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clementinesjourney · 3 years

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I'll even be a clown.. cause I just wanna amuse ya...

AN: Still stuck on the series's storyline.. And i freaking love Mäneskin.. sooooo i thought i'll bring them into my little universe as well while still keeping our Buck around. Tell me if you like this kind of thing or not. <3

Warnings: none

Words: 1,5 K

Pairing: Bucky x singer!reader

Summary: Reader is a singer who has a great friendship with the band Mäneskin, who are coming to New York for a concert, and would love to have her sing with them on stage. Thats when Bucky realizes why was the girl at the bar so familiar..

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Wanda liked Mäneskin ever since she saw them in Italy. They were young, sexy, fun and talented as hell. So when she saw the ads of them coming to NY she had to get tickets for the whole gang. Bucky wasn't so happy, but what could he do. He preferred the 40's music still, but might as well give it a go, maybe he will enjoy it.

Soon enough the day of the concert came, the others were all over the place, Bucky was quietly sitting at the bar, playing with his whiskey, swirling it around in the glass.

-Do you usually just play with your drinks, all lonely in bars? - a cheerful voice asked next to him. He looked it's owner up and down. A pair of black Dr. Martens, black stockings, highwaisted black leather shorts, black mesh top, with a lacy burgundy bra underneath, golden chains in her neck, red, naturally wavy hair, a smile to die for, and damn those vibrant green eyes.

-Staring at strangers a little to long as well, i see - you said chuckling, signalling the bartender that you wanna order. - i'll have a gin-soda with lime and one of whatever he's drinking.

He was still just staring at you.

-Thank you it's reallly flattering, but you can close your mouth now. Don't be a creep.. - you winked. - Cheers. - You clinked your glass to his, sipping into it.

- i-im sorry.. - he said absolutely stunned how open you were.

- Hi sorry, i'm sober. - you chuckled, sipping more of your drink, enjoying the taste.

-You're crazy. - he said chuckling, running a hand through his hair.

- Oh shut up everybody is.. C'mon the show's starting. - you said, grabbing his dogtags, making him follow you to the middle of the crowd, dancing around to the beat.

The first few songs went in a blur, he danced with you to all of them. From the corner Wanda and Sam kept an eye on you two.

-He doesn't have a clue who he's dancing with does he? - shouted Wanda into Sam's ear over the music.

-Even i don't have a clue. Why?

Just wait and see. - shouted Wanda while giggling, sipping her wine.

The song ended, when the singer started to scan the crowds with the other musicians while talking.

-We have a dear old friend in the crowd, and we thought we couldn't miss this opportunity to sing and party with her again. The next song is one i always tried to seduce her with, wonder why never did it work.. he said chuckling obviously making a joke, making the women in the front rows melt. - please welcome one of our dearest friend and most amazing singer in NY city with the same warmth.. (Y/N).. come on in here you old hag.. - he said while clapping for you.

Without a word you left Bucky there right in the middle. He couldn't process what was happening.

You hopped on the stage, waving at the people, quickly hugging and kissing the band. You were then facing the crowd, smirking at Bucky, you gave him a wink as the singer came up right into your face from the side as he started to sing.

I wanna be your slave I wanna be your master I wanna make your heart beat Run like rollercoasters I wanna be a good boy I wanna be a gangster 'Cause you can be the beauty And I could be the monster I love you since this morning Not just for aesthetic I wanna touch your body So fucking electric I know you scared of me You said that I'm too eccentric I'm crying all my tears And that's fucking pathetic.

You were now facing him, taking over dancing around him, with him. You were glowing, you were having the time of your life being able to sing with your friends again.

I wanna make you hungry Then I wanna feed ya I wanna paint your face Like you're my Mona Lisa I wanna be a champion I wanna be a loser I'll even be a clown Cause I just wanna amuse ya I wanna be your sex toy I wanna be your teacher I wanna be your sinner I wanna be a preacher I wanna make you love me Then I wanna leave ya 'Cause baby I'm your David And you're my Goliath.

You were putting on a show, just as you used to back when you lived in Italy. When you nearly kissed, Bucky felt a pang in his chest. He just met you yet you had him around your finger from the first minute. In a spare moment you saw how his jaw clenched at how close Adamo was to you. Smirking, you know the handsome stranger will certainly take you home now.

The concert finished, and Bucky found himself drinking at the bar alone again, hoping you'd find him again somehow. And that is what you did.

-(y/n) by the way. - You said holding your hand for him to shake, with the biggest smile on your face.

-Bucky. - He took it, and his hand lingered on yours a little longer. - Can i buy you a drink?

- You can. - you said with a smirk. He was handsome you thought. You wouldn't mind having a bit of fun with him tonight.

The next hour you two were talking, getting to know eachother. It was time that the place closes, so you grabbed your leather jacket and went out.

-Do you wanna talk a bit more? I-i'm sorry if it sound lame. i'm kinda rusted in this department... But i would really like to spend some more time with you.. - He said while running a hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his head. He was nervous and you found it unbearably cute.

-It depends... do you have anything to drink while we're doing the ' talking'? - you tried to hint on having a bit more fun than talking. It wasn't that you were sleeping with every man you could, but you were set on the idea that whatever a man can do without shame so can women. You loved to live freely, doing whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. And if it was a god-like handsome man you met at a concert, then hell so be it.

-I'm sure i can find something.. - He said with a smile. You saw how he calmed knowing that you'll go with him. It was cute that he worried you might not. He tried to mask it with that flirty-masculinity that you loved, but deep down you both know you had the reins.

On the way to his apartment you were laughing at some old stories he told you about his past. Dates that go wrong, nights he helped old friends to get home, nights they helped him. There was something about you that made him feel like a little boy trying to get his first date, yet let him be himself at the same time. It confused him, but in a good way. You didn't even realize you were holding hands the most of the way. When you arrived he took his keys out and opened the door, letting you enter before him.

You hopped down on the couch waiting for him to bring you a drink. It was whiskey, which had you make funny faces as it was stronger than what you used to usually drink. Youeyed up his record collection. You always adored the way vinyl made the music sound. It gave you a homey feeling. It was mostly records from the 40-50's, but what stood out is an album of Quentin Tarantino songs. You took it out and put it on while he watched you from the couch, smiling, fascinated by how comfortable you seemed in his place, as if you were living here. His smile grew even bigger when you started to dance around for one of your all time favourite songs that was in a Tarantino movie. Stuck in the middle with you by Stealers Wheel. You jumped around, took his hand, making him stand up and dance with you. You felt like freedom..

When the next song came ( Girl, you'll be a woman soon by Urge overkill) he put his hands on your waist, bringing you closer, you put your hands in his neck, looking deep into his mesmerizing blue eyes and slowdanced. You were smiling at eachother, then he leaned in to kiss you. It was the best damn kiss you've ever had. You wanted to have more, which ended in a heavy makeout session on his couch, him only wearing his jeans now as you admired his well built chest and over all just him... You had to admit he's pretty god-like. One thing led to another and the next morning you found yourself waking up in the handsome strangers bed when the sun just came up.It was around 5 am. His hands around you, legs tangled. Both of you stark naked. You smiled at him, gave him one last peck. By the time he woke up, his bed only had the remains of you. A lingering scent of liqour and peaches, and a note with burgundy kiss mark on it. You must've kissed the paper goodbye instead of him he thought with a sad smile. He would've loved to wake up to the sight of you, to memorize your face, your body.

The note only said: two weeks from now, where the sun emerges from the sea. 5 am.

He smiled at this little note. It's a date he murmured. He went out to make coffee, after all he'll have to deal with his friends asking all kinds of questions. He was sure they won't miss the content look on his face. He had an amazing night, topped it off with amazing sex, and maybe two weeks from now he'll get to meet you again..

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #maneskin

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cloud9in · 4 years

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The Half of It

A Mc x Poppy fic inspired by the film

Summary: Bea, the town’s outcast is recruited by the school jock to win Poppy’s heart. But what happens when she starts falling for her as well?

Author’s Note: So this will be a multiple part series that includes scenes heavily inspired from the movie “The Half of It”. I certainly recommend watching it. My version will have different twists and a different ending, and definitely more angst. It will include mature themes as the story progresses.

Warnings for this chapter: Swearing. This is a good thing for now.

Chapter 1-

“Love is simply the name for desire and pursuit of the whole.”

- Plato, The Symposium

It is said that when one half finds its other, there’s an unspoken understanding. A unity. And each would know no greater joy....than this.

...Except this is highschool. And in my opinion, there is no other half. Maybe the other half is a paper on Greek God philosophy due at midnight. But make that four papers, including mine.

My name is Bea Hughes and let’s just say...this is not a very happy story. Well maybe some parts are, but you’ll have to read to find out. I come from a small town called Farmsville, and when I mean small, I mean really small. Except the highschool seems fucking huge, with never ending hallways and when you do somehow find the end, there’s usually two inbreds eating each others mouths off. Lucky for me I am the epitome of antisocial, reserved, an introvert, or whatever the inferior beings, aka every other senior, calls me when they think I can’t hear. But I hear everything, including that one time Bradley Denbrough, upcoming hotshot actor, or so he claims, found out about a crush a poor unsuspecting freshman had on him. Everybody knew what Bradley and his goons did to that boy, even the adults, but no charges were pressed. This town is as conservative as it gets, but no one knows of my secret. I carry this school on my back when it comes to having everyone graduate, but that’s all I am to them, a pawn. And that’s all I wanted to be, nothing more and nothing less. I preferred to be in the shadows.

***

...Except the mandatory Senior Talent Show forced Bea out of her hibernation hole. The thought haunted her as she sat in the dance studio, the last fucking place she wanted to be. Dance was so not a Bea kinda thing, but the blonde knew exactly why she granted herself the misery of picking the class. Poppy Min Sinclair, the golden girl of Farmsville High, the preacher’s daughter on a more serious note. She is...the most fascinating girl Bea ever laid her eyes on even if her boyfriend was a complete asshole who sermonized his duties as her future husband. Like seriously? Poppy has got to have some screws loose to date such a fake loser who plagiarizes all of his speeches at sunday church, and once literally begged Bea to write an apology letter to his father for him after completely upending their summer cabin. Except the blonde wrote the opposite of an apology, it went something like this…

Dear beloved donkey, I mean dad,

I am terribly sorry for inviting 20 hookers to the summer cabin. I have these strange impulses and you should at least be grateful I didn’t invite the big boss as well. His wife came though, in many, many ways. You should get the carpet changed.

Sincerely, your STD free son

It was safe to say that Mr. Denbrough had a near heart attack after reading it, and Bea did kinda feel bad, kinda. He never mentioned the letter to Bradley though, instead silently calling up the owner of Teopoli Catholic Summer Camp and essentially deporting the boy to Canada for the summer. No son of his would end up in hell was what the old man preached everyday from then on. It was the quietest summer Bea had ever experienced.

Being the towns outcast, Bea could have her fun when she so chooses to, but that didn’t pay the bills. In fact, the multiple essays that people paid her to write was her way of surviving and taking care of her mother. They weren’t very rich but Bea worked with what she had, helping her mother manage the farm, which included getting on her knees and wrestling the pigs. And that’s how she was gifted the name “pig girl”, stupid Bradley and his fake friends just had to wander too far and catch Bea in the act. She swore a remixed video of her hog calling surfaced the web at one point and that gave the blonde her five minutes of fame. Boy was it an awful time in her life.

Bea worked her mother’s previous job as station master or signalman for the trains that passed through, even if it barely paid her shit. The secluded feeling of sitting in that booth and having a moment with her thoughts was enough to give her purpose. Bea was fond of poetry and it usually helped her come up with song lyrics.

Song lyrics…

That she would have to sing at the talent show. A huge sigh escaped her lips as she slumped further into the ground, maybe hoping she could bury herself six feet under. It wasn’t that Bea hated singing, no she absolutely loved it. Playing her guitar at night and belting out lyrics that only resulted in her mother banging on the ceiling below in efforts to shut the blonde up. But the mere fact that she’d have to sing in front of the ruthless seniors rubbed her the wrong way. Something would go wrong, it always did. Bea was shaken out of her thoughts when Poppy crossed the center of the room, moving her hips slowly to the sound of Rihanna’s voice. The class chose a slow r&b song to choreograph today and of course all eyes were on Poppy.

If i’m your girl say my name boy

let me know i'm in control

Her silky blonde locks swayed as she danced to the beat, hands thrusting sensually along her sides. Bea stared in awe, almost like Poppy was the only one in the room and a spotlight illuminated every movement, every curve. Except she definitely wasn’t the only one picturing Poppy in that way. Carter, the school quarterback leaned against the railing, arms crossed and eyes trailing the rise and fall of her chest.

Got me wondering, I’m wondering if i'm on your mind

Bea sat up straighter but nearly lost her bodily functions when Poppy locked eyes with her before spinning away. It was simple eye contact Bea, don’t let it get to your head. You already have multiple lyrics inspired by Poppy offering the bare minimum in human interaction. She doesn’t actually like you. Poppy is popular and has the perfect life...and boyfriend, even if Bea heavily disagrees. Poppy was a bitch of course, but not a bitch bitch. Unlike the other wannabe mean girls, the blonde didn’t give Bea hell, well that was because the girl paid her zero attention. She seemed distant, off in her own world, or well in her parents world learning the strategies of business. Poppy was expected to follow in her parents footsteps and keep up with her reputation of being the richest in town, and of course a faithful future wife. So fun. But the blonde had other prosperous dreams of travelling and following her passion of music and dance. Highschool was her only outlet and she took advantage of it any chance she’d get. Bea knew this because she would ride her bike every friday night to the school and watch Poppy dance from outside the glass window. Maybe Bea realized it was kinda creepy, but she’s dumb enough to not realize her obvious growing attraction. I mean who pedals miles just to watch someone trip on their feet?

***

The sound of the bell caught everyone's attention and the teacher slowly lowered the music. Bea watched as Bradley approached Poppy and smothered her with kisses and praises. She rolled her eyes painfully, this kind of PDA definitely wasn’t it, she could have gone her whole life without seeing that. She walked silently through the crowd of kids in the hall, everyone was laughing and talking to their friends. All Bea could allow her mind to focus on was the very intimidating billboard of names a few feet across from her.

Winter Talent Show Sign-Ups (Mandatory For Seniors)

Bea glared at it quietly before signing her name on the sheet, sealing her inevitable fate. Through the hustle of students, Carter watched the blonde with a yearning look from afar. This should be great…

The next few classes were a blur and Bea eventually found herself getting up to hand Ms. Kingsley her paper. The older woman looked at her with a knowing glance as she took a generous sip of her coffee, which was 75% tequila.

“6 different interpretations on Plato? Colour me impressed Miss Hughes.”

Bea shrugs nonchalant, “yeah well would you rather read their actual essays?”

“Oh hell no.” Kingsley feigns shock as she looks at the stack of papers with a comical expression. She takes another sip, watching her younger, prodigy of a student carefully. “You know there are places outside of this godforsaken town where you can put your talents to use... Real use. I teach at Belvoire University occasionally.” Ina winks and slides Bea an application, studying her initial reaction. “It’s...in New York.”

“Damn right! The Big Apple.”

“Kingsley you know I have to stay here. It’ll be easier for me to manage the farm and be close to home”, Bea says confidently even though her body language displays otherwise. She predicted the big sigh filling her ears before it actually happened and it still managed to faze her. “Who ever said you had to do anything? What about what you want to do?” Bea doesn’t make eye contact with Ina, that woman could convince you to do just about anything with a certain look. “No we are not doing this. You can take your reverse psychology and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I’m outta here.” The blonde stomps out of the classroom, the sound of Ina’s chuckles still ringing in her ears.

“Hey! Everyone in this town fears God, but you know what God fears? My ability to hide a bottle of Don Julio in my left boot.” Ina pulls out the newly bought bottle and cradles it. “Come to mama.”

***

Bea rode her bike alongside the dirt road, Kingsley’s words on replay the entire ride. Maybe she did deserve to experience something more than what this town had to offer. But would her mother manage without her? Sacrifices, sacrifices. Bea was used to making those for her mother after her father’s death. What would her dad think of all of this?

“Hey!”

He’d surely smack Bea upside the head for the little antics she pulled occasionally. And then he’d buy her vanilla coconut ice cream and ask for every single detail of what happened as they sat and laughed together. That’s the kind of relationship Bea would have had with her father, she liked to assume so. She also liked to assume that she’d get home safely everyday without a scratch, but then there’s Carter.

“Hey wait up!”

