#Faith Funeral Service

[faithfuneralservice]

A Comprehensive Guide to Cremation Services in Paragould, AR: What You Need to Know

When faced with the loss of a loved one, one of the most important decisions you'll need to make is choosing between burial and cremation. In recent years, cremation has become an increasingly popular option due to its flexibility, affordability, and environmental considerations. If you're exploring cremation services in Paragould, AR, this comprehensive guide will help you understand the process, available options, and how to make the best decisions for your family.

At Faith Funeral Service, we are committed to providing compassionate and professional guidance for families considering cremation in Paragould, AR. Below, we cover everything you need to know about cremation services, funeral arrangements in Paragould, AR, and what to expect when working with a funeral home in Paragould, AR.

What is Cremation?

Cremation is the process of reducing the body to bone fragments using high heat in a specialized crematory chamber. After the cremation process, the remains are processed into a fine powder-like substance called ashes or cremains. These ashes are typically returned to the family in an urn and can be kept, scattered, or buried according to the family’s wishes.

Why Choose Cremation?

There are several reasons why families choose cremation services in Paragould, AR:

Cost-Effectiveness:Cremation tends to be more affordable than traditional burial. Families can save on costs associated with embalming, caskets, and cemetery plots, making it a more budget-friendly option.

Flexibility:Cremation allows families the flexibility to hold a memorial service at a time that works for them. The service can take place before or after the cremation, and the ashes can be kept, scattered, or buried according to the family’s preference.

Environmental Considerations:Many families choose cremation for its lower environmental impact compared to traditional burials, which require the use of embalming chemicals and take up land space.

Simplicity:Cremation can be a simpler option for families who wish to avoid the complexities of traditional funeral services and prefer a more streamlined process.

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The Cremation Process at Faith Funeral Service

At Faith Funeral Service, we ensure that every family receives the highest level of care and respect throughout the cremation process. Here's what you can expect when you choose cremation services in Paragould, AR:

Initial Arrangements:When you contact our funeral home in Paragould, AR, we will guide you through the cremation process and help you make important decisions, such as whether you'd like a traditional funeral service or a memorial service after the cremation. We will also assist you in selecting an urn or any other necessary arrangements.

Paperwork and Authorizations:The cremation process requires specific legal documentation and authorization from the next of kin. We handle all the necessary paperwork, including death certificates and permits, to ensure a smooth and hassle-free experience for you and your family.

Cremation Process:Once all documentation is complete, the cremation process takes place in a licensed crematory. Rest assured, we adhere to the highest standards of care and professionalism during the cremation, ensuring the respectful handling of your loved one.

Return of Ashes:After the cremation, the ashes are placed in an urn or container of your choice. You can choose to keep the ashes at home, scatter them in a meaningful location, or bury them in a cemetery. We offer a wide variety of urns and keepsakes to meet your family's needs.

Memorial Services and Funeral Arrangements in Paragould, AR

At Faith Funeral Service, we understand that every family is unique, and the way they choose to honor their loved one will vary. Whether you opt for a traditional service before the cremation or a personalized memorial service afterward, our team is here to support you with all aspects of funeral arrangements in Paragould, AR.

Traditional Funeral with Cremation:Some families prefer a traditional funeral service with a viewing and visitation before cremation takes place. This option allows for a more formal goodbye, with the opportunity for friends and family to gather in remembrance.

Memorial Service:If you choose cremation first, you can hold a memorial service at any time. This service can be held at our funeral home in Paragould, AR, a church, or any location that is meaningful to you. Memorial services can be customized to reflect your loved one's life, incorporating personal touches such as favorite music, photos, or readings.

Direct Cremation:Direct cremation is a simpler option for families who prefer not to hold a traditional service. In this case, the cremation takes place shortly after death without any prior funeral services. Families can choose to hold a private gathering or memorial at a later time if they wish.

What Happens to the Ashes?

Once the cremation is complete, you have several options for the ashes:

Keep Them at Home: Many families choose to keep the urn at home in a special place.

Scattering: You may scatter the ashes in a meaningful location, such as a family property or favorite nature spot.

Burying the Ashes: Ashes can be buried in a cemetery or memorial garden, often with a memorial marker.

Memorial Keepsakes: Some families opt to create jewelry or other keepsakes that hold a small portion of the ashes, providing a lasting personal connection.

Why Choose Faith Funeral Service in Paragould, AR?

At Faith Funeral Service, we are committed to providing compassionate, affordable, and personalized cremation services to families in Paragould, AR. Our team understands the importance of honoring your loved one's life while providing comfort and support to grieving families.

We offer a full range of services, from cremation to funeral arrangements in Paragould, AR, ensuring that you have all the resources you need during this difficult time. As a trusted funeral home in Paragould, AR, we are here to help you navigate the cremation process and create a meaningful tribute to your loved one.

Contact Us

If you're considering cremation or need assistance with funeral arrangements in Paragould, AR, contact Faith Funeral Service today. Our compassionate team is here to guide you every step of the way.

[paularoseauthor]

Embracing Mortality: Why Discussing Death is Essential for a Fulfilling Life- PART 1

None of us wishes to face the reality of death. Death is rarely a conversation topic....

Photo by Alessio Lin on Unsplash Here in 2023, the COVID variants are still with us. Healthy people are still dying from this dreaded virus. For example, I learnt of a perfectly healthy 19-year-old who had died within 48 hours of feeling ill. The autopsy revealed it was COVID related. Michelle is a young mum with two tiny toddlers. She tested positive for COVID-19 and felt unwell but still…

[chososdiscordkitten]

Kneel.

Synopsis: Priest!Nanami being completely and utterly tormented by nasty thoughts of reader (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Pairing: Nanami x Fem!Reader Content: pwp, plot before porn, catholicism, questioning faith, sooo much guilt, reader is 29, nanami is 34, reader kinda mysterious -.-

MDNI

Nanami’s life as a priest was busy- no time to be bored, nor time to yearn for more. Two or three funerals a month, mass every day- more than twice on Sundays. A handful of weddings a year, the many church groups he would oversee. His schedule was almost always fully booked.

His life was steady- a routine he followed every day. A life he was riding down happily. 

And when that peaceful life hit a bump, Nanami felt his life could be derailed entirely if he allowed it. 

‘I do it for my god.’

‘I do it for my parish.’

That’s what Nanami reminded himself of when your eyes would catch onto his. 

Preaching Sunday mass to the churchgoers- trying to direct his words to everyone. But whenever he did a scan of the room, his eyes stuck onto you for a brief moment.

Unable to shake the split-second thought of how you were the kind of woman he would have talked up in his 20s. He would shoo them aside before his expression could show what he was thinking. Placing his focus on preaching, instead of you.

You, who always sat at the very back of the church hall. And always with a questioning peak on your brow. 

But only you never stayed long enough after the service was over for him to properly introduce himself. Always walking out the minute the church-goers stood up to bid farewell to their neighbors. 

Even if he was held back by shaking hands- praising him for such a wonderful sermon. Nanami’s eyes still caught a glimpse of you that left the giant wooden doors of the church. Even more so, the clicking of heels against the tile- proud steps away from him as though you had completed your task.

Never did you stand for the sacramental wine nor the offering of the body of Christ. You only stayed in one of the pews at the very back and watched the line of merry people take them from his hands. A tilted head in curiosity with a small smile, as though you were poking fun at them in your mind. 

Day by day, sermon by sermon, you started inching towards him. One pew after the other. And when he finally noticed how close you had gotten, a mere 4 benches away from him. Nanami could see you up close now- the revealing collarbone that stood prominent with every inhale you took, the curve of your neck when you tilted it to the side. And every slight squint you would make as he spoke. 

Seeing you from a distance was one thing- being able to hide his catching gaze whenever he would address the flock. 

But now, he could see you even closer, his eyes catching onto how your lips would slightly purse. Almost in disbelief—when he would recite direct words from the Bible. Caused him to stutter over his words, excusing himself quickly before continuing. 

The part that made his mind reel was the congregation avoiding you. As though you weren’t even there. And Nanami knew this was impossible. A beautifully haunting churchgoer would’ve been swarmed by the single men of the church. 

But to you, they never mattered. Always swatting them away with one harsh look- at times, the aura you held was enough for them to steer clear. And the women of the flock didn’t find it very church-like that you did not greet them upon entry nor bid goodbye to your neighbors when the service was over. 

And the blatant isolation only made Nanami worry- knowing the church’s people can be judgemental at times. 

The Father blamed his priest nature for wanting to introduce himself. Knowing you had been attending for a few weeks now, and wanting to see if you were finding your way in the congregation.

Seven years wearing the white collar made Nanami think he had some sense when it came to acknowledging a troubled soul. However, the unfazed expression you would hold as he spoke and the slight look back at him when you would leave the church, left the man more troubled than you could ever be. 

At once, while he was speaking- preaching the words he carefully chose from the good book. Nanami’s eyes caught onto yours. Stuttering over his words as he watched you raise a brow and tilt your head, all with a vexing smile on your painted lips. 

As though you were taunting him for the stumbling, he saw it in the way you looked at him. Nanami felt your gaze on his skin as he spoke. Felt it burn into him with every word.

And when you finally lined up with the others during the eucharist. His jaw clenched, a sprinkle of nerves coating his hands as he watched glimpses of you through the line of people. Even lined up- you stood out. 

As you came closer to him with every person he gave the small wafer to, Nanami felt his heart start to pound. Never spoken to you- never even introduced himself. And his heart was racing. 

When you stood before him; Thick eyelashes and plump lips greeted him with a small smile. 

Blinking softly and looking up at him, parting your mouth and pressing the tip of your tongue to your bottom lip. Nanami inhaled, his hand lightly trembling as he held the little cookie. 

Looking into his eyes as he placed the weightless wafer to your bottom lip. His adam’s apple bobbing with a gulp, watching you pull the wafer into your mouth with a grin before leaving the line. 

The interaction wasn’t longer than a second- but it shook the Father to his core. Knowing that for the first time in the seven years of being in the priesthood, the first time since he was ordained– he had questioned his faith. 

For the rest of the mass, Nanami couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind. With every blink, he saw a flash of you, softly batting your eyelashes up at him with your lips parted. Even more so when he would scan the audience and see your face, a smirk on your expression, as though you were aware of the torment you had inflicted on the priest. 

Nanami didn’t know what brewed in his soul; he had no clue what called him to you. Why you were so tempting. 

That evening, when the large room was emptied. The Father prayed. He prayed and repented for the wisping thoughts that dared enter his mind. 

‘Let me help this woman,’ he prayed, ‘Let me help you find your way.’ as though he was speaking to you directly, unaware of what plagued you or why you ended up in the church's halls. 

Pleading with the ethereal being in the clouds to help him. To help him see why you were put before him. And what lesson you were meant to teach him. 

Even as he was preaching the words written in the Bible. He would pray in his mind- begging the Lord to rid him of the plaguing thoughts of you.

When he would kneel, close his eyes, hold his hands together against his lips and pray to his god; Nanami always expected some divine insight to race into his mind once he rose from his knees. He always hoped his god would tell him how to fix his issues. 

And so far, it had been a one-sided conversation. 

Tuesdays were spent sitting on the uncomfortable wooden confessional bench, hearing the same issues the regular churchgoers would come to confess. 

‘Anger, gluttony, greed.’

It was always the same—the same menial sins from the same people. Nanami often wondered if they had not tired from the repetitiveness. If they were not as exhausted as he was from listening to the problems they refused to fix. 

After the last regular left the booth, Nanami checked his watch. Noting there was only 20 minutes before 6pm. Part of him wanted to leave the booth then and there. Lock the doors of the church and continue his work in the office. 

But something told him to stay. 

Knowing he was right as he heard the heavy doors open, and the light clacking of heels hitting tile. Getting closer and closer as the Father awaited the curtain next to him to open. 

He cleared his throat as he heard someone ease onto the wooden bench. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” he spoke, hearing your voice whisper an ‘amen’ along with him. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.�� 

Nanami closed his eyes- almost in pain hearing your voice ring through his ears. 

Silk and smooth as he expected. “It has been 14 years since my last confession.” your tone conveying a small smile- the same grin you would have on your lips during mass. 

The man couldn’t speak- his cheeks ran with slight tingles as he heard you. 

“I’ve committed a handful of sins, Father. I don’t know where to start.” tilting your head to the side and awaiting the mans guidance. 

He inhaled, shaking off the feeling of thinking it was you behind the screen. “Of all of them, which seems to be the one that weighs on you most?” his tone was steady- stark contrast to his pained expression. 

“The one that plagues me most-” lightly humming, almost taunting him as you thought. “May I be honest?” you spoke- hearing quiet shifting beside you. 

“Of course. Please- be honest.” Nanami urged, eager to know why you were placed in his path. Why you. 

The grin that arose on your cheeks was one that shouldn’t have. “I have been lusting after a man I shouldn’t be.” You spoke with a light rasp in your tone. Proud shoulders, not daring to falter their posture. 

Nanami clenched his jaw. Pondering if he genuinely wanted to tread through these waters. 

“I have thought vile things while in his presence.” spoken just shy of a whisper- loud enough for him to hear. “I try tempting him.” 

It wasn’t your words- nor the sultry tone you took that bothered the Father. It was how callous they fell from your lips. How easily you admitted these sins and how unapologetic you sounded. 

Even if you had not physically done anything— the sins were only committed in your mind—your confession showed him you were on the steps to show some kind of penance. 

“Do you know the ‘Act of contrition’ prayer?” Nanami asked, hoping the words would bring him back to stable ground. 

“I do.” you spoke softly, awaiting his instructions. 

Gulping softly, “Kneel.” he commanded, his tone sending a direct spike of warmth down your spine. 

Slowly shifting onto the ground, placing your elbows onto the wooden seat, and interlocking your fingers together. “Pray.” the Father spoke in a curt breath, his tone all but begging you to. 

You closed your eyes. “My God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee,” softly reciting the prayer as the Father mouthed the words as you spoke them. 

Even as you recited the rest of the prayer- instead of helping, this only fed the rot growing in Nanami’s brain. Now, knowing you were aware enough of Catholicism and still thought of vile things, he refused to imagine.

And as he recited a prayer of absolution- he begged in his mind for you to pray for him as well.

Pray for him to find the strength to keep the box of carnal thoughts he locked away when he was anointed at bay. 

Even if the priest didn’t believe it, “God has freed you from your sins,” he said. “Go in peace.” knowing that, as it was on Sundays, you would go in peace, whereas Nanami would be left more troubled than when he started. 

And as he heard your voice whisper, ‘Thank you Father.’ before the clacking of heels descended onto the tiles. The thoughts inside that locked box dared to reawaken themselves. 

Thoughts he reserved only for his early twenties, no longer having the right to access them now. But you- you shoved the reservations aside. Made room for yourself in his mind- what plagued him most was how unsure he was if it really was you behind the wooden fence of the booth.

Nanami would be lying if he said he had never prayed as hard as he did once you left the confession box. Making sure to lock the church doors and light a candle. 

Standing at the center of the aisle, the statue of his god looking down at him with tears in his eyes. As though his god was disappointed in him.

Nanami fell to his knees, defeated and scared of what was planted into his brain. 

And as he started his prayer, the words sounded as though he was asking for mercy. Pleading with his god to forgive him, to rid him of you and the infiltrating things he pictured as you spoke. He begged for help on his hands and knees- even a light tear leaving his closed eye. 

Sunday’s morning mass came and went. Nerves filled his hands as he awaited the afternoon mass to start. 

Nanami awaited you- his eyes locking onto the door anytime it opened. He held off the mass as long as he could. And the realization that you were not showing up affected him more than it should have. 

And when afternoon mass started, he thought it might’ve been his fault. Had he assisted you better in your confession, maybe you would have shown up. 

