Summary: Being stuck at the snooty, all-boys school your father works at is NOT how you wanted to spend Christmas (especially with Angus Tully...asshole). Still, the Winter of 1970 leading into 1971 is one you will not forget. A stubborn teenager, a professor with a stick up his ass, a woman with a heart of gold, and a mini feminist who's pissed at everyone 99% of the day (yours truly)...what could go wrong?
Tropes/keywords: Academic Rivals to Friends to Lovers, Young Love, Mystery, Hurt/Comfort, Feel Good, CHRISTMAS, and Found Family.
Chapter 1: "Bah, Humbug!"
Chapter 2: "You're a Mean One, Miss Hunham"
Chapter 3: "Emotional Motion Sickness"
Chapter 4: "Too Late to Turn Back Now"
Chapter 5: "One More Reason to Control Myself"
Chapter 6: "December Never Felt So Wrong"
Chapter 7: "Christmas Time is Here"
Chapter 8: "The Most 'Wonderful' Time of the Year"
Chapter 9: "Dimensions"
Chapter 10: "Such an Old Fashioned Word"
Epilogue: "Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?"
"The Woman at the Well"
{Aemond Targaryen x Reader}
-> House of the Dragon: Season 2
Summary: You allowed men to follow you in the dark for a living. One night, a man you never expected (nor wanted) to do so did just that. Over the weeks to come, you become...more acquainted with him. Still, despite how fun it is to dance with dragon fire, one must do their best to remember the chances of being burnt.
Tropes/keywords: Strangers to Friends to Lovers to Strangers (again), Mostly Angst, Little Hurt/Comfort, Somewhat Toxic Love, This story has a happy ending (but not in the way you'd expect)
Chapter 1: "There Must Be Something in the Water"
Chapter 2: "Crawling Back to You"
Chapter 3: "Nursing on the Poison that Never Stung"
Chapter 4: "I Would Not Change it Each Time"
"The Favourite"
{Emperor Geta x Reader x Lucius}
-> Gladiator II
Summary: Once a lowborn girl of Rome, now a favored slave of Emperor Geta, hope at reclaiming your life comes when the return general Acacius brings Rome to a weeks' worth of entertainment.
Tropes/keywords: Minor Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Marriage of Convenience [Lucius], Slavery/Abuse [Geta], Reader is Sansa Stark coded, Scheming, Action, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, and Reader knows how to play the game [and not at the same time].
Chapter 1: "Et tu, Brute?"
Chapter 2: "Agape"
"The Pas de Deux in Parenthood"
{Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader}
-> Marvel
Summary: Navigating life as a single mother isn't the easiest (especially as an ex-NYC Ballet dancer). Yet, it can't be more difficult than the life of an ex-assassin Avenger, and newly made congressman that lives across the hall from you.
Tropes/keywords: Established Relationship, Found Family, FLUFF, Feel Good (for now...?), Bucky is best dad/girl dad coded, and Sassy child apocalypse.
"How to Get to Coney Island"
"Shame Was on the Other Side"
"She Looks Like the Real Thing
(She Tastes Like the Real Thing)"
"Born Too Late"
{DBF!Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader}
-> The Pitt
Summary: Let’s get one thing straight, Jack Abbott is your stepfather, not your biological one. So, to get another thing straight, you had no idea that the man you went on “dates” with at a coffee shop (and may or may not have had your guts rearranged by) was both your stepfather’s best friend and your new supervisor. To add to this equation, your roommate and her on-and-off again boyfriend make their way to your job. So, to sum this whole thing up = “Everything is fine.”
Tropes/Keywords: Dad’s Best Friend, Age Gap [Reader is in her mid-late 20s], #AlexaplayDaddyIssues, Shiva Baby coded, Reader is having the worst day of her life, Reader is a social worker because my girl Kiara needed HELP, Reader also needs help though, and so does Robby, you know what EVERYONE in The Pitt needs help.
Prologue: "Are We Still Friends?"
Chapter 1: "Death by a Thousand Cuts"
Chapter 2: "None of This will Matter in an Hour"
Chapter 3: "It Ain't Me, Babe"
"This is Going to Hurt"
{Peter McVries x Reader, Past Ray Garraty x Reader}
-> The Long Walk
Summary: You never stopped loving Ray Garraty. Even when he broke up with you before The Long Walk, you still loved him and had faith he would come home and be in your arms again. When he didn't, you knew your life was over. Yet, as you tried to keep his mother afloat in an effort to keep yourself from falling apart, someone knocked on the door. When you opened it, it was revealed to be the winner of the dreaded walk. You only managed to form three words in your head: "How dare you?"
Tropes/Keywords: One-Sided Enemies to Tolerant Acquaintances to Subtle Friends to Raging inferno, Who Fell First? Who Fell Harder? I couldn't tell you, Healing Together, Canon Character Death, and Raymond Garraty haunts the narrative.
"The Little Flower"
{Father Jud Duplenticy x Reader]
-> Knives Out: Wake Up Dead Man
Summary: You hadn't believed in miracles in a long time. Not since your mother was diagnosed with cancer, and certainly not when the one Catholic Church in Chimney Rock had an absolute monster for a head preacher. Yet, one day, a familiar face is welcomed into town. A face that belonged to a man you never knew would become a priest. Perhaps...perhaps he is your last gift from God?
Tropes/Keywords: Childhood Friends to Mutual Lust/Love to Complicated, Miscommunication (it works, I promise), Religious Trauma/Imagery, and YEARNING TO A JANE AUSTEN LEVEL.
Chapter 1: "Tell Me, What have You Done?"
Chapter 2: "The Hell You Put Me Through
(to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you)"
Epilogue: "Catholic Hymns (After Credits Scenes)"
"The Knight, the Witch, and the Squire"
{Ser Duncan the Tall x Reader}
-> A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Summary: You weren't really a witch; it was more of a stage name so to say. You would call yourself more of a traveling entertainer. Traveling simply to find your family you had been stolen from as a child. On this journey, a hedge knight and his squire accompany you. In a tantalizing tale filled with yearning and water of all things, you come to find an interest in your tall traveling companion.
Tropes/Keywords: Traveling Companions to Friends to Lovers, Found Family, Reader and Duncan are prime adoptive parents, Egg being a menace, Reader being a menace, and Water Motifs.
Chapter 1: "The One Where You Go for a Morning Swim"
Chapter 2: "The One Where Egg Discovers What it Means to Love Someone"
Chapter 3: "The One Where Dunk Meets the Family"
"Mr. and Mrs. Frizzle"
{Ryland Grace x Reader}
->Project Hail Mary
Summary: Mr. Grace's students knew he was married. He wore his ring of course, but he'd sometimes mention his wife in passing from time to time as if she was an ethereal being who graced the earth. Surely, they should've known who it was by the time they went to the museum for a field trip.
Tropes/Keywords: FLUFF, last minute angst, Scientist!Reader (she's Barbie), Hidden Marriage (it's not really a spoiler, and it's to the kids)
Summary: It wasn't the first field trip Dr. Ryland Grace led for his 6th grade class. He hoped it would be his favorite, considering it was to a museum. Along comes someone he may or may not have known would be there, and he asks for her help to wrangle the middle schoolers. There's more to "Mrs. Frizzle" that meets the eye, that is for certain.
Warning(s): Middle Schoolers, Inevitable Science/Space Inaccuracies (all I know about Science is History, I'm SO sorry), Discussion of Animal Death, and a little 'Pull the Rug' angst at the end 🤩
I have fallen in love with another nerd, and have become entranced by space despite not knowing shit about it. I personally feel like we didn't get much of a grasp on how much Grace loved teaching and his students in the movie like we did in the book (from what I've heard). So, I just whipped up a little something. I don't think (no promises) I will write continuations to this, but we shall see. I hope you all enjoy this, and to any science nerds/professionals: My sincerest apologies.
MASTERLIST
Word Count: 3.2k
It was Ryland Grace’s second year of teaching 6th Grade when the principal of Grover Cleveland Middle finally approved his field trip to the planetarium in late November.
Well…it wasn’t the planetarium, it was one of the hundreds of local museums in town; but, one of the few museums to have a planetarium. Still, the class of twenty-five (plus a divorced couple who were drafted to chaperone, and the overqualified science teacher that many would’ve called a prodigy for obtaining the title of ‘Doctor’ at the age of 25) were simply happy to be anywhere but school.
Even though that resulted in the inevitable, educational packet being handed out once they got off the bus.
“I know, I know.” Ryland spoke up when a collective groan from the choir of adolescents filled the space of the museum’s entrance. “I didn’t like these either when I was your age, but-.”
“-Mr. Grace, this sucks!” A boy yelled.
He pointed at him. “Hunter, I’ll call your mother and she can come pick you up.”
“It’s my dad’s week.”
“I have his number too. Anyways,” he clapped his hands together, yet that did not stop their chattering and groaning. The other chaperones weren’t doing much to help, so, all that was left to do was Ryland holding his hand up towards the sky.
Of course, the usual suspects (Neil, Mia, and Jody) were the first to shush others and copy their teacher. Once it had gotten quieter, the louder bunch of the children grew embarrassed and hushed themselves.
“Good.” Ryland put his hand down. “Okay, we’re going to split into four groups, and explore what the museum has to offer. Including filling out the packet I, Mr. Calhoun, and Ms. Starr handed out.”
A boy with glasses too big for his face and shaggy hair rose his hand.
“Yes, Lars?” Ryland asked.
“Is this for a grade?”
“Yes.”
Jody rose her hand and said immediately. “How are we splitting into four groups if there’s only three adults?”
The students began to talk amongst themselves again, but were not yelling, thank God. As if on cue, a woman carrying a stack of books against her chest walked from the next hallway over. She wore spaceship earrings, and a long-sleeved dress appropriate for the weather. The color made her look breathtaking. What caught Ryland’s eye first was the accurate constellations scattered across the skirt. He immediately went up to her.
“Would you like to make twenty dollars?”
She furrowed her brow. “What?”
“Are you busy right now?”
“I’m at work.”
“I know but-.” He looked behind himself, seeing that his kids were growing antsy. He snapped back to her. “Twenty minutes with six kids, my most behaved kids, just around the Space and Astronomy corridor.”
The woman with spaceship earrings glanced over his shoulder to see what she was working with. A few of the children waved at her.
“How long is your field trip?” She questioned.
“We leave after lunch, so until one-thirty?”
“You’re in charge of a field trip and you don’t know when it ends?”
“One-thirty.” He solidified. “So?”
Pushing her lips together, she made up her mind. “Thirty dollars, plus dinner.”
Ryland rose his eyebrows and adjusted his glasses. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Frizzle.”
“That’s Mrs. Frizzle to you. I’m married.” She stated proudly, placing her left hand on top of the books, her wedding band in eyesight.
He glanced at it for only a moment before back at her. “Happily?”
The woman stared at him for half a second before snickering. Shaking her head, she looked at the gaggle of 6th graders. “Six of you are with me.”
And so, the children were split as evenly as they could be (they drew straws and Mr. Calhoun had to take seven of them). While Mr. Grace took his six kids to the dinosaur exhibit, Mrs. Frizzle took hers to space.
“I wanted to go to the space hall first.” Hunter whined after spending just a few minutes with dinosaur bones. Where his statement sounded like sarcasm, with how he was in class, Ryland knew it was genuine disappointment.
“Well Hunter,” he said as they gathered around a glass case of fossils. “some dinosaurs have been to space.”
“Bullshit, Mr. Grace.” The youngest of the class, Margo, piped in. Just from one look, she retreated. “Sorry, bullpoop, Mr. Grace.”
“It’s not any of that.” He continued, glancing down at one of the fossils. “In fact, this may be on your packet-.”
The aggressive sound of papers flipping filled the room.
“In 1985, Loren Acton brought these bones and eggshells into space with him. Thus, making them the first fossils in space.”
“Why’d he bring them?” Max, who Ryland believe spoke for the first time that day, inquired.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a lucky charm?”
“I’d bring Lucky Charms into space if I had to go.” Max concluded.
The humming of agreement amongst the six kids as if they were fifty-something-year-old doctors in a conference almost made Ryland laugh aloud.
“Plus five bonus point to whoever can name the space shuttle that Acton was on with the fossils.” He decided to tempt fate.
“Apollo 1.” Margo rose her hand.
Hunter made a face. “A, that’s not a space shuttle, and B, they all died-.”
“Apollo 2!”
“No!”
Ryland lowered his tone. “Library voices, let’s not wake the dinosaurs.”
Max rose his hand. “Apollo 11.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t any of the Apollo missions.”
“Hermes!” A girl, Suzie, proclaimed.
“That one hasn’t launched yet.” Ryland corrected.
They fell into silence. What other Greek gods were there?
“Give up?”
Not a peep did the conference make.
“Challenger.”
All eyes fell to the woman’s voice. She waltzed into the dinosaur exhibit as if she had walked the museum halls a billion times over. Who was anyone kidding, she absolutely had. Six of Ryland’s “most behaved” students followed behind like ducklings in a line.
“Come on!” Hunter sighed. “That was my third guess.”
“Then why didn’t you say it?” Margo taunted.
Before the two could commit a felony against one another, and possibly damage the history in the room, the woman with spaceship earrings intervened.
“Now, now, there’s no need for that.” She tutted. “I would say it’s about time to switch exhibits anyway. Wouldn’t you say, Mr. Grace?”
Ryland nodded. “I would, Mrs…?”
“Mrs. Frizzle?” Nina, one of the “most behaved” but shyest kids in his class, interrupted. “I thought the Challenger exploded?”
She nodded. “It did, but it flew three successful missions prior to it. The one with the fossils was just six months before the explosion.”
“Why’d it explode?” Neil, another child in her group, questioned.
“People who weren’t engineers didn’t listen to engineers.” She responded.
“That’s stupid.”
“It is.”
Suzie tugged on the sleeve of Ryland’s cardigan. “Mr. Grace? I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Okay.” He looked back towards his students. “We’re going on a small detour.”
None of them complained to Ryland’s surprise. As half of the children who had to use the restrooms went, the other half (while in eyesight of course) ogled the few rock and mineral exhibits in the hall that led to the main Planet Earth corridor.
“Mrs. Frizzle?” Nina asked, upon remembering something the woman told the group whilst previously looking at the spaceships. “Do you really know how to fly a plane?”
She smiled. “I haven’t in a while. But yes, I have my license.”
“Why?”
“My father was a pilot.” She reminisced. “Better at driving a plane than a car. He just asked me if I wanted to learn how to fly, and I said yes.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. What do you want to be when you grow up?”
She paused, pondering before saying. “Happy.”
Mrs. Frizzle grinned from ear to ear. “That’s what I wanted too.”
“Are you?”
For a moment, she glanced at Mr. Grace, who was by the boy’s bathroom, then looked back at Nina. “I am.”
Hours later, and after the students filled out most of their packets, the entire class reconvened in the planetarium. Several stars strewn across the rotunda as the children sat in the velvet seats, more than half of them gob smacked at the sight.
This was when Mrs. Frizzle stood in front, behind a computer that controlled the star machine lowered in the center of the room.
“Have any of you heard of Laika?”
A few straggled ‘No’s escaped a few of the students’ mouths, while majority were silent. Even in the darkness, she saw Ryland raise his brows as if to say:
“Really? This is how you want to end the field trip?”
She ignored him, of course.
“In 1957, after the success of Sputnik making a full orbital flight, Soviet officials wanted to send another spacecraft. This time, with living creatures.” She paced around the room. “Several stray dogs were taken from the capital Moscow, because it was assumed that their resilience to the cold and coarse conditions would suit them better for space.”
She took a deep breath, already seeing realization glaze over the audience’s eyes. They knew the ending.
“A few days before the launch, one of the dog trainers, Vladimir Yazdovsky, took Laika home to play with his children. There was no plan of bringing her back to earth; it was a one-way trip. Laika only lived for a few hours while in orbit.”
She wasn’t going to say how she died of hyperthermia, when everyone had been worried about how cold it would be within space.
“Yet, like many instances with developing science, a tragedy was turned into opportunity.” She continued. “Three years later, two other dogs, Belka and Strelka, were sent on another orbital mission. Except this time, forty-two mice, two rats, some flies, a rabbit, and several plants accompanied them. Do not ask me why they sent forty-two mice in particular; all I know of this mission is that every single one of them made it home safe. I like to call this ‘Noah’s Arc’ for various reasons.”
A few gentle laughs echoed throughout the room of 6th graders.
“I want all of you to look up into the stars.” She did so too, speaking. “I know that it would be frightening to many of you, if you were to look out your window one day, and this is all you saw. Some of you might find it beautiful, peaceful even. I wonder what it was like for Laika? Or for Belka and Strelka? Do you think they understood where they were? What it meant for them to be somewhere where no person had gone before?”
It was silent in the planetarium. It was the quietest Dr. Ryland Grace had ever seen his children be. While some students were leaning back in chairs, others were resting their arms on the chair in front of them. It did not matter, all of their heads were craned up to look at the false stars above them.
Ryland only had his eyes up for just a moment before looking at her again. Her back was turned, but like she knew the feeling of him, she turned over her shoulder and found him. He couldn’t tell what the softest part about her was as she was bathed in starlight: Her smile or her gaze.
Once the spell was broken, she went back to the computer. “Well, I’ll play your little movie now. Thanks for indulging me.”
That was how the field trip officially ended; watching a fifteen-minute short film explaining how Venus was hotter than Mercury. Just like how Dr. Grace had told Mrs. Frizzle, the class would have lunch before going back to school.
“So, let me get this straight.” Hunter bit into his sandwich, sitting next to Mrs. Frizzle and a few other students in the cafeteria. “You’re smart, but you’re working here?”
“Well, I work somewhere else too.” She explained. “I was just here today.”
“Where else do you work?” Nina asked.
“I teach Astronomy at a community college on Tuesday evenings. I usually work as a Physical Science tech here.”
As if she understood how busy all of that was, Nina asked. “How’d you have time to show us around?”
Mrs. Frizzle chuckled. “I got all of my work done the day before. I was still getting paid to be here, so might as well, even if I had nothing to do. It’s great you all showed up.”
The children gathered around her and eyed one another, suspicion underlining all of them. Margo piped in.
“What other stuff are you good at?”
She smiled at the obvious tone the girl used. As if she were saying, ‘For the love of God, what else can you do, Barbie?’. So, the woman responded in kind.
“The next time you’re lost without your phone, a map, or a compass, and it’s nighttime, look for the Big Dipper.”
When she was met with furrowed brows, she glanced down at Nina’s notebook. “May I?”
Nina handed it to her along with a pencil.
“Alright.” She drew the Big Dipper, then circled the star in the upper right-hand corner of the pot. “This star should point in the direction to Polaris, or the North Star.” She drew a line, then another dot at the end. “When you find this, you’ll find true north and at least have an idea of where you are.”
Margo gaped. “The hell do you know this?”
“My mother.” She explained, setting the notebook down and returning to her lunch. “She was an astronomer. Just for the fun of it, she’d drive us out to the middle of nowhere, and all we’d use to try and get home was a sextant.”
“What’s that?” Nina asked.
Hunter beat her to it. “It’s like a weird telescope thing that you can use to navigate by measuring the land and the sky.”
“Something like that.” Mrs. Frizzle grinned, turning to Ryland as he sat with a different group. “Perhaps if Dr. Grace invited me to class, I could bring one and demonstrate it?”
At the sound of his title, Ryland looked up from his food, alert. “What?”
“How much of space have you taught them?” She questioned.
“Well, uh…” he hesitated. “Technically, we’re still in Biology and won’t be in Space until-.”
“So behind for the semester.”
The children laughed, and Ryland smiled sheepishly, poking at his applesauce. The rest of lunch went on without any sort of fiasco or chaos. By the time all of the students were on the bus, Ryland was still on the front steps of the museum.
“‘Mrs. Frizzle’, really?” He teased her.
She smirked. “It’s not my fault you haven’t shown them Magic School Bus yet.”
“Maybe because I’m actually doing my job?”
“It’s an integral part of education!”
“Fine, fine,” He relented. “I’ll put on an episode when we get back since we got an hour left of school. Happy?”
“Content.”
They laughed. They both knew the students on the bus were probably crowding over to the side facing them to try and lip read, but neither cared.
“What can I do to make you happy?” Ryland asked, half joking and half serious.
She shrugged. “Keep to your promise you made earlier? Plus, I’m choosing the movie we watch tonight.”
“My only rule is that it can’t make me cry.”
“My rule,” she cocked her head to the side. “is that, since I took time out of what could’ve been my day off to give you a hand, you can’t complain.”
Despite her tone, he smiled. He had been right where he wanted to be ever since he met her.
“Aye, aye, cap’n.” Ryland said, not looking away from her lips.
She grinned from ear to ear, looking back at the bus and yes, indeed seeing almost all of the students staring at them.
“Seriously, though?” She looked back at him. “You didn’t even play a video the day after my cousin’s wedding?”
“Who gets married on a Wednesday?!”
“People who want to save money. Better than a Monday.”
Ryland shook his head. “That’s different, it was in the summer.”
“I remember.” She leaned against the wall, not breaking eye contact. “I remember the flower girl throwing a tantrum, the car breaking down on the way to the reception, and us spending the first night of our honeymoon in the airport. Do you remember, Dr. Grace?”
All of it. He couldn’t stop looking at her in that moment. Every smile she gave him was one he would willingly die for ten times over. Every bit of her he relished in. Her sarcasm, her sweetness, her fire, and her love.
“Do you remember…Dr. Grace?”
She was so beautiful. Is beautiful. No, not even that word. There is no word in any languages on earth that could even compare a fraction to how she looks in his eyes. She always hated how he’d stare at her whilst they were dating (especially before that). Once they made a vow, it was more or less something she tolerated. Still, when she’d tell him to stop, he would.
She never really did, anymore.
“Do you remember?”
“Earth to Ryland Grace!”
Snapping back to reality by your voice, Grace blinks as if he’s woken up from a dream or a trance; perhaps, both.
“What?” He stammers.
You sit in front of him, brows pinching together. “I called your name like three times, and you didn’t say anything.”
Your hair is different than it was in his memory. Not that he was complaining, you look just as beautiful…
Wait, that was a memory?! He hadn’t fallen asleep and dreamed it; it was all real? Oh God...his students! How old were they now? Thirties, forties?
Hunter, Nina, Margo, Max, Suzie, where were they? How many of them were even alive with what the earth must look like now?!
“Damnit, do not do that again!” You scold. You were always like that; getting angry when you were scared. It was something that he had to tolerate just like how you had to deal with his staring, his spaciness-.
Shit, shit, shit, it was all coming back to him.
Grace says your name so softly it broke your aggression. Not your maiden name that you used professionally, or when you introduced yourself to Rocky, the name your parents gave you when you released your first cry.
At the sound of his voice, you ease yourself, gentling your gaze to let him continue.
He takes heaving breath. “What if…what if I told you I feel like I know you?”
You give him a look. “Of course we know each other.”
“No.” Grace shakes his head. “Before all of this.”
“That’s what I mean-.”
“No, no, before the mission, before Stratt, even before the Petrova Line.” He stresses the words. “I-I knew you, we knew each other.”
It’s your turn to stare at him. Your turn to be at a loss for words, and his turn to read your eyes. Your mind is drawing a blank, and with that, so does his.
“But we never met.” You whisper.
Grace won’t ask why you can’t remember; surely you will, in due time. He won’t ask you to tell him what you think your relationship was; he never coerced you into anything on earth, why would he start here? He won’t ask you why there were no pictures of him in your bag.
And most certainly, Dr. Grace won’t ask why he wasn't wearing a wedding ring when he woke up.
We're betting on who will have the next bathroom mental breakdown!! Or just breakdown in general. No real currency is being bet, I just call it Pittcoin!
HAVE FUN AND HAPPY BETTING (but not really betting)
@thewhitecollarimp and @lou-is-a-shoe have joined the board!
@thewhitecollarimp bets on Al-Hashimi, Ep 14, Baby Jane Doe/Cyberattack
@lou-is-a-shoe bets on Mel, Ep 12, Becca/deposition
We're betting on who will have the next bathroom mental breakdown!! Or just breakdown in general. No real currency is being bet, I just call it Pittcoin!
HAVE FUN AND HAPPY BETTING (but not really betting)
@anyarose011 and @denniswhitakersmullet are now on the board!
@anyarose011 bets on Dana, Ep 13, one of the staff gets physically assaulted.
@denniswhitakersmullet bets on Robby, Ep 12, breakdown after his friend he worked on the motorbike with crashes.
We're betting on who will have the next bathroom mental breakdown!! Or just breakdown in general. No real currency is being bet, I just call it Pittcoin!
HAVE FUN AND HAPPY BETTING (but not really betting)
@cornflakesachiles and @zephyxoxide joined the board!
@zephyxoxide bets on Santos, Ep 12, charting/stress from Al-Hashimi
@cornflakesachiles bets on Ogilive, Ep 12, accidentally killing a patient
It's been a bit but it looks like @anyarose011 looks to be the winner due to the 02x12 teaser!!!! Not down to the exact episode but sure is the closest!!!! CONGRATS YOU'VE GOT 218 PITTCOINS AND ALL THE BRAGGING RIGHTS WOO HOO!!!!
I need y’all to realize that DIRECTING an episode does not equal WRITING an episode. I love that Shawn Hatosy directed Ep. 9 but people are crediting him on the written interactions between characters that SHOULD actually be credited to Cynthia Adarkwa, a Ghanaian American woman. Who wrote episode 9. And the interactions you’re all loving and feeling devastated over.
I think Shawn did an amazing job and helped pull great performances out of the actors, but once again, those performances and dialogues were created and written by Cynthia Adarkwa and the writing team.
Summary: When Ser Arlan died, Dunk thought he would be alone for the rest of his life. Never did he think, within the first year of his master's death, would he have two companions dear to him. One of them, he would later court and thus, help find her own family. Her happiness means the world to him, make no mistake of that...but he's selfish, and he doesn't want her to leave.
Warning(s): Past violence, PTSD mention, Dunk is Self-Loathing, Sexual Euphemisms, and Non-explicit smut.
10 years later, and I finally finished it! Thank you to everyone who showed your love and support. I'll clarify that Ashter is an original character because there was nothing almost nothing on the Baratheon family other than Lyonel so I'm just bullshitting for a joke in the end lmao. Also, much like many other stories, since this is through a different perspective if you ever reader "Her [italicized" than that means YOU, gentle reader. I hope you enjoy the final part!
Part 3 of 3 (Masterlist)
Word Count: 6.6k
Ser Duncan had to use one hand to count how many times he’d seen her cry.
The first was when she sprained her ankle after playing a game of tag with Egg just two months after they were traveling together (although she would still deny it).
The second was when she awoke from a particularly terrible nightmare a week later (although she would blame it on her ankle). Still, that was when she first told him about the reoccurring dreams she had of her family. So, naturally, he’d ask her every so often about them.
The third was when the sun was beginning to set, and he found her lying in the forest with blood seeping out of her leg like a fountain. The father who attacked her had a knife to her neck. Ser Duncan wasn’t an honorable knight at that moment; he was just Dunk. The same, scrappy child who couldn’t save an innocent person because he was weak-.
No…because he was just a boy. He couldn’t save Rafe, but he could save her. And he did.
He told her to close her eyes after he landed the first punch on the man who attacked her, and she only sobbed in response.
She still cried that day, even when she was safe and he bandaged her up the best he could. She would tell him later that it was a mix of pain in her leg, but the euphoria of being alive. Yet, when the nights would grow darker, and it was only them awake, she’d bare her soul to him. How she was terrified of dying, but more so, what would happen to her and Egg if he had died.
All Dunk could do was hold her.
The final, and most recent time, was four months after he confessed how deeply he cared for her, and she was embracing her mother.
There was no goose chase or scavenger hunt that caused it. The three of them were traveling far into the east of Westeros, just between north of the Grassy Vale and west of Fawnton. It was midday when they came upon village of only 30 houses (if you could call them that), and a population of 102.
It was on that specific day, for no reason at all, the Witch of Westeros carried an old, beaded necklace around her neck; one that she seldomly ever wore. The first time she did, and Egg (as nosey as he was) asked where she got it, she said it was one of the only pieces of home she had left. She couldn’t remember if it was a brother or a parent who crafted it for her.
As they traversed through the village, with their female companion limping with a walking stick, an older woman sharing her hair approached. She touched the beads, and whilst she was averse to strangers touching her ever since being attacked in the woods, this time…she studied the woman in front of her.
“Mother?” Left her lips, and it was history.
Dunk and Egg stood side by side just a few feet away as the women cried together. The young squire tugged on Dunk’s sleeve.
“Should we leave them be, ser?”
He nodded. “I believe that would be best-.”
“It’s a giant!”
A high-pitched scream made Dunk look over his shoulder and saw a girl even smaller than Egg run to him. Before he could realize what was happening, the child struck him with the twig she wielded.
No one did anything as she continued to hit his calves with a twig that weighed, at most, the same as she did. Finally, laughter tore through the once weeping women. The mother let her daughter go to pick up the small child.
“Alright, alright! That’s enough.” She dried her teary eyes, holding her. “That’s not a way to treat our guests who brought your auntie home.”
The little girl relaxed, although perplexed, at the news. She traveled back to her mother’s side, introducing herself to the child.
“I’m sorry.” Her mother apologized, looking between Dunk and Egg. “Not many of us travel far outside of home. She, and frankly many of us, have never seen anyone quite like you.”
He nodded. “It’s s’alright. She uh…She’ll make a fine fighter one day.”
The mother laughed, then, running her fingers over her daughter’s cheek, sweetly said her name. “Who are these nice young men I must thank?”
“This,” she gestured towards the young boy. “is Egg. He squires for the greatest knight in all of Westeros, Ser Duncan the Tall.”
“Greatest knight?” Her mother clicked her tongue.
Dunk shook his head, smiling politely. “No, I wouldn’t say so.”
“Then let me.” She stated. “You brought my daughter home safe and sound; after twenty years…There is nothing knightlier than that.”
He didn’t know what to say half of the time he was alive, but in all of his years of living, nothing could come to mind. He simply nodded.
“Ser Duncan and I are….” She sprouted up with conversation when all was too silent. Though she hesitated, after finally meeting his eyes, she smiled tenderly. “We’ve been courting for a few months now.”
Her mother hummed. “Splendid. Have you been a true gentleman to her, or will I need to have the entire village usher you out with pitchforks?”
Dunk’s blood ran cold, and his heart leaped in his throat. “No.” He coughed. “I-I have tried my best to be nothing but kind to her and-.”
“Essie,” she set the little girl down. “go tell your Papa and aunties and uncles that their sister is home. Do not make a fuss of it when you say so, just tell them as if she was always here.”
She bolted away, and the mother took Dunk’s hand. “Come now. I do not care if there will be a feast later in celebration. Right now, I shall make custard for just the three of you.”
Egg was the first to be by her side, not having a single complaint. Once the mother let go of Dunk’s hand, she soon took it. Dunk was quiet for most of the day, even when they made it to his lover’s childhood home; one so small he had to practically hunch over as he stood.
When her mother asked him hundreds of different questions, ones he tried his best to answer, he remained silent afterwards. As the mother and daughter were catching up, the door flew open, and in came numerous men, women and children.
Egg and Dunk had counted fifteen in total. They all had been her siblings, their spouses, and children. As it was crowded in the tiny house, Dunk stepped out; both from the overwhelming emotions of everyone weeping happily, or the lack of elbow room.
Of course, his squire accompanied him.
“Will she stay here now?” Egg asked as they tended to Chestnut and Thunder.
Dunk didn’t say anything right away. Even in the twenty minutes they had been in her village, it hadn’t occurred to him. He swallowed, looking back at the house.
“I don’t know.”
“Would you want her to come with us?”
“I want her to be happy.” He said, reaching into his rucksack and handing an apple to Chestnut.
“Even if it means she stays?”
“That’s her choice.”
Egg spoke of it no more. Another hour later, she finally came out of the house. Even whilst she wanted to be with her companions of nearly a year, neighbors and others from the village would practically prod at her for stories and explanations.
A part of Dunk (a horrible, ugly part he wished he could drown in the deepest ocean) was envious. Not from how practically everyone was pawing for her attention, but for how they surrounded her in love and adoration for coming home.
It was almost as if the gods were reminding him that he would never have that…
His jealousy only lasted for so long. Once he saw how happy she was, and how her face shined like the sun it was so bright, he could only feel joy.
There was a feast with the entirety of the village once the sun fell. Surprisingly, she spoke more to her traveling companions than she had earlier. Dunk would never admit it, but he was happy.
