#thank GOD they never met because imagine if they were at the same casino at the same time

[le-panda-chocovore]

Toji "betting on losing dogs" Fushiguro would absolutely HATE Kinji "The Feverish Gambler" Hakari and no one can convince me otherwise

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (July 25/2021) - The Wilburger Ranvan

Wilbur comes up with his new calling: selling burgers in a burger van! At Phil’s suggestion, Wilbur teams up with Ranboo to do so, setting up their new business on the outskirts of Las Nevadas.

A brief summary of the week’s total events can be found at the end of the post.

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VOD LINKS:

Wilbur Soot

Captain Puffy

BadBoyHalo

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- Wilbur and Phil hang out in the Arctic. Wilbur has a proposition for Phil

- He says he met up with Quackity and it was a nice time. The one conclusion he came to is that Quackity is very resourceful

Wilbur: “As much as I may disagree with your views on anarchy, I must say, it’s pretty harmless. I -- I can’t hate you for it. I can’t hate you for enjoying literally living in a peaceful little village in the snow, I mean the server’s never been this peaceful since -- since all the countries and nations and cities and everything is gone. So Phil, I came to you with one question, one question...do you think Quackity should be allowed to be left unchecked?”

- Phil says no. The issue is, there’s no government, no police force. What Techno’s done is left a power vacuum and now Quackity’s come in with an unethical establishment, gambling...

- Wilbur wants to make a burger van

- They get interrupted by an Enderman ascending from the basement

- He knows there’s a bit of déjà vu, but the difference is that the burger van isn’t going to sell drugs this time. He wants every steak to have a name

- He’s done with being a source of authority, a president. His calling is just burgers, no ulterior motives

- Phil knows someone who would help out: Ranboo. The richest, most knowledgable man on the server, and he’s run out of things to do on the server

- Wilbur doesn’t want to play with Ranboo, but Phil threatens to kick him out if he doesn’t so he does, annoyed at being treated like a child

- Wilbur gives Ranboo his proposition

Wilbur: “I like to think, you know, let bygones be bygones, let’s bury the hatchet, let’s be -- Ranboo I’m gonna go out on a limb here...do you wanna be friends?”

- His next progression, after being a dead-terrorist-president...is to be a chef. Ranboo is onboard 

- They start walking over. Wilbur asks if Ranboo’s heard of Las Nevadas, and Ranboo mentions their abandoned cookie post that was causing trouble. He wants to create competition for Quackity’s business. Eventually, maybe Quackity will have to make a deal with them, maybe even be their friend

- Ranboo wants to keep it respectful. Wilbur assures him that they already has the land necessary

- Wilbur wants to pick Ranboo’s brain and asks his thoughts on Quackity. Ranboo says he just hasn’t seen him in so long. Their last interaction before everything else happened was just that they were in the same cabinet of New L’manburg

- Wilbur didn’t know that Ranboo was part of L’manburg’s government

- Wilbur asks if he dislikes anyone. Ranboo says not too much, just people that he doesn’t agree with. Everyone is just a product of what they’ve gone through, so if you understand that, you understand the person

- If you align yourself with everyone, isn’t that more complicated? Ranboo says that’s why he’s just been living with Phil and Techno away from everything, trying not to involve himself in much, but he has a terrible radar on what’s involving himself and what isn’t

Wilbur: “What about Dream?”

Ranboo: “Well that’s -- well, with Dream it’s kind of like...all I’ve heard of Dream, all I’ve seen with Dream is just been like the really bad things that he’s done and everything, so I would say that I -- yeah, I don’t really like Dream, but I mean, he’s also not really someone that it matters whether or not I like him ‘cause he’s just away in that prison for a really long time, so I mean...”

Wilbur: “No trial?”

- They reach their competition and go into the fast food restaurant

- He peeks into the casino, but holes it back up. This building doesn’t benefit the consumer

- Wilbur places down some signs insulting Quackity’s burger place, guaranteeing those signs will never leave since they don’t care about the customer

- Wilbur shows Ranboo his area, which he's thinking of naming “Paradise.” Ranboo says it could be a neat play on words...pair-of-dice

- Wilbur and Ranboo decide to make the place red and white, retro-themed. Ranboo gives Wilbur Ranord and Wilbur goes off to gather some red

- Wilbur likes Tubbo since he’s strong-headed and doesn’t let people push him around

- Ranboo says when you can’t change someone’s mind, it’s no use to needlessly argue. Wilbur points out that Ranboo seems to be a bit more dynamic than a purely neutral, peaceful force. He’s somehow appeared in almost every conflict the server’s had since Wilbur died

- Ranboo says it’s because he’s bad at discerning things, but he’s been doing alright with his situation recently. He wants to help people, and sometimes he lets that desire to help people get in the way of what he says about himself

Wilbur: “Ranboo...why did you help to help me?”

- Ranboo needed something to do, and he also thought that Wilbur’s an alright person, so he wants to get off on a better foot because he doesn’t like having people not like him

- Wilbur asks why he doesn’t think Wilbur’s a bad person. Ranboo says he did bad things, but also went through things that made him that way and now he’s changed as a person since he died. He’s optimistic in that

Wilbur: (sniffs) “Good, uh...that’s nice. Thank you. Uh...I think I needed to hear that.”

Wilbur: “Can I be real with you man? ...I think I scare people.”

Ranboo: “I mean...yeah, I do the same thing.”

Wilbur: “No, not in -- no no, I mean I...I don’t think I...I think a lot of people share your idea, but they share your idea in trying to -- trying to keep me from hurting them, you know? Like they’ve seen what I can do and they don’t want me to do it again, so they adopt your emotion in order to do it.”

- He demolished Jack Manifold’s house twice, he completely ignored him in the war, and what it took for Jack to forgive Wilbur was just a sorry. 

Wilbur: “And I know -- I’ve spoken to Tommy about Jack Manifold! And Jack Manifold is not the sort of person to forgive someone like that with a sorry! Imagine if Dream said sorry to Jack Manifold! What’s Dream done to Jack Manifold, huh? Barely anything! I imagine if Dream said sorry to Jack Manifold, Jack Manifold would ignore him. Do you know why? Because DREAM’s in prison, and I’m not!

“Dream is -- he’s had his comeuppance and I’ve not! My comeuppance was apparently not good enough for these people! They’re just waiting! Waiting for the next thing for me to slip up on them -- Ranboo, I’m not gonna fucking slip up, Ranboo, I’m different. I’m not Dream...god, I wish I was! Sometimes I wish, I wish I’d gotten that comeuppance but Ranboo, I’m not Dream. And I’m not gonna be Dream, and that’s...”

“I’m living in eternal Limbo...again. I’ve been through Limbo. I’m out of Limbo. And socially, I’m still in this Limbo, and man, Ranboo, hearing you say those words that you said to me? Do you remember what you said?”

Ranboo: “Y-yeah, I do?”

Wilbur: “You said...(sniffs) I think people can change, that’s number one. And number two, you said you’re scared that people don’t like you.”

- He tells Ranboo that they’re kindred. They have the same neuroticism, their strongest point. But anxiety is not their downfall. Wilbur’s parents are alive because they were anxious and didn’t let anything take them down

- Ranboo says they’re both thinkers. They may think in different ways, but they think at the same level

Wilbur: “I think you might be a bit braver than me in showing your true colors. I feel like with you, Ranboo, I never have to be guessing your next move. I never have to be guessing your hand, you know? I feel like life dealt us the same cards, and the difference is you build your trust by showing people your cards whilst I keep them close to my chest, and I feel like that might be the big difference.”

- He asks Ranboo what he feels about thievery. He’s going to steal Las Nevadas’ cows to make into burgers

- Ranboo makes some concrete and starts building the van. Wilbur rides off on a horse looking for some sheep

- Wilbur asks Ranboo about Tubbo and Ranboo talks a bit about Snowchester. Wilbur thought Techno was successful at getting rid of all the nations, but Ranboo says it’s not a nation. Wilbur doesn’t know about Kinoko Kingdom either

- Wilbur gets to the spider farm, which has Kanye West in it

- He heads back and they discuss names like Paradise or Wilburger

- Wilbur asks Ranboo’s opinion on Tommy and Ranboo thinks he’s great. Tommy’s gone through a lot, but it’s made him a good person. 

Wilbur notes that he seems to think that everyone’s gone through something. Ranboo says yes, the only bad people are those who are evil without a reason why, but there’s not many people like that

- Wilbur names the first burger “Wilburger Vol. 1″ and puts a watermark on it

- Wilbur wants to ask Ranboo one last make-or-break question

- Chat suggests the “Wilburger Ranvan” and they like it

- They go to Quackity’s restaurant and Wilbur wants Ranboo to smash the windows. Ranboo does

- Wilbur goes inside and places TNT. He hands Ranboo the lighter and tells him to detonate it

- Ranboo does so. Wilbur tells Ranboo to go back to the van. He’s passed the test

Wilbur: “Ranboo, I’m proud of you man. You’ve -- you’ve taken a side.”

- Wilbur goes back and places a sign at the crater:

---

***** Wilbur + Ranboo  Did this together

*****

---

“I love that guy.” (laughs) “I love that guy.”

END OF WEEK RECAP:

7/19 - Nothing much happens.

7/20 - Sapnap and George speak with Mexican Dream

7/21 - Foolish creates Philzavilla and breaks into the prison

7/22 - Nothing much happens.

7/23 - Nothing much happens.

7/24 - MCC, no updates

7/25 - Wilbur and Ranboo make a burger van

---

Upcoming Events:

- Captain Puffy’s Lore Stream

- Wilbur’s 11 planned streams

- Egg Finale Stream

- Tales From the SMP: “Space Race”

- Ponk’s prequel stream

- Ponk’s current-day lore with Sam

- Puffy’s Lore Cast

- Sapnap’s lore

- Dream’s lore video

- Quackity’s casino opening

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 1 |  Living Well is the Best Revenge or Just Trip Her on the Red Carpet

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom is in Vegas to present at a music awards ceremony and what do you know his high profile ex girlfriend is nominated for two awards.  And the press are having a field day.  Molly Bishop is grateful for the awards show because it means extra tips and getting her closer to paying off her student debt.  An offhand comment by Luke coupled with an encounter with his old girlfriend has Tom’s mental wheels turning.  Perhaps he and Molly can solve each other’s problem.  All they have to do is get married.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

--

Tom dreaded turning his phone back on when the plane landed at McCarran airport. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Tom wondered if his publicist would buy the story he left his phone back at the bar in Heathrow. Probably not, he had tried that earlier in the year and Luke went ballistic until he came clean. He did not want a repeat of the earful he got back then. With a sigh, Tom switched on his mobile and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, vibrating as messages and emails came in.

Tom never imagined the relationship would end like this. He thought he was in love. He thought she was in love. But it had all been what were the words she used “escape hatch”. Tom had been a means to an end. And the punishment for his naivete was a news cycle that would not die. And that photo.

He waited until he was in the car on his way to the Bellagio before checking his messages. There were a series of several text messages from Luke.

Call me when you get to your hotel room.

Don’t read the papers.

Don’t talk to any reporters.

Don’t do anything until you talk to me.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

This meant only one thing. Another story. Maybe more pictures. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was attending the same awards show. It ventured to guess the papers would play that up. Tom slumped against the car seat for the rest of the ride.

Check in went fine at the VIP check in. One perk of not only being a celebrity, but a presenter at the awards show. The bellhop delivered Tom’s luggage and garment bag. He pulled the outfit for tomorrow and hung it up, just like Illaria told him to. It was only when he flopped onto the sectional couch, Tom called Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for your phone call.” Luke deadpanned. “I started to worry you would pull that ‘I left my phone at the airport bar’ story.”

“I did cross my mind.” Tom let his head hit the back of the sofa. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” Luke winced. “They used the photo again.”

“Of course they fucking did!” Tom punched a nearby pillow. “I look like a twat. Luke, I need this to stop.”

Luke sighed. “Until something comes along that is better than this, expect it to hang around for a while. Unless you are planning on getting married in the next two days.”

Tom chuckled darkly. “Not bloody likely.” He sighed again. “Thanks for everything Luke.”

“It’s my job, mate. But you’re welcome.”

After Tom hung up, he stared first at the phone in his hand and then at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out. Tom decided instead to wallow in self-pity and eat a ridiculously expensive room service steak.

-

Weekends were always busy when there were special events over at the MGM arena. This weekend was no exception. And while it may not be good for Molly’s back, her bank account greeted every penny with a smile. Vegas may be a cheap place to live, but it still costs money. And her college did not accept IOUs for student loans. She shoved more tips into the jar behind the bar and helped the next person.

“What’ll be?”

“Whatever you have that is strong and on tap.” Tom’s smooth voice cut over the din of slot machines and video poker machines.

“Coming right up.” Molly poured him a beer, and he signed the receipt with his room number before sliding to the end of the bar.

Three hours later, Tom still sat at the end of the bar, nursing the same beer. Most of the crowd dissipated at this point. Celebrities needed their beauty sleep. Or at least most of them.

“Would you like to switch that one out for a cold one?” She leaned over, smiling. “On the house.”

“Sorry.” Tom blinked and glanced around, looking for a clock Molly imagined.

“No clocks.” she commented. “Or windows.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“The whole point of casinos is to keep people inside. Clocks and windows help people realize how much time has passed.” Molly replaced his beer. “The whole place is set up like a maze.”

Tom took a long draw of the fresh beer. “You seem to know an awful lot about casinos for a bartender.”

“You seem awfully forward for a movie star.” she snapped back. Tom’s eyes met yours. She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who works at Regal Cinema, they let me in for free.”

“I’m having a bad day.” Tom muttered back. “You still didn’t answer the question.” He took another long draw, leaving the glass half empty.

“Oh, so we are adding pushy to your resume. I thought Brits were supposed to be charming. If you must know, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Tourism from Arizona State.”

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but Molly cut him off.

