#there's a scary nun in *blues brothers* and that has nothing to do with her fuckability

[yuleshootureye]

"Why are nuns always the scary figures in Horror? Why not monks or priests??? Is it because men don't like it when women aren't sexualized???"

Why are nuns the scary ones? Someone clearly never went to Catholic School.

#I'd love someone to do a count of evil nun movies vs evil priest movies #but like #there's a scary nun in *blues brothers* and that has nothing to do with her fuckability #she's just mean and intimidating #also also #i wonder how much of the legacy of magdalene laundries (and similar facilities) lives on #especially in the modern era #but everyone in ye olden days knew they were places you were forcibly sent to and might never return from #and there's some crossover between the asylum horror trope #there's also probably some misogyny stuff about nuns being in charge of childcare #and people having issues with their caretakers #and working them out through fiction #sub-tumbling #catholocism #horror #catholic school #religion

[jimlingss]

How about a story with Jimin or Namjoon where there's an enchanted mirror that connects to an alternate universe? The mc is able to see through the mirror and vise versa.

I took creative liberties with this one. I hope you don’t mind.

↳ The Mirrored Passageway

3.9k words || 50% Fluff, 50% Smut || Park Jimin

Warnings: Some religious themes and depiction of an all-girl christian school. Please do not read if you will be offended. Viewer discretion is advised

It’s a single file line. 

You stay quiet, listening to the way everyone’s shoes tap in a single beat, each person making sure to walk down the hall in an orderly fashion. But your eyes stray away from the back of Lisa’s head to out the glass windows. It’s bright out today, the sunshine gleaming with clouds swirling the sky. You wish you could go outside to play — but then you’d get dirty and Sister Tam would be mad, and if mama hears, she’d never let you go home again. 

“Suzy, close your legs!” 

The nun leading the entire group barks at the older girl seated on the bench. 

The student closes her legs, but she glares. Your eyes flicker to Sister Tam. She probably doesn’t like it. The last time Tiffany looked at her like that, she got hit. “Sit up and properly like a lady!” 

“Sorry, Sister Tam.” 

The nun leaves with a “hmph”. Lucky. Looks like Suzy’s not gonna get hit today. 

Everyone continues walking down the hall towards the church. It’s afternoon mass for your grade and you find Sister Mae waiting at the doors. She opens them and welcomes each girl in. She’s much nicer than Sister Tam. “Come along children. Nice and quietly. Irene, go up to where Sister Kim is. Yes.” 

She walks in, but the girl in front of you is stopped by Sister Tam. “Lisa, where are your knee high socks? Why are these black? Where are your white ones?” 

“I…” The girl in front of you trembles. You feel bad, but there’s nothing you can do. “I got them dirty, Sister Tam, so I used these ones my mama got me.” 

“Our dress code requires white knee high socks.” Her spit goes flying, and you flinch back. “And look at that — your skirt doesn’t go past your knees! Fix it.” 

“S-sorry, Sister Tam.” 

“If I catch you one more time not following the dress code, then you will be having detention with me and writing out the entire dress code by hand, young lady. Go along now.” 

She nods and walks off. It’s your turn — you hope she’ll just let you in quietly, and with that wish, you shut your eyes. But you’re stopped with a firm hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, did you not brush your hair this morning, dear? It’s terribly sloppy.” 

“S-sorry, Sister Tam.” Both your palms try to brush it down, but to no avail. 

“Tie it if you must.” The nun dismisses you with a wave of her hand, and you shuffle to the front, sitting on the wooden bench and preparing to pray. At least she wasn’t so mean this time. 

// 

The moon is high in the sky in the middle of the night. It pierces the glass windows right onto your face, casted right on your eyes so that your entire form is bathing in the moonlight. You sigh, lashes fluttering, eyes still open even when it’s past midnight. All the kids around you are snoring away, rolling in their beds. 

But you can’t sleep. You miss home.  

You sit up in your bed, looking around. You really shouldn’t…..but you can’t go to bed. Maybe, just maybe, you can go outside for a little while. You’re sure the wind would be nice, and it’s been a long time since you’ve got to go and play. 

It’s the thrill of an adventure that quells away the fear of being caught by a sister.  

You hop down, toes tapping against the cold floor, white dress fluttering as you slip into the shadows, shuffling past your sleeping classmates. The corridors are dark at this time, kind of scary, but there’s no monster scarier than Sister Tam. 

You’re alone in the hallways, walking through the twisted path when you suddenly hear footsteps behind you. They come closer and closer. Booming in the darkness. A single candle light seen from afar. 

You spin around with a gasp. 

“Did you hear that, Father Sam?” 

The priest looks around. He shakes his head to the nun. “It must be the wind.” 

“Right. I was saying, we need to be stricter on the children and enforce the rules before they run wild in our academy. Just today, I saw….” her voice fades off until you can’t hear it anymore. 

You peek out from the adjacent hallway, right behind the stone pillar, and you take a sigh of relief, breathing again as they pass. But as you lean backwards, the wall doesn’t catch your fall. 

You nearly shriek. The wall pushes back as if it were a curtain. You fall on your butt. And from the momentum, the door automatically swings shut again. The wall becoming whole once again. Sealed. As if it could never separate. 

It’s silent and you turn around, eyes wide. You didn’t know there was a secret closet here. The square space is small enough to fit perhaps two people only, but there’s another door on the other side. You grab the knob and push it open, too enchanted by these hidden spaces. 

“Woah.” 

Your breath is stolen away from you. The dungeon is quiet enough to hear your accelerating heartbeat thundering in your ears. It’s empty, stone floors and walls, but there’s a mirror taking the entire space of the wall opposite to the door. You approach it. 

It’s peculiar — you can’t see your reflection. 

Instead, you see a brunette boy the same height as you, staring. 

“Who are you?” 

“Who are you?” 

You’re mesmerized, spellbound, approaching closer. 

He has a round face, puffy cheeks and lips, brown eyes, short hair…. 

You haven’t seen a boy in years. 