Still, when he wasn’t speaking to her or Egg, all of the children in the village would crowd around him, begging for stories of how he saved damsels in distress and slayed dragons.
All he had to do was “challenge” them to see who could knock him off his feet, and that saved their questions.
When the dinner was over, everyone was drunk, exhausted, or all of the above, that was when they retired for the night. She decided to sleep in her mother’s home that first night, while Dunk and Egg were in the one abandoned house in the village.
Luckily, the family had left just a few weeks prior, and it wasn’t as dirty as it could have been.
The next day, as it was one of the last hot days of summer, every mother in the village asked if Dunk and the Prodigal Daughter would take their children down to the lake and go swimming.
“In all of your years as a knight,” she asked as dozens of children (led by Egg in the front) walked ahead of them. “did you ever believe babysitting would be a task for you?”
“I’ve had to watch over Egg, haven’t I?” He questioned.
“I heard that!” Egg yelled from up front.
The children were already in their bathing costumes (which were old, tattered weightless clothing that their parents would not mind if they were unusable after swimming) when they finally made it to the lake. They dashed into the water, yelling and squealing joyously as they splashed and shoved each other.
While Dunk slipped off his shirt, she did as well along with her skirt; revealing a thin dress that trailed down to her ankles. It was swimwear that she had prepared to actually go into the water with; unlike what she wore that one morning when she found Egg’s toy boat.
He looked away from her at the thought of it.
“Be at ease, ser.” She teased, her eyes lingering on his figure. “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me like this.”
“I know.” He explained. “That’s why.”
“You’re aware I’ve seen you without your shirt on as well?” She questioned. “And in your underclothes that are tight as skin?”
He scoffed. “A sight no doubt so horrible you’d need a maester to treat your eyes.”
She traced her hand over his bare arm down to his hand. Standing on her toes, she beckoned his ear down to her mouth, whispering.
“You’re handsome, and I’ve always thought so. Now, quit sulking and come play in the water with us.”
He stood straighter, pulling away to see her grin. He couldn’t help but smile even as he said. “I’m not sulking.”
“You always do.”
“Are you certain your leg is fine to swim, m’lady?”
“Even if I sink, I’ll have a strong knight to save me.” She pulled him into the lake, and Dunk felt as if he could breathe again with the coolness of the water chilling his skin from the beating sun.
He kept a close eye on her and Egg. Well, he did for all of the children, taking every few minutes to count their heads to make sure none had wandered off. Yet, he would always find his gaze trailing back to Egg, seeing if anyone was roughhousing too roughly, or to his lady, seeing how she’d gaze around the water’s edge.
Ever since the men had watched her bathe in the river, she never was careless ever again. Even when Dunk started to accompany her and Egg, she’d always wash herself quickly, or scout around the area to make sure no one was hiding.
Moments like this, Dunk would get her to speak of a new book she read, or a story of her many travels, and he would be the one to keep watch.
Twenty minutes after merely wading and floating, it was her idea to play a game.
“Sea Beasts.” She called it after corralling all of the children together. “One of you starts in the middle between the rest of the lake and land, and we try to pass. If the Beast tags anyone, they become a beast, and the game starts again and again until last one standing.”
Egg was the first Sea Beast, and of course, he attempted to tag both her and Dunk. He failed, but managed to get some of the other children. As time passed, laughter was heard alongside excited shrieks and petty arguments of ‘You didn’t get me!’ or ‘I was already on land!’, one of the children managed to make Ser Duncan the Tall a beast.
Leaving the Witch of Westeros and nine other children facing dozens of others, and what many would call a living giant.
Of course, when the game started, it was Dunk who chased after her. She shrieked as he did, but giggled once he wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest.
“No, no!” She playfully squealed. “Release me, you foul loathsome beast!”
He laughed into her neck as she “fought” him off, climbing over his shoulder and reaching out to the remaining children, screaming.
“Avenge me! Sing songs of my sacrifice, tell my wife and children I love them!” She slowed her speech, going limp in Dunk’s arms and shutting her eyes. “Live for me…thus…I die.”
The gaggle of children ‘mourned’ their fallen companion, wailing in pretend agony as the giant Beast floated away with her. Egg, on the other hand, was trying to smother his laughter behind his hand from the tomfoolery of it all.
“It’s a shame you’re somehow dead from me holding you.” Dunk jested.
“Perhaps…” she whispered softly, eyes still shut. “true love’s kiss will bring me back?”
He furrowed his brow. “I killed you; I’m the beast that caught you. Why would you wish for me to kiss you?”
She sighed. “Duncan, you are perhaps the one man in all of the nine, yes, nine kingdoms who would take a child’s game so seriously, you would talk yourself out of kissing a woman who-.”
His lips pressed gently against hers, using one arm to cradle her face, and the other to wrap around her waist, keeping her steady and above water. She matched the level in which he kissed her, though that didn’t make it any less passionate.
The two sat out of the game soon after, and took to sitting on land, carefully watching the children play. Despite how cold the water had been, the sun shined brightly onto the surface of the earth, leaving them still in their swimming outfits. Amongst the sounds of children’s glee, there were the birds singing so sweetly. It was perfect.
“Is it alright if we stay here for a short while?” She turned to Dunk. “Just another day at the very least?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure if the mothers and fathers would want their children out here for that long.”
“I mean in the village.”
He stared at her, seeing how she tried as always to remain unshaken or neutral in her face. But he had traveled with her for nearly a year; he knew that she was wanting reassurance.
“You never need to ask for permission.” He said, squeezing her hand. “We will stay as long as you wish.”
“I know that it wouldn’t be the best for Egg to stay in one place-.”
“-It would be the best,” he stated. “for Egg to be around others his own age, and to understand that if he likes a girl, her family is just as important as his.”
She looked back out to the water, watching as Egg splashed other children, and would try to swim away only for others to corner him. He looked so happy.
A smile slowly spread upon her face; one she attempted to hide. “Even if his family is of the dragon and hers wouldn’t be?”
“Aye. He’ll grow into a man first before he grows into a prince.”
“And what if he already was one?” She jested. “In technicality, he was a prince ever since he was out of the womb.”
“You know what I mean.”
They watched them play for another ten minutes. Ten minutes in silence between each other, only being broken by a different boy or girl every so often saying ‘Watch this! Watch me! Are you watching?’ as they would do a trick (usually jumping from a minor height). Then, she spoke.
“You said your father died in King’s Landing?”
He stared ahead, still keeping his eyes on the boy. “I think so. I worked in a pot shop in Flea Bottom, and a cook said he was a thief. Most likely was hanged.”
“Mine died there too.”
Dunk looked at her, not saying anything. His eyes were only softened.
“I didn’t…” She took a deep breath. “The only reason we know anything happened was because I asked my mother yesterday where he was, and she said he went missing a month after I was taken. She said he went to King’s Landing, and I remembered it. I was six, and with two men who’d taken me, when I heard someone call my name. It was so crowded, it smelled horrible, and I had no idea it was my father’s voice. All I knew was that one of the men picked me up and ran away. An hour later, the other man came back, and his hands and knife were covered in blood. I asked what happened, and he only told me to shut up, or he’d stick me with it too.”
Rubbing her eyes, she brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and sinking her nails into the paper-thin material of her dress. Dunk sat up, his shoulder brushing hers.
“He was a brave man.” He said.
“He was devoted.” She added. “I can’t fathom the heartbreak my family went through. Losing the youngest in the dead of night, only then to never know what happened to the father. My mother could never decide if he abandoned them or had died. I wish…I wish I knew him more, but I hope it eases my family to know that he didn’t go quietly or without a fight.”
“Of course it does. It eases them greatly that their daughter is safe and sound as well.”
She combed her hand through his damp hair. “And that she brought home a handsome fella.”
He scoffed yet leaned into her touch. An hour passed, and after a quarter of the children were tired out, they decided it was time to go back to the village. She slept in her mother’s house again that night.
When the sun rose, Dunk couldn’t find Egg. Just for a moment, his heart began to beat with anxiety the longer he looked for him. All was well when he saw her shaving the boy’s head outside her mother’s house. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but from their smiles alone, he had a feeling he shouldn’t interrupt.
“She’s quite different than when she was as a baby.” Her mother stood beside him, carrying a basket of clothes. “Although, I suppose that makes sense. Would you say you’re the same as you were when you were a child, Ser Duncan?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure, ma’am. Probably just as feeble minded.”
“Help me with the laundry.”
Without question, he followed her to the back of the house. They spoke as they took off garments drying on the clothesline and hung-up ones from the basket.
“Why a hedge knight?” She questioned. “My daughter says you could have been a grand one with the Targaryens or Baratheons.”
“If I’m being honest,” he unclipped a dry blanket. “it’s all I’ve ever known. I believe it’s been the best way my ser could’ve taught me to be a true knight. I wanted it for my squire as well. He comes from…a difficult family.”
“He’s the Lost Prince; you needn’t be afraid that I know.” She stated, ignoring how his face fell. “I don’t favor them per say, but you must be doing something right if the boy calls me by higher titles than I deserve. I am confused though, aren’t you knights meant to take a vow of chastity?”
“Only some orders, not all.” He explained, though still found his cheeks heating, having an inkling where the conversation was going.
She hummed, the smile never leaving her lips. She folded a dress. “Then I must rip the bandage off. If my daughter were to remain traveling with you, what are your intentions with her?”
“To protect her.”
“How long have you been courting?”
“Ever since the beginning of the summer.”
“Four months then, I suppose? After when the bandits attacked you?”
He swallowed thickly. “I should have been with her and the boy. We had gotten too comfortable traveling alone and believed there would be no one to-.”
“-Rest thy chest, dear knight. I do not ridicule you.” She eased. “Do you believe she’ll walk unshaken ever again?”
“I’m no maester, m’lady.”
She hummed. “I see you only have two horses. If she chooses to go with you, I’ll give you another.”
“That would be kind of you.”
“And if she were to choose to stay…what then would you do?”
He stopped his workings to think. What would he say? He knew what he would do, but would that have been the “correct” answer? He made a vow first to train Egg as best as he could not just into a squire, but a man when he grew older. He loved her, he knew that long enough before he’d even had the courage to tell her when he nearly lost her.
But here…she was so happy.
“The knight gets to sleep in a bed for more than two days, and he’s the last to awake.” Her teasing voice caressed his ears, and he saw both her and Egg walking hand in hand.
Her mother giggled. “Now no disrespect from you, he is my guest.”
“Then why’s he doing the laundry?” Egg questioned.
“Because he’s a respectable man, and if you are as well,” she held out the empty basket. “then you’ll take this into the house without back talk.”
He groaned, but took the basket anyway, mumbling under his breath. Her daughter squeezed his shoulder as he passed by, and he stopped his complaining. She leaned against her stick.
“Mama, have you been kind to him?”
She snickered. “Of course I’ve been. How is your leg?”
“The same. I probably won’t be able to make coin from dancing anymore. May I speak with him alone?”
“Of course.” She kissed her cheek. “Come find me later, I wish to ask you something.”
When they were alone, she led Dunk onto a nearby hill, laying down and gazing up at the cloudless sky that belonged in a painting.
“She didn’t frighten you?” she questioned.
“No.” He chuckled. “Simply asked me to do laundry and ask what my intentions were with you.”
“And what are they?” She brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers.
Shutting his eyes, he said easily. “To protect you and defend you.”
“And love me?”
“Above all.”
She retracted her hand to toss over his chest, cuddling close into him. He rolled onto his side, cradling her and opening his eyes to make sure no one was around to sneak up on them.
“Egg said my nieces and nephews invited him to sleep at their house tonight.” She scratched his head. “I was thinking it’d be alright, but said I’d ask you first.”
He hummed. “Why couldn’t he ask me himself?”
“He knew you’d more likely say yes if I asked.” She whispered into his ear. “And I want time just for us, if that helps.”
There are two instances in life where Ser Duncan is reminded that he is only a man: Whenever he is knocked down off his feet from a foe, or from her.
“How far are they?” He shuttered under her touch.
“Three houses down.” She kissed the shell of his ear, pulling away so he’d look at her. “If anything happens, it’ll be a short sprint.”
He kissed her forehead. “I see no harm then.”
The rest of the day was spent doing chores of all things around the village. He wondered too if she was avoiding him on purpose, only giving longing glances and wry grins across the way whenever he’d see her.
He could scarcely look at her without feeling his body grow warm just from the sight of her smile.
Later, after what felt like an eternity, night had fallen and it was just them alone together (finally…). They ate a light dinner, relaxing in the quietness between them. It was unspoken when they decided to retire for the night.
“What do you think of it?” She questioned, only wearing her underthings and combing her hair as she sat on the side of the bed.
“Of what?” He asked, finding her movement hypnotic as he sat against the headboard.
“My home."
“Quiet…peaceful, even.”
“Enough to stay?”
All was quiet in the bedroom, only a single candle in the corner of it bringing in light. She set the comb on the nightstand, sitting expectantly and staring at him. Dunk avoided her gaze just for a moment. How would he tell her? How could he tell her?
“I said I’d train the boy as how I was, and I mean it.” He started. “I will do whatever you wish between us. If you want to never see me again, or have me wait for you, I shall.”
She looked at him for a moment longer, before climbing into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. He wrapped his around her waist, resting his face in the crook of her neck. Gods…how long had it been since he had a moment to hold her like that?
“I love my mother,” she said. “and my brothers, my sisters, my cousins, my nieces and nephews I didn’t know I had…but I’ve known you longer than I have with them; really know them. I’m not the baby that was stolen out of her bed anymore, and they know that. Wherever I go, Aegon is my shadow.”
He laughed through the tears that threatened to spill. “Only Egg?”
“You would be perfectly fine if I weren’t with you. I don’t know how the boy would feel.”
“I wouldn’t though.” He held her tighter. “I’d be a mess.”
Her lips caressed his cheek. “You’re a strong man.”
“Even if I’d be alright, I’d want you with me.”
Resting her head against his, she asked. “Do you want me now?”
“Only if you’ll have me.”
“Gods, how could I not?”
They kissed as if they had never had before. Of course, they had, several times. More so in the dark nights, when Egg had gone to sleep, and they wished each other goodnight. Those were always quick and soft, just to feel some sort of touch before the day was over.
But then…in that dimly lit room, Dunk felt a rush through his bones as his hands traced over her skin. Her body started to move, and he grunted into her mouth. His hands lightly gripped her hips to stop.
“I-I can’t.” He stammered, breathless. “I want you…I want you to feel it first.”
“Feel what?” Her name left his lips as she kissed his neck. “Tell me, I don’t know.”
“You do.”
“But I don’t. I am merely a maiden who has never lain with a man before.” She jested, yet held a seriousness in her eyes when she held his face in her hands. “Have you, Ser Duncan? With man or woman?”
“No.”
He would not say that, on his twentieth name day, Ser Arlan paid a woman of the night to “deflower” him for his present.
His ser had paid for two hours, and Dunk spent the whole time merely talking to her. Well…the first hour had him shaking like a leaf, and her trying to sedate his worries. The latter half was where she told him she wanted to open a flower shop and marry a childhood friend.
She kissed him that night, but truth be told, he loved talking more. On one hand, he hated how he couldn’t remember her name…on the other, all he could think of was hers.
Her words of comfort and of spitfire, her longing glances, her gentle touches, her wit, her bravery.
If the Seven were just and true, then they’d allow him to die by drowning himself in her.
“What is it you wish to do to me?” She asked.
His chest felt heavy, and if he were standing, his knees would have given out. “Whatever it is you wish. I-I have no idea what I’m doing.”
They chuckled together in their embrace, and she kissed his nose. “Have you seen a naked lady?”
“Aye, not up close but…”
She took off the bottom half of her underclothes, and Dunk immediately looked back to her eyes after a glimpse between her legs.
“It’s alright.” She soothed. “I want you to look.”
Hesitantly, he did. She sat farther up on the bed, baring herself to him and reaching between her legs. “I will admit, the part most men cannot find does hide sometimes…but now.”
The more he looked, the more he found resemblance in it…
“It looks like a Butterfly flower.”
She chortled. “A what?”
“Do you remember the blue flowers all by the roadside a few months back?”
“I think?” She couldn’t hide her hilarity. “Why on earth do you remember that?”
That question was when he finally paused. Pursing his lips, he looked away. “That morning when I found you by the water…I had found some of them and wanted to give them to you, to tell you that I…wanted to court you. I didn’t even know I crushed the petals until you were gone.”
Her breath stammered as he spoke, and she hovered her mouth over his ear. “Would you have done something if I hadn’t run off?”
He faltered. “I would’ve kissed you and nothing more. You deserve to be on a bed, not grass-.”
She kissed his lips quickly, just enough to surprise him. Blood rushed downwards just at the sight of her smile, and he wondered why that was what caused it.
“You can touch me there if you want to.” She teased. “Just don’t crush it.”
He looked back down, then at her. “If it’s alright…I’d rather much kiss it.”
She blinked, and despite knowing her for ten months, courting her for four, and seeing all sides of her, he never imagined she would ever look so confused as she did then.
“…Huh?”
Why did she have that look on her face? “I-I’ve heard from ladies of the night that it feels good, and I want you to?”
“Don’t do it if you don’t want to.”
“I do, I just said so. I want to know what it feels like.”
“Sorry, it’s just,” she smiled, trying to wipe it away with her hand. “many men don’t want or offer to do it.”
This time, Dunk moved forward. “Maybe I’m not many men?”
It wasn’t the first time he flirted with her, but it’s the first time he wasn’t scared to do so (even after he started courting her, he would sometimes worry if she’d slap him if he were to make a coy comment).
“I suppose you aren’t.” She giggled. “Now, are you going to let me be the only one naked as the day I was born, or are you a gentleman?”
She wasn’t so haughty anymore when he stripped. If anything, she wore the same look he did the first time he saw her seemingly naked. Still, he laid her down as if she was something precious and put his mouth on her.
Dunk never understood how a man could become dependent on the taste of drink, whether that was ale of cider. Sure, if they were a sad man, he could comprehend it. But he himself wasn’t sad.
So, why couldn’t he decide whether he was addicted to her touch when she threaded her fingers through his hair, the sounds she made when he ran his tongue over her, or just the taste of her?
Maybe he was greedy, because maybe it was all three.
Even when she went silent after releasing a cry he knew no woman could make, he was still starving. It was after she pushed him away while breathlessly laughing, did he stop.
Dunk couldn’t stop smiling, even though he ached.
When she recovered, she threw her legs over his thighs and slowly sank onto him. Perhaps the gods were real: They fulfilled his wish to drown in her. He couldn’t get close enough as he wanted to, despite how their sweat glued their hearts together, and her nails scratched his skin as if to open him up to her.
He realized she liked it when he made noise in her ear. It didn’t matter if he thought he sounded stupid, she loved it.
“I-I thought you’d stay.” He confessed into her hair. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
It was vulnerable, and surely she must’ve heard how close he was to crying. A part of him hated himself for sounding like that, but all fell away when she rested her head against his and said.
“You’ll see me everyday when you wake up.”
After she cried for all of Westeros to hear, he rose her off of him and relieved himself on the floor. He saw stars for the next few moments, placing his hand over his eyes to steady himself. Her gentle hand ran up and down his back, and she kissed his shoulder.
“I’ll clean it up if you clean the both of us.” She said.
He panted. “Thank you.”
“It’s not much, you’re doing-.”
“-No, thank you for this.”
She made a face, but it soon softened. “Of course…I love you. You never need to thank me.”
“I know, and I love you too, I just…” He didn’t know what to say, so he just kissed her as if he hadn’t ruined her.
Because he was always sweet.
After he cleaned them up, they laid on the bed without the covers; for their “activities” and the air outside made it too hot.
When all was quiet, and she was playing with the ends of the oversized tunic she wore, she broke the silence.
“Do you know where I wish to go again? Storm’s End.”
He hummed. “Why’s that?”
“Although I may never be able to dance again, mayhaps Ser Lyonel will have found a true witch to cast a spell so that I may galivant until midnight.”
Dunk chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist, and pressing her back against his chest. “You’re funny.”
“No, do you wish to know what funny is?” She snorted.
“Tell me.”
She sat up, setting the stage as if she were telling stories for money like she would do. “Three months into our journeys together, when it was still winter, we arrived at the great hall. Ser Lyonel made it a festivity he planned to last the whole week. Nothing but drinking and merriment would he accept. Do you remember Ashter?”
“His little brother?” Dunk questioned.
“Yes, the one that kissed me when we were children.” She paused, looking at him and her smile widened. “Ease your face, dear knight.”
“My face is eased.”
“You look as if you’ll bite through your jaw, you’re clenching your teeth so tight!” She laughed. “Besides, Asther said it was me kissing him that gave him revelation he prefers the company of men. Which is why, imagine the shock he gave me when he said that Lyonel had drunkenly told him he had no idea who to be more jealous of between us?!”
Dunk furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she somehow found this hilarious. “do you think Lyonel meant to ask one of us to his chambers whilst we were there? Or perhaps both, how do you think he would’ve done it? Would he have cornered both of us in the hall, or would he have asked us separately?”
Ser Duncan the Tall was a jealous man. It wasn’t honorable, and it wasn’t to speak on her character as if she were unfaithful. He just was that way.
“If you must pull the answer out from my teeth,” he sighed. “even if he had asked, I would’ve only wanted one of you in a room with me.”
She tilted her head as if she was taking it seriously, then said. “Well good ser, if you miss your Baratheon stallion so much-.”
“-I speak of you and only you!” He meant it.
Once she saw how genuine he was, and how he looked as if he was between bursting a blood vessel and crying, she ran her nails lightly over the hair on his chest.
“I wouldn’t have gone with him.” She vowed. “He’s a funny and beautiful man, but my heart had already been taken by a greater knight.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t love me that quickly.”
“You’re right, I didn’t.” She admitted. “I barely knew you. Yet, how dare you deny that I found you alluring in both body and soul?”
“Alluring?” He chuckled.
“Yes, alluring! You bewitched me.”
“I bewitched the witch?” He pressed his face close to hers before his fingers found her sides, tickling her.
She laughed wildly as she did at the lake when he caught her. Perhaps he wasn’t addicted to her only when they made love.
Perhaps, it was always just her.
They stayed the rest of the week, and Egg had two more sleepovers after that. When the air was starting to become a little colder, and the leaves were beginning to turn from green into gold, they saddled up their horses.
“Won’t you come back?” Essie, her youngest niece asked.
She smiled. “Of course I shall. We all will.”
Her mother wiped the tears she tried to hide, embracing her. Dunk saw her whisper something, and her daughter hugged her tighter. Pulling away, they kissed each other goodbye, saying they loved one another.
After more hugs and goodbyes (if they were not for her, more were for Egg from the fellow children, and a good few were also from the children or her family members for Dunk), the three companions set out for new horizons.
“Do you think you shall marry there or elsewhere?” Egg boldly asked an hour into the journey.
“Depends, little prince.” She spoke before Dunk could choke out a response. “Will your family be paying for our wedding?”
“Only if your mother makes custard for it.”
Dunk spoke up. “Don’t I get a say in this supposed wedding of mine?”
“No.” They answered in sync before laughing.
When Ser Arlan died, he thought he would be lonesome for the rest of his days. Yet, simply within the year of his death, Dunk found two people he would walk through fire for. Even if they were to tease and taunt him, he wouldn’t change it.
The happiest years of his life were those few he spent on the road with them, and when he would inevitably pass on, he knew those were the last moments he would relish in.
It was more than he thought he would have, nonetheless deserved. Still, seeing both Egg and her smile…that was enough.
"The One Where Egg Discovers What it Means to Love Someone"
-> Ser Duncan the Tall x Reader
Summary: The Witch of Westeros always treated Aegon or 'Egg' as her equal. She never talked down to him (if anything, she more so did that with Ser Duncan), and was almost always honest. This is perhaps the first time she isn't completely. Still, there is little to no time for Egg to ponder what she is hiding, for all will be revealed; even if by bloodshed.
Warning(s): Talks of human trafficking, Mention of Sexual Coercion, Unwanted Voyeurism, Canon Typical Violence (onscreen and offscreen), and Spoilers for A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
If this chapter is in Egg's POV, we can all probably tell who the last chapter's will be 🥰. Thank you all SO much for the love and attention you all gave to the first part. While there are some heavy elements within this miniseries, I will say this is more of a lighthearted one I've written. It's been a nice turn around from others I'm used to.
Part 2 of 3 (Masterlist)
Word Count: 5.3k
Aegon V was many things. The youngest son of Maekar, a clever boy, a precocious boy, and even a perceptive one. Most wouldn’t truly guess the last one, but he is. He noticed things.
When the Witch of Westeros first traveled with them, he noticed how she played with the ends of her cloak whenever she was truly nervous.
He noticed how Ser Duncan would always ask her every three days if she dreamt of her family. Then, when he was becoming paranoid, would only ask it once every other week; then, every three days once again.
Egg noticed too how deeper her laugh would be the more she drank ale; especially if Ser Duncan were to say anything, she seemed to giggle more.
Above all, he was the first one to notice the method within the Witch’s most “beguiling” trick.
“I don’t believe it!” The man, an older merchant who they found on the road traveling with his two young adult sons, gasped once she opened the final piece of paper to reveal an arrow pointing up.
The father was far more built than any merchant should have been, and it didn’t fall on blind eyes that he had a longsword. His sons were both just as equally masculine; although, his eldest son bore more of the muscle than he, while the younger one had the height. Although it didn’t compare anywhere near to Ser Duncan, he was the second tallest of them all.
His elder son, around Ser Duncan’s age, chuckled. “You really are full of surprises.”
“Pay up now.” She held her hand out, and the father gave her fifteen pieces of silver with a pleasant chuckle.
“How’d you do it?” The younger son, perhaps two years her junior, asked the Witch. “You’re brilliant.”
“She’s not really.” Egg wanted to say. “She just wrote the arrow first after asking your father to think of a woman, he said her name, she wrote that down when asking him to think of a city, and he told her the city, she asked him to think of a direction and she wrote down the city.”
“I am,” she stroked her own ego. “that’s how I’ve done it.”
The men laughed; not all of them. Ser Duncan sat a few feet away on a log, cleaning his sword. It wasn’t as if he’d struck man nor beast with it recently; he had merely told Egg it was something that must always be taken care of.
“Like women?” Egg had questioned that night Dunk had informed him. He hummed, looking right at him. The boy continued, looking at the woman who traveled with them as she combed her hair from a distance. “Is that why you always offer to carry her across any rivers too deep for the horses? Because knights are meant to care for women?”
Dunk stared at her from across the field as she sat by the fire. Then, he turned back to the sword, polishing it. “Yes.”
“So, women are like swords?”
“No, they’re people not things, Egg.”
“I mean-!” He sighed, biting his tongue to call him stupid. “I know that. I was just meaning that knights value swords and women equally?”
“Not equally.” Dunk shook his head. “If a building is burning, you save the women, not the swords.”
“I suppose she’s like a sword.” Egg decided to say. “She’s sharp in tongue and mind, and she glimmers in the moonlight…Wouldn’t you say so, Ser Duncan?”
He looked at her again, longer this time. Egg would’ve given all the gold in the Red Keep to know what he was thinking. For all his master said was.
“I suppose so.”
In the present, Ser Duncan would glance up every so often; either at their witchy companion under the guise of seeing if she was safe or furrowing his brows at the men claiming that the sun was in his eyes.
“Tell me,” the eldest son finally spoke to Dunk after he grew tired of his gaze. “how’d a quiet fella like you convince a woman like this to travel with you?”
“I didn’t.” He answered immediately. “She wanted to.”
The younger brother scoffed. “Truly? I assumed you had dishonored her.”
“You what?” Dunk spat.
“Oi!” The father swatted the back of his son’s head. “I raised you better than this. Now, apologize.”
He bowed. “I express my sorrow, good Ser Duncan the Tall.”
“Apologize to her.” Egg spoke up.
The elder son stared at him, laughing. “Excuse you, little one?”
He didn’t yield. “You speak poorly about her, yet don’t even seek her forgiveness.”
All eyes feel to both the only woman and child in the group. She smiled; a mix of pride for the boy, but exhaustion from the rest of the men. The younger son, now scowling, nodded at her.
“I’m sorry, my lady.”
She hummed. “I appreciate your guilt, but please, next time let it be from your own conscience and not your father’s.”
The only one laughing was said father. The two sons seemed to be stone faced, but Egg knew they were fuming.
“Well,” the father stood up. “I believe it’s time to take our leave. It was lovely visiting with the three of you, but not losing money.”
“Have a good rest of your life, ser.” She grinned.
The family of three rode away on their horses; the father full of smiles, and the sons full of frowns. Once they were out of sight, she cackled, holding the bag of silver and handed it to Egg.
“We’re eating and resting like kings and queens tonight.”
“Oh, I had no idea we were so close to King’s Landing.” Egg spoke sarcastically.
“Not even your tone can bring me down, little lord.” She shoved him. “The next inn we find, we’re going to be spending a night or two there.”
“And do what?” Dunk asked, sheathing his sword.
“Sleep.” She answered. “I shall be dead and risen again come the morning where the maids will kick us out.”
He hummed. “The next inn won’t be for miles; a day’s journey north, possibly.”
“So, what are we waiting for?”
Thus, the three of them set out that early morning after their brief pause to visit (and scam) other travelers. Whenever Egg wasn’t speaking to his two, elder companions, he would watch them together. It wasn’t lost on him how, for the past three weeks, the two of them would speak to each other as if they were being forced to.
There were times it was effortless like how it used to be; she’d mainly tease him, and he would sometimes bite back. Now, they spoke about unseasoned topics such as the weather and where the closest city or town is.
If Egg had any hair left on his head, he’d rip out a strand every time they danced around each other in the most grueling way. The gag is, he would look the same as he did when Daeron shaved off his head.
After hours of travel, they settled to make camp for the night. The sun was still high in the sky, perhaps giving an hour’s worth of daylight left, when the Witch of Westeros gently tugged on the sleeve of Egg’s cloak.
“Come now, it’s time for a bath.”
He groaned. “I don’t want to.”
“I know, but I need to. Besides, you want to stink like your lord?”
Egg immediately stood up, taking his rucksack with him. She chuckled, holding her hand out, and he took it.
“Be back before dark.” Dunk said, starting a fire.
“No, good ser.” She turned, still walking and leading Egg. “We’re thinking of walking late into the night.”
“At least take a lantern-.”
“-Already in my pack, stop worrying.”
Nothing else was said as her and Egg walked into the woods, searching for an opening to the expansive river they saw in the distance as they rode on their horses.
“Is everything alright with Ser Duncan?” Egg asked.
She hummed. “I believe so. He isn’t coughing up blood, is he?”
“No, but he’s strange.”
“Stranger than usual?”
“Strange around you.”
She made a face before chuckling. “He’s always been strange around me.”
“Why?”
“Couldn’t tell you.”
They soon found the sunken area they were searching for. It was an opening to the river surrounded by trees. Looking across, they saw deer and other wildlife momentarily pass through only to leave once they spotted the two humans. Egg was the first to bathe, speaking to her as her back was turned, and she was reading a book she bought a week ago.
“What are you reading?” Egg asked.
“A romance.” She answered. “It’s about a maid and a rich man.”
“I’ve heard of that happening. Sometimes even in the castle.”
“They’d fall in love and be married?”
“No, it’s just a fantasy.”
“I know, only teasing.”
He sunk farther into the river, the cold water being a welcoming sensation from the hot summer sun beating down on him the whole day.
“Why were you breathing funny when you came back with my boat?”
He watched her sit up taller upon the question, and he didn’t even want to know what her face looked like. “I was tired because you woke me up so early.”
“You were soaking wet.” Egg stated.
“I also had to dive into the water to get it, you know this.”
“Ser Duncan came from the same place you walked from.”
“Perhaps he was searching for us because we both ran off without a word?”
“My lady, did he make you do it?” Egg’s voice broke.
Another hush fell in the forest between them. She didn’t speak right away, until she asked. “Make me do what, Egg?”
“Take off your clothes…” He swallowed thickly. She didn’t say anything again, and his stomach dropped as the words came out. “I saw you. You looked terrified and-!”
“-He made me do nothing of the sort.” She soothed. “I was alone when I found your boat, and I did not think he would be there when I resurfaced.”
Egg felt like he could breathe again. “I just…I’ve been with him for ages, and I didn’t think he’d ever do a thing like that…but I’ve known several knights to only flaunt their chivalry and never mean it.”
