The tiny bathroom he remembered living in was sterile, white, and cold. But Fae had decorated the entire room with lights, plants, paintings, and a lot of other knickknacks that looked handmade. It felt homey. 

Fae returned to the bathroom, wearing some old clothing that she used to dye her hair in. The old tshirt and leggings were covered in bleach and hair dye residue. She had also put on a headband to push her bangs back and out of the way. 

“Okay, uh,” Fae stammered. She was only used to doing this on herself and wasn’t sure where to start. She ushered Copia into the chair and tied an old, stained towel around his shoulders. “You just work and I’ll take care of everything.” She assured him, even though in the back of her mind she was terrified of ruining his hair. 

Copia arranged his things as best he could on the tiny tray Fae had brought in for him while she started to mix the bleach together in a little plastic bowl. 

“That smells toxic,” Copia wrinkled his nose at the smell of the fumes. “Is all that necessary?” 

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” Fae grimaced. “But your hair’s too dark. The red won’t show up otherwise.” Copia sighed and gestured for her to continue. 

Fae worked in sections quickly over Copia’s hair as he wrote, trying to get the bleach in as quickly as possible. Once his hair was coated, she put a shower cap over his head. 

“Okay, that just needs to sit for a minute,” she explained. “It might itch, but that’s normal. If it really hurts, let me know and we can wash it out.” Copia nodded, somehow able to get himself invested in his work. Fae stood around awkwardly, not sure what to do for the fifteen minutes of processing time. She ended up grabbing a book and sitting on the edge of her tub, trying not to feel weird about having an upper clergy member hanging out in her bathroom. 

After about five minutes, Copia started to squirm. Fae glanced up from her book and quirked her eyebrow. 

“Everything okay?” she asked. 

“It feels like there are ants crawling over my head.” Copia huffed. He went to scratch at his exposed sideburn and Fae stopped him. 

“Yeah, that’ll happen,” Fae said. “Are you too uncomfortable? Want to stop?” 

“No, it’s fine.” Copia brushed her off. He tried to focus on his work again, but got frustrated when he couldn’t ignore the tingling on his scalp. “This is terrible.” Fae tried not to laugh at his childish comment. “How often do you do this?” He looked to Fae. 

“Every 5 or 6 weeks.” She shrugged. 

“Why would you put yourself through this so often?” Copia questioned, looking at her like she was crazy. 

“I have my reasons.” She shrugged again, and Copia’s brow furrowed. He’d spoken with Fae many times, and she’d never dodged a question. She always spoke candidly and honestly, which is something he admired about her. He didn’t understand why a question about her hair would make her clam up like that. 

“What is your natural hair color, anyway?” Copia realized he had never seen her roots grow out. She must have gone through great pains to hide it. 

“I’ll tell you later.” She avoided another question, and Copia felt like he had accidentally brushed a nerve. “I need to watch that bleach out.” Her smile returned, slightly duller than usual. 

It took a little arranging given the tiny space, but Fae got Copia’s head under her bathtub faucet and washed his hair. Copia watched her face above him, her soft features hardening a little as she focused. 

“Thank you,” Copia said over the rushing water. 

“Hm?” Fae stopped and looked at him. 

“You were working on the painting for the auction, yes?” Fae avoided his eyes and shrugged. “You were busy and didn’t have to do this. So, thank you.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Fae smiled as she turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his head, cheeks turning pink. “I needed a break, and this sounded more fun.” 

Fae helped Copia back into the chair and turned on her hair dryer. As soon as it was dry, Fae started to pour the red dye into another small bowl. While she did, Copia got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

“Seven hells, I don’t even look like myself,” His hair and sideburns were platinum blonde. It felt like he was looking like a stranger in the mirror with the same eyes and mustache. 

“It’s... different,” Fae laughed. “But not the final product, so don’t worry.” She moved him back to the chair and started panting on the bright red dye. 

“I regret every agreeing to this stupid thing in the first place.” Copia grumbled. When Fae laughed, he flushed. “Sorry, Sister, even if this isn’t a very professional situation, I am still a superior and should speak as such.” He had an image to uphold, and grumbling over such a silly thing wasn’t part of it. 

“You’re fine, Cardinal.” Fae smiled, and Copia could hear it in her voice. “I won’t mind you being a little informal in situations like this. It’s nice to see you with your hair down, so to speak.” Copia chuckled, and Fae did too. “But why did you sign yourself up for this?” Fae asked, curious. 

“I didn’t think it would happen,” Copia shrugged and then quickly caught the towel that tried to slip from his shoulders. “I transferred here last year from a much smaller parish. They had forced me to attach my name to similar things, but we’d never raise enough money. I didn’t realize how good Papa III is at fundraising.” He sighed. 

“You could still have said no if you really didn’t want to do this,” Fae’s brow furrowed.

“Ah, but then I’d be some stick in the mud,” Copia folded his arms. “I’m working under Nihil to become the next Papa, you know, and I’m trying to endear myself to everyone to transition smoother. Everyone liked Papa III so much because he was “fun.” He was and is more of a pain if you ask me, but I also want to look like I can also be... I don’t know. Fun? Entertaining?” 

“I think you can find out how to do that in your own way, though,” Fae said, finishing up his hair and sitting back on the edge of the tub to let the dye process. “If you try too hard to be like the last Papa, people will notice. You need to be you. I think people will find you entertaining, still. You don’t have to dye your hair crazy colors and do backflips or something.” Copia looked at her incredulously, surprised at her candor. “I mean, I think the ship has sailed on that first one, but for the future, you know?” She smiled playfully, and he gave a small smile in return. 

“I’m not so sure plain old Copia will win over any hearts, but thank you for saying that.” 

Fae thought of telling him about all the Sisters who swooned over him. It saddened her to think he was blind to that. But she bit her tongue. It wasn’t her place to say. That, and she was afraid he would ask her if she was one of those Sisters. She didn’t want to answer that. 

“You never told me what your hair color actually is,” Copia said, and Fae blinked. 

“It’s nothing special, really,” Fae looked away from him. She wanted to avoid the subject again, but realized how strange it seemed to get upset about the color of her hair. “It’s the same color as that platinum that your hair was.” 

“That blonde? Naturally?” Fae nodded shyly. “I didn’t think that light of a blonde could be natural.” He muttered and Fae rubbed the back of her head. 

“I guess it can,” She laughed awkwardly. “Here, let me show you.” She stood and went into the bedroom, coming back with a framed photo of a young Fae and her grandma. She was maybe seven in the picture and looked angelic with her blue-grey eyes and long platinum blonde hair. 

“I’ll be damned...” Copia muttered as he looked at the picture. “It’s a beautiful color on you. Why did you change it?” 

“It’s a little complicated,” Fae’s face turned a darker red and she still wouldn’t look at him. 

“I won’t pressure you, Sister. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Fae took the picture back from Copia and focused on it as she spoke. “How much have I told you about my family?” They spoke often, but only small amounts of her past had snuck into conversations.��

“Not much,” Copia said, thinking. “I know your grandmother raised you, but that’s about it.” 

“Well,” Fae chewed her lip, trying to decide the appropriate amount of information. She sat down on the floor against the wall as she thought. 

“I don’t know what my mom looks like,” she started. “Neither did my grandma, really. She dropped me off on Dad’s doorstep when I was a few months old. He hadn’t seen my mom in months and didn’t know she was pregnant.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Copia said politely, unsure about what this had to do with Fae’s hair. 

“It’s fine,” She shrugged. “It’s in the past. I never got to ask my dad what she looked like, but he told my grandma she had the most gorgeous long blonde hair.” 

“Oh,” Copia muttered, putting pieces together. 

“I had long hair until I was around 13 or 14.” Fae explained. “It reminded me of how I’d never know who my mom was, you know? So one day I cut it all off and dyed it. Grandma understood and didn’t make me change it.” 

The air was heavy with the seriousness of the conversation, and that feeling made Fae anxious. 

“Your hair should be ready now.” She said, not entirely sure if they had waited long enough, but wanting the conversation to end. 

Fae rinsed and blowdried Copia’s hair again, then they both stood and looked at him in the mirror. 

“I look like a tomato.” He muttered and Fae bit back a laugh. 

“It’ll match your red suit.” Fae offered. “It could look like an intentional choice.” 

“I was going to wear my red suit, yes.” Copia straightened and crossed his arms. “But I don’t think I want to look like a walking strawberry.” 

“Hey don’t be mean,” Fae nudged him playfully. “I have the same hair color, you know.”

“But it looks good on you,” Copia protested. “Old men should not have hair like this.” 

“You look fine,” Fae insisted. “I like your natural hair better, but you still look good.” Copia gave a small grunt in disagreement. 

“How long until I can change it back?” he asked. 

“A few days.” Fae said, and Copia sighed. 

“I’m sure you can call a salon and get it taken care of the day after the gala or something.” Fae tried to make him feel a little better and he appreciated her trying. 

“Actually,” Copia glanced at Fae through the mirror and away again. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind doing this again?” He asked timidly. 

“You want me to...?” Fae turned her head to him and Copia turned away from her. “I’m hardly a professional, Cardinal.” she protested. 

“Yes, I know.” He started gathering up his supplies to give him an excuse to avoid eye contact. “I just missed out on these types of things as a teen. Spent all my time studying, not doing the normal rebellious teen things. So this was... nice.” 

“Oh,” Fae flushed, surprised that he’d had a good enough experience to want to do it again. 

“That is, if you want to and are available. I don’t want you to put yourself out just for me.” Copia had organized all of his things into neat piles and now looked at Fae anxiously. 

“I’m sure I could find the time, Cardinal.” Fae smiled and Copia’s shoulders relaxed. 

“Thank you, Sister.” Copia picked up his things and gave her a polite little nod. “I have taken up enough of your time for one evening, though, I think. Thank you again.” 

“Happy to help, Cardinal.” She smiled. 

“Let me know if there is anything I can do to repay you,” he said over his shoulder as he headed to the door. 

“Save me a dance at the gala tomorrow night,” Fae teased as she opened the door for him. Copia stopped mid-stride and stared at her. 

“I would have done that anyway,” He said and headed out the door into the hall. 

“C-Cardinal, I was joking! You don’t have to do that!” Fae’s face burned as she called after him. 

“See you tomorrow night, Sister.” Copia said over his shoulder. 

Fae stood in her doorway, dumbfounded and blushing, until she noticed everyone in the busy corridor was staring at her. Her face was scalding hot as she backed into her room and shut the door behind her. 

[setsureadsshit]

Lost At Sea: A List of WIP’s I am finally letting go of [ Part 2 ]

[ Part 1 ]

Exactly what it says on the tin.

Very Sincerely Yours by semaphoredrivethru

Summary: Terrified at the prospect of humiliating himself in front of the ton and completely ruining his first season with his crippling shyness, omega Stiles Stilinski does the only thing he can; he invents a sweetheart away at war. A completely fictitious and utterly gorgeous captain, a gentlemanly paragon of romance and adoration, an alpha with whom Stiles spends years "exchanging" letters.Years later, an angry, war-battered Derek Hale shows up at Stiles's door. He's no gentleman, and vehemently denies the existence of anything remotely resembling romance. He's received every last letter and has come to collect on Stiles's promises of home and marriage, no matter what.

Last Updated: 2018

Fandom & Main Pairing: Teen Wolf ; Sterek

Personal Notes: AHHHHH, THERE’S NOTHING I LIKE MORE THAN A GOOD REGENCY BODICE RIPPER AU. HOW UNFORTUNATE THAT THIS ONE NEVER GOT FINISHED. IT WAS SUCH A GOOD START TOO, I AM SO DISAPPOINTED. AHHHHHHH SO SAD.

Sold by onlyastoryteller

Summary: The government has passed two significant acts that eliminate the rights of convicted felons. When Peter Burke learns that Neal Caffrey's Work Contract has been purchased by a private citizen, he springs into action.

Last Update: 2018

Fandom & Main Pairing: White Collar ; Baffery

Personal Notes: While this fic is amazing and it hasn’t been THAT long since it was last updated (trust me, I’ve held on to fics for over 5 years on the hope it’d get updated lmao), this fandom and pairing just doesn’t interest me anymore; mostly because The Bullshit Season really turned me off from the show.

Sypha’s Boys by ShifterCat

Summary: “Back in the tomb under Greşit, Alucard asked you about that prophecy involving him. And… you blushed.”“O-oh.” That brought her up short. “Yes. That.” Sypha glanced away, gathering herself, then looked back decisively. “‘The Hunter, the Scholar, the Sleeping Soldier: they shall travel together. They shall defeat great evil together. They shall… love together.’”Trevor blinked a few times, allowing that to sink in. Then: “Your prophecy says we’re going to fuck?”

Last Update: 2019

Fandom & Main Pairing: Castlevania ; Syvorcard

Personal Notes: I mean, it says what it is on the tin - it’s just a collection of smut vignettes and after the first 5 chapters the sex kinda just gets old and I start to crave actual plot. That isn’t to say it’s not well written and I didn’t enjoy it but..you know *hand waves* 

Partners by wordswehavesaid

Summary: In which Barry Allen is the Starling City Police Department's forensics assistant. Yes, Starling.

Last Update: 2015

Fandom & Main Pairing: The Flash/Arrow ; Flarrow

Personal Notes: I love love love love LOVE this fic. I love it SO MUCH and it physically PAINS ME to let it go but it’s time. Still, at 25 hefty chapters, it’s not really a bad deal to put your time into it.

Take My Body by paraselenewoman

Summary: Derek and Jordan are Alphas. Stiles is their newly obtained omega. Everything is pretty terrifying.If given the chance, though, Stiles probably wouldn't change a thing.

Last Update: 2015

Fandom & Main Pairing: Teen Wolf ; Derek x Stiles x Parish

Personal Notes: ......okay listen. I never said I was proud of all of my fic reading choices okay BUT SOMETIMES. SOMETIMES A BITCH JUST NEEDS SOME GOOD OLD FASHIONED A/B/O Dom/sub DYNAMICS IN THEIR LIFE OKAY. YOU CAN’T SHAME ME - but I am a little embarrassed to admit it so let’s head to the next fic.

That Which Binds Them by Flarrow

Summary: Everyone is born with a mark shared by their soulmate, located somewhere around their shoulder blade. They say the mark burns upon meeting one's soulmate. Oliver knows what his is, but doesn't believe in the system. Barry doesn't know what his looks like, but he wants it to be a surprise.Set in The Flash and Arrow universes, but AU in the sense that I'm not sticking to the storyline laid out in either series, though I may borrow elements when they work for the story. Barry and Oliver are still The Flash and Arrow. Idea of the mark's location was inspired by the brand Oliver received in “The Fallen.”

Last Update: 2016

Fandom & Main Pairing: The Flash/Arrow ; Flarrow

Personal Notes: I read this a while back but I do remember it being a really good story. At 18 chapters, I didn’t feel like giving it the full re-read treatment since I’m currently on a role but I DID take the liberty of reading the very last chapter and I can say you’ll leave this fic satisfied if you do read it, even though it’s unfinished.

Steve Rogers and the Tri-Wizard Tournament by gryffindor17

Summary: There’s not a person who walks the halls of Hogwarts who doesn’t know Steve Rogers: the boy with the righteous streak, hot temper, and massive crush on the Romanian Longhorns’ star Chaser, Bucky Barnes. But Bucky exists to Steve only on the front page of The Daily Prophet. He has long since resigned himself to admiring from afar, catching games when he can or otherwise following Barnes’s crusade against injustice through printed page.Until the man himself walks into the Great Hall on the first night of their Seventh Year.Bucky’s life outside of the spotlight is hardly worthy of a footnote, never mind a headline, but no one wants to read about Bucky Barnes being found face-down and fast asleep between the shelves of Durmstrang’s impressive library. Between his studies and the Quidditch Finals looming around the corner, the last thing Bucky needs is something like the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He knows Headmaster Pierce is expecting him to volunteer, but all Bucky really wants is to pass his N.E.W.T.S. and maybe twist The Minister’s arm into passing the bill about guaranteed pay for House Elves.That is until he spots Merlin’s gift to man sitting at the Gryffindor table.Then things get complicated.

Last Update: 2016

Fandom & Main Pairing: Captain America (MCU) ; Stucky

Personal Notes: It’s rare that I actually enjoy Hogwarts AU’s and I’ve kinda dropped out of the Captain American fandom so, while this IS really well done, I’m just not interested in it anymore.

Part Of Your World by Jenetica

Summary: Derek's a werewolf. Stiles is a merman. They're not supposed to work.Luckily, they're both determined to prove that particular fact false.Sequel to "Sea Foam and Sunshine."

Last Update: 2014

Fandom & Main Pairing: Teen Wolf ; Sterek

Personal Notes: This is the second part in a series and you should def read the first one it’s fucking great. The second one is also good but...you know. Not gonna be finished ever so.

Knot Your Playmate by Halzbarry

Summary: He quickly closed his laptop and laid back on his bed. Somehow he’d convinced himself to not only sign up for an online ABO hookup website, but to also meet up with not one, but two alphas to potentially sleep with and get him through his heat. AU where Stiles is an omega, and has to sign up for an online ABO dating website to find an alpha to bring him through his heat, and possibly be a match so he doesn't flunk out of high school and get sent to remedial school because of Harris. What he doesn't expect is to find two mated alphas looking for an omega, and for feelings to start getting involved. Notice: Fic is on indefinite hiatus and is no longer being worked on.

Last Update: 2015

Fandom & Main Pairing: Teen Wolf ; Derek x Stiles x Parish

Personal Notes: .......LISTEN. IT’s GOOD OKAY????

Last To Know by Never_Says_Die

Summary: Kink meme fill in which every werewolf and shapeshifter in Beacon Hills is aware that Stiles is pregnant before he is. And apparently the first baby!werewolf being born into the pack (their Alpha's, no less) is a big freakin' deal and excuse enough for everyone to lose their damn minds. When Stiles figures out why everyone's been acting so weird around him, he's not amused. 

Last Update: 2013

Fandom & Main Pairing: Teen Wolf ; Sterek

Personal Notes: This one is basically finished, like, it’s 21 of 22 chapters but the 22nd chapter would have mostly been just putting a bow on it, it’s already wrapped you know? It’s a really good fic I really love it, I should honestly just reblog it in it’s own right but I’ve already gone through the trouble of formating it so fuck it.