Nanami made up a handful of excuses on your behalf, that you were sick- or just busy.

But none of them were true. None of the excuses Nanami made up satisfied him enough to still his mind. 

And as he was gathering his belongings from the lectern, the church empty and dim as he accumulated his thoughts. The sound of the large doors opening caused him to look up. 

The figure of you walking down the aisle in his direction, calf-length black dress and the same black heels that clacked against the tile. your cheeks lightly damp from the heavy rain that echoed through the halls.

Even dressed modestly- the sight of you still troubled the man. 

Nanami knew it was only you, him, and his god in that room now. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to use the congregation as an excuse to look away. 

He parted his lips to speak, only you spoke faster than he could- “Father, I was hoping we could talk.” a low tone- different from the one you used when you sat in the confessional. But speaking with the same ease that he heard the last time, it made him realize that ‘anonymous’ confession wasn’t anonymous anymore. Nanami was sure it was you now. 

And as though his prayers worked- your face looked almost remorseful. 

“Not as a confession.” you reiterated, causing the man to gulp lightly and try to gather his thoughts. “Just to talk.” 

Ending up sitting in his office- a small room at the very back of the church. Small windows being pelted with heavy raindrops.

Set up in the same way a principal’s office would be. Sitting across from him, desk separating you from the priest. 

Even if he sat in the chair that technically held the power- the aura that surrounded you made a chill run down his spine when he eased into his chair. 

“How are you finding the congregation?” he asked, words he had been thinking since he noticed your seclusion. And being able to ask you without worrying it wasn't you sitting beside him. 

Crossing your ankles and lightly easing onto the arm of the chair, you softly smiled, “The people are kind. I know I can sometimes come off standoffish; they still try.” 

Nanami felt a tension in his throat, as if he had taken an overly large bite of a meal he wasn’t ready for. “I had noticed you had not engaged with the others.”  

“Did you?” you asked- taking on that little upturn in your tone. Your low eyes watch the man before you gulp. The white collar became tight from the words that sounded all too tantalizing than they should have. 

“It made me worry.” he looked down at the calendar on his desk- full of black pen marks of that month’s activities. 

You lightly furrowed your eyebrows, “Worry?” 

“Worry that you weren’t finding your way in the church.” he reiterated, trying to shake away the nerves and make this as you asked. Just a talk. 

Nanami wanted to bring up your confession- he needed to know why you wanted to tempt a man. He wanted to know if you were speaking of him. 

“When I see you leave immediately after the service,” he continued, feeling the light searing your gaze onto his skin. 

“I never had the chance to properly introduce myself-” he spoke, flashing his eyes at you. 

“Do you introduce yourself to every new church member, Father?” You asked, words that almost made the man cough. 

“I try to.” he admitted. Even if every cell in his brain told him to lie- to say ‘Yes, I do.’ 

“I imagine it’s quite difficult- so many people.” you thrummed, softly turning your head to the side and looking at the walls. Decorated with old paintings that had been hung there long before Nanami had been anointed. 

His mind reeling with questions a priest shouldn't ask a member of his flock.

“I am.” you hummed, looking back at the man whose eyes widened slightly. Unsure if you had heard his thoughts or- “Finding my way in the church.” elaborating on his confusion. 

“Were you raised catholic?”

The little grin that rose on your cheeks should’ve told him everything, but it only caused more confusion for the man. “I was,” you mumbled, looking at the body language he held as he sat. 

Tense broad shoulders that made your thighs press together whenever your eyes caught them. A furrowed brow that would twitch when you started speaking. “Around 16 or so, I left the church.” 

“And what brought you back?” he spoke—clearer and without fault. He aimed his intentions at helping you instead of trying to aid his wandering conscious. 

Looking down to your hands, “When I moved back here- something told me to come see the church.” lightly shifting in the chair as you spoke, “Imagine my surprise when I saw a priest I wasn’t expecting, walk before the congregation.” 

He took those words as a negative- as though you were disappointed that he greeted you and not another priest. 

“Were you raised in the church?” you asked softly, watching his eyebrows pinch in the slightest. 

He took a light breath- “I was.” nodding softly and recalling the memories of his youth. There was a small silence- waiting for him to continue as he expected your voice to speak up. Knowing this was to counsel you- not the other way around. 

“Continue, Father, please.” watching his eyes squint and think on it. 

Lightly clenching his teeth, he said, “I went to an all-boys Catholic school.” He softly blinked, looking down at his hands.  

“So you always wanted to be a priest?” you asked, the question coming off more sarcastic than genuine. 

He scoffed with a small hearty laugh- clearing his throat and sitting up. “No- no, I didn’t want to join the priesthood until I was 23.” he elaborated, watching you softly nod. 

“What made you turn back to religion?” repeating the question he had asked you earlier, only with a more seductive tone.

‘Because of haunting women like you.’ was all he could think as you awaited his answer. 

“I wanted to help people—I want. To help,” he said, words he hoped you would hear and pick up on his urge to assist you. 

In your mind, a sneering comment flashing in red- 'You want to help?' almost like a challenge.

“When I came to confess earlier this week-” you brought it up. That’s what Nanami held onto in his mind. You brought it up. He didn’t. 

“I still felt plagued by what I spoke to you about, father.” looking at him with a sprinkle of feigned sincerity in your eyes. 

Only to the man before you- that false sincerity was seen as an urge to rid yourself of your sins. 

His face was still- unshowing any emotion that throbbed in his mind. And you took it as him not remembering. “I recited the prayer of contrition,” you spoke- some attempts to remind him. 

Only the Father knew precisely what you were referring to. “I remember.” he assured, softly nodding and allowing you to continue. 

“After- I felt even worse.” Bowing your head to hide the smile on your cheeks as you toyed with your hands. “They didn’t stop after I left- if anything,” the words spilled from your lips, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin from what you were insinuating. 

“They got worse- more filthy; once I left, Father.” your expression hidden from him- and your tone soft, hinting that this indeed plagued you. 

You sighed, “It was unbearable.” accentuating the word with a pained tone. Smiling to yourself, “I’m sure you know the feeling, Father- as though one light breeze would make you combust at that moment.” 

 “I couldn’t even bring myself to come-” Nanami’s hand dared to clench at your words, “-to Mass this morning; that’s how shameful I felt.”

Answering Nanami’s question without having to ask it- “I thought it would be less frowned upon if I stepped into the church after mass.” 

Nanami gulped at the insinuation- all too fearful of what you spoke of. “Have you prayed on this?” he asked, air threatening to choke his words. 

Looking up at him with pinched brows, lips parted ever so slightly. “I have never prayed so much in my life before this.” 

Your words conflicted with. If you were so godly and sure of Catholicism. Why do your eyes tell him another story? Why do your eyes glimmer with hints of intent- as though you were looking at prey?

“Why do you think these thoughts have yet to leave you?” he spoke- words he said as a priest but meant as a person. 

“I think a masochistic part of me urges me to continue returning to the cause.” Words that rung true in his ears- knowing that he was the same. That, he very much could have excused you- tell you he was busy or that he could not talk at that moment. 

But the same as you, Nanami allowed himself to allow you access to him. The excuse of closure and the urge to help, used to defend himself to the god above him. 

Spoken in a whisper, “Like an itch I can’t scratch.” the Father started contemplating how far it would be if he admitted to the same thing- how bad it would truly be, if he confessed that the very same thing had plagued him.

Nanami was about to part his lips to speak- but the little reminder on his phone rang beside him. Looking down and seeing it- a parish meeting. “Maybe we should continue this next week.” he spoke- almost relieved that he would be able to escort you from the room thick with tension. 

“Have I taken too much of your time, father?” you asked- voice churned with the slightest hint of false distress. 

Nanami inhaled- “Not at all.” with a smile, “I just have a parish meeting in a few minutes.” he excused. Pushing his chair back and standing. 

And as he walked you past the church’s pew benches- a few inches to your side. “How does next Sunday sound?” he spoke, a low tone laced with the tiniest hit of smugness.

Shoes clicking against the tile as he walked. And as you turned your head over to him, a mindless hand was placed on your back. The lightest touch guiding you towards the door. 

“Sunday is perfect, Father.” you mumbled, watching his hand open the large door and await you to step out. 

And as he watched you leave his church- he almost closed his eyes in relief. 

Thinking of the movement Nanami hadn’t made since his days in college- a little action he would use on the opposite gender. It flustered him more now than it ever did. 

Life as a priest didn’t require him to touch women- ever so often holding their hands in his as they spoke to him. A handshake, a side hug from the overly enthusiastic housewives after his services. 

But that touch- the feeling of your back pressed against his palm. It sent shocks of fear mixed with excitement down his spine. 

During the entire parish meeting; the Father’s mind was fogged. Unsure what he was getting into- or why he was so determined to walk head first into this. Even if it was you who caused him to contemplate his life in the priesthood. 

Nanami would help you find your way, even if it killed him trying to. Reminding himself of the words in his mind. 

‘I do it for my god.'

'I do it for my parish.’

-

PT 2

(a.n) ....hehe

[catholic-character-tournament]

FINALS - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Wolfwood

I love him. Man who has no faith in himself or humanity or god with so much blood on his hands, fighting for something he knows he can never see come to fruition in person. He carries his own literal cross and grave marker on his back. Just… he’s so iconic to me.

I'm sure I'm not the first to submit him. But I did it anyway. I hope he wins and I'll do anything in my power to make sure he does

Dude is literally a priest who carries around a giant cross. Yes he uses the cross to murder people but that is besides the point. Also he has a mini church he carries around for on-the-go confession services.

hes literally a priest(hes not a priest in the reboot but he is in the original and thats what matters to Me). he carries around a cross that is actually secretly a gun with guns inside that gun. he runs a church/orphanage. he carries around a portable confession booth and charges people money for it because he is broke as fuck. he dies bleeding out over an alter begging to god for forgiveness he doesnt think he deserves. he is everything to me.

look at this man he's a priest with a cross shaped gun that (spoilers) dies against the side of a church while waxing poetic about life and redemption (/spoilers), this is the Catholic ever.

Wolfwood is liiiiiterally Judas coded in the text. AND his weapon is a massive cross that turns into a machine gun and a LASER. Not to mention his religious trauma. Oh baby. The religious trauma.

Homeboy literally walks around with a giantass 300lb machine gun shaped like a cross called the Punisher. Hes a priest/undertaker depending on what version of trigun you reference. Grew up in a church orphanage. Also literally walks around with a portable confessional box for people to pay to confess to him. Need i say more.

HE IS LITERALLY JUDAS. he is literally leading the jesus allegory to his doom. hes also in love with the jesus allegory (vash). he is also carrying arouns a giant cross rhat is also a gun. hes literally catholic and judas and his tits are perfect. in one piece of official art he's wearing a cross choker. also the catholicism on gunsmoke is about making vash submit. wolfwood looking at that pathetic wet mess of a man oh i can make him submit easily.

He literally carries around a giant cross and is referred to as a priest by multiple characters. also he offers people confessionals

He carries a huge machine gun that is in the shape of a cross that is really heavy (he is strong) and his boobs are huge. So you know hes serving cunt in a god honoring way. Also in trigun 1998 he brings around a small chapel that he uses as a portable confessional and in trigun stampede he holds funeral services as an undertaker which are way overly priced. Also he dies very gayly (basicly confessing his love to his best boy friend forever)

Nick's funny bc he's probably the least Christian acting guy but is literally a preacher. There's a running gag with Vash asking some variation of "what the hell kinda churchman are you?" His gun is a gigantic cross. He rides a shitty motorcycle in the middle of the desert.

ok so thematically the main conflict in trigun is about peace vs violence and its represented by the characters vash and knives respectively. the two aren't /technically/ angels but thematically and through imagery they are and are comparable to michael and lucifer specifically. ANYWAYS. vash and knives are the characters who are constantly pushing and pulling at wolfwood's morality, sort of like a "the devil and god are raging inside of me" kinda deal. his grappling with his morality and faith is a big factor in his character. also he has a giant fucking gun shaped like a cross. and he dies in a church while praying.

Bros an orphan who grew up at a Catholic orphanage and taken away to be trained and genetically changed into a supercharged assassin for interworldly beings that have lots of angel imagery attached. Guy thought he was just going to be taken to become a missonary...instead he got 6 years of religious trauma. He still wears a cross necklace and holds it often. His gun is a literal cross "full of mercy" (its a missile launcher). He never really believed fully in the faith or anything, but the way he interacts with it is FASCINATING. He's jaded by the planet he lives on and his upbringing, and makes him say his most iconic quote: "We're nothing like God. Not only do we have limited powers, but sometimes we're driven to become the devil himself." He prays to a God he doesn't know if he actually believes in, asking for another day— for hope for the human race. The organization hes part of (The Eye of Michael) works for an interdimensional otherworldly being that has an incredible amount of angelic metaphor and imagery attached who intends to purge the planet of humans... and ends up siding with that guy's twin brother who is so Jesus coded it's insane. They are best friends even as Wolfwood is acting under instructions to babysit and watch him for his twin brother. He dies after facing down against his old mentor (named Chapel) and his pseudo brother from the orphanage who was taken into the Eye as well and his Jesus bestie buries him and sticks his cross-gun in the ground after losing his shit crazy style and using his pseudo alien angel Jesus powers to lash out at his brother for being the cause of Wolfwood's death. Rest in peace king

64.media.tumblr.com

via @monvment

Sister Michael

She drives a DeLorean. She does judo on Fridays. She likes a good statue and despises the French. Her full nun name is Sister George Michael, after the guy from Wham!. She is the fiercest nun you’ll ever come across and, if you’re attending Lady Immaculate College, she’s the woman in charge. So whatever you do, if you’re feeling anxious or worried or just need a chat: don’t come crying to her.

joined the nunnery for the free accommodation?

she does love a good statue it has to be said

She is the headmistress of a catholic school <3

sister michael so reminds me of the nuns who taught me. they're tough and sometimes a little harsher than a woman who dedicated her life to god should be but they're also wonderful people. i had a nun teacher who was 60 years old and would do handstands. another nun (also in her 60s) told me god was nonbinary. another was really mean and made me cry. (so did the handstand nun.) while the catholic girls school is The Catholic Experience, the school wouldn't have been the same for me or the derry girls without at least one nun who seemed to have sprung up out of the ground fully formed, ageless.

[magics-neptunes-things]

Happily Ever After (Ready, Aim, Shoot - Epilogue)

Hello!

This is the end of my serie Ready, Aim, Shoot but I really feel like you don't have to read the three other parts to understand it :)

Enjoy!

TW : None

(1) | (2) | (3)

Loving Alexia is easy. You know that your girlfriend is sometimes describes as someone shy, socially awkward, and sometimes too serious. Those people don’t know your Alexia. Your Alexia is sweet, caring, protective, loving, and attentive. She takes care of the people she loves; never lets you carry a shopping bag when she comes shopping with you and remembers everything you prefer since day 1.

And, as you look at your girlfriend coming out from the bathroom, you wonder how you are so lucky. She’s yours, she never left you when you were a mess and stay right here every single second. You are still recovering but you are way more in a healthy state than some weeks before. And not talk about when you came back from Middle East.

You needed some time to talk again to your former colleagues and way more time to talk to the families of the one who died. You went to the funeral of course, with Alexia, but some of them had kids or lovers and you didn’t have the strength to look at them in the eyes. And sometimes you imagined Alexia at their place, and you can’t imagine the pain. You asked her one time, how she would have reacted if you hadn’t come back alive.

She didn’t answer but explain to you how she reacted when she learned that you had an accident. And that she never loses faith in your comeback, because you promised, and you always kept your promises to her. You still have the necklace she gave you; it never left your body since that day.

Even when you go showering, even if your girlfriend teases you about it.

“What are you thinking about Cariño?” Alexia asks you.