“Aegon,” she said his name tenderly, but he knew she was serious. “I cannot tell you how many knights I have known throughout my life who are exactly like the ones you say they are. But Duncan is…he could be like the lot of them; demanding and cruel for his own gain. He certainly is intimidating enough. Yet he chooses to be kind. It was merely a misunderstanding.”
He wanted to ask why they still danced around one another as if they were promenading on eggshells, yet he knew she would only remain silent. So, after saying he was finished with bathing, he dried off and clothed himself. They switched positions; her bathing in the water, and him with his back turned, humming to himself as he sharpened a stick with his dagger.
Then, Egg decided he was bored and asked.
“Have you ever been in love?”
She paused first, then he heard laugher. “Why do you ask?”
“I just want to know.”
“I’ve been alive, Egg.” She stated, and he heard the water moving behind him. “Of course I’ve been in love.”
“What does it feel like?”
“It’s different every time.”
“How?”
“Well,” she trailed on, thinking. “my first was when I was younger. He was a Baratheon boy, and I was traveling with a theatre troupe. It was young, bittersweet love and he was my first kiss. Then-.”
“-My lady,” Egg stopped her. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but are there fewer words to describe what it feels like?”
She giggled. “Seven hells, you’re ornery.”
“Please…”
There was another pause, and then she said. “It happens slowly, or all at once.”
Egg nodded, sitting with her explanation. Slowly or all at once…he supposed it made sense. Yet, there was something else he had to ask.
“Which one was it with Ser Duncan?”
She was quicker to answer than she was last time. “I beg your finest pardon, Little Prince?!”
“Well, that must be the case~” He sharpened the stick along with his tone. “If there’s no malice, then it’s a lover’s quarrel.”
She scoffed. “What do you know of love? Have you even been in it before?”
Egg was silenced, pondering it more than he should have. He loved…some of his family. He hated them at the same time, wishing to share blood with almost anyone other than the dragons. That wasn’t their fault, of course. He supposed he loved Ser Duncan; as a squire would love a knight that he served. Although, as he mentioned and knew before, Ser Duncan treated him more than a squire. Almost as if he shared his blood.
He loved the Witch, of course. She treated him like his age, but also as if he was older at the same time. She could be strict, but for most of it, she was gentle and kind toward him while she was snarky and deceptive to others.
But he couldn’t say that. No, she didn’t mean that.
“There was a pretty girl at an inn months ago.”
“Oh?” He could hear her smile.
“She wore a red ribbon in her hair.” He remembered her laugh when he made a joke. “I wanted to take it, but I know she would’ve slapped me if I had; and Ser Duncan would’ve done the same after.”
“You never touch a girl’s hair.” She spoke lightly, but of course, Egg knew she meant it.
“I know just…she was pretty. She was funny and kind too. Her name was Saskia.” He reminisced. “She was traveling with her family to King’s Landing. It was something about her aunt dying, and she had been reasonably wealthy, so she said her father was planning on-.”
“-Egg, put your shoes on.”
He nearly turned at the strain in her voice. Still, he merely followed her orders, slipping his boots on his feet. She rushed out of the water.
“What’s the matter?” He kept his head turned away while she hastily pulled her clothes on.
She said nothing, and when she put her own boots on, she drew her short sword out of its sheath, and hoisted her rucksack over her shoulder. She took Egg’s hand, leading him away from the river.
He hissed her name. “What’s going on?!”
“One of the men from earlier today,” she whispered. “he was across the river.”
Egg felt his breath leave his lungs. “He-he was?”
“I don’t…I don’t think it was an accident, but I-.”
Leaves wer scrunched close by, and thinking on her feet, they got off the road and took shelter under a mossy log over hanging down a small hill. Resting against the hillside, they stilled their breathing.
“Are you sure they came this way?” The voice of the older brother sighed.
“I know that girl’s face from anywhere.”
“You met her this morning.”
“Then her ass.” He laughed.
Egg held her hand tighter, and she held his the same.
A third voice, the one of the father’s, tisked. “Did you see the giant with them?”
“No.” The older brother answered. “He’s made camp a mile back.”
“Then it’s settled.” The father stated. “I’ll find the boy and girl, and you both slay the giant.”
“Father-!” The youngest began.
“-I don’t see what the issue is, you’ll be hailed giant killers.” He spoke as if it was meaningless. “You won’t have your fun with the Witch either; even if she isn’t a virgin, we’ll say she is and she’ll be worth more.”
“What of the scrawny bald boy?” The eldest question.
“Gods be good, I don’t know. His little hands could be used to make keys and locks I suppose. Now, off with you!”
They heard them scatter in different directions. When all was quiet, she peaked her head out first, then helped Egg up onto his feet.
“Whatever happens,” she sheathed her sword to detract potential noise. “if I tell you to run, you must.”
Egg blinked back tears. He couldn’t cry; not now. “My lady-.”
“-Aegon.” She took his face into her hands. “You find Ser Duncan and warn him.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve fought my way out before, and I can do it again.”
His lip quivered, and he hated himself for it. She embraced him tightly, and he sniffled as she shushed him. Soon, she released him, taking his hand once again and walking as quiet as they could through the woods. The trees were familiar, and Egg felt he was outside of his body as he walked, letting her lead him.
He wondered if she forgot the way too.
“Are you lost, my lady?”
They whipped their heads around in tandem, seeing the father atop a small ledge they just walked down from. As Egg tried to remain steadfast (and failing), she made it look easy.
Smiling, she giggled girlishly. “I suppose so. Are you as well?”
“More so my sons are. You wouldn’t have happened to have seen them, have you?”
“I would be with them now if I did.” She played along. “Where did you say the three of you were heading now?”
“Oldtown, for business.”
“Of course.”
She would not say that they were heading in the opposite direction of it, for he thought she was a fool. Even Egg knew that.
“Suppose we walk together until we find them?” He offered.
“I appreciate your kindness, but we must be getting back to my husband.” She lied almost too well.
He hummed. “Neither of you said you were married.”
“He doesn’t speak much, as you already know.” She chuckled.
“And I thought you were lost?”
“He’s quite jealous, as your sons already know. What kind of man would you be if he saw you walk out of the woods with me?”
“What kind of a husband is he to let you bathe alone?”
No one said anything, and no one moved. Her smile was so tight, Egg was sure it would peel her own skin. Without warning, the father pulled out his sword, and so did she.
“Run.” She didn’t look at him. The father swung his sword at Egg, and she blocked his blade by the skin of her teeth. “Run!”
Egg never was the fastest sprinter, even when he grew up, he still was slow. Yet, that one day, he swore his feet grew wings. His lungs were constricting as if a snake wrapped itself around them, yet Aegon would not slow even for a second.
The Seven (or any gods) must be real, because he somehow, out of the miles of forest, managed to find his way back to camp; back to his lord.
“Ser Dun-!” A hand clasped over his mouth, and an arm wrapped around his waist.
“Now don’t go and do that, little one!” The younger brother taunted in his ear. “We don’t want to wake the beast now.”
Egg sunk his teeth into his palm until he tasted blood. The man holding him hissed in pain, letting go of Egg and slapping him across the cheek. He crashed onto the ground, cradling his face.
“Oi!” The older brother pushed his younger brother. “The fuck is the little bastard going to do to you?”
“He’d alert him!”
“We’re already supposed to fucking kill him!”
Egg sprinted out of the trees, opening his mouth but nothing, not even a strangled cry, would come out. Yet, through his tears, he saw Ser Duncan running towards him. Egg fell to his knees, thinking his lord would rush past him and fight the men with all his might.
“Get up!” He bellowed yet picked up the boy in his arms.
Then, Egg found himself atop one of the horses, his head heavy yet hearing everything Ser Duncan was saying.
“Make for north,” he spoke rapidly, securing the saddle. “the inn we spoke of, go there and do not stop for nothing. Where is she?!”
A scream came from the woods. No, it was not of a woman’s high pitched squeal Egg heard her recreate in dramatic stories, nor was it anything he ever heard before.
She was in pain.
Egg sobbed. “Ser-.”
Duncan slapped the horse’s rear, sending the steed on its way. Egg took the reins, trying to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth to calm himself. He turned his head back and watched as Ser Duncan rose his sword from his side, running towards the brothers.
Egg only knew to go faster.
Perhaps it was a minute, or perhaps it was an hour, but after what felt like ages, and when he finally slowed down, did Aegon V Targaryen realize he had been going east the whole time.
Heaving heavily, he finally let some of the tears fall, realizing he was in fact, for the first time in nearly a year: alone.
He wiped his face and nose, trying to dry his eyes. A man shouldn’t cry in the face of evil and despair, he should face it head on.
“You’re a boy.” Ser Duncan had said one night after Egg had a nightmare of Aerion…of him entering his room. “You can only do so much.”
Simple words…words that could mean everything, anything, and nothing at the same time. Egg had told him what his father had said the last time he came crying about a nightmare; the same thing he had told himself when he finally wept alone on the horse.
And all Ser Duncan told him was that he couldn’t control the fear he felt.
Taking a deep breath, Egg looked up at the sky and saw how it grew darker and the sun was barely peeking out through the west. Pointing in all four directions of the road, Egg found what he assumed to be north.
He’d travel in small bursts of speed and then let his horse slow to a gallop. For the second time that day, Egg believed in gods as, just when the sun had set and he could scarcely see his own hand in front of his face, a light in the distant carried him.
It was indeed the inn his lady and lord spoke of. He tied the horse to a post, and pushed the heavy door, letting himself in.
He hardly remembers the nice innkeeper woman sitting him at a table and offering him bread and milk. She tried to speak to him, only getting his name and nothing else. He seldomly ate, just stared out the window, pressing himself against the glass to see any silhouettes in the distance.
Just as he was nodding off, he saw them.
On a single horse, she rode, and Ser Duncan led the steed towards the inn while limping.
With newfound energy, Egg leapt from his table and dashed outside. He didn’t care if it wasn’t proper of a squire or even a prince to embrace anyone, he wrapped his arms around Ser Duncan’s waist and sobbed. A hand ghosted his back, trying to rub soothing circles onto his cloak.
“That’s a good lad.” Duncan spoke through shallow breaths. “You actually did what you were told.”
Egg pulled away, his eyes turning to the woman on the horse. She was sitting tall when he saw her a second ago, now she was hunching over. In the pale lamplight, he saw how bloodied her face was, and how her left eye began to blacken.
He said her name, and she shushed him. “I’m alright, darling. Just a few scratches.”
“Bring out a healer, a maestar, anyone!” Ser Duncan commanded, picking her up as if she were his bride. He grunted through his teeth as he did.
Three men and the innkeeper came out. When a man attempted to take her from him, Ser Duncan merely glared. She laughed as they were led inside.
“You’re a stubborn oaf.” She looked towards the people helping them. “He took an arrow to the shoulder, perhaps you should aid him with that first?”
“Quiet, woman.” He bit, laying her on the cleared table as if she were something delicate. “It didn’t even go through.”
Egg rested against a chair, watching as the healers worked on her. Ser Duncan held her hand yet kept his eyes on the men who pulled her right boot off, revealing a deep and nasty wound to her leg.
The youngest Targaryen had no idea when he fell asleep. He only knew that, when he woke up, he was no longer on a chair in the tavern of the inn. Instead, he was tucked into a bed.
Looking around, he saw that he was in a single room. What calmed his racing heart was seeing all of his companion’s belongings. That, and the muffled voices coming from behind a cracked open door.
Egg got out of bed and tiptoed to the door, peeking in. Ser Duncan was in the bathtub that was almost comedically too small for him, and there was she beside him, her leg wrapped in bandages and draped on the floor as she sat up tall, attempting to clean his wound. Egg could see the entirety of his lord’s face, but only the back of his lady’s head.
“I can do it myself.” He grumbled. “I’m not a child.”
“You’re acting like one.” She said with her chest, still gently padding around the ugly wound. It was reddened, and just as Duncan said, did not go through all the way, yet there was still a hold the size of a silver stag. “Besides, I don’t want you to irritate your side.”
“It’s been irritated since the tourney; nothing will change it.” He grunted. “The wound’s already been cauterized; I just need to wrap it.”
She snorted. “You smacked one of the men who disinfected it. Gods forbid he doesn’t exactly want to keep treating you.”
He sighed. “I apologized. I can do this myself, you should be resting with the boy.”
“I’m fine.”
Her name left his lips in a way that sounded like he was scolding her, yet still held the same reverence he always had. She hissed as she tried to move, cradling her leg. Sighing, she rubbed her nose with the back of her free hand.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” She whispered. “I hadn’t thought I would die in a long time but there I was.”
Ser Duncan’s eyes fell as he stared at her. “I’m sorry you had to see it.”
“I’m not.” She shook her head. “All three of the bastards deserved it. They killed Petunia.”
“They hurt you.” His voice broke slightly. “You and the boy. When I saw one of them grab him, I thought it was over. When I found you…when I heard you…I didn’t think you’d be breathing.”
“But I am.” She leaned in closer, noticing his eyes glaze over with unshed tears. “I’m right in front of you, and the boy’s sleeping soundly just outside.”
He continued to stare at her, as if it were the last time he’d see her face, and he was memorizing every inch of it. Without looking away, she took his hand and placed it on her face. She kissed his palm.
Egg, with bated breath, watched as Ser Duncan’s face changed from mortified to relaxed. He ran his hand over her face, then her neck, his fingers loosely caressing her hair. His eyes never changed. While he still looked at her with an intensity Egg never saw from him, there was also a gentleness he was familiar with.
“There was a girl.” He confessed. “When I was…I was just a little older than Egg, and she was my…”
She placed her one hand on his face, rubbing his cheek. “You do not need to tell me.”
“I couldn’t protect her.” He whispered. “It was Ser Arlan who saved me that day, but I could not save her.”
Her hand moved into his hair, softly combing each strand. He shut his eyes in content for the first time in perhaps weeks. “You were just a boy. There was only so much you could do.”
He looked at her, not saying anything. So, she did instead. “Perhaps I should speak kinder of Ser Arlan. For Egg and I would be lost if it weren’t for you or for him.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Well, what if we weren’t?” She asked. “What matters is that we want you with us.”
Ser Duncan, slow enough to let her pull away, placed his hands onto her face. “I want…I want to tell you something. Tomorrow, when my mind is clearer.”
She placed her hands on his. “Will you? Even if you think I will ridicule you, you will still tell me?”
“I will.”
She kneeled onto her unhurt leg, moving his hair back to kiss his forehead. Egg moved away from the door, feeling as if he wasn’t supposed to be watching anymore. Tucking himself back into bed, he tried to fall back asleep. He was tired enough, it should’ve worked.
Yet, just as how he always once, once something was in his head, he could not sleep.
He heard their muffled voices a few more times, but for the most part, they were silent. Then, perhaps twenty minutes later, they both exited the washroom. Egg shut his eyes tightly. She sat at the foot of Egg’s bed, rubbing his shoulder.
“Haven’t we told you it’s rude to eavesdrop?” She jested softly.
Egg opened his eyes, sitting up. “Are they dead?”
“Yes.”
She spoke plainly before, but never when it came to death. If a bad person was dead, she’d always say “They can’t hurt anyone anymore”. Now, she tenderly ran her fingers over his still reddened cheek, saying they were never coming back.
“Did he hurt you horribly, my lady?”
“The healer said I may need to walk with a crutch.” She shrugged. “So, no dancing for a while.”
Egg looked over at Duncan, who was staring out the only window. “Ser Duncan will carry you.”
He turned at his name, and she merely giggled. “His arm is pretty wounded.”
“I’ll still do it.” Dunk said without hesitation.
“Gods above,” she sighed with a smile. “may we argue the day after tomorrow? I’m exhausted.”
“Why not tomorrow?” Egg questioned.
“I’ll be asleep.” She tucked herself into Egg’s bed. “So, let me sleep.”
Another moment later, she was out like a light. Even as Egg and Dunk spoke, she did not wake.
“What happened, Ser Duncan?” Asked the squire. “Truly?”
He looked out the window, before then back at the boy. “It’s not for a lad to hear.”
“But I’m not.” He refuted. “I’ve been your squire for nearly a year now. I know how horrible men can be, and what they deserve because of it.”
“And what if I don’t wish to tell you?” He thinned his lips.
“I don’t see the shame in it. They attacked us, what you had to do-.”
“-Even if her and I were in the right, perhaps we don’t want to share what we had to do.”
Egg’s eyes drifted to the sleeping woman. “She killed one of them?”
“Aye,” he nodded. “one of them.”
He knew his lord would not speak of it anymore if he asked. Perhaps there was more to the Witch of Westeros than Egg would ever know.
Dunk gently clasped his shoulder. “Now, go to bed. You've earned it.”
Egg had no time to argue, for once sleep was offered, he finally felt his body grow heavy. He fell onto the bed next to the sleeping woman, having only the strength to shut his eyes and place his head on the pillow.
The last thing Egg felt was Ser Duncan’s coarse hands pick him up to place him under the covers before losing himself to sleep.
Summary: A knight and a squire weren't the strangest traveling companions you ever had. Despite how they acted more like brothers (or father and son on some occasions), they were well behaved and had treated you with nothing but decency for the last six months. Then, after you bought a toy boat for the squire one day, and then he loses it the next...things change.
Warning(s): Harsh Language, Mention of Child Slavery/Kidnapping, and Voyeurism (but not really?? Nothing sexual happens but something does happen).
I couldn't come up with convincing or fitting titles, so we're just going to title the chapters like we're a sitcom in the late 90s and early 2000s. To be fair, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms has that amount of whimsiness and unseriousness so I feel it fits. Yes, you can imagine the opening theme to It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia when you read these titles (I will). I hope you enjoy it!
Part 1 of 3 (Masterlist)
Word Count: 2.5k
“You shouldn’t spoil him.” Dunk said as you rode beside each other. “You know we haven’t the coin.”
“We?” You jested. “Good ser, you may be poorer than all of Flea Bottom, but I am a woman of great wealth.”
“You spent most of your money on a silly little toy.”
“It’s not silly!” Egg spoke up from behind you, holding up the small wooden boat you bought him from a wandering toymaker a mile back.
Smirking, you eyed Dunk before gently petting the mane of your steed. You spoke softly to her as you lowered your head to listen to her champing. “What’s that, Petunia? Oh, I am far better than the man who snores to wake the dead and hasn’t bathed in two and a half weeks?”
“It’s only been a week.” He responded.
You cackled, sitting taller on your horse, and Egg began to chuckle as well. Duncan scolded. “Oi! It’s not funny.”
“Then why are we laughing?” Egg questioned through his giggles.
“I’ll clout you on the ear if you keep that up.”
“You won’t lay a finger on that boy and we know it.” You stated, staring ahead.
He scoffed. “How do you know I won’t?”
“It wouldn’t be honorable of you to do so.” You explained. “Striking a child for merely laughing. And you do wish to be an honorable knight, don’t you?”
Dunk eyed you, and you weren’t able to tell if he was attempting to read your thoughts or collect his. Then, he asked. “Is this intuition of a maiden, or of a witch?”
The Witch of Westeros. That is the title both royalty and Smallfolk had given you. You were by no means a grand lady of magic and enchantment. Simply, you were far cleverer than most, and that was how you earned your keep in a good few traveling circuses throughout your life.
For a year even, you had been a jester of sorts for the Lannisters of all houses.
If being an entertainer wasn’t a choice of work at the time, you made your coin in misdirection with gamblers. Placing a rock under one of three cups, then carefully using a sleight-of-hand to move it as you shifted the cups around to trick any poor participant was one of your favorites.
Even if it had nearly gotten you into trouble.
That was how you met Dunk and Egg nearly half a year ago. In Duskendale, you hadn’t been so clever. The rock slipped down the sleeve of your tunic, and the man in front of you shoved you onto the ground as others crowded around.
One would assume it was Ser Duncan the Tall who stepped in to save you. While he of course had the intent, it was you who had gotten the angry man onto the ground beneath you, and Dunk had to be the one to pull you off of him.
After standing there in unadulterated astonishment (and to allow you to teach the man a lesson) of course.
Dunk and Egg bought you a warm bowl of broth, and the rest was history. You had a fair amount of coin, were bored, and wanted traveling companions as you made perhaps your second round of all of Westeros.
You were used to traveling with huge groups of performers or even by yourself for years on end. This was the longest time you were with just a few individuals. It was nice.
“It is my own intuition.” You answered.
“So then why should I trust it?” He asked, and you were well aware he was feigning ignorance simply to bait you into yelling at him. It wouldn’t work (it did for the first few times he’d done it).
“Because I’d like to believe you have some sense.”
Dunk merely smiled. The three of you traveled until the sun began to sink in the distance, and the sky colored a beautiful orange and yellow. Sleeping under the blanket of stars each night didn’t bother you anymore, but there were days you wished to sleep in a warm bed.
Still, at least you didn’t mind cooking whatever food you had and turning it into a stew of some sort.
“How’d you sleep last night?” Dunk asked as you stirred the pot. Egg was off by the horses, feeding them and making conversation; a trait he had picked up from the knight he squired.
“On my back.” You didn’t look up at him.
“You know what I mean.”
You did. He was asking if you had dreamt of the night you always had dreamt for decades. It was always clear in your mind, that night you were stolen from your bed as a child. You were only six, and slavers had crept into your home like silent devils and had taken you.
They didn’t sell you to be a cupbearer to the royal family; no, you were simply a stable girl for an already poor family. A year later, you had managed to successfully run away, and attempted to find your way back home.
There were a fair amount of problems though. For one, you had no money. The other….you could not remember the village you had grown up in. Or was it even that? Was it just a single house in the middle of nowhere?
One could say you never stopped searching for home, but you’d have lapses. Soemtimes, you’d give up and try to find a place to belong. Then, you realized it didn’t work and would try again. You’d been living that cycle for almost ten years.
“There faces were melting this time.” You said, still not looking at him. “The slavers, my parents, and my brothers and sisters…I don’t think I’d even recognize them if they were right in front of me.”
“You will.”
You snorted, meeting his eyes. “You say it like you know it.”
“I do.”
“Oh yeah?” You jested. “I thought I was the fortuneteller?”
“You don’t need magic to know that you’ll find them someday.”
“Just hope, I assume?”
“Westeros is only so big.” He explained plainly. “Even if they’re gone, you’ll have to find something about them eventually.”
You nodded, setting the spoon down and laying against your rucksack, watching as the sky bled into night. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course, I am.” He scoffed, meaning to feign pride but was failing as clear as day. “I might be stupid, but I’m not completely slow.”
“You’re neither.” You said quickly. “Slow to rise in the morning on occasion, but never in mind.”
Dunk smiled, though not one of gratitude. Perhaps it was, but you knew the smile he made whenever he found something laughable; and that was exactly it.
“Never heard the old fella say that.” He stated.
“May I be candid with you?”
He said your name. “You don’t have to tell me you wouldn’t have liked him-.”
“-I would’ve hated him.”
“But he would’ve liked you.”
You laughed. “Liked to have fucked me.”
“Must you speak so crudely?” He lightly kicked your rucksack. “He would’ve thought you were clever, and witty, and-.”
“-Those mean the same thing.”
“See?!” He leaned forward, entranced. “You are sharp minded.”
“Nobody ever said I wasn’t; I just told you to not call yourself dumb.”
“You and Egg always do.”
Sighing, you sat up and made your way over to Dunk, walking on your knees and plopping yourself beside him.
“We don’t mean it.”
“I do!” Egg yelled from a short distance with the horses.
You angled your face over to him. “Seven hells, boy! I thought we told you to stop eavesdropping?!”
“It’s not eavesdropping if you talk so loudly!”
Rolling your eyes, you looked back at Duncan, who was fighting a smile. “Point is, I may be far cleverer than the lot of you, that doesn’t make you or Egg stupid.”
He hummed. “Understood.”
The rest of the night went on without any ruckus (Egg though he heard wolves in the night, but it was just a Loon bird. You and Dunk had fun teasing him). The weather wasn’t too cold, so sleeping under your blankets felt quite nice.
Once you finally closed your eyes, the next time you opened them, you could see the purple sky above you as morning was beginning to break. It was a little hand shaking your shoulder that awoke you.
Egg whispered your name in your ear, and you rubbed your eyes.
“What is it, darling?” You asked softly, using the nickname to stop yourself from asking, why in gods name is he waking you up so early?
“I lost my boat.”
Your eyes grew momentarily before sighing, placing your hands upon them. “I just bought it for you not even a full day ago.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“Do you wish for me to buy you a new one? Because I won’t-.”
“-Can you help me find it?” He asked. “I just floated it down the river and turned away for only a moment, and it was gone.”
Usually, you would’ve rolled over and said nothing. Yet…you were feeling strangely generous that day. So, with a sigh, you rise and put your shoes on.
“Show me where.” You grumbled.
He took your hand and led you into the tree line. A short walk later (or perhaps it was longer, you were still half asleep), he brought you to a rolling river. You followed it until it split off into two.
“Egg…” You warned, only then just starting to truly wake up.
“Just until the sun comes up, please?” He begged. “If we don’t find it before then, I won’t ask you to buy me anything ever again.”
Despite questioning it, you still agreed. The two of you split up; you taking the path to the right, and him to the left.
There was something peaceful about taking a walk along the riverside. You could hear faint whispers of both the morning breeze and the bugs waking up alongside summer. It was moments like that which gave you reason to keep getting up each day; not simply to find your family, but to live with what small joys you could find.
Yes, those included Egg and Duncan. Despite only knowing them for six months, you felt as if it had been years. You instantly matched Egg’s snarky tone yet felt an odd sort of protectiveness towards him. While you weren’t a fighter by trade, you knew how to defend yourself. Yes, it was by the skin of your teeth, but you knew how to get out in a pinch.
Dunk was…different from any man you’d ever met. Perhaps not really. Yes, you had met men who were gentle beyond compare, but they weren’t much of the knight type. The knights you knew were, at best, chivalrous for a performance and only decent in genuine. At worst? They were utter pigs.
Ser Duncan the Tall wasn’t like that. He was tender and kind, even if you were anything but to him. He put your wellbeing and Egg’s over his, despite only knowing you for a short time. There was a devotion he had to being a true knight that you had never seen before.
As you pondered all of this, and just as you saw the sun beginning to peek out on the horizon, light shined upon the river’s edge, and you saw a figure deep in the water. Taking a closer look, you could not believe the sight of Egg’s sunken toy boat.
Perhaps it was you wanting the water to wake you up, or maybe you just wanted to go swimming, but you decided to actually get it despite how it was more than likely useless and broken.
Sighing in relief, you slipped off your boots and stripped of your heavy shirt and pants. Leaving you in only a slip, you dove into the water.
You underestimated how dark it would be as you swam. Still, whilst holding your breath, you managed to make out the figure of the boat, feeling around for it in the dirt. When the wooden beam caressed your fingers, you took the boat into your hand and swam upwards.
Breaking through the surface, you inhaled a heavy breath, pulling yourself back up onto land.
Once you felt the warm grass between your toes and were on your feet, you saw a man a few feet away from the river.
There, before you, Ser Duncan the Tall stood. His mouth gaped open wide as your eyes met him. Despite the warm sun beginning to shine and warm everything it touched, your body was cold.
It wasn’t the first time a man had gazed upon you like this; where you hadn’t even known he was there whilst you were…
Whilst your slip clung to your bodice, outlining every curve you had and leaving little to any man or woman’s imagination.
Dunk shut his mouth, breathing through his nose. Many would have called you a beast tamer the way you kept your eyes on him, as if putting him in a trance. Yet, you weren’t; you were shaking beneath his gaze.
He soon took notice, breaking eye-contact with you. Remembering yourself, you rushed to put on your clothes. You still saw how his chest shook as he tried not to glance up at your changing. When you were finished, you huffed, clutching the boat and walking past him.
Dunk called your name. “Wait-.”
You only walked faster. Ringing your hair out, you tried to even your breathing as you made your way back to camp.
How dare he? How dare he look upon you and watch as you stripped and dove into the water?! For a man who wanted to deem himself different than the other knights, he was just the same as them.
…And yet…why weren’t you completely afraid of him when you met his eyes? Why was it that your heart started to palpitate not with anxiety, but with desire?
Why did a part of you want him to approach you, gently of course, and hover his face over yours? To ask ‘Okay?’ before you said ‘Yes’ and he would kiss you?
Why, oh why, couldn’t you decide whether you wanted him to lie you down on the green, green grass, or have him pull you above him?
Because you always knew you thought of him like that. There was never any denying it; only avoidance.
“You found it!”
Egg’s enthusiasm made you jump, but a smile soon returned to your lips as you held out the toy to him.
“And don’t lose it next time.” You laughed, squeezing his shoulder.
“The sail’s all wet.” He frowned.
“We’ll find a new piece of cloth and replace it.” You led him back to camp. Sure enough, Dunk wasn’t back either.
The two of you packed up everything, and just as you were nearly finished, who wandered back into camp but Ser Duncan?
“Where were you?” Egg asked.
“None of your lousy business.” He grumbled, purposefully avoiding your eyes as he readied his horse. “Now come on, daylight is burning.”
“The sun just rose!”
“Now!”
You said nothing, simply petting Petunia’s mane and keeping your eyes on hers. Nothing else was said as the three of you mounted your horses for the long road ahead.
Dunk didn’t ride beside you for that whole day, and you couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened differently by the river that morning.
(if you knew what it was) (Chapter 2) | Moderation (Chapter 4)
Pairing: Father Jud Duplenticy x Reader
Rating: Explicit - 18+Only
Notes: ....so this is now gonna be four parts.
Length: 4.6K
Warnings: Reader is an ex-Catholic; yearning; angst; slow burn; mom guilting; Catholic trauma; explicit sexual content: grinding; humping; oral sex; breast play
Summary: "It’s always in the back of my mind, I guess. It all happened here, it’s with me always. To think,” Jud gives a soft laugh, “I wound up in the middle of a murder plot because I punched a deacon.”
Your brows raise, mouth working wordlessly, but Jud waves you off, “Long story.”
The accent catches you off-guard, first—followed by the man’s quick smile and removal of his wide-brimmed hat when he spots you behind the desk in the rectory office.
“Do excuse me, miss. I’m lookin’ for Father Jud.”
“He’s running a couple of errands ahead of our Christmas concert later, but he should be back soon. Is there anything I can help you with?” You ask, pushing yourself up to stand.
“Oh, no. I was merely passin’ through, thought I’d drop in on him.”
“If you like, I can give him a message, Mr…?”
“Where are my manners,” The man shakes his head, closing the distance between the two of you and holding out his hand, “Benoit Blanc.”
The name rings a faint bell, and you try to suss out where you remember it from as you shake his hand and offer your name in turn.
“Blanc, you—You’re the detective?”
“Yes. I had the pleasure of meeting Father Jud under some rather unfortunate circumstances—but he seems to have come through the unpleasantness alright. Least, he had the last time I saw him.”
Your lips part to reassure Blanc that Jud is, indeed, fine—but your mind stalls on the memory of your conversation just a few days ago, knees brushing as Jud's as he made his admission of a crisis of faith. You force your lips closed as Blanc’s eyes narrow slightly, pushing a smile onto your face.
“How long are you in town?” You ask. “You said you were just passing, is that, that—are you coming from another case?”
Blanc gives a small nod, eyes wandering your face.
“I am, yes. Rather tricky little knot, though not half as interesting in whatever it is you just stopped yourself from sayin’. Is Father Jud alright?”
You bite down on the inside of your cheek as nerves well up, but relax a touch as you hear the front door of the rectory open, the call of Jud thanking one of the parishioners for giving him a ride.
“I think you’re about to find out,” You nod toward the door.
”Christ, that farmer’s market,” Jud puffs, cheeks ruddy from the cold as he rounds into the office, “The way people were fighting over the apple cider, you’d think it came straight from the fountain of youth—Blanc!”
You smile, lowering your gaze as the two of them embrace. You can see Jud’s hands steadying on Benoit’s shoulders as they draw back, do your best to ignore the two of them chatting until you hear:
“Have you two met?”
You glance up, doing a double-take at the sound of Jud’s question.
“We have,” You confirm.
“Very briefly,” Benoit nods, and when you meet his gaze again, you see that curious twinkle back in his eye. Jesus, leave it to you to think you could hide something from a detective.
“Can I grab you something to drink?” You hurry to add, “Coffee, water—“
“I got some extra cider, if you’re interested,” Jud tacks on, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“That all sounds lovely, but I wouldn’t mind somethin’ a bit stronger to warm from the cold.”
“I’ve got brandy.”
“Jud,” You snort, “It’s barely three in the afternoon.”
“A little one wouldn’t hurt,” Benoit insists, “That is, so long as the two of you would grant me the pleasure of your company.”