The jock seemed to be running ridiculously fast and crashed right into the rear end of Bea’s bicycle, sending her face first into a mount of dirt. The initial impact was enough to boost the blonde straight back up like nothing happened and into a fighting stance, fists out and eyes wild. Very scary Bea. When she realized it was him...well it only pissed her off even more. “What the fuck Carter! You asshole!”

“I’m sorry Bea! Here let me help-”

“No! Move away! You- my bike- I…” Bea groans frustratingly, stepping away from the wreck as she tries to catch her breath. Carter watches her sheepishly, rubbing an envelope between his fingers awkwardly. After a few minutes of painfully uneasy silence he speaks up, “Okay...I didn’t want to ask you this way but I was wonder-”

“Oh, so you practically break my ass and now you want me to do you a favour? Real nice way of communication you have there Mr. Quarterback. What is with you and those freakishly large muscles anyways? Maybe it’s my fault I didn’t hear your avalanche built ass coming from behind.”

“Hey! They are not freakishly large!”

“I hate to break it to you Jackson but mine are significantly more appealing to look at.” Bea smirks widely, flexing her arm as best as she could. It’s a work in progress… just bare with her.

It didn’t take much effort for Carter to break out into a smile and look at her fondly. Maybe there was more to this girl than just being a human dictionary. Well that’s what people called her, and he maybe believed it at first.

Bea noticed the lack of response and shifted awkwardly, clearing her throat. “Listen, its $10 for three pages, $20 for three to ten, I'm not in the over-ten-page biz.”

“No..no I’m not here to cheat!” Carter blurts out. “But I’ll let you know if I do plan on- anyways. I uh..” He hesitates before handing her the envelope. “What’s this?

“Well you see it’s a letter..”

“Yeah but who writes letters these days?”

“I thought it seemed romantic..”

“And I thought women writing Jeffrey Dahmer letters in jail seemed romantic”, Bea says sarcastically, her smile dropping instantly after catching a glimpse of Poppy’s name at the top of the paper. It was like the blood stopped flowing through her body for a few seconds as her mouth went dry. This had to be the work of the so-called God everyone praised in this town, or it was one cruel coincidence. Bea wasn’t sure why seeing her name made her heart beat ten times harder, but it also wasn’t a necessarily uncomfortable feeling…

“I- I can’t help you.”

“But if you just add a few more words-”

“I’m not writing a letter to Poppy Min Sincla- to..to some girl for you. Letters are supposed to be authentic, from the heart, your own words, your...feelings.” Bea hurriedly turns to grab her bike, suddenly losing all interest in being social.

Carter was afraid this would happen. But he was stubborn. “But I can pay more for authentic!”

Too bad Bea was stubborn as well. “Just get a thesaurus...Good luck, Romeo.”

***

Bea sat in her room, strumming away softly at the strings of her guitar. Some of the keys were off but the old thing still worked, and that was good enough for her. She could hear the tv blasting downstairs, her mother most likely watching the news. There’s something about old people and news, were they secretly ogling the news anchors? Just like Bea ogled Poppy any chance she could. The blonde frowned to herself, her eyebrows crunching together in question. What so hard about writing a letter to Poppy? It’s not like it's coming from her. Well it technically is, but Carter is taking the credit and Bea never had a problem with people taking credit for her words. So why did this very thought prove to be such an inconvenience? Lucky for Bea, her mind drifted elsewhere when she heard a painful snap. Even if it wasn’t physically connected to her body, she felt a horrible ache. Slowly peering down at the guitar in her hand, Bea found that the neck of the guitar had miraculously split almost clean off, a splinter of wood just holding it intact. She wanted to scream but nothing really came out, except air of course. Much to her disapproval, this was definitely a result of her strength. Stupid muscles couldn’t contain themselves at the thought of Carter being with Poppy. Now how could that be?

But now she had no guitar. And no guitar means no strings to strum, and no lyrics to sing, and no talent to show at the talent show. Now she was in trouble. Probably because she knew that the only way to get the money to replace the guitar would be through sealing the deal with Carter. Oh fuck it!

***

“One letter. And enough money to buy a new guitar.”

“Deal!”

Bea turns away with a sigh, completely ignoring Carter’s high five. Now all she had to do was write this letter, and pray that Poppy wouldn’t completely consume every fiber of her being in the process.

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End note: So how we feelin’? Carter and Bea Brotp??

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @zigxryanz @uselesslesbianfr @aleiramacaii @thedaft1 @alexlabhont @iamsimpforpoppy

#queen b #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #mc x poppy #playchoices #I couldn't come up with a unique title #throw some ideas if you have #do share your opinion on this #it is valued #oblivious bea is a pain in the ass #but certainly fun to write

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harryhandstan · 4 years

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you bring me home

tw: death

word count: 2,356

This is a piece that was something more personal to me and I'm thankful to Olivia (@bfharry) for allowing me to include it in her bf!harry fic-a-thon. My aunt died in early December of 2019 very suddenly. She and my uncle had been together for almost 20 years, but since common law marriage is not recognized in my state, her sister was in charge of all arrangements. Her sister lived in another state and basically just called and set up everything for her cremation over the phone. My uncle was too devastated to really speak up and say anything, so my family and I never truly got a chance to have the experience of a funeral for her. I never felt like I got that closure I needed, so for the past 8 months since her death, my brain has cycled through this vicious cycle of denial and depression, never fully reaching acceptance. This piece is basically just the experience I wish I had and Harry helping me through the grief process.

It's also the very first Harry thing I've ever written and posted here so any and all feedback is welcome!

also lots of hugs to @geoffwittek for reading over everything for me and being such an angel in general

"Linds? We're gonna be late, love. Your family's still meeting at 3, right?"

His voice sounds distant, despite you both being in the same room. Your brain registers the noise but is unable to form a response.

He stands near the end of the bed, hands in his pockets, head down, "We don't have to go if it's too much for you. I'm sure your family would understand."

The black dress Harry helped you shop for 2 days ago lays, taunting you, at the end of the bed. You remember mindlessly wandering around before you had a breakdown in the middle of the department store. Harry had to sit with you on the bench outside of the store until you pulled yourself together enough to go back in.

Nearly a week ago, you had answered a call from home only to find your world turned upside down. Your Nanna cried on the other end, she couldn't believe the news was true either. It was so sudden and so unbelievably unexpected.

Your Aunt Linda was dead.

Thankfully, Harry had invited you over for dinner and a movie that night. You still don't remember how you stopped crying long enough to tell him the news. He held you on top of his chest, letting you sob until exhaustion took over and you fell asleep.

Currently, you were sitting on the side of the bed. Something in your brain had prompted you to gather enough strength to take a shower a couple of hours ago, but you hadn't had the energy to move since then. Harry's warm hand squeezing your shoulder brings you back to reality long enough to look at the clock and see you only had 10 minutes to get ready and be out the door.

"You coming back to me there, angel? Anything I can do to help you get ready for this?" he kneels in front of you, one hand on your thigh, the other cupping your face, wiping one of the many tears that were starting to form and fall.

"No, no, I can do this. I still wanna go. Just give me 5 minutes to get ready?"

"I'll go warm up the car." he leans up slightly and kisses your cheek before grabbing a set of keys off the dresser and disappearing down the stairs.

You throw the dress over your head quickly. Dread builds in your stomach but you push through, selecting a pair of pantyhose and taking longer to put them on than you have to spare, making sure you don't rip the delicate fabric. Shoes waited on the floor at the foot of the bed, a simple pair of black flats with a small silver buckle.

The bathroom lighting does you no justice as you try your best to do something to make yourself look somewhat presentable. You know there's no point in makeup, it'll all end up washed away by tears most likely before you even arrive at the funeral home. You apply a quick layer of moisturizer, hoping your skin will have a chance to recover before it's all washed away too. Your hair gets swept back into a low bun and at the last minute you grab a pair of earrings to loop through your ears on the way down the stairs and out the door.

The cold, winter air of December surrounds you as you make your way to the car. Harry was true to his word and had the car warm and waiting for you.

You take a shaky deep breath once you're settled in the passenger seat. Harry rests a hand on your knee, "You sure you're ready, peach?" you smile faintly at his nickname for you.

You'll never forget meeting him for the first time and comparing accents; your Georgia drawl versus his British one. Some nights when you were both delirious with sleepiness but unable to drift off, you would just exchange single words back and forth, trying to mimic one another. The nickname tended to roll off his tongue easier when you were in your hometown.

You shake your head no. How could you ever be ready for a day like this? Despite she and your uncle never getting married, she always supported and loved you and your siblings as her own nieces and nephew from day one. How were you supposed to live without a woman who always had an encouraging or motivational word to offer when you were sad or frustrated? A woman whose light was so bright in your life that her absence surrounded you with a darkness you could never imagine pulling yourself through? ______________________________________________________________

"You're making your lip bleed, lovie. Here." He swipes a thumb softly over your bottom lip. He pulls a tube of lip balm out of his coat pocket and you gratefully take it and use it.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this, H." You look down at your hands, a few frayed tissues lay on your lap, messy and still wet with tears. Your gaze meets his, eyes pleading for some sort of escape.

His arm wraps behind your back and a hand rests on your side, pulling you closer to him. He kisses your temple, "Do you want to leave?" His voice is a low, comforting rumble in your ear.

You look around at the small funeral home chapel. Only two of the twelve long wooden pews were filled. Most of your aunt's family still lived in Virginia, where she was originally from, and none of them could be bothered to pay their respects here in small town, Georgia. You couldn't leave now.

He reads your face, a brief glance over your features, feels your body relax into his, "Just say the word if you change your mind, alright?"

You rest your head on Harry's shoulder for the remainder of the sermon. The preacher is nice enough, but the speech he prepared is all wrong. Your aunt would have appreciated this, but it just wasn't her. Wasn't an accurate representation of who she was and the impact she had on your universe.

The preacher finally wraps up with a prayer, asking all to stand and bow their heads. You've never known Harry to be a particularly religious sort, but he grabs your hand and squeezes as he bows his head. A quick and thoughtful reminder that he's still there. He's not leaving your side.

The small gathering of guests parades past the casket now, all expressing their final goodbyes as they pass. Harry stands back, quiet and respectful, letting your family through first before he rejoins you. His hand lands on the small of your back and wanders around to rest on your hip as you walk back into the lobby together.

You accept a few hugs and expressions of condolences from the few friends that came. Your hand stays loosely tied to Harry's the whole time, and he uses his free hand to greet everyone you introduce him to. Your family offers you a spot in the family car to the graveside, but you decline. Harry assures them he'll drive you to the cemetery safely.

The graveside service is thankfully quick. Another gathering of guests and more kind words from the preacher. A small prayer. Emotional exhaustion is settling into your body, and Harry easily supports your weight back to the car when the service is over.

"Your Nanna cornered me in lobby before we left the funeral home while you were talking to your cousin," he starts the car and fiddles with the controls, adjusting the heat, "she wants us to come to her house for a bit. Are you up for that?"

You nod your head yes, still not sure if your voice is strong enough to not break when you answer him. You know it will only be your family there. 8 people, including Harry. You could handle that.

"Should we grab a bite to eat before we go? You haven't eaten much today, honey."

You chuckle. The first genuine laugh in a week bubbling up through your chest. You stop when you notice Harry's adorably confused expression, his brow furrowing together with slight concern.

"Oh, no. You don't eat before you go to Nanna's house, trust me." ______________________________________________________________

Harry is a warm addition to the small house on the hill.

His eyes go wide when he sees the amount of food spread across your grandmother's small round kitchen table. His gaze follows everyone already seated around the table and then back to you. All you can manage is an "I told you so" shrug.

"Is all this just to impress me or..?" his voice is a whisper in your ear, but the kitchen is so small it echoes around to the whole table.

"No, babe. This is how it always is at Nanna's."

Your Nanna and Aunt Donna, who you're sure spent all day making everything, insist that it's not THAT much food, but you know you'll all be guilted into at least finishing a full plate AND taking leftovers home for later. You're thankful to see even your uncle has a plate in front of him, knowing his appetite hasn't been the same since he lost your aunt.

When dinner is finished, a pot of coffee is made and passed aroud to accompany dessert. The aroma fills the house, the strong scent a comforting reminder of your Aunt Linda. She always said she hated the taste, but loved the smell. You inhale, the essence surrounding you and bringing back warm and lovely memories. You catch Harry's eye, a small smile crossing your face.

He makes his way around the living room, refilling a few mugs along the way. The open entryway between the two rooms allows you to watch the path he takes. He stops where your momma sits in a green plaid armchair, her lips are moving but you can't make out what they're saying. They both look at you and he turns back to her, a charming smile lighting up his face.

By the time he makes it back to the kitchen, you've slipped into your Nanna's bedroom. You know it's normally rude to disappear, but this place is home. Had been your second home all your life and you knew no one would care that you were slipping your shoes off and crawling under the covers of the freshly made bed.

You hear a lull of voices outside the door, and you're thankful for the noise, for the small comfort of gentle chaos. If you listen closely, you could pinpoint individual noises throughout the house; your dad and Nanna talking politics, your momma and sister flipping through channels on the living room tv, your Aunt Donna and your uncle questioning Harry about his favorite British television shows. You hear water running and picture Harry, his tall frame towering over the tiny kitchen sink, helping with the dishes. You feel a slight bit of guilt for leaving him alone, but by the sound of his laughter, he's making himself right at home too.

You drift to sleep, and when you wake, Harry is next to you. His long fingers smoothing comfortingly up and down your arm, "You disappeared, love. Thought you might like some company. Hope you don't mind me joining you."

You shift your body closer to him, your head on his chest, his arm resting behind your head, "Is everyone still here?"

He brushes a loose strand of hair out of your face, tucks it neatly behind your ear, "Your uncle just left a minute ago, but everyone else is still around. Your brother called, said he was sorry he couldn't make it. I came to find you, make sure you were okay."

Your little brother was in his last semester of college. It was finals week and you know he would've been here if he could.

"I'm okay...I mean as okay as you can be after a day like today, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

You slip off the bed and Harry follows you, hands on your waist to steady your balance while you slip your shoes back on. He helps you remake the bed, and the two of you make your way back towards the kitchen, now quiet that everyone moved to the living room.

"Harry?" You turn back at the last second before you leave the room. He's following so closely behind you you end up pressed against him.

"Hmm?" He catches you, pulling you even closer, the light from the kitchen shining on his face.

"I haven't had a moment to thank you today. For all of it..dropping everything and flying out here with me, spending the whole day with my family, driving me everywhere, just being here with me. You've kept me sane and I could never repay you for something like that."

"You don't have to thank me. I wouldn't have dreamed of being anywhere else than right here. You needed me and that was all that mattered, everything else can wait."

______________________________________________________________

“Ha! Look at baby peach! How old were you here?”

Your lap was covered in pictures, the few favorites you had brought with you from home. Harry was plopped next to you on the couch. The picture in question is a baby picture of you, chocolate icing all over your chubby cheeks.

“That’s my first birthday party.” You giggle at his smile, the way he can’t stop staring at the photo.

You shuffle through a few more, Harry being curious about each one and questioning you about every detail.

“Who’s this?” The picture he hands you takes your breath away for a second. You forgot it was mixed in and he instantly knows by the tears filling up your eyes.

“It’s your Aunt Linda, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I didn’t know..”

“No, it’s okay. This is a good picture of her. She had such an amazing smile.” He rests his head on your shoulder.

“She loved you so much, babe. She would be so proud of you.”

“Yeah, she would’ve thought you were pretty great too, H.”

#boyfriendathon #harry x reader #bf!harry #my writing

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moonflowerlesbians · 3 years

Note

thoughts on midnight mass?

so many

(spoilers abound below the cut)

Granted it's been a minute since I watched it so sorry if I forgot things

I have. mixed feelings. I went in knowing it was gonna be more overtly supernatural than the hauntings, but I was still surprised. Vampires and catholicism don't really mix for me and I was left with more questions than answers. Wasn't a huge fan of the ambiguous "an angel" explanation for the demon thing, which I guess might be a commentary on the nature of faith and just believing what people tell you but.... I have questions.

Unpopular opinion.. I didn't like Riley. I don't know what it was. He just rubbed me the wrong way. His pessimism, maybe? or was it the fact I was rooting for erin to be gay Who knows? Either way, shocked my socks of when he fucking burned to ash in front of Erin. My jaw dropped. Really enjoyed the way they did that though, where he closed his eyes and the girl he killed was there. (Side note - what is it with Mike and characters being haunted by ghosts of people who died in car crashes? Seriously, that woman in ep 1 of Hill House, Dani, now Riley. Mike go to therapy.)