“About my perfect girlfriend. Do you know her?” you smirk.

Alessia giggles and it’s a sound that she doesn’t let a lot of people hearing and you love it. Sitting on your lap, she passes her arms around your neck.

“Tell me more about her?”

“No, if I tell too many people how amazing she is, someone is definitively going to take her away from me” you smile before kissing her.

Alessia smiles against your lips, and you deepen the kiss, not being able to resist to the attraction you have for her. The hotel Alexia chooses offers you a lot of privacy. You have your private beach, jacuzzi and swimming pool. For eating, you can choose one of the restaurants in the area or to eat on the terrace thanks to the room service.

You have a lot of things to do here, swimming, going to the spa, sun tanning, going for an excursion or even diving. But for the first days, you almost didn’t leave your room, enjoying your room and the different facilities offered in it.

(You have a lot of amazing sex too.)

With your mental health getting better, you were able to finish your book and send it to several publishers before leaving for your holidays. You still haven’t had an answer, but you’re not really stressed. You know they probably have a lot of work and it’s the holidays, a lot of people aren’t working for now.

Alexia and you decided to forget a little your phone, you only take one hour during the day to do what you want. You usually answer to your friends and family and Alexia call her mother and sister.

That’s why you are surprised to wake up because of your phone buzzing on your nightstand. You manage to get out off Alexia’s arms to be able to take it and have a look on it. You frown when you see that this isn’t a number you already know. You get up, walking silently on the terrace.

“Hello?” you say when you far enough from Alexia.

“Hi. Am I talking to Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yes, it’s me” you frown slightly.

You are stunned to learn that this woman is working in one of the publishers where you sent your book. And that they are interested in publishing it. You are still stuttering when a worried Alexia comes looking for you.

“Who was it?” she asks right before you hang up.

“A woman working for one of the publisher.” you mumble, still looking at your phone.

“And?”

Alexia seems stressed out like hell when you raise your eyes on her.

“They want to meet me when we come back to Barcelona. They are interested in publishing it.”

“What? Cariño that’s amazing!”

She’s smiling like she just wins another cup, and you can’t help but smile too. She’s right, of course it’s amazing. You just can’t believe it. Alexia takes you in her arms and makes you spin in the air. You laugh and pass your hand around her neck. She kisses you when she puts you back on the ground and you tiptoe to be able to kiss her in her neck.

“I’m sorry I woke you up though” you say after kissing her jaw one last time.

“It’s alright” Alexia smiles. “I’m used to be the one leaving bed first, it was a strange feeling waking up alone.”

“Well maybe you’ll stop leaving me in the morning now” you smirk.

Alexia chooses to not answer and just smile at you with malice. She doesn’t need a lot of sleep to feel rested and you sometimes envy her. She usually has done a lot of things when you wake up. Sometimes she made some calls for her job, she went running or has made progress on her various projects. Yes, because your girlfriend isn’t only a talented footballer, she makes other things too. You can talk about her foundation, More than eleven.

“Do you want to go to the restaurant to eat breakfast?”

You don’t really want to, to be honest. You would rather have only Alexia for you, being able to stare at her during the whole meal without passing for a creep. Your hesitation is easily seen by Alexia who is quick to add:

“Or we can stay here, just to two of us?”

“We can go to the restaurant if you want to. We haven’t seen a lot of people since we’re here.”

You shrug and smile slightly at her. She smiles back and take you by your hand to take you again in the bedroom. The light breeze makes the curtains fly when you enter the room again and Alexia takes the menu on the table to look about their propositions for the breakfast. You look over her shoulder, kissing it when your choice is made.

“I think I’ll take the one with avocado toast.”

Alexia nods and you sneak out to take a shower while she phones reception to place an order. You haven’t decided what you will do today, you know there is some excursion Alexia is interested about, so maybe you’ll join one.

Your heard Alexia coming inside the bathroom, even if the door is open very quietly and she makes almost not other noise when she gets out of her night clothes. You smile when she joins you under the shower, passing her arms around your waist and pressing her body against yours.

Your scares aren’t as visible as they were before, but you find confidence back for several times now, thanks to Alexia. She keeps telling you how beautiful she thinks you are, so you ended up believing her. You remember how you were studying her gaze and her face when she was telling you that kind of things, looking at any trace of lie. And how you looked at her when she saw you naked, looking for the slightest disgust. But nothing ever comes.

Your girlfriend seems to be sad when she tells you that you don’t have time to have fun under the shower, because of your breakfast being already prepared. But you know it will come at some point during the day, none of the both of you seems to be able to keep their hands away from the other.

“I wanted to talk about something with you” Alexia says slowly, when you are sitting on the terrasse, eating your breakfast.

You were looking at the sea being as far as the eye can see, but you report your attention on Alexia. She’s looking at you with a caution that intrigues you. She hasn’t look at you that way since a long time.

“Ok? Should I be worried or…?”

“I don’t think so” she smiles, and you feel relief almost immediately.

Alexia never lied to you.

You enjoin her to continue with a nod, posing your knife and fork next to your plate half-eaten. You are still very curious to know what can be in your girlfriend’s mind.

“I know I wasn’t really a lot at home lately, with my foundation and the others different things I was doing in addition of football” she begins “But now that everything is launched, I’ll be able to be home sooner and more. I’ll still have meetings or something, but I would be able to make it by video conference a lot.”

“Ok?” you answer, not really seeing where she went to go.

There is a moment of silence before she talks again.

“I want a baby.”

You blink several times, not really prepared to that. Sur you talked about having kids, but it was before your accident, and it doesn’t really come back in your conversations those past months. You were thinking that Alexia thought that you weren’t able to have a baby right now. Seems like you were wrong.

“I…”

“I know that maybe it’s a little bit precipitate because of what happened lately and that I was a lot away, but I swear that you always have been my priority and if we start the process to have one, I’ll be nothing more than my job at Barca and taking care of you.”

“Ale –“

“And I really think it’s the good moment. You’ll be able to write another banger while pregnant, I’ll install a desk on our room if you need to stay in bed. And I’ll cook everyday if you want me to.”

“My first book isn’t even published. And since when do you know the word banger?”

Alexia rolls her eyes and you smirk at her.

“What do you think?”

She looks almost shy, one thing she hasn’t be with you since your first dates. You don’t have to think about it for many minutes to be honest, you know she’s genuine about everything she just said. And you already can figure how much she will be protective over your child.

“Ok” you just answer.

“Ok?”

“Yes. Let’s have a baby.”

********

Alexiaputellas

Liked by mariona8co, marialeonn16, ona.batlle and 150,794 others

alexiaputellas Another Putellas is expected this summer🤍

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janafernandez3 My baby brother or sister 🥰

yourinstagram I love you 💜  

yourinstagram

Liked by mariona8co, marialeonn16, ona.batlle and 80,794 others

yourinstagram Soon 👶🏼🍼

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alexiaputellas 💜🥰

claudia.pina I'm so excited for this

fan1 I want to know if its a girl or a boy 😭  

Alexiaputellas and yourinstagram

Liked by mariona8co, marialeonn16, ona.batlle and 1,080,794 others.

alexiaputellas After 9 months of wait and 29 hours of work, you are here. I can't explain how much I love you and how I'm proud of your Mami.

Welcome to the world Alejo Jaume Putellas Y/L/N.

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jennihermoso the feet of a future great striker 👀

elialexiaalba 🩵🩵🩵

[di-42]

Unfortunately once again I've only had time and mental energy for very short fictions that could fit in a commute or two this month. But, as it's always the case, there are a few wonderful gems among these! 

Please don't be fooled by the number of Kudos! Ao3 is not Amazon! 

As always I'll tag the writers whose tumblr usernames I know. If you're a writer and you want your story removed from this list please let me know.

And now, without further ado, let me tell you about the wonderful stories I've read this month, and the things I loved about them! ♥️

November’s Notable Fictions

WIPs:

Wavelengths & Frequencies, by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon Rated E, chapters 15/?

This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Enemies-to-lovers human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but we don't know what it is at the beginning. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies, absolutely great banter! I look forward to every update and do a little joyful dance every time I get an update notification. This fiction is becoming one of my all time favourites.

You're The Bad Guys, by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula Rated E, chapters 20/?

Cold war human AU in which Aziraphale is an MI6 agent and Crowley is a KGB agent. Each of them is assigned to a mission in Berlin, from opposite sides of course. Great characterisation, suspense and references to canon.

My own WIP, And I Did, rated E, chapters 14/15 (nearly there!)

In my not-a-summary I say that this is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Which is true. But I have come to think of it also as my apology dance to Crowley. My headcanon about Aziraphale has always been clear, but at first I wasn't sure about what Crowley would do after the final 15. I didn't see Crowley drinking himself oblivious or taking a road of self destruction. But I didn't know what he would do. Then it hit me, and that was when I started writing And I Did. I knew what Crowley would do. Crowley would do what Crowley does. And what does Crowley do best? This is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Aziraphale is Supreme Archangel, Crowley is Grand Duke Of Hell, and they have to bring about the Second Coming. And of course they're not talking.

Complete stories:

The Small Ad by ladydragona and SylWritesStuff, rated E, 32k.

To overcome boredom, Crowley offers his services as a hired partner. Aziraphale is need of someone to pretend to be his partner. The rest is history. This is a lovely, hot, and sweet fake relationship fiction. Very interestingly, the POV changes at every paragraph, and because the story has two authors it left me wondering whether one wrote Crowley and one wrote Aziraphale, but kind of in real time.

The Angel’s Gambit, by Augenblickglotte, @dragonfire42 , rated T, 9k.

Aziraphale has been playing chess with the angel of Death for over 1500 years. You'll have to read it to find out why. I loved the banter between Aziraphale and Azrael. 

Percy, by Jackie Thomas (Jakie_Thomas), not rated, 10k.

This is the story that touched me the most this month. It's set 100 years in the future. Aziraphale leads a quiet existence in a cottage. When Adam Young dies of very old age, Crowley picks up Aziraphale to go to his funeral. He doesn't stay after that, and you'll have to read it to find out why. The story does have a (kind of) happy ending. Or a hopeful one, at least. But it digs deep in some of my very real, very human fears. Fear for the planet, fear of growing old, fear of growing apart, fear of everything ending without us ever getting a second chance of fixing things. I really loved this story and will go back to it again. It also gets extra points for reversing the roles of how the fandom usually see Aziraphale and Crowley! Top marks! 

Caramel Delight, by AJ_Constantine, rated E, 16k.

Lovely neighbours to lovers human AU. Crowley is instantly attracted to the new neighbour and his -oh, lord- forearms (and, I mean, who wouldn't?). But he's determined not to make things awkward, they are just friendly neighbours. That's why Aziraphale keeps knocking on his door for more of that caramel sauce Crowley makes so well. One of the tags in this fiction is: Aziraphale is bad at flirting. I very much beg to differ.

One shots and short stories: 

Can I Have Your Number? by AppleSeeds, rated G, 1.8k.

Aaawww. Aziraphale goes to order drinks for him and Tracy, and writes down his number for bartender Crowley. Crowley asked for it, right? RIGHT?? All well that ends well, this story is brief and sweet. 

Angels Don't Blow Their Own Trumpets, by shaggydogstail, rated E, 8k.

This story had me cackle! Crowley poisons himself by accident (well, by trying to be cool, point is he didn't mean to) and there's only an antidote that can save him. Please DO READ the tags for this one. 

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon And Airbnb Superhost, by TheOldAquarian, rated G, 3k.

A selection of reviews by guests who rented Crowley's flat on Airbnb. Very funny! 

Proving One’s Loyalty, by @indigovigilance , rated E, 4k.

Set towards the end of season 1, Aziraphale goes to heaven to speak with a higher authority only to find that Gabriel has taken Crowley prisoner. Aziraphale has to torture him in order to prove himself to heaven. Smut ensues. 

You Can't Un-See A Dog, by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits), HolyCatsAndRabbits @holycatsandrabbits rated T, 4k

This was one of the highlights of my month, fiction-wise! Crowley is summoned by two humans to be offered in sacrifice. Aziraphale knocks on their door within, like, 3 minutes. I just loved this story: The light banter and the interactions between Crowley and Aziraphale are chef's kiss; the adorable domesticity of their relationship shines through in a situation that really is not domestic at all; Aziraphale is being his incredibly brilliant self; AND there's a little mystery-solving thrown in for good measure! Top marks! 

Hold The Phone, by theRavenMuse, rated E, 1k.

Crowley listens in on Aziraphale having intimate moments by himself. But phones work two ways. Lovely and hot! 

Plausible Deniability, by GayDemonDisaster (scrapheapchallenge), rated E, 5k. 

This story was so, so lovely! Set before and after the first failed Armageddon and not season 2 complaint, but to me it really feels like it goes very well with my personal headcanon regarding season 2 in general and the final fifteen in particular: they do communicate and they don't need words. The story itself is about Aziraphale denying to himself that things are happening by pretending it's all a dream. The writer illustrates their deep connection and mutual understanding beautifully. 

The Co-Pilot, by beardo @e-rated-beardo rated E, 4k.

Incredibly hot human AU. Eh, I say human AU… incredibly hot AU. Tony is attracted to Az, but is afraid of acting on it because of what the author describes as an ‘overfamiliar demon’ who sometimes took the wheel for a minute. So he's content to just chat to Az at the pub. Yeah, like Az is ever going to shy away from an encounter with Crowley's inner demon.

Presque Vu, by NaroMoreau, rated E, 9k

Human AU. College student Aziraphale sees his ex Gabriel at a party he didn't want to go to to begin with, so of course he hides in the kitchen. Until his (and everybody's) impossible crush offers to pose as his boyfriend. This story is incredibly lovely and heartwarming!

Masturbation (Doesn't Count As Sex, Surely?), by Hellsgardener @hellsgardener01 (I think it's you?) rated E, 1.3k.

Very few fictions manage to convey such intense feelings of sweetness and hotness alike in such a short tale as this one! Aziraphale asks Crowley if he's ever had sex and reminisces about his own solo experiences.

To Bind Them, by LCwrites, rated E, 5k

Human AU with a lovely enchanted/supernatural/faerie element. Aziraphale is tipsy at Anathema’s Halloween party and when he overhears Crowley talking on the phone he wants to find out what he's up to. But that's not even the half of it.

Our Homeward Steps Were Just As Light, by On1OccasionFork, rated T, 7k.

I've seen this little gem recommended a lot recently, and with very good reason! Human AU where Pepper works in a nursing home. Anthony is a beloved guest prone to causing trouble, Aziraphale is a new guest. It's tender, deep, funny and original. Stirs things in you, a fiction like that. I loved it. Extra points for being in Pepper’s POV.

Hot Blood, Hot Thoughts, Hot Deeds, by Supergeek21, rated E, 3k.

This story was really up my street! Crowley is a vampire in search of a bride. Aziraphale should be scared, but he's too busy being aroused instead. Sweet, funny, and sexy.

A Newsworthy Affair, by @waitingtobebroken rated T, 1k.

A funny, adorable, fluffy fiction told through newspaper ads that the editors of the newspaper never authorised publishing. If you're in need of something to put a big smile on your face, this is it!

Merry Christmas, Hellspawn, by Libbyfay, rated G, 4k.

Beautiful Warlock’s POV fiction. It's the first Christmas since nanny and brother Francis left without a word, and Warlock feels lonely. He goes to what used to be brother Francis’ shed, goes through the box of Christmas decorations and reminisces about the past, until someone knocks on the door. I am quite partial to the few, precious Warlock’s POV stories, and the author does an excellent job at depicting the pain of an 11 year old and that casual, matter of fact way 11 year olds deal with great pain. This story is delicate, and beautiful and deeper than it might seem.

Series:

Wrong Number AU, by GaryOldman, rated T.

