#and up until that moment I thought that christianity was as dead as any other old bunch of myths

[tenok]

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[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Three

Day: Thursday, January 4th Time: 7:20 PM EST

"What did I say yesterday?" Neil asked her. "Why did you react like that?" It didn't take her long to remember. "About the knives, you mean." When Neil nodded, she turned her hands over and considered her palms. "You remember I told you I used to be in a gang? There was a man there who went out of his way to hurt me. He liked knives and kept a half-dozen on him at all times. I couldn't defend myself by normal means, so I learned to fight with knives, too. I practiced for a year before I finally bested him. "'Bested'." Renee contemplated the word choice for a few moments before saying, "He didn't survive the fight. Boss helped stage the body so we could pin it on a rival gang and I was promoted. I kept the knives through my trial and my adoption. I wanted to remember what darkness I'm capable of—and what darkness I'm capable of surviving." "You did what you had to do," Neil said. "If he lived he would have come back for you." "I know," Renee said, soft. "There were other girls before I caught his eye; there would be girls after I left. But I didn't do it for the greater good. I did it because he wronged me personally and I didn't want to be afraid of him anymore. I regret what it did to me more than I regret the necessity of his death. I felt no horror when I watched him die. I was proud of what I'd done to him. "I told Andrew what I did," Renee said. "The next day while I was at class he broke into my room and took my knives. When I asked for them back, he said I was lying to myself. If I wanted to remember, I wouldn't hide the knives in my closet like a shameful secret I couldn't revisit or let go of. They weren't doing me any good, so he said he would carry them until I needed them again. "I let him have them because I trusted him not to use them," Renee said. "I thought he understood what they were supposed to be: not weapons anymore but a symbol of what we've overcome. I didn't ask him for his reasons. I knew he would tell me if he wanted me to know." The obvious answer was Drake, but it didn't add up quite right. Neil turned it over in his head, working his way through it, and thought about the scars on Andrew's forearms. Who had Andrew survived: Drake or himself? Neil wasn't going to share that idea with Renee, so he said, "So those knives he brings everywhere are yours?" "Were mine," Renee said. "He was right; I don't need them anymore. If you need them, he will give them to you, and I will teach you how to use them." She wasn't smiling anymore. Neil studied her calm expression and knew she meant it. She'd put her faith in mankind and her Christian piety on hold and show him how to cut a man open throat to groin if he asked her to. Neil was starting to understand why Andrew liked her. She was crazy enough to be interesting. "Thank you," Neil said, "but no. I don't want to be like—him." He didn't say he'd used knives before; one couldn't grow up a Wesninski without having a blade pushed into his hand. Nathan didn't have the time or patience to teach his son but he'd put two of his people to the task. Luckily Neil left home before he progressed past cutting up hunks of dead animals. "Of course," Renee agreed. She waited a moment to see if anything else was forthcoming, then got to her feet. "I shouldn't keep Allison waiting, but if you want to talk more later you know where to find me." "Okay," Neil said.

Art used with permission by Aymmidumps. Thank you @aymmidumps

[melit0n]

for the lyrics thing: “there’s something in the way you lay / that makes the dead switch graves / you take your leave” from Jericho. is “you lay” a euphemism for sleeping around (so the person is so sexually active that they make the dead roll in their grave)? or is it saying that the person is so wonderful that they can even move the dead? i’ve never been able to figure it out so i’d love to hear your thoughts!

I was hoping someone would ask about the Two ep! Just my luck, thank you anon <33

In the UK, and in America as well I'm pretty sure, "lay" is used as slang for having sex with someone, so you're right on that part, definitely. However, the line "there's something in the way you lay" brings both negative and positive connotations to me. He's saying 'there's just something about you. The way you look like that.' There's either a sense of stillness and serenity with it; a calm brought about by the way they lay, possibly asleep next to their partner.

On note of the next line, which I'll talk about in a moment, a large amount of people are known to 'sleep like they're dead', and others note that having Sleep Paralysis feels like death. The Dead are often confused for the sleeping as well, as long as they don't have any noticible abnormalities.

Even though two is quite sexually charged, I mean hey, take a look at Nazareth, I'd like to go with it being they're just so wonderful, or, in the least, appear to be so.

"Enough to make the dead switch graves" Is a stupidly powerful line. Whoever this is is just asleep, or sleeping around, and they have enough authority to make the dead switch graves.

In addition to this, a typical euphemism you may hear is 'make the dead roll in their grave'. It's one thing to do something so disgusting that you make the dead roll around, but this is something enough for these corpses to get reanimated, dig their selves out, get up, walk to another grave, and switch. This person's mere existence is potent enough that it causes the deceased to get up and leave.

It gives the vibe of a shift in the natural order of things, if that makes sense.

Plus, plus, in Islam (I know, I'm back at the religion again, bare with me lads), after a person has died, it is believed they will rest in their grave until The Day Of Judgement where they will be full body resurrected and either be taken to Paradice or Hell. Aka, the corpse will be reanimated to be eternally judged. There's also a similar idea in Christian theology; some denominations believe they die and either straight up go to Heaven or Hell, or will wait in their grave to be reanimated and judged on Judgement Day. Just something to think about.

Further, Jericho is the 'oldest city in the world', and makes an appearance in the Bible and the Qur'an; Israelites conquer the city and destroy it's protective walls. Nazareth was the home of Mary in the Bible and also where she received Annunciation. Calcutta is the old name for the capital of British India (now called Kolkata). Overarching theme of big cities with violent histories.

Lastly, we have "you take your leave". It's sung in a very final tone, if you get what I mean. Basically a 'you leaving isn't a big deal...but it means a lot to me. You've hurt me; again.'. There's not much to analyse here; it's simple and it's final. Whoever this is is gone, either 'dead' and so thoroughly disgusted/angered by Vessel that they've reanimated themselves and walked off, and Vessel will spend his time dissecting old encounters and feeding off of whatever he can salvage.

On the note of 'death', a bed can also be a grave for some people, either a metaphorical one or a literal one.

[intothemultifandom]

in spite of what critics are saying about the last few episodes of the the walking dead’s 11th and final season, there were a few things that just hit different especially with the finale: 

SPOILERS FOR TWD “REST IN PEACE” 11.24!!

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daryl barricading judith in the hospital the same way shane did to rick in 01x01 – like father, like daughter and even brother because he also carried her the same way rick carried carl when he got shot

 actually, daryl carrying judith into the hospital to save her life vs how he carried beth out after she was killed. the FEAR he must’ve felt given the last time he carried someone in/out from the hospital.

any scene between them + carol (keeping this short bc i can write a whole novel about their scenes) 

luke dying & being comforted by magna, yumiko, connie & kelly (his og group) during his final moments; even though he wasn’t seen for most of the season, dan folger’s acting + that of nadia hilker, eleanor matsuura, lauren ridloff & angel theory was TOP-TIER 

people always die in twd, but up until luke, the newish members of the group didn’t really suffer a sudden and harsh loss like the group from earlier seasons until now

that’s why his death + the group’s raw grief hit different when you consider how this is the first time we’ve seen them have to mourn one of their own so suddenly and with walkers literally banging on their doors

the team up of eugene porter & gabriel stokes = the two characters who, at one point of the story, were the weakest and most cowardly members of the group. i mean, the parallels of how they started vs. how they ended are insane:

eugene, who lied to abraham and rosita about knowing how to cure the infection almost making himself a martyr by telling the truth about the common wealth’s corruption, and 

gabriel, who locked his congregation outside his church to die being the first to open the gates for everyone even when pamela’s people had their guns pointed at him 

if twd did anything right, it was the development of these two characters

even if i didn’t know christian serratos chose rosita’s ending, i still would’ve thought she had a fitting end as one of the original (and last) big hitters for rick’s group on the road

it wasn’t painful and gory like abraham or glenn, shocking like sasha’s or even bittersweet like carl’s in the midst of war– rosita dies a dignified and otherwise peaceful death after all the bloodshed is said & done

she sees her people are safe, knows her daughter’s in good hands and finally lays to rest after fighting on the frontlines for so long

even with her gone, her final interaction with eugene at her side really cements that he is her and abraham’s legacy because “i’m glad it was you at the end” 

(someone make baby rosie looking up to older coco because her mom was her namesake + uncle eugene canon right now) 

this post-war celebration dinner mirroring the what-if dream dinner from 7x01 about what could’ve been (credit to this article for the pic: here) also makes rosita’s death so poignant to me because negan had likened the dream as something that wouldn’t ever happen

it’s not the same exact group and it wasn’t exactly her dream, but the sentiment remains the same

in the end, peace was possible for the alexandrians after all & i’m so glad rosita got to see this before she went & re-joined the others who are no longer at the table 

negan & maggie now established as two sides of the same coin: motives, beliefs and and now shared trauma of being unable to stop their partner from being killed (or almost killed, in negan’s case) as they’re about to start a family

maggie was never going to forgive him for what he did, but that in itself gives so much more substance to their spin-off and i can’t wait to see it happen 

rick “we are the walking dead” grimes + michonne “it’s true. forever” grimes – welcome back. 

[mysterycharacterflowers]

Round 1; A bouquet of poppy, zygopetalum, echeveria, dandelion, yucca, twinspur , lotus, tagetes, ursinia, purple hyacinth and hibiscus Vs A bouquet of amaryllis, dicentra, red spider lily and white roses

If you know who they are, or are pretty sure of it, please don't tell until this poll has ended!

First, let's talk about the bouquet of poppy, zygopetalum, echeveria, dandelion, yucca, twinspur , lotus, tagetes, ursinia, purple hyacinth and hibiscus

Meaning and why these flowers were chosen: Poppy, for fertility, remembrance, strength, hope, resilience, sleep, and peace. When we meet her, she is stumbling through the wake of her trauma--including grief for both herself and her dead child— without any real goal of recovery, trying to cope through substance abuse, but over a long hard walk she gradually uncovers her inner strength Zygopetalum, for fertility and spiritual connection between people. Fertility is relevant because her pregnancy as a young teen overturned her life; spiritual connection, meanwhile, doesn’t apply in a soulmates way like would be typical for this flower, but instead as a moment of profound enlightenment that she experiences and later relates to someone who very nearly understands. Echeveria, for endurance. She’s been through a whole lot, curled up in a ball, got back up and kept going. Also because it’s one of a few plants called hens-and-chicks, and she was a mother. Dandelion, for determination, joy, and youthful thoughts. She’s just a teenager with big dreams, a love of stories, a history of tomfoolery, and a not irreparably broken soul. Yucca, for new opportunities, loyalty, and purity. She has to leave home to find hope; she is a good friend, or at least she’s trying very hard; and she’s certainly not ‘pure’ by her conservative quasi-Christian mother and culture’s standards, but whose fault is that and what does that mean anyway? Twinspur, for fidelity and friendship. She reconnects with an old friend and tries to accept who they are, their journey, and what they’ve done despite the rift in her since she last knew them; she also ends up befriending/befriended by someone she justly punched in the face before, so there’s that. I also chose this flower by its name because she’s a twin; that’s also complicated. Lotus, for spiritual growth and transcendence. She went looking for it, with her friend who was far more interested in it than she was at first, and she certainly found it even the transcendence suffered for it. Tagetes, for faith (and use in religious contexts), creativity, jealousy, and loss. Religious faith is very important to people in her life and was formative, in an abusive manner, to her in the childhood she’s only partly left; her mother clung to fundamentalist religion in a time that had seen a lot of change, and because of this shamed her all the more for her perceived transgressions against polite society. (After experiencing that, she wound up trying to combat religion-backed colonialism and generally being unwilling to let others be hurt with religion as the weapon like it was for her.) Creativity is a central part of her mind—she pranks, she explores, she lets herself become enveloped in possibly silly ideas and fascinations. Jealousy is something she has for those with more privilege getting into situations not unlike hers and getting away with it, and for those without her knack for getting into trouble (and thus getting, in this case, unjustly punished); in other words the jealousy is for her siblings. The loss part is probably clear by now—loss of her child, loss of faith of varying kinds, loss of social acceptance. Ursinia, for temptation and innocent love; she fell for a man not the least bit worth it. Purple hyacinth, for playfulness and regret; connected in this case since her playful, adventurous nature was a part of what she was shamed for, loosely speaking, when her pregnancy came to light and with the aftermath. In other words, she was too much to be considered a good girl to begin with. Hibiscus, for youth, first love (little good though it did her), and the shortness of life; she was a child giving birth to a child who didn’t survive.

Description: A young woman—eventually admirable, never despicable—with a bad reputation kept small, a self-sabotaging streak that can’t compete with the actual sabotage other people deal to her, and quite a lot of self-loathing her parents don’t care or know to help her process. Desperately needs to be told that what she went through wasn’t funny, actually, but doesn’t know that until it’s actually said. The daughter of a lawyer and a miserable housewife, and it shows. Wildly eccentric when she’s not forcing self-effacement; gets more philosophical as she goes, and unlearns the hatred she was taught for her supposedly sinful body. Once constructs an alter ego whose name is a crude joke, but completely accidentally on her part. Chaotic good

Check their post here

Now, let's talk about the bouquet of amaryllis, dicentra, red spider lily and white roses

Why these flowers were chosen: amaryliss flowers! big personality! and her dress is red. Dicentra. cause if she never tried to marry other character she wouldve lived, and with the dripping part looking like blood or water, she fell into the river. Red spider lily, Not only is it representive of death (and rebirth) anither BIG red flower also white roses because theyre extemely common wedding flowers, and she dies on her wedding. Description: She's an impulsive and vibrant woman who is constantly doing something. She's the type of person to get her entirely family kicked out of the club for being there, but sneak in anyway.

Check their post here

[russet-writing]

Sanctity Chapter I: The Exorcism of Mercy Howard

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Testing the waters with this first chapter but I can promise that future updates will have more whump and actual interactions between the demon and the Priest. Warnings are up front and center because this one gets a teensy bit graphic. A couple announcements below the story. Thanks! -Fox

Word count: 1,302

Cw: Christian themes, mentions of demons, graphic details of demonic possession and a pretty brutal exorcism, inaccurate portrayals of religion that borders on cult-like behavior, unorthodox practices, death, lady whump?

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The exorcism had begun at sundown, as the shadows of trees stretched and clawed at the soil, and it did not stop... Not for four hours.