I did really enjoy the religious fanaticism aspect of it. I thought it was done really well even if I wasn't at all sad when Bev Keane got what was coming to her. I thought Rahul did a great job as the sheriff and the religious contrast was super interesting, especially in that town hall scene even if the character information felt a little forced at times.

I enjoyed Henry Thomas much more in this role than in Bly probably because the accent wasn't forced, but I thought he was excellent. and LEEZA oh my GOD. Annarah Cymone was phenomenal. And the last line of the show perfectly captured the hopeful hopelessness of the situation. The way paralysis was seen as a negative at the beginning and a blessing at the end.

The ending of the show was perfect. There's no other way it could've ended. Yeah I can't wait to read the fic of Erin and Sarah taking care of the kids but canonically? I wouldn't change a thing. Annie, Erin, and Sarah's deaths pissed me off but they were necessary and well-done.

A little weird that Sarah was the kid of the preacher. Felt a little like it came out of nowhere. I liked Alex Essoe as Mildred though, even if the old age makeup and voice gave clear young-person-playing-old vibes.

Kate Siegel can do no wrong. She was great. Monologue delivery spot-on. Love another addition to the KSCIBCU (Kate Siegel Covered In Blood Cinematic Universe).

Michael could've chilled with the seventeen minute character monologues though. Except the Erin ones. I will listen to those any time. Also because those felt the most meaningful and not quite as shoehorned in. After a while, the audience is less willing to be preached at (ha) so the monologues lose their effect.

Overall, I... think I liked it? Probably won't rewatch for a while though.

#i might have more thoughts later #midnight mass #midnight mass spoilers #ask #whatwwwwwww

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇʀᴇᴍɪᴀᴅ

“Anakin knew he had to set her free, this beautiful Sith of a woman.”

word count: 2731

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

jer·e·mi·ad/ˌjerəˈmīəd/ jeremiad

a long, mournful complaint or lamentation; a list of woes."the jeremiads of puritan preachers warning of moral decay"

Anakin couldn’t remember when he first started loving you. He only knew that he had seen you at some point, and at some point became so infatuated, he kept an eye out for you at every turn. If you happened to be passing by while he was speaking to Obi-Wan, Anakin’s eyes were trained on you. If you fought together in battle, he would look to see you on the other side. Curiously enough, when he would get glimpses of you, you were always twirling your lightsaber after a kill.

Anakin felt an enormous amount of guilt about this. He had been entangled with Padme for some time now, and had even married her after the Battle of Geonosis. He would’ve been foolish not to. Padme was beautiful and kind and diligent, and she would sometimes appear to Anakin in dreams like an angel. He felt an enormous wave of relief wash over him when he would meet his wife at the end of a long mission.

But he didn’t love her. Not really. He loved you. He wanted to be with you, to snake his hands around your waist in the night. He always made an attempt to spar with you in the temple, or ask about any mission you might’ve been on. Anakin felt like a magnet around you, even though you hadn’t shown much of a mutual pattern in return. Anakin didn’t mind that much though- you were a busy person, he understood. If anything, it only made his desire for you stronger. A woman of few words, Anakin only further imagined what your moans would sound like in place.

Eventually, however, you were gone.

As clear and distant as the rising sun, and as quiet and hushed as the moon, you disappeared from the temple and the Jedi alike. There were no more glances to steal at you, no more glimpses of your elegant training to behold. The corner of the archives Anakin often saw you in now seemed empty and incomplete with your form. Even the Jedi council seemed like it was missing something, even though you had refused to be a part of it some years before.

There were whispers, but none that Anakin ever got the opportunity to fully hear. Part of him knew that if he did hear them, he probably wouldn’t have accepted them. In truth, he refused to think that you were even dead, even though it was the far more likely answer to his questions. Anakin believed that you had suffered from some injury in your endeavors and had most likely become immobilized, instead. He didn’t want to know the truth.

But did he have some semblance of it? Yes. He was the most powerful, in tune Jedi in the galaxy- he would’ve felt what had happened to you. He just refused to believe it.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Sometimes, you would appear in Anakin’s dreams.

Your two blue lightsabers would be at the ready in your cunning hands. Your most trusted trooper- Commander Nyx- would be at your side, awaiting instructions. Your dark Jedi robes would stand in contrast to the scene ahead of you, which consisted of crystalline buildings falling and gunships falling with green streaks.

In dreams, Anakin would suddenly get confidence he could never muster in real life. He didn’t know it, but this was out of desperation. He wanted so badly to see you, to feel you if he could, that he wouldn’t mind risking how he appeared to you anymore. He just wanted you to turn around and face him.

Tentatively, Anakin’s gloved, mechanical fingers would reach out to you. “Y/N?” he’d call out. You would give no reply. Your robes would stay swaying slowly in the wind, offering only a view of your back. Not even Commander Nyx would answer Anakin’s prayer of a whisper. But when the sky of the scene would darken when he drew closer to you, he had received a sort of response. Anakin didn’t care enough to acknowledge it. “Y/N...”

This prompted you to turn to him. Like poetry, he caught your eyes. Even in sleep, he still felt weak and woozy in his stomach (in the best way, of course) and he couldn’t help but get lost in your orbs like a maze.

You were still just as beautiful as he remembered, but different. Something was oozing, sinking, blackening your veins like tar and poison. Anakin could see this in the way you held your sabers. He wasn’t sure how, but your fingers seemed more hungry. Your lips were chapped and slightly paler, but no less attractive than he’d always thought. Jaw sharp, skin glowing faintly- your eyes were the main piece. They were so much brighter and more intelligent than he’d thought, although not in a good way.

You were always a powerful Jedi, and this was common knowledge. You had specialized in the seventh and most deadly form of combat, taken your time to study ancient texts, and had gone head to head with several enemy forces during the War. Anakin could even recall a report of you surviving an encounter with General Grievous and emerging unscathed. But this was different. This was pure and untamed energy, an ultimate corruption as sweet as fine wine.

In this dream, Anakin was too stunned to say anything. He could only stare in a mix of awe and disbelief. You, however, did not take too long to react. Your hand shoots out. Anakin trips forward, gasping at his own throat as he watches your lightsaber come closer and closer to him.

And then he wakes up.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The day of Kamino’s attack takes everyone by surprise. It had already happened recently, and nobody had fathomed the possibility of the Separatists forming such a similar attack so soon. Anakin, Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, and trusted Captain Rex all rushed to the scene in a gunship, with anxiety drumming in their hearts.

Anakin’s hand tightened around the rope above. His grip became a hot, white, vice as he stared at the crashing waves below. The storm overhead was unending and surreal, but it did nothing to calm the warning in his heart.

He hadn’t dreamed about you in a month by this point. He thought about you often, however. Even more so when he was laying by Padme who had her hand placed directly over his heart. He wondered if you were still out there in the galaxy, fighting monsters and exercising a patience he could only imagine. On good days, he could trick himself into believing that you were taking a long term holiday on some distant world.

But now, it didn’t feel like you were on a distant world. It felt like you were on this one. You felt so impossibly close. Like the universe was shrinking up around the two of you and making his chest feel closed up.

“Are you alright, Anakin?” Obi-Wan spoke out. His free hand came to rest on Anakin’s shoulder comfortingly, like he was about to pull Anakin out of something.

“Yes Master,” Anakin promised in return, even though it was a blatant lie. Still, he managed to keep his voice steady, and that had impressed him enough. “I just worry what Commander Nyx will tell us when we meet him.”

Anakin knew Obi-Wan was unconvinced. He could feel it in the air and see it in the older man’s eyes. Regardless, Obi-Wan removed his palm from Anakin’s form and opened his mouth to spit the normal analytical nonsense. “Nyx and his men are already inside the main structure. They’re searching for our intruder while clearing a way.”

“I thought you said Grievous had already been seen,” Ahsoka questioned.

“I did,” said Obi-Wan. “But that does nothing to help confirmed reports of a second party present.”

Anakin squinted at the water. Determination filled him up like it always did before a battle, but there was also an unquenchable need to make sure you weren’t this ‘second party’. He knew it would’ve been ridiculous to even consider that possibility- you were off on holiday! But something inside of him just wanted see it. It was probably just that witch, Ventress again. She did have the hobby of inconveniencing Anakin’s life more than you ever had.

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Anakin was wrong.

He rounded the corner with his lightsaber in his hand. His breathing came out evenly, just as he had trained it to do. Raising his right wrist to his mouth, he said the magic words. “Obi-Wan, I’m locking in on the targets location. No signs of Nyx anywhere.”

After a high pitched beep, blaster fire could be heard in the background of Obi-Wan’s scene. “Be ready, Anakin.”

With that, Anakin doubled down his speed and spurred himself forward. His brown eyebrows furrowed together, his fingers clutching the hilt of his weapon selfishly. There were people counting on him- the Clones and snips and Obi-Wan, even Padme. But more than anyone, he felt that you were counting on him. He just wanted to silence the anguish he was feeling. It was eating him alive.

Anakin stumbled into a dark, circular room. It was empty, except for the bodies in white armor that littered the floor. He could sense other things too- two presences in the middle. He didn’t need to be so gifted in the ways of the force to know that, though. He could hear the little whimpers from the center in a voice he had heard thousands of times. It was identical to that of Rex and Cody and Bly, and that scared him somewhat.

“Y-you can’t!” the voice pleaded. Anakin would’ve surged forward and saved the clone, if not for the silencing of him all together. With the swiftest of movements, the figure pulled both of their arms to their sides, and something heavy dropped to the floor. The Crimson color of the blades answered a few of the Jedi’s questions. The face of the mystery killer, however, created more.

It was you, in all of your glory. Your eyes piercing and calm, your features were striking. You, as always, were immensely beautiful to Anakin. You were like something that he would never see again if he looked away, and the fact that it was all too true was saddening. Although your skin had paled somewhat, you were entirely recognizable. The thing that had changed the most about you was your lightsabers, which had of course transitioned from pale blue to blood red.

Anakin’s eyes widened as he looked at you. You. What kind of sick, twisted joke was the Maker bestowing upon him? This was the thing he had wished against more than anything else. It was terrible enough imagining himself fighting Obi-Wan, but this wasn’t Obi-Wan. This was the woman he had watched from afar, silently admiring and memorizing. And now the woman was a Sith- the thing he had sworn to fight against.

“Master Skywalker,” you said coolly. You twirled one of the sabers in your palms just as Obi-Wan and other Jedi had done to loosen up their grips. It felt distant. “I had hoped you’d be the one to execute me.”

Anakin swallowed, but it didn’t help the feeling in his throat. “Y/N?” he asked hoarsely, almost like a beg. He wished so badly that you were Ventress, or even Count Dooku for that matter.

You didn’t give him a straight answer, you were never known for that. “If you want me to be.” You looked the man up and down, taking him in. You could recall seeing him around the temple, fighting along side him. You couldn’t place any real conversations or formal meetings, although you would be damned before letting yourself forget the name Anakin Skywalker. He always had been the most fascinating specimen. “Shall we fight, then?”

You poised yourselves on your toes. Your prey could never see when you did this, which gave you the element of surprise in combat. You knew that you were better than many of the Jedi in the Order. You had bested Luminara Unduli on multiple occasions, along with that Kenobi and Kit Fisto. You were never one to flash this, however, instead choosing to mask your growing contempt further and further. But Anakin Skywalker was not any of those Jedi. He was the most powerful force user alive. You were not entirely sure you could beat him.

“What are you doing here?” Anakin asked. His question partially caught you off guard, but you were polite.

“I’d like to think that defeats the point,” you quipped.

Anakin opens and closes his mouth multiple times. Like a glitch, he can’t seem to find or form the words. “We- you were a peacekeeper! And now look at you!”

Your eyes narrowed at him. Anakin noticed this, but you were too much of a demanding sight to ruin his current view of you. He didn’t want to fight you. What if he killed you? What if you killed him?

“Look at yourself,” you challenged. Anakin’s heart broke in his chest. You could see his eyes widen, and immediately a pang ran through you. It was the most of any emotion you had felt in a while- years, maybe. You didn’t know what it was, because it seemed to be a mix of guilt and anguish and longing.

Slowly, like a scared child, Anakin presses the switch on his emitter and takes his fighting stance. His blue streak of light roars to life softly. The shade reminds you of your own weapons, before you had made them bleed and turned them red. The shade reminds you of many other things, however, like Anakin’s brilliant eyes and all the neon planets you had traveled to.

Anakin doesn’t want to fight you. He doesn’t know if you can tell, because your demeanor is just as cold as always. His insides feel unnecessarily hot, and the hair on his arms stand on end with electricity. He’s only felt this way when he’s becoming intimate with Padme, but never like this. This is unsettling, uncomfortable, and he would even dare to describe it as traumatic.

“I’d always hoped you’d be the one to come here,” you said. In that moment, Anakin jabbed his blade forward cleanly. The sky blue glow extended across the room, even shadowing itself onto your face and created purple against the red. You positioned yourself back on instinct, waiting for the weapon to enter through your chest cleanly.

But it didn’t.

Anakin tried to keep his face stern and angry, but he couldn’t. It kept falling short and returning to one of heartbreak. This made your eyes features fall. Anakin wasn’t going to kill you, and you weren’t going to kill him. You had never wanted to.

“I have to take you into...” Anakin’s breath fell short. You had the opportunity to kill him right then, and you were doing nothing. How incredibly foolish of you.

You pressed the switch on your blades. Both of them came to a close, leaving both of you drowned in the blue light and the blue light only. There was no competition anymore. You truly weren’t going to kill Anakin.

Anakin lowered his own weapon as he looked at your face. You looked so much softer now. He memorized everything he could about you again, like he was seeing you for the first time, whenever that may have been.

You took a single step backwards. Anakin did nothing. Another step followed. You had been ordered to kill both Anakin and Kenobi, should you stumble across them. Instead, you would cover for the man. You would tell Dooku and the other Separatists you had not encountered Skywalker.

Similarly, Anakin did not follow you in your steps. He did not chase you as you turned and left the room. He only watched your form, wondering if he was truly going to let you go again. The answer, of course, was that he would. He would tell Obi-Wan he had no conception of this hidden enemy, and that by the time he had located Commander Nyx’s squad, they had already been dead.

Still, the both of you dissipated into your respective nights, knowing your debt was settled, and wondering if it would ever return.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo

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icouldntthinkofabetternamesook · 4 years

Text

Study of a Family in Contrast

A girl is born in London, England. She has pale blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin. She is a good girl, a smart girl and her parents love her dearly. She goes to church on Sundays, listens to the preacher and does not pray. She looks through stained glass windows and wonders. She looks at people on the street and wonders. She is accepted to Oxford University on scholarship and graduates with a doctoral degree in Anthropology. Her parents hug her goodbye when she gets on a plane ready to take her to the Valley of the Kings.

A boy is born in Khartoum, Sudan. He has dark black hair, brown eyes and dark skin. He is a good boy, a smart boy and his parents love him dearly. He reads books, listens to music and does not fear. He looks at the buildings around him and wonders. He looks at the people around him and wonders. His parents hug him goodbye, when he gets on a plane ready to take him to Brooklyn College in the United States. Years later, he flies back to Africa, a doctorate in Egyptology taking him to the Valley of the Kings.

Years later a dark haired boy and light haired girl live in a house in LA. Their parents met in the Valley of the Kings. Their father plays the saxophone and they dance around the living room to jazz. Their mother reads to them at night, chapters and passages from her college biology textbook, and they fall asleep curled around each other.

A mother, with blond hair and blue eyes, dies in London, England. A father, with black hair and brown eyes, walks to the hotel they're staying at, but breaks down crying before he can explain. Blue and brown eyes, look on in confusion. “Where’s mommy?”

The funeral is on a hot and sunny LA day. A father, who is no longer a husband, stares ahead and sees nothing. His eyes have run dry from crying. A dark skinned hand curls around a lighter skinned hand, brother and sister trying to find what little solace they can. The little girl sobs and tries to climb further into her brother's chair.

It’s not long after the funeral that they come for her. They had never approved of the man their daughter married, with his dark skin and dark eyes and an accent they had never heard from another mouth, stirring up feelings of wrong and different. There’s a lot of accusations: mental unrest, unsuited for parenthood, traveling too much to look after two kids. They gave many reasons to take her away and none for not also taking their grandson, except for eyes that can only look at skin, seeing dark and light. The reasons aren't good enough to break up a family. There’s lawyers and yelling and more lawyers, and eventually they find a judge who looks at the family and can’t see loving siblings, can’t see the desperation in a father’s eyes, can’t see the hate in the grandparent’s. Instead the judge only sees dark skin, and blue eyes, and other, other, other so a family is torn apart and a girl is flown away to London, England.