This was the loveliest, sweetest, fluffiest series. Best to read  the stories in order to fully enjoy it. In Text From An Unknown Number (12k) Aziraphale text Crowley’s number by mistake. They hit it off straight away, but of course things are never that simple. Most of the story is told via the texts they exchange (between themselves and with others) and it’s amazing how the author manages to convey excitement, feelings and a little angst in that way. I loved this fic, but I feel I have to give a little warning that the Harry Potter series is heavily used and referred to in this story. Sorry, Right Number (2.5k) is the super fluffy Christmassy continuation of TFAUN. Aaaaww, lovely! He's My Wrong Number, (1.6k) is possibly the fluffiest of the three and it's a real treat to read! A very happy ending to the series!

Poems:

DEATH Grinned-HE Didn't Have Much Choice, by @isiaiowin rated T.

Very evocative and powerful poem about Death.

Thinking Of Nanny, by @the-ineffable-dance

Another incredibly beautiful Warlock's POV fanwork to end this list. Warlock is all grown up and goes for a walk in St. James’s Park, where he sees someone familiar. The only complaint I have about this poem is that it was so difficult to read through the tears, really.

October's list here.

[see-arcane]

The Harkers have got me fucked up. Not just from how much they're going through. Not just from how well they know each other.

But in how much is not being said. How much that appears to have been missed.

Mina has just made their friends swear to euthanize her. In front of Jonathan, who she knows cannot/will not make said promise aloud, though she tries to fish it out. A funeral service, yes, but no more than that. She takes the wins she can, relying on the others for the sacrificial slaughter while she pries what she thinks is some mote of acceptance of the Worst Case Scenario in Potentia from Jonathan. Perhaps she's read the vampiric vow of his journal by now. Perhaps not. Perhaps she already suspects either way and wants desperately not to see him damn himself, damn both of them, to avoid raising a killing hand to her.

She is going into the dark. What kind, she does not know yet. But she knows--thinks she knows--she has taken some measure to save her soul and Jonathan's. God's will be done. (Piety trembles in her heart, a fear trying frantically to still look like faith.)

Jonathan, meanwhile, is in Hell.

As it was in the castle, there are some miseries too deep to dwell on for him to stomach writing them down. Hence his tapping Jack to record it all. But the silence from him here, bar the dodge of the promise that goes against his private vow, bar the reading of the burial service, sinks deeper than any horror he suffered from the Count in person. What can he be thinking now?

I made this all possible. I opened the door to England for him. Showed him how to spread his poison. Failed to strike a killing blow when I had the chance. Slept frozen and useless beside her as he drank and made her drink. Lost him by inches in Piccadilly. Now I am here, listening to her claim so sunnily that any man of old would murder his woman to save her from the enemy's touch, as if asking for a trifle. All the while I sit contemplating a hellish betrayal, holding my heart over her wishes, over sanity, humanity, Heaven and Hell. Contemplating worse.

(The kukri is very sharp by now. In time it will have so fine an edge that no one would feel its cut before their head toppled off. Be they in a coffin or a friend with their back turned. Sickly, he finds the thought cold and placid in his mind. Is he not already damned for what he's allowed? Is he not already slated for the Count's collection? He knows whose blood it was on the monster's lips on that final dawn in Transylvania. And when he dies...)

I imagine he has to stop himself from making a mirrored request to the others right there. Has to stop himself from handing Mina the Bible and asking her to read it out for him. If she is lost, he is lost. It is not merely undeath that he would follow her into--whatever she is, wherever she goes, so must he be, so must he go.

Read it for me now, darling. You laid it all out so eloquently. I am already lost but for the wait for the grave. Come everyone, while we're here. Two funerals. Two sets of oaths. I can perhaps save you half the work, if I fall neatly enough on the kukri. Pry it from my heart and take my head when the time comes.

But he bites his tongue. Does not touch his pen. Does not risk heaping another weight on his love who is already crushed beneath existential terrors that are being thrust on her by the actions of others. She does not know what he is planning, even if she suspects it by half.

What she knows: Jonathan cannot raise a hand to her. (He would have me as a monster than not exist at all.)

What he prays she never will: Jonathan will be anything she is. (Mortal. Monster. Dead.)

One last secret to keep.

All the way to the grave.

[senualothbrok]

Remembrance

Summary: In Waterdeep, Tav journeys through grief and loss, with Gale by her side.

(Featuring fighter and Harper Tav, Professor Dekarios, and Jaheira.)

Word count: 4.9k

AO3 link

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Angst (with resolution). Grief/bereavement.

A/N: This fic is dedicated to @tee-dohrnii, who wanted to read about Gale comforting a Tav who has experienced grief and loss. I hope that anyone who resonates with this journey finds comfort, hope and healing through this fic.

Thank you again to @inglorionamy-ammy for being a fantastic beta-reader.

**********

She would roll her eyes. That was Charis’ usual response, when you were halfway through a diatribe about your uncle’s ineptitude as a parent, or the way the roads were more perilous than they used to be, or how she had always been stubborn to a fault.

But the last time you saw her, Charis had thrown her head back and said instead, “You always do this.”

“Do what?” you retorted, irritated by her interruption.

Her bright eyes crinkled slightly, her voice softening.

“You forget. You look back at something, and you just see one part of it. You forget the rest of it. You forget to remember.”

You had stared at her, backfooted by her sudden seriousness. Her unexpected insight embarrassed you. You waved her away.

But this is what you remember now.

****

“You’ll be pleased to know that all is in order for the funeral, my Lady. There’s only one matter left, on which we’d be grateful for your direction.”

You stare at the cleric. There is a languid deliberation, a cloying softness, in his words and movements, common to all the clerics of Lathander in this temple. It irks you, how they speak as though life were a slumbering companion to tiptoe around, rather than a crushing flood leaving nothing but rubble in its wake.

Beside you, Gale clasps your hand. Your other hand is a balled fist. You gaze at the blanching of your knuckles.

“What do you need from me?” you hear yourself say.

The cleric hums as he thumbs through a crusty tome, his gnarled fingers scratching at the pages. With a practised smile, he holds the words out to you.

“We would like you to choose a reading on Charis’ behalf, to commence and conclude the ceremony. There are five potential passages.” He indicates each one painstakingly. “Please let us know which one your sister would have preferred.”

You stare blankly at the writing as it swirls and congeals into a mass of meaningless blots. You stare and stare, until you can stare no longer, until you are no longer sure what you are staring at. Gale’s hold on your hand tightens.

“Brother Walter,” he says. “Perhaps you can leave the passages with us, so that Tav can have a moment to consider them?”

The cleric nods, an impression of patience, understanding. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

He lays the tome on the table between you and rises. As you watch his stooped and receding back, a bolt of bile surges within you.

“Shouldn’t you know?”

Brother Walter stops, glancing back. “Pardon?”

You stand. Haltingly, Gale follows suit. His fingers remain intertwined in yours, as if he is afraid to let you go.

“Charis came here every week,” you say. “For daily prayers, services, all the rest of it. She believed,” you jerk your hands around you, “in all of this. She spent time here with you all. She thought it was something worth doing.” 

Brother Walter’s pale eyes widen. You can tell he is unaccustomed to scathing displays of disgust. You imagine him shuffling about the temple placidly, padding out his existence with pointless prayers to his indifferent god. All at once, this is the most offensive, despicable thing you have ever imagined.

“She was one of your faithful. You knew her. Shouldn’t you know what nonsense she would prefer?”

Brother Walter looks down. Gale clears his throat. The building awkwardness only adds fuel to your fury.

“My Lady-”

“In fact, shouldn’t the Morninglord know?” you spit out. “He loves his faithful, right? Is that why he claimed Charis when she was barely twenty five, at the prime of her life? She must have been incredibly highly favoured by the Dawnbringer. What a blessing.”

Brother Walter’s thin lips twitch. You welcome his indignation, his sanctimonious chiding. You are practically begging for it. You want to fight, to rage, to scream. You want to drown this temple in the sea of your grief.

But he says nothing. Instead, Gale drifts into your vision. His eyes quiver like soft earth, his frown stilling you for a moment. Your hand goes limp in his.

“My love,” he whispers.

Your breath spasms. You are a glacier, shattering against the shore.

“I don’t have a godsdamned clue what passage Charis would have wanted,” you choke. “Charis should be here. Not me.”

Gale turns towards Brother Walter. You do not know what passes between them, and you do not care. When he shuts the door behind him, you let Gale take you in his arms. With the steel of your rage, the bleeding void that gapes, you cannot reciprocate the tenderness of Gale’s embrace. But it does not deter him. He holds you for a long time.

“Aren’t you going to tell me off?” you ask eventually.

He draws back to look at you, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. When his skin grazes yours, you wonder whether he can feel the black ice beneath.

“Whatever for?”

“Disrespect and discourtesy. Blasphemy.”

His brow steeples, his lips parting in surprise. “No, Tav. No.”

He takes your hands and kisses them, so firmly and yet so gently. You tremble at his affection, the warmth of his touch.

“I think vitriolic anger is an appropriate response to this injustice.” The lines on his forehead are deep and dark. “This tragedy.”

Everything within you twists, like the tendrils of a tornado, tearing you apart. You try to speak, to maintain composure, but all you can do is clench and unclench your fists. He notices.

He is tentative at first. Then his words tumble out swiftly, lightly, almost playful. Like Charis’ springing feet when you practised swords together. Her leaping sprint when she stole the apples that were halfway to your mouth.

“Do you want me to conjure an effigy for you to batter?” he offers. “A dummy for you to rip apart? Should I find some barrels to fireball? Perhaps some statues for you to shatter in reckless abandon?”

Months ago, you and Charis had told Gale about your favourite childhood pastime, after your father had left you in the joyless care of your uncle. Over one of Gale’s sumptuous home-cooked meals, you had laughingly extolled the virtues and cathartic benefits of breaking everything you could get your hands on. You and Charis had offered to give Gale a detailed demonstration, but he had respectfully declined.

You are cut through by the joy of this memory, and of Gale’s love in sharing it. They are a sunbeam, searing through your empty heart. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury yourself inside him.

“Charis would approve of anything you choose,” he tells you, when you start to weep.

***

“So I told her, in no uncertain terms, that the next time she sends a simulacrum to one of our Board meetings, I will not hesitate to destroy it. That got her attention.”

As Poppy bobs her head in pride, you watch her tight curls bounce like coiled springs. Beside her, Kriv’s emerald scales shine as he applauds Poppy’s bravery. Gale is chuckling, cradling your hand in his lap. You mimic a smile.

Around you, there is the echoing of clattering mugs and clinking glasses. Hollow voices bleed into trailing laughter. The glow of candlelight warms your companions’ eyes and skin, but does not touch you. You have the strange feeling of being submerged in a glass box, watching and listening, hearing but not understanding. You feel disembodied.

You have sat at this table many times. When you moved to Waterdeep with Gale, you were keen to visit the Yawning Portal, the legendary tavern where Gale had rescued an unwitting crowd from violence with the power of ale, wit and generosity.  You were overjoyed when Gale introduced you to his old friend Kriv, the dragonborn bard who narrowly escaped a stabbing on the night of Gale’s heroics. You made fast friends with Poppy, too - Gale’s colleague at Blackstaff Academy, a pyromancer in specialism as well as temperament.

And when, a few months after the wedding, Charis had moved to Waterdeep, no trip to the Yawning Portal was complete without her. It was only natural that Charis should move to be near you. Before you awoke on the nautiloid, you had worked as mercenaries together, watching each others’ backs as you had since you were children. That did not need to change, just because you were married now, and had taken up with the Harpers. Charis settled in quickly, as she always did, renting modest lodgings near your tower, surprising you by joining the City Watch as a Constable. Your baby sister, finally putting down roots beside yours. You could not imagine life without her.

You stare at the empty space beside you.

You suddenly realise that your companions have fallen silent. You look up to three pairs of eyes, brown and green and blue, expectant and concerned as they wait for your answer. You look back blankly. You did not hear the question.

“Kriv was wondering whether we can still expect Jaheira next month, my love.” Gale squeezes your hand, his smile flickering. “Apparently, he’s quite taken by her.”

Kriv sighs loudly. “There's no use hiding it. That woman’s sunken her talons into my big black heart. If I had a moment alone with her, I could-”

Poppy chortles. “You spoke to her for all of ten minutes last time, Kriv. And you were more than a little tipsy.”

“It's called love at first sight, Popsicle. The stuff of odes, sonnets and ballads.” He waves dismissively. “I thought wizards were supposed to be wise.”

Poppy arches an eyebrow. “We are.”

You are nodding, smiling. You are trying.

“Jaheira's coming next month,” you manage.

You expect Gale to come in with a quip, but he does not. As Kriv and Poppy resume their bickering, Gale dips towards you. There is no hiding from his searching gaze.

“Do you want to go home, Tav?” His face is dark with worry again, a familiar sight which shames you.

After the funeral, you promised yourself that you would keep going. You would put on a brave face, as you and Charis had always done. For so long, you only had each other. You had to be strong for her, and she for you. As fighters, you were trained to soldier on through the most harrowing of battles. You would go on as normal. You had to.

So you accept every social invitation at Blackstaff, every gathering with Morena and Tara. You show up to every shift, attend meetings with Harpers around Faerun. You try to continue as though nothing has changed.

You can tell this troubles Gale. When he encourages you to take some time out, you reassure him this is not what you need. You need to keep going. To keep doing. You shrug off his tender, knowing gaze whenever he asks if you are alright. You cannot explain that you will never be alright again. This is what life is like now, without her.

“I'm fine, Gale.” Your voice is harder than you intend. “Everything's fine.”

A frown creases his brow. You avert your eyes, leaning forward to plant a long kiss on his cheek. You let go of his hand as you rise, turning towards your friends.

In the brightest voice you can muster, you ask, “Does anyone want another round?”

***

You are drifting towards the bar when you see her at the corner of the tavern. Ash blonde hair, shaved on one side and cut harshly at the chin. A deceptively willowy frame, concealing the strength of mountains. A soft, round face with deep set, almond eyes. She turns away, back facing you, nestled within the cackling group around her.

Time stops. The glass box splinters, and you are raked through by piercing ice. You leap towards the vision of your sister - flesh and blood, alive and well, here with you, and not crushed beneath the rubble of a disintegrated orphanage.

You knew it. It could not have been Charis lying on that pallet, grey and stiff as a torn doll. That was not the Charis you had wrestled with in the grass, who spiked your drinks with chilli and laughed so loudly that your ears rang with her delight. The Charis who sang in her sleep, who sharpened your blades as you stitched up her wounds. A desperate, frenzied relief possesses you.

An elderly man yowls as you shove him aside. A coiffured youth curses as you knock half of his ale onto the floor. You ignore the heads that turn at the commotion. You bound towards her, heaving wildly as you clutch her shoulder.

“Charis,” you cry.

She spins around to face you. Her eyes are wide with confusion, the blue of a cloudless sky, not the green of spring leaves. She is all straight lines and angles, harsh and pinched. Her skin is pale, unadorned by the freckles which mirror your own. On her jarringly narrow forehead rests a choppy fringe of an unfamiliar fashion.

You are winded. You stand speechless, tears erupting from you like guttering flames. The woman who is not Charis shifts away. The burly man next to her steps forward.

“Is there a problem here?”

You cannot move, cannot think. You have lost her. You are condemned to lose her again and again. A torment, an agony of remembrance. You cannot bear it. Your legs buckle beneath you.

He catches you. You know it is Gale before you see him. His body is warm and solid around yours, his arms steadfast and sure as they embrace you. The fragrance of sandalwood and soap envelopes you. He cups your cheek, sealing your forehead with kisses.

“I’m here, Tav,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

You are shaking. His body reverberates with your grief. You wonder if it is a shield straining to crack.