And Jud is clearly set to, but you give a small shake of your head, insisting, “I really should finish getting things together for the concert.”
“What things?” Jud frowns, “You’ve folded the programs, decorated the pews—“
“I should help set up the tables for the bake sale.”
“You’ve been here twice as long as the others have been. C’mon, take a break,” He urges with a pleading little tip of his head, “You don’t have to have any brandy if you don’t want it.”
You can feel Benoit watching you still, but you can’t bring yourself to look away from Jud. You draw in a deep breath through your nose, letting your shoulders sag a little.
“Alright,” You nod. “One little one.”
--
“You didn’t!”
You can’t stop giggling, but the image of Benoit blasting the overture to the Phantom of the Opera on the church’s organ to stop Jud from speaking is sending you over the edge. Of course, the two little snifters of brandy that you’ve had on a practically empty stomach don’t seem to be helping you much, either.
Jud has one hand pressed against a pinking cheek, the other still curled around his glass.
“I most certainly did,” Benoit doubles down with a chortle, “And I’d do it again.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Jud insists, gaze set on the coffee table between the two couches. Benoit nudges your arm with his, adding,
“I tell you, there had to be half a dozen times in 52 hours that I had to stop the boy from confessing to somethin’ he simply didn’t do.”
“That’s the Catholic in ‘im,” You tease, “Unlimited wells of guilt on demand, day and night.”
“The Catholic in him?” Benoit repeats, looking between you and where Jud is sitting opposite him. “Not in you both?”
“No—”
“It’s not really my thing,” You insist over the way Jud waves Benoit off. “I’m in town for family stuff. My mom’s Catholic, teaches some courses for the kids here, I’m just filling in.”
“Bit like you, Benoit,” Jud adds. “Grew up with it around, but—”
“Didn’t take,” You finish.
“I see,” Benoit shifts so that he’s angled toward you slightly. “Have you found it tricky, teachin’ it without believing in it?”
You consider for a moment, lips pursed as you think about the presentations, the lessons, the rosary beads in your purse just feet away in the office.
“I…I don’t know. Not tricky, per se? I’m just…I’ve been trying to frame it the way I would’ve wanted it when I was a kid. Don’t know if it's actually been helpful to the kids or not, though.”
“It has,” Jud insists, and his tone is so soft that you can’t help but look at him. He’s smiling at you the way he did on the bus last week, with sweet warmth, and care—and knowing. “And you haven’t been trying to frame the lessons that way, you have been framing them for those kids, just…Perfectly.”
Your stomach flips at the insistence, the feeling heavier than it was just moments ago.
“I think the brandy’s getting to your head,” You nod to the glass still in his hand as you set yours down. “I’m gonna just run to the bathroom—excuse me.”
Benoit half-rises as you do, and you smile as you dart around the couch, hurrying down the hall. You brace your hands on the narrow sink once inside, closing your eyes. Christ, that brandy hit you harder than you thought. You’re not drunk, but you’re definitely buzzed. You pull your phone out of your pocket, eyeing the time. You’ll be able to sober up before the concert, you’ve got an hour—and you’ll just be sitting through it, it’s not as if you’ll be up there performing with the kids.
--
“It would be against my vows.”
You’re three, maybe four feet from the living room when you hear Jud say that—the rise of it, the almost hysterical tip to his voice. You still in your step, listening as you hear Blanc’s rebuttal:
“Didn’t you once tell me that you were here to love the world? This, not this?”
“I can’t care for her, not like that.”
“Anyone with a set’a workin’ eyes and ears can see the way you two are with one another.”
“We’re not any certain way—”
“Oh-ho!” Benoit laughed, “And here I thought lyin’ was a sin.”
“It—” Jud stops, and you hear him sigh, “It’s not that simple. I could never forgive myself.”
“It may behoove you to remember that it’s your God that does the forgiving—and you’re still very human, Jud.”
You hesitate, taking a couple of silent steps back before you make your steps pointedly heavier, rounding into the living room again.
“I should really get over to the…” You trail off at the sight of them: Jud with his elbows on his knees, a hand obscuring his mouth; Benoit leaning back against the cushions of the couch, gaze heavy on Jud. He turns his head, face lighting up with a smile as he gives you a nod to keep talking. But Jud won’t look at you.
“Over to the church,” You finally finish, “Help people set things up. Are you staying for the concert, Mr. Blanc?”
“I think not,” Benoit stands, crossing to you. “It is a lovely church, marvelously detailed rafters, but I’m due in Pennsylvania tomorrow for a case. My train is in an hour.”
“Ah, cool. It was nice to meet you.”
“Very nice to meet you as well, my dear.”
You glance over toward Jud to find his eyes closed, his head bowed and hands clasped as if in prayer. You take a couple of steps back, giving Benoit a tight smile.
“Have a safe trip.”
--
It doesn’t hit you fully until you’re out in the cold, walking to the church.
I can’t care for her.
Care for her. For who? You don’t dare hope that he meant—
Not like that.
Not like what?
Anyone can see the way you two are with one another.
You stall in the church yard, lowering yourself to sit on a bench. You left so quickly you didn’t even take your coat or your bag. You should be cold, but you are boiling as you replay what you heard.
It would be against my vows.
What would be against his vows? And why wouldn’t Jud look at you when you left? Your head is spinning as you consider it. You don’t think…At least, you can’t be certain that he feels anything for you beyond friendship, and that’s certainly not against his vows.
You can’t be positive, not without asking him—and there’s no way you’re going to ask, because even if he does feel something for you, nothing can happen. Nothing is going to happen.
--
It’s so quiet between the two of you—disconcertingly so. You’re cursing the fact that you left your coat and bag at the rectory, which you’d managed to forget for the bulk of the Christmas concert, and the clean-up.
You mutter your thanks as Jud opens the door for you, stepping inside past him and heading right for the rectory office. You don’t like this. You haven’t felt so ill at ease since you arrived in Chimney Rock, and it’s never felt awkward in this way around Jud, not even when you didn’t know one another well.
You take up your bag, pulling in a deep breath to try and push the discomfort down in your stomach. You can see Jud lingering in the doorway, can tell that he’s already taken off his coat—and wonder if he’s waiting to see you out so he can lock up. You’ll be quick, you decide, setting your bag on the desk and reaching for your coat.
“It was nice.”
Leave it up to Jud to break the ice, and with such an open-ended statement.
“Hm?”
“The concert.”
“Oh,” You nod, giving him a fleeting smile. “Yeah, was.” And then, because you can’t help yourself: “It was nice to meet Mr. Blanc, too.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” Jud shifts from foot to foot. “I was surprised to see him.”
“Wonder what his next case’ll be.”
“Having seen what he gets mixed up in, I’m sure it’ll be a doozy.”
You tighten your coat around yourself as you look up at Jud, finding him scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck.
“...Did seeing him bring back up stuff?” You ask, “About…You know. Everything that happened?”
Jud considers for a moment, giving a small shrug. “In a way, but it’s always in the back of my mind, I guess. It all happened here, it’s with me always. To think,” He gives a soft laugh, “I wound up in the middle of a murder plot because I punched a deacon.”
Your brows raise, mouth working wordlessly, but Jud waves you off, “Long story.”
And god do you wanna pry, but you also know that you should get out of the man’s hair. He’s waiting for you to go, standing by to see you out. So you take up your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the door, sliding past Jud when he doesn’t move right away. God, what is he doing, and what are you thinking? What are you meant to think?
You know what you heard, and you know that you almost certainly weren’t meant to hear it.
You turn back to Jud just before you reach the door. Christ, but words are clogging in your throat, what can you say? But he beats you to the punch.
“Seeing Benoit did bring a few things up. Not about the case, necessarily, but more that if all of that hadn’t happened…if the church had been shuttered like Wicks planned, I wouldn’t have the community I’m so fortunate to have, and I wouldn’t…” He takes a step closer, stopping just a breath away from you. “I wouldn’t have met you.”
You swallow thickly, hand flexing on your bag strap, heart ticking up in your chest as Jud’s gaze flickers to yours. You try to smile, but you’re only able to muster a thin, weak press of your lips.
“If that’s the case, maybe it would’ve been better if it had been shut down then, huh?” You try to joke. But where Jud has often leaned into the tease, or at least tried to indulge you, he shakes his head now.
“You can’t really believe that.”
“I was just—”
“I know you were kidding, but I’m not, I can’t—” He braces his hand against the wall beside you, gaze lowering to the floor as he seems to steel himself. Your smile wilts completely, stomach lurching with remorse. You set your bag aside, closing the gap between the two of you and resting your hands on his arms.
“Hey,” You soothe, “I’m sorry.”
“...I hate hearing you talk about yourself like that.”
You sigh softly, resting your forehead against his shoulder.
“Alright, alright,” You mumble. And you’re going to pull away, you plan to, but Jud’s arms curl around your waist before you can, drawing you closer. You nuzzle into him, hands sliding up and around his shoulders. You revel in the feeling of his body against yours, shiver as his lips brush against your temple. Your fingers flex in the fabric of his shirt as you hesitantly turn your head, tipping your chin up just a touch. You’re holding your breath as his nose brushes your skin, eyes searching your face under the sweep of his lashes.
“God help me.”
The words are hardly out of Jud’s mouth before his lips are on yours. A stunned whimper escapes your throat, surprise melting into need as you push yourself into his chest. It’s too good—the way Jud kisses you is desperate, but sweet. He nips your lip but calms it with his tongue before you can really feel the sting.
You hardly mark the way he guides you back into the living room, too focused on the press of his lips, the swipe of his tongue against the seam of yours. The two of you pull apart just long enough for him to drop back onto the couch and guide you down with him. You climb onto his lap with your heart in your throat, fingers sliding into his hair and taking control of the kiss as his hands wander your sides, your back. He looses a groan as you use your grasp on him to tug his head to the side, letting your lips and tongue trace the tattoo that’s been tormenting you since you came back to Chimney Rock.
You feel his fingers flex against your shirt, dipping along your waistband before he stills.
“Can, nngh,” He groans low in your ear, “Can I touch—”
“You can touch me anywhere you want, Jud, please.”
Jud lets out a shuddering moan, his hands sliding hesitantly to grasp your ass, using the hold to tug you down against his lap. You shudder at the feeling of him hardening beneath you, breaking the kiss as a shaky breath drops out of your mouth. Your lips hover over one another’s for a few moments, hips rolling in perfect harmony as Jud’s hands flex against you.
His fingers tighten in your side, and you feel his brow furrowing where your foreheads are pressed together.
“We can stop,” You breathe, “I know this is a lot, but we can—”
“I don’t want to,” Jud insists, “Do you—?”
“No.”
Jud groans, hand curling around your cheek and drawing you down for another hungry kiss as his hips thrust up against yours. It’s baffling, how clothed the two of you are, and how good he feels beneath you in spite of it. Your hands wander his chest and arms, cataloguing the strength and firmness of the muscle laid out beneath you.
You can feel his grip tightening on you, grinding you more harshly into his lap as his kisses grow sloppy, more desperate—
--
Can we talk?
It’s not the most surprising text in the world to wake up to. It does give you some pause, gut swooping at the sight before you let your phone drop onto the mattress, your hands coming up to scrub at your eyes.
You didn’t sleep well.
You’d tried, but every time your mind went quiet, it became crowded with Jud again: with his kisses; his touch; his tight grip; the stunned look on his face: eyes squeezing shut as he’d cum in his pants, mouth falling open with a lustful moan.
And then the sweet way his face had flooded red, apologies falling from his lips. You’d done your best to soothe him, swear that it was alright, insist that you ought to head home and relieve Shanon of looking after your mom.
You’d been slick and aching on the drive home, but you hadn’t touched yourself. Your mom had demanded details of the Christmas concert as soon as you’d gotten in, and the conversation had done two things for you:
Brought up a guilt in you like never before
Made you as dry as the Wilderness of Sin
Of course Jud wants to talk. He’s probably going to break it off, tell you that last night was a mistake—Well, not break it off, the two of you aren't entangled enough for the two of you to break up—But if he wants to detach completely? To call it quits on the friendship you’ve built in the last few weeks, the only spot of warmth in this godforsaken town—?
You turn your head into your arms, drawing in a deep breath and curling your nails into your palm as panic buzzes in your chest like a kicked hornet's nest. Fuck, you’ve barely known the man a month and the thought of his loss makes you want to curl up in this bed, surrounded by the blue walls he liked so much, and never leave.
--
He meets you at the door, and for a split-second, you brace for full emotional impact, for complete distance.
But you’re on one another in seconds, kisses more confident than the ones shared last night, and Jud is reaching back to lock the front door to the rectory before he’s leading the way upstairs.
The narrow little bedroom is bright from the single stained glass window on the back wall. The walls are plain, entirely unadorned, and the bed looks so narrow when you glance toward it again. Jud’s hands cup your cheeks, drawing you in for another consuming kiss. Your hands lift, grasping at his shirt, nails skating across the buttons, but when you reach his clerical collar, you hesitate.
The two of you part for a moment, hot breath puffing against kiss-bruised lips. Your fingers skim the band, surprisingly cool despite where it rests on his heated skin. You see Jud’s adam’s apple bob just beneath it, sending the shock of white rippling before he reaches behind himself. The collar sags, then droops before he yanks the collar away.
You slide your fingers greedily against the bared skin, fingers almost fumbling as they undo the line of buttons. His shirt is next to be discarded, a white tank still obscuring your view of his chest. But before you can reach for that, Jud’s fingers sneak along the hem of your top, and you give a quick nod, a mumble of, “Please.”
It joins his on the floor, and you pull in a gasp as he dips in, dropping kisses to your bared skin. His lips and tongue trail along your jaw, down over your collarbones before they’re dipping lower. You reach back before he can ask, undoing the clasp of your bra and tugging it off. Jud drops to sit on the bed, but where he’d pulled you into his lap the night before, he rests a hand on your waist, keeping you upright.
You watch his eyes go almost hazy with want as he leans up, tongue flicking questioningly over one of your pebbling nipples. You pull in a quick breath at the heat of it, and can’t hide your moan as he draws it fully into his mouth, his thumb sneaking up to swipe at the other. You slide a hand into his hair, thighs squeezing together as he toys and teases your breasts. You glance down, stomach fluttering at the sight of him palming himself through his pants.
You draw back from Jud, dipping your head to kiss him as you kneel, pushing his knees wide. You work his belt off, button and zip following, and he lifts his hips just enough for you to draw his pants and underwear off together. You lean back with a chuckle as they get caught around his shoes, waving off his, “Shit, sorry,” as he twists slightly, kicking them off.
“S’okay,” You insist as he spreads his legs, “Priorities, right?”
His smile begins to widen, but melts with his soft sigh of, “Oh,” as you trail your knuckle over his cock, the hardened length curving up toward his belly. You lean in, tracing the same path with the tip of his tongue, your fingers curling around the base of his cock as you take him into your mouth. You hear Jud draw in two quick breaths, as if you’ve stolen both from him, see his hands flex in the sheets on either side of him.
You let your eyes close, reveling in the length of him filling your mouth, the weight of him against your tongue. You remember how quickly he’d cum last night, and you’re determined to make this last longer than that. You feel Jud’s fingers curl around your jaw, and lift your head as he urges. You open your eyes, finding that he’s removed his tank, revealing the full length of his muscled torso to you. You part your lips, waggling your tongue along the underside of the head, and smile as you feel his cock twitch, taste the salty pearl of fluid that beads on his tip.
“Come here,” Jud begs, “Please, please.”
You stand as he asks, kicking your shoes off and wriggling out of your leggings and panties before you’re climbing into bed with him. It’s a bit of a squeeze, and the frame creaks with the two of you, but you don’t care. Hell, you’d fuck him on the floor if that was what he wanted. You just want to feel him—over you, under you, beside you, you couldn’t care where he had you, as long as he had you—as long as he wanted.
Jud slips his tongue past your lips, whimpering at the taste of himself on your tongue as your bodies press together—and then the two of you both freeze. Your slick cunt throbs at the feeling of his dick slotted against it. Your pussy pulses, empty, and you give an experimental tip of your hips up toward him.
Jud looses a strangled groan, his forehead dropping against your shoulder, taking a few deep breaths.
“We can’t—” He manages, “I don’t—”
“That’s okay, it’s okay,” You soothe, sliding your hands over his shoulders, nails teasing at the ridge of muscle. “Do, um—” You swallow, struggle with the words. “Do you think you can cum like this?”
“Are you kidding?” He breathes, face tipping up toward yours, “This feels—” His breath catches in his throat as he presses down against you again, “You feel like h—ah.” He breaks off in a groan as you curl your legs around his, pressing more tightly against him.
“Can you?”
“What?” You mumble.
“Is this gonna be enough for you to, mm. Can you cu—um? Like this?” It almost hiccups out of him, and you watch his flush spread down into his chest. You smile, cupping his cheek.
“Yeah, Jud.”
He shivers at the insistence, hips pumping against yours. It takes a few moments for the two of you to find your rhythm, but Jud’s cock begins to catch on your swollen clit with every upstroke. His lips wander your body, teasing and sucking your breasts, chasing your kisses when you guide his head up for them.
You can feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly, and you can’t help but press your pussy up against his length.
“Jud,” You warn quietly, “I, um—Mm, fuck, just like that.”
“Yeah? Shit,” He groans, watching your face, “Yes, yes, please cum. Let me feel it, let me see you, I wanna see you.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, biting down on your lips to quiet your moans as you cum, pussy clenching, empty. Jud’s breathing picks up, panting against your skin, murmurs of, “Yes, yes, yes,” Dropping from his lips. You feel the hot pulse of his cum against your skin, lift your head to watch him spill against your stomach, his strong arms tight and tense as he holds himself over you.
And then he’s lowering himself to lay beside you, pressing his head into your neck and cuddling close.
The two of you lay together quietly, breath softening, heating bodies cooling as you come down.
You glance around, looking for something to clean off with, spotting only a copy of The Catholic Chronicle on the bedside table. And Jud must follow your field of vision, because he pushes himself up, muttering, “Don’t, um—Not that, don’t use that. Hang on.”
He leans over you, rifling into the bedside table and fishing out a washcloth. He dunks it in a glass of water in the bedside table, then reaches down, cleaning his spend from your skin with tender care. You watch him clean himself off in kind before he lobs the washcloth into a hamper across the room.
“Well done,” You tease, smiling as he settles back down with you, drawing a blanket resting at the foot of the bed up over the two of you. You sigh, curling your arm around his shoulders, threading your fingers in his hair as he snuggles close again.
“...Jud?”
“Mm.”
“Can I be honest about something?”
And maybe you should’ve phrased it a little more softly, because Jud is drawing away, pushing himself up over you to get a better look at your face as he insists, “Of course.”
You let your eyes wander greedily over his chest, his shoulders, as your fingers trace aimless patterns across the muscle bared to you.
“I thought you, um…” You clear your throat. “I thought you had asked me over to tell me we couldn’t do something like this again.”
You watch Jud’s chest rise and fall with a deep breath.
“I did.”
Your eyes flicker to his face, curiosity overtaking your urge to hide.
“What changed?”
His hand comes up, knuckles smoothing sweetly across your jaw.
I hate you people (affectionately) for bullying me into making a third part. Granted, it’s short as hell, and I did this on my own free will. As I said before, I initially wanted the original ending to be more ambiguous as to whether or not Jud called the reader, but decided to write it more so leaning towards him actually calling her.
Which is why I have made two epilogues.
Please God, these are After Credits scenes if Rian Johnson paid me to use my ideas. Do not beg me to write a whole ass series of an original ‘Knives Out’ movie, I will not do it, and I am not smart enough to write a Benoit Blanc mystery. (I am putting both ‘Set firmer boundaries’ and ‘Write original stories’ on my New Years Resolutions list 🤣)
Anyway, thank you to everyone who supported me, and I wish you all a Happy New Year🎉🎊
Nearer My God, To Thee
Summary: Jud remained a priest, aiding in the flourishing and welcoming community of Our Lady of Perpetual Grace. On the anniversary of a woman's death, she visits Chimney Rock; and she is not alone.
Warning(s): No matter what ending you choose to be canon, you're going to mourn the nonexistence of some children.
Word Count: 1.4k
10 Years Later
The Catholic community in Chimney Rock no longer made headlines. Neither for its conservative, misogynistic views that the parish had for the majority of its practice, but not even for its newly adopted welcoming, open-minded ones.
Father Jud Duplenticy liked it that way. Where Chimney Rock used to be broadcasted as a game changer of a town, now, it was merely on a bunch of lists titled ‘Most Progressive Parishes’ that only Catholics or those interested in converting would read.
Through his own actions, more of the parish than not were all kindhearted and treated one another with decency he wished he had growing up in the church. No one was holier than the other and knew they all sinned differently.
After 11am mass one Sunday, and after speaking to nearly everyone in the congregation who wanted his ear, Father Duplenticy made his way to the back of the church towards one of the graves with a bouquet of flowers.
What he hadn’t expected when he turned the corner, was a small family at the same grave. A husband, a wife, and two children.
Just from the back of the woman’s head…he knew it was her.
Father Jud called her name, and she turned. Her face lit up; though, it wasn’t one in absolute ecstasy in seeing their favorite person. It was where she smiled tenderly at an old friend.
“Hi, Jud.”
She hadn’t changed a bit.
“How have you been?” Was all he could think to say.
“Alright.” She grabbed the hand of the man who she was with, saying his name. “This is Jud.”
“Ah,” he shook Jud’s hand, grinning. “the priest.”
Jud chuckled. “That’s me. I hope she’s told you good things?”
“All of it.” He let go. “She said you really helped her during her mother’s passing. Are those for her?”
“Oh.” Jud nearly forgot the flowers he had in his hand. “Yes.”
He left flowers at her grave every year since she passed. She had come back to do the same for the first three years, and then she stopped. It seemed she wanted to rekindle the tradition since it had been a decade.
“Mamaaaaaa.” The girl, perhaps three, pulled on her sleeve. “I wanna eat.”
She chuckled, leaning down and kissing her cheek. “We’ll get lunch in a bit, Gracie.”
Of course it didn’t escape Father Jud the name she gave her daughter.
“This is my friend, Jud.” She took her into her arms. “Can you say hi?”
She curled herself into her mother, hiding her face. She chuckled. “She’s shy around strangers, I’m sorry.”
Father Jud laughed. “No, it’s alright. I was exactly the same.”
“Henry,” her husband pushed the son forward gently. “why don’t you tell him what you want to be when you grow up?”
Henry, who appeared to be six and almost as shy as his sister looked up at the priest who essentially towered over him.
“A boxer…”
“Wow!” Father Duplenticy gasped and smiled the way adults do whenever children say anything. Although, he was genuinely interested. “I was a boxer when I was younger. It’s a lot of work.”
“Mama said that.” He smiled. “And she says she doesn’t want me to.”
“I said you need to be smart about it.” She snorted, then turned to her husband. “Could you take them to the car? I’ll be back in a few.”
He nodded, kissing her cheek and taking Gracie from her. “Of course. It was nice meeting you, Jud.”
“You too.” He wished the three of them goodbye, and there he was; alone with her, for the final time.
She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “I’m happy the church has been thriving.”
“It’s been great.” He said genuinely. “I actually started getting assistant priests and even visiting ones. We had a guy from South Africa give the homily today, did you-?”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head, smiling. “No, my family and I are CEOs. Except, instead of the O meaning ‘Only’ it means ‘Other’.”
Father Jud chuckled. “So, you go to Christmas, Easter, and anytime you feel like it?”
“I love my mom.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I just want to see a beautiful statue of Mary or even celebrate her when it’s her masses.”
“A few years ago, we actually raised enough money to buy statues of Mary and Joseph all the way from Rome.” He said. “Would you want to take a look at them?”
She shook her head. “I’d love to, but the kids can be antsy. Besides, I really loved the one you made of Mary. I saw it in front of the rectory when we passed by. Did you take care of my choir, by the way?”
“Eileen took over.”
“She’s still here?” She scoffed. “I wonder what happened to her running away to New York City and be on Broadway?”
“People change.”
“You haven’t.” She pointed out, though there was no malice.
Father Duplenticy glanced at his feet, smiling bashfully though sadly. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Of course not.” She nudged him as they stood staring at her mother’s grave. “I told you I liked you better as a priest.”
There were so many things he wanted to say to her. Things he had written about or rehearsed years ago. Yet…as she stood in front of him…all was lost.
Maybe it was for the better.
“But you’re happy?” He asked.
She looked over at him, still smiling even as she said. “My husband knows we were together when we were younger. I even told him about what happened when you were accused of murder; the confessional, the night when you thought Wilks rose from the dead…all of it.”
Father Jud’s eyes grew upon her honesty. With bated breath, he asked. “And?”
“And he knows that I love him.” She said simply. “He wasn’t ever angry or jealous when I said we might see you today. When he was decent to you just now? He wouldn’t have done that unless he meant it.”
It should’ve been her openness with her husband about the history she shared with him, but what truly caught Father Duplenticy off guard was how she didn’t mean to run into him at all that day. She wanted to lay flowers at her mother’s grave and get out as quickly as possible with her family.
A part of him was offended, and the other part of him understood.
“I’m glad I got to see you.” He said.
She smiled. “I am too.”
They used to be able to talk for hours, never running out of anything to say. Though, only after a few minutes…all was silent. Then, she said.
“I’ll see you in heaven?”
Father Jud hummed. “What?”
“What you said to me when I left years ago.” She explained. “You said we’d see each other in heaven. I’m still trying to get there, but not just for you. I don’t know if I’m doing a great job at it…I still have my gripes with the church, but that was always going to happen.”
He stared at her, though this time, not as long as he wanted to. “I still think I’ll see you there.”
She smiled, her gaze of pure marvel unwavering. He wondered if she wanted to reach out and hug him just as much as he wanted to with her? Did she not want to touch him at all? Either way, he understood.
Then, her grin dropped as well as her gaze. Taking a deep breath, she pulled her lips up again as she looked at him.
“Have a good rest of your Sunday.”
He should’ve walked with her to the car. It wouldn’t have been strange at all, they were old friends. Still, much like how he had cemented himself in his ways ten years ago, when he hung up his phone just as he thought of calling her, he didn’t.
“You too. Get home safely.”
Even when she was no longer his, and he would most likely never see her again, he still worried for her.
She waved goodbye before leaving, hands in her pockets. Just like how Lot didn’t turn around for Sodom and Gomorrah, neither did she.
There stood Father Jud Duplenticy, alone.
Alone, but never really. God was always with him, as well the spirit of the congregation and parishioners whose faith he would protect until his last dying breath.
Accept the Love We Bring
Summary: Even if being pregnant weighs heavily on your body (and let's be honest, your spirit/faith), you would go through all of it again if it meant you would still wake up next to your husband every morning.
Warning(s): Dirty Talk, Oral Sex (f receiving), Breeding Kink (let's be real: If you're still Catholic, and you love your spouse, there's a 50% chance you have this), and Possible Inaccuracies to the Knives Out Cinematic Universe.
Word Count: 4.1k
10 Years Later
“We’re never trying Catholic contraception ever again.” Your face pinched in discomfort as you leaned against the kitchen counter. “I feel like Sarah.”
“You’re not old.” Jud reassured, standing up from the table. “Besides, Natural Family Planning isn’t really considered-.”
“If it’s a way for someone to not have a baby, it’s contraception and if you say differently, I’ll cut your ear off.”
He smiled. “Also, Sarah didn’t have twins.”
You snorted as he stood behind you, only to then sigh when he wrapped his arms down the lower part of your stomach, holding it up and easing the pressure off your back. Your head fell onto his shoulder.
“Now if you could just stay here for an hour…”
He hummed, kissing your neck. “I’ll try.”
Peace within the small house in Syracuse, New York only lasted for a minute before little feet from the second floor came tumbling down the stairs.
“Mama, Tessy invaded my privacy!” Your eldest boy, turning eight in a few weeks, rushed into the kitchen wearing his pale blue long-sleeved shirt and pants, making accusations. He had gotten Jud’s curly black hair and eyes, while he had your nose and ears.
Robert Francis was what you called him when he was acting up. Mainly, it was ‘Bobby’, or ‘Bobby-bubi’ as a joke, or-.
“Bertie was hogging the bathroom!”
Tessy, or your Little Flower, Thérèse would call her older brother ‘Bertie’ whenever she wanted to piss him off. She wore a white polo shirt with a blue plaided jumper and was already showing her independence and sassy nature at the humble age of five. She was blessed with your hair color and texture, but every other part of her was Jud.
You sighed, walking a few feet towards them. “I need both of you to-.”
“But he started it!” Tessy whined.
“No,” Bobby yelled. “you did!”
“I don’t care who started it,” you rose you voice just a hint. “I want one of you to-.”
The same tightness in your stomach returned as one of the babies within you started kicking. They had just begun that a few days prior when you had been pregnant right at 18 weeks, and where it was sweet at first, it was already unbearable.
“Do you need me to talk to them?” Jud rubbed your back, whispering in your ear. You nodded. He sunk to the floor, face-to-face with your stomach. “Hey! Stop treating your mother like that.”
Your children giggled wildly at their father, and you couldn’t help it either. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, and then he turned to your kids, pretending to have made a mistake. “Oh! Hey, you two, stop treating your mother like that.”
They still laughed, and while Jud kept his voice light, they could tell he was serious. “No, I mean it. I wanna get to the bottom of what happened before school. Robert Francis, you go first.”
The boy started immediately. “I was peeing and she didn’t even knock!”
“Thérèse, is this true?” He looked at her.
She always made snake eyes whenever she was mad. “I had to go really bad!”
“Hey,” Jud put his hand on her shoulder. “how about we have breakfast together, hm?”
Her eyes changed, and she nodded excitedly. Without another word, Jud made a plate of the food you and him prepared together, and the two walked into the living room, far away from the kitchen.
Bobby groaned, sitting and sulking at the table. You poured his favorite cereal into a bowl with chocolate milk, setting it down for him. You ate your own breakfast.
Finally, after a few bites, he said. “She’d not gonna be in trouble.”
“How do you know?” You questioned.
“Papa likes her more.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, but-!” He yelled, then took a deep breath and shut his eyes, taking time to even himself out; just like you taught him. “When she bit me, nothing happened to her.”
“Bobby, she was barely two.” You explained. “He told her it was wrong, but we couldn’t punish her like we would if she bit you this morning. She wouldn’t have understood. She’s five now and should know what she did was wrong. Papa’s just talking to her by herself, so he isn’t doing it in front of you and me.”
“Well, he should.” He pouted.
“Would you want him to call you out on what you didn’t do right in front of everyone?” You asked, taking a bite of your food. “I’ve had people do that to me, and it’s never fun.”
Even before you came to Chimney Rock, you were “blessed” to have a few teachers at your school to do that.
Thinking more of it, Bobby shook his head as he ate.
“Papa did the same for you when you broke my baking dish years ago.” You smiled. “And he does the same for me, and I do it to him.”
He glared at your stomach, talking to it. “One of you better be a boy.”
“Bobby!” You scolded. “Where did that come from?”
“Papa’s always with Tessy!” He cried. “They play with barbies, they have tea parties, he lets her paint his nails too!”
You already had a suspicion there was something else bothering him. Just a week ago, Jud went to the Daddy-Daughter dance with Tessy. She had the whole nine yards of being treated like Cinderella; except the spell would break at seven-thirty and not midnight.
Smiling, you played with his hair. “How about, instead of a movie night, Tessy and I can play princesses and you and Papa can play with your Legos?”
His eyes lit up. “Can we?”
“I’ll tell Papa for you if you want.”
“Yeah!” He wrapped his arms around you, kissing your cheek. “I love you, Mama.”
“Love you too. Now, apologize to the babies.”
He kissed your stomach. “I’m sorry, babies.”
“Finish your breakfast; Fran and Stephen should be picking you up in twenty minutes.”
You and Jud had done extensive research into the several Catholic schools of Syracuse; not wanting one to traumatize your children the way you and Jud had been. You both settled upon St. Maria Goretti’s Elementary. Unlike you and Jud as well, your children did not have any problem with making friends.
Leading Bobby to befriend Stephen Marquez and you and Jud to befriend his parents Francesca and Fernando. Fran or her husband would take the three kids to school, you or Jud would pick them up.
Just as you and Bobby were clearing the table, Jud and Tessy came out from the living room with their empty dishes. Tessy sat at the table, saying nothing. Jud stood beside you as you washed dishes.
“I gave her the talk, and she should say sorry when she’s ready.”