Lonely Road by CranApplePye

Summary: Stiles is running from things he doesn't want to face. Derek is running from a past he cannot leave behind. Their paths collide on a lonely stretch of road when Stiles' car breaks down and Derek is the only mechanic on hand. An unexpected closeness develops, but both men are harboring secrets and Stiles may have just found the one person whose luck runs worse than his own. When the past catches up with the future, it may be one collision that neither of them can survive, and it may end up pulling everyone they love down with them.As everything begins to unravel, choices must be made. Stiles must decide how far he's able to go to protect the people he cares about, and what he'll do when he hits his breaking point. Derek must decide whether he can overcome a lifetime of betrayal enough to trust in someone again, and what he's willing to sacrifice if he is. And Scott and Allison must decide what it means to stand by your friends, and what price they are each willing to pay to do what is right.

Last Update: 2015

Fandom & Main Pairing: Teen Wolf ; Sterek

Personal Notes: I AM REALLY MAD THIS NEVER GOT FINISHED. SUCH A COMPELLING STORY. SUCH A FRESH TAKE ON WHAT THE CANON COULD HAVE BEEN. AAAAAAAAAAAAH.

Lost In The Flood by Skaboom

Summary: When social services finally barges in and takes Isaac away from his father, granting custody to his aunt, Isaac gets the first good night's sleep he's had since his mother died, but that doesn't mean that everything is easy from there on out. There's a lot of lingering damage, and with everyone gossiping about him at school, it's hard to find someone to turn to, but with the help of a caring Aunt, a great therapist, and an unexpected friendship with Stiles, a kid on his lacrosse team, Isaac might finally be on the right path.

Last Update: 2017

Fandom & Main Pairing: Teen Wolf ; Stisaac

Personal Notes: Another sad goodbye, there has never been enough Stisaac fic in this fandom for me so seeing what few good fics there were go unfinished is particularly bitter to me.

[thatsparrow]

(fleabag/priest • read on ao3)

I love you, too.

It'll pass.

Much like God, that last bit turned out to be a lie. 

—

It's two years later and things are—fine, actually. Good, even. Cashiers ask you how you are, and you say, "I'm doing well, thanks," and it doesn't even feel like a lie. The cafe is, somehow, still a success—enough so that you can afford to do things like buy a new awning and replace the linoleum. You even spend a weekend with drop-cloths spread out over your nice, recently-replaced linoleum and give the interior a new coat of paint. You choose this pastel, light-washed teal color that looked cheery on the swatches but mostly reminds you of watered-down mouthwash. Still, when the sun comes in during the afternoons, it looks nice. You get compliments on it.

All the guinea pig pictures are still up, of course.

Both Hillary and Stephanie (who is, you remind people, actually a hamster) are also doing well, which feels like a miracle. A few months back, Hillary caught some sort of guinea pig flu and that had led to an emergency vet visit and several very-panicked Google searches about guinea pig lifespans, but then she'd gotten better and apparently they live for four-to-eight years anyway, so, she'll likely be around for ages yet.

(Hamsters, on the other hand, only live about two. Sorry, Stephanie.)

That banker—or, former banker? You never did find out what his new job was—still comes by. At least once a month, and usually on Chatty Wednesdays. He brings his wife, too, as he'd said he would. She has kind eyes—which is the sort of description you don't use very often, but suits her—and is both soft-spoken and full of questions. You learn that she bakes, because of course she does, and every so often she brings along a cloth-lined basket of lavender cookies or rose-frosted cupcakes or something equally Martha Stewart. They're fucking delicious, too.

Claire still commutes from Finland, but less often, now that she lives there. She has an apartment in London for when she visits that's obscenely beautiful and rarely-ever used—dark granite countertops and these funny-looking geometric sofas and lots of tasteful artwork (though, none of them done by your cunt stepmother). It should all be gathering dust, but Claire pays someone to clean it once a week and to keep the fridge stocked (on the off chance she comes for a sudden visit, which she never does). Sometimes, when you've been out late and your own place is too far away, you stay there for the night. Claire did give you a spare key, after all, and it seems a shame that no one is getting any use out of those million-thread count sheets or the quinoa salads in the fridge. You don't particularly like quinoa, but that isn't the point. 

The two of you don't talk often, but often enough. You know that she's busy, and when she does call, it doesn't feel like an obligation. Like, sure, maybe your sister needs a calendar reminder to phone you, but when she does, she sounds genuinely happy to hear from you. (She also just sounds genuinely happy about her life, which is such a wonderful change of pace.) Tall, blonde, beautiful, Finnish Klare posts pictures of the two of them on Facebook sometimes (yes, you got a Facebook just to friend him)—mostly selfies, all taken by him, of him and Claire in various corners of the world. Stern-looking, northern cities where the sun doesn't rise part of the year, and bright, fruit-flavored beaches where the sun never sets. Claire looks half-annoyed in all of them, but the kind of annoyance that's covering up how pleased she really is. Like she isn't allowed to look too happy about her tall, blonde, beautiful, Finnish boyfriend and how much he clearly adores his tall, brunette, equally-beautiful, British girlfriend.

"If you have a child, will you also name it Claire?"

"What? Don't be silly, we're not having a child. I don't even know if we're going to get married."

(She does, and they are.)

"You could spell it with a ch so it's a little bit different. Something silly and American, like C-h-l-a-y-r-e."

"Stop it."

(She's smiling on the other end of the phone. You expect they'll announce the pregnancy by the end of the year.)

"It's gender-neutral, too, so you're set either way. Come on—you both have perfect bones and perfect hair and it'd be such a shame to waste that. "

"You're ridiculous."

"Always, but I think I'd be a great Aunt to little Chlayre."

"I'm going, now."

Apparently, having sex with someone who has the same name as you is weird, but you get used to it. And, apparently, the sex has been so amazing anyway that it's worth a little weirdness. Good for her. God knows she needed it.

(Speaking of God—)

He moved parishes shortly after the wedding. Not God, of course, but—well, you know. You'd thought it a little dramatic to move entire cities just because you'd had sex, but it was also arguably less dramatic than his leaving the Church, so. Likely he had made the right call. You probably would have ended up hating each other by the end, anyway, if he'd stayed. It wouldn't have worked out, because when do these things ever? It's good that he left. (It isn't.) It is.

Still.

You think about him less than you used to, less than in the days after—I love you, too. It'll pass—the bus stop, when it was all still so fresh and new. When you were feeling dramatic (drunk), you'd liken it to the feeling of having lost a limb, like he'd taken one of your hands or some vital organ when he'd walked away. When you're feeling less dramatic (sober), you liken it to having lost something you'd only been promised—something fanciful, like someone told you that they'd invented the ability to breathe underwater and it had all turned out to be a lie. 

Except it wasn't a lie. He did love you. He just loved God more.

One afternoon, you'd been running errands that had happened to take you past the church (six blocks out of your way, actually, but close enough) and ducked inside—not even to say anything, just to see him, maybe—but it had been empty except for Pam arranging some pamphlets at the front. You'd asked about him, because of course you had, and she'd said he was "gone."

"Gone gone? Like—"

(Dead?)

"No, sorry, my mistake. Moved. This lovely parish on the coast whose own priest passed away a few weeks ago. A little quiet, but he says it's very charming."

"You've spoken to him, then?"

"Yes, of course."

Of course—like it's so simple.

You leave ten minutes later, after Pam's talked you into donating another ten pounds to the collection and volunteering at another church event the coming weekend, but it doesn't really hit you until you're nearly back at the cafe that he's—gone. Not dead gone, but might as well be. That, much like Harry taking that stupid dinosaur toy, he'd wanted to close the door permanently. Maybe he knew you well enough to know that you'd come back to the church someday, or maybe he knew himself well enough to figure it was only a matter of time before he turned up on your doorstep, and so he'd taken the choice away from you both. What a stupid, frustratingly-adult thing of him to do.

You hate him and love him a little bit more for it.

You don't really know what moving on looks like, but you figure it out. You drink a lot, at first, and then a little bit less. You stop feeling weepy whenever you see a Bible, or a G&T, or photos from the wedding. Rebound sex isn't as good as you'd imagined (except with the Hot Misogynist), and so you quit bringing people home quite so often—at least until you can stop comparing everyone to him. You still masturbate over him, of course, but it feels less like a need and more like a way to treat yourself. Like, if you eat all of that kale salad and only have a glass of wine with dinner, then tonight you can wank over his stupid strong arms and his stupid beautiful neck and that stupid little smile of his. If you just make it through a whole lunch with your dad and your cunt stepmother and not say anything too profane, then you get to touch yourself and imagine waking up with him in the morning and him making you pancakes and other sickeningly domestic fantasies.

It's been two years, so of course you've moved on, but you've moved on in a way that lets you keep loving him. Perhaps it's irresponsible, but you're not willing to let him go entirely. Not yet, anyway.

 —

 Then, your cunt stepmother announces that she and your father are adopting a baby.

"I'm sorry, what—"

"You've got to be fucking kidding—"

They'd waited until Claire was in town to make the announcement. They'd invited you both over for tea, and you should've known something was strange about that, but then you're sitting in the garden with a mouthful of Earl Gray and your cunt stepmother says she's adopting and you have to flip a coin between spitting out the tea all over her tasteful linens or scalding the inside of your throat.

You end up swallowing the sip, but it's a close call.

"Well, you know, I've never really ruled out having children—it's such a blessed, beautiful part of life—but, unfortunately, I can no longer conceive naturally, and so your father and I have been discussing—"

(It wasn't a discussion.)

"—and we submitted the applications and met with a mother this week. Lovely girl, terribly awful home life, can't afford to raise the baby on her own, but she's just got the most marvelous cheek bones."

(Cunt.)

"Anyway, she's due in a couple of weeks and then we'll be bringing little Felicity home—"

(Felicity?)

"—and we'd just love it if you two were there for the christening."

"Yeah, because this family has such a great record with godmothers."

Your cunt stepmother is still smiling but the look she's giving you is acidic enough to peel paint.

"Oh, look, I don't know." Claire's grip on the teacup is so tight, you're surprised she hasn't cracked the porcelain. "I've just taken time off to come home, and I'm really not sure I'll be able to again so soon—"

"No, but you must—mustn't she, darling? Your father just couldn't bear it if you weren't there for such an important day, and we did so miss you at the wedding reception."

(Two years, and she still hasn't let that go.)

"Say you will, Claire. Please? Promise us you'll be there." How your cunt stepmother manages to look so pleading is a mystery, but fuck her if she doesn't have it nailed. Your father is still mostly silent, as he's been throughout this whole ordeal, but Claire must see something in his expression because she relents with a, "Yes, fine, alright. I'll be there."

For the christening. The christening of the baby they're adopting. Your father's going to be in his fucking seventies at the kid's graduation.

"Oh, how marvelous! It won't be for a few months or so after the birth, so you should have plenty of time to get everything in order. The whole thing will be just splendid."

(It won't be.)

 —

 The day of the christening creeps up like a bad dream.

(You know those events when you think you'd rather get a bikini wax and then take a bath in lemon juice than attend? This is one of those days.)

You found a dress that seems like a good church dress, a boat-neck, sky-blue thing that doesn't really do anything for your figure, but it is a christening, so. You get there early because your cunt stepmother asked you to (demanded it), and because Claire will be getting there early as well, and maybe the two of you can sneak some of the church wine. You figure you'll probably be handing out programs or directing people to their seats or whatever else happens at a christening. It'll last about an hour, and then there will be a tasteful reception with champagne and sparkling cider and your dad and cunt stepmother showing off baby Felicity in her white, wedding-like christening gown, and then you can go home and forget the whole thing ever happened.

That's the plan, anyway.

You get to the church a half-hour before the christening starts (which is still later than you were meant to be here, but fuck it) and your cunt stepmother is already in—well, a tizzy. She's wearing this funny, artsy-looking gown that's patterned like stained glass and you wish it looked worse on her than it does. She's not yet holding baby Felicity (because this day isn't really about baby Felicity) but she is deep in conversation with the priest up near the altar, who's already dressed in his own decorative christening robes. Then your cunt stepmother looks up and sees you standing in the aisle, half-debating whether you could hide under the pews, and she's calling out your name and saying, "Thank God you're finally here—sorry, Father," and, "Oh, do you remember—?"

(It's him.)

"—he's the priest who officiated our wedding. He's not in the parish anymore—such a shame—but when I knew we'd be adopting little Felicity, I contacted him to find out if he'd be willing to perform the ceremony. Such a dear, isn't he?"

(It's him.)

"I do so love the symmetry of it. And it seemed such a hassle trying to find another priest we'd connect with when we already knew such a nice fellow."

(It's him, it's him—fuck me—it's him.)

He smiles when he sees you, a nice, polite, church smile. Of course, he's had however many weeks to prepare for this whereas you've just had an anvil dropped on you like you're Wile E. fucking Coyote.

"Pleasure to see you again," he says. He even sounds sincere.

"Likewise—" you say, but then your cunt stepmother is coming down from the altar and shepherding you into the back and putting you to work folding programs—"Make sure you're lining up the corners, dear,"—and you've never hated her quite so much. Of course, if it weren't for her and baby Felicity and the whole stupid christening, he wouldn't be here in the first place, but you're willing to ignore that for the sake of hating her. Fuck, he'd looked good, too. And here you are in your fucking church-appropriate dress folding fucking programs and by the end of the day he'll be gone back to the fucking coast and—

You need a cigarette, or ten. Fuck the programs.

It's quiet in the alley, enough so for you to take a couple of slow, deep, wonderfully nicotine-filled breaths and get yourself together. It'll be fine. It'll be miserable, but it'll also be fine. You'll sit in the pew, and you'll watch him perform the ceremony, and try very hard not to think about how beautiful he is underneath the fancy christening robes, and tonight you'll drink yourself unconscious and then wake up tomorrow and forget the whole day ever happened. It'll be the worst day of your life, but then it will be over.

(Second-worst, actually.)

The cigarette is nearly burned down to your fingernails, and you're about to stub it out when you hear the side door opening, and you say, "Sorry, Dad, I'll be there in a moment, I'm just—"

"Got a light?"

It's him.

(It's him.)

You nod, your breath feeling very shallow as he comes up next to you, leans in towards you with the tip of his cigarette. The orange light looks like paint on his skin, like he's been pulled from a Renaissance painting. He still smells the same.

"Aren't you worried about ash on your—" you gesture down at the fancy christening robes.

"Not really." He exhales, slow; his hand is shaking a little. "I doubt anyone but your stepmother would notice, anyway."

The thought gives you a sudden rush of satisfaction. Fuck, you do love him.

"I tried to quit for a while," he says after another breath, the smoke hovering in front of him, "then found I didn't really want to."

(You hope he isn't actually talking about cigarettes.)

"Better than me—I've never even tried to give it up."

(You, at least, are definitely not talking about cigarettes.)

"How have you been?" he asks.

(Miserable, then less miserable, then better, and now miserable all over again.)

"Good, actually. Haven't run myself out of business yet, so. That's something. How about you?"

"I was pretty lonely, for a while. New parish and all that. But it's not so bad now, and I quite like being so close to the water."

(You're happy that he's doing well, and also a little unhappy that he isn't doing worse.)

"That sounds nice, actually. And it's good of you, to have come all the way back for the christening. You didn't have to."

He's giving you a look. You hope it's the sort of look that means, yes, I did.

"Well, your stepmother can be awfully persistent."

"Yeah, well, she's a cunt."

He laughs at that, both amused and unsurprised. "I don't think I can mention that during my speech."

"No, probably not."

His own cigarette is nearly gone; you'll have to go inside, soon, and then the moment will be over. You really, really don't want it to be over.

"Do you ever think about moving back?" Your palms somehow feel very dry and very sweaty at once.

"Sometimes. Often, if I'm being honest, but—" he exhales instead of finishing the sentence. "There's plenty to keep me busy where I am now."

"And how's—God?" You're just fishing for time now. Badly. 

He raises an eyebrow at you. "Mostly the same. A bit disappointed in the state of the world, but still filled with an infinite capacity for love, forgiveness, et cetera."

"Right. I think I remember something like that in the Bible."

"Love, forgiveness, et cetera?"

"Exactly."

He laughs again, then pauses. "Do you still have it, then? The one I gave you, I mean."

(You know what he meant.)

"Yeah, I've got it somewhere." 

(In your nightstand, but he doesn't need to know that.)

He nods, then lets his own cigarette fall to the pavement.

"Well, I should—"

"You should probably—"

If you were braver, you might kiss him. If he were braver, he might kiss you. You don't really want him to leave, and he doesn't particularly look like he wants to go, but without being brave, neither of you knows what's supposed to happen next. He'd go back inside and then go back to his new parish, probably, and you'd never see him again. It's painful, how much you don't want that.

"Can I ask you something?"

He looks both curious and a little afraid for the question. "Yeah, of course."

He'll be going anyway, whether or not if you fuck this up. There's no reason not to try—other than that you're a little bit of a coward, but that's not really an excuse.

"You said it would pass." You feel a little dizzy. "Did it?" His jaw goes tight a little, like there's a wire running through it. "I'm just—curious, I guess." You take a slow breath. Fuck, what you wouldn't give for another cigarette right now, or an IV filled with whiskey. "Because it didn't, for me."

At that, he lets go of whatever tension he was holding in his jaw. He lets out a half-laugh that seems—relieved, almost. "No?"

You shake your head.

"No. It didn't for me, either. I feel like I've spent the last few years cheating on God—loving him and loving you."

There it is, in the open then. I love you, too.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You want to kiss him, or maybe have him fuck you against the wall. You think he probably would, too. It's exhausting, feeling this elated and miserable at once; by the time you go back inside, you hope the needle has landed on one or the other, you almost don't care which.

"What does that mean, then?"

He laughs again. "Fuck if I know. Like I haven't wasted two years trying to figure that out." He sighs, impossibly weary. "I still don't want to leave the church."

"Okay."

"But I don't want to spend any more time without you, either."

"Okay."

"It would help if you said anything else."

"I would, if I knew what else to say."

(Kiss me, fuck me, marry me—none of those are particularly solution-oriented, though.)

"It's been a while since we were friends. We might not like each other anymore."

(Bullshit. To the friends part and the not liking each other part.)

"Yeah, maybe."

"We could still end up hating each other."

(We wouldn't.)

"Also true."

"But—I could come back. See you again. See if this is still—"

(It is.)

"I'd like that."

He nods, weighty, like you were just discussing how to solve world hunger instead of whether or not he'll move a forty-minute drive back inland. 

"I should actually get back inside, now, before your stepmother castrates me—"

(Which would be a shame, now, after all that.)

"—but I'll be in touch? If you want?"

"I—yeah. Yes, I do."

He nods, and then he's stepping away, back towards the side door and the interior of the church. You wish he'd moved the other way, wish he'd push you up against the pitted brick wall and kiss you like it'd kill him to do anything else, but he doesn't. He's already in his fancy christening robes, after all, and it'd be a shame to wrinkle them now. Besides, you've waited two years. You can wait a few weeks or months more. You can wait, and then the two of you will figure out what happens next. He loves you as much as he loves God, and that already feels like a better place to start.