“Funny thing about the tourism industry. You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience without having a job. Classic catch-22. Which does not pay my bills. So I bartend until I get hired somewhere.”

Tom felt like a prize idiot moping about his problems. He cleared his throat. “Apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been in a poor mood for the last several weeks and it has made me a terrible companion and customer.”

Molly smiled at him. The first truly friendly face in a while. “It’s fine. And you are entitled to a bad day.” She filled up his glass. “Once or twice. Share your troubles with me. Unless it is about which supermodel you should date next, then I don’t want to hear it.” she joked. Tom’s face fell. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Tom held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I take it you don’t read the magazines.”

“As a matter of course, no I don’t.” Suddenly a lightbulb went off. “Oh…”

Tom twisted his face into an exaggerated expression. “‘Oh’ is right. Usually followed by the words ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’.”

“And is she…”

Tom drained the glass. “Yep. Nominated for two awards.”

“Yikes! Well, if there is anything I can do, I am here all weekend.”

Tom stood up and left several twenty-dollar bills. “I might take you up on that. Thank you again for the conversation… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly Bishop”. she said, clearing his glass.

Tom offered his hand, and she shook it. “Tom.”

“I know.” she leaned in, her dark brown hair falling to the sides of her face. “Remember, you’re a movie star.”

Tom laughed. A real belly laugh. So loud that it jolted the old man at the other end of the bar awake. “I needed that. Thank you again. Have a good evening, day, morning.”

“It’s evening. Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

Tom headed back towards the bank of elevators. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Molly wipe down where he had been sitting, shove the twenties into a tip jar, while tucking her hair behind her ears and help an obviously drunk couple. Tom made a mental note to find her again before he flew back and leave an even bigger tip.

-

Tom woke up the next morning and headed down to the gym to run on the treadmill. He would have preferred running outside but wanted to avoid people. After running five miles, he switched the machine off, wiped it and him down and headed upstairs to shower and change for the day. Tom wandered back downstairs in search of Molly, but the bartender on duty, a guy named Seth, mentioned she wouldn’t be back until the evening. Tom thanked him and headed back upstairs.

He was restless until it was time to get ready. After dressing, he took a selfie in the mirror and sent it to Illaria who confirmed he did it right. Now came the waiting game. Tom wanted to time it to avoid having to see her at all. Finally deciding he had wanted long enough, Tom called for the car and headed downstairs. What Tom forgot to account for was his incredible bad luck.

He arrived right after her and was forced to walk the red carpet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, with her arm linked around whatever man, boy, prey she ensnared for the evening. Tom plastered a killer smile on his face and continued to repeat the mantra in his head “Living well is the best revenge” when all he wanted to do is either trip her or return to his hotel room and eat an inordinate amount of chocolate cake.

The rest of the awards show blurred together into moments of white hot rage masked by a cool exterior and numbness. Thank god for the teleprompter or else Tom wondered if he would have made it through his presentation. But he did and thought he made it through the entire event without running into her and then…

“Tom!” her voice called out.

Tom froze and stiffened. What a difference a few weeks can make.

“Darling!” He spun on his heel to face her, smile firmly in place. He leaned forward and kissed her cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You look good.” he lied through his teeth.

“You too. I thought I might miss you. I just wanted to say—”

Tom waved her off. “Water under the bridge.” Another lie. Perhaps he missed his calling as a barrister or even a publicist. “Your date seems nice.”

She smiled. That smile that once melted his heart. “Thanks. He is. Where’s your—”

“Back at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me, I should head back. Big plans for the night.”

She blinked, and stutter stepped back. “Oh. Right.” She composed herself. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I hope we can be friends.” She held her arms open.

Fucking friends! Tom howled inside his mind. What was she playing at? More fodder for her songs? Tom seethed on the inside. He stepped forward to awkwardly hug her, praying there was no one around to snap a photo. Knowing her, though, she probably had someone in the balcony with a zoom lens.

“Of course, love.” He squeezed her a little too tight until she let loose a small yelp of pain. Tom allowed a genuine smile to come across his face. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the after party.” He walked away before she could continue on the conversation.

He waited until he was well out of earshot. “Bitch.”

-

The crowd started waning around 9:30 as the awards show let out. Molly figured most of the attendees would hit the after parties and things would pick up around 1 or 2 a.m. Until then, it would just be the regulars. She turned around to arrange the glasses she just cleaned when a now familiar voice rang out.

“Marry me.” Tom asked, his tie loosened.

“I don’t know you.” Molly teased back. “Now what will you have?”

“You as my wife.” Tom repeated, his palm flattened against the bar.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you drunk?”

Tom shook his head. “Stone cold sober. Hear me out.”

She glanced around, seeing no plausible escape. “I’m listening. But if another customer comes up, I’m walking away.”

“I need something to move the paparazzi off this current news cycle with me.”

Molly smirked. “You ran into the ex. Did she have a new boy toy on her arm?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point.”

“It is entirely the point.”

Tom slammed his hand against the bar, rattling the container of nuts nearby. “Can I continue or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Molly crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“I need something to move the press off this story. You need money. We are the solution to each other’s problems.”

“You may be gorgeous, but if you think I am sleeping with you for money…”

“I never said sex. I said marriage. The last I checked, they could be mutually exclusive.” Tom’s expression softened. “Listen, you are clearly unhappy here. I am unhappy too. If us being together could alleviate a bit of that unhappiness, why wouldn’t we seize the opportunity? We get married. Get the paparazzi off my back. I would pay off your student loans and credit cards. And then after a year of living together, we quietly divorce. No sex. Just a business relationship.”

Molly chewed over what Tom said, while chewing on her bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong, she was unhappy. Vegas was supposed to be a brand new start, but it was more of the same. Dead end job and no career prospects on the horizon.”

“Did you say live together?”

“In London, yes. I have plenty of room. Your own space. You have a passport.”

“Yes.”

Tom’s face broke out in a wide grin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Molly Bishop?”

“Yes.” she smiled back.

Tom leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let’s get going, because the licensing bureau closes at midnight.”

Molly headed over to the manager, Nick.

“I quit.” she shoved her apron at him.

“What? You can’t quit, Molly. The big rush is coming.”

“You heard the lady.” Tom called. “She quits.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé. Come on, darling.” Tom held out his hand. She lifted up the bar at the entrance and took his hand.

-

The two of you were full of nervous energy the entire cab ride to the licensing bureau, fitting right in with the other couples waiting to get a license. While you waited in line, Tom made some calls to several chapels until he found one open and able to squeeze the two of you in.

“Now all we need is to get you a dress and some rings.”

“Oh!” Molly dug through her purse. “My friend’s kid gave these to me.” She pulled out two plastic rings. “I think these will do in a pinch.”

Tom closed his hand over hers. “I’ll buy us proper rings tomorrow. Now a dress.”

“There’s a mall on the way. I can grab something on the way.” Tom kissed Molly’s forehead.

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Within an hour, Molly was wearing a simple white slip dress, Tom still in his suit from the awards show, although he did straighten up the tie. She smiled like a fool, holding onto a fake bouquet and Tom’s wedding ring, complete with a plastic spider in her hand.

Tom slipped on the plastic gem ring when the minister told him to, and she did the same with the spider ring. Tom giggled and so did Molly .

“I now pronounce husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. His lips were warm and soft. It was… nice. Under other circumstances, she imagined Tom would be an excellent kisser.

Tom gazed down at her. “Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.”

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 48

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut

Being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman always gave Peter a sense of pride and purpose, even if he could only share it openly with a few people. It was the kind of accomplishment that made all the hardships seem worth it in the end. It also made him happy in a way he couldn't really explain, but which involved a certain connection between him and the people he protected and got familiar with over the course of his superhero patrols.

But being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman was difficult in a neighborhood where no one was actually friendly in return.

Peter’s frown grew the further into the building he went. He was pretty sure it was the same one Loki and you had been renting an apartment in, and since he was a rather frequent guest, the neighbours should recognize him by now enough to at least return his greetings. 

That was what logic dictated, but Peter was pretty certain the people he met in the hallway only gave him a stern, disapproving look before walking past him quickly.

Peter was still frowning when he moved up the stairs, juggling the keys in his hand. Then he stopped. The unearthly screams of the damned were muffled, but most definitely coming from apartment number 13. 

Opening the door quietly, he slid into the familiar interior, now echoing with pain and suffering so loud, Peter had to cover his ears just enough to move to the root of all evil  - the bathroom. 

There were many inexplicable things Peter had witnessed happening in the apartment 13, and to some extent he got used to the thrill of not knowing what he'd face next time he paid a visit. Still, he hadn't expected to see various parts of a half-drowned owl sticking out of the sink filled thick with foam and bubbles. The owl must've struggled a lot, judging by the amount of water splashed on every possible surface, and the iron grip you and Loki still kept on the bird. Even if Loki was not wearing his usual features, it was still obvious who your partner in crime was.

The two of you froze. Soap and foam dripped to the floor. Loki's new form shimmered with a glamour only magic could achieve.

"Um, what are you guys doing?" Peter asked.

"Trying a new disguise?" The curtain of Loki's new long hair was luscious and utterly drenched. 

"No, I meant-"

"Listen, boy, as surprising as it might be for you, I'm still me, just with a less… criminally wanted image."

"Yeah, only if 'ME' stands for mischief embodied," you laughed.

"It literally doesn't. It's smooth, but it doesn't."

"Thank you, love. Now, could you please stop drowning poor Barbara?"

Loki sighed, but relaxed his grip on the bird just enough to allow it to peak its head out from under the surface and take a deep, long breath. 

Peter put his backpack down and meandered closer, dodging the growing puddles. "Why is there an owl in the sink?"

"Because I'm not allowing any fleas into my house," you firmly stated, pushing the wings back under the water. "And I don't care how many hours we'll spend here, I'm getting all the mud and dirt out."

Barbara clung to her dirt with all her might, but was overpowered and utterly misunderstood. Loki's new form was slimmer, but held the bird with his usual strength and a big dose of satisfaction. The smirk on his face was unchanged, even if the features were new.

"What do you need a disguise for anyway?" Peter asked, looking for a towel. "Can I go with you?"

"I'm afraid that as wildly chaotic and lawless as our destination is, you'd still be age-checked," Loki cooled his enthusiasm.

Barbara rushed to the towel and clung to it, loudly exclaiming what, precisely, she thought about her caretakers. Peter tried to dry her up as best as he could through her wriggling and screams. 

"Are you sure all this soap is good for her? Did you use any animal-friendly shampoo?"

Loki shrugged. "I doubt she can get any more dead."

The boy looked at the owl. The owl looked at the boy. The ruffled and drenched feathers were sticking out in all directions, uncovering a deep and no doubt fatal hole in her side. 

"You got a dead owl…?"

"It was not my idea," Loki groaned, casting the bird a disgusted stare in the mirror where he tried to change the shape of his eyebrows. 

"You're just angry because she likes me more," you laughed while mopping the floor.

Peter did his best to become invisible and not stare too openly at the ribs poking out of the feathers. Barbara puffed them every time he moved the towel around. The boy couldn't speak owlish, but the small, crittering noises she made were definitely far from happy.

"Where will you be going?" Peter asked. The owl sat on his knees and refused to move even after he finished drying her on the couch.

"To the largest casino on the Moon."

"Wait- There are casinos up there?"

"Not for kids your age," Loki said.

Peter slumped on the couch. "That's not fair."

"We'll be back before you notice." You threw the wet rag to the sink. "Of course, as long as a certain someone FINALLY decides what to wear."

Loki ignored your pointed look, too busy with changing his hair color. No matter how many little details he changed, he still struggled with finding a form he was sure would allow him to pass through the guards unnoticed and unrecognized. It was a shame he couldn't use his own - it felt like a waste to hide a face like his. 

The owl settled on Peter's shoulder, immobilizing him with the claws buried in his skin. But even from the couch, the boy could see the remnants of a hurricane that had thrown a rather alarming amount of clothes around the apartment.

"I thought these were yours," he admitted. The owl kept on looking through his hair with the utmost scrutiny and very little gentleness.

"I've settled long ago on what I'm going to wear. As for the diva himself, though…" you gestured around.

"I need it to be perfect," Loki said. "I have an important role to play, I can't just waltz in there and be recognized."

"You could go blond," Peter suggested.

"Ew, I don't want to look anything like my brother- Wait, that's actually a great idea."

Before any of you managed to protest, a full-grown Thor stood in Loki's place, watching himself from all angles in the mirror. The clothes no longer fit, so he dropped them and dove into the closet again.

"...what have I done?"

You patted Peter's free shoulder. Barbara nested in the crook of his neck. "Nothing they can prove. Hopefully."

*

"I am not my father's servant," not-Thor downed another beer. "And if I want to relax for just one evening, I shall!"

The tankard broke into tiny pieces as he smashed it on the ground. The loud applause and waves of laughter followed the very Thor-like outburst, making Loki relieved he was playing his role well. Even in a place like this, crowded with drunkards and gamblers from all over the universe, it was common knowledge what the god of thunder enjoyed.

Loki forced his glamoured face to remain cheerful as another tankard of beer had been brought to him, disgustingly sour and rough. He knew his brother well, and was sure he'd love it, but Loki himself would rather bite off his tongue than willingly digest any more if only he had an actual choice. He didn't, and therefore swallowed another gulp to the cheering from the crowds gathered at his table. The cards had been laid out, waiting for the victors to celebrate their success, and the rest to decide how much more money they were willing to lose to the god of thunder.

Seated in a great hall of marble and gold, Loki wished he could play the way he actually wanted to, which was the very same way that got him banned from the Moon last time he had visited. But for the sake of the mission, he stayed just above the line between bankrupting and winning money, which added to the body he was wearing, was just big enough temptation to keep his table busy.