Your arm extends and you step up right to the mirror on the tips of your toes. Your finger is pointed and the stranger is as fascinated as you are. He brings out his own finger, tapping the pad of his index with yours. The touch startles you, and you fall forward. Instead of the silver surface catching you, you go right through it. 

“Oof!” 

You tumble, and when you come to, you’re sitting right on top of him, on his stomach, legs on either side. Automatically, your eyes look around, finding yourself in a small bedroom. There’s a single bed with bear bedsheets, a desk, bookshelves, toy trains, the window open with the white curtains flying in the wind. 

“This isn’t the academy!” you shriek. 

The boy’s eyes widen and he slaps his hand over your mouth. “Shh! My parents might come in. I’m supposed to be asleep.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble against his palm. He sits up and you move off of him, turning around to find a full length mirror on his wall with a brown frame. “Where am I?” 

“My room,” he says, still staring at you like he can’t believe it. He blinks. The moonlight illuminates the tiny space, casted on the profiles of your face. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Y/N. I’m eight.” You show him on your fingers. 

“I’m Jimin. I’m eight too,” he introduces himself, relaxing when he realizes you’re no monster. In fact, you’re just like him. “How’d you get here, Y/N?”  

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I just found a room with a mirror and then I fell through and now I’m here. Gosh, I hope I can get back. I’m so gonna get in trouble with Sister Tam now.” You groan, imagining it already. You’re going to get the detention for the rest of your life for breaking the rules and especially for talking to a boy.  

Jimin blinks. “Who’s Sister Tam?” 

“The meanest nun in the world.” You pout, both of you still on Jimin’s floor in a disoriented mess. “She yells at us a lot and sometimes she hits us.” 

Jimin comes closer and you realize he’s dressed in blue pajamas with koalas all over them. “Mom and dad says no one’s allowed to hit me. Why won’t you tell on her?” 

“I can’t. I don’t get to talk to mom and dad a lot.” You shrug and your eyes catch something else. With a gasp, you hobble over. “This is such a cute teddy bear!” 

You grab it from his desk and cuddle it to your chest. Jimin walks over and smiles. “You can have it if you want.” 

“I can’t. We’re not allowed toys.” Your eyes stray and you find a bin of other toys. Opening up the lid, it’s as if you discovered a treasure chest. “You have so many!” You pull something out from the bin, struggling, and a plane accidentally comes crashing down onto the floor. 

Jimin’s eyes are wide. “Oh my god. My mom and dad are gonna wake up!” he whispers harshly, but you point at him in shock. “What?” 

“You just said the lord’s vain in name!” 

“Is that bad?” 

“Yes,” you emphasize. “You could get in trouble.” 

“But mom says it all the time. She doesn’t get in trouble.” 

It goes silent as you think. “Maybe cause she’s an adult.” 

All of a sudden, the lights in the hallway flicker on. It leaks into Jimin’s room. Footsteps are heard coming down and the boy whirls his head around at you, eyes big. The door swings open. “Park Jimin! Are you playing—?” 

The bed is a lump. 

The woman’s voice tapers off into a sigh. You hold your breath, listening to the noise of the stranger cleaning up the toys that fell on the ground and placing the bear back on the desk. There are some footsteps and the door shuts quietly again. 

Jimin and you are underneath the covers, faces right next to each other, legs tangled. “Do you think it’s safe?” you whisper. 

“Yeah.” he murmurs back and throws the blanket off of you two. 

“Sorry about that.” 

“It’s ‘kay. Just try to be quieter. I don’t wanna get in trouble,” he says and you nod. The two of you roll to face each other. “Where’d you come from, Y/N?” 

“Oh, I go to an academy with a bunch of nuns who are my teachers. It’s called something like preparatory, all-girls, boarding, whatchamacallit. I don’t really remember. It’s a long name.” 

“Is that why you don’t talk to your parents much?” 

“Yeah. They live far away. I only see them sometimes on holiday.” 

“Why’d they send you away?” 

“They didn’t send me away.” You pout. “Dad died in the war and mama got married to someone else. I got a baby brother, and mama told me they needed my room for him. So now I’m going to school far away.” 

“Oh.” Jimin frowns, lips lopsided. “Why didn’t they get you a new room?” 

“I don’t know.” You never considered it. “My new dad’s house is big, but it’s scary at night. Maybe that’s why they brought me here. It’s not as scary.” 

“Hmm…” He starts toying with the lace collar of your nightgown. He retracts his hand after he feels the soft material. 

“Where do you go to school, Jimin?” 

“I go to the one down the street. Yeonmi Elementary School. It’s fun. I get to play soccer during recess and draw after lunch.” 

“That sounds fun,” you tell him. “I have to do maths.” 

“Oh, we have to do maths too. I don’t like it much but dad tells me I gotta do it or I get no ice cream after dinner.” 

You gasp, sitting up and hovering over him. “You get ice cream?!” 

He cups your mouth when you realize how loud you’re being and you look at Jimin’s door. Luckily, his mom doesn’t come back. He grins. “You want some? I can get a stool and go get some for us.” 

“No…” You pout. As much as you want to, you’ve been here kinda long. “I should go.” 

The eight year old boy watches you climb off his bed. He sits up, messy hair flopping to one side and he pats the spot beside him. “You could sleep here if you want. My bed’s comfy.” 

You really want to, but you’re not allowed. “I don’t wanna get you in trouble.” 

“Will you come back then?” he asks frantically before you can leave, eyes rounded and imploring. 

“Course.” You give a cheesy grin to him. “You’re my friend, Jimin. Right?” 

“Yeah.” He returns your grin, giggling happily.  

And for every other night following, you sneak out to see Jimin. You travel across the land in an instant to meet your new friend, and he lets you play with his toys. He steals ice-cream for you to eat, and you two even go outside where you get to feel the grass in between your toes. 

You tell him about school, the nuns and priests, all the other girls and what they’re like. He tells you about his own school and classmates, playing soccer, how he fishes with his dad and helps his mom with baking and hangs out with his grandma. And you always listen in envy. 

