#we played in the church garden and there was a wishing well next to us

[critterofthenight]

i had such a fun dream, i didn't wanna wake up :c

[dadsbongos]

slender aphrodite has overcome me

Warnings: religious homophobia and internalized homophobia, reader is specifically stated to be a lesbian and catholic (but she isn't catholic by the end), robin being an eddie-hater for 99.9% of this, blink and you’ll miss it nsfw reference Summary: You and Robin were supposed to work on a chemistry project, but then she takes you to Lovers’ Lake. Also, Eddie supports lesbians. Word Count: 7.6 K AO3 Link ~~~

Eddie used to come into your father’s church every Sunday with his uncle. Buzzed head and huffy attitude and wandering eyes, he would stroll in as if he had anything better to do - but he’d always wave at you.

Eventually, you graduated from small waves to him making his uncle sit in the front pew with you and the rest of your family. Though, that turned into you two sitting in the back together while the adults sat in the front. 

Because while everyone else was listening, Eddie was playing tic-tac-toe with you in the notes section of a bible he grabbed and you were challenging him to silent games of rock-paper-scissors. You two would mouth along to every hymn because neither of you knew the words and you’d giggle when your father called on him to speak before everyone for holiday services.

Eddie stopped coming to church when he was eighteen, but he’d always be right outside when service was finished. You’d bounce over to him as he smoked and pretend he didn’t reek of pot and cheap cologne. You’d put up with the stinging eyes and awful tobacco smell because you wanted to see him before he drove his uncle home.

Eddie Munson was your very first, and very closest, friend.

Robin Buckley fucking hates Eddie Munson.

He was always hanging off of you when you two stood next to each other. He would ramble on and on and on and on about music and D&D and how much he hated the faculty at school. He was annoying and he smoked and he dealt drugs and she has no idea why you defend him so hard.

“He’s honestly trying in school, he is. He just has trouble concentrating.”

“Someone has to cover the bills and his uncle’s job doesn’t pay all that well.”

“Eddie has never been anything other than kind to me.”

“He’s just passionate - who can fault him for being interested in things?”

Robin wishes she could’ve been the one sitting next to you in the back pews. She wishes she was the one ranting to you about the music she likes and the movies she watches and the absolute bullshit she has to deal with at work.

And it’s at work that she hyperfixates on this so deeply because Family Video is directly across the street from the new florist shop your mother owns (lovingly called The Garden after terrestrial paradise). And because mommy dearest owns the place, you work there and because you work there, Eddie the motherfucking freak Munson is always leaning against the front counter and talking your pretty little ear off.

And Robin has to watch it all.

Robin shakes her head and buries herself back into restocking the shelves as Steve looks through the pile of returned movies that haven’t yet been checked in. Steve suddenly gasps and snaps and she can hear his shoes squeak against the tile as he spins around to look at her.

“Hey, remember that movie we saw last month? The one about the professor at a motel?”

“Desert Hearts - what about it?” before Steve gets the chance to reply, Robin turns away from restocking and points at him, “Don’t tell me you didn’t like it, I saw you crying.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he raises his hands defensively, “I was going to say - that one girl rented it.”

Robin’s brows furrow and she shakes her head, “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Steve can’t help but grin at his friend, “I even kept her receipt. Just for you.”

“Creep,” Robin storms out of the shelves and ducks behind the counter beside Steve, “Show it to me.”

“Alright, alright, give me a second!”

By the vague title of ‘one girl’, Steve meant, of course, the girl that had coincidentally been Robin’s science lab partner for the entirety of her high school career.

The one who lights the bunsen burner because she knows Robin’s hands always shake when she tries. The one who brings bottled water to school just because Robin hates the fountains. The one who works directly across the street. The pastor’s daughter.

Steve holds out the receipt like a gold star sticker, “See?”

“I’m looking,” Robin can hardly believe it.

It’s your name. And right under your name is ‘DESERT HEARTS’ in big, bold letters that Robin wishes she could implant in the tissue of her brain.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Robin quirks a brow at Steve, and he tosses the scrap of paper at her as he whisper-yells, “She likes boobies!”

“Ew,” Robin swats his arm but grabs the receipt like it’ll decay the moment it touches the ground, “don’t say ‘boobies’. And don’t be so loud about it.”

She shoves Steve towards the cart of movies that need restocked and stares out the glass doors. Right where you work for your mother as a florist. The Garden.

Then, her eye catches the clock - 4:30 in the afternoon.

“Don’t forget, I’m clocking out early today,” Robin calls to Steve.

“Oh, shit,” Steve pokes his head out of aisles to look at her, “when?”

“Mmm,” she hums, watching you and Eddie exit The Garden and wave goodbye to your mother, “like right now.”

“What?! Since when?”

“Since I asked Keith to go home early for a school emergency,” Robin stamps her time card and then walks over to Steve to mutter, “Which is having the pastor’s daughter in my bedroom for our honors chemistry project.”

“Ooh,” Steve raises his eyebrows, “update me on that.”

“Will do,” Robin darts out and across the street to where you’re loading your bag into the back of Eddie’s van, “Hey!”

You turn at the sound of her voice and she’s in love with the way your face brightens at the sight of her, “Hey, Robin! I was just about to have Eddie give me a ride to your place.”

“Yeah,” Robin decides to apologize to Steve later, “so, Steve decided he didn’t wanna give me a ride home anymore,” a complete and utter lie, but neither of you need to know that, “if it isn’t any trouble, could I ride with you two?”

“Uh,” you look at Eddie immediately and while Robin can’t see him in the driver’s seat, she knows her hate grows when you giggle at him before returning to her, “Yeah, of course, you can. I’ll sit in the back, so you aren’t lonely.”

“Wow, so I’m just the chauffeur,” Eddie turns to look at you as you climb into the backseats and Robin follows.

“Sure looks like it,” you shrug, moving your bag to rest in your lap and addressing Robin, “He’s just messing around, don’t buy his teasing, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Robin clenches her bag in her own lap and gets a view of Eddie’s side profile as she gives him her address.

But he just smiles and gestures to you, “I’m painfully aware. Everytime someone wants to see you, I’m stuck being her driver.”

His good-naturedness is almost heartwarming. 

But unfortunately, it reminds her how much he sickens her - because she knows that if it weren’t for his reputation, people would flock to him for his looks. You don’t fall into the fear mongering about his reputation, so she can’t help but wonder what you think about him beneath a friendship.

She wants to pick your brain and end the investigation of how you feel. Did you rent Desert Hearts because you’re accepting and it’s cute? Or because you like women? Or, worst of all, to make fun of it with your family?

She can’t just ask because she doesn’t want to scare you off. She’s sure it took enough courage to actually rent the damn thing, you don’t need to be cornered because she’s restless.

“Oh, uhm,” you snap as you speak, “I told my parents I was going to Nancy Wheeler’s house for the night,” you rub the back of your neck nervously, “They’re crazy - don’t even let me go out with friends they don’t know…”

“Ah, no problem,” Robin chuckles, “I used to do the same thing, and then I stopped going out. It’s done wonders for my lying problem.”

You giggle at her jest and she’s convinced that if God’s real, It takes form in your sweet peels of laughter, “I just wanted to let you know.”

“What if they call her, though? Like, to check on you.”

The air turns sour and your smile is tight-lipped, “They won’t.”

She can read between the lines and let the response pass, “You can stay at my house for the night, if you want?”

“Oh, are you sure?” you jab your foot into the back of the driver’s seat, “I was just gonna stay with Eddie.”

“Yes!” she’s so eager and it burns her throat, “I mean, yeah, you can stay at my house. My parents shouldn’t care too much.”

The image of you staying the night with Eddie makes her physically ill.

“Hey,” he suddenly snaps and for a split second Robin’s worried she’d said that aloud, but no - his eyes, of course, are fixated on you in the rearview mirror, “don’t kick the driver. I’ll crash!”

“On purpose?” you quirk a brow and shake your head. Eddie doesn’t verbally respond, but he takes another glance at you in the mirror and shrugs as if to say - duh. As though to calm her nonexistent anxieties, you wave him off to Robin, “He isn’t gonna crash, he loves his van too much.”

“Steve’s the same way,” she rolls her eyes just thinking about the man, she leans down to whisper to you, “You know, for people that hate each other so much - they’re not too different sometimes.”

And that pulls another heavenly bell laugh out of you.

You’ve been to Robin’s house before. For many things. Study nights, projects, sleepovers, simple hours together. You’d lied to your parents for each and every one, but you’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant uninterrupted hours with Robin Buckley.

Your nails dig into your thigh at that thought. It’s an intrusive one - one that isn’t your fault. 

You spot your father’s church in the distance as the car passes through town and tap Eddie’s shoulder, “Hey, hey, pull over real quick.”

Robin sees the tight set of his jaw and from that she can get a sense for why he decided to leave the church. She can also see it in the way you nervously stare at the church and wring your hands.

“I won’t be long,” you quietly promise as Eddie parks in the lot and hop out.

Eddie watches you march up the steps and shakes his head, “Catholic guilt, am I right?”

“Huh?” Robin leans forward, pressing her face against the back of the passenger seat against her better judgment.

“Every time she sees this place, she has to stop and repent for something. Something that probably isn’t even as bad as what half those people do in their offtime,” he scoffs and Robin is put off by how quickly she falls in line with his words.

But she still doesn’t like him.

…

Your breathing is offset as you step into the church and you spot your father up at the altar, he sighs and makes his way down the aisle to you.

“I thought you were going to the Wheeler’s,” he murmurs.

“We were passing by,” the defense is weak but it’s all you can conjure.

He shakes his head and returns to the altar. You go to the holy water font and carefully dip the tips of your fingers into it, kneeling at the back of the pews and making a cross over yourself as you get to your knees.

You whisper against your hands - clasped so hard they’re shaking against your lips - “Oh, Heavenly Father, please forgive me for I have sinned. I continue to be sickened with the thoughts of women in the way a man should be,” it’s silent in the church and you feel like there’s a gun barrel pressing to the back of your skull, “I promise to you, once I gain the courage to approach my father I will ask him for help, but please, guide me to Your good light and help me get through this,” if possible, your fingers feel like they wind tighter around themselves, “In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

You rise and press another cross over yourself. Without a goodbye to your father, you rush out of the church and back to Eddie’s van. 

It wasn’t as though your father would press you for that sort of familial affection anyway. You haven’t so much as whispered your rotten thoughts to him, but it still feels as though he knows.

“Sorry, sorry,” you wave off Robin’s concern as you return to the backseat of Eddie’s van, “Thanks so much, Eds.”

You don’t quite catch the way Robin cringes at the sound of his nickname on your tongue, but if you did then you think that’d be a better distraction than whether or not your father can somehow read your mind.

“Yeah, she’s insane.”

“I am not- “ before you can even finish, though, Robin’s voice cuts in dangerously quick.

“She’s not insane!”

“Hey,” Eddie shrugs in his defense, “whatever you two wanna think.”

Something about the way Robin defends you, in that strong voice with those determined eyes - it makes you wanna confess all over again. You turn and press your forehead to the glass of the window, hoping that perhaps the coolness will ease your sickness.

 …

In Robin’s room is a Flashdance poster. Jennifer Beals in the center in an oversized sweater with her arms hanging between two parted legs. Beside that is a Jessica Lange poster from a scene you recognize from King Kong - Lange in her pearls and gold bikini. You turn to Robin as she shuts her bedroom door.

She catches your eye and then finally seems to spot the two posters, she scratches at her cheek, lowering her bag to the ground, “I just really respect them as actresses.”

“Mhm,” you hum and hop onto her bed.

You lay back into the plush of Robin’s mattress as she picks out clothes from her dresser. You like Robin’s bed more than you do your own - it feels more like home.

“Uh, I’m gonna go change,” she holds up a set of clothes and you nod, waving to her as she leaves.

Robin’s certain that many people would kill and die just for you to be laying in their bed - of course, they would, how could they not? - and she considers herself lucky for you to do so on your own accord.

You dig out the list of ideas you and Robin had constructed in class for your joint chemistry project. It’s empty - you knew that, but maybe if you stared hard enough the words would come onto the paper of their own accord.

Then, like magic - the words weasel their way from your brain, “Nitrogen triiodide.”

“Huh?” Robin tosses her work uniform into the laundry basket and hops onto her bed beside you.

“Nitrogen triiodide!” when she isn’t as excited as you, you continue, “Crystals of iodine will react with concentrated ammonia to precipitate nitrogen triiodide. Then it's filtered out. When it’s dry, the compound is so unstable that the tiniest contact causes it to decompose into nitrogen gas and iodine vapor,” you elaborate further when all Robin does is blink at you, “It’ll explode and let out a purple iodine vapor.”

“Oh, shit!” Robin gets up on her knees, raising her hands above her head, “That’s so cool!” then she extends her arms out, “You’re so smart!”

If this were a movie, Robin would’ve taken you into her arms and kissed you.

And you think you would’ve let her.

You cough awkwardly and nod, “We’d need solid iodine and ammonia concentrate, but it’ll be pretty easy.”

“That was way less time than I thought it’d be,” Robin flopped down onto her back.

“Same,” you shove the paper back into your bag.

Robin’s room reminds you of a sunset. With white walls that bathe in the orange glow of her lamps and a pink bedspread with accents of white. It felt comfortable. More so than the plain black and white theme that your parents absolutely refused to let you change in your own room.

“It’s not too late, yet,” Robin checked her watch - 5:30 in the afternoon, “We could eat and then take a field trip.”

Robin liked going on ‘field trips’ when you came over. It was just her showing you her new favorite spot, but you always just liked to spend time with her.

“That sounds nice,” you rise from her bed, “What’s for dinner?”

“No clue,” she leads you down the stairs and into the kitchen, “Don’t even know if these people went shopping.”

“Then we may have to fend for ourselves,” you sigh in exaggeration.

In all the times you’d been to Robin’s house, you’d only met her parents a few times. It was easy to forget they even existed, to be completely honest. Almost made you imagine what living with Robin would be like.

And that didn’t sound too bad.

Waking up next to her pretty bedhead every day and getting to have that gentle rasp be the first thing you heard in the morning - it sounded simply divine.

… 

There was a lonely pier at Lovers’ Lake. You’d actually never been there before, but Robin knew the way like a piece for band. It took over thirty minutes just to walk there, but the night was cool and Robin even slid her hand into yours.

“It’ll keep you from getting lost,” she swung your joined hands as she said it.

“I’ll trust you then,” you hurried to be closer at her side.

The path was hardly dark enough to get lost on.

“I brought a flashlight, if we need it,” you raise the little light that you’d stuffed into your pockets just in case.

“No, I like adventuring like this,” she squeezes your hand as the shimmering lake grows closer into sight, “Like I’m a big brave knight,” she turns to you and you can see the way her red lipstick perfectly accentuates her lip shape, “and you’re the sweet princess that I get to save.”

“What if I want to be the knight?” you suggest.

“Then I’ll walk behind you and you go ahead.”

“Maybe on the walk back home.”

Robin stops you before you can sit down on the dock, she kneels down and gently brushes her hands over the wood, swiping any debris into the lake before gesturing for you to sit with a, “M’lady.”

“Why, thank you,” you take the hand she offers and seat yourself at the edge of the dock so your legs hang over the edge. Your shoes just barely toe at the water, and for the sake of not having wet socks for the walk home, you decide to keep them on.

Robin sits down, so close that her shoulder just barely brushes against yours. She checks her watch and you lean over her shoulder to get a peek as well - 9:23 at night.

“Worst pet name - go.”

It takes you a moment to register her statement, but even when you do, all you can do is dumbly ask, “What?”

“I’m bored and this is easy conversation,” Robin shrugs and looks at you, “What’s the worst pet name? Like in a relationship.”

“Oh, uhh,” instantly, one comes to mind and makes you shiver - in a bad way, “I used to date a guy who would call me ‘honeysuckle’,” Robin lets out one of her adorable laughs that tatter off into open-mouthed silence as she cranes her neck back in amusement, “I know it was meant to be sweet, but looking back on it I’m a little weirded out.”

“Well, I haven’t been in a relationship yet, but if they called me ‘princess’, I’d puke,” you quirk a brow at her as you laugh and that prompts her explanation, “My dad used to call me that when I was younger, so if the person I was dating ever did it - then I’d just think of my dad.”

“Oh, gross. I’d hate to think of my dad when my boyfriend spoke,” you shake your head.

Robin’s smile tapers down a little, and your heart shutters at the sad sight, “Yeah, I think everyone would.”

“Oh, I have a question for you - “ you bump your shoulder with Robin’s, “what made you want to befriend Steve Harrington?”

You’d be lying if you said Steve Harrington’s closeness to Robin didn’t bother you. He’d already graduated, anyway - why was he still clinging onto her? Steve never had good intentions - everyone in Hawkins knew that - and you didn’t trust him around Robin.

“Ugh,” she gags at the sound of his name, “honestly, I have no clue. He was just so… pathetic with only kids as his friends, I felt - like - a moral obligation.”

She shrugs off the question and while you do laugh alongside her, there’s a burning that settles into your heart. And not the good kind.

“How - uh - are you and Munson still friends?” she’s tapping at the wood of the dock with her nails as she asks.

You like the way the moonlight bounces off her skin, it distracts you, “Hm?”

“Well, a lot of people think he’s, like, a Satanist, or something. I’d think your parents would go nuts about that.”

“They don’t like him anymore, but it’s the one they’ve agreed to let me have. We’ve known each other for too long for them to justify cutting him out of my life.”

“I see,” Robin hums quietly before launching into another question, “Biggest difference between you and Munson?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she shakes her head and smiles at you, “Fun.”

“Uhm,” you narrow your eyes up at the moon as you ponder, “Okay, I got one. Eddie likes metal,” you point to yourself, “I like rock.”

“Oh, wow, such a huge detail,” Robin chuckles, “How could I have missed it?”

“I know, I know. Not a lot of people can see past it, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, when the Hellfire kids found out, they almost went insane.”

“I bet. It sounds insane that you two are even friends.”

You swing your legs off the edge of the dock and look at Robin, “What’s the biggest difference between you and Steve?”

“Uhm,” Robin’s mouth hangs open in shock as her mind blanks, “oh my God, we’re way too similar, actually.”

“Ew,” you gag and Robin gasps, turning to you with a broad smile, though she’s trying to stifle it with faux betrayal.

“What do you mean ‘ew’?!” she takes the hand you’re using to hide your growing giggles and shakes it around, “‘Ew’?!”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” you gently bat her arm, “I’d hate for that to be me, though.”

“Oh my God,” for a moment, Robin panics, thinking she may have offended you, but you’re still laughing. Having a good time.

She decides to simply revel in it. You’re a far cry from the panicked stopping of Eddie just to confess for a sin she’s sure wasn’t all that bad. And she hopes that just maybe she had a part to play in that.

Then, suddenly, she can’t keep an opinion to herself, “You have dated some of the ugliest guys in Hawkins, you know that?”

Well, it’s a fact, rather. Everyone who knows your dating history - knows that.

“Oh my gosh,” you shake your head, “c’mon, they aren’t that bad!”

“They so are! You can’t tell me that Christopher Marks was a decision made of sound mind.”

You pop a light smack to Robin’s arm but don’t tell her off, “Yeah, fine, my exes aren’t lookers. But they were nice, right?” you turn to look at her this time, “Maybe I don’t date for looks.”

“You can date for personality and still have attractive partners,” Robin gives you a side eye, “Or, attractive to you, at least.”

“So maybe I wasn’t that attracted to them,” and like a prayer, you repeat, “but they were nice, right? My parents liked them a lot.”

“They were nice,” Robin nodded, “Pretty bland, though.”

“Robin, what are you trying to say?” your giggles have died into something serious. Your smile makes Robin nervous just looking at it and your eyes have widened a little. Like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar, “I know I don’t date the coolest, hottest guys - but they were nice to me and my parents really liked them. Not everyone can have Steve Harrington wrapped around their finger.”

Robin‘s brows furrow and she shakes her head, “Steve and I aren’t a thing.”

“Then you must be blind,” you stand up from the splintered wood dock and throw your arms out at your sides in exasperation, “because there’s something between you and Steve that a lot of people don’t have.”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same thing about you and Eddie fucking Munson,” Robin shoots up from the pier, brows drawn tight and shoulders tensed, “You two are weirdly close for a pastor’s daughter and the outcast Satanist.”

“He is not a Satanist - how could you even suggest that about us?” you feel sick to your stomach and while you know exactly why it matters that Robin doesn’t get too close, you aren’t sure why she’s so wrapped up in your friendship with Eddie Munson, “He’s ni- “

“Oh, is he nice?” Robin tilts her head, “Would your parents like him?”

“Shut up,” your throat is rubbing raw and you think there’s tears welling in your eyes.

“Well?” she laughs and it feels like a blade twisting into your gut, “Isn’t that the criteria? Your parents want a nice guy that everybody but you likes and you’re so willing to play the sweet pastor’s daughter role that you don’t even break up with them!”

“What do you want me to do, Robin?!” you know you should be walking away. You shouldn’t be arguing with her out here. You should be at home. Or better, at church.

Robin quiets down and simply stares at you. Her eyes look so sweet in the moonlight, though. You’ve always liked her eyes.

You shake your head. You should be praying and away from Robin.

“Why do you care about me hanging out with Steve?” her voice gets more raspy the quieter she speaks and you like that, too. You like the way your name sounds from her pink lips when she calls to you. But now, when she calls to you, it feels like acid in your ears.

Your hands shake and you dodge her stare, you can feel the swell of your throat and the sweat breaking out along your forehead. You can feel your knees buckling and your legs wobbling.

“I should go,” you turn and Robin grabs your wrist in her soft hand.

“Why do you care about me hanging out with Steve?” you can’t bring yourself to look at her, “Do you like him?”

“No!” you whip around and look Robin in those sapphire eyes and it makes you wanna puke just how much you’d sacrifice right now to stare into those eyes until the world collapsed into burning brimstone like in Sodom and Gomorrah, “I do not like Steve Harrington, I just- I- “

“You what?” Robin’s nearly whispering now, her voice is gentle and she carefully brings up a hand to cup your cheek, “Nobody’s out here - you can tell me anything you want.”

“I- “ you’re calmer when Robin’s holding you than when you’re sitting in the church pews and feel the crawling gaze of your elders. When they’re wondering when you’ll actually get a man to stay. When everyone is asking why you don’t hurry and pick a man and everyone is saying that it’d be so easy - you’re the pastor’s daughter.

You’re sweet. You don’t care where they go. You don’t get jealous. You aren’t selective about looks. You could have any man you wanted.

And that’s the problem.

“I don’t like men, Robin,” you whisper it so quietly you’re almost hoping that she didn’t even hear you, “I don’t know what to do, but I just don’t like them. They aren’t cute and none of them appeal to me. Not one of them.”

Robin nods, “You wanna know a secret?”

“What?”

“I don’t like men, either,” she’s louder than you when she says it and for a moment, you hope that that could be you someday.

But until then, you’re shell shocked at her admission, “What? I- I thought I was… sick.”

“You’re not sick,” Robin smiles, “We’re not sick. So, wanna tell me why you’re so jealous of Steve Harrington?”

Robin thinks that your laughter is the true sound of angels, “I am not jealous of Steve Harrington. He peaked in high school and follows a group of kids around.”

“Wow,” she muses, “church girl has a mean streak.”

“That wasn’t mean,” you reach up and press your hand against the one she holds your face with, “I’m not jealous of him.”

“Sure,” Robin teases.

Just then, you think you hear a branch snap behind you two.

You break apart from Robin and search the clearing with wild eyes for the source of the sound. 

A dog is sat staring at you before getting bored and strolling off. It slams on you like a ton of bricks - the things you just risked. 

Your reputation.

Your father’s position.

Your parents’ respect.

Robin’s reputation.

Being with Robin is dangerous, it makes you act out in ways your father would lash you for. So now you retract into yourself.

What would your friends think if they saw you now? What would your teachers say about you if they knew?

You shake your head and turn away from Robin, “I have to go.”