Everyone entering the biggest casino on the Moon was inclined to try their luck, or at least take a quick look. It was a perfect, if rather boring, way of scanning everyone who entered the rich complex of buildings. The few fountains set further in the back murmured as they shot curtains of water. The air was thick and warm, making crowds of people inevitably gravitate towards them in search of any cold. With the tall, lush plants artistically winding over and between the pillars, it created little areas dotting the impossibly high hall, where the pleasant breeze gathered the people looking for just a moment of relief. You occupied a spot beneath the fountains, where most people would wind up going to at some point, and used it as a second checkpoint, just in case anyone missed Loki's, or rather his brother's table.

"Come on, does anyone else want to lose their fingers?" Loki heard you call out to the crowds.

Between their never ending sessions of losing and winning the money back just to lose them again, there were many individuals in need of a drink and a quick break from the gambling. How easy it was to grab their attention with a loud voice and a dead owl.

Loki stretched his neck and looked over to where you had sat down the bird with all kinds of currency piled between its claws and a single coin shining through the open ribcage. 

"All you need is to get the coin out, what's the matter, people? Is there no one brave enough to win all this money?"

Greed has always been a major deciding factor for the living beings regardless of race and the world of origin. The queue only rose in length as everyone wanted to try their luck. 

The table under Barbara grew more and more slick with blood from cut and bitten fingers. Pure malice shone in her dead eyes.

"What an awful creature," Loki muttered to himself. 

He could sense the stolen pin somewhere in the vicinity, but the casino was a loud and chaotic place, with multiple areas each centered around a different type of entertainment. More than an hour had already passed, but whoever was currently holding onto the pin, had not yet ventured anywhere near.

The two of you were slowly but inevitably running out of time. Odin might've been old and naive, but his spies' eyes reached far and wide. Loki had little doubt he would be interested in his favourite son's apparent evening fun, especially if he had that particular son with him, in the palace. Thor was a good cover, but not for much longer.

And then, by chance or a generous turn of fate, the shadows stirred and whispered. 

Loki cast the dice, not paying attention whether he'd won or lost. His money wasn't real anyway.

There - by the high palms stood the Hoarders, clad in the worn out rags and way too much jewelry. With their grey skin and long limbs, it was no wonder how easily they blended in with the shadows, using their skills to warp their surroundings and get in places others would consider highly secure. But their success was not measured in how many places they were capable of breaking in themselves, but rather how many individuals of all races they could easily befriend and bend to their will. Although, to be quite honest, Loki doubted the necromancer had needed much convincing. 

There were only three of them, each almost an identical copy of the others, but the Hoarders were encircled by both their partners for the evening and whatever scum tried to befriend them. That made it so much harder to approach them, but Loki was already thinking of a good excuse when he rose from his seat. People parted, giving him space - much more that would be granted to Loki's original form. 

The shadows whispered again. One of the ladies separated from the group, with an annoyed expression on her face.

Loki stretched, making sure to put his hands high. Once he caught your attention, he followed the lady at a leisurely pace.

"What do we do?" You asked once both of you entered the corridor and disappeared behind the corner. 

"She's got the pin."

One more turn took you in front of the ladies restroom. 

"Time for Plan C.” Loki began undressing quickly.

Holding a spare dress in your bottomless pocket was not the wisest choice, but it apparently paid off, even if fishing it out took you a moment. Your hands shook. Someone might have walked in on you at any time. While Loki would be doing whatever it took to get the pin back, you would be the one making sure no one interrupted him…

Like distracting the waiter that was now staring at both of you. Focused on the contents of your pocket, you hadn’t even noticed him approaching. Loki clad in only Thor's skin, blinked. 

The waiter turned on his heel and disappeared.

"I can already feel the gossip stirring," Loki shifted into a more feminine body, quickly putting on the dress. "They are going to eat my brother alive."

"Do you feel bad about it?"

"Oh, my heart is breaking into a million pieces," Loki assured you with a smile far too wide for that to be true. 

He kissed you quickly before disappearing into the restroom. 

Life felt amazing. Loki couldn't help but imagine the amount of trouble his brother would get once the word spread about his whereabouts.

His imagination was running wild, but the one thing Loki couldn't imagine was how, merely thirty minutes later, he'd find himself in the dungeons deep beneath the surface of the Moon, half-drowned, and viciously bitten.

[whatissleepeven]

Heya! Hope you're doing well! Just wondering if I could request the Obey Me brothers (maybe just Satan, Luci, or Asmo?) With an MC who proposes at the same time as they do? Remember to stay hydrated and take some time for yourself! Enjoy your day :)

Hi! Thank you for your kind words, I haven't been drinking a lot of water lately and this helped to remind me! I hope you have a good rest of your day as well!

(Of course I'll do all the brothers! I used 2nd POV, if that's alright - )

The brothers' reactions to an MC who proposes at the same time as them

Lucifer

It was all set in place. He invited you to his study to drink tea and chat, his brothers should be asleep at this time, and you two had been together for so long that he couldn't imagine a life without you. Today marked your anniversary, which was the perfect time to pop the question.

(No he was not nervous, Lucifer did not get nervous what are you talking about - )

Once they arrived and got settled, Lucifer cleared his throat to get their attention. Straightforward and honest was the most efficient approach, and he will not back out of this. "I have called you here because there is something I wished to tell you. Will you m- "

"Lucifer, will you marry me?"

There it was. The words he wanted to say, but directed at him instead with his own name falling from your lips. His eyes widened, the tiny box gripped in his hands as his eyes zeroed in on the box in yours.

"Looks like I beat you to the punch!" You laughed, the sudden but bright sound filling the room, and even though he felt annoyed at being cut off, he couldn't help but smile. You truly were one of a kind, weren't you?

"...So it seems. Now, come here; I need to put this on your finger."

And honestly? He finds it endearing that you had the same thoughts as him

He doesn't let it show though, and instead treats you to the rest of your date in his office

"Now that we are engaged, you will be the one to tell Lord Diavolo how the proposal occurred at our wedding."

"Wh- Lucifer!"

(Won't admit that he was nervous concerned for a hot second there)

Mammon

This was it. He was gonna do it.

Mammon had taken you for a night stroll throughout Devildom (getting kicked out/chased from casinos along the way), the two of you coming to a stop in front of a fountain sculpted in Lord Diavolo's image. He was nervous to the point that you had noticed, brushing your hand with his to get his attention.

"Mammon? Is something wrong?"

Mammon refused to look at you, taking your hands into his own. "When you first came here, I didn't want to associate with ya. You're just a human, after all, and why did I have to babysit ya?"

You snorted, holding back a laugh at the obvious direction this was going, but let him continue.

"A-And, somehow, I became your first. Not just for your pact; I became your first for lots of stuff."

He got to a knee, not realizing that you mirrored his actions with an amused look on your face. His own cheeks were a dark red, and you were proud of the courage he was displaying.

"I...want to keep being your first from here on out. S-So, will ya ma- "

"-rry me?"

Mammon blinked as your voice finished his sentence. He looked up to see - yep, you were proposing to him too.

This boi is all over the place after that

"YOU WERE PROPOSIN' TOO?!"

He then proceeds to yell at you of all things, but you're too busy laughing at the chaos of it all

Takes you by surprise when he slips the ring onto your finger with gentle care, a smile on his face as he puts your ring on by himself. "Stupid human, tryin' to outdue me...you're lucky I'm sayin' yes."

Leviathan

It took him a while to muster up his courage to tell you.

It made perfect sense to Levi: even though you were a normie, you were an amazing, attractive, and endearing human, while he was a disgusting otaku who barely left his room in favor of playing games. You were the one who initiated most of the romantic gestures, and he wouldn't admit it but he felt bad about it.

Still, though...this was one thing he wanted to do for you.

You two were playing Mononoke Land together, the overall quiet of the room being filled with the chimes from your devices as you farmed for xp.

"Hey, you know that you're the Henry to my Lord of Shadows, right?"

The question caught you off-guard. You raised a brow as you nodded, worried that Levi would start talking bad about himself again.

"Well, to me you're more than that. You've done a lot for me and my brothers - yeah yeah, "my brothers and I", stop laughing! - and go through the trouble of hanging out with me through the good and the bad."

He stands up, missing the blatant affection in your eyes for the demon in front of you as he fishes around his pocket. He, actually went out and bought it with Asmo, who was all-too-delighted to do so, and pulls it out.

"Thanks, for everything. Will you be my Player Two?"

"Will you marry me Levi?"

The phrases were said at the same time. Levi was shocked to see you holding a box of your own to him, and oh god is that a ring -

...Let's just say that he's still a tomato when dinner rolls around, unable to look at anyone or anything in favor of silently asking the higher beings to strike him where he sat

He feels ashamed. He feels like he's on cloud nine. Is that normal? Either way, you love him all the same.

Overall, a dorky yet endearing confession (which you still chuckle at to this day as you remember it).

Satan

"Well, this certainly is an interesting turn of events."

It was one of your stay-in dates at the library. You were fiddling around on your D.D.D., looking nervous for some reason, and Satan was contemplating the best way to bring up his proposal.

"Satan, I - "

"There's something - "

You both paused, chuckling at your timing. Satan had found out early on that one of the qualities he loved about you was the way your face dusted pink in embarrassment, a shy smile adorning your face.

The urge to carry out his plan at that moment grew stronger, but he was also curious about what was troubling you.

"Shall we say it on the count of three?"

You nodded. Satan couldn't help but smile at your bashfulness.

"1, 2...3."

"Will you marry me?"

You both stared at the other in shock. It was silent for 7 seconds before Satan's laugh, which was gentle and chimed like bells, filled the void.

"It seems we know each other a little bit too well."

You couldn't help but stare in awe. His laugh was precious, and you...you wanted to hear more of it.

You smiled. "I'm not hearing a no?"

Satan chuckled, slipping the ring onto your finger and letting you do the same to him. "How could I ever say no to you?"

In short? You both propose in a quiet spot at the exact same time, word for word, and he laughs because he knows he's so utterly in love with you. It makes retelling the whole ordeal at your wedding less embarrassing to do.

Asmodeus

To be honest, this man (demon) has never considered marriage before you came into his life.

He preferred to have no ties in relationships, but something about you makes him want to stay. You were good to him, and looked past his naturally alluring (and flirtatious) self. What more could he ask for?

He wanted to make you his, and his only. And, maybe...wanted more of that domestic life you brought to him and his family, where every day brings something new.

He set it all up. You two would go shopping at Majolish, then get a manicure, then on the way back to his room he'd propose. Today was a special day, after all; it marked the anniversary of when you first formed a pact with each other.

"Asmo? Hon, what's wrong?" You asked, carrying your bags as you turned back to look at him.

Asmo blinked. "Oh, sorry about that luv! I spaced out for a bit there. Here, let's take a break okay?"

He didn't wait for your input, dragging you over to a bench situated at the entrance of a park. Despite it being eternally night in Devildom, it was peaceful; he decided to finally pop the question.

"Babe, do you remember when we first met?"

You raised a brow. "When I first arrived, yes? Or do you mean when we formed our pact?"

Asmo smiled. You caught on quick, as usual. "Ever since then I've found you intriguing, and I never thought there'd come a day where a human could keep up with my shopping and then some. Dating you has made me so very happy, and I want you to know that I love you."

There were tears in your eyes. If you hadn't known him for as long as you did, you would've thought that he was only joking around, but the soft look in his eyes erased any doubts you might've had.

You were going to marry him.

"Asmo - "

"Will you marry me?" He interrupted, clasping your hands together. "That way, you can continue to look at me and only me, and I'll try to fight off anyone who wants a piece of this delicious body."

He winked, and you giggled. "Funny you say that; I was going to propose to you today."

Asmo stilled for .2 seconds but quickly recovered, immediately whipping out his D.D.D. to contact his brothers while giving you a chaste yet searing kiss. Be prepared to have a lavish wedding early!

Beelzebub

If he had to pick a point where he fell in love with you, it was probably when you held his hand in comfort.

You were just...so gentle, so kind, and so patient with him. You cared about him, and he wanted to give you the world.

When you two first started dating, it felt surreal. Quickly, though, he began to feel like he was on cloud nine every time he looked at you and thought "I was chosen out of all of my brothers. I get to have this experience all to myself."

And he wanted to be with you forever.

He had stumbled upon the idea of marriage on accident, but it made him euphoric to know that there was a tradition that let them be together forever. He decided to act once he got advice from both Asmo and Satan, currently watching you bake brownies with a hum.

"You look happy."

You turn to him with a smile. "How can I not be? I'm here with the most amazing boyfriend in the world. What more can I ask for?"

...When I tell you he is SOFT -

"About that..."

He wrings his hands, nervous. You seem to come to a realization, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

"Beel, you know I love you, right?"

His eyes widened. Wait...were you seriously...?

He dug into the pockets of his pants, watching you do the same in a bit of a stupor. You both pull out a small box at the same time.

No way. No way.

He sweeps you into the biggest bear hug ever, relieved that you had the same idea as him. He can't stop smiling, either, his chest warm and face aglow at the thought of just how lucky he is to have you in his life.

"I love you so so much."

Seriously though, he's so pure so please marry him

Belphegor

Blankets? Check.

Pillows? Check.

Clear view of the night sky? Triple check.

You, by his side? Quadruple check.

You both had decided to watch a meteor shower from the Observatory, a pile of soft blankets and pillows surrounding both of you on the floor.

You had been dating for a...longer time than he thought you'd be. After the whole "I-killed-you" thing, he assumed that you hated him, and for a bit you did. However, you forgave him, which is more than he could ever ask for, and somehow that led to the unbreakable trust you have now.

The past was the past; he wanted you to remain in his life, no matter what happened.

"I know I can be a bit much," He murmured, catching your attention, "But I really want to stay with you."

You smiled, pure and ethereal. "The feeling's mutual, Sleeping Beauty."

It was a nickname that, unfortunately, had stuck. He gave you a half smile at that, leaning in closer until your lips were barely brushing.

