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peterspinkrobe · 9 months

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Communion | AU Priest Miguel O’Hara x female Reader

A/N: I commissioned the above Priest Miguel. Ever since the artist sent the sketch, (@ ejpuki on twitter plz go show love!) this story has been a brewin’ in my cranium. I am not a newbie when it comes to fanfic, but a virgin to writing Miguel. Please accept this offering to the mania that is fandom. Feedback is appreciated. I know the tenses are probably all over the place. Part 2 is live!!. Let me know if you’re interested ~~

Warnings: Religious content, parents, dirty-minded reader, no mention of Y/N

As you sat in the middle pew, aisle seats, you fiddled with the dress your mother guilted you into wearing. The hem of the skirt had a little fraying and you couldn’t help but pick at it.

The meddling was met with a small smack on your wrist from your mother.

“Stop! You’re going to make it worse! I know it’s an old dress but it will only look that way if you pick at it.” The sharpness in tone and the lacy lilac dress from high school brought you back to all of the Sunday mornings you’d been ripped from the comfort of your bed to attend church.

Church. Your head was already starting to hurt from the early morning light pouring through the stained glasses windows, but your tried to remain neutral to spare mom.

Your relationship with the Almighty soured not long after your father passed. Faith was hard to come by and the struggles you’d faced recently only strained that even further.

“Sorry, mama.” You say quietly, acting like you’re still twelve and not in your mid twenties.

Ever since you moved back in you’ve had to live under “her rules”. Sunday service is one of those rules. Considering the headache you’ve caused her recently, you ignore your own and do as she asks. It’s only fair.

But church? Last week was your first time back inside a church since leaving for college five years ago. It was the same one you’d been dragged to in your younger years. The same stained pews, same old books of Psalms, same feeling of estrangement despite being surrounded by the same old folks.

Your mom had turned her attention to the lady that lived on our street and you turned your own attention to your fingernails, scraping underneath them for dirt that wasn’t there. You think about how you had dropped the habit until moving back in, but was interrupted by microphone static.

You pulled your gaze to the front of the church and saw Father Steen tapping the microphone. Despite only being five years since you last saw him, the man seemed to have aged decades. His frail frame balanced on the podium as he spoke. You realized why the microphone was needed when he started speaking - amplifying the hushed tone of the elder addressing his congregation.

“Good morning and many blessings to you all this Sunday morning,” he began and you couldn’t help but lower your gaze back to the frayed bit of your dress. His monotone voice was… kinda boring. You hated thinking that way because Father Steen was such a good man and he cared for your mother greatly when dad passed. He was mentioning an upcoming surgery and you were back to picking at your fingernails. His voice eked on through the speakers, “so we will be having a transitional deacon come in to take over my position until I recover. This fine young man has graciously accepted this position as he is working to become a priest himself. Please welcome Mr. O’Hara as he leads us in prayer to begin communion for this month.”

There is respectful applause and your eyes are still on your hands until your mom elbows you gently. You start to apologize again for not paying attention but notice she and her pew neighbor are giggling as they clap. You start to clap your own hands as you look up at what they were giggling like schoolgirls about when your hands freeze in their clapped position - almost like you’re praying.

The deacon that Father Steen introduced was… gorgeous, and he was looking at you. You blushed, embarrassingly, under the gaze of the dark eyes. Could he tell you hadn’t been paying attention?

Well, you most certainly were now.

You pulled your eyes away from him to look at your mother who was wiggling her eyebrows at you, causing you to blush even deeper and turn back to the front.

The first thing you notice about the man standing at the front of the church was his height. He towered over the podium he placed a hand on. Father Steen came up to only just above his elbows with his hunched body.

The eyes that were watching you now surveyed the room and the light from the windows shown dark, warm pools of irises. His face…

Sharp symmetry made up his countenance. Distinct cheekbones bobbing as the smooth bronze skin stretched upwards into a smile. The strong jawline accentuated with the muscles of his lips pulling back, revealing a dazzling toothy smile.

When he spoke for the first time, you understood why your mom cried during Psalms at times. His voice was gospel.

“Thank you, all, for welcoming me into your parish. I know that you have received excellent spiritual guidance from Father Steen. I can only hope to at least partially fill his shoes in his absence.” His voice boomed throughout the church with no need for a microphone. “Before we begin the sacred ritual that is communion, let us bow our heads in prayer.”

The church around you dutifully lowered their heads, and you did the same. Hating closing your eyes to the alluring man in front of the church. At least his voice still filled your ears with song.

“Heavenly Father, we are gathered here today, in your house, in the name of your Son to receive the Body and Blood of Christ…” you decide it won’t be such a terrible sin to sneak a peek during prayer. You lift your head up to catch another glimpse at the ethereal creature leading prayer while he wasn’t looking.

But he was looking. Right at you as he continued to recite, “We are all sinners, and we are all in need of your grace and forgiveness.” You start to think about how much you needed his grace, when you pinch yourself for the blasphemy.

You’re still staring at each other as he finishes, “We pray that You will bless this communion and that it will deepen our relationships with You.” You instantly feel heat in your gut when you wonder just how deep it can go..

You think you see him grin slightly, but he pulls his eyes away from yours and you quickly put your head back down.

“In Your Blessed Name, Amen.” He ends. “Amen”, the church responds in unison and you squeak it out as well.

The first pew stands and approaches the front of the church, choir boys retrieving the communion goods. You notice that there is a split in the line as one is given the small wafer and grape juice shot by Father Steen and the other line the new deacon.

You can’t keep your eyes off him as he offers the sacrament to each person in line. He is taking longer than Father Steen, seeming to ask questions before presenting the body and blood of a savior.

As it came to be your pew’s turn, you stood. With only a few people in front of you, you studied Miguel’s figure in short glances.

Along with being a towering figure, he was a wide one as well. Muscles filled in the long-sleeved black button down shirt. His large upper body tapered off into a slim waist, tucked neatly into dark pants. A belt accentuated the fit waist even further. Your eyes trailed quickly across the thick neck that was accessorized by the all too familiar white collar of priesthood. When you were just behind one more person, your eyes fell to the floor.

Part of you wished you would be on Father Steen’s side as you feel as though you’re about to burst from this proximity of the giant man. He was bent over speaking to an elder of the church, giving her a soft smile as she blessed him for coming to ‘our little church.’

The man in line in front of you stood to Father Steen and the woman was letting Mr. O’Hara go from a sweet embrace.

Thank God, you guessed, for the years of attending communion as your muscle memory tore your legs from their form rooted position at the altar.

You approached the tall figure and your eyes are locked on the lips of the man in front of you. You see them move, hearing nothing but the beating of your heart in your eardrums.

“I-I’m sorry. What?” You sputter the words and heat creeps into your chest and face.

A soft chuckle escapes his full lips and he smiles as he repeats, “What is your name?”

You give it to him. And he says it. The way your name sounds in his music makes you smile up at him. He holds your gaze for a moment before speaking again.

“The Body of Christ.” He extends his hand in an upward position, the white wafer between his index finger and thumb.

You bow your head slightly in reverence of the offering. As you start to pull your head up again, his pinky and ring finger catch under your chin, lifting your face the rest of the way.

You breathe out a small gasp and open your mouth. He seems to mirror the action slightly as his own mouth drops slightly open. You extend your tongue a little as he places the thin wafer onto it.

His gaze is heavy as he watches you take the offering into your mouth. Your breath hitches when he runs his thumb across your pouted bottom lip, catching some saliva with it.

“Amen.” You respond and it’s not until he pulls his hand from your face when you turn to grab a small glass of grape juice. “The Precious Blood.” You hear him say behind you as you bring the glass to your lips, relishing the sweet refreshment.

Your face is red hot as you turn to walk back to your pew, ignoring your mother’s glances as she had already been back to her seat.

The burning in your cheeks is even more fiery as it dawns on you that the whole church saw the exchange. You hope, you pray, that it was perceived as a normal moment between a new Shepard and a member of his flock.

Communion wraps up and Father Steen takes a seat behind the the new head of church as he begins his sermon. The slight pressure of his thumb on your bottom lip created a pool of heat in your belly that wouldn’t go away.

You try to pay attention to the Good Word, you really do, but your mind is other places. Definitely not holy places.

Maybe coming to church won’t be too bad after all…

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #priest au #atsv miguel #miguel x you #how do i even tag this #fanfic #spiderverse fanfic

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

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WIBTA if I start giving some very *very* Christian family members religious pamphlets from non-Christian religions as gifts?

To be clear, I am writing this while firmly believing I'm NTA but I am angry and don't trust my own judgment too much right now.

Background and Players: My Son (19) was adopted out as a baby by his incubator behind (my husband, 40) his father's back. He was abandoned at 4 by his adopted family because of behavioral issues related to what his incubator was putting into her body while she was pregnant with him, and went into foster care with people I will call Amom and Adad. Adad is a pastor in his 90s and Amom is a pastor's wife in her 80s. When Son was 13 and I had been with Husband for 5ish years, we had been told (by someone from his incubator's family but we didn't know that at the time) he was non-verbal and "mentally an infant" and that trying to pull him out of the routine he had would just be incredibly harmful to him, so we had given up hope of finding him and having a relationship with him. We got a phone call one day, a worker who was looking for a medical history for Son. Husband spent close to 3 hours on the phone with her, answering questions and asking anything he could squeeze in. Turns out, we had been lied to about his mental health just... completely. He's impossible to shut up and he graduated high school last year despite, you know, *gestures vaguely at everything* and I am incredibly proud of him. Half an hour after that call ended, she called back and told us Son might be interested in meeting us, was it okay for her to pass on our contact info. A month later, Son, Amom, Adad, Husband and I were sitting in a restaurant together and a month after that we went to their place for a week to spend Christmas with them. This is when they informed us that they had finalized his legal adoption a couple of weeks earlier. 2 years after that, my QPP moved in with us, and another year later 16 year old Son asked if he could move in with us. He still does.

The Issue: Son wants a continuing relationship with Amom and Adad, but due to the previously mentioned substances used by his incubator, he has memory and time management issues so I have to regularly remind him to contact them. I have no problem doing this, but the contact we have had with them over the last few years has soured me on their company. I've got no problem reminding Son to contact them and organizing rides for him to visit (usually QPP and I driving him, the trip is a couple of hours each way) but I'd rather never speak to them myself if it can be avoided. It didn't start out this way, but over the years they have made it very clear that they don't respect anyone else's beliefs. Not just us, like there was one night where they were going off about some Danish surgeon saying publicly that he was Muslim first, Danish second, and they were trying to convince us to be terrified by that. The conversation ended awkwardly when Husband asked if Adad was Nationality or Christian first (because that's different you see). We have found books on the bookshelves in the guest room about how any kind of queerness at all is demonic possession, one of which they wrote. They talk about things like being sent on a mission by their god to save as many (and I hate that these are quotes) "brown heathen children" by making them Christians as possible (Son and his adopted siblings are all First Nations, Amom and Adad are as white as I am), or how Jewish people are evil for stopping Christians from claiming their suffering because "Jesus was a Jew so aren't all Christians also Jews?". Amom once spent a week trying to convince me to go to church with her and share the details of my childhood sexual abuse with the entire congregation because "it will show God you are ready to be forgiven". QPP is a shintoist and after they found that out, we started seeing more literature about the Japanese, specifically during WWII, around their house when we visited.

We have politely made it clear that we are not interested in Christianity, especially not their version. Multiple times. We thought it was finally over after Son had a meltdown at them at his graduation ceremony because he wanted JUST ONE conversation with them that wasn't about Jesus. He was in tears trying to explain that to them, and their response was to tell him he needed to come back to church so they could lay on hands and chase all the demons making him say these horrible disrespectful things to them out of him. He was supposed to stay with them for a few days to visit after that, but by the time I tracked him down and got him calm, he didn't want to go anymore. They seemed to stop after that, like they actually backed off and I think I got maybe 2 emails that didn't mention God or Jesus, not even a "God bless" in the sign off. We were optimistic. Son was late organizing it but we dropped him off (at his request, he's worried that Adad won't make it to next Christmas and wanted to see him) at their place on Boxing Day. We did not hang around, we did not send gifts, we didn't even reply to the Family Christmas Email (it had a video of a Jordan B Peterson rant embedded in it and I've told them before that we are not interested in anything that sack of hateful arrogance has to say please stop putting him in my inbox). We have done everything we can to make it clear that we do not want a relationship with them for ourselves, including outright directly telling them politely to their faces that we will not stop Son from seeing them but we don't feel comfortable around them and don't want a relationship with them for ourselves. Son came back with "gifts" from them - a study guide for a specific Bible book (I got John, Husband got Michael, QPP set his on fire before we saw who it was) and a bag of candy that looked like it came out of a thrift store (I got the same one they always get me, which I laughed off the first and second and third time and explained I couldn't stand them because my abuser used to give me one when he was done. Husband is diabetic and got York Patties. QPP actually got something decent though, $20 for gas).