“Charis… She was…I thought…”

“I know.” His gentle eyes glisten as he holds you. “And I’m so, so sorry that it wasn’t her.”

All at once, you are sobbing. Cocooned against his chest, you begin to register the swirling of footsteps around you, bent on resuming the rhythm of the bustling tavern. You feel sharp jerks of Gale’s head, hear his protective warnings to irritated passersby. You know Gale would fight any one of them if they insulted or threatened you. You cannot allow that to happen. There can be no more death, no more tragedy. You try to steady the spasms of your breaths, to regain control of your limbs. Gale waits. He does not let you go.

When you stumble to your feet, Gale stands beside you. He brushes a tear from your cheek, weaving his fingers through yours.

“Let’s go home,” he says.

***

Every dawn is a punishment. A mockery by the Morninglord.

You draw your curtains, wrap yourself in the darkness of your bedsheets. You drink in sleep like an elixir, a balm that helps you forget. A spell that maintains the illusion.

You dream of her. In your dreams, she is alive, a babe and a child and a woman all at once. Barefoot and squealing as you chased her through the summer fields. Smug and smirking as she found your hidden stash of erotica. Feverish and frail as you fed her broth in bed. Grinning and victorious as you yielded to her wooden sword.

You dream of the thorns as well as the roses. Her incandescent, roaring rage. Her vile obscenities. Her stubbornness that drove you to madness. The petty squabbles you grew out of, and the meaningless quarrels you did not. You long for them now, more than ever. What you would not give to feel her seething anger, the proof of life in blood that boils.

Your dreams are a canopy, suspending you in time. Death cannot reach you there. It is perfect, and every time you wake, the anguish of truth crushes you so completely you do not think you will ever breathe again. You crumble beneath the weight of it.

You cannot keep going. Everything has changed.

***

He is curled against your back, close as a second skin. His arm drapes around you, his hand resting against your chest. You can smell the salt of sea air on Gale’s teaching robes, the bittersweet scent of his musk. It has become a routine, for Gale to bound up the stairs on return home from his lectures, sliding silently into the bed behind you, as though he never left your side.

“Jaheira sent word.” His breath caresses the shell of your ear. “She’s arriving a bit earlier than originally planned. She would like to spend that time with you.”

You say nothing. You can sense his movement. He is trying to catch a glimpse of your face, to parse the signals of your turmoil. You know you should feel gratitude at his love and patience, guilt at your withdrawal, your failure as a wife, friend, and Harper. But all you feel is a gaping chasm where Charis used to be.

“Tav.” His voice is impossibly soft. “I know it’s agony, unimaginable agony.” His hand reaches for yours. “But you’re not alone. I’m here for you, all of our friends are here for you, and we love you. I love you.”

For a long time, you cannot speak. You are collapsing into yourself, drowning in memories. When you answer, your voice is strangled and hoarse. The sound of decay.

“She was my mirror.”

Gale is quiet for a while. A tear rolls down your cheek, into the space between your intertwined fingers, braced against your heart.

“What do you mean, my love?”

You close your eyes. It hurts to speak of her. Every word is an admission of her absence, an ache that swallows you whole.

“She told me when I had food on my face,” you begin. “I wiped the mud off hers. She showed me when I was being an asshole. I made her keep her promises. I took care of her, and she kept me going. She told me I was her hero. I never got to tell her she was mine.”

You are haunted by all the things you should have said and done, broken links in the chain of possibilities. You had always thought there would be time. Why had you taken it for granted, as though every moment with her was infinite? You should have cherished them like pearls of dew in a desert. Now, you have nothing left.

“She’s gone, Gale. Who am I without her?”

You cannot see his face, but you can feel the resolve in his frame. He holds you against him, as though he can shield you from the storm.

“You’re who you’ve always been. Kind, brave, passionate. The warrior who saved the world. A soul that puts the stars to shame. The woman I love.”

He speaks with such certainty. You do not think you will ever be sure of anything again.

“I don't know how to be, without her.”

You can feel his heartbeat against your back. Its rhythm is constant and true.

“She'll always be a part of you, Tav. You carry her within you. Nothing can take that away.”

Something wrenches inside you. You are overcome by all of your doubts, all the questions that strip you bare. You cannot hold them back any longer.

“I should have insisted,” you choke. “When we asked her to move in with us, I shouldn’t have taken no for an answer. I could have kept a closer eye on her, then. I could have vetted her last mission with my contacts. They would have known that orphanage was falling apart. I could have warned her, stopped her, saved her…”

Gale is shaking his head, first slowly, then more and more insistently. His denial wracks your entire body, but you do not stop.

“My whole life, I’ve tried to protect her. To take the blows meant for her. She had so many years ahead of her. I should be dead, not her.”

Gale flinches. His hands are urgent, almost forceful, as he turns your body to face him.

“That’s not true. Please don't say that.”

You wince as he cups your tear-streaked cheeks, holding your gaze with brown fire. His chest heaves, and you feel his distress like a dagger, twisting with the knowledge that you are the source of his pain.

“Charis loved you fiercely. Furiously. She wanted nothing but the best for you. She wouldn’t want this for you. For you to be torn apart by guilt and regret over a tragedy no one could have prevented. To think it was in any way, shape or form your fault.”

His voice trembles, his eyes a stormy sea.

“No, Tav. She would want you to live. She wanted you to be happy.”

You want to cling to the thought, to the hope that Charis had. Her passion for life, her love for you. But sorrow comes like an avalanche, and you are buried in it. You are gasping, keening, weeping into his chest. You are a mangled mass of memories that hurts but never heals.

But he remains.

“There’s nothing you could have done to change things,” he whispers. “You’ve done nothing wrong. None of this is your fault.”

He presses you so tightly against him, you feel his breaths as your own. He kisses the crown of your head over and over again, his very own warding spell.

“I love you,” he says. “I'm here.”

***

You are standing in the kitchen, watching Gale stirring a simmering pot of Hundur sauce. He bobs his head enthusiastically as he relays the latest news from Kriv and Poppy. A strand of grey hair falls over his eyes, and you lean forward to tuck it away. He kisses your palm as you draw back.

You had stayed home when Gale ventured to the Yawning Portal last night. You had intended to go through some reports from recent Harper patrols, but you did not get far. Instead, you sat on the balcony with a glass of wine, staring at the stars. Thinking but not thinking. Feeling but not feeling.

When Gale returned much earlier than usual, you did not chide him. It had been an effort to convince him to go in the first place, to enjoy the company of his friends without fretting after you. You could still see the concern in his eyes when he joined you on the balcony, peppering your face with tiny kisses, as though he had not seen you for years.

You had kissed him properly for the first time in weeks, open mouthed and inviting. You could feel his yearning, raw and swollen, a surging flame dampened by worry. You reassured him that it was what you wanted, you were ready, it was alright. You had made love, wreathed in the haze of the stars - desperate and starving, throbbing with longing. And afterwards, you wept. You were relieved, so relieved, that you could still feel desire. That you were still capable of showing him your love. That having Gale inside you was still the closest you had ever come to feeling complete.

“I don’t have the heart to tell Kriv to cut his losses with Jaheira,” Gale goes on. “Though my esteemed colleague probably has that task well in hand. Better to leave such things to the experts.”

You chuckle. “Kriv doesn’t listen to Poppy though.”

“No.” Gale titters. “He doesn’t. I’m not sure how much he knows about Khalid, either.”

Gale’s brow flickers as he searches the kitchen counter. Instinctively, you pass him the pepper.

“He’s a bard,” you point out. “He’s read all the legends. And he’s done a ton of special research on Jaheira.”

“Ah.” Gale hums, his fingers a flurry of seasoning. “Then he must be an optimist as well as a hopeless romantic. To hear Jaheira speak of Khalid… She’s still married to him in spirit, and I think she always will be. New love can’t blossom in a field already full.”

You are quiet for a moment. Gale bustles around, squinting and frowning as he tastes his creation. You cannot help but smile at the intensity of his focus, his pride in everyday miracles.

“Khalid was a good man,” you say. “Compassionate and kind.”

You step forward, pressing yourself against Gale’s back, wrapping your arms around him. A sigh escapes him, a huff of busy contentment.

“He loved her,” you continue. “I think he would want her to be happy.”

Gale stops stirring. Slowly, he turns to face you. His smile is sunlight on thawing snow. He presses his forehead against yours, his arms circling your waist.

“I think he would, too.”

***

You are grizzling and grinning as you pour Gale’s sauce into jars, ready to be stored in the larder. The sauce was a mere moment away from being ruined, Gale mock-complains, because you drove him to distraction yet again. Thank the gods, he declares, for his discipline and self-control.

You are developing an appetite, in more ways than one. You suspect that the flush on Gale’s cheeks is not just from the heat of the hearth. You are dividing up the last of the sauce as briskly as you can when an afterthought comes to you.

“We need to keep a few jars aside for when Charis comes,” you exclaim. “She loves this stuff. She asked if she could take some away with her the last time she-”

Your throat closes. You cannot breathe. There is a roiling inside you as the bridges you have started to rebuild crumble to dust. You are dust and ruins, and she is gone. Never again will she savour your food or drink, or sit with you and Gale trading jests and barbs. Never again will you ruffle her hair and cuddle her close, a grown woman, formidable and fearless, but still your baby sister. Always your baby sister.

You break.

In an instant, Gale is by your side. As you fall apart, he gathers up the pieces, returning them gently to the palm of your hand. You look at him through black waves and splintered glass. His brow is steepled with sorrow, but he shines with the hope of love.

He cradles your head against his heart.

“It’s alright,” he says. “We’ll enjoy it for her.”

 ****

You are sitting together on the balcony. Within the coral sky, purple bruises turn to gold, as the sun takes its weary dive into the sea. Three boxes of Charis’ belongings rest at your feet, waiting and expectant.

It is difficult at first. Each item aches more than the last. The scent of vanilla and smoke clings to all of Charis’ clothes, assailing you with a longing that has no equal. There are things you never knew Charis kept, like the one-eyed teddy you found for her when you were ten, and the book of lewd drawings you doodled together when your uncle sent you to bed. There is the silver locket you gave her on her twentieth birthday, polished and still kept in its plush box - “too expensive to wear”, Charis used to say -and the green ribbon you used to wear in your hair, when it was longer and less unruly. 

Gale listens as you unravel the mystery of every priceless treasure. You are sobbing one moment, chortling the next, and then you sit in silence, holding one of Charis’ scarves against your face, as though you are embracing her one last time.

“It was an honour to have known her,” Gale says after a while.

You realise that he, too, is crying. You plant feather-soft kisses beneath his eyes, and when your lips meet, you can taste the tears on his tongue. His arm drapes around your waist as you lean your head on his shoulder, watching the seagulls soaring overhead. Surrounded by these last traces of her, there is pain, but there is also a kind of peace.

“For a while, it hurt to remember,” you start. “It tore me apart. I wanted so badly to forget. I wanted to forget everything.”

An image of Charis blazes in your mind. You let yourself linger on every line and curve of it. Her toothy grin. The messy dance of freckles across her nose. The white down around her hairline. A face like no other.

“Now, I want to remember. I don't want to forget anything. I want to remember it all.”

Your gaze drifts over each and every wonder that Charis cherished, the remnants of a life well-lived. A life containing multitudes, far more than three boxes of scattered possessions, more than a clumsy jumble of tales.

“So many moments in a life. So many memories.” You look down at your balled fists. “I’m losing them already. I don't want to forget.”

As your voice catches, Gale’s fingers find yours. Your anchor, constant through the storm.

“Then I'll help you remember.”

You frown at him, questioning.

“Tell me.” He smiles, his eyes warm as sun-kissed oak. “Tell me everything.”

So you do. You start at the beginning. With your hand in his, you leap through the chapters of your history, the thread of Charis’ life woven into yours like a braid. As the cloak of night falls over you, then dissolves to the birth of dawn, you laugh and cry and rage. You remember your sister in all her glory, the rough and the smooth, every feat and foible. Every memory you share is a stitch in your broken heart. Gale listens, eyes streaming, lips curling, chuckling and seething, as though he feels every memory as vividly as his own.

And when you gaze into the sunrise, you know there is no ending. In Gale’s embrace, you burn with a love stronger than death.

“I won't forget,” you promise her. “I won't forget to remember.”

*****

Liked this fic? Check out my other work.

[the-ace-with-spades]

Goose and Carole were both Catholics - Goose, a good church boy from a small town in Tennessee, and Carole, a foster kid who spent half her foster years in nun-run group homes.

After Goose dies, Carole loses most of her faith. She no longer attends church every Sunday, no longer spends her Saturdays in the church committee with all the other ladies, no longer lets Bradley roam the church with all the other kids as said ladies attend rosary devotions in October, no longer prays to St. Joseph of Cupertino.

Goose's funeral ceremony is the last time she steps inside the church for years.

And then Mav starts dating Ice - or starts something with Ice, they never call it dating or being together or put a label on it, but Carole knows. Ice becomes a part of their life, too, going from absolutely shy around Bradley to bumping up to Bradley's favorite uncle (which Mav resents) and she can see Mav is happy, is trying to be happy again, and Ice is helping.

So, when one day she asks them to dinner on Sunday, and Mav arrives alone, she asks, "Where is your better half?"

Mav doesn't even deny the wording and just says, "In church, I think. He goes from time to time, he should be here before dinner."

When Ice does show up, she asks him about it when Mav is busy playing hide-and-seek with Bradley, and he tells her - he goes to a small Polish Catholic church from time to time, mostly because the mass there reminds him of the church his mama used to take him to and he can be anonymous enough there that he doesn't feel guilty for not being as religious as his childhood had been.

Carole asks him if she can go with him sometime.

So they start going together - the service is mostly in Polish and most of the people there talk in Polish so she's a bit clueless at the beginning but that makes it easier, makes the bitterness she feels about God easier, makes the anger simmer down. The people are friendly even though a lot of them can't speak English very well and Ice has to translate here or there.

The first time they take Bradley there, for rosary devotions for kids, he keeps on asking a million questions, mostly to Ice because he doesn't understand. In the end, Ice takes him on his lap and whispers explanations in his ears the whole time. The ladies that are sitting in the paw next to them keep smiling at them, not even minding the disturbance.

They stay behind after, mingling with everyone, and Bradley starts talking to a few kids despite the mix of Polish and English floating around - kids are like that, she supposes.

Ice talks to the priest, in Polish, and the priest calls him Tomek, as usual, but this time whatever they're talking about makes Ice's face bright red.

He comes back to her side and she grabs him by the elbow, holding his arm as they wait for Bradley to be finished coloring this week's rosary scene, and asks, "What was that about?"

Ice is avoiding meeting her eyes, focused on Bradley instead. "Everyone thinks you're my wife. Priest Rafal thinks it's admirable that my wife and--and son attend church with me despite the language barrier."

Carole blinks, taking in Ice's embarrassed face, and bumps her forehead on his shoulder, snorting into his arm. "Your wife is making us lemon chicken piccata as we speak."

Because every time Ice and Carole went to church, Mav would stay with Bradley and cook some absolutely delicious dinner for them to come back to. Today, it was Ice's favorite type of chicken piccata.

She feels Ice's arm shake under her hands as he chuckles. "True."

"I don't mind being your church wife, though," she tells him, pressing closer into his side, smiling.

[faithfuneralservice]

Funeral Planning Checklist: A Step-by-Step Guide for Families in Paragould, AR

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Finding a compassionate and reliable funeral home is essential. Faith Funeral Service in Paragould, AR, offers comprehensive support for families, guiding them through every aspect of the planning process. Choosing a funeral home in Paragould, AR that meets your needs will make all the difference in handling logistics, arranging services, and honoring your loved one’s wishes with dignity.