Screams, blood curdling and raw, echo off the basement’s walls and ring in Father Simon’s ears. He can hear it. That demonic, rasping voice twinning with that of the young woman’s. It was as if the phlegm frothing in her mouth had caught in her throat, throttling her of all rationality. It was a clear sign of possession. As if they needed any more signs… Her back arches off the mattress, soiled with sweat and endless bouts of vomit. Watching the steel cuffs strain to hold her down, Simon begins to wonder if perhaps her wrists might snap before the chains do. It was hard for him to see her like this. He had known Mercy Howard for a long time— Or, rather, he had known of her. She used to serve in the youth ministry and had a reputation as the most docile of the Howard children, much better behaved than her sisters. She had always seemed more alive when she was with the children. He remembers seeing her dancing with them at the Christmas celebration and the heart melting smile that graced her lips as she held those small hands in hers. Mercy had been a beloved member of the community her whole life. Whatever could have changed?

“Arise from this vessel! Release this woman from your clutches, by the Father’s will!”

The clergy surround her writhing form, all spouting the words of the Lord… all except for Simon. He had never had the opportunity of attending one of the church’s exorcisms. Though, it felt less like an honor now than it did yesterday and he can do little more than watch from his place on the stairs. As if from a distance, Simon begins to recognize that parts of his mind are shutting down. His dark eyes stay locked to the woman as she convulses and growls like some feral animal snared in a trap; she is equally as helpless, he can feel it under the demonic energy. The only coherent thought he can form is: By God… It’s killing her.

“Mercy! Remember your name, Mercy!”

“May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host—!”

“Release her! The forces of heaven cast thee back to hell!” Father Mathew roars, his voice booming over all the others, spit flying between his gritted teeth. She rears her head back in agony or, perhaps, the demon’s defiance.

“Release her, you wicked Beast!” He demands once more, brandishing his bible at her vigorously as if trying to throw the holy words at her. For a moment, it almost seems like he might. But then, something shifts in the air… Mercy’s body gives another alarming jerk which bends one arm into a horribly awkward angle. Their voices die down. Simon watches in frozen horror as she wrenches her head backwards until her gaze meets his, her eyes bloodshot and mouth agape in a silent scream. It was as if she was staring straight through him, into his soul, invading and violating. A guttural gasp rattles in her throat… And all at once, Mercy crumples limply onto the mattress.

Silence blankets the room.

For a moment, Simon feels as though the swinging lightbulb hanging from the rafters dims. None of the men seem to want to move. Finally, Father Bernard works up the gall to step forward and kneel next to the woman’s prone form, checking for her pulse. They watch as his mouth twists into a grimace and he just shakes his head. Mercy Howard is dead.

***

That night, Simon found himself cooped up in the Church’s attic, kneeling before an altar and praying harder than he had in years. The muttering under his breath became distant and detached from his thoughts, purely muscle memory, as he recounted the events of the exorcism. And the aftermath. 

“You got it out of her, right?” Mercy’s Widowed mother, Mrs. Howard, asked urgently, peering over Simon’s shoulder at what was once her daughter. She looked as though she feared Mercy to be diseased. Disgusted. “It’s gone? That thing… it’s gone, isn’t it?” His grip tightened until his knuckles turned white. At the very least, Mercy’s sisters had wept for her. Her mother had not shed so much as a single tear and it was very evident to him that she had given up on her daughter within the first hour. Though, he reasoned internally, he did not have children of his own. He didn’t know what it was like.

So, very simply, he replies, “Yes. Mercy has been liberated, Mrs. Howard. It has no hold over her anymore.” He then drapes the sheet gently over Mercy’s remains, covering her face first; He never wanted to have to see those eyes ever again… And yet, even now as he prays so fervently, he sees them over and over like some recurring nightmare that follows him into the waking world. They were black. Black like oil. Black like the seemingly endless cavern of the old well. They were boring a hole straight through him.

Simon wipes the sweat from his brow and stares into the flickering candlelight. He wonders if he stares long enough that they might burn the image from his memory.

“Sister Catherine says we shouldn’t light candles in here anymore.” A low voice suddenly murmurs from the stairwell. Simon tenses, blinking as he looks over his shoulder to see Father Mathew standing quietly in the doorway, hands clasped comfortably behind his back. “She says it could cause a fire. We could all be burned alive in our sleep.” Simon slowly forces the line of his shoulders to relax slightly, turning back to watch the wax drip down the length of the candles and onto the very flammable oak of the altar.

“Perhaps she is right.” 

A short silence settles over them to which Simon gathers his robes and rises to his feet. He is not in the mood for idle chatter right now. As he reaches out to pinch the flame from one of the wicks, Mathew takes a small step forward, shoes clicking against the worn floorboards.

“The exorcism today… Was that your first encounter with a demon, Simon?” Simon turns to look at him fully this time, scanning the man’s expression for a long moment. He immediately thinks back on how frightened he had been throughout its entirety: petrified and clinging to the railing of the stairs like a lifeline. How humiliating would it be if it wasn’t his first time?

“It was.” Simon replies, letting his gaze drift to the floor. “I knew it wouldn’t be a pleasant process but I certainly hadn’t expected—” His voice falters; He can hear those screams again. Thankfully, Mathew seems to understand what he means. He lets out a sympathetic hum, stepping ever closer into the small space and then the man is clasping a heavy hand on his shoulder and Simon can’t help but frown.

Mathew’s voice is level and fluid as he speaks, sounding as if he were preaching the gospel with each word, “Do not allow yourself to dwell on this, Simon. Mercy has been laid to rest. She is at peace.” The man leans in closer until Simon’s eyes automatically gravitate to his: a disarming blue, a bit too dull but seemingly earnest. “We all did the best we could.” Wrong, his mind immediately snarls with startling vehemence. “She was a lost cause.” You’re wrong. 

Simon doesn’t voice these thoughts.

“I suppose so.” He replies steadily. The candles were snuffed out before he resigned to his quarters for the night and he prayed God would spare him from the nightmares.

>>

Okay, I wanted to clarify something about how the church works in the Sanctity “universe”. Essentially this is a church in a very secluded community that have put their own spin on Christianity and over time morphed it to fit their own agenda. So their practices, hierarchy and some of their beliefs are different from most sects. I won’t explain myself too much on this unless it becomes an issue because it doesn’t really feel necessary right now.

On a different note, please let me know if you would like to be added to any taglists. My asks are always open!

>>

Taglist: @isaactheterrible

[littledreamling]

Hob Gadling who taught himself how to read in order to become a printer with the first book to ever be printed : the bible. Hob Gadling become knight getting a humanist education, learning Latin, Greek, Hebrew and studying the holy text in every iteration. Hob Gadling who has had plenty to reconsider about his faith throughout his life due to his immortality but never his queerness (and Hob Gadling has found out early on he is not straight), suddenly hearing the bible quoted to support homophobia out of nowhere in the 1980s. Hob Gadling pushing back and campaigning without care that he might be endangering the secret of his immortality against this "new translation". Hob Gadling till present days calling that out, loud and clear everywhere he goes to make sure any queer-secretly-religious or religious-secretly-queer kid (and not-kid-anymore) gets to hear it, because he might have his own quarrels with religion but he also knows how important faith can be to someone and he's not about to let bigots manipulate that against his people !!

Listen I’m a whore for religious Hob and this hits the nail on the head. I’m a little brain dead at the moment as I just got back from a bachelor’s party but I’ll attempt to do this ask justice (and if I don’t, I’ll come back to it because I live and breathe for Hob Gadling and all of his complexities).

The first words Hob ever heard recited to him were out of a bible. Growing up, Hob’s parents dragged him to church every day for Mass, where he would hear the Latin words wash over him like a cool, cleansing water and while he didn’t understand the words, they meant something to him nonetheless. When his parents and siblings died, either from the plague or other natural causes, he made sure they got their last rites, the words that would comfort and strengthen their souls on their journey to Heaven, and he took comfort in the fact that those same words would comfort and strengthen his own soul one day. He saw the priest, solemn and wise, cupping his bible with the reverence he showed to the bodies in the ground, a respect and adoration and dedication that shook Hob to his core.

The first book Hob ever touched was a bible. He still couldn’t read it, he simply placed the type letters where he was told, but the unadulterated joy and pride he felt, holding his very first book, the first book he had ever printed entirely by himself, was a feeling like no other. He couldn’t understand a single word of it, but he could’ve recited it with perfect clarity; he had placed that exact same type in that exact same order countless times, eliminating each mistake one at a time until every page was perfect. It wasn’t fancy, just a simple bible for a local parish, but deep down, Hob always thought of that one bible as his.

The first book Hob ever read was a bible. He had traveled to Venice and Florence, centers of Humanist learning and intellectualism, in the early 1500’s to learn Latin and Greek and Hebrew; to study Ancient Greek and Rome society and culture; to immerse himself in the knowledge of history, language, philosophy, art, and literature; to become educated in translation, letter-writing, public speaking, and military affairs; to study Plato and Aristotle and their texts on philosophy. He studied Jewish and Ottoman thought and better understood his own faith all the better for it (and then spent the next two hundred years unlearning all of the prejudices and biases that he had learned from the Christian-centric and racist tutors). From then on, he made it a point to always have a bible in his house. It was a constant between every life he lived; it was the second-to-last item he sold in the 1600’s (the last thing being his portrait of his lovely and lost Eleanor and his son Robyn) and the second thing he bought as soon as his fortune turned a tide (the first being an apple, an irony that he and Death chuckled over later). Even when England was under Protestant rule, as it would be for a long time, he kept a Latin bible tucked away, out of sight but never out of mind, and when the stresses of his daily life and the mind-bending reality of his everlasting life weighed heavily on him, he would pluck that bible off the shelf (he never had to dust it off, he kept it as clean and pristine as it was when he bought it) and let those cool, cleansing words wash over him once again.

This sounds like a fic, I just realized, and in some ways it is, but it’s also a deep reality of who Hob is and what he holds in utmost importance. I can also offer this little-known tidbit of information (that I think the Sandman fandom would benefit from knowing): homosexual relationships were incredibly common in the early Renaissance, at least in Italy (though if the Italians, with their proximity to the Papacy, were willing to risk it for the biscuit, the rest of Europe was probably jumping on the bandwagon too).

Among nobility, men were expected to marry around the age of 30 whereas women were expected to marry around the age of 15-20. Men were also expected to be sexually experienced in their marriage. So the question is, who exactly are they having sex with? And if you just said “each other” out loud, you’re absolutely correct. In Italian culture, noble men would frequently have sexual relationships with each other prior to getting married to their wives. Now, a lot of these men would never identify as homosexual as we would define it today; these sexual relationships were more along the lines of a gender role to be performed than any real attraction towards men, and it was seen as more of a mentor/mentee situation-the older man in the relationship was showing the ropes of sex to the younger man in the situation and then, when the older man got married, the younger man would then find someone younger to mentor. It was a way of building friendships and bonds, which sound laughable to us now, but were a genuine and deeply respected aspect of society; the feelings they had for each other were strictly platonic in the majority of cases (though gay people have always existed and I’m sure Hob Gadling would’ve reveled in this aspect of society) and would lead to business and family connections later down the line.

I want to stress that these connections were not romantic in nature; it was just a participation in society, but it also means that Hob Gadling has definitely had sex with men before, especially if he had (as I said about halfway through this extraordinarily long post) traveled to Italy for his education. He would’ve first been subservient (as the younger men were) and then moved to a more dominant role once enough time had passed for people to believe that he was getting closer to the age of marriage. He definitely would’ve realized that he was attracted to men then, if he hadn’t already in his hometown as a teenager. What’s more, these men engaged in homosexual relationships were also devout Catholics! Religion had absolutely nothing to do with it, and this would’ve been Hob’s first and lasting impression of homosexuality. Religion has nothing to do with it! It’s simply a part of society, an aspect of the larger culture that most ignored in favor of minding their own business. He would’ve been horribly enraged at the fact that modern Christians took up arms against homosexuality when Christians have had a long (long) (long) history of homosexuality and queerness.

And he’d teach that. In every class where it was relevant, in every conversation where it came up, in every religious debate. He’d make a point of mentioning that history that so many are so quick to cover up because it’s important. It’s important to him and it’s important to other queer people, not because it’s a part of queer history (again, for the vast majority of these men, they were not gay or queer in any way) but because it’s important to understand just how recently Christianity’s crusade against queer communities has cropped up (that’s not to say, however, that the church in any way condoned Renaissance Italian men and their gay sex because they decidedly did not, but it wasn’t an act punishable by death, nor was it punished at all. If anyone had a problem with it, it was their eventual wives, but they had a bigger issue with the prostitutes that their husbands would see on a regular basis even after their marriage).

So yes, to sum up my incredibly rambling post, Hob Gadling 100% has a very unique and deep connection with his religion, though he keeps it very separate from his relationship with his sexuality because that’s how it’s always been. He’s a Godly man and he’s a queer man and the two can coexist.

[livelaughwhump]

Drabble idea for post rescue Elliot finding a stray kitten with no microchip or any sign of a home and trying to sneak the little guy inside. How would the team handle that? Maybe Elliot had been talking and playing with the kitten for a bit but it was scared of his teammates? (Maybe the cat was a frequent visitor before Elliot was rescued and stayed out of site until Elliot had healed more physically) idk I’m obsessed with these types of things lol this just popped into my head. This series is amazing! I’m so tempted to make fan art and I’ll dm it to you if I do and you’re ok with it! Have a great day and take care of yourself! 😊

Masterlist

Oh my god, this is idea is so precious!!😍

Thank you so much for your request!! This was super fun to write

Also, thank you so much for all the love for my series!! I'm so happy you're enjoying it!! And if you do decide to make some fanart, please please please send it to me!!🙏 I would love that!!❤️

Content: brief mention of past abuse, an obscene amount of fluff, very briefly implied animal abuse

(I've decided this takes place a little bit further into Elliot's recovery, when he has a bit more free will)

-

Elliot had first noticed the little kitten living under the porch about three days ago, when he'd helped Landon take out the trash. It was a scrawny little thing with matted gray fur and huge green eyes.

Poor thing had been curled up in a nest of dead leaves and old, greasy paper bags. It was shivering, and Elliot's heart had ached for it. Landon had merely scoffed at it when he saw Elliot staring and said, "Damn thing's been living there since before we rescued you. I wouldn't get too close to it, if I were you. It probably has rabies or something."

Elliot had completely ignored Landon's warning. Since then, Elliot had spent the next few days sneaking out to talk to the kitten and bring it some food. It was wary of him at first, but it quickly warmed up to him. It even started to eventually approach Elliot, instead of the other way around.