I have managed to keep my "I'd rather you hadn't bothered actually" rantingvto Tumblr, which i don't think they even know exists, but I'm still pissed about the Bible crap as "gifts". I am considering changing tactics completely and being super friendly, mirroring their energy, and giving them the same treatment they've given us. I want to make excuses to visit so I can explain the finer points of shintoism and Celtic paganism in every single conversation. I want to give them books for gifts, books like The Tao of Pooh and The Gospel of The Flying Spaghetti Monster. I want to wrap cash in pamphlets about The Invisible Pink Unicorn and leave it on their fridge.

QPP and husband think I should give myself more time to calm down and just keep ignoring it and playing nice when I'm forced to play at all but like, IT'S BEEN 6 YEARS.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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bradshawssugarbaby · 5 months

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Silent Night, Joyful Hearts - Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: This is my second of three entries for @sailor-aviator's Christmas Writing Challenge to celebrate the holidays with our favourite aviators.

pairing: Jake Seresin x reader

warnings/content: Jake as a lovesick little puppy, mentions of church/Christianity.

word count: 1.9k

It had been months since Jake had gone back home to Austin, Texas. He couldn’t remember a date other than “too long.” When the chance to go home for a three week leave for the holidays arose, Jake practically jumped on it. As cocksure and seemingly uncaring as he made himself out to be, at the end of the day, Jake was becoming homesick, ready for a long overdue trip to his hometown.

“Uncle Jake! Uncle Jake!”

A little voice squealed from the living room around the corner, a blonde haired, green eyed little boy - the spitting image of Jake - came speeding into the hallway, wrapping his tiny arms around his uncle’s leg in an effort to hug him. Jake reached down and tousled the boy’s hair, beaming down at his little nephew as he scooped him up for a hug.

“Well if it ain’t my favourite nephew! Miss me?” Jake chuckled as he gave his nephew a tight squeeze.

“Sure did!” The boy grinned, in an accent that almost perfectly matched Jake’s.

“Easton, give your poor Uncle Jake a minute’s breathing space, he just got in the door!” Jake’s sister, Stephanie shook her head as she laughed, her hand on her hip as she watched her son fuss over his uncle.

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it, Steph, I missed the lil’ guy, I don’t mind being showered with a warm welcome. Besides, he’s gotta say hi to me now before his big moment on stage tonight!” Jake grinned, ruffling Easton’s hair once again.

“I’m gonna play one of the smart guys at Jesus’ birthday party, Uncle Jake!” Easton said proudly as he puffed out his chest.

“You’re gonna be a what, bud?” Jake bit his lip as he held back a laugh at the six-year-old’s misinterpretation of a nativity play.

“Well, Mommy said wise means smart, so isn’t that what a wiseman is?” Easton furrowed his brow as he thought it over.

“I guess in a way, it does, pal, but you know, I fell asleep during Sunday school a lot, I wouldn’t listen to me.”

Jake set Easton down on the ground, the boy running off to go get himself changed into his outfit for his performance tonight. Jake laughed as he smiled and gave his sister a hug. Stephanie pulled away from his embrace after a moment and laughed at him, shaking her head.

“You know, Mama’s been talking to that girl you used to like back in elementary school again. She volunteered to help for the nativity play, she’s helping coordinate it,” Stephanie smirks and nods her head, “You know…the one you used to run around naked in the backyard with when you were 4, her mama and Ma are good friends…what was her name again?”

Jake froze as a wave of nostalgia washed over him, the memories of you and him playing together as kids came flooding back, enveloping him as he was transported back to a time where you and he were the best of friends, completely inseparable as kindergarteners, best friends who couldn’t be without one another for more than a moment. That was, until, you had moved to the other side of the city when the two of you were 8 years old. By the time high school had come around, you were reunited again, but something was different - the best friend he knew as a young child was gone, the two of you having taken different paths in your preteen years, different interests now shoehorning their way between you, making it harder for either of you to ever reconcile the friendship you once had.

Jake was an all-star athlete in school, captain of the lacrosse team, star quarterback for the football team, and first-baseman for the baseball team. He was in a world you weren’t a part of when it came to high school, and you two struggled to find your way back to one another. He’d always had feelings for you, for as long as he could remember. After you’d both grown so distantly far apart by the time you’d reached high school, he never had the courage to ever tell you. The mere thought of you was enough to get his heart racing all over again, just like it did in high school whenever he saw you walking down the halls.

Jake shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and shook his head, trying to appear indifferent to the mention of you.

“I dunno, can’t remember. I haven’t seen her in like, 16 years, Steph.”

“Hmm…,” Stephanie smirked as she raised her eyebrow at him, “You best go get showered and changed. Gotta leave here in about 45 minutes.”

Jake emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, freshly showered, shaved and dressed in a creamy beige coloured sweater and his favourite dark washed denim jeans, cognac brown cowboy boots adorning his feet to complete the look. His golden blonde military-approved haircut was gelled up in the front, the way he’d worn it every day for the last 20 years or so - he swore up and down that if he didn’t use the hair gel, it’d be an unruly mess, though everyone around him knew he was just a creature of habit whose life motto was “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

The drive to the church was a quiet one, little Easton was practically buzzing with excitement in the back seat beside Jake, but insisted on not speaking so he could save his voice for the lines he had in the play. Jake couldn’t help but laugh at the child’s insistence on playing the part so professionally, but Stephanie had simply nodded and smiled, giving Jake a look that explained this was just how Easton was, a perfectionist like his uncle.

The church auditorium was full of parents and families waiting to see their children on stage for the next hour, a handful of lines of dialogue shared between each child in order to make it fair for everyone. Phones were held out with cameras pointed at the stage, each parent excitedly watching for their child’s big moment. Jake took his seat beside his sister and her husband, his parents seated to his left. They all smiled proudly as they watched the stage, waiting for Easton’s big stage debut.

Jake had noticed you standing by the front of the stage, a few rows of seats ahead of him. You were discreetly and quietly helping the children when they got stuck with remembering their positions on stage or the lines they were supposed to say. You looked just as he’d remembered you - in fact, he’d argue that you’d only grown more beautiful over the last 16 years. He felt his heart racing again, a soft, rosy pink hue filling his cheeks as he smiled in your direction. He could hear his mother lean over and whisper something to his father, who dissmissively rolled his eyes at his wife, trying to stifle a laugh. Stephanie smirked to herself, and her husband, who was none the wiser about your lifelong crush, sat confused, trying to work out what he was missing.

“Jake,” Stephanie whispered to her brother, nodding her head slowly as her eyes stayed on the stage, watching for Easton, “I’d say somethin’ to her if I were you. Can’t go back to California and not say a word to the poor girl about how you feel. Maybe she feels the same way and y’all can have something together before you go back in a couple’a weeks?”

Jake shook his head slightly, a warm smile on his face. His green eyes were betraying him as he spoke, showing how he felt as his words contradicted him.

“I don’t still have feelin’s for her, Steph. It was just a crush in high school. I bet she’s even forgotten me.”

“She hasn’t,” Jake’s mom piped up as she whispered, leaning over Jake’s father to speak.

“What?”

“She hasn’t forgotten you, Jake,” His mother simply repeated before returning her attention to the stage.

Jake spent the next 20 minutes mulling over this information from his mother, and the words of encouragement from his sister. While there was always the very likely possibility that the two women were meddling and trying to set him up on a date with someone, anyone, who they thought he might have a shred of happiness with, there was also the possibility they could be right - maybe you really had been harboring the same feelings for him all these years too.

After the play had ended and the auditorium had cleared out, Jake approached you, waiting politely for you to finish your conversation with another parishioner, one congratulating you on the play being a success. Jake smiled warmly, his million-dollar grin on full display, a twinkle in his pale green eyes as he spoke.

“Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me or not?” He began.

“Jake, right? Jake Seresin? I suppose you’re a Lieutenant now, your mama told me about it, congratulations!” She smiled warmly, nodding her head, “I could never forget you, we used to be good friends back when we were just lil’ kids.”

Jake nodded his head, unable to control the wide, beaming grin on his face as she spoke, revealing that his mother was at least right about one thing, you’d never forgotten him.

“That’s me! My mama’s pretty bad for bragging about me, sorry ‘bout that,” Jake laughed as he shook his head, running a hand to the back of his neck, his finger tips running through the ends of his short hair in the back, “Listen, I, uh,” Jake stuttered for a moment before shaking his head with a laugh.

“I’d like to take you for a drink or something, we could catch up? For old times sake, I mean, if we both remember being good friends when we were little but haven’t spoken in 16 years, then we have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?”

Jake grinned as you titled your head, an eyebrow cocked upward in a challenging manner as he waited for your response to his proposal.

“I’d like that, actually,” you responded, nodding her head, “I’m free tomorrow, if you’d like?”

Jake nodded his head, laughing softly as he smiled, unable once again to fight the urge to feel hopeful and hopelessly in love as your unrequited crush from 16 years ago accepted your text. Jake had no idea what he was doing at this point - he wasn’t a dater, he was generally unable to keep a relationship going longer than a couple of months, usually out of fear of what would happen while he was deployed. Would they cheat? Would he’d make it home ok? What would they do if Jake didn’t come home exactly the way he’d left it - not having a relationship was just easier.

However, in this moment, hearing you agree to have a drink with him tomorrow night, Jake was staring to wonder if maybe his bachelor streak was coming to an end. And he couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that it all unfolded because of his nephew’s role in his childhood church’s nativity play.

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #hangman fic #jake hangman seresin fic #hangman #top gun: maverick fic #top gun maverick fic

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headspace-hotel · 1 year

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so, in regards to your recent posts on kane-tucky and usa food industry, do you / how do you keep active hope and not slip in into apathy and "looking out for my own" get out of dodge mentality? im having a hard time articulating this, but what makes you not curl up into a shaking mess in anger resentment and a deep desire for change that likely, if ever, wont happen in our lifetime.... any advice is appreciated

The short answer is "getting out and doing stuff in the real world, educating, volunteering, whatever is within your ability"

I will add that "looking out for your own" is not...bad. Like I don't know precisely what you mean by this phrase, but it's actually very important to come to terms with the fact that your impact is strongest where your feet touch the ground, and you have a responsibility and relationship to the people immediately around you, the place immediately around you.

This has not been a popular opinion of mine in the past, but...you can't and shouldn't care about literally everything on the planet. There is of course huge global disparity with access to resources and aid networks, and the largest communities we belong to are: all of Earth and the whole human species.

However: your level of agency is so low with issues that are happening on the other side of the world from you, compared with issues that are happening in your home town. And we're seeing people just get completely burned out from compassion fatigue without ever doing shit because the global responsibility is pushed on us and the local responsibility is not.

I hated my hometown for a decade. In high school I wanted so badly to leave. It's one of those desolate-feeling towns that's developed enough for a shopping center and big chain retailers but not enough to have a sense of community or a single bookstore. I've never been able to place myself precisely along the urban-rural spectrum because I feel isolated from even isolation: there's nowhere to go that doesn't feel razed by human development, where you can't hear the noise of traffic on roads, but it's all cattle pastures, sprawling storage facilities, auto parts stores, big, empty churches. One wrong turn will put you in a dark valley where there are rotting, derelict trailers on cinder blocks hidden back in the woods, and this place has that same feeling of "nowhere to go."

And I felt paralyzed by everything bad happening around the world and the fact that I was just one person, and I had gotten the horrible impression that the only thing I could do about anything was vote and donate money to links I saw online. The worst lie the internet taught me was that in saving the world, nothing matters except Power, Money, and an unclear third category that involves throwing bricks at cops.

But I touched grass. And the weeds taught me something. Do you see the parking lots, the harsh pavement and gravel and brick? I saw. I was surrounded by this landscape of brutal, totalitarian surfaces, impermeable concrete locking the soil away. But in the cracks in the surfaces, dandelions, purslane, and spurge were thriving.

I observed that the spurge stretched out like a shaggy rug and padded the concrete surfaces. The old leaves of the dandelions, as they withered, caught bits of dirt as it flowed into drainage ditches after rains. Soil was forming, and the sprawling structure of the early weeds seemed specially adapted for the task. In older cracks, more plants moved in; I found a wild ruellia blooming in a paved road, an evening primrose. And in some places, seedling trees.

Have you seen what happens when a sidewalk is left unmaintained for years? It disappears. The roots slowly buckle and break it into pieces, and it vanishes beneath lush leaves and moss. A tree growing in a crack in concrete will slowly pry the slab apart.

This is how my IRL rewilding project got started—just pulling plants from the pavement cracks, raising them in pots. I was surprised and awed at the resilience of the plants. I found little trees in concrete with at least two years' growth on them, that had survived being mowed down multiple times.

The weeds changed my viewpoint on the world forever. Up until that point, certain facts about power and politics and money had seemed like law, but I'd suddenly seen that there was a deeper magic.

The dandelions' survival made it possible for others to survive, which in turn made even more life flourish. They could not demolish and remove the concrete and pavement, but they could overcome it by refusing to be destroyed, because the power to take care of each other is in their nature.