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Traditional Funeral: This service includes a viewing or visitation, a formal ceremony, and often a graveside service. It provides an opportunity for friends and family to gather, pay their respects, and share memories.

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Faith Funeral Service can assist you in creating any of these funeral arrangements in Paragould, AR, and personalizing the service to reflect your loved one’s life.

Step 4: Arrange for Transportation and Viewing

If the deceased needs to be transported, the funeral home can coordinate this process. Additionally, if a viewing is chosen, schedule a time and location for close family and friends to say goodbye in a more private setting. Viewings are an opportunity for loved ones to come together, share memories, and support one another.

Step 5: Choose a Casket or Urn

Your choice between a casket or urn will depend on whether you selected burial or cremation.

For Burials: Select a casket that suits both your budget and the wishes of the deceased.

For Cremations: Faith Funeral Service offers a variety of urns, allowing families to choose a style that represents their loved one. The urn can be kept at home, buried, or used in a scattering ceremony.

Step 6: Coordinate Funeral Arrangements for the Ceremony

Plan the details of the ceremony to create a meaningful tribute. Key elements to consider include:

Location: Choose whether to hold the service at a church, funeral home in Paragould, AR, or a meaningful outdoor venue.

Clergy or Officiant: Select someone to lead the service, whether it’s a clergy member, family friend, or close relative.

Speakers: Identify family members or friends who may want to give a eulogy or share memories.

Music and Readings: Choose songs, hymns, or readings that were meaningful to the deceased.

Flowers and Decor: Select arrangements and decor that reflect your loved one’s personality and taste.

Step 7: Notify Family, Friends, and Community

Once funeral arrangements in Paragould, AR, are finalized, inform family, friends, and the community of the details. You may choose to make an announcement through social media, a local newspaper obituary, or an online post with the help of the funeral home. Faith Funeral Service can assist in creating and publishing obituaries to inform your loved one’s community.

Step 8: Plan a Reception or Gathering

After the service, many families choose to host a reception or gathering. This provides a space for friends and family to continue sharing memories, offering comfort, and supporting each other. Plan for food, seating, and a comfortable environment that allows everyone to connect and reminisce.

Step 9: Decide on a Final Resting Place or Disposition of Ashes

For those who choose cremation in Paragould, AR, consider the final disposition of ashes:

Keep the Urn: Some families choose to keep the urn at home as a personal memorial.

Burial of the Urn: Many cemeteries in Paragould have designated areas for burying urns.

Scattering: Ashes can be scattered in a meaningful location, following any local regulations and family wishes.

For burials, the graveside service is an opportunity to lay your loved one to rest and say a final goodbye at a chosen cemetery in Paragould.

Step 10: Consider Long-Term Memorialization

Memorializing your loved one creates a lasting tribute and provides a place for reflection. Options include:

Headstones or Grave Markers: Choose a headstone that includes the deceased’s name, dates, and possibly a special message.

Memorial Websites: An online memorial allows family and friends to share memories, photos, and condolences.

Memorial Donations: Many families choose to honor the deceased by requesting donations to a favorite charity or cause in their name.

Faith Funeral Service: Helping Families with Funeral Planning in Paragould, AR

Planning a funeral is an emotional and challenging experience, but having a clear checklist can help you stay organized. Faith Funeral Service in Paragould, AR, is here to guide you through each step of the funeral planning process, whether for cremation or traditional burial arrangements. Our compassionate team provides comprehensive support, ensuring your loved one’s service is meaningful and respectful.For more information on our services or to start planning, visit Faith Funeral Service. We are dedicated to helping families in Paragould honor their loved ones with dignity and care.

[corralinesage]

Learning you by heart (2/?)

Here's another little update of the Christmas story! <3

Chapter 2: A second chance

If you had previously thought that you were obsessing over the woman –Natasha, as you had come to find out– you had been wrong. Now you were obsessing. You weren’t crazy. You weren’t. You couldn’t be. Instances like the one you had just experienced did not happen out of nowhere. You entered your empty apartment that night, feeling even emptier than your apartment was. Your roommate was out of town, visiting her brother in Boston. You felt like you had just been rudely shaken awake from a dream. You let out a deep sigh, setting down your purse, feeling a budding headache at the base of your skull. It had been building from the moment you had returned into the opera house to warm up and gather your belongings. You looked down at your arms, eyeing the dark brown coat you had acquired from Natasha. You felt hollow, still cold and stiff. You couldn’t wait to finally unwind after the dreadful day you had had. You shrugged off the coat and hung it up, brushing your dominant hand over it almost longingly before heading straight into the bathroom to draw yourself a boiling hot bath.

You spent an hour, maybe even two, in the bath, soaking up every ounce of heat from the bubbly water, staring up at the shower head in thought. You felt like you were going through a silent existential crisis as your mind tried to obsessively come up with all the different possible ways for your family to find out about your unfortunate death by getting run over. You envisioned your funeral, almost went far enough to pick out which songs you would want during your service, but you realized to stop feeding your imaginative mind after a lone droplet falling from the faucet brought you back into your senses. The bubbles were gone, your aching body feeling heavy and limber. The initial burn that had spread across your raw skin was gone and your headache had moved to your temples where it felt slightly more manageable. You had a feeling that it was soon about to disappear if your pain killer was ever going to kick in.

On your way into the kitchen, dressed in your bathrobe, you caught yourself eyeing the coat. Why would a stranger be so kind? It couldn’t have been normal. Nobody was that kind for the hell of it. Or were you truly that cynical that you couldn’t even receive an act of kindness with open arms? Did you have so little faith in humanity? You reached your kitchen cupboards with Natasha’s face on your mind as you began to make yourself a hot chocolate to ensure that you were going to be thawed from inside out. You made sure your drink was extra rich and extra hot before heading into your living room. You had a decent sized home for Manhattan’s rent prices, the view from your window displaying a white, narrow street of brownstones. You turned on the TV, cuddling up on your couch to enjoy your scalding hot chocolate, hoping to catch a break from the thoughts running inside your head. Those eyes, that look, the red hair. She had downright resembled an angel when she had looked down at you on the ground, or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe you were simply glorifying your guardian angel, playing it up in your head to entertain yourself and pretend that somebody cared for you. It felt ridiculous. You were alright. Your life was good. There were no voids to fill.

Your eyes landed on the screen of the TV, some Christmas romantic comedy coming up on the screen. You rolled your eyes, switching the channel only to be met with yet another Christmas movie. Every single program seemed to have at least a hint of Christmas in it, which would have been fine had it actually been Christmas, but it was at least three weeks away still, and to be completely honest, you weren’t a huge fan of the holidays in general. You had never been. You didn’t really see the point of it. To you it never really went beyond religion and commercial humbug. You felt as though you had no proper reason to celebrate it. You could appreciate the aesthetics, but you never cared enough to participate. You switched the channel again, finding a rerun of a detective series, settling for that while you sipped on your hot chocolate, your thoughts returning to Columbus Avenue time and time again. You wanted to talk to someone about it all, about her, but it was far too late to bother any of your friends with such mysteries, and your mother had an early shift at the hospital. She was about to perform a very serious operation that had been stressing her out for weeks on a long-term patient of hers. She did not need to know that her daughter was horsing around the city, getting herself killed in chase of a stranger. But it wasn’t only the availability of others why you didn’t tell any of your close ones, it was also your lack of ability to verbalize your experience. You couldn’t explain to anyone why you had gone after her, not even to yourself.

You fell asleep on the couch to the sounds of gunshots on TV, your exhausted body refusing to care about any surrounding noises. You needed sleep, and you needed it badly. Lucky for you, you slept like a rock, completely unmoving as you lay snuggled up on the couch, taking a much-needed break from the feeling that those green eyes stirred in you. It might have returned first thing when your eyes fluttered open again only to squint at the light coming from the windows, but at least you had gotten a small break from the draining task of trying to understand what you had witnessed and experienced. You moaned in mild annoyance as you turned onto your back, immediately aware of the physical abnormality you felt in your body. Your throat felt raw. You shut your eyes in defeat, noting your clogged nose and aching neck. Fuck.

“This cannot be happening”, you moaned quietly, testing your voice to see how bad the situation was. It came out hoarse, worse than it normally was in the mornings. You wanted to cry, but you didn’t, blindingly searching for your phone on the coffee table, nearly knocking over your empty mug in the process. You texted your director to bring out your understudy, and even called after her for good measure despite having no intention to open your mouth. You needed to preserve whatever was left of your vocal cords. Then you texted Beatrice and the cast group chat to let everyone know that there was a possibility of you being too sick to perform. It was entirely possible that you weren’t getting sick but were simply suffering from the aftermath of the cold weather you had been dealing with the day before. You glanced out the window at the snow tracks on the street, noting just how much it had snowed during the night. With a pained sigh you got up from the couch, noting that you had kicked your blanket onto the floor. You didn’t bother to pick it up, grabbing your rancid-smelling hot chocolate cup and heading for the kitchen.

You tried not to look at the coat that hung at the entrance of the house, looming ominously there. It didn’t belong there. It wasn’t yours. You kept your head straight as you walked past it, momentarily thrilled that you had been able to resist its pull, but right as you were about to step into the kitchen, your head turned to look at the brown coat as if to make sure it hadn’t all been a dream. It was such a deep, delicious shade of dark chocolate that you felt drawn to it. You wanted to touch the item, study it. The feeling became so strong that you simply went into the kitchen and discarded your mug before heading straight to the coat hanger. Your fingers brushed over the wool, feeling its smooth but coarse texture. Without embarrassing yourself entirely, you leaned closer as if by accident to smell the piece of clothing, noting the weak scent of perfume that lingered on the wool that still had a slightly damp smell to it. You pulled on the fur lapel of the coat, taking a better look at it. Your eyes noted the logo of a clothing brand at the neck. It was on the more expensive side but nothing outrageous by any means. The inside was lined with satin, a glossy brown material that begged for you to glide your fingers over it, so you did. You felt the fabric under your fingertips, exploring the textures, your hands sliding into the pockets to check them just in case if you were ever going to wear the coat out. Something cold and hard touched your right hand that was in the left pocket, a small frown finding your face. Your fingers curled around the object, pulling it out.

“Huh.” You stared at the flat piece of metal in the shape of a fish with a keychain ring attached to it. “A tag?” You eyed it carefully, noting that there were engravings on the polished surface. “Liho.” You flipped the tag around to see the other side, gasping softly. There was a phone number. Could it be hers? You couldn’t deny the jolt of excitement that went through you at the possibility of not being stuck with such an open end to your encounter with the woman. You wanted her to be something more than just a face you saw in the crowd. You owed her your life. There needed to be a bigger, stronger connection between you. It couldn’t simply be that she saved your life and that was the end of it. You had been given a second chance at life. It was meant to be a new beginning.

You thought about the matter for a moment longer. No, you were being ridiculous. You couldn’t go harassing Natasha for the hell of it. It wasn’t socially acceptable to be so needy and expect her to give a single dime about you despite her saving your life. It wasn’t fair of you to have any expectations for her. You pocketed the tag, placing it back in its rightful place, yet it remained on your mind with impressive consistency throughout the impromptu day-off you were having. What if she needed the tag? What if she hadn’t realized that her pockets weren’t empty? You stared into the direction of the coat as you sat at your dinner table, slurping on some chicken soup for a late lunch, the coat’s ominous presence eventually forcing you to pick up your phone. You waited in immense anticipation as you held the phone to your ear, listening to it ring. Your heart hacked in your chest. Could it be her number? You were practically clutching the phone with both of your hands as you waited.

“Hello?” The world stood still for a second. It was her.

“Hi.” You cleared your throat. “Hi, hey, it’s Y/N.” Natasha went silent, her eyes filling with tears instantly. She took a shallow breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she reigned in her feelings.

“Hi!” She sounded overly positive to her own ear, the tone disguising the onslaught of emotions that she experienced at the sound of your voice. “How did you get my number?”

“Uh, a cat tag for Liho.”

“Guess I had a cat”, she mumbled nearly imperceptibly. “Liho.”

“What?” You couldn’t hear her.

“Nothing. My cat, Liho. I miss her”, Natasha explained swiftly.

“Has she passed?” Your voice nearly disappeared halfway through the sentence. Natasha recognized the tone, a small smirk finding her lips.

“Did you get a cold?” And just like that she evaded the question.

“I did.” You coughed lightly to make your voice sound less harsh to her ear, attempting to get rid of the gravelly tone that you had had all day.

“You put your understudy to work”, Natasha hummed in mild amusement, eliciting a hum of agreement and a small chuckle from you that turned into a cough. It was followed by silence. You played with a strand of your hair, looking around the living room impatiently, glancing outside at the streetlamps that were turning on, making the snow glow golden. You couldn’t take the slight awkwardness, the words leaving your mouth on their own.

“I can bring you the tag… if you want. I’m bored out of my mind with this sick day.” Your heart hammered in anxiety. It had been a long while since you had asked a woman out. With all the work you had put on your singing career that year, it had left little time for personal relationships, and she was certainly someone that fit your criteria. “Oh, and the coat. I wouldn’t wanna rob you of that. It’s a beautiful one.” Natasha stayed silent, her weak breath barely flowing out of her lungs and past her parted lips. Could she handle it? “You can say no”, you blurted suddenly, realizing that the silence could have been caused by her search for an easy way to let you down.

“No, no. Oh-” She chuckled at her own awkwardness, starting over. “I’d love to. Meet me at Ground Central on 8th Avenue?”

“I love that place!” You squeaked out the words, scrunching your nose in mild embarrassment for how you sounded. Natasha smiled fondly; of course you did. She knew that.

“Perfect. I’ll see you there”, she hummed softly. “Bye.”

“Bye.” You ended the call, Natasha’s cheeks flushing an intense red as she clutched her phone to her chest, a gentle gust of wind dusting her blazing face with powdery snow. She stared up at the crystal-clear sky, faint stars starting to show through the darkening blue above. Without a second thought, she changed her course of direction and headed to 8th Avenue, the snow crunching under her boots with every step.

Natasha sat on a large black antique couch, her nails digging into the leather of the seat where the material had chipped off slightly. She was a nervous wreck, doing her very best not to show it as you walked through the front door into the delicious smelling cafe. You were dressed warmly in a rather obvious manner, the comically large scarf around your neck keeping your vocal cords safe and warm. Natasha stood up, smiling to you amicably as she made her way over to you, leaving her coat on the couch to save her spot.

“Hi, did you make it here alright?” She asked politely as she came to stand beside you at the vitrine that displayed all the delicious goods that the cafe had to offer.

“I did, thank you.” Seeing her again was stirring something within you. The previous night flashed across your mind, your body recalling the cold of the snow against your skin, the way her body had pressed up against your own, the way your head had ached. You stared at her ivory skin tinted by a hint of blush and her green eyes that you could not tear your gaze away from. You felt something swirl in your abdomen, an odd budding curiosity toward her.

“You guys ready to order?” The barista’s voice pulled you out of your momentary stupor over her enigmatic energy. Your head snapped to the side to look at the young woman behind the counter before returning to Natasha.

“Order what you want. It’s on me”, you said quietly, Natasha giving you a small, knowing smile that you took as nothing but polite. She didn’t protest, placing her order as if she would have known just how much you hated it when friends and lovers alike refused your genuine act of kindness. Natasha turned to the barista.

“One gingerbread mocha with an extra shot, please.” She looked at you expectantly.

“And a flat white with a cherry danish.” You pulled out your credit card from your wallet, watching the barista type down your order.

“What, no silly Christmas drink for you?” Natasha asked in a small tease, earning a laugh from you.

“No, not really a Christmas person”, you explained, turning to look at her. She had an odd, calculating look in her eyes, a hint of confusion flashing across her face.

“How could that be? You’re the lead star of the most talked about Christmas opera this year?” You let out an amused huff at her words.