Sometimes, he even comes to the other side and walks around for the academy for a bit. But it’s your little secret — you don’t dare tell anyone else, not your friends, not the sisters, in case you get in trouble and never see him again. 

The routine goes on for years. It’s fun to leave school, to talk to someone different, to hang out with your best friend. But a little down the line, things begin to change and alter. 

He’s the only boy that you know and talk to — and you don’t understand why all the sisters in school tell you not to touch boys until marriage. Jimin doesn’t seem that dirty or bad. In fact, you like him a whole lot.  

It’s this confusion that leads to curiosity. The denial and repression that makes you want to prove them wrong. You want to know what’s so different about him that makes everyone so scared of him. So you ask at age thirteen, and he lets you. 

Over time, it escalates. Innocent peeks to touches to Jimin touching you, reciprocating actions and exchanging knowledge, underneath his covers in the middle of the night.  

And at age seventeen…..you’re rubbing your thighs underneath your desk, tapping your fingers incessantly and waiting for the damn nun to shut the hell up. 

After class, you race down the hall. 

“Y/N!” Irene calls out, stopping you and making you spin around. “Are you not gonna join us for lunch?” 

“I got some homework I gotta finish.” You hitch your thumb over your shoulder, unable to stop the excited smile on your face. 

Your friend thinks it’s a friendly gesture and grins. “Oh, sucks. I’ll see you later then.” 

You walk down the corridor, through the twisting hallways and slipping into the empty one. Once the coast is clear, you move behind the pillar and push a small part of the wall. The door is shoved open, shut, and you sprint through the mirror like it’s just air. 

Arms catch you on the other side, bubbling giggles greeting you. 

“Are you trying to run me over?” 

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Your palms press against his cheek and you kiss him, mouths smacking on one another. He tilts his head to deepen it, pressing his body onto yours and pushing his tongue past the seam of your lips to swallow your whimper. When the pair of you part from one another, the string of saliva breaks. “God, Sister Tam would not shut up about the gospel. I thought I was going to die of boredom.” 

He laughs, watching as you frantically peel off your uniform blazer and abandon it on his floor. “Eager, aren’t you?” 

“Are you kidding me? I didn’t get to see you last night and ended up having to touch myself in the shower. I thought one of the sisters could hear me. God, it was so embarrassing.” 

“What a dirty girl.” His eyes darken. “What were you thinking about?” 

“That time I almost choked to death sucking your dick. C’mon, hurry up.” You tug on his wrist with a whine, falling back onto his small bed and letting your legs drape off the edge. You quickly shove your skirt up. 

Jimin laughs and you pout at him, pulling him in by the collar of his shirt for yet another sloppy kiss. You taste his tongue, wrap your legs around him, getting your body hot before you pull away. “Are your parents home?” 

“No. They’re at work.” Jimin pulls his sweatpants down in one swoop and drags your cotton panties down your legs. “I’m skipping class for this, you know.” 

“Oh, poor you.” You bat your lashes. “How will I ever make it up to you?” 

“Spread your legs wider,” he tells and grins at your automatic obedience. “You listen so well, hmm?” But Jimin still tests your patience in spite of your rush. His hand presses into the meat of your thigh and his other two fingers sink into you without warning.  

Your back arches and he watches in interest, blatantly staring and making you more embarrassed. “How does it feel?” 

“F-Fuck, so good.” 

Jimin curls his knuckles into you, listening to your groan. It’s one of the few times you can be this loud and he doesn’t have to cup your mouth with his palm or watch you smother yourself with his pillow. So Jimin takes the time to relish in the way he calls your name so desperately. 

“Tell me about your day.” 

You open your eyes again. “Seriously?” 

His fingers stop and his smile falls. “Do it.” 

“Fine.” You sigh. “I had bible study first thing—” Jimin grabs his cock in his other hand and lines it up at your dripping entrance. “—and that bitch Lisa would not shut up. God, she’s probably fucking Father Sam, I swear—ah!” Jimin jerks his hips forward. Your cunt is warm and wet, and he loves it when your voice breaks the like that. “J-Jimin! Oh…my god.” 

“Shouldn’t say the lord’s name in vain,” he teases. 

“S-shut up.”  

God, you’re so hot and cute. Jimin grabs a hold of your hips eagerly and begins to fuck you into his mattress, stretching out your tight hole. You’re right in your little school uniform, and he’s enjoying the fact that he’s ruining your innocent exterior. 

Your eyes are watery, arms reaching out to him, whining his name as he defiles you. Before Jimin can finish in you, he leans in and keeps himself still deep inside you for a moment. He kisses you again, tilting his head and breathing in your scent. He missed you as much as you missed him. He wishes he could keep you here forever. 

His plush lips trails off onto your neck and you automatically tilt to give him more room. He sucks at the sensitive spots and your cunt tightens around his cock. “Wait. Don’t leave marks, Jimin. Jimin!” 

He makes a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat and moves to tug on the buttons of your white blouse. He sucks spots into your skin, leaving blotches of red right on top of your breasts. “No one’ll see if I leave them here.” 

Jimin tugs your bra down, playing with your nipples as your arms wrap around the back of his neck. He remembers when he was thirteen and it was the first time his hand went up your nightgown and he felt you up — back when he didn’t know what he knows now. 

“Jimin…” 

He’s mesmerized, spellbound, and leans in close, bending your leg to your chest to get at a deeper angle. You throw your head back, shutting your eyes and he muses how pretty you are. Jimin thrusts his cock into you, watching how the sheets are wrinkled, how you’re making them smell like you and he’ll be able to get himself off tonight when he remembers this. 

Jimin sweats at his hairline. “I-I’m gonna work hard. And get enough money to rescue you from that d-damn school.” 

“Or you could just get me pregnant.” You open your eyes and he pins your down harder, swallowing. “They kicked Tiffany out when she came back from s-summer break pregnant.” 