“Wait, don’t- “ you can hear her chase after you but you’re too quick to run away.

You duck into a gas station and hide among the shelves until you’re certain Robin’s given up following you. You meander over to the counter and fiddle with your fingers as you sheepishly ask, “Can I please borrow your phone?”

The boy behind the counter recognizes you and nods, though he seems shaken to see you. He points over to the phone at the corner of the counter and asks, “Is everything okay, sister?”

“Yes, brother” you try to smile while returning the Catholic sentiment despite not remembering who this boy is, “everything is perfectly fine. I got lost on one of my walks.”

You hope he doesn’t bring this up in church on Sunday. As far as your parents are concerned, you’re at Nancy Wheeler’s house - though they don’t know that you and Nancy have grown apart since freshman year. 

Your voice keeps quiet in case the boy is as prone to snooping as the rest of your church is, “Eddie? I need you to pick me up.”

…

Eddie truly is a sweetheart when you go by the book and don’t cast the first stone, though most of your father’s believers don’t follow that themselves. 

Eddie doesn’t waste much time coming to your aid and he doesn’t complain about the hour - but judging by the darkening skin patching under his eye, he certainly is in need of sleep.

“So, care to explain why I’m driving you to my trailer?”

You stare at your best friend’s side profile, then the trees just outside, then back to him - then back to the trees. For a moment, you imagine running away into those trees and away from each law dictated by the little book your parents hang over you. 

You turn back to your friend, “Eddie?”

He glances at you and hums.

You know he isn’t religious, but even so - you don’t have to be religious to hate something. What if he thinks it’s weird? 

What if he’s disgusted? 

What if he’s only okay with it so long as he can leer? 

No, you know Eddie. He may not be the smartest person you’ve ever known, but he’s much wiser and so much kinder than anybody else in Hawkins.

“I- “ your eyes clench and you bury your fidgeting hands into your stomach in hopes it would kill the nerves. Anything to kill the nerves, just for a moment.

“I - I’m… gay…”

You aren’t sure what you were expecting when you blurted that out to Eddie, but his sarcasm certainly wasn’t on the list. 

“Wow? Really?” his voice is flat and when you look at him, he’s shaking his head. He turns to you and grins, “You made me watch Desert Hearts with you. Twice!”

“It’s a love story! Everyone loves a love story!”

“Yeah, but not usually a lesbian love story,” Eddie turns into the trailer park and sighs as the van is shut off, “I’m sorry - “ he faces you completely, “do you want me to do that again? More surprised this time?”

“Stop,” you swat his arm and he rubs the area as though it actually hurt, “This is serious. I don’t know what to do.”

Eddie holds up a hand and puts up three fingers, “I can tell you one of three things. What you wanna hear, what your parents would say, or what I actually wanna tell you. Which do you want?”

You know what you want to hear. Keep the status quo and don’t reach out. If you hear that, then you’re afraid you’ll actually do it, and deep down, you think you’re more afraid of living a life of lies and internalized hatred than you are about anything this town could do to you.

You respect your parents. And you respect Eddie. But between them, you think Eddie’s had your best interest in mind more than they have. He makes a show of begrudgingly watching Desert Hearts (though you did see him tearing up by the end), sure, but if you’d even suggested it to your parents - you would probably be homeless, at best. Eddie knows you - the real you - and he cares about you.

“What do you actually want to tell me?”

“I think you should be safe, but be yourself,” he reaches out and takes one of your hands in his, “I don’t think you should tell your parents, but I do think that you should go back to her.”

The her that always grabs the chemicals in chemistry because you hate getting out of your seat. The her that offers to carry your books during school. The her that doesn’t ask why you two never meet at your house. The her that’s a lovingly geeky member of the school band. The her that works right across the street from you.

“It isn’t safe right now, but I just know that one day it’ll be better. For now, you have to be careful about who you’re yourself to, but you shouldn’t hide completely.”

“I have a crush on Robin Buckley,” you murmur.

“You make me drive you to all the football games just so you can see her perform at halftime - and she doesn’t even have a solo. I figured you might fancy her.”

“How will I be able to ask forgiveness when I know I’m sinning?”

There’s a sigh before Eddie puts up both hands, folding them at the palm and pushing them together as if to kiss, “If this a man and a woman, is it a sin if they kiss?” you shake your head, “Alright, and are they going to heaven just because they’re a man and a woman who kiss?” once again, you shake your head, “And didn’t God make them that way?” you nod this time, “Okay - now pretend this is you and Robin. Didn’t God make you two this way?” you nod, “And if straight people aren’t going to heaven just for being straight, why does it make sense for gay people to go to hell just for being gay?”

“Father says- “

“‘Father’ reads from a book that’s been translated a million times over a million years. Some shit’s bound to be fucked up,” Eddie pats your head, “Okay, precious?”

“Knock it off,” you huff and brush his hand off of you. Your fingers twist into the material of your shirt as the images of her, lonely, at the pier flash into your mind, “I blew her off. What should I do?”

“Apologizing tomorrow, I think, is your best course of action,” he starts to unbuckle but you latch onto his forearm before he can.

“No, what would be romantic?” you let go of him as he turns to look at you again, “I want to do something to show her I’m sorry, not just say it.”

“I- I don’t know,” he sighs, “Do something stupid like in that movie.”

You look out the windshield and Eddie can only watch the gears in your head turn. The way your brows furrow and how your fingers tap at the dashboard of his van.

“Hey,” Eddie taps the side of your head, “I have an early deal tomorrow, so if you’re gonna need me to drive you around, make your mind up quick.”

“I do need you to drive me around,” you nod quickly, “The Garden, take me there - and Family Video,” the van thrums back to life as Eddie turns the keys, “and then to Robin’s house.”

“Yet again, I’m playing chauffeur,” Eddie mumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t put up a fight as he drives out of the park.

…

You wrangle the keys to the store from your pocket and wave Eddie inside as you unlock the doors. Eddie bonelessly falls into step with your plan despite his initial whining, you take him by the shoulders and squeeze, “You know what violets are, right?”

“I’m not totally stupid.”

“Okay, I’m trusting you to arrange a small bouquet of violets while I get a movie from Family Video, if you mess up - I won’t tutor you anymore.”

Eddie wasn’t afraid of failing because you stopped tutoring him, but he didn’t want to vocally tear through your thin threat - so he nods and takes the keys you held out. You cheer, racing out of the shop and down the street to Family Video.

Family Video managed to keep ahead of its one competitor in town by one factor. It wasn’t that they had the best selection or the broadest shelves, it was that they stayed open one extra hour.

They closed at eleven. 

And right now it was 10:54 at night and Steve Harrington was glaring at you through the glass store windows.

“Desert Hearts,” you rush to the romance section before Steve can even greet you, “Desert Hearts, Desert Hearts.”

“Hasn’t been checked in, yet,” Steve pauses your frantic searching and digs through the pile of returned tapes at his side, he holds up the tape as you come to the counter, “Can’t rent it to you.”

“Steve, please,” you’re certain you look absolutely deranged with the way you’re gripping onto his wrists with wide, pleading eyes, “It’s an emergency.”

“How dire?”

“If I don’t have that movie, I think I’ll die,” your eyes flicker away from him and then back, “Do you know Robin?”

Robin promised to update him about your shared evening and the store hasn’t gotten a single call. Yet here you are, high-strung and skittish.

“How do you know Robin?” his eyes narrow at you.

“Steve,” you want to snatch that tape from his hand and it’s taking every inch of good faith within you to not do so, “please, I need this movie.”

“Fine, but I’m hearing all of the context tomorrow.”

“Of course,” you grin when he finally hands over the tape, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Steve!”

Before the glass doors slam shut, you can hear Steve shout after you, “If she comes to me in tears, you’re dead!”

Eddie’s locking up The Garden as you’re running up to him, you catch the keys he tosses you and once you’re both back inside his van, he gingerly hands you the bouquet he threw together. It’s not bad for someone who has only ever watched you put flowers together.

… 

If the cops in Hawkins actually patrolled at night then you’re sure Eddie would’ve been pulled over enough times for every resident in town. You have to hold the handle above the door as he speeds to the Buckley home. 

He slams the breaks right at the curb to Robin’s house and you’re nearly sent through the windshield. You throw the door open and hop out with the flowers and movie in hand, but before you can shut the door, Eddie calls to you.

“Good luck,” he pounds his fists against the steering wheel, “but if things don’t go well, call me and I’ll pick you up.”

You give him a thumbs up and wave him off as he drives away - at a much more mellow pace than earlier, might you add.

You’ve seen the Buckley home many times. Countless days spent here meant to be study sessions that turned into nights of doing each other’s nails and hair and testing new chapstick flavors and throwing fashions shows that you’d wished would end in both your clothes in piles on the floor.

But it’s so much more daunting this time. 

The lights are off - except for one. The one at the very top room to the right, the resting place of your heart: Robin Buckley’s room.

You make your way underneath that window like a moping puppy in the rain. You take up a rock and toss it at Robin’s window. 

Then another. 

And another. 

And another. 

And just as it’s looking like you’ve lost your chance, Robin peeks through her peachy curtains and her eyes widen.

You can see faint black tear tracks drawn over her cheeks and it feels like hellfire ignites in your chest knowing you did that. You hold up the hand fastened around a tape and a hastily made bouquet of violets.

Robin quietly opens her window and leans out of it to whisper-yell at you, “What are you doing here?!”

You whisper-yell right back, “I’m sorry! I talked with a friend and I- “ you chuckle but nothing’s funny, “Everything’s different! Can you let me up, please?”

She ducks back into her room and then returns to point at a shed to your left, through the hazy dark you can barely make out a ladder leaning into the shed’s wall. 

With only one hand, you climb the ladder and you’d do it infinitely more times if it meant you could land at Robin’s side in the end. You hold out the violets and Robin takes them. Heat rushes your skin as she inspects the flowers, your nerves light up and you wish you could sit down, but you’re too afraid to break the momentary serenity.

“Why’d you come back?” she thumbs one of the soft petals, almost like she’s making a point to avoid your eyes.

“I spoke with a good friend,” you take a step forward, both hands latched tightly to the tape in fear that the entire room would fade away if you let go, “I’m scared, but I can’t lose you, Robin Buckley,” you want nothing more than to softly kiss away the pout on her lips, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Doesn’t the church think God should be before all other things?”

“I think so,” you nod and take another step closer, this time Robin looks at you and you feel like you’re finally seeing the heaven that your father reads about. Her freckles and her lips and her cheeks and the way her hair falls, you want it all and you hope that the day you lose her is the day the world falls apart, “but I don’t really give a damn.”

“Wow,” she grins, placing a hand over her heart, “The sweet pastor’s daughter? Swearing? And for sacrilege no less?” 

“Yeah, well,” you chuckle, feeling her gaze spark electricity in your veins, “the sweet pastor’s daughter is a lesbian.”

Robin wipes at the remnants of her mascara tears and holds out her hand for the movie you’re holding, “I saw this, you know?”

“I didn’t, but - I figured it would be something you’d like. It’s sweet.”

“I like the ending.”

“With the train?” you suggest, clasping your hands together. There’s only one ending, but Robin graces you with mercy.

“Yeah,” she nods, “with the train.”

Robin comes forward and takes your cheek in her hand just like she had at the pier, and this time you’re determined to stay planted right where she wants you. You reach up and card your fingers through her messy hair as she brings you forward.

“You know,” Robin whispers against your lips, “I really hated Eddie for always hanging off you.”

You giggle and tenderly press your forehead to hers, “I hated Steve for following you around all the time.”

“Yeah, I did, too,” she jests before finally taking the leap you wish had happened years ago - when she walked into freshman year integrated science and sat next to and complimented your shoes.

She closes the gap between you two and you’re finally having a kiss that means something. Like little fireworks bursting beneath your skin - kind of finally meaning something. Robin tastes like bubblegum and cherry chapstick and you wish that every kiss you have can taste like this.

You wish that every kiss you have can be with Robin Buckley - in her sunset bedroom with a bouquet of violets.

[nyx-thedragon]

my last religion-related creative writing piece (for now).

"Does God?"

I grew up in the Church, being told every week that God loves everyone. That He is merciful and kind. That He loves all his children so much He sent His only son, Jesus, to earth to die for our sins so that we may go to Heaven when we die. I never really bought it. If God is so loving, why would He send His children to Hell simply for not believing in Him? For not praying enough? For wearing mixed fabrics or growing two different crops next to each other? I understand He must punish sinners, but the things that qualify as sins are so great, and broad.

If God is the only god, why is the first commandment "there shall be no other gods before me"? If God knows how things are going to play out, why did He give Adam and Eve the Garden of Eden in the first place? Why did He place the trees in the Garden? If He knew that humans were going to end up suffering, why would He create us?

If God is all-powerful and He loves us so much, why does He let so much suffering happen? Why so much murder? And unnecessary death? Why so many wars? Why the genocides? And slavery? And violence?

Did Cain, before he hit Abel, know that his brother would die? Did he know that humans could die? Was he aware of that fact? Did Adam and Eve know that humans could die from a strike to the head? Did they mourn their son, and curse God, and turn away from Him like He turned away from them? Did they feel lost? Hopeless?

If God loves His children so much and doesn't want us to suffer, then why does He call for the souls of children to join Him in Heaven? Why is His plan for some children to die before they can grow up? Why is His plan to curse their families with grief for the rest of their lives?

Why is His plan for good people to suffer?

If God is really out there, and He loves us and supposedly listens to our prayers, why did He not answer mine? Were my desperate pleas to keep my grandma alive long enough for me to see her one last time not enough? Were my cries to help my dad through his grief, to comfort him in his time of need, not enough? Were any prayers that I sent up to Him even listened to? Or has He abandoned me?

Maybe He's trying to show His presence in my life in little ways. Maybe the feeling I got when my parents went to see my grandma the night she died that I wouldn't see her again was a gift from Him, to prepare me. Maybe that same feeling I had before my great grandma died was the same. Maybe He sends these feelings to me to help me, and prove to me that He's there.

Maybe He is listening.

Maybe He's just too busy to fix everything.

Does God cry? Does He shed a tear when He sees His children suffering? Does He greet the new souls into Heaven with tears running down His face? Does He grieve every life lost? Does He feel emotions in the same way humans do? He did make us in His image, after all.

Does God ever wish He hadn't made the covenant with Noah, to not flood the earth again? Does He wish He could do it again? Wash away the population and start over? To stop all of the awful things happening?

Does God ever regret creating humans?

Does God feel regret?

Does God feel?

this one was a bit more of a train of thoughts than the other ones. It's also a bit more personal. but I need to share it with someone. to strangers on the internet, because that's a lot easier than sharing things like this with my family.

Thank you for reading this. And if you read my other ones, thank you for that as well. I may decide to share more of my creative writing pieces in the future, but I do not know as of right now.

Have a good and safe day or night <3

[msmercury84]

The Feast of the Seven Fishes in Aldebourne

*Author's Note: Bill Guarnere frequently made anonymous donations to charities. He favored anything concerning children and American veterans.*

Bill and Leigh knew that going home for Christmas was impossible since they were stationed in the United Kingdom. Spencer had been writing regularly to Augusta Guarnere. Since V Mail took one month to deliver, Leigh began requesting some of Mrs. Guarnere's recipes for the Feast of the Seven Fishes in October, 1943.

She had told Augusta in a letter that she needed cooking tips, saying,

"I'm not foolish enough to think that I can replicate that delicious feast you prepared the first time I visited. If it isn't too much of an imposition, would you please suggest what I could prepare? More than anything, I want Bill to have a wonderful Christmas Eve meal that would remind him of home."

Mrs. Guarnere was very pleased that Leigh wanted to put so much effort into giving her son the traditional feast. She wrote,

"Sweetie, I'm glad to help any way that I can. I wish you and Billy could be here. Leigh, I couldn't have picked a better girl for my son. You're devoted to him and I know that you love him as much as he loves you. I hope we can celebrate Christmas with you and Billy next year."

Augusta sent recipes for the Fish Baccala soup, Oysters in a Polenta Crust, Fried Oysters, Linguine and Clams, Grilled Sea Bass, Fried Cod and Scallops with Angel Hair Pasta. She also included the recipe for Limoncello. Leigh started making the potent lemon infused vodka aperitif in October.

Spencer made both types of pasta well in advance, since the pasta was dry and could be stored in containers. Bill showed her how to make homemade pasta shortly after they had arrived in the village.

Aldebourne got a fair amount of snow in December. Melissa and Leigh decided to get a freshly cut Christmas Tree a week before Christmas. They used ornaments from their families' homes, most of them had a great sentimental value to both Adams and Spencer.

They enjoyed listening to Christmas music on the radio as Christmas Eve drew closer. Both women were pleasantly surprised when Bill and Bull insisted upon attending a Christmas program put on at the village's church by the local children.

The women weren't aware that Guarnere and Randleman got their fellow paratroopers to donate money for the children's gifts. The community of farmers made enough money to survive, but the extra funds weren't available for Christmas presents.

Had the war not been happening, the majority of the local men would have been tending to their gardens, farms and livestock and making more money. It was difficult for the women to raise their children as temporarily single parents. They couldn't tend the farm, the farm animals and work in the fields or the large gardens since they had their hands full of domestic duties.

Bill and Bull met with the pastor of the church and donated the money. Neither man wanted to be formally recognized for their donation. Their primary concern was that the children would have a happy Christmas.

The pastor convinced Bull to take part in the Christmas progam. He was playing the role of the British version of Santa Clause, Father Christmas. Randleman looked forward to handing out the gifts to the children. Melissa and Leigh knew about Bull being in the program. They both thought that he was sweet to take on the role of the beloved Christmas icon.

Leigh overheard the pastor thanking Bill for spearheading the idea of getting donations for the children's gifts. Guarnere said,

"Sir, seein' the smiles on those kids' faces is all the thanks I need. Bull deserves credit for gettin' the money, too." As Bill, Leigh, Bull and Melissa walked back to the house, Leigh told Bill,

"Honey, what you and Bull did for those kids was wonderful and thoughtful. I couldn't help but hear you speaking with the pastor.Bill, I love you even more after learning about what you did. You have a heart of gold." Guarnere smiled, replying,

"Thanks, Baby. I didn't do nothin' special. Bull an' I thought that the kids should have somethin' under the tree for Christmas."

Melissa had been telling Randleman how she was happy that he played Father Christmas. She overheard Leigh and Adams immediately gave Bull a passionate kiss. She was very proud of his helping the children.

Spencer was becoming anxious as Christmas drew closer. She was waiting for a package from her parents. Leigh sent money to her father, asking him to buy a carton of Bill's favorite brand of cigarettes, Pall Mall. This brand was very hard to find in the United Kingdom and Spencer knew that the carton would be a surprise for Guarnere.

The following day, the package finally arrived. Leigh wrapped it and stashed the gift under her bed. She found a nice card to go with it. The outside of the card read, "Happy Christmas to My Love." Spencer wrote inside it,

"Bill, I'm happy to celebrate another Christmas with you. When I count my blessings, I count you first. I love you, Honey.

Leigh"

Guarnere made a secret trip to London on the train to buy Spencer's Christmas gift. Bill searched several jewelry stores until he finally located the gift he had in mind for Leigh.

He saw a sterling silver bracelet with delicate butterflies and flowers carved into the rectangular panels. Bill had been searching for a silver bracelet to compliment the angel necklace she constantly wore.

The jeweler had the box gift wrapped in shiny silver paper and topped with a red bow. Guarnere thanked the jeweler for his help and paid for the gift. He found a Christmas card with a beautiful drawing of an angel on the front of the card. It had the message,

"Happy Christmas to My Angel." Bill wrote,

"Baby, you have my heart for eternity. I hope we have many Christmas celebrations together. I love you to the moon and back.

All My Love,

Bill"

He couldn't wait to give the bracelet to Spencer. Guarnere seriously considered giving her his grandmother's engagement ring, but he wanted to wait until the war was nearly over and the time was right.

Two days before Christmas Eve, Leigh made a morning trip to London with Colonel Sink's permission. She purchased all of the seafood and the items to make the polenta crust, plus three bottles of white wine.

Spencer had the seafood packed in ice. It went into a metal container with a lid. Once she arrived at the house, Leigh began to prepare the food, since it would take a couple of days to get ready. She followed Augusta Guarnere's instructions and recipes to the letter.

The next day after work, she saw Frank Perconte. They exchanged small talk and he mentioned that he hated to miss the traditional Christmas Eve feast.

She invited him to the house for the Feast of the Seven Fishes supper. Leigh made him promise not to tell Bill. She told him,

"I'm also making pizzelles and I've made Limoncello. Bill's mother gave me her recipes. She's a fabulous cook." Frank thanked her, saying,

"This would've been my first Christmas not eating the feast my mom prepares. Thanks, Leigh."

Melissa and Bull accepted an invitation to have supper with one of the local families. A woman with three children wanted to thank Randleman for helping provide the Christmas gifts for them

The offices at the Army base closed on December 24. Leigh devoted the day to getting everything ready. The local butcher allowed Spencer to store the prepared items in his refrigerated storeroom so Bill wouldn't be tipped off about his surprise.

Finally, everything was ready. Leigh put on her red Wiggle Dress, black open toed pumps and her angel necklace.She wore the red silk and white lace bra and tap panty set Bill gave her for her birthday plus her garter belt, slip and stockings.

Spencer's hair was styled and she wore powder and a hint of blush on her face, along with eyeliner, mascara and eyebrow pencil. She also applied red lipstick that matched her fingernail polish and her dress.

Leigh put a red linen tablecloth and white linen placemats embroidered around the edges with small candy canes on the table.

Spencer set the table and she got out some wine glasses that had belonged to her Grandmother Spencer. The radio was on, and a mixture of Big Band and Christmas music played on the radio station she selected.

Leigh plugged in the lights on the Christmas Tree after ensuring that the tree had adequate water in its stand. She had containers of cookies and homemade candy that she and Melissa made.

Soon, she heard someone knocking at the door. Leigh had told Perconte the usual time Bill arrived at the house, asking him to wait about ten minutes before he walked to the house. She wanted Bill to be surprised and Frank understood.

Leigh opened the door and Bill came in. After he embraced and kissed her, Guarnere said,

"Somethin' smells delicious, Baby!" She told him,

"Bill, this is part of your Christmas present from me. I got your mom's recipes and I made the Feast of the Seven Fishes for you." Guarnere looked surprised as she told him what was on the menu. He said,

"I coulda sworn I smelled Oysters in Polenta, but I thought that I was imaginin' things." He was in awe of the task she had undertaken. Bill told her,

"You went to all o' this trouble so I could still have Christmas Eve Dinner. Sweetheart, I love you so much!

I know how long it takes to make everythin'. What I can't figure out is how ya hid all o' this stuff so I wouldn't see it." Spencer told him about the butcher letting her store the food in his store room.

She told Guarnere,

"Help yourself to any homemade candy or cookies you want. I also made three batches of pizzelles and I even made Limoncello" Bill pulled Spencer closer, giving her a passionate kiss. He said,

"You're an angel, Leigh. Doin' all o' this to make it seem like home. I'm really blessed to have ya for my girl." Guarnere looked at Spencer, telling her,

"Honey, you look beautiful. I love that Wiggle Dress on ya." Leigh replied,

"I'm blessed to have you, too, Bill. I love you, that's why I made the feast. By the way, I'm wearing the red silk and lace set you bought for my birthday. Sometimes I wear it to work. Only you and I know that beneath my uniform, I'm wearing sexy lingerie." Bill grinned, saying,

"You're somethin' else, ya little devil. Now I'll probably get excited any time I see you in your uniform. If I put my hands on your sweet, sexy ass someday when ya get off work, would ya like it, or would I get my ass kicked?" Spencer laughed, telling Bill,

"I love to have your hands on me." He nibbled on her ear, asking,

"Is that so?" She replied,

"You bet your ass it's so. If we didn't have a guest coming over, we could get up to something, so we'd better behave. I hope you don't mind, but I ran into Perconte earlier in the week. He was feeling sad because this was his first Christmas Eve without his family and the feast, so I invited him." Guarnere said,

"I don't mind a bit, Baby. There's plenty o'food to go around. That's sweet of ya to invite him. You're right, we'd better be good for now. Later on tonight, I intend to get up to somethin' wit' ya." She said,

"I'm holding you to that promise. "Would you like some fresh pizzelles?" Guarnere answered,

"I'd enjoy a few before our feast." Leigh went into the kitchen. She put on an apron made of material printed with small poinsettias. Then, she put the cookies on a dish.