You brush the ash from your own dress and go back inside.

(You had said this was a love story.) 

[indomitablemegnolia]

I have been dragging this coffin around, like Django, for a while now, and for some reason American politics has to just keep poking at a seeping infected wound; as a psychologist I know that the best way to deal with certain emotions and PTSD is to talk it out, if you can talk past the ragged breaths.  Now I am not much of a talker but I do write; I was thinking that maybe letting this out into the world might help someone or perhaps not fatally wound them by reading. I just know I have been  keeping all of this way too close for way too long. I am going to try to do this so those who don’t want to know can avoid. I do add a bit of fantasy into it as my own default coping mechanism; so it is not just a barrage of horror. There are triggers... physical pain, blood, rape, and political triggers...this is me screaming into the void. If anyone reads this, I would hope that I could inspire a kind word.

Good god, what fresh hell is this? I swear that sometimes I have to just kick this evil darkness, beat it back, strike out with every weapon I have until it bleeds sunlight; oh, and when that first drop of sun falls I have to keep fighting until I am bathed in that healing glow, smearing it over my face, rubbing it in to my soul; reveling in the warmth of the end of a battle well fought and valiantly one worth the effort.  This is always a rough two weeks for me every year for well 19 years now… the tenth falls and it seems some note really minor catastrophe befalls me; there has not been a skip year, a stand out or a delayed year; I will not whine about the past, but for the past three years it has been a political horror show on top of the menial financial, health, or personal failing; I focus on the possible and look up, which usually lands me down a manhole but I can’t change my stripes. In these last three years the shit-show of a congress (and congress is both houses equally guilty) put on these shows of caring and disdain, evil in its fake almost after thought of un-electability. Kavanaugh sent me into a bottomless tailspin; something about a Judge rapist being put on the highest court in the land on the anniversary of my own…attack; not that I think it sits any better in the pit of my stomach any other time of the year, but now… again… and I just can’t breathe, they had made my life all of the things I still struggle to live through… a joke, a pawn, something to leverage each other with… I am sick; politics making life, again, not worth living; nothing mattered, the truth did not matter, their ignorance, their lies did not matter. I find myself feeling rather Wilde; I was left feeling, broken, forgotten, as if I do not belong anywhere; there was nothing to lose myself in and no escape even if there were.

This country, this world, has become such a small, terrible place; I cheat, and I excuse myself, as I escape only by avoiding reality, I love the world that I create; but once there was a moment, out of time, such a terribly long time ago that I bring the memory to life often; for a time I had sunshine, and flowers, mud under my nails and rich coffee and I apologized to no one for who and how and what I am; I live with no thought regularly to why I should not be here and who I should be; yes, I do know that eventually I will die here, being banished to that other world where indeed I know because of the impermanence of life it will be as if I never did exist; every broken molecule of me will parish, every inch, every thought, but one. That molecule, that inch, that thought, its small, its infinitesimal, its worthless if you asked most, but in this world of whit and worry it is the only thing worth having; it is worth all the worlds in all the universes.  I cannot lose it; I can not barter it or sell it and above it all it should never be given away. This world must get better, it must stop getting lost in all the things that are not real, such as money, race, all the false differences we draw between us; there is only one true thing about this world, there is no escape, so make your difference here and now.  I must tell you, now that you see me, you know part of my life, my story and because of that I hope you understand that I Love you.  I love you, despite never knowing your story, we may never meet, never laugh or cry together and I will never kiss or hug you, but I love you as dearly as my universe, as closely as a flesh and blood friend.

I love you.

It has been so many years, I hardly talk about it, but I warn you now this gets a bit graphic, but it is my story; this story is not being told for anyone else's campaign; it is not a #metoo. This is me taking a psychological victory, screaming my pain into this void like echo chamber; I know no one may hear me, and that is fine. This is one of Dante's hells I live in, wrapped deliciously in my favourite personal coping mechanism a piece of detached fiction that reads like a conversation between my super ego and my Id....

I sought freedom, the only freedom to be had in this world, music loud, the delicious truth of life’s simplicity; music is a true elixir, ideally it should be listened to at 60-80 decibels and 70 mph; everything can be made right if you just put the music on and the top down, drive 85 mph on a country road, as if you are trying to out run time itself. The sun low in the western sky; fat fluffy gray clouds float lazily over a layer of black, brooding, formidable clouds rolling in like the undaunting wall of night, mocking the artificial azure sky that lays at the last eighth of the sky, about to be swallowed up. Music playing too loud, I sang atonally along; the cool breeze of autumn playfully ruffled my hair as if I resided in a third visible universe in one place unattached to the storm or the artificial sunny day.  The little silver dream I drove was cutting through the country side; coming up on a slower moving rusted out pick-up truck I worked the gearshift, not laying off the gas, dropping to fourth to pass, galloping ahead hard and fast, leaving the truck behind.

Suddenly, for the first time in ages the world almost made sense, err, I suppose it is awkward saying that because the sense it made was tenuous and momentary at best. Escape possible only by way of ignoring the horrors; after a week like the last, a little sensical nonsense was called for.  I had to get away, I had to distance myself from the news and the bluster, the horrible reality; the reminders that weighed my heart, slammed my soul, obliterated my psyche; in my home, my home, the country I love, whose founding documents read of words like truth and justice; a vicious criminal is appointed to the highest court in the land; a man accused of raping three women; a charge that not so long ago would have precluded his admission; but that was then and this is now, basically more of a wild west, kangaroo, dumb-fuckery idea of conscience; we are now a people who allow the separation of children from parents, to be kept in cages. Now, because of this stupidity, people treating justice like a partisan football; horrible happenings from my past are brought front and center of my subconscious every night as I sleep. Yes, I have read books and listened to tapes as to how to guide dreams, none have prevailed.

Letting my mind wander, it was dangerous; and yes, it circled back to last night’s bout with Fate, Christ, she hit me hard and fast; for a figment of my imagination she really left me bruised, broken, bloody; I can still taste the sickly copper iron flavor of blood in my mouth, my soul limping.  First. she took me on a trek into the past; tiny, horrible, years ago; Jesus, I realize, if this nightmare I carry heavy in my mind were a child it would be graduating high school; oh god, the thought, the kind that should never be thought; after, I was sentenced to a more vile prison, to a sentence more than double theirs, I see no possibility of parole from this place. I feel as if I were slowly being eaten alive; Fate, she held my face to the fire, she made me watch and relive it, over and over and over again.  

I despise the fact something as delicious as this breeze can trigger panic, terror, horror; this feeling was, twice upon a time, in the valley of faded fears, my favourite season, now it sits heavy on me, like a box of babies tears. Though now, it is that recurring nightmare, I try to break free, but as he said in The Godfather ‘every time I think I am out, it drags me back in.’ I feel so pathetic, seriously, I earned my PhD in psychology, trying to outfit myself with all the tools; I should have been able to drown this demon long ago, but alas, I find the zombie bastard can swim; argh, and yes, I know that isn’t possible, no one can fight off all the memories, it's impossible to erase events, for anyone, most especially me.

Out of the blue it seems, a wonderful friend, a friend one which I didn’t know I still had; sadly I assume that I am always left behind, but she sent me in a tailspin of introspection; she asked me simply, 'are you okay?' A real flesh and blood human asked me, she noticed, she pointed out that I am not acting like myself; I have been tearing myself down, doubting the simplest things, I have even, in an odd way, seeking her approval; asking permission to hang my own pieces on my wall, my usual 'it's easier to ask forgiveness, than seek permission', attitude gone.  

Gods, she is right, I know she is right; I am acting weird, different, calling myself stupid, pathetic, worthless; at first it started just stupid, small, subtle... most people bought that I was fine, they never saw it... I think. Anyways, they never called me on it. This friend, this good friend called me on it; I wrote a piece out of my usual character, at first, I loved it; then the next day in a mercurial hissy fit, I ripped into it, then in another flip I apologized for it, I am acting like a kid caught lying, obvious, blatant, guilty. This friend, ah, this beautiful friend called me on all my shit; like that guilty child, my psyche tried to hide it, then I stopped, I looked, really, I am. Then this introspection brought me to the realization that at times, not always, very rarely, I get weird, almost puritanical about sex. Usually I have a very laissez faire attitude; bi, straight, whatever flavour of the lgbtq or any other spectrum, if you get off on it, if you like it, then it's beautiful; there are people I love on all levels of depravity. It may even seem to them that I am a touch prudish because I do not partake, that is fine. Because this friend, this wonderful friend, shined a light, I could again see the bruises fate had left.

Fate had asked me, "so, if it is all good, what gets you off?" With that I was lost, nothing; everything; how was I to know? Of known experiences I have rape (not awesome) and a failed relationship (asshole never understood a thing I said, then tried to recreate experience #1); yup, two times lose on those. I know what I need, no desire, no require; with all the horrible mediocrity in this world that we seem to accept as fair sacrifice, I will not let love be among those. I want epic love, mad, passionate, crazy, undying, span the universes kind of love; anything less will be a poor substitute, meaning I can not, I will not let her take that from me; this is just one of those turns where nothing goes well. She shook me, and god, I had let Fate affect me.

The moment she reared her ugly head was pain. I was lost in a soft dream of sweet remembered soft kisses. Suddenly, a hit to my face, my eye starting to swell; a doubled fist to the gut, air rushed out in a horrible half scream.  A hand wrapped in my hair slamming my head into a stony ground, again, that horrible haunting memory.  Her voice chilling in a predatory growl, she wanted blood. She taunted me, "I KNOW what you wrote, hmmm, I know what you enjoyed, I told you; you can admit it, just to me, no one else is listening;" She ground her hips into mine from behind, "I know that you liked it, you loved it; I wonder, did you reach orgasm? Was it earth shattering? Did you moan like a whore?"  Fate, that horrible bitch, licked up from my jaw to my temple, I stopped the urge to vomit, I felt my hate multiply, but in seconds I felt a turn inward, "You know that the hecklers are still right;" she raked her pelvis suggestively against me, three more thrusts.

"No, but it seems to get you off, dry humping me; hmm is the bitch in heat? So ya like my ass? I have been working out." She slammed my face down into the stone.

I let a painful groan escape, "You like the rough trade."

"Oh yeah," I ground out lifting my head turning to face her, "about as much as I like you."

She laughed cruelly, standing slamming her foot into my kidney. “Look at you, still so pathetic, still that laughing clown punching bag, you are always such fun; there is a lot to be said about consistency," slamming her boot into my jaw.  "If it was not the roughness, the pain, was it the team effort? Now, remind me how many was it that you liked? Four or five? How many holes were the putting it into?" She ground her heel onto my palm, I try to stop the noise, a near scream, "how many holes?"  

I smiled showing my blood outlined teeth, "This many." I held aloft a single middle finger.

Fate came to torture my soul time and again, with unlimited creativity; it has happened more than a few times in recent days; using more taunts, planting more doubts, inflicting more pain; cracking open my soul leaving it weeping and bereft. The more it happened the more I began to believe that she was right; yes, maybe I really enjoyed it; then I didn’t take the moment needed to breathe before I reacted this time out of emotion, gut check. She was right, they were all right; it was all I deserved; I asked for it, I had enjoyed it. Though that moment of introspection given to me by a gorgeous friend, gave me time to recognize this is actually an extreme rendition, interrogation tactic, the kind used in interviews at Gitmo; some good interrogators can even implant false memories, causing false confessions.

I woke from the nightmare; I gathered my own thoughts.  I had to run; I had to hide. I hated; I hated the world and all the people in it, I hated myself and most of all I hated all this wasted time. If I had known Life before would I blame him, hate him… yes, right now, in fact I do.

I drove faster, not even slowing at bends in the road; why was I running? What good could it do? I know can not escape when the horror is inside my own skull. The green leaves starting to turn gold, some starting to age red at the edges. I whisked through the countryside, far too fast; it was liberating. God, this is my favourite season; there is something so sultry and libidinous about fall; I let go of the wheel, raising my arms joyous in the air. The feeling, the smell, the look, it seems to get my heart racing and my mind reeling; in pure celebration of the seasons change, the bite to the wind and the trill of cinnamon to the air, senses that are so much Life, oh me, oh my, oh my favorite things. Dark chocolate, eaten slowly, savored and enjoyed; passionate literature read in a hot bath tub that requires an entry like bugs bunny getting into the boiling cauldron; music, so many lovely perfect kinds of music, hard hitting, rampaging, soothing and truly sensual all appreciated savored and enjoyed… Please, Life... I need you.  Why don't you come? I call to you, I miss you.

Before even fate showed the aphasia really affected my self-confidence; I no longer had my words, I constantly sounded either stupid or drunk or both, that had shaken me to my core; with both of those, it changed my own reactions. Then America, my home, is not helping, the president mocking a rape survivor, his little toadies backing him up. It just tore a hole in my psyche, in my soul, letting all these demons back. This is not me really... but what is me?

For me, after the attack, the police, they never doubted; the bruised and bloody the evidence abounded, they had no trouble even finding the culprits, but the faculty, the students... not so kind... I heard the whispers, they never looked at me, not the real me, I was just a disregarded scrap.

My lips hurt, they were cracked in two places, my ribs were bruised, all making me wonder if Fate was more than just my horrible subconscious. More than the conscience that makes a coward of me; makes me want to run for the shelter of a strong set of arms.  My foot slacks off the gas pedal; I was losing my will to run, I realized that I was not able to run from this kind of mountain.

"Why can't you hear me?!” I yelled at the building clouds so hard my throat ached; they were heavy with rain. I saw the edges of refracted rainbows as they slid slowly in front of the sun.

Soft, so close to my ear, I felt the breath of Life. "But I did."

I swerved, nearly off the road, I screamed, slamming in the clutch not touching the brake, cutting the wheel sharply, putting the car into a full 360 spin, it almost came to a rest.  "Jiminy Cripcity Roosevelt Christmas, man. You could have just killed me." I collected my galloping heart, letting the clutch out in 3rd gear screeching off the tires. He laughed, his words sunk in slowly, I understood his words and they angered me, I slid the gearshift into 4th, without the clutch; "Yeah, right, you heard me, sure.  So, what you are saying that as usual when the world begins using me for a toilet brush, I am on my own; lemme guess, all for character building I am sure. Just go, I do not need you anymore.  Just get out." I leaned into the gas, not caring the speed, anger making my eyes begin to run.

"What the hell was that?" He reached his hand over, gripping mine, "wound a little tight their honey; let’s get you relaxed” he started rubbing the inside of my wrist, my breathing slowed. "I wish, with every ounce of power I have, I wish I could have come when I heard your cries, they caused an ache in me so cutting so horrible, I cried. I don't know how I heard you or how I am here now."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." I jeered my hand waving him away. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, his expression was so hurt, “God, I shouldn't have mocked... I’m just angry, but not at you,” I took a long breath, “I am sorry" I whispered, easing off the gas.

"Then just stop, pull off the road, talk to me."

I sighed seeking that cognitive reset.  "Okay." There was a wooded turn out just ahead.  I pulled the car over, stalling out, killing the engine. I rolled my eyes internally; it has been ages since I stalled out.  I swiped the little tears away. "So, what? What is it that you want?" My jaw set. "What?"

He sighed, seeing this was going to be an uphill battle; he reached for my hand bringing the palm to his lips; instantly my jaw slacked, and air rushed from my lips, "I missed you." He kissed the tender pad of my palm. "I know you have been in pain. Tell me what caused it; tell me haunts you." His fingers still softly drawing hypnotic circles on my wrist.

"Ah, pain, but where to start? We could do a chronological study into the beginning of pain; it might take a while."  I try to sound unbothered.

"Where this pain, your pain, the one that has had you screaming, where that pain started." His face so beautifully earnest, and there is an importance to being earnest.  “Please…” he breathed

"Words, it always begins with words, then those sticks and stones; they come hard."

He let one hitched chuckle out, "Wow, what a cop out." He dared.

I breathed again, then let it out slow, "Dammit really?” he nodded, “shit, with this whole 'legitimizing rape' floating around, taking even the one recourse for a victim of said crime has if it takes an unlucky turn. They have the audacity to mock and berate a survivor of a crime, I have seen them, mock hurricane victims, the disabled, they come just shy of saying that they want all of us defectives to die they put a rapist on the high court, now this monstrosity that will end my only piece of mind. My…" he held up his hand.

Clicking of his tongue stopped me. "No, not what I asked for Joan of arc, I was asking for the story, for this pain I see in your eyes, not a history of the worlds ills. I want your story."

"Eg, yeah, but that’s not important, it's really not even worth telling."

"Just stop; stop with the bullshit, stop deflecting; I want to hear your story, please, just tell me the goddamned story.” He gritted his teeth, “sorry, but I hate when you make light of yourself; you are making fun of my favourite person in the world, I am sorry just, please, just tell me."

"Cheese and crackers man, it is a horrid little pathetic thing. But fine." I take a breath, “Shit, my story…" I could not form the words. "hey, what’s better I could just tell you the tale of the little engine that should have known better, but still did it anyway.”

"No," he watched me closely, not letting his impatience show "I want to know your story, your pain, please."

"Shit, shit, shit, OK, shit... dammit," I hit the steering wheel, I pressed my forehead into the hard surface of the wheel, "but don't say I didn't warn ya. Shit” minutes passed, I said nothing.

He reached over holding my shoulders, "Honey, nothing that would make you too nervous to say, could be a waste of time, you are that fearless girl that never holds her tongue. Trust me, I think I can help." His thumb rubbed tenderly.