Elliot desperately wanted to bring the poor thing inside, but he didn't think his teammates would be too fond of that idea. Landon, especially, didn't seem to like the kitten, and Elliot hadn't bothered to bring it up to the rest of the team.

Three days of feeding and caring for it later, Karine said something that made Elliot's heart stop.

"Apparently, there's supposed to be a pretty bad thunderstorm tonight," she said. Elliot's breath caught in his throat. Lyra hummed in response, their attention still focused on the book in their lap. "They said there might be golf-ball-sized hail and winds that could get up to sixty kilometers an hour."

Lyra glanced up at her, quirking a brow. "Since when do you care about the weather?"

Karine shrugged. "I don't know. I'm bored."

Elliot wasn't listening to anything they said after Karine's weather report. The only thing he could think of was his little friend under the porch.

"Elliot?" Lyra said, breaking Elliot out of his spiraling train of thought. "You okay?"

Elliot hesitated. "Yeah, I-I just don't like s-storms very much." It wasn't a complete lie. Storms reminded him a little too much of his captivity, because of how often Christian had tied him up and left him out in the rain. However, that wasn't his primary concern in that moment.

"Oh, don't worry, buddy," Karine said. "It's not supposed to start until six, and we won't let anything happen to you, okay?"

Elliot nodded, but he wasn't really listening. His thoughts were trained on the poor little kitten-- his poor little kitten--and the next thing he knew, he was knelt in front its living space, trying to coax it out.

"Hello," he whispered. The kitten perked its ears up. "Don't worry, it's just me." He held his hand out and the kitten began to sniff him. When it seemed satisfied, it tilted its head at him. Elliot smiled. "Would you like to come inside with me? It's not safe out here tonight."

Of course, the kitten didn't answer, but it did take a couple steps closer to Elliot, nuzzling against his hand. Elliot's heart melted. "You must've been so lonely," he whispered. "I know how that feels. I used to make friends with whatever bugs or rats decided to pay me a visit." The kitten blinked up at him and Elliot's smile turned sad. "I guess we're both a couple of strays, aren't we?" The kitten climbed up onto his lap and burrowed itself in his coat.

Elliot took the opportunity to wrap it up in his coat and hug his arms around it in order to keep it hidden. With that, he carefully pushed himself to his feet and approached the front door. Just as he was about to reach it, however, it swung open. Elliot gasped and stepped back as Lyra's face came into view.

Lyra furrowed their brows. "Elliot? What are you doing out here? Karine said there's supposed to be a storm."

Elliot didn't know how to answer. He stared at them, frozen, and silently prayed that the kitten in his coat didn't make a sound.

Lyra glanced around. "Were you talking to someone?"

Elliot frantically shook his head. "N-No, I-I was just, um..."

Lyra raised an eyebrow. "El, are you okay?"

Elliot nodded, sweat beading along his hairline. Lyra didn't look convinced. They glanced down at where his arms were clutching his coat and panic swelled in Elliot's gut.

Lyra sighed. "What's in your coat?"

"N-Nothing!" Elliot lied, shifting his arms uncomfortably. He was careful not to crush the kitten with his arms. "I'm-I'm just cold."

Lyra shook her head. "Elliot, you can't lie to me. I know you too well."

Tears started to well in Elliot's eyes. "I'm s-sorry," he mumbled, turning his face downwards.

Lyra folded their arms over their chest. "What's in your coat?" They asked again.

Elliot sniffled and rubbed his nose. "P-Promise you won't get m-mad?"

"El, I could never be mad at you. I just want you to be safe."

Elliot didn't believe them, but regardless, he unzipped his coat and let the little kitten poke its head out. It sniffed the air and it's ears twitched a bit, but it didn't do much more than that.

Elliot scratched the top of the kitten's head before turning his gaze back up to Lyra. She had an unreadable expression on her face, and Elliot's heart sank.

"Is that the cat that's been living under the porch?" Lyra asked.

Elliot nodded. "I-I was just w-worried about her. I was afraid she wouldn't survive the storm tonight, and-and I wanted her to be safe." Elliot hunched his shoulders and started trembling. "Please, don't be mad."

Lyra shook her head. "I'm not mad, Elliot, but..." Elliot flinched. "But you know we can't keep a cat in the house. Yvonne is allergic."

Elliot's lower lip started quivering. "Please?" He begged. "She's-She's all alone, and-and I promise to take care of her. I'll f-feed her and wash her and-and she can stay in my room! I'll take good care of her, I promise! Please, Lyra. She'll die if I let her go."

Lyra sighed. "Elliot..."

"I'll never ask for anything ever again!" Elliot interrupted. He dropped to his knees, tears beginning to slip down his cheeks. He bowed his head. "Please, Lyra. I'll do anything. Please, don't make me let her go."

Lyra was silent for a beat. Elliot didn't look at her, but he took her silence as a good sign. She didn't immediately shut him down. Eventually, Lyra sighed for a third time. "Why don't we come inside and talk to the rest of the team?" Elliot looked up at her, eyes shining with hope. "If you really want to keep her, it's not just me you'll have to convince."

Elliot nodded. "O-Okay."

"But this isn't a definitive yes. I'm okay with it, but I'm not so sure about the rest of them."

"I understand," Elliot said. "Th-Thank you, Lyra."

Lyra half-smiled at him and helped him back up to his feet. "Come on, sunshine. Let's go before it starts to rain."

. . .

"Absolutely not," Landon blurted.

Elliot's face fell. "B-But-"

"We can't just keep a stray cat. What if it has an owner?"

"To be fair," Karine cut in. "It's been living here for months, and we've never so much as seen a missing cat poster."

Landon rolled his eyes and leaned back on the couch. "Well, what if it has a disease, or something? Yvonne is already allergic to cats."

"Yeah, but it's not a bad allergy," Yvonne added. "I can just take some allergy meds."

Karine shook her head. "You shouldn't have to do that."

"I don't mind," Yvonne assured. "I'll do it for Elliot. He deserves a little friend."

"Yvonne," Broderick exclaimed. "You have enough health problems as it is!"

"I'm fine! I'll sacrifice a bit of my convenience for Elliot's happiness." Elliot smiled a bit when he heard those words.

Broderick rolled his eyes. "Well, personally, I don't mind. My only issue with it is finances."

Karine scoffed. "As if you handle any of that."

"Broderick's right," Landon said. "Cats are expensive."

"We're not hard off for money, Landon," Lyra said. "We can afford a little kitten."

"Why are you defending this idea, Lyra?" Landon exclaimed. "You don't even like cats!"

"No, but Elliot offered to take care of her all by himself."

"And you trust him with that responsibility? He can hardly take care of himself!" Landon shouted.

Elliot's face grew hot and he turned his gaze away from his friends.

Karine smacked Landon on the arm. "Shut up, Landon! Elliot's more responsible than you are!"

Landon glared at Karine before fixing his gaze on Elliot. "I didn't mean any offense, Elliot. I just meant that you still have to recover. I don't want you to overwhelm yourself."

Elliot didn't acknowledge Landon's statement. Lyra rubbed his back and looked up at the team leader. "So far, we have four votes for yes and one vote for no. Karine, what's your verdict?"

Karine was quiet for a long moment, her eyes flicking between Elliot, Lyra, and the gray kitten in Elliot's arms. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her face was twisted in thought. Karine sighed and shrugged. "It's not like my vote really matters. The majority of you have already agreed." She waited a few seconds before continuing. "However, even though I'm not particularly fond of cats either, I suppose, if it'll make Elliot happy, who am I to say no?"

Elliot beamed. "S-So, I-I can k-keep her?"

"Under one condition," Karine said. Elliot's heart skipped a beat. "You don't give her a stupid name."

Elliot looked down at the dirty little gray kitten in his arms and smiled. "W-Well, I-I've been calling her D-Dumpling in my head. Is-Is that stupid?"

"Aw, that's so cute!" Yvonne fawned. "And it is absolutely not stupid." She shot a warning look at their leader. "Right, Karine?"

Karine chuckled and shrugged. "I suppose I can live with that."

Elliot smiled and hugged Dumpling as tight as he could without crushing her. She purred and rubbed her face against his cheek.

Landon scoffed as he watched the display. "Why do you even want that thing?" He asked. Karine shot him a warning glare, which he completely ignored. "It's tiny and dirty."

Elliot smiled as he stared into Dumpling's large eyes. "Exactly," he said. Dumpling pawed at his nose and he giggled. "She was all alone and hungry and-and probably mistreated, just like..." Elliot broke off. He'd come so far in his recovery, but remembering what happened to him was still difficult. Still, he swallowed his fear and said, "Just like me." Landon didn't say anything to that, so Elliot continued. "It-It just wouldn't feel right to leave her like that when-when I was lucky enough to be rescued."

"Oh, Elliot," Yvonne said. "You're too good for this world."

Elliot blushed, and Landon hummed. "I guess she's kind of cute, if you squint."

Lyra rolled her eyes and rested her hand on Elliot's shoulder. "Come on, sunshine. Let's go get Dumpling some food and a bath. Then, we can start introducing her to the rest of the team."

Elliot smiled and nodded, holding Dumpling in front of his face. "Welcome to the team, Dumpling."

-

This was so much fun to write!!!

I desperately want this to be canon, but it probably won't be until a bit further into the main story.

Also, Dumpling might be a stupid name, but it was the first thing I came up with and my girlfriend said it was cute, so I went with it😅

If anyone else has any requests, suggestions, or questions (for me or my characters) please send them to me!

Taglist:

@l-antre-des-merveilles @pigeonwhumps @nicolepascaline @burningkittypoet @whumpinggrounds @suffering-and-misery @make-them-scream @honeycollectswhump @rabass

[writingformeandyou]

An Amic Recap

The smile that came to my sleepy ass face when Mod Vic posted, tho. I was extremely happy to see Vic pop in for a moment and decided that I should probably provide a recap of life as well. It’s got its highs and lows, but I just want people to know that they cannot gloss over things like abuse and mental health.

Quick TL;DR: College student that does not know what sleep is somehow is doing decent. Also, mental health is a thing and abuse from parents should not be excused. 

Quick P.S: I  am realizing that the stuff I have written for the abuse might be triggering so the paragraphs following 2022 before going into 2022-2023 is the worst of it as that’s what goes over me being disowned. 

So, let’s start from 2020. The year of chaotic madness and me graduating and going to college. This year was rough, I had really bad point of views that I should not have had provided my my Trump cultist parents. I honestly did think that Covid was the “Chinese flu” and that span of thought didn’t undo itself until I got into college. I was just generally a really upset kid stuck around the wrong people 24/7 that was sad that I’d miss out on my senior experiences. 

Heading into college I felt sick as hell. I had doubts and the whole way I was teased about how I legit seemed on the brink of throwing up. I didn’t think I could do it. My whole high school experience was being compared to my younger sibling and being a C and D student. I was terrified... but then again I knew I had to do it. This was probably the only way I could get away from my parents and their year long groundings, physical punishments, thievery, etc. that final semester of high school was my best with me having my first AB streak since my elementary experience. 

Finally came college, I was very reclusive that first year; a habit formed by living with my parents during covid. I did occasionally go out but as soon as my roommate went to move in with her roommate of choice it was just me and finally I could hide. Finally, I could breathe. I was developing such terrible insomnia at this time and had to start taking melatonin supplements to keep my crap together. Also, I finally brought my PS4 with me, and FFXV became a very grounding game as can be expected. And, seemingly terribly my academic advisor starts a discussion about how I might have ADHD. I felt such terrible shame thinking that I could be one of those kids and avoided it. 

Somehow, I survived the 2020-2021 school year and continued on from there.

2021-2022 my parents start getting weird. I stopped going to church years ago after seeing the harm that Christians do to people and start acknowledging my religious status as Agnostic. They start telling me to go to church, that the rough church going experiences I had in the past isn’t an everywhere thing but I simply respond that there’s some things in the bible that I just am not in agreement with and it’s for the best that I don’t go to a religious group setting. Also, I added that evolution would have to be pried from my cold, dead hands because that has been a topic of interest ever since elementary and I basically got jumped at church as a young teen for saying that I thought god triggered evolution. 

Throughout the year I am questioned when I will get married though at the oldest I am 21. I’ve officially come to the conclusion that I will not marry until I am out of college and other things are coming to mind. For example, I have finally accepted that I am bi. It was a relief when that clicked completely and when I finally accepted that I couldn’t just be that good Christian girl anymore. I came out to my parents simply as they were teasing me about a woman from a movie and how I must think that she is hot. It is likely that the teasing came because my adult younger brother ran away shortly after my graduation so they missed being able to tease in this way. They laughed at me but I was really happy, I thought that this was a win and honestly I didn’t want any assurances that I was ok. I thought that they loved me after all. 

This summer, I started a job at a place I grew up going to. Things start getting really weird. My parents try to hook me up with their friends (the youngest of which being 25) and I start getting chewed out for my dad having to see me in “lewd” ways by me wearing the occasional tank top or leggings because I started to occasionally work out. I muted my stepmother because, more often than not I’d be harassed by cussing text messages that I’d rather not revisit. At this point, I have broken down at work multiple times, and my coworkers start becoming extremely concerned for me. My boss pulls me to the side one day and tells me that while I have room to grow she has seen that I am a capable woman and that I need to do whatever I can to survive the summer. She also brings up a discussion about parentification because I was always on standby with my phone for my kid sisters. Also, since I felt safe with her I brought up a discussion about me potentially having ADHD and she pointed out that girls and women present differently and that from what she has seen she thinks I could fit the mold as well.

2022, the school year is on the brink of coming along and I have an ominous feeling. Two days before move in I had a nightmare with zombies and a lot of loss. It seems like it’s something so little but having dreams like that back in high school for me usually meant a hell of a time was to come and that I need to prepare for some literal emotional damage. This time though, I ignored it cause it had been so long since the last one that I had to just be dreaming.

One day before move in, I make a life changing choice. I got in contact with my younger brother that ran away and offered to give him our Xbox 360 that was gifted to us specifically by a relative. I didn’t have the space and recently got the most recent Xbox. I then take it to a friend of his and head home to see my parents. A lot of this I’ve blocked out but they accused me of stealing from them, started saying nasty things about me being bi, and even equated me to a pedophile. They sent me out, telling me to not come back until I had the damn console back and threatened to call the police.