She poured fresh coffee into a tall china coffee pot. Next, Spencer put those items, plus napkins and two coffee cups on a tray. She brought the tray into the dining room, placing it on the table. Bill told her,

"Baby, I would've brought that in for ya. It's really like home, wit' the coffee an' the pizzelles. You look adorable in that apron, Sweetheart." Leigh replied,

"Thanks, Bill. Would you like to open your gift now? He replied,

"Baby, the feast is a huge gift. You shouldn't have bought anythin' else. Do you mind if we wait until tomorrow? I don't want to sound ungrateful, it's just that we always opened gifts on Christmas Day." Leigh told him that she understood.

Someone knocked on the door. Spencer answered the door and welcomed Frank into the house.

Guarnere told him,

"It's good to see ya, Buddy." Leigh excused herself to check on the food. Frank and Bill talked for a few minutes. Then Spencer announced that supper was ready. Both men helped carry in the food, putting it on the table.

She poured the white wine into the glasses and asked Bill to say the blessing. After Guarnere finished the prayer, it was the moment of truth for Leigh.

They passed serving dishes back and forth, getting a sample of everything. Spencer waited for Bill and Frank to sample the food. Guarnere tried the oysters first. After he swallowed the food, he told her,

"Sweetheart, that tastes just like Ma's cookin'. " She smiled and felt more relaxed. Leigh began to eat and she was enjoying the food. Perconte told her,

"Leigh, this is great! It makes me feel like I'm at home with my family, eating my mom's cooking." She thanked him, replying,

"The credit goes to Bill's mother. All of the recipes I'm using are hers." Frank told Bill,

"Please thank your mom for sending the recipes. She's a damned good cook! Leigh, you're such a good cook that I would propose to you if you weren't already spoken for." She smiled, replying,

"Thanks, Frank. I appreciate the compliment." As soon as the men emptied their plates, they loaded them up again. Spencer had seconds of a few items. Guarnere told Perconte,

"I told my family about the thing you said about the Army noodles an' ketchup. They loved it. You have a standin' invitation to visit anytime you're in South Philadelphia." Frank thanked Bill, saying,

"Whenever you're in Chicago, you have a standing invitation to visit, Buddy." He asked Bill,

"How did you and Leigh meet?" Guarnere asked,

"Didn't I tell ya about Leigh an' the guy from Dog Company?" Perconte replied,

"No." Bill began his story about how Leigh ran into him. They all laughed as Guarnere told of how Spencer gave the paratrooper in training a swift kick.

Leigh excused herself to get the fresh pizzelles, more fresh coffee and the Limoncello. Bill excused himself to help her in the kitchen. He brought out more coffee and filled the china coffee pot. He went back into the kitchen, returning with a large platter of pizzelles. Guarnere placed the platter on the table.

Meanwhile, Leigh carefully removed a sturdy box from a cabinet and removed three delicate cordial glasses from a set she bought in London. The dainty glasses had images of flowers etched into them.

Spencer poured three servings of Limoncello into the glasses. She found another tray and placed the glasses and the bottle of the homemade aperitif on the tray.

She carried the tray into the dining room, placing it on the table. Leigh gave the men their drinks and then she took her glass after she sat down. Frank sipped the strong drink, remarking,

"This is excellent, it's just like the Limoncello my dad makes." Bill sampled his drink and commented,

"Baby, that's exactly like Ma's. Ya really outdid yourself wit' this feast. Everythin' is perfect!" A brilliant smile appeared on her face when Leigh heard Bill's compliments.

Spencer told both men to be sure to help themselves to more cookies or coffee. Perconte grinned as he took three more pizzelles.

Each person had a little more Limoncello and coffee. They sat at the table talking and laughing. When supper was over and Leigh began to get up to do the dishes, Bill and Frank insisted that they would do the dishes. Guarnere decided to dry the dishes and put them away since he knew where everything belonged.Spencer teased Frank and Bill, saying that she had aprons for them to wear.

While the men worked in the kitchen, Leigh visited the bathroom. After she had finished her business there and washed her hands, Spencer touched up her powder and lipstick.

She went downstairs and took a seat on the couch. The song "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas," from the movie "Meet Me In St. Louis", was playing on the radio.

Leigh began to sing along with Judy Garland. She looked out the living room window and noticed a light amount of snow was falling. Spencer got engrossed in the song and some Christmas spirit.

She didn't see Bill and Frank standing behind her. Perconte heard her singing while he worked in the kitchen with Guarnere. He stopped washing the dishes and asked,

"Who's singing on the radio?" Bill listened and he grinned, replying,

"That's Leigh." Frank had never heard her sing before. He left the kitchen to stand at the entrance of the living room. Bill followed him and he looked at Leigh adoringly as she sang. When the song ended, Spencer was startled by the men applauding. Perconte told her,

"You're a very talented singer, Leigh. You sounded better than Judy Garland on that song." Bill replied,

"That was beautiful, Baby. We'll get back to doin' those dishes." She told Guarnere,

"I can help you guys and the work will go much faster with an extra pair of hands." Bill said,

"Nothin' doin', Honey. You worked hard for days to make everythin' an' you deserve to take it easy." Frank agreed, saying,

"It's the least we can do, Leigh. It's thanks to you that I got to enjoy this feast." He and Bill went into the kitchen and they soon finished washing the dishes and getting everything put away.

Perconte and Guarnere enjoyed a cigarette as they talked in the living room. Frank told Leigh how much he had enjoyed the feast, saying,

"I was feeling pretty blue, but then you invited me and I enjoyed Christmas Eve after all." Spencer replied,

"I'm glad you enjoyed everything, Frank. You're more than welcome to come back tomorrow because there are lots of leftovers. I still have a few cans of oysters to cook,too." Perconte thanked Spencer, saying,

"I'll take you up on that if it's OK with Bill." Guarnere assured Frank that he would be glad to see him. Perconte asked Leigh,

"I hope this doesn't sound too rude, but was the pasta homemade?" Spencer told him,

"Yes, the pasta was homemade. Bill taught me how to make it." Perconte replied,

"I thought it tasted homemade. Stuff in a box doesn't taste as good as fresh, homemade pasta." Both Guarnere and Frank returned to the kitchen. After they finished, Leigh thanked them, asking,

"Frank, would you like more coffee or cookies? How about you, Bill?"

Both Perconte and Guarnere said that they couldn't eat or drink anything else. Frank was getting ready to go back to the Army base. He told Leigh,

"You've been a perfect hostess. Thanks again for inviting me." Spencer asked,

"Would you like to take some pizzelles with you? I'll make another batch tomorrow." She found an empty sack from the butcher's shop. Leigh went into the kitchen and got a small box. She came back into the dining room and handed both items to Perconte, telling him,

"Take as many as you want." Frank thanked her and filled the box with the crispy cookies. He said,

"Merry Christmas a few hours early. I'll stop by tomorrow. Your food is much better than whatever they're trying to pass off as Christmas Dinner.

I really enjoyed Christmas Eve with the Guarneres. I mean, I enjoyed dinner with you and Bill." Leigh and Bill wished him an early Merry Christmas and Perconte began his walk back to the house on the Army base that he shared with Malarkey, Muck and Penkala.

Frank's words caused Leigh to smile and daydream for a moment. She thought,

"Christmas with the Guarneres. It could be just like this, with me cooking and getting ready for guests. Bill would ask the blessing..." She was looking out the window as Guarnere came up behind her. He held the cigarette in his left hand and kept that hand away from Leigh so she wouldn't be accidentally burned.

He wrapped his arms around Leigh, kissing her neck. Bill wanted to find out what she thought about them getting married. He asked,

"Did ya hear Perconte sayin' 'Christmas Eve wit' the Guarneres?'" That's a sweet idea, Baby." She replied,

"I agree, Bill. It would be wonderful." Guarnere smiled. He knew that Leigh liked the idea of becoming his wife someday. Bill told her,

"You really were a perfect hostess. Ma couldn't have done a better job." He gently turned Leigh to face him, telling her,

" This is one o' the nicest gifts anybody ever gave me." Spencer said,

" I'm so glad you enjoyed the feast, Honey. While I was looking out of the window, I noticed that the ground is covered with snow. It may sound crazy to you, but I'm going to make a snow angel. Would you like to join me?" Bill chuckled and said,

"That's somethin' I ain't done in a long time. OK, I'll join ya." The wind started to blow and the snow came down faster. Guarnere asked Leigh,

"Baby, are ya sure about goin' outdoors. It looks like we're gettin' a snowstorm." Spencer looked out of the window and replied,

"We'd be better off staying indoors. I need to put some coal in the basement furnace and get more wood for the fire." Bill told her,

"I'll take care of keepin' us warm, Sweetheart. You stay in where it's warm. Besides, you don't want to ruin that hot lookin' Wiggle Dress wit' coal dust." Before Leigh could protest or ask Guarnere to change his mind, he said,

"I don't mind doin' this an' it's the least I can do for the sweet angel who made that feast for me." Spencer thanked him and Bill went upstairs to get his coat an gloves.

Guarnere went outside and brought in a large amount of fire wood. He wiped his feet on the door mat and stomped on the mat to get the snow from his boots. Bill said,

"It's really comin' down out there an' it's gettin' colder, too." He went downstairs, found a shovel and stoked the furnace. After Guarnere returned upstairs, Leigh thanked him for his help. He replied,

"It's my pleasure, Baby. Let me get this coat hung up an take care o' these gloves, then we can snuggle on the couch in front of the fireplace."

While Bill was upstairs, the telephone rang. Leigh answered it and spoke with Melissa. Adams told her about the storm and said that she and Bull were invited to stay at the home of the woman who invited them to supper.

Guarnere walked downstairs and Spencer told him,

"I just finished talking with Melissa. According to the news on the radio, this area could get up to a foot of snow overnight. She and Bull were invited to spend the night with the woman who invited them to supper and they accepted the woman's offer.

Bull was taking care of a furnace and getting wood for the fire, too. The woman's children are happy to have them staying there. Melissa said that he promised to tell the children some stories before they went to bed." Bill smiled, replying,

"The Bull is a big softy, 'specially where kids are concerned. He's a nice guy." Leigh smiled, telling him,

"That sounds exactly like a man I know and love. Both of you guys will be excellent fathers someday." Guarnere hugged Spencer and gave her a tender kiss, replying,

"Thanks, Honey. I'd like to have a family someday. You would be one hell of a good mother." Leigh said,

"Thanks, Bill. I'd like to have a family someday, too. First, I need to learn how to take care of babies. I know where they come from and which end to feed and diaper, but that's it." Guarnere chuckled, telling her,

"That's a good start, Sweetheart. Let me get the Limoncello an' the glasses. I'll be careful wit' 'em, an' you can get all cozy on the couch." Spencer said,

"That sounds like a good idea. I love to snuggle with you. First, let me go upstairs and brush my teeth. There was quite a bit of garlic in our food." While she was upstairs, Bill stubbed out the remainder of the cigarette in an ashtray.

After Leigh got finished brushing her teeth, he decided to brush his teeth, too. Guarnere told her,

"You just relax, Honey, I'll take care of the drinks for us." Bill soon returned and he went into the kitchen. He got a tray out of a cabinet and he carefully got the box with the cordial glasses from the same cabinet.

Next, Bill got two glasses out, putting them on the tray and he got the bottle of Limoncello. He carried the tray to the living room, placing it on the coffee table. Guarnere poured a small amount of the potent alcohol into each glass.

Bill raised his glass, saying,

"To my Baby. Thanks for goin' to all o' that trouble for me. I swear to God that I'll never forget that feast. It was perfect." Leigh sipped the Limoncello. She replied,

"It was no trouble at all, because you're worth it and I love you. I'm glad everything turned out the way it should. Your mom gave me very detailed directions on how to fix everything. It's thanks to her that the feast was a success." Guarnere swallowed some of the liquor and said,

"Ma ain't the only reason it turned out right. You're a damned good cook, Sweetheart. When I think of how long it took for ya to do all o' this by yourself, it's goddamned impressive.

Honey, you did the work of at least two women all by yourself. You need to give yourself credit for doin' somethin' amazin'." Spencer smiled, telling him,

"I don't regret the time I put into cooking everything. It's my way of paying you back for being sweet, kind and considerate. I never thought I'd have a good relationship with a man.

When I got to Camp Toccoa, I resigned myself to the fact that my job would be my life. I had given up on meeting a nice guy. The only man interested in me was that fool from Dog Company.

Actually, it's thanks to him that I met you. He was good for something after all." Leigh laughed, adding, "All I wanted to do after I finished work for the day was to have supper and take a shower. Then, I ran into Sergeant Guarnere." Bill told her,

"Meetin' you is the best thing that ever happened to me. Sweetheart, I'll be right back." Guarnere went upstairs to the bathroom. While he was there, Leigh decided to finish her Limoncello.

Drinking the contents of the glass all at once made the alcohol get into her bloodstream faster. Other than feeling a momentary burning sensation in her throat and making her a little tipsy, Spencer felt fine.

She decided to have just a tiny bit more of the lemon infused vodka. Leigh didn't notice the burning sensation as much as she did before. Spencer felt very warm, so she removed everything but the bra and matching panties. She carefully folded the items of clothing, putting them on the coffee table.

She heard Bill walking down the stairs. He came into the living room and immediately noticed her lack of most of her clothes. Guarnere commented,

"Looks like my sexy little fireball is ready to get up to somethin'" Leigh grinned, saying,

"I'm more than ready for some action." Bill grinned, replying,

"You're the perfect girl for me. That's what I thought when I saw ya give that guy a good, swift kick in the ass. I never told ya this before, but I wanted to put my arm around you right from the start.

'course I didn't do it because I didn't want ya to kick my ass, too. Just like I said before, the first time I saw ya, that was it for me. I didn't want any other girl, just you." Leigh smiled, telling him,

"Actually, I wouldn't have stopped you from putting your arm around me." Bill laughed, saying,

"Now ya tell me! If you would've said somethin' I could've enjoyed bein' close to ya wit'out thinkin' that you would tell me that my boot was untied." Both Guarnere and Spencer laughed. Leigh commented,

"I would have never accepted an invitation to go to dinner with someone I didn't know that well. From the beginning I instinctively knew that I was safe with you.

When you kissed my hand, that was it for me. If I had been standing, my knees would have felt weak. You single handedly destroyed my notion of not wanting to have another relationship. All I could think about was how nice it would be if you kissed me." Bill asked,

"That so? What if I did somethin' like this?" He looked into her eyes and tenderly kissed Leigh's hand. Then, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. Spencer returned his embrace. She closed her eyes as Bill kissed her gently.

He deepened the kiss and Leigh ran her fingers through his hair. They enjoyed the slow, sensual kissing. There was no need to rush and no chance of anyone coming in unexpectedly to interrupt them.

They had the entire night to themselves. All that mattered was sharing and expressing the love they felt for each other. Leigh opened her lips to allow Bill's tongue into her mouth.

She tasted the lemon flavored liquor as she gently sucked on the tip of his tongue. From the moment of their first kiss in her office in Camp Toccoa, it felt so right to her.

Leigh felt herself becoming wet from being kissed. Guarnere held her, and he was in no rush to explore her body. She softly moaned into his mouth as the kissing continued. Bill broke the kiss and he softly asked,

"Am I gettin' my baby worked up?" She replied,

"Oh, hell, yes. Honey, you are so damned good at kissing." Bill had an idea, asking her,

"How 'bout we sleep here tonight? It would be warmer than your room. I don't wanna be a pain in the ass, but I have trouble sleepin' in a cold room. These old houses need heating vents in every room like the houses back in the states." Spencer replied,

"You're not a pain in the ass, Bill. It's fine with me if we sleep down here." Guarnere had noticed the strong taste of the liquor when he kissed Leigh. He told her,

"Baby, it ain't up to me to tell ya what to do, but you might wanna take it easy wit' the Limoncello. It's probably 100 proof, really strong. Now, I need to put coal in the furnace, get more wood on the fire, get the bedding from upstairs an' take care o ' some stuff down here.

Before I get started on that I'm gonna get a glass o' water an' some aspirin for ya. That should keep ya from havin' a hangover." He went back upstairs to get the aspirin and the bedding, carrying everything into the living room.

Bill got a glass of water from the kitchen and gave it to Leigh. She opened the bottle and got out two aspirin tablets. Spencer drank the water and put the glass on a table at the side of the couch. Leigh thanked him for taking care of her.

Guarnere removed the pillows from the back of the couch. This made the couch like a small bed. Spencer helped him get the bedding on the couch.

As Bill went into the basement, Leigh felt as if the room was slightly spinning. She stretched out on the couch, intending to close her eyes for a moment, hoping that would stop the spinning sensation she had.

When Guarnere returned upstairs, he shut off the radio and the lights in the kitchen, dining room and living room. He saw Leigh asleep on the couch. Bill put the wood on the fire, unplugged the lights on the Christmas tree and removed everything but his boxer shorts. Bill gave Spencer a tender kiss as he stretched out beside her.

Guarnere wasn't upset that the lovemaking was put on hold. He decided to wait until morning for the erotic activity. Bill ensured that Leigh was covered by the sheet and blankets.

He gently moved Spencer onto her side and snuggled close, spooning with her. Bill whispered,

"Goodnight, Baby." Guarnere wrapped his arms around her and settled in to sleep.

@ethereal-jumpwings @rogue-barnes-durin-main @celie-voss @luciferfansblog @madisonskagg32 @stinkyrat09 @cagzzz107 @otherperson12 @itsyourbadwolf-blog @hbowarismydopamine @naomi-1234 @breadsprinkles @sparkycorleone @weird-obsessed-girl @leksi-rae @lizziebitch33 @alluringmoonlightbabe @f1-and-shiz

@lenabob @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @lizziebitch33 @bellewintersroe @wontyoutakeitback

[theretirementstory]

Greetings from Bar-sur-Aube where we currently have 4c and sun. Typically, I am going to be cooking soups and some apple puddings.

Can you believe that I have never noticed this house, until yesterday, a change of parking places meant I was able to admire it. Isn’t it wonderful that, after five years, this town can still surprise me.

There is a strike in France (oh yes!) not sure if it is tanker drivers but cities/towns and villages have run out of petrol and diesel.

My goodness it has been another busy week, I went to a concert in the church in a nearby village, Anie invited me and I drove her and her friend Monique. When I got there I saw Jeannette and Eric, she would have liked me to sit with them but realised I was with friends. Typical church the wooden pews were not made for large posteriors and I was glad when I could stand up! Later in the week it was a concert by the young people from the conservatoire. A little girl aged seven was very good on the piano as was an older girl. The violinists, which included some very young girls, were also very competent, not like me who never progressed due to the Elastoplast being removed from the neck of the violin, this was to teach me placing my fingers for the notes, once the gooey bit wore off I was terrible. I think the only thing I remember playing was Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, I wasn’t much better on the piano either 😂. There. We’re clarinetists, trumpet, trombone, and flute, it was wonderful to see the enthusiasm and talent.

After the rain that fell last week, I was beginning to think that not only autumn but winter had arrived, however we have had some wonderfully sunny days even if there has been a mist every morning. I managed to get into the garden and cleared out the cherry tomato plant, tidied up the strawberries, the planter I made earlier in the year and cleared out some of the bolting lettuce and keeping my fingers crossed that the beetroot will start to grow a bit bigger.

I was invited to the home of new American friends who live in town. I took a little cream rose and a box of macaroons to have with our tea. Three hours just flew by, we talked, laughed and talked some more.

Someone, I have no idea who, called at my home one afternoon as I was dozing in the chair. They left me a book (English) so I now have something else to read.

After the closure of the cinema, I wondered if I would ever see Sara, one of the co-operatives, again. She used to take one of the French classes that Jony and I attended and she had always been very friendly to me. Well yesterday I saw her talking to Françoise (the regular cinema attendee who munched on chocolate bars) I spoke to them both then asked Sara if I could speak to her in English, apologising to Françoise for the change of language. I had expressed how sad I was at the closure and as I was preparing to leave, I hugged Sara and wished her well with whatever she did next.

The CT scan is now out of the way there is only the ECG next week and then we can see what if anything has shown up.

“The Paralegal” has missed the poetry , so here it is back by popular demand, I hope you like this:

Excerpt from “Leaves” by Elsie N Brady

“How silently they tumble down

And come to rest upon the ground

To lay a carpet, rich and rare,

Beneath the trees without a care,

Content to sleep, their work well done,

Colours gleaming in the sun.

My gorgeous grandson has started with the cold that “The Daddy” just managed to get over, “The Mummy” is starting with it too. I am not the only one with hospital appointments, my gorgeous granddaughter is going to hospital this coming Friday.

There was another market in town yesterday, by the time I got there, after lunch, there were not many stalls left. I did, however, stumble upon the stall that has sewing and knitted items. I can’t resist lavender bags so I bought some more, plus there were felt Xmas tree decorations and I purchased a couple of those too. I wandered down to the bar, met Yves on the way and we had a little chat, he was saying about the arthritis in his fingers, he always has a smile though and walks a lot to help his circulation. The bar are now offering cocktails, I asked Christophe if he had honed the moves for mixing cocktails and we had a little laugh as he showed his moves. Then it was home to cut the grass, turn the compost and then have a nice relax.

Hopefully I will be back with my knitting workshop ladies next week.

When I was in the UK I bought some small lavender bags, some I saw were £4.99 each (they were tiny), these two cost me 3€, the lady just handed me this bag, which has a fish shaped bag, (fish are the great Tunisian good luck symbol) and you must admit the other does have a little “tartan” effect so represents north of my birthplace.

Bon week-end.

[breadvidence]

DAMMIT I.VI

On AO3

SUMMARY: Two suicidal old men with moral scrupulosity in a three-legged potato sack race towards domesticity. Dallas 2014/Brick crossover, all adaptation decisions arbitrary.

Note: Plotting out the coming arc was like playing Oregon Trail and not enough romantic tension with Javert was the equivalent of underinvesting in oxen at the start of the game, Jean Valjean kept dying. I cannot express how many dead JVJs are behind the level of drama in this chapter. I would like to note, also, that the only person more upset about Valjean being invested in Javert than Valjean is myself, the writer, who now feels we have strayed well off the paths of canonical content into fannish heresies. So it goes. Content warnings: homophobia, racism, suicidal ideation.

⁂

Cosette looks at her Papa and thinks, with an ache in her heart unique to the adult child of the broken parent, Not today. Even two, three years ago, she thinks—how unmindful she could have been! Now he tries to buy her a new vanity and she steers him to a makeup set instead. He alludes to finances only to redirect when she tries to make a conversation of it. They were supposed to have lunch, his obligations have run late, they are at the Southlake apartment—oh, the Cedar Hill house, he hasn’t been back—the garden—?—well, there’s always the farmer’s market—he has to go out soon. He loves her; what did she need to tell him—? I don’t know what you mean, Papa, I only wanted to see you. Which is only half untrue, and she has always been a better liar than him, but this time he smiles, and it’s the expression she got the one time she came back from a freshman party unsteady on her feet—an acquaintance drove her home—and replied to the question, Did you, perhaps, indulge—? with no, Papa. 

No, Papa.

Ah, fuck, thinks Cosette Fauchelevent. 

Once, during the hour he allows her, he glances at his phone when it chimes. The chime itself is a surprise, given how very few social contacts he maintains who would be casual enough to text; that he actually diverted his attention from her, even for a moment—she’s fascinated, with a trace of shameful affront, and beside it a bloom of hope. “Papa,” she exclaims, “next we’ll be putting our phones on the dinner table. You’re becoming a modern man at last.”