"I am neither fearless, nor am I a girl; I am a right old horrible spinster," I huffed, I fiddled with my fingers. I looked in his eyes; “I am" I stopped gathering my thoughts; "I don’t think you will like this as well as you think; I know what will happen after its all out, so, I must preface with a goodbye, you have been lovely. I know your opinion of me will slip; you won't want to know me after I finish, so thank you." He looked doubtful, but I knew, gods, I will miss him. "Before I start, I want to say, even if it means nothing to you, if no one ever tells you, I love you." A tear streaked from my eye, "What am I? Nothing," he shook his head vigorously, "look at me, I know most don’t think much of me, red round cheeks and usually a smile, no makeup and holes in my jeans; I have been told many, many, times after having conversations with people that my Naivety was endearing, but if I had ever encountered the real world my outlook would become as jaded as theirs. I may act like I have encountered nothing but sweetness and light in a noodle salad life, but that is far from the truth. I believe that you can encounter the worst that life has to offer and choose your reaction to it. You can stop believing in the world around you or you can continue to believe in kindness, understanding, and trust. Some say it is just denial, burying my head in the sand that allows me think that life is still what we make it… I Laugh and Laugh… If they knew what this girl, well, shit, here you go. Enough wasting time, I will get down to it. It's a shit story..." I wiped my hands down my face, the a swipe under my nose with the bad of my hand, then on my thighs, "shit," I sighed out, “Too many years ago it was a bright sunny day; a warm fall morning with a light breeze. I was worried about a calculus test; the biggest thing on my mind were cos A and sin B. I was on the phone ironing out a scheduling problem; I was talking to my internship mentor on the first cell phone in my family, dad got it for my safety because of my commute 90 miles to school. Jabbering on about what, I don’t even remember, I reached into the back seat for my bag. Sighing and hanging up the phone, preparing for the day ahead, or so I thought." I took a steadying breath, I had evaded long enough; I couldn’t meet his gaze, I just stared straight ahead out the windshield. "Suddenly, horribly brutality was introduced into my life; the surprise really isn’t as horrible as the feeling of helplessness; I was still bent closing the door with my hip I started to heft my book bag; my head caved in the rear door of my car; you should have seen it, truly impressive the damage a cranium can do." I remain in this protective tone, details curtailed "I was knocked out cold; I slowly came out of my haze I felt pain, searing horrible pain, but not my head, I heard ripping material;  I smelled blood my blood; flying back to reality and I know what is happening, the animal grunting and horrible rhythm; pain, it’s between my legs; no one had ever been there before;" I heard Life take a savage breath, it was nice to know someone cared, even if it was just for show.  I wiped the dampness from my face again.

"They raped me, I did not count or really anything." I tried to laugh it off, "they beat me, pulled my hair, god, one stood one foot on my head so I couldn’t move and urinated on my face as that other one finished, they called me whore, and cum bucket, and worse; every part of my body was used and abused; I lost, my hands blindly flail, I try to kick. I was savaged by animals I use the term loosely. They ransacked my car as they took turns, seeing my viola in the trunk and to punish me for fighting they crushed my left hand, they kicked me, beat my head into the pavement repeatedly. When they had finished with me and my car, the cruelest one of them, pulled the scarf wrapped around my neck and strangled me, they murdered me, and I do have to say part of me did die. As they did they laughed, god, they laughed, horrible laughs, they creep into my conscious when anything goes awry. I lost consciousness, I guess they assumed I died, I woke, I don’t know how much time passed, but I woke in a pool of blood and …err other, I got in my car and drove to the security station on the bottom level… yeah." I shook. He rubbed my hand; I pulled away quickly, I could have spit on him, but it was not him the anger belonged to. "What is madness but nobility of soul, at odds with circumstance?"  

"My god, I was expecting bad, but my… my heart, it is broken” ready to face the loss of him, I turned, I watched his face as the light died in the low, dark, rain swollen clouds; a delicate falling rain drank in the dusk; it felt like it swallowed my misery whole and for that I was grateful; shrouded in silence, the branches of the trees above wrapped me in their stoic peace. Shadows fell across us the boundaries lost their edges, as the borders were erased, once again the wonder if I had ever really existed. His presence was always so elegantly reassuring, and still I had to remind myself it was not him I was so mad at.

"Yeah, so, how was that for a hard luck story? The first time I have told anyone since I left the police station. Not exactly Disney Channel friendly, but I am waiting to hear back from lifetime." I laughed; the sound was hollow.  "Peachy side, I didn't end up knocked up or diseased; so, maybe the universe heard that plea."  I sniffed, my frustration returning.  He trailed his hand lightly down my damp cheek.  I flinched away, shy, stupid, embarrassed, "pretty pathetic, huh?"

He shook his head. "Shh, stop that please, you don’t have to mock yourself in that Cyrano de Bergerac style you always use; you are not beating me to a punch line, I was never going for one” he ran his hands over his face, “did you not hear your story? My heart is broken." I tried to look away; his gentle hands coaxed my gaze back.  "I heard a story of survival, those monsters tried to end you; here you are, fight intact, undaunted, truly indomitable, the rest just damaged facia."

I looked in his eyes, "Fate has been taunting, mocking me, whispering that I liked the assault,” I stopped, hesitating, “that has me doubting everything."

His face skeptical, eyebrow raised, "And you believe those taunts?" He shook his regal head.

Temper sparked, "kind of,” I stopped, feeling stupid, I bristled, “I do, okay. So what?"

"Why?" He cajoled. "Really, tell me why; the whole truth answer." He sat back like Cesar at the gladiator games, "hold nothing back, I can take it."

Apparently, he was satisfied that I was soundly kicking my own ass. "I wrote out, an imaginary tryst, you and I, we were on a boat, it was just delicious, an escape, there was a touch of rough to it... some of the details were... similar to... that." my voice stopped working.  "I liked it a lot, but then I got overwhelmed, confused; how can I like that, without liking the other.  The reality of that implication," I sniffed, fluttering my hands; that horrible weird guilt weighing my soul, I knew it was just my own psyche, but it was horrendously irresistible; I stopped I gave up; "shit, now you know; you know… everything why I am so deplorable... grotesque... disgusting." I rolled my eyes closed, I concentrated on my breathing, minutes clicked by finally I opened them, expecting that he had blew away on the breeze.

I met his gaze, I saw no pity, no disgust; I saw him, just Life.   Confused, I searched further, still none.

"You are not. You know better than most that feelings can be deception; sex, isn't just soft, isn't just rough, it is never one flavour; it is the connection, the intention." He ran his hands through my hair. Pressing it back behind my ear the way I like it.  "Honey, there is no equation between your rape and having a touch of rough in a fantasy. It does not mean you liked being helpless, beaten, or broken, the intention there was viciousness; there was no connection there, no trust" he sighed.

I gave a derisive chuckle, "right."

He dropped my hand, pulling away, gaining my full attention. "You apparently have made up your mind not just for you but also what I would think; you really must be magic; I think you would be surprised by what I think.”

I let a derisive chuckle out, “Sure because you are some kind of paragon.”

“I wouldn’t say paragon, but I heard every word you said. It made me so mad that you would think that way about you.”  I rolled my eyes.  He growled, and good god something in me was listening, something found the sound so delicious that it made me tingle; I scanned his eyes, there was still softness there. “Honey, look, I heard a story of an invasion, a horrible, massive invasion. I don't care if you were splayed naked on a table saying, 'come and get it big boy, give it to me hard,'” I let a snerk of laughter out at the idea. “if it was not the specific person you were talking to; that was an invasion. You cannot discount a rougher, needy kind of love making; accepting carnal love rougher more animal in its display requires trust in the intention of the other party, it is not simply the actions; Accepting love rougher, that act of trust is never more shameful or dirtier; it is a communication telling the other party, I trust you to be just this much, but no more; the instant you voice a dislike and it continues it becomes the other; it’s all up to you, whatever is pleasing to you, only you. There is no right, there is no wrong, no disgusting or dirty; sex is all about the feeling, expressing.” I understood what he was trying to say, but I really didn’t want to hear it, I knew he was trying to placate me, I tried to ignore him; “Don't be like a velvet glove cast in iron, dealing only in absolutes." I had to look away, “love is love, is love, is love, and it all matters” the storm gaining strength, he released the top and pulled it up; kissing the top of my head as he passed. "Sweeting, the space between absolutes..." he sighed, "remember, you said that is where you had chosen to live, you were right, it is the place where life happens." He ran his hands through his hair; his frustration evident, then a light hit his eyes; "I would really like to read this fantasy, curiosity leads me to wonder," he chuckled, "I just wonder if it would match up to any of mine." I shot him a skeptical look. “oh, honey; I have had so many fantasies since the first time you appeared.”

I had no words to say, I just sat watching him, waiting for the change.

He sat, looking at me, the storm began to rage, much like the maelstrom that had been inside me for so long; I pulled the piece up on my phone handing it to him. We were more than damp, I noticed I had been shivering; for how long, no one knows. I sat watching the storm split the sky; I started the car, flipping a bitch, starting back in the opposite direction; he was deeply ensconced in my words, he reached over with out looking up, turning on the heat, directing the vents at me.  

I shot him a look, just a glance; but what I saw. God, the power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that I had never believed in its power; no one now dares to say that two beings have fallen in love because they looked at each other. Yet, an unguarded look can tell you so much, love, despise, languor and fear; tenderly in his exquisite look, I saw the most gorgeous thing, understanding; an acceptance.  I was astonished, I was bewildered, dizzy, in a daze; I still did not understand, I began wondering what universe he was from... My stomach panged, rumbling as loud as the storm, I ignored it.

"Hey, can you pull in up there, you need something to eat." There was a neon sign in the distance, that advertised barbeque, I was surprise he could even see if as he didn’t look up from my words. I pulled in, reading the sign that promised barbecue and drinks, after all it was Texas, a bourbon sounded just right. I pulled in and parked; I was a numbed, near depressed but electrified, dumbfounded, impressed and slightly aroused; all the roiling emotions had my jaw clenched, I was disassociated, separated, on autopilot. My feet moving me through the rain, but I was a cloud of confused emotion; a stranger in a strange land; emotion was not my wheelhouse. Wandering idly toward the door; passing the columns, he gripped my shoulders almost punishingly. He spun me to face him, his face dark and serious, I began shivering, he pressed me to the wall. His face serious, but the passion burned; again, that growl, it hit the bottom of my stomach, warming, making my legs shake; he kissed me, suddenly, deeply, no warmup, no cuddling into my lips just immediately lips and tongue.  Tucking his knee between my legs pressing hard, soft mewling left my throat caught in his mouth.  He pinned my arms to my sides I tried to touch him, but he wouldn’t yield, he wanted to kiss me, his way; and yes, I liked it, he ran his tongue along the roof of my mouth, I moaned softly into his mouth, rocking gingerly against his knee; the visceral feeling. He started to deepen the kiss even more, his knee caressing, moving with intention. A quiet shudder rocked me.  He sucked in a deep controlling breath, resting his forehead against mine, staring deeply into my eyes; I shook like a leaf as we parted. Shaking I clung to his shoulders.

"Now, kitten, did you feel my intention, to bring you pleasure?" I nodded, "was there pleasure?" I bit my lip, a small smile creeped, I nodded. "You know, the fact that you know the horrible purity of absolute, pure despair; doesn’t mean that is all there is in this universe." He kissed me again, faintly. He passed his fingertips over my skin, almost without touching an experience that neither of us had expected or experienced before, the miracle of feeling myself in another body, "Now, did you feel that?"

"Yes," I whispered, I was shadow pinned against a sweating wall; needing more, my soul pleading for more, but I was frozen; "Oh there was a moment there; oh me, oh my; as you began a whisper of that kiss; clearer than any whispered words; god there was something there that makes it all worthwhile; that was the edge, hmm, the edge is what I have; truth of this fiction, it's the edge of flavour that makes the difference.” I giggled, “there was a time when I would speak words that made sense." I giggled.

"Yes. But what truth is there in sense?" He laced my fingers with his and pulled me after him; we walked in me confused actually wanting to go back to being pinned to that wall, we walked in.  The waitress took us to a booth; I slid in first, I gasped in surprise as he slid in next to me on the same bench. He ordered me a bourbon and an order of fries; I sat there blinking, he then turns me to face him, he leans in close whispering deep and low; his breath warm on my neck, "When we are young we felt we are invincible; as we age we find ourselves, second guessing, always thinking twice." As he spoke, he planted little kisses on my neck; “I am done with that, I thought I was done paying my dues, same for you; now, I find that I have something I do not want to lose. The day you came into my life I changed again, fear still there, but also a cacophony of joy, both at odds, now every day now is just a grateful roll of the dice." His hands skimmed over my arms as they draped around his neck, freely delicious. "I look at that, it is working; you are starting to hear me; I like you, feel powerless in the lonesome times, thinking to myself 'dear god what have I done?' But with you here..." biting the edge of my ear, "you can run baby, you can try to hide, but whatever comes it will find you. For us, there is now; yesterday is history, an hour from now, no one knows for sure; but baby right now it's just you and me and that kiss, it said a lot." He turned me to face him.

Our drinks and fries came and I took a long drought, I laughed cuddling close, I felt young, I felt alive, and I really had never felt that way, “Are we mad?" he looked wounded, "but the good madness, the change the world madness."

"I want to just hold you tight; right now, we can make this moment last; don't think about anything other than helping you forget about the past, for just a moment if needs be." His kissed me slow, long deep caresses with his tongue; I tried to match him, I was awkward at first, but he led me in a natural rhythmic motion.

I missed feeling him, tasting him, gods, it was like breathing. I kissed him with everything I had. "You know, your fantasy, it was gorgeous." He kissed me again, his hands cupping my cheeks, tilting my face for a new angle. He broke from my mouth kissing down my neck. "I have sailed a 20-foot catch; I have had some very similar thoughts, but I loved that very forward confident you that you wrote."

I fumbled with my hands trying to make him feel some of what I was. "Have you really imagined us together as well?"  My fingers sliding through his hair. He nodded, “I kind of assumed you were so out of my league."

He laughed, the sound rippled along my nerves; "oh, kitten, you have no idea who you actually are. Yes, I have, so many things I have fanaticized about."

I pulled away to see his eyes, they held no lie; "Even now?... after?"

He looked shocked, "Especially now." He said with conviction.

"Tell me one," I was breathless.

He held my had looking into my face, "Happily, but I would rather show you. I long to grab your hand and run to the motor inn across the parking lot, get a room." I looked out the window over his shoulder gnawing on my kiss swollen bottom lip.

"Mmm, story first," I stood firm.

"OK then, well, I suppose I could tell you about the one where you are the aggressor; holding me down using me as you will." He shook his head, "no, the one where I am the aggressor, holding you down? Kissing you slowly, teasing your nerves, dipping my fingers into you, feeling you shiver; nah, you don't look keen on that, eating chocolate ice cream off of your skin;” I really shivered, “maybe another time; I suppose, I could tell you about how I dreamt of kissing you, teasing you, then bend you over this table licking all the way up the back of you thigh and... no, no, not that one. Kitten, come here." He pulled my leg up so he could slide closer, fitting just between. "You have to use your imagination; I dream of laying you down, kissing you so hard, it takes your breath away; I want to make out with you like a teenager out passed curfew." He caressed my trembling bottom lip with his thumb. "I would get lost in your kisses; intoxicating, enticing, articulate, telling me exactly what you want, how you want it; using only the tip of your tongue you draft a treatise." He toyed with my hair idly, my eyelids began to sag half-mast; passion building in my body, "Wowzah, that scorching look in your eyes, so intent, you are so Wildely beautiful; why, oh why do you squash that want, fighting it like a foe, a weakness; please, just... let it free."

His hand began caressing my neck, I could not have stopped myself from rolling my head, so my neck was wide open for his lips. His tongue. "I love kissing your neck, licking, taking little bites, right here." His fingers wisping passed the place where neck meets shoulder, my bones melted; he smiled mischievously, shot me a naughty look wiggling get his brows. He slid his fingers along my neckline, his touch whisper soft; his voice low, rumbling, deep, "deliberately I descend along your succulent curves;" my body raising to meet his fingers, straining for attention. "I watch you arch your back, just like that; I can't take my time learning; your heaving breasts wanton for attention, nipples like diamonds," oh and they are, his two fingers caress along the crevice between my breasts. My breathing hitched, coming in soft pants, his eyes gorgeous reverent. "I reveal the state in which I see your nerves are in; rampaging, greedy, alive for just a whisper of a touch; oh, but I want more" he sunk in closer, enjoying the slight shake of my shoulders. His hot mouth kisses just behind my ear, his tongue licking along my skin; his lips playing with the cords in my neck as I let out a sighing moan, just a solitary note; his fingers toying with the area of my soft sweater, just over my the area of my nipple. "Your belly covered with barely visible downy hairs, soft, soft, so soft;" he slipped his fingers of his other hand up under the hem of my sweater, just above my waistband; his first hand dropping to my thigh, dipping between rubbing with soft curious fingers; the nail of his wide thumb, scraping along the seam between; "they are standing up because of the goose bumps I just made."  His fingers velvet soft over my skin, I try clamped my thighs together he keeps that from happening.  "Pushing passed the band of your jeans, I reach for what I crave the most." His second hand skimming a rougher scratching fingernail along the seam; his other fingers just trace along the skin along the edge of the bottom of my bra, his lips kissed along my neckline.  "I would make you moan," I squirmed, "I would form a symphony of your empassioned calls, all the delicious sounds of satisfaction; I will be ruthless in my intent, pleasure my only goal; releasing you from the past, my hope. I know you will want to run, to escape, but at the same time you will be wanting more;" he pulled back, "more; look at you, breathtaking, deliciously titillated. Your cheeks flushed, you lips slightly parted; eyes glossy, erotic, steamy, fervid, seductive, coaxing, shameless; saying every want your lips refuse." Pulling at the hem of my sweater, "I want to slip my hand under your panties, sliding my fingers across your damp skin.  God, I have wanted that for so long" His fingers ghost over my skin, reaching the edge of my satin bra; his lips crashed into mine, his kiss demanding, delicious, scalding; his hand enveloping my breast; his thumb rubbing delicately, I react honestly. I grabbed his wrist of his hand that was resting on my thigh, pulling his fingers to my mouth, sucking. The clench in my belly responding to his hand slipping under my bra. I pull away, gasping; I stand, dropping a ten on the table.

"Shit, I am sorry," his breath laboured, his face recalcitrant, "I pushed too far, too fast; I am sorry; so, where are we off to?" He looked disappointed, sad.

"Well, I decided, you are right," viciously, I let that hang in the air; “you should just show me.  Our direction, over there," I pointed out the window to the inn.

He looked like a child at Christmas, he grabbed my arm tossing me over his shoulder, I giggle and squeal, he moved quickly to the door. We were out and across the parking lot swiftly, he was running; the rain drenching us; he dropped me to my feet under the awning. "I'll be right back."

I watched him fill out the forms, pay the woman, and he bounded back.  "We will make, new experiences, giving you back all the power. Let’s roll." Pulling me over his shoulder again; I squealed, I laughed; he slapped my rump, I moaned.

And outside it was October Country . . . that country where it is late in the year and everyone is tired and waiting for that one good thing to break; country where the amber hills covered in fog, rivers are mist and ice; where noon shortly proceeds sundown, twilights linger, and mid-night’s stay; geese and dusks on their parade to the south; dilled carrots and jams are lined into cellars, sweaters, coats, jackets, are cycled to the front of closets, boots and gloves to the entry way, coffee and tea served hot and steamy with fresh cookies and it seems for a season everything faces away from the sun. October people, think October thoughts and wish that the Christmas stuff would remain hidden for another season, and passing nights, cool, bundled in warm socks and a large sweater walking or listening to the light rain on the tin roof hoping the winter doesn’t kill hope

[this-is-a-love-story-fleabag]

Dial-a-priest (2/2)

A man slips his phone number into our favourite Fleabag’s back pocket, but it turns out to be a wrong number, connecting her directly to a priest. Chapter 2 of 2. Click here to read Chapter 1. Also on ao3.