“Perhaps that’s exactly why.”

“Ah, so you don’t like to mix business and pleasure”, she concluded.

“You could say that.” You looked at her again, the corners of your mouth turning upward on their own. You couldn’t quite stop looking at her. She had this smile that softened her rather intense features in a split second. You could see the way her eyes lost their stoic gaze, her brows relaxed, the apples of her cheeks became slightly more rounded to highlight the mild blush there. It was reserved, didn’t show teeth, yet it was somehow so full. You received your order a few minutes later before making your way to the spot Natasha had reserved for you.

“I love the atmosphere of this place”, you said as you sat down on a red antique armchair that was placed next to the black leather couch.

“Me too. It’s the perfect mixture of casual and comfortable”, she hummed in agreement.

“So, I take it that you’re a Christmas person?” You nodded toward her drink with a mountain of whipped cream on top, sprinkles and crushed candy cane on top. It amused you slightly. She had such a captivating, intense exterior that you hadn’t expected her to order something so ridiculous.

“I didn’t used to be…” She seemed to pause, her fingers playing with the warm mug of coffee. “But then I met someone who changed it for me.” You felt the heaviness of her statement, sensed the pain behind it, unsure where to take the conversation from there. “She showed me how fun it can be.” Natasha smiled at you, those green eyes boring right into your soul. You barely dared to smile back at her, but you managed just fine, thankful that she moved her focus on the drink instead to take a sip of whipped cream to break the charged moment. The drink left a white foam mustache on her lips that made you grin in amusement.

“You’ve got a little something there”, you said teasingly, pointing at your own upper lip to show her the spot you were referring to. Natasha rolled her eyes in good nature, wiping her lips into the back of her hand. You both chucked quietly.

“So, what’s your excuse for not liking Christmas? Any trauma in that department?” Her question didn’t come off as invasive but rather lighthearted and jovial.

“No, thankfully not.” You nursed your nearly scalding hot mug of coffee to warm up your stiff fingers, still clad in your scarf despite having taken off your coat. “I’ve just never really celebrated it. It means nothing to me. Just some lights and jingles.” Natasha pursed her lips.

“I get what you mean. Believe it or not, I used to be a proper Grinch.”

“You? No way.” You added some feigned disbelief into your tone as you eyed her christmassy drink, coaxing out a chuckle from her.

“What can I say? I was converted to the dark side.” Natasha raised her hands up in defeat, her smile only widening alongside yours.

“What happened there?” You looked at her with pure curiosity shining in your eyes, your lips sipping on your coffee.

“Love, but that didn’t end all that well, so now I just enjoy the overconsumption of sugar and winter spices, and the pretty lights outside.”

“Ah, you too have fallen victim”, you said dramatically, a sense of understanding budding between you.

“Unfortunately so. What about you? I can sense the bitterness from a mile away.” She had a way of speaking that made you feel like you knew each other. She wasn’t tentative about crossing boundaries. She was honest and straightforward. You chuckled at her comment, shaking your head.

“Oh, it’s been way too long for me to still be upset over it”, you mumbled to yourself but decided to answer her question anyway. “She… she was one hell of a gaslighter.” You smiled bitterly. “She was so good at it that I lost my sense of self. I forgot that I knew the truth and that I didn’t have to listen to her lies, let alone believe them.” You turned to look at her, those green eyes fixed on you. “I’ve been healing… slowly.” You scoffed softly at yourself, mildly frustrated by the lack of progress you were making.

“She sounds like she deserves a fist in her face.”

“Oh, she does”, you chuckled, nodding your head in agreement.

“She’s about my height, blonde hair, and a punchable face, so if you ever see her in the streets, don’t be afraid to clock her.” Your tone oozed amusement. You weren’t serious, and Natasha could tell. She knew you weren’t one for violence.

“Oh, I’ll serve justice. Trust me.” You both laughed again, a brief moment of silence taking over as you both sipped on your drinks. You took a few bites of your danish that you had not gotten a chance to taste yet because of your immersive conversation. Natasha’s eyes dipped down to your scarf, a hint of something along the lines of curiosity in her eyes. “Talking isn’t too hard on your voice, is it?”

“No, it’s okay. It’s probably nothing. Just a little reaction from last night.” You shook your head in emphasis. Your voice was slightly hoarse around the edges and maybe a tad bit lower than normal.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asked in visible concern. “It was quite a fall. I was rather rough.”

“Hey, you saved my life. I can take a little roughing up.” There was a hint of flirt in your words, the familiar suggestive tone bringing a bright, involuntary smile on Natasha’s face.

“Good, I’m glad you’re alright”, she hummed, once again looking at you with that gut wrenching longing etched into her eyes. It made you wonder what she was thinking. The emotion in her eyes made you feel uneasy, worried for something, but you didn’t know what. You couldn’t understand what reason she had to be looking at you that way. “The opera needs their lead singer. You were amazing out there.” And just like that the odd feeling you had experienced had been wiped away alongside that pained look in her eyes, replaced by playful compliments. “You always liked singing.” She almost said it as a statement instead of a question. It was too assertive. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it comes from my family. We just always loved music, and then a teacher in high school steered me into the direction of classical singing. She said my voice suited the style. Did some theater too.” You chuckled openly at those days, recalling various hilarious moments from your catastrophic plays. “But let’s be honest, opera is just elevated high school theater.” You both chuckled. “I went to Julliard and now… here I am.” You smiled at her, shrugging your shoulders.

“Here you are”, Natasha whispered, an admiring look on her face.

“What’s your history with New York? Do you work here?” You wanted to know more about her. She looked slightly taken back by your question, like maybe she didn’t quite have a straightforward answer that time.

“I recently moved here, but I’ve visited enough times to know my way around. Although there are definitely still places that I have yet to see.” Her answer made you smile. What a perfect window of opportunity.

“Maybe I can show you around sometime. I owe you at least a dinner for your heroic efforts.” You could feel the way you looked at her. You knew that look, and a part of you was begging you not to direct it at her, but you couldn’t help it. You were interested.

“Maybe you can.” She responded to you with a small smirk on her lips. She seemed pleased. “Dinner sounds lovely.”

“I know a few good spots in the city. Anything you don’t eat?”

“I’ll eat anything as long as the company is good. And well… no worries there.” You could feel your cheeks heat, unable to break the eye contact that had you completely captivated. You needed a distraction before your feelings became too evident to her.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

“I work at Stark Industries.” It was the best she could come up with. She had forgotten to create a secure alias for herself. She knew she had once been working for Stark, but she could not fact-check anything on such short notice.

“Really?” You were clearly impressed. “How did you end up there?”

“To be completely transparent, through connections. I was offered a job, and I took it.”

“A businesswoman, I see.” You smirked. Her style of dressing definitely suited that description. “What do you do?”

“I’m a business development manager. I deal with company relationships, business opportunities and so on.” She would definitely have to send an application for the position in question if she wanted her lies to only be temporary.

“That sounds interesting. Do you like it?”

“It does the job”, she chuckled, taking a long sip of her gingerbread latte.

Talking to her was easy, effortless, and she certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes. Before you even knew it you had completely forgotten your initial agenda of returning the cat tag and finding an answer to the feeling she elicited in you whenever she looked at you. Not that you would have had words for such questions. She made you feel warm with her secure personality, witty demeanor, and attentive attitude. She asked you questions, made you feel included, your body sinking even further into the armchair even after you had finished your drink and pastry. She made you feel like you had always known each other which was slightly disturbing because of how uncommon that feeling was for you. The last time you had felt anything of the sort it had been with your ex. After going over the more practical aspects of getting to know her, the conversation took a turn for oddly specific details of your lives that ended up being bonding points for you. The early evening turned into night, the lights on the streets illuminating the busy people that were undeniably a trademark of the city. You wrapped your scarf tighter around you, as if it was a blanket, curling up on your armchair without so much as a budding intention of leaving any time soon.

“Yes, exactly! That’s exactly what I mean.” Your conversation had somehow led to you and Natasha being the most renowned film critics in New York City, at least in your opinion, as you discussed a movie that had only recently come out.

“The people weren’t ready for it”, Natasha shrugged in defeat, a smile lingering on her lips.

“They hate to see women win”, you sighed, your focus shifting momentarily on your empty mug of coffee.

“I hoped things would be better here.”

“In New York?” You asked for clarification. Natasha seemed to pause for a moment.

“Yeah. You know, the Big Apple, metropolis, a heavier concentration of educated people.” She really needed to get a grip on herself. She was too close to the edge. “But alas, I am still surrounded by idiots”, she chuckled light-heartedly.

“Don’t I know it.” You crunched your nose, feeling a sense of communion between you. She understood you and you seemed to share a lot of beliefs and opinions, which was always exciting because it made you feel seen and valued. “I find it surprising that so many people missed the entire point of the movie. It was right there”, you groaned, the look on Natasha’s face agreeing with you without her needing to utter a single word.

“It baffles me, truly.” Your topic changed into literature, somehow bridging into art and culture before circling back to movies and then again changing course to politics before you found your way to music. Natasha learned to tread carefully after slipping in a comment about a notoriously idiotic world leader, which elicited a confused frown from you, paired with a simple “who?”. She had had too many slip-ups, but thankfully the conversation carried on effortlessly. You wished you could have had five more cups of coffee if it had meant that you could have kept up the conversation to get to know her better, but you could already see from the corner of your eye that the baristas were cleaning the counters and the tables, emptying the vitrine in preparation for closing the cafe.

“Hey, guys, just to let you know, we’re closing in five minutes.” And before you even knew it, the staff was ushering you outside. You got up from your seat, Natasha pulling on her shiny black fur coat, both of you assessing the weather outside to prepare yourselves for the cold that you would have to face.

“Do you live nearby? I could walk you home, it’s dark outside”, Natasha offered as you headed to the front door after thanking the baristas for their service. She pushed open the door, holding it for you, her hand brushing only barely over your lower back as you walked by.

“You know, I’m not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself”, you retorted playfully, Natasha smirking in amusement as she followed you outside, the snow crunching beneath your feet.

“I know.” The way she said it made you feel like she truly did know, the look she gave you letting you know that the reason for her offer had nothing to do with your ability to look after yourself, but perhaps something else, which made your chest squeeze from excitement; she didn’t want to part ways just yet.

You walked up 8th Avenue to Columbus Circle, turning to the right where you could easily go into Central Park where you would have an opportunity to find a space with less traffic and busy people roaming the streets. The park was beautiful when covered in snow. The once clear sky was now a murky grey, the very tops of the tallest buildings fading into the clouds above, the tall trees dusted white, some of the trunks and branches decorated with golden Christmas lights. Every bench, bush, and lamppost was covered by at least an inch of snow, the pathways littered by footprints, paw prints, claw prints. You felt so warm and cozy in your thick scarf and coat that for a moment you couldn’t even talk, soaking in the atmosphere to the fullest. Natasha seemed to feel the same way, walking silently beside you. She knew when to be quiet and she was comfortable with it as well, which you appreciated greatly. You listened to the crunch of snow, Natasha’s footsteps echoing yours as you breathed in the crispy air that made the tip of your nose sting. After walking aimlessly for a while, both of you simply admiring your surroundings, your attention shifted from the nature around you to Natasha.

Her cheeks and nose were tinted pink, red tendrils of hair framing her face beautifully. She didn’t have a scarf, but the lapels of the fur coat were enough to cover up her pale neck. She nuzzled her chin deeper into the coat, her hands in her pockets, eyes focused on the glistening snow around you. There was something indescribable about her beauty, something that gained your attention particularly, yet you had no idea what it was specifically. She just had an air about her that was intriguing as well as captivating. Her gaze shifted to you as if sensing your eyes on her, a gentle warmth spreading over your cheeks for getting caught. Neither of you said much more that night until you reached the nearest subway station where you ended up parting ways since you lived in different parts of the city. You stopped by the edge of the park, below a warm yellow lamp.

“Oh, before I forget, here’s your coat. The tag is in the pocket.” You handed Natasha a net market bag you had been carrying on your shoulder the whole day.

“Thank you.” She received it, sliding her arm through the straps to bring it onto her shoulder. “I hope I’ll see you again soon. You’ve got my number. Call me.” You grinned brightly.

“Right back at you. I had a nice time with you.” She returned your smile with equal excitement.

“Me too. Get home safely. Look out for cars”, she said teasingly, taking a step back to allow you to part ways.

“Yeah, yeah!” You laughed at her concern, waving your hand at her before descending underground to catch a train home.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Yo, I am under the impression there’s a flourishing market for “campaign supplement” games that can be played as like slice of life side-bars to another campaign? My play group just finished an Ebberon campaign but we still love these characters and I’m wondering what’s out there? I’m curious for whatever but stuff with a focus on settling down or running your new dukedom would be lovely.

THEME: Fantasy After-Campaign Games.

Hello there! Yes, there are a number of games that you can probably use to keep your characters around and explore other parts of their life! I've got a few games that might be somewhere in the realm of what you're thinking, and then I've got some other ideas that popped up in my brain as I was writing this out.

Peace in the Land, by JunkyardTornado.

Peace in the Land is a cozy one page fantasy ttrpg about solving some regular kinds of problems in a fantasy town. There is a very simple character creation process based off a simple system, the Quick and Dirty System, originally designed for one-page rpgs. 

If you want low-stakes problems and quick rules, you might want to check out Peace in the Land. The rules are pretty standard, with a typical success threshold and differently-sized dice according to player abilities. You can probably place the simple rules into a setting that you’re already familiar with, and then generate problems that the townspeople might turn to the player characters to solve. If the group wants to settle down in one location but still go on minor adventures, this might be a game for you.

Pour One Out For Her, by MrPluckyComicRelief.

She was the greatest hero the world had ever seen. She slayed the Beast of Artenfield, rescued every princess north of the Green River, outgambled the demon Jav-Urok The Bold, and she never paid for a drink. All those years ago, all of you stood by her side, as her faithful companions. You supported her through thick and thin, through triumph and tragedy. You thought she would live forever.

But in a cruel twist of fate, you’re all here, standing at her funeral. For her last great prank, she stated, in her last will and testament, that you would all give a joint eulogy.

Pour One Out For Her is a gm-less RPG for any number of players. It's about good times with old friends, reckless adventures, and a celebration of a the greatest hero to ever live, who was taken too soon.

This is more of a one-shot kind of game for a solemn, last goodbye to a character that didn’t make it. Because it’s GM-less, if you traditionally had a GM in the game, this might be a chance for them to embody an important NPC who saw the characters through the bulk of the story.

Pour One Out For Her assumes that the dead companion had a dying wish, and that the companion was a team-player. Apart from that, I think you could use it to remember the ending of a character that meant a lot to the party.

Stewpot: Tales From A Fantasy Tavern, by Takuma Okada.

The adventurer’s life is tough. It's time to call it quits. For years you stumbled through hostile lands, living off stale rations, and struggling to get a few hours’ sleep. Now it’s time to hang up your weapons, sell off your armor, and settle down. If only it were that easy…

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern by Takuma Okada is a collection of cozy mini-games that tell the story of a tavern run by former adventurers. Gather your dice, pick up a deck of cards, set aside a shiny coin, and get ready for a new set of challenges. Only this time… your adventures start behind the bar.

Stewpot is divided into a series of slice-of-life scenes, with a different set of simple rules and prompts helping adjudicate each scene. You might be scrambling to cook something edible with random ingredients, bartending for troubled souls, calming down a tavern brawl, going shopping for all the things a tavern needs, and more! Work to upgrade your tavern's cuisine, atmosphere, and service. In the process, you might just learn a little bit about yourself - and your fellow party members.

