#verse: southern town | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enviedear · 6 months

Text

jackie and wilson — billy bonney

⤷ modern!billy au

tw— somehow this is 4.6k words. mentions of food and eating, talk of religion and bible verses, (i'm southern and was forced to go to church every sunday it reflects in the writing) smutty themes so, minors dni, 18+ only, kissing, fondling, skinny dipping, (they're in their undies) so horrifically fluffy

i can already tell this is going to become an ongoing series, so be sure to comment and lmk if you want more. also, this is influenced by my daily mantra

request

the summer heat feels like it's baking you as you traverse through the long grass of your farmland. birds call and screech in the trees lining the woods beside you. if you weren't so scared of walking the shortcut in the woods alone, your risk of sun poisoning may seem less apparent.

you grip the wicker basket in your hands tighter, eyes squinting to look for the lean farmhand-for-hire. in years past, you've been keen to take his place whenever your grandparents needed someone for an oddball job. working long hours with the older couple up until you graduated from the county high school. as the seasons changed, and you got older and busier, so did your grandparents. their work on their farm proved in dire need of help.

a simple fix—you. this summer, free from university and your internship, your parents elected you to spend the free time of your summer working on your loving grandparents' farm.

in the early days of the warm season, you managed pretty well on your own. you tended the vegetables and the fruits, took care of the chickens and sheep, and sowed the large fields with grain until sunset.

everything changed after an unfortunate incident with your grandpa's gargantuan baler. luckily, you were fine, but your pa's expensive baler was wrecked all to hell.

so here you were, now relegated to some pseudo farmer's daughter role, hand-delivering water and a full lunch to none other than billy bonney.

your grandparents say billy's nice enough, mannerly yet hushed. but you know there's more to it. at least if small town gossip is anything to believe, and here, it usually is.

everyone knows the crowd billy runs around with. he's also got a vile gang of friends. angry men with sly smirks who spend most of their free time loitering the town's local bar or gambling away their lives at lawrence murphy's corral. the type of men to carry a weapon at all times without any license, and quick to threaten to shoot with even the most minor infraction.

the knowledge was enough to have you hiding away from him every time your grandparents hired him for a job.

everytime that is, until now.

you knew with the way your pa sternly stared into your eyes that a complaint wouldn't be warranted. as your grandma instructed you to bring the farmhand some, "hearty lunch for his hard work," you came to terms with the fact that you had no right to argue.

not when you owe the old man a baler.

you finally reach the young man, covered in grime and leaning against his parked pickup, out of breath and sweltering. you try not to stare at the baler attached to the tractor, about twenty feet from his parked vehicle, your embarrassment over wrecking the last one still ever present.

his truck has its' doors wide open, blaring music through blown speakers. you try to avoid making direct eye contact with him, voice raised slightly to be heard over the folk song playing, "here. figure you're hungry."

lifting the tea towel from the top of the basket, you set it on his open truck bed. despite not looking up, you can see him hurry to turn his music down before sauntering over to you from the side of your gaze.

"thank you," his voice surprises you. it's gruff but gentle. "you kin to the old couple?"

you're not sure why, but you take offense to his question. sure you've ignored him, but you know that he knows who you are. you meet his stare, your tone dry in response, "i am."

he inclines his head toward the basket, ignoring your reply with a hum, "what'd ya' bring me, hon?"

your eyes roll unabashed at his endearment, "my grandma threw a bit of everything in there. i know there's some jambalaya— the last bit of our mud cake too."

"you're spoiling me, you tell her i said thank you," he pauses, peering down at you, "are you going to be bringin' me my lunch everyday?"

his question is innocuous but something in the way he says it makes your stomach drop. you shrug, "sure, i guess."

"i'd like that." he slips the words out before his hands dive into the basket, fishing out one of the water bottles.

you nod, confused by him, "yeah well, be careful. i guess i'll see you tomorrow."

at that you turn from him, walking your trail again to get back to the house. you fight the urge to look over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of him. some proof he's really there, that the interaction actually happened.

because despite the second-hand opinion you've held on him, billy bonney was unexpected. annoyingly so.

as you finish up your day, you can't help but think about the encounter with the dark-haired farmhand. you've known of him for years, sure, but you never expected much of him.

just another one of jesse evans’ rowdy boys.

shocking, that billy would be so different. or maybe, just better at hiding his depravity. you think back to his voice, rough around the edges, yet littered with tenderness. it’s not until you think back to his gentle smile that you realize, there’s a kindness that exudes from him, and it’s got you hook, line, and sinker.

you wonder if he's always been this way? you like to think he has. even if it is only a platitude for your undeniable crush.

in the following days, you continue to bring the farmhand his lunch, stopping to talk to him longer each noon. he's easy to talk to, apt to ask you about your day, or if you need anything. you can't exactly explain why, but you're drawn to him.

it's extra muggy as you pack up his lunch and make your way to him, breaking from his time on the baler to lay in the bed of his truck.

he doesn't take notice of you until your basket finds home right beside him, blasted speakers blaring yet another folk tune.

"hey there," he greets you with a grin, his white work shirt wrought with soil, the short sleeves haphazardly rolled, "you know i'm starting t'get used to this."

you smile back, feeling a warm sensation spreading through your body, "i'm sure you are."

billy takes a look in the lunch basket, grabbing out some water first to clear the dirt on his hands, "you wanna hang around for a bit?"

you hesitate for a moment, not sure if you should. not only do you have a long list of chores, you also still find a bit of nervousness around the young man.

but billy's been nice enough, and if he's anything like his friends you assume he would have shown it by now, "i guess i have some time."

billy nods, handing you a water and patting the free space beside him. you hop up, close enough that his side brushes yours.

the sensation sends shivers down your spine as you try to focus on conversation, pulling for anything you can say. for a moment, neither of you speaks, the only sound is coming from the music blasting from his speakers. an old rock song today, different. your eyes try to look anywhere but at him, taking in the vast expanse of farmland around you.

"must be nice to have all this land to yourself," billy says, breaking the silence.

you nod, grateful for his compliment, "it is. my grandparents have worked hard to keep it running."

"i can tell," billy says, taking a swig from his water bottle, "they got a good thing goin' here."

you agree, taking a sip from your own bottle. the sun beats down on your skin, making you feel sweaty and sticky. billy, on the other hand, seems used to it. he looks up at the sky, squinting against the sunlight.

"you know, i was thinking," billy says, steady voice breaking the silence again, "what would you say if i took you out sometime?"

your heart skips a beat, your mind going into overdrive. you never expected billy to ask you out, even more so that you’d be so willing to entertain the idea.

you hesitate for a moment before answering, "i don't know. i mean, i barely know you."

this is a half truth, you know him. only this version though, the sweet billy bonney who works on your family farm and takes his lunch breaks with you. you don't have any idea who he is outside of these moments.

at least not first hand. just second hand gossip. you wouldn’t even know which stories are real or fake. you’re not sure if he’s a convincing actor or genuine soul. there are rumors he shot a man back in his hometown. that he launders money with jesse evans’ gang. that he’s a cheat from a rodeo front, taking ignorant peoples’ bet money.

billy hums, breaking your anxious thoughts, "what'd you wanna know, hon? i'm an open book."

you chew on your lip, thinking about it. it could be a smart move, you're curious about him and need to know more. you need to know what about him is fact or fiction. but at the same time, you're afraid of what the truth may be, "i don't know," you say finally. "i mean, work, for example. is this all you do?"

billy cracks a smile, "no, hon’. this s’more of a side job.” he sighs, “i was a pickup for jesse evans' rodeo for a while, but that new fella' that just came to town—mr. tunstill, he's got me a better gig."

you furrow your brows, already on edge by the mention of his previous employer, "and what exactly is that?"

he chuckles a bit, "he's got me as a producer, but i do show on the weekends."

"so what? you're a full-fledged rodeo man? with bulls and all?" you'd always know of jesse's grimy ‘rodeo’, really just used as a gambling den and club, but you're intrigued by the idea of billy actually doing it. especially working with tunstill, a sincerely kind wealthy man from overseas. it must be a stark contrast to jesse’s.

"i guess. it's a good time and you can make honest money dependin' on the event," he pauses, "it's not like jesse's, if that's what you're wondering."

you look away from him, "my pa never let me go. when i turned twenty-one i tried to go with a bunch of my girlfriends. he about had a stroke keeping me out the door."

"he's smart, you shouldn't go. those guys are bad news." he's talking quieter now, less sugary and more solemn.

you fight your previous embarrassment, opting to stare straight into his pale blues, "you hang around those guys."

your sentiment is clear and billy goes hush for a long few seconds before speaking, eyes closed, "do not carouse with drunkards or feast with gluttons, for they are on their way to poverty, and too much sleep clothes them in rags."

you know those words, heard primarily while crammed in a pew, "you're a religious man?" you don't mean to, but your question comes out a bit unconvinced.

he opens his eyes back up, a spark of something you can't place within them, "no, not really. jus' something mr. tunstill keeps repeating to me. i didn't really pay it any mind till i met you."

you try to ignore the way his hand inches closer to your own, "why's that?"

"not sure. just seems easier to abide by now. i'd hate to end up like them. i know you don't like 'em." his voice is soft, but the hand that takes hold of yours isn't.

you look down at your feebly interlocked hands, hesitating, and then taking his hand with the same conviction, "no, i don't," a breath, "but i like you."

billy's face lights up at your words, and he leans in closer to you. you can feel his breath on your face, and your heart races with excitement and anticipation. you’ve never felt to entrapped in a man before, so ready to dive in head first.

without thinking, you reach out to touch his sun kissed cheek, and he leans into your hand. your fingers trace a path down his cheek, and then down to his lips. you have an overwhelming urge to kiss him, and you're surprised when he pulls back.

"i'm sorry, i shouldn't have done that." you say, feeling embarrassed.

"no, it's not that. it's just… i want to take you out on a real date. something proper." his cheeks have grown far more pink, only this time it's not the sun's doing.

you consider his words for a moment, before nodding, "that sounds real nice, billy."

he grins, and you feel a flutter in your chest. how he managed to make you feel this way so soon, you're not sure.

"you free this friday?" he asks, amusement in his tone.

you release his hand, grabbing for your phone, "should be, my boss loves me," a stupid joke, but you hand the touchscreen to him, "put your number in, so we can plan a time."

you climb down from the bed of the truck, peering up at the farmhand as he adds his number to your phone. when he's done he hands you back the phone, the sun casting an auburn glow to his hair.

you look up at him, and he smiles down at you, "don't be a stranger." he jokes.

you give him a laugh, "wouldn’t dream of it," you add, "i'll see you friday— i'm going into town with my grandma tomorrow. i'm sure it'll last all day."

billy hums, "till' friday, honey."

you turn and head back to the house, smiling to yourself, feeling happy and alive in a way that you haven't felt in a long time.

the next day, thursday, you wake up early to accompany your grandma into town. the older woman drags you up and down shopping centre's, moaning on and on about how cheaply things are made now.

you make it through the first ten stores without your smile cracking, you think it must be a finely tuned talent.

it's not until well after lunch the woman decides to slow down, stopping at a local diner to eat. she does most of the talking, gossiping about everyone she's run into today.

you love your grandma and you enjoy your time with her, but you're too focused on tomorrow to really be good company.

if she notices your change in behavior though, she doesn't comment. highly unlike her.

by the time the sky is more dark than light, you two head home. she plays old country music the whole ride, teeny-bopper songs that remind you how young she used to be.

and when you finally lay your head down to rest, you don't try to fight off the supercut in your mind of your sweet farmhand.

the next day, fateful friday, arrives with a mix of nerves and excitement. you find yourself checking the clock more often than usual, the anticipation building as the day progresses. your mind drifts to the possible plans for the evening, wondering where billy might take you on this 'proper date.'

a bit after the sun hits noon, you finish up your chores on the farm, your thoughts consumed by your impending evening. you decide to freshen up and put on something nice, an easy way to get your mind together.

your closet here is less thorough than the one at home, but the innocent tops and bottoms of your late teens still fit. you look less severe than you'd normally for a date. forgone are the dark, tight, and sultry clothes of your college town, leaving you looking ever so sweet.

the early afternoon arrives, and you hear the distant rumble of his pickup as it approaches. you feel alight with a muddled mess of nerves as you make your way out of the house to meet him.

you look over your shoulder when you crack the door open. making sure you haven't awoken your sleeping grandparents, who rarely miss their three o'clock naps.

the summer sun is high in the sky, casting a bright glow over the landscape. billy's leaned up against his truck, staring expectantly at your front porch— staring at you, you realize.

as you walk to him, you can't help but notice the effort he put into dressing up. his filthy work shirt is replaced with a clean, green linen button-down, and there's a hint of ambery cologne in the air. he offers you a genuine smile, eyes lighting up as he takes in your appearance.

"hey there, beautiful." he greets you, a hand coming to rest on your shoulder blade, comforting.

"hi," you reply, returning his saccharine smile. "you clean up nice."

he chuckles, a bit bashful, "well, i figured it's a special occasion."

you let him lead you to the passenger side, where he opens the rusty pickup's door for you, you fight back your grin when he follows in after.

as you drive into town, the atmosphere is a blend of excitement and a tinge of nervousness. billy takes you to a quaint little restaurant a bit outside of town. it's casual but with dim lights and a cozy ambiance. certainly it's the most romantic restaurant around without heading an hour out into the city. the two of you share stories and laughs, finding little to no lull in conversation.

"you want any dessert?" you ask, fiddling a loose thread at the hem of your blouse.

billy shrugs, "i've never said no to some banana puddin'. what'd you say?"

you giggle, nodding in agreement. you feel high off of his company. you're giddy and doing a horrible job at hiding it, but he doesn't seem to mind. instead, he relegates to matching your optimism, only validating every enamored thought of him that rings in your mind.

the warm evening air swirls around you as the two of you exit the restaurant. billy offers his hand, and you gladly intertwine your fingers as you stroll down the sidewalk. the town square is alive with the soft glow of streetlights.

as you walk, the conversation continues, easy and simple. billy talks animatedly about his past few weekends at the rodeo and shares some amusing anecdotes about the other rider’s on the circuit. you, in turn, finally divulge your baler incident, much to his chagrin.

the final hours of afternoon are slowly rolling in, and soon you find yourselves back at his pickup truck. you assume he'll drive you home, but to your surprise, he takes a different route, heading towards the backroads right beside your land. you raise an eyebrow, curious about this unexpected detour.

"where are we going?" you inquire, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

billy smirks but doesn't say anything, keeping the destination a secret. the road is winding and narrow— made of dirt and full of large potholes. you know your little front-wheel drive could never make it. eventually, he slows the car off the path, onto the side of the road.

there's an apparent trail just to the right of you, and when billy opens the door for you, he immediately ushers you toward it, "don't worry, we won't go too far in."

you'd be lying if you said the setting sun wasn't adding a level of unease to the idea of entering the woods, but when you look at billy, eyes bright and smile true, you throw aside your worries.

the young man is true to his word. the trek into the woods only lasts a few minutes before you see it. an azure expanse of water— a secluded lake surrounded by towering oak trees and a backdrop of rolling hills.

you turn back to look at him, shocked, "how did you find this?"

"jus’ by chance a few years ago. i figured you'd been out here before, living so close," he remarks, "but i like that i got to show it to you." billy admits, a devoted glint in his eyes.

as you stand there, gazing at the serene lake, you feel a sense of wonder and gratitude for this unexpected and beautiful surprise. you can't remember the last time the familiar landscape of home felt so awing. billy seems to be taking in your reaction, a quiet satisfaction evident on his face.

"it's breathtaking." you finally say, your voice hushed in appreciation.

billy grins, seemingly pleased with your reaction, "so are you."

you turn back to the water to hide your flustered expression.

you watch him find a comfortable spot by the water's edge, sitting on a large flat rock. you follow suit, letting your head nestle into his chest. the sounds of nature surround you—the rustling leaves, the gentle lapping of the water, and the distant calls of birds. it's a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the town and the farm.

you look up at him as inconspicuously as possible, eager to commit his image to memory. his umber hair curls at the nape of his neck, slender nose burnt from the sun, his freckles apparent, and his ever-inspired blue eyes reflecting the water ahead.

you look away as your heartbeat quickens, afraid that if you peer up any longer he'll be able to hear the rhythm.

"can you swim?" you ask, toes dipping into the waters below.

billy's gaze softens, the radiant hues of his eyes flickering with warmth as he looks down at you. his calloused hand idly tracing circles on your back, comforting, "yeah, i can swim. why? you wanna go for a dip?" he replies, a playful glint dancing across his face.

enthusiastically, you nod, "i'd love to. it's been ages since i've been swimming in a place like this."

with a charismatic grin, billy stands up, extending a hand to help you rise. he doesn't hesitate to unbutton his shirt and free himself from his pants— clothed only in his black boxers.

you try to be as carefree as him, but you're slower to shed your attire. by the time you do, he's already shoulder deep in the water.

you make your way to the water's edge, stepping in. the cool embrace of the lake greets your skin as you wade in. the sun now casts a dim golden glow on the rippling surface.

as you move deeper into the water, you feel a sense of liberty wash over you. you let out a contented sigh, feeling weightless and unburdened. billy is a few feet away from you, beckoning you to come closer with a smile on his face. you oblige, splashing water playfully in your wake.

as you approach him, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close. you can feel the heat emanating from his body, warming you up in the cool water. your bare skin presses against his, and you can feel a hint of longing course through your veins.

"you're s'beautiful," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "prettiest girl i've ever seen."

you chuckle slightly, looking beside him to the water, "you're just blowing smoke up my ass."

his hand finds your cheek, gently beckoning you to face him fully, "why would i ever do that?" he hums, "i only say things i mean, honey."

you blink at him, too far gone to stop your gaping, "you're a charmer, billy bonney. do you hear that a lot?"

he laughs, both hands now coming to rest at your hips, forcing you to wrap your legs around his, "i only need to hear it from you."

he says it so carelessly, without a thought. he's telling the truth, you surmise.

"why? you like me or something?" the words come out genuine, despite your teasing intent.

billy's eyes trail down to your lips, "i like you a whole lot, honey," you feel his grip grow steadier, holding you closer to him. he looks back up at you, gaze tempting, "i like you s'much i worked an extra four days on your farm jus’ to see you."

the revelation hangs in the air, and you find yourself caught in a suspended moment, the water lapping gently around you. billy's admission resonates, sinking deep into the newfound connection you've shared over these past days. his stare, earnest and reserved, locks with yours, and you can't help but feel a swirl of emotions.

a smile plays on your lips, a mixture of surprise and awe, "that's dedication." you reply, a playful sparkle in your eyes.

billy grins, his hands still securely holding you. "only for you, honey. i'm nothin' if not devoted."

you gleam at his words, intrinsically leaning closer to him. you're so close to letting your lips brush his before you stop, eager to see the weight of his affection once more, "you can kiss me now, if that's what you're waiting for."

with that, he presses his lips to yours, kissing you with a hunger that leaves you breathless. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, savoring the taste of him on your tongue.

billy breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses and nips along the way. you tilt your head back, giving him better access to your skin, letting out a soft sigh as he finds the sensitive spot on your neck.

"you're gonna be the death o'me." he whispers against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

your fingers tangle in his hair as he continues his assault on your neck, alternating between gentle kisses and nibbles. you can feel the heat building between your bodies, the water around you providing a cooling effect to your heated embrace.

billy's hands slip down to cup your ass, pulling you closer to him so that there's barely any space between you. he grinds his hips against yours, earning a moan from deep in your throat. you can feel his hardness pressing against you through the thin fabric of his boxers.

your eyes flutter open and you lock gazes with him, the intensity of his gaze mesmerizing. you tilt your head back down, allowing him to steal another kiss. his tongue teases yours. his hands roam up and down your body, exploring every inch of you he can with a passionate fervor.

you can feel yourself being taken into the depths of him until you can barely think or breathe. it's only when he finally pulls away, that you realize the afternoon has fully evolved into the beginnings of nighttime. the sky above you is almost entirely dark, littered with stars.

somehow, you still don’t think the kiss was long enough.

billy smiles at you, brushing his hair away from his eyes. you can't help but smile back, feeling content and happy.

"i think i like you too much." he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your skin. you laugh softly, feeling the same way.

a hum of agreement, "me too." you whisper back, pulling him into a tight hug. you stay like that for a while, enjoying the warmth and comfort of each other's embrace.

as the night deepens, you and billy finally decide to make your way back to the truck. billy helps you out of the water, his touch lingering as you both reluctantly part from the tranquil lake. the air is filled with the sounds of nocturnal creatures, their symphony accompanying your footsteps as you follow the narrow trail back to the pickup truck.

the woods, now cloaked in darkness, take longer to exit. the moonlight filters through the dense canopy of leaves, casting shadows on the forest floor.

once back at the truck, you find yourself wrapped in a cozy blanket billy had thoughtfully brought along. the drive home is filled with a comfortable silence, the events of the evening settling into a cherished memory. the road is dimly lit by the truck's headlights, and the night sky is a canvas of stars above.

as you approach the farmhouse, the thrill of the night lingers between you and billy. he parks the truck, and the engine falls silent. the two of you sit in the quiet for a moment, savoring the experience.