"Is this the part where you ask me what I'm wearing?"

"What are you wearing?"

He looked down at himself. "Pyjamas."

"It's 7PM."

"They're comfy."

One night when he was just settling down with a cup of tea and another book, his phone rang.

"Hi," he said when he picked up.

"Hello, Father," said her voice at the other end of the line. English accent, a bit posh, wryly amused.

"You make voice calls? I thought you were a millennial."

"I'm old school. You're Irish."

"I know."

"I should have known. I was curious."

"Is this the part where you ask me what I'm wearing?"

"What are you wearing?"

He looked down at himself. "Pyjamas."

"It's 7PM."

"They're comfy."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm wearing?"

"OK, but we're not having phone sex."

"I'm wearing the world's least comfortable cocktail dress and about three rolls of tit tape."

"Do I want to know what tit tape is?"

"Probably not. I went to a bar again."

Interesting. "Why?"

"I don't know. The last time I talked to someone in a bar he clearly thought I was in dire need of the phone number of an Irish Catholic priest."

"What did you say to him?"

"I think I was probably charming. I usually am."

He chuckled. "You're not wrong. Did you have a good time?"

"No. Someone grabbed my arse and I left. Didn't even have a drink."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Usually I would have ended up going home with him. I didn't want that. I think I just wanted to... make a friend?"

"Do you have other friends? Family?"

"Not really. My sister lives in Finland half the time. I haven't talked to her in a long time. Do you have a sister?"

"No. Why haven't you talked to her?"

"She thinks I tried to shag her husband, which is patently ridiculous because her husband is loathsome."

The urge to give priestly advice was too difficult to overcome. "Why don't you try calling her? If it's been a while, she might be glad to hear from you."

"I guess. Do you have a brother?"

"Yes. Why does she think you tried to fuck her husband?"

"Are you close with your brother?"

He laughed. "No. You didn't answer my question."

"Why aren't you close with your brother?"

"Come on."

"I fucked my best friend's boyfriend and then she walked into traffic and that's why she's dead," she said in a rush. He could hear the wince in her voice.

"Fuck."

"So when I told my sister that her husband tried to kiss me on her birthday and he told her that it was the other way around, she chose to believe that slimy bastard instead of me."

He took a long moment to digest this new information before responding. "You're walking around with a lot of pain inside you, aren't you?" he said gently, his heart aching in sympathy.

"Yeah, but..."

"What?"

"I just..."

"What?"

"It's my fault," she said simply. "All of it, I caused it. That's why I'm trying... to be better. I don't want to do that any more."

"Everyone makes mistakes."

She huffed a laugh. "That's why they put rubbers on the end of pencils."

"I like that."

"You can have it for free. My next witticism will be priced on a sliding scale."

"You're funny."

"For the right price."

Unknown number: I texted my sister

Unknown number: we're going to have coffee

"I think I might be going crazy," he said without preamble when she picked up the phone.

"Well, you do have bats in the belfry."

"They're in the attic, and that's a bit of a sore spot at the moment, so fuck off."

"Why do you think you're going crazy?"

"OK so I was on a train."

"Yes?"

"We were delayed at East Croydon and I looked out the window."

"Sane so far, continue."

"There was a fucking fox! In the window! It was looking right at me! Nobody else seemed to notice it but I know I saw it."

"That's not outside the realms of possibility. There are a lot of foxes about."

He shuddered. "Don't remind me. But it was looking right at me. Right in my eyes."

"You're cute, why wouldn't it look at you?"

"We were there for half an hour and it didn't stop staring at me!"

"Why were you at East Croydon for half an hour?"

"Southern Rail."

"Ah, I take it back. Southern Rail? You are completely insane."

"Fuck you." He paused, backtracking a few sentences in the conversation. "Wait, I'm cute?"

"Goodnight, Father."

"Uh, goodnight then, I guess."

"Don't let the foxes bite."

"You don't need to tell me twice."

After a few weeks of this, he was ready to admit that theirs was the closest friendship he had.

She knew that he was really grateful for Pam's help but that he also found her annoying nearly all the time. She knew about his parents, and his brother, and his weird cousin who kept sending him conspiracy theories on Facebook. She knew about the puns he made in the parish newsletter, and she knew where he hid the G&Ts.

He knew about her dead best friend, and her family, and the way her guinea pig was kind of a jerk sometimes. He knew that she tended to call late at night or just after the lunch rush was over. He even looked up her café online (there weren't that many guinea pig-themed cafés in the world, it turned out) and it was only a few streets away.

Which was a total fucking disaster.

He was a priest, for fuck's sake. He'd made a vow to love only God and to love God's people as a father, and most certainly not to pin beautiful, witty, acerbic women to the nearest flat surface and kiss them until he can't breathe.

It was imperative that they never meet in person. He was careful not to tell her which church was his, never to mention local shops and restaurants. He very conscientiously avoided going within a mile of the café.

There was no way they were ever going to meet, and he'd nearly convinced himself that it was a good thing.

The priest was leafing through the hymnals to see which ones needed to be replaced and trying very hard not to think about his problems, when he noticed one of the Youthie Band loitering in the doorway.

"Hi Jake," he called. "Are you alright?"

"I forgot my bassoon," he said in a mournful tone. "My aunt is bringing it."

Strange kid, but probably harmless. "Oh, fun. How are your bassoon lessons going?"

Jake trained his attention on someone over the priest's shoulder, ignoring the question entirely.

"Where's Claire?" he asked plaintively.

"Hi, Jake," said a woman's voice, strangely familiar. "She didn't want to come with me because she thinks you're creepy."

"What?"

"I'm joking, she's at work."

The priest turned around to greet the new arrival (and possibly to stand up for Jake, although his creepiness was undeniable and probably deserved to be addressed), and his heart just about stopped. Standing before him was the physical manifestation of his ungodly desires made flesh, walking around as though his world wasn't about to explode.

"Here's your clarinet," she said, handing Jake the case.

"It's a bassoon," he protested.

"It's a birth control device."

"You must be Jake's aunt," said the priest, regaining the ability to speak.

"Step-aunt," she corrected, turning to him. She gave a little start when she made eye contact but other than that managed to maintain her composure. "Hello, Father," she said with a smirk, holding out her hand.

He shook it, noticing distantly that her slender hand had a firm grip. "So Claire's your sister?" he managed, drinking in the sight of her, even more lovely in reality, a walking temptation.

A complicated series of emotions flashed across her face, all of which he could actually decipher given all of their long conversations about her family situation - and isn't that weird? Being able to completely read someone when you're meeting them in person for the first time?

"Yeah, Claire's my sister."

Jake made a little squeaking sound on hearing the word "Claire", making the priest remember that he was still standing there.

"Do you have a rehearsal to get to, Jake?" he prompted gently.

Jake nodded and walked away without a word.

"OK, good talk," said the priest to Jake's retreating back. He turned back to her, suddenly nervous. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Uh, welcome to my church. Do you like tea?"

In answer, she gave him an incredulous look and made a bee-line for the third pew from the back of the church, bending over to retrieve the cache of G&Ts that he'd mentioned in passing the other day.

"I'd think we need something stronger than tea given the situation, don't you?" she said, throwing one to him.

He fumbled to catch the can and dropped it on the floor inelegantly with a few murmured curses.

"Now I think of it, I remember you mentioning that you were bad at sports," she said with an apologetic grimace.

He picked up the can and opened it gingerly, took a large and restorative swig, then ushered her into a side room for some privacy. They perched on rickety folding chairs opposite each other, and she stared into his eyes, studying him in a way that made him feel uncomfortably exposed.

"So you live ten minutes from my café," she stated flatly. He nodded. "Did you know this the whole time?"

He winced. "I figured it out a few weeks ago. I can't, I'm sorry, I didn't want to intrude," he lied. He had wanted to intrude, in so many ways.

She shrugged, amenably accepting his explanation. "I just assumed you lived in Ireland. I didn't know we still had Catholics here."

"We send a few over every year as a punishment for when you enslaved our whole country."

They laughed together, such an easy connection, and his fingers itched with the urge to grab her and kiss her.

"The photos didn't do you justice," she said, giving him a thorough and obvious once-over. The blood thrummed in his veins as his eyes drifted down her body in return.

He sucked in a breath and tried very hard to keep his cool.

"You're the single most beautiful human being I've ever seen, and the fact that you're in my church right now is ruining my fucking life," he blurted out.

Fuck.

She softened visibly and stood up, draining the rest of her drink. "I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do. We can just talk on the phone." She was watching him with immense gentleness, seeing right through into his very soul. "I like talking to you. It's OK."

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that, I don't want to send you away, I just-" He stood up, rubbing his temples with one hand. "I like talking to you, too," he said softly, looking utterly lost.

She crossed the room and took his face in her hands, bringing their foreheads to rest together. "I'm glad I met you," she whispered, slipping her fingers to card through his hair. He leaned into the touch like a needy cat and let out a shuddering breath.

She pulled away to press a chaste kiss to his forehead, getting ready to leave, and something inside him snapped. He backed her up against the crumbling brick wall, and finally let himself taste the ruby-red lips that had been whispering in his ear for weeks. She made a pleased noise and kissed him back, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

"Are you sure?" she asked as they broke for air.

"I'm sure," he panted, hiking up her legs to wrap around his waist, and let the life he'd built crash down around them.

[flamed-like-anything]

Ineffable plans

Another Fleabag crossover fic that nobody asked for - this time, with Good Omens. 2100 words. Also on ao3.

"So, I, wow," started the priest, who at this point had recovered some of his wits. "So are you here- Is this- Do you have some kind of message for me, or...?"

"A message?" said Crowley, annoyed. "We're not the Microsoft Office paperclip, we don't just pop up with little hints for you every now and then."

It was a blistering day in mid-August and the priest was shuffling around between the pews in his church, trying to find a football that had rolled under a seat, when he was interrupted by a polite cough. In the light of the doorway were standing two men. One was placid-looking and beaming, in an immaculate cream suit with a shock of white hair. The other, serpentine and dark, seemed to be doing some kind of odd jerking movement with his feet, never leaving them on the floor for more than a moment at a time.

"Do excuse me," said the white-haired man politely, "we're looking for the father of this parish?"

"Hi! That's me," replied the priest, stumbling over a kneeler cushion to offer his hand.

"Ah, excellent," he said, shaking his hand warmly. "My name is Aziraphale and this is my fiancé Crowley."

"Lovely to meet you," said Crowley, continuing his strange dance, as though the soles of his shoes were on fire. "I won't shake hands. Bit of a cold, don't want to pass it on."

"Sure, sure," said the priest. "How can I help you both today?"

"Well, we're looking for a place for a wedding, and we do love old churches like this one," started Aziraphale.

"We had a bit of a romantic moment in one once," supplied Crowley. "It was fun, there were Nazis."

"He saved my books," said Aziraphale, with a tender, loving gaze at his partner.

"Oh wow, that sounds very- there were Nazis?"

"Oh, don't worry," said Crowley with a devilish grin, "they've been dealt with."

"Crowley!" his fiancé admonished. "Don't scare the poor man."

"No, no," the priest reassured them. "We don't like Nazis here either."

"Excellent," beamed Aziraphale, spreading his arms to hustle the priest out of the door and onto the pavement. "Let's talk about it over lunch."

"Where were you thinking, angel?" asked Crowley as they all stepped into the road.

"Ooh, well, there's this wonderful-"

A honking noise was the only warning they got before the lorry came barrelling into them.

In a flash, the priest's vision was filled with feathers, some brilliant white and blinding, some glossy, black as pitch. He blinked, and found himself shielded by two pairs of wings as the wind from the passing lorry whooshed around them, blowing up dust and debris from the road. The vehicle had miraculously swerved just at the last second to avoid them.

"Get out of the road!" Crowley shouted at the back of the lorry, with some rather descriptive hand gestures. The couple both shook their feathers a little, and Crowley picked some debris off the front of Aziraphale's lapels for him, examining it with a grimace.

"Do you think they noticed the old-" said Aziraphale, gesturing at his wings.

"They never notice anything, humans," snorted Crowley, picking a crisp packet out of his feathers.

The priest squeaked.

"Ah," said Aziraphale, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "That was the other thing that-"

"Fuck," said the priest, shaken. "I- You-" His eyes were bulging out of his head. The two angels - because that seemed the only logical explanation - both looked rather concerned as he wobbled over to the pavement.

Reverently, he dropped to his knees, head spinning. "He will cover you with his pinions," he breathed, "and under his wings you will find refuge."

"Yes, yes, that sort of thing," said the angel in a soothing voice, pulling him gently to his feet and patting his arm. "Let's get you a nice cup of tea and some lunch, hmm?"

"Do we have to do this?" asked Crowley in an undertone as they steered the mute priest towards a nearby restaurant. "Couldn't we just-"

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose and squirmed a little. "That doesn't seem right."

"But we could just-"

"No," he said more firmly, making up his mind. "We are not starting our marriage by wiping this poor man's memory. It sets a terrible precedent."

"Fine," huffed Crowley, "but if he gets all weird about it, I'm going home."

Luckily, a table for three just happened to become available the moment they walked into the restaurant, and they were soon ensconced in a comfortable booth with a bottle of rather nice Merlot and a pot of tea.

"So, I, wow," started the priest, who at this point had recovered some of his wits. "So are you here- Is this- Do you have some kind of message for me, or...?"

"A message?" said Crowley, annoyed. "We're not the Microsoft Office paperclip, we don't just pop up with little hints for you every now and then."

"Paperclip?" said Aziraphale, bemused. "I'm afraid you've lost me there."

"It's a," Crowley gestured vaguely, "computery thing."

Aziraphale shuddered delicately. "Oh. Well, regardless, no. We're not exactly on... active duty these days."

"Angels can retire?" asked the priest, racking his brain for what he could remember from seminary school. Nothing sprang to mind, but he would be the first to admit that he wasn't at his sharpest at this particular moment.

"Not strictly," said the angel, "but I think Heaven is currently, ah, a little busy with other matters."

"I'm not technically an angel, either," said Crowley, tipping down his sunglasses to reveal his eyes, deep orange with snakelike pupils. "There was a bit of a disciplinary... kerfuffle, and I'm more what you might call your actual demon... type... thing, really."

"So why did you come to my church?" said the priest, taking a large and restorative sip of his wine. "Can you even, how did you cross the threshold?"

"Bit hard on the feet, consecrated ground," agreed Crowley, grinning widely, "but it'll be worth it to see their faces."

"Whose faces?"

"I've had a bit of a bust-up with Hell over this whole Apocalypse fiasco - long story, you don't need to know - but this is going to piss off Beelzebub and the other arseholes to no end."

Aziraphale gave a happy wiggle. "They'll be jolly upset," he agreed. "Gabriel too, the bastard."

Sprawled over his seat, Crowley gave the angel a magnificently adoring look.

"So you really are getting married?" the priest asked, for clarification.

"Oh yes," said Aziraphale.

"And not just out of spite," said Crowley.

"No. Although there is some spite," conceded the angel. "I hope that's not a problem for you."

"I've seen people get married for worse reasons," he said absently. "What did you mean when you said Heaven is busy?"

"Busy playing silly buggers," muttered the demon.

"There was this sort of Apocalypse type thing that we rather, ah, got in the way of a bit - it was all terribly ineffable, you understand - and so they'll probably be off gearing up to do it all over again for a while. They seem to have left us alone, at any rate."

"Is it allowed, the two of you being together?"

"Oh, not at all," said the angel, gripping his fiancé's hand firmly. "They made a terrible fuss."

"I'll note that the Almighty hasn't smited us down, though," observed Crowley. He cocked his head, a little frown wrinkling his brow. "Smited. Smitten. Smoted?"

"Sorry," said the priest, his brain catching up with him. "Did you say that you stopped the Apocalypse?"

"For now, yes."

The priest poured himself another, very large, glass of wine.

"Fuck me. Well, fuck." He took a meditative gulp. "If it comes up again, I'm happy to help, if you need," he offered weakly. He wasn't entirely sure what help, exactly, he could offer, but he could probably do something.

Maybe he could design the uniforms.

"That's very kind of you," said the angel. "You seem like a very nice young man. Are you married?"

"No, not really allowed in the Catholic..." he trailed off, thinking. "Fuck, is any of that true? How does God feel about priests falling in love?"

"It's always difficult to know exactly what the ineffable plan is," hemmed Aziraphale.

The priest frowned. "You can't talk directly to God?"

"Not without being put on hold for hours. It's worse than telephoning the gas company. No, I'm afraid I don't know."

"Probably doesn't give a fuck, to be honest," interjected Crowley. "Compared to our forbidden love, yours is... mildly hinted against."

"Breaking a couple of by-laws, punishable by a fine, kind of thing," supplied Aziraphale.

"Probably not even that! I mean look at us, walking around un-smitten."

"I must protest, Crowley!" said Aziraphale indulgently. "I am entirely smitten." They shared a long, loving look.

The priest, busy having an existential crisis, paid no notice.

"I'm afraid there's really no way to know the Almighty's plan for you," Aziraphale said to him gently, "but that's not so bad, is it? That means you get to decide for yourself."

"Jesus fucking Christ," said the priest, just as the waiter stopped at their table to deliver their food. This being the kind of establishment that insisted on the highest level of discretion and politeness from their staff, he merely raised an eyebrow at the priest's collar and turned away without comment, smiling to himself.

"You don't have to fall in love if you don't want to," the angel continued in a delicate tone, "but equally, if there's someone who..."

The two celestial beings locked eyes with each other again, and Crowley brought Aziraphale's hand to his lips to give it a soft, affectionate kiss.

"Look, it's just not worth putting it off, all right?" said the angel. "Believe me."

The priest hunched down in his chair. "How do you know you've done the right thing?" he said in a small voice.

"Don't ask me about the right thing," said Crowley, "I've been trying to do the opposite for 6,000 years, I couldn't tell you anything about doing the right thing, but I can tell you this: whenever I look at him, all I can see is hope."

Aziraphale visibly melted, cradling Crowley's face in one hand. "And I you, dear boy," he said sincerely, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

After a moment, he turned back to the priest, who was picking at a plate of mussels without enthusiasm, reconsidering his life choices.

"I really don't mean to pry," said Aziraphale hesitantly, "but she's working at that café today, you know."