This was the most scared that I ever was. My father was never that aggressive to me and my kid sisters were horrified. I knew that I had to contact someone to save my ass quick and called a guy friend from college (specifically my college roomie’s bf) so he started rushing to pick me up asap. I got the console and then threatening messages came. I called my previous academic advisor, terrified and confused about what to do cause my friend would have been another 30 minutes. She talked me through the whole thing as I spoke terrified and sob broken words. What she said next was get a friend from town to save me so I wracked my mind and immediately messaged a friend that I now consider to be a dear sister. At the time she wasn’t 100% a friend but we could talk cause she was the sister of a friend but that friend was out of state for college. She told me to head home because of the threats and that she’d be there soon. So I did, I went to that hellscape.

I was numb as all of the yelling happened. As he threw stuff and accused me of stealing more from him. I didn’t even get everything of mine, but at least I got the most important stuff. I didn’t cry, all I really did was say “uh huh” or “ok.” Now I know from my counselor that this was a trauma response. I remember hearing him yell something about my friend being there, he was probably pissed that I took steps to make sure I wouldn’t just be kicked out or on the brink of being murdered without a witness.

I remember they yelled at each other. He accused her of making me a gay degenerate, etc. but I couldn’t help but to internally laugh because she’s a Catholic that goes to church every week. She’s one of the few religious people that I’ve met that does not immediately hate or ostracize those who are different. He threw my boxes of stuff, damaging one and making all of my books spill onto the lawn in the process. I wonder if the neighbors that already disliked him disliked him more after that day because I was the one member of the family that talked to the “enemies.”

Things zoom by from there. I was terribly sick and couldn’t stomach the ice cream I was given, I got a hug from my now adoptive parents, hugged my now sister, and hugged my college friend before he took me home to my dorm. That night was too damn quiet. I couldn’t stay in my room alone and went to the basement lounge with my Xbox and played Stardew Valley. I remember being terribly annoyed when some drunks came around and watched while making loud and bothersome comments, but with time their presence brought me repose. Eventually they left, and one of my best friends from home, a guy that my parents desperately hoped I would get with, messaged me and we talked for hours as he assured me that I had a place with him and his family if need be.

Before anyone asks, no I did not date him. We dated back in junior high and HS for a time but stopped both times. We both have agreed that we are siblings by heart so dating just feels odd. I think that is one thing that angered them, that I could feel so safe with a man who was not going to become a significant other or something. 

Finally, 2022-2023. Things were hit or miss for a while and I remember people watching me closely and asking if I felt any urge to self harm. No, I did not. I’d come too damn far to let those feckers ruin it all for me so I wouldn’t. I just immersed myself in college more. One day though, I remember seeing a car that looked like my stepmom’s driving in front of the dorm as I was walking with my girls to the car. My knees fell out from under me and I became a blubbering and crying mess with the thought of “I am in danger. They’ve finally come for me.” I remember my two friends clinging onto me, telling me that I was ok and that it wasn’t them. Good news is we had preexisting plans to go out to get me comfort food so perfect timing I guess.

Every week I met with my current academic advisor, making game plans and figuring things out. Eventually, I even found myself kinda enjoying the poetry class that I thought I’d hate because I could use it to vent my frustrations. With time it was almost time to leave for winter break and I was praised by my advisor and told by him that he didn’t think that he would know anyone ever again who could face such adversity and still take on a double major, a minor, and other college related things with a job. Around this point I was also asked by a friend about what I would do about my surname since it is my father’s and I don’t plan to marry anytime soon so I responded honestly, “I am stealing it and making something out of it.” 

Cue winter and I visit the UK for study abroad. By this time I have 100% concluded that I will never extend the olive branch to my father or stepmother. To hell with them! Whenever my brother would do so they would complain about him and joke at his expense, I know my position in things. I am not playing their games. Also, at this point I am reembracing liking fandoms and other stuff like that because I had a mental block to all of those things for a while due to my parents belittling me and telling me that as an adult I shouldn’t like them. 

Now I am 22 years old. I am nearing the end of my junior year of college and am amazed that I have made it this far. Back in junior high I swore that I would drop out of high school and yet here I am even when my parents tried their damnedest to get me to drop out. I have family and I am loved by many and have learned that a long time ago I lost my family member status. I am now learning what it is like to be a true family member and am honestly finally happy though there are hard days. 

I have been praised for the start to my history senior project and have been told that there is a chance that I could possibly publish my findings. I have my fingers crossed because imagine the family disappointment publishing something. Damn, I’d leave a copy at those feckers’ house! 

So yeah, chaos over the years. I have hope for the future no matter how scary it seems. I have not gotten the ADHD diagnosis yet cause I am terrible about going to the doctor and in general have found a way to make this weird spaghetti coding in my brain work with being a student, finally. A small part of me wishes I could brag about my successes to those problematic people, but I just know they’ll take the credit for making me finally grow up by kicking me out and disowning me. Nope, they aren’t getting that credit because I am the one who learned how to function while they tried to steal my ability to do so. They should have noticed that year long groundings in high school weren’t really that efficient in anything but giving me the chance to learn how to be sneaky.

Anyways, that’s about it. Now that I am healing from them and the things that they have told me I might have to consider writing again. I cannot and will not make promises though because I’ve done that many times and it’s just mean to offer something and not provide. Also, I’ve been playing FFXV: War for Eos on my phone so if you’d like to play join me and my guild (Bros) Choco Bros. I am not the leader but we’d be happy to have more people who love FFXV. 

Also, a final thing since I am amused by this. I started watching Trigun and um... I think I have a type. 

[solradguy]

The lore of the 2 wierd asks I just warned you about.

We all joke about ky being Christan, and catholic thought the series and literally naming his son sin, but.

Through the years there have been so many splits, branches and differences in practice through religions, especially Christianity.

Between the massive earth-shattering events and about 200 years of divergence from regular earth how do you think religion (probably Christianity since we see the most with ky, and also the hell stage in xx (like seriously what is up with that stage literally titled hell) would be like, and changed in guilty gear through the crusades and modern time?

The Hell stage (and probably the Nirvana/Heaven stages too) is very likely just a section (or layer) of the Backyard and not a separate afterlife dimension. Though, there do seem to be at least a few other non-Backyard dimensions in Guilty Gear, like Yomotsuhirasaka, which is the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead where Izuna seems to live. The only source I know of for that is Izuna's Overture Material Collection short story (Oyabin's Tale of Past & Present) and the OMC stories are canon but have a lot of things that have since been retconned so take that with a grain of salt until the current lore confirms it somewhere. Yomotsuhirasaka might have since been rolled into the same dimension as the Backyard.

Christianity (& Hinduism and Shinto) has definitely survived into the 2180s in GG's lore but the lore itself doesn't focus much on religion outside of borrowing design motifs or for those very few rare moments we get to see Ky alone when he's praying or asking for guidance from the Virgin Mary or God. Sol prays for Justice at the end of his story route in Missing Link so it might be safe to assume/headcanon that he was raised Christian? Here's the official English translation of the line from the game:

Sol, the Guilty Gear, stared at his bloodstained hands and prayed... prayed for the soul of the grotesque sacrifice lying at his feet.

Other than the "Guilty Gear" part of this line, it's surprisingly the same in Japanese. Anyway, any other time Sol seems rather... negative about God so do with this what you will.

Religion is still around in some form at the current post-Strive point in Guilty Gear's universe and I don't think it has changed a whole lot in the ~200 years historical difference between GG's setting and our real world. Ky definitely seems Catholic but we're also seeing him interact with his religion through a translation of a Japanese game studio's perception of Christianity. Catholics are stubborn as hell when it comes to changing how they worship. I'd be really surprised if something like having to fight off "evil" giant dragon monsters did anything other than encourage them to be even more Catholic haha!

[casketscratch]

i need to note this here before i forget but last night we had a... something, man, i don't know. an episode? we lost all feeling from the waist down, collapsed three times and finally passed out in the hallway after a pinched nerve released. mom says we were only out cold or a few seconds, but it felt like a full on year. the tl;dr is we had some kind of communication breakthrough but holy shit i think it shorted out our nervous system like, physically? stuff feels amazing though? fantastic even.

there was the most vivid, loud, borderline lucid dream i have ever had, and it felt like i had fallen asleep. everyone and everything felt real, and like a year of activity had passed, and what i am getting at is that i think we switched, hard, and that other subsystem came knocking.

and switching like that meant i got my ass thrown into the inner world for the first time. i remember communicating with other alters who were finally like, fully formed, not fragments, completely audible, no guess work, seemed to exist in full 3D, like we were just hanging out in the same room forever? and it was so peaceful, just, holy fuck. (especially since moments earlier we were thinking we were going to die, like, we were absolutely terrified and thought it might be a stroke or something. none of this was fun until we actually, finally blacked out properly, and the only reason we didn't fall down the stairs was because Christian's a logic wizard and was like if we stand right here we will collapse on this railing and flop over it. nobody move. thanks bro!)

and the specifics of anything we talked about got wiped out when i woke up a few seconds later. i know it happened. i can almost kind of sort of see it if i really, really try now. but it's just gone, mostly. except the dead certainty about it, kind of deal.

two weeks ago, ish, we'd agreed with the other, trauma-holding subsystem to start trying to communicate more and share memories. and we were basically told like, okay. it's going to take a while to rebuild lines of communication. give us a couple weeks.

they were just very... matter of fact about it, i guess. enough so that i (sach) thought they might be lying because they just wanted to go away again, or something. which, like, fair, i didn't follow up with them because i figured they wanted a break.

they had one thing to ask of us, which was to make sure the host would be okay with it. if we were sure he could handle it. but it's going to be hard, there's going to be blackouts, and your host has to accept that it's going to happen -- he's going to get switched out, not the "watching over someone's shoulder" bullshit, not the grayouts, not any kind of gentle or covert amnesia. it's gonna hit like a fucking truck. (we've, apparently, tried this before.)

(i write this like it was a fucking conversation and clear as hell but piecing all of this together took weeks of fragmented bits of conversation being carried through the system and journalling again. we have slept so much the past few weeks and i think this was why. there was some deep level processing going on.)

and then two weeks later, a pinched nerve in our back, the one that's been ruined for like 25 years now, releases and i lose all feeling. first in my legs, and then from the waist up, and the entire time the system was SO LOUD. there was just... voices, clear and direct and no one we knew, all of them shouting input on what to do and arguing, and we just kept fucking collapsing and our vision kept swimming in and out. i'd been dissociated as fuck all day leading up to it all, and hadn't really clocked it, either.

and i know there were memories and flashbacks. i'd collapse and remember something, kind of thing (i was basically like, trying to stumble toward my mom's bedroom door because i couldn't speak or shout for help either, which... flashbacks, man).

it felt like successive waves of different kinds of pins and needles from my tongue to my waist for a long time. still couldn't talk, either.

this morning my back has never felt better. i'm more mobile than i have been in actual years. there's still so much noise internally, like someone is blasting speakers and playing their favourite songs to drown out other conversations, i am shamelessly doing a lot of drugs to try to ride this out, noise.

but i also have feeling in my right shoulder for the first time since it was injured when i was a kid, and i'm like... oh.

a lot of our hosts struggle with denial a lot. and then sometimes there are things that are just so very clearly, oh we are a system. oh this is an 'us' situation and the diagnosis was real, and denial's not even possible right now, things. when everything is so clear, and the world is 3D instead of through a glass pane, and we can access and hear the system all at once.

just, oh. we do have an inner world, and it is that way, and all of this is possible, and that other subsystem was real as hell and made good on their promise. the memories are their memories. they are actually, truly working with us on this side. and i think that's going to mean more full time loss, for real, but having seen the inner world and experienced switching Like That... that's totally okay. like the fear and panic our host system had about it evaporated once they finally got there. they just got there kinda. violently, was all.

and it IS going to take time to rebuild connections as those barriers thin and come down. there are a lot of us who like to literalize it, you know, neural pathways are literally lighting up or reconnecting, and it takes time to recondition and strengthen those bonds. which, yeah, sure, basically that. pick a metaphor. we're building a VPN tunnel to the other system, we're laying down roads, we're sending carrier pigeons, whatever. (every subsystem seems to have its own organizational metaphor, and communication is much easier if we can like... get on their level about it, basically, so. sure. old school VPN tunnels. a+ strategy to maintain barriers, i guess, is having everyone speaking different languages?)

i guess basically i'm being thrown by the fact that sometimes it really does work the way other people/systems talk about it and holy shit. i never thought we'd get here. i never thought i'd be able to move like this again, either. i mean. i'm still broken as hell and there's a lot of other pain i'm discovering now, but i'll take the improvement in my back, omf.

anyway as usual i cannot and do not shut up so this is long and circuitous as hell, you're all welcome.

[mormonbooks]

Ariana: The Making of a Queen

The first book in the Ariana Trilogy by Rachel Ann Nunes

Mormon Representation Level - 2.7 Stars

Summary - This is the story of a young woman named Ariana (Ari) who lives in Paris in the 1990s. At the start of the story, she has lost her brother, been pushed away from her parents, and fallen in with a party crowd. She gets married and has a child, but her marriage is full of ups and downs, and eventually ends after a tragedy. Then, she meets the LDS missionaries, learns about families being sealed, and starts to find new purpose in life - her faith holds her up as she makes friends, gets a degree, and works to reconcile old wounds. She also discovers new love, and hopes for an Eternal family one day.

Spoilers under the cut

1. Well written - 3 stars The prose and dialog feel like they would fit a more old fashioned story. It wasn't until I finished the first chapter and saw a mention of a TV that I realized it was in the 1990s, not the 1890s. Eventually I got used to it, but it never really felt as modern as it was supposed to be.

I'm not normally one to get hung up on plot pacing and structure, but it was all over the place in this book. I felt like Ari's life moved far too quickly from one moment to the next, and like I never really got to know any of the characters. What we do see of them is pretty flat. When we do see a character arc, they're all pretty much the same (sinner -> member of the church)

2. Fun level - 3 stars I enjoyed parts of it. I will admit that I was touched/felt the spirit at moments in the story and I was fully invested during some of the turmoil that characters went through. If you want to read a kinda cheesy story about a girl joining the church, discovering the power of forgiveness, and turning her life around, I wouldn't turn you away from this book.

3. Complex faith - 1.5 stars It's DEFINITELY a propaganda book. You can tell the author was trying to include lots of trials and doubts and questions, but they all show up in the same way they would in a conference talk. They get resolved quickly and rather miraculously, through sharing the gospel and turning to God. It doesn't make space for nuance, or living in doubt, or choosing a different path. The narrative is definitely saying "join the church and be faithful and your life will always be better."