“Hmm, doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” He pounds into you and all conversations cease. 

The bed creaks under your weight and Jimin’s greedy force. On any usual night, you’d both cringe at the noise and the way the headboard knocks against the wall for potentially bringing his parents into the room, but for now the sound is welcome with your laboured breathing and moans. 

The two of you chase after the feeling, chest falling and rising, sobs of his name leaving your mouth. You jerk your own hips up to meet his pelvis, singing curses that would lead you both to damnation. And it’s a high pitched moan with a rub of your clit from the pad of his thumb that leads your toes to curl and pushes you off the edge.  

You tighten around him and he presses his nose to your neck. 

You have half a mind as you come down from your high. “Jimin, j-just cum inside.” 

“A-are you sure?” 

“If you stain my skirt, I’ll—” 

He shoves himself deep into your pussy and cums. Jimin thrusts shallowly, ropes of white leaving his cock and he finishes inside of you. He collapses after he’s spent and used your pussy to his heart’s content and only rolls off of you after your soft whines of how heavy he is. 

With the sunlight pouring into his childhood bedroom, he stares at you, your lashes, lips…and god, he’s so fucking in love with you, it hurts. 

Without asking, he leans in and kisses you. You reciprocate lazily, feeling his soft lips that you daydream about often. The pair of you embrace each other for a second as cum runs down your thigh, but after a peek at his clock, you gasp and sit straight. “Oh my god! I’m going to be late for class!” 

You wobble to your feet, pulling your skirt down, trying to pat down your hair, grabbing your blazer off his floor. Jimin eyes you and has a shit-eating grin. “Wait, shouldn’t you clean yourself off?” 

You snag a tissue from off his desk, doing a haphazard job of rubbing your thigh. But you’re too frantic to notice that there’s still some of his cum dripping out of your sopping cunt. He won’t remind you that he still has your stained underwear. “I gotta go. If they give me detention again and me write out the entire Exodus chapter, I’m seriously going to kill someone.” 

“Okay.” Jimin laughs, but he can’t resist you. His arm extends without him realizing and his hand encircles your wrist before you can run away. The boy pulls you back and gives a chaste peck on your lips. 

You smile against it. 

“You’ll come back soon?” 

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise. 

And just like that, you jump through his mirror.  

Jimin watches your reflection running on the other side and another stupid smile plasters onto his face, irresistible. Seeing you is always better than looking at his own reflection.

#Requests 2019 #bts smut #bts fanfic #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #trying my hand at smut again #it was kind of fun to write ngl #this is one of my longest drabbles #borderline oneshot I know #the seventh of my twelve requests #Jimlings #Anonymous

[aqours-remade]

JJBA Secret Santa gift for @erraticatedshotgun! Diego x Hot Pants, “Christmas Meaning”

@jjba-secret-santa @erraticatedshotgun Meeeeeeerry Christmas~! For your Secret Santa gift, I wrote you a oneshot for this ship, I hope you enjoy it! And above all, I hope this Christmas is filled with nothing except roads to take you to memories of Great Days~!

For all others interested in reading: this oneshot will contain heavy Part 7 spoilers as a fair warning!

“What does ‘Christmas’ mean to you, Sir Dio?”

December of 1891 had been rather uneventful for the couple, beyond Diego speaking of the particularly cold winter plaguing England that year. After the defeat of the President, Diego’s dreams had come true. The prestige coming from winning the Steel Ball Run race had granted Diego the recognition he had long-craved, even receiving Knighthood from Victoria herself. Even revenge had finally come after years of waiting; even without 'Scary Monsters’ (even nearly a year later Dio felt a twinge where his left eye once was, a phantom pain as he remembered what Valentine had done to obtain the Corpse) he could do nothing to protect himself from the newfound influence of the Knight, fleeing desperately throughout all of England to escape the Knight’s wrath. Sure, he denied everything, and in truth; most of the allegations thrown against him were indeed complete lies crafted by Diego to torment him. Stealing from his masters, regularly beating other employees, bad-mouthing the Queen and even the Lord… It didn’t matter, all that Diego cared was that this man was finally in his grasp, and feeling him squirm as he tried to escape felt good. So what if it was 90% lies? The 10% of truth was more than enough to warrant the revenge. And on one otherwise uneventful July, hung himself to finally end the torment brought upon him.

It had brought Diego a sense of satisfaction, the long-awaited revenge against the man that he was sure had all but sentenced his dear mother to death to teach him pride. And then? Diego had finally tracked down his father, and repeated the process. Although for Dario, he ended up in prison; he had heard how much his father despised prison above all else, and found having him imprisoned for life on false charges to be far better than any other revenge. If Valentine was alive, would he have described it as ‘taking the napkin?’ He didn’t know... nor did he care. Revenge, and pride, was his. And the president was dead, with he, Hot Pants, and Lucy as the witnesses.

And all in all? It felt good. Commoners kissing up to him always felt good, but much more enjoyable than that was the nobility smiling as they shook his hand and smiling. Knowing that none of them meant it, that they despised and hated Diego for his success; that these blue-blood assholes who had been born with power had to see their power ‘dirtied’ by some bastard son who once ate gravy out of a cup on the same level as they would. The smile he gave them when shaking their heads or bowing to their women was never one of respect; he mocked them. And they knew it. He could see the looks of those noblemen’s faces contort into anger for the briefest of seconds when they saw his mocking smile.

Sir Diego was a very happy man, to say the least.

His mansion was an extravagant one, between his ex-wife's fortune, the incredible wealth won through the Steel Ball Run, various jockey tournaments in his homeland, and now his newfound connections to the nobility that did not have enough pride to resist him and fell to his charisma, Diego was happy to find himself the wealthiest man in the world, surpassing even the nobility he served. He was in the middle of planning a lavish, extravagant Christmas party for the nobility of England; even Victoria would be attending. Of course, the intention was to show-them all up. The most expensive, fanciest food, the best wine, the most talented musicians of England to play the music. It would be a night none of the attending wealthy would ever forget; and they would know it was a boy who was once almost willing to eat porridge out of a shoe who did it.