The priest gave a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Fucking angels."

"Like I said, I don't like to be too forward, but it really does seem a shame."

Crowley, busily wrapping himself around Aziraphale like ivy, hummed his assent.

Giving a lopsided half-smile, the priest looked down at his hands. "I'm supposed to love one thing."

"Love isn't finite, Father," said the angel patiently. "When you find someone you love... you fall in love with the whole world, through them. There's enough to go around."

"Best to be on the safe side, though." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Don't want to mess up any divine plans."

"Listen," said Crowley, taking an interest. "How about this - you go ahead and get this girl and be happy, and if we see any divine wrath headed your way we'll just sort of... head it off at the pass."

"Yes!" beamed Aziraphale, bouncing in his seat. "We'll keep an eye out for locusts and hellfire and so forth, then you won't have to worry."

"Provided you agree to do our wedding, of course," added the demon with a cocked eyebrow.

"That seems fair," said the priest. "Fuck. OK." He let out a huff of air. He fought the urge to giggle, feeling infinite promise crackling around the edge of his vision. Maybe this could work. It was a celestial being-approved plan. "OK."

"If you start running now, you could get to her in ten minutes," said Crowley casually, pouring himself another drink.

"Fuck," said the priest again, for good measure, and drained his glass. "Right, fuck it." He bounded to his feet and sprinted for the door.

"You could have offered him a lift, you scoundrel," he heard Aziraphale saying to Crowley, but he didn't have space in his brain to think about it.

A few minutes later, he arrived at the door to Hillary's out of breath, dishevelled and panting, sweat beading on his forehead in the midday sun. Pushing open the door, he burst ungracefully into the room and stopped short.

She was standing at the counter, looking alarmed, amused, and pleased in equal measures.

"I-" he started, then stopped. With a couple of strides, he crossed the room and took her face in his hands.

"I have had the weirdest fucking day," he said, and kissed her.

[marleyfiction-blog]

Big Move: Saturday part 2

Friday Saturday

Author’s Note: I want to apologize for the “chapter” I released the other night. I was exhausted and tired of trying to get the story to flow right. I am still trying to write this though. Do I know where this is going? No. That’s weird because I’m writing this but everything is going to be a shock for me too, I don’t want this to move too fast. I hope this one is better than the last!

Warnings: Cursing, Use of the N-word, Smoking (is that a warning?!) Word Count: 930 / 4-minute read 

Erik x OC “So you smoke shawty?” Erik asked with a now lite blunt between his fingers. 

Parish's eyes grew wide, it had been a long time since she last smoked. Her body was desperate, wanting her to partake in such activities. Parish didn't miss a beat, she accepted the blunt and inhaled the thick smoke into her mouth. Parish felt the smoke slithering its way through her body. Relaxing every nerve from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. She exhaled, a smooth cloud of smoke leaving past her plump lips. She took another puff, watching the smoke dance with the blue lights of the interior. Erik’s eyes were roaming over Parish’s body. Following the curves of her breast, down to her thick thighs. Her black skater skirt had risen a little high on her thick thighs legs. Erik saw enough to make his mouth water and have his imagination going wild. Erik looked at Parish as like she was the cure to munchies. 

Erik chuckling to himself brought Parish back to the present. 

“So I see you smoke.” He accepted the blunt as Parish passed it back. She had turned to look at him. He dressed in a simple black shirt with match ripped jeans. A single chain peeked from under his shirt. He had an air of mystery about him and Parish wanted to know more. She couldn’t understand why she was being drawn to this man but she was like a moth to a flame. Watching him smoke was a turn on for her. Everything he did was with such confidence and precision. Erik knew exactly what he wanted and always got it, Parish thought.

“So where are you going?”  He asked while trying to keep too much smoke from escaping his mouth. Parish wanted to run her hands through his dreads. She wanted to know if his lips were as soft as they looked. Parish was having some pretty intense thoughts about a man she didn’t know. High her was a different beast and didn’t care.

“Oh, uh, I’m going back to my hotel, the Omni Riverfront.” Parish was thinking of all the naughty things she would love to do to Erik. She internally rolled her eyes at herself, Bitch, stop being so damn thirsty, fuck!

He nodded and pulled away from the curb. They weren’t far from her hotel, after hitting the blunt a few more times, they had arrived. Parish was feeling lovely as ever. I am going to sleep good tonight, she thought.  

“Come on Princess”, he said, throwing the Rubicon into park outside of the hotel. Parish was shook. /Where the fuck did he think he was going?/ She had thought about inviting him up but she wasn’t really going to do it. 

The elevator ride was a short one, the tension between these two was building. Being that the hotel was kind of old, the elevator was on the small side. Parish was standing a little in front of Erik, she could feel his eyes traveling over her backside. It boosted her confidence to know someone as fine as he was openly staring at her. Erik had no shame. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate you picking me up Erik but you didn’t have to walk me to my room.”

“Nah don’t mention it. I was already in the area. When you with me, I wanna make sure you are safe. Door to door service.” Erik smiled and then licked his lips. The weed was having Parish with some pretty lewd thoughts about Erik. If he kept licking his lips she knew she was going to be all over him. I need a cold shower!

Fumbling with her purse to find her room key, being high wasn’t helping. She finally found the key and had the door opened. With Erik standing just outside the room when she turned to face him. 

“Thanks again.” 

There was a pause with Erik openly ogling Parish’s body. She wasn’t uncomfortable just taken aback. To her knowledge, no one looked at her the way Erik was so brazenly looking at her. 

Parish cleared her throat and caught Erik’s attention. “Nah, it was my pleasure. I mean the night doesn’t have to end.” Then his phone rang. His face scrunched up in agitation. 

“What?!” He answered with a growl. A voice full of menace, he was clearly upset that someone was interrupting him at this moment. There was a pause while the other person explained what was going on. 

He huffed, “Aight, Ima handle it.” 

He softened up a little when he looked back at Parish. “I’m sorry shawty, I got shit I gotta handle.”

“O-oh, it’s okay Erik.” Parish stammered, internally she was a little upset that he was leaving.

“We hanging out tomorrow.” Another statement. He smiled, Parish caught a glimpse of a gold grill and almost melted in her doorway. She was excited for what her next adventure would hold with this man of mystery. 

Taglist:

@chaneajoyyy @leahnicole1219

[lovemesomesurveys]

Did you talk to anybody taller than you today?: Everyone, besides small children, are taller than me. Have you seen “A Cinderella Story” w/ Hillary Duff and Chad Michael Murray?: Yep, many times. What is your favorite brand of chap stick?: ESO or EOS I always forget the order, but yeah that one. Have you ever been to New Brunswick in the summer?: Nope. I’ve never been there at all. Have you ever been to Florida in the spring?: I’ve never been there at all either.

Have you ever been to Vancouver in the winter?: ^^^^^ Have you ever been to Boston in the fall?: ^^^^^ Have you ever been to St. Louis or St. Paul?: Nope. Have you ever been to both in the same 11-day period?: Have you ever driven down a red dirt road?: No.

Do you think horses could run faster on the road or through fields?: Fields, probably. Why do you feel this way?: I just do. Is it past 6 AM?: No, it’s 12:27AM. Is it past 6 PM?: Yes. Are you wearing shoes?: No. Describe the worst time you’ve ever been shocked.: Hmm. I don’t know what I’d say was the worst time. Have you ever been shocked when a cashier was handing you change?: Yes. Have you ever had spicy sweet chilli doritos?: I have. What’s the longest song title you can think of?: Just about any one of Fallout Boy’s songs. And the shortest?: Freebird. Have you ever went to sleep after the sun came up?: Many times. Were you scared of Y2K?: Yeah, even though I was pretty young. Are you scared of Y2K12?: Nothing came of that either. LOL, can you type 2012 in roman numerals?: No. Which button on your cell phone did you last press?: I It was probably the home button. Who did you last call?: My mom.

How long was the conversation?: Just a few minutes. Do you enjoy stepping on ants?: No. What state is nearest to you?: Arizona. What city larger than yours is nearest to you?: Los Angeles.

What country is nearest to you?: Mexico.

What town smaller than yours is nearest to you?: Hmm.

Does the color purple remind of you of anything or anyone?: It’s my mom’s favorite color. Also, Prince’s song “Purple Rain” and the movie, “The Color Purple.”

Did you talk to your bf/gf last night?: Single.

Can you honestly tell the difference between Coke and Pepsi?: Yes.

Do you wish Pepsi never existed?: I don’t care that it does. I just think Coke is better.

Do you think love is the most beautiful thing in the world?: Sure.

What do you want thrown at your wedding?: You assume that I will get married. Or that I even want to.

Do you plan on getting married in the near future?: Noooo.

Have you ever been to: Timbuktu, Mali: Alberquerque, NM: Avondale, AZ: Evansville, IN: Evansville, IL: St. Petersburg, FL: Richmond, VA: Vancouver, BC: Chihuahua, Chihuahua: Memphis, Tennessee: Portland, ME: Portland, OR: Springfield, PA: Indiana, PA: Eerie, PA: Eerie, IN: Lake Erie: The Pacific Ocean: The Indian Ocean: India: South Africa: Peoria, AZ: Peoria, IL: Flagstaff, AZ: Huntington Beach, CA: West Hollywood, CA: New York, New York: Toronto, ON: Henderson, NV: Henderson, KY: Indonesia: Dubai, UAE: Cincinatti, OH: Newport, KY: Newport Beach, VA: Virginia Beach, VA: Washington, D.C.: Puerto Rico: The largest city in your state/province/etc: The largest city in your country: The largest city on your continent: The largest city in the world (Tokyo): The largest city in your county/parish/etc: The largest city in every state/province/territory/etc boarding yours: The largest city in every country boarding yours: The largest city on every continent: Nunavut: Spain: Dawson City, YK: Dawson Creek, BC: Do you eat quiche?: It’s been years, but yeah I like it.

Do you eat Butterfingers weekly?: Uh no. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I had one.

Do you read the newspaper more often than once every 2 weeks?: I don’t read the newspaper, I read the news online or watch it on TV.

With what color toothbrush did you last brush your teeth?: White and blue.

Do you bathe your dog?: Not me personally, but yes we do.

Does it have a collar?: Yes she does. She has a cute collar and ID tag.

How long were you last sleeping?: I took a 2 hour nap yesterday. I haven’t slept since then, yet. I’m really tired, though.

Have you ever played “Dungeon Explorer: Warrios of Ancient Arts”?: No.

What brand PS2 controller do you think is best?: I don’t know anything about that stuff.

Do you like Keith Urban?: I like a song or two.

Have you ever been to urbandictionary.com?: Yeah.

Do you have a porch swing?: We don’t even have a porch.

Is that a good thing?: I don’t see why it would be a good or bad thing if we did.

When did you last feed goldfish (whether they were yours or not)?: Not since my own when I was a kid. What is the last sweet thing you ate?: The strawberry milkshake I had.

Spicy?: I can’t have spicy food anymore. :(

Salty?: The soy sauce I dipped pot stickers in yesterday.

What is the last dream you remember having?: Something random and weird as usual.

Do you know anybody whose language you speak better than they do English?: No.

What’s your favorite pokemon?: I liked Jigglypuff.

What’s your favorite pokemon game?: Never played any of them.

Is anything good on TV right now?: I doubt it seeing how it’s almost 1AM.

Have you ever worn a blue hat?: Possibly.

What about a sweater and a sweat shirt at the same time?: No. I’ve worn a hoodie and a jacket or a sweatshirt and a jacket at the same time, though.

What’s your area code?: Nah.

How many area codes would you recognize?: Not many.

Do you know where sponges grow?: In the ocean.

Have you ever read “Where the Red Fern Grows”?: Yeah, in 5th grade.

Who is the author?: I don’t recall.

Do you like suspensful books?: Yes.

What about scary ones?: I like mystery and psychological thrillers.

Can you name every hamster you’ve ever had?: I had two when I was a kid, but I don’t recall their names.

What’s the last building you were in that had more than 4 floors?: Not sure.

How far away is it from your house?:

Did you drive there?:

Have you ever driven to Utah? No. Have you ever been to OK, TX, NM, and AZ in one day?: No.

Do you like road trips?: Depends.

Isn’t it awkward when someone mentions they just lost a loved one?: Only because I never want to say. There’s nothing you can really say. I’m also not good with comforting others.

How do you react?: I express my condolences but other than that I’m just like awkwardly there not knowing what to do or say.

Have you ever been to a funeral and everyone else seemed more sad than you?: It wasn’t something I paid attention to. There wasn’t like a who’s sadder than who thing going on. It was just a sad, rough day for everyone.

Do you even like scary movies?: Some.

Do you have a bus pass?: Nope. No need for one.

Do you take a bus daily?: I don’t take the bus at all anymore. I used to have to sometimes while I was still in school, but those days are over.

Do you know anyone named Roger?: No.

Is he older or younger than you?:

What’s the age difference in the youngest and oldest people you’ve dated?: One year.

If I told you that answer was 8 years for me, would you believe it?: I don’t have a reason not to.

Do you answer your own surveys?: I don’t make any.

Do you like go-gurt?: Wow, I haven’t had one in yearssss. I liked the strawberry banana ones.

Have you ever eaten something, and the food stayed on your hands forever?: No...

Is that worse or better than it staying on your breath?: I’ve never had that problem.

What did you last drink that was brown?: Diet Coke.

When did you last deficate?: Ew why do you wanna know that.

When did you last suffocate?: Never.

When did you last relocate?: As in moved to another house or something? Five years ago.

When did you last perspirate?: It’s freakin’ hot here, so it’s not such a rare occurrence. Ugh, I hate summer.

Who did you last irritate?: My family, I’m sure.

Who (or what) did you last imitate?: I don’t know.

What (if anything) did you last irrigate?: Not sure.

Do you think it’s annoying or cool when I rhyme questions like that?: I didn’t care, sorry.

Do you watch pro wrestling?: Nope.

Why or why not?: Not my thing.

What are your plans for the next March 11?: Uh I have no idea. That’s a long ways away.

How many days do you think it snowed where you live in the last 365 days?: It doesn’t snow in my city, unfortunately.

Is your birthday less than 8 months from now?: Yeah, it’s next month.

Will you wake me up when September ends?: Nah I’ll probably forget cause I’ll be asleep, too.

I have been to 28 US states. Am I beating you?: Yep, by a long shot.

Do you like yarn?: I don’t have anything against it.

Do you enjoy my geography questions?: They’re whatever. It’d be more interesting if I actually traveled.

What is the last thing you used a brush on?: My hair.

Who was your best friend from your high school while you were there?: Amanda.

Do you have any pants you’d be embarassed for your friends to know about?: No.

When did you last stand up?: Never.

Did I just make you realize how long you’ve been doing this survey?: Nope.

Have you ever shopped for 2 hours at Dollar General?: No.

Do you think that’s crazy that I witnessed someone do that today?: I don’t care lol.

Have you ever dated a teenager?: When I myself was one as well, yes.

Were you popular in high school?: Hahah nope. That was perfectly fine with me, though.

Does your city have a Poplar Street?: I think it does.

Do you know what a poplar is?: Yes.

Do you like lemons?: No.

What color are your eyes?: Dark brown.

Got any plans for July 24, 2009?: Well we’re in 2018 now and I have no idea what I did on that day 9 years ago. This July 24th I don’t have any plans as of now, but that’s 4 days away from my birthday.

What about July 24, 2012?: I don’t know, man.

Or do you think minimum wage doesn’t need to be $9.65?: It’s $11 here, I believe.

Do you think the raise in minimum wage is partly why our economy is ruined?: Not getting into that right now.

Did you watch your favorite television show today?: One of.

Did you listen to your favorite song today?: I haven’t listened to any music so far today.

Did you play your favorite video game today?: I’ll be playing The Sims 4 soon.

I don’t know how many pairs of shoes I own! Do you?: Like 6.

I have about 4. Do you have them organized?: They’re just in my closet.

So when did you last go to the zoo?: A couple years ago.

Have you ever filmed a movie?: For a class project in high school. A very, very crappy one.

In the zoo?: Filmed a movie in the zoo? No.

Who is your favorite teacher from high school?: I had a history teacher my sophomore year named Mr. Coffey who was really cool.

What’s under your bed?: Nothing.

Do you think money should be green?: I’m used to that.

Do you have children?: Noooo.

How much did you pay for your last meal?: Like 5 or 6 bucks, I think.

What’s the longest period of time you’ve had a goldfish?: I had fish for a few years as a kid.

Would you rather go bowling in the spring or summer?: I don’t care to go at all, but why would the season matter for something like that?

Do you like lazar tag?: Never been.

What about miniature golf?: Never been.

Have you ever been to a casino in Canada?: Nope.

Have you ever been to Bear Lake in Saskatchewan?: No.

Do you have any t-shirts you’ve owned for 7 ½ years that still fit you?: How specific, but yes. Some older than that.

Do you know how it feels to be heartbroken?: I do.

Is your house currently on fire?: Uh, no. I wouldn’t just be here chillin’ taking this survey... Do you like ramen noodles?: Yep.

How far away is the nearest fire station?: Pretty close by.

Is your dog a real barker?: Nah. She barks if someone knocks, sometimes when she’s in a playful mood, or when she wants something. It’s not excessive. Our neighbor’s dogs on the other hand....

Could you see yourself with short hair?: I had short hair for years.

Can bad hair alone make someone unattractive?: I hate when my hair looks really bad, which it always does now. Have you ever eaten bad spinach?: I don’t believe so.

Have you ever had banana nut cheerios?: No.

How do you know how to spell Mississippi?: I just do.

[randomfandomimagine]

Free Spirit. Chapter 25: The End

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER INDEX - WATTPAD

A/N: Last chapter, guys! I hope you all enjoy it and that you liked the story as well! I might write a short epilogue since I have something in mind, but let’s see if I’m inspired enough to do so. Anyway, I hope you love this last chapter! ;D

It was ironic that the place where all began to go wrong for Catori was almost the exact same place where it might end as well.

Very close to the place she had been held captive by Vanessa, in the middle of the forest, was where the ritual was supposed to be held at.

But there they were, facing certain death while trying to save the world from an evil free spirit that threatened to destroy Beacon Hills with its powerful reincarnation.

“You’re not as stupid as I thought you were” Vanessa broke the silence, even if the tension lingered in the air, so thick that it was tangible. “Or as useless, congratulations”

Catori was slowly feeling how the anger began to build up inside her. How her cheeks burned in fury and her hands shook with hatred. But what did it for her was the satisfied smirk that appeared on Vanessa’s lips painted crimson red, a color resembling blood.