The most poignant moments are when Ariana works to forgive people who have deeply hurt her. I will say the "spiritual" highlight of this novel is it's focus on the power of the atonement to forgive yourself and people who you thought you'd never forgive. It doesn't say you have to let people back into your life (Ari goes to see her ex in prison to tell him that she forgave him and tell him about the church, but doesn't really stay in touch with him after that or anything) but it emphasizes the power and healing that forgiveness can bring people on all sides. Even this feels a little over simplified, but you can tell the author is trying to show the complexity of it.

4. Homophobia scale - 2.5 Stars It never mentions queer people at all, but the amatonormativity is real. Basically every single character gets straight married eventually. Hard to headcanon anyone as queer.

5. Mormon weird - 3.5 stars It was very much realistic fiction throughout, and although a lot of the religious stuff could reasonably be swapped to other Christian faiths, there was some stuff that was uniquely Mormon. It was fun for me to read about missionaries, and callings, and giving talks in church, and the Book of Mormon, and a ton of other stuff that is just normal life for Mormons that I never see in fiction.

The most unique moment occurred at the end of the book, when Ari and her new husband are sitting in the Celestial room, and they look over and see Antoine and Nette (who are both dead) sitting in the room with them. People in the LDS church talk about seeing dead loved ones/ancestors in the temple often, but it's definitely not something I've ever read in a novel before.

6. Diversity of characters - 3.5 Stars They live in France, and I do not so idk if that will affect my judgement. There are a lot of blonde characters. I think that Monique might not be white, given the description of her and her child's hair? But I don't know. As mentioned before, no queer people either. However, the main character is a woman and most of the characters who help her, support her, and drive the plot forward, are also women.

7. Other problematic stuff - 2 Stars It really feels to me like the author doesn't know anything about drugs, or what people who do drugs are like. Everything before Ari joins the church feels like a cardboard caricature of a stereotype (I put this redundancy on purpose). That being said, I also don't know that much about drugs, so I can't properly judge, but it all just feels really hollow.

It also feels like the author doesn't understand the reasons why people might have issues with the church, or the reality that not everyone you recommend to the missionaries will join. There are just far too many coincidences for me. Far too many people who listen to one heartfelt speech from Ari and willingly accept the Book of Mormon, and 2 pages later they're getting baptized. That's not what happens, and I don't think it's what should happen.

Conclusion: It's not a BAD book. But I wouldn't really call it a good book either. If you're looking for a comfy churchy book that will make you feel good about being a member, this is for you. If you want a book that feels relevant and real, or a book that non-members could read to get a good idea of who we are -- that's not this book.

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for Monday, April 22, 2024

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 14:32-33(KJV): 32 The wicked is driven away in his wickedness: but the righteous hath hope in his death. 33 Wisdom resteth in the heart of him that hath understanding: but that which is amid fools is made known. Proverbs 14:32-33 (Amp): 32 The wicked is overthrown through his wrongdoing and calamity, but the (consistently) righteous has hope and confidence even in his death. 33 Wisdom rests (silently) in the mind and heart of him who has understanding, but that which is in the inward part of (self-confident) fools is made known.

Thought for the Day

Verse 32 - The wicked person is destroyed by his evil doings, since men reap what they sow. The righteous have an entirely different fate. When we belong to God and are “born again,” we do not have to be afraid when we face death. The One who has conquered death is with us, as we make the transition from this life to heaven. The most wonderful promise that belongs to every Christian is that we shall not taste death. Yes, our body dies, but the spirit of every believer in Jesus Christ lives on and will meet Jesus and their loved ones who knew Him in heaven. Then, at the resurrection of the dead, we shall rise and receive our new immortal bodies.

“Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:51-57).

During His ministry on earth, Jesus had the power to raise the dead, as seen in the story of Lazarus (John 11:21-45); but at some point, those raised from the dead, died again. Jesus just saved them from premature death. Many have been raised from the dead throughout history by Spirit-filled believers; however, only one was resurrected from the dead and that was Jesus Christ! By His death and resurrection, Jesus conquered death and hell for all who believe in Him. The resurrection of the remainder of the dead will not occur until Christ returns to the earth to judge them. For Christians, there is no longer any fear of death because its power is broken through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Praise God!

Verse 33 — God's wisdom resides within those who belong to Him. Because of this, we have access to His wisdom and knowledge for the answer to any problem. Self-confident fools will eventually show themselves as such; for what is in a man will at some time or other surface for others to see. All who desire to know Christ do not need to remain foolish and self-confident. If we seek Him, He will give us the power to follow and obey Him. We will not need to fear death or hell, for those who know Christ and love God has the promise that they will be with Him eternally.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, thank you for the promise of eternal life. I am so thankful that my name is written in the Book of Life. Lord, I pray that every member of my family comes to know You and the power of Your resurrection life. Thank you, that as Christians, when it is our time to cross over into heaven, we do not have to fear. Death is the last enemy we shall face, and because You have overcome death and hell, we will not even feel its sting. Lord, we are grateful for the promise that we shall once again see all of our loved ones who are in Christ because they live in You. Lord, comfort those who have lost loved ones with the knowledge that they shall indeed see them and love them again in our heavenly home. I ask this in Your Son, Jesus' name. Amen. From: Steven P. Miller @ParkermillerQ,  gatekeeperwatchman.org Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups, Sunday, April 21, 2024, Jacksonville, Florida., USA.  X ... @ParkermillerQ #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller, #Eldermiller1981 GROUP: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Sparkermiller.JAX.FL.USA

[lovesickheize]

mr insanity. ,˖ 𓆟  𓆝  𓆟

dpr ian (christian yu) x gn!reader

when two mentally unstable strangers find comfort in each other's presence.

⊱ ─────────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ───────── ⊰

wc: 970

tw! this fic might be triggering for some people. it's not extreme, but it is based on the two characters' mental instability. this is pure fiction.

this fic is inspired by dpr ian's music, especially his first album. my main inspiration was the music video and the lyrics of "nerves", so i'd recommend listening to it, while reading this.

▔ྀ̥̊͝ཾ▔ྀ̥̊͝ཾ▔ྀ̥̊͝ཾ▔༺ ᨦ♡ᨩ༻▔ྀ̥̊͝ཾ▔ྀ̥̊͝ཾ▔ྀ̥̊͝ཾ▔

and i'm sorry i was hurting too much to know that you were standing right there.

it was a moment of spark in the aeonian darkness.

you were sitting on the cold surface of a tunnel's pavement. it was raining hard outside, but you were too invested in your cigarette, diet coke and music to get scared by the thunder.

there was noone around, people locking themselves in their houses to save themselves from the undying storm. you couldn't care less about the cold. you couldn't care less about anything to be frank.

you were just sitting there, body too dehydrated to shed a tear, in a white t-shirt and sweatpants. life had been such a pain in the ass that month.

you chuckled suddenly, the sound leaving your mouth too sad for a laugh. it was ironic, how a song playing on your 'nostalgia' spotify playlist could describe your life so accurately.

you felt a presence approaching your body. head never turning to acknowledge the person that had just sat right next to you. the mysterious person took off their jacket and placed it on your shoulders. you hadn't noticed you were trembling under the ice cold air up until then.

"thanks." you mumbled, still not looking at the person.

they didn't reply, instead pulling something that sounded like a lighter. you caught a cigarette between their tattoo-filled hands with the corner of your eyes.

"i'm ian." they said.

you finally turned your head, the man in front you looking as dead as you did. "i'm y/n."

a comfortable silence took over once again, joining the sound of the storm. a couple of cigarettes later, you looked at him.

"do your tattoos have a meaning?" you asked the person who you now knew was named ian.

"some of them do, some of them don't. this is my favourite." he lifted his t-shirt's sleeve a little to show you the bald man on his left shoulder. "it's a man who looks at his own brain and realises it is limitless." his voice was deep and raspy, probably because of smoking.

"does it symbolize something?" you asked.

"it's just... you know, overthinking. if our brains weren't limitless, we wouldn't think so much, intrusive thoughts wouldn't dominate our already repetitive grey lives..." he said.

"agreed." you replied, tracing the lined man with your fingertips. "it's really pretty."

"do you have any tattoos?" ian asked.

the hand that was tracing his tattoo was now traveling up your body, reaching your hair and moving it to the side. "i got this crescent moon under my hairline a couple of years ago."

"what does it mean?" ian looked at it, eyes admiring the black lines.

"i just love the moon. ever since i was a child, i liked staying up late and looking at it in silence. it comforted me. still does."

"so beautiful." he murmured.

"you know, the moon usually symbolizes illusions and deception, but i view it as a lonely star. it reminds me of myself when i was a teen. a bright positive person in the middle of darkness and evil. but i never was as strong as the moon, i couldn't bear the malevolent nature of our society, i ended up breaking. that's why i look up to the moon. it's strong and confident. just what i wished i was."

you hadn't noticed how his eyes were stuck on you. "wow." was all he could say. "i'm sorry, i probably talk too m-"

you were interrupted by his lips on yours. you responded to the kiss, letting his tongue enter your mouth. the kiss was passionate, you felt hungry for the feeling he was offering you. his hands made their way to the back of your neck, one of his fingers caressing the moon on it, the other holding your hand. your free hand was intertwined in his soft hair, holding him close.

how a stranger could make you feel so much stuff after such a long feelingless period of your life you couldn't understand. it had been years since the last time you genuinely felt something so intense.

he pulled away, both of you catching your breath. "wanna go for a walk?" he asked.

your hand was still being held by his, you nodding positively. the two of you walked past the tunnel, cigarettes, diet coke, headphones, everything long forgotten behind. you were walking in the rain, knowing damn well it was just the two of you and the water-filled clouds.

you danced in the rain. it had been such a long time since the last time you flashed a smile that was so real. he looked at you being happy, almost dead, but still happy. he turned you around, you held his hands so tightly, he also seemed fine for a moment.

after some time, exhausted as you were, you moved closer to him, leaning your head on his wet by the rain chest. his arms wrapped around you, holding you as warm as they could, soaked as he was.

the rain was still heavy, but you didn't care. he didn't care.

that's all you could remember from that night moments before you left everything behind. the only night you felt genuinely happy, forgetting how cruel life is.

"thank you for making me feel." he whispered

the car's wheels were forced to turn, leading the car towards the hill.

welcome to the show. so, can you stay a little longer, just until i know you see me standing here?

[landinoandco]

Hey could you do one with max verstappen, where the reader a fight about him not helping around the house (witch he doesnt do because he is just tired from working hard but the reader dont know) so they yell at max and he suddenly walks away but then they find him crying in bed, because hes overworked and feels like hes never gonna be good enough at being a driver and the readers boyfriend. And feels like he can only dissapoint the reader, his dad and cristian. But the reader comforts him. Tnx

Because I'm not good enough...

Max Verstappen x Reader

Warnings: angsty

Word count: 2 k

Requests are open :)

You were sat at the dining room table, staring out at the empty seat in front of you. Your arms crossed across your chest and your lip in between your teeth. You had been sat there for an hour - in the grand scheme of things an hour didn’t seem like such a long time but it was his final warning and an hour was just long enough to allow for your anger to boil over.

Dinner was in the fridge - the same dinner you had cooked an hour ago, your phone lay screen up on the table - the same phone you used to call Max two hours and a half hours ago, he told you he was on his way home. Home whilst you were in the UK was 25 minutes away from the Redbull HQ. This was becoming a regular occurrence, some nights he would come home so late that you had already taken yourself to bed. The atmosphere in the house seemed to freeze over whenever he was around even though you were yet to come out of summer, there was something hanging over the pair of you - unspoken feelings and as of now a red hot anger that threatened to escape from your usually composed nature.

Ever since the championship had taken a turn in the favour of Redbull, Max had started to become much more distant. It started off with him not inviting you along to the races, leaving on the Wednesday before race weekend and sometimes not seeing him until the following Tuesday and that was on a stand alone race weekend. On the triple headers, it could be nearing two weeks until you two were spared 5 minutes alone and even then it was a brief conversation before he rushed back to the factory or to train.

You thought you knew what you signed up for and since yours and Max’s relationship and that was three years ago so you thought you had seen it all - been through it all with him, witnessed every high and every low. This was a new territory and you knew that if it wasn’t tackled soon -

The click of the door lock echoed in the hallway, you straightened in your seat - eyes locked ahead of you and your knee bouncing.

Max sighed loudly and wiped his hand over his face, it had been a long day - he had been at the factory up until Christian had invited him out to lunch, it was nice to catch up with his boss and Max felt like he owed the man so much; guiding him through the years that had led up to the moment they found themselves in. Max felt like over the past years he had matured as a person, sometimes still short tempered but being an F1 driver it wasn’t necessarily a bad trait. After his lunch with Christian, his dad had called him - the less said about the conversation the better. By the time you had called, the last thing he wanted to do was come home and risk upsetting you. He had taken himself on a run - to clear his head and focus on what he was going to say to you because he felt like something definitely needed to be said.

He also owed a lot to you, you had put up with so much over the years and standing by his side even when he had made a mistake - although you were very quick to tell him when he was in the wrong. You seemed to be on his level, a blunt and forward look at life - there was no time for dawdling about when you had things to be done. Life was short and there was no time to waste.

Recently however, he was putting so much pressure and stress on himself about work that the hours slipped away from him and so did the time spent with you. He felt the atmosphere change around the pair of you - as though he was always walking on thin ice, the cracks beginning to show. The guilt he felt was nothing like he had ever felt before, all he wanted to do was talk to you but he was scared of pushing you away - which is ironic because not talking and letting the pent up anger build up was having the same effect. He was never that good when it came to talking about how he felt - as much as he wanted to he felt as though he would be a burden and that he would put too much pressure on you. He could never tell you what he really felt like inside. It was embarrassing, he knew that a professional athlete should never feel what he felt. It weakened him and having weaknesses in a sport like Formula 1 was not an option.

Max shrugged his coat off and walked through to the main room of the apartment - the room where you were sat waiting to pounce as though he was your unsuspecting prey.

He offered a tired smile, in response he got a sneer. Swallowing hard, you felt the anger take over, like some monster escaping from a cage.