He laughs—blushes! “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

She nudges him with her knee; they are on the couch—she’s gotten them that far, to sitting down, to stretch the amount of time he’ll allow. “Papa, nobody thinks it’s rude to check a text, anymore. I promise. Are you waiting for something in particular?” 

“I received a call earlier,” he says, in that slow thoughtful tone he uses when he’s deciding how to mince the truth into such little pieces that it becomes very close to lies, “that was a bit concerning, but I was assured it didn’t need my immediate attention. I thought perhaps the caller might’ve changed his mind.” 

Since she was ten and another girl at the convent asked Why don’t you have a mama? there has been an idiotic part of Cosette that feared and wished that her Papa would find a wife; now, alert to that blush, and perhaps with romance too much on her mind given her own life, she is disappointed by that his—then, considering, with a bit more worldliness than she’d had as a preteen and no little impact from Marius’ queer friends, she asks in a tone of all innocence, “Is this about the business you mentioned? Or someone at church? Or do you have a—friend—you’re particularly concerned about?” 

“No, no, none of those.” His brow pinches. “I suppose you might call it a matter of charity.” This does not satisfy him, he allows, “Well, a friend, yes.” He smooths himself out, looks at her with the sweetness, the devotion, that brings her home to him, when Marius has asked more than once, Do you think you should let him alone, when he so obviously wants to be? “My dear, can you explain to an uneducated old man, one more time, how you intend to measure information access for your patient population?”

⁂

He pauses at the door, surprised that Javert has turned music up enough to be heard in the hall, even with all his neighbors out, if one is to judge by the lack of vehicles in front of the apartment building. He discerns a lyric, And he tells me I am his own, and the joy we share as we tarry there none other has ever known—and is that the man’s voice, briefly clearer as he crosses the apartment, softly accompanying a lovesong written for a woman’s part? It’s incongruous, and even mired in anxiety he pauses a moment, but—no, he’s being foolish; he hears how the emphasis falls on the lines and He walks with me, and He talks with me, then places the tune. Gospel. He lingers a moment, putting his face in order—it is a very sentimental song regardless, and still a little incongruous, and he thinks if he weren’t so—yes, admit it—out of sorts, he might venture to tease Javert about this. He has developed a taste, shamefully, for the sight of color in the other man’s cheeks.

He knocks, surprised by the irritability in Javert’s shouted reply—a minute. Lord, let them not both be in their own kind of bad mood. It will surprise him, if Javert shows the backbone necessary to be in a temper for being put off yesterday, and then he wonders guiltily if it is gauche to apply the metaphor to someone with a literally broken spine. He tells himself: stop. There has been too much thinking of Marius in the last twenty-four hours of his life, and that’s not Javert’s fault. 

There’s the noise of the deadbolt, the lock, the chain being undone, and Javert opens the door sharply—looks surprised. He’s in a bleach-stained shirt and loose shorts that show lean thick-haired thigh well above the knee, bare-footed—he’s as fussy about no shoes in his home as Jean Valjean is about his own, but this may be the first time he’s seen him without socks, pale long toes and nails trimmed down to the quick.

“You were expecting me?” Jean Valjean asks.

“Yes. In three hours. No, come in, you’re here anyway.” There’s a rough edge to his voice. “Don’t mind the mess.” 

There isn’t a mess; there are three spray bottles of cleaner on the counter that divides the kitchen from the living area, aligned precisely with each other, and two stacks of rags—the ones on the left dirty, but folded. Jean Valjean wonders if this sort of thing even occurs to Javert to mention to his therapist. He pauses; a police uniform is laid out on the couch, the lines in the trousers so crisp he suspects it’s been newly ironed.

“Ah,” Javert says, and the embarrassment in that one noise could drown a man. “I was—I don’t know what do with it,” Javert says, staring at the garments. “It seems wrong to keep it, but worse to throw it away.”

There are more chevrons than when last Jean Valjean saw him in uniform, at a funeral in Montreuil. It is exactingly kept. The smell of bleach stings in his nose. “I don’t suppose you can donate it.”

“To what, a costume shop? Anyway, it’s tailored.” 

“Maybe you can pick off the—decorations, or whatever they’re called—and wear it as a suit?”

Javert looks doubtful. “Maybe. I’m going to put this up. Take a seat, would you?” 

Jean Valjean does not, in fact, take a seat. He contemplates leaving as Javert fusses around the apartment, notes that he acquires socks along the way, seeing him stumble, once, mismanaging the cane. The man seems fine, despite the call, and can surely be left to himself a little longer; long enough for Jean Valjean to gather himself, at least. He thinks, suddenly: I’ve come here for consolation, haven’t I? This is a surprise to him. He takes a step back towards the door, the stag hearing the horns after it has put its hooves into the meadow grass, but it is too late; Javert has finished neatening what’s already neat, and, brushing fretfully at a wet spot on the hem of his shirt, he’s circled back around to the entryway. 

Well, this isn’t a social visit only—it’s a wellness check. Javert had sounded extremely aggressive and a little afraid, over the phone, but Cosette had insisted on the afternoon visit, and though her tone had been as sweet and cheerful as ever—oh, it’s unfair to her, that he’d spent that night pacing, afraid that she had some news to tell him, berating himself for not providing what she wanted, berating himself for his eagerness to see her, numbering what a young woman in her position might feel she needed to tell her papa in person only, then committing himself to the idea that she was simply tired of his absence, then asking himself whether with her friends and the Fall term starting and Marius if he should be so prideful as to think she was missing him. 

“Valjean,” Javert says, and tilts down a bit to catch his eye. “I realize this is your line, but do you need to sit down?”

Jean Valjean smiles at him and says, “No, no, I’m fine. What did you have to tell me? You seemed very anxious.” 

“Yes, horribly,” he says, with—as predicted—no sign that it bothers him that he was left with that, alone, overnight. “Really, I’m sorry I was so, ah. Maybe I got too used to you going along with—whatever. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.” Blunt, plain, like it isn’t odd at all. “But, listen. Take this however you want: you look like shit. When was the last time you ate? Slept?”

He thinks of Cosette exclaiming, Papa, you’ve lost weight! He almost protested to her: but Javert has been feeding me such rich meals—once a week, in any case. Twice, sometimes. But he cannot explain the man to his daughter anymore than he can expose his daughter to the man. He shakes it off. “I’m fine. What—”

“Is your kid all right?” The concern is not really for Cosette, but for Jean Valjean, which is a sin.

“She is very well.” She shines like the sun, and it pains him that concern for him dimmed that light; he bought her something nice off of Amazon, he cannot recall what. He looks into this harsh, unwelcoming face, this man who has confided so much in him, and he means to ask, would you perhaps listen, but he says, “I know you wanted to tell me something.”

“It can wait a little longer. I can tell there’s a problem, Valjean.” He speaks with—exasperation? Exasperation would make sense. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He never much cared for the confessional, feeling in speaking his sins he could not help but tie them up with his worries, making a terrible imposition upon God, and on the priest who was trapped to hear also. He would stop up all the breath in his body before he uttered a complaint to his daughter. He cannot recall anyone except the Lord and Cosette having ever asked to hear his problems. It is a temptation—but a petty one, like a sweet, something he would not purchase for himself but would accept as a gift. Besides, Javert is looking at him all pricked ears and blazing eyes, such that he thinks an answer will be akin to tossing the man a treat, a little satisfaction of a chase ending in a catch. “Well, if you’re asking—my daughter—” The name Cosette is too vulnerable to speak, in his presence. “—made a, a bit of a fuss, about talking in person. And then she didn’t say anything of great consequence. Well, of course we spoke about the semester starting, her thesis, all of that’s quite important, but—you understand me. I’m.” He stares off to the side, at the beige wall, and feels a lurch of hot discomfort over the fact that this man is too patient to interrupt even a long silence. “I’m concerned about what she didn’t say. About what could be going on that she doesn’t feel comfortable sharing.”

Javert, after another moment, says, “Okay. So, what’s the worst possibility? She’s not sick? Well, do you think she’s pregnant?” 

Jean Valjean slumps further. “She’s unmarried.”

“Ah, I see. Call it family tradition. If she’s not even showing yet there’s still time for a shotgun wedding. Then everyone pretends it’s an eight-pound preemie and no sin’s been committed.” He pats him on the shoulder. “Where I come from, we call it a success so long as the mama’s over sixteen and knows exactly who the daddy is.” 

Jean Valjean puts his face in his hands.

“Anyway, you like children. I have seen with my own eyes how you coo over infants. Once grandbaby’s here you’ll forget you were feeling—whatever you’re currently feeling.” He sounds increasingly nervous.

“I don’t think she’s pregnant,” Jean Valjean clarifies. It had occurred to him, in a stroke of profound horror and—yes—a little bit of excitement over the thought of a baby; he had asked himself, Did the nuns and the state of Texas let her and her career down with abstinence-only education?, then, after some staring into the dark, determined that he would set aside that possibility as being—too much. “She’s a good girl—and, more than that, a smart one.”

“Mmhm,” says Javert, evidently determining that those waters are too deep. “Give a man a hint, then, what the hell?”

“I think she might be engaged. Or, if not yet, then—in the near future.” 

“Huh,” says Javert.

Jean Valjean looks at him, exhausted and mournful and not expecting a scrap of sympathy. 

Nothing gentle, no—he’s narrow-eyed, jaw tense. “He bad to her? I can’t say he struck me as terribly impressive, but he got Jones pretty good at the riot. Well! Shit. It’ll be awkward, but I can still get him arrested.”

For a terrible moment, Jean Valjean considers it, ’til it strikes him how stupid it would be to have gone through all the trouble in June only to have Javert dirty his hands for him in September. “By all signs, he’s very sweet.” He turns his face away, breathes out deeply.

Javert mutters something under his breath that sounds rather like a sincere prayer, Show me mercy, o Lord. Aloud, he says, “C’mon, it’s going to keep me awake not being able to puzzle this out. If she’s—probably—not pregnant and that twit treats her all right, why do you look like you’re in the bus back to Memorial?”

“That’s tasteless,” Jean Valjean replies. Considers using the reference as an excuse to be hurt, and leave. But he is very tired, and the night has been very long, and Javert is being as close to kind as he comes, which is to say, he is showing an interest. He imagines saying, I have been very upset about my daughter leaving the state for medical school. One might say I have not been coping well. The final scrap of importance I felt I held is being taken from me by Marius fucking Pontmercy. He ventures, not quite looking the other man in the eye, “In any case, have I mentioned,” and stalls out. Tries, “Well, regardless, she’s leaving for medical school.” 

“You must be very proud.” The tone manages to be incredibly fake without being dishonest—it’s rote, socially appropriate pap, reminiscent of his behavior in Montreuil when they’d been cornered into public functions together. Javert goes so far as to touch his shoulder, lightly, like he meant it to be a congratulatory clasp and realized halfway through that it was not appropriate.

“Yes,” Jean Valjean replies, and decides the sense of freedom in voicing his troubles has begun to be outweighed by the discomfort of being the focus of the conversation. The sweet he’s been gifted has made him feel sickish. He gently removes Javert’s hand from his shoulder. “Please, let’s move on.” Has he ever regretted something as much as removing that hand? Well—yes—several things; he’s had a very regrettable life. Regardless, he’s quite sad about it. Would it be odd to take Javert’s hand back and—yes, it would. He cocks an eyebrow, trying for the level of bemusement he felt when he first heard the spy-novel nonsense that was not over the phone. “You had something to say that you needed to discuss in person? Tell me, please.”

“Oh. You didn’t answer my—well, okay. Yes. Courfeyrac knows who you are,” he says. “Well—no, excuse me, that’s a stupid way to put it. He knows Ultime Fauchelevent was at the riot, or in any case that Cosette Fauchelvent’s father was.” 

Jean Valjean tilts his head. 

“He’s one of Marius’ friends,” Javert goes on. “If you don’t recognize the name. I gather you think the pack of those little bastards are a risk, since you’ve been hiding from them. I don’t understand. I am, in fact, very confused. Further, it took me a minute to parse, but if I’m not mistaken, they think you’ve brutalized me, and that you’ve threatened me into silence.” He pauses, a moment. “No one follows the local news anymore. You know, there was a little article—not a long one; I don’t remember it, they  must’ve caught me during one of the solid haloperidol highs, but evidently I refused an interview. An article about an attempted suicide, a member of the police—they included my name, and a statement from Gisquet. In any case, this gang doesn’t know I threw myself off a bridge, and consequently you’re taking the rap for working me over, with these ‘Amis’. Combeferre approached me at the courthouse—a coincidence, that we were both there—I have his number, I can text him, tell him you’re an innocent. Innocent adjacent. Didn’t fuck me up, anyway. Physically. That seemed like his main concern, but I didn’t want to reach out until we’d talked it over. Sound like a plan?”

“No,” says Jean Valjean. 

“To be clear,” Javert goes on, “I don’t blame you for—what? No?”

Where did one of Marius’ friend see him, prior to the riot? His withdrawal means nothing, if they can already connect the man at the riot to Cosette’s father. 

“Valjean.” Javert’s tone is brisk.

He has hidden himself, but he has never run. The idea exhausts him. 

“I’m certain the wall isn’t that interesting. Valjean.” His tone falters. “Valjean? —Jean?”  Even more hesitant, he tries, “Fauchelevent?”

“That’s not my name,” he replies, and doesn’t recognize his own voice, it’s so harsh.

“I know,” Javert says, then with a dawning of reciprocal concern, “Do they?”

“No, it’s not that,” Jean Valjean says, distracted. 

He’s back to that initial emotion, that perhaps-exasperation. “Okay. What’s the threat?” 

How can he explain to this man, this maniac with his compulsive noise, his self-deceptive honesty that must be spoken, his self-destructiveness, his pridefulness and his flaunting of shame, his constant raucous living, what it means to want to be nothing? Javert knows what it is to want Hell—he demonstrates that quite clearly—but can he comprehend desire for the grave? Jean Valjean has not so clearly seen it for himself, until that moment, how his fingers have brushed that final privacy again and again, only for the dirt to fall away, and his hands thrust out into the open air, his body’s desperation to breathe greater than his soul’s need for rest. He cannot wish for death, which would be to steal from God, but—fuck, can he be forgiven a little wistfulness? There will be fuss. Praise? Curiosity. Investigation. Revelations. He shudders. And Cosette, his Cosette, can she not simply fly free of him? Yes, her freedom is so close. He looks at his own hand, half-raised, and does not know what he intended to do with it. It seems best to leave, and he thinks he says as much, but when Javert takes him by the shoulder and leads him to the couch, he complies.

Javert moves to crouch in front of him, but in his haste loses his balance, and falls heavily forward onto one knee. They blink at each other—Jean Valjean’s hands have come up to brace his shoulders, kind reflex and not wanting that much man sprawled in his lap. Javert takes those hands from his shoulder, presses them between his palms, and chafes them gently. It’s clumsier than the fall. 

Jean Valjean feeds on the warmth of the touch ’til he realizes the pleasure of it and jerks away. If he stands, he is going to knee Javert in the face. He is certain his body language says he wants to—stand, not do him violence—but he finds he cannot actually voice the need. He shudders and puts his face in his hands, taken by fear of what it shows. 

“They aren’t certain,” Javert says, “that it’s you. Marius—I don’t know if he’s covering consciously, or what. Maybe you can tell me. In any case, Combeferre said that he denied it’s you who was at the riot. I’m—I don’t know. I don’t see why you’re losing your mind over this, sir, but you’ve looked sad and solemn for the last ten minutes without saying a word, and it’s, if I may say so, quite God damned unsettling.”

“Ah,” says Jean Valjean.

He says, “It’s my business if I want to tell them you didn’t do me any physical harm. Seems to me like that’ll take the pressure off. Yeah?” 

“No,” Jean Valjean groans.

Javert, slowly, leans his forehead against his fist. The gesture does not entirely hide his face, which is expressive of a great combat. He breathes out. “All right. Still seems like my problem, to me, but—fine. You’re saying they shouldn’t know? For you, I’ll—well. Not speaking ain’t as much as it could be. So. Next steps. I’m making a suggestion.” 

He thinks, I do not want a rotisserie chicken or a book or the nice merlot or to answer a moral quandary or your compliance. Except he needs the compliance, doesn’t he? And he does—want. Not any of those things, but something else on offer. He knows he wants. He is here in part because of wanting, and God and his own long practice of self-denial and the worst parts of the man in front of him have not stopped him from seeking it. It horrifies him, this realization.

“I’m gross—I need a shower. You? Take a fucking nap, Valjean. Actually—” He reaches out and pinches the back of his hand, a little shock of discomfort. “—yeah, look at yourself, elastic as a frozen rubber band. I’m getting you a glass of water. Will you stay here?” 

He looks down at the skin that has remained peeked on his hand, puzzled. He remembers, sudden and vivid and bizarre, his sister looking at her own cracked knuckles and saying wryly, A woman shows her age in her hands first. He passes as being born in ’61, but does it show when he reaches to touch that he is a liar, that—?

Javert comes back with the water and a blanket and a scowl that shows every year of his life and a few more besides. Jean Valjean thinks of rough men telling girls you’re prettier when you smile and almost laughs, because—good grief, no. He drinks what he is given and tucks into himself when urged here’s a cushion for your head—legs up—oh, uh, you want your shoes off?—no need to give me a stern look, I wasn’t going to touch your feet, Christ. The blanket is a rough woven thing, so faded he cannot quite tell what the original pattern was—dark blue swathes gone grayish, yellow blots to ivory. He pulls it up to his chin, and pushes the world away.

⁂

Jean Valjean wakes to a terrible crick in his spine and the sense that it is too late to run. He has not woken someplace other than one of his three bedrooms in years, and he lay still, feeling his own panicked breath stirring the hair of his forearm where it is tucked close to his face. His eyes do not see—he gathers himself—he looks, and of course there is Javert, in one of the kitchen chairs with his feet up on the other, a cushion stolen from the couch to elevate them, the iPad propped on a pillow in his lap, expression neutral as their gazes meet. The other man looks away first; whatever is in Jean Valjean’s face must be terrible. The room is dim, but not dark; outside the windows the sky is ruddy with sunset, and the lights over the stove and in the entryway are switched on.

“I,” he says, “am mortified.”

“You didn’t even get cuddles out of it,” Javert mutters, and puts the iPad on the table. Louder, he says, “I didn’t want to disturb you by knocking around in the kitchen, cooking. We can order something in, or I’ve got leftovers, if you won’t think too badly of my hospitality.” 

“I can go,” Jean Valjean says.

“You can, but I made caldo de albóndigas for the first day of Fall, and it’s not so bad reheated. Or there’s this Thai place down the street—they make this noodle dish, I mispronounce it so badly they don’t understand me every time, and I have to describe it. At this point, I assume they’re just messing with the gringo, or whatever Asians call white people.” He tilts his head. “Chill out. You’ve seen me with one oar in the water. Utterly fucked, drugged up, ready to die, in pieces. Let it be, Valjean. I wouldn’t have known to put you down for a nap if you hadn’t done the same for me. If you need it to be about tit for tat, let’s call it even. So. Soup or Thai?”

“You could’ve eaten without me,” Jean Valjean replies, still feeling strange, and gets nothing but a steady look for his protest. Because it seems quicker, he says, “Soup, if you like.” 

“All right,” Javert says, and levers himself to his feet with a muffled groan of pain. “If you want to close your eyes again, I’ll give you a shake when it’s ready.” 

He chooses to lean against the counter, instead, and watches as Javert retrieves two tupperware from the freezer and sets out a pot on the stove—would he have used the microwave, were he the only one eating the meal? He does not ask. He is thoughtful, and a little calmer, a little more aware of the floor beneath his—dear God, did he never take off his shoes? He slinks back to the entryway, toes them off, agog that Javert let him put his sneakers on the couch. It is humbling to know the man’s fixation on him is stronger than that on cleanliness. Their conversation before his—oh, the indignity—his nap feels more distant than the hours that have elapsed. He clears his throat and asks, “Does it bother you very much, that they think I overpowered you?”

“Right back into it, huh? We could talk about anything else. The weather. When will this heat break. I’d make that a conversation, for you.” 

Jean Valjean is, if somewhat confused, also touched, and it gives him the strength to shrug and say, “No, let’s put the thing to rest.”

He’s surprised. “All right. No, I can’t be bothered by the fact that you’d whip my ass in a fight. Facts are facts, proved a few times over.” He prods at blocks of frozen soup, looks at him from the corner of his eye—there’s something obscure, there. “Or do you mean—? That’s not what you mean, is it. Jesus. All right—sure, I’m bothered. I think that’s obvious.”

“Yes,” Jean Valjean says.

“Well, if my being bothered bothers you—but I’ve promised already. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Texts unsent. Whatever.” The soup does not deserve to be stabbed like that.

They are quiet a while. Jean Valjean allows, “I didn’t whip your ass.”

“Not recently,” Javert drawls.

Jean Valjean ignores this. “I suppose there’s no actual harm in those young men being aware of that fact.”

“Oh.” He’s shocked—as if he didn’t think he actually had the right of it. Will the poor meatballs remain in one piece? “I could, if I wanted to make them aware, text Combeferre the news article about, ah—not saying I saved the link, or anything, but I’m sure I can Google it.”

“That seems a dramatic way to go about things.” 

“Yes,” Javert says, with satisfaction. “I could add nobody pushed me, to make it perfectly clear.”

How embarrassing, that a few hours’ sleep has made him far less inclined to telling Javert what to do, and now he’s caught: his previous demands, his current difference in opinion from his past self. “Indeed.” Pity the food, definitely in more pieces than it began. What shall he say? You may? That seems altogether too blunt. He makes an abortive little noise. “In that case—” His teeth close on his lip, short of chewing.

“Hush. I’ll text him. Yeah?” He casts a look over his shoulder—a softness around the mouth, a—

“Yes.”

Javert catches his eye, brow furrowed. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Javert.” 

He is gentler, stirring. 

“We have to get to the end of September,” Jean Valjean says; and, to the other man’s inquiring look, adds, “For the heat to break.” 

“Yeah, and how about all this rain,” he replies, with a trace of humor. “But—I don’t know, Valjean, that might be all the small talk I can manage. —Your glass is there on the side table. You know where the water pitcher is at. You don’t want to undo all that work you’ve put in, eh?”

“The—work.”

“You know, skin care.” He casts a look over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, mockery. “Or is it just good genetics?”

He snorts, amused because he doesn’t know what else to be, and because he has learned that people lose interest if you respond softly, a little chuckle, a little smile—it doesn’t encourage the joke to go further, in the way being offended does, or laughing in earnest. Besides, he’d rather this teasing than the despair and awe that yet lurk beneath that familiarity; Javert, when a touch bold, does amuse him. He goes to get the glass, because hydration is a reasonable suggestion, for all it galls him that this man might be more reasonable than him—ah, if he thinks too closely on it, he might be troubled by the implications. 

Javert turns from the pot, as he enters the kitchen, and says, “Hey.” Then he leans into his space and puts his arms around his shoulders, gives a quick rough pat on his back, promptly releases him. It is an objectively bad hug, stiff and awkward and too abrupt.

Jean Valjean tells himself, be normal, gets his water, and flees back to his place on the other side of the counter. His heart aches. He ventures to ask about the soup recipe—it’s not from family, but it predates the internet, Javert isn’t sure, it’s passable, he wouldn’t have made it specifically for company but here they are. It’s ready, in any case—no, he can set the table, get on—

Most of the way through the meal, Jean Valjean looks into his caldo de albódingas, which is—not bad, and was probably good, fresh. He blurts, “Are you Hispanic?”

“Mistake any Wonder Bread for wheat recently?” he asks, too glib. He adds, grudgingly, “What, you want another Javert is a sad bitch story?”

“I don’t think you’re a bitch,” Jean Valjean replies, solemn. Lying, a little. Then: “Yes.” 