Takuma Okada is known for a number of thoughtful games, including Alone Among the Stars, a solo roleplaying game of introspection in space. Stewpot looks to deliver a cozy, retrospective experience, probably similar to Dungeon Meshi and Legends & Lattes. Stewpot recently finished funding on Backerkit, so if you’re willing to wait for a little bit, you should be able to order a copy of it from Evil Hat’s website! If you’re not willing to wait, there’s a Sampler PDF available on DriveThruRPG.

Wolves & Spices, by A.Tian.

Wolves & Spices is a simple tabletop roleplaying game, based on the traveling mercantile adventures of the light novel/anime series Spice & Wolf.

You are traveling merchants in the medieval country of Feldland. Your shared dream is to earn enough money and goodwill to open a business as a permanent part of a community.

You could use Wolves & Spices if you feel like your characters wouldn’t necessarily settle down in one place, but rather would be more likely to turn to trade as a way to earn their keep while still travelling from town to town. Your goals will probably be more focused around meeting other people’s needs, using your earnings to help meet your heart’s desires (also called your Wolves). If you want a game where the quest didn’t bring about the happy ending your characters hoped for, you might want to try out Wolves & Spices.

Some Other Thoughts

Another way you could possibly re-visit your character’s stories is to re-visit them in a different genre or setting. There’s a lot of possibilities if you’re up to remixing a game or two! For example, you could re-cast your characters as fantasy investigators, such as in Swords of the Serpentine, or follow their attempts at romance, such as in Passion of the Jukebox or Thirsty Sword Lesbians. You could also follow up with the adventures of your characters’ children; my group followed up our Spectaculars game with a game of MASKS, playing as the children of our characters. Games like Kids on Bikes or Kids and Spirits could also work if you want to combine solving mysteries with passing adventure down a generation!

Games You Can Also Check Out

Merchants & Monsters, by AndieSanade.

Dungeon Mart, by May Day.

So, the Beast is Dead, by Prepared Heathen.

Back Again, from the Broken Land, by Cloven Pine Games.

The Laughing Kobold, by therabidbanana.

[lilyliveredlittlerichboy]

it's time now. it's time to imagine the brightest future you can, and talk about it.

a future where people only work 8 hours a week and everyone's basic needs are met. a future where we are more connected to nature and eat seasonal, local produce. a future where you look out for your neighbours and they look out for you. a future where you actually know who your neighbours are. a future where everyone is just a lot more relaxed and able to do whatever they want to do - this 8 hour working week has given people their lives back and now they're able to make community events, work in community gardens, sing and dance and spend time with their kids, play whatever sport they want, travel, read, create art and music.

People are interacting with each other in good faith again because money as an ulterior motive has all but disappeared. Cus you see a few decades ago they made profits illegal. All money has to be put back into the company and CEOs can take home a salary only, no bonuses and it can't be more than 3x what the lowest paid employee makes. You can go to jail if your company is found to make profits, advertise on a large scale or pay its high ranking members more than what's allowed.

Jail still exists but mostly people go in for financial crimes (greed still exists); drugs are decriminalised and available to use safely. people are not as desperate now so there's been a massive reduction of violent and petty crime and most of the people who still do this are teenagers who get away with a slap on the wrist. police are not armed anymore and are heavily penalised if they abuse their power or hurt a civilian, and their role is more that of mediator, signposter (to community services, social services, and free and accessible healthcare including for mental health) and security. together with the former military they make up an "emergency task force" which are called upon in times of need and crisis, for floods, fires, other such disasters.

the stock market completely collapsed after profits were made illegal and people had to find other ways to figure out what a company was worth: such as how they treat their staff or how accessible their processes are. as a result of this, as well as more widespread disability thanks to Covid and an ageing population, accessibility is fucking incredible now. most places are accessible to the vast majority of disabled people even without them having to ask for a single thing. If they have to ask, accommodations are made quickly and without fuss and this is completely normal now. disabled people are more visible than ever in public life and this has led to a generally kinder, more tolerant public life.

Everything is slower now. Social media as we know it died decades ago and Internet 4.0 is efficient, will find you accurate answers and the websites you're looking for very easily and fast. there's monopoly laws restricting how large companies operate online. online ads are all but illegal - there's "phone book" esque pages where you can promote your business or service and that's allowed but not anywhere else. Lots of people are still annoying and some of them are still cruel but overall living together as humans has gotten so much more chill. We've tackled climate change and reversed much of it, now it's a global day of mourning whenever a species is found to be extinct through human intervention. these days used to happen much more frequently but it's very rare these days. Most everyone gets the day off and is encouraged to read about the lost species or hold themed funerals. Globally everything has gotten better - there's much more global equality now after a bunch of western/formerly colonising countries almost self destructed and then instead decided to own up for colonialism, pay reparations to a lot of countries in Africa Asia and Latin America, as well as indigenous nations of North America, Oceania, even in Europe. The USA doesn't exist anymore instead its a whole host of separate nations all managed by the native people whose land it is. The UK doesn't exist anymore. England is still sad about it but Wales, Scotland, Ireland and Cornwall are called Cymru, Alba, Eire and Kernow again and they've formed a Celtic Union for better collective bargaining power in the EU (which still exists, somehow. Its better now. England may still be out of the EU I'm not sure). Migration is common and foreigners are welcomed into any country with open arms.

I may try to write something about this. I have a vision for a future and it's so lovely. Here, on earth, with the starting point being now. We have a lot to work with and only a few changes could make such a difference. Demilitarisation, UBI and maximum working hours, greedy financial practices made illegal. Conservation and education on local plants and nature and food. Community building on every level. Giving people their lives back.

This is all extremely possible. If it were up to me, very little in society would be left unchanged but it would all be people friendly changes. changes that aim to support the poorest and most marginalised, changes that aim to punish greed and exploitation. It's a work in progress of course. But I have a vision for a better world and dammit if I'm not going to share it with you.

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 5 - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Wolfwood

I love him. Man who has no faith in himself or humanity or god with so much blood on his hands, fighting for something he knows he can never see come to fruition in person. He carries his own literal cross and grave marker on his back. Just… he’s so iconic to me.

I'm sure I'm not the first to submit him. But I did it anyway. I hope he wins and I'll do anything in my power to make sure he does

Dude is literally a priest who carries around a giant cross. Yes he uses the cross to murder people but that is besides the point. Also he has a mini church he carries around for on-the-go confession services.

hes literally a priest(hes not a priest in the reboot but he is in the original and thats what matters to Me). he carries around a cross that is actually secretly a gun with guns inside that gun. he runs a church/orphanage. he carries around a portable confession booth and charges people money for it because he is broke as fuck. he dies bleeding out over an alter begging to god for forgiveness he doesnt think he deserves. he is everything to me.

look at this man he's a priest with a cross shaped gun that (spoilers) dies against the side of a church while waxing poetic about life and redemption (/spoilers), this is the Catholic ever.

Wolfwood is liiiiiterally Judas coded in the text. AND his weapon is a massive cross that turns into a machine gun and a LASER. Not to mention his religious trauma. Oh baby. The religious trauma.

Homeboy literally walks around with a giantass 300lb machine gun shaped like a cross called the Punisher. Hes a priest/undertaker depending on what version of trigun you reference. Grew up in a church orphanage. Also literally walks around with a portable confessional box for people to pay to confess to him. Need i say more.

HE IS LITERALLY JUDAS. he is literally leading the jesus allegory to his doom. hes also in love with the jesus allegory (vash). he is also carrying arouns a giant cross rhat is also a gun. hes literally catholic and judas and his tits are perfect. in one piece of official art he's wearing a cross choker. also the catholicism on gunsmoke is about making vash submit. wolfwood looking at that pathetic wet mess of a man oh i can make him submit easily.

He literally carries around a giant cross and is referred to as a priest by multiple characters. also he offers people confessionals

He carries a huge machine gun that is in the shape of a cross that is really heavy (he is strong) and his boobs are huge. So you know hes serving cunt in a god honoring way. Also in trigun 1998 he brings around a small chapel that he uses as a portable confessional and in trigun stampede he holds funeral services as an undertaker which are way overly priced. Also he dies very gayly (basicly confessing his love to his best boy friend forever)

Nick's funny bc he's probably the least Christian acting guy but is literally a preacher. There's a running gag with Vash asking some variation of "what the hell kinda churchman are you?" His gun is a gigantic cross. He rides a shitty motorcycle in the middle of the desert.

ok so thematically the main conflict in trigun is about peace vs violence and its represented by the characters vash and knives respectively. the two aren't /technically/ angels but thematically and through imagery they are and are comparable to michael and lucifer specifically. ANYWAYS. vash and knives are the characters who are constantly pushing and pulling at wolfwood's morality, sort of like a "the devil and god are raging inside of me" kinda deal. his grappling with his morality and faith is a big factor in his character. also he has a giant fucking gun shaped like a cross. and he dies in a church while praying.

Bros an orphan who grew up at a Catholic orphanage and taken away to be trained and genetically changed into a supercharged assassin for interworldly beings that have lots of angel imagery attached. Guy thought he was just going to be taken to become a missonary...instead he got 6 years of religious trauma. He still wears a cross necklace and holds it often. His gun is a literal cross "full of mercy" (its a missile launcher). He never really believed fully in the faith or anything, but the way he interacts with it is FASCINATING. He's jaded by the planet he lives on and his upbringing, and makes him say his most iconic quote: "We're nothing like God. Not only do we have limited powers, but sometimes we're driven to become the devil himself." He prays to a God he doesn't know if he actually believes in, asking for another day— for hope for the human race. The organization hes part of (The Eye of Michael) works for an interdimensional otherworldly being that has an incredible amount of angelic metaphor and imagery attached who intends to purge the planet of humans... and ends up siding with that guy's twin brother who is so Jesus coded it's insane. They are best friends even as Wolfwood is acting under instructions to babysit and watch him for his twin brother. He dies after facing down against his old mentor (named Chapel) and his pseudo brother from the orphanage who was taken into the Eye as well and his Jesus bestie buries him and sticks his cross-gun in the ground after losing his shit crazy style and using his pseudo alien angel Jesus powers to lash out at his brother for being the cause of Wolfwood's death. Rest in peace king

John

he’s a priest. he can punch your lights out. he would never hurt a fly. he has connections in the black market. he gives everything he can to the local orphans. he will not hesitate to play pranks on you. he wants everyone to be happy. he has daddy issues probably. he wants a promotion sososososoooooo bad.

I accidentally submitted the last 5actors name but it’s the same guy

Hey everyone please vote for this man I love him he truely is what we need more of in this world the kindest most relatable character has flaws etc etc. Deserves the world

[bluecatwriter]

Jonathan: Do I have to read it, oh my dear one?

Me: (cries)

Jonathan: "I will keep my mouth as it were in a bridle: while the ungodly is in my sight. I held my tongue, and spake nothing: I kept silence, yea, even from good words; but it was pain and grief to me. My heart was hot within me; and while I was thus musing the fire kindled."

Me: (cries harder) Do you have to remind me!

OKAY BUT THE INCLUSION OF THIS LINE HAS ME GOING FERAL

(Theological ramble incoming. You have been warned.)

Jonathan is reading from the Book of Common Prayer, but the scripture is Psalm 39. (I originally thought that this was a quote from Jeremiah 20:9, which uses similar language to show the prophet's frustration with burning up inside if he refuses his call to prophesy, but this is even better.)

The psalmist here is a great example of how people's responses to God in the Bible do not fit neatly into the "unquestioning obedience and reverence" framework any more than Jonathan's actions do. The narrator of this psalm speaks despairingly about the vanity of life, begs God to stop heaping hardship on him ("Remove thy stroke away from me: I am consumed by the blow of thine hand"), and while he expresses near the middle that his ultimate hope is in God ("And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee"), he also flat-out asks God to leave him alone (the last line of the psalm in King James Version says "O spare me, that I may recover strength/before I go hence, and be no more," though I love the more modern translations such as the New Revised Standard version, which reads, "Turn your gaze away from me, that I may smile again/before I depart and am no more").

It's a gut-wrenching psalm that doesn't flinch from the realities of life: things feel meaningless, hardships are heaped on those who are faithful, humans are fragile, riches cannot safeguard against death— and the right to rage and weep before God is a given. It ends not with the line of hope from the middle but with a challenge to God, and the main conflict of the psalm is not resolved or neatly tied up. Like all the Wisdom literature in the Bible, it invites the readers to sit in the tension and the confusion and the pain, rather than hastening on to a "correct answer" or even a sense of resolution.

I assume this is why it's included in the Book of Common Prayer's burial service: death cannot be tied up with a bow, or smoothed over with platitudes. This psalm expresses solidarity with people from every generation who have tried to make sense of their hardships and pain and the devastating reality of mortality.

Anyway, inclusion of this line in this scene was absolutely stunning. I suspect that many of Bram Stoker's original readers would have familiarity with the burial service since it would be read at every funeral, so adding in the words was wonderful to enhance the experience for the modern non-Anglican reader. This passage helped drive home how thematically resonant these words are with what's happening in the story in the moment. Very cool.

[ravingsockmonkey]

Wands Weekly Exclusive: Goth - Charm Wedding photos!

This is your faithful reporter, Cypress Yarrow, bringing you exclusive content from one of the most anticipated weddings of the Realm in our universe! Jake Goth, heir of the Goth family, was married to Elizabeth Charm. This union not only brings two of the most powerful families together, but it also reintroduces magic into the official Goth family line. For anyone worried about the Charm family losing out, Darrel currently has eight children - 5 of which are spellcasters!

Jake Goth is the son of former Sim Nation leader Anastasia Goth and celebrity artist Jeb Goth (né Harris). He elected to become a spell caster as a teen, and recently reached Virtuoso status! His selection as heir was cemented whenever he saved his father from an untimely demise with a death flower gift for Grim. This event and watching his parents age are what prompted him to become a funeral director. He has been known to use his own funds to help provide services for those in need who can't afford it.

Anastasia Goth passed before the wedding could be planned, but Jake and Elizabeth made sure to give her a place in the ceremony.

Elizabeth Charm is the second daughter and sixth child of the Charm family. While Darrel Charm may not have quite the same level of fame as a journalist as Anastasia or Jeb in their own roles, the Charm family line itself is as old as, if not older, than the Goth family lineage. Johnny Zest may not be world famous, but he's a household name for anyone who loves comedy, and he's also a member of a rather infamous family himself - the Landgraabs. Growing up always seeing the love and support that Johnny and Darrel have for one another is what prompted Elizabeth to join the Romance Consultant career where she happily helps others achieve the same joy that her parents have and that she is entering into herself.

As you can see from these pictures, this was a three in one celebration! Not only were we remembering Anastasia while celebrating Jake and Elizabeth's wedding, but look at that baby bump! It seems as though these two couldn't wait to get started on a family of their own! Elizabeth was excited to share the big news with everyone once the ceremony was over.

Ooops! The nerves and excitement got the best of our lovebirds, and they shared a headbonk for their first kiss!

Good on Jake for checking in on his beloved to make sure she was okay.

And of course funny man and goofball dad, Johnny, got a laugh out of the bonk! Little brother Elliot Charm found this to be the most entertaining part of the ceremony.

There were no accidents during the cutting of the cake! I'm happy to report that cake was both beautiful and tasty. When asked if they purchased the cake from a vendor in Tartosa, Elizabeth let us know that hubby Jake actually baked it himself! Anastasia was known for being a top tier cook for both homestyle and gourmet cooking, so it's no shock that Jake would be following in her footsteps.

The ceremony and celebration were kept very simple and short as both families felt it was more important to spend time together while at the Charm family estate than attempting a bunch of fancier activities. While not every member of either family could attend, it was good to see that Malcolm Landgraab was in attendance with his teen son, Gabriel. While I am not one to engage in rumors, Gabriel is said to bear a strong resemblance to Anastasia Goth, and seeing the two of them taking time with her memorial did make me wonder...