He had been so preoccupied in it all, he didn’t even notice his wife calling for him.

“Sir Dio... Dio... Diego! Diego Brando!” Hot Pants huffed. It wasn’t fun when he didn’t respond to it.

“... Hmmm? We’re married, there’s no need to use my full name,” Diego finally turned back, facing Hot Pants. “What is it? The party is tomorrow, I need to focus on the ‘finishing touches,’ Hot Pants...”

“It’s not my fault you don’t respond to anything else,” Hot Pants retorted, sighing. But clearly, she had other questions on the mind. “I want to know. What does ‘Christmas’ mean to you, Diego?” Hot Pants asked the Knight, who rose an eye at the question. “I’m your wife. Doesn’t Mrs. Brando have the right to know what her husband’s opinions are?”

Diego paused at the question, still caught off-guard. “’December 25th.’ That’s what Christmas means to me.”

“Really?” Hot Pants asked, head resting on her hand. “That’s quite odd. After all, Christmas usually means something to everyone,” she responded. Diego couldn’t read her expression; disappointment? Anger? Amusement?

“I grew up in absolute poverty,” Diego reminded her. “We had no room to celebrate Christmas growing up. It was just a day near the end of the year to me.”

��Really? Nothing ever happened at all?” Hot Pants inquired, her expression unchanging.

Diego paused for a second before scoffing. “If you must know... Back then, we would prepare Yorkshire Pudding for Christmas,” Diego explained. “It was the sorriest Yorkshire Pudding imaginable. Discount candy dropped on the ground probably tasted better... but to us, that was all we had. And as a little boy, they did make me happy,” he explained, remembering those days. He tried to never dwell on them, and this was the first time in quite a while he actually remembered the naïve young boy he once was. “It was better than the gruel we usually ate... some of the more religious farmhands would pray, but me and my mother did no such thing. When I became a success... sometimes I attended lavish parties to increase my social standing, but when I could, I would just spend it as another day,” Diego explained. “I’ll change my answer. In the past, Christmas has meant ‘Yorkshire Pudding’ and ‘opportunity’ to me. I suppose now, the only thing remaining in Christmas to me is ‘opportunity.’”

“I see...” Hot Pants replied, tapping her foot. Diego narrowed his eyes, finally growing annoyed.

“And what of you? What does ‘Christmas’ mean to you, Hot Pants?”

Hot Pants brushed some hair out of her face. “’God,’ of course. Did you forget I was a nun?” Hot Pants teased, looking out the window. “’Family’ as well.’”

Diego wanted to press on, but didn’t want to ask questions relating to that painful past. But he didn’t have to. “My family was devout. We didn’t have much, but the togetherness and midnight mass... it was nice,” Hot Pants explained. “My little brother especially loved it. My father would always get him a small toy, like he did for me when I was young. His eyes would always light up like you gave him a brick of gold,” Hot Pants smirked and laughed a little, before sighing.

“... Hot Pants, you don’t need to-”

“I want to,” Hot Pants interrupted. “When I was at the covenant, Christmas ceased to be about ‘family.’ It was only about ‘God’ and ‘God’ alone. Virgin Mary too, but all personal attachments were lost. Even the bond of ‘family’ was lost there, to us women that had sacrificed everything to serve Christ,” she went on. “In that world, there is no room for things like ‘family.’ If anything, ‘family’ can turn you away from God to walk the path of heresy,” Hot Pants explained.

“’Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s; and to God the things that are God’s,’” Diego replied. “In this case, as a nun, everything is God’s. How miserable. You might as well be having a living death,” He retorted, but Hot Pants laughed at his response.

“It was miserable,” she explained. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a more miserable experience, than when I was trying to atone every day for God’s redemption and forgiveness,” she went on, chuckling, before the laughter could hardly be contained.

“… Have you lost your mind, Hot Pants?” Diego asked. “I’ve heard terrible things about those institutions. I hope you don’t need to go to one.”

“No, no! Just… God, when was the last time I laughed so hard?” She stopped laughing to catch her breath, smiling. “I thought… I thought that if I gave everything to God, I would obtain ‘forgiveness.’ That one day in heaven, I could face my brother and be received by him… and by God, and one day my family as well. Then I came to America to compete in the Steel Ball Run, and got caught up in everything for the Saint’s Corpse… I thought it would redeem me in the eyes of God, but more importantly, my brother,” she admitted. “More than God’s, I wanted my brother’s forgiveness. A nun should not aspire to that, though… she should aspire only for ‘God’ and nothing less.”

“Even if you did it for the sake of your brother… to seek your ‘brother’s forgiveness’ and not ‘God’s forgiveness’ is the worst sin any woman in your position could do, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, Sir Dio,” Hot Pants replied. “Then again, I am no nun now…”

“But you were, back then,” Diego responded. “And even now… you are still religious, are you not? Despite everything with Stands and the Corpse?”

Hot Pants paused for a moment at that one. “Indeed… yes, I would say I am still religious. I may not go to bed anymore, but you see me read the Bible from time-to-time. I still like to pray before sleeping, even if its quiet… I think God favored us back in America. I think God wanted us to defeat the president and put the Corpse to rest,” Hot Pants admitted. “Even though the ‘body of the Saint’ allied with Valentine, the ‘spirit of God’ was with us and not him. That is how we were able to win in the end.”

“You mean Johnny,” Diego scoffed. “Diego was the one who dealt the killing blow. Once Valentine obtained that ‘new power’ we were helpless at that point in the fight,” Diego gritted his teeth. Even though he had won the race, the ultimate victory belonged to Johnny. He narrowed his eyes as he slumped into a chair, still bitter nearly a year later that he was not the one who dealt the evil president the killing blow. “That is a victory I lost.”

“But you won me, didn’t you?”

Hot Pants smiled, making her way towards him and sitting on his lap. “After all, you got married again, and I’m not chatting with your ex-wife’s spirit; so clearly there’s something you enjoy about this, don’t you?”