….

A young man and a young woman walk on a beach, shoes slowly filling with gritty sand. The young man has dark hair, dark skin and dark eyes, like his father. He wears a black pinstripe suit with a black tie, white shirt and scuffed black loafers. It’s far too hot for the early autumn day. The young woman has light hair, light skin and blue eyes, like her mother. She wears a black thigh length dress, black fishnet stockings, a black leather jacket and combat boots. It’s far too hot for the LA sun. It’s the first time either sibling has seen the other in over ten years.

The funeral let out hours ago, researchers and academics having already finished paying respects to their colleague, a titan in the field of Egyptology. It was another annoyingly sunny funeral for this family. It doesn’t get any easier to bury a parent, but ten years certainly makes a difference. A lot can happen in ten years. A brother and sister can forget how to be siblings. Now they sit on a bench overlooking a vast ocean and silently hope the other one will start talking first.

The girl was never any good at being quiet so she gives up the game first. “I kinda think I want to stay in the states for a bit.” She chances a look at her brother's profile. He hasn’t looked at her, back straight and stern eyes locked on the horizon. “I technically do have dual citizenship, and I just finished getting my degree in theatre. Maybe I should stay in LA, try to make it as a star. British accents are sexy after all.” She pauses for a response. Nothing. She fidgets and ties again. “Maybe I could head to Vegas, it always seemed like a fun place to be. I could take a road trip anywhere I liked.” A glance is shot at her brother. “Maybe you could come with.” Still nothing “Family road trip or whatever.”

Another moment of silence before, “Stop.”

The young woman jumps, double checking that the voice came from her brother beside her. “What? Stop what?”

It’s like a flood gate had been loosened. “Stop acting like we’re family, like we always see each other over school breaks and holidays and this is just a random run in. I haven't seen you in ten years, I haven't been close to you in ten years, the only reason we’re even on the same continent now is that our father-” His hands clench the bench. He ducks his head to avoid letting the young woman beside him see his tears. He takes a steadying breath and continues, “my father is dead.” He looks up again, more in possession of his feelings. Brown eyes look into blue. “Don’t pretend this is normal or that we’re family, when you weren't there.”

Maybe in another time or place with a different family there would be tears and hugs. But not with this family and not with these people. Instead of feeling sorrow and tenderness, the girl sees red. “I wasn’t there? Do you have any idea how you sound!? I didn’t choose to be taken to London, I was a child, I didn’t have a say! You have no idea what it was like to be me, to be thrust into a new country, a new school, an entirely different culture, completely on my own! Everytime I tried to talk about you or dad I just got these blanks stares, no I got stares of disgust and confusion because everytime someone would make a stupid fucking skin tone comment like that mattered! I didn’t have a mom and my dad just didn’t care enough to keep me and it sucked!” She sucks in a breath then continues yelling. Rage is always easier than vulnerability. “So fuck you for saying I’m not part of this family, I already know that, bully me for trying!”

Neither of the siblings are particularly good at desculation. The brother shoots right back, “Oh I’m so sorry people looked at you like that when you talked about your family! Sorry if I don’t sound super sincere, because people look at me like that every minute of my life! There are some things you were just never going to go through, and being taken in by our-your grandparents has only made it so that you can’t understand what me and dad go through. You weren't there. Everything was different for you. You got to have two people to run to when you had problems, and you got to breeze through life with that chip on your shoulder without fear of being seen as a thug! So no, you don’t just get to show up and pretend everything is hunky-dory, because it’s not and we are not on the same level!”

Both siblings heave in anger, both feeling a gap, a loss of half of themself but not feeling any way to fix it. The brother calms down first, and he decides it would be better to leave than continue the fight. He can’t remember why he even wanted to try. Maybe one last shot though, even if just to absolve him of the responsibility of failure.

“Look here’s my number,” he rips out a page from a leather bound journal, jotting down the numbers. He continues, “maybe, give it a call, maybe don’t.” He hands it to her and stands up. “Have fun in Vegas. I’m flying back to Brooklyn tomorrow and frankly I hope I never see you again.”

He goes to walk away. A hand on his wrist stops him. His sister pulls out an old gum wrapper and jots down a different number. “Mine too. You don’t just get to walk away and put this on me. I’m staying at an AirBNB down on Diamond Street, if you want to swing by. Maybe talk more.” She hands it to him, then gets up herself.

A pair of siblings walk in the opposite direction on a beach, gritty sand filling their shoes. They’re both left with the lingering feeling that their parents would be very sad to look at them and see only strangers.

...

The phone rings showing a number with no contact name. Someone picks up immediately, having already memorized the number.

“Hey.”

There’s a pause before the young man continues, “So you decided not to fly back.” A pause. “Where you headed?”

A feminine voice sighs. “Thought I might give Vegas a try, then see what happens. Easy to make it up when it’s just you.”

“Well you see about that….actually my flight back to Brooklyn got cancelled at the last minute.” The flight in fact doesn’t leave for two hours.

The excuse is rather transparent. “Oh really. Well that's a stroke of bad luck.”

“Especially seeing as my hotel reservation expired this morning. I was thinking maybe I could just drive back to the East Coast.”

“Well I’ve always heard that road trips are an American tradition.”

“Yes, seeing as you’re headed that way….” the young man trails off.

His sister picks it up “.....Driver gets to pick the music.”

“Then I get first turn at the wheel, I have no clue what sort of abomination you listen to but smooth jazz is the best for driving.”

“Ugh, I’m going to regret this aren't I,” but the young woman is smiling brightly. Two siblings continue to talk on the phone, hoping to find common ground. After all they’re family.

#kane chronicles #Sadie kane #kc #fanfic #short story #riordanverse #percy jackson #the kane chronicles

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

Note

I can't tell you how legitimately excited I am for more Faust x Faith. I am dying for him to meet her parents. I swear this is like my new crack!

Oh, boy, it’s been a long time coming! This is pretty long, but I hope all you fans of the frosty boy enjoy it!

Previous imagines here (x)

Warning: 18+ smut, first-times, teasing, possessive, slight anal-play, anti-religious themes etc.

Faith gave it until the end of August to tell her parents she was seeing someone. She wanted to be free and clear of living under their roof before she broke the news, for her father already had his suspicions, and was sure to grill her about the boy she'd been concealing all Summer long.

The first strike against Faust occurred before he had set foot in the family home. Faith told her father that her new boyfriend was older than her by a few years, the admission followed by a long lecture about how older men couldn't be trusted off the bat. What kind of fellow had eyes for his young daughter, he asked. Faith came prepared to argue and told her fretting mother and disgruntled father that Faust was a gentleman and kept his hands to himself. It was a partial truth, but not so much a lie that Faith lost sleep. She hated lying to her parents — they were good people, and she loved them, despite their restrictions. She knew they only had her best interest at heart. If it hadn't been for their need to stay as a tightknit family, they wouldn't have moved to the city where her university was, and she wouldn't have met Faust.

She begged her parents not to get angry for keeping him a secret, then had to convince Faust to dress nicely for dinner at their house when they finally agreed she was old enough to live on her own, therefore old enough to have a romantic interest. It was an intricate plan with sensitive strings she had to pull in just the right order.

Faith had no idea Faust had already prepared for the occasion. He had a pair of fitted black dress pants tucked away somewhere, and a plain black shirt in place of the endless supply of band t-shirts he owned. He'd be the perfect boyfriend, or try his very best this once to make peace with her parents. Faust dreamt of the day he stood face-to-face with the man responsible for siring his pretty little Faith. Courting her had been such prolonged, sweet torture, and he was finally ready to give her what she wanted. He just had to set a few plans in motion.

His first goal was to show up on the preacher's doorstep, holding his daughter's hand, to see the look on his face when he realized his precious girl had fallen in love with a metalhead, and to assure there was nothing he could do to change her mind. The box checked off when they greeted her mom and dad in the foyer of their cheerful two-storey house on the ordinary suburban street.

The preacher recognized everything wrong with Faust upon first glance, their eyes clashing, already at war. Faust had seen the look before: tight lips, a heavy brow, stony, disapproving eyes, stiffened back. He smirked, and so did the preacher.

Faith's dad challenged him with a fatherly handshake to which he accepted. He shook the man's hand, pale green eyes boring into the preacher with promises and warnings of the adulterous things he would have his daughter doing by the end of the night.

"Name's Stan. This is my wife, Reneta. Boy, Faith didn't say you'd be this tall."

Faust smirked again, revealing the boyish looks Faith had fallen prey to. "No?"

"Not at all. Faith hasn't told us much about you at all, young man. How old are you?"

"Twenty-four," Faust replied.

"And how did you meet our Faith?"

"We have a mutual friend."

Faith detected the pressure in the room rising and beckoned a hug from her father to distract him from the six-foot-something degenerate standing in the hallway amongst the ceramic cherubs and framed family portraits.

Faust's second goal was to get Faith's mother on his side. He did that with calculated smiles, and exercising his manners whenever the woman of the house addressed him. By dinnertime, she'd asked how he kept his hair so shiny and if he needed any of Stan's old shirts to spruce up his monochromatic wardrobe. Faust could tell that one bothered Stan. He politely declined her offer, turning to his girlfriend with the most charming smile Faith had ever seen on his lips. It pleased her to see him trying, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, sighing as they awaited their meal.

"Faith, why don't you help your mother bring in dinner? She spent all afternoon cooking, I'm sure she could use a hand," said Stan once he grew tired of watching his daughter making love-struck eyes at the stranger in his home.

"Sure, Daddy."

Faust watched her leave for the kitchen, his stare on her backside. Once she turned the corner, Stan tensed his jaw, ready to pummel the boy with a few personal questions framed as a benevolent curiosity. He waited until the girls joined, and dinner arrived on the table. They said grace, Stan noting Faust refused to close his eyes or add to the chorus of "amens" and struck.

"So, Faust. What do you do for a living?"

"I play in a band," Faust answered without tripping.

"Is that right? Anything I've heard?"

Faust chewed a wad of roast beef, simpering while Faith's eyes implored him not to cross the line. "I doubt it."

"What do you play? Guitar?"

"Drums."

"Ah, I see. How exactly do you make money that way? I can't imagine drummers making a whole lot. Unless you're Neil Peart."

The dark-haired man did not flinch. He stabbed another piece of meat with the prongs of his fork, poked it into his mouth, and continued.

"I'm a classically-trained percussionist. I don't struggle to find work. If the band isn't doing well, I get in the studio as a session musician. But the band always does well, so..."

"Classical training? My, that is impressive!" Reneta beamed.

Stan assaulted his cut of meat, the serrated knife screeching against the faultless dinner plate. Faust revealed his top row of teeth.

"He's terrific, Daddy. He even taught me how to play a beat," Faith remarked.

"I'd like to know where you found all this time between work and Jessica to find yourself a boyfriend and learn how to play drums."

Faith's grin disappeared while Faust's quivered. The lie hung about their heads, and Faust inhaled every bit of it with feral delight.

A dappling of red crawled up Stan's neck. The two men held each other in a suspended glare. Faust told the man everything he didn't want to know with a raise of his eyebrows.

The third goal was to get Faith alone in her old bedroom after dinner. When her mother mentioned she left some clothes and a few odds and ends behind, Faust offered to take them down for her. He needed only her guidance upstairs to find the room. This was a farce. Faust knew damn well where her room was, as he'd waited down the street for her to sneak out the window many times over the months. Now that Summer was winding down, and Faith had a dorm far away from her dad's watchful eye, the bedroom seemed even more forbidden.

"Here, this must be what my mom was talking about," Faith went to the foot of her twin bed where a taped box waited.

When she turned around, Faust was inches away from her, and a breathy gasp leapt from her mouth. "Oh my goodness, Faust, you spooked me! You really have to make more noise when you... When you..."

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the front of his dress pants just as he leaned in to force his way into her mouth. Her eyes bulged, the firmness she felt between his legs and his probing tongue halting her pulse for a double-beat.

"Faust!" She hissed. "What are you doing?"

"I want you. Right now," he said.

"Now? We can't! My dad's just in the other room."

"I thought you wanted my cock?"

Faith hushed him by pressing her fingers to his lips; terrified someone might hear his deep, resonant voice through the walls. "Why do you choose now to want this suddenly?"

"It's not sudden. I told you I'd fuck you after I met your parents."

"Yeah, but not here!"

"Why not?"

Faith attempted to pull away from him but loathed missing the chance to feel his manhood growing in her palm for the first time. She spent many nights trying her best to brush up against his groin to get a feel for what lay beneath his boxer shorts. Even going so far as to wake up before him, hoping she'd catch a glimpse of morning wood, but always coming up with nothing. Faust's self-control was unshakeable. But now...

With her palm pressed hard against his groin, Faust let out a dull growl, the guttural sound awakening the heavy longing Faith had tried so hard to resist.

"Faith!" Stan called from the bottom of the stairs.

She tried to snatch her hand away, but Faust's hold was iron. He kept her anchored to him, biting his lip as the sound of footsteps on the staircase warned them of her dad's approach.

"Let go," she hissed, unable to stifle the intrigue dimpling her cheeks. "Faust!"

"This is what you wanted," Faust told her.

Stan reached the landing, a mere seven-feet from the open bedroom door. Faust leaned in, let his bottom lip pop out from under the assault of his teeth and made sure she felt him twitch in her hand. Faith tugged again, but Faust held tight.

"Would you?— Faust, let me go!"

At the last second, before Stan entered the room, Faust released her arm and turned toward the box. He lifted it from the bed and held it in front of his hips to conceal the half-mast erection in his pants. Stan analyzed the scene with a critical eye and lingered on Faust while Faith failed to look innocent. She wrang her wrist and fiddled with her daughter's pride ring, bounding away from her boyfriend and into her father's arms.

"Thanks for everything tonight, daddy. I'm so glad we could have dinner and tell mom—"

"You all right, sweetheart?" Stan asked, throwing Faust a warning shot with his eyes.

"What? Of course, I'm all right, daddy."

"Just checking. You need any help?"

Faust's mouth twisted. "All good, boss. I'll take care of her."

His assurance did nothing to placate the preacher. He looked at his daughter as if to implore her to reconsider her choice of male company. Faust knew the moment he was out of ear-shot, and Stan had a minute to speak with his daughter, he'd beg her to think of the future he'd never be able to provide. But he knew Faith — knew she adored him with every mote of her being, and her father trying to shoo him off the porch would only intensify her lust.

Faust loaded his girlfriend's belongings into the trunk of his roommate's car he borrowed for the night while she said her goodbyes to her mother on the front porch. Stan took the opportunity to approach the younger man before Faith had a chance to intervene.

"I don't know what your intentions are with my little girl, son, but let me make myself clear: if I catch wind of any mucking around, or if she comes to me with tears in her eyes because of something you did, our conversation will not be a pleasant one."

Faust slammed the trunk shut. "I love her, and I don't plan on hurting her."

Stan sneered. "I've seen you and your group around town. Do you think a pair of dress pants and a fake smile will fool me? News travels in this place. I've heard all about what your circle is known for, and frankly, it'd please me if you left her to concentrate on her schooling. That's why we moved here. She doesn't need any distractions."

"Which is why I'm taking her straight back to her dorm."

Before the conversation went further South, Faith skipped down the walkway and wedged herself between the two men. She hugged her father and bid him farewell before joining Faust at his side. The drummer smirked as he wrapped his arm around Faith's shoulders and led her to the passenger side of the car, opening the door for her while maintaining eye contact with Stan.

Her parents waited on the porch for them to drive away, but Faust stalled under the pretense of answering some text messages. Before starting the car, he turned to his girlfriend, grabbed her jaw and pulled her in for a long, heated kiss. Faith giggled, attempted to pull back, but met resistance. Faust wasn't finished kissing her. Not until he was certain Stan and Reneta saw. Faust traced her gold necklace, thumbing the tiny crucifix as he pulled back, lips glistening from their passionate touching.

"Faust, come on, my parents are watching. Let's go."

"Your dad hates me."

"What? No, he doesn't. He just needs a chance to get to know you."

Faust shook his head. "No. I like this. I want him to lie awake all night thinking about the shit I'm gonna make you do when we get home."

Faith blushed. He started the car and pulled out of the driveway, an evil grin plastered to his face. There was one last thing left on his to-do list, and it sat next to him, toying with the fringe of her dress, crossing and uncrossing her legs to stave off the pulsing heat of anticipation.

When they entered the elevator, Faust lifted Faith's dress and pulled her panties down to her knees. He swiped two fingers over her lips, moaning when they came away slick. The tall man backed her into the corner as her underwear fell around her ankles. Lifting her leg, he crushed her against the cold metal wall and sucked at her neck like he meant to draw blood.

