#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.

[cardigan-ns]

NOW ITS ALL HALLOWS EVE

𓉸 Father Charlie Mayhew x Mortician!Reader

𓉸 Summary - It’s the day before Halloween, his favourite holiday, he has a visit from death and makes you sympathise with his darkened ways.

He walked down the foggy cobblestones street, as plenty of people passed him, families with their kids in dress up, elderly folk heading into the church to pray and students exiting the university for their trips home. “Evening, Father, where are you headed at this hour?” A man erupted, he was a regular sinner, always in the church for confessions to ease his guilt and nothing more. “I’m off to get a brew.” He spoke rather chipper, he held himself rather high as he spoke, his hands intertwined together over his a stomach. The man waves him a good bye with a smile, “Enjoy yourself, don’t stay out too late though, the killers still out there.” Father Mayhew gave a fake laugh through gritted teeth and quickly turned it to a face of distain as the man left his view. “Fucking malevolent piece of shit.” He muttered to himself as he walked down a set of stoned steps painted with fallen orange leaves.

He pushed open the mahogany doors of the church, and made himself greeted by the eyes of the parishioners and the lady in black by the alter. She looks magnificent and Father Mayhew loved smelling the scent of her perfume, it counteracted with the woeful mourns of the grieving as she preserves the body from which they weep.

“Ah, Miss Jones.” Father Mayhew charms as he smiled to you, taking the memorial card you handed him. “Agnes Berthel.” Charlie sighs, she was a devoted Christian woman, taken by her old age, and her spite as Charlie figured. “She will be missed.” You looked at the priest, annoyed with him, not because of what happened just now, but because it keeps happening, you’ve been here 6 times this past week for 11 different deaths, there’s been that many that you needed to double up the burial times.

“Where were you?” You asked as it seemed odd he wasn’t in the convent getting ready for the funeral. He looked at you as if you had some gumption questioning his whereabouts but he just smiled. “I was on a stroll, getting a cup of cocoa, and enjoying the windy weather. Is that such a bad thing?” You rolled your eyes at his taunt and you took a look at the body in the casket, flowers gracing the coffin, and a few people already settled into the pews, ready to hear her send off to heaven. “It’s not a bad thing if you don’t have a funeral to speak at.” You bit back. You’ve known Father Mayhew long enough to know he wasn’t the average priest, he was a snarky, know-it all who assumed he knew faith better than anybody else. He has hopes for this church and he’d stop at nothing to fulfil it.

“I’ll have you know that I have worked hard to build up a relationship with each person in this community, and I’ll be damned if I let you question me once more.” He spoke behind you, over your shoulder, he then moved his arm over you and fixed the position of the coffin, moving it ever so slightly. “Wouldn’t want her four sons to be disgusted at the placement of this thing, now, would we?” He’s sickening to hear but also you craved being corrected by him, you knew he didn’t know everything but you liked when he made himself seem of higher intelligence at you for your own job. Maybe it’s because of his occupation, or maybe it’s just his face.

He took his stance on the alter now, behind the podium, fixing the mic as it fit the level of his face and he sighed before he began. “May everyone be seated as we begin this service.” He lowered his hands, ushering everyone to rest on the wooden bench. He softly moved his head as he looked at you, his face firm, telling you to swallow your pride and take a seat for the mourners. You sat by the husband of the deceased. He reached his hand out to hold yours for support and you did so. For some reason, when Charlie saw this a ripple of distain ran through his very core.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Agnes Berthel, loving mother, wife, sister, and devoted Catholic woman.” Father Mayhew had everyone’s attention, and they depended on him to make this a safe space without fear of it being distasteful. Little did they know of the reasoning there’s been a but-load of deaths recently. He’s been on a spree, obviously to get people into the church, there’s really been a lack of worship nowadays and he needed to scare people into believing in his lord.

As you listened to him talk, you noticed the tacky red boots he wore, and remembered a saying. About how the red symbolises the blood you step on or something, your mind was running amuck you couldn’t get the words in your brain to function. But he was guilty of something, going off of colour alone.

The service ended, the woman was buried. And your mind was still not put to ease. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of disturbance looming over Father Mayhew. “Miss Jones?” He called over to you from the placement of biscuits and coffee in the church function room. “Uh, yes?” You broke out of your conspiracy and his smile brought you back to hypnosis. “Your handbag.” He handed it over to you tauntingly, pulling it back everytime you tried to grab it. “Ah ah ah, not so fast.” He teased you with a cocky smile. You glared at him and then his hand reached into the bag to show all the memorial cards throughout the past sermons that have happened this week. “A little morbid, don’t you think?” He asked as he looked at it with fake confusion, he was the real sick one.