"No, I meant it in a different way."

You connect the dots. With laugh as you push him away, scrambling to explain once you see a flash of hurt in his eyes.

"It's funny you say that, 'cause - "

Something slid onto his ring finger. He looked down.

A...ring?

He pulled you in for a kiss, putting every euphoric emotion he was feeling into it. "You're to good for me," He whispered once he pulled away, resting his forehead against your own.

You lightly punch his shoulder. "Dork. It looks like you're stuck with me for life."

He snaked an arm around you as you both turned to look at the streaks flitting across the sky, fading fast but burning bright.

He glanced over at you, your face glowing in the low light of the stars and illuminating the childlike wonder in your eyes.

You are beautiful, he thought.

He kissed your temple, leaning against you. "How pissed do you think Lucifer will be to hear that we're engaged already?"

[vtmb2s]

I had this from an ask meme from like 2 months ago or so and deleted the og post, I dunno why -_-  anyway it was in my google docs so I’m reposting it

🔥

How did they first meet? What was their first impression of each other?

You know… fun Zion Canyon trip!! (credit for this one goes to Dany cause I don’t have good ideas but the whole ordeal would actually happen pre-game, because that’s when the courier would most likely sign up for a caravan I think) 

Audrey thought Follows-Chalk was just messing with her when he said who they were gonna meet, no way this guy is still alive. Needless to say she hates him, she’s heard enough horrendous things about him in her NCR days to form her opinion. He didn’t like her much either aaaghhh how can you see through my fake atonement thing where I’m basically doing the same as before. (she doesn’t really see through it initially, she’s just too stubborn to buy the whole redemption arc thing from the beginning and ends up realizing that she just happened to be right). Understanding why she doesn’t trust him but also resenting that. 

Who felt romantic feelings first?

fjjhdsjhd he does probably, vaguely. She has a much harder time accepting it considering his background and all that, so that came later.

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

YEAH! Both actually, enemies to vaguely friends to lovers and all that but like I said, Audrey has a much harder time coming to terms with this, she feels a little stupid about it because she knows what this guy has done!!! ( and he knows that, hence why he’s pushing it all down in favor of his stupid little revenge thing) He’s so weird and just looks like a mummy, what is there to like objectively. But she does. What thematic parallels do to a mfer 😔

Who initiated the relationship?

She did… Canyon visit nr 2, she technically fucking hates it there but for some reason she wants to go back (well. you know why), perhaps just a little vacation. And well there was clearly something there so why act on it. The most embarrassing moment of her life but it’s worth it I suppose. 

Who said “I love you” first?

Also her… Sorry queen you have to do all the work

Who gets jealous easily?

I think him but not in a way where he’d say anything, he’s just like 😐 but you can’t see it because. bandages. And Audrey has no competition lol so. 

Who is more protective?

Also him, she gets into more stupid shit and isn’t as crazy. 

Who remembers the little things?

She does :)

Who uses the cheesier pickup lines?

God neither. They’re too weird for pickup lines. If anything Audrey would list a few bad ones she overheard on the strip as a joke.

What does a first date look like for them?

They don’t go on dates lmao. What is there to do in a canyon, they’d just go to some random place where there are no other people and talk about whatever.

What do they like to do together?

Just mundane things, doing random shit while one is talking about whatever. A lot of times it’s just Audrey chatting about something funny or weird that happened to her on her travels while she puts on one of her favorite holotapes and does something, her stories are more light-hearted after all :/

Other than that… nothing too insane, they’re too weird to have proper hobbies. Her making him read his stupid mormon bible out loud so she can hear his sexy grandpa voice 😍

Do they like PDA?

No -_- maybe hand holding when no one’s looking, if anything. 

What are their big spoon / little spoon arrangements?

God he’s probably gonna die if she tries to spoon.

Does one like the cuddle more than the other?

She does but it’s not really possible sometimes. Leans against him until he's like aha. okay that’s enough :/

Who hogs the blankets?

Audrey does. She never sleeps much when she’s travelling so when she finally does get a proper night’s rest it’s limbs thrown around. Taking the entire blanket for herself. Sleeping for 20 years.

Do either of them like to cook?

I can’t imagine either, she just does it out of necessity. She can’t cook though, it’s blamco mac and cheese every mf day.

If they get married, who proposes first?

Godddd realistically he would at least think about it but they don’t get married lol. The mental image of it makes me cringe too much.

What kind of wedding do they have?

:/

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together? Does anyone object to their relationship? 

NO LMAOOOOO no one wanted them to get together and pretty much everyone would object to it if they knew. She probably doesn’t tell her family but if they knew they’d be against it, for obvious reasons. She doesn’t tell her friends either except Callisto lol, who thinks it’s epic somehow. Great Khan past and all that, not that she agrees with the legion in any way but 🤷‍♀���

Do they have any kids?

Maybe they do… maybe not. Who knows, I don’t control them.

(I made up two but Idek if they exist. a son named Ben and a daughter, Rachel. they’re weird and that’s all you need to know)

Do they have any pets?

I was gonna say no but she still has Rex who she forgot to return to the King 💔

DIANA/KING

How did they first meet? What was their first impression of each other?

In the followers' camp, not long after she moved to Freeside :) iirc the King tells a story about how he went to the Followers Camp to seek help regarding Rex and ended up yelling at them and even knocking out a few doctors.. something similar, one of his guys got their ass beat and the King got impatient and asked why tf this is taking so long. And Diana told him to sit his ass down and wait, which resulted in an argument 🙄 As for the first impression. Diana thought he was just your typical annoying man, maybe sexy and in a cooler suit than the guys on the strip, but annoying nonetheless. And the King thought she was being rude and had a big mouth. But again, kind of in a sexy way.

Who felt romantic feelings first?

THE KING… pretty quickly actually. A few months after the argument they had at the old mormon fort. For Diana on the hand it took a little bit longer :/

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Hm not really, but like I said Diana didn’t really fall that fast for him. She met him shortly after she left the Gomorrah (she was a dancer, not a prostitute but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t seen and experienced some shit) so she’s not really thinking about men and pretty much ignores him flirting with her (also he stops once he finds out about her past lol). She figures she likes him because they do have the same principles and something about being good people in a shitty world and all that so there’s a lot of admiration there, also their shared love for music and stuff. Elvis things. But she’s trying to heal from the shit she witnessed at the strip so no thanks!! Until… until...

Who initiated the relationship?

Well… technically him, he was the first one to flirt with her probably but she never really paid any attention to it. The actual relationship though.. her.

Who said “I love you” first?

Diana but I think he would have said it too… she was just faster 😌

Who gets jealous easily?

Both do. She’s sexy so nasty old men will flirt with her while she’s doing her job but the King doesn’t have to know that because he would be MAD. Diana on the hand will act like she’s mad at him when random people are being a little too friendly with him -_-

Who is more protective?

HE IS… that one text post about saying “that’s my wife” and punching someone. Yeah.

Who remembers the little things?

He does :) Little things she likes, her favorite song or stupid little things she finds funny… sigh

Who uses the cheesier pickup lines?

THE KING but unironically. Some Elvis shit, telling her she got him “all shook up” or something and she’s into it!!!

What does a first date look like for them?

He wouldn’t say this counts (she would) but technically that one time she was doing some random music thing with her freeside kids for fun and he showed up to talk to her and Diana was like. Hey wait, why don’t you stay and sing something for these kids :-) it was stupid but fun I guess and they hung out after, her saying how impressed she was because her kids were having a good time and so was she :)

What do they like to do together?

Like on the (unofficial) first date, doing random performances together. I guess he can sing (I think?? all Elvis impersonators can sing in my mind) and she’s a dancer so.. fun!! Other than that, watching random Kings member #58 perform on their little stage, going to ugly Freeside Casinos and leaving immediately after they lose 3 caps, just fun things!! Also he likes to listen to her talking about random stuff she read in her magazines. 

Do they like PDA?

Fuck yeah… Diana constantly having her legs in his lap whenever possible, him having his arm around her shoulders or on her waist all the time. Physical contact but in a cool way. 

What are their big spoon / little spoon arrangements?

They wouldn’t spoon I think but she’d sleep on his arm :) wakes up and it’s numb but that’s okay

Does one like the cuddle more than the other?

Like I said. constant physical contact (but in a cool way) but actual cuddling WOULD be a thing in private.

Who hogs the blankets?

Diana -_-

Do either of them like to cook?

l can’t imagine him being able to cook but she can. Yes I do the cooking yes I do the cleaning. 

If they get married, who proposes first?

There’s no real proposal probably, It would just come up in a conversation and they’d decide to have one of these quick Las Vegas weddings.

What kind of wedding do they have?

Again. One of these quick Las Vegas weddings… people get married by the King but who marries HIM 😔 (probably one of the other kings). It’s not much but it fits them, I don’t think huge wasteland weddings are much of a thing anyway (or weddings in general) sooo...

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together? Does anyone object to their relationship? 

No one objected, except maybe annoying ass Pacer for literally no reason and some random followers :/ As for Pippa and Isabel (Diana’s besties), they didn’t meet before she started dating the king so they obviously weren’t rooting for them to get together but they wouldn’t object to it either, I think. Isabel certainly doesn’t, she likes the King and thinks they fit. Idk what Pippa thinks she’s not my oc, but I don’t think she’d object to it either.

Do they have any kids?

NO lmao. No biological ones at least, Diana has her Freeside orphans though that she takes care of (kinda), they’re basically her kids. She even refers to them as such :-)

Do they have any pets?

Heh… Rex :-)

GEORGIE/C*RVO

How did they first meet? What was their first impression of each other?

In the distillery district 😳 On the first mission, Georgie prob caught him sneaking around her clinic (by accident) and was like. WTF get out with your creepy mask… wait ACTUALLY since you’re good at sneaking can you get me [random thing for her medical research that she has tried to get her hands on for ages] and i can give you a discount on health potions and free leeches 😏 NPC behavior… 

Georgie thought the mask looked fucked up and he seemed mysterious but well. She meets strange people every day so 🤷‍♀️ Also she thinks it’s kind of sexy. He thought she was a bit strange, but ig he liked her. She’s funny. 

Who felt romantic feelings first?

GEORGIE. relatively quickly actually, she really likes him early on but she doesn’t really say anything with Jess’ death being so recent :/ He does… later on, about two or three years after dh1, probably when she’s on official business in dunwall tower (YES underqualified royal physician Georgie is a thing now 💕) and she remarks a random cut he has on his cheek & turns his face to get a closer look and he’s like 😳😳😳😳 why do I like that she just did that. Love Wins.

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Her kind of, again with the whole Jessamine thing because it was so recent and she’s like aaagh i'm not gonna hit on a guy in mourning so she tries to ignore it 😐 

Who initiated the relationship?

GOD technically Georgie, she didn’t say anything of course because she’s too weird but she does kiss him first... and makes him leave right after :/

Who said “I love you” first?

He does… Georgie would NEVER say it first and doesn’t say it right back immediately but. He knows she’s weird about things so it’s okay.

Who gets jealous easily?

Her. That is a thing. 

Who is more protective?

Both :-) 

Who remembers the little things?

Also both but mostly him. Remembering the weird little things she offhandedly mentioned she likes. Or her little plague research things. 

Who uses the cheesier pickup lines?

Both but they’d just whisper them to each other for funsies when they’re somewhere. In public.

What does a first date look like for them?

They wouldn’t have a proper official first date but it’d likely be some random event they’d both be at when she’s the royal physician (I don’t think she’d get invited to anything but well. Maybe the Boyles run out of crazy things to do at their parties and invite her) Or taking a walk at Dunwall’s somewhat nicer-looking docks. Something boring. 

What do they like to do together?

Also boring things. They’re old, nothing too crazy. Chatting about random stuff whenever she’s over at Dunwall tower, taking walks in the gardens together and watching ships or something, talking shit about aristocrats that they find annoying or just about weird hobbies, maybe she can bring him along to meet her friends (who he already knows) to look at rats in alleyways but he eats them idk. Summons a whole swarm of rats but they end up trying to kill them 

Do they like PDA?

NO. I don’t think she’d be too much into the whole ~aristocrat life~ after becoming the royal physician and just does business-related things but neither would want people talking about this. Semi-secret relationship for no reason and they’re both more private sooo

What are their big spoon / little spoon arrangements?

She’s the little spoon.. likes being held :)

Who hogs the blankets?

He does -_-

Do either of them like to cook?

No lol

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together? Does anyone object to their relationship? 

I think the only person really knowing of this is Marzanna (AGAIN. by dany… Georgie is also besties with Slackjaw… the Rat Smackers. but she wouldn’t tell him about this lol), who would probably not object to it?? but I don’t think anyone else would be rooting for them. I guess Emily likes her as her cool doctor but NO WAY that’s gonna be her stepmom :/

Do they have any kids?

No :/

Do they have any pets?

Georgie has a cat. Not together though, Pluto is hers.

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter Eleven

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 11

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“Only after disaster can we be resurrected. It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything. Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart.” -Chuck Palahniuk

+

To rewrite a story, to un-tell a tale, to take back the life of a story; sometimes you have to go back to the beginning.

It’s the hardest thing really, to unravel and undo. It's unnatural in its own right, an act of destruction. A murder of innocent poses that have done nothing but filled up the space, to be a lesson or a comfort. Each word, each letter carefully crafted by eons of combined hearts, mouths and minds. There are layered meanings in these words, history in the named and moments and that is why they can hurt. Why they can topple empires and whole worlds.

How they can take a life. How they can bring one back.

Once upon a time, only a God could rewrite a story.

Nephthys is old enough to recall when the world understood that. Old enough to have forgotten when it changed. When it became easier drawing blood from stone, than to change a story.

She knew that it was not the words that had changed, but the people. Their hearts had became colder and heavier, words had to work twice as hard to pierce it.

To change it.