You nodded. It was the exact same thing he told Bobby when he broke your baking dish. He didn’t apologize for another two hours. Still, the two said nothing to each other. A minute later, Tessy got up and hugged her brother.
“I’m sorry I didn’t knock, and I didn’t respect your…your…”
She was looking at Jud, and he mouthed ‘privacy’.
“Piracy.”
The two of you tried to hold back your laughter, hoping it wouldn’t upset Bobby. Still, the boy smiled, hugging her back.
“I forgive you.”
It warmed your heart to see them make up so civilly, especially at their age. It spoke to you and Jud’s ability as parents. Of course, neither of you were perfect (you sometimes yelled when you didn’t need too, Jud would sometimes have trouble finding the happy middle between letting the kids get away with things, or being too authoritarian), but were trying.
“Mama,” Tessy pulled on your finger. “can Bobby and I play outside?”
You thought for a moment before saying. “Play in the backyard and don’t go to the front. I’ll tell Fran to let Stephen yell for you over the fence.”
“Thanks, Mama!” She kissed your cheek and rushed to put her shoes on. Bobby ran past you.
“Bobby, you forgot something.” Jud called after him.
Once Bobby put on his shoes, he came back, kissing you on the cheek and hugging his father before grabbing both him and his sister’s backpacks
“Love you!” He yelled.
You yelled back. “It rained last night, so don’t play in the mud-!”
The door slammed just as you finished, and you knew they didn’t hear a word you said. Sighing, you returned to the dishes. Only for Jud to take them.
“I got this.”
You let him. You texted Francesca to send Stephen to the backyard to fetch your children when they arrived.
You rested your chin on Jud’s shoulder, putting your phone down. “I was thinking you and Bobby could hang out tonight instead of the four of us watching a movie.”
“Sure, does he want to?”
“I think he wants to be around you more.” You explained, handing him the children’s forgotten dishes. “You know, father and son?”
He nodded. “I feel bad I haven’t been spending much time with him with work and Tessy’s deal last week.”
“You know now.” You leaned against the counter. “I think maybe you could also take him on a little day trip somewhere for his birthday.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Fishing, hiking, something like that. Tell him what it means to be a man, including how he shouldn’t be horribly upset if he gets two more sisters.”
Jud hummed. “I thought I heard that earlier. Everything alright now?”
“Yes, but still.”
“Alright, a trip sounds nice.” He glanced at your stomach. “You got names for them yet?”
You pursed your lips. “Peter and Andrew are always good for boys. John and James too.”
“Luke and Leia-.”
“We’re not naming them after Star Wars characters.” You denied. “Jaime and Cersei-.”
He said your name, unable to breathe from laughter. “You’re horrible!”
“You speak to the mother of your children like that?!”
“Okay, okay,” he composed himself. “little girls. What about them?”
“Naomi and Ruth are nice. So is Faith and Hope.”
“You know what else is?”
You sighed. “We’re not naming them Mary and Magdalene.”
“We’d call her Maggie!”
“I’m not naming one child after fifty women in the bible, and the other with the strangest name!”
“Technically,” he started. “there’s only six Mary’s, and if that’s your problem, then we could call her Maria.”
You huffed, then said the names. “‘Maggie and Maria’…That’s actually not bad.”
“I told you. Now, go on ahead upstairs.”
You hummed. “Why? What if I want to go to the living room?”
He smiled bashfully, but you knew it was all a ruse. “You could, but that means we’d have to wait for the kids to go to school.”
“Yeah?” You teased. “Why’s that?”
“It depends.” He shrugged. “Would you want to take a nap on our day off, or watch an R rated movie?”
When children ask why mommy and daddy’s door is closed, some parents say they’re ‘Doing their taxes’ or ‘Just talking’. You and your husband would tell them you were watching an R rated movie.
If lying was a sin, then by all means, you and he were not going to commit it.
You chuckled. “Even with my barefoot, constantly bitching, pregnant ass?”
“It’s precisely because of how you look right now is why we’re having twins.” He stated, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You thought I could keep my hands off you even after Thérèse? Here I thought you were smart.”
Hovering your mouth over his ear, you said. “If you wanna talk smart, then do it with your lips on my pussy.”
You kissed the tattoo he still had on his neck and turned without another word or glance.
Making your way up the stairs, you went into your shared bedroom. When you were pregnant with Bobby, whenever you and Jud wanted each other, you would’ve stressed about trying to appear sexy. Now though, in that house in September, just knowing that he wanted to eat you alive no matter what you looked like made you feel sensual enough. Stripping off your pajamas, you lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
You were in a gas station bathroom when Jud called you forty-five minutes after you left the reopening of Our Lady of Perpetual Grace.
That was ten years ago.
He wanted to try again with you.
No, he hadn’t got into the wine, yes, it was all his own decision.
He drove all the way to the gas station you were at (after going to the wrong one first). Although you had just been crying from saying goodbye, and he still wore the collar, you embraced one another so tightly. He wouldn’t kiss your lips, and you knew he wouldn’t until he was no longer a priest.
And you were alright with that.
It was a process though, and you understood he had to grieve. Not only mourn a way of life he had for years, but also a parish he had built from the ground up.
All to throw it away for a woman.
That was how you knew some would interpret it. It was how many of the Catholic community within Syracuse interpreted it when you first moved. Gratefully, after a year within the city, more people than not warmed up to you, even with your colorful past.
You dated for a year and a half, then you fell pregnant. Being (somewhat) of an honorable man, Jud married you before Bobby was born. Still, it wasn’t a shotgun, ‘Wear something nice, we’re going to the courthouse’ wedding. It was a small, intimate ceremony; one where you invited only your closest family and friends.
Including one Benoit Blanc, who made it quite known he had a feeling you would be married even before Jud had any doubts.
Bobby and Tessy knew that their father was a priest before they were born. Granted, you didn’t explain everything, but not everything was appropriate for their ages. Still, like many children, when you answer their questions honestly, they do not judge.
The fate of Our Lady of Perpetual Grace was a bumpy one.
Jud had successfully handpicked a main pastor whose views aligned with his to take care of the church; yet, the assistant pastor was once a follower of Wicks. Granted, he wasn’t so outspoken and harsh with his teachings, yet he still condemned others who were not a part of this cookie cutter ideal Wicks and other conservatives had implemented.
All things considered, the first three years were rocky, but once the assistant priest’s rotation was done, a new one from Syracuse had come. You and Jud had actually met him; a quiet, but gentle man who truly loved all.
You and Jud stopped following the Chimney Rock church so closely after that; believing it for the better.
The door creaked open, and you turned your head to see your husband enter. He smiled, locking the door and approaching you. His eyes trailed all of your body as he kneeled down beside you, kissing your lips as your head draped off the side of the bed.
“Did I keep you waiting?” He kissed you again.
You sighed. “A bit, but I am a patient woman.”
“You are.” He cradled the back of your neck, angling you better for his lips to trail up your neck. “You married me.”
Shifting yourself farther onto the bed, Jud slipped his shirt off. He still had ' Thérèse' tattooed on the back of his left shoulder. When Robert was born, he added his name on his right. When he married you, he had your name tattooed where his heart was.
“I love you.” You whispered into his kisses.
He slipped his pants and underwear off, getting onto the bed and hovering above you, pressing another kiss to your lips. “I love you.”
Your hand made their way to his curls, and Jud’s mouth made its way down your body. He lingered on your chest, his hands gently parting your legs to make room for him. You mewled at the feeling, your breasts swollen and tender. His lips went lower and lower, teasing your stomach before then settling upon your clit.
Sighing at the feeling, you found yourself moving against his mouth. Your breath hitched with every flick of his tongue, and you attempted to sit up on your elbows. Barely doing so, you managed to catch sight of him devouring you. His hips canted against the mattress, trying to get any source of friction.
“Fuck,” you groaned. “how hard are you?”
He moaned into you, and that was your answer. There were more times than not he would simply cum just from kissing your cunt. He slowly inched a finger into you, his tongue continuously lapping at your clit. You weren’t going to last long as he fucked his finger into you.
Just when the coil within you began to unravel, the sound of little feet running up the stairs halted you.
“Wait.” You whispered, clutching his shoulders.
He pulled away from you slowly, waiting for you to speak up. His eyes and overall face betrayed just how drunk he was off you. He sobered up the second a tiny fist knocked on the door.
“What is it?” He asked, breathing heavily and still cradling your legs.
“There’s two ladies at the door!” Bobby’s muffled yell filled the room.
You sighed. “Are Fran and Stephen here?”
“It’s not them.”
“Okay, don’t let them in.” You stood up. “How’d you see them?”
Tessy jumped in. “They talked to us over the fence when we were in the backyard. They’re nice!”
You laughed, Jud taking out a pair of pants and underwear for you, helping you into them. “I’m sure they are.”
“I can go talk to them.” Your husband offered, pulling his clothes back on. “You can wrangle Bobby and Tessy.”
Shaking your head, you slipped a maternity bra over your chest. “I can talk to adults at eight-thirty in the morning, thank you very much. How do I look?”
“You look beautiful.”
“I know that.” You put on the first nice shirt you could find. “I mean do I look like my husband just ate me out?”
He smiled. “Flip your hair and tease it. It’ll look like you did it on purpose.”
You did so, and when you flipped back up and looked in the mirror, after touching it up, sure enough, it looked normal.
“I don’t know how you lived without a mirror in your room during high school.” You kissed his cheek and slipped on some socks.
“I managed.”
You both exit, seeing Tessy and Bobby dangling their legs through the bars at the top of the stairs.
“They’re waiting.” Tessy pointed to the front door.
Jud kissed her cheek then ruffled Bobby’s hair. “Why don’t you two go play? We’ll yell when Fran and Stephen are here.”
They listened, running to the end of the hall and shutting the door to Bobby’s room. You and your husband braved your way down the stairs, and you opened the door with a fake smile; a smile to cover your underlining annoyance at being interrupted on your and your husband’s one day off from work.
The two women standing there were older than you and Jud, perhaps by a decade. They were starkly different yet one in the same all at once. Both dressed as if they were neighbors fitting in your quaint neighborhood, yet the expensive prius on the curb behind them said otherwise.
The woman with long, goddess braids said you and your husband’s full names in a southern accent. You and he had hyphenated your last names.
“Do we have the right house?”
You glanced at Jud, worry immediately falling over your faces. “Yes.”
“Sorry.” She immediately laughed it off, offering her hand. “My name’s Helen Brand, and this is Marta Cabrera.”
The names sounded familiar, yet you couldn’t remember where you heard them. Still, the two of you shook each other’s hands. Marta spoke up.
“It’s our understanding you both know Benoit Blanc?”
That was it. It clicked with Jud too. He smiled. “Yeah! I thought I recognized you. You were the one-.”
“The greedy family mansion, yes.” She laughed, ushering towards Helen. “She was the twin on the Onion Island.”
Helen smiled. “We thought you were the priest, but I guess that’s changed.”
Jud wrapped his arm around your waist. “Wouldn’t do anything differently.”
“Oh wow,” Helen’s eyes dropped to your stomach. “Congratulations.”
You chuckled. “Thank you. Now, how can we help?”
Their faces fell, and Marta swallowed. “It would be best if we could speak inside, is that alright?”
Jud looked at you for confirmation, and you nodded. He held the door open, and they came in. As soon as the door was shut, Helen spoke.
“Two nights ago in Baton Rouge, Blanc was attending a charity gala with his husband, Philip. Philip wandered off and went looking for him. He found him passed out in a janitor’s closet with an icepick in his hand; alongside the highest doner’s dead body. Philip was arrested, and they’re blocking Blanc from investigating considering the conflict of interest. In a last-ditch effort, he contacted every person he could think of that he helped. Me, Marta, and a ballerina were the only ones to say yes.”
It was a lot of information, yet the two of you managed to keep up. Still, Jud asked.
“So, why’re you two here, and why didn’t he call us directly?”
“And where’s the ballerina?”
All eyes drew upwards at Tessy’s question. She was peeking out from behind the corner upstairs, only to be yanked back by who you assumed was Bobby.
Marta giggled. “She’s in Baton Rouge, and he told us that he tried, but your father must’ve changed his number because he didn’t answer.”
You nodded, that made sense.
“So…” Helen asked. “Do you want to help? I won’t lie to you, it’s possible it’ll be dangerous, but I’m guessing you both already know that. You’re probably the only ones I’d excuse if you wanted to back out.”
It was a lot to unpack and think about. Still, just upon seeing your husband’s eyes, and knowing him so well, you knew he wanted to help. So did you; if it weren’t for Blanc, you never would’ve married your husband.
“We’ll go.” You said.
“We?” Jud asked.
You nodded. “Yes, we owe him.”
He looked at Marta and Helen. “Just give us a moment, okay?”
You both went into the kitchen, far away from them. Still, Jud spoke in a whisper.
“You’re not going.”
You scoffed. “I’m not going to pop; I can still take a plane.”
He stressed your name. “You know what I mean. You heard them, it’ll be dangerous, and if anything were to happen to you-.”
“You’ll be there.” You knew giving him some semblance of control, no matter how little, could calm him. “I’m also more than capable of taking care of myself when need be. I want to help.”
Jud shook his head. “I don’t say this because I don’t think you can do it, I’m telling you this because I’m scared. Neither of us can control what happens.”
“That’s every day, Jud. Something catastrophic could happen even in our own house. We don’t know the day nor the hour.”
“Don’t bring God into this.”
“Isn’t it true, though?” You asked. He sighed, leaning over the sink and taking deep breaths. You ran your hand up and down his neck, your thumb stroking his tattoo. “I promise, at any sign of something being off, even if we’re getting close to finding out who did it, I’ll take the next plane home.”
Jud looked up. “You mean it?”
“I do.”
“Show me your hands.”
You played on, smiling as you displayed them; no fingers were crossed.
“I’m just gonna trust that your toes aren’t crossed either.” He stated. “What’re we gonna do about the kids?”
“Fran and Fernando owe us for taking an impromptu, weeklong vacation and we had to take care of Stephen.” You shrugged. “They’re both type B but somehow responsible, if they’re pissed about it, then that’s their fault for owing us.”
He chuckled. “Okay…We’re really doing this.”
“Let’s go on an adventure, Padre.”
Jud shoved you. “You’re horrible.”
You both walked out of the kitchen, seeing Helen and Marta perk up upon your arrival. Jud looked over at you, letting you take the reins.
You asked. “Do you want to all go together, or do you happen to have a private jet?”
Later on, you would discover that, despite the wealth they had earned from Blanc solving their cases, they never left the jobs they originally had. Only proving their devotion to others.
So, Benoit Blanc’s Hail Mary team included: A pregnant Catholic guilt-ridden woman, a ballerina, a schoolteacher, a nurse, and an ex-priest that was still somehow a father.
Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot? {Angus Tully x Reader}
Summary: Following everything after you and your father leave Barton, you wondered how your relationship with Angus would form and change.
Part 11 of 10
Warning(s): Swearing, Making Out, Cheating Mention, and "There's Only one Bed"
I'm so sorry it took flipping FOREVER for me to write the epilogue. I will say though that I AM proud of how I got it done just in time for the holidays 🥰. Besides my Christmas present being this chapter, I also tested (and altered) my hot chocolate recipe I created on the fly for December Never Felt So Wrong. I was in Belfast, it was April, and I had no way to test out if the hot chocolate tasted good so I could only go off of Pinterest inspired recipes 🤣. I tried it out with my sister, and I think it turned out pretty well! It is SUPER rich, so take that with what you will.
The Holdovers Hot Chocolate (Anya’s Version)
Serves 4 (give or take)
Ingredients:
-2 Cups of Milk (I used skim. I heard whole milk makes it richer, creamier, and slightly thicker.)
-1 Cup of Milk Chocolate Chips (Use semi-sweet if you’re worried about the richness, but milk chocolate chips are lore accurate)
-1/2 Tablespoon of Vanilla Extract (I know I wrote 1 Tablespoon, but even I knew that would be too much in practice)
-Pinch of Salt
-Whipped Cream
-Crushed M&Ms
Steps:
Add 2 Cups of Milk to a saucepan on low-medium heat and bring it to a simmer. Whisk it around occasionally to make sure the milk doesn’t curdle
Add 1 Cup of Milk Chocolate Chips and whisk until fully melted
Add ½ Tablespoon of Vanilla Extract
Add a pinch of salt
Whisk together until your new best friend tells you he wishes you were his first kiss, then kiss him after tasting
To serve, add whipped cream and crushed up M&Ms
I wanted to thank everyone who has been so patient, who have stuck with this story since I first started, and who might be new. I also wanted to wish everyone a Happy Holidays to those who celebrate them, and hope to bring somewhat of cheer to some people who maybe are having a hard time with the season (whether that's this epilogue, my botched hot chocolate recipe, or just the wishes).
Word Count: 7.9k
The first letter you received from Angus was an angry one. Not for any serious reason, he was just frustrated and upset that Beth died in Little Women. You were in London when you received it, after previously being in Copenhagen for a few weeks. You sent him several photos of you and your father’s travels as well as your sentiments of missing him.
He reciprocated, only taking pictures of the school and New York when he went on Spring Break with a few people from the Chess Club. They weren’t friends as he would call them, but he said they weren’t bad either.
You had been everywhere; Lisbon, Rome, Cairo, and Carthage were just a few to name. You “graduated” in Athens to honor your mother’s unfulfilled wishes of going their in her lifetime. Save for the history and brilliant architecture all throughout Greece, it was pleasant for your father to watch the European Cup Winner’s Final in May.
Even if soccer (you would be dead before you referred to it as how the English do) wasn’t at the forefront of your mine as you decided what you wanted to do for the rest of your life, it was still amusing.
You wrote to Angus and Mary as much as you could. It was a bit difficult in all honesty. Mail wasn’t typically speedy back in the day, and you wouldn’t exactly know where you would live in the next country after weeks of living in one.
Still, you made it work.
It was in December, almost a year after you left America and just a few after you started university in Europe, did you finally go back to visit Angus. He was attending Harvard, and it was the perfect time for you and your father to visit him and Mary.
The four of you went out to lunch, catching up on each other’s lives. Mary was still working at Barton, but her nephew, Kenny, was healthy. Angus was studying History, his reasoning to become a lawyer.
“You?” You snickered.
“Yes, me.” He smirked. “Why? Don’t think I could do it?”
“You lost every argument we’ve ever had last Christmas.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Mary hummed. “I don’t remember you winning any.”
All your father did was laugh.
The two of you, alongside Mary, were staying at Peggy and her husband’s apartment for the holidays. It was a week before Christmas, and that was when Harvard decided to let all of their students go home. Just as you and everyone else were watching It’s a Wonderful Life on TV after supper, the phone rang.
Mary answered, then called your name. “It’s for you.”
Furrowing your brow, you walked over and took it from her. “Hello?”
“Do they have college parties in Europe?”
It was Angus, of course it was; and you knew what he was really asking. You chuckled. “Yeah, and they’re a bit more intense than whatever you have planned.”
“Okay, you got me there.” He snickered. “I don’t think it’ll get too crazy, but hopefully fun enough for your standards.”
“When does it start?”
“I’ll pick you up in thirty.”
And you went to get ready. It was silly; logically, you knew you couldn’t start anything with him. You still felt the same way you did last Christmas; completely head over heels for him. Yet, you would go back overseas, and back to your own friends. He would stay here, hell, he was going to introduce you to the friends he’d made.
So…why were you putting in so much effort?
“I’m going to a party.” You said, walking out of the guest room when you saw Angus’s car pull up.
“That’s nice, dear.” Your father said, reading the newspaper. He then looked up upon realization. “You’re what?!”
“Papa,” you teased. “I’m a grown up, I go to a university in a different country than where you live-.”
“I know,” he sighed. “just…you’ll stick with Angus, correct? I assume that’s who invited you?”
“Yeah.” Elise would’ve been the only other person. It was quite sad; you tried writing to her, and while you kept in touch for the first few months while in Europe, she hadn’t written back since August of that year.
Mr. Hunham nodded. “Alright, I want you back by-.”
“She’s a grown woman.” Mary stepped in. “I won’t parent her, but my goodness; if she’s in a totally different place than you for college, she can handle herself for a night.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He yielded. “Just be safe.”
You kissed his cheek. “I will.”
Angus and you made conversation the whole way to an upperclassman’s house just a few miles away from Harvard campus. There were more people than you expected, but not enough for it to be an intense party. New names were coming in one ear and out the other as Angus introduced you to everyone.
“So, how do you know them?” You asked as you walked into the kitchen after meeting your third large group of people.
“I don’t.”
You both snickered, helping yourselves to the drinks. You knew it would be a bad idea if you drank too much, so you tried to balance it with water.
Tried was the key word.
There was one person you remembered Angus introducing you to (even while two and a half drinks deep): Carmen O’Malley. Fellow freshman, but one of thirteen women in her class of hundreds who was studying to be a doctor. She was smart as a whip, played the clarinet, and had a heart of gold as she constantly asked questions about your life, never once talking about herself unless prompted.
Perhaps it was because you were on your third drink, but you were beginning to see just how beautiful she was.
And you were not the only one to notice.
When you weren’t talking to her or Angus, they were to each other. You saw how close they stood, even if they didn’t know it, or how they would look at one another. He’d brush her shoulder every once in a while, and she’d smile bashfully but never pull away; only move closer. Even while people were talking to you, you could not turn your gaze away from Angus and Carmen.
Ever since you had seen him, there was an undeniable, unspoken tension between you two. Yet, there was also an unspoken agreement to not escalate it. You were only in America for another two weeks and had no idea when you’d be back.
Hell, there were people back in Europe you found yourself attracted to. They were more of a stable choice and starting anything with Angus again would be a bad idea.
So…why was it that twenty minutes later, you were pressed against the wall upstairs, kissing Angus until you couldn’t feel your lips?
He was the last person you ever kissed. You didn’t tell anyone that; you always lied if, on the off chance, anyone ever asked. You’d always joke you kissed one boy per country you visited, but you didn’t.
You missed him, and you told him that before, but you couldn’t as he kissed you. It would feel too much…to personable.
So, burying your hands in his hair as he kissed every inch of your face was better.
“You okay?” He asked, pausing in the middle.
“What?” You slurred, discovering alcohol and anxiety didn’t mix well.
He moved hair out of your eyes. “You stopped.”
“I did?”
Angus pulled away, holding your face in his hands. “What’s up?”
The air left your lungs. Maybe it was a good thing you were tipsy; you could say things easier. “I’m leaving and I don’t know when I’ll see you again. I don’t…I don’t want to start a relationship long distance.”
You thought he would say that it did without missing a beat. He stared at you, reading your face. Then, kissing the top of your head, he pulled away.
“I’ll drive you home.”
If you were sober, you would’ve prodded him, essentially force him to talk to you about what those four words actually meant. You would’ve shown him the same fire you had almost a year ago.
But, you were exhausted, so you just leaned on him as he carried you out to his car. It’s almost a miracle the car didn’t crash on the way back. He wasn’t drunk per say, but you still both laugh at the fact he had his headlights off and didn’t realize it until he brought you back to Peggy’s house.
You didn’t see Angus again for the whole Christmas and went back to Europe after New Years.
Finishing out your first year of university went without trouble. In June, after you decided to spend the summer in the country your father settled in, he made an announcement as you ate dinner one night.
“I’m thinking of moving back to the States.” He stated.
You froze, the realization of being completely on your own in a different continent hitting you like a bullet in the back.
“Oh?” Was all you could manage.
He nodded. “I’ve seen all that I’ve wanted and, as you realize, I’m getting quite a bit older. While I do enjoy the little place I’ve made here, I miss it all. Although, you are my top priority, and if my leaving would-.”
“-I’m a grown up.” You snickered. “I can manage. I should know by now, anyway.”
Except you didn’t, and you knew that. Your father probably had suspicion too, but while he kept asking if you were sure about him leaving, you never came clean. He eventually moved to Philadelphia to be closer to what little family was left on your mother’s side.
University itself was fine; you loved what you were studying (even if you wanted to pull your hair out), and you made more friends than you did in high school. Dating was another story; while you went on a few dates, not many lasted long past two.
Then, the summer going into your second year, you met him.
You met him in the university library, reaching for the same book, and it was history. He was the same year as you, studying the same subject as you. How was it you hadn’t met him? What was even crazier, was when you had shown your international friends how to make a paper fortune teller, and decided to do “Future Husband Names”, the same boy you met in the library shared the name you had gotten.
And he was sweet; oh, so sweet. Never raised his voice, always made time for you. By all means, he was perfect.
You had a support system; a boyfriend, friends, and professors who cared about you. Still, it was a challenge to be an ocean away from your father. You still kept in touch with him and Mary primarily throughout the rest of your time at university, coming home for at least a month during summer breaks.
Angus was a different story.
Yes, you still wrote to him, and even talked on the phone, you seldomly saw him in person.
He had begun dating Carmen O’Malley at the end of both your freshmen year. It bothered you for only a second when you read it in his letter; at least, that’s what you convinced yourself at the time.
You’d go back to America and socialize with Angus’s college friends, strangely finding yourself being closest to Carmen. Call it being comfortable around one of the only women in the group, call it you living vicariously through her stemming from envy, or even call it her being such a magnetic person. You genuinely could not put your finger on the reason.
There was a time you were catching up with them, when you revealed you had a lover in the form of a polaroid picture.
“He looks so sweet!” Carmen gawked as she held it between her fingers.
You giggled. “Yeah, he is.”
Angus smiled, but in a way you truly knew what he meant. He wasn’t actually ecstatic, he was just being polite. “How long have you been together?”
Still, you answered normally. “Oh, just a few months.”
“You think it’ll last?”
Carmen’s jaw dropped, and she swatted him, laughing. “Angus!”
You rose your brows at his question but ultimately played it off. “I’ve been with worse.”
“Oh yeah?” He teased.
That’s how the three of you sprang into conversations about your worst first dates. Except you knew Angus was bullshitting; he hadn’t been with anyone other than you or Carmen.
There would be moments like this, where the tension would melt away from you and Angus, and you could be “just friends” again. Those were your favorite; where you could fully convince yourself you could love him as a brother, as a friend, as a person plain and simple.
And so…when you realized you couldn’t, and it was your final year of university, you stopped all contact.
He’d still send letters even when you stopped, and if that didn’t rattle you, Mary speaking to you did.
“Why’d you stop talking to him?” She asked when you decided to come back for Thanksgiving that year, alongside to celebrate your father publishing his first and only monograph.
You were both sitting in Peggy’s living room, playing with Kenny and Annie, Peggy’s newest baby. You treaded “We just drifted apart.”
“Seems like you just left him on an island, and he’s still sending smoke signals hoping you’ll come back.”
You snorted, taking a pen Kenny gifted you as if it were his greatest treasure. “He tell you that?”
“I can form my own thoughts, miss Jane Bennett.” She shook a rattle in front of Annie. “Now, why’d you leave him on an island?”
The longer you were going to suppress it, the longer it would eat you alive. You hadn’t told any of your close friends back in Europe, so might as well tell Mary.
“He has a girlfriend, and I have a boyfriend.”
“Oh, so you’re still in love with him?”
“No-.”
“So, all of your friends are single?” She asked. “Because I honestly have no idea why Angus having a girlfriend would make you shut him out unless it’s that.”
You wanted to put up more of a fight; find any reason to tell her that you still didn’t have feelings for him. But, you couldn’t find one. So, instead, you just glared at her, tears already starting to form.
Mary placed her hand on your cheek. “Oh baby, really? After all these years?”
“It’s so stupid!” You laid on the floor, and Kenny placed his head on your chest. “I’ve met people-men who are far more attractive, smarter, nicer, and emotionally articulate than him. I only knew him for a few weeks, he wasn’t even my first kiss, so why am I still not over him?!”
She leaned over, placing her hand on your shoulder. “You and he shared a lot with each other. People change too, especially when they get older. Do you want my advice?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell him.”
“Mary, I can’t do that to-!”
“No, no,” she shook her head. “because you want to hear the other option? You destroy a friendship that I know still means the world to you. You may wonder if it’ll still be destroyed if you do tell him how you feel, and that’s a possibility, I won’t lie to you. Yet, if you just up and stop talking to him, then it’s dead for certain. You’re in your twenties; you’re still kids but not as young as you were when you met him. This is all your decision.”
You nodded, taking her words into consideration; and after another minute, you both fell back into easy conversations.
But just as she had said, you were in your twenties; and you were a coward.
Your final year of university was hectic. Between studying for exams, completing projects and papers, you were already needing to find a job. Besides financial and academic constraints, there were personal. It was practically a trapeze act to balance time with your friends and boyfriend on top of all your responsibilities.
Yet, you somehow made it work, and both you and your boyfriend graduated. Still, finding a job within your main field of study was a bit challenging; so, in order to pay the bills, you worked in the mailroom at a publishing company within the city.
It was nice though; you remembered wanting to be a writer just a few years ago, so you could at least get some exposure to the industry.
Just five months after you graduated, and two years after you started dating your boyfriend…he proposed to you.
It was 1974, and you were twenty-one. To most, this was an appropriate age at the time to be married; especially since you had been dating him for two years.
True, he was native to perhaps your favorite city in the world (you stayed here after university, for lord’s sake!), meaning that if you married him, you would have grounds to permanently immigrate there. He had a good job, and his family adored you.
Your father and Mary had met him…You got the impression that they enjoyed his company, but there was still an underlining discomfort you had whenever they were all in the same room. You had no idea if it was actually there, or if it were your own biasness.
But, the most important thing was that he loved you, and you loved him.
So…why did you say no?
You had an answer this time: It felt too soon.
As always, he never raised his voice nor belittled you. Yet, he was honest and said that he felt that two years was enough to know one another and be married. You told him you didn’t feel the same.
In a matter of an hour, your relationship had ended. It didn’t end with yelling and calling each other names, and a part of you wish it did. At least then, it would have been obvious and even excusable to why it ended.
But no…just a difference in opinion was the reason
Perhaps this was karma after what you had done to Angus…
No matter what few university and work friends you had, you managed to slowly recover. Your father and Mary both flew out a few days after you called them, crying on the other line. After a few hours of tears, you were ultimately grateful they were with you.
And over a few drinks that night, they both revealed that they didn’t have the greatest feeling of your ex-boyfriend.
“Thanks for saying something when I was with him.” You joked.
It was nice you were still in your favorite city, and that you were making connections with all kinds of agents and even writers at the company.
You found more enjoyment in life without the burdens of school and a boyfriend. True, being an adult and having to work eight or more hours for several days in a row was taxing, but that just made special moments even more exhilarating. Whether that was simply seeing an old friend for lunch or traveling to a different country for a weekend trip.
It was after two and a half years working at the lowest part in your job, you started both writing a book, and was promoted to assistant editor (of course, after interviewing for the position and buttering up your coworkers and other editors).
You hadn’t written anything in a while, but you managed to finish the first draft within the year. After going through several upon several other drafts, you decided it was time to try and publish it.
Despite knowing several of the agents, they told you it just simply wasn’t good enough. Well, a few outright told you without giving any feedback, and others pointed out what to improve on.
After a mourning period of three months, you started to format a new story going into your fourth year at the publishing company.
It was in 1978 when your boss asked if you wanted to move to Manhattan in New York City, on account of them opening a branch there.
“You’re an American.” She smiled, offering you tea as you sat in her office. “I understand you wish to publish. Perhaps you’d do better with an American audience than European; you do know what they like.”
You loved the city you had lived in since you were in university; truly, you did. Yet, your father was growing older, and you missed Mary (and her cooking, alongside other American products that cost a fortune to have shipped to you).
Besides, you would be approximately a two-hour bus ride away from your father in Philly, and a five-hour one from Boston to see Mary. So, it was decided, after a few months of packing and finding someone else to take your lease, you were on your way home.
It was nice to be back in America, but where everybody talked about culture shock when leaving your birth country, no one ever told you a damn thing about getting it when returning. You’d lived in Europe on a different sleep and day schedule for seven years, and you felt like you made the wrong decision when you stepped back on American soil.
Almost a month later, you slowly recovered within the new city and job. Starting your second book certainly helped, and by the end of the year, you already finished a few drafts and managed to send it out to be published.
Two months later, you held a letter from an agent in one hand, and a letter from your father in your other.
Opening the letter from the agent first, you were welcomed with acceptance of your manuscript and therefore it would officially be published. After nearly bouncing off the walls of your tiny studio apartment, you opened the envelope from your father.
Hello Jo March,
I can never truly express how happy I am that you are back home. While it’s true, I know you adored Europe, I am simply happy that you are at least on the same land as I am. You are more than welcome to crumble up this letter along with its contents and never speak to me about it but just hear me out.