"You sure you still want to fuck?" He whispered.

"Yes. God, yes, I want to so bad."

"But your pussy's so small, and my cock is so fucking big. You can hardly stand it when I finger you."

"I don't care," she panted. "I want it, Faust. Please. Don't tease me anymore."

The lift came to a shuddering halt. Faust lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, panties hanging off one ankle. It was a fair walk to the end of the hall, and Faith worried somebody might open their door and see Faust palming her ass as he carried her to his apartment. The sound of blast-beats and squealing guitars filtered out from the apartment, greeting them like a wall when Faust opened the door.

His roommate blinked, alarmed but not entirely shocked to see Faust toting Faith to his bedroom. Her lacy underwear fell to the floor, but neither of them noticed as they devoured each other's mouths on their way.

Once he deposited Faith on the bed and shut the door, she wrestled her dress off and waited. All night, Faust wanted to get out of his clothes, but his foresight convinced him otherwise. He wanted to watch her squirm and beg until she was so wet he could taste it in the air. He approached the bed, and Faith climbed to her knees, set on pulling him on top of her, but he resisted.

"Well, aren't you going to fuck me?"

Faust scoffed. "You think I'm gonna just stuff you that easily? Fuck no."

"Please, Faust. I've waited so long for you."

"Yes, you have. So waiting a little longer should be easy, right?"

Faith whimpered.

"Come here," he beckoned. Faith crawled until she was an inch away from his groin. "Closer."

She stared up at him, bright eyes wide with confusion. He repeated himself. Faith pressed her cheek to his groin, gasping when she felt his cock hardening. He raked his fingers through her hair, grinding her face into his pelvis until she fussed.

"All you fucking think about is cock. All day, every day, you sit there in your cute outfits, dreaming about having that tiny little pussy filled up with my dick. You look so innocent, but I know that not so deep down, under all that lace and gold, you're just as filthy as any other slut, aren't you?"

"Only for you, Faust," she replied, nuzzling into his groin.

"When you're at church with your parents, you're not praying. You're imagining what it'll feel like having my cock inside you."

She giggled and nipped at the erection trapped beneath his trousers. He scratched her scalp until she purred, the perfect kitten pawing for milk.

"Your dad wants me to leave you alone. But how can I ignore such a pretty girl when I know every time she looks at me, all she thinks about is getting her cunt pounded?"

"That's not all I think about," said Faith. "I think about sucking your dick, too."

"Yeah, you're not so innocent. You just want your daddy to think you are. But he doesn't know you're in my bed, getting wet from the thought of taking my cock."

Faust pushed her away from his groin, stripping his clothes off and climbing onto the bed. He sat with his back against the postered wall, spreading his legs so Faith could crawl between them. She couldn't take her eyes off his hard-on, especially not when he began stroking it in front of her. She still wasn't used to seeing him naked. Her pulse quickened, eyes travelling his hand's trajectory up and down the engorged shaft, thick with blood and veins.

He made her turn around, facing away from him with her ass up and her knees spread as he jerked his cock. Faith sweltered under the heat of his stare, mewling when he finally reached out to goad her entrance with a careful swipe of his thumb. She dropped her hips, hoping to achieve some level of penetration, but he smacked her ass with disapproval.

"Don't you dare try to fuck yourself on my fingers while I'm admiring the view. That is not how this is going down. You just stay right there and do as I say."

"Faust," she whined. "Please. I want you so bad."

"Turn around. On your back. Spread those legs."

She obeyed, and flipped over, splaying her knees. Faust pulled her closer until she rested her thighs over his in a relaxed leg-lock. He continued stroking himself, though her pussy ached and glistened a mere foot away from the tip of his cock. Pushing down on his member, he angled it toward her and laughed when she whimpered.

"It's so close."

"Please, fuck me."

"No. Play with yourself. Rub that clit for me."

Her hand shot down, finding a frantic rhythm of stimulation for his amusement. The motion of her fingers toying with herself made him shudder. He had never been so hard in his life. When he showed her the pre-cum emerging from the tip, she screwed her eyes shut and pressed her spine into the bed, frustrated.

"Come a little closer. I want to tease that fucking pussyhole."

Tease her, he did. The smooth head glided up and down, parting her lips but only just enough to reveal the pink inside her. Faust let out a long, steady breath, preparing himself for the pressure he was about to encounter.

"It's right there, baby, it's so close. You're so close to having your pussy full. You sure you wanna keep going?"

"Yes!" she cried. "I want it bad, Faust."

"Come and get it then, if you want it that bad. Just scoot down a little more and... Oh, fuck."

His swollen head disappeared beyond the confines of her sex, swallowed and held so close his eyes widened. She was tighter than he feared. It pained him to hear her gasping. Faust retracted, sights far-flung with concern.

"You okay, baby?" He asked.

She nodded, but her words scrabbled to the back of her throat.

"I'm sorry. I told you, I'm huge, and it's not gonna be easy. Maybe just keep playing with your clit for a little while."

"No, I want you."

"I don't wanna hurt you, Faith."

She clamped her legs around his waist, but before she took him again, he pressed down on her hips, stilling her on the mattress. Maneuvering out from under her thighs, he crawled between them and retraced her opening with his cock, mixing his pre-cum with her wetness. He drew back for a second and deposited a warm wad of spit on the head of his cock before driving it inside with a shallow dip.

"Fuck," he groaned. "I might need to get us some lube. It doesn't matter how wet you are. I don't think you're built to take a cock this big."

"I can do it. I practiced. Please, don't stop, Faust. I'm so wet. I want it so bad."

Faust leaned over her, taking her breasts in his hands, eclipsing them and squeezing until they moaned in unison. He flicked her nipples and dove in to take one in his mouth as a distraction from the lack of promised penetration.

"Fuck, I love these perfect tits. I wanna fuck these too," Faust's voice bordered on a desperate note. "Might just make you wait, though."

"Don't say that! Please! Please, please, please—"

He clamped her mouth beneath his palm. She smelled her own wetness on his fingers and bucked her hips up to grind into his. Rolling his cock between their bodies, it was a fight to see who would overpower the other. Faust wrestled her into full-body submission, pinning her frame under his torso, his legs locking her in place while he held her mouth.

Long weeks of sexual backlog was a sobriety Faust never thought possible to attain. It imbued him with a sense of burning concentration. In the studio, his takes were flawless, his head completely in tune with his body for the first time. The purge left his gut empty, so when the time came, and he couldn't deny Faith any longer, the indulgence was ever the purer. Faith had come along at a time when he viewed any girl hanging around his circle as a pest. He'd had them all, in the very bed he laid her down in, but he never liked the taste of those girls. Faith was a dish far too immaculate for his palette, and yet she was his, and it baffled him.

"Wait, what do you mean you practiced?" He asked, sniffing the hair behind her ear as he kissed her neck.

She stopped struggling, and he let up on her so she could speak.

"I made myself ready... Because I knew you'd be afraid of hurting me."

"Oh, yeah?" He snickered. "And how'd you do that?"

Faith bit the side of her lip, adjusting beneath him to assert her chest forward, spine curving to press against his warm abdomen and chest. "I went back to the sex shop... Without you."

"Did you?" He murmured, drawing up to look her in the eyes. Thousands of invisible needles pierced his skin all at once, his heart tripping on an undetectable wire. Faust shivered, cracked his jaw, and rose to his knees. Faith remained on her back, staring up at him, trembling. "What did you buy?"

She deliberated between a fib and a fact, choosing the latter. Faust hadn't lied to her about anything, and she wouldn't twist the truth either. "I... I bought a toy that I thought might be as big as you."

Faust swallowed the dryness in his throat, but it came back the second he took another breath. "You didn't know how big I was until yesterday."

"I guessed," she admitted.

He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his cock and gave it a few tugs to restore lost blood. In a moment, he stood rock-solid again, and Faith drooled over the thickness of his manhood.

"Did you guess right?"

"Um... No."

"Didn't fucking think so," he growled. "I don't like the thought of anything but me inside you."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"I just wanted to be ready, baby. I've wanted you for so long. Please, you promised after you met my dad, you'd have sex with me. Don't you want to?"

"Don't ever fuck yourself without my permission. Your pussy is mine. I'll take care of it when I want to, and when I don't want to, it's off-limits. If you wanna touch yourself, you ask. Understand me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"What's that?"

"Yes! I'm sorry. I promise I won't ever do it again. I was just going crazy thinking about you. You turn me on so much; I can't help myself."

"That was the fucking point. I wanted to make you wait so that when I finally do fuck you, you'll never forget the feeling."

Faith scoffed, then lifted her legs and made sure Faust saw the parting between them, glistening and aching to be filled. "I don't think I could ever forget the boy who made me wait three months before he'd fuck me."

"That's right," Faust nodded.

He eased his way inside of her, little by little, inch by thick inch until his balls pressed against the swells of her ass. They both let out long streams of air, adjusting to the feverish incursion before Faust kissed her to absorb her already panting breath.

"Feels so fucking good, baby," Faust said, finishing with a deep moan that sent shivers through her body. His voice tingled against her neck, the low crunch of his vocal cords a sound she only ever heard muffled between her legs. Faith had listened to him moaning from pleasing her, but never the other way around. His audible bliss stroked her just as well as his fingers did when they found her clit, working in slow circles around it while he began to rock against her gently.

The first time he slipped out, she gasped, and every peak of her body swelled with blood. Her nipples hardened, and skin crawled with delight while he eased back in, refilling the persistent little slit that had to stretch to accommodate him. Faith jolted back but settled once he picked her up, suspending her using his hands to lace under her ass like a swing. In that position, she could fret against him while he stayed buried inside, bathing in soft, liquid arousal. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like she needed to draw the breath from his lungs.

"Fuck, I want to be inside this pussy forever. God, baby, it feels even better than I thought. You're so fucking tight around me. I don't know how much longer I can hold back. I need to fucking destroy you."

"Do it, you bad, bad boy. Use me. Fuck me hard like I know you want to."

He cut off her demanding mouth, answering her lip by touching the hole neighbouring the one his cock was inside. Faith squealed from the odd sensation, but Faust was determined to make her melt by toying with her hole the same way he had just stimulated her clit.

"Yeah, every hole in your body belongs to me. Even this precious little asshole."

He dared to press his fingertip between her cheeks to drive home his point, and she hopped against him like an animal trying to escape his arms. It only made him tighten his hold on her.

"I bet your dad would fucking lynch me if he knew I had his sweet girl here with all her holes stuffed. He thinks you're back at your dorm doing homework and making something of yourself when really you're here, begging for my cock... Mm, just aching for this cum."

"Faust," she whined. It was all she could muster as he let her slide down his body.

He scooped her off the mattress and placed her on the lowboy dresser next to the bed. Splitting her thighs, he didn't take the time to ease into her as he had the first couple of times. If Faith wanted the challenge and claimed she could take him, he would let her rise to the occasion. But she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders when his cock met a tight ring of resistance. He'd found her cervix, and the sensation shot through her pelvis like a blinding cramp.

"Oh! Faust! Oh my god, that h— that's..."

"Were you going to say it hurts?"

"No! I want it. Please don't stop."

"I won't stop, baby. Not until your cunt is dripping with my cum. Or maybe I'll pull out and shoot it all over your face. Or between your ass cheeks. Who knows?"

The dresser knocked against the wall, rolling a pair of his drumsticks to the floor with a clatter. Faith was happy Faust's roommate played music loud enough to drown out the sounds of her moaning and mewling for him to take her harder.

After a while, they ended up back on the bed; Faith mounted on his pelvis so he could take a break and enjoy the view of her riding him. He couldn't take the look on her face, the pained, lip-biting expression. It was almost enough to make him feel guilty. But this was what she wanted, and what he wanted, despite his insistence it was all for her.

He succumbed to the sensations holding his dick hostage. It happened after he worked Faith up to an orgasm, using his thumb to tease her clit until she shuddered and came, squeezing around him so hard Faust thought he might pass out before having the pleasure of emptying a load inside her.

"Oh my god, Faust, I'm coming," she squeaked. "Don't stop, don't stop."

"I won't, baby. Keep going. Keep coming all over me. That's what I like to see. Fuck, I'm gonna come, too if you keep clenching like that."

The contractions swallowing his cock were too violent for him to resist. The trembling of her thighs, the way she bit her bottom lip and squeezed her arms around her breasts, needing something to hold onto while she orgasmed sent him over the edge. At the last second, Faust slipped out and spilled months of mental-edging and self-inflicted teasing onto her hot skin. A few ropes slung over her tummy, and one even reached her chest. The rest dribbled into a pool around her navel. Using his swollen, wet head, he stroked her clit a few times, luxuriating in her snivelling shivers and the wetter sounds of her pussy lips.

Faust hopped off the bed and took a towel off the hook on his bedroom door. He returned with it, dabbing the mess he'd made on her. He draped the towel over the bedpost and looked down at his cock hanging spent between his legs.

Faith recovered from her climax and giggled. "Next time, I want to start by going down on you."

"Oh, is that right?" He asked, shimmying back into bed next to her and pulling her close. "Now that you've had a taste, you can't get enough?"

"If that's what I've been missing... Well, I hope you're ready for my non-stop horniness."

"Pretty sure I'm used to it by now," he chuckled.

She snuggled into him, blotting his collarbone and chest with gentle kisses. "That was worth the wait."

"Yeah. I'm glad we did. Made it so much better to tease you."

"You're so evil sometimes," Faith murmured. "But, you're the best."

Faust tilted her chin up, kissed her, then ran his thumb over her cheek a few times before taking in a deep, preparatory breath. "Yeah... Well... I love you."

Heat pierced her tear ducts, but she screwed her eyes shut before any liquid escaped. She shoved her face into his neck, clinging to him with all her might. Faust couldn't see her cry, not after she fought so hard to prove herself to him.

"I love you too," she finally whispered. "Like so much, I think I'm gonna—"

She hiccoughed as the tears flowed. Faust melted and pulled her even closer. "You're such a baby. I love it. Sweet girl."

#faust x faith #faust stuff #valter skarsgard fanfiction

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buzzdixonwriter · 3 years

Text

Don’t Let The Screen Door Hit You On The Way Out

”It’s never the crime, it’s always the cover-up.” Watergate Lesson #1

Y’know, some bastards need to be cancelled.

The liars, the hypocrites, the betrayers of trust public and private.

The “do as I say, not as I do” anusoids.

Dropkick those bozologists right outta here.

The problem is not people who screw up -- people screw up all the time.

It’s not ideas that later prove to be in error or just plain bad -- all of us at one time or another believed something we now know to be wrong.

No, the problem is those who set themselves us as moral exemplars and then betray the very moral example they proclaim.

Ska-rue those dips.

Cast them into the outer void.

Cast in point: The drugging rapist comedian spent their entire professional career stressing high principles and values, openly saying “look at what I did and do likewise” while deriding members of their own community for not obtaining the heights they did.

A good hunk of that time they spent drugging and raping victims, paying them off to keep silent so they could drug and rape more victims.

Look, back in the day Bob Hope was a notorious philanderer but he and his wife had an understanding and Hope never promoted himself as a moral exemplar (quite the opposite!).

So to find out Hope engaged in consensual adultery with the tacit approval of his wife is neither a big shock not does it undermine any message he sought to convey.

On the other hand, the drugging rapist comedian did espouse a message that millions saw as valid, and they held themselves up as an example for their fans to aspire to.

If we learned said comedian was a garden variety philanderer like Bob Hope, their message and example would be somewhat tarnished but not destroyed; consensual sex gets a tsk-tsk and nothing more, especially if the spouse doesn’t object (and said comedian’s spouse damn well knew what was going on yet didn’t think raping victims drugged into unconsciousness was a deal breaker of a marriage ender).

Some people today hope to this disgraced comedian will die soon so their comedy can be enjoyed publicly again.

Why?

Any good from this rapist’s life has already been done in whatever charitable donations and scholarships they provided, whatever inspiration they gave audiences to help them better themselves before learning of their crimes, and stylistic / topical insights gleaned by other comedians.

The rapist’s comedy routines and TV shows -- all family friendly and morally high minded -- now ring hollow and taste sour. Whatever comedic insights the rapist had to offer have long since been absorbed by those who followed.

Leni Riefenstahl created two monstrous documentaries -- Triumph Of The Will and Olympiad -- that glorified Nazism while at the same time inventing the cinematic language for depicting mass movements and covering sporting events.

Nobody today ever need watch her original films in order to learn those lessons; thousands of film makers and videographers have applied them elsewhere and the technical lessons remain valid even when divorced from their racist origins.