Nephthys pulls her gaze from the sea of grass fields to the driver, to Laura Moon, Laura McCabe. A once pretty girl, dead with a heart so heavy it's a wonder she moves at all.

Let alone dragged herself out of a grave.

Back in the day, this would have been enough to earn her a new story. One made by her own glory, a testament to her will. 

She would have been repainted with kindness and generosity, of a woman wrongly murdered, left behind but reunited nevertheless with her grieving husband. 

Because of love, fate or luck. In a good story, they are one in the same.

If there is any justice left in the world, Laura will have her re-telling, she is owed far more than just her life back. If it was up to her, Nephthys would take her hand, kiss her cheeks and call her sister. What other gods could so intimately know death and the life that could be after? What other woman could understand the shadows, casted by chaos and otherwise?

If Nephthys could have had her way, Laura Moon would be hers.

“What's your sister like?” Laura questions in the dark. The hour unknown, but the moon is high and the road empty. Somewhere in the distance Mad Sweeney and her brother relieve themselves. “And don't bullshit me. I have a sister, and she annoyed the hell out of me. First words I would use to describe her is uppity bitch, followed by crazy and addicted to pastels.”

In the embrace of moonlight, Nephthys smiles slowly. There is a complicated understanding between sisters naturally. God or mortal. To know and love, to hate and hold afar because they are so like and unlike you.

Only sisters understand sisters.

“She will not be what you think.” She replies, leaning back. “Stories and history will always paint her as a wife first and a mother second. Few remember who she is without them, but if I had to sum her up…” She pauses to really give it thought before answering. “She is strong. In heart and kindness. Of course she has shades of dark, not one of us is built without it…she can be stubborn. Over protective. A trickster too.”

“A trickster?”

Nephthys chuckles softly, “I told you, she would not be what you imagine. Yes, she loves a good trick. Really loves those, what are they called? Not game shows…prank ones? Punk'd was a favorite of her's for a long time.”

“What? Really?”

The dead girl does not believe her, she can tell by the tone of her voice.

“She used to play such games on our brother. Before he left us. Always tricking or scaring him to tell the truth. I think it reminded her of those days…”

Silence envelops her slowly. She becomes aware of all that she has lost and what she could still stand to lose. There is a storm, a war and all of it will end with more than just thunder and rain. There are new stories being written, and she is unsure if she has a place in them.

Its been a long time since anyone has looked to her for guidance. Laura is probably the last, and her heart breaks for that fact.

“Can I share a secret, Laura McCabe?”

The dead girl blinks her milky eyes, a reflection in the rear view mirror. There is hunger there, for life and knowledge but also an ocean's worth of pain. This girl was starved by the world, long before the rot set in, she was bones and bitterness. Strung together by razor thin trust and hope.

Those things are even sharper now, haven been broken too many times.

“Yeah, go ahead. I'm told the dead keep the best secrets.”

“The right ones do.” Nephthys agrees, “My secret is this, Laura McCabe. You were meant for this. Not this way, with messy Norse gods and war. Not crawling out of your grave and roaming the world with rotted hands and feet...but your spirit has traveled this road before, and it will guide you through this darkness just as it has time and time again. Your end was not nothingness. It was to be a return. You always come back.”

“That's not what Anubis said.” She whispers, voice softer than a lover's kiss. Here in the dark, with just each other, Laura peels back the stone layer around her dead heart and allows Nephthys a glimpse at the young girl she is.

She is lost, so very lost, but she continues and Nephthys own heart aches. 

“He was angry. You did not allow him to do his job.” She chastises lightly, “We are not without faults, remember? Even gods can be petty and vindictive.”

This makes the dead girl laugh, “Oh, yeah. Don't need to tell me twice.” Her voice is less gentle, like grave dirt is still trapped in her throat. Like she's trying to push it out with will alone. “What do you mean. My spirit has traveled this road before? No riddles, please. I'm too dead to appreciate them.”

From the corner of her golden eyes, she catches the returning figures of the men. She does not have a lot of time left to explain.

“The best stories never die, Laura. They just get retold. The names change, the place and time. The little details get lost along the way, but the core. The spirit. It nestles in there like a seed in winter. Warm within mother earth until it's time to be told again, and that is what you are now. A seedling of a story with ripped out pages like mangled roots, that no one can recall the ending of. In many cases, this would be the end. A terrible and unjust one. Another story lost, like so many. I would have mourned it.”

Laura places her hand across her chest.

“What changed it? What's the difference, then, how am I different from all the others?” She questions.

Nephthys sighs, “I do not know.”

The car doors open, and Horus flies into her arms once more. She breathes him in, crushes him into an embrace and privately sends out another thank you to Laura with all her heart. She does not know what she has given back to them, and probably never will, but that doesn't mean Nephthys is ungrateful.

“I wish you luck, Laura McCabe. Whatever happens, between here and after.”

In the front passenger side, the tall red headed Leprechaun chuckles darkly, while lighting up a pre-rolled joint. “Aye, she's got all the luck she'll ever fuckin' need.” He says it bitterly, and there's something she's missing between those words. Still, she is not a blind woman.

Perhaps that's the other piece of the puzzle, maybe her spirit has finally found what it's been looking for all this time.

Maybe her roots have finally found a home.

+

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Laura says when she steps out of the car. 

Standing and looking up at her old place of work. The casino she worked in for years, and ultimately lead to her death in a round about way. It was the place she met Shadow, it was the place she tried to rob and failed.

Nephthys stepped up next to her, still holding hands with Horus. “To rewrite anything, it is best to start at the beginning.” She explains, and taking up position of leader to guide them as they headed around to the back of the casino. She can tell Mad Sweeney and Laura are nervous, for many reasons, but it is obvious that the biggest concern is having anyone recognize a dead woman walking.

“Think we could hurry this up? Do the bitchin' inside at least?” He snaps, briskly stepping forward only to pause for Laura anyways. Nephthys notices his hovering, even if he doesn't. It's sweet, if completely unnecessary and if judging by Laura's scowl, unwanted.

With Horus at her side, Nephthys merely starts to climb the stairs to the upstairs of the casino, where the more managerial side of things happen. From here, it's harder to hear the people and the music. The only noise that gets through is the hum of air conditioners on full blast and the occasional lucky winner.

Their arrival has been expected, she can tell by the lack of personal at the front and the single guard at the main door. A built fellow, who nods in her direction and wordlessly opens the door for them.

If Mad Sweeney and Laura are expecting some grand entrance of her sister goddess, they don't get it.

Isis sweeps across the room like a blur of white. Her single focus being the return of her lost child, her son.

Horus meets her half way, wrapping his mother up in a wide spread of his arms like wings. Isis sheds her tears in the hollow of his throat, the words of their emotional meeting are muffled and lost to his skin but it doesn’t matter. They are reunited.

Nephthys has never truly bore any child in her body, but even she can feel their bond, and understands this is two pieces of one heart rejoining. How it radiates between the pair like a golden sun of their own creation. Their love for each other has always been powerful.

Its not always perfect, they are so similar they are bound to clash. Isis is still a mother, ready to tear the world asunder for him. To make a place for him, to make it safe.

Horus is still a young man at heart. He still has restless bones that hunger for unknown glories. He still wants to earn his place.

“Mother.” Horus greets with clear affection and just a hint of pain. Heartbreak for the years they've spent apart because of his madness.

“Son,” She replies in the same manner. She touches his cheek and places a kiss on each of his cheekbones with reverence before turning to greet the other missing relative. “Sister.”

Nephthys goes to them, a hand on Horus's shoulder the other to link her fingers with her sister's. “I've missed you.” She admits. New York had been wonderful, she had flourished but she had never forgotten her roots. 

This is where her story always starts, hand in hand with her sister. Let the storms and rain come, let the war raid everything that was and would be; Nephthys is no longer afraid, they can not take this from her.

She is home.

>

[ask-the-succubus-nyx]

Just another dream...

The sun is beginning to set behind the city skyline. Javier watches the sky turn to brilliant hues of purple and orange from his office window. Once the sun has finally gone down and shrouded the church in darkness, Javier goes to light a few candles and say a few much needed prayers. He kneels in front of a statue of the Blessed Virgin and does what he does at the end of every day. He crosses himself and kisses his rosary before standing and going to make sure the pews are clean and the hymnals back in their proper places. He suddenly realizes he is not alone in his church. He can see a woman sitting in a heavily shadowed pew.  This is not an uncommon sight. People seeking guidance sometimes stayed after usual church hours to speak with him privately.  He walks over to the woman, smiling.

From her spot in the pew she watches him; his devotion and faith is clear. This is not exactly a place she wants to find herself when in someone’s dream, but if this is where his mind has gone, then she has no intention of changing it. The church is beautiful, colors of stained glass dancing in candlelight. As she looks around, she wonders how much of this setting is related to their previous encounter, and a half smile crosses her lips. Is he feeling guilty for putting his vows to the test? Nyx’s head is bowed in thought when he approaches, shadows concealing her face. “Good evening Father,” she greets, a trace of humor in her voice.

Her soft and beautiful voice is unmistakable to Javier. He stops dead in his tracks, afraid to get too close to the woman he now knows is in fact a demon. He runs his hands through his dark curls nervously. "What are you doing here Nyx?" He cant bring himself to look at her, out of fear of becoming weak again. "Would have thought a demon would burst into flames inside a Catholic church."

She looks up at him, the smile spreading across her face. “So you know what I am,” she notes lightly. “It’s all about my intentions. I can come into a church as long as I mean no harm to anyone inside.” She doesn’t mention that, regardless of her intention, if she were to touch anything blessed it would burn through her skin like a flame eats through paper. As she watches his body language, she can see how nervous he seems to be. “Are you afraid of me now?” she asks softly.

"Yes, I know. My cousin told me. He apparently is in some Satanic ghost band or something. He happened to mention you and what you really are." Javi is shifting his weight from leg to leg awkwardly. Should he run? Should he grab some holy water and hope that if he throws it on her she goes away? No. He doesn't want to hurt her and he also doesn't want to leave. He opts for taking a seat in a pew across from Nyx. "Why are you here? "

“Your cousin? Is in the church?” This is certainly an interesting turn of events. Nyx wonders who it might be. She’s relieved when he sits, glad he hasn’t run away, and turns to face him. “Because I wanted to see you again,” she shrugs, answering honestly.

He finally looks up at her. Those eyes bore into his very soul. It terrifies him, but he doesn't let his fear show. "Yes, he is. He seems to think rather highly of you actually." Javi is not surprised that she wanted to see him again. She probably came to finish what she started last time they met. Then he recalls what she said about how she was able to be in the church because she had no  intention of harming him or anyone else for that matter. Eros certainly hadn't seemed fearful of Nyx when he spoke about her, so maybe he didn't need to fear her either. "You know I cant sleep with you Nyx. I'm a priest. I'm sure at this point you're well aware of that."

“I know. Can’t blame a girl for trying though,” she grins. She turns a little and catches sight of a Bible resting on the pew near her. “I feel like I’m being watched,” she laughs, shaking her head. Nyx inches away from the book to the end of the bench, closer to him, and sighs. “Whatever you may think about what I am, I promise that I won’t hurt you. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I wasn’t always a demon, just as you weren’t always a priest.” She pauses, wondering if she should ask the question that’s been lingering in her head since their previous meeting. “...What made you take your vows?”

He smiles slightly at her comment. "God is always watching." He wonders if God keeps tabs on demons as well as humans. He sees her move a bit closer to him but isn't bothered by it. Deep down, he wants her to move even closer still, but he would never admit this to himself.  "I'm not afraid of you. I thought, maybe I should be but, I believe you when you say you won't hurt me. " Javi is surprised to learn that Nyx wasn't always the creature she is now. He is terribly curious now to know about who or what she used to be.  The priest sighs and leans back against the pew. "I joined the priesthood because I was lost. I was always the type of guy who liked to party pretty hard. But the drinking started getting out of control. By the time I was twenty six, I couldn't go more than a few hours without a drink or my hands would start to just shake uncontrollably. I stupidly got involved with some very bad people who ran all sorts of  underground events. Dog fighting, casinos, prostitution, you name it. So then I had this gambling problem on top of the drinking. One morning I woke up on the floor in a strange house covered in my own vomit..." He pauses and looks up at the beautifully rendered fresco of  Mary and baby Jesus on the ceiling. "...and blood. A lot of blood. And it wasn't mine. I decided right then and there that I needed to make a drastic change in my life. So I came to this church. I confessed all my sins to the old priest who used to run this place. I can tell you, I was in that confessional for a very long time." He  chuckled softly. "He suggested I give religion a try. I did and God saved my life and my soul."

She listens to him, concern etched in her face. As he speaks, she can almost see the things he’s describing. She can certainly feel every bit of the emotion that’s tied to the memories. “I’m glad you were saved from a destructive path,” she says, voice soft. Nyx shakes her head; his story is so different from her own. While he had run toward faith, she had run from it. “I can’t imagine faith being a lifeline for me the way it is for you. I wonder though...Do you ever feel as if you might’ve gone from one extreme to another? Obviously this one much safer, but an extreme nonetheless?”

Javi looks down at his hands for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "Maybe I did. But this extreme keeps me in line. Keeps me and everyone around me safe and happy. This church is my home. Through it, God saved me and countless others. Father Martin, the priest I met here all those years ago, taught me to love myself again. And now I'm the one teaching those who come here the same thing." Javier moves down the pew a bit, coming a tiny bit nearer to the succubus. "Tell me about your life. You say you weren't always...what you are now. What happened to you?"

When he asks about her past, she looks away. It’s not something she talks about often, but she supposes it’s only fair since he answered her question about his. “I was human just like you are. My mother was a religious zealot so I got married young because I wanted to get away from her.” Nyx smiles wistfully at the memory of her wedding day. “My husband was everything to me, I loved him with my heart and soul. A few years into our marriage he had a horrible accident and I was so desperate to save him that I made a deal with the Devil. On my own death it would cost my soul in exchange for his life. I didn’t realize my darling husband had been having an affair the whole time or that my death would come as swiftly as it did.” She pauses, shaking her head. At last she meets his eyes, the smile on her lips bitter now. “He murdered me for his mistress.”