Inside, I have attached a blank piece of paper and Mr. Angus Tully’s current address. Let me start from the beginning. I hadn’t spoken to Mr. Tully since Christmas of 1971, but just a few weeks ago, I received a call from him asking me to come to Boston to catch up on all the years that have passed. Of course, who would I be to pass up on this offer?
My dear Josephine, this young man has decided to pursue teaching! He is currently a history teacher at the Boston Latin School and is in his second year of gaining a PhD.
We did not speak much of you, as to protect your privacy. Still, I told him that you had moved back from Europe and was in the process of trying to publish a novel. He told me that he had no doubt you would reach this goal. As he said this sentiment, he mentioned briefly that he missed you. I’m not alluding to you writing him a letter wishing to meet him, I am ardently and unapologetically suggesting you do so.
If I am candid, my dear Jo, you are quite lonely last I saw you; and so is he. Again, you are your own woman, and I will not fault you for whatever you choose to do. Though, I believe it would be beneficial to note that he is not currently captivated by a woman at this moment. I just wanted to let you know.
With all my love,
Papa
You didn’t know which one was more of a once in a lifetime opportunity; being published, or reconnecting with an old friend…boyfriend that was. One whom you completely cut all contact with no explanation.
So, you sat there, in your tiny apartment, staring up at the ceiling as you laid on your bed. If you were to do it…reach out to him and set aside your pride, what then? Would you immediately go back to old times? Would you just be friends? Would you awkwardly sit and try and make conversation?
It wasn’t until you were making dinner did you decide to write a letter and walk down six flights of stairs to drop it in the mailbox before you could change your mind.
A week later, you got a reply from Angus. He accepted your invitation to reconnect and offered to meet you in Manhattan. The fact you hadn’t spoken to him in years, and that he was so willing to take the four-hour journey? No one could or should blame you for immediately getting a good feeling about it all.
After a few more letters back and forth, you both settled on a date for him to come.
On the day, you don’t know why you put so much effort into your appearance. Well, you did; and no, it wasn’t solely for him. God forbid a girl wants to look good even if she has to get up early to do so and then go to the train station.
It was 11am on a Tuesday; so, therefore, nothing bad should’ve happened. Yet, just as you were waiting in Grand Central Station, a man sideswept you, snatching your purse.
“Hey!” You shouted, immediately on his tail. “Motherfucker!”
You weren’t much of a runner, but you weren’t the slowest in the world. Still, upon shouting ‘He stole my purse!’, no one did anything. Just as he was hair’s breath away from you, he dropped your purse.
You fiddled through it. Of course, your makeup, a few pens, a notepad, a tampon, and your keys were still there; but your wallet, cash, and checkbook were gone.
“Shit!” You yelled, and a few people around you stopped to stare before ultimately walking away.
You knew you shouldn’t have sat on the floor, both because of the cleanliness and how crowded it was, but you didn’t care. It was almost funny. You lived in one of the most popular European cities for years and never were pickpocketed, you traveled to hundreds of different places and never were pickpocketed, so how the flying fuck, after living three months in New York, did it finally happen?!
The sound of your name being said by a familiar voice halted your oncoming tears. Still sitting on the floor, you turned your head.
Angus Tully hadn’t changed. Well, his face had matured just as yours had; and his eyes were filled with a sense of growth you wondered if you had. He was still clean shaven, tall, and his curls were just as you remembered. You could also decipher the difference between unwashed curls, and ones where they were well taken care of.
He had the latter.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
Good lord, what did you look like?!
“No.” You joked, standing. “But thanks for asking.”
He smiled lightly; both from your humor, and trying to keep you level-headed. “You lose a contact or do you just like sitting on rat infested floors?”
“I don’t have any money.” You stated.
He chuckled. “You and me both.”
“No.” Despite everything, you smiled. “A dickhead stole my credit card, checkbook, and cash out of my purse just now.”
“Oh!” Angus’s face fell. “Uh, where’s your bank?”
“A few blocks from here, actually.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
So, that was how you spent the first hour with Angus after not seeing him for five years. Of course, because it was the 70s, the bankers assumed that you were scheduling a meeting to speak because you and Angus were getting married.
Although, to their credit, they didn’t make you feel like an idiot when you discussed the real reason.
“Three weeks. It’s gonna take three fucking weeks to get a new card.” You said upon exiting the bank. “Sorry for my French, but holy hell.”
Angus shook his head. “I’d be saying the same. I’m really sorry that happened.”
“No.” You sighed. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to wine and dine you for making the journey out here.”
Oh, oh! So, you were just jumping right into flirting.
He snorted. “I know I’m teaching, but I can pay for myself. Think of this: I can pay for both of us now.”
“And I may be a writer,” you smirked. “but I can still put food on the table. I took out a generous amount of cash.”
“Okay then, were do you want to eat?”
You walked him to your go-to “Someone whose never been to New York” pizza spot you took the few international friends who visited you. Granted, Angus had been to New York in the past, but you really just wanted to go.
“So,” he began once you were settled at a table. “besides becoming a bestselling author, what have you been up to?”
You scoffed. “I only just got an agent to say they’ll publish it. Who’s to say how many people will actually buy it?”
“I’ll make my students read it.”
“You’re a history teacher, not English.”
“I’ll give them extra credit.”
There was a beat of silence between you both, only to be then filled by your simultaneous laughter. A part of you felt young again. Usually, where that would have unnerved you, to be around Angus…it made you remember just those few weeks you spent with him.
The holidays were coming up…
“So, what’re you doing for Christmas?” You asked.
Angus looked down for a second before up at you, smiling. “Probably just drag myself to mass with my mom and Stanley Christmas Eve, be judged by all their friends at their Christmas party, then go back to my one-bedroom apartment.”
“Nothing Christmas day?”
“Probably go to a bar with another friend who hasn’t gotten hitched yet.”
Despite your many letters back and forth, you never discussed either of your love lives.
“What about you?” He questioned.
You shrugged. “Going to Philly to spend it with my dad, grandma, and some other people on my mom’s side. We were actually going to drive to Boston to see Mary for New Years. I think it’d be nice if you joined us.”
“I wouldn’t want to-.”
“I insist.”
He smirked. “I was going to say I wouldn’t want to say no.”
“Uh huh.” You nodded. “Sure.”
There were hundreds of different elephants in the room, yet the two of you returned to old times. It was as if there wasn’t a gap in the last time you had spoken to each other. It was also, almost, as if you had never left for Europe when you were seventeen.
Throughout lunch, the two of you debriefed on all that had happened in five years’ time. While you had been finishing up university and working for a publishing company, he had (as you already knew) worked on obtaining a doctorate. What you hadn’t known was that he attempted one year of law school.
“I didn’t last the semester.” He admitted. “I thought it would’ve been easier than medical school, but I was dead wrong.”
“So, how’d you get into teaching then?” You prodded over your slice of pizza.
“Honestly? Your dad.”
On one hand, that surprised you. On the other, it didn’t. Still, you said. “Shit, really?”
Angus chuckled. “Yeah just…I don’t know, and don’t tell him I said this, but he was one of three things to stop me from completely fucking up my life.”
“Can I ask what the other two were?”
“You and Mary.”
So, he was hesitant on letting your father know he made an impact, but was fine with you knowing you changed his life?
That was another elephant added to the growing room.
After lunch, you took him to as many hidden gems as you could. A record store here, a bookstore there. It was when you were both walking through Central Park (yes, you made a bet to see who would tap out first when trying to walk around the park as long as you could. Loser would buy dinner) did the conversation become memorable again.
“I kept the copy of The Little Prince you signed.” He said.
“Well yeah,” you didn’t see what the big deal was. “of course you did. I’m not famous yet so you couldn’t bank off of it.”
“I told you I wouldn’t even do that.”
“People change, Angus.”
“You haven’t.”
Scoffing, you shook your head. “Believe me, I have.”
“Is that why you’re not with Mr. European anymore?”
Pursing your lips, you didn’t berate him, but you didn’t laugh. Of course, he realized he fucked up.
“Shit, I’m so sorry-.”
“He proposed to me.” You came out and said it. “It was four years ago, I thought it was too soon, he didn’t, and we broke up. I feel…I go back and think if I made the right decision. I mean, we dated for two years, so it might’ve been long enough, but I didn’t know what it was like to really live. Have no safety net, rely on myself without school or my dad…I think I did the right thing.”
Angus nodded. “I think so too. So, what’s dating been like since then.”
“Oh, hell no!” You started. “You can’t let me disclose vulnerable information, and then you not say shit!”
What was meant to be comedic, actually brought a stranger undertone; like how he had done to you. So, you reacted like him.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, I completely understand-.”
“Carmen cheated on me.”
Your eyes grew, that being the last thing you expected to hear. Honestly…her dying in a catastrophic way was a higher possibility in your mind, considering how in love they appeared to be every time you visited, and how he talked about her in almost every letter.
(Upon further inspection of past letters, retrospectively, you were an unreliable narrator).
“Shit…” You sighed. “When?”
“A year ago.” He looked up, finding the cloudless sky to be more appealing. “I didn’t catch her in the act or something. I just noticed she was being weird for a month when she’d get jealous and ask if I was cheating on her. Then, one night, we’re just watching TV, and she tells me she slept with a doctor from her medical rotations like she was telling me about a trip to the grocery store.”
Jaw on the floor, you had no idea how you were still walking. “Angus…that’s terrible.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Not the happiest part of my life.”
You both fell into a peaceful (yet also awkward) silence. It was nice to just exist together still without forcing conversation. If either of you saw anything interesting (whether it was a street performer or a street streaker), you’d point it out.
After another two hours where, of course you fell back into regular conversation, but Angus Tully (as you had predicted) ran out of breath.
“Okay,” he chuckled. “you win. I’ll buy you dinner. Even though I’m the guest.”
“You made the bet!” You laughed.
Your and his shared enthusiasm didn’t end there. Even at dinner, the two of you were never left with strange pauses. Of course, the drinks Angus insisted on still paying for helped, but the two of you were smart about it.
You weren’t planning on getting drunk and making dumb decisions.
Still…he had missed his train and you were near the end of dinner when the both of you found that out.
“Damn it.” He sighed once you stepped out of the restaurant. “You know any trust worthy hotels?”
“Yeah,” you nodded “and we got an intern from my job working at one, so if I promise I’d put in a good word for her, I could probably get you in for half price and I’d pay the rest.”
“Wait, no.” Angus stopped you. “I’m not letting you jump through hoops for me.”
You cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Even though I’m the reason you missed your train. You also paid for lunch and dinner, so let me feel useful.”
“It’s fine, really. I’m just glad I got to come out here.”
An idea (a stupid, embarrassing one) popped into your head. Screw it; if he could tell you that he was cheated on, you could offer him this.
“You can stay at my place.”
“No.”
You sighed. “You came all this way, paid for everything, yes everything including the shitty hot chocolate in the park, and you think it’d be too much for me to get you to stay somewhere nice/ Let me make it up to you and let you stay in my crap apartment.”
He stared at you, trying to decipher if you were joking or not. He knew you though, despite how much you changed in the last five years. Of course you meant it.
He scoffed yet smiled. “Lead the way, Amy.”
It was a subway ride to your apartment, so Angus at least got to experience the wonders of that. (A guy pissed in the corner, and everyone scattered out or into another car).
When you finally made it back to your apartment, you stopped by your next-door neighbor’s and asked to borrow clean pajamas. He gave them without question but glanced out to see Angus before smiling and wishing you both a good night.
“He seems nice.” Angus said as you both entered your place.
“Yeah, one of my native New Yorker friends.”
“I think he might want to be more than that.”
You turned, scrunching your nose and laughing. “I’m not his type.”
“You’re everyone’s type.”
“Angus, he’s gay.” You stated. “And I think he wanted you to know that too.”
He nodded. “Well, I’m flattered. Now that you mention it, he was good looking.”
There wasn’t much else to do that get ready for bed and watch whatever crap was on your small, box tv. Turns out, it wasn’t crap, and it was It’s a Wonderful Life.
“Are you trying to make me cry?” Angus joked as it started.
“I got tissues in the bathroom if you need them.”
And so, you watched one of the most bittersweet (mostly sweet) Christmas movies; and of course, you both cried. When it was over, it was then that sleeping arrangements came into question.
“It’s your place.” He said.
“You’re the guest.”
You found yourselves talking over each other.
“Amy-.”
“No, I won’t-.”
“It’s already enough you’re not charging me for staying here.”
You went back and forth like that, until, just somehow, your annoyance turned into laughter. It ended with you sleeping in your own bed, and him on the couch. For someone who dropped out of law school, he could be persuasive.
After saying ‘goodnight’, you realized just how strange it all was. He was only lying a few feet away from you, and for the first time, despite the honking of horns and other random sounds of the city helping you sleep, you were restless. Plus, your heating was absolute shit, and no amount of blankets could warm you, and you didn’t want to imagine what it was like for Angus. Sighing heavily, you spoke up.
“On a scale of one to ‘My mother never held me as a child’, how touch starved are you?”
With the only light from the lamp lights peeking in through the window from outside, you watched as Angus slowly say up to look at you.
“I don’t know…a six?”
“On a scale of one to ‘Call me Santa Claus’, how cold are you?”
“I think I’d somehow be warmer outside than in here.”
You opened the covers up, and after a moment’s hesitation, Angus climbed into bed with you.
“I’m not kissing you,” you explained, moving over as much as you could. “and I’ll throw you out the window if you try anything.”
“Heard.” He got comfortable.
Of course, you ate your own words…kind of. You didn’t kiss the whole night. Still, even while you were both awake, you drew yourselves closer together until you had your hand on his face, tracing his features with your finger. He, with his arm looped around you, merely drew circles on your back.
Neither of you knew when you fell asleep, but you both woke up at the same time. It was strange at first, getting up at the same time and then changing. It had snowed last night, and miraculously, the heating was fine. So instead of braving the cold for breakfast, you decided to make it at home.
That being cereal.
Still, the two of you fell back into conversation, talking about what to do for New Years. Then, when you ran out of things to talk about, and were just finishing your breakfast, the words left your lips before you could stop yourself.
“Would you want to try it?”
He looked up, smiling. “Your milkless cereal?”
You should’ve said, yes, that’s what you meant. You should’ve just laughed and covered your ass. Instead, taking a risk of the century, you swallowed your pride and clarified.
“No like….” And you giggled. “You can tell me to fuck off, but would you want to try again? Dating, I mean?”
He stared at you for a long time. Maybe it wasn’t catastrophically long, but it felt like it was to you. You desperately wanted to know what was going on inside his head. After another moment, he opened his mouth.
“We live four hours away from each other.”
That’s what you were thinking in the quiet moments. “Yeah…I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.” He explained. “I…I’ve been thinking about you.”
“How long?” You tried to lighten it, but also wanted to know.
He shrugged, an etching of a smile on his lips. “Since your dad said you got back. Have you thought about me?”
That, you didn’t have any shame in admitting. “Yeah, I have.”
The boyish grin he used to have returned when you said that. One he tried to hide, but not so much. It was simple how the two of you reconnected.
You assumed the night prior that Angus would have wanted to get back to Boston as soon as morning had broken. He came on a Friday, and he didn’t leave until Sunday evening.
45 Years Later
“And that’s how your grandfather and I met.” You tell your grandchildren around the fire on Christmas Eve. “And we lived happily ever after until he died of a pneumonia in two thousand aught seven.”
From the kitchen, helping your eldest daughter and son-in-law with dinner, Angus yells “Quit telling everyone I’m dead!”
The younger children giggle around you, and the oldest asks. “I thought you said his hearing was gone?”
“I guess it only is whenever I tell him to do something.” You sigh.
They all fall into a fit of giggles once again. This was what Christmas looked like for the past several years. Even with your own children, it has almost always been the same. You and Angus had dated for three years and were married in your late 20s (something that would’ve been scandalous if you had been a young adult in the 60s).
A few years into your marriage, and with one child and another on the way, Angus began to teach at Barton. Mary was, of course, still the lead cook there, and she would still treat him as if he were the same snotty teenager.
Peggy Lamb had a few more children after Kenny and Annie, leading their youngest, Jackie, to later marry your son. So, it was even more fun to have the Lamb side of the family over as everyone got older.
You wrote a few more books in your career as an author. While never becoming an Agatha Christie, Margaret Atwood, or sadly, a Jane Austen, you were fairly popular. More so in the popularity of when your eldest granddaughter joined a book club, and your book was the one of the month, every member was floored once your granddaughter blew the whistle that, yes, she was in fact related to you.
“Do you think great grandpa and grandma would’ve liked me?” Your granddaughter, practically a baby, places her chin on your lap.
You stroke her cheek. “They would’ve adored you. Especially Papa; you’re smarter than I am.”
“Whatever happened to Teddy?” Jackie and your son’s daughter, Naomi, ask.
Angus comes into the living room in at the name. “He better be dead.”
“Angus!” You laugh
“I’m with Pop-Pop!” Naomi stands. “Teddy was horrible to you!”
Laughter fills the room as the grandchildren talk amongst themselves. Angus comes to your side, taking your hand. “It’s your pick for the first Christmas carol.”
Smiling, he helps you stand from the chair, and you make your way to the shelf of records. Taking one out, you set it onto the record player, and music rings throughout the house.
Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?
And Never Brought To Mind?
It was traditionally a New Years anthem, but you feel a sudden need to cry happy tears this Christmas. You missed your father every single one since he had passed. Still, you were unbelievably thankful to have lived such a life and have a wonderful family.
As everyone, including your own children sprinkled throughout the first floor, attempt to sing the lyrics no one truly knows, a knock comes from the front door. Your son opens it, and in comes more of the Lamb family, all carrying presents and many ‘Merry Christmas!’ and ‘I haven’t seen you in forever’s!’ are exchanged as everyone talks over each other.
Near the back, you see her.
“Mary!” You squeal, not caring how old you are, and pushing yourself past everyone.
You embrace her tightly as you can. You hadn’t seen her since Thanksgiving, but that still felt too long.
“How’s my favorite Jane Bennet been?” She asks, kissing your cheek.
You giggle. “My husband’s not letting me do anything but women’s work like telling stories. I think he’s finally becoming a misogynist.”
Angus sighs. “I can never win with you, woman.”
Your daughter pulls on his sleeve. “Come on, dad. I need your help in the kitchen, where you belong.”
“It’s only because I’m a better cook!” He let himself be dragged around as if she were a child again.
Mary shakes her head, looping her arm through yours. “I’m taking a break from cooking. Come on, let’s sit pretty.”
You sigh as you walk to the couch. “I miss the beach.”
The two of you sit together as ‘Auld Lang Syne’ still plays. More of the children that arrived gather at your feet or sit on the couches beside you.
“Granny,” they say. “how’d you meet Pop-Pop?”
The children that had been there since the beginning groaned, obviously not wanting to hear the story again. You shoo them away, and some gladly scatter to the basement to more than likely watch a PG-13 Christmas movie before dinner. A few stick around, wanting to hear it again.
You look over at Mary. “Do you want to put a spin on it?”
She smiles, looking at them all. “It all started when two, stubborn teenagers got stuck in a snooty, all-boys school…”
is there any chance you’ll write a part 3 for jud?? you write so beautifully for him i need more 🙏🙏
Unfortunately, I don't think so😭 I initially wanted the ending to be much more ambiguous as to whether he actually called her or not, but decided to allude to it being where, yes, he more than likely called her (but it's up to the reader to decide if it worked out or not 🙃) I have the slightest IDEA for an Epilogue/"After Credits" scene, but am unsure if I'll publish it. Thank you SO much for your support though! 🩷
The Hell You Put Me Through
(to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you)
-> Father Jud Duplenticy x Reader
Summary: Jud Duplenticy never considered himself a ‘great man’. He was redeemed, of course he was. Yet…he was selfish, like men are. Even though he wore the collar, that did not exempt him from the desires he once had when he wore boxing gloves. She was an angel to him, and he would not desecrate her. That is what he told himself…yet, despite Holy Week meaning to be the most sacred, it would make his life a living Hell.
Warning(s): 18+, Thigh Fucking, Nipple Play, Partial Nudity, Minor Breeding Kink (if you squint/bear with me), Religious Imagery, Catholic Guilt, Violence Against Women Mention, Cancer Death, and Spoilers for Wake Up Dead Man
Part 2 of 2 (Masterlist)
No, I don’t feel ashamed that this is 10k words of a hot priest yearning (I AM sorry to Jesus, though). I was initially going to name the chapter after a Catholic hymn but had to go back to my routes (Hozier + The message being about loving someone after trauma). A good portion of this takes place after the movie, and I have taken some creative liberties away from the film’s canon. Fun fact: Something the bishop says is something my priest at my parish said. Try and guess what it is 😊. Also, much like some other fanfics, since this is through Jud’s POV, I don’t use the ‘you’ pronoun, so when ‘her/she’ is read [in italics], then that is YOU, dear reader.
Word Count: 10.2k
Jud Duplenticy knew he was foolish to call her ‘Thérèse’ all those weeks ago.
In fact…it took him another week later to remember why. There was one night when they were both eighteen and exhausted from lovemaking, that he opened up a possibility to her.
“When we get married,” he whispered into the crook of her neck. “I want to name our first girl Thérèse.”
She giggled, running her nails up and down his back. “Like the Little Flower?”
“Yeah, we can call her that when she’s being sweet.”
“And when she’s being bossy?”
“She’ll never be bossy.”
She got on top of him. “Then what’s the fun in having a daughter?”
He couldn’t forgive himself for a few days after this realization. There were a handful of sins Jud carried with himself that he could not confess until he somehow found himself outside of Chimney Rock. Most had to do with her.
Save for the fact he had lied and said they would be married years ago…the greatest sin of all was that he still wanted her; in every way possible.
It was so easy for priests and holy men to blame their attraction on women. To claim that they were sent by Satan to seduce them for just existing. No…No, Father Duplenticy knew this was all him.
How dare he? How dare he not only look at her with such longing, knowing he could never give her what she deserved, but to also do it as she took care of her ailing mother.
He was selfish in letting her touch comfort him that one night when they finally spoke of how he killed a man all those years ago. And to then hold her hand in his as if nothing had changed?
Then…and then…that Thursday two weeks before Holy Week. The one day, the one time Monsignor Wicks overslept just by a few minutes, leading Jud to selflessly take over the confessional responsibility. He only heard a few confessions before the monsignor complained of him “stealing his profession”.
It was just a moment after she made her confession.
A confession he would not speak of; not even to her. A confession that, if he thought too much about what she said, and how he could only dream of repeating the same to her, he could not breathe.
But then she was not seen in the choir the next Sunday. She was not at church at all, nor was her mother. He called her, and she did not pick up. He tried her mother, and she did.
“Oh sweetheart,” she began. “we just thought it’d be a nice change of pace to try different churches in the surrounding towns.”
When he asked about her daughter and her sudden resignation from leading the choir, she had an answer for that too.
“She was up to her neck in rehearsals and balancing work. I…I also told her I was thinking of stopping my treatment.”
Jud sat at his desk, his own shock turning his legs to jelly. “I-I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It’s not for certain, but I know how much it eats at her emotionally and financially. Jud…I’m sorry to say this, but I think it’d be best to halt our weekly dinners. At least for the time being.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“You’ve always been such a good man.”
Jud believed he deserved kindness; even after everything. Yet, from her and her family…he didn’t.
Especially on Palm Sunday, after he rightfully called out Monsignor Wicks’s favoritism of a select few parishioners, and was then struck down because of it, Jud took to her house. He was selfish, but reasonable. He had only seen her once or twice in passing the whole month of April.
Jud knocked on her door at around four in the afternoon. No answer. He tried again. No answer.
He called her name. “I know you’re in there. We don’t have to talk now I just…I want to make sure you’re alright.”
The door did not move.
“I-we miss you at mass. I shouldn’t slander, but Martha doesn’t do as well of a job with the music as you do. Lord knows she can’t whip the children into shape; they’re becoming braver these days, wouldn’t you say? I think it’s beautiful how kids are able to think for themselves than just be afraid of…”
He was rambling, and thankfully, he caught himself. Clearing his throat, Jud continued.
“You don’t have to come back, that’s not what I’m asking. Again, I just want to-.”
The sound of a lock on the other side turning reached his ears, and the door opened just a crack. There she was, only showing her face.
“I’m not dead, you can stop talking.” She responded flatly.
She had bags under her eyes as if she had just woken up. Still, he smiled; not out of politeness, but because he got to finally see her.
“How’s your day been?” He asked.
“Okay. My mom’s resting in the bedroom by the kitchen, so maybe keep it down if you could.”
“Sorry.” Jud chuckled. “You know me.”
She rubbed her face. “What do you want?”
“Just seeing how you’re doing.”
“I told you, I’m not dead.”
“You can be alive but not be okay.”
She pursed her lips, forcing a smile. “Well, I am. So, you can go.”
Jud said her name, and her eyes grew. “I know something’s wrong. I know your mother talked to you about possibly going off treatment. You can tell me that’s all there is…but I think something else is troubling you.”
He was her partner for six years…he knew her. He could see it in her eyes, how she looked fearful of how he saw right through her. He was giving her a chance to speak of the confession, if she wanted to discuss it.
“Even if there were anything, I have no reason to say it to you.”
The door slammed without warning, and he was left outside. He said nothing; only stood there for another moment and went on his way. If she didn’t want him around, who was he to force himself in her life?
Then Good Friday happened…If he could omit all of Holy Week from his mind, he would.
The monsignor was dead, and everyone believed he killed him. Jud had no idea if this was the bleakest moment in his life. When he would compare it to the year he killed that man in the ring, he found himself collapsing.
All of Saturday, he was in the police department, being questioned over every single thing he had done and said the day prior. Sunday, he was finally allowed to walk back to the church grounds; all the while, everyone in town, even nonbelievers, scowling and sneering at him.
He fell to his knees towards the naked wall of the chapel where the crucifix should’ve been, and wept. Just as Jesus had wept in Gethsemane before he knew he would be crucified.
The door to the church opened, and light cast upon the darkened church as if an angel had arrived.
That angel was named Benoit Blanc.
He was…an interesting fellow. An accomplished detective, so it was perplexing to wonder how much Chimney Rock’s taxpayers were spending on him being there. The rest of Jud’s Easter Sunday, which was meant to be a day of rest to celebrate the resurrection, was spent running around all of town as if it were a wild goose chase to prove his innocence.
Jud Duplenticy hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours. As Detective Blanc drove him back to the clergy lodgings, he was already drifting off to sleep in the passenger seat. Then, Blanc had said something along the lines of “I need to reach inside your head and get it” and “I want you to write every single thing down that happened to you”.
He was half-asleep when he agreed and led him into the living room, but the moment he saw her…it was like God had struck newfound energy within him.
There she was, sitting on the couch closest to his office and in eye-sight of the door. Her coat was off, yet she still wore a scarf around her neck. She stood upon his arrival.
“Jud…” She said his name so softly.
He said hers in kind. The crackling of the fire was the only sound between the two of them. It was as if they were seeing each other for the very first time.
“I don’t mean to interrupt whatever is going on,” Blanc’s southern twang broke the tension. “but what are you doing here?”
She smiled, stepping forward and shaking his hand, introducing herself. “I’ve been a parishioner here for a few years, and I went to school with Jud.”
“Ah.” Blanc smiled. “College?”
“Kindergarten through high school.”
He whistled. “That is amazing you’ve kept in touch all these years-!”
Both her and Jud stammered, talking on top of each other to deny it until the priest said. “We didn’t always, but uh, when I was sent over from Albany, I hadn’t known she lived here so…”
Blanc hummed, though still kept his grin. “I guess you would call that a miracle then, father?”
“Sure,” Jud smiled politely. “something like that.”
She picked up the forgotten plate of chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table.
“My-my mother and I made these for you.” She handed them to Jud. “We heard about what happened and…yeah.”
“Thank you.” Jud could practically taste them. It’d been almost a decade since he had her mother’s baking. “This is so kind of you.”
“It was mainly her idea.” She said too quickly.
“Still,” he smiled. “you were the deliverer.”
She hummed. The three of them were left in silence again, and of course, Blanc was the one to break it. “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you ma’am, but Father and I have some work to do.”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded, gathering her jacket. “Of course. Have a goodnight.”
“Wait.” Jud stepped forward, saying her name. “Can I walk you to your car?”
She slipped on her jacket before considering, then nodded. “Sure.”
He looked at Blanc. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Blanc took the plate of cookies. “Take all the time you need, I’ll be perfectly content. Goodnight, ma’am.”
“You too.” She smiled.
It was just a little colder when they stepped out into the night. It was common chivalry and courtesy to walk her to her car; that was what Father Jud Duplenticy told himself. There was a murderer on the loose, and if she felt safe enough to walk with him, then she must’ve known he was innocent.
She stopped in the middle of their walk to the parking lot, staring at the church. Jud stood beside her in silence, waiting for her to speak. He tried not to look at her, just on the off chance she’d catch him. Yet…just from the corner of his eye, he saw her frowning.
“It looks scary at night.” She finally uttered.
He furrowed his brow but could understand. “Yeah. Scary stuff has happened there recently.”
“No.” Sheshook her head. “It’s always been like that.”
Jud couldn’t take his eyes off her like she couldn’t with the chapel. It was as if the building had her in a trance. He said her name, and that’s what broke it.
“What was Monsignor Wicks like before I got here?”
She answered too quickly with a feigned smile. “He didn’t change when you arrived. In fact, I think he became more fire and brimstone.”
“I’m serious.” He dared to take a step closer. “What were your interactions like with him?”
She pursed her lips, thinking. Then, she said as if it didn’t matter. “He made me breathe funny.”
“Funny?”
“Yeah.” She started walking again, and he followed. “Like, weird.”
“What do you mean ‘weird’?”
“Are you interrogating me right now?” Her voice was joking but Jud deduced slight edge. “Is that why the fancy detective let you go?”
Jud snickered. “I don’t think you could kill anyone.”
“Sure…”
He didn’t like her sudden change in demeanor, going from forlorn and fearful of a simple chapel, to then making jokes. When they got to the car, she took her keys out before turning to him.
“So, you think Beignet Blanc is going to do anything?” She questioned
Jud shrugged. “I sure hope he does. He’s an atheist, but he wants to help, so that has to say something.”
“If it matters, I think there’s only three things that stand between me and atheism. The fear of going to hell, my mother, and maybe you.”
He hummed. “Glad you think so highly of me.”
“I don’t.” She opened her car and got in. “I never treat priests differently.”
“Hey,” he kept saying her name so much those days. She rolled the window down. “I’m serious when I say this. No matter what happens this week, if it’s about your mom, or anything else, I want you to call me.”
She had that same look on her face when they started dating. The look where she wasn’t used to this kind of caring; where she wondered if there was an ulterior motive behind it. She responded the same.
“Okay…and uh…” She glanced at his shoulder, and he saw her hand on the wheel twitch as if she wanted to touch him. “You can always call us, you know that, right?”
He smiled. “I will.”
“Cool…Goodnight.”
He waved goodbye as she drove off, sighing once she was out of sight. He missed her…he missed her yet was tortured by her.
There was something sinister about Pope Francis dying the day after Easter Sunday.
The day of Monsignor Wilks’s funeral…
Jud Duplenticy found himself weeping more those last few days than he had that whole year. It truly felt that God had left him. It would have been a preferable concern to bare over what the fate of the new pope would be. If the cardinals would elect one of love and understanding, or rigidity and hatred.
Although Father Jud knew he wouldn’t mourn Monsignor Wilks, he would never lie and say he enjoyed his funeral. If it weren’t for having to come face to face with a fate he knew he himself would have someday, or the already present danger of him being sent to jail, it was the uncooperating cultlike parishioners.
Then Cy, one of the most unlikely bunch to break, let them listen to the entire “intervention” they all had with Wilks…The monsignor was his father, and there was a search for a supposed secret fortune.
After trying (and failing) to find it, Jud called the construction company that opened the monsignor’s crypt after finding a sketchy paper order. It was aggravating at first to speak to Louise on the phone; until she asked him to pray for her.
Her mother was dying…and just like that, he knew what to do. He took the rest of the day simply to pray a rosary with her on the phone. Even when she hung up after, Jud did not move from his spot.
He prayed two more rosaries by the time the moon hung high. One was for another mother who was beginning to understand her life was coming to an end, and the other was for her daughter.
Father Jud was tormented by her in two ways. The first, was as a priest within the parish; the same way Jesus would’ve been afflicted if one of his disciples were harmed. The second, was as someone who so deeply cherished her; the same way Joseph must’ve been in agony at the possibility of Mary being persecuted.