People have made fun of me for telling others to go plant a tree. I think culturally we have this ingrained dismissal of things like that due to the twee, cutesy associations of "tree hugging" environmentalists, except in this instance it's because planting a tree is pointless in light of something something systemic issues, not because climate change isn't real, or...whatever reason people have for finding environmentalists cringe. (That is kinda sus now that I think about it.)

And I'm not saying planting a tree will fix climate change. I'm saying that something in my brain had broken and planting a tree unbroke it.

Go outside. Touch grass. Do the work in the immediate community you belong to, in the place you are in, where you have the best and most impact. We have the power to take care of each other, and that power grows stronger the more we are cared for.

The internet is a good place to share information, but that's fucking it. The real stuff, the stuff you can touch with your hands, the stuff that will heal despair, is out there in the real, touchable world. You need to see and feel what you are doing. Don't just give help—accept it. The power to take care of each other is in our nature, and by nature we can give more when we thrive as a result of others' care.

I hope this helps.

#plants #gardening #dandelions #rewilding #plantarchy

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bunnyscraft · 2 years

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What about Andy Barber with a cheating / getting back at kink

Like he knows Laurie is cheating on him so he turns to you

Dark!Andy Barber x Younger!Reader | Guilty

Bunny’s Note : oooo spicy !! Always love some dark!Andy Barber !! Hope you enjoy this one <3

Warnings : slight! dub-con, darkish!Andy, cheating, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), inexperienced!Reader, mean!Andy, slight misogyny, BIG AGE GAP !!

Andy’s pov:

I’d made it two steps into the pristine seemingly empty home before I heard it—the obnoxiously loud ringing of my wife’s phone. The shrill sound of the speaker shouldn’t have irritated me more than the reason for the call.

I knew who it was. Who he was.

Laurie’s feet thumped down the hallway—always quick to pick up the unknown caller or send it straight to voicemail before mumbling on about annoying telemarketers and asking how my day was.

I knew what she was doing.

I watched as her chipped red nails flipped the device over—screen now flat against the cold expensive marble that stood in the middle of our kitchen. “Oh! Ands—baby,” she faked surprise, moving around the counter to conduct our mandatory kiss. What once used to be the most exciting part of my day—I was about to get laid—now blended in with my other daily duties.

It’s Thursday—take out the trash.

Don’t forget to schedule with the groomer.

Take a handful of vitamins because apparently—I am now old.

Kiss cheating wife.

Go to work.

She leaned in, kissed the corner of my mouth as quickly as one could. I didn’t bother to return it and she didn’t bother to care—no she only continued to clamber around the kitchen searching for her bag and shoes and whatever else she’d need for her night out of pretending she wasn’t a mother and wasn’t in her mid forties and definitely wasn’t a married woman sleeping with drunk men in their twenties.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, babe. Sorry it’s such short notice—you know Susan can’t bake it all without me. She’ll definitely need my help with the bake sale and—” Laurie rambled on, picking up her phone and anxiously tapping through it.

She seemed to have forgotten that Susan didn’t know shit about baking and that our son, who was now a senior in high school, was possibly a little too old to have a mother host a bake sale for him.

All of these things—the bullshit lies and the shifty behavior—should have hurt me. Maybe they should have triggered a sort of dominance in me to protect my family or confront my wife. But no, in moments like these, I felt nothing.

“Oh and y/n is here—upstairs with Jacob.” She revealed—voice laced with annoyance. “You make sure she doesn’t try anything on him—she dresses like some kind of slutty-church girl. It’s weird and I don’t want that kind of influence around him. Especially right now.”

I had to bite back a smirk. It was almost comical—her calling you a slut, not that I’d disagree.

Y/n was a cute little thing—always smiling and offering to help when she’d find me covered in grass and dirt—dripping with sweat from working meticulously on our perfect suburban yard. She’d always stand there in some little sundress that would barely reach her knees and pristine white socks—obviously not dressed for the job but always ready to help old Mr. Barber out.

I’d never let her—dirtying a little thing like that wasn’t what I had in mind. Instead, like the old pervert I’ve grown into, I’d have her run inside the house for me for water—just to watch the little sway of her ass as she turned to do what I said, then ogle at the bounce of her tits when she’d skip back.

I’ll admit—I was a creep, I am a creep, but she had a slutty side to her.

Every now and then i’d jolt awake to the flash of y/n’s headlights shining through my window in the peak hours of the night—my bed uncomfortably empty. Were you like Laurie, y/n?Spending long nights out—lying and hiding about where and what you had been doing, either to your absent parents or doting boyfriend?

I had decided that that’s what she was: a little desperate slut—eager for the attention of an older man. It made me feel better to think of y/n this way. It kept me from focusing on those times when her soft laugh stuck a little too long in my head or when her comforting squeezes to my shoulder caused more than just a slight hard-on.

They caused emotions to spill.

I had written it all out in my head—a story on what this oblivious girl was really like.

You were easy—an easy little girl who was desperate for any form of male attention. Sure I didn’t really have enough evidence to back this claim, but I would stand by it.

Thats probably why you, once again, were helping Jacob prepare for his final exams—my son seemed to be under your spell too.

“Yeah sure.” I grunted, though Laurie was already more than halfway to the door, fidgeting anxiously with her keys.

Hours later—Laurie was gone. Empty goodbyes exchanged and forgotten. Andy was now on the couch—he’d not even bothered to rid himself of his button up and slacks for pajamas. His suit jacket hung over the couch and his white button up laid untucked and wrinkled against his torso as he apathetically listened to the news.

He’d stay like this—still and unfeeling until he had the energy to do it all again. At least Laurie didn’t require him to be fake—no she simply accepted that he accepted her infidelity and that if she were to comment on his behavior it would only backfire on her forcing them both into that ever looming, uncomfortable, conversation.

Andy had just began to zone out fully, the commercial for LED sprinkler lights turning into white noise—when the soft taps of feet sounded from the stairs. Your soft hums surrounding him in a sirens call—a warning of his inevitable fate.

His breathing became rigged—his eyes sealed shut as if he were an animal playing dead, hoping you’d walk right past him and out the front door—because if you didn’t, he knew he’d become just like Laurie. He knew he would no longer have the right to be bitter.

He would be just as guilty—thus no longer having the upper hand.

The smell of your floral-y perfume began to surround him. Sweet and warm—just what a girl like you should be—and it caused him to tightly grip the expensive leather couch.

“Mr. Barber? I know you’re awake~” You’d giggled. Andy had sensed your presence had gotten closer—he assumed you had now been standing directly in front of him—probably twirling your hair like some sick-man’s favorite porn star, giving him those big alien-fuckdoll ‘fuck me’ eyes.

“Mr. Barber? a-are you okay? you’ve been down here for a few hours and—” you’d carried on worriedly. Andy’s eyes finally cracked open—you were worried about him. And it had caused Andy to swoon.

Taking you in, he began to realize you’d looked nothing like he expected you to, well besides the checkered skirt and teddy bear soft sweater, no instead of alien-fuckdoll-pornstar, you looked worried. Your smaller soft hands fidgeted with each other and your eyebrows pulled together from nerves. Andy felt the strong urge to grab you—pull you into him and hold you until your concern suffocated him. Not that Andy had felt love, real love, in such a long time—but a small voice was gnawing at him to give it to you.

When you had gotten no response you moved closer—now standing between his spread legs, watching as his emotionless eyes darted across your face. So you tried again. “Mr. Barber I really think you should go to bed—or eat something. Andy—”

“You think I need to go to bed?” Andy asked, his eyes not giving way to his intentions. His voice was gruff—and tired. It made you nervous.

“I-I do, Sir.”

Andy hummed at your response, as if thinking it over. A darkness emitting from his actions.

“No. No, I don’t need that. Figure something else out. What do I really need y/n?” Andy urged, not bothering to hide his smirk and not really caring that he let you see. You looked so scared—worried for him but so so scared.

“I know you’re a smart girl, honey. Go on—show me what I need.” He urged, thick thighs spreading Knowing—hoping you’d get the hint.

You swallowed harshly. You weren’t oblivious to sex, you weren’t a virgin. But you’d never slept with someone so much older than you, someone married, and you had never even been able to cum or even sucked a cock before. Yet, you were curious—would he be gentle with you?

Slowly you sank down, the dark rug scraping against your knees surely leaving burns. Being eye-level with his bulge but refusing to look towards it.

Andy’s heart swelled with pride at how well you obeyed. “That’s all it takes, Honey? Just need a’ man to be a’ little bit bossy and you’re happy to be on your knees.” He belittled, watching as your puffy cheeks flushed red. “Go on then, baby, take daddy’s cock out. We both know that’s what you’re here for.”

A pathetic whine crawled it’s way up your throat and passed through your lips before you could catch it—adding onto your embarrassment. Shakily you moved to unbutton his slacks, fingers lightly brushing against the outline of his cock. Andy groaned at the sight of you—Your pretty eyes well up with salty tears, pouty bottom lip caught by your teeth, trying to free his cock without actually touching it.

For a moment Andy thought—No you couldn’t possibly—

“Honey,” Andy drawled, taking your dainty hands in his. His touch and tone suddenly much softer. “Has a man ever gotten you on your knees like this, Honey?”

Suddenly heat flooded your being—either from embarrassment or excitement or both. You quickly hid away from his questioning eyes, afraid to tell him that: No, you hadn’t ever been on your knees for a man before.

Andy’s thumb began to rub small shapes around your hands. Soothing you as he waited for an answer before realizing that the younger girl in front of him hadn’t. He felt as if he’d struck gold—the universe was giving him what he rightfully deserved.

“Look at me, Baby.” He commanded, grasping you chin, tilting your head up. “Answer me this time—has a man ever gotten on his knees for you, Honey?” He didn’t miss the way your thighs began to shake, just slightly.

“I-I…I don’t know what you…No. No sir—”

A savage growl ripped through the room and before you knew it—you were sprawled out on the couch, pillow under your head, and Andy between your thighs.

“Fuck baby,” He groaned, taking in your wetness that had by now ruined the delicate fabric of your panties, “Daddy’s gonna eat this little pussy, m’kay, baby? Then when daddy’s done,” he paused, leaving starved kisses and bites along the insides of your thighs. “You’re gonna gonna take me—lemme claim you, honey”

His words had your head spinning. Here you were, about to let a man twice your age, a married man, eat you out on his couch. Andy’s hands moved up your thighs, leaving little excited tingles, before settling on your hips. “Fuck. These little panties are so fucking cute, Honey.” He admired, tugging at the little black bow that sat above the white lace. “Andy don’t-" you tried to stop him from ripping the lace, because you too thought they were cute, only to receive a harsh strike to the outside of your thigh. “Don’t go dumb on me already, little girl. I told you to call me something, not any of this ‘Andy’ bullshit.” Before you could even muster an ‘I’m sorry Daddy’ he was ripping them down your thighs, before diving into your pussy.

The sounds spilling from his mouth mixed with your own wetness was so obscene it had you shuffling away from the embarrassment, only for his left hand to land on your tummy, firmly holding you in place. “God—fuck I should have done this a long fucking time ago,” he said between breaths, “could have been in this pretty pussy instead of waiting on my goddamn whore of a wife.”

His wife. Oh god his fucking wife. “a-andy we c-cant! what if l-laurie walks in?” you tremble, terrified of being caught with your friend’s—father’s face between your thighs by said friend’s mother. Your protest only seem to egg him on. A pleasantly painful burn making its appearance on your skin—due to the friction of his beard.

“Laurie,” Andy spits, “doesn’t fucking matter.” His words are harsh. And a part of you hurts for Laurie, but that hurt quickly vanishes as your visions begins to fuzz and tummy begins to tighten—suddenly all you can focus on is the impending approach—not your guilt. Your thighs clamp around Andy’s head, and he welcomes the pressure—happy to be making his girl feel her first real orgasm. He even chuckles when they begin to shake.

“You gonna cum, little girl? Cum on daddy’s tongue?” He patronizes, fingers harshly flicking your bud before he begins to fuck you with his tongue.

“a-andy! I think—It feels funny—im gonna,”

“Say it, baby. Tell daddy you’re gonna cum.”

“Im cumming, Daddy!”

Your hands tightly grasp his brown locks as stars begin to cloud your eyes. Crying out a series of whines and ‘thank you Daddy’’s. The sensitivity of it all becoming too much as his tongue laps up your slick.

You had never experienced something so intensely before—your body was giving out, ready to fall into a warm sleep.

That is—until his dark chuckles began to surround your hazzy mind.

“I tire you out, honey?” He laughed, leaning over your smaller frame. “Can’t believe you’ve been starving me of this cute little body.”

His fingers were gentle—lightly tracing the teeth marks he’d left along the inside of your thigh. They hurt and were still very fresh but you found his touch comforting—almost sweet.

“a-andy? can I ask you something?” Your soft voice broke through the silence.

Andy hummed, blue eyes intense but encouraging you to continue.

“Andy…can you kiss me?”

In that moment he knew. He knew you couldn’t just be a simple fuck. Or some simple slut he used to take his marital frustrations out on.