Javert takes a bite of soup with a resentful air that is completely put-on—it’s meant to be funny. When he’s swallowed, he says, “Mama guessed at who my daddy was, but she wasn’t a great guesser.” He pauses. “Or she was, and the question wasn’t paternity, but gullibility—after all, Papá Hernandez paid child support until he was deported.” He grimaces. “Not a bad man, looking back on it, aside from being an illegal. Anyway, I ran around with all the—” He looks at Jean Valjean, visibly decides against using another slur. “—Hispanic kids, my cousins, and got underfoot in the kitchen with, ah, the matriarch. Mrs. Hernandez. I guess I spent more time with her, really. The other kids didn’t like me. Fair of them. I was a little asshole.”  

Jean Valjean would bet a fair percentage of his fortune that Javert once called that woman abuela, and still calls her that, in his heart. “Have you kept in contact with any of them?”

“I’d have to report them,” he says, startled. “Or—I don’t know. No, to answer your question. Anyway, food you eat when you’re a little kid, you never stop wanting, right?”

He thinks of curries and fried seafood cakes he would have to look up the name of, but remembers as almost painfully salty, flavorful. “Sure.” He blurts, suddenly unsure whether Javert has in fact been a first name this entire time, “So you’re not a Hernandez?”

He snorts. “Never, no. She had enough dignity not to name me for him, at least, though he’s on the birth certificate.”

What’s your—no, it’s been either several months or thirty years, depending on how you count their acquaintance, and either way he absolutely cannot ask. He should’ve looked more closely at Javert’s mail.

Javert squints at him. “You feeling all right, over there?”

Disagreeably, the question forces him to an answer. Jean Valjean meets his gaze steadily with the intent to lie, thinking it would not even be that deep a falsehood; has he not slept, and drunk, and eaten? But he averts his eyes before speaking, contemplating the darkness falling outside; it’s not the latest he’s ever been in this apartment, but he feels the turning of the year, the shortening of days. He has ever been a man who could seize upon an opportunity; he sees this one, and forgets the virtue of temperance, an impulse a little like the steps that led him to a sinner’s wealthiness. Then, it was animal fear of hunger that drove him, the stupid beast in the man not knowing that there was such thing as enough of a resource. It is a poverty not of the wallet but of some other thing that makes the beast speak through him, now, as he says, “I am, I suppose, still a little tired.”

“You look rough as hell,” Javert agrees.

He looks back at him, weary, and shame-facedly aware of his own weakness. Only, is it all his fault? Javert has bloodied his claws not through the chase but having set a trap baited with his need; once Jean Valjean swallowed it down, he had seized upon him with this intimacy. It is tactical when Jean Valjean says, keeping his tone even, “I should leave soon—I don’t want to be too tired behind the wheel.”

“You sure you’re fine to drive now?” Javert asks, sincere.

He ought to say, simply, yes, which would be the truth—but they are so close to where he wants them to be, and here’s the hunger growing in him, like crops planted in Fall, the fields rank with the manure of his griefs, and he tangles himself in the thought of transferring sprouts into soil, the promise in each little splay of leaves. And he thinks—it’s crucial—he’s not alone, with his foolish cabbages and bush beans and potatoes of wanting, though damned if he knows what Javert expects from it; he surely doesn’t know. “I,” he says, with complete honesty, “am worried.”

“I can drive you home, then,” Javert says.

“Ah—”

“It’s fine.”

Shit. Delicately, Jean Valjean says, “That seems like so much trouble.”

“If you’re worried, you shouldn’t drive, and you’ve played taxi for me enough times, I ought to reciprocate. I’ll wash dishes and we can go.”

As Javert does so, Jean Valjean puts his face in his hands. He cannot believe he has tried to acquire something for himself, that he has sought comfort, and been foiled by—what? An inability to put it in words, and the other party’s failure to catch a hint. The touch on his shoulder startles him; he says into his palms, “Javert. Driving seems like so much trouble. Could I…?” And looks up with what he hopes is a blatant stare.

“Why’re you—?” Javert stutters to a halt, catches his breath; surprise turns to a look of heat and intensity, gaze raking over him. “Could you what, Valjean?”

Jean Valjean’s hands fist in his lap, certain that his meaning has been mistaken and not kindly. He ought to have expected this, he has been strange, he has been too much outside society and forgotten how men are supposed to behave. Afraid not so much of the physical violence he senses as the consequences of it, he balances the question of hurt pride and bruised flesh against the inevitable hysterics should he let Javert injure him. Lord help him, this isn’t a fight he wants to win or lose, and it’s not one he meant to start. He says, in a tone of perfect calm, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give the wrong impression.”

The intensity eases, and Javert looks merely like a man asked to do difficult arithmetic without pen and paper. He puts some space between them. “You can have whatever you want,” he says, irritable, “but—I know this is going to take a mighty effort—you’re going to have to say it plainly.”

He stares at him, helpless. He does not mean to glance towards the bedroom.

He does not, after all, have to say it plain. With the slow deliberation of a man putting his feet on the trapdoor of the gallows, Javert says, “I’ve thought many times about the night I spent in your bed. Have you?”

“No,” lies Jean Valjean, pushed too far—by himself, mostly. 

Javert receives this blow direct, without flinching. 

“I’m thinking of it now,” Jean Valjean says, because his pity is greater even than his shyness.

Javert closes his eyes, breathes out. “I don’t understand you—or what a wrong impression is, in this instance. And don’t think I can’t see there’s something under that fucking calm of yours. What’s new? Well, if you stay overnight, I can promise not to get fresh.”

He wets his lips, uncertain. He thinks an honest man would have avoided a near-miss of homophobic violence and viciously taxing a friend’s patience by saying, simply, I know it is not normal but I want to be—platonically, please do not lose your shit—held and I think you will indulge me. Maybe he should’ve gone for another hug. He thinks the soup has only done so much for his ability to think in a straight line, and is embarrassed. What he manages is, “If it’s not too much trouble.” 

“You’re trouble,” Javert complains. Then, “I don’t mean that. Fuck. Okay.” He gives him another bewildered look. “It’s not even nine o’ clock.”

It is a little surreal, coming off the emotional pitch down to a few hands of German whist. Javert accuses him of cheating, and gives a surprised, nervous wrack of laughter over the answer not this time. He makes popcorn for them without asking, then digs herbal tea out of the back of his cupboard with a noise of triumph. It is stale, but appreciated. 

Javert, as it turns out, has several extra toothbrushes, which he excuses with a mutter about a discount sale and it being reasonable to replace them often. He digs a second pillow out of the closet, offers up a pair of drawstring shorts and a t-shirt that can’t possibly have ever fit him across the shoulders. After a considering look, he comes to bed bare-chested. They settle in the dark, and Jean Valjean’s nerves are alight with the anticipation of waking with another body close to his; it is somewhat counterproductive. He does not expect that Javert will turn and put a hand on his waist, not the least excuse of sleep between them.

He weighs whether this is likely to proceed in a direction he wants it to, and holds his peace. 

Javert sighs, and with a forthrightness that has in it the steady forward plod of a beast of burden, carrying the weight of honesty for both of them, “You didn’t take me up on that promise, earlier.” His palm slides heavy and warm across Jean Valjean’s stomach as he moves to take the drawstring in his fingers and toys with it. “Is this what you want from me?”

He takes him by the wrist.

“I don’t,” Javert says, calm—solemn, even—, “expect reciprocation.”

Jean Valjean rolls onto his back, pushing the other man away as he does so; Javert props up on an elbow and peers down at him, the light from the hall catching in his eyes strangely. It is an unsettling reminder that his night vision is good, and that he can probably see the worry on Jean Valjean’s face. He says, “You seemed angry, earlier, at the implication.”

“That,” Javert says dryly, “was not anger.”

It occurs to him, for the first time, to doubt Javert’s sexual orientation, but—he’d been so terrible about women, in Montreuil, in such a distinctive way, and he’s been frank about his own homophobia. No. His mind lurches to offers received, many years ago, from vulnerable men who wanted a strong one’s protection. The breath shudders out of him, and he says, as much to reassure himself, “We are not like two prisoners, who would—for lack of other—no, I don’t expect that from you.”

Javert snorts. “I don’t know about you, but I absolutely have other options. Don’t insult me, please, in my own bed. You wanted to be here. I am trying to figure out why, because I would like to…” For the first time, he falters. When his voice picks up again, it’s brusque, almost unkind. “I wouldn’t have come on to you if I didn’t think you were soliciting it. I know you’re not a fag. It’s no difference to me one way or the other.” He puts his hand, heavy, in the center of Jean Valjean’s chest. “You know, for one night in June, we were even—no, don’t mistake me, as a man you are so far above me that you are—”

“No,” Jean Valjean says.

“—but you don’t want to hear that. I mean you’d done your favor, and I’d done mine. Service for service. We could’ve been quit of each other. I sure as Hell tried to make it happen.” He moves; an uncomfortable shift of the legs; it is just pain of the body, not of the mind; it is clear from his tone that nothing about this bothers him. “God alone knows how those scales will ever balance again. Well! Here we are, you sublime wretch. What I lack in sensitivity I make up for in perception, and I’m not blind to the fact that you’re as much one the other. I know a very little about what the world has taken from you; well, you can have whatever you want from me, blessed poor satisfaction though that is. So—”

He puts his palm against Javert’s mouth, because he is sure that there is nothing he can say that will stop him. He presses his lips to it in what is unmistakably a kiss, and Jean Valjean flinches away—but only so far as to settle his hand, light and nervous, on the other man’s shoulder.

“Hush,” says Javert, as if it has not been him who has been rambling. “I’ve put thought into this.” He cocks his head. “I would ask your opinion, if I thought you’d give me an honest response.”

Jean Valjean clutches his shoulder, and mumbles, “I expect nothing from you.”

“How terrible, to get something unexpected,” he says, with sincere sympathy. His thumb strokes in a firm arc. “Want to provide a little guidance so we don’t have to suffer the mutual embarrassment of me trying to put my hand on your cock yet again?”

It is absurd, given the places he has been and the people he has walked among, for him to blush. It is purely out of self-defense that he says, “Lay down. Facing away, please.”

Javert complies, of course.

Jean Valjean pulls the sheets over them and presses against his back, bare skin warm under his cheek. He feels too bold, with his hips against Javert’s backside, arm over his ribs, but he supposes Javert’s predilection for leaps has pushed them past that edge.

It is ten minutes later when Javert observes, “You’re bad at this.”

Jean Valjean, who has been shifting uncomfortably trying to understand what one is meant to do with one’s bottom arm while cuddling, nonetheless makes a wounded noise.

“None of your women ever let you snug up? Shame on them. Too frisky with your dick against a nice ass, is that it?” His shoulders shake with a laugh. “Oh, I can feel that blush. Want to swap?”

He considers peevishly asking about moral certitude versus what is evidently a storied life of being in bed with other people, but he is too fucking tired to start another fraught conversation. He turns over.

Javert keeps more distance between them than he wants, but his arm is a comforting weight. Conversational, he asks, “In that little prison scenario you were imagining I was absolutely the bitch, wasn’t I?”

“Javert,” he protests.

“Rude as hell, Valjean.” He laughs—a second time, in such a short while. “See if I let you have the nicer pillow next time.” 

⁂

The deformed mooncalf of an affection is growing up into a fucking bull. He expected it to die, as monsters are supposed to do. It would be helpful were Jean Valjean less God damned weird, a quality he feels he is in a good position to assess, being himself outside the usual bounds; he feels rather like Pluto might, if it glanced out away from the sun and saw a planet in an even more distant orbit than itself. The evening after they’ve crawled into bed with each other a second time, and neither of them with much excuse, Valjean texts him an inane observation about the planting season, a clear reassurance that he will not be bolting. They will see each other again next week. Javert is uncertain what they are doing, but they clearly intend to continue with it. He is committed that the third time Jean Valjean invites him to bed he won’t mistake it for a proposition, but refuses to be ashamed over his confusion thus far. There are cockteases and then there’s this behavior.

He wonders if a hookup would take the edge off, but it’s too much trouble to pursue, and he has the faint sense it wouldn’t be as helpful as he’d expect, anyway.

[lowryinbohemia]

Istanbul: Day 3

Our last full day in Istanbul and boy did we make it count. Sergun, our brilliant guide, took us around the other side of the island, using public transportation and the ferry. We went to a beautiful Orthodox Church, where we were able to see up close the immense iconography of the orthodox churches. We visited a small Orthodox Church outside what was once the Jewish district of the city, with a lovely covered garden & a visiting cat. We then made our way to the Patriarchal Church of St George, which was one of the most lovely churches I have ever seen.

We also got a chance to see a Hungarian Orthodox Church and learn how the building of the church was an act of protest. We then took the ferry (which was super fun) across the Bosporus and visited a orthodox Catholic Church, as well as Taksim Square, and the Republic Monument. It was a busy square right outside the “new mosque”, and we learned about how this square has played a part in the revolutionary history of this republic.

A short subway ride and a bit more walking, and we found ourselves at the Dolmabahce Palace, the more modern yet still very classic of the palaces of Istanbul. We spent over an hour walking through this grand and beautiful place which served as the main administrative center for the Ottoman Empire from 1856 to 1887, and then later from 1909 to 1922. It was ordered to be built by the 31st Sultan, Abdülmedicd I, and its 11 acres of size contains 285 rooms, 46 halls, 6 Turkish baths, and 68 toilets. It housed not only the Sultan, but also his up to 25 wives, their children, and a whole large wing dedicated just for his mother. We got to see the various stylish rooms of the harem, as well as a few preserved dresses of members of the Sultan’s family. It felt like walking straight into a period drama of intrigue, romance, family conflict, and pure opulence. We couldn’t take photos inside but if you want to see what it was like, there are photos on Google.

The grounds of the palace held beautiful trees, as well as the stunning ornate gates where the Sultan would return home through. One gate lead from the road and was only used by the Sultan, with his own private entrance, and an equally ornate gate provided an entrance from the Bosporus for the Sultan to use. The gates looked like something out of a fairy tale, and I could only imagine what it looked like and felt like to see those gates open for one single man. The gates were also a perfect background for a “us-ie” with the four of us (me, Mom, Pat & Sergun) to memorialize the grand adventures we four went on in the last three days.

We headed back to the hotel a bit earlier to grab dinner, as we have an early pickup tomorrow to get us to the airport for our flight to Prague tomorrow. We three bit goodbye to Sergun, thanking him for being such a brilliant guide, and then settled in for a light supper on the terrace of our hotel’s restaurant, watching the boats go by as the sun sets.

I will admit that though I am super excited to see Prague, I wish I had more time to see this beautiful area. Istanbul has been such a beautiful joy while we have been here, and I 100% will have to come back to Turkey one day. Sergun said WHEN we all make our way back to Turkey, he will make sure to show off the island he lives on & share even more of this country with us. Also, I will miss seeing so many cats; if you’re a cat lover, Istanbul is a city perfect for you because it’s a cat loving city where the stray cats are cared for by the municipality.

I have to head to bed since its an early morning tomorrow; next time I report it will be from Czech Republic!

Lowrs💜

[pybgarbs-blog]

01-15-23: Nostalgic

It was a Sunday. It’s a special day today because this is my ever-loving dog, Akira’s birthday, one year since her birth. Staring at her as she stares me today took me back the time when she was a puppy last year. She was unique because of her snowflake fur and her discolored yellow spot both in her ears. I named her Akira, not because I named the puppies alphabetically, so she was the first, but because she exudes that Japanese beauty out of her four siblings. I wish I could fix my old phone because I have baby photos even videos of her from the time she was drinking the bottled milk. I feel sad for her and her siblings surviving along as their mother passed away due to poison. But I feel relieved that for the months I spend with them, I became a mother dog to them. Even though I lost one, Duke, I did something extraordinary despite not knowing to be a mother dog. I left in the morning to church just to arrange and prepare 18 children choir members, not perfectly complete but many. I’m relieved that there still more choir members to come. After visiting the two locales, I arrive at the same time my sisters arrive too. And that got me thinking about cooking, so for the first time, I felt motivated so I decided to do some spicy chicken wings with sauce. I was so proud making a dish, sharing to my mentor and awesome friend of mine, Maxine of just making her feel proud that she inspired me to cook. Then again, it was a little bit lack of sauce given the supply but my mother wanted another one. At late noon, my sister, Princess awaken me to accompany her to the district locale for the meeting of those who are incoming for baptism. My sister is one of them. When I left her at church, I decided to go down memory lane, I return to my old school, Santa Maria, which give back so many happy and adventurous memories when I was in elementary as well as our old space, that was used for our security agency business across the school, which reminds me of how I was so joyful and innocent when I was a carefree kid. We would play badminton down the road, and just my father sitting at the red stool outside enjoying the breeze air from the seaside. It was a peaceful time that we got started to live in the city and despite ended up in a much dense space because of the members inside the family, we were living life. I took some pictures and saw the changes of the appearance of the Secret Garden, that was once alive when students would go there to take lunches with their families and my Tutor Place, where we would use the table for pingpong. It was nostalgic to see those locations you have been as a child and looking back, I saw myself just being me - happy. So after the meeting, my sister and I had a dinner date at Mang Inasal talking about how I live through my high school years. Looking at her, I saw myself at her age. I would share to her everything I have been happy the most. The sunsets, the grass fields, the commutes and the first friends I’ve been with. I would give her advice to just enjoy of not knowing everyone because at her age, it is still valid. She is learning what is school like comparing to myself who is learning what is life now. All she has to worry is how she could comply requirements not like me wo has to worry the future I’m shaping for myself especially when I already failed one subject. Now, my great buddy, my classmate since high school, Gino, is sharing how happy he was that his test paper got rechecked and passed Structural Theory. Then again, my friend, Ronnie would be preparing to leave us to migrate to New York in the next month. Its just that everything is happening to them is both a blessing and a chance while I look at myself in the mirror thinking when will be the time that I could feel that way. I saw how ecstatic  Gino when he knew he would not retake the subject and celebrate his winnings especially when he and also our buddy, Kevin just went to Manila to attend the K-Pop group concert and had a selfie with a well-known rapper. I feel how relief Ronnie was when his plans moving outside the country is finally happening. Its just everything is changing, for my friends, it for the better while I’m here, stuck. Maybe this is part of life, maybe there will be time for me to shine but maybe for now, I’ll just be quiet. Right now, I just don’t what to do and feel as an irregular student. I just wish I passed so that the process of enrollment would be normal but then again its not. I feel ashamed, can’t even look at the mirror but then again I feel relieved that even though this is worst, my bond with my sister today made me the best. Now, I’m spending my time with Akira, just celebrating silently with her. I still feel loved by my sister and my dog despite I’m not loving myself. 

[inkmemes]

this  country  (  2017  -  2020  )  sentence  starters ↪  taken  from  the  bbc  mockumentary.  trigger  warning  for  mentions  of  religion,  death,  sex.  alter  as  you  see  fit  ♡

“i like the underdog.”

“don't be a fucking dick.”

“everyone comes together on days like today and just forgets their utter hatred of each other.”

“everyone who's anyone's going to be there and there are people from my past that would love to see me slain.”

“there's a tea rooms there and under the counter they've got a panic button and if i take one step inside, they can press that. the police will be there in three minutes.”

"he whatsapped me the other day asking us to go laser quest with him and i ... well, i clicked on it by accident, didn't i? so he knows i've seen it."

"i mean, i get it, but it's not making me feel nothing."

“it's baffling. i'm baffled by the entire situation, if i'm honest.”

“what the actual fuck? what the actual fuck? you have fucking lost your head, mate. you have lost your fucking head.”

“when i get hold of you, i swear to god i will fucking deck you.”

"someone's just been throwing plums at my house. i'm going to kill them. i can't believe it. i can't believe it. all over this. plumming on here, plumming on that. plum on the sofa, look! there's nothing left that hasn't been plummed."

“i've had a target on my back since the day i was born.”

“thank you very much, enjoy your free potatoes.”

“do you know how small your brain is?”

“hogwarts is that way, dumbledore.”

“he used to say i looked like the puppet off the dolmio advert.”

“there's a kid crying over there. do you want me to...? i can tell him to shut the fuck up if you want?”

“he genuinely looked like a moomin.”

“on my first day of karate club, karate master goes to me, [name], i don't know why you're here because i can't teach you anything. if anything, you should be teaching me." and just gave me his black belt.”

“you know that little old blind man? yeah, when i was punching him in his face, the lens from his glasses broke and cut my knuckle.”

“some things are just best left in the past, where they belong.”

“what's the point in knocking if you're just going to walk in anyway?”

“it was a miscarriage of justice though, cos what people forget is 12 out of them 20 hostages actually found it funny.”

“i lied so much i still don't know what's real life and what's plain lies.”

“i'm so glad you're out of that lying phase.”

“he likes to be the only person on the road, so whenever he sees a car coming the other way he just pulls over.”

“nasa went through hundreds of them in the '60s. and now every time i see a really bright star in the sky i can't wish on it, cos in my head i'm thinking, ‘that's probably just a spacecraft with some monkey bones in it.’”

“you absolute traitor. that's my cheese - it's my fucking house!”

“don't you dare eat that cheese. you eat that and i will smash this. i promise you, i will smash you with this.”

“fuck! you switched them!”

“yeah, i can see it's fucking burnt, sherlock.”

“i honestly am ashamed to know him, sometimes.”

“if you knock on someone's door, don't take no for an answer. get into their house. if they say, ‘leave my house’, stay. and if they say, ‘i'm going to call the police’, you walk upstairs and see if there's anybody else upstairs to sell to.”

“she looks like uncle fester.”

“right. i'm going to piss in their flowers, then.”

“you really need to go home. your mum's called the police and everything.”

“you're also fired from being my best mate, by the way.”

“in business, there will always be setbacks. i don't drink my own juice, fray bentos doesn't eat his own pies. but that's business.”

“do you know what, i don't actually want to play this any more, because it is actually very, very boring.”

“i'm ashamed of myself, that's not usually me, so don't get the wrong impression.”

“i genuinely think one of them fancies me as well.”

“it's fate her moving across the street.”

“the problem with finding a girlfriend in the village is that most of the girls you meet round here are old-age pensioners.”

“yeah, i am looking for a relationship, but thing is i've just got so many trust issues, yeah, with being fucked over massive in the past, so no matter how much i get close to someone now i'm thinking in the back of my head, ‘shit, am i going to get fucked over?’ because i've been fucked over in the past massively. my last relationship proper fucked me up.”

“i went through a really dark phase. listening to papa roach and just blowing everything up with them little french bangers.”

“shut up, you don't know what you're talking about!”

“i don't like the man. i know he's my uncle, but i don't like him.”

“it's just malicious lies, that's all it is.”

“i'm not saying i've got a cruel heart, but if she ain't willing to take me as i am rather than the monster i've become, then she can literally just jog on back to sea with all the other fish cos i don't care.”

“what do you look for in a boyfriend?”

“the key to dating, yeah, is the two rs and the three ts. 'respect, rapport, and talking, talking, talking.' don't ever let that ball hit the ground. good relationships are built on great conversation.”

“on a date, you've got to tell them all the interesting stuff about you, because that's what they'll be interested in.”

“he said to me, he goes, ‘you can't smoke on here.’ i said, ‘i'm not smoking, i'm vaping.’ the look on his face when i said that. i don't think he knew what vaping… what a vape is.”

“you would make me the happiest mouse if you say yes and become my spouse.”

“here's a tip, [name], next time you take a chick out on a date, don't bore her to tears.”

“roses are red, violets are blue, i've got five fingers, the third one's for you.”

“get out of my way, pipe cleaner.”

“[name] phoned me the other day at three in the morning saying, ‘come quick,

there's a hedgehog in the garden that looks exactly like grandad.’ so i got up, i got dressed and i ran over to [name]'s as fast as i could and then i just stopped in the middle of the street at three in the morning and thought, ‘what the fuck am i doing with my life?’

“you're joking me? because if you are joking me, that is massively harsh.”

“oh, let me get a song up on youtube. you're going to absolutely love this, [name]. here we go… listen to this. oh, for fuck's sake, advert.”

“let's go down the pub and get shitfaced.”