"thank you for tonight, you were real sweet." you say, breaking the silence.

billy turns to you, a peaceful smile playing on his lips. "i should be thanking you, for goin’ out with me. so thank you, darling. i think you're real sweet too."

"i'm real glad we met." you add.

he reaches over, his hand finding yours, fingers intertwining in a comfortable gesture. "me too," he replies, his gaze holding yours.

with a reluctant smile, you open the truck door, preparing to step out. billy, however, stops you with a gentle tug on your hand.

"before you go," he starts, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, "i was wonderin' if you'd like to do this again sometime. maybe i could take you down to the rodeo?"

the question catches you off guard, but the sincerity in his expression is undeniable. you feel a warmth spread through your chest, and you nod, "i'd like that, billy."

he grins, the moonlight casting a soft glow on his features. "good. it's a date then." you agree, leaning up and placing a peck on his pink lips before stepping out of the truck.

it's not until you're safely inside that he drives away into the night, the sound of the engine fading into the distance.

even as you slip into bed, the memories of the night play in your mind like a vivid dream. you drift into sleep with thoughts of the lake, the evening kisses, and the now waivered apprehension of the farmhand.

you've found yourself ensnared with billy bonney.

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

billy taglist— @honey-bees-13 @poppyflower-22 @black-yn @siriuslybeloved @sherlollyliveson18 @cosmicspacewitch @aravenswritingdeskblog @sabrinasbd @cqsmo @coconut-dreamz @preciouspinkyy

₊˚౨ৎ˚₊ to remain on my taglist, make sure to interact :)

#billy the kid #billy bonney #billy the kid x reader #billy bonney x reader #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #tom blyth!billy the kid #tom blyth #billy bonney fluff #billy the kid fluff #i know everyone’s in their coriolanus era but…

543 notes · View notes

visforvengeance · 2 months

Text

Downright Iconic

Requested by: No One :)

Notes: helllllo! ok so i lovelovelove rafe and i've been seeing you guys do like a southern gothic type thing so I wanted to try as a southern (Georgia and texas) woman myself. so let me just say I am an atheist that grew up with a highly Christian family. I became an atheist when I was like 14 so idk too many bible verses and I'm sorry if anything is in accurate. I'm just sacrilegious af, like this story oh man. ok this is very much xblack reader based so idk read it or don't. this is heavily HEAVILY ethel cain coded, specifically gibson girl and western nights. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

Pairing: rafe cameron x black!southern reader

Warnings: oh man there's so many warnings omg ok. dacryphilia. hinted somnophilia, sexual religious themes, unprotected sex, graphic graphic graphic, degradation (slut, whore, etc), actual slut shaming, I was high while writing most of this and it went berserk. um it's 4k words of porn without plot. i didn't proofread. I don't remember all of the warnings so please read at your own risk!

You sat in the front row of your church, along with your family and others who were important to society. There was your family, the Pastor’s family, the Camerons (Ward Cameron is the mayor of your quaint little town). The Thorntons and the Carreras. Your father’s voice boomed throughout the small church as he recited Proverbs 3:5-6. Kiara’s father had asked him to speak on keeping up your faith after he learned of his daughter’s betrayal.

She was caught dillydallying with that little blonde boy from the more southern parts of town. Her reputation took quite a hit when everyone found out. It nearly cost her family their business, if it weren’t for the closeness they shared with the Camerons, they’d have faced total ruin.

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably as you looked over at your friend. She kept her head down and her hands in her lap while the grip her father held on her wrist visibly tightened. You wanted to go and comfort her, but you knew your mother would disapprove. When she found out about the news, she banned you from ever even looking at Kiara again. Which was hard because she was your greatest friend. Despite your mother’s wishes, you still hung around her. You were her rock whenever she needed a shoulder to cry on, you defended her from those who called her foul names and turned on her.

Your eyes trailed over to the Cameron family. They all sat in their crisp and brightly colored Sunday’s best. Your eyes looked over the eldest child in the family, Rafe. He was a wild child, a true force to be reckoned with. Star athlete at your university, the town’s sweetheart. The boy your mama would be proud to call her son-in-law. The golden child. There was no better American teen than Rafe Cameron. Until the sun goes down and he’s the devil that lurks in the streets.

Rafe was a notorious party animal. He’s single-handedly why your town has a curfew in the first place. Despite his daddy being the mayor and constantly under public scrutiny, everyone under the age of 27 knew what Rafe Cameron got into. The parties, the drugs and alcohol, premarital sex, he did all of it.

The two eldest Cameron children were very sneaky. Sarah, who was more like her brother than she’d like to admit, was just as wild. For starters, she was dating one of those pogues. There’s nothing worse than dating a pogue around these parts. She claimed that they were in love and planned on leaving when they got the chance. You’d just nod and pet her hair, bless her heart. You weren’t a fan of slutshaming but if you looked up the very definition of a slut, there’d be a picture of Sarah sitting prettily. You didn’t know how the purity necklace Ward had gotten her hadn’t broken and melted to the ground from her sinful ways. But, you loved her nonetheless.

Since you were 13 and could no longer control the urges that came with being a growing girl, there had always been something about Rafe. You had a crush on the older boy for years. You didn’t partake in things like masturbation, but on days where you nearly gave in, thoughts of Rafe ran across your mind. His toned body hovered above yours while his breath fanned over your features. He was between your legs, grinding against you so slowly that you felt everything he had to offer.

Mama and daddy hadn’t taught you about sex yet. They always said that it was something you’d learn about when the time came. So, you didn’t know how vaginas and penises worked and how babies were made or why sometimes when you were alone, if you thought for too long then your breathing would become heavier and there’s this feeling in your stomach. And, you can’t keep your legs from rubbing together and you’re so hot, god (you’ll repent later), you could die. This unknown feeling gets so intense, but you’re so scared. So, you stop. You say your prayers and go to bed. You don’t tell anyone about these moments of little death.

Rafe was always indifferent towards you until you turned 16 and your body developed more. And, you were no longer just his annoying little sister’s best friend. Fuck, you were so much more. Your tits practically burst out of your sports bra when he sees you practicing for cheerleading. 17 and your ass was looking too good in your jeans. 18 and the sway of your hips had him on his knees.

He fucked countless girls dreaming that they were you instead. He just knows your virgin pussy would have him going crazy. He knew about your crush on him from one of the times you were talking to Kie while Sarah was out. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish you were in his arms too. But, something in him was holding him back. He never knew what and didn’t bother to try and figure it out. He wasn’t going to for a good long while.

When you looked over at Rafe to discover he was already looking at you, your eyes widened and you immediately looked back at your father. Rafe felt his smirk grow. He spent his days in church daydreaming about bending you over and fucking you right in front of everyone and Jesus Christ himself. He laughed when he thought about the times he didn’t burst into flames.

He tuned out the preaching as he imagined what your tits would like while he drenched your top in the holy water before him. He imagined it was you saying those prayers while you’re stupid crying on his cock, a girl like you should be praying to the correct god. Rafe wanted you so badly. He decided that he was done wasting time. He’d marry you and make you his pretty little housewife if he had to. He had to stop before the very thought of you being pregnant and swollen with his baby made him cum in his pants.

After church, your father allowed you to hang out with Sarah at Tannyhill. The two of you lounged around by the pool while Rafe and his friends did the same on the opposite side. While you lay around, floating in the pool, you watched as Rafe watched you in the pool. The sunglasses helped tremendously at hiding your line of vision and allowed you to watch him without shame. His eyes trailed all over your body like he was in a trance and couldn’t choose where to look first.

You sat yourself up on your elbows, tilting your sunglasses down to look at him. When he realized that you were looking at him, he gave you a small smile and a wink. He watched your doe eyes stare back up at him, your bottom lip being pulled in between your teeth while your eyes trailed down his torso. The heat combined with the brightness of the sun cast a light sheen on Rafe’s body. It was making you clench so deliciously around nothing and had you panting like a bitch in heat.

Rafe chuckled as he inspected your behavior around him, but Sarah’s voice hid it well enough to go unnoticed. “Rafe, let’s have a party,” Sarah suggested. Rafe hardly ever said no to a party. Their parents left a lot so they had parties pretty often. But, you never attended them. Parties weren’t exactly your thing. You’d very much rather stay at home and watch a movie. Or the most adventurous you’d get is trespassing on public park grounds after hours.

“I’m down. You spread the word and I’ll get the goods.” Sarah nodded as she began to gather her things, you began to make your way out of the water. Rafe eyed your backside while water cascaded down the smooth brown skin. He stood mesmerized with his tongue in his cheek as your ass jiggled behind you. His eyes never left your body while you walked inside the house. He couldn’t wait until he got his hands on you.

After you and Sarah had settled inside, the two of you chilled inside her room for a bit. “You should come to the party.” Her and Kie always tried to get you to attend one but you always declined their advances. But, Sarah was being very persistent. “Why do you want me to come to your stupid party so bad? I’d feel so out of place. I don’t even have anything to wear.” You tried every excuse you had but Sarah wasn’t budging. “Look. We’re grown-ups now and you can’t just live your life like some virgin loser. You ain’t even had your first kiss yet, darling,” she says as she grabs your face so you’re looking at her.

She was right. You’ve never been more intimate than holding hands. Your parents put the fear of god in you and it’s buried so far down inside of you, that the only way to purify yourself of it is to die. It’s not like boys hadn’t tried, but you’d push them away faster than they could say ‘hallelujah’. You didn’t know what had gotten into you. These kinds of things never worried you before but this crippling fear of missing out has invaded your brain.

You stared up at the pale, peachy-colored ceiling and took a deep breath. “Fine, I’ll go,” you mumbled. Sarah began jumping around in excitement, “I still don’t have anything to wear, though. My clothes aren’t very party-like.” You frowned as you thought about your clothing options. They didn’t hug your body or show what you were working with. “Fuck it, we’re going shopping,” Sarah declares as she drags you out of bed.

She convinced you to get this spicy little number that showed off the parts of your body you adored the most. The two of you rushed back to her house so you could get ready. Rafe had already started setting everything up. You were beyond nervous as you’d never done something like this before, definitely never wore anything like this either. Sarah helped you do your makeup, an hour she spent straddling your waist as she focused. You looked like a different person, you didn't even recognize yourself. It was strange. And, your parents would have a stroke if they saw you now.

The house was filled before you knew it. Various stood all over with cups in their hands or they’re making out against the wall, to be honest, you were scared. You’d never seen so much vulgarity. You couldn’t believe you let Sarah talk you into this. Never again would you let it happen. She had the audacity to leave you alone and suck faces with John B. and you were pissed. You stood near the island of the kitchen with a solo cup in your hand. You were drinking the alcohol and it left you with an unrecognizable feeling. But it was a good one. The music calmed you, as did the LED lighting surrounding the place. You welcomed its embrace easier than you thought you would.

You watched over the crowd, continuously drinking as you sat on the counter. It’s been an hour and Sarah still hasn't returned. You feared you looked like a drunken loser. And, you did. Meanwhile, Rafe stood on the other side of the house, directly across from you. His height and your sitting on the counter allowed him to watch you as the hour passed. He battled with whether he should approach you or not. The alcohol in his system lowered his inhibitions and lessened his worries.

He pushed past the intoxicated groups of bodies and reached you. He stood in between your legs while his hands rested on either side of your thighs. Just like in your dream, you could feel the warmth of his breaths against your skin, you basked in it. He invaded your senses. His scent made you woozier along with the alcohol you consumed, he smelled of hints of beer and Bleu de Chanel. His body heat radiated off of him and onto you, engulfing you like a glove. His blue eyes were all that you could see as his half-lidded eyes looked down at you. If you were sober then you’d be questioning how he was able to tempt you like this. You’d do whatever he wanted of you if he asked. And, he liked it that way.

“Hey, baby.” Baby? Did he know who he was talking to? “Hi, Rafe.” He fucking loved the way you said his name, he could feel his cock starting to stir in his pants. “My sister ditch you for that little bitch, John B. huh?” He was sweaty and breathing so heavily. It made you wonder what had him like this. But, you nodded and continued to look into his eyes. “You want me to take you upstairs to keep you company?” His fingers were caressing your thigh at this point. His touch burned you but you liked it. That didn’t sound like such a bad idea. “Yeah,” you whispered to him. He helped you off of the counter and held your hand, pulling you upstairs to his bedroom. He absolutely had no intentions of talking, unless it was to talk you right out of this little dress you were wearing that made his dick jump in his shorts.

Once you were in the quietness of his bedroom, he locked the door behind him. He sat closely next to you on his bed. He eyed your body, focusing on the plushness of your tits that spilled out of your dress. And, your thighs that looked so soft, it made him want to mark them up. Fuck, he had to have you. It made you nervous being under his gaze for this long and this closely. He usually never paid you any attention and now, suddenly, it was all on you. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he started. He stared at you intently, practically moving you on top of him. You were hot all over. “Thank you,” you sounded more confused than pleased but Rafe could sense your nervousness and it was turning him on more than he thought was possible.

His fingers played with your inner thighs, softly drawing circles on them. “You know it’s funny. Sarah would be so pissed if she saw us right now.” You were breathless. And drunk. And so fucking close to him. And, there’s a little voice in the back of your head that’s begging you to get ahold of yourself and go home! But, you had to see this out. Maybe, you’d been praying and pleading with God to allow something like this to happen. Maybe, you’d let Rafe do whatever he wanted to you tonight. Maybe, you were willing to be Eve and let Rafe be the serpent that tempts you.

“Why?” He chuckled and shook his head. You were just a dumb little girl after all. He couldn’t wait until you were his. He’d teach you. And, mold you into his perfect woman. His pretty, pliant princess. “Because she wouldn’t want her brother and her best friend fucking each other. Not if it’s me and not if it’s you.” Everyone and their mother knew you were too good for anyone, especially Rafe. He may have been everyone’s favorite boy but they knew he had a temper on him.

“You wanna fuck me?” Were you in heaven? Like actually? You knew what ‘fucking’ meant but not exactly how to do it. But, that didn’t mean it wasn’t making you incredibly wet to know that it was what he wanted to do with you. You looked at him with wide eyes. He nodded before pressing his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking at your pulse point. “I can’t stop thinking about how that pussy would feel wrapped around my cock, mama.” His fingers were now grazing the poor excuse for underwear that you were wearing. Sarah made you buy some thongs because something about panty lines not being attractive or whatever.

You opened your legs wider for him, which made him groan into your neck. He pulled your panties to the side and was immediately met with your wetness. He softly rubbed your clit, your slick making it easy for his fingers to glide across it, quickly bringing you to orgasm. It happened too quickly for you to provide a proper warning but Rafe wasn’t complaining as he watched you come undone in his lap. Your thighs still shook around his wrist while you came down from your high.

“That was so hot, baby.” He pecked your lips once, then twice. “I’ve never done that before,” you mumbled. You were beyond embarrassed to admit that. But, Rafe managed to calm you down by stroking your arm. “Not even on your own?” You shook your head. You heard Sarah and Kie talk about cumming and how it felt but you could only imagine. You almost did try pleasuring yourself once, but you were already so scared. Your parents were supposed to be out and all was good until you heard your mom calling for you and you never tried again.

Rafe was having such a hard time trying not to rip your clothes off and fuck you beyond repair. So pretty and so untouched. He didn’t care if it was obsessive or predatory, you were going to be his. He was going to make sure of it. “Do you wanna do it again, babe?” After you gave him a yes, he wasted no time in getting both of your clothes off. Rafe couldn’t believe you were letting him do this. He didn’t believe in God and all of that shit but he was silently thanking whoever there was for this moment that he could only dream of. He thought with you being the pastor’s daughter, that you’d at least make him wait. But, you were just as wanting as he was. Or, you were proper drunk. But, that’s not what matters.

Rafe paused before reattaching himself to your body, his eyes looked over it. Admiring it. Was he in love with you? He could picture his life with you. You’d give him a handsome son and a beautiful daughter. And, even after you’ve aged and had kids, you’d still be his beautiful, loyal fucking housewife. Oh, shit. He had to be in love with you. He hadn’t even stuck his dick in you yet and he’s daydreaming about giving you his kids, what the fuck. He’d never felt this fucking giddy about a girl until you. You made him feel like a little schoolgirl with a crush or some shit. It was unnerving. But, right now he was going to make you see God on his cock, and feelings will come later.

He leaned over, scattering kisses around your body. “You’re so beautiful, baby. The most beautiful I’ve ever seen.” And he meant it this time. As his lips enclosed themselves around your nipple, teeth grazing them, he moaned. “So fucking beautiful, princess.” He was moaning like a slut above you and you were still a virgin in his bed. He was screwed. However, he didn’t see the effect all of this had on you. Your hips were twitching uncontrollably because of the proximity and of him and his words and his actions. You were begging for something, you didn’t know what. But, you were so fucking desperate for Rafe, you couldn’t bear it. You felt tears sliding down the sides of your face, Rafe noticed in his daze which made him stutter a bit. Were you crying?

“Are you…fucking crying? Baby?” His hands caressed your cheeks but his tone was mocking you. And, you liked it. You nodded shyly. He scoffed and smirked, kissing your head. “Why are you crying, hm?” You were too afraid to say that it was because you were inexperienced. And, your inability to do what you wanted was making you frustrated. Rafe looked at you expectantly, even nudging your cheek a bit. You sighed, “I can’t say what I want you to do to me because I can’t articulate it well enough. Rafe, I don’t know what any of this is or how I’m feeling and I need you to-” You stopped yourself. You couldn’t say it. Your one piece of dignity wouldn’t allow you to. “You need me to teach you, baby? You want Daddy to show you how to make yourself feel good when he can’t help you?” It felt like the fucking wind had been knocked out of you as he spoke.

“W-what?” Your eyes were wide. No one had ever spoken to you this way. And, you think you’d be quite disgusted if it were anyone else. But, Rafe was making you leave a puddle on his damn sheets. He situated himself between your legs so that his cock lay flat against your clit. He pushed his hips into you, which caused you to shiver. “I said, do you need me to show you what it feels like to lose your mind?” His hips never stopped moving. And, you never stopped moaning. What the hell was happening? You didn’t know, but you didn’t want it to stop. You were begging God to not let it stop, you didn’t care about any of it at this moment. Not what your family would think if they knew what a little whore you were being for this white boy. And, you didn’t care if you were going to hell, because as long as you had Rafe with you, no place would be as bad. As Rafe humped you into a senseless, babbling mess, your last comprehensive thought was that you now belonged to Rafe Cameron. He was yours as you were his and nothing would be able to change that. You didn’t know what voodoo magic Rafe had coursing through him but you knew you’d never be separated, till death do you part.

His hips stopped when he realized he hadn’t gotten a response. “I can’t hear you, pretty girl. You listening?” You whined at the loss of friction but answered. “Yes, baby. I need you to teach me. Please just fuckin teach me, Rafe.” You didn’t know that you just signed your deal with the devil. When Rafe said teach you, he really meant teach you.

~Now, dearest reader, I beg you let your imagination run wild with that last one.~

That was enough of a confirmation for Rafe as his hips resumed their movement. You were feeling the same things as you did when you were alone but more intense. Your tummy twisted with pleasure as your legs clasped tightly around Rafe's slutty, little waist. Your nails raked across his back harshly, but he didn’t mind. Your legs began to shake and you were panting now. You couldn’t describe this feeling, but you trusted Rafe. If he felt nothing was wrong then you allowed yourself to truly embrace it. He looked down at you, kissing you all over your face. “Come on, baby, you can do it. Give me what I want, can you do that? You gonna make a mess of me?”

You were blinded by white, hot pleasure. Rafe watched as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he could feel the wet spawning of your pussy against him. You were fucking majestic. He wanted to watch you cum over and over again, that was his goal tonight. You felt yourself grow tired as you came down from your high. Rafe planted kisses all over your face again, “you did so good, baby.” You hummed in acknowledgment, beginning to fall asleep. But, Rafe tapped your cheek rather harshly. “What are ya doing, huh? You thought we were done?” You whined. Your half-lidded eyes stared up at Rafe. “But, Rafey, I’m so tired.” He manhandled you onto your back again, hiking your leg around his waist as he began to line himself up with your entrance.

“That’s not my problem, baby. I didn’t get to cum and you did twice. That’s not fair, princess. Don’t you want Daddy to feel good too?” You nodded, sleepily. “Good girl. Just let me fuck you, and then you can go to sleep, alright?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he pushed himself into you, bottoming out. He didn’t bother checking up on you as he was fucking for his pleasure now. He moaned at the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing his cock, already trying to milk him for everything he’s got.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby.” He hadn’t felt anyone as tight as you since he first fucked a girl. He began thrusting inside of you, causing the both of you to moan. You were half asleep while he pounded your shit. The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping, and wet pussy, and heavy groans and soft moans. It was purely pornographic. If only God could see you now. If only your father and mother could see you now.