It was her fault that all of that had happened. It was Vanessa’s fault that Scott had gotten hurt and almost was killed. It was his pack that attacked him after all.

It was her fault that Stiles almost died as well, stabbed to death by millions of shreds of glass. He would have been dead if it weren’t because Catori felt the danger and was there to save him.

It was Vanessa’s fault as well that the girl had a scar in her neck, that constantly reminded her of the horrible events that led to it, including the scarring memories.

But overall, it was her fault that Stiles was willing to give his life to stop her. That someone would probably die in there just because she felt like it.

“You bitch” Catori took a step forward very angrily, raising her arm with the intention of punching her in that smug face of hers.

“Whoa” Along with Scott –who had the fastest reflexes -, Stiles held her back when noticing. “Calm down, Cat”

Vanessa was just amused by this behavior.

“Looks like you’re always up for more, darling” She challenged Catori, tempting her as well as mocking her. “Don’t you have enough already?”

“Stop this right now” Scott intervened, menacingly flashing his bright red eyes at her and bringing out his sharp claws. “While you can”

It wasn’t a very effective threat. Even though Scott could be and was a very powerful alpha despite his softness, Vanessa shadowed him. And she wasn’t bothered by his words at all.

They all sized each other up. Complete silence surrounded the forest, only being interrupted by the sound of the sporadic lightning from the storm she caused. It was nerve-wracking.

In fact, Catori only realized how much she was shaking –in fear, fury, nerves, concern –when Stiles tenderly held her hand and filled her with his warm and comforting touch.

“So this was your plan?” Derek decided to speak up and break the torturous silence. “Get an omega to do your dirty work while you try to bring an evil spirit back and set it free?”

“Pretty much” Vanessa was so arrogant that she didn’t try to hide it.

“What for?”

“To earn her gratitude” She shrugged casually. “Then she will make me even stronger, even more powerful. Invincible!”

Catori gulped at the thought of that. Seeing Vanessa cast out a storm effortlessly, like a goddess, was terrifying enough.

“And you had to kill all those people for that” Scott strongly disapproved, shaking his head angrily. “All those innocent people”

“As well as attempting to destroy everyone in your way” Stiles added, obviously resentful about it still.

“And look at you all now” Vanessa smirked evilly, satisfied. “All these volunteers to inhabit Chandrika, all to my disposition”

Catori visibly dropped her jaw in realization. Stiles’ grip on her hand softened as well from the sheer shock.

“She’s smart…”

“You had planned this all along, lured us into the ritual! You wanted us to figure it out to come!”

“I even planted a hint in her head once I was done with the little sybil”

Catori’s throat shook with an unintelligible sob. She felt used, useless and betrayed. Even if Vanessa was their enemy, the fact that she outsmarted them so greatly and tricked them disturbed her. To think that she utilized Catori for her own twisted intentions and gave her a fake sense of accomplishment… it sickened her.

“What are we waiting for then?” The woman took ahold of the triquetra amulet, an object they hadn’t seen in what felt like ages. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Something broke out in the sky, and it felt like a thunderbolt had directly hit the triquetra amulet that Vanessa was holding. Only when she looked at it twice, seeing as it didn’t fade, Catori saw clearly.

It was emerging from the talisman itself, creating a supernatural light that couldn’t mean anything good.

They could clearly see everyone in Vanessa’s pack back away in fright, especially Norman. But the selkie herself stood tall and mighty, proud and delighted with her creation as she screamed ‘Chandrika’ at the top of her lungs.

Then it all happened very fast.

When Stiles let go of her hand, she knew it was the point of no return. Her heart skipped a beat and her fingers tingled with fear.

Before she even knew why, before her brain told her what Stiles was trying to do, Catori turned on an instinct towards the second person that made her feel the safest.

“Scott!” She shouted in anguish, holding onto Lydia’s arm as well.

The redheaded girl frowned in concern as she watched the scene. There was a great commotion amongst the pack as Stiles jumped over Vanessa and gripped the triquetra symbol.

The both of them struggled with the control of the amulet under the attentive eyes of everyone else. No one intervened at first.

Definitely not Vanessa’s betas, which showed how they followed her because of fear and not loyalty.

However, the alpha of the other pack –the McCall pack, that is –was already on his way to aid his friend. Not without asking his friends not to intervene first, he would take care of it.

He threw himself towards them as he shifted into werewolf form, even if none of them flinched. But because of his great strength, the boy knocked the both of them down.

It felt like time had suddenly stopped. No one moved at first.

Then Vanessa slowly stood up in what seemed like a triumphant way.

Scott and Stiles remained on the floor. The first worriedly staring at his best friend and shaking him until he reacted.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so…” Confused and almost disappointed, Stiles stood up and brushed himself off.

“He’s fine” Liam sighed in relief.

But then Stiles held onto Scott and grunted in pain. Something that caused Lydia to clutch to Catori’s hand in apprehension.

“Oh no…” Kira mumbled behind them, frightened.

“S…Stiles?” Catori whispered, so lowly that she could hardly hear herself.

The boy had closed his eyes tight, almost in a grimace of pain. He also shrank into himself in a weird and uncomfortable way, as though he wanted to get rid of whatever he was feeling at that moment.

Catori gasped for air, fearing it was too late for Stiles.

The worst of all, however, was the fact that their plan B had failed. And even if their secret weapon showed up, it might already be too late to save Stiles.

Then, all of a sudden, the boy straightened up. He was calm again, as though everything had passed.

“Stiles?” Lydia and Catori took a step forward to him, but Malia stopped them.

She must have sensed something they didn’t, because her expression was grave and severe when they looked at her.

Indeed, when Stiles opened his eyes they didn’t see his sweet caramel brown orbs. They were completely black, evil looking.

“Chandrika” Catori choked up, recognizing those eyes from her visions.

“Reverse the ritual!” Scott told the girls, scratching Vanessa and attacking her to distract her.

“What about Stiles? And you?” Catori screamed, feelings tears arriving to her eyes as her voice became shaky.

“Go” Scott briefly looked at them right before Vanessa barged at him, prey of an insane rage.

“But-“ Catori objected, preoccupied by her friend’s safety.

“Go!!” Derek supported the alpha, fighting by his side.

Mason held the girl by the arm and gently tugged at her, trying to get her to oblige. She only did because she knew it was their only hope to reverse what Chandrika had done to Stiles.

“I’ll get the amulet” She told Lydia, who looked distraught and horrified herself. “You call Parish”

“I’ll help Scott and Derek” Malia turned into her coyote form and went to their aid.

Meanwhile, Lydia tried to get away from the commotion and dial Parrish’ number hoping he would pick up. The rest of the pack were fighting Vanessa, except for Mason, who was trying to help Catori.

Kira used her fox abilities and her sword skills to battle Norman. Derek and Scott joined forces against Vanessa, Liam and Malia were up against her betas.

Mason held onto Catori’s arm as they both raced to get to the triquetra amulet. They really hoped their plan worked, otherwise they were lost. Chandrika would create havoc amongst Beacon Hills and, alongside Vanessa, destroy the entire city.

With no effort whatsoever, Chandrika –still in Stiles’ body –tossed Mason across the air until he banged his back against a tree and was knocked unconscious.

Catori grimaced at the sight and prayed that he was okay while she ran towards the amulet still. She only forgot about him momentarily because she still felt his energetic and kind aura.

A lightning falling from the sky that landed one meter to her right almost hit her, and she thanked whatever superior forces for the second chance to live.

Then she tried to ignore her racing her and centered all her might into the triquetra. It was vital to get to it and end it all, save everyone. Especially save Stiles from that monster that was possessing his body.

Catori was barely a few steps away from the platform where the amulet resided in, but a brutal force pushed her and threw her flying through the air like it had Mason.

As she fell, Catori hit her head and tiny twinkles danced before her eyes because of the blow. She felt rid from her strength, dizzy and nauseous due to a possible concussion.

However, she pulled through. Crawling across the ground filled with leaves that crushed against her weight, she made her way to the amulet, filled with determination.

She was right there, slapping her hand against it and grapping it when a hand was tightly wrapped around her neck.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Stiles’ soft voice wasn’t his own. Instead it sounded demonic, guttural and teared.

With titanic strength, he lifted her up until her feet left the ground.

“Stiles?” Catori refused to believe he was gone, she begged for him to come back.

To call her Cat, to fluster her, to make her hate him in the most playful and adorable of ways. To make her roll her eyes, to call her Kit Kat even!

She just wanted her Stiles back. Listen to his sweet and goofy voice, see his tender caramel eyes, hear his wonderful laughter, see him fidgeting around. Leave behind the nightmare that was Chandrika and get him back.

“Wrong” It felt awful to have his restless and tender fingers crush her throat, it made her stomach sick to think that he wasn’t aware of how much Chandrika was hurting them in his name.

“He’s almost here, Cat-“ Before Lydia could even finish her sentence, she witnessed the peril her best friend was going through.

“Lydia, stay away!” Catori was wriggling in his grip, trying to swing her legs to hit him but failing. But even then she tried to keep her friend out of trouble, despite the hoarseness of her voice.

The redhead ignored her and ran to Stiles, trying to make him let go of Catori. He easily got rid of her too, showing how powerful Chandrika was by knocking her down as well.

A sob arrived to Catori’s throat when she noticed Lydia was bleeding.

“Give it to me!” Chandrika tried to get the amulet from her closed fist, but she refused to let go of it.

“Stiles, I know you’re still in there” The brown-haired girl managed to let out. “Let him go, bitch!”

“Why would I?” Chandrika used Stiles’ body to smirk in a terrifying and disgusting way. “He’s my ticket to freedom”

“Because it’s the triquetra that gives you power, isn’t it?” Even if she felt at the verge of consciousness because of lack of oxygen, Catori grinned cunningly. “What gives you power can take it from you”

Chandrika frowned with Stiles’ eyebrows. The spirit’s black eyes fixed on Catori’s hand just as it opened and dropped the amulet.

The wooden triquetra fell to the ground, where Lydia quickly got hold of it.

“I’ll take this” Their secret weapon had finally arrived.

Parrish helped Lydia up and showed the amulet just as flames emerged from every part of his whole body. They infiltrated onto his hand and the amulet he was holding, burning it to the core until it became just a pile of ashes.

“No!” Chandrika screeched, finally dropping Catori. “NO!”

The girl held her throat and coughed, trying to get some air into her lungs as well. Lydia immediately went to check on her.

Chandrika’s scream was piercing and shrill, hurting their ears and making them all cover them in pain. Then another scream erupted from his throat, this time being a mixture between Chandrika and Stiles. With her last breath, Stiles fell feebly and limp.

Catori was torn between her concern for her boyfriend and for the rest of the pack as well.

At least Chandrika seemed to be gone, despite whatever consequences that had over Stiles’ body.

Finding that she had no strength to stand up and check on Stiles, Catori looked over to Scott and the rest. Vanessa seemed even angrier, to the point of madness. Her brilliant and elaborate plan had failed after all.

On the other hand, the group’s plan had succeeded. To a certain extent, since it wasn’t done executing.

The only standing were Norman and Vanessa, who were suddenly outnumbered by Scott’s pack. The man stepped back, but she refused to accept defeat.

Parrish, however, joined his friends. He jumped on Vanessa and wrapped his arms around her, still completely covered in the supernatural fire of a Hellhound.

Her screech was almost as disturbing as Chandrika’s. And it held almost more anger and desperation.

Norman ripped Parrish off her and tried to smother out to flames while she screamed out. He took off her fur jacket, even if Vanessa refused to let him do it.

Everyone watched in horror and expectation. The success of their plan depended on how that turned out.

“Don’t, you idiot!” Vanessa roared, wriggling around even if the fire burned her despite the fact that her selkie skin seemed to repel it.

“You’ll burn to death!” Norman argued, fighting to get it off her.

“I won’t, don’t touch the jacket!” As they expected, the jacket was her fur.

Catori’s plan B was to destroy Vanessa’s fur, since it was the source of her powers due to being a selkie, in the hopes that it would finish with her too.

And it had worked, as Vanessa was no more.

Once the commotion was over and everything seemed to have calmed down, Scott went to help Catori up, since she was too weak to do so on her own. The rest were checking on their friends, making sure they weren’t badly hurt. Despite the fact that they were sore and bruised because of the fight.

“You okay?” Scott asked in anguish, meaning to check on Stiles as soon as she replied.

However, she didn’t even gave him a chance. Stumbling and swaying, her vision blurry and her legs weak, Catori ran to Stiles.

She fell to the ground before kneeling down, but she was right next to him and didn’t even mind.

“Stiles?” Despite feeling everyone’s eyes on them, the girl kept her gaze glued to him. “Come on, you nerd, open your eyes”

She shook him, holding him by the shirt, and did her absolute best not to start crying when he didn’t respond.

Feeling helpless and lost, Catori looked over her shoulder to her friends. First to Scott, then to Lydia, then to everyone else.

“Scotty…” The girl sobbed, begging him to do something. Anything.

He kneeled next to her with teary eyes and stared at Stiles.

“Stiles?” Scott tried himself, even if Catori had never seen him so terrified.

Already letting one tear escape, the girl began sobbing without control and held Stiles’ hand, clinging to him. He felt warm, but so still and calm…

Scott and Catori could hear Lydia crying behind them, broken by the grief. One of them sighed, another one sobbed, someone angrily hit a tree.

Catori didn’t know what to do, she didn’t even have the strength to be there, to exist. Not thinking that Stiles was gone.

She just hid her face on Scott’s shoulder, seeking any kind of comfort she could get. It seemed the only thing left for them at the moment: each other.

Catori just cried, disconsolate. It was the only thing she felt able to do, just bawl her eyes out. What else was there to do?

Furious with the world, the girl squeezed Stiles’ hand as hard as she could as though it could bring him back, wake him up.

And then, a ray of hope. Stiles groaned and stirred around just enough for them to notice.

Feebly, the boy let his other hand fall over her to remind her that she was still squeezing. He opened his eyes and looked at his friend.

Everyone circled around him, observing him and making various noises of relief like chuckles, sighs or sobs.

“Cat, my hand…” Stiles whispered weakly, letting his eyes fall over Scott and then her.

“Stiles…” Catori whispered with relief, curving up the corners of her mouth even if her lips were trembling.

Almost as though he heard the barely audible sound, the boy looked at her. His eyes shone as they locked with hers.

When he smiled at her, something stirred within her and suddenly that same smile was plastered on her own lips. Very slowly, the boy stood up.

Without a word, she ran to him. Throwing herself to him, she tightly wrapped her arms around Stiles. Catori made him totter, but he was still grinning and hugged her fondly too.

They hugged each other like they hadn’t seen in a long time. Like they thought they would never see each other again. Like they needed each other’s support.

He broke the hug and observed her carefully. It was like the Nogitsune nightmare had happened all over again, because he felt guilty and awful about hurting his friends.

Stiles lovingly brushed her long bangs away from her eyes, revealing a wound in her forehead when he did. Gingerly, he rubbed his thumb against it, making her wince.

Knowing what was going through his mind and trying to make him forget, she urgently hugged him again. She shakily sighed on his shoulder, feeling how she was trembling from head to toe herself.

“Cat…” The boy uttered in surprise. “Cat, you okay?”

The girl took her time to answer. She just rejoiced in the amazing moment, in the feeling of safety that he provided her with. In the contact of his arms around her as he hugged her, in how they were so close that she could feel him breathing next to her body and hear his heartbeat since her head was resting on his shoulder.

Before she slightly separated herself from him, Catori squeezed him and nuzzled her nose on his shoulder for a brief moment. Then she looked at him without breaking the hug.

“No, I’m not okay” The girl finally answered, shaking her head. “I’m still terrified”

Stiles frowned at the answer, not liking to hear that. But part of himself wanted to show the biggest grin when he realized something. She had admitted it.

“You giant idiot, you” Catori was shaking from head to toe, but she shoved her forehead in his shoulder and held him tight. “You scared me so much, I hate you!”

“Is everyone okay?” Scott’s eyes swept across the group in apprehension.

“Got a headache” Mason said, rubbing his sore nape. “But I’m alive…”

“Tori? Stiles?” The alpha asked them then.

“We will survive” The boy replied, affectionately patting Catori’s back.

Just then, she broke down and cried on his chest.

“It’s okay” Lydia tugged at her arm and tried to comfort her, but Catori held onto Stiles and would not let go of the embrace.

She would have never expected to love someone so much. It couldn’t even be expressed by words.

It felt like she would never find the courage to break the hug. If it were for her, Catori would hug him forever. Just feeling his warmth again, his familiar and comforting aura. Feeling his fidgety fingers caressing her and hearing his soft and goofy voice trying to comfort her as he also tried to lighten up the mood.

Her Stiles was back.

READ THE EPILOGUE!

THAT’S IT, THAT’S THE END OF ‘FREE SPIRIT’! I HOPE THAT EVERYONE THAT READ THE STORY ENJOYED IT. IT WAS GREAT WRITING IT, GOING BACK TO THE CHARACTERS I LOVE AND WRITING FOR THEM IN A LONG SERIES. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE THAT READ, LEFT FEEDBACK AND LIKED. ALSO, SPECIAL THANKS TO @frostniskare FOR HELPING ME OUT WITH A FEW THINGS FOR THE STORY. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! <3

[stjohnintelligencer]

St John Tea Transcripts - November 21, “1917″

[19:00] Gabrielle Riel: Good evening everyone! Thank you so much for joining me for tea tonight!

[19:00] Gabrielle Riel: I don’t really have any major announcements tonight. Tea this evening is more about me telling you what’s been going on with me and to talk a little bit about the season change in St John Woods and Christmas stuff.

[19:00] Kitty (vinje): Hello everyone!

[19:01] Gabrielle Riel: It's been an age since I have had tea like this!

[19:01] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): hi Kitty

[19:01] Gabrielle Riel: Usually I ask you to hold questions until I give the ok, but tonight, feel free to ask questions as we go. The information I will be discussing is different than what I usually talk about at tea.

[19:01] Gabrielle Riel: Ready? I do recommend that you buckle your seatbelts for this. It’s going to go down some paths that you would not expect...

[19:01] Kitty (vinje): ohh

[19:01] Pru (prudencejekyll): Ready

[19:02] Gabrielle Riel tucks Kitty's seatbelt around him

[19:02] Kitty (vinje): gulp

[19:02] Gabrielle Riel: Here we go!

[19:02] Gabrielle Riel: I don’t know if any of you have noticed but I have not been in SL very much over the last three months. I have basically logged in to play gigs and handle the most basic of land administration tasks...and that’s it.