“where do i see myself in five years? well, me and [name] will have a flat in the middle of the village and all of our furniture will be inflatable and we'll have cable and it will pay for itself, because we're going to use the spare room to breed quails, because their eggs are worth fucking shitloads.”

“is this about the calippo, still? because you offered to buy me that.”

“if he wants to go, good luck to him, i say. i reckon he thinks that i can't live without him, which is a laugh, because he went a whole weekend away once and i got on all right. i just ended up following this cat around the village.”

“i've got to do what's right for me, at the end of the day, instead of worrying about other people.”

“how about you say sorry? sorry for the massive knife that's hanging out the back of my back because of you.”

“oh, and while you're stabbing me in the back, feel free to bend down and kiss my arse.”

“can i just ask you an honest question? why would you want to leave the village when we've got a pub and a shop?”

“i think you don't know how lucky we have it to be doing nothing with our lives, like. we're all going to die, anyway, so what's the point in doing anything?”

“i want ownership of the words fucknut and dickmilk.”

“i had this come through the post. and i've got a few concerns about it. firstly, this guy on the front looks really arrogant. not the sort of guy i was expecting, if i'm honest.”

“this is starting to stress me out a little bit.”

“why are you trying to stress me out? you know i'm already stressed out as it is.”

“the bloke that used to live in there, right, kept hearing strange noises coming out of his attic at night. and he'd go to the fridge and find that food was missing from the fridge. so he thought, ‘i'm just going to go up to the attic and check this out.’ and he found an entire family of peruvian panpipe buskers just living up there. and he thought ‘i'm just going to leave them to it, ‘cos they're not really doing me any harm.’ and then, a few years later, he thought, "well, i'll just go up to the attic to check on them. ‘see if they're all right.’ and it turned out they'd all died of asbestos poisoning. yeah, he doesn't live here any more.”

“some people will always be scared of me, and i can't change that, no matter how nice i am. but there's a balance to be had between being nice and being feared.”

“don't really like catching up. it's not my thing.”

“i just watched this video of this girl doing a random act of kindness on youtube. she basically paid for this old man's shopping at the till. and this old man was, like, about 90 years old. and he's so fucking old, like, you could see through his skin. and he just starts bawling his eyes out. he's like, ‘you're fucking joking me, this ain't fucking real life.’ i just thought... i want to make someone feel like that. ‘cos that's... i really… that's what i want to do.”

“i'm not dead. just can't be arsed to text her sometimes.”

“you know, correct me if i'm wrong, but four texts a day is complete madness. no-one can keep up with that.”

“i am doing kind things selfishly.”

“i was at midnight mass one year, right, someone got tipped off i was there. as i was coming out the church, someone tries to shoot me with a crossbow.”

“well, i haven't seen the film, have i? that's why i came here - to watch the fucking film - like a normal human being.”

“i've made an effort by coming here tonight. i didn't want to come.”

“i had to wheel him here from his house in an asda trolley, cos he was just too heartbroken to move.”

“sometimes you don't know what you got until you ain't got it any more. like blockbuster's. i just took 'em for granted - and then, one day, gone, and you spend ages trying to figure out what went wrong, and then you realise it was your fault all along.”

“i thought you said you wanted to fix things.”

“she wanted it to go that way, and it just wasn't gonna go that way. she even got me thinking that they'd get back together… ..but that's manipula.... manipulative people... do that. and he's better off without her.”

“that wasn't much to write home about.”

“it's fucking dead, isn't it?”

“basically, somebody's been sending me threatening letters, and i don't know who's doing it - and i am concerned, because my peripheral vision is poor, so, if somebody attacks me from the sides or snipes at me from an upstairs window, i am fucked - but my hearing is excellent, see? so i just need to spend a few days inside honing my sonar, and i'll be fine then.”

“if you don't like the work, the circus is in town and they're always looking for clowns.”

“his soul is just going to crumble to dust.”

“this really is not a good situation for me. a physical threat is something that i can deal with, but a sexual thing is not my area of expertise.”

“just really fucked in the head, mate.”

“what have i done? i haven't done anything wrong.”

“do you know how sad that is? that is so, actually, sad. that makes me sad for you, that you can't take a joke.”

“i think i just got a bit carried away with the whole thing.”

“your finger's going up my arsehole, mate.”

“i'll hold the back of your head, so you don't bash yourself.”

“when i lie in future, i don't want a massive lecture on how bad lying is, cos deep down, you're the worst of us all, mate.”

“i'd quite like a coke.”

“it's going to be like gluing a breadstick back together, because… like, as if a breadstick's been in a blender and it's all… ...the pieces smashed up.”

“like, this one time i started a fight club in the village hall, and i got a black eye from beating myself up. but it made my enemies think, ‘fuck, if she can do that to herself, what the fuck can she do to me?’”

“i'm absolutely 1,000% sure i've broken it in two places.”

“i knew this day would come.”

“i should be in tk maxx, getting the bargains that i deserve.”

“unlike you, [name], i'm not a fashion disaster.”

“i'm still warm in my grave, and she's sucking off the pallbearer.”

“you know, it took me ten years to get over [name], and i only went out with her for half a day.”

“i swear to god, if i see him here again, i swear to god, i will have no hesitation in just going up to him and just planting one on his face.”

“right, then keep your nose out of my business, yeah? nosy old cock-womble.”

“[name]’s attitude to me is puzzling. if i walk past her in the street

and say hi, she'll tell me to fuck off. yet every year, she sends me a really sweet, nice christmas card. you know, there's just no consistency there.”

“he's good-looking up close, isn't he?”

“don't show me any weakness, because i will take advantage.”

“no, put the brick down, you fucking psychopath.”

“when i asked him, he just said, ‘come to my office now,’ which means we're in the fucking shit, cos we're always in fucking shit.”

“i shouldn't be paying you at all.”

“i've always had a son. i talk about him all the time.”

“he's my son. he's not my dog.”

“it reminds me of the wicker man. i don't really know why.”

“i just find it weird how you can be so close to someone and they can be such a big part of your life, and then the next minute, you're just sort of strangers in the night.”

“i don't want the emotional implications.”

“well, about five years ago, i sold my birthday to my mum for about 200 quid, which means my mum's legally entitled now to never celebrate my birthday ever again for the rest of my life. not even, like, a happy birthday cup of tea, or a moonpig card, nothing - which is the worst decision i ever made in my entire life.”

“he deserves that anyway, because he's been sexting my nan, so…”

“what's this surprise? cos i need to know whether it's going to be worth this walk.”

“i always see them banners above the motorway, and i always thought, ‘who the fuck does them?’ well, now i know. people like me.”

“did you know you can't get stung by a stinging nettle if you grab the leaf top and bottom, like that? it's only when you touch it on the sides, it stings. agh, actually, that stung, then.”

“pez dispenser, they're cursed. they are, i'm not even joking. honestly, when i had one of them, i had the worst bout of bad luck i ever had in my life.”

“i swear down, it's a short cut. it might be a pleasant walk, we might enjoy it.”

“i'm not scared of the fox twins. i'd just like to sit them down and ask 'em plainly, ‘look, guys, what is going on? ‘cos this has just gotten completely out of hand now. you know, stop walking on your knuckles, stand up straight, be the best version of you that you can be. get a job, even. there's a trolley boy who works at tesco's, you know, who may as well have been raised by wolves. if he can get a job, you guys can walk it.’”

“yes, there has been talk of strange goings-on in the woods, ghost sightings and the like. but… ...they're never from particularly reliable sources.”

“i live with a ghost. there's a ghost in that house. he's like a civil war cavalier, with all the hair and the hat and all that. and every time i walk into the living room, he doffs his cap. and on his shoulder, he's got this crow that barks at me. it means i spend less time in the house, really. not because of him, because he's-he's quite peaceable. but the crow is malevolent. and i'm not having that. i can't share my house with a malevolent bird.”

“that's haunted as fuck.”

“am i going mad here, or does that, to you, look like that's where just ghost will hang out all the time?”

“look at him, little red riding twat.”

“if he's got an attitude with me, i swear to god, i'll just grab the steering wheel and drive us all into a wall.”

“it's a bit annoying, actually. cos this is not the first or the second time i've had to tell you, really, is it?”

“his sparkle has just gone.”

“you know my dad actually wrote the song wonderwall on the back of a beer mat in the space of ten minutes, don't you?”

“i've just got a tiny, tiny, tiny little favour to ask you.”

“when i think of [name], i think of someone who is very loyal. and very, very stupid. sort of more stupid than loyal. sort of 70% stupid, 30% loyal, probably. because she's very loyal. but extremely stupid.”

“do you know what? i actually don't think he loves you at all and i don't think he's ever loved you.”

“all right, that's harsh and unnecessary, but fine.”

“frankly, she is behaving like the antichrist.”

“i literally just got here.”

“you are such an unemotional slab of ham, [name].”

“i've got so much shit on that man you would not believe.”

“there's something in my eye.”

“i just can't quit him, you know?”

“yeah, we might have a fiery relationship,  but when we're together, it's just… it's just pure chemistry, isn't it?”

“i'm not proud of it, believe me. but at the end of the day, i'm a very vindictive person, you know? it is what makes me me.”

“i basically went out and bought an alpaca off gumtree for £500. of all the mistakes i've made in my life, that was possibly the largest. definitely the physically largest.”

“yeah, i really don't wanna talk about that.”

“her only loyalty is to herself, staffies, and the tv channel dave… ...which, in my opinion, is a tv channel made by knuckle-draggers for knuckle-draggers.”

“i can't move on till i've seeked revenge, unfortunately.”

“if that was in france, that would be fine, but we're not in france.”

“the only thing we had in common, really, was stealing, and that was more my thing that i got him onto. but it just goes to show, you know, some friendships last and some friendships don't, but that's just the way it is.”

“you know it was me that got you sacked, don't you?”

“the thing i learnt about friendship is, you gotta accept each other's flaws, no matter how toxic they may be.”

“shit-stirring from beyond the grave.”

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Kou Maniac [06]

ー The scene starts in the living room of the Sakamaki castle

*Tick・tock ・Tick・tock*

Ruki: ...

( I am fed up with all of this... )

ー A flashback ensues

Yuma: ...Uu.

Ruki: Are you awake? 

Azusa: Yuma...How do you feel...?

Yuma: Like shit...Fuck. 

Ruki: Don’t push yourself. 

Azusa: Yuma...You’re badly injured. So you probably shouldn’t move...

Yuma: Azusa...You called Ruki, didn’t you? ...Thanks. 

Azusa: Oh no...I couldn’t make it on time to save you. I’m sorry...

Yuma: Haha...I’m glad ya guys weren’t there, honestly. We don’t need anyone else gettin’ nearly killed...Damn it. 

Ruki: You went up against a Founder, didn’t you? 

Yuma: Yeah...

Ruki: Where are Kou and Yui? 

Yuma: Dunno...They ran off while I was fightin’ that guy. 

Ruki: ... 

ー The flashback ends

Ruki: Yuma has been out cold ever since, nor have we found the two of them...

Azusa: Yeah...

Ruki: I did not want to have to resort to this...But we have no other choice. 

Azusa: ...Resort to what? 

Ruki: ーー Come on in. 

Azusa: Who’s there...?

Ruki: My apologies for having you come all the way here. 

???: ...So, who is the target? 

Ruki: I suppose you wish to get straight to the point? Very well. 

I want you to assassinate Mukami Kou.

Azusa: Eh...!? 

Ruki: Can you do that? 

???: The Lunar Eclipse is still ongoing at the Demon World. It will be child’s play.

Ruki: Hm. That’s a very hopeful response. I expected no less from a Vampire Hunter. ...Or should I say.

Komori Seiji. 

Azusa: That...name. 

Seiji: Where is that Vampire right now? 

Ruki: Wellーー

Azusa: Ruki...Don’t tell him!

Ruki: ...

He should return here eventually. 

Seiji: ...Understood. 

ー Seiji leaves the room as the scene shifts to the garden

???: ...

( So he hired a hunter...? Good. )

ー The scene shifts to the Church

Yui: Kou-kun, how are your injuries? 

Kou: Mmh~ They’ve gotten a lot better. Thanks to your blood, that is. 

Yui: I’m glad...

Kou: Come here. Take a seat next to me. 

Yui: Sure. 

ー She sits down next to Kou

*Rustle*

Yui: ( ...His complexion seems a little pale. )

( But...I’m sure the same could be said about me. We’ve managed to run from one place to another, but we can’t give our bodies any rest. )

( Kou-kun’s injuries won’t get better unless I give him my blood every day. )

Kou: M-neko-chan, what’s on your mind right now?

Selection

→ You (♡)

Yui: You are. 

Kou: I see. I was thinking about you as well...

*Smooch*

Yui: Nn...

( Such a gentle...kiss. )

Kou: Fufu...Your scent has gotten so sweet...Nn.

ー He bites her

Yui: Ah...!

Kou: Hah...Nn. 

→ ...Nothing

Yui: ...Nothing. 

Kou: You won’t tell me? ...Nn.

*Smooch*

Yui: Kyah...!

Kou: Hey...M-neko-chan. Tell me. Everything about you. 

Yui: Kou-kun...

Kou: Tell me...!

ー He suddenly bites her

Yui: Ah...Pwaah...!

( He dug his fangs strongly...Into my shoulder...! )

Kou: Nn...Such lovely sounds you make. 

Yui: ( I’m starting...to feel faint. )

( Can we stay like this forever...? )

( How long...is forever? )

( ...It’s no use, I can’t think straight while I’m having my blood sucked... )

Ah...!

Kou: ...Sorry. 

Yui: Kou-kun...?

Don’t...apologize. Please.

Kou: ...

Yui: ( ...We can only keep up this lifestyle for so long. I know that. But... )

( I want to be with Kou-kun...In which case, I feel like I can’t stay ignorant forever... )

( He shouldn’t be the only one carrying the burden, while I’m being protected... )

Kou: Hey...What are you thinking right now? 

Yui: ...

Listen, Kou-kun. This ‘Adam and Eve’ thing Ruki-kun often mentions...What exactly is it about? 

Kou: ...

According to that man’s explanation, Adam is an immortal being who is capable of experiencing human emotion, while Eve is a human who has immortal blood running through their veins. 

The connection between those two would give birth to a new humanity. 

Yui: Immortal...Then why can’t you become Adam? 

You’re a Vampire as well...and immortal, no?

Kou: I’m not qualified because I wasn’t born this way, being a former human. 

Yui: But...

Kou: ....Shh! Stop!

Yui: Eh? ...What’s wrong? 

*Flap flap flap*

Yui: ( That’s...Kou-kun’s Familiar. )

Kou: ...Someone is approaching. 

Yui: Someone...

Kou: We should get a move on right away. Let’s go. 

Yui: Y-Yeah. 

Monologue

The two of us ran side-by-side (寄り添って). 

As we held each other’s hand. 

We are on an endless journey. 

Without a set destination in mind, simply on the run (逃げている). 

What exactly are we running away from? 

What exactly do we have to do,

to be allowed to be together? 

Intertwined fingers, our eyes meeting,

mutual confessions of love and shared kisses. 

ーー Is that not enough? 

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

<- [ Maniac 05 ] [ Maniac 07 ] ->

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Unfaithful | Part Five

Series Summary: After dreaming of your perfect wedding since you were a little girl the big day is almost here. But after meeting the priest you start to question your relationship.

Pairing: Hot Priest x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2005

Warnings: angst, lots of angst, drunk priest, bad friend 

A/N: Please be warned there will be some themes of toxic/abusive relationship in this series. Also, spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :)

Part Four | Masterlist

- - - - -

I can’t sleep. 

Half excited for my hen party, and half nervous for the talk I know I need to have with the priest. 

I spend hours lying awake imagining how the conversation will go, all the possible outcomes. I must of drifted off some time in the early hours because I'm awakened at 9am by a text from Daniel: 

‘You looked so peaceful when I left for work I didn’t want to disturb you. But I just realised that since I’m going straight out with the boys for my stag do later, the next time we see each other I’ll be in my suit and you’ll be in your dress walking down the aisle to me. I can’t wait. Enjoy the fundraiser and have and wonderful hen party tonight. I love you Mrs Davison xxx’

The text makes me smile, until I read the last sentence. ‘Mrs Davison’ send a panic rushing through me. This suddenly all feels very real. I’m getting married tomorrow. I take a deep breath. It’s fine. I'm fine. This is just pre-wedding nerves. Completely normal. 

I take another deep breath and get out of bed. 

— — — — 

“Ah Y/N! You’re here” Pam greets me at the church doors and swiftly ushers me around the side of the building towards the church garden where the fundraiser has already started “We’ve got an emergency” 

“What do you mean?” I reply as she leads me through crowds of people till we reach a table lined with various numbered prizes. 

“Ruth was supposed to be running the raffle but she’s just called to say she can’t make it, ate something bad she thinks and now she can’t stop throwing up.” 

I grimace slightly at the story but mostly I’m just wondering what any of this has to do with me…

“So if you wouldn’t mind taking over and running it for us that would be wonderful. Tickets are a pound each. Thank you!” 

Before I can say anything she’s gone, rushing off to check the youth band are ready for their performance. I stand bewildered for a moment, looking around at the crowds until I spot the priest who is currently admiring cupcakes at the bakery stand and laughing about something. Suddenly he turns and locks eyes with me. His face drops, he stares at me like a deer in headlights. I give him a small smile, which he doesn’t return. My heart hurts. 

“Excuse me, how much is a ticket?” Someone asks, forcing me to turn my attention away

“One pound” 

“Can I get five please” 

By the time I complete the transaction and look back to the bakery stand the priest is gone. I scan the crowd again, but there’s no sign of him. 

An hour later I still don't know where he is. What I do know is I really need the loo. I ask the person on the stall next to me to watch the table while I head inside in search of the toilets, but when I enter the building I bump into someone. 

It’s him. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks

“Just trying to find the ladies room” 

“I mean here, at this stupid event”

“Pam didn’t really give me a choice” I explain and he just looks irritated “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I wasn’t welcome”

“I just wasn’t expecting to see you here today”

“Well here I am” I say dryly and there’s an awkward silence. I take a deep breath before I speak again “I actually wanted to talk to you… about what happened-”

“Nothing happened. We agreed”

“But it did happen, Father, we need to talk about it”

“Oh, fuck you calling me Father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it”

My mouth drops open, dumbfounded by his comment. I shake my head slightly as I try and think of something to say.

“I know what you’ve been doing” he continues

“Please, enlighten me because I have no idea what you're talking about!”

“Playing the sweet, innocent girl. Making me like you, fall for you. Making me think that you needed saving from the douchebag boyfriend… Was any of it real? Was anything you said actually true?” 

“I never lied to you” I almost whisper as he gets really close to my face, moving my hair off my cheek to study what’s left of the burn scars.

“Did he ever really hurt you? Or did you just make that up so I’d feel sorry for you”

“Fuck you!” I say through gritted teeth as I start to walk away, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I stop and look back at him “You’re the one who told me you loved me, remember? That was you! If you regret it, that’s fine. There’s no need to be such a dick about it” 

I turn and leave again, his final words repeating through my head as I walk away. 

As I walk home I can’t stop the tears from coming as I replay the conversation in my head over and over again. Why is he being like this? How can he be so loving to me one day and so nasty a few days later? What changed?

I get home and go straight to bed. I wrap myself up in the duvet and try to push everything out of my mind so I can get in a quick nap before I have to get ready for my hen party. The last thing I feel like doing right now is going out celebrating, but I know there’s no way I could cancel.

Thank God there’s going to be alcohol there. 

— — — — 

“Bride’s turn! Truth or Dare?”

“Truth” I say happily, finishing off my third glass of wine. 

“Okay… if you could have a free pass and choose any celebrity, who would you sleep with?”

The girls start whooping and laughing, but before I can even answer Tiffany cuts in.

“She won’t answer that, she’s far too vanilla”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, slightly offended by her tone.

“Don't start Tiff” Eva rolls her eyes

“I’m not starting anything, I’m just telling the truth. She’s only ever had one boyfriend and she’s marrying him tomorrow. She lost her virginity to him and I bet you anything that they schedule the days in the week when they’ll go to bed and have boring missionary sex. Vanilla! She’s never even kissed another guy…”

Maybe it’s the alcohol in my system or the way she’s talking about me like I’m not here, but I can feel myself getting more and more irritated.

“Actually I have!” I speak up and she laughs.

“A kiss from your dad doesn’t count”

The room falls silent as everyone stops to watch my reaction. I can see from Tiffany’s face she instantly regrets her words. She knows how much I miss my dad, but it’s too late to take it back now.  

“Well done Tiff” I hear Eva say as I walk away from the group. I head outside and take a deep breath of the fresh air. Looking up at the stars I find myself thinking of my parents and wishing they were here. 

“I’m sorry” Tiffany’s voice makes me jump, I hadn’t realised she’d followed me outside and was now leaning against the wall next to me “that was a low blow, I shouldn’t have said that”

“It doesn’t matter” I mutter quietly 

“It does! I should have thought about what I was saying… I just forgot”

“I forget too. So often I pick up my phone to call him and realise he won’t be on the other end. I would give anything for them to be here right now”

“I know, come here” she pulls me in for a hug, squeezing me tightly before leaning away to look me in the face “I’m sorry I called you vanilla”

“Maybe I am. You were right, I’ve only ever been with Daniel. Until this week he was the only man I’d ever kissed!”

“This week?” She pulls away completely and my heart drops as I realise what I’ve just said “You kissed someone? Who?”

“No I- I didn’t mean to say that” 

“Its okay, you can tell me. We have been friends forever haven’t we?”

“I guess… but you can’t tell the others!”

“I won’t”

“Promise me Tiff!”

“I promise!”

I take a breath. 

“I kissed the priest” 

“What priest?” She replies blankly.

“THE Priest! The one who’s doing the wedding tomorrow!”

She stares at me blankly for a moment as she processes what I’ve just told her. I can almost see the cogs turning in her brain and suddenly the penny drops.

“OH MY GOD!”

“I know”

“Y/N!” 

“I know!”

“Does Daniel know?”

“Of course not”

“You have to tell him!”

“Are you insane?! He’d go mad!”

“He deserves to know that his so called fiancé has been cheating on him”

“I haven’t been cheating on him, it was just one stupid drunken kiss”

“If it was ‘just a kiss’ why haven’t you told him?”  

“Because-” I think about telling her the truth. That if I told him he’d get angry and most likely hurt me. But I don’t. “I just can’t”

“If you don’t, I will” 

“No, Tiff please you can’t”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go there now and tell him” she says and stares at me as I silently stare back at her. When she begins to walk away I panic.

“Because he hurts me!” I finally admit, and she looks back at me confused “That’s why I’ve been too scared to tell him”

“No” she shakes her head “No he wouldn’t, he swore he’d never be like his dad”

“And he’s not. He’s not as bad as his father was, he just gets angry and sometimes he takes it out on me.” I explain but she’s still shaking her head in disbelief “a few days ago I had to go to the hospital because he burnt me” I pull the collar of my dress down to expose the burn scars on my neck “this is what’s left of him throwing boiling hot coffee in my face”

She looks from my neck to my face, sadness in her eyes as she processes everything. After a few moments she finally speaks. 

“I won’t tell him” 

“Thank you!” I breathe a sigh of relief 

“But I also won’t be at the wedding tomorrow” 

“Tiff, you're my maid of honour! My best friend! I need you”

“I can’t pretend to be happy for you, pretend that I agree with this marriage. I’m sorry”

“Tiff! Tiffany!” I call after her but she continues to walk away, hailing a passing taxi and disappearing into the night. 

“Y/N? What happened? Where’s Tiff?” Eva asks, poking her head out the door and looking around. 

“She’s gone” I say simply, turning to look at her “Guess I need a new maid of honour” 

— — — — 

The following morning goes by in a blur. The girls, minus Tiffany, stayed at my house over night while Daniel stayed at his mate’s house. I was awakened by the sounds of the girls running upstairs, screaming excitedly that “today is the day” as they jumped into my bed. 