The brutal fucking Rafe was giving you was fast and hard, but he was hitting that sweet spot so deliciously. You were clenching uncontrollably around him as you began squirting around him. When Rafe realized, he cursed under his breath. His hips stuttered as he watched the sight below him. When Rafe saw the tears streaming down your face again, it had him spilling inside of you. Mixtures of curses and groans left him as he came.

His head was in the crop of your neck while you played with his hair. You began to fall asleep again, feeling content just like this. Despite the mess you were laying in. But, Rafe began to move his hips again. Slowly this time. “Rafe, you said-“ “sh shh, baby, just go to sleep. Don’t worry about this.”

#x black reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut

186 notes · View notes

thewulf · 10 months

Text

Gorgeous || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - So I was wondering if you could do a Jake Seresin x reader based on the song gorgeous by Taylor Swift. I just love flirty Jake and reader with lots of slow burn

A/N: Natasha’s sister moves to town and catches the eye of your favorite blonde pilot. 3 x 1 with each verse of Gorgeous by Taylor Swift angsty and flirty. The three times you flirt desperately with Jake and the one time he does something about it.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N Trace

Word Count: 4.7k +

One – The Party

“Everyone, this is my sister, Y/N. She’s a biologist. Decided to move downstate to be closer to me.” Nat grinned squeezing your side knowing it’d irritate you. She knew exactly how to do that, had it down to a literal science.

You rolled your eyes, “Or a job transfer happened to land me here.” You corrected her not having much time to spare her much of glance as a new voice interrupted the two of you.

“Thank the Good Lord for job transfers.” A blonde pilot shot you a rather confident wink cheersing the guys and few women around him making his presence known.

Nat swatted his beer down from the table the group was using, “Don’t even think about it Seresin. She has a boyfriend anyway.” Your sister shook her head eyeing him carefully.

You looked over at Nat with an annoyed expression crossing your face. She didn’t know you and your boyfriend, Matt, were on thin ice about the job transfer. He was pretty damn adamant that he wasn’t leaving Los Angeles to move down to San Diego with you. You didn’t know how committed you were to making that drive every other weekend either. To say the relationship was rocky was a bit of an understatement. It was teetering towards the edge and didn’t have much hope for survival.

Jake shrugged, “For now.”

Your eyes looked back to him in curiosity. You weren’t sure if he was just playing around and fucking with your sister or if he was being serious and found you just as interesting as you did him but you sure as hell were going to figure it out, that was for damn sure.

He gave you the up and down after seeing your curious gaze. With a sly smile he took a step towards you. You would’ve let him, but your sister had other plans, “May I remind you. She has a boyfriend Jake.” You smiled up at him, he looked like a Jake.

He shrugged loving how worked up his coworker was getting over this, “Doesn’t mean I can’t make a friend Natasha.”

You bit back an even bigger smile not wanting to hear it from her later, not in the slightest, “Yeah Natasha, a friend.” You nodded playing along with him. You liked to work her up just as much, if not more than he did.

Her nose scrunched as she took your hand, “I don’t want to hear it from you, piccolo merda.”

You rolled your eyes at her Italian nickname for you, little shit, how original. The two of you were fluent in Italian, thanks to your father. He always said if he couldn’t raise you in Italy you were damn sure going to be speaking Italian inside the home. And so, you did.

It wasn’t two hours later you found yourself searching for the blonde pilot. You’d successfully ditched your sister after getting her a little too drunk. To be fair, you might’ve been a little too drunk for your own good. When you spotted him getting a drink from the keg you didn’t hesitate to walk right on up to him with a no-good smile right on your own face. Thank God for liquid courage.

When he spotted you walking too him he didn’t hesitate for a moment either, “Little Trace. Where’s your big sister?” He smirked while teasing you turning his body towards you leaning his side against the island counter.

You shrugged looking around, “She’s somewhere. Didn’t think I had to keep track of her.” Mimicking him you leaned against it too.

He shook his head, “I think it’s the other way around sweetheart.” His southern accent came out the more he drank. And he’d drank quite a bit leading to a thick Texas accent coming out of the woodwork.

You couldn’t help but to giggle, the draw that came off his mouth was so foreign to the prim and proper people of Northern California you’d called home your entire life.

His eyes shot to your lips hearing you laugh so sweetly. He couldn’t help that he was truly enamored with the sound that captured him so effortlessly, “What are you laughing at?” He quipped, far too curious for his own good.

You shook your head quickly, “Nothing.”

He took a step closer eyeing you up and down forgetting you were his co-workers sister for a second, “I don’t believe you for a second darlin’.”

You were ever so thankful for the beer in your hand giving you something to put your eyes on, “I wasn’t expecting that accent, is all.” You giggled once more feeling the effects of drinking one too many beers.

You’d officially piqued his interest. His eyebrows raised in amusement, taking a step closer. He was far closer to you than Nat would appreciate, and he knew it. But it really was your fault. He couldn’t resist that cute little laugh and pretty little eyes batting right at him.

“You’re drunk.” He grinned noticing your swaying and gentle grip on the kitchen countertop

You shrugged, “So? Isn’t that the point of a party?” It was then that you noticed just how close the two of you really were. One more step and you’d be on top of him. You couldn’t have stopped the blush that spread across your cheeks even if you tried.

His smile only made your stupid, traitorous heart hammer in your chest once more, “Your absolutely right sweetheart.” His answer caught your eyes. When he winked you were sure your knees would buckle had your sister not swooped in eyeing Jake with venom you hadn’t seen from her in a long time.

“There you are Y/N.” She grabbed your arm gently, “I’ve been looking for you. I want to introduce you to a few people.”

You nodded grabbing the beer Jake had poured for you, “See you around Jake.” You waved as your sister dragged you off.

He nodded, “You sure will darlin’.”

Two – The Hard Deck

The mission tonight was simple. Avoid Jake Seresin at all costs. It wasn’t worth the damn headache that came from Natasha. She reamed you out the night after the house party saying you had a commitment. That’s when it all spilled out, just how unhappy you were in your current relationship.

To your surprise it was Natasha that convinced you to break up with him, so you did. You felt that sense of clarity once he simply just accepted the fate destined rather than fighting for you. Instead of wallowing you felt at peace. Like you were free from a trap you wanted so desperately to get out from. You were able to do whatever you wanted. The only problem you had now was going to be Jake. You were drawn to him, so utterly drawn to him. Nat tried to warn you, but every story only made you more interested. She stopped when she realized what she was doing.

You knew it was only a matter of time before you were going to be so casually controlled by the man. So, you’d avoid him. It was easy at first. But got a lot harder as the night wore on and his eyes were on you for a majority of it. That and your eyes kept finding his more and more the night progressed and the more intoxicated you became.

You were all but successful in your avoidance until you felt a hand brush against your own as you walked across the bar. You stopped locking eyes with the man you were attempting to avoid.

“Hey sweetheart.” He smirked knowing he had your attention now.

“Jake.” You pulled your jaw up from your shocked expression attempting to smile sweetly at the man you’d been able to avoid for the majority of the night, until now.

“Little Trace, you’ve been avoiding me.” He grabbed for your hand. You should’ve pulled away. Kept the conversation short and simple between the two of you. But you couldn’t. Not with him. He had you fair and square now. The mission was failed, successfully.

You tried to play coy. Key word, tried. The creeping blush might’ve given you away though, “I’ve been busy.”

“Avoiding me.” A lopsided grin spread across his face as he played with your hand absentmindedly stepping towards you. He too was utterly drawn towards you just as you were to him. It was only a matter of time between the two of you.

“It’s not all about you Jake. I have obligations from Natasha.” You grinned feeling a shiver rip up your arm from the tracing he was doing along your thumb. He noticed, because of course he did.

He shook his head looking right at you. Hazel green eyes, staring in yours. Your heart felt like it just might explode from that look alone, “See that’s where your wrong sweetheart. It’s all about me.”

You laughed throwing your head backwards. It’d been a while since you felt such joy in the utter shameless flirting that was going on between the two of you, “Maybe in your world Jake Seresin.” You gave his hand a squeeze in your own.

“That’s where your wrong again. In my world it’s all about you.” Jake looked all too proud of himself with that line.

You let him have the win. You let out a another loud laugh letting him know you were all too interested in him even though everybody around you seemed to be rooting against whatever the hell it was between the two of you. It was just a simple flirtationship that you so desperately wanted to progress.

“That was too smooth Jake.”

He let out a soft breath debating what to say next. Like he knew he would screw up if he went down his usual route. He didn’t want to just sleep with you. You were different. He knew if he started something with you he had to commit. You were too special not to. That and Nat would kick his ass to high heaven if he fucked around with your feelings.

“You make it easy, Y/N. It’s so easy with you. I hardly know you, but I feel like I can tell you anything. Does that make any sense?” He let out. Almost afraid it was too much for literal strangers.

You nodded quickly, “I know what you mean. Like I trust you. Could tell you anything and you’d keep it a secret. I get it.” You affirmed him bobbing your head up and down in the overcrowded bar packed to the brim on a busy Saturday night.

He let out the breath he was holding in giving your hand a gentle squeeze in return, “I knew you’d get it Little Trace.”

“Can you I ask you something?” You asked, needing to change the subject feeling all too vulnerable all too quickly.

“Shoot sweetheart.” He nodded letting you know anything was fair game.

You looked him right in the eyes, “Why does my sister want me to avoid you so desperately? Why does everybody?” You asked not sure if you really wanted to real answer.

He let out a soft sigh, “That’s a really long story I’ll tell you another day.” He nodded along, “Long story short, they don’t want you around Hangman.”

You nodded along. That must’ve been his callsign, “Is Hangman a dickhead?” You asked unashamed. Half the alcohol, half you speaking.

This time he threw his head back in laughter. You caught him in surprise, and he wasn’t afraid to show it, “Hangman is a really big dickhead.”

You smiled loving this side of him you were sure didn’t come out all too often, “Well I’m glad I’m getting to know Jake, not Hangman.”

He nodded finally dropping you hand, “Jake only. Now, your sister is shooting me evil glances. Go make sure she doesn’t murder me later, yeah?”

You turned your head waving your sister off, “I promise she won’t murder you.”

“I’m going to hold you to it. Or I’m haunting your ass.”

You grinned deciding to grab his hand this time, “It’s a deal, Jake Seresin.”

He gave your hand a squeeze, “It’s a deal then, Y/N Trace.”

Three – The Football Game

“Jesus Christ.” You groaned sitting down at the picnic table witnessing the men in all their shirtless sweaty glory.

Penny nodded, “I know.”

“That’s just not fair. I don’t know how Nat does it.” You sighed tuning away from the shirtless group playing dogfight football on the beach, whatever that was. You couldn’t focus on trying to figure it out either. Jake looked too fucking good glistening, sweaty in the sun. What a cruel joke Nat was playing on you right now.

Penny smiled seeing you trying to avoid a certain blonde pilot playing football opposite your sister, “They’re more like brothers to her now.”

You nodded feeling your cheeks redden under her gaze, “What?” You asked trying to dodge her eyes.

“You like Jake?” She asked knowing all about his reputation. She knew it wasn’t her place to say a word. She was sure you’d heard everything about the pilot.

You just looked at her trying to come up with something, “I uhm, I think he’s quite cute.” You admitted feeling your already red cheeks deepen even further.

“Your sister said he talks about you a lot.” She told you.

You looked at her skeptically, “Really?” Being a bartender had its perks and one of those was learning about everybody’s business.

“Yeah. She told me the other night. She’s worried he’ll hurt you.” Penny admitted wanting to give you one warning. That was her motherly instinct kicking in for you.

You smiled, “She forgets we grew up in the same household. She forgets I’d kick his ass before he gets the chance at mine.”

“You should tell her that.” Penny laughed loving your confidence. You reminded her of Nat with that mini outburst right there. Penny loved getting to know the pilots that frequented her bar. Especially those who came back multiple times, your sister and Jake being just a few of them.

“Trust me, I try. She doesn’t listen to me. I’m just her dumb, stupid younger sister.” You sighed letting your frustration with your sister out. You loved her more than anything, but she treated you like a damn porcelain doll all the time. Like you’d shatter at any moment. It would’ve been sweet had she not tried to stop you from failing, something you needed.

“Incoming.” Penny smiled knocking you out of your thoughts. She stood from her seat across from you. She walked off towards Pete just in time for Jake to sit down next to you.

“Hey pretty girl.” He smiled so effortlessly while you felt like you were fighting for your damn life. Like the oxygen was suddenly getting sucked out of all the air.

You felt your eyes want to look down, but you knew you couldn’t. He was shirtless and you knew your eyes would betray you if they got a look any further below than his neck, “Hey Jake.” You felt your voice quiver as you looked away from him. It was like he had sucked all the confidence you once had and took it all himself.

“You look really pretty this afternoon.” He complimented you loving the way you looked in that dress far too much. Far too much for somebody who was just friends. He wanted you more than that and he was starting to get tired of waiting. He knew he was going to go for it the second he got back from the mission. It didn’t mean he couldn’t shamelessly flirt with you now though. Just to let you know how he really felt.

“You look… good yourself.” You kept your eyes forward trying not to give away just how damn attracted to him you really were.

He cracked a grin seeing you struggle under the conditions. He knew he had to make it just a bit harder for you, “Oh yeah? You think so sweetheart?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded.

He nodded slowly trying his best to get you to look down at his bare chest, “Well thank you darlin’.” He edged closer. And that was all it took to get you to break. You cursed yourself as you looked down at instinct to the subtle movement. He looked good. Better than good. Damn amazing. Gorgeous. He too looked oh so fucking gorgeous.

He smirked seeing that was what it took to get you to break, “As much as I’d like to tease you sweetheart your sister is walking over, and I don’t care for an earful. I’ll talk to you later?” He asked leaning closer to you.

“Yeah, later.” You smiled.

What took you by surprise was the quick peck on the cheek he gave you before running off. Not even having time to react to him before he was gone Nat stood where he was just moments ago, “What was that about?” She asked eyeing you skeptically.

You shook your head, “Nothing. Just Jake being Jake.” You smiled knowing it was over for you. You liked him far more than you really should’ve. Far more than he liked you. What you didn’t know was just how much he really did like you too. How slowly over the last few weeks you’d captured his every thought that wasn’t consumed by the mission. You had him smitten beyond his wild dreams.

Four – Return From the Mission

When you spotted her the tears sprung from your eyes immediately. You knew she was okay, she called to tell you. But seeing her was another story, “Oh, thank God.” You mumbled before walking as close as you could before you had to wait before they were dismissed.

Your eyes were glued on your sisters, but another pair was glued right on you. You didn’t see Jake watching you and only you. He didn’t have any family there to greet him. He hadn’t invited anybody. Not many people had. He couldn’t help but to feel a little twinge of jealousy seeing your eyes glued on somebody else. Knowing it was irrational he tried to keep his head on straight. How could he be jealous of your sister? A sister he’d grown to love dearly, in a different sense. Now that the mission was over he could focus on you, solely you now. If he had to stand behind your sister so be it, he’d do it.

The second you heard the dismissal call you were running towards your sister. You heard her grunt once you through your arms around her torso bringing her in for a bone crushing hug, “Natty, you’re okay.”

She laughed patting your shoulder. As much as you loved her she wasn’t one for much physical affection. Hugs made your sister rather uncomfortable, and you knew it. But you didn’t really care. You needed to hug her. To remind yourself that she was okay. She was living and breathing in front of you.

“Like I told you on the phone.” She smiled giving you one single squeeze back.

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly pulled apart from her, “You said you were fine. Who knows what that actually means. You could’ve been wheeled off the ship for all I know.” Crossing your arms over your chest you feigned a pout.

“You’re so dramatic.” She laughed

Shaking your head at her you smiled, “I’m dramatic? Last time you walked off the ship with a concussion and a broken arm. You said you were good. You’re not dramatic enough!” You countered earning a full-on laugh from your sister.

“As fun as this is. Jake is shooting me daggers for talking to you for so long. Why don’t you go talk to him and I’ll go find something else to do.” She said so nonchalantly you weren’t sure if you’d heard her right or not. Jake Seresin? The one you were supposed to avoid

You turned around connecting eyes with the blonde pilot that had captured your heart so effortlessly. Biting your lip slightly you gave him a quick wave before turning back to your sister, “What? You’re okay with this now?”

She shrugged, “He’s not that bad.”

You cocked your head to the side curiously. What the hell happened on the mission? She was usually an open book, “You’re not telling me something Nat.”

She shook her head pushing you away, “Go ask Jake then.”

Odd. Your eyes stitched together in utter curiosity. Where was this push coming from? She waved you off when you gave her a look of confusion. Turning back around you walked over to him, far less enthusiastic and far more confused than when you started your day.

When you made it to him he waited on you to speak first. A soft smile was tracing his lips as he studied your face once more. Thankful he was given the chance to look you over again. That was the first real life at stakes mission he’d been on, and it had him a little more thankful for the return to American soil he normally took for granted.

“Welcome home Lieutenant.”

His smile alone was enough to ignore any of the confusion your sister left you with moments prior, “It’s good to be home.” He paused unsure of himself. It wasn’t like him to be so cautious with somebody, but you were different. He realized that the second he laid his eyes on you a month ago. If you were anybody else he would’ve already wooed you and gotten you to sleep with him. But you weren’t just anybody else. You were you, Y/N. He was determined to do this right. For the first time in his life, he wanted something more, something serious. A woman he could show off to his friend and family. Somebody he could love and cherish. A partner to build a life with. And you, you would slide into that role so perfectly. He knew it.

He caught your eyes quickly giving him the up and down in the Navy Whites, your favorite return home uniform. They just made everybody look so polished. They made Jake look even better than he normally did. If that was even possible.

A cocky grin spread across his face knowing you felt the same way about him. Natasha all but confirmed it on the ship after everybody returned safely. You all but confirmed it with the way your eyes dragged all over his body and with the way you could hardly hold his gaze. He decided there was no time like the present to finally win you over.

“You look beautiful by the way. A true sight for sore eyes.” He brushed a lose strand of hair out of your face knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

A small laugh escaped your lips, “You’re just saying that because you’ve been stuck on a boat for three weeks with the same people.” Accepting compliments never came easy. Accepting them from the most gorgeous man standing in front of you? Impossible.

He shook his head quickly, “Trust me Y/N.” He inched closer so he was almost on top of you. If you couldn’t use your words before they weren’t going to come any quicker now. The scent of his musky cologne wafted into your nose and before you knew it your brain seemed to be short circuiting. How this man went from complete stranger to now blew your mind.

He leaned down seeing your starry gaze. Turns out he had nothing to be jealous over. You were just as smitten as he was. The evidence was written right across your love-struck expression. With a sly smile he leaned down whispering into your ear, “I thought you were drop dead gorgeous the moment I laid eyes on you back at that house party. But now that I’ve gotten to know you? You’re the most beautiful woman in the world Y/N Trace.”

Your jaw literally dropped when your brain decided to process his words, “Jake…” Your eyes shot straight to his lips before looking back into his eyes. He caught that. He caught every subtle move you decided to make. He was absolutely enamored with everything you did.

“Yes?” He asked once he reluctantly pulled away from your ear. He also noticed you shaking off the shiver that his actions delivered. He was enjoying this far too much. He could do practically anything and get a reaction out of you.

You sucked in a breath finding the courage to look him in the eyes once more, “Do you mean that?”

Without skipping a beat, he answered you, “Absolutely sweetheart.”

The smile that spread across your face could’ve cured a thousand diseases. Jake had decided. His own face spread into a big goofy grin feeling so damn good getting that one off his chest, “Nat isn’t going to be very happy.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me pretty girl, why’s that?” He inched just a step closer daring to rest a gentle hand on your hip. You let him, leaning into his touch softly.

You nodded quickly, “Because I think you’re fucking gorgeous Jake Seresin.”

The language paired with the delicate dress and sweet face would’ve sent him over the edge had they not been in such a public place with more than a few pairs of curious eyes on them, “Got a mouth on ya sweetheart, don’t you?” He shot you a wink.

“You know my sister right? She’s been like that her whole life. I think we came out of the womb cussing.” You grinned leaning into it. Maybe it wasn’t something to be so proud of, but you didn’t really give a damn. It meant survival in your crazy, chaotic Italian family.

He gave you one long look before whispering once more, “You don’t know just how bad I want kiss you right now. But your sister is staring right at the two of us, so I’ll spare you the lecture.”

You giggled feeling a rush of euphoria course through every vein in your body. Damn how did do that?

Pulling back once more he brushed his hand along the back of your arm making sure to keep you close, “Instead I’ll settle on this instead. Y/N, would you go on a date with me?”

“Absolutely.” You would’ve been embarrassed with how quickly you answered him but the smile that spread across his face spared you from that.

“Busy tonight?” He asked gauging your reaction.

“Tonight?” You didn’t want to admit just how quickly you liked

He nodded, “If you’re free.”