[19:02] Kitty (vinje): looks for my flask

[19:02] Gabrielle Riel passes Kitty 2

[19:02] Kitty (vinje): ty

[19:03] Gabrielle Riel: St John is riddled with vacant parcels that I have simply not had the time to process. We are in pretty rough shape right now in terms of our tenancy levels.

[19:03] Gabrielle Riel: That’s due to several things.

[19:03] Gabrielle Riel: First of all, a lot of long-time residents downsized or left SL altogether this year. This has been an issue everywhere not just in St John.

[19:03] Kitty (vinje): (( whats his ma,e wamts a parcel for his theater again ))

[19:03] Kitty (vinje): Name*

[19:03] Kitty (vinje): but go on

[19:04] Gabrielle Riel: Secondly, the SL economy changes due to the things that happened in 2016 have come home to roost. The fact that I could not afford the sim buy-downs hurt us badly. Also the prim increases on the mainland did cause some residents to leave for that better value.

[19:04] Kitty (vinje): dang

[19:04] Gabrielle Riel: I understand why LL made those changes. They were smart business decisions, but they did hurt us.

[19:04] Gabrielle Riel: Third: some of you might be aware of this and some of you might not, but I, my estate and my residents have been stalked by certain avatars/alts since at least 2009. Well, 2009 in terms of my estate. I have personally been stalked by alts since 2007.

[19:04] Kitty (vinje): oh no is my cold dead body gonna be dragged away?

[19:05] Gabrielle Riel: What do I mean by “stalked”? Well, it manifests in several ways. One is just a general nosiness. There are some people that literally have nothing better to do than to be nosy about what’s happening in St John and what I am doing in general.

[19:05] Gabrielle Riel: Is that weird? Yep. A little pathetic? In my opinion, yes. Sometimes these alts lease land. Sometimes they show up at Tea even though they aren’t St John residents. They come to Tea to know what’s going on or to save the transcripts for someone else, which is incredibly silly as I post unedited transcripts after each tea.

[19:06] Gabrielle Riel: Another type of stalking goes like this: an alt moves to St John and is relatively quiet for the first 2-3 months of residency. This is not too hard to accomplish as the typist(s) is/are running a million other alts all over the Steamlands and in SL in general. It’s not hard to be quiet when you’ve got that many avatars to manage!

[19:06] Kitty (vinje): hi zen

[19:06] ZenMondo Wormser: Hello.

[19:06] Gabrielle Riel: After the initial quiet period, the alt starts to make friendly and social overtures to other residents. They make social connections, which can be somewhat easy to do in here, and especially easy for a manipulative sociopath.

[19:06] Pru (prudencejekyll): waves to Zen

[19:06] ZenMondo Wormser: Sorry I am late I had to make sure no one showed up to my class

[19:07] Kitty (vinje): ahhh

[19:07] Gabrielle Riel: Eventually the alt(s) focus(es) their “friendly” conversations with the other St John residents they have befriended on one thing. Me.

[19:07] Gabrielle Riel: How everything I am doing sucks. How my sim design and landscaping sucks. How I am using the wrong scripts here and there. How I am doing *everything* wrong. All the ways I am such an awful person and horrible estate owner. It turns into a non-stop Gabi-bashing session...all the time.

[19:07] Pru (prudencejekyll): nods

[19:07] Gabrielle Riel: Eventually the alt convinces their “friends” to dump their land. It’s amazing how many people will allow themselves to be manipulated in this way, but sociopaths can always bank on the weakness in so many people.

[19:07] Kitty (vinje): dont forget your sassiness

[19:08] Gabrielle Riel grins - oh just wait

[19:08] Gabrielle Riel: Voila. Vacant parcel(s).

[19:08] Gabrielle Riel: I have always found it to be incredibly ironic that the alt(s) is/are able to manipulate others into dumping their land...and yet they stay on, not only as that functional alt, but as many others in the estate. So, they generate vacancies and at the same time lease parcels. It’s like this obsession to destroy and yet stay connected to me at the same time.

[19:08] Gabrielle Riel: If you are sitting here, you are likely not someone the alt(s) would ever approach. They avoid long time loyal residents and fixate more on quiet ones or less social ones.

[19:09] Gabrielle Riel: I have been dealing with this scenario since 2009. All from the same root(s).

[19:09] Gabrielle Riel: This non-stop, ongoing stalking is one of the reasons we have vacancies at the moment. It’s also one of the reasons I produced this podcast in August: https://archive.org/details/RielConversationsAllAboutAlts . Because I felt it was important to provide information to my residents about alts and how to identify them.

[19:10] Gabrielle Riel moves on from the alt reason

[19:10] Gabrielle Riel: Another reason we are hurting is due to abandons we had in Parish after we had to rebuild the sim. The rebuild was absolutely necessary in order for St John to survive. I knew we’d take a hit and lose some residents, and we did. We just lost more than I had hoped and it made a bad situation worse.

[19:10] Kitty (vinje): oh no

[19:10] Gabrielle Riel: There is one final reason we have so many vacancies and I alluded to it when we started tea: I have not been online much and therefore unable to process parcels for leasing.

[19:11] Gabrielle Riel: Why have I not been online? That’s complicated, so I will try to keep it simple.

[19:11] Gabrielle Riel: 2017 has been one of the worst years of my life, my actual life.

[19:11] Gabrielle Riel: It has also, hands-down been the worst year of my SL in 11.5 years.

[19:12] Gabrielle Riel: That is saying a lot. I’ve had rough patches before. Back in my early years, I was bashed in blogs. Called a c*nt in print and was accused of having multiple personality disorder. However there were also incredible high points during those times. It all balanced out.

[19:12] Gabrielle Riel: There was no balance this year. It has just sucked.

[19:12] Gabrielle Riel: At the beginning of 2017 I was SL-engaged with plans for a massive Mardi Gras SL-wedding. While it’s good that ended up not coming to fruition, it was still very difficult to deal with as it all fell apart.

[19:13] Gabrielle Riel: My close friends here right now can confirm my statement: “it was SO messed up”. Painful. Horrible. Heartbreaking. For me and for him. I wish him well and I wish him happiness. I am fairly sure he does not wish the same for me, but that’s how it goes sometimes when you sever a connection.

[19:13] Kitty (vinje): grrrr

[19:13] Gabrielle Riel scratches Kitty behind the ears

[19:13] Kitty (vinje): k

[19:13] Gabrielle Riel grins

[19:14] Gabrielle Riel: In addition to SL stress, I was also weathering incredible RL stress.

[19:14] JivenKitty: sends the "gentleman" an old furball

[19:14] Gabrielle Riel: Some of you know a little bit about my real life. I think I have mentioned here and there over the years that I have a son and that he has special needs.

[19:14] Gabrielle Riel: While it might seem like I am this active person with a radio station and a Second Life estate, the reality is that 90% of my life is taken up with caring for my son.

[19:15] Gabrielle Riel: The tasks involved in his care are a lot. I mean a lot. That’s all I am going to say about it. Just know that it’s not something most people could handle and I handle it...and I handle it like a damn superwoman.

[19:15] Gabrielle Riel: The need for me to focus on my son’s care has done nothing but increase over the years, so when I hear about someone bitching about “why hasn’t Gabi done this” or “why hasn’t Gabi finished that” or “where the hell has Gabi been” or “look at all those empty parcels”...

[19:15] Gabrielle Riel: I only have one thing to say:

[19:16] Kitty (vinje): who says that?

[19:16] Gabrielle Riel: *Kristin pushes the nice, professional Duchess aside and takes over*

[19:16] Gabrielle Riel: Fuck you. I dare you to walk in my shoes and handle it as well as I have.

[19:16] Gabrielle Riel regains control

[19:16] Gabrielle Riel: Oh LORD! I just swore at tea! Smelling salts all around!

[19:16] Kitty (vinje): haha

[19:16] Pru (prudencejekyll): :)

[19:17] Imon (imon.nightfire): smiles

[19:17] Gabrielle Riel tosses Amelia a bag of smelling salts...can you pass these out please... you're an expert at it  ;-)

[19:17] Kitty (vinje): haha

[19:17] Gabrielle Riel whispers...we used to be Swooners...long story for another time!

[19:18] Gabrielle Riel: I don’t think I have ever cursed in public...oh, save one time in December 2008 when I dropped the F bomb in ISC (Caledon group chat) over something that happened (that could have been prevented) that totally messed up a huge event I was having.

[19:18] Gabrielle Riel: But hey...I’ve been here for almost 12 years and I’m damn tired after 2017! If someone hears/reads that and gets their panties in a wad and leaves St John, oh well!

[19:18] Gabrielle Riel grins - “panties in a wad” is such a Kristin and not a Gabi phrase!

[19:18] Pru (prudencejekyll): :)

[19:18] Gabrielle Riel: My Dad was a cop. I can swear like a cop. I can also kick your ass like a cop.  ;-)  Literally or figuratively!

[19:19] Gabrielle Riel crawls on top of Kristin and shoves her back into the closet

[19:19] Emmanuelle Huntress: or have one do it for her

[19:19] Gabrielle Riel grins at Emma

[19:19] Amelia Smythe quiletly passes the salts around the group

[19:19] Gabrielle Riel: Anyway!

[19:19] Gabrielle Riel: That’s why I have not been around. My son’s care has been all-consuming this year. And that is not likely to change.

[19:19] Gabrielle Riel: 2017 has been the “perfect storm” of horror for me. Hurricane Gabrielle was very appropriately named.

[19:20] Kitty (vinje): takes said smelling salts

[19:20] Gabrielle Riel: So...now...here we are…

[19:20] JivenKitty: looks for opium pipe

[19:20] Gabrielle Riel: I have a hope. That is that I will be able to spend some time working on St John over the coming weeks. I really need to get the estate in better shape. I need to get parcels set up for leasing. I have a lot of work to do.

[19:20] Gabrielle Riel: Just know that I WANT to do it. My RL will dictate my ability to make it happen.

[19:21] Gabrielle Riel: Also, while I do not have any current plans to close any of our sims, know that it IS a possibility. We might be stronger financially if I were to consolidate residents and dump a sim or two.

[19:21] Pru (prudencejekyll): nods

[19:21] Gabrielle Riel: That option is better than the other option which is: Gabi dumps all her sims and leaves SL. And yes, that is also a possibility.

[19:21] Gabrielle Riel hears the gasps of hope from altapalooza land

[19:21] Gabrielle Riel: I said possible. Not likely. So don’t get your hopes up bitch(es)!

[19:21] Pru (prudencejekyll): grins

[19:22] Gabrielle Riel sighs and shoves Kristin back in the closet AGAIN

[19:22] Kitty (vinje): whew

[19:22] Gabrielle Riel: So...what can you do to help? See if you have any friends that would be interested in leasing in St John! It’s that simple.

[19:22] Gabrielle Riel: And, yes, I know I need to process parcels first so they are available for lease! Don’t start marketing St John to your contacts until you see yellow on the map. My hope is to get parcels up for lease in the next week.

[19:22] Pru (prudencejekyll): My alt friends?  ;p

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel: Hey, as long as they don't harass anyone I am FINE with them!

[19:23] Pru (prudencejekyll): :)

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel: That, my dears, is in a nutshell “what the hell has been up with Gabi for months”.

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel: So...

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel: After that refreshing airing of all sorts of stuff, are you all ready to hear about season change and Christmas?

[19:23] Kitty (vinje): Hi Edward!

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel grins

[19:23] Pru (prudencejekyll): Yes!

[19:23] Edward Pearse: Evening all

[19:23] Pru (prudencejekyll): Hi Edward. :)

[19:23] Gabrielle Riel waits for heads to cease spinning

[19:24] Kitty (vinje): yes!

[19:24] Emmanuelle Huntress: Yay winter

[19:24] Gabrielle Riel: All good to go?  ;-)

[19:24] Pru (prudencejekyll): Bring it!

[19:24] Gabrielle Riel: Ok! So most of you probably already know this so I am going to keep it short. As St John is based on New Orleans, we are a sub-tropical climate. We do not have “changing of seasons”.

[19:24] Imon (imon.nightfire): yes :-)

[19:24] Gabrielle Riel: With one exception: St John Woods. We have all 4 seasons there. Woods is in Autumn mode at the moment, but the transition to Winter will start after Dec 1. I don’t go all snowy right away. I do it gradually over the first 2 weeks of the month. We go full snowy by Winter Solstice, which is on December 21.

[19:25] Edward Pearse: Yeah but pretty sure New Orleans doesn't have talking cats either :-P

[19:25] Kitty (vinje): pfffft

[19:25] Kitty (vinje) whispers: do too

[19:25] Gabrielle Riel: Of course it does

[19:25] Gabrielle Riel: It's New Orleans!

[19:25] Imon (imon.nightfire): depends on how much you've had to drink

[19:25] Kitty (vinje): voila!

[19:25] Gabrielle Riel: Winter lasts in Woods until March 1. That is when melt begins and it happens over several weeks, with Spring springing on the Vernal Equinox which is March 20.

[19:25] Gabrielle Riel: We also have a “freak snowstorm” in ALL of the St John sims on December 24, 25 and 26 for Christmas.

[19:26] Gabrielle Riel: And speaking of Christmas…

[19:26] ZenMondo Wormser: I actually date a talking cat from New Orleans in real life, so...

[19:26] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): a fgew

[19:26] Gabrielle Riel: The St John Christmas Ball will be Saturday, December 23 from 7-9pm SLT.

[19:26] Kitty (vinje): hahaha

[19:26] Edward Pearse: I was over in St Oswald last night. They're using the Botanical snow rezz thing. Worth looking at for comparison

[19:26] Gabrielle Riel: And could someone find me a nice date for it? I would be SO grateful because I SO don’t want to get lost in the memories of last year’s Christmas Ball! Thanks a bunch!  ;-)

[19:27] Gabrielle Riel: Speaking more of Christmas…

[19:27] ZenMondo Wormser: (her name is Fidget she is on my facebook)

[19:27] Gabrielle Riel: I need volunteers to help decorate the sims for the holidays. I’ll figure out what I want in each sim and let you know what to do...or just ask Kitty. He’s an expert at holiday decor in St John!

[19:27] Kitty (vinje): haha fidget

[19:27] Kitty (vinje): good cat name

[19:27] Gabrielle Riel: It’s 1917 now, which means it’s totally fine to decorate with electric lights in Parish and Uptown. I do prefer that folks in Bayou and Lake keep their holiday decor more natural as electric service was still not fully out to rural areas 100 years ago.

[19:27] Gabrielle Riel: Folks in Woods: you can do whatever the heck you want. You are magic. Go nuts. If you do something I consider out of theme, I’ll let you know.

[19:28] Gabrielle Riel: I will be putting up a Christmas tree here in Duchess Square in Parish and in Uptown, just like I have for the last 3 years.

[19:28] Gabrielle Riel: If you would like to help with sim Christmas decorating, please just let me know.

[19:28] Gabrielle Riel: Any Christmas questions?

[19:28] Gabrielle Riel: You guys are all long-time residents, you know the drill.

[19:29] Pru (prudencejekyll): nods

[19:29] Kitty (vinje): yeah we're good to go

[19:29] Gabrielle Riel: There is something that Amelia is working on that I would like her to mention.

[19:29] Kitty (vinje): ohhhh claps for Amelia

[19:30] Amelia Smythe: If you haven't noticed there is a huge area in front of my store now.  During the middle of December I'm going to run a small far for st john and other in theme merchants.

[19:30] Kitty (vinje): oops

[19:30] Amelia Smythe: fair that is

[19:31] Kitty (vinje): ohhhhh wow

[19:31] Gabrielle Riel: I am so not going to make out with you cat

[19:31] JivenKitty: nice

[19:31] Amelia Smythe: Right now I just need to collect names of the local merchants.  If you are one, please send me an IM

[19:31] Kitty (vinje): snickers

[19:31] Amelia Smythe: that's all for now

[19:31] Kitty (vinje): i didnt know it moved you, if i moved

[19:31] Edward Pearse: :-)

[19:31] JivenKitty: "right"

[19:31] Kitty (vinje): looks for mint mouth spray

[19:32] Edward Pearse bites tongue

[19:32] Kitty (vinje): i really hate sitting like im going to the bathroom

[19:32] Gabrielle Riel: ty Amelia! We can send a notice about the fair as well.

[19:32] JivenKitty: wear a long gown, bring a chamber pot

[19:32] Gabrielle Riel: This is just the advance notice.

[19:32] Pru (prudencejekyll): wear one of your human costumes, Kitty.

[19:32] Kitty (vinje): i love that idea Amelia!

[19:33] Amelia Smythe: ty gabi

[19:33] Kitty (vinje): pfffft

[19:33] Kitty (vinje): damnit

[19:33] Gabrielle Riel: I have one last quick announcement. This is event-related. Starting this Sunday, my Swing Songs from The Nightingale show will run from 12:30-2pm SLT. This will be its time slot going forward. It will continue to be on the 4th Sunday of every month like it always has been, it will just be at this new, earlier time.

[19:34] Edward Pearse: Can you get me an updated poster sometime soon?

[19:34] Kitty (vinje) whispers: can i make out with Amelia?

[19:34] Gabrielle Riel: I play that at The Serpah Club.

[19:34] Gabrielle Riel: Yep - I made one today

[19:34] Edward Pearse: Cool

[19:34] Gabrielle Riel: It's actually on my FB notice for the event

[19:34] Kitty (vinje) whispers: ohhh did she say yep?

[19:34] Gabrielle Riel hasn't unbuckled your seatbelt yet cat, you can't reach Amelia

[19:35] Edward Pearse: Is there a Vet in St John?

[19:35] Kitty (vinje) whispers: damnit

[19:35] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): Ali is a baby doctor

[19:35] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): best I giot for ya

[19:35] Gabrielle Riel: Any questions? About anything?

[19:35] Pru (prudencejekyll): I know how to do it, Edward... I just need someone to hold him down.

[19:35] Kitty (vinje): gasp

[19:35] Gabrielle Riel: Including:  "Gabi when you are going to say "fuck" again at tea"  ;-)

[19:35] Kitty (vinje) whispers: omg

[19:36] Edward Pearse: Does that count as saying it?

[19:36] Gabrielle Riel: This was the second time I said it tonight.

[19:36] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): not it didnt have the same impact for me

[19:36] Edward Pearse: I'll get you a swear jar

[19:36] Kitty (vinje): i have one in the bar

[19:37] Edward Pearse: Or should that be a "cussing jar" here? :-)

[19:37] Gabrielle Riel: We can stay and be social, however - I hereby declare this tea officially over in regards to important estate information…

[19:37] ƵƸÐ ℝÅƔƸN (cupcakesnatcher): thank you Gabi

[19:37] Gabrielle Riel: ...and damn I can not wait to post these transcripts.  ;-)