Once they’d calmed down we had all gone downstairs for a light breakfast before the girls began getting ready. Maybe it’s the constant sound of laughing and chatting, or maybe its the slight hangover from the night before but I suddenly feel the need to get out. I excuse myself and head outside to get some air, taking a seat on the front step of my house. I take a few deep breaths and allow my head to drop into my hands, my elbows propped up on my knees. A few seconds later I hear footsteps up the driveway and look up to see the priest. 

“Hi” I say, unable to hide the confusion in my voice. 

“can we talk?” 

Final Chapter

[teawaffles]

There’s No Business Like Show Business: Chapter 5, Part 1

T/N: This is one super-long chapter ( ; ω ; ) so it has been split into 2 parts.

One week later. This was the night Maya’s company had been invited to perform.

The West End of London, stretching from Soho to Covent Garden, was renowned for its large theatre district, crowded with historic names such as the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, Haymarket Theatre, and St James’s Theatre, in addition to newer entrants. [1]

Right in the centre of the district was Piccadilly Circus. At this time in history, the “Eros” fountain had yet to be built [2]. Here was the intersection of numerous thoroughfares, with pedestrians and horse-drawn carriages coming and going, day and night — the busiest spot in London.

It was here that a certain elderly noblewoman drove past in a carriage. But the next moment, she saw a strange sight in the middle of the square, and ordered her coachman to stop the carriage.

“……My word, what could that be?”

The words fell from her lips.

In the centre of the square was a simple stage about ten metres wide, composed of wooden boxes placed together and covered with boards. Passers-by had stopped to look out of curiosity, and a small crowd began to form.

After a short while, a lone woman appeared on stage.

She wore a sky-blue dress and a long, blonde wig. The crowd stared blankly as she gave a reverent bow.

“——Ladies and gentlemen, good evening. We are a small theatre company hailing from the East End. I am Maya, its chairperson.”

She raised her head, and gazed upon the whole of Piccadilly Circus.

“You may be feeling confused as to why a stage has suddenly occupied the Circus, but first, let me express our deepest gratitude that we, a theatre company of humble origins, have been able to meet you in this miraculous way.”

Her dignified voice resounded across the square, causing a stir among the onlookers. As more people noticed what was happening and gathered in droves, the crowd encircling the stage gradually expanded.

“Without further ado, let us bring you a little dream in a fantastic world.”

Maya ended her introduction with a graceful bow. Then, a man appeared on stage. Facing the crowd, he began to speak in a sonorous voice.

“It was a radiant afternoon filled with golden sunshine. A boat cruised leisurely down the river. Small, young hands gripped the oars. They seemed to lack strength: rising nimbly, then falling left and right as if to guide the oars’ movements.”

“……Hmm?”

The crowd listened intently as he narrated, with accompanying hand gestures.

“Oh, how terrible: what a cruel fate this is, to meet three girls! I’m all warm and sleepy. But still you wish to talk to me! You move my feathers, and do not breathe. But I’m all alone. I’m no match for the three of you.”

“This— Could it be……?” someone in the audience murmured.

With his monologue complete, the man took his leave. Then, another woman appeared at a corner of the stage. Holding a book in one hand, she began to read fluently from it.

“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank——”

In tandem with the narrator’s words, the blonde-haired Maya gave a small yawn. It was as if she had swapped places with a young girl herself. Without realising it, the audience held their breath.

Then from the side of the stage, a person appeared wearing a vest and rabbit’s ears, with a pocket-watch in one hand.

By this time, the crowd encircling the stage had become fully spellbound.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“——All the world’s a stage. And the men and women merely players.” [3]

An actor delivered his lines from the stage of a gorgeous West End theatre, as its owner, a nobleman, looked on from the box seats.

The actor himself knew the height of his fame, and hence his actions were somewhat egotistical. Nevertheless, these were the acting skills of a true professional: his clear, bright voice resounded in every corner of the intricately decorated theatre, delving into the ears of his audience, and producing an indescribable feeling in their chests.

His salary was eye-wateringly high, but evidently, it had been an excellent decision to hire this actor. Still, despite his self-satisfaction, the nobleman had a pained expression.

The reason for it was clear. This was a renowned theatre company famous for its acting talent. Even though it was their opening night — a momentous occasion, the stalls were unusually empty.

He’d made sure to advertise the play well in advance, so this was unexpected. As he admired the actors, who were not bothered in the least by the empty seats in the audience, the nobleman stood up and headed to the entrance.

“Hey, you. Haven’t there been any more visitors?”

He directed his question to the young man behind the ticket window.

“About that— Just a while ago, it seems a show’s begun at Piccadilly Circus.”

“A show?”

“Yeah, though I heard about it from someone else. A stage suddenly appeared in the middle of the square, and it looks like there’s a play being held. It’s about…… that; the one where a girl chases a rabbit and falls down a hole, uh……”

Those keywords alone led the nobleman to the answer.

“——Do you mean, ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’?”

The young man clapped his hands in appreciation.

“Oh, that’s right. Yeah, that.” He sighed wistfully. “Ahh, it brings me back: I read it when I was a child. And as I recall…… was it ‘Maya’? It seems that’s the chairwoman’s name.”

“Wha……!”

Upon hearing that name, the nobleman recoiled in shock.

“That theatre company from the slums?”

A play held on a stage that appeared out of nowhere. The young man saw it as a mere street performance, but to the nobleman, this was something different. As soon as the image of the perpetrators surfaced in his mind, his face turned red with anger.

An extraordinary turn of events, happening right on the opening night of an important production — as if it had been carefully planned to do so. In other words, Maya and her company had intended to sabotage his production out of spite, by putting up a play out of the blue, and not even in a proper theatre. That was what the nobleman concluded.

To add insult to injury, they had chosen to perform “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”. To stand up to a classic with a piece of children’s literature. To pit Lewis Carroll against Shakespeare.

Although it was a ridiculous idea worthy of scorn, the fact remained that they had stolen his precious audience.

He posed a question to the young ticket seller.

“Well if that’s the case, wouldn’t there be a huge commotion? The Yard should be on to them any moment now.”

“That’s the thing…… It seems they’re already gone.”

Hearing that, the nobleman threw his head back in laughter.

“I told you so. It’s all because they’re out of their depth. They can recite their lines in jail for all I care.”

However, the young man made a troubled expression.

“Uh…… Sorry. I didn’t make myself clear. Actually it seems that after finishing one scene, they specified a different location, packed up their sets quickly and left.”

“……What?”

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Alice; a great girl like you, to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!”

Behind the church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, in Trafalgar Square, Maya and her company acted out the scene in which Alice shrank and grew larger, panicking all the while. The front of the stage had been covered with a white cloth, and a light shone on it from the back, allowing them to show the changes in Alice’s size in the manner of shadow puppets. As Alice grew until her head struck the roof, the audience buzzed in excitement.

Watching from the wings of the stage, Bond could see that everything was proceeding smoothly.

His plan to demonstrate the true abilities of this company, was a moving theatre that roamed all around the city of London—— a “guerrilla theatre”.

They would perform in busy areas to attract people’s attention, then quickly cut off their act and leave before the authorities arrived to stop them. After which, they would continue the performance at another location. One could say this method was the exact opposite of performing in an officially-recognised theatre.

There was a reason why they had changed the contents of their play. As their original performance comprised three short stories, there was a concern that the audience would grow bored after watching just one scene. However, staging a full-length play across various locations would keep up their interest for the next scene.

In addition, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” took place in a nonsensical, chaotic world, with no apparent connection between its acts. As a well-known story in itself, anyone joining in halfway would still be able to enjoy their performance — a perfect work to be presented in this manner.

The main issue was the acting, but that was helped by their practice in performing on a big stage.

As part of this plan, the play they would put up was not of the type that drew the audience’s attention to the stage right from the start, but rather one that was performed outdoors to people passing by. Hence they would have to project their voices and exaggerate their actions, but this was simply an extension of the two weeks’ practice they had done before.

Moreover, Maya and her company had extensive experience in performing children’s literature, with a focus on ease of understanding, so much so that they had almost learned the entire tale by heart. Memorising their lines had been no trouble at all.

Furthermore, the preparations at each of the locations they moved to — the very heart of the operation — were borne by the East End residents, who appreciated their performances.

The plan inevitably required manpower, but there would be no point in Bond providing it. However, with the trust of their fellow residents, Maya and her company had managed to recruit the stage crew by themselves. This achievement was their own.

As the company performed in one location, the stage crew would set up the temporary stages in the other locations across the city. They had accepted the company’s request with pleasure, and Bond couldn’t thank them enough for the depth of their kindness.

As he looked upon the crowd, all standing with eyes locked upon the stage, Bond chuckled.

——Even without a theatre, there would always be a place for acting.

It had been a wild idea to turn the city of London into their stage. But the East End residents lent them their support. And Maya and her company were putting up an excellent performance.

In a manner of speaking, this play was an all-out challenge from the people from the East End, to the gilded theatres of the West End.

Ten minutes till showtime. The players announced the location of their next act, then quickly descended from the stage.

“I’ll be leaving the cleanup to you then,” Bond addressed the remaining crew at the square. Then he directed the actors to board the carriages he had prepared. Taking the reins of one himself, he urged the horses forward in a gallop.

“Um, we owe it to you that our audience has enjoyed our play thus far, but…… I’m not sure if we can continue to do so,” Maya asked with a worried look.

Hearing that, the other actors in the carriage, who’d been going over their lines, turned solemn.

Although things had been going well so far, if their acts attracted too large a commotion, it stood to reason that Scotland Yard would put its full attention into stopping the play. Moreover, bad actors may also seek to take advantage of the hubbub. As far as possible, they wished to avoid their audience falling victim to crime.

Bond fully understood their apprehension. Because of that, he kept calm as he reassured them.

“Not to worry. I have some dependable colleagues.”

Saying that, he gazed in the direction the carriage was going, and smiled.

“It’s a popular saying, isn’t it? The show must go on.”

The curtains had been raised. Now all that was left, was to play their roles to the end.

Footnotes:

[1] This district is known as Theatreland (Wikipedia). The first two theatres listed are still standing, with St James’s Theatre having been demolished in 1957.

[2] If you were to go to Piccadilly Circus now, you would see a very prominent bronze fountain with a statue of a winged angel on top. Actually, the statue isn’t of the Greek god Eros at all. (Wikipedia)

[3] A line from Shakespeare’s As You Like It (Wikipedia).

Translator’s notes:

Quotes from Alice in Wonderland All dialogues from the East Enders’ production have been heavily referenced from the Project Gutenberg version of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll.

Thinking about what year the series was set in In this chapter, we learn that the “Eros” fountain hasn’t been built yet — it was unveiled only in June 1893. But we know some events of the Phantom of Whitechapel arc, such as when the people of Whitechapel formed a militia, did take place in history — these were broadly in the autumn of 1888. So this actually works out, and gives us a sense of when the events of the manga unfolded.

Edit: The manga seems to be canonically taking place between 1879-1882 latest — you can read my analysis here!

Piccadilly Circus in 1868 This is entirely for fun — here’s a screenshot from the game Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate (set in London 1868), with Evie standing at Piccadilly Circus:

I couldn’t find any pictures of the Circus from before the “Eros” fountain was built, but in Yuumori’s time, it would’ve still had the circular shape shown here. When Shaftesbury Avenue was built in 1886, it transformed Piccadilly Circus from a circle into the sort-of trapezoid crossroads layout it has retained today (British History Online).

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Gardening

Fandom: Final Fantasy 7

Pairing: Zack Fair x Aerith Gainsborough (zerith)

Rated: T

Story Summary: Zack brings Aerith a priceless gift, and during so, he's also unknowingly fulfilling many more of her tiny little wishes…she'll just have to think up some more. AKA, flowers get planted and a love flourishes…

...

A03

FanFiction.net

....

Today was going to be perfect.

The fresh scent of topsoil, the earth fragrant and fresh with new life begging to be nurtured under her experienced hands. The small seeds in paper packets and blooming bulbs in trays were nearly enough to bring tears of happiness to Aerith's rich green eyes.

Yet the euphoria she was feeling was nothing but a blip to the full force of the sun that was Zackary Fair.

It was amazing! Her SOLDIER came to visit her at her house rather than her church. Nothing new, but today was different! Instead of only being able to stay for an hour or two before being called off to save Midgar from certain doom, Zack was free to spend the entire day with her - the general's orders! Zack had to even show her Sephiroth's text to prove it and there it was in black and white.

...

"r u sure, seph?"

"For the third and last time, yes, Zackary. I am more than capable of handling things at ShrinRa for one day. Now, instead of continuing to inundate me with fruitless texts, go and have a pleasant day with your female companion."

"but seph! what if u need heelp?"

"That's an order, Fair!"

"...k thanks! see u 2maro! =-D"

"Affirmative. My office for briefing at 700 sharp."

"u got it!"

....

…Wow.

While wanting to reprimand Zack for using such terrible language and grammar to communicate with his superior officer, Aerith completely ignored it to focus on the amazing news! Spending the entire day with Zack was such an exceptionally rare treat she was fully determined to cherish; anting to savor every single, last solitary moment with her handsome blue-eyed boyfriend.

Yet among the gift of his own sunny presence (which would have been plenty enough for her), today, Zack came bearing physical gifts.

Unlike other girls, Aerith had never been someone to care for expensive trinkets to showcase affection such as jewellery, new clothes or purses even if Zack could easily afford it with his First Class paycheck. No, Aerith was far simpler; wanting nothing more than to spend time with him - and she always told him so. The most luxurious thing Zack had bought for her thus far was the bright pink ribbon she scarcely removed from her hair and some delightful floral perfume he mixed himself when they went out on their first date.

Yet instead of some fancy baubles or silk clothing peeking out at her from a large brown box he held out to her was something completely unexpected…

…Zack brought her flowers!

While she grew plenty of her own, Zack had brought her something she could have never found here - flowers cultivated outside of Midgar!

Zack had been deployed on so many missions all over Gaia lately, Junon, Costa Del Sol, and Kalm just to name a few. During these times, they would talk on the phone, text or he would simply send photos to her PHS from locations during his travels. In those small photos he sent, Aerith lit up seeing all the native fauna of the place where he happened to be staying and the flower pictures became a tradition between them. Whenever he'd leave on a mission, he left with a goodbye kiss and a promise to send her pictures of flowers that grew there, and for this past year, he had kept that promise.

But as Zack slowly tilted the box to present her with its contents, Aerith was nothing short of stunned.

Inside were multiple packets of seeds and bags of bulbs. All of the white and brown packaging had his adorably messy handwriting on each with the names of flowers he had sent her pictures of throughout the last year. Deciphering his writing, Aerith noticed the names of more common species from Kalm and Junon but among the packets, there were exotic species from Wutai and even from Banora. Oh! And there were sunflower seeds from Rocket Town!

But…wait, was that -

"...Gongaga?" Aerith asked, noticing the word and glancing up at her boyfriend questioningly.

"Heh. Yeah," Zack chuckled and Aerith noticed his right arm twitch as if he wanted to scratch the back of his head if his hands weren't occupied.

"...Wait, you went to visit your parents? You never told me that! How are they? When did you go see them?" the questions flew out of her mouth at an alarming rate.

Zack just smiled softly (he had such a wonderful smile), "I didn't."

At Aerith's befuddled expression, he clarified, "My mom actually sent them. I wrote her a letter about you - I told her my girlfriend loves to garden and grows flowers and well, the next thing I know, she's sending me back a letter with all these questions along with some seeds from the flowers she and my dad have been growing in the backyard since I was a kid." Zack chuckled nervously as if shy from the information and Aerith felt as if her heart was going to jump straight out of her chest.

Blinking, Aerith glanced back down to the box cradled in his hands, all the work of gathering seeds, drying them and labeling them must have taken forever and he never told her what he was doing!

How he listened so intently as she spoke during the time they spent together this past year, asked questions and was so genuinely interested about her hobby when most times, she thought he was simply indulging her. Yet he was learning so he could give this gift to her… Not to mention the bombshell of him writing a letter to his parents and mentioning her! Proudly calling her his girlfriend and even mentioning her hobbies!

A burning sensation grew in the back of her eyes and she felt a tear slip down her cheek.

"Uh…Aer, i-is everything alright?" Zack's voice broke thorough and she looked up at his adorably nervous face.

"...You really wrote a letter to your mom about m-me?"

"Well, yeah! And my dad too I guess. Uh…I-Is that okay? I thought it would be good to mention it since we've been together for over a year and she's been badgering me about telling her about you when I call, so I figured mentioning flowers would be a safe start-" Zack's voice faded as Aerith lifted her hands and gently cupped his sweet face between her palms. Not mindful of the tears that continually slipped down her cheeks, Aerith couldn't help but smile at Zack, a smile so wide, it made her cheeks ache.

…How did she get so lucky to have this beautiful angel literally drop into her life?

"It's more than okay. It's wonderful…You're wonderful…" she whispered, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and tenderly caressing the scar on his jaw.

Aerith smiled tenderly as she felt his cheeks heat up under her palms. Zack's looked positively (and adorably) flustered at her comments; for once, she was the one to embarrass him and she relished it.

"Thanks… So are you," Zack replied, nuzzling his cheek against her palm. Such a sweet puppy…

Zack's face was so handsome and kind and eyes pretty and warm that Aerith simply couldn't resist pushing herself up on her tiptoes to kiss him. But before she even get close to closing the gap, her chest bumped right into the cardboard box and Zack yelped as he managed to catch it before it could fall or the seeds could get crushed between them as she regained her balance.

Zack laughed.

Aerith flushed a pink so deep it matched her ribbon.

Probably noticing how Aerith tensed in mortification of her actions, Zack's chuckling died out and he easily broke the tension by suggesting, "Hey, I'm all for kissing later, but how about we plant some of these first?" he nudged her hip softly with the box.

Aerith's face was still reddened but she flashed him a grateful smile. A deep breath later, the green eyed girl straightened her back and easily played along, "Planting new flowers sounds wonderful! But… you'll do exactly as I say this time? Because, Mr. Zackary Fair, if memory serves me right, I remember the last time you helped me try weeding the church…" she placed her hands on her hips and flashed him her best withering stare (it didn't work, he just bit his cheek to withhold laughter).

The longer she stared, Zack's grew sheepish at the memory of that fiasco, his cheeks a bright coral red against his tan skin, "Uh… well, in my defense, all those green stems look the same to me!"

Aerith's withering glare worked this time.

"Oh! O-Of course I'll follow your orders exactly! After all, you're the professional here! Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it!" he announced with determination and a blinding white smile.

"Yay! Just what I love to hear!" she bounced on her toes and clapped, completely breaking character before jumping right back in it with a stern voice, "Alright, First Class SOLDIER, Zack Fair, I order you to plant some flowers and perhaps do some weeding, but make sure to do it correctly this time! Do I make myself clear?"

"Ma'am, yes, Ma'am! Operation Midgar Full of Flowers, Wallet Full of Money shall commence immediately!" Zack stated loudly, finally maneuvered the box under one arm and gave her a full SOLDIER salute with rigid stance and stern expression.

Aerith just giggled into her palms before pushing at his shoulder as Zack yelped when the box nearly went flying out of his arms again.

.....

Scratch that earlier statement - today was definitely perfect.

A few hours later, the couple were knelt in a patch of soft dirt.

The rich brown loam permeating the air and making the normally rank Midgar air sweet and fragrant with the scent of flourishing life. Aerith was barefoot, boots discarded as she dug her toes into the cool grass and merely enjoyed the soft breeze as her fingers raked through the dirt under her palms. The brown soil staining her fingertips and getting under her nails and most likely staining the white and blue dress caught under her knees, but she couldn't care less.

Looking to her left was nothing short of perfection.

The flowers and grass, soil and the promise of new life with every seed planted didn't much matter compared to the man kneeling right next to her. Aerith smiled softy. Her emerald green eyes tracing over Zack's handsome face as he had his complete attention on the soil in front of him. While Zack was known to have the attention span of a puppy on a sugar rush most times, when he put his heart into something, Zack easily gave 110% of focus on that task like he was right now.

Ever so carefully, the SOLDIER listened to her instructions, following her along as she showed him how to plant the seeds he gave her. Till the soil, dig the holes to make sure they were deep enough and far enough apart not to interfere with the seedling next to them. Showed him how much water to give the freshly buried seeds, the perfect amount as to not dehydrate nor to drown. With each step and seed and bulb that he planted, his confidence grew until he was doing it on his own and Aerith couldn't be prouder of her first student!

Heart hammering as she took in Zack's concentrated expression, Aerith took his moment of distraction to complete what she tried earlier - this time with much more success.

Leaning forward on her knees, Aerith gingerly pressed her palms to his broad chest. The incredible firm large pecs under her wandering fingers inflated with Zack's surprised intake of breath as he looked at her in surprise at her forward action. Still retaining her nerve, Aerith grasped at his leather suspender straps, using them for balance as she eagerly pressed her lips against the corner of his plush smiling mouth.

The SOLDIER smiled warmly at her action. Hands wanting nothing to grab at her waist to pull her closer and kiss her properly but with the dirt covering his fingers, he resisted. Instead, he chased her retreating face, brushing his cheek on hers before letting his lips leave feathery strokes along her jaw before planting the softest kiss by her ear.

"What was that for? You trying to distract me?" he whispered and he bit his lip upon feeling her shiver as she nuzzled her face in his neck.

Aerith whole body felt electrified at Zack's question and his warm breath caressing her throat and loose tendrils of hair hanging by her ears. "No. Not really… What if I said I just wanted to?"

"...Oh really?" he asked, pulling back slightly and Aerith mourned the loss of his warmth for only a second as she caught his coy smile."Because if I didn't know better, I think you're just distracting me from gardening…"

"What if I am?" her mouth spoke before her brain even registered it. The words that left her mouth made her flush.

"Hmm... well, if that's the case, I'd say you win," he affirmed with the sexiest smirk she ever saw but before she could respond, Zack's mouth pressed against hers. His head tilting so he could slot his mouth perfectly against hers; the action had her toes curling against the grass as she bit back a rising moan. Aerith's hands grabbed at his raven hair, fingers eagerly cording through soft strands and desperately grasping at him to pull him closer.

Yet all too soon, Zack pulled his mouth away with a sinful pop as Aerith panted frantically, cheeks flushed and confused and a bit miffed that he dared to stop.

"So, since we're almost finished planting the dahlia's, how about we move over this hill and plant the sunflowers near the bridge?" Zack asked all too naturally before flashing her a devious wink.

Aerith was affronted for only a moment before she glared at him, "Nope. I'm in charge, remember?" with little hesitation, Aerith gently pushed aside the remaining seeds and bulbs and pushed Zack onto his back. The SOLDIER easily caving to her hands as she pressed at his shoulders til he rested among the soft grass, the bright green a beautiful contrast to his dark hair. "And I say that you're not allowed to get up until I say so, am I making myself clear, SOLDIER?

"Oh, yes..." he grunted lightly for show as she plopped down on his stomach guard. "Crystal clear, ma'am," he replied biting back a chuckle before she leaned over him and kissed him for all he was worth.

...After all, the seeds could always wait to be planted later…

[triviareads]

For you alone, I think and plan (The Wedding of Charlotte Bridgerton)

For Kate and Anthony 2021 Week, Day 7 Prompt: There is no "I" in team.

Once the engagement of The Honourable Charlotte Bridgerton and James De Courcy, Earl of Clairmont, was set, Lord and Lady Bridgerton were united in the cause of ensuring their eldest daughter’s wedding went off without a hitch.

That is not to say there were some questions about the match, as the precedent the Bridgerton family members had set was so wildly different from Charlotte and Clairmont’s staid, if not secret courtship.

Lord Bridgerton in particular was extremely dubious at first. After an audience with Lord Clairmont during which the earl asked for Charlotte’s hand, he told Kate in a rather helplessly befuddled manner, "I had to give him permission- he said all the right things!”

“I am glad he did…?” Kate trailed off. Anthony was always (over) protective of his daughters, but Kate was confused as to what the issue exactly was.