“I’d love to.” You agreed knowing that you’d be able to kiss him tonight. That certainly wasn’t in your plans today, but you were more than happy to change course for him.

He gave your hip a gentle squeeze, “I’ll pick you up at 7.”

“What should I wear?”

“That. Don’t change. You look beautiful as ever sweetheart.” He reached for a hand wanting to hold it for a quick second while Nat turned away conversing with Bradshaw. By the rate she was speaking she didn’t look too thrilled with what was going down between the two of you. She couldn’t be that upset though, she did just throw the two of you together.

“You flatter me Jake.” You laughed softly trying to play it cool.

He gave your hand a soft squeeze before dropping it, “That’s my job.”

You shook your head with ease, “I’ll see you at 7?” You asked before turning away from him, ending the emotion fueled conversation.

“That you will.”

“Oh, and Jake? One more thing.” You smiled up at him.

“Yeah?”

You gave him one long look over, “You really are gorgeous. I wasn’t kidding when I said that earlier.”

Was that a blush that you managed to give him? It looked like it and man did it make him look even more handsome than ever. That was your new mission. Get Jake to blush whenever possible. You just knew you might be getting yourself into the most fun thing that crossed your life’s path to date.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mayhemmanaged

Request Taglist: @stuffingbuttsandshit

422 notes · View notes

themidnightcrimson · 1 year

Text

religion ࿏ wm

summary: in which the new reverend at your hometown church wants to give you a lesson on sexual immorality.

words: 5.6K

warnings: pastor!wanda, fem!reader, oral (r giving), fingering (r receiving), slight non-con/dubcon, manipulation, dumbification, degradation, religion, lots of bible verses, rip my religious trauma, spank me with a bible, fuck me with the crucifix, yes lord in wanda's name we pray amen

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

A few women in the church had put together a potluck after one Sunday sermon, or a “covered dish supper” as the elders liked to call them. You remembered loving those potlucks as much as you loved church itself when you were a child. As the years went by and your worldview got bigger and your mind opened up to the broader possibilities that this was not what life should be like, you scarcely ever went to church.

Upon moving away for college, the idea of church was a laughable thing to you. You could hardly even remember what the rituals were anymore, or the verses, or the hymns. It wasn’t necessarily a hatred or aversion, but rather a bitter distaste in your mouth when reminded of how indoctrinated you and your whole community were into the church. You just weren’t religious anymore, and you preferred living life that way, though it took years of untying the knots of theological principals and “truths” from your mind.

When you were back in your hometown for a visit, your mother nearly fell over at the sight of the little rainbow bracelet on your wrist. After a very heated conversation where you threw in her face the fact that you had been with multiple women in college, she seemed to give up and leave the conversation alone—until the next morning she asked you to come to church with her.

“Really? You think going to church is going to reverse the way that I was born? You expect me to just pray the gay away?!” you yelled at her, but she was calm. She said that was not her intentions, but rather they were to simply have you come see everyone you grew up around. She said that there was a new pastor there who was younger and could relate better to youth without that kind of feigned wise judgment that the other pastor, a wobbly old man, used.

You fought tooth and nail against your mom in a thirty-minute argument until finally you were just too tired to fight against her anymore. You felt how you did in high school—getting lectured by your mom for skipping church only a single Sunday, being placed under her godly ray of obstinance that so easily drained you until you just couldn’t fight anymore. She forced you to wear one of your church dresses from high school and practically shoved you into the car that Sunday morning. You were just looking forward to the potluck afterward.

As your mom pulled the car into the church’s parking lot, you realized that they had done renovations on the sanctuary since you had been gone. It was bigger now, with huge mosaic windows facing the front and a new pure white cross on top of the spire, making the triangular building look even taller and more pointed than it already was.

“This new pastor a millionaire or something?” you mumbled as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“No, she’s just so brilliant and amazing that she’s attracted dozens of new parishioners since she came,” she explained. “You’ll see. She really has a way of connecting with young people, especially young women. I couldn’t tell you how many girls your age have joined in the past year!”

Crinkling your eyebrows, you stepped out of the car and took a breath of fresh air. Even in the parking lot, you could pick up that familiar smell of wood and old books. “The pastor is a woman?” you asked, remembering only male pastors. Although your denomination was open towards female pastors, the general misogyny of your small-town Southern community had always favored men, of course.

“Uh huh,” your mother said as she stepped out of the car and fixed her hair in the wind, walking over to you and gently grabbing your arm suddenly. “Y/n, I should probably let you know… I did call Reverend Maximoff last night and told her a little about your…situation.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at her incredulously. “What?!” Had your mother really gone and called the local pastor to tell her that her daughter was gay?

“Look, it’s important for a pastor to know their parishioners’ personal lives in order to truly connect with them. I’m not saying I asked her to… pray the gay away or whatever you said, but I just let her know that you were having some…sexually immoral feelings. She’s helped many young women here with the same problem.”

“Excuse me?!” you exclaimed, jerking your arm away from your hand. An old couple walking by glanced over at you, and you blushed and looked away, speaking quieter. “Why the hell would you tell some woman I don’t even know that I’m having sex with women?!”

“She’s not some woman, she’s an ordained minister of God!” your mother exclaimed. “She’s not going to drag you up in front of the church and hang you, for God’s sake! She was just concerned that you’re not living your life under the guidance of God and would be happy to give you a steering hand, that’s all! She didn’t even say anything about the gay part—just the promiscuity!”

Curse words formed on your lips, but you pursed them together, pushing past your mother and towards the church so you could get this thing over with. “Promiscuity my ass,” you muttered as you burst open the church doors, hit with that familiar old smell. It looked different now that it had been renovated, the ceiling and windows much taller and the carpet redone, but it was the same wooden pews you remembered as a child and the same large altar with a grand piano and steps for the choir.

You looked around at all the familiar townspeople sitting in the pews as the choir, dressed in their robes and holding their hymnals, made their way to the chancel in formation. You realized that your mother was right when she said that the church had grown—all of the pews were jammed full of people, except for a little spot near the front where there was enough room for two people to squeeze in. Feeling aggravated and brash, you stormed to the front and shimmied past the row of people to sit down in the empty spot, your mother scrambling down beside you.

“Please don’t be angry in the house of God,” she began.

You ignored her, looking around and seeing that there were groups of young women your age looking excitedly towards the altar, waiting for the pastor to come out. You assumed maybe the pastor had started a women’s group and was just mentoring the young women.

Reaching forward, you took the hymnal book sitting in the slot behind the pew in front of you, opening up its yellowed pages and flipping through. You could still remember some of the songs, but before you could read one, there was a hushing whisper among the congregation.

Glancing upwards, you saw Reverend Maximoff emanating from behind the altar, glancing out among the ground with a smile as she stepped to the front. You were shocked to see her—she was older than you, but not by too much. She had a youthful smile to her face and twinkling green eyes, her blonde hair cut right to the shoulders of the maroon robe and dark green stole she wore.

“Good morning, everyone,” she announced, her voice loud and confident. The church crowd silenced and gave their full attention to her. “Today we will start by worshiping the Lord our God with our choir’s beautiful voices, as well as your own.” Her Southern accent was feminine and airy with a cheerful tune to it, as if she was already singing by simply speaking. “Please turn to page 304 in your hymnals and stand to worship the Lord with us.”

The sound of people standing and pages turning filled your ears, and you found yourself flipping to the page and standing up along with everyone else, realizing that your muscle memory was still there. It felt odd being in that place again, viewing the solemnity and respect of religion in a community sense.

The choir started, and then the rest of the church joined in, singing the hymn in unison. You didn’t sing at first, until your mother’s elbow stabbed your ribcage, so you quietly mumbled the words.

Glancing up, you watched Reverend Maximoff singing at her stand, face turned towards the choir and grinning at them as the words formed on her lips. You had to admit that for a pastor, she was beautiful and charming. Her smile was nearly mesmerizing as her head slowly turned towards the congregation in appreciation for their singing, eyes casting over the pews of people until they flickered near you. Realizing that you were staring, you quickly glanced down at the book before she could make eye contact with you. Feeling suddenly nervous, you mindlessly stared at the book until you figured she would be looking somewhere else, looking back up only to find that she was looking right at you.

All you could hear were the choral praises of God as the Reverend’s eyes bore into yours. The smile on her face faded a little, her focus zoning in on you through the crowd. You remembered what your mother had told her about you, the thought bringing a sickly blush of shame to your cheeks. Why was she staring at you? Was she judging you? Thinking about what a dirty sinner you were? You couldn’t take it, but you couldn’t look away either.

Finally, the song ended, and she broke eye contact.

“Thank you so much. You may please be seated.”

The crowd sat down and put their hymnals away as the choir did the same, and once everyone was finally still and quiet, the Reverend opened her Bible and started flipping through pages to find notes for her sermon.

“Today, people, we will be talking about the one thing we think about almost all of the time—our bodies.” Your teeth ached as you braced yourself for whatever religious bullshit was about to be shoved down your throat. “Our bodies—whether it be our health, our appearance, the work we can do with them, what we eat, what we drink—our bodies remain a constant thought in our mind.”

She stepped out from behind the stand, walking to the front steps of the altar and peering out at the crowd with her luring eyes like a bird.

“God tells us in His Word that our bodies are a temple for the Holy Spirit. You see, we do not own our flesh and blood. Our body is a sacrament to Him in everything we do with it. Our divine purpose on this Earth is to use our bodies the Lord has given us as a vessel for the Spirit, to spread His Holy Word. If our bodies are unholy, or if we use them to transgress against His Word, we are violating His purpose for them.”

As much as you wanted to dissociate and just block out whatever she was saying, a strange curiosity overcame you that kept your eyes trained on her as she stepped down the altar steps to get even closer to the crowd, holding the Bible in her hands.

“There are many ways that we sin with our bodies every day. When your mouth curses, when your hands do not pray to Him, when your feet lead you to unholy places. One of the most extreme ways that we go against the Holy Spirit within us is when we commit the very sin that seems to have a grasp on the youth today—sexual immorality.”

There it was. You bit the inside of your cheek and took a deep breath, trying to control the anger within you.

“I want y’all to turn to one of my favorite passages in the Word,” she said, turning to walk towards the other side of the pew as she waited for people to turn to the verse. “1 Corinthians 6:13.”

You wouldn’t dare to pick up a Bible. You crossed your arms and ignored your mother’s urging glances as the Reverend started to read.

“You say, food for the stomach and the stomach for the food, and God will destroy them both. The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body,” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls of the large room. You watched her, her back turned from you, as she paced the other side of the room before turning, walking towards your side of the pew with her eyes trained on the book. “By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also. Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ himself? Shall I then take the members of Christ and unite them with a prostitute? Never!”

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your forehead, wishing you could escape this cultish experience. Still, you watched her, the way her lips formed the words, the way her face looked pointed down to the book, eyelashes dancing across her cheeks as she read the words.

“But whoever is united with the Lord is one with him in spirit.” She turned down the center aisle, and as she got closer to your pew, you started to shift uncomfortably in your seat. Suddenly, her eyes lifted from the pages and pierced you sideways. You felt frozen under her stare as she discreetly eyed you, not even having to look at the page to recite, “Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.”

Her voice was lower now, serious and clear. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from hers as she slowly floated past you, her robe wafting around her ankles. You noticed the way her svelte hands held the Bible, a single digit lifting to flick the page. You could’ve sworn you saw a smirk on her lips as she finally looked away from you and kept preaching, walking down the aisle.

Finally, you could breathe. Surprise filled you as you realized that you had started sweating—were you really so demonic that you were sweating in the pews of a church? But why did she look right at you as she read that particular verse? Was she targeting you because of what your mother had said?

You could barely listen to the rest of the sermon as she talked about sexual immorality and fleeing from it by turning your mind and body towards the Lord.

At the potluck, you couldn’t help but find your eyes drifting to wherever Reverend Maximoff was in the room. Potlucks were always held in a building connected to the sanctuary where they had special events and meetings. She drifted around the room chatting with different members of the congregation, her eyes somehow always finding yours right as you were looking at her. You would blush and quickly look away, redirecting your focus on what the old lady was talking to you and your mom about.

You didn’t realize that she was waiting for you to be alone. Finally, you left your mom and the lady to go to the table filled with homemade desserts, browsing around for something chocolate.

A hand on your lower back made you gasp and turn. You were shocked to see Reverend Maximoff standing close beside you, still dressed in her robes. “Y/n,” she greeted you with a pearly smile, her earrings dangling from her ears. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your mom has talked about you so much since I’ve been here.”

“Oh,” you said with a polite smile. “Has she?”

“Yes,” she smoothly answered, stepping even closer to you. “I’m very glad you came today. I must tell you that the Lord has speaking to my heart about you quite a lot.”

“Oh yea?” you said disinterestedly, more focused on the way her eyes kept darting down your body, trying to pinpoint why she was ogling you.

She tilted her head and closed her smile, looking thoughtful for a brief moment before saying, “You know, I was hoping you would have a session with me here sometime, before you go back to college. I would love to talk more with you and get to know you. You were at this church long before I was, and I would love to give you some heavenly advice on whatever is pressing at your heart.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Nothing’s pressing at my heart but my ribcage.”

She giggled, and it surprised you. “No, there’s always something for pretty young women like you.” You flushed a little at her choice of words. “God has a plan for you, y/n, but I get the feeling you may need some guidance to get you there.”

“You get these feelings a lot?” you droned, picking up a brownie from the table and taking a bite, keeping eye contact with her. You weren’t going to let this pastor try to get her godly claws in you.

Her eyes flickered to your mouth as you took a bite of the brownie, her irises darkening. “Come see me after the Wednesday night sermon. Maybe…” She reached forward and took the half-eaten brownie from your hand, her fingers grazing yours. “I can teach you to use your mouth to praise the Lord.”

She put the half of the brownie into her mouth and chewed it with a smirk. Frozen and confused, you stared at her as she put her thumb in her mouth to suck off the crumbs, winking and floating away from you. Your entire body went hot as her words folded over in your mind, as well as the sight of her eating the brownie you had just had between your teeth.

Normally, you would’ve declined any invitation to have personal sessions with a Reverend, but the brief interaction you had with Reverend Maximoff had you offput and curious. Your mother almost cried in relief when you told her that you would be going to the Wednesday night sermon as well as staying behind to speak with the Reverend.

Wednesday’s sermon went the same as Sunday’s. There were less people there that night, naturally, and although Wednesday night sermons were usually shorter than Sunday’s, it seemed like Reverend Maximoff was antsy to be finished with it. She spoke faster with less focus, ending the sermon after only an hour. Your mother excitedly hurried away with the rest of the congregation, and you anxiously stayed in the pew as the Reverend talked with some lingering people until finally she ushered them all out, closing and locking the church doors behind the last person.

You turned your head and watched her as she sighed, holding onto the doors for a moment before turning around to look at you, clasping her hands at her front.

“Y/n,” she began lowly, turning her face down slightly as her eyes trained on you, her feet slowly leading her up the aisle towards you. “I was so glad when I saw you here tonight.”

“Well,” you began, fiddling with your thumbs. “I didn’t have anything else to do tonight.”

It was only partially true. You could have caught up with your old friends or went out to dinner or even just stayed home and watched TV, but something lured you into that church that night, and you felt it had something to do with the way she predatorily eyed you as she neared you.

She said nothing as she came closer, sucking her cheeks as you could see words forming in her brain. “Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood.” A smirk drew itself on her lips. “Acts 20:28.”

You just raised your eyebrows and nodded impressively. “You have the Bible memorized. Good for you.”

Ignoring your sly comment, she spoke, “It means that, as the Reverend of this church, it is my duty to be a shepherd.”

“That is what the verse says.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, her lips parted at distaste of your attitude. “What did I tell you about your mouth?” she snapped, her voice edged and cutting as it echoed loudly off the walls of the church, reminding you how alone you were with her. You stiffened in the pew.

She neared you, resting a hand on the edge of the pew as she stood before you. “As a shepherd, I must keep watch of my flock. I must be aware of them all the time—their lives, feelings, behaviors, their walk with God.” She paused, her tongue settling over her lower lip as she tilted her head. “Tell me, what path do you walk?”

You blinked, lips opening and closing as you tried to understand what she was asking.

“Do you walk the ways of the wicked? The ways of Satan himself?” Without breaking eye contact, she lowered and sat on the pew beside you. “Does your body sin against the Spirit?”

Looking down, you shook your head and laughed. “I know my mom told you. Believe me when I say I have no inclination to your religion, and I never will. I don’t need to be scrutinized or judged.”

“Your mother was only acting as a shepherd by leading you to me, and I thank her for that,” she remarked, her eyes glancing down at your dress where the ends stopped at your mid-thigh, leaving your legs bare. “I fear you are not treating your body as the temple of God it is. You have tainted it with your sexual proclivities, haven’t you, y/n?”

Your face started to burn at her outright words. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me, how do you prefer to use your body? Like a whore? Like a destitute slut?”

Ears burning at the sound of her husky voice, your face burned even hotter. The shock of her words left you speechless and utterly confused as to how a Reverend would speak to someone that way.

“You can tell me, y/n. Only God is watching us.” She reached forward suddenly, placing her hand on your thigh and sliding it upwards. The touch startled you and made you jump to your feet.

She looked up at you with a twisted smirk as you started to tremble with nervousness. “What kind of a Reverend are you?”

“One who will do anything to guide her people to God,” she lilted, standing up and reaching for you again. You backed away, bumping into the wooden back of the pew and circling around it to get away from her. You jumped up the steps of the altar.

“What are you doing?!”

“So Christ himself gave the apostles,” she began in her pastor voice she used during the sermon, circling the pew to saunter towards you again, stalking like a predator, “the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up.” She took a slow step up the altar, grinning devilishly. “Ephesians 4:11-12.” She lowered her chin. “I can help you restore your body’s temple. I can sanctify you, make you whole again in the eyes of the Lord.”

Your heartbeat fluttered at the way she was seductively eyeing you, sauntering up the steps, the sultry and sensual tone in her voice. You let her come near you and place a hand on your waist that made you shiver all over.

Whispering, she said, “As God’s apostle, I offer you a direct line to worship Him and beg for forgiveness.” Her other hand softly cupped your chin, feeling the blushing skin here. Her thumb grazed over your lower lip, her dilated eyes drinking up your mouth like thick wine, and she recited, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.”

The verse burned in your ears—it was one you had memorized for Sunday school so many years ago and somehow still subconsciously remembered. You whispered, “Psalms 141:2.”

Her grin widened. “Good girl.” She licked her lips, thumb still grazing your own. “From the fruit of their mouth a person’s stomach is filled; with the harvest of their lips they are satisfied. The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit. Proverbs 18:20-21.”

It became hard to breathe when two of her fingers slipped through your lips and sunk slowly over your tongue.

“What goes into someone’s mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them. Matthew 15:11,” she recited, her own lips parting in a sigh as she slid her fingers further into your mouth.

A soft noise escaped your throat as you let her feel your mouth, your legs becoming weak. Her grip on your waist tightened when you flicked your tongue between her fingers and closed your lips, sucking dutifully on them. She jutted her lower teeth in desire, stepping so close to you that there was no room to breathe. Your skin felt hot all over, and you became suddenly aware of the cross hanging at the front of the altar, as if it were burning into your back.

The Reverend licked the back of her teeth, eyes trained on her fingers disappearing into your mouth as she whispered, “Shall you use your tongue to praise the Lord our God?”

A dirty sucking sound escaped your mouth as you sucked her fingers, and you were so under her trance, her beautiful green eyes, the way she was so enamored with your mouth, that you eagerly nodded around her fingers.

A half smile curled on her open lips as she slid her fingers out of your mouth, placing a hand on your shoulder and harshly pushing you down. Your knees hit the velvet red steps of the altar as Reverend Maximoff, standing on the step below you, placed one leg on the upper step and started to lift up her robe. You kneeled, watching in all of God’s glory, with the church’s mosaic windows behind her, as the Reverend lifted up her maroon robes and bunched them with one hand at her hips, exposing her bare pussy. With one foot on the step below your knees, and the other foot beside your knees, she tilted open her thigh and placed a hand on the back of your head.

You shivered at the feeling of her fingers in your hair as she pushed your head towards her, bucking her hips. You were filled with pulsing desire as you placed your hands gently on her hips and let her draw your mouth towards her, opening your lips and finding her slick folds. Your tongue ran over her slit, and you moaned at her taste, at how she was so wet that her juices already covered your lips.

Reverend Maximoff sighed, leaning her head back as you found her clit and started to lap at it. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed, pushing her hips towards your face as you suckled on her clit.

You could hardly keep up with her as she pushed your head and bucked her hips at the same time, forcing her clit onto your tongue. Your mouth involuntarily closed when one particular thrust of your head was too rough, to which she snapped, “Open your mouth! Proverbs 31:26—She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.” Her sentence ended with a piercing moan as you opened your mouth wider for her and let her fuck it as she pleased.