He knew she was hiding something; something terrible and monstrous that he wished he could take the pain away from her and place it upon himself.
Blanc had berated him for praying, but if Jud were honest, it was the one time he felt peace that day. After another diatribe, it was settled that they would leave it alone for the day. Blanc agreed to close the chapel and speak to the incoming police, and Jud would head back to the rectory.
On his way, whilst it rained and poured to the point the water seeped through his layers, he saw the unimaginable: Monsignor Wilks breaking out of the tomb like Jesus, only to then attack Samson the groundskeeper.
Even through the storm, Jud could only think of running to help him. He fell in the mud, but still stood, calling Samson’s name.
The last thing he saw was a fist, and the first thing he tasted was blood in his mouth.
When his vision cleared, he was met with the sight of poor, poor Samson. A scythe in his chest, and blood coating his clothing.
Jud fell back with a gasp. No…no, this couldn’t be right. He remembered a knife in his hand, not a scythe, and-and he was stabbing the monsignor because he had attacked Samson, and that was only a dream not a…
It wasn’t real, it couldn’t have been.
A light shining in his face triggered his fight or flight, and he chose flight. Running as if Satan himself were behind him, he ran until he felt he was going to throw up.
He covered his mouth to silence his sobs, and just as he felt the world closing in on him, he looked at his surroundings. Just a few yards away, there was a house.
Her house.
His legs carried him to her door, and he knocked.
No answer.
Just as he was going to knock again, it opened. There she was, in her rose-colored pajamas as if she were getting ready for bed.
“Jud?”
He was sure that the moment she said his name, he would break. Perhaps he already did. He could not speak.
She touched him for the first time in months. Gently as she always was, she took his hand in hers and wrapped her arm around his shoulders to lead him into the warmth of her house. Without a word, she led him up the stairs and into the bathroom connecting to her bedroom.
Sitting him down on the bathtub, she helped him out of his light coat and shoes before running a washcloth under the faucet and sitting beside him. She held his face in her hand while tenderly washing the mud and blood off his face.
“What happened to you?” She asked, cleaning him.
He blinked, not knowing what to say. Then, his eyes settled upon her neck, and he saw the bruises. Extremely faded, almost unseeable, but they were still there.
Jud brought his fingers to her collar bone, saying her name. She took his hand, running her fingers over his bruised knuckles.
“Bring your brokenness, and I’ll bring mine.”
It was what they said when they were together. Whether it was just an ordinary bad day, or the worst day of their life.
He swallowed thickly, trying to smother the building sobs. “I killed a man. Tonight, I killed another man.”
She only nodded, awaiting him to go on.
“Samson I…I don’t know what I saw. I just woke up and he was gone. All of this, the murder, everything; I don’t know where my mind is anymore.” Tears freely fell from his eyes, and he pulled away, crying. “I don’t-I don’t know how God could ever forgive me for what I have done to Samson, to the parish, to you-!”
“What have you done to me?” She questioned, her face of stone. “What harm have you caused me?”
She would cast him out, call him a horrible man, never speak to him again…But damn it all, he had been in hell for not telling her as soon as he saw her that first day in church.
“I have sinned against you.” He whispered. “Every-every time I held you, kissed you, made love to you, I had done with the intent of marrying you. I made an oath to God that all I had done to you would be a sin no more because I would bound myself to you in the end. I made that vow before I made the one to be married to the church! I don’t-!”
He placed his face into his hands, his lungs constricting as if a deity or a demon was trying to silence him. Yet, the man breathed through the pain.
“And I dreamed about you.” He confessed the most difficult sin of all, bringing his hands away and falling onto his knees in front of her. “In the nights when I could not control it, and in the days when I could. I dreamt you were above me, below me, beside me, laughing and crying with pleasure all at once. You tasted…you tasted like heaven, and the sounds you made are what I will hear if I enter paradise. I dreamt of my fingers in your mouth, and my lips upon your skin. I have dreamt all of this during your turmoil and I…and I…”
Jud’s sobbing subsided, only to be replaced with irregular breathing as he hid his face in her lap and she let him. He was a coward; a coward for bearing his shame to her, and for being unable to meet her gaze. She spoke not a word, and there the two sat in her bathroom.
A soft murmur left her lips.
“What?” Jud looked up and saw how her face had fallen. She was already crying but kept her voice steady.
“He hurt me.”
The priest searched her eyes for the answer of ‘Who?’. But he’d already known.
“In God’s-in my Father’s house.” Her voice broke. “He hurt me.”
It had taken Jud Duplenticy years of alleviating the anger and hatred within his heart. All of that went away the moment she said that a man of the faith harmed her.
“I’ll kill him.” He spoke aloud.
“Jud-.”
“I’ll kill him.” He rose up from the floor, leaving the bathroom.
“Wait.” She followed him out, shutting her bedroom door and trapping him. “Think, actually think. He’s gone-.”
“He’s risen.”
The woman froze. “What?”
“I saw him.” He whispered her name fiercely. “I saw him break out of the crypt like Lazarus, and he attacked Samson. I don’t care if God Himself rose him from the dead as a sign for the whole world. He put his hands on you, and I will kill him.”
Jud turned the handle of the door, opening it a crack before stopping suddenly. His lungs were still tight, but that wasn’t the first thing he noticed. It was that she made no sign of stopping him. He drew his gaze at her. Where she always had a fire, even in moments of despair, it had completely gone out. She was exhausted.
It was then Jud Duplenticy remembered the oath he made to God one night when he was only seventeen, and he had just gotten home from Christmas mass with her.
He would comfort and take care of her above all. Her well-being would always outweigh his desire to harm a person who wounded her.
Jud took her face into his hands and kissed her forehead. She breathed softly at the feeling, so he kissed her temples.
Then the apples of her cheeks.
Then the bridge of her nose.
Then her jaw.
And then-.
“Jud…” Her voice heightened as he hovered above the faded marks on her throat.
“You can say no.” He breathed against her skin and she shuddered. “You can deny me and never wish to see me again. But please…please let me take care of you.”
She pulled away only slightly. Tears in her eyes, she nodded. Taking his hand in hers, she led him to her unmade bed and sat him down. The mud from his clothing had dried now, yet he was still filthy.
But many would consider what they were doing filthy.
Taking a deep breath, she brought her hands to the hem of her shirt, searching his eyes.
“Is this okay?” Hers asked.
He leaned forward, pulling her shirt up just enough for him to kiss the bottom of her sternum.
“Only if you want to.” His eyes told her.
She slipped off her rose colored shirt, revealing her breasts to him. Jud sighed at the sight of them, returning his gaze to her eyes. She sat in his lap, cupping his face in her hands and bringing her lips to his.
Jud avoided them, setting his lips gently upon the marks on her neck. The hair of his beard scratched her in just the perfect way. Every hitch of her breath in his ear, blood rushed to his cock straining in his pants. Yet, it wasn’t about him.
It was about Her.
Finally, finally, he kissed her lips. It was innocent, considering all things. They were finding how to love one another again. Soon though, they rediscovered their rhythm.
“I missed you.” Escaped her as she pulled back for air.
“God, I thought about you every day.” He breathed into her mouth.
The look in her eyes made him think she would deny that he did. So, he kissed her again.
Her hips moved on their own against him, and he moaned into her mouth. His hands grasped her rear, helping her move. Her little mewls of pleasure quickened his pace, and she pulled at his collar, revealing the devil and angel tattoo on his neck.
She sunk her teeth into the skin, and he tried so desperately to not sink his nails into the small of her back. Softly and tenderly, he laid her down on the mattress, pulling away to strip off his shirt and collar.
He was a boxer in his past life, a damn good one. Though, for the past few years, his original build slowly was lost. Yet, as she stared at him, she saw the remnants. What was new was a simple cross tattooed on his right bicep. She didn’t get much of a look at it, as he had lowered himself back down to her.
Jud took her hand in his, setting it by her head as he kissed her with fervor. He placed his thigh between her legs. She hummed into him, pushing her shorts to the side and moving against him. He felt how soaked she was as her slick lightly seeped through his pants.
“You’re not wearing underwear?” He whispered.
“I'm not.” If her mind were clear, she would’ve been witty. But not then; now, it was pure, carnal passion.
He moaned into her mouth, and she continued to drag her clit against his clothed thigh. He moved his free hand to her breast, lightly massaging it. She groaned his name, panting as he moved his lips down to kiss it.
Moving to the other one, be peppered kisses upon it before taking his leg away to place on the other side. She whined at the loss of friction, only for it to halt as he began to move his lips down her chest to her stomach. His nose teased her naval, and his hands moved to her shorts, slowly and painstakingly pulling them down her legs.
“Wait, wait!” She heaved, placing her hands on his shoulders to stop him.
Immediately, Jud pulled her shorts back up before placing his hand on her cheek. “What is it?”
Her chest moved up and down as she breathed. Sitting up, she trailed her fingers over the back of his left shoulder. Jud froze.
Thérèse.
That was the name tattooed on his shoulder. That was the same tattoo he had gotten the night after he vowed that would be their first-born daughter’s name.
The same tattoo he knew he should’ve removed the moment he entered the seminary…but he kept it all these years.
She knew all of this of course; why else would she be looking at him like the way she was? Her eyes all wide, and then they drifted to the forgotten collar on the floor.
“No,” she shook her head. “no, no, no.”
Jud said her name, trying to have her look at him. “I’m so sorry.”
She escaped his hold, attempting to calm herself. “No, no I-I took advantage-you’ve been going through a lot-someone…someone died and they’re fucking back from the dead?”
“I don’t know what I saw.” He shook his head. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Me neither.” She rested against the headboard of her bed. Swallowing thickly, she said. “Jud…I can’t do this.”
“I know, I’d never expect you to.”
“No, it’s…” She sighed. “So much has happened in the last few days, where we’re both too erratic to do anything like this. And you said it yourself: You married the church, not me. I won’t be the other woman-.”
“I would leave.” He said without missing a beat. “If you asked me to, I would leave.”
For a moment, she nearly believed him. Perhaps a part of her did. Still, she merely stared at him, trying to decipher what his true feelings were. In the end, she took his face in her hands and rested her forehead against his.
“I think you should rest, just for a little while.”
He nodded, kissing her cheek before laying down on the bed. She embraced him, combing her fingers through his hair. They breathed silently together, the only haze of lighting coming from her lamp.
“I need you to do me a favor.” He said after a few moments. “I need you to call the police. I’m going to turn myself in.”
She furrowed her brow. “Jud-.”
“No.” He caressed her cheek. “This is my choice. Please…”
She was at war with herself, but she gave in. “Okay.”
Just as she got up to leave, he held onto her hand. “Even if I could never touch you again…and we had to live only by staring at one another…I would still love you. I’ve always loved you, even when I tried to forget you.”
Sudden tears sprang into her eyes, and all she could do was kiss his forehead. She pulled away to slip on her shirt. “You should get dressed.”
She left before he could say anything.
Father Jud wasn’t as afraid as he thought he’d be as he dressed himself. Although, after slipping on his shoes, he couldn’t move from her bed. It was as if the weight of it all, and what he had almost done caught up with him. She hadn’t come to check on him, and that was probably for the best.
About ten minutes later, he heard the door open, and he stood. He walked down the stairs and abruptly stopped in the middle when he saw who was standing at the bottom.
His unlikely guardian angel, Benoit Blanc.
The detective beckoned him downstairs. “You better thank your friend here for saving your sorry self instead of listening to you.”
Jud made it to the first floor and saw her with her arms crossed, sitting on the couch in the living room. He bit the inside of his mouth to ask why, oh why had she called the wrong person? Yet, as he looked at her, knowing how she tried to make herself look as if she didn’t care, he could see just how terrified she was.
Terrified for him.
“Thank you.” He said sincerely.
She nodded, then looked at Blanc. “You’ll help him, won’t you?”
Blanc gave her a questioning look. “Why else would you call me?”
“Because I think you would try to.” She stood. “I just need to know if you will.”
He smiled. “I can’t promise anything; but believe me, I will do something.”
She sighed through her nose but nodded. “Is it true Wicks’s back?”
“I believe there’s more than meets the eye.”
Swallowing thickly, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay…Okay. You gentlemen have a goodnight or…try to.”
“My dear,” Blanc stepped forward. “is there anything we could do-?”
“Solve the damn mystery…please.” She almost begged.
He nodded. “You stay safe now.”
Jud gave her one last look; wanting no more than to freeze time and stay with her, just to know that she would be alright. She turned away from him.
He said her name, but Blanc took his arm and led him out of her house. The second the front door was closed, and Blanc was pulling Jud into his car, the priest spoke up.
“Take me to the police department.”
“No.” Blanc got into the driver’s seat, turning the car on and immediately shutting off the radio.
“I did it. I killed Samson, I’m guilty, I have to confess!”
Blanc put the car into drive and stepped on the gas. “You’re gonna tell me exactly what happened, but right now, how do I get to Dr. Nat’s house?”
“Dr. Nat?”
“Yes, quickly.”
The rest of the night and early morning were a blur.
They found Dr. Nat’s body melted in a pool of acid, being held down by Monsignor Wicks. It was enough for Jud to attempt to turn himself in, calling the police and the rest of Wilks’s cult to the church to confess to the murder of Samson.
Of course, Benoit Blanc (his now annoying guardian angel) interrupted and managed to explain the entirety of what had truly happened as if he had an epiphany. This was after just a moment of doubt where he himself could not fully explain everything.
And then Martha…Martha who had grown up alongside Jefferson Wicks, admitted to killing him. She told it was because he had succumbed to the earthly, material sin of greed; saying he would abandon his church for money and power.
To steal the diamond that was meant to be his own mother’s inheritance.
“It was then I had realized, alongside everything else, he wasn’t a saint of the people, he was a saint for himself.”
Her face had curdled into anger, and almost immediately, untightened as she spoke forlornly. Martha said her full name and had more than everyone’s attention.
“I never liked her.” She confessed. “She was arrogant, prideful, thought herself as a prophet with her own thoughts…Yet despite her many faults, she did not deserve what the monsignor put her through.”
“What?” Jud approached, doing everything within his power to remain calm. “What did he do to her?”
Martha took a quivering breath. “I know not what she confessed to you the last Thursday of March, but it should’ve only been known to you and God. The monsignor listened and made her sins his business when it had no concern of him. The following Sunday, he called her into his office and revoked her from leading the children’s choir. Albeit, she made a distasteful joke of him being around the children, but that did not warrant him into putting his hands on her. She called him the devil and left. I had never…I believe I’d only ever seen a woman once look so defeated in the house of God.”
Jud’s heart was trying to force itself out of his chest the second he heard Monsignor Wick had eavesdropped on her confession. Then, his lungs started to tighten once it was discovered how and why the monsignor had hurt her.
And Jud didn’t suspect a thing. She avoided the church at all costs, avoided him at all costs. God almighty, she admitted the monsignor made her feel sick and she looked as if she would throw up at the sight of the chapel.
How could he have ever thought it was all because of him?
Martha told the rest of her tale; how she recruited and tricked Dr. Nat and Samson into helping her with the murder and taking back of the jewel.
That she had poisoned Dr. Nat after he killed Samson, and in turn, took the poison herself. She collapsed, and Jud took her into his arms, taking her last confession.
She dropped the jewel from her hands, and it clattered onto the floor. Detective Benoit Blanc merely stared, and walked away.
All charges were dropped against Father Jud Duplenticy, and the New York Archdiocese believed it would be best to close the church. At least, for a few months.
When Jud was allowed to leave after telling the sheriff all that had happened after she left, and cleaning himself up, the first place he went to was her house.
Apparently, word had gotten around already that he was innocent.
“Praise be to God!” Her mother rushed out of the house, embracing him.
Jud smiled, hugging her. “Always lovely to see you too, ma’am.”
“I told you, none of that!”
They both laughed, and when Jud looked up, he saw her emerge from inside the house. She smiled, truly smiled for the first time in a while.
“It’s nice to see we don’t have to make good on the Work of Mercy to visit the imprisoned.” She jested.
Jud blushed. “I guess so.”
Her mother pulled away from him, fixing his hair. “Well, we can always feed the hungry. You kids catch up, and I’ll make brunch.”
She disappeared back into the house, leaving them outside, alone together. It was as if it was the first time they had met. When they were both in kindergarten at Mater Dei, and he was by himself at the sandbox. She appeared like an angel, asking if she could make a castle with him.
It was one of the greatest decisions he’d ever made to say ‘Yes’.
Just as he spoke her name in front of that house, she embraced him. He forgot that he wore a collar and held her as if she were still his.
They said nothing at first. Even with the possibility of her mother staring out the kitchen window, they did not care.
“Monsignor Wicks never rose from the dead.” He said her name, pulling away and holding her shoulders. “I know what he did to you, and Martha herself condemned it. He can’t hurt you ever again.”
She looked up at him, and her eyes filled with tears like a Baroque statue. “But he does. I don’t…I don’t know if I can come back to the church.”
“The archbishop has said it’d be best to close it for a while-.”
“No.” Her voice tightened. “Even when I took my mother to Easter mass in Albany, a church I loved growing up…I threw up in the bathroom after the homily. He didn’t say anything horrible I…It’s so stupid; I know what the monsignor did wasn’t God but I don’t know why I can’t-!”
A piece of Jud’s heart broke at the sight of her. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s never the fault of the one who was harmed by the church.”
“I still have to take my mom to mass, and I don’t know if I can.”
“I’ll take her.”
She made a face. “The closest church is forty-five minutes away.”
He shrugged. “I’ll drive her. The church here might be closed, but I’m still a priest. I want to serve my community.”
She looked at him in a way he’d never seen her look at him before. Like how she was both puzzled but grateful at the same time.
And she agreed to it.
They had brunch that day, and it wasn’t as awkward as one would believe (even considering all that had happened just the night prior in the same house).
Father Jud kept good on his word; he took her mother to church every Sunday. They’d come back and have lunch at the house. The mother, two months into this arrangement, had decided to go off her treatment.
“I’m ready to meet God.” She tearfully explained to them one day after mass. “And if I am being most honest…I miss my mother and father.”
Her daughter struggled of course, but Jud stayed with her the whole time. When she would try to remain calm, and when she would inevitably explode in grief (both from her mother’s choice, and what happened to her in that church). Jud would listen, letting her vent, and he would speak, even so much as to challenge and push back on her ideals when she truly would say something he didn’t agree with.
Because, even if one is in turmoil, it is never right to be spiteful.
A month later, when the church was slowly starting to open back up mostly to the small community, the first thing Jud permitted was letting women and girls be acolytes and altar servers. Of course, this rocked the boat for the Chimney Rock community. Some who weren’t even apart of Wilks’s cult left the church all together, yet a few more joined, or the ones who stayed were elated.
At the end of that month, she attended a service with her mother.
He wasn’t the one to give her communion, but he saw her walk up to the aisle, and the altar server had to lightly shove his foot with hers to break him out of his trance.
After mass, she approached him. “Your homily was nice, father.”
“Thank you.” He straightened himself.
“I do notice that a lot of people don’t really sing though…”
Jud hummed. “We used to have a children’s choir. Is that something you would be interested in starting up again?”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
A few weeks later, she did just that. It was a bit smaller, considering some of the parish left, and also some of the children would be doing altar serving. Yet, it brought a sense of peace back in her life.
Still, Jud could see at times when she’d walk through the chapel, especially at night, how tense she’d become. That was why, after mass one day, when he could see her face scrunch up during his homily, he asked.
“Do you think I could’ve worded something better?”
“I always think you can word things better.” She deflected with a joke.
“I mean it.” He spoke gently. “I value your opinion. You’re a part of the laity in the church; I work for you and for everyone else.”
And so, that was how she not only became a choir leader, but also a vessel between the clergy and lay people. If she or anyone else ever had a concern about something he said, she’d explain it.
He’d challenge it sometimes, and she’d challenge him. Yet, seldomly did a conversation like that ever leave on a bitter note.
They worked well together…they always did. Especially with the rebuilding of the church.
She came up with renaming the chapel after Grace Wicks. No longer was it ‘Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude’, but now ‘Our Lady of Perpetual Grace’. It was early on, in September, did she suggest adding a large crucifix back into the chapel.
“My mother said Wicks was the Devil because he didn’t allow a crucifix in the church.” She teased. “I wouldn’t want her to start thinking the same of you.”
So, that was how Jud got back into carpentry. A hobby that helped with his healing all those years ago when he struggled with wrath. He always missed it, how he would be able to work with his hands and create something beautiful.
And he had just the thing for the heart of the piece.
It was one Thursday in November, at three in the morning, did a call from his cell phone woke him up. It wasn’t anything new; once in a while, he’d be asked to deliver the anointing of the sick to a person in an emergency.
He heard her voice, and he was immediately wide awake.
“It’s time…” was all she said.
He dressed quickly and gathered all that he needed before getting into his car and driving over the speed limit to her house. She was there with her mother in the first-floor bedroom, trying to keep it together.
She left during her mother’s last confession, and after it was over, her mother took his hand.
“Jud,” she breathed. “I know she struggles. I know she hates part of the faith still…I need you to look after her.”
In all truthfulness, he had no idea how to do so. But he couldn’t say that; and he knew that he would keep to her wish even if she hadn’t asked.
“I will.” He vowed.
He gave her the Last Rites, and final communion. Her daughter came back in, and they stayed with her.
An hour later, she died peacefully in her sleep.
The coroner was called, and she still hadn’t cried. It was when they took her mother away though, and she tried to follow them, that Jud held her back.
Upon being in his arms, and not seeing her mother, she finally knew she was truly alone. She sobbed until her nose bled, and Jud stayed with her, cleaning her just as she had done for him last Easter.
“Do you think she went right to heaven?” She whispered as she laid in her bed, and he sat beside her, stroking her face.
“I do.” He spoke with no hesitance.
Jud stayed with her until she fell asleep. He moved to the living room and was there when she woke up and found him on his knees, praying.
The funeral was a quiet one. There were children from the choir of course, and a few others, but it was just as it was meant to be: Peaceful. Jud stayed with her at her mother's grave until she told him to leave; when she wanted to be alone with her.
Time passed, and slowly but surely, she would learn to smile and find joy again.
They never spoke of what happened the night he laid her down gently and kissed her as if she were his vocation. They never spoke of the day in the confessional either. It was an unsaid agreement that, while those feelings had existed, they were only brought up because of the trauma and stress the two were under that Holy Week.
Jud believed they merely existed together, and loved one another as people; not as lovers, not as friends.
Then…and then, in March, when the world was just coming back to life, and the church would officially reopen, she said she was leaving the following month.
She was in contact with a cousin she had out of state whom she reconnected with the past year. She told him she was going to live in an apartment beside hers in the city and secured a job.
“I have nothing else here.” She admitted. “I’m grateful for the children in the church, the music….”
She stared at him as if to say ‘You’…but she didn’t.
“But I do not have many friends here.” She spoke truthfully. “And my mother is gone, Jud.”
He nodded, saying he understood, wished her the best, and reminded her he would help whatever way he could. Falling upon his knees that night, he wept until he could no longer pray.
It had been a year since the murder of Monsignor Wilks, and Cy, his child, had come back to the church in an uproar to find his inheritance. Benoit Blanc and Bishop Paul Langstom had accompanied him in an act to inform Cy that, no, there was no sign of the diamond anywhere.
“Your real inheritance is in Christ.” Father Jud answered, smiling.
Cy and his attorney responded with nasty looks before leaving.
“Little punk bitch.” The bishop scoffed.
Officially, the church was to be opened that morning. While it had been open since July of 2025, in April 2026, it had made a major transformation and was sending shockwaves through the American-Catholic community.
Still, especially with the resurgence of religious conservatism on the rise since the new administration, even in death, Monsignor Jefferson Wilks had gained a following.
Dare say, him and his teachings became more popular after he was painted as a martyr.
“Let ‘em come.” Father Jud simply responded when the bishop told him Wilks’s followers could cause disruption upon the grand re-opening.
Jud said goodbye to Benoit Blanc after he refused to attend the first Sunday service; to which he understood. She arrived just half an hour before it begun, setting up the choir for the few children who joined.
The service, by all means, went extremely well. It was more packed than anyone could’ve expected, discovering that people across states as far away as California had made the pilgrimage. Only half of the congregation was Catholic. The others were simply pulled in by the unique messages and teachings that circulated among social media.
The town of Chimney Rock had mini journalists (the boys and girls who became altar servers) to thank.
After mass, tables and chairs were set up for a potluck to celebrate the reopening. Just as lunch started, the children’s choir halted the conversations to gift their gracious teacher a generous bouquet of roses.
She was leaving that day…
Jud had accepted it long ago, knowing that, with his love for her, he needed to let her go. After the festivities, they stood near the back of the party as the people conversed or danced.
“You said you’d be in Albany?” He asked.
She smiled shyly. “Just for a few days. My cousin caught a cold from the man she sat next to on the plane and wants to rest. Then, I’ll be off with her.”
“You thinking of sticking with the faith?”
She snorted. “Are you going to come after me if I don’t?”
“Just curious.” He chuckled.
The woman looked around, studying all the faces, new and old, who joined the church. “You set a very high standard; especially since you took all of this on by yourself.”
“I wasn’t completely by myself.”
“Yeah, you had to have the bishop come in and-.”
He said her name, and she looked back at him.
“You helped.” Jud stated. “And don’t say you didn’t.”
She hated the way he was looking at her. Like she was something precious and worth praising. Sucking in a breath, she asked.
“May I be honest with you?”
“Always.”
“I hated you for a while after you broke up with me.” She confessed. “Even though I knew you were struggling after your mother passed, even though your father was a horrible person, I hated you. I didn’t call when that man died in the ring because I simply didn’t care…I know I should’ve-.”
“You weren’t responsible for me.” He interrupted. “I would’ve rather suffered another year than put you through my anger.”
She shrugged. “Still, I should’ve thanked you for not breaking up with me like how Nathan Barry did to Allie Ross in high school.”
He laughed. She could always do that; turn a serious moment into a funny one. It was one of the many qualities he loved and loathed about her.
“I hadn’t known I was going to be a priest when I ended it with you.” He said.
“I’m just simply thankful you didn’t chicken out, say God was calling you to the priesthood, only to then be found in the parking lot being jerked off by another girl.”
He sighed. “I wonder how Nate and Allie are?”
“Mom kept up with all that stuff.” She laughed. “Last we heard, they divorced after two years. You priests ever place bets on the couples you marry?”
“I’m not answering that.”
She smiled, staring at him. “You know my mother would call you ‘Father What a Waste’ when she found out you were ordained?”
He snorted. Of course, he knew about that heinous nickname she and other girls at Catholic school would joke and gift to the young priests and seminarians who taught. He didn’t know how to feel about the title now.
“Did she?” He asked.
She nodded, picking the skin at her nails. “I love you…”
Jud froze, and his eyes changed. The three words came out so suddenly, he felt as if he were dreaming, and he could not speak. So, she did for him.
“I don’t know if that’s what you wanted to hear, but I also don’t know who will be in heaven. Perhaps the monsignor had a change of heart at the last minute before he died like how we as Christians want to believe, and so, after Purgatory he will be in heaven. I will try my hardest to get there, solely because I know that’s where you’ll be…How beautiful it must be in heaven, where if Wilks is there, it is spacious enough that I will never see him but will always find my way back to you.”
He couldn’t stop staring at her; her lips, her eyes, her hair…
Jud Duplenticy, gazing around for any wandering eyes, took her hand and gently led her into the tree line behind the party.
He took her into his arms just as she began to question. They did nothing more than embrace. He held her so tightly it was as if he was trying to meld his skin to hers, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. She responded in kind, gripping the fabric of his black shirt.
Jud knew he could only leave her with a kiss on the cheek. It was tender, it was innocent; it was a deep enough affection where, if anyone were to somehow see them, it would be a scandal easy to deny.
If he were to do anything more than that…he would ruin her.
“I’ll wait for you.” He promised into her skin. “I’ll meet you in paradise.”
And she left…She hadn’t said anymore goodbyes. As soon as he told her those words, she gathered her things and went to her car; driving away from the church.
Just as Father Jud went to make rounds to the public, Bishop Paul Langstrome took his arm.
“I have something urgent to discuss with you.”
He had no decision in the matter, as the bishop pulled him into the rectory and into his own office. Shutting and locking the door, he said.
“We are not in a confessional, but I trust you will be honest with me.” He stated. “Was there any reason in particular you pulled the choir girl into the woods just now?”
Jud’s heart, for the second time that day, stopped all together. His jaw opened and closed as he tried vigorously to come up with bending the truth.
“She-she was upset about leaving and-.”
“Don’t give me that shit.” The bishop spat. “I taught both of your asses in senior year Theology and when you really couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves.”
Somehow, despite being caught, Jud felt like a weight had lifted from his chest. Still, he sat in his desk chair.
“Your excellency,” he began. “I had done nothing. I-I was physical with her a year ago, but I’d already confessed it-.”
“Would you like this to be a confessional so I can absolve you of whatever physical things you two did today-?”
“I can’t give her what she deserves!” He yelled, then controlled himself. “I’m sorry. I-it was during a time we were most vulnerable and shouldn’t have taken pleasure.”
Paul hummed. “So…it was just a blip? You only wanted something carnal to ease your pain? Never, in the past year, when the two of you recovered, did you imagine her like you did that night?”
Of course he did…He was just a man. A man of the faith, but a man at the end of the day. And she…she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; in her face, her heart, and her soul.
Upon his silence, the bishop rubbed his temples. “I’m not going to ask you the extent of what you did that night…but I will ask what you told her. What did you promise her in a moment that blurs the lines between truth and simply saying it because you were vulnerable?”
“I told her I’d leave the priesthood if she asked.” He said with no shame.
“Son of a bitch!” The bishop gasped.
Jud shook his head. “It was a moment of weakness, but I don’t regret it! This whole year, at any point, if she told me to leave, I would have. I confess it, and I own it.”
“It was only a moment of weakness because you couldn’t decide it for yourself.”
He furrowed his brow. There were many things the bishop had said which confused him; this took the cake.
“You heard me.” Paul doubled down. “If your decision of staying or leaving decided solely on her, then I don’t even wanna know what your relationship with God is like.”
“Your Excellency…”
“You can stay a priest.” He said, wandering around the room. “You have done phenomenal things here and have worked so hard to build a community to make others feel safe. It is your choice to stay and nurture this place. Yet, don’t you ever wonder why God puts certain people into our lives? God loves your girl more than you ever will. Yet, He put your sorry ass in her life, because He trusted you to take care of her. We are allowed to reject callings from God, that does not mean our lives will be Hell. Still, you must lay in the bed you make.”
Jud swallowed thickly. It was true…oh, how he loved her. He meant it when he said it; how if she asked him to never touch her, he would still be just as in love with her when he could. But she didn’t know that…she chalked it up to him being emotional.
He took a deep breath. “What do I do?”
“I can’t tell you.” Paul shrugged, sitting across from him. “I can tell you though, that you won’t love God any less if you go after her; and He won’t love you less either.”
That was what struck him. “Leave the priesthood?”
“The hell you look so surprised?! You said you’d leave without hesitation if she asked!”
“I know but…” Somehow, it hit even more just at the thought.
The bishop sighed. “Look…I know you’re afraid no matter what you choose. If you leave, especially after just starting to create a safe place for others, then the church will be out of your hands. You’d have to entrust somebody else to carry on the teachings you believe will bring others closer to God. More of that, what if she doesn’t want you? That’s certainly a possibility. If you truly think about leaving…you have to do it for yourself. Where you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you could live without her in your life. You think that, if you remain a priest, you’d have to marry her to another man, baptize a child you wished was yours…but you know what, Jud? There’s a possibility all of that will still happen even if you leave.”
Jud nodded, knowing especially from his past teachings, that he wasn’t finished.
“The choice is all yours.” Paul stood, placing his hand on his shoulder. “That is what it means to live for God. To love others, in the way you believe you can show best.”
He took a deep breath, processing what he just said and standing. Then, as if to alleviate pressure but ponder a genuine question, Jud asked.
“Did you just Mother Abbess me?”
“Hell yeah, I did.” Bishop Langstom said. “How couldn’t I since you were the most perfect Captain VonTrapp in high school?”
The two laughed, and the whole conversation felt like a rollercoaster after it finally ended.
“Trust yourself and your judgement.” He said. “And climb every mountain, or some shit.”
“Thank you, your excellency.” Jud pat his shoulder, and the bishop left. There, Jud stood alone, taking the time to think.