“I have been sitting here for an hour, Max -” You shot to your feet, pointing at the table, your voice cracked slightly. “For months, you’ve been leaving me - it’s me who’s been cooking for us both, cleaning, washing - everything, Max. By myself.” You were shouting now, your heart threatening to break free from your chest. Max just stood there, a blank expression on his face - his gaze fixed to the ground. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Max. We were happy, hell, we spoke to each other. Now, I’m alone. In fact, I may as well be alone if this doesn’t change.” The words had fallen out of your mouth before you had any time to consider them - or the consequences. Your eyes went round with shock and you fell back to your seat. A loud silence filled the room.

Max, too, had not expected the words that had initiated the silence. He opened his mouth, eyes still on the ground, then closed it again before raising his head and looking you dead in the eye.

“You don’t mean that.” He managed to mutter, barely being able to raise his voice any louder. He felt a tired emptiness, this was the last thing he had wanted to happen.

“That’s all you have to say to me.” You rounded on him again, angry tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

“No - I -” He stuttered, then closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, “I just don’t think we should talk things through whilst you’re angry -” He saw you about to interject, when he raised his hands. “You have every right to be. That’s not what I’m saying. I think we should wait to talk about it so we don’t say things we are going to regret later.” Max could feel his throat constricting, he was battling to keep his emotions at bay.

You sniffed and nodded slowly, placing your head in your hands - hot tears escaping and shoulders tensed.

Max swallowed thickly, his eyes swimming with tears. He made a move and after no interruption left the room. He had only made it to the stairs before he collapsed, the fatigue getting the better of him. He was such an idiot, a fact he was certainly aware of now, how could he have let things get this bad. Did that make him a selfish person?

He couldn’t hold it in any longer, a harsh sob escaping from his mouth - fingers shaking and his head a loud mess.

As soon as Max had left the room, you had gotten up to get some water - when you paused, a sound catching your attention - a deep sounding sob. You waited, a line appeared between your brows. Slowly and carefully, you inched towards the door - waiting with baited breath for the sound again.

It was coming from the stairs and there was only one person it could be. Regret instantly pooled in the pit of your stomach, you hadn’t meant for him to cry. You were just so angry and he needed to know that.

“Max.” You called out softly, unsurprisingly there was no response. You went in the direction of the stairs and hunched over in front of you was your boyfriend - attempting to stifle his sobs. You rushed forwards, placing your arms around his shoulders and pulled his body into yours. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around your waist. You kissed the top of his head, stroking his hair as he continued to cry - you allowed him to empty his emotions out; some tears of your own betraying you entirely.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Came a muffled voice. Pausing, you released your hold of him and placed your hands either side of his face - offering him a watery smile. Then, using your sleeves you wiped his tears away - he watched your every move, waiting for you to say something. When you didn’t, he braced himself - lips trembling; he knew it was now or never. He had to tell you how he really felt.

“I’m not good enough.” He stated simply, his eyes glossy. Your forehead furrowed. “I’m never going to be good enough to take the championship, I’m going to let everyone down. Everyone that has ever believed in me - it doesn’t matter what I do, how much work I put in - I’m never good enough. And you -” He paused, meeting your gaze, a lump forming in the back of your throat. “I keep letting you down, time and time again. I was the one who caused this, I’m never going to be good enough for you.”

“If you believe that -” You began, kissing the newly formed tears away, “Then I will eat your race shoe.” You moved to sit next to him on the stairs, pulling him into your side. “Why didn’t you tell me that’s how you felt.”

You felt Max shrug, the side of his head resting on yours. “I didn’t want to burden you with all of my problems, you already put up with so much.”

“I will always have time for you, Max.” Grasping his hand in yours, “You are enough, you are more than enough. You are Max Verstappen, the fastest, strongest guy I know.” You chuckled lightly, “I know it may sometimes feel like that and that’s ok. You are putting yourself through so much - maybe, it’s time to give some consideration for your personal life. It’s unhealthy to work all of the time - then we run into issues like these.” You spoke softly, almost whispering but you could tell he was hanging onto every word you spoke. “I love you, Max. I don’t know what I would do without you.” You admitted, turning your head to look at him. He chewed on his bottom lip, processing your words.

“I love you too, more than anything.” He murmured, placing his forehead on yours. You lifted your head slightly to leave a soft kiss on his nose, earning the corners of his lips to quirk up.

Closing your eyes, you relished being in his arms again, to have him close to you. You had missed it. You had missed him. Both of you knew you had a lot to work through, that it wouldn’t simply disappear but both of you were going to do it together. Hand in hand. And that was more than enough.

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Zero-Sum Game (Brick/Blossom)

Summary: Brick and Blossom run into each other at Princess’ murder-mystery themed birthday party. It’s all good, old fashioned enmity and petty sniping until they accidentally get stuck in a room together. Trapped with only each other for company, they may just find a little common ground and settle the score once and for all.

xxx

Some friends over on Instagram decided to do a smut challenge this month just because. Enjoy, sinners! [Cross-posted on my AO3, link in my profile.]

WARNING: Very NSFW content ahead beginning at the ♕ symbol. Please take note of that E rating and read at your own discretion.

xxx

Princess Morbucks towered over her gathered audience from the second floor balcony of a palatial chateau in the heart of wine country. Draped in a mink stole and wrapped up in a scarlet mermaid cut gown, she struck quite the commanding presence for a dead woman. 

“I’ve been murdered!” she announced. “And the culprit walks among you.” She pointed dramatically at her guests below. 

“Lookin’ pretty fly for a dead lady!” whooped some hedge fund chode in a fedora. 

“Shut up, Christian. Your character is canonically mute,” Princess snapped. “Everybody else, get chatting. And you better find my killer before midnight.” She raised her champagne glass in a toast, and the room reciprocated. 

All except for one. 

Brick sipped his champagne out of a vintage flute with a scowl. Princess never skimped on quality. If he was going to be here at this overblown costume party surrounded by Peloton girl bosses and tech bros, he supposed it was the least she could do. 

A socialite he recognized from the outermost circumference of Princess’ social circle approached Brick in a hurricane of poodle skirt before he could escape. “Brick Jojo! I thought I recognized you.”

“Marina Moreau,” he greeted her. 

“Dashing as always, I see.” Marina dragged her talon-sharp nails over the high, wing collar of his starched evening shirt and tapped the white bow tie affixed at his throat. 

“As always,” he said, unsmiling. 

She retracted her hand from him and pressed it to the elegantly twisted pile of box braids on her head to play off his lack of enthusiasm cool and smooth. “So, found any clues yet?”

Brick took a sip of his champagne. “No.” And he didn’t plan on it, either. It was Princess’ prerogative how to throw her own birthday party, and if that meant he had to dress appropriately for the time period and remain in attendance for the duration of the evening, he would do it to the absolute best of his abilities. But no one could force him to partake in this childish Clue charade. 

Marina, for all her social graces, had her limits too. “Well, the night is young.” She raised her champagne glass to him with a polite smile and conveniently spotted another friend in the crowd at just that moment. “Oh, Laura!” She waved enthusiastically. “Sorry, excuse me.” She was already dashing away before she could finish her apology, perhaps as thankful to be out of there as Brick was. 

He took a breath and decided he had better navigate to some quieter corner where he was less likely to be roped into the evening’s frivolity. Without his phone on him (house rules, if it wasn’t in circulation in the 1950s, then it wasn’t allowed inside), he was looking ahead to a very long evening of one of his least favorite pastimes: people watching. It wasn’t that Brick couldn’t sit still with his own company for an extended period of time; rather, he was quite adept at solitude and often preferred it. But people were, by and large, excruciatingly dull to observe. He cared very little for social niceties, and found small talk in particular an exercise in medieval torture. Which was not to say he was incapable; if he wanted to, Brick could have worked this room with the finesse of a weaver spinning straw into gold. 

But that would require effort, and right now, Brick had the willpower only to drink the rest of this champagne on the beautiful but very stiff-looking chaise in the corner. Perhaps later, as the guests fanned out into the staged rooms and secret passages of the historic manor Princess had rented out for the evening’s festivities, he would find a moment to actually hang out with his best friend on the one day of the year he couldn’t say no to her self-indulgence no matter how ludicrous.

Brick side-stepped a chatty circle of guests eagerly discussing the “murderer’s” ransom note someone had found pinned to the wall on a dagger and splattered with red corn syrup, only to literally bump into a passing couple. It was only his quick reflexes that redirected his remaining champagne onto the floor, rather than onto the woman’s exquisite dress. 

“Excuse me—” he said at the same time as she said, “Oh, I’m sorry—”

The full-body heatwave of laying eyes on someone beautiful momentarily took the air from his lungs. She was movie star glamorous in white organza and a shower of black seed pearls, all collarbone and painted lips and a waterfall of red hair. 

And then, she had to go and open her unfortunate mouth. “Brick?”

The flush of unexpected attraction immediately fizzled and died the moment he recognized that nasally voice. He didn’t bother to hide his wince. “Blossom.”

Blossom’s surprise morphed into the simmering distaste that was more at home on her pretty face whenever he came into her line of sight. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her immediately. It had been a long time, and he wasn’t prepared for her. 

“Polaris,” said the guy on her arm. He wore a top hat and a monocle and thrust out a hand for Brick to shake. 

The shock of seeing Blossom Utonium—former arch nemesis and forever pain in his ass—in person for the first time in over a year was all it took to short circuit Brick’s sense of self respect and make him automatically shake the offered hand. 

“Wow, strong grip!” Polaris said. “Brick, you said?”

“Yeah,” Brick said, still checked out of himself. 

Blossom, similarly disrupted, recovered faster. “Brick,” she said again, this time with the requisite spoonful of suck my dick superiority she was famous for. “I didn’t expect to run into you here tonight.”

He couldn’t agree more. Blossom and Princess worked together, and Princess mentioned on occasion that they had become closer over the years now that all the hormonal drama of their teenage years was long behind them. Brick supposed it wasn’t completely unexpected that Princess would have invited Blossom to her birthday party, given that the bar for an invitation was low enough to have admitted Princess’ entire pilates class, but still, a role-play murder mystery party? Princess must have been downplaying how close she and Blossom had become for Blossom to show up tonight in full costume.

“Technically, I ran into you.” Brick gestured with his empty champagne glass.  

This, of course, was not an accomplishment to be proud of by any metric, except that it was an accomplishment he’d beaten her to, and Blossom frosted over. That gave him the energy to smile warmly. 

“Well, no harm done,” Polaris said genially. He adjusted his monocle as he critically examined Blossom’s dress. “I don’t see a single splash on you.”

Blossom smoothed her white gloved hands over the flared skirt of her dress. “No, he didn’t manage to get me at all.”

Brick’s smile evaporated. Asshole. “You might want to take a closer look in better lighting. It’d be a shame to ruin that dress. Sabrina?”

Blossom’s smile turned rictus. 

Polaris beamed through his monocle. “Wow, impressive eye! Are you a classical film buff?”

Brick didn’t need to be much more than breathing with a pulse to recognize a replica of the iconic Givenchy gown Audrey Hepburn had made famous in the 1954 classic. “Nah,” he said, and didn’t elaborate. 

If awkward could be a noise, Polaris squeaked it out just then. “Oh. Well, anyway.”

Brick mercilessly stared right at him. Tall, dark, handsome but in safe way, like he drank green smoothies for lunch and kept a swear jar on his office desk. The type who probably knew Blossom could slay a monster fifty times her size in the same sense that one knows colonoscopies exist and happen but has never actually experienced one themselves. 

The colonoscopy intervened before Brick could eye beam a hole through her date’s overactive Adam’s apple. “Brick and I went to school together,” she said. “Although, we’ve lost touch over the years.”

Polite and vaguely personal. Brick wondered if she actually liked this guy (a horrifying thought), or if she was trying to throw Brick off his guard somehow.  

Polaris brightened, his relief palpable. “Oh, that explains it.”

It?

“High school?” he asked. 

“And college,” Blossom said. Her pale eyes fixed on Brick. “The higher I aimed, he always followed. Brick’s always been difficult to shake.”

Like a herpes diagnosis, her poisonous expression announced. 

“Our paths diverged when Blossom went to law school and I went into consulting,” Brick said. “If I followed anything, it was the money and not a cent of student debt.”

Blossom expertly restrained a super volcano behind her serene face. He was surprised she hadn’t begun to spark for how congenially she was looking at him. 

“Oof, yeah, I hear you. I’m an attorney myself—antitrust specialist, uh-oh!” He said this last part with a hand guarding his mouth as if it were a dirty secret. Brick didn’t so much as blink. Polaris word vomited onward after a pause that was markedly too long. “But yeah, you know, there are days when I wish I could do it all over and just go backpacking in Peru or open a dive shop in Thailand, something totally off the grid and spontaneous.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. 

“Uh-huh.”

When neither Brick nor Blossom said anything further, Polaris changed the subject. “So, Brick. Any idea who killed our hostess?”

Brick snorted before he could help himself. “If she has it her way, we’ll be here all night speculating with no end in sight.”

To his surprise, Blossom actually grinned. “Leave it to Princess to find a way to stay trending even in death. This is a vanity murder.”

Unfortunately, Brick found that funny. She wasn’t supposed to be funny. 

“Hey, I bet we can solve it before everyone else,” Polaris said to Blossom. “Should we…?”

The excruciatingly unsubtle attempt to ghost the conversation was lost on no one. However, for the excuse to end this bizarre encounter, both Brick and Blossom were willing to take it. 

“Of course,” she said. “I just want to get another drink first.”

Yeah, I bet you do, Brick thought. He’d want one too if he had to spend the night playing Sesame Street Sherlock with a dude who had the self-awareness of a lawn chair. 

“Good luck,” Brick said, tipping his empty glass.

Blossom took his glass right out of his hand in a naked declaration of war. “I don’t need luck.”

Watching her sashay away to bus his empty glass tested Brick’s temper within an inch of nuclear fallout. A year since he’d seen her in the flesh (thirteen months, a week, and two days, to be precise—last year’s college reunions, a long weekend of glorious debauchery), and within five minutes she left him ready to pop an O-ring. He’d only seen her briefly that weekend at the tail end of a game of robo pound in the downstairs bar of the eating club they’d both been in, and those few minutes were enough. She didn’t play, of course—not in the general sense, just when he happened to be at the table. She didn’t even say hi to him. She probably wouldn’t have said hi to him tonight if he hadn’t literally run into her and her wilted lettuce leaf of a date hadn’t carried the conversation kicking and screaming. 

“Ahem!” Princess commanded attention from her balcony, where someone had given her a microphone and a generous goblet of wine. “It’s been over an hour, I’m told the murder weapon hasn’t even been found. Get your shit together find my killer before I start to decompose!” 