You had a future so different from his present—and he was willing to use everything at his disposal to solidify that it was with him.

bunny’s note : Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs are what keeps me writing so feel free to do so!!

Taglist : @themotherofhorses @mgkbabygirl @yessirsargeantbarnes @thedarthpancakes @openup-yourmind @booksandbenbarnes @siriusjohnpotter @clearwatersfalling @juulle987 @leesbadussy @rach2602 @slashersluttt @kitty1960 @phildunphyisadilf @charmed-asylum @dopeqff @pono-pura-vida @peacinourtime82 @buckgasms

#bunny rambles 🎟#Gossip Bun 💋#andy barber x reader #Andy Barber #chris evans characters #chris evans #Dark!Andy Barber x reader #dark!andy barber #Daddy!Andy Barber x reader #ari levinson x reader #daddy!stucky x little!reader #daddy!steve #dilf steve rogers

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miniisunshine · 2 months

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Hii! This is my first fanfic like ever, i had this idea before sleeping one night and decided to write it in case others would like this story too. Kinda taboo and it doesn't follow the plot of Under the Banner of Heaven, i only took the character of Sam! Enjoy!

(Also english is not my first language)

Synopsis : You didn't believe in god, but you sure believed in Father Sam

Warnings : Age gap (21-35), cheating, loss of virginity, sex in a religious place, p in v, AFAB character, soft dom

There you were, in a church with your family, praying to a god you didn't believe in.

Let's get back to the beginning: your mother always had problem conceving, having you almost took her life, but she was determine to have a second one, a boy, even if the doctors told your parents it would need a miracle to have another child. So they began to pray and pray, until your brother was born two years after you; a complete healthy boy.

As they were proud of the "Lord's work" they didn't hold back on talking about the miracle that was your brother at the church near your old house, that's how they met the Lafferty family, proud owners of a little commune where religion ruled the place.

And that's how you ended up living most of your life there. You always felt different, like you didn't belong with these people, religion life wasn't your style, but you couldn't leave. Your parents didn't let you work, so you couldn't save money for yourself, you weren't allowed to learn how to drive and the commune was too far to escape by foot. So you daydreamed about being a normal 21 years old: partying, graduating college, going out, experience life and... mostly sexual life. You've learned all about that on your phone, a 18th birthday present by your parents.

Not that you didn't know about your sexuality,nd sex in general, at your 18th birthday, you already knew your envies and your pulsions were normal, despite everyone telling you otherwise. I mean, why would God have created them? What wasn't normal was your feeling for Father Samuel Lafferty, the oldest son's in the Lafferty family.

It started as a small crush when you were 16, the day his dad let him take over the church's activities, so he could "retire" and live a calm life in the commune. But then, as you grew older, you knew you wanted him more than an high school girl crushing on a One Direction member. Unfortunately, as most men, he was already married to a good little wife, living a perfect life, or so you thought.

As you were waiting for the evening prayer, you noticed Samuel wasn't at the door, greeting his people like he used to, no he was late. Well, he still made it in time, but when he entered the church, you knew something was wrong with him, anger could be read in his eyes, but not enough so that everybody could see it, only you took notice of it.

As the evening prayer's ended, everybody stand up to leave, but not you, you were motivate to know what was on his mind. You said to your family that you had a question to ask to Father Sam and you waited for everybody to leave the house of God to went forward with your mission.

"Father Sam"

"Good evening"

He responded looking at you with a soft smile.

"I've noticed you weren't at the door today to greet our community, is everything alright? I was worried"

"Nothing to worry sweatheart, i still made it in time didn't i?"

"Yes, but i've noticed your anger in your eyes, is there something troubling you?"

"Like i said, nothing really important"

"You know, my family always said i had a great ear to listen when someone needed to talk about their problems..."

You pressed your hands on his forearms.

He sighed.

"i guess its always a relief to talk to someone who doesn't know you personnally, but you can't tell anyone, we are in the presence of God, he will know if you don't keep your promise"

"Mouth shut i promise, its like we'll never had this conversation"

"So... My wife and i, aren't really compatible in the bedroom"

You watch him with a curious face.

"You know, it's hard to conceived when there's no fun in the love making session"

You didn't know what took over you, but you took one step closer to him, putting your hands on his chest.

"Can you show me what fun would be like for you?"

And with that, you got his attention. Maybe it was because he was in need of a good fuck session, or he maybe was possessed by a demon, but he you took by the wrist, leading you to his small office before closing the door and curtains

"On your knees, now."

You could feel your heart beating fast and entrance getting wet. This was all happening so fast, but it was what you've always wanted, and you didn't want to messed up this opportunity, so you did as he told you to do.

He walked towards you, the excitement in his pants quite visible as he took your chin in his hand, smirking in your direction. With his other hand, he unbuckle his pants, dropping them on the floor, doing the same with his boxers, as you watch with anticipation

He wasn't huge, but he was still pretty big, so you wasted no time taking him in your hands, while you look into his eyes, in need of a reaction. As his breathing started to go faster, you surprised him by putting his member in your mouth. You've never done that with anyone, but the porn you've watched your phone, and the pratice you did in your room helped you a lot faking your confidence.

"Fuck..."

He gripped you by the back of your head, guiding you as he softly moan, head toward the ceilling, eyes closed.

As you were adjusting your mouth to his size and beginning to feel yourself on him, he pulled you up, taking you over his desk, bending you over and lifting your skirt to reveal your ass.

"I've never see you with a man before, have you ever done this?"

He massaged your butt, waiting for an answer, while you blushed.

"No... I was waiting for the right one, like you..."

"And what does that mean?"

He pulled down your underwear, revealing your soaking cunt, before carefully placing a finger in between your folds, finding your clit.

"I-I've always had a..a crush on you Father Sam... Every wet dreams i had w-was about you.."

You were a shaking mess, almost coming undone just by his soft touch on your clit.

He lower himself, whispering in your ears before entering a finger in your wet hole.

"So you dreamed about this moment?"

"Y-Yes! Oh my god.. Sam"

He started moving his finger into you leaving small kisses on your back, he wasted no time before putting a second and than a third one, making you moan and cry as you enjoyed this torturous pleasure.

"P-please Father.. I need t-to feel you... Please be the o-one to take my virginity..."

You couldn't believe yourself, you never thought you were this forward in life, but the things he made you feel were too much, you wanted more.

Without saying a word, he places himself in front of your entrance, thrusting a couple of times without entering, making you longing for him, before slowly pushing into you, grunting, feeling your walls taking him so perfectly.

You gasped as you didn't expet this to be so painful, but how so good was the pain for you.

At a slow pace he thrusted more and more of himself, grabbing your hips to keep you in place and moaning quietly to the sin he was committing.

He moved faster and faster, making you cry out of pleasure, scratching the desk you were on, hoping to catch something to hold onto.

Moaning louder and slapping your ass, leaving a mark on you, Sam placed his fingers on your clit, circling your pearl, aiming for your orgasm.

"C-come for me sweetheart, we're in this together..."

And with that, you let yourself coming undone on his desk, while he thrusted one last time, filling you with his semence.

Coming down from the high you were both in, he made sure to clean you, making you feel loved, not like a toy he just used. You look at him one last time, smilling with embarrassement, before leaving the church and going home, your heart filled and your head loaded with new fantasies.

Tadaaa, what have i write?! Hehe! Let me know what yall think!

#rory culkin #rory culkin x reader #under the banner of heaven #sam lafferty #rory culkin smut #smut #i ❤️ rory culkin

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jungle-angel · 5 months

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Lessons In Nursing (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: You decide to have your mother-in-law come and give a lecture to your class, but woe to the heckler who incurs her wrath

Tagging: @floydsmuse Meggy, I hope you're good with it, but the entire time I wrote this I was picturing Emma from White Christmas as Patricia and could literally hear her voice as I wrote it (lol).

Warnings: Pregnancy, college admin being a sexist moron, misogynistic remarks, etc.

"You nervous Pat?" you asked as the three of you made your way towards the science buildings on campus.

"Not in the least (y/n)," Pat answered confidently. "I've had to give numerous lectures in the past and have yet to face one that I couldn't do. How about yourself? How are things?"

"I'm tired," you answered.

"I tried that home remedy you suggested the other day Ma," Calvin answered. "The one with the raw ginger?"

"Did it help with the morning sickness?" Pat asked.

"Morning sickness, yes but the fatigue is a different story," Cal said.

"A mug full of chamomile tea in the morning will do you good," Patricia explained. "Did it with every single one of my kids and it hasn't failed me since."

The three of you had at last arrived at Franklin Hall, a tall, imposing gothic monstrosity of a building that looked more like a medieval church than a reputable college institution. Here was where the science classes were all held, chemistry, biology, anatomy and physiology as well as the nursing courses that you taught.

"You gonna be able to make it this afternoon?" you asked Calvin as he handed Six-Thirty and his leash off to you.

"I'll make it," Calvin promised. "Dr. Powers and I will both be there after our classes get out at twelve. But after that I need you down to the cafeteria so you can get something to eat. I don't want you faint in the middle of the lecture."

You chuckled and kissed your husband, even as Six-Thirty nudged your belly with his nose. "Now you knock that off," you told the dog. "That's Daddy's job."

Calvin smiled as he gave you one last hug, his hands trailing to the slightly evident bump that had shown up overnight. He couldn't feel the baby kicking quite yet, but you knew that when he did, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you.

"Good luck Sweetpea," he said, pressing one last kiss to your lips. "I'll see you at noon."

"I'll see you then."

Cal pulled open the heavy oak and iron doors, letting you, Six-Thirty and his mother in first before he followed you both down the hall. He headed straight for the chemistry labs with Dr. Powers while you and Pat headed for the anatomy lecture room.

Your girls were all awaiting in the room, each one in their lab coats, chattering away as you and Pat took yours from the rack. "Good morning ladies," you chirped.

"GOOD MORNING PROFESSOR EVANS!" they chimed in.

"Alright ladies," you announced, taking your place in the lecture pit. "We've got our demonstration today at noon and to prepare, I've brought a little guest to help. So without further adieu, I present to you all, my mother-in-law, Patricia Evans."

"Thank you sweetheart," Patricia said, taking her place at the stand. "Alright ladies, none of the usual bullshit this morning. Lets get down to business....."

********************

"So am I technically doing this right?" the eighteen year old asked Calvin.

"Yep, you're good," Calvin assured him. "Just let it drip into the beaker and let it do its thing."

Calvin absolutely loved working with the eager, fresh-faced students who had come from all the local high schools in the area. To him it meant being able to get back to basics, to go back to the roots of chemistry and to teach them from the ground up. He loved when they got creative with their notebooks, drawing colorful pictures and diagrams and experimented with their handwriting. Any other professor would have turned their noses up at it, but Calvin and Anthony Powers absolutely loved it.

"Hey Professor Evans?"

"What's up Frank?"

"Remind me again what color the fluids are supposed to be again after they've boiled?"

"It's supposed to be pale pink," Calvin answered. "What color is it now?"

"It's a dark pink."

"Let it go another five to ten minutes but no more than that," Calvin instructed.

He looked up at the wall clock and saw that it was ten minutes till noon. As soon as he had the chance, Calvin ordered everyone to clean up and to put their experiments in the glass cabinets until tomorrow. He dropped his lab coat in the laundry and made his way down to the other end of the wing, eager to hear and see your demonstration.

*******************

"..........Now these particular tests are quite easy, but determining the results can be a real hassle," Patricia explained to the audience. "Back in the day you wouldn't have thought to test the patient's blood at all and half the time you'd wait until really, truly, severe symptoms appeared......."

"Your mother's a knowledgeable lady that's for sure," Dr. Powers remarked to Calvin, the two of them sitting higher up from the pit.

"Knowledgeable isn't even the half of it," Calvin whispered back to him. "You should see when she really gets going."

"Now after the blood test has been done," Patricia continued to explained. "It's best to continue the treatment as is, until further notice or until the results come in and then determine the course of action therewith."

"Sounds like a brilliant plan," someone in the crowd spoke. "Coming from a woman."

The entire room fell so silent one would have been able to hear a dog whistle. "I'm sorry?' Patricia enquired.

"It just seems funny to me to think that you know more than the doctors on this campus," the grey-haired young man said to her. "After all, nursing is one of the lesser sciences."

Calvin wide-eyed and made a face, Dr. Powers groaning and running his hands over his chubby, round face. "Oh no, he didn't," Powers groaned.

"Brace yourself, this shitshow's about to get worse," Calvin warned him under his breath.

You and Patricia glanced at each other, your mother-in-law noticing the way your jaw clenched and how your posture stiffened.

"Young man do you work here?" she asked.

"Well......yes but I....."

"And to what department do you belong?" Patricia questioned sharply.

"Well, the medical arts," the young man replied. "You see I had studied at the Harvard Medical College and......."

"Oh and Ivy Leaguer huh?" Patricia said. "Tell me now, have you ever stitched up a man with shrapnel flying around you in all directions?"

"No I......."