The current political climate, if not ignoring moral teachings, would weaponize the most popular religion and utilize it as a way to serve itself. Where, either knowingly or unknowingly the followers of both religion and politics would make the president their god instead. If he were to stay, he would not only be a cog in the machine to help resist these harmful notions, but also, above all, be a hiding place for those in need of comfort.
But…oh, how he would miss her.
He knew and had faith he would see her again when they were dead and gone, but could he wait that long?
The tattoo on the back of his shoulder burned at the thought.
Thérèse.
Thérèse.
Thérèse.
His Little Flower he promised to give her.
Where he would’ve already committed himself fully to her, but their daughter as proof of the love and devotion he wanted to give to her until the end of their days.
He would dream sometimes of what Thérèse would look like. She’d had her mother’s eyes and hair, and damn it, she’d have his ears and nose.
There would be nights he’d have this dream, then wake up feeling a loss he hadn’t felt before.
He took out his phone, and opened it, going to her contact. His finger hovered over the button to call her.
He set the phone down.
He paced around the room, staring at it as if it were an alien object.
If he were to call her, there would be no going back. If he didn’t, then he knew he could never see her again.
Could he live without her? If he were to leave a decade of his life behind to start again? Would he fall back into his old ways of terror and hatred?
…No…
No, he would not. Because, while God had graced him the wisdom and the guidance to fix himself and become a better man: He was the one to do the work.
He always thought, when becoming a priest, he would die and be reborn into a man he was meant to be. No, everything single thing that had happened to him, the painful and the joyful, was supposed to have occurred.
It led him back to the church, and in turn, back to her.
Jud stared at the phone longer than one would deem normal. Before he could change his mind, he moved to pick it up.
Summary: The arrival of a new priest brings out parts of your past you never knew if you wanted to remember. Not for horrid, fearful reasons. No, no quite the opposite. The priest is familiar...kind...loving. Something you had been deprived of ever since moving to the small town of Chimney Rock. Perhaps...it is alright to be selfish; just once.
Warning(s): 18+, Catholic Guilt, Religious Imagery, Misogyny within the Church, Cancer Mention, Physical Violence Against Women, Mention of SA within the Church, Wet Dreams, and Masturbation.
Part 1 of 2 (Masterlist)
This is essentially a love letter for everyone who has ever been Catholic; whether they're not anymore, struggling, or perfectly comfortable in their faith. Fair warning, there's a lot of primarily midwestern Catholic culture within this, considering it's how I grew up. If anyone's confused, feel free to ask for clarification. The movie does hold a special place in my heart considering it was a nuanced take on Catholicism (and Duplenticy is at least what I consider a priest should [mostly] be like).
Word Count: 6.7k
Chimney Rock, New York had a population of 7,666. That wasn’t an exaggeration; the first digit was indeed a holy number, and the last three was the number mocking the holy trinity. You were surprised Father Wicks-.
God forgive you, Monsignor Wicks hadn’t bribed nor coerced a woman into birthing a baby to change this unfortunate circumstance. Because everybody knows his views on women, and to merely insist on a woman having a child is better than to insist on a person dying.
Yet, you and the other women of Chimney Rock were spared of this (after three separate homilies of course) when word got around a new priest would come to town. A priest who resided and preached in Albany for the past seven years of his life. A priest who was removed from All Saints Catholic Church for punching a deacon who claimed all sexual assault allegations towards the clergy were merely lies.
A priest whom you attended Catholic school with until you were both eighteen…
“Maybe Jud will finally cast light upon the truth of Christ?” Your mother asked as you dressed her for Sunday mass. “It will be a breath of fresh air to not hear only the Devil speak.”
“Mama.” You laughed. “I don’t think God allows devils to be priests.”
“Any man who does not allow the presence of a crucifix within a church is the Devil.” She said seriously. “He likes to claim it was because of the sins of his mother, but I believe he knows that the moment Christ casts His eyes down on him, he will burn.”
You couldn’t help but agree with her. Still, you decided not to enter a theological discussion, and simply helped her ready for church.
She often refused to go to the one Catholic church in town; opting you to drive forty-five minutes to Owego. You never once complained.
Yet, as she had gotten older, and the cancer within her started eating at her body and spirit, she decided to offer up her suffering to the poor souls in Purgatory and go to Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude.
There you were that Sunday in July, sitting in a pew close to the front. You tried to ignore the leering and judging eyes as you prayed, but no amount of ‘Hail Mary’s or ‘Our Fathers’ could drown them out.
The mass was meant to be like any other mass; stand up, sit down, stand up, kneel, etc. Just like a trauma victim, you had also perfected dissociating during Monsignor Wick’s homilies.
You thought you were ready to see him again. Jud.
While the opening hymn was being quietly sung by the congregation, you caught a glimpse of the back of his head. When everyone up by the altar had settled, it was then he had turned around. He found your eyes first, and the bashful smile you knew so well fell.
As if it were a sin itself, the moment you locked his gaze, you both turned away.
Mass was long and short all at once; the fear within you both from Monsignor Wick’s homily, and the eyes of Father Jud attacking you.
At the end of mass, the monsignor stood upon his pulpit and ushered over to Jud. “Here, God has brought what I assume He believes it to be a blessing in disguise. Father Jud Duplenticy, who has transferred over from Albany for assaulting a deacon.”
A few murmurs escaped the congregation, as if they hadn’t already known. Yet, the closing hymn was sung, and morning mass had ended.
Chimney Rock, if it weren’t for Monsignor Wicks and his few cultlike followers, would be considered an ordinary diocese. Where Jed had a few disingenuous greetings as well as rude ignores after mass, there were some who were kind.
Of course, you and your mother outshined all of them.
“Jud Duplenticy.” Your mother cooed, holding his face in her hands and embracing him. “Darling boy, how have you been?”
Jud laughed, hugging your mother before pulling away. “I am more than happy to see you, ma’am.”
“None of that, you say my name!” She teased, saying your name. “Look at how he’s grown.”
“We left Albany when he and I were both twenty-four, mama.” You chuckled. “He hasn’t grown much.”
He finally looked at you; truly looked at you. A smile finally pulled onto his lips as he did so, breathing your name he hadn’t spoken in years. You returned his grin, holding out your hand; it was the touch you knew you could handle the most.
“Getting into trouble like usual?”
He shook your hand. “You were always the one winding up in detention.”
You snickered. “Father Pruit was always a bit uptight, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I knew.” The conversation quickly slowed into awkwardness once he let go of your hand. “So…Chimney Rock?”
Your mother, sensing the change in mood, spoke up. “I had grown up here and wanted to breathe the air one last time before I kick it.”
Jud’s eyes grew. “Oh!”
He had known about your mother’s diagnosis. You were still talking to him when she was diagnosed. It wasn’t as bad in the beginning; it never was. All seemed fine treatment wise, and then you lost your job a few years in. It was intense enough to get healthcare for yourself, but adding onto your mother, it was another story.
You found another job, of course; one coincidentally in Chimney Rock. There was nothing left for you in Albany, so you and your mother moved. Treatments were still rigorous, and you had to drive long distances for them, but it was still worth it.
“She’s just exaggerating.” You rolled your eyes.
“Do you know what my dying wish is, Father?” Your mother held Jud’s hand.
He humored her. “What is it, my child?”
“To hear my daughter’s beautiful voice within church.” She said. “God has given her such a gift, and she refuses to use it, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Mama,” you sighed. “I haven’t sung in years.”
“Why haven’t you?” Jud asked.
You huffed. “Because I do not wish to.”
“Because you are afraid of Martha Delacroix and her pencil eyebrows.” Your mother corrected.
Jud attempted to hide his smile. “I can’t blame you; she gave me the willies, and I just met her this morning.”
“The perhaps, Father Duplenticy,” your mother grinned. “would you be able to escort my daughter into speaking with Ms. Delacroix about her possibly cantering at Sunday mass? Considering neither of you wish to be left alone with that woman?”
He glanced over at you. “Does she wish to go?”
You sighed. “Fine.”
The two of you walked silently back into the church, over to Martha who was cleaning around the organ. She flattened her expression.
“What is it?”
Jud cleared his throat. “Martha, I’m sure you’ve met,” he said your name. “We both attended Mater Christi in Albany, and I believe she would make a great addition in singing the hymns for mass.”
Martha narrowed her gaze to you as if you were filthy. “She’s attended inconsistently for the last eight years; why now does she wish to gift us her presence?”
You tried to be reasonable. “I believe singing will give me a greater purpose to serve God and-.”
“Is your being not to serve enough?”
“It will only be for one service, Martha.” Jud jumped in. “Besides, she played as a wonderful Maria in The Sound of Music when we were both in high school.”
Martha hummed. “So, during her prime?”
Your desire to laugh outweighed your desire to punch her. Knowing you so well, Jud tried one last time before you could break. “Look, I know I know nothing and I just got here; but I’ve seen how the congregation dozes. Now, I don’t believe it’s because of Father-.”
“Monsignor.”
“Monsignor Wick’s homilies. It’s the same kind of dozing I have seen from members who have been to church day in and day out where nothing even slightly changes. Look, try having my friend here sing for one service, and if nothing changes, then alright.”
Martha considered it; begrudgingly, but she did. After a moment of sizing you up, she asked. “Can you read music?”
You nodded. “Yes.”
“I will ask the monsignor, but if he is to somehow agree, then be here an hour before the ten o’clock service on Sunday. There will be much work to be done.”
Smiling, you nodded. “Thank you, Martha.”
She turned away. You and Jud walked out of the church, grinning for ear to ear before releasing pent up laughter as soon as you were outside.
“Did you see her face?!” You covered your mouth.
He grinned boyishly. “She has to be Mrs. Keene born again coming to haunt us.”
“Oh god, I forgot about her.”
“How?!”
You both fell into giggles once again, until they subsided. You still retained your smile. “I really did miss you, Jud.”
He mirrored you. “I missed you too.”
Nothing else was said that day. No talk of why you stopped speaking in the first place, or of the ridiculous family of elephants in the room; why bring up such things at a happy moment like this?
And thus, your journey cantering within the church started. You surprised not just yourself, but everyone around you with your talent. It had gotten to the point where the one service you sang at would run out of space for the congregation, leading others to stand. Many times, it would be you the few, genuine people would speak to after mass and compliment your talent.
Of course, Martha and the monsignor did not adore this at all. Of course, leading a few homilies to be about you without your name being spoken, but you were used to that.
As long as you got to sing On Eagles Wings during the Offertory, you were happy.
Two months after Jud started, and you cantering, one of the families approached you, asking for their daughter to join. With some convincing (and making it more about God of course), you managed to get a small, children’s choir started.
If anything, it appeased Martha and the monsignor; it would be better to hear children than you.
“It’s just like Totus Tuus.” Jud teased you one day as you took a walk around the church one random afternoon.
You snickered. “It’s nothing like Totus Tuus.”
“How so?”
Oh, how were you to explain it to him? You smiled innocently. “Well, after we would put little children through hours of religious lectures plus perhaps summer activities, we would go and do silly teenager things.”
Silly teenager things being the two of you making out in one of your cars. Well…only sophomore year; junior and senior year…well…you explored each other more.
But you couldn’t say any of that; no, he was a priest now. While you weren’t one to put priests on the same, godly level as others did, you weren’t going to subject an old friend (old boyfriend) to your crudeness.
Still, he got the memo. His cheeks turned light pink, but he laughed it off. “I guess you’re right about that. Still, I’m really happy you’re doing this. Inspiring the kids, bringing music and life into the church.”
His compliments should’ve warmed your soul; instead, you shivered and laughed nervously. “You’re making it sound like I have a good run for sainthood.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not doing anything extraordinary with my faith.”
“Okay, Thérèse.”
“Don’t you dare-!” You laughed.
“Would you rather I call you ‘Little Flower’?” He turned to face you, grinning. “That is what you do. You serve others with your little ways.”
You couldn’t hide your own amusement. “If Father Wicks-.”
“Monsignor.” He pitched his voice up to match Martha’s.
“No,” you put your foot down. “do you want to know a secret? No pope has ever granted him that title.”
“You don’t say?” He scoffed. “Not even Benedict?”
“It surprised me as well.” You rolled your eyes. “Don’t you find it funny? A priest condemning others of supposed sins and false prophecies, yet there he is with a false identity?”
Jud sighed. “If I can speak plainly, if I think too much about the cognitive dissonance between himself and his teachings, I fear my mind will explode.”
“Me too.”
You both walked a little more in silence; yet, it was nice just to hear the birds sing. While the church sometimes seemed to be hell on earth at times, it truly was beautiful.
“But I’m serious,” Jud said your name, stopping you again. “I’m proud of what you’re doing.”
You smiled. “I’m proud of you too.”
That was the first moment where you found yourself falling for him again. A moment you tried to correct yourself, knowing that you were both vastly different people than who you were when you both left.
Jud damn well wasn’t helping.
After that afternoon, he started to call you ‘Thérèse’. It was to piss you off, and he knew it. He never called you that in front of anyone; not at first.
It was just your mother when she invited him over for dinner (every Wednesday, mind you). You simply told her the time when she asked, and Jud named you ‘Thérèse’.
“It was just a little way of helping her!” He defended when you threw a half-eaten roll at him.
It only had gotten worse when he called you ‘Little Flower’ one day as you were rehearsing with the children’s choir; where Martha had also been…
He chuckled as you cleaned up once they went home “I don’t see what-.”
“No, you don’t see, and that is the problem.” You interrupted. “When they go home, they will tell their parents about what you called me, and I know for certain one of their parents will inform the monsignor. I understand why you would think it’s harmless, but it isn’t. It undermined me, and you will be seen as juvenile.”
Jud titled his head to the side, his face fell into submission. He breathed your name gently. “I’m sorry; I didn’t think of it like that.”
“I don’t…” You sighed, sitting in one of the pews. “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, especially not holier-than-thou performative members of the church, but I want to be taken somewhat seriously.”
He sat beside you. “People take you seriously.”
“No, I-!” You silenced yourself once you burst in frustration. Swallowing your pride, you confessed. “There are times I had wished God made me a man so that I would be a priest and be taken seriously within my own faith.”
Jud stared at you. Even before you dated in high school, he’d always done that. It was the one way of knowing you had his complete attention. His eyes were by far your favorite thing about him; they were the gentlest.
“Why is that?” He asked.
“You know why.”
“I think I do, but I want you to tell me.”
Swallowing thickly, you explained. “There’s only one other diocese in all of America that don’t allow girls and women to be altar servers or acolytes. Chimney Rock is the second. We’re not allowed to be preachers, even as teachers, nuns do not have the same esteem as priests would. If a priest gave his interpretation, it would be seen as gospel. A nun? An opinion at best, heresy at worst.”
Jud nodded, listening to you. To hell with it all, you started branching off from your original argument and simply dumped all your rants on him.
“Senior year retreat,” you found yourself speaking of. “when the boys and girls were separated, what did you do?”
“Played football and talked about what being a ‘Godly Man’ really meant.” He answered. “Don’t know if I agree with everything about the latter, but some parts were good.”
You hummed. “You know us ladies had the ‘Don’t throw away your purity or you’re a whore’ talk, but there was something else.”
His blood ran cold. “Something else?”
“When I think of it, it’s not as bad-.”
He said your name. “What happened?”
Sighing, you rested against the pew. “There was a stupid line they duct taped to the floor. We all stood beside it, and they’d ask questions. ‘Step on the line if you like rock and roll’, ‘Step on the line if you like pizza’, ‘Step on the line if you were sexually assaulted’-.”
“Woah, woah, woah.” He stopped you. “They asked that?”
“Would you believe me if I said they asked those questions in that specific order?”
He rested his head in his hands, at a loss for words. The sight of him made you laugh, and he looked up at you, genuinely perplexed. “Why didn’t you tell me when we were together?”
Ah…that was the elephant he decided to address.
You shrugged. “It’s not like we took it seriously when we were kids. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It is.” He said. “It happened to you.”
This isn’t his territory of concern as a priest. Yes, you knew he would have some level of worry hearing how fellow women taught women in the church; yet…the look on his face was not one of a priest fearful for his congregation. No, he was looking at you as if you were still his.
Pursing your lips, you looked at your watch. “I should…My mom will be wondering where I am, and you know how she-.”
“Right, right.” He stood, letting you out of the pew. “Uh, children’s choir singing at four o’clock on Christmas Eve?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, getting your jacket. “we’ll obviously be in here an hour before, so you and the monsignor will be working around us-.”
“No, no, bother at all. It’ll be nice to hear Christmas carols.”
You hummed, forcing a smile. After wishing him goodbye one last time, you walked into the dark night and to your car in the parking lot. The second you shut the door, you hit your head against the wheel until the horn accidentally went off.
As you drove home, you reflected on something your mother taught you. Everyone had their own cross to bear in life. Apparently, God had a sense of humor with the two he gave you:
Your mother was dying every day, sometimes quicker sometimes slower than the day prior
You were falling back in love with a priest who, before he wore the collar, would only ever willingly kneel if it were between your thighs
Christmas Eve mass came and went. It was easier to look at Jud with hundreds of people attending, as well as trying your hardest to make sure the children sounded well enough. You didn’t say anything to Jud the rest of the night save for ‘Merry Christmas’.
The whole day though? You felt his eyes on you. Whether it was rehearsing prior to mass, singing a minor solo of Oh Holy Night during the longest communion of the year, of at the end when your mother talked his ear off.
Hopefully, the new year would bring an end to this foolish behavior from both of you.
Out of all the things to not happen in the year of our lord 2025, the tension subsiding between you and Father Duplenticy was one of them.
For a moment, you thought all was well in January (nothing ever happens in January). Then came February. Somehow, it hadn’t gotten around that you and Jud used to date when you were practically children. There was an unspoken agreement to never speak about it somewhere that could be so public, with others around.
“Do you remember what you did or our first Valentine’s Day?” You asked after mass one morning, deciding to be reckless that day.
He chuckled. “When we were sixteen and I had two dollars to my name?”
“You used to be sweet.”
“Used to?!”
“You tried to cook for me.”
“Would you have rather we ate the burnt stuff, or just warmed up a frozen pizza first?”
You shoved him without thinking. “It’s the thought that counts.”
He smiled that same smile he always had. “You and your mom doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”
“Now that you mention it, probably order pizza and watch Easy A.”
“Your mother wants to watch Easy A?”
“Would you, a priest, suggest we watch Fifty Shades of Grey instead?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe after a bottle of wine or two.”
It was innocent, joking around with each other. Still, it was enough to begin to draw attention as you interacted. You would laugh too loud, he’d stand too close to you…no one said a word.
And then March happened. It was so stupid how it happened. It was Ash Wednesday, and you expected the monsignor’s sermon to be about how you were not worthy and should be turned to dust.
Instead, he condemned anyone who received communion on the hand instead of the tongue.
“You who decide to receive Christ by placing Him in your hands desecrate His body the same way the Romans had done so before His death.” Was what he said.
That night, when you had Jud over for dinner, he decided to stay a while after; even after your mother had gone to sleep.
“Your ash looks like a blob.” You teased after drying the dishes.
He turned the sink off. “Just goes to show how much the monsignor doesn’t like me.”
You looked at your reflection from the back of a spoon. “So, what are you trying to tell me that you gave me a perfect cross?”
“Almost like we’re friends, or something.” He joked.
You snorted, going over to the untouched bottle of wine your mother insisted on getting. “Would you like a glass?”
“I’m alright.”
“Is it like a sin for priests to have wine outside of mass?”
He shook his head as you poured. “No, you just never offered, and we’re not supposed to indulge today.”
You hummed. “I almost passed out in the bathroom at work from fasting; I’ve stopped indulging enough today.”
“I don’t think you were fasting correctly.” He sat on the couch in the living room.
You sat beside him. “That’s what you say?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright,” you took a sip. “what are you giving up for Lent?”
“I’m not giving up anything, I’m saying a rosary a day. What about you?”
“Chocolate.”
“Come on!” He laughed.
You shook your head. “Okay, sorry I’m not Catholic enough to really want to deprive myself of something. I won’t eat meat on Fridays, there.”
“You will.”
“Yeah, I will.”
You both giggled, sinking farther into the couch and closer together. The heat of your bodies radiated warmer than the kindling fire in front of you. Yet, you didn’t want to move.
“Hey, why did we have recess in a parking lot?” He asked suddenly.
You snorted. “Mater Christi was too poor to get a playground. I smoked your ass in four square, you remember that?”
“I remember when the ball went into the street and you made me go get it, and the bell rang so I was locked out of the school and got a demerit.”
“I gave you my favorite pencil and never told you to give it back.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It was all worth it.”
You still believe you laughed more when you were around him. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was just him. You still asked yourself that question as the conversation went on.
“What about monsignor’s homily today?” He questioned.
You set your glass on the coffee table. “I don’t think he even believes it himself.”
“What do you think, then?”
“I think, you know that one shitass that’s always livestreaming the masses? Cy? I think he sent Wilks a fucking Instagram Reel talking about communion, and he decided to use it.”
Jud laughed, and you shook your head.
“No, I’m serious-.”
“I never said you weren’t!”
“Listen, listen.” You giggled. “No, because unless I’m dying, and do not have Dr. Sharp do this if it’s an emergency, but there are only two people who can have their fingers in my mouth. One, my dentist, two, my future husband. Notice how priest wasn’t there!”
All fell silent. It was just Jud staring at you. Your laughter subsided, and it was only then you realized what you just said. It took a moment, but you spoke the first thing that came to mind.
“You know what?” You chuckled nervously. “I never thought you’d be a priest.”
He hummed, not surprised. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”
“Your dad?”
“Of course…”
Your glass was empty. To be fair, you didn’t put that much in, but still. The two of you just a had a sliver of space between each other. Jud dropped his gaze to the floor, and you found yourself moving a stray curl behind his ear. He shivered at your touch but soon relaxed when he looked at you.
You didn’t move your hand but said. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you after what happened…in the ring.”
He looked down again, your gaze being too much. Then, he found courage. “You didn’t have to. We stopped talking-.”
“I know but…still.”
“No.” He shook his head, taking your hand off his face but still holding it. “I was so angry after my mom…I yelled a lot when I shouldn’t have, I was horrible to you-.”
“You weren’t.” You interrupted. “Difficult, yes, but so was I.”
He took a deep breath. “I had so much hate in my heart…I didn’t want to put you through it all again.”
There was truth there; he had become more agitated, even around you. You never laid down and took it, which only made you a demon yourself. It was you who decided to leave first.
“I didn’t become like this overnight.” He said. “I…I felt like I was possessed sometimes. It took years of just unlearning things I thought about myself, things about my faith. I want to do good here; I really do. It’s just the people here, not everyone but many, I feel like I’m being tested.”
“They’ll do that to you.” You rested your head against the cushions. “Especially the six cultists.”
He snickered. “We shouldn’t call them that.”
“You don’t, but I will.” You said unashamed. “I’m actually happy you’re like this. You’re still the same when we were kids but…my mom was right; you did grow.”
Jud shrugged bashfully. “You know you did too, right?”
“That’s different. Girls are forced to grow up quickly, especially in the church.”
“It still matters…”
You said nothing, just relishing in his presence; in his eyes…his smile…his touch…
Looking down at the same time, you both pulled away. Dear lord, how long had he been holding your hand?!
Neither of you could speak, just stare at one another as your chests rose and fell as if you had been…as if…
He finally spoke your name so softly. In a tone asking simultaneously if you were okay, and what you had just done.
“I…I think you should leave.”
“Yes.” He stood, gathering his coat and quickly putting on his shoes. When he said your name gently again, you said.
“Goodnight, Father Duplenticy.”
Jud nodded, leaving. You hardly slept that night; the events playing over your in your head. You woke up more tired than ever. You slept for a few more nights after.
Then, the dreams came.
One moment, you would be wandering an empty, white room; the next, you were in bed with the priest. Sometimes, you would just lay together, caressing any showing skin. You’d speak in different languages but would understand.
Then, he was on top of you. You felt all of him. Even the way how he’d caress your breasts was all too familiar.
Memories and dreams burned together every time you slept. It was always him; no one else. His voice would penetrate your ears as his lips kissed your bare back while pounding into you.
You would seldomly speak to him after mass. He would always be the one to start conversations, and you were the one to finish them within a few minutes.
Whenever your mother would have him over for dinner, you always had something going on. You’d take up an extra shift, you’d decide to start extra choir rehearsals for Easter, or hell, you’d just lie.
Not the most Catholic thing to do, but you had to.
“What did he say to you?” Your mother asked the third week you left her alone with him.
“Nothing.” You shook your head, dressing her for bed.
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” She cursed. “You’ve been like children again ever since he got here, and then comes Ash Wednesday, and you’re avoiding him.”
“Maybe I gave him up for Lent?”
“Don’t you get smart with me!” She yelled before going into a coughing fit. You rubbed her chest, soothing and shushing her.
When it finally subsided, she sighed. “Look, I don’t know what happened and you don’t have to say a word. I just want you two to get a long like you used to.”
“Mama,” you rested your head on her shoulder. “we’ll never be like we used to.”
“Not in this life…”
“Sure,” you sighed. “maybe in heaven.”
It was that same night, three weeks before Good Friday, you finally gave in.
You were dreaming again, though this time, you were in his lap. You weren’t even kissing as he buried himself inside of you. You watched yourself out of your body as he caressed you, kissing your skin and whispering your name like it was the holiest of words.
You pushed him onto his back, bouncing yourself on top his cock. He started speaking in Latin; you did not know what he was saying, but he was praying.
Just as you were on the cusp of your pleasure…you woke up.
Frustrated, you tossed a pillow over your head. Your hand had a mind of its own as it soon slid into your sleeping shorts, pushing past your underwear.
Even when you knew what you were doing, you let yourself.
Your grunts were muffled by the pillow as you touched yourself. The heat of your breath caressing your face only brought to the imagination as you thought of Jud. Rolling onto your stomach, you change positions. Arching your back, you inserted a finger and rubbed your clit.
Oh, the sins you would commit just to have him beneath you.
The prayers you would whisper to have him behind you, his lips and teeth marking you as he grabbed any part of you like a desperate man.
You grabbed your nipples, your hands becoming his as you pinched them. As the pressure built at the base of your spine and between your legs, you thrusted as if he were there.
Biting the pillow beneath you, you tried to silence the noises you made as you reached the peak of your pleasure. Once it was all over, you fell on your side, retracting your fingers and heaving in sharp breaths.
When all was quiet, and you were just with your thoughts, you realized what you had done.
Shame settled in like an old friend, and you did not sleep a wink. You had touched yourself plenty of times in the past, but this time…oh, this time, you felt awful.
The next morning, you rose before the rest of the world. The church offered confessions on Thursday mornings, and while you would always drive almost an hour to go to a different priest, you had to get it out.
Monsignor Wicks always did confession…you hated it, oh how you hated you had to tell him. Yet, your soul wouldn’t feel the same until you did.
Entering the church, your eyes pealed to the confessional and saw the priest’s curtains closed. Deciding not to chicken out, you rushed into the confessional.
You made the sign of the cross alongside the monsignor, speaking louder in fear, and began.
“Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been a month since my last confession, these are my sins.” You got the easy ones first. “I have been impatient with my dying mother, I have been spiteful and doubtful to members of the clergy, I…I have…”
Then came the worst sin of all.
“Father,” your voice grew tight. “I have lusted. I have lusted and touched myself over a man whom I know does not wish for me to look at him like that. It-it would be as if a man had objectified and sexualized a nun and I am no better!”
There were no tears from your eyes, but the stress upon yourself felt all the same. You took a deep breath to collect yourself.
“I am sorry for these sins and for any sins I may have forgotten.”
Monsignor Wilks was silent. The few times you had taken confession from him, he would immediately jump into his lectures. His silence must’ve meant hostility and shock he’d never felt before.
“My sister in Christ…”
It was not the monsignor; it was Father Jud Duplenticy.
Your blood ran cold, and his words trailed off. You could hear his breath stammering from only the curtain keeping you apart.
“Thank you for making your confession.” He began diplomatically. “It is important to remember to honor our parents, even if they are difficult. You knowing your mistake is important and makes you humbler. It is not inherently wrong to question authority, so as long as you are willing to listen to their opinion first, then make judgement instead of immediately deciding…”
He didn’t say anything for a while, and you debated on running out of the church. Yet, your guilt won in the end, and you stayed.
“With your…lust, I would say it is more so loneliness and…and…” Even he had no idea what to say. “For your penance pray an Our Father, Hail Mary, and Glory Be. Please, make your act of contrition.”
You didn’t have to look at the piece of paper in front of you; of course, you knew it by heart.
With a shaking breath, Jud spoke the Prayer of Absolution. “God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
“Amen.” You whispered.
“God has freed you from your sins, go in peace.”
“Thank you, Father.”
You bolted out of the confessional, and out of the church; not even touching the holy water. You forgot to say your penance until the end of the day.
Sunday came, and it was the worst the choir ever sounded. You were more than ready to go home when Monsignor Wicks pulled you aside.
“May I speak to you, my dear?”
He never spoke to you like that. He rarely ever acknowledged you at all, so to hear him speak so kindly…
You went into his office inside of the chapel, already not in the mood and your gaze downward like you were a child pulled into the principal’s office.
“So, to put it shortly, we’re ending your leadership with the children’s choir.” He was sat at his desk.
That was what made you look up. “What?”
“Your performance has been lacking, especially with the service this morning.” He explained. “It’s been decided that Ms. Delacroix will be taking over-.”
“You mean you’re staging a coup?” You snorted. “And for what?”
“I told you-.”
“My performance because of one service was lacking.” You reiterated. “What’s the real reason?”
He hardened his gaze, slowly standing and towering over you. “You want the real reason?”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
Wicks huffed. “Do you remember the Harlot Whore?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake-.”
“You said you wanted the truth, and you will get it!” He slammed his hand on his desk, his voice returning to normal. “Do you think you’ve been careful? Do you think you’ve been devious? The little toddler who cannot keep themselves from crying during service can see the eyes you give dear Father Duplenticy.”
You shouldn’t have shown any signs of weakness, of fear. But, the body keeps the score, and your face dropped.
“Yes.” He whispered. “Everyone can see how much you desire him. We’ve all seen the little touches you gave each other when no one is looking. God Himself has seen your dreams, and how your hand disappeared between your legs.”
Standing up, your heart threatened to beat outside of your chest. “You overheard my confession.”
“Duplenticy told me-.”
“He would never!” You growled.
“But he did.” He approached you. “Do you honestly think he could bare the shame you put on him alone?”
You shook your head. “You might so freely break the seal, but he wouldn’t.”
“Is that so?”
You nodded, tears threatening to spill. “You and your self-righteous ego, it is a miracle in and of itself you haven’t burned.”
He chortled. “And who is it now that has gone mad with religion?”
“So, you admit it?” You taunted. “Your own beliefs and cherry picking of scripture have brought you to insanity?”
“I admit that I shouldn’t have given a woman like you a prominent place within the church, especially in close proximity to the children.”
“Are you jealous of my proximity to the children?”
He clutched your throat with just one hand, squeezing tightly. Your body stilled as he brought his face close to yours.
“What did you say?”
Your lips trembled and took in heaving breaths as he loosened his grip just slightly. “A joke…a horrible joke I shouldn’t have made.”
He didn’t let go of you, not right away. He forced you to look into his eyes; making sure you knew that he held your life in his hands, therefore, carrying all the power.
Finally, after a lifetime, he released you.
“I’ll allow you to keep attending mass,” he said, looking out the window. “but you will not even think of going back to the choir.”
“My mother was right.” You whispered to yourself.
“What?” Wicks whipped his head around. You tried to go to the door, but he gripped your wrist. “Tell me what you said.”
You took a deep breath, still speaking softly through your hoarse voice. “My mother was right; you are a demon.”
His face was red, and you thought if you could look deep into his eyes, you would see a grave with your name on it in his pupils.
“My hand burns to strike you,” he hissed in your ear. “but the mercy of the Lord runs through my veins. Go, and sin no more… whore.”
He dropped your hand, and turned away from you. Gathering your coat, you left the office, though not in a hurry.
A part of you wished that Jud was where he usually was after mass, speaking with your mother, waiting for your return.
But, he wasn’t. Your mother sat outside alone as the weather was starting to warm. You walked over to her, running you hand over her shoulder.
Her smile was lost when she saw you. She spoke your name softly, holding your hands. “What happened, my baby?”
Your lip trembled. “Can we go home?”
She asked no questions. You drove the two of you home without any emotion, yet the second the door shut, and you stripped of your shoes and coat, did you finally break down.
You laid your head in your mother’s lap on the couch, and you wept, confessing every single thing that caused you turmoil.