Diego was quiet, taking her hand. It was rather late, almost midnight. But still the servants worked at their master’s call (if nothing else, he treated them well, only the most bitter complained. It was rarely they had to work so long and for so hard), as Diego refused to sleep until he felt the preparations were perfect. “Hmm…” Diego put a hand on her back, kissing her forehead afterword’s. “I am happy to have you by my side this Christmas.”

“Are you, now?” A kiss on his cheek followed, before his lips briefly brushed against his own.

“… I suppose… hmm… Hot Pants, I would like Christmas to mean something else, I think.”

“Oh?” She asked, that unreadable expression soon returning to her.

“What if I said I want my Christmas to mean ‘you’ from now on?”

“… Oh?”

“You’re my wife. I want to spend my life with you. Christmas used to mean something to you, but it never meant anything to me. So…” And he cupped her chin. “From now on, I want ‘Christmas’ to mean ‘you.’ I’ll even go to church, if you want me to.”

The answer caught Hot Pants off-guard, pausing for a few moments before smiling. “… I wouldn’t object to that either. “I don’t have a family anymore, and my life no longer belongs to God, so I can’t say there’s any other value Christmas currently has to me. So as husband and wife… yes. I wouldn’t mind for my Christmas to be about ‘you’ from now on, Diego.”

“Glad to hear it,” Diego replied, hand on the back of her head, their lips finally pressing together for a real kiss, pulling together a few moments later.

“… I’m not saying up to help you finish this asinine party, though.”

Diego chuckled. “I’ll go to bed quietly, don’t worry. I’ll make you a deal. Before the party tomorrow, late me take you out into London. Let’s get a good breakfast, just us. Let’s make it a ‘tradition’ for us. Does that sound good?”

“It sounds perfect,” and Hot Pants got up from his lap, not facing him. “I love you, Diego.”

Despite being married, it was words they rarely said. Diego didn’t see any reason to say things they both already knew, and Hot Pants seemed to feel the same way. Actions were worth more than words, after all. So, the ‘intent’ made when put into the words meant a lot.

“I love you too.”

Hot Pants smiled, leaving Diego to once again bicker about the preparations of their manor, making her way to their bedroom, accompanied soon by her favorite of the maids.

“Mistress… did you tell him about… ah… you’re…” The young thing blushed, just thinking of the action. “… That you’ll be… expecting soon…?”

“I’ll surprise him on Christmas Day.”

#jjbasecretsanta #hot pants #diego brando #erraticatedshotgun #dinopants

[anthemverseduology]

The Stranger and the Priest

“Tell us a story, Uncle Ven! Something really scary,” Valentine said, looking up at me from the pile of candy he'd just dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. He shared a name with another candy-adjacent holiday, but the boy was obsessed with all things Halloween. “Something with blood and guts and ooze!”

“Ew! Nothing gross!” Francine swatted Val on the shoulder, a look of annoyance twisting her features. “You always get stories about gross things! This year Uncle Ven should tell us something really spooky, not just icky.”

I leaned back in my chair, surveying the tiny audience that had gathered in front of where I sat next to the fireplace. My own daughter sat in the middle of the bunch, looking up at me expectantly. “Tell them the story of The Stranger and the Priest,” she suggested, opening her third mini box of Junior Mints before tossing three of them back at once.

“Cece, I don't know that everyone here is ready for that story. You know why,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her slightly.

“How come I don't know this story?” Taylor grumbled. My brother's son was the oldest of his generation of kids, but still not old enough to join the party upstairs with the older family members, and he was disgruntled at having to spend his pre-midnight hours with 'the babies'. “Dad's told me all of these old stories anyway.”

“You've never heard this one,” Cece said, rolling her eyes. “I know.”

“We know that you know, know-it-all,” Taylor snipped.

“Alright, cool your jets, Lore,” I said, holding up a hand as I leaned forward in my chair. “You're all sure that you're ready to hear this?” A chorus of happy shouts and rustling candy wrappers filled the air, and the flames in the fireplace roared a little higher.

“Tell them, Dad,” Cece said, sitting up straighter.

I took a deep breath, picking up my coffee from the table next to me taking a sip of the dark liquid. “It was many years ago, and a man of the cloth found himself sitting side-by-side with a dark stranger that he'd never seen before...”

***

The stranger's black hair was matted to his head, ribbons of rain ran down his face, and droplets gathered and steamed off of his warm skin. He shivered, wrapping his denim jacket around himself further, though it seemed to do the man no good. The bartender, Sal, walked over to lean his hands against the edge of the counter, eyeing the priest for a moment before taking the stranger's order. “Double whiskey, neat, and keep them coming,” the man said, the timbre of his voice low.

The priest turned to the man, offering his hand, which the man looked at suspiciously. “I'm Father Michael,” he said, smiling though he withdrew his suggested handshake, picking up his glass of whiskey on the rocks to tilt in the stranger's direction. “You look like a man with troubles.”

“You could say that again, padre,” the stranger said with a scoff as Sal set a glass down in front of him, filling it half-full with bottom-shelf whiskey. He shuddered hard before picking his glass up, draining the alcohol from it in one gulp. “I hate getting caught in the rain.”

“That's not all that's bothering you, is it?” Father Michael said, leaning back in his chair a little to study the man a little further. Every stitch of clothing the man wore, from his jacket down to the tips of his hard-heeled boots, was black; made darker by the amount of water soaking him. “Only priests, nuns, marauders, and mourners wear that much black. Which one are you? If you tell me you're a nun I'll eat my collar.”

“I gave up my habit for lent,” the man said with a humorless, curt laugh. Sal walked over to refill the stranger's glass, but the man held up his hand. “Listen, Sal, just leave the bottle.”

Father Michael watched curiously as the stranger pulled out a gold money clip that was full of large bills. The man took two-hundred dollars from the clip, handing it to Sal before shoving it back down into his pocket. “You intend to drink that whole bottle by yourself?” Father Michael asked, raising his eyebrows as Sal walked away with wide-eyes.