"Have you ever had to repair a torn aorta in a tent before?"

"No I......"

"What about trenchfoot?" Patricia questioned again. "Ever had to deal with any of that?"

"No ma'am I......"

"Then I wouldn't consider you much of a doctor in that case," Patricia scoffed.

"Now ma'am you see here for a moment!"

"Young man, I had to earn my stripes in the middle of a shelled out church in France, rearraigning men's guts day after day while everywhere else was having the living daylights pounded out of them," Patricia snapped. "So until you yourself have been there, I suggest you sit up a little straighter, keep your legs crossed, shut your mouth and mind your own business!"

The young man cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, as did everyone else including Six-Thirty who was in the corner at your feet. Not a single soul in that lecture hall dared to make another snide comment to Patricia Evans or to you.

***************

"Well that went a little better than expected," Patricia commented as you, her and Cal made your way up the little brick path to the house. "Although I could've done without Mr. Ivy Leaguer there making those snide remarks."

"I saw him cross his legs the minute you snapped Ma," Calvin chuckled, unlocking the door.

"My apologies, but the damn fool had it coming," Patricia remarked. "Besides, if that had been your father, he would have said things that would have Ulysses S. Grant himself rolling over in his grave."

"Or blushing in most cases," you chuckled.

You both entered the house, the place warm and cozy as ever with the smell of dinner cooking on the stove. One could say whatever they liked about Henry Evans Jr., but the man was a damn good cook.

Henry and Pat both conversed about the happenings of the day while you and Cal enjoyed their company. All of you laughed at the lecture incident, but when Calvin looked at you and mouthed a silent "I love you", you couldn't help but lean into him, one arm round you and the warmth of your husband surrounding you.

#lessons in chemistry #calvin evans #calvin evans x reader

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libraford · 2 years

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Obviously, I have opinions about the word 'queer.' There's historical precedence for the broad usage of this word and there are multiple posts about those contexts.

But that's only some of the reason that I choose this word to describe myself.

You know... growing up in Indiana in the 90s I didn't get exposed to the community. There was some ruckus about it at church a few times, the AIDS epidemic was background noise, and we had one gay bar that got closed down by the time I was old enough to go there.

I was outed against my will when I was seven, in 1993, when it was still very much a social death sentence in the suburban midwest. Twenty-one years before marriage was even halfway legal. And I was called all manner of things, including 'queer.' But the word that hurt the most, really hit me deeply in my soul...

...was 'lesbian.'

Lesbian is the accepted term for a woman who seeks relationships with women (the community's own gatekeeping aside.) It is one of the main letters in the acronym. There is nothing wrong with the word 'lesbian.'

But it was the way that they said it. That fucking lesbian. What are you, a lesbo? Dont sit with her, shes a lesbian.

This was paired with projectile rocks, bottles, some elaborate pranks and some less than elaborate.

This went on for eleven years. In high school our Gay-Straight-Alliance had about five people, and it was made up of two people I was sort of friends with and three people who had been throwing rocks at me. It wasnt a safe place.

And I had yet to kiss a single girl. Whole high school experience, couldnt even think about dating because I was too busy trying to shake that word off of me.

Maybe if someone said it nicely to me just once I wouldnt have felt like I was scraping the label off of me every day.

Get to college, I hear the phrase 'queer studies.' The word felt like pins on the back of my neck because I'd heard that word, too. But today it was a friendly word, a thing you could study. A history, a theory, a community.

I get shy about the word, and then I hear more words. Femme, butch, dyke, bear, bambi, fag, queen... all of these words from friendly mouths with kind eyes and all of them queer.

And then I said it out loud.

"Queer."

Ooohh.. see, it was different when I took it for myself. It wasnt pins anymore, it was a knife that I got to hold. 'Lesbian' still hurt because by the time I found queerness, it was questionable that my gender mattered anymore.

It's such a... broad word. I get to define my own queerness. I'm not a woman who loves women, I'm a person who is in love! And that love is for my girlfriend, that love is for my friends, that love is for myself- god fucking finally that love is for myself, who I hated and hated and hated for almost thirty years because someone when I was seven decided to put me in a fucking box that I didn't belong and I didnt know how to escape because I didnt know that there were other words, kinder words, words like knives in the hand instead of in the heart.

God. Fucking. Damnit. I loved myself for the first time.

And you want me... to go back into that little box that doesnt fit me anymore because it's a 'slur?' And you think I cant reclaim it because it wasnt meant for me when I was literally... called it since I was seven god damned years old?

No word meant to describe my sexuality is without a history of violence. Not a single one. The word 'lesbian' no longer stings, it just isnt wholly correct for me.

So if I can make peace with the word that sent me home crying for eleven years, you can let people reclaim the word 'queer' for themselves.

Miss me with that terf shit.

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countrymusiclover · 10 months

Text

18 - Mr and Mrs. Cooper

( image from Pinterest )

Part 19

The Texas Tire Family

Tags just ask - @supernaturalgirl30 @bvbwestfall @bubble-blu @patriciaplictisita @liesanddreams @bethanymccauley

Missy ran down a hallway to the last bedroom putting her baseball and mit away. She came back grinning ear to ear. “So my brothers are weird. My dad drinks beer and my mom is really strong about god. Other than that I’m the normal one.”

“Okay I’ll keep that in mind.” I nodded, putting my hands inside the pockets of my jacket until the back room opened.

I noticed Sheldon was carrying some mittens in his hand and he stood in front of us. “You’re Y/n from my math class that sits in the front row. You did well on our last test. Not as good as me but not bad.”

“Uh thanks Sheldon. Can I ask why you have mittens?” I made the mistake the first night I had dinner with his family.

Missy rolled her head back. “Oh no.”

“I don’t know where your hands have been. I don’t want to risk the likelihood that you have some kind of disease. There are too many in the world.” He explained moving around us to watch a science tv show.

The back door opens and I saw their mother come in with some brisket getting the table set in the dining room. The bedroom door in front of me and Missy opened and I smiled seeing it was Georgie. “Hey Georgie.”

“Hey Y/n.” He smiled wearing a yellow tea shirt with a football number on it. He had blue jeans on with henna shoes. I gulped feeling nervous since I was just wearing a Texas tea shirt that was light blue and some dark blue jeans with my hair in a ponytail.

The three of us headed into the kitchen seek Mr. Cooper had come in from work wearing his red coach gear. “Hey ya’ll. Georgie, did you invite a girl from school to dinner?”

“No!” He fought back.

Missy piped up. “I did.”

“Alright well let’s eat.” He shrugged his shoulders sitting down at the end of the table. Missy sat across from me. Georgie and Sheldon were on the same side.

Someone entered the house where I saw an older woman sit down at the other end across from George Senior. “Hey ya’ll who’s the new girl?”

“Y/n, ma’am.” I smiled while putting some brisket on my plate.

She smiled at me. “Call me Connie.” Mrs. Cooper had us all take hands while she blessed the food before we all dug in.

“This is really good, meemaw.” Georgie told Connie with his mouth full of meat.

She sat her fork down on her plate. “Really good. You’re spitting the best brisket in Texas all over the damn table.” I snort covering my mouth with my hand holding the fork trying not to laugh out loud.

“Close your mouth.” His mom said.

Sheldon suggested back. “Or aim your face the other way before you spit on Y/n.”

“You're acting like a barn animal. Y/n probably won’t ever kiss ya.” Missy stuck her tongue out towards her brother causing my face to turn red at the thought.

Georgie hit his other hand on the table where I glanced out the corner of my eye seeing that he was blushing too where a smile grew on my face. “Shut up, Missy. I ain’t gonna kiss the girl in my class that you invited to dinner.”

“I bet you a dollar that you will get with her in two years.” She challenged him.

I added on playing her game smirking at Georgie. “When she is going into middle school.”

“Oh yay!” Missy leaned across the table high fiving me grinning with me. Unknown to either of us it would actually happen when we were both sixteen years old.

Georgie and I were huddled up as close as we could be. Aurora, Eve and Montana in between us with the storm crashing outside the upstairs of the church. I didn’t know how long we had been down in the basement. But it was scary as hell that much I knew. Clutching my eyes shut tightly I whimpered like a dog until someone peeked outside announcing to our group. “The storm has passed now. We can go check out the damage.”

Everyone got to their feet and shuffled outside as best as we could. Georgie got to his feet first helping me to stand on my own two feet. “I’m sorry about your dress, darling.” He dropped his gaze downward to my wedding gown.

“It’s just a dress, Georgie. I’m more relieved that my family is safe.” I shrug my shoulders pushing hair behind my ear. The dress was stained with dust and dirt on the bottom train but otherwise it was white still for the most part.

Aurora and Eve ran towards the main doors pushing them open. I was carrying Montana in my arms where he was drooling a little on my shoulder. “Mommy, look at the truck.” Eve points out where we both gasped in relief.

“Holy crap.” I sighed seeing that a large tree limb was laying right beside our car meaning it was fine but it definitely was a close call.

Georgie put a hand on my shoulder squeezing it gently. “Things could have been worse.”

“Thank you lord.” His mother said, holding her hands together praying to the sky.

Sheldon just glanced at Amy who gave him a look. “Don’t say it.”

“She probably will say God sent the storm and then took it away.” He didn’t listen and said it anyway.

Connie came over to us pulling a box of firecrackers in her hands. “I thought I’d get you two of these as a wedding present. Since Mary is going to be watching your kids tonight.”

“Oh mom.” Mary rolled her eyes.

Georgie glanced down at me wrapping his arm around my waist tugging me into his side smirking. “Take you back doesn’t it, Y/n?”

“For sure. At least this time we won’t have to worry about being grounded.” I chuckled at him, grinning up at him. I would remember that night forever.

Mary came over gently picking up Montana from my arms. “I know your father would be happy if he was here. You’re a good father and husband Georgie.”

“Mommy, can we throw the poppers?” Eve asked tugging on the side of my gown.

I bent down handing the box to my husband, opening my arms for her. “Unfortunately no sweetheart. They are for your father and me. But we will let you throw some if we don’t use them all. Now give me a hug.”

“I love ya.” She mumbled jumping into my arms hugging me gently.

She ran towards her daddy jumping up into his arms where he grunted at how fast she ran at him. “Woah Eve. I love ya too.”

“Rora, behave for Connie.” I warned our eldest daughter when I noticed something in her pocket when she walked over to her father hugging him. “And don’t set you or your sister on fire with that cracker in your jacket pocket.”

Georgie smiled when I sent him a raised brow. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t give it to her.”

“Sure, you didn’t Mr. Cooper.” I trailed off, raising myself to stand heading over to his truck. Georgie came over to me making me squeal when he picked me up bridal style sitting me in the passenger seat. He got in the driver's seat taking us back to our house that was down the road from Connie’s.

We finally had gotten enough money to move out of the apartment and buy a house of our own. Georgie opened his door coming over to my side where I wrapped my arms around his neck when he picked me up again. “Georgie, I can’t believe we’re actually doing this now.”

“Neither can I, babe. Now let’s do this the right way.” He opened the door when I grabbed the keys from his back pocket. After fiddling with the lock I got it open since he was still carrying me in his arms. “Welcome home, Mrs. Cooper.”

My dress hit the floor where I spun around underneath his arm when he gave me a spin. “Thank you, Mr. Cooper. I love you, Georgie. Just thought I needed to say it again.”

“You don't have to stop saying it ever. Cause I love you too. I’ll never stop, darling.” He tugged me against his chest watching when I moved my hands up undoing the tie he had on throwing it off when he shut the door with his boot.

I smiled up at him leaning up on my toes and he closed the gap kissing me slowly. One of his hands moved to the back of my dress tugging on the zipper where I broke the kiss smirking. “We should probably move this to the bedroom.”

“Probably a good idea.” He nodded leading me by our intertwined hands into our bedroom. We both kicked off our shoes and he removed his jacket just being in jeans and his white tea shirt.

Laying down on the bed I wrapped my arms around his neck pulling him in for another kiss. He put one hand on my hip, kissing me slowly. His other hand was in my hair tugging on it for a second until he broke the kiss. “What’s wrong?”

“With our track record of when we sleep together I just….I want to make sure you're cool. With ya know maybe a fourth kid and all.” He searched my face for any hesitation and he has done it every time since we were teenagers when we had Aurora.

Running one hand through his hair I drew him in for another kiss. “Georgie, I said this with Eve and I said it with Montana. I ain’t gonna run because you get me pregnant. I love you always. Now kiss me, Mr. Texan.”

“God you don’t know what that nickname does to me.” He smirked quickly trying to shrug his shirt over his head and then helped me remove my dress by tossing it on the chair by the shut bedroom door so it wouldn’t end up on the floor.

Resting my hands on his shoulders I smiled up at him hovering above me. “Probably the same way you call me darling. Every time it drives me crazy and I love you for it.”

“And I’ll never stop cause you're always going to be my darling.” He smiled wrapping his arms around me when I put my legs around his waist pressing my lips onto his. The rest of the night was spent in bed enjoying being in each other's arms finally as a married couple after ten years.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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fellthemarvelous · 3 months

Text

A heaping spoonful of religious trauma...