So be it with the rapist comedian.

Let those who learned from their routines reinterpret those lessons in a form that noi longer contains a poison pill.

Case in point: The comic-turned-film maker presented their work -- no matter how funny the material – as a serious examination of modern moral values.

And, dang, the c-t-f certainly fooled a lot of us.

In their defense, the c-t-f always claimed in public to be a really terrible person, but this was all just c-y-a.

Of course those public admissions were all self-depreciating self-mockery, look how thoughtful and complex the c-t-f films were, how they examined modern life, look how they laid bare the contradictions and conundrums of the human condition.

Then it turns out the c-t-f could not keep their own knickers up and wreaked havoc on a dozen or more lives, rendering all their opinions and observations as worth less that a wadded of soiled toilet paper.

Yeah, the rapist comedian’s crime are worse by at least two orders of magnitude, but the c-t-f only misses a charge of incest by the barest of technicalities.

And it doesn’t matter that c-t-f’s spouse at the time is a batshit crazy homewrecker themselves -- c-t-f knew this then and chose them as a spouse and contributed to the chaos being wreaked in that family.

So, no, you can’t pose your films as Important Serious Examinations Of Modern Morals when you’re acting in a way that would get Dr. Freud to say, “That’s some seriously fucked up shit.”

Open reprobates like John Waters and Russ Meyer never need worry about failing audience expectations; they’re upfront and honest about their perversions and peccadillos (and to be fair to them, they never screwed up the lives of others the way the c-t-f did).

I used to love the c-t-f’s work and eagerly looked forward to each new one.

Not any more.

You can never trust that viewpoint again, and even the earlier, funnier work is now called into question.

Case in point: This one is smaller, more localized, but I have personal knowledge of it and it’s emblemic of a far larger, far more vast problem.

The retired pastor tried to stay busy, volunteering at their local church and nearby nursing homes, and proposing an outreach for runaway abused teen girls.

It came as quite a shock to learn the retired preacher had been caught in a classic honey trap sex sting: They texted what they thought was a 16 year old girl but turned out to be an adult investigator trolling for sexual predators.

The retired pastor got probation and registered as a sex offender. There was a big public confession and an apology to their church, a contrite promise of repentance, and a big heaping helping of forgiveness all around.

There but for the grace of God, right…?

The retired pastor wanted to resume the runaway abused teen girl project.

Oh, they would have nothing to do with it directly, of course.

Just be available to advise others as needed…

Well, that waved more red flags than a May Day celebration in Tiananmen Square. Even assuming the retired pastor was incredibly naïve -- more naïve than any retired pastor has a right to be -- the sheer optics alone would be incredibly bad.

And the chance of somebody finding out and filing a complaint for reasons real or suspected would put the church sponsoring it at terrible risk.

Dude, you screwed up. That door is shut to you.

Organized religions are imploding right now, and no matter what faith or denomination, the reason is inevitably the same: Predators of all stripes infiltrate the structure to find victims.

Sexual abuse ranks high, but there’s also financial abuse, emotional abuse, and just plain old abuse of power.

It’s ultimately the exact same problem as that of the rapist comedian and the comic-turned-film maker: Hypocrisy.

Religious leaders are as human as anyone else, few are the plaster saints we make them out to be.

And there are those who make mistakes, and those who hide their personal peccadillos from others (word among the BDSM community is that quite a few religious leaders enjoy those reindeer games), but those have the common fucking sense not to videotape themselves (remember, if you make a copy of anything you’re giving the universe tacit permission to share it and if the copy is digital, the sharing is compulsory).

The worst part is that the very victims of these predators are not only quicky to forgive these abuses and let them continue, but viciously turn on those victims that dare speak out against their abuse!

This is the reason organized religion is collapsing: It’s become a cesspool of sexual predators and con artists.

Church leaders who decry the declining numbers are eager to blame a lack of spiritual discipline, a loss of faith, cultural influence, and of course that ol’ standby, Satan hizzowndamsef.

But when you ask people who left why they left, the answer is almost always they grew tired of being taken advantage of.

Physician, heal thyself.

The problem we face today is that too many people impose standards on others they are not merely incapable of following themselves (which would be a sad but typically human failure) but are utterly unwilling to even make the attempt.

We need so-called cancel culture. We need to expose hypocrites, denounce their hypocrisy, and deny them access to new victims.

Don’t feel sorry for the bastards who get caught, get angry over the harm they inflict.

#morals #morality #ethics #organized religion #cancel culture

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krizaland · 5 years

Text

Enter the Zimvoid Chapter 18

First Chapter Previous

I had way too much fun with this chapter!

Here’s the song I used btw

“Oh how I wish that someone could save me from this terrible nightmare…”You whimpered as you hugged your knees.

Little did you know, the universe had heard your plea and your hero was on his way.

Number 2 emerged from the pits of the dungeon, his cloak was a bit charred but other than that he made it out mostly unscathed.

“I can’t believe….I made it out…alive!” He panted as he put his hands on his knees.

After catching his breath, Number 2 hid behind a pillar and slid onto the floor.

Ever since your conversation with him earlier, Number 2’s mind was swirling with uncertainty.

He was so sure The Program was going to help him become the best version of himself. After all, Number 1 is the ultimate Zim and he was the one who came up with The Program. Surely he had the best interests of all the Zims in mind right?

However, your words really struck a chord with Number 2.

He didn’t think he would ever truly be loved nor appreciated unless he was 100% perfect. That’s why he devoted so much of his time to completing The Program and to worshipping Number 1.

Everything changed when you told him you loved him just the way he was.

In that moment, Number 2 found himself questioning The Program as well as Number 1 in general.

He was told from day 1 that he had to complete The Program for a Y/N to even breathe in his direction, let alone hug him and say that they loved him!

Not to mention that you made a very good point:

Number 2 was a Zim! He was already awesome! Why did he need some dumb program to prove that?

His resentment for Number 1 only grew stronger when he was thrown into the dungeon for a simple request.

As he was relentlessly tortured and set ablaze, it became more and more apparent that Number 1 couldn’t care less about Number 2 or any other Zim for that matter.

As far as Number 1 was concerned, everyone else was just a pawn in his sick, twisted little game!

He didn’t care if they lived or died so long as they did his dirty work.

After coming to this conclusion, Number 2 knew something had to be done. He couldn’t sit around and be someone’s plaything anymore! It was time to take action! Time to rebel! But most importantly:

It was time for revenge.

Now that he was free from the dungeon, Number 2 had time to think of a way to make Number 1 pay for what he’s done to him.

As he sat and plotted, Number 2’s mind often wandered to thoughts of you. You were so kind and sweet to him. You shouldn’t be marrying some drooling lunatic! You should be marrying him!

Number 2’s ruby eyes lit up as he sprung to his feet. His mind was graced with the perfect idea.

He let out a maniacal laugh as he made a beeline for the ballroom.

GONG! GONG! GONG!

The sound of a makeshift wedding bell woke you from your thoughts.

“That’s my queue! I better get going.” You sprung to your feet and dried your tears.

The ballroom slowly filled up with hundreds upon hundreds of bereft Zims.

It seemed as if Number 1 was the only one happy to be attending the wedding.

Even the preacher Zim looked like he was dying as he struggled to hold back his tears.

Number 1 didn’t seem to mind the depressing atmosphere in the slightest.

On the contrary, it seemed as if he was secretly hoping everyone else would be this miserable.

“Oh where is Y/N? I can’t wait to see them!!” Number 1 squealed as drool dribbled down onto his makeshift tuxedo.

“They should be arriving at any moment, oh great Number 1” The preacher Zim sniffled.

“Excellent! Everything is going according to plan! There’s nothing that can possibly ruin this moment for me! Nothing at all!” Number 1 let out a maniacal laugh, soaking the poor preacher Zim with drool.

It didn’t take long for Number 2 to make it to the ballroom.

The doors were heavily guarded but Number 2 knew he could take them. After all, he trained with those guards! He knew all of their weaknesses.

Number 2 took a deep breath and puffed out his chest.

“I am not the kind of Zim, who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion. But you, are not the kind of Y/N, that should be marrying the wrong Zim.” He sang as he jumped past the guards.

“I sneak in and see all the other Zims. And his stupid robot servants all dressed in pastel.” Number 2 sang softly as he snuck through the crowd.

“Yeah, yeah. Just say it don’t spray it.” The preacher Zim huffed as he shielded himself with his book.

“How dare you speak to me that way! I am your glorious leader! You insolent peasant!” Number 1 roared as more drool fired out of his mouth.

“And he is yelling at the preacher, standing at the altar wearing a tuxedo made from garbage.” Number 2 snickered.

“This is, surely not what you thought it would be,” Number 2 shook his head. “I lose myself in daydream, where I stand and say”

Number 2 closed his eyes and imagined himself standing before you and Number 1

“Don’t say yes! Run away now! I’ll take you by the hand and lead you out the castle! Don’t wait or say a single vow! You need to hear me out!” Number 2 sang as he put a hand on his chest.

“Well, I said speak now.” The preacher Zim chuckled.

The sound of a makeshift organ woke Number 2 from his fantasy.

Number 2 opened his eyes and noticed all of the other Zims and their miserable expressions.

“Somber gestures are exchanged, and the organ starts to play a song that sounds like a death march.” Number 2 sang.

“Hey! Where’d Number 2 go?!” Braked one guard Zim.

“I dunno but we better find him! Number 1 doesn’t want him anywhere near this wedding!” Another guard huffed as he gestured for his partner to keep looking.

Number 2 let out a yelp as he hid behind a makeshift curtain.

“And I am hiding in the curtains, it seems that I was uninvited by your lovely groom to be.” Number 2 huffed sarcastically.

You took a deep breath as you made your way down the aisle. You held your head up as best as you could as you held a small, makeshift bouquet.

All the Zims stared at you with heartbroken faces. It was obvious how much they either missed their Y/Ns or wished they had a Y/N of their own.

You tried to give the Zims a warm smile but that only made a few of them burst into tears.

Number 1 let out a few more giggles as he relished in the suffering of the other Zims.

“You walk down the aisle to greet that evil king. But I know, you wish it was me. You wish it was me, don’t you?!” Number 2 sang hopefully as he returned to his daydream.

“Don’t say yes! Run away now! I’ll take you by the hand and lead you out the castle! Don’t wait or say a single vow! You need to hear me out!” Number 2 sang as he put a hand on his chest.

“Well, I said speak now.” The preacher Zim chuckled.

“Don’t say yes! Run away now! I’ll take you by the hand and lead you out the castle! Don’t wait or say a single vow! Your time is running out!” Number 2 whispered as he watched you stand at the altar.

“You look lovely my sweet~” Number 1 sang as more drool dribbled down his tuxedo.

You gave him a sheepish smile as you swallowed hard.

“Dearest Zims, we are gathered here today, to join the union of our great and glorious leader, Number 1 and the beautiful Y/N-” The preacher Zim began.

“Get on with it already!” Number 1 interjected.

“R-Right! If anyone has a reason these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your pee! I-I mean peace!” The preacher Zim stuttered.

The room was silent for a moment.

“I OBJECT!”

The room gasped as Number 2 burst out from behind the curtains and stood before the altar.

His hands were shaking as everyone stared at him in horror.

“I am not the kind of Zim, who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion. But you, are not the kind of Y/N that should be marrying the wrong Zim!” Number 2 explained as he puffed out his chest.

“Guards! Seize the wedding crasher!” Number 1 commanded as he snapped a finger in Number 2’s direction.

The two guards from earlier zipped over and tried to grab Number 2 but-

ZWIP!

POW!

CRASH!

CLANG!

Number 2 made short work of the guards and climbed on top of their fallen bodies.

“Don’t say yes! Run away now! I’ll take you by the hand and lead you out the castle! Don’t wait or say a single vow! You need to hear me out!” Number 2 pleaded as he looked into your eyes.

Number 1 let out a growl and was bout to lunge at Number 2 when-

FWOOSH!

You shoved him aside and rushed to Number 2 as fast as your legs could take you.

“Let’s run away now! Take me by the hand and lead me to my friends! Thank god I didn’t say my vows! I’m so glad you were around when he said speak now!” You sobbed as you reached out for Number 2’s hand.

And with that, Number 2 let out a giggle, scooped you up bridal style and zipped out of the ballroom as fast as his legs could take him.

#Invader zim #Invader zim x reader #Invader Zim comics #Invader Zim dib #Invader Zim spoilers #spoilers #invader zim into the zimvoid

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years

Text

Alright, everyone, this is a personal post as much as it’s a public post so feel free to scroll all the way down to the colored text for the public part of the message but if you, like me, enjoy drama, then continue on!

So, to make a very, very, very long story short for those who don’t know, I call my birth mother Mother Gothel due to her emotionally abusive upbringing of me that caused me to suffer from severe depression, anxiety, and even hair loss! A few years ago, back in 2016, my friend-turned-sister drove down with her mother, packed me and my bags up, and gave me a place to live and start over where I’ve been able to get jobs, go to school, and become much healthier than I used to be!

During those years of growth and recovery, however, I kept in contact with Gothel through emails and the occasional phone call. Over the years, from the safety of being hundreds of miles away, I told her that I was gay and dating a girl. The resulting emails were not pleasant and she had no problems about calling my girlfriend a whore. Lovely, right?

Every email she has sent me has contained detailed bible quotes and scripture and needles of guilt over everything I’m doing “wrong.” She’s still “so proud of me,” however. So at least there’s that, right?

As of recently I emailed her and told her that I will be attending a four-year university in Tacoma Washington (moving away from Illinois) to continue my education. Her resulting email was lengthy. Here is some of it - cut for length.

Hi Michelle.

...

You have to watch everything you say this day and time, at least that is what Jesus said in the Book of Matthew 5:37-- "Let your Yes be Yes, and let your No be No. Anything else is from the evil one." (anotherwords the devil will take your words you speak and trip and mess you up land you in jail or prison for 10 yrs)That would be really sad after you work so hard for an education and degrees then let him mess you up but read in John 10:10--the enemy comes to steal--kill--destroy--but Jesus said I have come so that you may have life and have it more abundantly. That is why Jesus said in Proverbs 18:21" Life and death are in the power of the tongue"

...

I was telling Mom on the phone just this morning we talked for two hours-- that I was going to get a restaurant job here as soon as possible and let it move me out of here--I am moveing to Battle Creek or Marshall by Sept (labor day) and that I was sooo excited that I would finally get to see you, she said either her or Carl would drive me to [REDACTED] every now and then to see you. So Yes, I feel like a bomb was just dropped on me, my heart is broken, however I hope you will be happy and I wish you well in body and spirit-- I wish you nothing but the best. Just know one thing is for sure, I read my Bible and I will tell you right now, we are living in our last days you need to be concerned about where you are going to spend eternity. I just finished up reading the book of Matthew. In Matthew 21:25 The Heading Reads: "The Coming of the Son of Man" vs 25- And their will be signs in the Sun, the Moon, the Stars--mens hearts will fail them for fear and the expectation of those things which are coming on the earth, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. vs 27--THEN they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with Power and Great Glory. Now when these things begin to happen, look up and list up your heads, because your redemption draws near". Jesus said He would give us signs in the Heavens above and the earth beaneath. All of the earthquakes that have been happening for the last decade leading up to the Austrailian wildfires, and billions of animals died, God is giving us the signs, its just like He said in Matthew 24:36-44.

Lastly, 1 Thessalonians 4 :13--But I do not want you to be ignorant brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God wil bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord will by no means precede those who are asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from Heaven With A SHOUT--with the voice of an archangel, and with the Trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rist first. Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And thus we shall always be with the Lord, Therefore Comfort one another with these words.

After the Rapture, then comes the tribulation. I have read Revelation many times and to say the least you don't want to be left behind. In Heaven their will be 30 mins of silence that is when all Hell breaks loose down here. Just whatever you do, Do NOT take the mark of the beast if you do, then you will mark your soul for eternal damnation. Then you will hear the devil say----"Hello! Welcome to Hell!

I am saying all of this bcuz now you have a choice to live for God or for Satan. If something should happen to your body or God forbid but if someone tries to take your life or you get in an accident and your heart is not right with God--That is exactly how you will stand at the Judgement Bar. The minute you take your last breath in this body, you will be ushered into the presence of God then it is too late to make a decision there it is if the Angel does not find your name in the Book of Life, then the devil stands there waiting to escourt you to------Well lets just say---You Don't want to go there. But the Bible says you will answer for every deed done in the body good and bad.I know one thing, it can't be too much longer according to scripture. The greatest tool the enemy uses from his toolbox is that you have plenty of time--well I can say the devil is a liar cuz Jesus just says--Be Ready it is not up to us how long we get to stay down here, that is God's calling.Second Timothy 3----But know this, that in the last days perilous times will come. For men will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, unloving, unforgiving, slanderers, without self-control, brutal, despisers of good, traitors, headstrong, haughty, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having a form of godliness but denying its power. And from such people turn away! For of this sort are those who creep into households and make captives of gullible women loaded down with sins, led away by various lusts, always learning and never able to come to the knowledge of truth.