Whining from the force, you furiously tried to pleasure her—as much as you could with the way she was practically pleasuring herself with your mouth like it was a toy. You melted at the sounds of her moans and gasps that echoed in the church, at the way that you were kneeling on the altar with your head between her legs, at the way her hand was tangled in your hair. Her clit tangibly throbbed on your tongue as her hips thrusted harder, her moans rising in pitch.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” she screamed as she came, grinding her clit against your tongue and grabbing your hair so hard that your scalp ached. You struggled to breathe, eyes tearing up from the pressure on your face, listening to her catch her breath and loosen her grip on your hair. Finally, she moved away from you, dropping her robe back down her ankles. You were panting, lips puffy and red and covered in her wetness, eyes glistening as you stared up at her, drunk with lust. She grinned, biting her lip. “You serve the Lord well. Come.”

She offered out her hands, and you took them, letting her help you to her feet and guide you to the front pew. She sat down, keeping hold of your hands, and pulled you down so you straddled her lap. She sighed, her eyes looking everywhere at you except your face.

Her fingers crawled to the straps of your dress, slowly tugging them down your bare shoulders. She recited, “How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights.” Her voice was quiet in the silent room, burning at your ears as you tried to stay focused with the taste of her still on your lips. Her eyes sunk down your chest as she started to pull the dress down your breasts. “I said, I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.”

She tugged the fabric of your dress over your breasts, exposing them as they bounced over the fabric. Taking a sharp breath, she drew one hand to your tit and squeezed the soft flesh there, earning a gasp from you.

“May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine.” Her eyes, which were trained on your exposed chest in front of her, flickered up to your face, catching the gloss of her cum on her lips. She raised her other hand and spread her fingers over your lips, smearing the wetness across your mouth. “May the wine go straight to my beloved, flowing gently over lips and teeth.”

You started to throb at her touches, at her words, at her inebriated eyes. Her hand that groped your breast fell down to your thighs, urging the end of your dress upwards as it slid up your skin.

“Song of Songs 7:6-9,” she whispered with finality as she danced her fingers up your inner thigh, and you watched her hand disappear under your skirt. “Is your body a temple of God, y/n?” she asked you as she parted your panties with her fingers.

You nodded desperately, so turned on by what she had done to your mouth, so dumbed down by the verses and the touches and the taste of her. She bit her lip and moaned as her fingers touched your slick cunt, grazing over your clit before two of them sunk into your hole.

Head falling back, you grabbed at the shoulders of her robe and whined as she plunged her fingers inside you, your wetness already making a dirty squelching noise as she pumped inside of you.

“I’m not so sure it is,” she husked as she wrapped an arm around your hip to steady your bucking motions. “You’ve been a dirty girl, y/n. You’ve used your body to sin against His Word. My hand of God can only do so much—you need to beg for his forgiveness.” An evil smirk lined her lips.

You could barely hear what she was saying as she fucked her fingers into you, your hips moving up and down in desperate search for more of her. She thumbed at your clit as she waited for you to answer, leaning forward to press wet kisses on your nipples that bounced with your motions.

“Please, God,” you began shakily, “Forgive me.”

“That’s not good enough,” she tutted, suddenly pushing a third finger inside you. Your mouth fell open at the stretch and the burst of sensations that exploded when she curled her fingers inside you. “Beg Him. Beg Him to forgive you for being a dirty whore.”

“Ah!” you exclaimed when she bit your nipple, jamming her fingers into you harshly. “P-Please, God,” you began breathlessly, squeezing the Reverend’s shoulders as pressure built inside you. “Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you for?” she urged, biting your other nipple and sucking on it.

You tried to remember exactly what she had said as your orgasm threatened to impend upon you. “F-For, for being a dirty whore!” The sound of your own voice saying those words pushed you over the edge, your inner walls clenching around the Reverend’s fingers. Your hips rocked hard against her hand as she watched in pure desire and delight, grinning when you finally came down from your climax.

“Very good, my child,” she soothed as you panted, her fingers still inside you. You trembled on her lap, seeing that your wetness had dripped onto her hand and down her maroon robe. “The Lord our God is a merciful one. He forgives you.” She played with the end of your dress, moving her fingers inside you and seeing just what a mess she had made of you. She looked up at your beat red face and teary eyes, her eyes alight with an idea. “Have you ever been baptized?”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #marvel #lesbian #lgbt #wanda maximoff x fem!reader

941 notes · View notes

0brighta · 30 days

Text

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 . . . you CAN choose a letter, number and symbol with the option to choose one or multiple. OR SIMPLY JUST LIKE! COMMENT it on this post ( examples in the comments) this is a permanent starter call and likely the only one I will ever have. will be updated as i get more verses! multi-muses please specify. all can be found under the cut.

THE SETTING. CHOOSE A #

001 ― modern setting ( non specific / main verse )

002 ― a southern gothic town setting

003 ― the netherworld setting

004 ― a space setting

005 ― a historic era setting

006 ― an apocalypse setting

WHAT YOU WANT FROM BRIGHTA. CHOOSE A LETTER. ( add + ex. A+ to reverse )

A ― for a brighta to grant your wish

B ― for brighta to reject your wish

C ― for brighta to be your mentor

D ― for brighta to be your trainee

E ― for brighta to heal your muse

F ― for brighta to make you a love spell ( love witch verse )

G― for brighta to come to your muses rescue

H ― for brighta to practice hand on hand combat with your muse

I ― for brighta to comfort your muse

J ― for brighta to be enemies with your muse

K ― for brighta to be steamy with your muse

L ― for brighta to be mortal to fit in your muse world ( only for non supernatural muses )

M ― for brighta to take your muse under her wing

N ― for brighta to go on adventure with your muse

O ― for brighta to fight to survive the apocalypse with your muse

P ― for brighta to be suspicious of your muse ( first meeting )

RELATIONSHIP TYPE. CHOOSE A SYMBOL

✦ ― past lovers

❥ ― current lovers

◯ ― good friends

✿ ― found family

𖣠 ― enemies

✰ ― strangers / acquaintances

#.　　. ◌ 　 ˚　. ℘ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄 ❜ › starter call.#( im RADIATING WITH MUSE!!!!! )#LETS GO #0brighta

46 notes · View notes

sebsxphia · 1 year

Text

ptolemaea.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: you and your local town preacher, rhett abbott, spend a night together in a motel room. rhett is there to calm your racing mind and have you admit your sins. based off the song, ‘ptolemaea’ by ethel cain.

￫ word count: 2.4K.

￫ c/w: heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering, kissing, swearing, overstimulation, edging, voyerism, mentions of oral (m!receiving), corruption and innocence kink, daddy kink, gagging on rhett’s fingers, derogatory language and cnc.

￫ a/n: i cannot recommend listening to the song ‘ptolemaea’ by ethel cain enough whilst reading this. the song, and entire album, ‘preacher’s daughter’, is a masterpiece. when i first listened to this song, the narrative voice in the song screamed preacher!rhett to me. this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

previous chapter | next chapter

You pushed yourself against the back of the Motel door and closed it behind you. The paint was splintering and falling off in your palms. Rhett was sat at the edge of the Motel double bed. He looked up from his studious reading of his Bible, to catch your hesitant gaze.

“Sorry, Rhett. I didn’t know if y’ wanted me to follow you in, s’ I waited an hour or so back in the Diner.”

Your hands came round to your front and your fingers instinctively played with each other, trying to distract yourself from Rhett’s eyes boring into you, and from the situation that you had found yourself in.

When your town Preacher asked you to come away with him and see the sights of the West, you never thought you would. Well, you never realized how easy it would be. You mentally kicked yourself for allowing his calloused, yet gentle hands, to win you over so easily. But you couldn’t find yourself to blame him. He had nothing to fault.

Rhett parted his lips to speak and his tongue wet at his bottom lip. He let out a ‘tsk’ sound and shook his head in disagreement at your statement.

“I invited y’ in, twice. Y’ know there’s nothin’ for y’ to fear now y’ with me.”

Rhett’s eyes raked over your frame as if to study you. To read every inch of your flesh and how your body visibly reacted to his deep and Southern drawl. His insides were gloating with pride. He had managed to get you right where he wanted you.

You love blood too much, but not like I do. Rhett thought as you stood, still pressed against the back of the Motel door, as if you were in shark infested waters. He could smell your blood from miles away and he was about to go in for the killing bite.

“Suffer does the wolf, crawling t’ thee. Promisin’ a big fire, any fire, t’ keep you warm.” Rhett quoted back and out loud to you, when you didn’t react to his original statement. He was trying to soothe your racing mind and to convince you that this was right.

You held his heavy gaze, but you were unable to avoid the obvious spread of his thighs, with his palms planted firmly on his worn jeans. You saw his lips twitch in the corner, threatening for an almost Devilish grin to spread over them.

“That’s how y’ feel, don’t you?” Rhett cocked his head to the side and continued when you still didn’t answer. “I heard you at those Sunday Sermons. Moanin’ my name in the bathroom cubicle when y’ thought everyone had left. I saw you through the crack of the door, wi’ your hand down your pretty pink panties and y’ conservative sundress hitched around y’ thighs.”

Rhett continued as he read the way your body reacted to his words. How your chest was rising and falling quicker and how your fingers tangled messily in with each other.

“I gave you everythin’ you needed after, ‘nd now, I need you.” His tone became an octave lower at the seriousness of his words. “I love you.”

His final words were the lasting kick you needed to get yourself off of the back of the Motel door. It was the first time you had heard Rhett utter such meaningful words. No text, or lines from the Bible could mean this much to you both. His words spun round and round in your head as you made your way over to him in a flurry. He mirrored you in response and came crashing into you with his lips meeting yours.

His large hands were cupping your hot and rosy cheeks, with his rough thumbs cradling underneath your jaw to keep your lips planted firmly against his, as his tongue ran along your bottom lip and dipped into your mouth. A groan emitted from you both at the kiss. It had been weeks since Rhett had you to himself and you both craved each other more than you cared to admit. Sin had never tasted so good.

You muttered against his lips, over and over, like a prayer, in between the heated kiss, “Love you, love you, love you...”

You both pulled away from the kiss to catch up with your similar and erratic breathing pattern. Your breath hitched in your own dry yet sticky throat, trying to form some sort of salvia. Rhett still held your gaze and it felt as though he was burning through to your retinas. It burned more than the sinful guilt you could feel punching deep within your gut.

“In my prayers, they say I’m the one He’s gonna take. He’s gonna take me Rhett, f’ my sins. I feel like I’m on fire.”

You stumbled back with his hold still on your burning cheeks. You bumped against the lone desk that held the old television and sun bleached writing paper that adorned the Motels logo.

“Sufferin’ is nigh, draw to me, m’love. I will keep y’ safe.” Rhett soothed his thumb under your jaw and spoke with a calm and peaceful tone, never wavering in it’s meaning.

You could trust in your Preacher when he told you that he would keep you safe. Rhett told you that you were special. You were the white light that came through the muggy clouds to descend upon Earth itself. You were beautiful, finite and Heaven’s gift, all rolled into one. And if you could continue to stay with him, your sins would be forgiven.

His face shifted as he watched your eyes plead for him. His eyes softened to lull you into safety.

“When a body decomposes, even the iron in their blood still fears the rotting. Everyone is hidin’ from somethin’, ‘nd I cannot stop it. I cannot stop God from choosin’ us.”

Rhett’s reassurances calmed your pounding heartbeat that you could still hear swarming in your ears, yet still, there was a twinge of doubt in your mind.

You fiddled with the frayed hemming on your dress. “Daddy’s left ‘nd Mama won’t come home.”

For the past months, you were walking on shadows with Rhett. You found yourselves dipping in and out for quick, and sinful meetings, in his backroom office at the Church. The last meeting had ended with your knees buckled on the floor and when night came along, your parents had clearly worried where you had got to.

The sight of their own child with the town Preacher’s cock resting heavy in your mouth was enough for them to disown you altogether. It was after that, that Rhett suggested you both get away. The town no longer wanted a filthy Preacher in their midst and he would surely loose his place within the Church.

Rhett’s left hand and thumb reached up to run across your bottom lip. “You poor thing. Sweet, mournin’ lamb.” His thumb dipped in between your lips and you latched your tongue onto the pad of him and sucked him in greedily. “There's nothin’ you can do. It's already been done.”

It was a gentle, yet blunt reminder, but the feeling of your tongue swirling around his thumb made your mind go fuzzy altogether. You kneed into Rhett’s touch with no remorse. It gave you a sense of real fear, what a man like Rhett could bring upon a woman like you.

Your eyes had fluttered shut by this point and you registered the feeling of his right hand leaving your face. You could feel his calloused fingertips slide up your bare thigh and under your dress. His hand didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop.

Your body jolted under his feverish touch when his large palm cupped your covered cunt. His index and little finger curved around the seam of your underwear and dragged along your lips. You still had your now swollen lips around his thumb, but he pulled it away and you couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a pitiful whine at the loss. A string of saliva was connecting from the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip.

Rhett shushed you in response as he replaced his thumb with his index and middle finger. They pressed down onto your tongue and you let out a choked sob as they pushed further down. Drool started to pool and drip out the corner of your mouth. It fell down onto the edge of your dress that was now hitched around your hips as his fingers moved passed the barrier of your underwear and slipped into your cunt with no complaint.

Your arousal had come seemingly quicker than before and Rhett had a prideful smile on his face, however your eyes were still scrunched shut and relishing in the taste of Rhett’s flesh and feeling the delicious movement of his fingers burying deep into your cunt, pressing up on the sweet spot that made you silently scream around his fingers.

You were aware that his eager gaze was still on you. No longer were you kept hidden away in a religious and sacred place. You were completely stripped bare for Rhett to see under the dim light in this dirty Motel room. What fear a man like Rhett brings upon a woman like you.

You swallowed around his thick fingers in your mouth and he took it as his sign to remove them from your swollen lips, to allow yourself to compose your erratic breathing. Your eyes blinked opened to his face.

“Please don’t look at me.” You muttered out in between labored breaths, as Rhett’s fingers still showed no sign of slowing down.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as his thumb ran calculated circles on your swollen, and up until now, un-touched clit. How could Rhett ever deny himself of this Heavenly sight.

He was quick to shoot his hand out and his fingers gripped tightly onto your chin to bring back your lulling head to him.

“Show me your face.” He demanded and your pleading eyes moved back to his.

You moaned again at his grip on your chin and inside your cunt, followed by a name.

“F— Father.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head at the name you had mournfully uttered.

“I can see it in your eyes.” He bit back.

He keeps looking at me. Oh, God. I know what he wants. You thought in panic to yourself.

“Tell me, what have y’ done?” He was pushing you further. He knew you were close by the feeling of your walls clenching, then fluttering, around him, but he wouldn’t let you come until you spoke his name.

Your hips were rocking against him as if to try and push his thumb harder against your clit. You were desperate to chase that feeling, yet he slowed down his ministrations. It was still enough to keep you dangling on that edge, but not enough all together at the same time.

“Please, Father. I— I can’t—” You whined out pitifully.

There were tears pricking in the corner of your eyes now. The delicious overstimulation, yet not feeling anything was blissful torture. Although you were seated high on top of the Motel desk, your body felt like it could give way with how hard it was trembling. You shot your hands out instinctively to hold onto Rhett’s large biceps to steady yourself.

Inside, your mind was repeating the one name that Rhett wanted from you. It was on the tip of your tongue, but it wouldn’t escape. He cooed and shushed you in response to your incessant whining and groaning, out of sheer frustration with yourself. Slow and agonizing circles were being ran around your clit.

“I’m the face of loves’ rage, but y’ know I can make this pain all go away. Tell me, what have y’ done, sweet lamb?”

The coil deep within your stomach was threatening to snap any second. All your innocence was currently being held in the palm of Rhett’s hand and you couldn’t hold onto it for much longer.

“Fuck!”

To anyone else the scream would have sounded blood curdling and murderous, but to Rhett, it was the sweet sound of your submission.

“I’ve sinned, Daddy. I’ve sinned!”

The name and words fell so freely from your mouth that it caused Rhett to finally break out into the Devilish grin he’d been hiding all this time. Your head fell back again under his grasp at your admission. All you could feel was his hot breath on your burning ears.

“Good girl.”

Like clockwork, his fingers picked back up their pace. Sliding in and out of you at a steady pace and curling up to press on the sweet spot inside you, that made your own cum seep out from your lips and drip onto the Motel desk. His thumb resumed it’s calculated circles and you could feel yourself hurtling closer and closer to the Heavenly release. His voice was still close to your ear as he started to pray, when he could feel the walls of your wet cunt tighten around him.

“Blessed be the Daughters of Abbott, bound to sufferin’ eternal through the sins of their Fathers committed long before their conception. Blessed be their whore mothers, tired ‘nd angry, waitin’ with bated breath in a ferry that will never move again.”

Strings of strangled cries left your lips as your orgasm approached and hit your whole body with a blinding and warm glow. The final swipe of Rhett’s thumb over your clit was all you needed and your cries turned silent with your nails digging so deep into his flesh that you knew it would mark.

“Blessed be the children, each and every one come to know their God through some senseless act of violence. Blessed be you, girl, promised to me by a man who can only feel hatred and contempt towards you.”

Rhett still continued on through your orgasm. Your hips were bucking ferociously against the palm of his hand, with you trying to rub your sensitive and swollen clit against the heel of his palm, to continue the feeling of the sensation and your earth shattering release.

“I am no good nor evil, simply I am, and I have come to take what is mine. I was there in the dark when you spilled your first blood.”

Your cries turned to incoherent mumblings. You were too drunk off Rhett giving you pleasure to string anything together. Of what he could make out, whilst he was still focused on reciting his prayer was, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…”

“I am here now, as you run from me still.”

He pulled the palm of his hand away from your cunt and he could feel your cum string from your swollen lips. His fingers pushed and brushed in turn against the sweet spot inside of you and his thumb returned back to your clit with no mercy. Your whole body was jolted back to the dirty motel room at the over sensitivity and your pleading tears now ran hot over your cheeks.

“S’ can’t, Daddy. Sensitive, ‘lease.” You wailed and begged Rhett for his forgiveness.

Your hips bucked again at his fiery touch. It caused the Motel desk to bump against the wall, yet he was still close to your ear and caging you in. The shark had finally had his taste of blood, and Rhett whispered his final prayer and wish.

“Run then, child. You can't hide from me forever.”

taglist: @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @iloveprettyboysblog @beachbabey @angelic-dreams13

413 notes · View notes

visenyaism · 7 months

Note

so….the robert e lee statue, thoughts ?

i ask because i recall you mentioning being both southern and a historian — so if anyone is qualified to give a nuanced analysis on the matter i figured you’d be the best candidate. i am broadly against iconoclasm of all kinds but i (a European) am not well versed in the particular history of this period or the statue itself.

mayhaps you can help.

many thanks

sure. so for people who don’t know, today, the Robert E. Lee statue formerly installed in Charlottesville, Virginia, was melted down so that a local Black public history organization can use the material to create new community art.

Luckily for you, Confederate statue removal isn’t actually a nuanced issue at all. This is unequivocally a good thing!!! it’s what the community, a substantial portion of which is Black, wanted! This was the same Robert E Lee statue whose potential removal sparked the unite the right rally in 2017, where white nationalists and nazis holding tiki torches attempted to intimidate the community into keeping the statue up. Eventually, we finally got it removed in 2021, and there was like live music and extremely loud cheering as they took that thing down.

To describe confederate memorials in the south as just iconoclasm is to me a little reductive. They are unambiguously racist. Putting up a statue of someone who fought and sometimes died to continue the mass enslavement of african-americans is racist. The history of these statues is clear: they weren’t installed during or shortly after the Civil War, when the Confederacy was still in living memory. Most of them were put up in the 1890s, during the origin of the jim crow apartheid governments, the 1920s, which saw a huge national revival of white supremacy and KKK racist terrorism, and the 1960s, with the racist backlash to the civil rights movement.

Most statues, including the Charlottesville Lee statue, were put up specifically in front of courthouses and in town squares: the goal was not to celebrate any kind of southern history, but to intimidate Black defendants going to Jim Crow court or Black residents trying to live their lives in white spaces. The message that Confederate statues were intended to send is that the community is not for African-Americans, and to remind them of the legacy of white supremacist violence inflicted against them. They are hateful and all of them need to be taken down.

Today is a great day for Charlottesville and the realization of 7 years of community activism. There are thousands of statues still left across the country to work on next.

#anyways i’m done! this is personal obvi. the years i lived in beautiful cville were a gift and i miss that place so much.#the people working on swords into plowshares are amazing

126 notes · View notes

kurokrisps · 7 months

Text

Catholic School Blues 💙💜🧡

There's a lot of emphasis on religion I feel in the SDJ-verse, at least with the main characters (like Ian and Shaun) so it has me thinking they were raised in a southern upper middle class town where the church has large influence, especially in the schools.