As Nyx spoke Javi’s expression turned to one of true sadness. So she had given away her immortal soul to save the life of someone she loved. Her story broke his heart. The priest got up from the pew he was seated on and sat right next to Nyx. He reached out took hold of her hand. "I am so very sorry for everything you went through. I'm sure nothing I say can really help you, but I think what you did was incredibly selfless. You did it out of love. As for your husband,  he was clearly an idiot for not realizing what he had." He squeezes her hand slightly and inches closer to her.

“Thank you,” she whispers, leaning her head on his shoulder. She squeezes his hand back and pushes the memories away. “It took me a long time to realize that what he did wasn’t my fault. Some men are real pieces of work, but at least I’m free of my ex husband. He was nothing like what I’d thought. I guess in a weird way I got a second chance because of Satan. This isn’t a terrible life that I lead now.”

When Nyx leans on him, Javi’s entire body tenses up and his pulse quickens. He's not sure if its because he’s afraid of having his soul stolen, or if it’s because he feels something for her. He’s physically attracted to her, there can be no doubt about that, but after hearing her story and learning what a good person she was in life, it felt like something more. Slowly, he puts a comforting arm over her shoulder. He knows he shouldn't, but he does it regardless.

There’s something incredibly sweet in the way he’s trying to console her and the irony here is not lost on Nyx. A priest comforting a demon under the roof of a Catholic Church has to be one for the books. Despite how ridiculous the situation is, his gentleness is more than welcome. She turns into him, resting her head lightly on his chest. Nyx can read his heartbeat more clearly now and she smiles. “Nervous?” she asks, her voice lightly humorous. She places her hand over the center of his chest. “Your heart is racing.”

The priest turns his head toward Nyx as she lays her head against his chest. He revels in the feeling of her silky black hair against his chin. "I'm not sure nervous is the right word..." He can feel himself blushing and hopes she doesn't notice. Why was this happening to him? He’s known countless beautiful women since he joined the priesthood and not a single one has ever had such an effect on him. He desperately wants to believe it’s because of what she is. Succubi steal the souls of weak and unsuspecting men. It’s what they do.  But if that was all Nyx wanted of him, surely she would have done it by now. Never had he imagined that a demon could be so...human. She was broken. She had suffered in the name of love. He is slowly beginning to question all that he knows.

He seems so conflicted to her. It’s clear that his faith had never prepared him for the reality that not all demons started out as evil. “Not nervous? Then what?” Her tone is playful and she tilts her head to catch a glimpse of his face. What she sees surprises her. His cheeks are flushed with color and that makes her smile. So she does have an effect on him, no matter how hard he might want to fight it. “Hmm you seem a little warm. Feeling alright?”

Javi clears his throat. "I, uh..." He pulls away from her slightly and nervously runs his hands through his hair. "I don't know what I'm feeling right now. You just, confound me a bit, I suppose.” He smiles warmly at her and stands, offering her a hand. "How about we go for a walk. Have you ever been to a Venezuelan festival? The Carúpano Carnaval is going on. I think you'd enjoy it." Suddenly the echoing sounds of steel drums and salsa music can be heard blaring through the city streets just outside the Basilica.

Nyx grins up at him, placing her hand in his as she stands. “No I’ve never been to one before. Let’s go.” The music outside is full of energy and she can’t wait to see what else is out there. She holds his hand as they walk out of the church together and has to admit she feels a sense of relief to be out of it.

[rtirman-blog]

39  The Flatbush Fireball

I was on Long Island early enough to start up my Good Humor route in Glen Head, late that March. This meant that my life at home, rather than being different as I had imagined, was going to be much the same. Perhaps, I will put my thoughts together and come up with a plan for my future.  I was grateful Good Humor was there.  I made very good money during the ice cream season.  Even though I was able to start in late March, people weren’t running for my truck until May.  My best income months were May through August. My thinking was to come up with a plan for my future that I could start in September or October.

 Again, like the previous summer, nothing spectacular happened on my route throughout that summer. As a Good Humor Man, I saw myself as a top money maker.  In reality, I was doing very well, but I probably was in the upper third of the money makers.  I suppose in working for Good Humor, I was able to have feelings of self-worth and the ability to make it in this world.  By the end of the summer, I decided to look for a job in the City.  I could stay with my father and Phyllis while I hunted for a position.  

 It’s a mystery to me how real estate popped up in my mind.  All I know is I was hired by Apostle Reality as a real estate salesman.  The office was on Flatbush Avenue, about a block north of the junction of Flatbush and Nostrand Avenues.   It was right where the IRT Subway ended.  If you needed to go further south in Brooklyn, you could walk, take a taxi, or ride the bus.

 In order to sell houses, I studied, took a prep course, and passed the State licensure exam for real estate sales.  By taking that prep course, which was sanctioned by the Real Estate Commission, it seemed as though I had previously seen every question on the exam I was given.  That was the first time I had ever taken a three-day prep course for anything. I think it worked well for me because by taking the actual exam immediately following the three-day course, everything I learned was fresh in my mind.  In high school, I didn’t have to take the SATs. But if I would have taken the SATs, I would have signed up for a prep course, and one that met on days very close to the actual SAT exam.

While preparing for and taking that real estate exam, things with my father and Phyllis were not working out well.  They had only one bedroom.  Since Daddy arrived home each night close to 1 A.M., I would fall asleep in their bed. Phyllis would wait up for him. When they were ready to hit the hay, they would turn their couch into a bed, and I would then go into the living room to sleep, and they would take their own room.  It wasn’t ideal for any of us.  I needed to find my own apartment.  First, I needed a roommate. When I told my cousin Walter, a.k.a. Butch, about looking for a roommate, he offered himself.  You may recall I attended his 12th Birthday celebration when I bedazzled that girl with my Humphry Bogart style kiss during spin the bottle.

Butch was still two years younger than me.  He was working at a cardboard box manufacturing plant in Queens.  But most important in Butch’s life, was his relationship to God.  He was a Billy Graham enthusiast, and a committed Christian. Since we always got along, having him as a roommate would be perfect.  We found a third-floor apartment in a house on Kenilworth Pl. The owner, Manny, felt Jesus had brought us to him in our time of need.  One thing Manny did insist upon- we were not to have girls in the apartment. That was fine with both of us.  It was a great place to live.  The apartment was clean and comfortable, close to everything, especially to my work- the walk was five minutes.

 At Apostle Realty, I worked diligently at my own desk.  At the start, the firm provided me several leads, and I learned how to greatly increase that number by asking for referrals and giving folks my business card. I began showing houses in November. I tried to make myself a busy guy, showing homes to as many folks as I could.  Somedays, I would go to homes for sale and talk with owners and other salesmen persons. I sold nothing in November, nothing in December, and nothing in January. I told myself people were busy with the holidays.  Since, Apostle gave me a small salary until I actually sold my first home, I needed to keep at it. The real estate commission was 5% of the selling price.  Apostle Realty, my broker, got half, and I would get the other half of that commission. Not selling anything for three months, I was getting pretty discouraged.  Then came February!

Early in February, I escorted a couple to a home for sale by another broker.   The house just came on the market.   I knew nothing about it, but we looked at it anyway.

We walked through the house without me saying a word. We stopped in a bedroom. The couple, to whom I was showing the house, started measuring that room.  The husband turned to me and told me if this measures right, you’ve sold yourself a house.  That’s just what happened.  They paid full price for the home, and were ecstatic…and so was I.  The seller talked to John Apostle about me and my expertise in showing the home. As I told you, I said nary a word.

 My next sale was pretty similar, only, it was closer to our office.  The home was a Calder (the builder), and those houses sold quickly. It was if I had the golden ticket.  The people, to whom I showed it, bought it instantly.  Keeping my mouth shut seemed like a great technique.  I always made sure I knew what people wanted, and I chose homes that were as close to what they desired.

 In mid-February, I was a co-seller with a salesperson who showed me, and my clients, a house in Bensonhurst, a Brooklyn neighborhood west of Flatbush.  Naturally, I had to share that commission with the other salesman.

 Then came the Delellis family from the Bronx.  They were delightful people whom I had met before.  They had a reputation of being lookers, but they would never buy.  Just about every salesperson on Flatbush Avenue had shown houses to the Delellis family. But something was happening to my luck. I was rolling 7’s throughout February. My luck meshed with Mr. Delellis’s bad luck.  He and his family were being forced to move, through no fault of their own, and had to find another home.  They called me to see if there was a home for sale near the subway.  I just happened to view a home, right on Flatbush Avenue, two or three doorways from the subway stairs.  Mr. and Mrs. Delellis hustled down to Brooklyn to meet me.  I made arrangements to show them the house as soon as they arrived. As soon as we walked into the house, the two of them were excited.  The house was perfect for their needs, close to the subway, and for sale at a very reasonable price.

The word got around that I sold four houses in February, and most impressively, I did the impossible- I sold a home to the Delellis family.  I was soon known throughout Brooklyn realty offices as “The Flatbush Fireball!”  Hey, you need to buy a home? You need to sell a home?  Go see “Da Flatbush Fireball”!

 Truly, I was on fire. But if you stay at a craps table long enough, things will, eventually, go in the other direction.  The owners of gambling casinos don’t have craps tables in their casinos to lose money!

 One evening, when I arrived home, Butch was having sex with a gal.  Mr. Christian was now Mr. Sinner.  Whoa! I take that back.  He was now Mr. Mortal Sinner…he was banging her in my bed!  You would think he would have been kind enough to do it in his own bed. Making matters worse, somehow, Manny was aware of his devilish deed, and asked us to find another place.

Butch went back home, and I went back to my father’s apartment until I could find another place to live.  The second thing occurred as I was sitting at my desk trying to figure things out. Sitting next to me was an older guy, perhaps in his fifties, who looked at me and told me that real estate wasn’t for me. He told me real estate was for older folks.  He wanted me to seriously think about returning to school, finishing my degree, and doing something with my life.  His name was Bill, and I sensed that these remarks came from his heart. I think Bill saw me as his son or grandson.  I really did look up to him.  I wish I had thanked him and told him that I heard him, clearly.  His words had an impact, and they made me question and evaluate what I was doing with my life.  It was good money when I sold a home.  However, there are many months real estate salesmen make nothing, yet they put in impossible hours.  If I ever was going to get married and be a dad, that kind of job wouldn’t be so great. Bill was probably right.

 It was already March, and I could go back to Point Lookout, and to Good Humor, for the summer.  I was leaning toward finishing college, but I wasn’t set on it. Furthermore, would Notre Dame even think about taking me back, or would I have to transfer to another school?  Also, what would I study?  So back to Long Island I went.  Back to Good Humor, where the money was good, and the work was steady.

[accio-ambition]

Today’s the day! After months of toiling, blood, sweat, and tears, I can finally share with you my second Captain Swan Big Bang! A huge huge huge thank you to my beta @sotheylived for keeping up with my mess of thoughts and outlines and both artists @shipsxahoy and @queen-icicle-fandom for creating beautiful pieces that I couldn’t have ever fathomed into existence. The lovely image you see above is a creation of shipsxahoy and it’s jUST SO PRETTY.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she's happy in the city. It's where the most camera operating jobs are, and that's how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she's never been with people she doesn't know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But with the captain of the ship she's filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: T Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

You can read it on FF or AO3 or below the cut assuming tumblr decides to play nice today. And afterwards, go and check out the other CSBB stories over on @captainswanbigbang

Chapter One

“No, Anna, you’ve got to – no, the other way.” Emma groans, waving her hand in front of her face, careful to miss the expensive camera equipment below it. The woman in front of her scoots five inches, bewildered face smoothly appearing on camera. “Yes, thank you, now you’re in frame.”

“Oh, your left, not mine.”

Emma sighs and straightens up. She can already feel the ache in her back forming. “Yes, Anna, my left.” Glancing over her shoulder, Emma nods solemnly at the director.

“Alright, let’s get this scene started,” he says. Emma backs away from the camera, slowly weaving her way around the rest of the crew. She’s done her job for now. It’s too early and there are sprinkled donuts and bearclaws on the catering table that call her name.

For something that seems like such a low budget gig, this YouTube series employs a surprising amount of people. She’s constantly impressed by it – the sheer number of familiar and unfamiliar faces she passes by in the hallways. Hell, they’re even big enough to have a catering table that asks for requests every once in awhile.

She’s worked for productions with much less.

From the moment Anna cheerfully walked up to her yesterday afternoon as she was packing up, asking for any requests, “because my sister’s sending some things from the bakery,” Emma knew today would be better than most. A bearclaw: the one love/hate relationship she enjoyed in her life.

She spots it 20 feet from the table. It’s got her name on it, literally – a note on blue paper has her name scrawled elegantly across it.

(Elsa really is the best thing about this whole series. God, she should just ask the girl out, that’s how much she likes her.)

The bearclaw hangs right before her mouth, the sugar nearly on her lips, when the devil chimes in, sounding suspiciously like her cellphone.

Groaning, she removes it from her back pocket, sparing a glance at the caller ID. Her interest piques when she reads the name scrawled across it.

“Jefferson?” she answers. “What’s wrong?”

“I call you for the first time in four years and you automatically assume something’s wrong?” the man from the other end asks, too dramatic for his own good.

“Yes,” she says shortly. “The last time you called me, you asked me – broke, mother-of-a-six-year-old me – to bail you out of jail and lend you enough money to pay back that casino you got caught in.” She pauses for effect, then adds, “And then asked me to drive you home.”

“Oh,” Jefferson says on an exhale. “I’d forgotten about that. How is Henry these days?”