The stranger looked at him curiously before uncorking the bottle, pouring liquid into Father Michael's glass. “I find that having to depend on other people to pour my shots gets tedious. Don't mind so much pouring shots for other people, though,” he said almost wistfully.

“Forgive me for prying, but I've seen that look in many a soul's eyes. You've lost something or someone important. Might help you to talk about it. It's part of the gig to listen,” Father Michael said with a smirk as he raised his glass. “Even after office hours! I won't charge.”

“Well, as you're drinking whiskey I just purchased...” the man said chuckling lightly. “Maybe you're right? If anyone who's ever known me could see me talking to you right now, I'd be laughed all the way into Hell's Fire.”

“The people you know aren't big on the clergy?” Father Michael asked, leaning an elbow against the edge of the bar.

“They're elitists, and at that, I can't blame any of them. They're just following my poor examples,” the stranger said, shooting back whiskey from his glass. “And it's just the monotony of it all! The same cycles and routines, day in and day out. Nothing ever changes.”

“Well, as a person with a solid set of routines—day in and day out—I've seen that while my circumstances don't change, I change right in the middle of them,” Father Michael said, shrugging a shoulder slightly. “Maybe that's one reason you might be frustrated.”

“I know that I've out-grown my whole life, but it won't let me be. I have this job that I have to do, and no one else can be trusted with it. You certainly wouldn't approve of it,” the man said, pouring himself another glass full of alcohol.

“Eh, my approval doesn't mean as much as the guy I work for...I understand having a job that can be tough.” Father Michael frowned, tilting his head. “Sometimes I think about leaving the church. Brief moments when I wonder if there's something I'm missing. In those times, I pray and rededicate myself to what I really love above all else.”

“Heaven On High,” the stranger said, his voice barely a whisper. “I had that once. I loved who I was and what I was, and I would have done anything for a little bit of grace...”

“What changed?” Father Michael asked.

“Being on this planet is what changed me. At first, when I was young, I thought that I would get my revenge on anyone or anything that had ever wronged me. I'd be the monster they made me out to be. Over time, I don't want that anymore. I want peace. I have this dream sometimes about an angel,” the stranger said, his smile finally reaching his bright-blue eyes. “What's the use in chasing dreams and ghosts...”

“Usually when people see angels they're facing some major change in their life,” Father Michael said, holding out a hand. “It's a good thing when they appear.”

“You haven't met a lot of angels have you, Michael?” the man asked, arching one dark, pointed brow. “Why do you come to this bar? It's empty and drafty, and the only person here to talk to on a regular basis is Sal, and he's been here as long as the building has.”

“I'm not that old,” Sal called from where he stood, putting glasses in a rack above his head. “My dad was gray by the time he was my age.”

“It's definitely not your genes that keep you youthful,” the stranger said, propping his elbow on the back of his bar stool. “Why do you come here to stare at Sal's mug all of the time, Michael?”

“In another life, this was a special place for me. Before I was a priest I was a person, you know. Most of us were,” Father Michael said, hearing his self-mocking tone ringing in his own ears. “There was someone that I cared about a lot, but she went away, and I found another path.”

The stranger poured a generous portion of the whiskey left in his bottle into his glass. “Sometimes paths come full circle,” he said, staring into the amber liquid as the bell over the door chimed, and the sound of rain cascading from the overhang just outside covered the sound of an Eagles song playing on the stereo. “We're all just chasing ghosts.”

“Anabelle?” the priest said, rising swiftly to his feet, staring in shock at the woman before him. “How is this possible? I was just thinking about you!”

“It's good to see you, Michael,” Anabelle said, smiling sweetly. “I hope that you don't mind me stopping in here. It's pouring outside, and I was just in the area.”

“No, no! It's wonderful to see you,” Father Michael said, stepping forward to hug her gently. His heart raced as he drew back from her, his gaze settling on the vivid gray of her eyes. He led her over to the bar, taking a dry tea towel from Sal to hand to Anabelle. She toweled lightly at her dripping hair and her wet coat before sitting down on the bar stool to Father Michael's left.

“What'll you have, Ann?” Sal asked, putting a glass down in front of her, as if he already knew what her answer would be.

“Soda and lime?” Anabelle asked more than declared as Sal opened a bottle of cola, poured it in, and stuck the wedge of lime on the brim. “Your memory's as good as ever, Sal.”

“You know how it is,” Sal said, looking at her in a manner that Father Michael thought to be curious. “You were in the area, you said?”

“I had something to take care of in the borough, so I was around. I decided to take a walk, for nostalgia's sake, and then the clouds broke open,” Anabelle said, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “It was silly of me to go walking alone at night at all.”

“You should be careful. You're safe now, though,” Father Michael said before turning to the stranger. “This is Anabelle Tinas. Ann, this is—I never caught your name, mister...?”

“I'm called Luc,” the stranger said, finally introducing himself. “Anabelle knows that, though.”

“You've met?” Father Michael was starting to become a little uneasy. He hadn't seen Anabelle in years, and he'd never seen Luc in the bar at all, but somehow this man knew two people Father Michael had known for over a decade. “I must not get out often enough.”

“Anabelle works for me,” Luc said, flattening his lips as he kept his eyes on the bar top. “Sal, does, too.”

Father Michael laughed softly, looking from Luc to Anabelle, then to Sal. “Listen, I thought This Is Your Life went off-air years ago. Why am I getting the sense that you three know something that I don't know?”

“Do you remember that night in '52? I got you to walk me home because I wasn't feeling well?” Anabelle asked, gently folding the dampened tea towel in her hands.

“You had a fever, and you were tired. How can I forget? It was the last time that I ever saw you,” Father Michael said. “I didn't know what might have happened to you. No one in your building would say, and I didn't know where to look. I feared the worst for years. I thought you may well have...died.”

“I'm here, aren't I?” Anabelle said, reaching out to pat Father Michael on the hand. “No need to worry about me. I'm just collecting your debt.”