#SDJ #Somethings Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SDJ Ian #Ian Duff #SDJ Fanart #SDJ OC #OC: May #Tw// religion #Doodles #Kuro Art

36 notes · View notes

journeytothewestresearch · 5 months

Note

sorry to bother, but I've got a question that's been bugging me for a little while. In chapter one of Anthony C. Yu Translation, it states the monkey kings birth rock as an 'immortal stone' then goes on to describe its size. how could a stone be immortal, or is a just a way to say it was favored by the heavens?

I'm not sure, but I've always considered it to be a kind of "scholar's rock" (gongshi, 供石), a category of gnarled, pitted stones that develop in nature. They are often seen in Chinese gardens. The rocks were historically viewed as stand-ins for qi (氣)-filled mountains far away from the cities and towns where scholar-cultivators lived. I wrote the following in an old college research paper:

It’s important to point out that the very first reference to Chinese gardens appears in the Book of Changes. The aforementioned material also states that “Grace [can be found] in the hills and gardens” (賁于丘園). Here, gardens are associated with the wilderness and not a plot in a private residence. The first unambiguous mention of gardens comes from the Songs of Chu (楚辭, Chu Ci, 4th-c. BCE), an anthology of poetry written during the latter part of the Zhou Dynasty. One famous verse known as “Summoning the Soul” (招魂, Zhao Hun) describes how a shaman (巫, Wu) struggles to entice the meandering spirit of an ailing king to return by reminding him of the beautiful women waiting for him “in your garden pavilion, by the long bed curtains”.[7] Such imperial gardens took on a new significance during the following Qin (221–206 BCE) and Han dynasties (206 BCE–220 CE) as certain emperors became obsessed with Daoist immortality and built microcosms of landscapes—rocks for mountains, ponds for rivers, and trees and plants for forests—within their palaces. The hope was to entice lofty immortals to settle there and teach them their secrets of longevity. The first private pleasure gardens arose during the Han. There were two kinds, the extravagant park owned by the wealthy and the simple scholar’s retreat. The former was based on the great imperial hunting parks that served as a symbol for the emperor’s power since such spaces were stocked with exotic plants and animals gifted by conquered territories. Thus, the extravagant nature of these gardens served to broadcast the wealth and power of their owners. On the contrary, the latter were most likely born from privately owned vegetable gardens. The Book of Odes (詩經, 11th–7th-c. BCE), the oldest known collection of Chinese poetry, suggests that scholars during the Zhou dynasty already viewed their simple food gardens as relaxing places of leisure. The idea of a garden serving as a proxy for a mountain retreat was made popular by Tao Qian (陶潛, 365–427), a poet of the Six Dynasties period (220–589). His philosophy is best exemplified by poem number five of his “Twenty Poems After Drinking Wine” series: I built my hut beside a traveled road Yet hear no noise of passing carts and horses. You would like to know how it is done? With the mind detached, one’s place becomes remote. Picking chrysanthemums by the eastern hedge I catch sight of the distant southern hills: The mountain air is lovely as the sun sets And flocks of flying birds return together. In these things is a fundamental truth I would like to tell, but lack the words. Here, shear concentration of will transports an individual to the mountains far away from the hustle and bustle of daily life. This implies that any setting can be one’s own personal Eden, even a garden.

#immortal stone #Chinese garden #scholar rock #microcosm #qi energy #meditation #spirituality #spiritual cultivation #Sun Wukong #Monkey King #Journey to the West #JTTW #Lego Monkie Kid #LMK

21 notes · View notes

foolshoujo · 2 months

Text

&& with a sigh & a hand on her heart, orpheus looks upward toward ouranos --- the beautiful sky overhead, a dazzling blue only broken by the flight of white birds & a clock tower that seems to stretch upward beyond the heavens.

#MAIN. ( FILE MR03. / SAKURA PETALS FALLING LIKE RAINDROPS - vOHSHC. )

lineage counts first; wealth a close second. the motto of o/uran academy, an illustrious school for those of the affluent. the children of politicians, businessmen, socialites, & celebrities all attending from grades that span from pre-school to even college. such budding little flowers cared for by the facility that holds the tasks of preparing these fledglings to grow into their wings & fly toward their future--- as well as provide various outlets of entertainment, leisure, & perhaps a waste of their free time. aris/ato mi/nato & min/ako are second years that have attended the school since their kindergarten days. the children of the living legends aris/ato kenta & hisako; a skilled orchestral conductor & a multilingual opera soprano, respectfully. while the pair continue to globally travel & perform their arts, they have also found themselves to be common among the social elite spanning the globe. enrapturing the rich, the famous, the many, the poor, the old with their talents & song. their biggest pride & joy being their children, the two who seem to harbor the same gift of music as their parents. mi/nato is hailed as a musical savant, able to learn with ease any instrument one places before him, writing new pieces & performing them at a young age. min/ako follows in the footsteps of her mother, her voice naturally siren-esc & talents honed by vocal tutors, choirs, & years upon years of practice. within their freshman year of high school the two take a sabbatical from the academy to journey with their mother to the southern region of france within the french riviera, théoule sur mer. hisako having to retreat from the public eye due to her sudden failing health. the twins believing that going with their mother was both what was best for the family as well as for their beloved mother convince their father to allow them to take the break from their education & join the two of them. for a year the family lives within this resort town until hisako is cleared to be able to return home--- && in doing so the twins make their return the same year a particularly interesting scholarship attendee joins in their freshman year....

DETAILS & QUICK FACTS;

the twins are in class b--- affluent but not the top 1%. they are the same age as h/oney & m/ori, however due to pausing their education they are a year delayed making them second years vs third years. despite being away for a year the two are quite popular across grades & classes, often hanging out with various folks outside of their homeroom + social classing. many people speak fondly of the two & tend to seek them out if they are nearby. this is generally to allude to their in canon ability to create social links with people of all walks of life in p3/p & how they are easily able to touch the hearts of others. they are protags after all LOL.

regarding this, min/ato who tends to avoid musical clubs & focuses on kendo extracurriculars tends to be the more reclusive of the two due to his own battle with low social stamina. he is on course to be next captain of the kendo club once mori/nozuka graduates & acts a co-captain to help lessen the load to allow the aforementioned to attend the host club freely. this is the only connection the twins will have with the main cast of ohshc in this verse outside of future/potential interactions within the linked rpc.

on mina/ko's side, she is known as the idol of ou/ran. the moniker gained from her bubbly & friendly personality, knack for accidentally becoming the center of attention, & obviously her talent as a songstress. before the year abroad she was in gymnastics, choir, & dance extracurricular however after the twins return she tends to favor only choir & dedicates more time within student council at the behest of ki/rijo mi/tsuru, student council president valedictorian & heir to the enormous k/irijo group. mits/uru replaces the canonical to ohshc tosh/iyori in this verse, the accolades mentioned are ones carried from p3/p to this verse as well. though tos/hiyori serves as vice president, kana/n retains her status as secretary but hid/etoshi & chid/ori from p3/p are added as head of the disciplinary committee & treasurer to buff out the council as a whole. mina/ko holds a role of little importance, tending to the council's needs either for filing or gathering paperwork, getting drinks, cleaning, & organizing events or helping with. she's their little gopher.

speaking of mits/uru, the various members of SEES or other social links like rio or bebe are present in this verse in similar roles & are all as close as they are in canon. yuk/ari is the daughter of both an actress & head researcher within kiri/jo, jun/pei is the son of a baseball player, fu/uka's family works within the oot/ori medical hospitals in various fields, ak/ihiko the captain of the boxing team, shi/njiro son of a chef, k/en idk but he's there too. aig/is is a human idk man but you get it. the idiots are pals no matter the universe♥

while i won't carry over a lot of the incredibly dated outlooks that this media has, i am playing with gender roles in terms of the difficulties women face proving themselves within a patriarchal society especially among the one percent. in short, mi/nato will have zero issues in his life as he is both the son & technical first born where mina/ko as a woman is, despite her equal talents & a prodigy just like her brother, faced with having to maneuver her way into the same spaces. while their parents are never outright in these mindsets, min/ato does have some noted favoritism from them as well as those within his parents sphere of influence. this is the drive behind min/ako pushing her weight within the student council--- abusing her ability to stay near the incredibly powerful heir to the k/irijo group, mitsu/ru, & using this connection to create a web of networking. she's bright, she's smart, she's friendly. in the same way kyou/ya tends to abuse the host club & his immense talents to charm his way through hard work, research, & tbqh manipulation( positive ) of the cards in his hands to climb to the top--- m/inako is playing a similar gambit on her own. her greatest cards within her hand are the connections she's formed through the years & memorable personality. our girl is making sure her name is in your mouth ! you say hi to her as she walks through the gates of school ! you want her to sing at the party you're throwing this weekend ! you wanna tell you're very powerful parents about her :) ! while she is no short of talent on her own, she has to create a space for her to stand rather than wait for it to be offered. she will not sit down & wait for her to be forced to become some ceos wife & give up on her dreams against her will. it's her stage, you are her audience, & she will be remembered for her own merits & no one else's !

minat/o is totally in on this btw, you think he's letting his precious baby sister his twin his mirror the other half of his soul fail ? lmao. everyone loves twins, have another set of terrible twins♥

min/ako has no real desire to visit the host club. the idea behind all of this is just things that are happening alongside the various events of the series rather than something to supplement or change it for ease of rp as a whole & because the world of ohshc is very big, take this as another story being told within it's borders. however, her type would be the cool type but in situations where she attends( usually at the behest of her friends ) she tends to sit somewhat by herself & watch the club & it's guests rather than request a host to attend her. she is perfectly happy to watch people be surrounded by love ! she will tell ha/ruhi to list her name during these visits to abuse it toward their debt though.

this verse is both manga & anime compliant, however the manga was primarily in mind when creating this verse.

more can & may be added in the future !

↳ edit of min/ako within the verse banner was created with art from the ohshc manga & p3p dear girls anthology as well as drawn assets & coloring by my hand ! gif was by me as well. don't take my shit or else.

#( ooc; verse post tracker. )#MAIN. ( FILE MR03. / SAKURA PETALS FALLING LIKE RAINDROPS - vOHSHC. )#( ooc; do not reblog. )#ohshc rp #PERSONALS DNI.

10 notes · View notes

paralleljulieverse · 12 days

Text

70th anniversary of Mountain Fire Liverpool / Leeds / Bournemouth / Birmingham 30 performances (18 May 1954 - 12 June 1954)

This month marks the 70th anniversary of a significant, if curious, milestone in the early career of Julie Andrews: her 'straight' theatrical debut in Richardson and Berney's Mountain Fire. A notorious flop, Mountain Fire lasted barely 30 performances in a month-long provincial tryout, closing ahead of a planned West End bow. The play would likely have sunk without a trace were it not for the fact that its female lead was on the cusp of international stardom.

While the ill-fated Mountain Fire was on the road, it was formally announced that Julie Andrews had been signed to helm the Broadway cast of The Boy Friend (Chit Chat 1954, p. 8; Mackenzie 1954, p. 4). The stark contrast between the disastrous failure of Mountain Fire and the star-making success of The Boy Friend has become part of the mythology of Julie Andrews' career. Even the Dame herself is fond of playing up the angle. "I had done one bomb in England," she recounts in a 1966 interview, "an incredible disaster...between Cinderella and The Boy Friend. I accepted a very limited engagement, thank God, and played a Southern belle from Tennessee...I can't tell you what went on. It was a disaster" (Newquist 1966, p. 141).

Four decades later in her 2008 memoirs, Julie was still cringing over the experience:

"The truth was, the play was not good, and although the company tried to make it work, we all sensed it was going to be a flop. I also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that had the eminent London critic Kenneth Tynan seen my performance, it would have been the end of any career I hoped to have. Mercifully, Mountain Fire folded out of town" (Andrews 2008, 160).

Legitimate, at last!

Self-deprecatory humour aside, Julie actually received very good notices for her efforts in Mountain Fire. The Stage declared: "Julie Andrews scores a particularly fine dramatic success in her first serious portrayal, as the ill-starred Becky, bringing rare maturity to the difficult and exacting role" ('American folk play' 1954, p. 10). The Liverpool Echo similarly enthused: "Julie Andrews scores a personal triumph as the young girl and, in her first 'straight' role, reveals herself as accomplished an actress as she is a singer" (H.R.W. 1954, p. 5). While the Yorkshire Evening Post opined: "Julie Andrews gives a beautiful and moving performance as the luckless Becky" (Bradbury 1954, p. 8). Though the production might not have panned out as anticipated, Mountain Fire was a strategic step in Julie's ongoing pivot from child stardom to adult performer. Much was made in show publicity about Julie’s "graduation" from juvenile entertainment to mature dramatic fare:

"Brilliant stage and film children are always a little heartbreaking. So few of them amount to anything after they have reached the colt stage...One of the most happy exceptions is Julie Andrews--the once plain little girl with buck teeth, a slight squint and pigtails who astonished us all by singing operatic numbers in a sweet, clear coloratura when she had reached the ripe age of 12...Now, Julie is to make her debut as a straight actress in a new American play to be presented here by Peter Cotes...called Mountain Fire...Cotes says: 'Julie has a wonderful role and I believe her to be a young actress with great possibilities.'...[A]s she has both singing and dancing to do in her first straight play, this might well be the chance of a lifetime for grown-up Miss Andrews" (Frank 1954, 6).

'A hill-billy Bible story'

Mountain Fire couldn't have represented a more "grown-up" change for Julie. Billed as a "new play with music in 14 scenes", it was the latest offering from rising American playwrights -- and cousins -- Howard Richardson and William Berney. The pair had scored an early success with Dark of the Moon (1945), a fantasy verse play about witchcraft, love, and social intolerance in colonial-era Appalachia. They followed with a second collaboration, Design for a Stained Glass Window (1949) about religious persecution and martyrdom (Duncan 1966, p. S-7; Fisher 2021, p. 248-49).

Mountain Fire trod similarly heavy dramatic ground with a mix of religion, Southern Gothic stylings, and social commentary. Described by one critic as "a hill-billy Bible story", the play was an allegorical retelling of the Abrahamic legend of Sodom and Gomorrah with the "cities of the plains" transposed to "rival colonies of mountain dwellers" in the backwoods of eastern Tennessee (Mackenzie 1954, p. 4).

The scriptural elements of human wickedness and divine retribution were adapted into a laundry-list of stock Southern vices: a Hatfield-McCoy style feud, moonshine, teen pregnancy, arson, murder and, even, a Ku-Klux-Klan lynching ('New American Musical' 1954, p. 12). Punctuating this cavalcade of backwoods iniquity was a series of Greek choric tableaux where Lucifer and the Archangel Gabriel, dressed in mountainfolk mufti, debate the spiritual problems of the characters on stage.

At the heart of this heady mix, Julie was cast in the "Lot's wife" role of Becky Dunbar, a winsome but headstrong teenage mountain girl described in the script as "grow'd up wild as onion weed" (Richardson and Berney, 1954, Act 1, Scene 2, n.p.). Becky finds herself pregnant after a brief dalliance with Joe Morgan, a charming but unscrupulous travelling salesman. She is torn between her passion for Joe and her moral duty to Lot Johnson, a virtuous widower who marries her because "it's the Christian thing to do" (Richardson and Berney, 1954, Act 1, Scene 5, n.p.).

Julie often jokes that "You've never heard a worse Southern accent than mine" (Newquist 1966, p. 141) -- and the script's hillbilly argot certainly would have proved a challenge to her crisp Home Counties consonants and rounded vowels. Becky's very first line, for example, is: "I ain't been gallivantin', just skimmin' rocks at Turkey Creek" (Richardson and Berney, 1954, Act 1, Scene 2, n.p.). Not exactly typical RP phraseology!

On a less challenging note, the show also featured a series of musical interludes with ritual dances and allegorical songs. Sporting titles like "Lullaby to an Unborn Child", "The World is Wide" and "Oh, It's Dark in the Grave", the musical numbers may not have been cheery toe-tapping ditties, but reviewers typically singled out Julie's singing as an all-too-rare highlight.

"Julie Andrews..prov[es] her undisputed musicianship by taking one song on high E flat, solus, and in perfect tune," marvelled one reviewer (Bradbury, 1954, p. 8). Another chimed: "We are inclined to think poorly of Becky until we realise how well she is to be played by Julie Andrews...Sodom and Gomorrah...seem to sweeten because of her presence... and she sings very pleasantly on the few occasions afforded to her" ('Midland entertainments,' 1954, p. 17). Given the Biblical source material, the story of Mountain Fire could only end in grand tragedy. And, lo, by play's end the backcountry villages have been consumed by fire and our poor Julie is turned to salt. If naught else, the last scene of Mountain Fire certainly gave Julie a scenery-chewing finale for her straight dramatic debut:

LOT (Offstage): Remember the warning, Becky! Don't look back! The hoot of the owl is heard. BECKY starts up the hill. She stops, hesitates, almost looks back. Music builds. Again she goes forward, stops, almost looks back. Music continues to build. The third time she turns and does look back. Music crescendo. The lights dim, then rise again. BECKY has become salt. She lies motionless reaching towards JOE. Blackout CURTAIN (Richardson and Berney, 1954, Act 1, Scene 2, n.p.)

From Sodom, Tennessee to the Scepter'd Isle

The background saga of bringing Mountain Fire to the stage was almost as feverish as the storyline. The play began life in 1950 when Richardson and Berney completed their first working script under the original title of Sodom, Tennessee.

The play was initially optioned by Jack Segasture, a 23-year-old would-be Broadway producer who had managed Richardson and Berney's previous work, Design for a Stained Glass Window. That production proved a misfire, closing after just 8 performances, but Segasture was keen to back the playwrights for a second attempt at Broadway success (Watt, 1950, p. 47).

In the summer of 1950, Segasture mounted a series of workshops of Sodom, Tennessee at various regional Pennyslvania theatres (Talley 1950, p. VI-13). Reviewing one of these early work-in-progress performances, the critic for Variety ventured that "with some doctoring, [it] may have possibilities for Broadway, where it is headed" ('Review: Sodom Tennessee', 1950, p. 40). In late-1950, Segasture announced that Sodom, Tennessee was set to start rehearsals the following January ahead of an anticipated New York opening in the spring ('Set Broadway", 1950, p. 26). Robert Perry was contracted to direct, with Robert Lowery and Jean Parker in discussions for the leads ('Film player,' 1951, p. 57). However, in April 1951, Segasture was suddenly drafted into the Army, and plans for the production were promptly scuttled ('Producer drafted,' 1951, p. 15C).

Over the next few years, various attempts were made to resurrect Sodom, Tennessee, but with little progress. In mid-1953, a lifeline came in the form of a pair of second generation producers: David Aldrich, son of famed producer, Richard Aldrich -- a.k.a. Mr Gertrude Lawrence to fans of STAR! -- and Anna Deere Wiman, daughter of Dwight Deere Wiman and heiress to the John Deere family fortune (Shanley, 1953, p. 10). Wiman had come into a sizeable inheritance on her father's death and she effectively bankrolled much of the production's initial $80,000 investment (Franklin, 1953, p. 9-E). Wiman and Aldrich tapped Peter Cotes -- a British director who had scored a recent New York success with A Pin to See the Peepshow -- to take on directorial duties (Calta, 1953, p. 14). They also invited Pulitzer-prize winning composer, Lamar Stringfield, to write the musical score ('Stringfield asked,' 1953, p. 7). At one stage, the producers were allegedly in discussions with none other than Marilyn Monroe to make her Broadway debut in the role of Becky but, wisely perhaps, she declined (Winchell 1953, p. 19).

In early 1954, plans for Sodom, Tennessee underwent a dramatic change. For reasons unknown, Aldrich was suddenly out of the production team. In his place, director Peter Cotes was promoted to co-producer status with Wiman. Possibly because Cotes was British, it was decided to relocate the production across the Atlantic and launch the show in the UK ('News of the theater' 1954, p. 6). Another factor was that production costs were lower in the UK than New York, something which would see the American Wiman remain as a London-based producer for several years (Hatwell 1957, p. 19; Wilson 1956, p. 10). Additionally, Richardson and Berney's earlier work, Dark of the Moon had enjoyed a fairly successful West End run in 1949, so the producers possibly reasoned that the new show might fare similarly well with English theatregoers (Darlington, 1949, p. 5).

Either way, Sodom, Tennessee was now set to make its world premiere in England -- though still with hopes of an eventual New York transfer ('Romantic comedy,' 1954, p. 17C).

'Not fit for the marquee of a British theatre'

Once the production team hit London, they set about preparing the play for its British bow. The first thing to go was the title.

Up until 1968, British censorship laws required all plays intended for public performance to be submitted to the Lord Chamberlain's Office for review and approval (Shellard et al, 2004). It seems the Lord Chamberlain did not approve of a play called Sodom, Tennessee, "an immoral name not fit for the marquee of a British theatre". Initially, the production team toyed with Brimstone as an alternative title, but finally settled on Mountain Fire (Talley, 1954, p. VI-5).