Emma sighs, tucking her phone between her shoulder and ear so she can rest her hand on her hip. “Jeff, what do you want?” she asks. “I’m at work right now, they’re going to call me back any minute and I need to e-"

“That’s actually what I’m calling you about,” he interrupts her excitedly.

“What? Jeff, this series is wrapping up, they’re not hiring.”

“No, I’ve got an idea for a show and I’ve gotten the okay for a trial season.”

“What?” This time, her question expresses more disbelief than anything. “That’s great, Jefferson! What’s it about?”

“It’s reality, sort of adventurey,” he explains. “Trawling for lobster and seafood up at the Georges Bank in Maine. Imagine Ice Truckers but with boats.” Her friend goes quiet for so long that Emma takes her phone back in hand to make sure that the call hasn’t dropped. “And I want you to come and shoot it, if that wasn’t obvious already.”

Shaking her head, she mutters, “I don’t like how this sounds.”

“No, Emma, trust me,” Jeff reassures her. “This is gonna be great.”

She sighs, turning away from the food table reluctantly. “Jeff, I can’t just up and move in the blink of an eye, I’ve got Henry.”

Even in the slight din of the studio, Emma can hear her friend mimic her sigh. “I know,” he says resignedly. “I called up David Nolan. He’s in. He and the missus just married and were trying to find a nice place for them.” When she doesn’t immediately respond, Jeff sighs again. “Look, we wouldn’t start filming until after Fourth of July. That gives you a couple months.”

It could work. She wouldn’t have to worry about taking Henry out of school. This project should wrap up by the end of next week. She’d actually have time to find them somewhere nice to live unlike previous times where producers have expected her behind the camera by week’s end. And David – who acted like her big brother when they were in school, always texting her to make sure she got home in once piece – and his girlfriend, now wife apparently, Mary Margaret would be there. For once, they’d be moving to someplace where familiar faces await them.

This could actually work.

“When do you need an answer by?” she asks. Now that the wheels are turning in her head, the plausibility of the whole idea works. She’s got to check with Henry first. No big life decision like this can truly be set in stone until her son has his word.

“I’d like one now, if that’s possible,” Jefferson responds with a chuckle, “but I’ll need it by the end of next week at the latest.”

Nodding her head, Emma concedes. “I’ll get back to you by then, if not sooner.” She hesitates only for a moment before asking, “Everything else alright there, Jeff?”

(They were kind of close, back in the day. Met each other in their first film class, kept in touch and always were down to hold the camera or act in front of it for whatever project caused their headaches at the time.)

“Yeah, great, actually,” he answers. “Grace is doing well. She’s getting really good at math.”

Emma smiles. She recognizes the strength and pride in another parent’s voice. It’s a sentiment that often tinges her own. “She’s a great kid, Jeff. You should be proud of her.” She could go on for days, swapping stories of Henry’s successes and Grace’s troubles and vice versa. It’s been a long time since she’s had a conversation with a good friend of hers. All Emma wants is for this phone conversation to just devolve into a catch up session, but she hears her name from set. Rolling her eyes, she groans. “I’ve got to get back to work, Jeff, but I’ll let you know my answer as soon as I have one,” she says.

“Thanks, Em,” Jeff tells her softly. “Tell Henry Grace and I say hi.”

“Of course.” Her name bounces off the artificially lit walls again, louder and more agitated. She sighs, again. “Bye, Jeff. Take care of yourselves.”

“Always do.”

Ending the call, Emma looks from her darkened phone screen to the uneaten pastry. She looks at it forlornly for a moment before shoving it in her mouth with one hand and her phone in her back pocket with the other.

No such thing as free time in show business.

0000

Broaching the topic of moving – yet again, for what’s probably the third time in as many years – proves more difficult than Emma’s expecting. Jefferson’s offer is somewhat ideal: the opportunity to meet up with old friends, as well as provide her son a more stable environment to grow up in. Or, at least, finish growing up in.

She picks Henry up from school that afternoon and, like any good parent, takes him out to ice cream for dinner.

“Where are we going this time?” he asks, chocolate raspberry swirl dripping off the tip of his nose.

Stopping her tongue mid-lick on mint chocolate chip, Emma reels back. She’s stunned, to say the least.  “What do you mean?” she asks, lowering the cone in her hand to rest it on the table.

Her son sighs, his shoulders rolling forward just the slightest bit. “We only get ice cream for dinner when you’re trying to tell me we have to pack and move in record time.” Henry shrugs, nonchalant, and renews his attack on his ice cream. “So,” he says between licks, “where are we going now?”

“Nowhere, yet.” Recovering from her brief shock, she too returns to her dinner. “Jefferson called me earlier today and said he’s got a gig for me up in Maine.”

“Maine? Like next-to-Canada Maine?”

“The same one,” Emma chuckles. Her son’s always had such a way with words. “Also, he told me to tell you that he and Grace say hello.”

Henry makes a face, scrunching up his nose, and waves off the hellos like they’re a bug buzzing in his face. “Mom, do you realize how far away that is?” he asks.

“I know kid, but I think it’s got potential,” she reasons. “It’s for a TV show about the ocean and boats.”

That catches his attention. “Like pirate ships?” he asks excitedly, eyes wide and ice cream temporarily forgotten.

“No, like fishing boats,” she explains, leaning forward to wipe at some of the ice cream that’s melted down his chin. “Filming doesn’t start until after the Fourth of July, so you wouldn’t miss any school and you’d have some time to acclimate and find new friends before it starts up again. We can find a place we both like up there.” Settling back into her seat across from him, Emma sends him a small smile. “What do you think?”

She watches her son process the information, sees the cogs turning about in his head. He’s quiet for a minute, staring off into the space his ice cream occupies. Then Henry shrugs.

“I don’t know, Mom,” he says. “Doesn’t it get really cold up there?”

“Yeah, but think about it. We can find a house with a fireplace and when it snows, we can curl up and drink cocoa and marathon Star Wars until we can’t see straight.” At the mention of winter weather, she watches Henry’s eyes grow wide and glossy. She can tell he’s lost in his own active imagination.

And then the thought strikes her: “You’ve never seen snow before, have you?”

Henry shakes his head. “Maybe once in real life, but mostly on TV,” he admits sheepishly. And then, like kids tend to do, his tone does a 180. “We could build a snowman!”

“Exactly!” Emma shouts, nearly throwing her ice cream at her son in the process. There’s more of the dessert on the napkin around her cone than in it, but she quickly finishes it up before speaking again. “You don’t need to tell me what you think right now. Give it a couple days.”

“When do you need to tell Jefferson?” Henry asks, his tongue making a round about the edge of his cone, trying in vain to catch all of it before it falls on his hand.

“By the end of next week,” she answers. “So instead of daydreaming in class about the next Uncharted game, think about this instead, alright?”

“Okay.” Henry finishes up his ice cream, shoving the last bite into his mouth and sighing contently as he chews. Once he swallows, he matches her gaze. “Does this mean we’re going to have something else for dinner too?”

Emma laughs despite herself. “Are you still hungry, kid?”

“I am a growing boy, I need my nutrients,” he quips back.

As her laughter dying down, she shakes her head. “We can stop at McDonald’s or something on the way home.”

Stretching and closing his eyes, Henry says, “I was thinking more along the lines of pizza.”

“Oh yeah?” she chuckles.

“Yeah. A large half cheese, half pepperoni.” Opening his eyes again, he grins slyly when he says, “And then you can get whatever you want on your pizza.”

Emma laughs so hard that her stomach begins to hurt. Henry’s already on his way to the car, but she manages to catch up, grabbing him by the shoulders and ruffling his hair. He’s still small enough that when she pulls him into her side for a hug, he can’t resist her strength. But she can’t lift him anymore, can��t hold him when he’s tired and falls asleep in the backseat of the Bug.

It always strikes her how quickly her little boy is growing up. She just never seems to realize it. It feels like only yesterday she was taking her first steps as a free woman, a newborn cradled in her arms and no idea of where to go from there.

Ten years later, Henry’s growing taller, looking more and more like his father every day. It hurts her heart, being reminded of her first love every time she looks at her son and the long line of mistakes that gave her him, but then he sasses her back or crinkles his nose like she does and the aches are soothed.

Though he may look like his father, Henry is most definitely her son.

0000

When the TV’s off for the night and Henry’s sitting at the kitchen table scribbling out his book report, Emma scrolls through her phone on the hunt for a number. She’s sure she still has it somewhere in her contacts, it hasn’t been that long since they’ve talked.

Or has it?

With how close the three of them were back in her short college years, she assumes that she would have been invited to David and Mary Margaret’s wedding. They were as thick as thieves until she took the fall for an actual one and spent her second year of college in a jail cell instead of the library. But they came and visited her when time afforded it. Emma tried to call David at least once every couple of months just to make sure everything was okay for them.

But thinking about it now, with her and Henry moving much more often and the crazy shooting schedules she’s always forced to adhere to, Emma can’t remember the last time she actually spoke with David.

“Aha!” She finds his number under the name Darlingest Charmsicle, the name she and another friend came up with when Mary Margaret first called David her “Prince Charming.” Before she can second guess herself, Emma presses the green call button and brings the phone up to her ear.

It rings and rings, and with each passing tone, she contemplates hanging up altogether. How long has it been since she talked to David? The longer she considers it, the more she wishes that the ringing would just end in an automated voicemail.

Alas, she’s never been that lucky in her life, for just as she senses the voicemail robot about to pick up, the man himself finally answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi David. It’s me,” she says meekly. Emma then starts to clarify. It’s not like she calls him every day. “It’s-”

“Emma,” he interrupts her happily. “God, how are you? How’s Henry? Is everything okay?”

The relief that floods her body is welcome, even if she didn’t realize how tense she was. “Yeah, everything’s fine with us. We’re down in Phoenix while I finish up a YouTube series.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“How about you guys?” she asks suggestively, settling her hip against the kitchen counter. “Heard through the grapevine that congratulations are in order?”

David chuckles. “Thank you. It was small, just us at the courthouse and family. Mary Margaret wanted to save some money and have a huge party instead without the trouble of an actual ceremony.” He sighs contently. “We got back from our honeymoon last week.”

“And how is marital bliss treating you two?”

“Perfectly.” And with that earnest sense of genuity he always manages to embody, David says, “She’s the love of my life and now I get to call her my wife.”

She can’t help the scoff that falls from her lips. He was always like this, even before he and Mary Margaret officially started dating. He just spewed chivalry helplessly and, just as uncontrollably, she always teased him back.

(Emma may not know how much time has passed since they’ve spoken, but falling back into old conversation habits makes her heart warm.)

“Aww, David, that’s so sweet, it makes me want to puke.”

“Ha, c’mon, you can’t expect me to say anything different.” They both laugh, and once they calm themselves, David asks, “So what has you calling me this late at night after so long?”

“Right, time zone, I forgot you two were on East Coast time.” She mentally scolds herself. Now she understands why he sounded a bit worried at the onset. It’s got to be close to 11 p.m. for him, and no good call comes that late at night.

“It’s fine, really,” he reassures her, “it’s not that late and we’re probably going to be up late anyways.”

Grimacing, and even physically recoiling, Emma mutters, “Gross.”

David sighs on the other end of the line. She can imagine him rubbing his forehead out of frustration. “Mary Margaret’s grading and I’ve got some pictures to edit.”

“Oh.” To be fair, she hadn’t explicitly been thinking about her friends crawling into bed together to dance the horizontal tango. Then again, what else do newlyweds do late at night?

Shaking her head to rid her mind of the image, she changes the subject to the real reason she dug so far into her contacts. “Well, Jefferson called me the other day.”

“Did he recruit you for the Maine trawling project?” he asks.

“Tried to. I still haven’t given him an answer yet.”

“I think it’s going to be fun,” David says. “I did a little bit of research on the town he wants to focus on and it’s…” He goes quiet before finding the word he wants: “Quaint.”

When he doesn’t explain further, she prompts him. “Meaning?”

“Small,” he says. “Real small. Everybody-knows-the-dirt-on-everybody small.”

“Oh,” she says softly. That could be both a blessing and a curse, given what’s happened to her in her life. She’s got secrets, just like everyone else, which could either stay excellently hidden or come out in a flash if the town’s anything like she’s imagining. The former would be her choice, but with all these strangers digging for information on the new folks in town…that latter one could be detrimental not only for her, but for Henry.

“It’s got its own harbor and a nice forest just outside of town,” David continues, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “We think it’d be a great place to raise a family. We’ve been in the city so long that we both kind of forget what it’s like to live like that.”

“Huh.” It’s all she can really say while processing her friend’s reasoning.

Seems solid enough.

“What’s keeping you from deciding, Emma?” David inquires. “Henry?”

She’s shaking her head before she realizes that his voice comes from the phone at her ear and not a physical being in front of her. “I told him about it and he didn’t say no off the bat, but…” Tongue poking out between her lips, she clucks at herself. “I feel bad. I’ve uprooted him too much in his life. I don’t want him to have to wait until college to make real friends.” And when she gets to the root of her problem, it hits her ton of bricks.

“I don’t want him to feel alone like I did,” she whispers.

“I’m sure he doesn’t, Emma.” Like it always was, David’s voice is calming. It keeps her from trying to strangle herself, her arm wrapping tightly around her waist. “He’s got you. And if you come out here, he’ll have us and Jefferson and Grace and the rest of the kids in town.” He pauses and she can’t tell if he’s trying to think of other benefits of this town or he’s run out of things completely. “If Henry says yes, then would you come?”

“Probably.” Emma shrugs and sighs. “I just want him to be happy, David.”

“I know, but don’t forget about your happiness as well,” he advises. That’s what he does: David always put things into perspective for her. “Look, I’ve gotta go, Emma. My wife is calling for me.”

Shuddering, Emma pushes off the counter and slowly makes her way back to Henry and his homework. “Ew, ew, I don’t want to know,” she mumbles. Then, more genuinely, she adds, “I’m glad you guys finally tied the knot. Tell Mary Margaret I say hi.”