“What debt?” Father Michael asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I asked you, that night, what you would do for me,” Anabelle said, quietly. “I asked you if you would ever sell your soul for something. I asked you if there was anything so important that you would give up eternity in Heaven. You said that if there was such a thing as a price for a soul that you would pay it to live a peaceful life.”

“I was young and foolish, and trying to impress a pretty girl with fancy words,” Father Michael was beginning to realize that he'd stepped into a snare without even realizing it. “I was in love with you, Ann.”

“I asked if you were certain that you would sell your soul to live in peace and you said, 'Yes'. I wish that I could have been in love with you, but that's not how my kind works,” Anabelle said, her tone sad.

“Apologies for that,” Luc said, raising a hand, as if he was taking ownership. “You do seem like a very nice man, Michael, but now you have a choice. I don't have the power to see precisely when you're going to die, but I can tell you that it'll be soon. Being that you're a friend of Anabelle's and Sal's, and as I had nothing else going on at the moment besides sitting around daydreaming...I thought that I'd pay you a personal visit. Didn’t count on the damned rain, though.”

Father Michael moved away from his bar stool, a look of alarm on his face. “When I said that—all of those years ago—I meant that I wanted peace with you, Ann. Then you disappeared, and I had to go on. I couldn't imagine loving anyone else, so I took my vows and...”

“And you found peace,” Luc said, closing his eyes briefly as Sal lowered his head. “That's the way deals with demons work, I'm afraid. You'll get what you desire, but something always goes awry. That's Heaven On High trying to right the wrong, so the Path shifts. Anabelle has been a demon in my service for quite some time now, and you did make a deal.”

Father Michael backed away even further. “Luc...short for—”

“Yes, short for that,” Luc said sharply, standing up from his bar stool. “You can choose to perish at your allotted time, and then you'll burn in Hell Fire, or you can choose to become a demon in the service of Hell's army. I'd be honored to have you, Michael. Other than being robbed of your positive emotions, it's not really all that bad.”

“Not that bad? My whole life is countering your every move!” Father Michael said. “I'd give up Heaven!”

“Man, you've already missed that elevator,” Sal said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You've got two choices, Mike. Die and burn, or serve Hell. What's it gonna be?”

Father Michael felt his back bump into the wall, and he held Anabelle's gaze. “If I say yes, will I be able to be with you?”

“You'll barely care,” Luc said, rolling eyes that flashed with flames, and some other lonesome look that Father Michael couldn't put his finger on.

“‘Barely’ is enough,” Father Michael said, taking a step towards Anabelle. “The only questions I've ever asked myself were if you were still alive, and what would life have been like if I hadn't lost you somehow. What do I have to do?”

“That easy?” Luc asked, arching a brow. “You devoted yourself to On High, and you would turn against them because you've been in love with the same woman for years?”

“Think of your dream angel,” Father Michael said. “What would you do if you found her?”

Luc stood blinking at Father Michael for a moment, seeming to think on what he'd suggested before he waved a hand through the air. “She doesn't exist. She's just a mirage...So, you agree to becoming a soldier in Hell's army?”

“I agree,” Father Michael said. At that instant he felt like something inside himself imploded, even while he felt like he was on fire. Lightning flashed outside of the windows; bright, golden illumination that made the night seem like day time. He doubled over as wave after wave of nausea attacked, and he vomited up dark green bile, mixed with whiskey. The former priest hit his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath as pain rolled over his spine and his nerve-endings. He cried out, the air chilling his skin as the pain finally subsided. The lights from the bar were bright one moment, then dim the next, and Michael realized that Sal must have turned the lights off entirely. “Now...what happens?”

“I like you, Mike,” Luc said, tilting his head back. “I think that we're gonna get along nicely.”

“For some reason I'm not worried about what that means.” Michael turned his eyes to the floor before looking up to Anabelle. “I know what I said before, but now it all seems so pointless.”

“The ache will fade over time,” she said, stepping forward to put a hand to the side of Michael's face. “You'll serve our lord well.”

“Our lord...” Michael said, realizing that there was no way out. His fate had been sealed long ago, and now he stood in front of his new king, Lucifer, Light Bringer; the Devil.

***

“That's not scary at all,” Taylor said, flopping back to lean against the front of the love seat. “That's just one demon story in a bunch of other demon stories.”

“The grossest stuff in that story was the love parts. Blech,” Val said, bumping the side of his fist against Taylor's.

“One day you'll grow up to figure out that the love parts are the scariest parts, and the most tragic parts,” I said, shaking my head. “Anyway, that is a true story. Do you know who bought Sal's Pub?”

“You, Dad,” Cece chirped, her smile turning from bright to wicked. “And I know what happened to Michael.”

The other children turned to look at her expectantly, knowing their cousin's abilities to see things that they couldn't. “Well, where is Michael now?” Taylor asked, bobbing his head.

“He's right here,” a voice boomed as a lamp clicked on in the corner of the room to reveal Mike, smiling maniacally. Even infernal and vampire children are easy to startle at a young age, and they fled the room, the ground rumbling slightly at their involuntary flexing of power. “Every ten years I get to do that, and it's always fun.”

I stood up, looking down at Cece, shaking my head. “You set Uncle Mike up perfectly.”

“It's a tradition,” Cece said in her sweet, small voice as she climbed to her feet to shuffle after her fleeing cousins. “It had to be done. Hell Fire, they are such babies...”

“You're still a baby, so mind the language, Cecelia!” I called after her sighing deeply. “It's always somethin', huh, Mike?��

Mike hummed in agreeance, moving over to stand next to me. “It is. My kids are driving me up the wall. Hey, though...parent’s candy tax,” he said, looking down at the floor before looking back up to me.

“Happy Halloween, Father Michael,” I said with a grin.

Mike scoffed loudly, reaching down to pick up a bag of chocolates. “Save it for next year, man.”

#The Anthem Saga #Halloween #the Anthemverse #Spooky Stories