“Perhaps I was hoodwinked,” Anthony said darkly. “Clairmont is a politician, through and through.”

Kate stifled her laugh. “The earl is not one to dissemble, my lord. I am sure whatever sentiments he expressed were perfectly in earnest.”

“So our daughter assured me…” Anthony trailed off before sighing deeply- once, then twice.

Kate rolled her eyes. "Whatever is the problem, my dear?" she said in an exaggerated monotone.

Anthony finally blurted, "It's just, I didn't expect Charlotte to settle for a man such as him."

Kate tilted her head slightly as she examined her husband. "I do not understand your meaning.”

Anthony frowned. "I feel rather like how Simon must have felt when Lord Geoffrey applied for Caroline's hand."

Lord Geoffrey Findlay-Watt was the third son of a marquess who was of middling age and fortune, and did some undisclosed work for Whitehall. It had been a tremendous surprise when he had approached the Duke of Hastings for Caroline’s hand- pretty, vivacious Caroline- and what more, that the Lady Caroline had accepted his proposal with alacrity.

The marriage itself had turned out surprisingly well. Lord Geoffrey doted on his younger wife while Lady Caroline was solicitous to his needs, and the two led happy, mostly separate lives.

Kate finally understood what Anthony was getting at, and was rather amused.

"Could it be that you wished for a more handsome man for your daughter?" Kate teased. "Someone more roguish, perhaps? I do not forget that all but one of your sisters married rakes of the first water."

Anthony shuddered. "God no, after the debacle with Amelia, I should be glad if neither Charlotte nor Mary entangle themselves with such men.” He turned consideringly towards Kate. “In that sense, I suppose Clairmont is a capital fellow.”

Kate chuckled, glad to have mollified her husband so easily.

On the whole, however, the Bridgerton family was quite supportive of the match.

When Edmund heard that the engagement was set, he merely grinned, shook his head, and said, “I suppose it is natural she should settle her own affairs quickly- Charlotte has always done what she wants.” Edmund had always made a pet of Charlotte, who was seven years younger than him. Miles, though still five years older than his sister, was far more likely to treat her as an equal.

Anthony pointed out to his eldest, “Not that you tried very hard to introduce her to your friends- or watch over her.”

“Why should I play matchmaker?” Edmund asked his father amusedly. “Particularly when Miles here fulfilled that position nicely, if unwittingly.” He reached over and ruffled his younger brother’s hair.

Miles scowled at Edmund, and then said to the room at large, “How was I supposed to know Charlotte had formed a tendre for Clairmont- or that he reciprocated it? They just talked- a lot.”

“My dear,” Kate told her son wryly, “marriages have been proposed on the basis of much less.”

Anthony laughed loudly at that, while their children pulled faces of varying levels of disgust. After twenty-six years of marriage, Lord and Lady Bridgerton still delighted in alluding to their unconventional courtship.

“Well I for one am glad Charlotte’s getting married,” little Mary said loyally, skipping over to curl up next to her papa. “I want a big wedding- will it be a big wedding?”

Anthony looked fondly at his youngest daughter. “Of course sweetheart,” he told her. He turned to Kate and added, "It seems Charlotte would not have it any other way."

Indeed, Charlotte seemed intent on a proper society wedding, the kind that was light on church attendance (for which respectable member of the ton would be awake and sensible before noon?) and positively overflowing with guests at the wedding breakfast.

Such a task would have been daunting had Charlotte not known so exactly what she wanted, or that Anthony and Kate were not equally eager to please.

Anthony quickly offered to procure a special license for his daughter, as had practically become de rigueur among their family, but Charlotte, to his surprise, refused.

“Why ever would we need it, Papa?” she asked, looking so sweetly up at him, Anthony could not help but feel he was being made fun of in some way.

He flushed and stammered something to the extent of a special license allowing for them to be married at Bridgerton House if they so chose.

(In truth, it was a rather clumsy way for him to inquire whether certain… liberties had been taken, and if the wedding had to be moved up).

“No, we are content with a common license,” Charlotte told him kindly. “Clairmont will be meeting with the bishop any day now to procure one.”

“Then what shall I do?” Anthony asked, feeling quite helpless.

Charlotte thought for a moment. “If you could secure St. George’s for us, we would be much obliged- oh, and will you send for the Bridgerton tiara from Aubrey for me?”

Anthony blinked. “I-yes, of course,” he quickly agreed, adding, “And the family jewels, I suppose?”

Charlotte’s lips curled upwards in a grin. “Of course,” she told her papa. Anthony smiled, happy to be on the same page as his daughter once more, and he went to accomplish the tasks given to him with great alacrity.

(Anthony later relayed this dialogue to Kate, who wisely refrained from mentioning the singular occasion in which she had found Charlotte and Clairmont in the gardens, Clairmont pressed up against the tree by Charlotte who was kissing him deeply).

For Kate’s part, she eagerly took her daughter to all her fittings and arranged every facet of the wedding breakfast personally. She even endured an entire afternoon with Charlotte and the Duchess of Hastings vetting every member on the guest list including the assortment of colleagues Clairmont insisted on inviting.

“Really, one would think he were attempting to build some sort of coalition at your wedding breakfast,” Kate said, taken aback at the extent of the list Clairmont had so obligingly provided.

“Come now, Mama,” Charlotte said laughingly. “Surely you must know by now that for men such as Clairmont, every event is an opportunity to shore up more support.”

Kate looked consideringly at her daughter. It was fascinating to see how comfortable Charlotte already seemed to be with the spheres she would be inhibiting as Lady Clairmont. Kate drew comfort from this, thinking back to how unprepared she had been when she first became the Viscountess Bridgerton, and how lost she would have been had she not been aided by her mother-in-law and Daphne.

Kate smiled to herself. How heedless she and her husband had been back then! How impetuous and deeply misunderstanding of one another they were initially! It was only later that any understanding had been reached, and only then had their love blossomed.

Her daughter, on the other hand, had ensured she would have the immense privilege of marrying a man whose ambitions and desires complimented her own, and their temperaments and affections would always be in accordance.

In that moment, Kate had never felt happier for Charlotte.

In the end, the wedding was all things lovely, and the wedding breakfast was full of laughter and gaiety. Somewhere in the middle of the breakfast, no less an august personage than Lord Melbourne came by to give his congratulations to the happy couple.

Kate and Anthony watched with pride as Clairmont kissed Charlotte’s hand reverently before introducing her to the Prime Minister. Charlotte curtsied deeply and spoke at length with her husband and Melbourne, saying something with a twitch of her lips that made the Prime Minister burst out laughing.

Just then, Anthony turned to Kate, his gaze full of adoration when he asked her quietly, “We did well, didn’t we?”

Kate beamed brilliantly up at her husband.

“I rather think we did.”

[afroherbalism]

"Emma Dupree (1897-1992) was an influential black herbalist from Falkland and Fountain, in Pitt County in North Carolina. She was known locally as “granny woman.”

Because she prays, she brews herbs. Because she brews herbs, she heals. Because she heals, she is the undisputed sage of Pitt County. They say her home remedies can quiet a colicky baby, cure a mean cold and scare lice off a hog.

"All that we see, everything that is growin' in the earth," Emma says, "is healin' to the nation of any kind of disease."

She was the daughter of freed slaves and grew up on the Tar River. She was known for her work with native herbs: Sassafras, white mint, double tansy, rabbit tobacco, maypop, mullein, catnip, horseradish, and silkweed.

Here is an excerpt from an article published shortly after her death:

"From the time she could walk, Emma felt drawn to the land. She would roam the woods, plucking, sniffing, tasting weeds. She grew up that way, collecting the leaves, stems, roots and bark of sweet gum, white mint, mullen, sassafras in her coattail or a tin bucket. She'd tote them back to the farm, rinse them in well water and tie them in bunches to dry. In the backyard, she'd raise a fire under a kettle and boil her herbs to a bubbly froth, then pour it up in brown-necked stone jugs: A white-mint potion for poor circulation; catnip tea for babies with colic; tansy tea - hot or cold - for low blood sugar; mullein tea for a stomach ache. Mixed with molasses or peppermint candy to knock out the bitterness. Her kind of folk medicine dates back centuries. In the 1600s, African slaves brought root-doctor remedies to America. Indians and immigrants had cure-alls, too. In some rural areas, scattered herbalists still practice."

She was born on July 4, 1897, the seventh among 18 siblings, Emma Williams Dupree grew up on the Tar River and was known in her family as "that little medicine thing" because of her early understanding of herbs.

Her parents, Pennia and Noah Williams, were freed slaves farming in Falkland, NC.

She told an interviewer in 1979 that her mother remembered being "on the porch of the old Wooten's farm home when freedom came. She was 16 when Mr. and Mrs. Wooten walked out on that porch and told her she was 'as free as they were, but they loved her just the same.'"

She was married for one year to Ethan Cherry, a farmer. She divorced him and remarried another farmer, Austin Dupree, Jr., who was born in 1892. Emma and Austin moved to Fountain, NC in 1936 and had five children, whose ages in the 1930 U.S. Census are indicated in parentheses: Lucy (12), Herbert (9), John (5), Doris (3), and Mary (1).

They remained married until his death at age 90. She died at home, at 3313 N. Jefferson St, Fountain, on March 12, 1996. She is buried at Saint John's Missionary Baptist Church Cemetery, in Falkland,NC.

Emma Dupree's "garden-grown pharamacy" included sassafras, white mint, double tansy, rabbit tobacco, maypop, mullein, catnip, horseradish, silkweed and other plants from which she made tonics, teas, salves and dried preparations. These were cultivated in her yard and gathered from the banks of the Tar River. She told Karen Baldwin that she grew a special tree in her back yard, which she called her "healing berry tree."

She explained, "Now that tree, I don't know of another name for it, but it's in the old-fashioned Bible and the seed for it came from Rome." She also told Baldwin of being an especially alert baby: "They said I was just looking every which way. And I kept acting and moving and doing things a baby didn't do. And I walked early. I was walking at seven months old, just as good and strong. When I got so I got out doors, I went to work. I was pulling up weeds, biting them, smelling in them, and spitting them out. And folks in them days, they just watched me, watched what I was doing.

Awards and Recognition

In 1984, Dupree was awarded the Brown-Hudson Award by the North Carolina Folklore Society, recognizing her as an individual who contributed significantly to the transmission, appreciation and observance of traditional culture and folk life in North Carolina.

In 1992, Dupree received the North Carolina Heritage Award, lifetime achievement recognition for outstanding traditional artists in North Carolina

NOTE:

Here is a link to a video of Mrs Emma Dupree being interviewed by students of the ECU medical research department. This video is Produced by the office of Health Services Research and Development, School of Medicine, East Carolina University.

It is 40 minutes long.

Link: https://digital.lib.ecu.edu/58575?fbclid=IwAR1e22I8_vRfvzI0nZXDBT8XG7Z-4DgiNykjqsbPD8hoD2Aw8haC2uI8vvo#details

Source;https://digital.lib.ecu.edu/ncpi/view/5581

Source:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emma_Dupree

---

Herbalist, 94, Lets Nature Heal

by Paige Williams Feb 20, 1992

Before her came African root doctors and Indian medicine men. People believed their mystical potions could cure body and soul and sometimes they could. Some modern medicines still use herbal derivatives. Few old-time herbalists like Emma are left in North Carolina. Hospitals first forced her kind out of business. Death is finishing the job. Emma Dupree's hanging tough, though, pushing 10 decades. She takes the tonic, see. Drinks it like water. She jumps out of her chair, props fists on her waist and swivels her hips Hula-Hoop style. She holds both hands out flat and squirms her wrinkled fingers all around, crossing and uncrossing, like she's making a million wishes. No arthritis there.

"There's something to that stuff," said her granddaughter, Sandra White.

Joe Exum, town grocer, keeps a Crown Royal bourbon bottle under the front seat of his pickup truck. It holds the slimy remnants of Emma's tonic: oily brown syrup that looks like tobacco spit, stings the nose like paint thinner and tastes like pine tar smells.

"I'd pay $50 for a bottle right now," Exum said. "Two swallers and it'll knock the sore throat right out." He's waiting for Emma to brew another batch. She stewed her last at Christmas. She used to make the tonic right steady, every day almost, the way she learned 80 years ago, when the woods first called her.

Pitt County borders the Pamlico River 80 miles east of Raleigh. Its largest town is Greenville, the county seat, population

44,972. One of its smallest is Fountain, population 445, founded in 1900 on the western rim. Emma Dupree was Emma Williams then, a 3-year-old growing up the daughter of freed slaves on a farm 9 miles east in Falkland, where she was born the Fourth of July, 1897. Emma was the knee baby, second from the youngest of seven girls and four boys, and always hanging on her mama's knee. Early on, Pennia and Noah Williams knew she was nature's child. From the time she could walk, Emma felt drawn to the land.

She would roam the woods, plucking, sniffing, tasting weeds. She grew up that way, collecting the leaves, stems, roots and bark of sweet gum, white mint, mullen, sassafras in her coattail or a tin bucket. She'd tote them back to the farm, rinse them in well water and tie them in bunches to dry. In the backyard, she'd raise a fire under a kettle and boil her herbs to a bubbly froth, then pour it up in brown-necked stone jugs: A white-mint potion for poor circulation; catnip tea for babies with colic; tansy tea - hot or cold - for low blood sugar; mullen tea for a stomach ache. Mixed with molasses or peppermint candy to knock out the bitterness. Her kind of folk medicine dates back centuries. In the 1600s, African slaves brought root-doctor remedies to America. Indians and immigrants had cure-alls, too. In some rural areas, scattered herbalists still practice.

"It's dying out," says Charles Reagan Wilson of the Center for the Study of Southern Culture at the University of Mississippi. "People more and more rely on modern science." Pitt County's got both. Modern medicine and Emma Dupree. Her school was God's school; her classroom, the land. While the other children played, she picked herbs. Sometimes she caught the other children talking about her: "There comes that ol' rovin' gal. Reckon where she goin' now?" Yet they always followed her.

When Emma was about 20, she married Ethan Cherry, a farmer. It lasted about a year. The story goes that Cherry went one wisecrack too far about how many women it takes to satisfy a man. Emma whacked him with a chair. Knocked him out cold. Then she divorced him. "He wasn't no good husband." She married another farmer, Austin Dupree. They moved to Fountain in 1936. Old age killed him in the the early 1970s. He was nearly 90. Of Emma's five children, only Doris, 66, is left. She lives next door to Emma's little white-and-green house on Jefferson Street, a longtime magnet to the afflicted.

Herbs' earthy aroma herbs brewed day and night. Their warm earthy aroma filled the whole house. Emma poured her tonic up in glass vinegar jugs and canning jars and kept it in a pantry off the kitchen. Somebody was always knocking on the front door. Emma would fetch it: "Now you take this with faith because it's not me. I'm just the instrument." She never set a price. People paid what they could, sometimes $5, sometimes $30. "It was a common thing for people to literally be waiting in line," said White, 38, the granddaughter Emma raised. People sought advice, too. They'd bang on the door, pull her aside: "Can I talk to you?" Fountain's own Ann Landers. "You can tell her a problem and she can work it out so it don't seem so bad," White said.

Some, she couldn't help. Once, a young girl dying of leukemia and weary of doctors showed up at Emma's door. Emma suspected it was hopeless. Still, she couldn't say no. She gave her the tonic. "I don't want to make her sound like a saint," White said, "but she tried to help everybody." Emma won't take the credit. "Whatever your talent, whatever you is, you come with it," she said. "When you come into this world, God's done fixed you with what you got to do." To townspeople, she's "Aunt Emma."

In December, they made her grand marshal of the Fountain Christmas parade, all two blocks of it. She waved from the back of the long white limousine borrowed from the local funeral home. Only the best for the sage of Pitt County.

Source:https://www.tulsaworld.com/archives/herbalist-lets-nature-heal/article_3b0e06d1-4af9-5567-93ee-bc4b50d5867f.html

[kyouxa]

Diabolik lovers Chaos Lineage: Shu Sakamaki (Euphoria END)

Place: Secret room — Interior lights

Yui: ...Agh, Nn...

Where is this place… ?

(No, I remember… I kissed Shu-san in the church as the surroundings started to suspiciously become brighter—)

(What exactly happened then?)

Shu: This place here, isn’t it part of the Eden’s castle… ?

Yui: Does that mean, we successfully got out of the miniature garden?

(Everyone is laying on the ground, I think they fainted. There’s no way they’d be… !)

Karlheinz: You have finally been summoned back.

Shu: ….. ! Father… !

Yui: Karlheinz-sama, why… ?

Karlheinz: You seem to be quite surprised, Eve. This right here is my castle. It would not be strange to assume I was here as well, right?

Yui: T-That’s right, I guess. But then why is it that you’re not surprised we’re here… ?

Karlheinz: Ah, that is because I have been watching you during your time there.

Yui: Eh… !?

Shu: As expected, this was your doing all along.

Karlheinz: Not really. I have not arranged the plot of this plan.

My friend has been the one who created the place, alterated your memories and searched for someone worth as Adam.

You were the ones imprisoned in a probation we referred to as ’miniature garden’.

Yui: That was an acquaintance of yours, Karlheinz-sama… ?

Karlheinz: I, myself, have not expected the play my accompaniment had started to carry out to turn out this way.

I had been aware of my companion doubting if the chosen person was truly worthy to be in charge of Adam’s position.

He, therefore, errassed, your memories, and love... with everything successfully being overwritten, Eve was once again able to choose all in her new given situation.

Yui: So that was the reason for the fight of the supreme ruler...

Shu: As you’d expect of a person you call your friend. They must’ve gotten the same way of thinking as you too.

Karlheinz: Stunningly, Adam and Eve overcame their trial, and then demonstrated the true love that lies between them.

Shu, you are unmistakably Adam. This has been proven by you obtaining Eve’s love.

Regarding the birth of your new life, you will receive my power, my throne, and my outer garment.

Shu: ...Your power, huh?

...No matter how much I hate you, you’d still be willing to give me your powers, right?

Yui: (Shu-san…)

Karlheinz: Of course. There is no way I would accept a refusal.

Shu: Hmm… if so—

I’ll never want them.

Yui: ….. !

Shu: I still have siblings I’d consider better matches to be sitting on the throne.

Yui: (Ah… he means Kino-kun…)

Shu: Even if we settled this matter with a sword fight, we still were in an unforeseen situation. And I think this is not fair towards him.

I don’t want to receive those powers, at least not until things are still unsettled between you and him.

Karlheinz: I see. You have chosen to take this path on your own will.

Shu: Yes. Even if you were to force them on me against my will, I’d still push them away and firmly continue refusing them.

Karlheinz: ...So you did choose your own destiny.

Yui: Eh?

Karlheinz: All right. I will patiently wait for the day, you will accept being my successor, to arrive.

Everything is up to you, Adam and Eve. Both of your choices matter—

*Karlheinz disappears*

Yui: Ah! Karlheinz-sama!

(He completely vanished…)

(But with this… we’re really out of the miniature garden)

We’re all finally back to reality now, right?

Shu: Yes, this prank of him has finally come to an end. The incomplete settlement between our father and Kino will probably be the next problem.

...I’m glad though. You stayed safe until the very end of this all.

Yui: That’s only because Shu-san kept on protecting me.

No, you didn’t only protect me, you literally saved everyone...

Monologue

As we smiled at each other, we got closer to everyone who had lost their consciousness.

Luckily, nobody was damaged from coming back to the normal world.

And most importantly — Shu-san ended up facing his father, Karlheinz-sama, on his complete own determination.

Many different incidents, over and over again, happened in the miniature garden we were trapped in. But those experiences might’ve really been able to change each of our destinies, even if it’s just a little bit.

We’re now definitely ready for a new path—

Place: Sakamaki mansion — Shu’s bedroom

Yui: Shu-san. Say, how long do you still intend to lay in bed?

If you don’t actually get up anytime soon, Reiji-san might come up to scold you again.

Shu: Hmm… shut up...

Yui: C’mon, stop being so stubborn already… today’s the spring cleaning of the mansion, so everyone has to cooperate in that, even you.

Shu: I’m passing...

Yui: You can’t just casually pass that. Look, please do it for me and get out of bed.

*window suddenly shakes*

Yui: ….. !

What the… it really seems as if the wind is shaking the window pretty roughly.

Shu: ...What did you just say to me?

Yui: Oh, the shaking window made me simply wonder if Kino-kun would be willing to come by and pay us a visit one day.

Monologue

To be honest, I haven’t seen Kino-kun ever since the day we left the space.

But now that everyone is back together in this world, I’m more than sure he’s safe too.

Considering Kino-kun’s character, it wouldn’t take long until he might make another appearance either.

If that becomes reality, I’d wish for him to come and live together with us here then.

After all, they’re still brothers.

Place: Sakamaki mansion — Shu’s bedroom

Yui: (He might appear all of the sudden again someday. Everyone would surely be surprised if that happened though)

*Shu gets up*

Shu: Why is it that Kino concerns you that much anyway?

Yui: Eh? Ah! When did you get up so fast?

Shu: That’s not worth worrying about.

*Shu gets closer*

Yui: Kyaaaa!? Shu-san, keep your distance...

Shu: Shut up. And? What kind of nonsense did you think about exactly?

Yui: Err, umm… I just thought about how Kino-kun could live in the mansion with us together if he’d ever come over...

Shu: …Is that really the case? Are you seriously terrible enough to think about another man while being in front of me?

Yui: N-No, you’re wrong. I’m simply being worried—

*Shu undresses her*

Yui: Eh… Eek!

*Shu pushes her closer*

Yui: ….. ! Shu-san!

Shu: It’s pretty bold of you to get ahead of yourself like that.

Yui: That’s… you were the one dragging me into all of this so suddenly though!?

Shu: Leaving that aside, the punishment you’ll receive now is for being so extra. Guess I’ll have to mature you by sucking your blood again.

Like this, I’ll once more let your body understand who you legitimately belong to.

Yui: Y-You can’t do that now. Everyone‘s waiting for us in the living room—

Shu: Nn… Nn...

Yui: Ahh… Shu-san…

Shu: You just said you’d dislike doing this, and now your face seems as if it’s in desperate need of my fangs...

Yui: That’s because Shu-san was still acting all sleepy until some time ago...

Shu: Heh, repeat that. This almost sounded as if you wanted to incite me.

Do you really want me to spoil you with pain that much today?

Yui: I-I don’t want you to do that. Everyone’s still waiting downstairs, so we seriously have to go there soon too.

Besides...

Shu: Besides?

Yui: When you’re sucking my blood, I want it to be during a time the both of us could be at ease...

Shu: …..

Yui: ...Shu-san?

♡Roses♡

The kiss: Fufu, you must really like those sorts of sweet kisses the most. I can tell since it's written all over your cute face.

Shu’s hand: Come even closer to me. I need to make sure you stay as long as I need you to.

Shu: You’re really… do you even understand what you say sometimes? ...Nn...

Yui: Nn… ! Hmm!?

(Nn, I can’t breathe anymore…)

Shu: ...I only wanted to tease you in order to get you a little salty. But I changed my mind.

Now you have to take responsibility for that. Nn… Haa… Nn...

Yui: Nn… Ah… I wasn’t doing this on purpose though.

(Shu-san’s fangs are so deep in my skin by now… but I still feel how gentle he is…)

(This once again made me realize what a nice person Shu-san is, and how much I love him from the bottom of my heart…)

(Yes, that’s right. I’m really deeply in love with Shu-san)

Shu-san… if everyone is already going to get angry, let’s have them get angry at the both of us, okay… ?

Shu: We better run away before they get to do that then. After we returned from the miniature garden, they’ve seriously got way too troublesome for me anyway.

Yui: But that’s only because they’re now relying on you as their eldest brother.

Shu: It’s not as if I wanted them to need me that much anyway. The only one I need is you, after all.

You’re the only one who, no matter the situation, I wouldn’t want to get separated from.

Yui: ...Yes, same. I’d never let go of you either.

I love you...

Shu: Yes. I love you too.