Sister, we are living in our last days, make every day that God gives you breath in your body count bcuz you don't know when it will be your last day. There is pleasure in sin for a season--Hebrews 11:24. Whatever you do, don't let the devil take your life and your soul, it is not worth it.

Love You So Much and want to make sure your soul doesn't go to H---. I am praying that you will have a preacher as a husband.I miss you Michelle, I miss hugging you, I miss walking up those stairs to bring your meals to you I would LOVE to hug you just one more time. That may or may not happen before He Returns ony God knows this.Please write me back when you can, you are always on my heart and mind. I have made mistakes while we were all living at 2414, I am so very sorry I pray that you forgive me if I have offended you please forgive me, I thought I had it all together. But now I see, I was just messed up and made lots of wrong choices, but God came along with His Holy broom and cleaned up my mess and said to move on. I am so glad when He forgives our sins, He forgets never no more to be remembered. All I can say is ---Thank-you Jesus.

...

Love You Forever my dearest Daughter and Friend.

This is the average email from her and I’ve been told that it’s not normal to receive emails this long talking about how she’s ‘devastated’ by my choices and how the world is going to end in hellfire soon. Please allow me, however, to show the email she immediately sent after the above.

[T]acoma is Washington's most dangerous city, with a violent crime rate of 953 incidents per 100,000 residents. While this is a relatively high rate — the 96th worst in the country — the city's incidence of property crime stands out even more. ... Indeed, the city had the country's 15th highest property crime rate in 2016

The overall crime rate in Tacoma is 138% higher than the national average. For every 100,000 people, there are 16.81 daily crimes that occur in Tacoma. Tacoma is safer than 3% of the cities in the United States. In Tacoma you have a 1 in 17 chance of becoming a victim of any crime.

Have you done the research for this city?They said Tacoma is the most violent city in Washington,I love you and want you to be happy. There are sooo many universities with the same opportunities.

How would you get around, does your friend drive? I did see how beautiful the area is but you just have to be careful I guess everywhere you go.

As you can see, she immediately invalidates my choice - something I was very truly wonderfully excited about - and sends me a message that triggers my anxiety. I should note that she did not allow me out of the house without her even when I was an adult and over 18. If I went somewhere she had to be there with me.

Ah, but now we come to today and the email that spurred this post to creation. The above emails were sent two days ago and I have yet to respond. The email below was sent just today.

Hi Michelle.

While I cannot apologize for what I said, It was not my intention to offend you in any way. I just went to google and typed in most dangerous city in the state of Washington and Tacoma popped up, that is out of 100 cities in the state.Okay, I know you say you have been there and all and you are no match for all of the evil there. God forbid, should something happen to you--you would be just another name and another number to them there is no much evil there they can't control it, I say to you just watch on a daily basis all of the crime that goes on in that sin city.

You better be praying about this cuz I don't think God would want you to put yourself in harms way--make a wiser choice, and God will bless you for it.Look at what happened to kobe bryant incident.... they met a very bad situation face to face and of course their was no way they could turn that around. My whole point of conversation.....sure you can do what you want bcuz you are an adult grown woman, but I would strongly advise you to pray to God about it and make a wise choice here, your life and future depends on right choices you make now.

What about University of Michigan in Ann Arbor or East Lansing University, Michigan University Kalamazoo, they are on the ten universities in Michigan. You need to reconsider your decision and think about your resourses you can get more help from family bcuz I have all kinds of family up there and I will be up there soon. You are no match for Tacoma Washington. I only say this bcuz you are my daughter and I don't want something really bad come out of this just bcuz you are trying to get an education behind you--this calls for wise decisions.

You may never speak to me again, but I just want to inform you that you need to be very very cautious here.

Love You Forever.

...

“You may never speak to me again.”

...

This is the last email I have read from her and it will remain the last email I will ever read from her. I also will not be sending her any emails ever again because you know what?

Her scared, anxious daughter Michelle Jean Anderson died and I’m what’s left - and I’m sick of her shit.

So, hello, everybody! My name is Andy Alex Anderson and my pronouns are he/him (or they/them if you panic and forget) and it’s a pleasure to meet you!

#everafterupdates #everafterrambles #original #welp okay this is poste dit's on the internet forever now #haaaa #okay #long post

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randomvarious · 4 years

Video

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Fingers Inc. - “Can You Feel It” Skills by John Acquaviva Song released in 1988. Mix released in 1998. House

Normally when I write a song post I like to kick it off with some info about the artist that the track's been credited to. I mean, that's a normal writing process for song posts, right? You write a little about the artist and then you write a little about one of their songs. It's natural and it makes sense. Yet, if I did that today, with this particular song, I'd be firing at the wrong target, because the legendary Chicago house duo Fingers Inc. have really nothing to do with the song that appears at the front of John Acquaviva's fantastic Skills mix. But it's not really a total misattribution of artist either. Here, let me explain.

Although he's known for little else and didn't end up having much of a music career, Chuck Roberts' 105-second sermon about house music's origins and its intended universality still remains one of the genre's most iconic recordings and one of its greatest contributions. Since its original recording, it's been featured on a lot of different tracks, and if you're the least bit familiar with house music, especially the older stuff, you've probably come across it before.

But you're flat out wrong if you think it originally came from Fingers Inc.'s 1988 classic, "Can You Feel It".

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Although that's the song that most people probably associate the impassioned speech with, it's not the first song to actually feature said speech. That honor belongs to Chuck Roberts' quartet, Rhythm Controll, who in 1987 delivered their only record, My House.

youtube

Yes, "My House" was the first song to feature the famous monologue and the following year, Fingers Inc. sampled it. And when Acquaviva used it to open up his Skills mix, he used an a cappella version of it. So that means not a lick of Fingers Inc. actually appears on the song that Acquaviva used. Why he credited Fingers Inc. then, I'm not sure, but maybe if people saw Fingers Inc. on the back cover of the jewel case instead of Rhythm Controll or Chuck Roberts, they would've been more likely to buy the CD? I dunno. It's not really that big of a deal anyway.

Whatever the case may be though, there's a reason why I'm posting this version of Chuck Roberts' sermon that's specifically featured in this John Acquaviva mix. And that's because of the song that follows it, one of my all-time favorite house tracks, 1993's "House 4 All" by Blunted Dummies.

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See, it might sound a bit cheesy to an outsider, but there really is a bit of a spiritual element to house music. You certainly don't feel it in every song, but when it hits right, it's a fucking sublime experience for the listener. It can be out on the dancefloor or in your headphones or in your car, but when the producer tops off their groove with its crowning piece and just lets that shit ride, it can transport you to a different plane, generating a euphoric feeling that just permeates deep into the far reaches of your soul. It's its own spiritual high.

And that feeling of sheer ecstasy that house music was able to provide to Chuck Roberts and so many other house junkies at the time is probably what inspired him to pen his brief manifesto. Roberts took some opening lines from the Book of Genesis and changed them around so that his message would be about house music. Most noticeably, he exchanged the word "God" for "Jack," and in the long tradition of black preachers, he delivered his message with a deep, heartfelt, and spiritedly raspy conviction.

But it's Acquaviva's mixing in of Blunted Dummies' "House 4 All" that really drives it all home. Personally, I think it's the best song to ever pair with Roberts' house homily and its title coincidentally matches the overarching point that Roberts expresses so eloquently: that house music is for everyone. "House 4 All" is a track that's just naturally imbued with a palpable amount of spiritual uplift, too. You put that song on and you immediately ascend up into the clouds. And then you decide to mix that little slice of heaven with Roberts' slice of heaven and then all of a sudden you're taking people to a place that house music has never taken them before: double heaven.

John Acquaviva's the absolute man for opening his mix like this.

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olderthannetfic · 5 years

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You’ve probably heard of that film version of The Magnificent Seven from a couple of years ago. Maybe you know it’s based on a film from 1960, which is itself a remake of Seven Samurai.

But if you’re like 99% of fandom or even that guy I know who worked on the 2016 version, you probably don’t know that there was also a TV series starring, among other people, Ron Perlman.

(This came up because said dude and I were working on another Western starring Ron Perlman. A sucky one though. Alas, I cannot pimp it.)

Mag7, as it is usually called in fandom, was quite the little slash fandom in its day, yet it is nearly forgotten by newer fans. The show aired for two seasons from 1998-2000.

It’s one of those shows I bought, sight unseen, so I could catch up on older fandoms. I ended up liking it more or less, but I don’t think canon has aged well. It’s too bloodless for the era it came out in while making a pretense at covering serious, dark shit. It has neither the standing sets of old Western TV nor the big budgets of the 2010s Western revival. It’s too white. The one black lead gets relegated to token status along with all Native characters. The treatment of women is laughable, from the Happy Hooker stuff (gah!) to the time they try to teach the tomboy to be more girly so she can get the young dude in the cast (ragescream!). It feels more in line with what I’d expect a Western to look like in 1988 than 1998, especially on the heels of the far more inventive The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. in 1993.

Fanlore says that Mag7 suffers because current fandom is not into Westerns, but my problem is that I am far too into Westerns, and this show is not a good one.

OTOH, there is a lot of material here to work with, and work with it fans did!

It’s a super interesting fandom for a fandom historian because of how intensely AU-infested it is. Maybe you’ve heard something about “ATF-verse”? That’s a Mag7 thing. It’s not just regular AUs: The fandom is full of these shared universes with established rules for writers who want to play in them.

The “Seven” are:

Chris Larabee: The black-clad, taciturn loner with... wait for it... a dead wife and child.

Vin Tanner: The soft-spoken woobie, sentenced to death for a crime he did not commit, who has spent time amongst the Indian tribes. (It is every bit as cringey as you think.) Fandom’s #1 fave, natch.

J.D. Dunne: Horrid little twerp with a terrible hat. I wanted to stab him every time he was on screen. x100 whenever he was interacting with a woman.

Buck Wilmington: Played by Dale Midkiff of Time Trax fame! (What? Everyone important, by which I mean me, loved Time Trax!) He is Chris’s old friend and polar opposite, a jolly, good-humored man raised by a prostitute mother. Ladies, including the working girls, love him. Also he gets fake dead more than once, so he’s clearly the BEST character, and fandom ought to have loved him the best too! >:(

Josiah Sanchez: Ron Perlman plays a wacky preacher and ex-gunfighter. Is he haunted by his past? Does he make woo-woo philosophical proclamations about this? Does this show love its ubiquitous Western cliches? (Don’t answer that.)

Ezra Standish: If Vin is the quiet, soft-spoken woobie, Ezra is the woobie who hides his Tragic Pain under a mask of charm and cheer. He’s the one with the rapidfire con artist patter, the fancy suits, and the Southern accent. He has a complicated relationship with his con artist mother. His wardrobe is a thousand times prettier than anyone else’s, and he crossdresses at some point. Naturally, he is fandom’s other darling after Vin. Possibly the #1 darling in ATF-verse.

Nathan Jackson: Nathan is a former slave and a doctor. He has a girlfriend in the local Seminole village and not enough to do on the show.

Other characters include a sad widow for Chris to have sad dead partner angst at, the judge who sends them on missions, and, in the pilot, that guy who played Harper in Sharpe. The judge is played by Robert Vaughn, which I 100% did not realize until I was looking at wikipedia just now!

Anyway, standard Western hijinks happen. The mystery of Chris’s wife’s death is eventually solved as angstily as possible. Chris pretends to kill Buck as part of a ruse at one point, making them my ship of choice. (What?) J.D. and the local tomboy get set up by all the other characters, causing me to want to stab not only them but also myself in the eye.

COME AT ME BRO!

Oops. I’m supposed to be promoting Escapade, not starting fights about old tv shows. Anyway, I think the canon has some issues, but the fic... let me tell you, there are no words more likely to attract me to a fandom than “presumed dead”, and Mag7 fandom delivered, not only in the slash but in the gen. I have no idea, years later, where to find any of those fics or even which ones I read, but I remember there was self-indulgent melodrama and it was GREAT.

Sweet, sweet idfic, come to Mama!

I would link you to a vid, but as Fanlore hilariously confirms for me, there are like no good vids in this fandom. They did eventually release it on DVD, but the image quality is... uh... not great. Oh, wait, I did love this lulzy het vid about ladies being thirsty for Buck.

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Actually, that’s a total lie. I have gone looking for Mag7 vids repeatedly for the Escapade dance party. Excavating my old spreadsheets, I see a bunch of interesting ones, like this slash vid of Nathan/Ezra. The Southern gentleman and the black guy are an obvious cliche teamup for Westerns, but the fandom rarely went there. This vid is great though! The only reason I’ve never played it is that no one at the con ships this.

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Past Escapade panels include:

2001 - True pairings and permutations (Who are the "right" couples, and what other combinations are remotely possible? Video excerpts for newcomers.)

2003 - AUs! Crutch or creative lifeblood? (Are ATF stories a creative extension of the universe or a cop-out by folks too lazy to do their historical research?)

2004 - The Multiverse (Where canon is a formulaic retread of a remake of a classic, the critical mass of fan creativity has exploded in fascinating and bizarre ways. Often, richly textured parallel universes seem more attractive than stories based on the original source material. From conflict over "closed" AUs to creative in-breeding, what's really going on in the Mag 7 multiverse?) [HAH, EVEN YOU GUYS AGREE WITH ME.]

2005 - Where has the Old West gone? (Magnificent Seven has it all! Seven sexy men, horses, the old west, guns, adventure, right and wrong, you name it! So why isn't there more Old West fic? Why all the modem and future AUs? Where do we go from here?)

2006 - Cowboys- Real Life v. Fantasy (From Magnificent Seven to Brokeback Mountain, from John Wayne toughness to curtain fic. What's reel? What's fun? And how much reality do we want in our fun?)

2007 - Chris Larabee: Tragic Hero or Pig-Headed Bastard? (How worthy is Chris to lead the Seven? Does he lead them because he believes in protecting the weak an innocent, or because it strokes his ego? Does he truly value Buck's friendship and support? Vin's? Anyone's?)

2008 - M7: Need Topic! by Megan Kent [LOL]

2011 - Mag 7: Deader Than a Beaver Hat (They're gorgeous. They're archetypes. Lots of other fandoms have less to work with. So, what the hell?)

2012 - My Paring is OK. Your Pairing Sucks! (In a fandom famous for pairing wars, let's get it all out in the open and put it to bed. Come and defend your pairing of choice, and enjoy others doing the same. Inflatable lightsabers, laughter, and the ability not to take yourself seriously. All welcome.)

2013 - What holds the gang together? (The deal was simple: a dollar a day, plus room and board, for a month. And now they've been together *how* long? What holds these seven loners together over the long haul? All pairings, all points of view. Bring story recs to share.) [Duct tape. The answer is always duct tape.]