What falling feels like.

You want to know what gets to me the most about "Before the Beginning"?

I remember being in first grade (6-years-old) and sitting through a religion class that I hated (to be honest, I despised every religion class I was forced to sit through in school) because the indoctrination process is not even fun. I just got to sit there for like twelve years listening to them tell me lies about Christianity (my world religions teacher in high school was like being forced to sit through a teacher say "Bueller, Bueller" for about an hour 4-5 days per week for an entire semester).

But I digress as this story started off relevant.

I remember sitting through my first grade religion class and (this was 1987-ish, mind you) and thinking "but how do we know that our religion is right and everyone else's is wrong?" By that time, they had made it clear that not believing blindly in Catholicism was worthy of getting into trouble over, so I already knew better than to ask that question because I knew I would be sent to the principal's office. I didn't ask because I was terrified of the punishment when I was only 6-years-old. I already knew there was a price to pay for asking questions. And I can't even remember why I was already so terrified by that point.

Crowley paid a price for asking questions.

It's not like falling is easy. I fully denounced the Catholic church and now consider myself an atheist (mostly), but I will never allow an organized religion to try and define who I am ever again.

There is not a lot of support for this.

Falling is more than just fire and brimstone (so far that's the most appealing part). The worst part of "falling" is the fact that at the age of almost 43, I have NO idea who I am. None at all. I'm falling at a speed and trajectory I can no longer control, and it's been absolutely terrifying. It's been lonely.

I've spent my adult life putting the needs of everyone else above my own. Now I'm trying to find a job within a career I actually want (writing), but that's going to take time. I was traumatized by the Catholic church in so many ways, and I have a lot to say about it.

"How do we know that our religion is right and everyone else's is wrong?"

I wasn't prepared to deal with the consequences of asking that question to the wrong person at 6-years-old. Now I'm wishing I had an adult who was better at being an adult than me to guide me through all of this because I'm currently a giant ball of jobless anxiety wondering if I'm ever going to amount to anything more than what the church told me I would if I dared to lead a life without a husband and children.

I am not responsible enough to deal with "my disaster" (also known as "my life") all on my own. It's an issue of motivation because I have no idea who I am or what I want from life. My identity was decided for me by the church, and I still don't even know what that means.

I just know I'm trying to survive in a literal dystopian world and trying to figure out who and what I am in the middle of everything else. It's confusing and exhausting and so frustrating.

"How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?"

Once the spell is broken, there is no going back, and most of us end up making this journey on our own.

#good omens #religious trauma #crowley #what happens when you ask questions?#what happens when you figure out the right questions to ask?#what happens to your identity?#it has taken me 20+ years to reach this point after i walked away from the church

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dinodinodin0 · 2 years

Text

He brought you to me, pretty girl

! ♡ ୧꒰*´꒳*꒱૭ ✧ ！

Pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: innocent!reader, christian!reader, god kink, worshipping kink, perv!Eddie if you squint, spicy ish, church

This is part one 🤍 part two

You're the sweetest girl in church. You're prim and proper, modest church dress and your hair ties in a high ponytail. Everyone in your church loved you, as you adored helping around even without being asked. You almost worked at the churchat this point.

Leaving church, A sweet old lady who was a church regular stopped you at the doors.

"dear, I appreciate your help here so very much. You have a good head on your shoulders and your parents should be proud. Have a blessed rest of your Sunday, dear" she smiled, gesturing you our of the door as you nodded and smiled back at her.

On the car ride home, your dad piped up.

"y'know honey, were very proud of how seriously you're taking your faith. Have you been staying up to date on your bible study?"

You nod. You've never missed a day of studying, and you could practically resite every bible quote by heart.

"well me and your mom are going to go eat at Enzo's to celebrate my promotion, so you'll have the house to yourself for the night." He says, parking the car for you in your houses driveway.

"are you going to be alright pumpkin?" He asks, closing the car door he'd opened for you.

"I'll be just fine daddy, I have a long night of study ahead of me," you smiled, watching his car drive off and heading into your house.

After a few hours of reading, you head up to your room and change into your pajamas.

You noticed a slight breeze coming from your slightly ajar window, but you didn't mind. You left it open for a reason.

What you hadn't noticed, was your boyfriend Eddie watching you through your thin, lace curtains. He watched you change out of your pretty and prim church dress, and into a delicate white nightgown. It was beautiful. It had a bow in the front of it's sweetheart neckline, a babydoll sillouette that reached just below your ass. You looked like an angel to him, quite fitting of your good-girl churchgoer persona.

You weren't faking, you did truly believe and loved devoting yourself to your faith. The only problem with that was.. you weren't completely honest.

You had just graduated from an all girls Catholic school, so now that you were back home you desided to explore the new Hawkins. While on a walk through some neighborhoods, you noticed some rather... energetic music.. coming from a garage. Your father always told you that this type of music was devils music, but you were so intrigued with it that you couldn't just ignore it.

You stood from afar, peering around a car watching them practice. Then, you noticed the guitar player. His hands, covered in rings, expertly strumming his guitar. His long brown curls bouncing with his movements. He looked.. scary. But.. not in the way that made you want to run away. Some way that made you feel.. weird.

Eventually you approached him, despite your intense anxiety.

"excuse me," you swallowed, "I hope I don't sound impolite, but I had heard your playing a while back and felt very... Intrigued by you."

He chuckled. You were adorable to him. You were obsurdly polite, and quite... Pitiful. Like a baby bunny, scurrying and weak. It was blaringly apparent you were greatly different from him.

"wouldn't expect you to listen to that type of music, little lady." He said, looking down at you with a smug look on his face.

You froze with fear. You were so close to him and he was so.. dominating. It was as if the air changed when he was so near to you, as if even atoms would adhere to his demands if asked.

He lifted your chin with his fingers, "you're blushing an awful lot arnt you? Almost like you want me to ask you on a date. Why else would you be so blushy? Not scared of me... " He got closer, locking his eyes on yours, "are ya?"

You stammered, "no..i-id like that."

After you've been in a few dates, it had become obvious that it was too little for you. You needed something else. The weird feeling you had when you first saw him grew, and it made you press your thighs together every date you had. You fiddled with your fingers, and constantly bit the inside of your cheek, trying to pray this weird feeling away.

He noticed too. But he noticed that you did absolutely everythingthing he aske beforehand. First it was normal things, if he'd asked you to go get him something like a ketchup packet or napkins for him, you'd snap up to go do what he'd asked, immediately. And then, he experimented with being less polite. He went from, 'hey doll, mind getting me a straw?' To 'Get me straw, little girl. Go on.'

Then it wasn't favors. 'fix your hair, you have strsnds in your face,' or increasingly something along the lines of, 'pull your skirt a bit higher for me sweetheart' you didn't always know why he asked certain things, but you did them without question. Happy to comply.

It became apparent just how much you wanted to submit to him, like you were his little desciple, at his every beck and call.

At the end of your last date, he came close to your ear and whispered.

"do you want to worship me, little girl?"

And since then, he had told you to wait in your room the next night after church. He didn't give you a time, but told you not to question him and keep a blind faith.

So now you were in your pretty nightgown, glowing from the moonlight peering through your curtains.

You heard your window slide open, initially startling you, but Eddie stepped into your room and shushed you.

"shh don't worry sweetheart it's just me. I told ya I'd be here."

He put his hand over your mouth and pressed you to his chest, "your parents home?" You shake your head, "good."

He takes his hand off your mouth and turns you around, kissing you.

He breaks your kiss, looking down at you.

"so you said you wanted to worship me, right?"

"yes.. I do.. I'm not sure why but... I'm convinced God sent you to me," you started, as you felt his eyes stare down at you.

"Everytime since the day I saw you.. I've had this weird feeling with me. It's physical. I tried to pray it away, but it never does.. so I think it's him telling me I'm meant to have it around you." You confess, heart beating faster.

"what.. what kind of feeling is it? He asked, bringing his chin to his chest.

"it's... Odd. My hands get all sweaty, my heart beats faster and... The thing that's new is.. a feeling that's down.. there." You say, face flushing bright red.

He tilts his head, confused. Then, it clicks .

"oh my poor girl.. are you feeling that right now?" He asks, crouching down and holding your hands.

Mhm, you nod, neediness washing over you.

"y'know. I think God wants me to take care of that. I think he wants you to do everything I say, so I can help you."

"you do? What do you want me to do then?" You ask, bitting your lip without quite knowing why.

He holds your hand, bringing himself to sit on your bed. He opens his legs and brings you between them.

"to get rid of that feeling, you need to worship me. God brought me you for a reason right? God chose you for me" he says, adding for you to get on your knees and pray.

You start to lower your head and clasp your hands, but he stops you.

"ah ah ah, not like that. You'll pray to me another way, got it?" You holt, embarrassed, and await his next orders.

"what way do you mean then?" You ask, staring up at him.

"it's a new kind of worship you do to people like me. People that give you that feeling." He pets your hair, suddenly grabbing a handful and pulling your head back.

"open your mouth for me"

.-+-.-+-.-+-.-+-.

A/N: AAAAA THIS IS SO LONG IM SORRRYYY, sorry I never get to the actual smut, please let me know if you'd want me to continue it !!! Just felt like it was already too long

Tag list: @rebelcthulhu

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader fanfic #eddie munson x you #godkink!eddie #christian!reader #god ki/nk #spicy ish #spicy fanfic #bd/sm fanfic

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ftmtftm · 2 months

Note

hi there, youve mentioned having done activist work in the past and i was wondering if you had any tips for like... "breaking in" so to say?? i really want to Do Good irl but i have no idea how and where to start, where to find other people Doing Good

Getting involved with/paying attention to local government / local politics, as well as finding ways you can intentionally disrupt the settings you're currently in.

At the very least that's how I got involved in the beginning. Like, just using myself as an example - my activism began by organizing my high school's Day of Silence and helping to lead talk backs about queer identity through our GSA (retitled to Gender and Sexuality Alliance, rather than Gay Straight Alliance). It got more disruptive when I helped organize a silent sit down during the Pledge of Allegiance in the wake of Mike Brown's murder - that almost got us all detention/suspended before my dad threatened to sue the school for violating our First Amendment right to not pledge to the flag.

That all led to me talking at local government meetings in protest of a city ordinance that would have allowed businesses to ban trans people from their restrooms when I was a senior - which in turn exposed me to my wider community activist scene where I was then able to get involved with things like our local memorials for Pulse and the creation of spaces for queer youth in our community.

(This is a total sidebar but that then spiraled several years forward into my grandma helping lead discussions on accepting queer family members at her own church and this 75 year old woman going to protest the high school in support of a teacher who was told to take the trans flag in her room down and I'm still so immensely proud of that.)

That's all to say: It builds on itself. You've gotta start by involving yourself in self advocacy, disruption in your own spaces in the ways you're able to, and involving yourself in your community - and then? Others see that, in both negative and overwhelmingly positive ways. Like, to be completely clear: I've gotten a lot of shit from people around me on top of all of the good but it was and still is so worth it.

I do think it can be really dependent on your community and environment, but people do find each other. If you just start doing good in whatever ways are currently within your control, people who do the same will start becoming more and more visible to you and you'll be more welcomed into those spaces and resources in time.

#I hope this makes sense !! I'm a very anecdotal person 💀#asks #lumalalu

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evandarya · 1 year

Text

Ghosts Dont go to High School

Chapter 10

D.F. 👻:

Still want to know about ghosts?

Danny sent the message halfway through patrol while Tim was in the middle of breaking up an attempted burglary. He sent back a quick message while blocking a punch with his staff.

Red Robin:

Yes

A quick sweep of his staff landed the last of the thugs on his back.

Red Robin:

Did you talk to Phantom?

While waiting for a reply he zip-tied the thugs together for the GCPD to find and made his way to the nearest rooftop

D.F. 👻:

He agreed to meet you at Old Gotham Cemetery tomorrow at midnight.

Tim frowned at the time and place. Talk about cliche.

Red Robin:

I can be there.

Tim landed on the roof of a building across from Gotham Cemetery at 11:30 pm Sunday. His comm crackled in his ear.

“Are you sure you don’t want any backup?” Nightwing asked.

“I’m sure. Phantom is flighty. If a pack of vigilantes shows up it will scare him off. There’s no telling when or if he’d agree to meet again.” Tim said. Gotham Cemetery stood empty, the large iron gates were chained shut. It didn’t look like Phantom was there yet. Good.

“If Drake allows the ghost to get away again, someone else should be in charge of this case,” Damian said. Tim could almost see the sneer on the demon brat’s face.

“Codenames,” Batman said over the comms. “Red Robin is the only one who has been able to get close to Phantom. We need information on ghosts to be prepared if anything happens, but Phantom is not our enemy.” There was a pause as Batman allowed those words to seep in. “That being said, I can be there in three minutes.”

“It will be fine.” Tim stood to get a better view of the cemetery.