The guests laughed and chatter picked up as they hightailed it out of the bar room to explore the extent of the mansion and start to piece together clues in earnest. Princess caught Brick’s eye and raised her wine goblet in his direction in a casual threat—have fun or else. 

All things considered, Brick much preferred to take his chances against Blossom’s wrath than Princess’. So, he slinked to the bar to steal a new bottle of wine and quietly made his way through one of the side doors leading deeper into the house, feeling decently determined. If he was going to be forced to participate, then he would crush it. And most importantly, he’d crush Blossom’s dreams of winning this insipid mystery game.

xxx

As it turned out, having the power to cleave canyons and explode stars was not directly transferrable to sleuthing. Brick not only found himself behind several other groups in terms of clues collected, but he also couldn’t quite remember how he’d ended up in this corridor. The secret passageways were designed to be deliberately circuitous, and even his X-ray vision was no help when all it did was see through walls into rooms he didn’t recognize, anyway. 

Brick took a drink of the bottle of wine he’d purloined. Perhaps if he just lingered in the corridors, Princess would eventually forget about him and he could go home. He wondered what progress Blossom had made. Probably not much with that human remora glued to her side. He chuckled at his own joke—you brilliant son of a bitch—and leaned back against the wall to savor the aftertaste of the wine. 

A quiet grinding of stone sliding on stone didn’t worry him immediately, and it was his mistake. The wall gave out under his weight, and he tumbled through it on unstable legs, too surprised to react in time. He flailed on instinct, remembered the open wine bottle and the fact that he could fly, and tripped into an ungraceful hover just as the rotating wall shuddered back into place. 

“No, damnit!” 

Blossom put her hands on the wall Brick had just come through, but it didn’t budge. For all intents and purposes, it was a regular, ten-inch thick, granite wall no one was going to hear her shouting through. 

“What the hell?” Brick set the wine bottle on a wooden end table. His eyes quickly adjusted to the low lighting in the windowless room he’d tumbled into. It was not a large room. There was a lone sofa with a stained painter’s sheet draped over it collecting dust. Wall sconces buzzed with electricity, but Brick saw no switch for them embedded in the stone that surrounded him on all sides. An armless, pale statue of a Grecian nymph posed in the corner. An old painting of a woman who looked suspiciously like Princess but dressed like eighteenth century French nobility with a beehive wig a foot and a half tall took up an obscene amount of the far wall. There was no door, not even a fire place. 

“That’s my line,” Blossom huffed like she was slightly out of breath from pacing and shouting. “Not only am I still stuck in here, but now I’m stuck with you.”

“Hey, don’t put this on me.”

The look on her face told him that ship had already sailed. 

Brick rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s just go.” He moved to punch his way through the revolving wall, but Blossom’s Super-powered grip caught his fist before he got the chance. 

“Don’t!” she hissed. “You’ll bring down the floor above us.”

He tried to yank his hand free, but she held fast despite his Super strength. “What the fuck do I care? I’m not staying in here.”

Ice bloomed under her fingers and seeped a dreadful, aching cold through the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket. “I said, no.”

Blossom had the malicious focus of the protagonist in a Korean revenge thriller, and for the briefest moment Brick faltered and slackened. 

“If you use force, you’ll cause thousands in property damage,” she said. “And you could hurt anyone on the other side or above us.”

So what, he wanted to say. Might as well have said from the way her face curdled. 

“Even if you don’t care about collateral damage, think of Princess. This place is a historical landmark. We’re talking a lot more than your average fine if there are any accidents tonight.”

Brick gathered his wits and pulled out of her grip, which she allowed this time. Frost flaked from his wrist and left it damp as his supernatural heat melted it away. “You seem to know a lot about it.”

“I negotiated the venue contract for her.”

Brick wondered what it must be like for a normal human lawyer to sit across the table from a Super who could eye beam a hole through his esophagus. He fantasized that guy was her flaccid date for the night and smiled to himself. 

“So we’re stuck in here until someone opens that revolving door again,” she concluded, her focus shifted entirely to the wall in question. 

Brick considered just punching through the wall, anyway. But as much as he hated to agree with Blossom, she had a point about Princess and the hell that would rain down upon him if he jeopardized her reputation in any way. “Right.”

At least he’d thought to bring wine.

Blossom watched him with shrewish hesitation as he tugged the painter’s sheet off the sofa—an antique, cherrywood settee upholstered in tanned velvet that looked like it belonged in an eighteenth century French court—smoothed his coattails, and sat down. He draped himself over the cushion, taking up far more room than he needed to, at the sight of her face pinching in quiet judgment. When he grabbed the wine and took a long sip from the bottle, she couldn’t seem to stomach his indulgence any longer. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

“It is a party.”

She rolled her eyes and tugged at her bolt of hair. Wispy tendrils had sprung free of their fishtail confinement over the course of the evening. He imagined her tugging on it when she was irritated, or anxious, or bored and feeling like smashing something. She’d made healthy progress unraveling the thing in the short time since he’d first run into her. Which reminded him. 

“Hey, where did Polenta go?”

Blossom gave him a comical look that lasted all of a half second before warping into something far more resting bitch face. “It’s Polaris.”

“Uh-huh.” 

She didn’t return his grin, but she didn’t tell him off, either. “He’s probably looking everywhere for me.”

“Yeah, I bet he is.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Brick shrugged and took another gulp of wine. 

Blossom resumed staring holes into the revolving wall, which unfortunately did not magically convince it to move. “He’s my coworker. He’s a nice guy.”

Well, well, well. “He’d have to be with such a stupid fucking name.”

Blossom chuckled humorlessly. “Don’t be an ass.”

Unlikely, considering she was enjoying it on some baser, indulgent level. The thing about Blossom was that her horse wasn’t nearly as high as she pretended it was. As someone who had known her since they were five and grown up alongside her, Brick was uniquely qualified to damn her achievements and delight in her fuck ups. Nine times out of ten, he was directly responsible for (or collaterally to blame for) them. She could be despicable, and she could be ruthless. And sometimes, when the cameras weren’t rolling or laws weren’t breaking, she could even be fun. 

Brick hated that he knew these things about her. Butch said it was fate. Mojo said it was his mandate, whether he accepted it or not. And Boomer said it was unparalleled luck. How many people can say they’ve found their true and equal counterpart in another?

If you asked Brick (you’re not asking, he’s just telling you whether you want to hear it or not), he’d say it was annoying. He couldn’t escape Blossom no matter how far he roamed or how high he rose, because she would always rise just as high. She was the only person who ever could. And for better or worse, that gave them something of a common ground.

For example, their sense of humor. 

“What do you even talk about with a guy whose parents named him Polaris? Cultural appropriation and kale?”

Blossom pursed her lips so hard not to smile it was a wonder she didn’t bite through them. “More like beard oil and the manifest destiny of SpaceX.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” 

She looked away to hide what he knew was a smile. “He’s a nice guy, though. A brilliant lawyer too.”

“He looks like his favorite movie is Joker, unironically.”

Blossom covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. 

Brick leaned over his knees, a glimmer in his eyes. “I bet Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life saved him from a really dark place.”

“Oh my god, stop.” She couldn’t contain her smile anymore. “Just because he’s gauche doesn’t mean he’s secretly a mustache twirling alt-right.”

“He was wearing a fucking monocle, Blossom.”

She got herself under control and faced him, straight-backed and power posing. “I’m not standing here listening to you insult my date’s extremely period-appropriate costume. At least his says something about his personality.”

Yeah, that he’d jump at the chance to join Fight Club. 

Brick got up and smoothed a hand down the front of his starched shirt. “You really think my suit has nothing to say about me?”

Blossom gave him a downright seedy once-over just to mess with him, he was sure of it. He suppressed a shiver nonetheless. “You look like Edward Cullen sullenly waiting another fifty years to seduce a troubled high school girl.”

It took a marked effort not to laugh. “I look good.”

“Congratulations.”

xxx

At some point, they ended up sitting side by side on the settee and Blossom got ahold of his wine. 

“I can’t believe no one’s found us yet,” Blossom said as she took a drink. “Surely they’ve solved the murder by now. It was so obvious.”

Brick eyed her askance. “You and Potpourri solved it?”

Blossom shot him a dirty look. “Stop that.”

He took the wine back while she was busy being a sourpuss.

“Wait a minute.” Blossom grinned, and nothing good had ever come of a grinning Blossom. “You didn’t solve it, did you?”

Brick took a long sip of wine in lieu of answering. 

Blossom shifted on the settee to face him, her skirt a tsunami of fabric slowly overtaking the space between them. “I bet you spent the night wandering around by yourself being unpleasant to everyone. No wonder Marina was gossiping about you.”

“What the fuck did Marina say?”

This, of course, was a mistake. But Blossom had always known how to poke him until hornets came alive under his skin. “Nothing unflattering enough to put a chink in your massive ego, don’t worry.”

God, she was such an insufferable bitch when she wanted to be, and Blossom seemed always to want to be when she was around him. He could still feel the phantom sting of a quarter on his temple where she’d “accidentally” launched it at the speed of sound in his direction during reunions last year. Sorry, didn’t see you there. Her friends, drunk on Beast and nostalgia, just laughed and resumed their game at the table on the opposite side of the tap room. Just when he’d successfully forgotten she was there and put all his effort into enjoying the glory days of college with his friends, she crept up on him like asbestos in the basement, not to be ignored on pain of mortal poisoning.

Whoever said Blossom Utonium was a paragon of virtue had never been stuck in a secret panic room with her and only one nearly-drained bottle of wine. 

“What were you even doing wandering the halls by yourself?” She leaned in closer, and he clutched the wine bottle to him for protection. “Were you looking for me?”

“And you worry about my ego.”

“Did you think you could beat me to the solution?”

That patronizing tone had always had a way of bleeding him until he resurrected, determined to undo her and everything she had worked for with the mindless focus of a hungry zombie. 

She leaned in even closer. He could smell her Dior perform, see the hollow between her collarbones and the path it carved to the promise of cleavage under the tube top of her starlet’s dress. Her lips were so red, and so very close. “Did you want to challenge me?”

It wasn’t as if Brick had never considered her. It was impossible not to consider what it would be like to fuck the shit out of one of the most beautiful women he had ever known. But this push and pull between them, this zero-sum game that required one of them to play catch up while the other flew on ahead, was just that: a game. As untenable as it was facetious. 

Brick swished the wine, but the bottle was finally empty, so he tossed it unceremoniously on the floor. “Historically speaking, that’s rarely ended in my favor.”

Blossom smiled then. Like, actually, warmly smiled. He’d rarely seen it directed at him, maybe never. Her hand was cool through his lapel. “Aw. That’s almost gracious of you.” 

“I literally could not have been more gracious.”

She laughed, and it was a nice laugh, not one of those condescending, noblesse oblige chuckles meant for the rabble. “Stop, this is too weird. I don’t like you being agreeable.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to give Palindrome a run for his money.”

She shoved him. “You are such a dick. His name is Polaris, okay? North Star, mariner’s waypoint, a guiding light.”

“He’s done a shit job guiding you out of this room.”

“Oh my god.”

“I bet he gave up.”

“He did not!”

“He totally did. Even for a human nettle, no pussy is worth all this effort.”

Blossom’s frown turned serious then. “That’s disgusting.”

“It’s the truth.” 

They sat up facing each other now on the far opposite sides of the settee, rigid and ready to draw like two gunslingers in a cowboy movie. 

“Not that it’s even remotely your business,” Blossom said as she completely made it his business by talking about it, “but Polaris and I aren’t that serious. This is only our third date.”

“I absolutely have to know what he did to gaslight you into giving him even five minutes after your first date.”

“He was nice to me. I know that’s a difficult concept for you to wrap your costume pocket watch around.”

To which Brick took considerable offense, because that T-bar watch was the genuine article, not some Party City gimmick. Brick was good at a great many things, but fashion was something he was great at. And it was the mandate of one with impeccable taste such as him to be a fashion ambassador to the benighted Polaris’s of the world.

A fucking monocle. 

“Okay. If holding the door for you and complimenting your hair is all it takes to get you to lift your skirt, then yeah, I guess that’s a little beyond my capacity—”

Brick was no stranger to the sharp sting of an open palm across his cheek. Coming from Blossom, however, it hit him with the angry force of a sledge hammer and rattled his teeth in their gums. 

“Fuck you,” Blossom spat, low and snake-like. She got up and paced to the other side of the room, as far away from him as physically possible. 

xxx

She deserved an apology. For all his posturing and honed disdain for Blossom, Brick received no pleasure from seeing her truly upset or in pain. He never had, if he was honest with himself. The game just…went too far sometimes. Sometimes it was her fault, but this time it was definitely his. 

Blossom didn’t look at him when he approached and stood directly behind her. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t know why I said that. I shouldn’t have said it.”

She said nothing. She didn’t even look at him. He may as well have not been there at all. 

“I know my opinion on it doesn’t matter, but for what it’s worth,” he said, “I don’t believe that about you.” 

“No, it doesn’t matter,” she snapped. Then, more subdued: “Don’t ever speak to me like that again.”

There was a tenseness to her shoulders, like a rabbit with its ears up ready to bolt at the first disturbance in the underbrush. This close to her, he could see the subtle flutter of the vein in her neck beneath her diamond-hard skin. She turned her head toward him slightly, probably wondering why he was still standing too close, and his eyes were drawn to her throat, now bared in offering. 

Offering. 

“Brick,” she said, cautious. 

A little idea popped into his head, just a simple inspiration, and not a novel one. He’d had this idea before. His war with Blossom was generally cold in nature: they were two celestial bodies orbiting each other ever on the verge of total gravitational annihilation. They rarely crossed that line, but they had been known to edge each other close to it. It was in those more impassioned throes of shared animosity that Brick imagined other ways of settling their differences. 

He always dismissed that lubricious voice encouraging him toward madness. Because that was what it was—madness. Madness that he couldn’t escape her no matter where his job or his friends or his goals led him. Madness that they were stuck in this windowless little room bored out of their minds, that no one had stumbled in after them yet. Madness that Blossom’s gaze flickered to his like she sensed it too. 

♕

He moved slowly. Not so slowly that he looked like he didn’t know what he was doing, but enough that she could have slapped him again. 

She didn’t slap him, but she did make a surprising little breathy sound when he brushed his fingers over her bare shoulder and pressed his lips to her throat. 

He barely got a taste of her when she turned fully around and placed her open palm on his chest, but she didn’t push him out of her personal space. “What are you doing?”