It was also decided that the show needed a musical overhaul. Some incidental music had been composed for earlier iterations, including piecemeal efforts by Lamar Stringfield. One or two of these pieces were retained but, for the most part, the producers opted for a new score. For this task, they contracted Stefan de Haan, a young German musician and composer who had come to study in the UK after the war and stayed on to work with various regional orchestras. De Haan not only composed a new score for Mountain Fire, including three new songs for Julie, but also signed on as music director and conductor (Bradbury 1954, p. 4).

Other key creative appointments were Michael Stringer as set designer and Daphne Kiernander as choreographer. Stringer came to the project fresh from working on the hit Rank comedy, Genevieve (1953), and a host of other film and theatre productions. He designed darkly stylised sets for all 14 scenes of the play, as well as orchestrating special effects for the final destruction sequence (Bishop 1954, p. 8). Kiernander was a classically trained ballerina who had performed as a principal in many West End shows and revues before shifting to choreography. For Mountain Fire, she created two set dances, broadly patterned on 18th century folk dances, and oversaw general staging for the songs ('Chit Chat', 1954, p. 8).

In early April 1954, Howard Richardson and William Berney arrived in London to help make revisions to the script. They also served as dialect coaches for the cast (Talley 1954, p. VI-5). During this early rehearsal period, Julie worked closely with Cotes' actress wife, Joan Miller who, as Julie relates, "tried to help me find the nuances that were needed for the part" (Andrews 2008, p. 171). Indeed, to hear Cotes tell the story, "Julie Andrews...was taught how to act by Joan Miller" and it was "Mountain Fire and Joan Miller between them [that] gave Julie the much needed groundwork..to erupt onto the Broadway stage" (Cotes 1993, p. 23). Not sure Moss Hart would agree, but anyway... Later that month, Cotes and Miller hosted an official launch party for Mountain Fire at their South Kensington home with local theatre and high society luminaries in attendance (Candida, 1954, p. 2). The show's schedule was set with a month-long tryout starting on 17 May in Liverpool, followed by one week runs in Leeds, Bournemouth, and Birmingham. The show's London opening was scheduled for Wednesday, 16 June at the Strand Theatre, Aldwych.

In mid-April, the tour was formally announced with ticket sales opening immediately:

"On May 17 at the Royal Court, Liverpool, Peter Cotes and Anna Deere Wiman will present the world premiere of Mountain Fire by Howard Richardson and William Berney. Making her debut as a straight actress in this play will be 18-year-old Julie Andrews. Other leading roles will be played by Jerry Wayne, Andrew Cruickshank, Gillian Lynne and Charles Irwin. Music for this production has been composed by Stefan de Haan. Decor will be by Michael Stringer, and choreography Daphne Kiernander. Peter Cotes is directing, and following a short tour the play will be presented in the West End" ('Chit Chat: Mountain Fire' 1954, p. 8).

'Every night it was a new show...'

The function of an out-of-town tryout is to put the finishing touches on a show ahead of its official "big city" opening. Cast and crew get to see how the play is working with live audiences and revise things accordingly. In happy cases, the tryout is a relatively easy process of fine-tuning elements and smoothing out wrinkles. In other cases though, the process can be far more tumultuous. Seth Rudetsky (2023) relates that New York theatre-folk popularly joke, "if Hitler were alive today, his punishment should be doing an out-of-town tryout with a show that's in trouble" (p. 152). Even Adolph might have blanched at the Mountain Fire tryout. A sign of early trouble came days out from opening when the producers suddenly announced a 24-hour postponement of the Liverpool premiere from Tuesday 17 to Wednesday 18 May (H.W.R. 1954, p. 4). Rehearsals had revealed serious structural issues with the show and the production team needed every hour they could muster to hammer it into shape.

Worse still, the key creatives couldn't agree about the source of the problems and how to fix them. Director Cotes believed the biggest problem was the script and he wanted major rewrites. For their part, Richardson and Berney felt the musical sequences were at fault.

Jerry Wayne, who took the male lead of Joe Morgan, recalled:

"[W]e ran into trouble with the American authors. They objected to the musical numbers that had been written into their story. We opened at Liverpool on a Thursday night as a musical. Then we were told to cut out the musical numbers. On Friday night we opened at 7.30 as a straight play. With the music cut, the curtain ran down at 8.15" (Greig 1955, p. 9)

The songs were duly reinstated, but competing revisions were trialled to staging and orchestration. In her memoirs, Julie relates:

"Our director couldn't decide whether he wanted the orchestra in the pit or onstage, or no orchestra at all. This was a play, after all, so he then thought maybe one instrument, a guitar, would be enough. We tried the show a different way every night" (Andrews 2008, p. 160).

Another member of the cast, Neil McCallum, similarly recalled the snowballing desperation of the tryout tour:

"Everyone hoped it would get better, so the authors and the director got together and decided to revamp the whole show. They kept writing new scenes every day...every night it was a new show until not even the cast recognized it...Pretty soon the authors and the director weren't speaking. Two days later the authors and the backer weren't speaking. Finally, no one was speaking" (Tesky 1954, p. 6).

A comparison of scene synopses printed in programmes for Mountain Fire across its month-long tryout reveals the extent to which the production altered across performances. During its first night in Liverpool, the show was comprised of three acts and fourteen scenes. The following week in Leeds, it was still three acts but down to only ten scenes. In Bournemouth, it was back to three acts with fourteen scenes. By the time it got to Birmingham, the play was suddenly just two acts with thirteen scenes!

'Call down fire and brimstone...'

Given the panicked disorganisation that plagued the tryout, it should not surprise that reviewers took a rather dim view of Mountain Fire. Indeed, other than praise for Julie and fellow cast members, critics were mostly scathing in their assessment of the show -- with notices getting progressively more brutal as the tour continued:

The Liverpool Echo: "When the new play, Mountain Fire, opened with a dissertation by the Angel Gabriel and Lucifer on the delights of being good and bad, it was obvious that this world premiere at the Court Theatre last night would provide something unusual -- and so it proved. But whether this modern parable of Lot's wife will meet with general approval is problematical, because in attempting to lighten high drama with a smattering of musical numbers plus one or two dances, the American authors, Howard Richardson and William Berney, have achieved a curious hotch-potch which is neither one thing nor the other" (H.W.R. 1954, p. 5).

The Stage: "The Liverpool audience could be forgiven for their puzzlement over this provocative, somewhat bewildering, production, which rather inclines to fall between the two stools of allegorical drama and musical entertainment, lacking the virtue of anything in the way of a hit tune" ('American folk play' 1954, p. 10).

The Yorkshire Observer: "Symbolism on the stage is meat only for those who can stomach such food and, it is difficult to live on meat alone. So it might be that Mountain Fire which, in the second week of its production, is now at the Leeds Grand Theatre, might easily die as quickly as the symbolical fire it portrays, no matter how brilliant the cast" ('Symbolistic musical' 1954, p. 6).

Birmingham Daily Gazette: "Mountain Fire, a somewhat disastrous item which arrived at the Theatre Royal, Birmingham, last night, is an odd mix of sex and religiosity which, I fear, will prove seriously offensive to many...The whole thing is meant to be an allegory, with a deep application to our atom-bomb age. But it is all expressed in such appallingly banal language that it leaves one convinced that the underlying thought must be equally banal...One can only have sympathy for the very talented performers who struggle with this material" (Mackenzie 1954, p. 4).

Evening Despatch: "Howard Richardson and William Berney are evidently generous-minded men. In their play, Mountain Fire, at Birmingham Theatre Royal, they include murder, two burials, the Ku Klux Klan..., Lucifer, the Archangel Gabriel, religion and, of course, sex...Directed by Peter Cotes, this is a bewildering story of sin among the backwoodsmen of Tennessee...Somewhere in all this there may be a moral. At first I found it difficult to keep up. Eventually I gave up trying" (Holbrook 1954, p. 6).

The Birmingham Mail: "The conscientious critic of the drama will find that there are certain troublesome questions which are created in the mind by Mountain Fire, the new play by Howard Richardson and William Berney. How, for instance, did it come about that it reached the stage of the Theatre Royal at all and how is it that next week it is to occupy the stage of a West End theatre, however short its tenure there may be? What is more to the immediate point is how one ought...to deal by way of notice with so poor an offering. Ought one to call down fire and brimstone or, refusing to treat the piece seriously, as did many of the audience last night, rend it with ridicule?" (C.L.W 1954, p. 4).

'Mountain Collapses'

With this level of bad press, the prognosis for Mountain Fire was bleak. Ticket sales were sluggish and the cast often found themselves playing to half empty houses. Even worse, audience members were increasingly audible with their displeasure. As Neil McCallum relates:

"One of the lines at the last of the play is 'Lot, don't turn back.' Came a voice from the audience, 'I don't know about turning back -- I want my bloody money back.' In the interval, the ushers were mingling with the audience saying, in ringing tones, 'isn't it terrible...don't you wish you hadn't come?'" (Tesky 1954, p. 6).

By the final week in Birmingham, the writing was on the wall and producers decided to avoid what would surely have been a critical and commercial bloodbath in London. On Thursday 10 June, barely 5 days before the show was scheduled to open at the Strand, Wiman and Cotes issued a joint statement saying they were cancelling the West End premiere of Mountain Fire:

"In view of the inadequate public response during the tour of the play, it would be unfair to the authors and the actors and other members of the production that it should open in London, at least without substantial variations" ('Play is off', 1954, p. 3).

The decision to cancel a major production so close to its premiere was not without precedent, but it was sufficiently rare to garner widespread press attention, generating a slew of punning headlines. "London douses 'Mountain Fire'," trumpeted the New York Times (1854, p. 13). "Mountain Collapses" blared the Kensington News ('Theatre Notes' 1954, p. 2). And "Mountain Fire Out!" declared the Daily Post (Daily Post London Reporter 1954, p. 1)

Mountain Fire had two further performances to complete its Birmingham run, and once the curtain came down on Saturday night of 12 June, the production staggered to its sorry close. Richardson and Berney had already taken early departure back to the US, unable to watch the show's final demise. Cotes similarly retreated to London and refused for many years to even discuss the play. Producer Anna Wiman insisted on staying to the very end. "No cast has been more loyal than this one," she declared, valiantly talking up a future for the show. "[I]t's not the end...I believe in this play and I am determined that it shall have a successful run in London. It will have a new director and a new atmosphere" (Mercury Staff Reporter 1954, p. 1.) The following March, a 'news in brief' snippet claimed Wiman was "still trying to lease or buy a theatre, with the Bill Berney-Howard Richardson play, Mountain Fire, as first on her production schedule" (Walker 1955, p. 61). But a year later, she would admit defeat, having lost the full extent of her £40,000 investment in the show (Wilson 1956, p. 10).

In the end, it wasn't just the UK production of Mountain Fire that sank. The play itself effectively vanished with little appreciable after-life. The script was never published, nor is there any record of it being registered with a theatrical licensing company. Only one further staging of the show ever seems to have taken place: a brief five performance run in May 1962, under the play's original title of Sodom, Tennessee, at the Little Theatre of the West Side YMCA in Manhattan ('Premiere,' 1962, p. 14). Billed as the show's "New York premiere", it didn't attract much attention and there are no published reviews. After that, the play's trail comes to a complete halt.

If it weren't for the show's status as a footnote to the career of Julie Andrews, Mountain Fire would likely have been completely lost to history. Even at the time of its cancellation, reports were already framing Mountain Fire as a blip on the way to Broadway success for Julie:

"Julie may have missed a West End appearance, but she is to be compensated by a Broadway lead in The Boy Friend when the show goes to New York in the autumn" ('Theatre Notes' 1954, p. 2).

Within a year or two, Julie's stardom was the principal frame of reference for any mention of Mountain Fire. It even became something of a boast for those behind the ill-fated production .

In 1956, when Julie was riding high on the success of My Fair Lady, an Alabama newspaper crowed that local playwright William Berney "discovered Julie Andrews [when] he was in London...casting his play Mountain Fire...Julie 'was it' so far as Berney was concerned, and a happy unknown made her bow" (Caldwell 1956, p. E-1). Not to be outdone, Howard Richardson was also soon talking up how his "plays have sent many actors and actresses on their way to fame including...Julie Andrews...who played one of her first roles in Richardson's Mountain Fire during its London [sic] run" ('New York playwright' 1959, p. 14).

All of which only proves the popular adage that, where failure is an orphan, success has many fathers!

____________________________

Who's Who of Mountain Fire

While Julie was undoubtedly the biggest star associated with Mountain Fire, the show included a roster of established and upcoming theatre talents, many of whom went on to bigger and better things:

Principals

Jerry Wayne as Joe Morgan (1919-1996): Born in Buffalo, New York in 1919, Wayne was a recording vocalist of some note who even hosted his own CBS radio show in the 1940s. He came to London in 1953 to play the lead role of Sky Masterson in the West End production of Guys and Dolls, marking the start of a British career. He appeared in the 1955 film musical, As Long as They're Happy and made several TV appearances in the 1960s. In 1967, Wayne married the novelist Doreen Juggler and graduated to a second career as a theatre and recording producer. Collaborating with his son Jeff, Wayne had notable success with the 1978 concept album, Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of The War of the Worlds. Wayne passed away in Hertfordshire in 1996 ( 'Jeff Wayne' 1996, p. 24).

Andrew Cruickshank as Lot Johnson (1908-1988): Born in Aberdeenshire, Cruickshank initially pursued civil engineering before turning to the stage. He made his professional debut in Shakespeare repertory and joined the Old Vic in 1937, playing notable roles such as Banquo in Macbeth, opposite Olivier. During WWII, he served in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, earning an MBE. His varied career included significant roles in the West End production of Inherit the Wind (1960) and the National Theatre's Strife (1963). His best know role came courtesy of television as Dr. Cameron in the popular BBC series, Dr. Finlay's Casebook (1962-71). In later life, Cruickshank wrote a number of plays, and was president of the Edinburgh Fringe Society. He died in 1988 ('Andrew Cruickshank' 1988, p. 310).

Charles Irwin as Sheriff Bates (1908-1984): Born in 1908 in Leeds, Irwin began his career in variety shows and became a comedian and vocalist on radio in the 1930s. He worked extensively in regional theatre and appeared as a character actor in films such as The Third Man (1949), A Tale of Five Women (1951), and Mystery Junction (1951). In later decades, he transitioned to television, appearing in popular series like Danger Man (1960), International Detective (1961), and The Saint (1962). Irwin passed away in November 1984 in Salisbury.

Gillian Lynne as Edith Higgins (1926-2018): An influential figure in British theatre and dance, Lynne was born in 1926 in Bromley, Kent. She began her career as a ballerina, dancing with Sadler's Wells, the English National Opera, and the Royal Shakespeare Company. Lynne subsequently moved into choreography, working on many successful West End musicals. She was best known for her collaborations with Andrew Lloyd Webber, where her choreography was instrumental to the success of shows such as Cats and The Phantom of the Opera. In recognition of her contributions to dance and musical theatre, Lynne was made a Dame Commander in 2014. She passed away in 2018 at the age of 92 (Dex 2018, p. A13).

Richard Ainley as Gabriel (1910-1967): Ainley was born in Middlesex in 1910, the son of famed Shakespearean actor Henry Ainley. He debuted on stage with Martin Harvey's company, before going on to work with the Old Vic and Sadler's Wells. His first film role was in As You Like It (1936), followed by notable roles in The Tempest (1939) and Above Suspicion (1941). Severely wounded in WWII, Ainley had to abandon his film career and could only continue with occasional stage roles. Later, he focused on broadcasting and adjudication, briefly leading the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School in the early 1960s. He passed away in 1967 at age 56 (Coe 1967, p. 23).

John Barclay as Lucifer (1892-1978): Barclay was born in 1892 in Bletchingly, Surrey. A tall man with a booming basso baritone, he trained as an opera singer and toured widely with various companies, including D'Oyly Carte. He appeared in several films, including The Mikado (1939) and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1941). In the late 1950s, Barclay moved to the US, where he pursued a late career playing strong and menacing character parts in film and TV. He passed away in 1978 at the age of 86.

Supporting Players

Molly Glessing as Miss Deedy Sparks (1910-1995): Midlands-born Glessing began her career in variety in the 1930s as a singer, dancer, and comedienne. She rose through the ranks to become a featured player in comedies and pantomimes. During the war, she gained popularity as a radio player and ENSA entertainer. After marrying a US serviceman, she relocated to California. Dividing her time between the US and the UK, Glessing continued to work in stage productions and amassed numerous character credits in films such as Charlie Chaplin's Limelight (1952), and TV shows, including The Quatermass Xperiment (1955) and Alfred Hitchcock Presents (1955-1962) ('Glessing" 1996, p. 33).

Lois McLean as Sadie Ollis (1927-2013): Canadian-born McLean studied drama at the University of Alberta and performed for several years with the Everyman Theatre Company in Vancouver. In 1950, she moved to the UK where she continued to perform, while studying theatre production with the Glasgow Citizen's theatre. In 1953, McLean started work as a manager for Peter Cotes and he cast her in various productions including Mountain Fire (Narraway 1954, p. 34). The pair also collaborated on a book, A Handbook of British Amateur Theatre. In the late-50s, she wed Indian-born lawyer, Birendra Jha and returned to Canada to start a family. McLean continued to perform and teach drama in Edmonton.

Esme Beringer as Old Sarah Johnson (1875-1972): Born in London to artist parents, Esme Beringer was a celebrated stage actress who made her professional debut in 1888. Known for her athletic physique and swordsmanship, she excelled in breeches roles, including playing Romeo, Little Lord Fauntleroy and The Prince and the Pauper. An enthusiastic fencer, she taught classes during WWI and starred in Shakespearean roles post-war. In later life, Beringer moved into character parts both on stage and in film. She died in 1972 at the grand age of 96 ('Esme Beringer' 1972, p. 16).

Neil McCallum as Skilly Sparks: (1929-1976) Born in Canada in 1929, McCallum moved to the UK to study at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama. Following graduation he appeared in a number of stage shows, scoring his greatest theatrical success in 1956 with the West End production of The Rainmaker opposite Sam Wanamaker. In the 1960s, McCallum became a familiar face on British television in series like The Saint (1963-64) and Department S (1969), as well as voicing characters on Thunderbirds Are Go (1966). Transitioning behind the scenes, McCallum became a scriptwriter and producer of some note, helming a number of TV series for the BBC before his untimely death from a cerebral hemorrhage in 1976, aged only 46 ('Neil McCallum', 1976, p. 11). As detailed by Julie in the first volume of her memoirs, she and McCallum embarked on a serious, if short-lived, romance during the production of Mountain Fire (Andrews, 2008, p. 161ff).

Jerry Stovin as Zeke Higgins (1922-2005): Born in Unity, Saskatchewan in 1922, Jerry Stovin served in the Canadian Army where he got the acting bug performing in military entertainments. Following the war, he went to Carnegie Tech to study drama, and moved to Britain in 1955. There he carved out a successful career in radio, television, and film, often playing American roles. He passed away in 1978 at the age of 86 (Peacock 1975, p. 7).

Harry Quashie as Ephraim (1914-1982): Born in Ghana, Quashie originally came to the UK to study law in 1939. He started to act in university theatricals and soon gave up his studies to pursue an acting career. He performed in a wide range of stage, radio and TV dramas and was a founding member of the Negro Theatre Company which helped pave the way for Black theatre artists in Britain. In the 50s, Quashie had character parts in several big screen features notably, Simba (1955), Safari (1956), and, The Passionate Summer (1958) ('Gave up law' 1947, p. 1; Bourne 2021).

John Sterland as Eb Higgins (1927-2017): Another Canadian actor, Sterland was born in Winnipeg to English parents. He came to the UK on a RADA scholarship, before joining the West of England Theatre Company. In a long career, Sterland racked up scores of stage and screen credits including A Countess from Hong Kong (1967), Performance (1970), Ragtime (1981), Bad Medicine (1985), Batman (1989), and The Tudors (2007). Married for many years to fellow actor, June Bailey, Sterland passed in 2017 ('John Sterland' 2017, p. 12).

Creatives

Howard Richardson (1917-1984): Born in Spartanburg, South Carolina, Richardson graduated from the University of North Carolina in 1938 and earned his M.A. in drama in 1940. After serving in the Army, Richardson co-wrote Dark of the Moon with cousin and frequent collaborator, William Berney. The play opened on Broadway in 1945, running for 318 performances. Despite frequent efforts, both in collaboration with Berney and as an individual playwright, Richardson would never match this initial success. In 1960, he earned a doctorate in 1960 and embarked on a career as a drama professor, working at various colleges throughout the US. He passed away in 1984 ('Howard Richardson', 1985, p. 34).

William Berney (1920-1961): Born in Birmingham, Alabama, Berney graduated from the University of Alabama, where he was active in drama. He later attended graduate school at the University of Iowa, where he started writing plays with Richardson. After graduation, Berney worked in advertising in New York, while pursuing his scriptwriting career on the side. During this period, he co-wrote several plays with Richardson, including Design for a Stained Glass Window (1950) and Protective Custody (1956). Berney moved to California around 1960 to write for television, but sadly passed away in Los Angeles in 1961 after a brief illness, aged 40 ('William Berney' 1961, p. 23) .