“Isn’t it a bit on-the-nose for a ghost to hang out in a graveyard?” Nightwing asked.

“It’s a cemetery, actually,” Tim said, switching from the regular vision in his mask to infrared. If Phantom had ice powers, maybe he could see him as a cold spot.

“What’s the difference?”

“Graveyards are attached to churches,” Tim responded, “Cemeteries aren't.” There wasn’t anything on thermal vision.

“Did Phantom tell you that?” Damian asked, his derisive tone clear even over the comm.

“No, actually. Da- uh… someone else did.”

“It was your physics partner, wasn't it?” Damian asked.

“Your boyfriend knows the difference between graveyards and cemeteries?" Dick asked. "That’s kinda creepy.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Tim shot back.

“Not yet,” Dick sing-songed.

“Chatter on comms,” Batman warned.

“Oh, come on, B. You have to admit, he’s the son of ghost hunters, is in regular contact with ghosts, and hangs out in cemeteries. That’s creepy. All he needs is fangs and he could be a full-on vampire.”

Tim felt his face flush as he was reminded of the sharper-than-human teeth he knew Danny sometimes had. “He’s not a vampire.”

“You wouldn’t be talking about me, would you?”

Tim spun around and found himself face to face with Phantom. Tim wondered if he had had a bad night since the ghost was looking rough. His white hair, which usually floated around as if blown in an invisible breeze hung limp, and there were dark blue bags under his eyes that showed in sharp contrast to his paler-blue-than-normal skin. Even his pointed ears seemed to droop. He had a lumpy black duffle bag thrown over one shoulder and it sat heavily against his hip, or where his hip would be if his body didn’t end in a wispy tail.

“No, of course not,” Tim answered quickly. Phantom hummed, looking unconvinced, and shifted the duffle higher onto his shoulder. “What's in the bag?”

Phantom set it down and pulled out a thin silvery rod, about a foot long and covered in green markings and copper wires. Tim took it from the ghost. “What is it?” Tim turned the rod around in his hands. If he had to guess, it was a lightning rod of some kind.

“Let's head into the cemetery and I’ll tell you about it.” Phantom took the rod back and stuck it into the bag. He floated over to the edge of the building. “After you.”

Tim eyed Phantom; the ghost looked like a strong wind would blow him away, but he gestured for Tim to go first, so he shot off his grapple and landed inside the gates to the cemetery. Phantom joined him just a second later.

“So, what are those rods?”

“It’s why I wanted you here.” Phantom was digging in his duffle bag again. “I’ve been waiting for a natural portal to open between here and the Infinite Realms so I could send Cindy home, but it’s been weeks and there hasn’t been one, which is odd.” Phantom finally found what he was looking for, a device with a small radar dish on the front. He powered it up and a green grid popped up on the screen. “See?” Phantom turned the device so he could see it better.

Tim squinted at the device. There was a line that was rotating and a steady slow beep, but nothing on the screen stood out to him. “I don’t see anything.”

“Exactly! There is supposed to be ectoplasm everywhere," Phantom said, pulling the device back to himself. "It gathers in certain places: ley lines, graveyards, cemeteries, battlegrounds, war zones."

"Places where there is a lot of death," Tim supplied, trying to figure out the line of thought Phantom was on.

"Yeah. Gotham should be an ectoplasm hot spot, what with all the…" Phantom waved his hand in the air in a vague gesture before he shrugged. "Everything about this place." He stopped his explanation long enough to tap some buttons on the device. "But it isn't."

Phantom continued to fidget with the machine but didn't continue his explanation. The cemetery grew silent around them, the only sound was the breeze in the yellowing leaves. Tim shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Any ideas why that is?" Tim raised his eyebrow in question.

"Theories, not anything concrete." Phantom studied the device in his hands and ran a thumb along the surface. "Most likely, there is a– well, it doesn't translate well from ghost speak, but a kind of natural ectoplasm filter here."

"A filter," Tim deadpanned.

"As I said, it doesn't translate well.” Phantom floated away from Tim a little until he was settled cross-legged on the top of an old headstone. “They form naturally when there is a high concentration of ectoplasm in one spot in the mortal realm. It's part of the natural ectoplasm cycle."

“Ectoplasm Cycle?” Nightwing asked over the comm. Tim ignored him.

"If they form in places high in ectoplasm, why are the levels in Gotham so low?"

"Because they soak up all the ectoplasm like a sponge and filter it back into the infinite realms.”

Chatter exploded over the comms about the Lazarus pit somewhere in the caves under Gotham, but surely not. The pits were mysterious, but they didn't have anything to do with ghosts, surely. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “What does this filter look like?” the comms went silent.

“I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen one, just read about them.” Phantom put the device back into the bag and pulled out a rod. “In any case, to send Cindy home, I need to force a portal to form. That’s where this comes in.” Phantom held out the rod. He looked pleased with himself, so much so that Tim hated to ask.

“Right." Tim crossed his arms over his chest and nodded toward the rod. "You still haven’t told me what that is.”

“It’s an ecto-rod.” Phantom turned the rod around in his hands. “It gathers ambient ectoplasm and channels it to a single spot. Once the ectoplasm levels in the area get high enough, a portal forms. Then I can send Cindy home.” Phantom tapped the end of the rod twice on his shoulder. “So, that’s my deal. You let me put these where I need them to go, and I’ll answer any questions about ghosts you may have while I’m doing it.” Phantom held the rod in his lap and watched Tim, waiting.

“Is it safe? We aren’t going to have zombies running around Gotham cemetery, are we?” Tim asked. The last thing they needed was more zombies, Solomon Grundy was enough.

“Oh, yeah, no, yeah,” Phantom waved his hand in the air, “it’s perfectly safe. Ectoplasm doesn’t create zombies, only ghosts and the occasional overly aggressive food item.”

"Aggressive food items?" Dick asked.

“What do you mean, aggressive food item?”

“Hmm. That falls under ‘questions about ghosts’" Phantom gave him a fanged smirk.

“If there isn’t any ectoplasm in Gotham, how are the rods going to gather it to form a portal?” Damian asked and Tim hated that he made a good point, but he repeated the question anyway.

“Oh, in a few weeks, it will be Samhain. The barrier is thinner then, so more ectoplasm than usual is going to leak across. The filter won’t be able to keep up with it and there will hopefully be enough to make a portal big enough for Cindy to slip through.”

“And if there isn’t enough?”

Phantom grew still and his voice was nearly a whisper when he responded. “I can supplement if there isn’t enough.”

“What does that mean?” Tim and Dick asked at the same time.

“That falls under ‘questions about ghosts'," Phantom repeated. There was no grin this time.

“Let him set them up. We can increase patrols in the area until we know there isn’t a threat,” Batman growled over the comms.

“Hood isn’t going to be happy about that. This area is right on the edge of his territory,” Dick responded.

They kept talking, their chatter an annoying buzz in his ear. Tim reached up and turned off his comm so he could focus on Phantom. The ghost had his head cocked to the side, watching him curiously. With his glowing green eyes and black-and-white coloring Tim was reminded of a tuxedo cat.

“Okay, you can set up the ecto rods.” Tim hoped they weren't going to regret trusting Phantom.

Phantom smiled brightly and floated down from the headstone. “Great! This way.”

Tim walked beside Phantom deeper into the silent cemetery. The older ornate headstones gave way to smaller stones and placards. The light from the crescent moon shone down in mottled spots, ever-shifting due to the cloud cover. It was still early enough in the season for the leaves to start changing colors but not late enough for them to fall. A cool breeze ruffled his hair bringing with it the scent of fresh-cut grass and gasoline, along with the ever-present stench of the city. He was quiet for a bit, mulling over his thoughts. To his surprise, Phantom broke the silence first.

“So, before you get started interrogating me about ghosts, I have a few ground rules.” Phantom rubbed his shoulder and looked up toward the moon. “Don’t ask about a ghost's death. It’s…rude.” Phantom paused. For a long moment, he was silent, but Tim could tell he wanted to say something else, so he kept quiet until Phantom continued. “You have to understand, ghosts don’t form from nice deaths.” The hand that had been gripping his shoulder that had been on his shoulder came down to squeeze at his hand, his thumb digging into the meat of his left palm.

“Is that-” Tim caught himself asking about Phantom's hand, but the subject of conversation was painting a picture of his days, a death that Tim didn't like the look of. He switched gears instead. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Some things aren’t my secrets to tell. Don’t push for answers if I tell you ‘no’.”

“Okay,” Tim said. “Can I ask you to elaborate on what you meant about supplementing ectoplasm?”

“Ghosts are mostly ectoplasm, in the same way, humans are mostly water. If there isn’t enough ectoplasm to trigger a portal, I can use some of my own.” Phantom held up his hand with the palm facing up.

"Isn't that like using your blood?" Tim felt sick at the thought.

Phantom shrugged. "Sort of."

“There has to be another way.” The last thing he wanted was for Phantom to have to use his own blood, or life force.

Phantom sighed, a thin mist forming from his breath. “Not without sneaking into a highly secured vault with advanced anti-ghost defenses, twenty-four/seven armed guard, and a one-way trip to a holding cell If I'm caught.”

“Maybe I could–”

“No.” Phantom stopped in front of Tim and pinned him with a sharp look. It was the most serious he had ever seen the ghost look. “I don’t want you any more involved than you already are. It’s hard enough keeping Cindy out of danger, I don’t need you poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Okay?”

"Okay," Tim said. Phantom nodded and started down a smaller path. He was starting to get an idea of where they were going.

“Speaking of Cindy," Tim spoke up after a few minutes of silence. "Where is she?”

“She’s with me.” Phantom looked over at him and his eyes trailed down toward his left leg. “Or, she’s with you right now.” Tim looked down but he didn’t see anything. He tried switching to infrared, and even ultraviolet views.

“I don’t see anything.”

“Yeah, most people can’t see ghosts when they want to stay hidden.” Phantom stopped to dig into his bag and pulled out a large copper ring wrapped in a thin green wire. The ring could easily fit on Tim’s finger. “Try looking through this.”

Tim took it and held it up to the sky, squinting one eye to peer through the hole. “What is it?”

“It’s like a hag stone but it actually works.” Phantom crossed his arms and waited. Tim sighed and pressed the metal to his eye and immediately pulled it away.

“What the hell?” Tim blinked at the stone in confusion while Phantom smirked at him. He put the ring back to his eye and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Phantom was still Phantom, same blue skin and white hair, but there was a mist surrounding him, green like his eyes. It seemed to pulse, growing brighter and dimmer in a steady beat. Most of the mist swirled around his torso, but some of it was floating toward Tim. He followed it and found himself looking into the face of a child who was clinging to his leg like a toddler. She smiled and Tim noticed a few missing teeth. Where Phantom was in full color, Cindy’s color was muted grays and pinks.

“She used up a lot of her ectoplasm in the fire. She’s been subsisting on mine since then, but it’s not a permanent solution.”

“Why is she on me?”

Phantom smiled down at the girl and when he spoke his voice was fond. “She likes you, says you feel familiar.”

Phantom made a strange chirping sound and Cindy reluctantly let go of Tim’s leg and settled on the ghost’s shoulders. Her small size reminded Tim of how young Cindy must have been when she died. He didn’t have to ask how she had died, he could guess. Her mother had died in a house fire, and Cindy’s ghost was haunting the burnt-out remnants of an apartment building. Tim clenched the ring in his fist and closed his eyes.

A child had died scared and in pain and his first instinct when meeting her was to think of her as a monster.

“Can she hear me?” Tim asked. At Phantom’s nod, he put the ring back up to his eye. Cindy was still on Phantom’s shoulders watching him with interest. She was much less defined than Phantom, sort of fuzzy around the edges, though no less there. “I want to apologize for the way I acted when we first met. I will help Phantom get you back to your mom if I can,” he said, speaking directly to her.

Cindy’s face broke into a large grin and she flew off of Phantom’s shoulders and crashed into him. Tim could actually feel her. He was surprised by how warm she was for a ghost, how tightly something non-corporeal could squeeze.

“Aw, that’s nice. Well, we’re here.” Phantom turned to the small grave marker. Someone had put fresh white lilies on the grave and it had been recently cleaned of leaves. Tim knew without looking that the grave marker would say ‘Michelle Howe’. Cindy’s mother.

Tim felt Cindy shift her hold on him until she was settled against his back. “What’s the plan?”

Phantom set the duffle bag on the ground and pulled out one of the rods. “I’m going to put these around the grave.”

Phantom floated to the headstone and sunk the rod far too easily into the ground beside it.

"How did you do that?" Red Robin asked. "Density shifting?"

"No,” Phantom pulled another rod out of the bag before answering. “Phase shifting." He pushed the second pole into the ground on the other side of the headstone.

"What's the difference?"

Phantom gave him a look like he should know the answer before shaking his head. "Density shifting is changing the distance between atoms so the atoms in object A pass between the atoms of object B. Phase shifting is moving object A out of phase with the current reality."

"That sounds complicated."