“It’s evidence.” You spoke. So assured in your word, making the priests brows spike up, and his mouth wrinkle in mocked disturbance. “God you’re more insane than I thought.” He was really one to talk, he’d have had to rifle through your handbag to find those in the first place, to then present them to you as if it was the first he’s seen them. “It’s proof that there’s been an over excessive amount of deaths recently.” You crossed your arms with a cup of coffee in your hand, the styrofoam almost crumbling in your firm grip.

Father Mayhew just laughed, nodding as if he had something smart to say. “And you think some pity cards are going to bring them back?” He huffed. “They’re dead, and they must’ve died for a reason. God’s plan.” He kissed his fingers and put them to the air, he’s a devilish man. You scowled at the man, as imperfect and unholy as anything you’ve ever seen. “It’s not easy, you know, seeing the state some of these bodies are in. Then having to conduct a post-mortem, seeing the horrific ways in which they died. You’d have a heart attack if you saw the rawness they come to my funeral home in.” He nodded along in fake sympathy, knowing he’s the one that made the bodies that very way, all on purpose too, he needed the community to see just how disturbed their minds were in the physical realm. Bring them to God’s house and let them find sanctity once more.

“Let’s suppose you’re right. You can’t stop this killer. He doesn’t want to be stopped.” Father Mayhew stuck the memorial cards back in your bag before dropping it on the floor purposely. Your eyes shot up at him in a glare, he really was a piece of work, like a child throwing a tantrum. Sickening man. “That’s why the police are solving it. To take this guy down.” Father Mayhew then shook his head and stood very close by your side, moving a strand of your hair behind your ear. “But think of it this way, this killer is helping you out.” He whispered, with a small sigh, wishing you’d just understand him. “You’ve made more money this week than you would in an entire year, correct?” You wondered where he was getting at and finally, he dropped the bomb, money. Greed. Financial pride. “Greed is a sin, father. You know this. Don’t tell me you’re okay with the greed of the killer.” Father Mayhew gave a low chuckle at your reasoning for your distain for the murders. “All I’m saying is, it’s getting you paid, bringing more people to church, and allowing the police to work overtime and hopefully get Christmas off. This man is helping the dutiful workers of our city, is he not?” He was convincing enough to not be suspected, that’s for sure, he even had you nodding along and agreeing with him. What disgusting ways of manipulation he has.

“There you go, that was easy, wasn’t it, listening to me.” He smiled, and knelt down to the carpeted floor, fixing the items back into your bag and handing it to you from his knelt position. You gladly took it, glad he’d wised up and got on his hands and knees and retrieved what was rightfully yours. “I’ll keep that in mind, father.” You smiled and had an idea, he forgot to lift up the compact mirror of yours that was on the floor, as he was about to lift it, then your heel impacted his hand, he winced but didn’t make a yelp. His face turned to look up at yours, he bit his lip slightly in pain. “Not so fun when you’re the one in pain.” You gave one last push before leaving him be, you bend over and grabbed the mirror, his eyes scanned over your body and how the trousers you wore hugged you in the most magnetic way. Then he had a riveting thought, tonight he’s killing your boss, then you’ll get promoted and maybe visit him more often.

[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 🩵🩵🩵

[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

Planning a funeral can be a challenging task, especially when dealing with the loss of a loved one. Having a clear checklist can make this process more manageable, helping you ensure every detail is covered. Whether you're arranging for a burial or cremation in Paragould, AR, or setting up funeral arrangements through a local funeral home in Paragould, AR, this guide from Faith Funeral Service will walk you through each step with care and clarity.

Step 1: Decide on Burial or Cremation

One of the most important initial decisions is choosing between burial and cremation:

Cremation in Paragould, AR: Cremation can offer flexibility, allowing families to hold a memorial service at a time that is convenient. Many families choose cremation for its simplicity, affordability, and the variety of memorial options available, such as keeping the ashes in an urn or scattering them in a meaningful location.

Burial: A traditional choice for many families, burial typically involves selecting a casket and a cemetery plot. Burial is often chosen for cultural or religious reasons and provides a designated place for family members to visit.

Step 2: Select a Funeral Home

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.

Step 3: Choose the Type of Service

The type of service you choose can depend on personal preferences, traditions, and budget considerations. Common service types include:

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.

Memorial Service: Held without the body present, this service can take place after cremation or burial, offering flexibility for scheduling and location.

Celebration of Life: A more personalized approach that focuses on celebrating the unique life of the deceased, often incorporating favorite music, stories, or special mementos.

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.

[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.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Saw you are taking requests and had a thought: Astarion’s been wandering the realm for the past hundred years after your death, searching for your reincarnation. He has looked everywhere, from the hells to the underdark and still nothing. Just when he’s about to give up, he finds you.

❛ missed my touch that much, did you? ❜ from the prompt list fits really well 🙊

Ngl I headcanon Ascended!Astarion would do this because he cant let go

Rated M (to be safe)

Your death was bound to happen, the mortal lifespan of any race seems so finite compared to the immortality of a vampire. Ascendant. A Lord among the many named in vampiric history.