Peter Cotes (1912-1998): A theatrical polymath, Cotes -- who was born as Sydney Boulting in Maidenhead, Berkshire -- was part of a noted artistic family. His parents ran a theatre company and his brothers John and Roy Boulting became important filmmakers in British cinema. Initially an actor, Cotes shifted his focus to theatre production and directed the original production of The Mousetrap, the world's longest-running play. Other notable successes as director included the West End productions of The Children's Hour (1951) and A Pin to See the Peepshow (1952), and, in film, The Right Person (1955) and The Young and the Guilty (1958). In later years, Cotes wrote books and helmed a number of theatre companies. He passed away in 1998, at the age of 86 ('Peter Cotes' 1998, p. 35).

Anna Deere Wiman (1920-1963): Born in Illinois, Wiman was the daughter of successful theatre producer Dwight Deere Wiman, and heir to the John Deere family fortune. Educated by private tutors, she trained as a ballerina in Paris until a cycling accident ended her dance career. She then shifted to theatre management, initially working under her father. After his sudden death, she inherited a fortune, allowing her to become a self-funded theatre producer. Moving to London in 1954 with Mountain Fire, Wiman remained in the UK where she produced several West End productions, including The Reluctant Debutante (1955), Dear Delinquent (1957), and The Grass is Greener (1958). Despite her professional successes, Wiman struggled with alcoholism. She tragically died in 1963 at her holiday home in Bermuda from a fall down the stairs while under the influence. She was only 43 years old. ('Obituary: Anna Deere Wiman' 1963, p. 27.)

Stefan de Haan (1921-2010): Born in Darmstadt, Germany, de Haan was a gifted musician who trained in Berlin and Florence, before coming to the UK to study composition at the Royal College of Music. Following graduation, he initially gained prominence as a bassoonist, performing with various ensembles and orchestras. His compositional work includes a range of chamber music and orchestral pieces, often highlighting his expertise with woodwind and brass. His influence extended into music education, where his works are still performed and studied today. De Haan passed away in 2010, aged 89 (Bradbury 1954; 'Stefan de Haan' 2024).

Daphne Kiernander (1921-1998) Born in 1921, in East Preston, West Sussex, Kiernander was an accomplished dancer who rose to fame performing in various West End reviews and musicals such as Bobby Get Your Gun (1938), Let's Face It (1942), and Piccadilly Hayride (1946). She moved into choreography working on a number of stage and TV productions, including Such Is Life (1950) and Puzzle Corner (1953) for the BBC, and the Old Vic's 1955 production of The Taming of the Shrew. In the 1960s, Kiernander retired from dance to marry and start a new career in business and marketing (Powell 1962).

Michael Stringer (1924-2004) One of Britain's most successful film art directors, Stringer developed a passion for cinema early on. After serving as a RAF pilot in WWII, he trained with Norman Arnold at Rank Studios. There he scored notable success with one of his first independent assignments, Genevieve (1953), and followed it up with other popular Rank titles like An Alligator Named Daisy (1955) and Windom's Way (1957). His success in Britain led to international offers, working on big productions such as The Sundowners (1960), In Search of the Castaways (1962), and A Shot in the Dark (1964). Stringer went on to a distinguished Hollywood and UK career, bringing his talents to a long and diverse list of films, including Fiddler on the Roof (1971), which earned him an Oscar nomination, The Greek Tycoon (1978), The Awakening (1980), The Mirror Crack'd (1980), and The Jigsaw Man (1983). Stringer passed away in 2004. (Eyles 2004, p. 43).

Sources:

'American folk play: Mountain Fire bewilders.' The Stage. 20 May, p. 10.

'Andrew Cruickshank.' (1988). The Stage. 26 May, p. 10

Andrews, J. (2008). Home: A memoir of my early years. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson.

Bishoff, T. (1963). 'Playwright Richardson turns professor.' The Eugene Register-Guard. 6 October, p. 2E.

Bishop, G.W. (1954). 'Theatre Notes: an American play to start in London'. The Daily Telegraph & Morning Post. 3 May, p. 8.

Bourne, S. (2021). Deep are the roots: Trailblazers who changed Black British theatre. History Books.

Bradbury, E. (1954). 'Music Notes: Former YSO player as a theatre composer.' The Yorkshire Post and Leeds Mercury. 22 May, p. 4

Bradbury, E. (1954). 'Mountain Fire at the Grand Theatre.' Yorkshire Evening Post. 28 May, p. 8.

Caldwell, L.M. (1956). 'Julie Andrews: Birmingham man discovered "my fair lady".' The Birmingham News. 28 October, p. E-1.

Calta, L. (1953). ‘Cotes will direct “Sodom, Tennessee”: drama based on Biblical story to open on Broadway early in February -- 26 in cast.’ New York Times. 7 November, p. 14.

Candida. (1954). Theatre Notes: Peter Cotes and party. The Kensington News and West London Times. 23 April, p. 2.

'Chit Chat: Mountain Fire'. (1954). The Stage. 22 April, p. 8.

'Chit Chat'. (1954). The Stage. 20 May, p. 8.

C.L.W. (1954). 'Modern morality play.' The Birmingham Mail. 8 June, p. 4.

Coe, J. (1967). 'Obituary: Mr. Richard Ainley." Evening Post. 23 May, p. 23.

Cotes, P. (1993). Thinking aloud: Fragments of autobiography. Peter Owen Publishers.

Daily Post London Reporter. (1954). 'Mountain Fire out'. Liverpool Daily Post. 11 June, p. 1

Darlington, D.A. (1949). 'First Night: A triumph of production, play about witches.' Daily Telegraph. 10 March, p. 5.

Dex, R. (2018). 'Cats choreographer Gillian Lynne dies at 92.' Evening Standard. 2 July: p. A13.

'Drake in Village'. (1952). Daily News. 10 November, p. 17C.

Duncan, R. (1966). 'They know the old-time religion.' Independent Star-News. 20 February, p. S-7.

'Esme Beringer.' (1972). The Stage. 6 April, p. 16.

Eyles, A. (2004). 'Obituary: Michael Stringer.' The Independent. 2 April, p. 43.

'Film player gets lead with Parker.' 1951. Daily News. 14 February, p. 57.

Fisher, J. (2021). Historical dictionary of contemporary American theater. Rowman & Littlefield Publishers.

Frank, E. (1954). 'Julie Andrews graduates.' News Chronicle. 15 April, p. 6.

Franklin, R. (1953). 'On Broadway.' Miami Daily News. 19 July, p. 9-E.

'Gave up law for stage.' (1947). Evening Telegraph. 13 October, p. 1.

'Glessing, Molly". (1996). The Spotlight. January, p. 33.

Greig, R. (1955). 'Mr. Wayne will not rush this script.' Evening Standard. 22 June, p. 9.

Hatwell, D. (1957). 'Anna becomes a powerful force in British theatre.' Evening Post. 12 December, p. 19.

Holbrook, N. (1954). 'The devil gets good parts.' Evening Despatch. 8 June, p. 6.

'Howard Richardson is dead; co-author of "Dark of Moon".' (1985). The New York Times. 1 January, p. 34.

H.W.R. (1954). 'And on the stage.' The Liverpool Echo. 7 May, p. 4.

H.W.R. (1954). 'Mountain Fire: world premiere in Liverpool' The Liverpool Echo. 19 May, p. 5.

'Jeff Wayne'. (1996). The Stage. 26 September, p. 24.

'John Sterland.' (2017). Wandsworth Times. 30 December, p. 12.

'London Douses "Mountain Fire'". (1954). New York Times. 12 June, p. 13.

Mackenzie, K. (1954). 'Show News: She's on her way to Broadway.' Birmingham Daily Gazette. 4 June, p. 4.

Mackenzie, K. (1954). 'A hill-billy Bible story.' Birmingham Daily Gazette. 8 June, p. 4.

Mercury Staff Reporter. (1954). 'Miss Wiman admits a failure.' The Sunday Mercury. 13 June, p. 1.

'Midland entertainments: Mountain Fire.' (1954). Birmingham Daily Post, 8 June, p. 17.

Narraway, M. (1954). 'Actress is happy again.' The Vancouver Province. 27 March, p. 33.

'Neil McCallum.' (1976). The Stage and Television Today. 29 April, p. 11.

'New American musical at Theatre Royal.' (1954). The Birmingham Post. 4 June, p. 4.

Newquist, R. (1966). 'Julie Andrews: An overnight success -- after 22 years.' McCalls. March, pp. 83, 140-43.

'New York playwright visits town.' (1959). Johnson City Press-Chronicle. 15 July, p. B-4.

'News of the theater.' (1954). Brooklyn Eagle. 16 March, p. 6.

'Obituary: Anna Deere Wiman.' (1963). The Stage. 28 March, p. 27.

Peacock, B. (1975). 'Jerry Stovin is busy.' The Leader-Post. 18 July, p. 7.

'Peter Cotes, 86, producer and director of 'Mousetrap'." (1998). The New York Times. 18 November, p. 35.

'Play is off: inadequate support during tour.' (1954). Daily Mail. 11 June, p. 3.

Powell, E. (1962). 'She turns from show business to shops.' The Liverpool Echo and Evening Express. 30 March, p. 18.

'Premiere of "Sodom" Friday. (1962). New York Times. May 12, p. 14.

'Producer drafted, 2 plays in doubt.' (1951). Daily News. 28 March, p. 15C.

'Review: Sodom Tennessee, Guthsville, Pa. Aug. 29.' (1950). In Beckhard, R. & Effrat, J. (Eds). Blueprint for summer theatre: 1951 supplement. John Richard Press, pp. 40-41

Richardson, H. & Berney, W. (1954). Sodom, Tennessee: A play in three acts. British Library, Lord Chamberlain’s Collection of Plays 1954/37.

'Romantic comedy set for October.' (1954). Daily News. 12 March. p. 17C.

Rudetsky, S. (2023). Musical theatre for dummies. John Wiley & Sons.

'Set Broadway showing of "Sodom, Tennessee".' The Chattanooga Times. 19 November, p. 26.

Shanley, J.P. (1953). 'New team follows in fathers' steps: David Aldrich, Anna Wiman to offer "Sodom, Tennessee" as first play in Fall.' New York Times. 3 July, p. 10.

Shellard, D., Nicholson, S., & Handley, M. (2004). The Lord Chamberlain regrets : a history of British theatre censorship. British Library.

'Stefan de Haan'. (2024). Musicalics: The classical composers database. [Website].

'Stringfield asked to pen music for "Sodom, Tennessee".' (1953). The Knoxville News-Sentinel. 4 June, p. 7.

'Symbolistic musical at Leeds Grand.' (1954). The Yorkshire Observer. 26 May, p. 6.

Talley, R. (1950). 'An imaginary Tennessee won is site for "wicked" new play.' The Commercial Appeal. 8 October, p. VI-13.

Talley, R. (1954). 'British actors must learn how Tennessee hillbilly talks.' The Commercial Appeal. 18 April, p. VI-5.

Testy, H. (1954). 'New twist to success story: Neil McCallum on ladder to acting career.' The Saskatoon Star-Phoenix. 11 August, pp. 3, 6.

'Theatre Notes: Mountain Collapses.' (1954). The Kensington News and West London Times. 18 June, p. 2.

Watt, D. (1950). 'Ailing Harrison can't stage play.' Daily News. 7 February, p. 47.

'William Berney, 40, Coast playwright.' (1961). The New York Times. 25 November, p. 23.

Wilson, C. (1956). 'Now Miss Wiman is on "The Ball"." Daily Mail. 20 April, p. 10.

#julie andrews #mountain fire #1954 #british theatre #70th anniversary #howard richardson #william berney

8 notes · View notes

richincolor · 8 months

Text

New Releases

We've got quite a few books on our radar this week! Coming out this Tuesday:

And Don't Look Back by Rebecca Barrow

After her mother’s death, a teen pieces together the truth of her family’s past and what her mom was hiding from in this thriller that’s perfect for fans of Courtney Summers and Tiffany D. Jackson.

Harlow Ford has spent her entire life running, caught in her mother’s wake as they flit from town to town, hiding from a presence that Harlow isn’t even sure is real. In each new place, Harlow takes on a new name and personality, and each time they run, she leaves another piece of herself behind.

When Harlow and her mom set off on yet another 3 a.m. escape, they are involved in a car accident that leaves Harlow’s mother fatally wounded. Before she dies, she tells Harlow two things: where to find the key to a safety deposit box and to never stop running. In the box, Harlow finds thirty grand in cash, life insurance documents, and several fake IDs for both herself and her mom—an on-the-run essentials kit. But Harlow also finds a photograph of her mom as a teenager with two other girls, the deed to a house in a town she’s never heard of, and a handful of newspaper clippings discussing the disappearance of a woman named Eve Kennedy, Harlow’s grandmother…relics of a part of Harlow’s life she never knew existed.

With these tantalizing clues about her mother’s secrets and the power to choose her own future for the first time, Harlow realizes she has two choices: keep fleeing her mom’s ghosts or face down the nebulous threat that’s been hanging over her for her entire life.

The Homecoming War by Addie Woolridge

When plunging enrollment forces two rival high schools to merge, two class presidents must work together to make the schools unite. But when a mutual crush emerges, they’ll both have to figure out what they want and where their loyalties lie before they become the most hated people at school.

Meg Williams is on the way to making her dreams come true. As the incoming Junior class president for Hirono High School, all she needs are a few more As and an excellent college recommendation letter, then she can leave Huntersville, California, and her ghosts behind.

Or, at least she was on track until the school district decided to combine Hirono with their rival, Davies High School. Now, Meg is wandering the pristine hallways of Davies High, her life plan threatened by Hirono’s queen mean girl, Freya Allenson, and the maddeningly perfect Chris Chaves, Davies High School’s class president.

When it turns out Huntersville’s Golden Boy won’t just step down, Meg begrudgingly accepts that they’ll have to work together for the year. Worse still, escalating pranks between the rival classmates and a developing crush threaten to throw Meg even further off course. As homecoming draws near, both Meg and Chris will have to decide where their loyalties lie.

The Scarlet Alchemist by Kylie Lee Baker

Zilan dreams of becoming a royal alchemist, of providing for her family by making alchemical gold and gems for the wealthy to eat in order to stay young forever. But for now, she’s trapped in her impoverished village in southern China, practicing an illegal form of alchemy to keep food on the table—resurrecting the dead, for a price.

When Zilan finally has the chance to complete her imperial exams, she ventures to the capital to compete against the best alchemists in the country in tasks she’ll be lucky to survive, let alone pass. On top of that, her reputation for raising the dead has followed her to the capital, and the Crown Prince himself seeks out her help, suspecting a coming assassination attempt.

The more Zilan succeeds in her alchemy, the more she gets caught in the dangerous political games of the royal family. There are monsters lurking within the palace walls, and it’s only a matter of time before they—and secrets of Zilan’s past—catch up with her.

Kween by Vichet Chum

Soma Kear’s verses have gone viral. Trouble is, she didn’t exactly think her slam poetry video through. All she knew was that her rhymes were urgent. On fire. An expression of where she was, and that place…was a hot mess.

Following her Ba’s deportation back to Cambodia, everything’s changed. Her Ma is away trying to help Ba adjust to his new life, and her older sister has taken charge with a new authoritarian tone. Meanwhile, Soma’s trending video pushes her to ask if it’s time to level up. With her school’s spoken word contest looming, Soma must decide: Is she brave enough to put herself out there? To publicly reveal her fears of Ba not returning? To admit that things may never be the same?

With every line she spits, Soma searches for a way to make sense of the world around her. The answers are at the mic.

Salt the Water by Candice Iloh

Cerulean Gene is free everywhere except school, where they’re known for repeatedly challenging authority. Raised in a free-spirited home by two loving parents who encourage Cerulean to be their full self, they’ve got big dreams of moving cross-country to live off the grid with their friends after graduation. But a fight with a teacher spirals out of control, and Cerulean impulsively drops out to avoid the punishment they fear is coming. Why wait for graduation to leave an oppressive capitalist system and live their dreams?

Cerulean is truly brilliant, but their sheltered upbringing hasn’t prepared them for the consequences of their choice — especially not when it’s compounded by a family emergency that puts a parent out of work. Suddenly the money they’d been stacking with their friends is a resource that the family needs to stay afloat.

Salt the Water is a book about dreaming in a world that has other plans for your time, your youth, and your future. It asks, what does it look like when a bunch of queer Black kids are allowed to dream? And what does it look like for them to confront the present circumstances of the people they love while still pursuing a wildly different future of their own?

The Forest Demands Its Due by Kosoko Jackson

A Lesson in Vengeance meets The Taking of Jake Livingston in this page-turning YA horror/fantasy set in dark academia about a queer Black teen who discovers the sinister history of his boarding school and the corrupt powers behind it all.

Regent Academy has a long and storied history in Winslow, Vermont, as does the forest that surrounds it. The school is known for molding teens into leaders, but its history is far more nefarious. Seventeen-year-old Douglas Jones wants nothing to do with Regent's king-making; he’s just trying to survive. But then a student is murdered and, for some reason, by the next day no one remembers him having ever existed, except for Douglas and the groundskeeper's son, Everett Everley. In his determination to uncover the truth, Douglas awakens a horror hidden within the forest, unearthing secrets that have been buried for centuries. A vengeful creature wants blood as payment for a debt more than 300 years in the making—or it will swallow all of Winslow in darkness.

And for the first time in his life, Douglas might have a chance to grasp the one thing he’s always felt was power. But if he’s not careful, he will find out that power has a tendency to corrupt absolutely everything.

A high-octane mystery of murder and magic for fans of Ace of Spades, House of Hollow, and Get Out!

Love in Winter Wonderland by Abiola Bello

Will Trey and Ariel find their happily ever after in this hopelessly romantic love story? ‘A screen-worthy holiday romance.’ Joya Goffney, author of Excuse Me While I Ugly Cry

Trey Anderson is popular and handsome, and he works at his family’s beloved Black-owned bookshop, Wonderland. Ariel Spencer is quirky, creative, and in need of a holiday temp job to cover her tuition for The Artists’ Studio. An opening at Wonderland is the answer . . . and the start of a hate-to-love journey for Trey and Ariel. When Trey and Ariel learn that Wonderland is on the brink of shutting down, can they get over their differences and team up to stop the doors from closing before the deadline?

The Glass Scientists: Volume One by S.H. Cotugno

The gothic worlds of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, Frankenstein, and more collide in this graphic novel series about buried secrets, mad science, and misunderstood monsters. For fans of stylish reimaginings like Lore Olympus and gaslamp fantasies like The Night Circus !

London isn’t the safest place for mad scientists these days. After that whole ordeal with Frankenstein, angry mobs have gotten awfully good at hunting down monsters and wiping out anything they don’t understand. In fact, if it weren’t for one extraordinary young man, every out-of-the-box thinker would have been locked up . . . or worse. That young man is none other than Dr. Henry Jekyll. He believes mad scientists would thrive if they could just fix their public image, which is why he founded the Society for Arcane Sciences, a place where like-minded eccentrics could come together to defy the laws of nature in peace.

But everything changes when a mysterious stranger arrives, bent on taking the Society in a radical new direction. With everyone turning against him, Jekyll’s life starts to spiral out of control, shattering all his carefully laid plans and threatening to expose his darkest secret—one that could destroy everything he has built from the inside out.

Up in Flames By Hailey AlcarazGorgeous, wealthy, and entitled, Ruby has just one single worry in her life—scheming to get the boy next door to finally realize they’re meant to be together. But when the California wildfires cause her privileged world to go up in flames, Ruby must struggle to find the grit and compassion to help her family and those less fortunate to rise from the ashes.

At eighteen, Ruby Ortega is an unapologetic flirt who balances her natural aptitude for economics with her skill in partying hard. But she couldn’t care less about those messy college boys—it’s her intense, brooding neighbor Ashton who she wants, and even followed to school. Even the fact that he has a girlfriend doesn’t deter her . . . whatever Ruby wants, she eventually gets.

Her ruthless determination is tested when wildfires devastate her California hometown, destroying her parents’ business and causing an unspeakable tragedy that shatters her to her core. Suddenly, Ruby is the head of the family and responsible for its survival, with no income or experience to rely on. Rebuilding seems hopeless, but with the help of unexpected allies—including a beguiling, dark-eyed boy who seems to understand her better than anyone—Ruby has to try. When she discovers that the fires also displaced many undocumented people in her town, it becomes even more imperative to help. And if she has to make hard choices along the way, can anyone blame her?

In her powerful debut novel, Mexican American author Hailey Alcaraz chronicles a riveting portrait of transformation, resilience, and love with an unlikely heroine who, when faced with unforeseen disaster, surprises everyone, especially herself.

#ya lit #the glass scientists #the homecoming war #salt the water #we need diverse books

25 notes · View notes