Phantom snorted a laugh. "Ghosts exist on a different plane of reality. The complicated part is staying on this plane." He sunk another pole into the ground several feet away from the first two and in line with the second one. "I can't tell you how many times I fell through the floor before I got the hang of it."

“According to the Fentons, ghosts can control their powers instinctively, but you can't?” Tim asked. Phantom shifted uncomfortably and Cindy seemed to hold onto Tim’s shoulders tighter.

“Most ghosts can, but not all.” Phantom fiddled with the fourth rod. “I can send you some actual research on the different types of ghosts.”

He turned away from Tim and pressed the rod into the ground, completing a large rectangle around the gravesite. There was no evidence of the area being tampered with at all. Phantom pulled the last rod out of the bag.

"How do you know so much about density shifting?" Tim asked.

"Popular Mechanics did an article on some of the Justice League's powers a few years back. I always liked Martian Manhunter the best, before… well, before." Phantom gestured to his wispy tail and pointed ears. Red Robin could finish the thought himself. Before Phantom died.

Which opened up a whole new avenue of questions. According to the Fenton's research ghosts couldn't remember their lives before they died. But Phantom remembered that he liked Martian Manhunter, and Cindy certainly remembers who she was. If they were wrong about that, what else could they have been wrong about?

"What about Martian Manhunter did you like?"

Phantom's eyes lit up, "He's from Mars. He's an actual real-life Martian. We only just developed sustainable space travel, and Martians had that technology before humans even existed. We could have learned so much about space, technology, and the history of the universe from them!"

Red Robin could swear he saw literal stars in Phantom's eyes as he continued to talk about Martians and space travel and the universe at large, and was it his imagination, or was his glow getting brighter? Phantom had started to talk about the formation of the Crab Head Nebula when he suddenly stopped and gave Red Robin a sheepish look. "Sorry, I got carried away. You don't care about any of that."

"You don't have to stop on my account. You seem to really love space."

"Yeah." Phantom fiddled with the last pole in his hands. "I wanted to be an astronaut. Before. I used to read scientific journals about space for fun."

Tim remembered the first time he had seen Phantom, eating a burger and staring up at what little of the stars he could see. "You spent your life studying aeronautics." Red Robin couldn't help the grief welling up like a spring in his chest. For maybe the first time he realized Phantom had been alive once. A human with passions and dreams and hobbies. He had a goal and was never able to achieve it because he had died.

Phantom's hand clenched around the pole, his white gloves made no sound, even though they were made of some sort of rubber. Neoprene, or a chemical-resistant PVC. In fact, his whole suit was a kind of rubberized hazmat uniform similar to the ones the Doctors Fenton had been wearing.

A thought, half-formed, flitted through his brain, and the spring of grief in his chest turned to ice. "When did you meet Danny?"

Phantom turned to face him. The guard that had dropped while he spoke of space was back up, reinforced with wariness. "A long time ago."

"Did you know him before?"

Instead of answering, Phantom narrowed his eyes and sunk the final pole into the center of the grave. "I'm all done here. I shouldn't need your help again."

"Wait!" Tim yelled, reaching out to the ghost. If Phantom disappeared now he may never have the opportunity to speak to him again. But it was too late. Phantom was already gone.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #dc comics #batman #crossover #tim drake #fanfic #brain dead #dead tired #ghosts dont go to high school #evandarya writes

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dragonstepp · 7 days

Text

Cummittees for we older folks who are liberal and interested

I like the idea of communties, especially for we older folks.

I was born in 1940. My mother married my dad in 1938, after I was born, WW II started, my dad moved us to Los Angeles where my dad tried to join the military and join the war, he was not allowed in because of his wearing glasses, and me. We moved to Las Vegas, a brand-new town building up out of the desert and near Hoover Dam, where he was an architectect and builder, and helped to build Las Vegas out of the desert floor. My sister was born there in 1943.

My dad was getting known as a builder, and a great help to building Las Vegas. He also build a building to be used by the Church of Christ, which was my mother's religious leaning. After WW II was over, in 1946, men started coming back home, including several uncles, my mother's brothers, and my mother told my dad she wanted to take me and my sister back to Corpus Christi, TX, to see her brothers, my uncles. I remember well the train trips from Los Angeles to Corpus Christi, and the many servicemen that were with us. Yes, they loved this little girl of about 5 years old.

After a while, my mother refused to return to her husband, my dad. I am aware that my grandmother was on my side, felt sorry for me as I was definitely my daddy's girl, but of no use. My dad, as a man, was taken up by a woman in Las Vegas, and being a man during those days, was caught up with her. As my mother has informed him that she was not going to return, and Joyce tricked my dad into believing she was pregnant (it was learned later that she was incapable of having children), my mother allowed my dad to get a divorce. The church threw him out. My mother that he bitched that he would not even send her her iron. My sister and I lost all our toys and things because of the loss of our home. We did own our home in a place called Huntridge. I remember the house and the toys and the tub of water when both Patti and I got the measles, then the mumps, one after the other. I remember it all.

Moving forward a many years, my mother married a second time, then they had two children, and Patti and I were left behind as being not his children. In the meantime, we had been led to believe our daddy didn't want us any longer. Patti was young enough not to remember him, but I wasn't, and I was definitely a daddy's girl.

My sister caught fire in 1957. She was burned badly (she did survive, but that is a different story), and my mother contacted my dad. I never got over him, though I was angry because I thought he didn't want me, and after I got out of high school, I moved to Las Vegas to meet and be with him.

Joyce, his second wife, was not a friend of mine. One of her sisters had a daughter Sharon, who taught me how to smoke. I got my first job in Vegas, and lived a pretty good life. But I started drinking. I had my first child in 1961, went back to Corpus, had my step-father theatren to rape me because I had a child out of marriage, and I went back to LV with my daughter. I worked in some of the casinos as change girls, started drinking, and ended up at a dude ranch outside the city where I was a barmaid and a cook, and lived there. I was really drinking by then, had an abortion, had a second child, and moved back to CC in 1964. By then the 60s movement was in full stride. JFK had been murdered, and I was trying to raise two children by myself. I had a good job, but my drinking was out of hand, I gave my two children up to forage, and took over as management of a merchant seaman's bar in late 1964. During the year of 1965, I gave up my two girls for adoption.

Drinking alcohol was my choice during the next few years. I was all involved over the war in Vietnam, drinking, sleeping around, and moving from place to place in 1968. I had had a child in 1967, gave it up for adoption, moved with a couple of friends to Biloxi, MS, got pregnanted one more time, moved to Wichita Falls, TX, had a seond child in 1969, and finally moved back to Corpus Christi, where I tried to find work. I got there, but I didn't stop drinking, and eventually found another job, which I lost because of my drinking. I went to work as a change person, stopped drinking in 1973 because of the alcohol, moved to Austin in 1975, and got real work.

I was at the University of Texas for well over 22 years, and also worked in radio where I programmed Celtic music, and because of the p roblems of women being discriminated against women, finally went into early retirement in 2003. I did some cleaning of apartments for a friend of mine, but when it became difficult for me, stopped, and moved into assisted housing in 2009.

I served on the Board of Directors, put up with a lot of changes of the apartment complex, went suicidal (fourth time over the years), got psysological help in 2019, had a nervous breakdown in 2020, then Covid came along which kept me penned up, wrote my autobiography. In 2021, I started drinking again. I drink my scotch every day, not enough to get drunk (though that happened once because of some music and memories coming together) and drink a few drams every day. I was going to quit smoking, but decided I don't want to do that.

I fight all the time for my rights as a human being, as a woman, for fairness for all. I am a liberal Democrat, support a couple of organizations that help people, and keep up with politics, to my sorrow. I have found Acorn TV and British shows. It keeps me calm. I take an antianxiety pill, in spite of mixing it with alcohol. I have overcome suicide attempts, a life with liars about my father, been able to have him as a friend before he died in 1984, and never been in love or tied myself to anyone. I am independent, survive by my own wits.

And yes, I fell in love with Sam because he is the man I might have been able to survive with half a lifetime (mine) ago. And no, I use common sense, and I know he can not ever be in love with me, and in fact, does not even know I exist. There are reasons why he moved me so much,

If these communities are brought to reality, I know there are other folks in my age group who would be interested. I expect to live a long time. In fact, I have overcome so many things that I believe I must be immortal.

I love this site. It has people who believe as I do, that everyone is equal, has the right for their sexuality, their lifestyle, their habits, their hobbies, their caring for the general population. I love you all, so don't judge me for loving Sam.

Could have used him when I was his age that he is now, and I am well beyond.

Comments and criticisms welcome. But be careful unless you have walked in my shoes.

Carol in Austin

#bad childhood #evil parents #alcohol #cigarettes #sam heughan #scotland #biden #survival

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themultifandomgal · 24 days

Text

From 2010- Funeral

2012

Part 24

Trigger warning- religious talk and talk about death.

“Hey” I see Liam and Harry walking into my bedroom wearing all black and a sad smile “the errm… the cars outside” Liam says as I look at myself in my black dress in the mirror

“I don’t think I can do this” I tell them looking down at my feet “I don’t want to do this”

“I know, but you’ll regret it if you don’t. We will all be by your side”

“How have I lost another person I love?” Tears start to spill from my eyes as I turn to face Harry and Liam

“ m’so sorry YN” Harry says opening his arms out and I run into them. Harry strokes my hair while holding me

“Guys we have to go” I hear Zayn say

“We’re coming. Come on” Liam takes my hand and leads me downstairs and out of the house where my dad is waiting with the other boys and Emma. Reluctantly I get into the car that’s following the hearse with Alex’s mum, dad and sister who are all crying. The boys, my dad and Emma will be following us in another car.

The drive to the church is quiet, expect for all of our sobs. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off the hearse in front where I can see his coffin. My hand never leaves his mothers. Yes I’ve lost my love, but she’s lost her son all because of a drunk driver who still hasn’t been caught.

Once the car has stopped we slowly get out. I immediately go to my dad, holding on to his arm. I notice many of our old school friends, even James is here with I’m guessing his boyfriend. Not wanting to interact with anyone I follow Alex’s parents into the church and we take our seats

“The grace and peace of God our Father, who raised Jesus from the dead, be always with you” the priest says sprinkling water on the casket

“And you” we all reply

“We gather here today to celebrate the life of Alexander Williams, who has now returned to his home with Our God, The Father. I’d like to read a passage from the Old Testament. Wisdom 3:1-9 The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them. They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; and their passing away was thought an affliction and their going forth from us, utter destruction.

But they are in peace. For if to others, indeed, they seem punished, yet is their hope full of immortality; chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of himself.

As gold in the furnace, he proved them, and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself. In the time of their judgment they shall shine and dart about as sparks through stubble they shall judge nations and rule over peoples, and the LORD shall be their King forever.

Those who trust in him shall understand truth, and the faithful shall abide with him in love: because grace and mercy are with his holy ones, and his care is with the elect. The Word of the Lord” tears spill throughout the whole reading. I wipe the tears from my face with the back of my hand “I’d like to invite Alex’s partner YN up here to read his eulogy” shakingly I stand up and walk to the front of the church where the priest was

“I wrote and rewrote this so many times. I didn’t know where to start. So I decided to just start with saying that Alex was the kindest human I think I ever knew. I don’t think he ever had a bad bone in his body. We met at high school, I sat next to him in maths which we all know was not my strong suite. Alex helped me when I was struggling. He loved his family and….” I choke up a little while reading. I wipe my tears and take a deep breath “sorry. He loved his family and friends and would have done anything for them. He also cared about others, strangers that he saw on the streets. More often than not he would be giving money to some sort of charity. I will forever be grateful for the time we spent together and hope I could only be half the person he was” I now turn to the coffin “I will always love you Alex, I hope you rest in peace” I kiss my hand and place it on the coffin before going back to my seat.

The priest talks some more, we do a few prayers before finishing up the service with the Lords Prayer.

“Why don’t we go for lunch?”

“Not hungry” I reply to Emma wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa staring at the TV that’s not even on

“Then why don’t we take cookie for a walk?”

“Dad took her earlier” I reply

“Come on YN. It’s been a week since the funeral”

“My boyfriend died, was killed by a possible drunk driver who hasn’t been caught yet so I’m sorry that I’m sad and grieving” Emma sighs at my response

“I know your trying to push me away, your hurting, but I’m staying here. You can yell at me all you like but I’m not going anywhere” I turn away from Emma and stare at the TV again

“I’m sorry” I whisper hating that I shouted at Emma. She’s grieving as well “I just keep thinking that this is a dream, a nightmare that I’ll wake up from”

“I know, I’m so sorry your having to go through this again” Emma pulls me into her side letting my cry “Alex will always be here with you. Why don’t we do something to honour him”

“I’ve wanted to get a tattoo for my mum. Maybe I could get one in honour of Alex as well”

“Love that idea, but before you book a tattoo and get it done maybe we should have a shower and brush our teeth Hmm?” I give Emma a little nudge

“Thank you for being here and not leaving me to deal with this”

“Always”

#6th one direction member #one direction x reader #sixth one direction member #one direction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x oc #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles imagine

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