He hated himself for letting you slip away, for believing you would return to him begging for his love and gift. Instead, he attended a funeral service honoring your life. The Hero of Baldur’s Gate, they even gave you a statue…

How many years has he longed for you? Waited and searched for you. Astarion has since lost faith in the Gods but he has faith you will appear once more, with your smile and doe eyes, his bird to lock away when he finds you.

And find you he does.

The world is different and more advanced, his shadowy hold on Baldur’s Gate long completed, Astarion is pleased to introduce you to a life without struggle. A life where he can grant you everything.

"I swear I've seen you before." This is how the meeting goes, he is pleased to see his influence over you has not faded. You loved him, you showed him love, but then you took it away.

Not this time.

"Astarion?" By the time you know his name, or recall it, his claws have trapped you in the palm of his hands. His beloved partner once more, he grins with glee and possessiveness.

He savors this night with you, savors the way you now clearly remember him. Eyes of fear yet he can see the love you have for him; goodness, you mustn't hide from him. He wants you as badly as you want him, soon you will admit it. Beg for him too.

"You missed my touch that much, did you?"

You want to say no but your body betrays you as it yearns for his hands, how he touches you like you are made of glass. Fragile, to be treasured. You bite down on your lips as he bites your neck— Not to feed but to mark, he has grown much more territorial since you abandoned him for mortality.

His lips every inch of your body, his voice whispers the dark pleasures he will share with you, you shutter as he fits perfectly with yours as it did back then.

"My dark consort," You cry out as he begins stealing your life away, stealing you away into a world of blood and shadows. "My little love, never shall we be parted again."

[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.

[jo-harrington]

TW: Death and Catholicism

Eddie as someone you meet at a funeral.

You’re a great-niece, he’s a grandson’s friend. You both really only knew the deceased distantly but in different lights.

To Eddie she was the lady who pinched his arm, fed him too much food, asked if he had a girlfriend, and said she knew some nice girls if he was having trouble dating. To you she was the lady who pinched your arm, fed you too much, asked if you had a boyfriend, and said she knew some nice boys if you were having trouble dating.

Nice to him. Rude to you. That’s just who she was though. To everyone. She had her favorites.

But you’re both there for your cousin more than you’re there for yourselves.

He ends up sitting near you at the funeral home, dressed in black. Well, everyone is. But it’s how you wear those black clothes. You both wear a comfortable shroud while everyone else shuffled in dresses that don’t fit and shoes that pinch and rented suits with ties that choke.

Funeral homes have formative memories for both of you. You bond over it in those drawn out minutes…hours where you connect with strangers only to probably never see them again. For him, it’s his mother and in return he gained a love of heavy metal and the inexplicable need to March to the beat of his own drum just like she did. For you, a grandma you were too young to really know.

“You and Danny have that in common then,” he tries to lighten the mood. “Dead grandma’s.”

“I think everyone gets a dead grandma at some point. Sometimes even two.”

“That’s fair.”

“Mine died on my 5th birthday though,” you tell him truthfully. “So I think I had it worse off than he does.”

“Gotta hold him to that then. He’s a cocky shit.”

“Yeah he is. He still holds some Mario Kart victory over me from when we were 7.”

You both fumble at the church as you seek out a familiar face—although for you it’s a sea of familiar faces you wish you didn’t have to see—and you guide him through, to you, partially forgotten prayers and the sitting and standing and you even hold his hand during the Our Father. He doesn’t let you go because he feels you shake with the uneven ground of your faith.

“I don’t do church anymore,” you whisper.

“Me either,” he whispers back. “Would you believe me if I told you people used to think I worshipped Satan?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I might currently worship Satan?”

“No shit.”

“Meh, anything that isn’t Jesus might as well be Satan to my mom so it’s not that much of a stretch.”

He doesn’t ask where your mom is. Where the rest of your immediate family is. And it’s nice for that to be the first time not to have to answer that question.

You continue to hold hands as the casket is sealed behind a stone wall, as your aunt and her secrets get locked away forever. Eddie remarks that it’s weird to bury people behind walls instead of in the ground. You think it’s weird that he thinks it’s weird; it’s all you’ve ever known.

You offer to show him around the big mausoleum if he plays his cards right.

It’s a joke. You both know it’s a joke.

But after Danny approaches the two of you once the service is over, and thanks and hugs are shared, he stands there with his hands in his pockets and stared at you expectantly.

“So?” He shrugs. “Grand tour?”

You’re speechless but you nod.

“And I know a place that does a good eggplant parm san—”

“Eggplant Parm Sandwich,” you nod. “Cue’s. Off Wolf Road? Yeah it’s my favorite.”

“Mine too. We can get some lunch?”

“Sure.”

And you both think as you walk around the silent cemetery.

You think your aunt must not have been so bad, and he thinks she must have been as good as he always thought she was.

Because she filled her promise of introducing you both to someone nice after all.