Mag7 on Fanlore (including links to many smaller archives)

Mag7 on AO3

Mag7 on FFN

#escapade 2020 #escapade con #fandom history #mag7

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bestcollegeadvisor101 · 4 years

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Pioneers in Christian Counseling

Gladys K. Mwiti, M. A., a counseling psychologist, is the Founder and Execute have Director of Oasis Counseling and Training Institute in Nairobi, Kenya. In addition to her work at Oasis, Gladys is the Chairman in the Christian Counselors Association of Kenya. Her husband, Gershon, is the national team leader of African Company, an indigenous African counseling ministry. Gladys and Gershon have three daughters and one son. At the 1997 AACC World Conference in November, I spent some time with Gladys, talking about her pioneer work through Kenya. Tell me about yourself, your background, and how you encountered God. I was born in Meru District in Kenya, which is near the snow-capped, northern slopes of Mt. Kenya. Its quite a cold vicinity indeed. I grew up in a Christian home. My mother loves the Lord. She has always been a woman of prayer, and Id love to be like her. She used to take me to church and to huge conventions. With Africa, we have the huge, evangelistic meetings, people sitting on the green grass under the sun. That's the types of setting where I receive the Lord as my Savior. We were at a 3, 000-strong convention and also the gospel was preached from John 3: 16. I remember that the preacher said, It is not so much the sin you have committed in your life; it's that the Lord loves you so , so much, and what he is asking you can be, Could you love me a little bit in return? As a seven year old, I did not see my sin consequently a bad thing. I knew I was guilty of licking the cream off the top of the milk as soon as my mom was not looking or taking and eating bread from the cupboard. What I really saw on myself that day was a heart that was desired and longed to know the love of Goodness. I probably should mention that my father used to be a Christian. He brought my mother to the Head of the family before they got married. She had never been to church, so when they met, my father took the woman's to church, and she accepted the Lord as her Savior in the East African Revival of the missed 1940's - 1950's that transformed most of the church is in Kenya to evangelical church is. Mom arrived at know the Lord in that revival, but then Dad backslid. He left Christianity he got richer, he grew to be a businessman, a farmer, and its as if he did not need much from the Lord. He even wedded a second wife, and there was a lot of tension and stress at home. Sometimes as a child I wished there would be more peace in my home. Dad would drink alcohol, come home sometimes, and rough up my mother. I actually longed for fatherly love, a father I could trust. There was so much insecurity with my dad, that when Document heard the preacher talking about a God who loved me, I longed for that security. I was aware that if this God was the God of my mother, I could rely on him as a father. In the event the altar call was made that day, I literally ran to the front, joining hundreds of other people. At this point, it's not unusual to dismiss or take lightly the fervent commitment of children at the revivals. A lot of people think that young children cannot make a decision for the Lord. But when I went to the front among the crowd of adults that will day, an old man around 70 years old he was wearing a huge coat, and he had such substantial, soft hand same to me, bent on his knee, and just gathered me to himself, hugging myself. I remember disappearing into his coat, and it was so sweet and comfortable, I did not want to give there. I still remember the smell of his coat today. He just hugged me to help himself, and that symbolized acceptance of me, a child, in the church of Christ. It also represented security and then a sense of belonging. I was one of the brethren. From then on, the church took me seriously, because the following that Sunday, they put me up on a table and asked me to share my testimony of everything that the Lord had done! I spoke out, and I am told today that some people were challenged and cried as a result of my testimony. From that time, I have not stopped talking about the Lord. I have talked to 1000s of young people in schools, women ministries, and couples ministries. After I married my husband, Gershon, who is an evangelist, we went on preaching together. I went to college, got my education, and taught physics and chemical make up in school for about 14 years before the Lord called me to the ministry of counseling. How have you ever seen the field of counseling center and change the part of the world where you work? Some people are literally pioneers in the field of counseling in the countries. When I began the Oasis Counseling Center in 1990, I knew very few people who were in full-time Christian counseling in Kenya. So I have actually been a part of that ministry of premiering professional Christian counseling. There's very little lay counseling, so most of my time is definitely spent in equipping the church to be a counseling community, rather than waiting for people to crumble and then coming to Oasis. The changes that I have seen are changes that have come through some of us in the field. The counseling ministry in Kenya is professional, Christian, and boldly prevent have in nature. Many people have opened the entranceway to us since my husband and I have worked with the church for a long time. We have been able to introduce programs like couples workshops along with our preaching and evangelism. The credibility of our lifestyle encouraged people to trust us. We seen doors swinging open from bishops to lay people, and I think this is what has helped counseling to advance through Africa. Yes, it's true. The reason I decided to change professions was because of the students who secured bringing their problems to me. I discovered that the kids had so many problems that I was not able to help these adequately. What actually drove me into counseling was the following story. I was a deputy major in a girl's high school. One morning I was just about to do assembly for the Morning Prayer when a person came running into school crying. I could see she was really stressed. Mrs. Mwiti, I need to talk to everyone right now. Susan, I cannot talk to you now, were just about to do assembly. But I have got to talk to most people! She said. OK, I said. Go to my office, and I will talk to you as soon as I am as a result of with assembly. When I finished assembly and went into my office, she was still crying. At this moment this girl was about 15 years old, and I had led her to the Lord the year before, so that i knew she was a Christian. I said to her, Susan, what's up? And she began to tell us this story: Since I got saved, I have been able to handle the stress in my family. There has been a lot of stress inside my family for a long, long time. Dad drinks heavily, comes home drunk, and then starts fighting with my mummy. We live in a marionette, and often, I have to climb up the stairs when Dad comes home. I have to put this ear to the keyhole, because I know anytime he will start beating Mom up and I have got to increase in to separate the two. I am the firstborn and I have got three other siblings, younger than all of us, and the baby is about two years old. This week, the tension has been very high at home. Last night, Dad came in again at 3: 00 A. M., and I stayed up to make sure he was fast sleeping before something erupted. But last night they did not fight. This morning I came downstairs, dressed for the school, and my little brother who never goes anywhere this early in the morning, was also dressed up. The house help, a young guy that lives with us to help with the baby, was also dressed up. I said, Parents, where is John going? and Mom said, We are leaving. Where? I asked. Who is leaving? Barbara, stop asking so many questions. What I want you to do is go up to your room, get whatever items you think you need and come down. We are leaving in the next five minutes. Even Dad? I asked. I am never talking about your father; I said we are leaving. I knew something was horribly wrong. So last of all I said, But we cannot leave Dad alone. If you think you love your father so much, then you can stick to him; if you think its me you love, you come with me. But Mom, its not a matter of really enjoy. Who's going to cook for him, look after him... I am confused. Someone has to stay with Dad! I eventually said, I do not know what I am going to do, but I am going to stay with Dad. Then I picked up my schoolbag together with I ran all the way to school. Mrs. Mwiti, I want you to tell me, did I make the proper decision? Now, in teachers college they taught me how to teach physics, how to check substances with chemistry, and how to do lab projects, but they did not teach me how to minister to kids who ? re hurting. I examined my heart and said to myself, Gladys Mwiti, you have had enough teaching physics and teaching chemistry get out of here! For quite a while, I had been feeling this frustration of seeing hurting small children in class unfocused, hungry, in pain, emotionally frozen. I went home, and I told my hubby, I am in the wrong place, and the Lord is saying get out! So by faith, I had to go back to class to study psychology. The only place I could study in Kenya was a secular university, the U. Ohydrates. International University they have a campus in San Diego, California (the mother campus), and this campus in Nairobi. I studied psychology for fI have years. I kept reading and integrating the work of Ray Crabb, James Dobson, and others. Soon the Lord made it very clear that he wanted me to do a faith ministry start Oasis Counseling Center. The struggle has been mighty, I mean really big, in setting up this succeed in Africa, but it's been very satisfying. So , has your work been primarily with teenagers? I help everyone. When you are talking of a ministry which is out there with nothing else, you cannot say, I do families, I really do youth. From the very beginning I have worked with youth, so I am very, very close to young people; I love them. People do a lot of youth counseling that automatically goes into family counseling to marriage counseling, which leads to despression symptoms, stress management, conflict resolution, leadership training, etc . We started out aiming at a small urban population within Nairobi. Nairobi is about three million today, and there's almost nothing else around. We have people coming meant for counseling sessions from the rural areas, 200-300 miles away. I sat back and I said, Our god, what else can we do now? The answer was to train lay counselors at the community and religious levels. Then the hurting people can find somebody who can work with them at least at the encouragement level of counseling, just before they look for the professional. If we help lay counselors set up counseling departments in the church, they are able to train other lay counselors to help in the counseling. Then we train pastors in supervisory skills. Some of the ways we got into the training of lay counselors to reach the rural communities and even the rest of the city that we is unable to reach. In 1990, we were focusing just on lay counseling in Kenya, but by the so next year, people were coming from the rest of Africa for three-weeks of training in lay-counseling skills, and then returning to their own countries to set up counseling ministries. Through that program, we have 500 people, scattered all over Africa, doing set counseling. How did you get involved with counseling the United Nations staff when they were evacuated from Rwanda around 1994? In April 1994, the United Nations evacuated over 300 of their staff employees with their families because of Kigali. All the hotels were fully booked in Nairobi. This was five days after the plane of the leader of Rwanda had been destroyed and the onset of the genocide. I was just finishing devotions, and a vehicle with a United Nations registration number drove up. The Christian dry hiver had a note on U. And. letterhead instructing me to report to one of the hotels in town. I told my secretary to cancel your appointments and I would call her from the hotel. When I entered the hotel's lobby, there were bags and folks everywhere. A woman met me and took me to a small room: Gladys, she said, we need want you to do something for us beginning now. We have a fax here from New York, from the U. N. headquarters, proclaiming that all the people evacuated last night need to be debriefed. The instructions are that we debrief them before they are used anywhere or sent home because they have seen such horrific things in Rwanda. We have set up a room for your needs and you can begin your first group as soon as you are ready. I called my office and said, reschedule almost everything for the next two months! As I counseled and debriefed the U. N. staff, I was joined in the future by the head of a counseling unit from New York, and two professional counselors/consultants from Canada. For two a long time, we worked with the employees and their families, and it was such tiring stuff. How did you love yourself in the midst of that work? I could not get self-care until the end of the two months; it was crazy. Nevertheless my husband is a great guy; he can just sit and listen to me for hours, so he did a lot of debriefing for me. But by the end of two months, I scheduled some time with a professional counselor. I saw your ex for several sessions, but I was in such a state of mind that I could not go back to work for another month. What That i realized about the U. N. staff is that very few of them had really experienced any trauma. Their own experience of trauma was hearing gunshots and grenades go off. A few of them remembered seeing gory stuff. For example , at least one said, I remember seeing a dog chewing a human hand as we drove out of Kigali to Bujumbura inside Burundi and then airlifted to Nairobi. I appreciated the fact that the U. N. wanted counseling for its staff members, whether the people felt traumatized or not. And some of them did not think they had been affected until the center of their sessions. Then they just broke down in tears. I had even more concern about the Rwandans left behind. That U. N. was so concerned about their employees, who hardly had lost a single member of their families (thought some of them had seen colleagues killed) but who was concerned about the millions of Rwandans? Men, women, and little ones who had seen blood, some of them lay under dead bodies for days, some of them live in holes to get months who is counseling the Rwandans? I asked the head of the counseling ministry, the offices in Nairobi, and the counseling unit in New York what they were doing to help the Rwandans. The answer came back the same: Not a single thing. So I went to the All Africa Council of Churches is, the overseeing body of the Protestant places of worship is in Africa. What are we doing about Rwanda? I asked. What can we do, Mrs. Mwiti? I just went to the Association of Evangelicals of Africa, the body that looks after the evangelical churches is. Nothing at all! I went to people that I knew had regional offices working in Nairobi but working in Rwanda nothing! I bought very frustrated, and so my husband one day looked at me and said, Gladys, you seem to be spending a lot of time wondering people what they are doing about Rwanda. What are you doing about Rwanda? Me? I asked. My organization is too small. Too small? he replied. If the Lord wants you in Rwanda, is he possibly not big enough to do that? I started reading, writing, and researching. By the end of 1994, I had supplies for training, but I did not know what I was going to do with them. Someone heard about me and produced those materials. By February 1994 we had materials published. By April 1994, they were translated into Kenya and Rwanda, and we were beginning trauma counseling in Rwanda. Since 1995, we have trained 216 counselors in Rwanda. But they, each of them has counseled or trained 60 others since then. So we have across 10, 000 people today counseling in Rwanda. Counseling and small groups are mushrooming all over the place. We get them through a process of healing themselves, because you cannot bring healing to others until you are healed one self. They go home with Bible-study materials and pastor's notes that we have prepared. In group counseling, they will support one another as they complete their healing. By the end of the 10 weeks of Bible study, these people already are addressing the needs of poverty, the needs of AIDS, and they are setting themselves up in small inter development projects, such as chicken and goat keeping. The are some of the programs that we are involved in at Oasis. Our three-week lay counselor training has evolved to other programs during the year, such as training for individuals working with disadvantaged children, street children, orphans, and abused children. What are some of your goals for the future? Your requirement in Christian counseling on the continent of Africa is not in just addressing people and problems, but to remain involved in helping to shape people's behavior. I am referring to the whole issue of values. Values that keep people from crumbling, values that keep kids from drugs. I am talking about biblically-founded beliefs that people sometimes do not hopeful bold enough to teach, and I think Christian counselors have the goal of teaching. More and more Christian counselors ought to be trained to boldly analyze what is happening and then help parents to teach values to their kids, help commanders understand the principles of servant leadership, help fathers to be better fathers. My dream for Photography equipment is for an all-African training institute of Christian counseling, where people do not just learn the skills but can now come up with materials and strategies for reaching the masses. If we do not teach people how to live, i am leaving them in a vacuum. We'll continue with the training of lay counselors, but we need more skilled counselors who will take a place in theological colleges, training schools, and universities, and make sure that Christian counseling might be part of the curriculum in those places. That's my dream. What would you want to say to AACC members approximately their contribution to counseling in Kenya and Africa? I am excited about AACC members looking beyond The united states. Whether I like it or not, America is our world influence today. The dollar has become an international foreign exchange. The whole world is hard on the heels of America. We are getting more from you than dollars. Each time a movie is released in Hollywood, it hits Nairobi in the next couple of weeks. With the Internet, communication between La and Nairobi is instant. My prayer is that AACC members will realize that they are shaping Religious counseling around the world by the very fact that we in Africa know you love the Lord and we are following ones lead. You cannot stand back and tell us, Do not follow. So we hope that God is in people's activities not just on their currency. Wherever the dollar finds its place, Christian counseling needs to find its position. So I would like for AACC members to remember that Africa is bigger than a country; it's a continent using Islam, Christianity, and animistic religions. It takes me eight hours to fly from east to Rest of the world Africa. The Lord may lead AACC members out there to help us in other ways and we shall be thankful, but basically, I want to encourage all of you to keep following the Lord, because we are following you. Sounds like a challenge for a higher accountability! Let me add briefly that about fI have years ago, the Lord put on my heart your requirement for a Christian counselors association to be an accrediting body. Because the need is so great, anyone can arranged himself or herself up as a counselor. We have individuals, who go for a week's training, and they return declaring, I have been through training and now I am a professional. I have been praying and working so hard, and finally in 1996, the Christian Counselors Association of Kenya got registered. I am the current chairman, and the accreditation committee is certainly working hard to set standards of training and accreditation. Its a dream come true. Already, many other countries for Africa are saying, come over and help us to form our own associations. Very soon we are going to start visiting several countries, bringing all of them together, and helping them to set up Christian counseling associations in their countries. This will inspire training, it will encourage standards, and it will also be able to push for universities or theological colleges in their areas to set up Christian counseling departments. When this happens, we shall be looking for AACC to send us people from time to time to return and teach in some of the places. At Oasis, we hope to have a diploma in Christian counseling, teaching the idea at the Institute, and also a Masters program. We need people from the America to come and help us set it up and people in publishing to help us with book old_resources. How large is your staff at Oasis, and precisely how would you characterize your approach to Christian counseling? There are six full-time staff members, including myself, and then four part-time professional counselors. We have 33 professionals on the training staff, because we have got a huge training program. The professionals comprise pastors, medical doctors, psychologists a few of them teach in universities psychiatrists, and university lecturers. All of them are committed Christians which love the Lord and follow our model of Christian counseling. Our approach basically assumes the fallen dynamics of man, the fact that God wants us to be transformed, not just to be spared but to be changed coming from within, and that when Christ comes in, he turns things upside down, and we need to live in obedience to her. I can actually say that around 75% of those who come to us, if they were not Christians first, these become Christians during counseling. Or if they are weak in their Christian walk, they get encouraged prior to when they leave. Our approach is not direct have; its more of an eclectic model. But it is basically some sort of model that helps people get to know the Lord and live in obedience to him by the end of treatments. Phone Therapy is a wonderful medium to help you. What kind of problems do you deal with at Oasis that might be unique to Kenya? There are not any that I need to tell you, because you see, with this global model issue, we are as sick since everyone else! High on the list are marital problems, family issues, youth rebellion, drug abuse, stress, and major depression. Basically the problems are due to the changes taking place in Africa. I am told that by the year 2000, 45% of Africans will be living in the cities. Child abuse is very much on the increase, so there is not whatever is unique there. Kenya is a nation where most people go to school, so we get the same problems that some other money-centered, material-centered society experiences. Most of our tribal structures were pretty solid, but with all the mobility of folks, were encountering all of the community structure crumbling, individualism coming in, and self-worship. When the problems arrive, they take from the core. The difference is that you do not have the tools and old_resources that we have in North America. Just! And that's why the disintegration will be faster, thus we need to work ever so hard. That's why my belief is that church presents the example. I want to work myself out of business very quickly. The more the church does just what the church is supposed to be doing, the better for society. God wants each person to use his or her gifts, plus the gift of encouragement can belong even to a child. So , I must multiply myself, and the sooner We do that before the year 2000, the better.

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