Her eyes dropped to his mouth even as she said it, a formality for the record, plausible deniability. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, dragging his fingers along her arm to her dangerously loose fishtail. 

She hesitated (she hesitated!) like she was curious (like she was curious!), and Brick moved before she could let something as useless as scruples extinguish the glaze of unmistakable desire in her eyes when she looked back up at him. 

He kissed her properly this time, a collision of teeth and tender muscle as he pushed and she gave and he pushed her some more. For all her iciness, Blossom’s mouth was as warm any other’s, sweet and pliant like she herself was not, not for him, at least. The thought that maybe she was with Polaris made him loathe her easy submission to him.

Brick didn’t realize the rumbling sound he made was in the back of his throat and not just in his head until Blossom—her hand still pressed to his chest—dug her gloved fingers into his shirt and bit his lip hard enough to stun. He reacted to this latest attack by pressing her harder against the wall until there was nowhere left to go but through. It had been a minute since he’d been with a woman, and his erection was already as keen as a teenager’s against her thigh through the layers of organza. 

She went along with it.

Fuck Blossom grew from a sinister seed buried in his grey matter into a creature of writhing limbs and gasping breaths as they made out against the wall like it was the single greatest idea Brick had ever had. 

The thing about her gown was that it was one of those heavy, billowy sorts that required more than two hands to manage safely. It would take care and a little time to unlace it properly without causing any damage, and while Brick would have loved to watch her striptease him to the outer limits of his control, he wasn’t clocking that vibe tonight. Maybe next time. 

My, aren’t we confident, he congratulated his own urges.

The sight of her flushed with her hair long and free of its braiding as she stood pressed up against the stone wall in that iconic dress put all thoughts of divesting her of it out of his mind. This was an image he wanted seared into his memory forever. The clothes would remain on. 

Feeling good about his flawless decision-making thus far, Brick grabbed her by the hip and pulled her flush against the bulge in his pants. She made a gasping sound, indignation perhaps at his bossing her around in such a small space, but whatever protest she was revving up for devolved into a little moan when he kissed a tender spot just below her ear and palmed her breast over the bodice of her dress. 

Brick didn’t pay much attention to their migration across the wall until they bumped the armless statue in the corner and it wobbled. Blossom froze. “Watch it.”

Even horny and wanting him, there was no overlooking her incredible talent for mood-killing with a choice tone of voice. Why god would gift such a smarmy, difficult woman with such a hot body was a strong argument for atheism, if you asked Brick. Unless there was some divine asshole up there punishing him by conjuring such an annoying personality into such a gorgeous woman. 

But let’s face it: if Blossom didn’t have such a fucking annoying personality, Brick wouldn’t be here dry humping her against the wall while forty other guests roamed the halls in search of his best friend’s vanity murderer. She, at least, was a proper challenge who could hold his interest.

“Well?” 

Brick smirked at her impatience. “It’s all demands with you tonight, huh.”

Blossom was surely about to tell him to go suck his own dick then if he was going to be like that, but he yanked her hair and shoved his tongue in her mouth to give it something to fill it that would please them both more than her complaints. 

Pleased he was when she surprised him by threading her fingers in his hair. It was almost tender, definitely intimate (she was not attempting to cause him pain, ergo), and the tingling shiver he got from her nails gently scraping the base of his skull plunged him right back into the genius of his master plan for the evening. 

Her hand boldly cupping his cock through his pants was a fantasy he lamented putting a stop to (Brick had always appreciated a partner who took initiative), but there was no way he trusted her to be amenable to his direction until she was totally relaxed. And besides, if he was going to watch Blossom fall beautifully apart, he wanted to have most of his wits about him to appreciate it properly. 

Her skirt was not as heavy as it looked, and he was careful not to let it snag on the wall as he began to gather it up and trace a path up the inside of her thigh. Blossom bit her lip in anticipation, and that gave him a wicked idea. He sneered into a new kiss, letting her feel a bit of teeth, and broke it. She tried to follow him, but his index and middle finger wagged no in her face. 

Through the haze of her lust, he could see her weighing it all out in her head, the consequences of submission and the reward for indulgence. Even if she refused, it would still be worth it to watch her come to terms with this newest depth of his perverted obsession with control and how far he was willing to go for an extra point on the leaderboard. 

Her moment of consideration was barely a moment at all. She drew his fingers into her mouth and held his gaze, true to champion form. Except, Brick hadn’t anticipated the magnitude of the effect this sight would have on him: looking down on Blossom sucking his fingers, sliding her nimble tongue over their lengths, slowly working her way down to the knuckles, all while she watched him for a reaction. He supposed such an enthusiastic performance had earned the breathless “Oh, fuck” he could’t stop himself from gasping out. 

The pop of her lips releasing his fingers had to be the saddest sound he had ever heard. Compared to that happy side quest, pushing her underwear aside and sinking his wet fingers inside her was almost underwhelming. 

Except, the way she tilted her head back to the wall and hissed through her teeth. 

Except, the slickness of his fingers that had just been in her mouth. 

Her mouth…

Brick kissed her talented mouth as she writhed against him. When he pulled out and swirled his fingers directly over her clit, she whimpered against his lips. He entertained himself that that was his name she’d cried out as she tightened her fingers around the back of his neck in such a way that was becoming very difficult for him not to crave next time. 

(Next time!)

Then again, he didn’t want to spend too much time on this. Just get her ready. Anything more, and she’d start to feel entitled. We can’t have that.

Predictably, she was not all smiles when he abruptly stopped touching her. Her snooty protest died in her throat when he licked his fingers clean with the most obnoxiously innocent look he could muster. Unfortunately, he continued to forget exactly who he was seducing and the lengths she would go to do a bit of bossing herself. 

Her strength was Super when she pushed him across the room and forced him down on the settee, while she leaned over him. Her look was absolutely ferocious. “Comfortable?”

Brick spread his arms out over the back of the settee. It was not a large piece of furniture. It could accommodate the two of them sitting side by side with a couple inches of space in between, but certainly not enough to lie supine. Perhaps on all fours, but one look at her ample skirt and he decided that was not in the cards tonight. 

He spread his legs enough to get well and truly comfortable, completely unashamed of the tentpole in his pants. Another brilliant idea came to him. “Room for one more.” He patted the tentpole.

The twitch of her lips told him he’d amused her, and she rewarded him by shimmying out of her underwear and tossing them onto the floor. She was quick about it, a rather impressive feat in heels and that gown, and now she was kissing him again, hot and hungry. Which made it a little hard to concentrate on finding the zipper in his criminally high-waisted trousers. Whoever decided that white tie formal required a nipple-high waistline and a waistcoat must have been an incredibly influential eunuch. 

Blossom tugged his T-bar watch chain, a warning of her waning patience. He sat up straighter in order to get a better angle under the waistcoat and at last found the zipper on his fly. It took a bit of coaxing, but he got it down and out sprang his very eager cock against Blossom’s gloved forearm. It slapped her with an audible thump, startling them both a little. 

Blossom looked down at him. “Hm.”

Brick flushed scarlet. That ambiguous little appraisal held too much power, and she knew it. Perhaps it was payback. Perhaps he deserved it (he definitely deserved it). He found himself unable to resent her that moment of comeuppance for long because she immediately wrapped one silky, gloved hand around him and leaned all her weight on the knee she had placed very alarmingly on the cushion right up against his balls. 

But the sensation of smooth silk swiping over his head. 

But the knowledge that she was soaked and aching for him under that lavish skirt. 

Forget games and power. He wanted her, and it didn’t matter anymore that she knew that. “Get over here.” Brick pulled her hip to guide her to where he wanted her, but her hand on his chest stopped him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, as one talking to a misbehaving child.

Brick’s mind drew a total blank. He tried to anticipate what she was going to say next, and realizing it, he mentally kicked himself for being so goddamned slow. Thanks for that, he complimented his cock still happily twitching in Blossom’s hand.

“I’m not letting this,” she gave him a cute little squeeze that drained all the air from his lungs, “anywhere near me without protection.”

The way she said anywhere gave Brick several very sordid ideas, a clear déjà vu of scenes never to be, because this was a one-time thing and of course she hadn’t meant it like that. For all his charms and excellence, he knew there wouldn’t be a next time with her. This was merely a soft reset to even the playing field before they were back to undercutting each other. “Well, I could just…”

He could just…

A string of shockingly vivid images assaulted his mind then:

Coming all over Blossom’s chest.

His cum glistening on her breasts. 

Her fingers painting a slippery path between her breasts.

Her fingers brought to her mouth. 

Her exquisite mouth…

“Whatever lewd fantasy you’re imagining right now, forget it. I don’t know your history. I’m not about to risk it,” she said, dismally sensible. 

For the record, Brick was extremely diligent about getting himself tested and taking the necessary precautions, but he surmised that his word alone wouldn’t convince Blossom. She wasn’t actively backing out, and he didn’t want to give her a reason to when they were so close to getting what they both wanted. 

“Okay. All right. Let me just…” 

She rolled her eyes and retrieved her clutch from the end table, popped it open, and drew out a shiny, tinfoil square. Brick’s relief at her preparedness only barely overshadowed the brief but scathing pang of jealousy. Blossom, always prepared. Prepared for whom? Surely not that damp cockwit Polaris. 

In his preoccupation rolling the condom on and cementing his undying resentment for Blossom’s milquetoast date, he was slow to clock her kicking off her heels and rearranging her skirts to straddle herself over his lap until he felt the tip of himself sinking slowly into the warmth of her folds. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down over him in one brutal, swift movement that had them both choking under the new pressure. 

She was so wonderfully tight. But he’d known that. He’d known she would be like this. Even her cunt was against him. Even this was a challenge. Brick wanted to tell her this, to watch her huff and squirm. But instead, he settled for getting her moving. 

It took a couple tries, but they quickly got a rhythm going. Brick pulled her down as close to his hips as she could fit, and she rose slowly off him, unsheathing herself nearly to the end of him, before he reeled her back in. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder and pooled in her lap over her gown, shimmering with every thrust, and holy hell was she beautiful like this, happy and vocal with her hands clutching at him as if to absorb him and this moment into her memory forever. Pink sparks burst at her fingertips, an unexpected surge of power that went straight to his cock and made him invincible. 

“I bet he couldn’t fuck you like this,” Brick said, mean and cocky and right. 

Blossom was in her own head, her eyes closed to all but the carnal service he provided. Ignoring him even as she took from him. Brick didn’t like to be ignored. He let his own power leak out of his hands and sear her through her dress where he held her, and she tossed her head with a cry of pleasure. 

“I bet you’ll think of me every time you let some nice, simple guy touch you and wish it were me instead.”

She opened her eyes and looked right at him, her fury a sight to behold. “You are so full of yourself.”

“You’re more full of me at the moment.”

Before she could snap back and steal the last word, he twisted his hips in a new angle that surprised her and made her open her mouth in a silent scream. Brick sat up and grabbed her chin, forcing her into a sloppy kiss even as he continued to flex and bend beneath her. He pushed more power into the small of her back where he locked her in place, delighting in the way she shivered and clung to him. 

“You love this,” he taunted her.

“I…”

“You hate me but you love being with me. Say it.”

“Ah—!”

He felt her climax clench around him, wet and warm and wonderful pressure, her cunt happy and welcoming to him like she herself had never been. And in this too he took a specific and needling sort of pride, that if he could convince Blossom to want him, then he could convince the whole world. 

Brick rode that feeling out to his own finish, taking comfort in the warmth of her, though he would never tell her this (he is keeping score, you know). Her breathing was hot and ragged against the hollow of his neck, and there was probably a lipstick stain on his collar. A small price to pay for the simple bliss of detumescing inside her as she held him. 

He looked up once he’d caught his breath to find that Princess’ French court doppelgänger was staring coldly down at him from her ostentatiously large dais. Which, even for him, was a little too weird. He gave Blossom a gentle squeeze on her thigh and pressed a soft kiss to her ear. 

She took a deep breath and rose her weight off of him with a little tinny noise when he popped free. Jesus Christ, he should really tell her to watch the sounds she made around him or they’d be here all night fucking on the ceiling. The spent condom made for a very sorry sight. Waste of cum, if he was being honest. There were better places for it, softer, warmer places, but Blossom was already settling on the settee next to him and burrowing down on the cushion. 

Brick got up to dispose of the used condom, but seeing as there was no waste bin, he incinerated it in his hand, leaving not even ashes to remember it by. He then fixed his trousers as best he could and plopped down on the couch next to Blossom, who had taken advantage of his temporary absence to claim more cushion real estate for herself. Her underwear remained discarded on the floor, and she showed no signs of wanting it back. 

It was a testament to both their languid moods that she draped her legs over his lap and he let her. 

If only he had a cigarette. That would have completed the setting, costumes and coitus and all. 

“I don’t hate you, Brick,” she said at length. 

Her eyes were closed as she lounged. She still wore those elbow-length satin gloves, and her hair was splayed over the arm of the settee like slow-falling magma. 

Brick leaned his head back and ran his hands over her smooth, bare legs, feeling oddly endeared to her in this moment. They said indifference, not hatred, was the opposite of love. Brick had never once been indifferent to Blossom, and that was no small accomplishment over the course of twenty-odd years and so many forgettable faces on both ends of the likability spectrum. In the end, she always remained.

“I don’t hate you, either,” he said.

Perhaps she couldn’t escape him any more than he could escape her. 

Perhaps that wasn’t so bad, after all.

xxx

It was hours later when Princess finally found them locked in a secret room behind a revolving wall asleep on the couch like teenagers who’d stayed up too late watching a movie. She didn’t tell Polaris, Blossom’s date she’d only brought because she insisted on not showing up stag, even though Princess had assured her nobody fucking cared and anyway, tonight was about Princess, not Blossom. But there was no convincing her the moment Princess spilled that Brick was invited too and might show up. 

It wasn’t that Princess had predicted things would end up here, but she hadn’t not predicted it. It was hard not to wonder when two of her closest friends spent so much of their time talking about each other. 

She carefully dropped her monogrammed handkerchief over Blossom’s discarded underwear before a random staff member could walk in unannounced and embarrass her.

“I should leave you locked in here. Morons,” Princess muttered to herself. 

Next time, perhaps. Next time, she’d go out of her way to make sure they had somewhere a little more appropriate to retreat to at her next soiree if they so chose. Somewhere with a door and a mini bar. 

After all, Princess was nothing if not extremely good to her friends.

xxx

Blossom’s dress

Brick’s tux

Princess’ dress

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