“No problem. Good luck with the decision. Call me when you’ve made up your mind.”

“Okay. And David?” Emma hesitates to put her emotions into words, but if she doesn’t acknowledge the elephant on the line, she won’t be able to sleep soundly until she settles it. “Sorry I haven’t called in a while.”

She really is. It’s her fault, much like a lot of other things in her life, that they’ve gone so long without talking. Those first couple of weeks, maybe even months, after his graduation, David had tried to call her. Had called her maybe once a week, if not more. But the more time she spent with Henry, traveling around and looking for jobs to make ends meet, the less he tried to call until finally, one day, the calls stopped all together.  

“Nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad you finally did.”

“Me too,” she says with a small smile.

“Goodnight,” David bids her.

“Night.”

Her conversation leaves her in a weird state of content and confused. David has a point in everything he said. But then again, she’s been on the move – or may be more accurately, on the run – for so long that even attempting to settle down would harm more than help her.

She ponders her friend’s words for another silent moment before clapping her hands and approaching Henry. The apartment has only grown darker while she spoke with David, so now the kitchen light dangling above her son is a spotlight on his apparent struggle.

“So how goes the homework?” she asks.

Henry leans forward and taps his head against the table before lolling it back to look at her upside down. “My brain is fried, I’m dying, all the blood is going to my stomach,” he groans. Throwing an arm haphazardly in the air, he has the gall to scold her. “See, this is what you get when you feed your son ice cream for dinner.”

“Uh, no,” she laughs aloud. “This is what you get when you claim an entire large pizza for yourself.” Gently, Emma pushes his head back up and sits down next to him. She peers over at the journal before him, half written thoughts on the lines and little doodles in the margins. “C’mon, this looks like a good start. Talk to me. Talk me through it.”

As Henry begins explaining the prompt, she tries – really tries – to focus on it. She wants to help her son with his report, but David’s words and Jeff’s offer still simmer in the back of her mind.

Seems like Henry isn’t the only one who can’t mold his thoughts into coherent ideas tonight.

[ask-the-phan-site]

Phan Cam: The Night Club of Greed

>Flashback. The Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology in the year 2013. In a lab, a young scientist was working on her research when someone came in.

You look like you’re working hard.

Science never takes a break.

Boss: But I’m sure it wouldn’t mind if you did. Here, I brought some coffee.

Wakaba: (taking the coffee) Thanks, Sakura san.

Boss: You know, you can call me Sojiro, or Boss.

Wakaba: (not noticing from her coffee) You said something?

Never mind.

>Then, a lab assistant comes in.

Lab assistant: Excuse me, Isshiki Hakase, there’s someone here to see you.

Wakaba: Very well. Send them in.

>Then, someone else came in.

(imagine him young) Wakaba Isshiki, at last we meet.

Wakaba: Dr. Ezra Greene. What brings you all the way from the states?

Doc Greene: I heard you began working on some new research. Something called... Cognitive psience. I had to see this for myself.

Wakaba: I am... But you can’t see it.

Doc Greene: I understand. You wish to keep that research for yourself until it’s been completed. Well, I can’t wait to see.

Wakaba: Believe me, it’s going to knock your goggles off.

?????: I’m not even going to point out how wrong that saying is.

>They quickly turn to see the newcomer in the lab.

Boss: (unimpressed) I didn’t think you would be coming today.

I come when I am needed.

Wakaba: I believe you are not needed now after your correction. So I suggest you leave.

Shido: I’d watch what you say... You never know the reaction.

Boss: Come off it, Shido, why are you really here?

Shido: I have heard that someone from the states was coming to visit and I had to see it for myself. To think it would be the great Doc Greene of Griffin Rock.

Doc Greene: I’m not sure whether to be honored... Or not.

Shido: (sarcastic) Very funny. I also came to see how the project is coming along.

Wakaba: Still coming along.

Shido: That’s good to hear. I hope you will complete it soon...

I just can’t wait.

You’re rather impatient about this, Shido.

Shido: As I have already told Isshiki Hakase, you better watch what you say to me, Sakura...

Don’t want to be cast overboard when I’m in charge of this country.

>With that, Shido leaves. As he does, a whimpering sound can be heard under a nearby table.

Wakaba: It’s okay, Futaba, you can come out now. He’s gone.

>Then, a small girl comes out from under the table.

12-year-old Futaba: (a bit scared) Are you sure?

Wakaba: Very sure.

Doc Greene: Is that your daughter?

Wakaba: She is.

Doc Greene: I see. Hello, Futaba is it? Actually, I have a daughter around your age.

12-year-old Futaba: Y- You do?

Doc Greene: Yes. Her name is Francine. But everyone just calls her Frankie. But she’ll always be my Little Einstein.

12-year-old Futaba: Did... Did she come with you?

Doc Greene: Sadly, no. She has much to do back home... But I’m sure you two will meet someday.

12-year-old Futaba: (a little more happier) Okay. I’ll look forward to it.

Doc Greene: I’m sure she will like that, too... And that man...

Boss: Don’t pay Masayoshi Shido any mind. He’s all talk and no bite.

Wakaba: (looking down) ...

Boss: Is something wrong, Wakaba?

Wakaba: (quickly smiling) It’s nothing. Anyway, it’s been nice meeting you, Greene Hakasei.

Doc Greene: Same to you.

>With that, Doc Greene and Boss leave the lab while Wakaba returns to her research.

>The Griffin Rock Firehouse Headquarters, present day. After explaining what I learned from Mashima to the Phantom Thieves and Fuuka, we all agreed on our next target.

I’ve heard of Madeline Pynch from my father. She’s a business woman who would do anything to profit herself.

And by anything, I guess you mean... Anything.

Haru: Pretty much. If it sounds like she does have a Palace, we should probably investigate.

Do we have the time to do that? What with what happened to Ryuji kun?

I’ve already finished by testing with Miles, Doc, and the others for the day. I’m sure they wouldn't mind that I keep doin’ the whole Phantom Thief thing.

Fuuka: I suppose you’re right. But we’ll have to come up with a good cover story to explain why we’re gone.

Leave that to me. I told the Chief and Doc Greene that we’re just going to take a walk around town. And we on’t be back until dinner.

I guess it’ll have to do. I just hope they’ll believe it.

Then I guess we’re off.

(putting on his ID Mask) Right. As Heatwave would say, “Roll to the rescue!”

>And we left... We didn’t see Doc Greene watching us with concern.

I should let him know.

>We searched and searched until we found the Pynch’s mansion.

This is the place. I already check the Navigator. Her Palace is here.

A rich person’s mansion being their Palace seems like a cliche.

But you gotta admit, there’s not place safer.

No doubt about that. We know the who and the where, now we just need the what.

Well, we know she like money a lot. Maybe it’s like with Kaneshiro. Maybe her Palace is a bank.

Nav: Conditions have not been met.

Makoto: It still has to be someplace that deals with money. I can only guess it’s a casino.

Nav: Conditions have not been met.

Fuuka: What about a mint? That’s where they make money.

Nav: Conditions have not been met.

Makoto: Mints only make coins. We need someplace that deals with coins and paper money. Someplace... Luxurious.

Ryuji: What about a fancy hotel? If it works for the “Spray Tan” President, it must work for the Pynch lady.

Nav: Conditions have not been met.

Diego: No. It must be someplace that’s both luxurious and sleazy.

>Both Deucey Twins just looked at each other in silence.

Diego: You both know, don’t you?

Jared and Jesse: ... A night club.

Nav: Results found.

Ryuji: It’s a hit! How’d you guys know?

Jesse: ... Whenever we visit our dad in prison, he would tell us stories about how some rich people with dirty money often hang out in night clubs.

Jared: It’s a little too much for us to handle, but we put up with it as best we can.

I see. You both are very tough and brave to put up with him.

Jared: You really think so?

Jesse: Of course he thinks so.

Jared and Jesse: Deucey Bros, go!

Diego: Alright, as they would say... Let’s boogie!

Ryuji: (unimpressed) Yer letting your human form really get to your head.

Diego: (smug) You’re just jealous because I have one and you don’t.

Ryuji: ... Touche.

>Suddenly, we hear something... It sounded like a car. But we didn’t have time to think as the red wave passes over us. When it’s over, the Pynch Mansion was now replaced with a giant night club.

Here it is. This is what Madeline Pynch sees her home as.

Skull: (taking off his ID Mask) God dammit, this place hurts my eyes!

Mine, too. How much neon does a place like this need?

Not enough, I guess.

Let’s take a closer look.

>We approach the entrance. There’s a Shadow made to look like a club bouncer at the door.

Shadow: Hey, are you on the list?

I beg your pardon?

Shadow: Do you even have an ID?

I think he’s asking if we are on the guest list or if we have IDs to get in.

I don’t have one. I was in cat form most of the time.

Shadow: Unless you’re on the list or have an ID, I can’t let you in... But I am willing to look the other way... At a price.

Asking for a bribe? That’s definitely cliche to a sleazy night club.

Fuuka: I don’t think it would be a good idea to give him our IDs or pay him. We’re going to have to find another way.

?????: Leave that to me.

>We quickly turn to see a car.

Skull: (surprised) It’s...

>Then, the car transforms.

I think you better let them in.

Shadow: (surprised) Oh, shit! You’re one of them Rescue Bots. Madame Pynch says you guys are welcome. And if these riff-raft are with you, I’ll let them in, too... But first, they gotta prove themselves.

>With that, the Shadow changes its shape.

Blurr: (surprised) Oh, man! What is that thing!?

Oracle: Nothing we can’t handle. These guys are useless against magic.

Joker: I’ll take him on.

Panther: I’m fighting, too.

Mona: As will I, Lady Panther.

Queen: Don’t leave me out of this.

Joker: Then it’s decided.

Joker, Panther, Mona, and Queen: Persona!

>Oni makes the first move. He attacks with Rampage. We all dodge it. Arsene uses Eiga. Carmen uses Agilao. It Burns him. Zorro uses Garula. It was a technical hit due to the Burn. Johanna uses Freila. Another technical hit. Oni uses Memory Blow. I Forget how to use my Persona. The Burn eats away at Oni’s health. I choose to defend myself. Carmen uses Tarunda to lower Oni’s attack. Zorro uses Patra to cure me of Forgetting. Johanna uses Marakukaja. Oni uses Memory Blow again. Luckily, no one Forgot this time. The Burn hurts him again. Arsene uses Sukunda. Carmen uses Agilao. Zorror uses Garula and Johanna uses Freila. Both were technical hits. The Burn wears off. Oni uses Snap on Mona. Arsene uses Eiga. Carmen uses uses Agilao. Oni got Burned. Zorro uses Garula and Johanna uses Freila. They were both technical hits. Oni uses Giant Slice on Panther. It knocks her down. The Burn effects him. He attacks me. The Burn effects him again. Arsene uses Eiga. Panther gets back up and uses Agilao. Zorro uses Garula. But Oni dodges it. Johanna uses Freila. Another technical hit and Oni’s health was now low.

Oracle: Super move! Ultra Charge!

Fuuka: I’ll help, too! Persona!

Oracle: Alright, let’s do it!

>Necronomicon uses Charge and Concentrate on us with Juno’s help. Oni uses Rampage. Arsene uses Eigaon, Carmen uses Agidyne, Zorro uses Garudyne, and Johanna uses Atomic Flare. Oni uses Memory Blow. Mona Forgot how to use his Persona. Not that it wouldn’t matter now. The Burn takes some of his health. Arsene uses Eigaon and Carmen uses Agidyne. With that, Oni was gone.

Thanks for the help, Fuuka chan!

Fuuka: (smiling) You, too, Futaba chan.

Queen: Now that that’s out of the way...

How did you find us?

Blurr: I followed you, how else?

Panther: But how did you even know where to find us?

Blurr: Well... Umm...

>Blurr looks like he’s at a lost for words.

Skull: Give him some time. He’ll tell us.

Blurr: (smiling) Thanks... Ryuji san.

Skull: (shocked) What!? How did...

???????: Perhaps we can answer that.

>We looked to see the Velvet Room door open as Lavenza and Doctor Strange come out.

Crow: Strange Sensei, you’ve finally arrived...

And why do you look like that?

Agent Coulson is not the only one who can make himself in anime.

I’m not impressed.

Doctor Strange: Really? Would you rather I come in this?

That hair, that beard, and that cape are way too much. Alright, the other one is good. Now please change back.

Doctor Strange: (changing back) Glad to hear it. I’ll never understand how the Stephen Strange of Earth-14042 got through life looking like that. Honestly, I looked like the Caretaker of the House of Mystery attempting to look like a rock star or someone from a romance.

>Meanwhile, at the House of Mystery...

ACHOO!!!

>He also felt his ear burning.

Someone is speaking about me.

>Back in the Metaverse.

Returning to the subject at hand, I wish to explain this. The truth is... Harold Lyman is no longer the only one whose mind has been joined.

>We were shocked.

Skull: For real!? It’s just Harry now!?

Panther: If that’s true, wouldn’t that mean Blurr’s mind and Harry’s mind are not...

Lavenza: I do not know. Your connection to Harold Lyman and Goro Akechi’s connection to Peter Parker is still a mystery even to me. The only one who would know would be my master. But he has already fulfilled his assistance to your leader and has left to assist another.

You mean the Persona 6 Protagonist.

Lavenza: ... It is too soon to say.

Blurr: Either way, I kind of already felt connected to you guys for a while now.

Oracle: Have you now?

Doctor Strange: In a way, he is. But I think we should discuss this someplace safe.

Fuuka: He’s right. The Shadows know about the fight and might be on their way.

Joker: Right. We better beat it.

>With that, we leave.

>The Rescue Bot Training Center on the main land. There, we were forced to tell the rest of the Rescue Team about us being the Phantom Thieves... Sorry, Miles, we even told them about you being Spider Kid.

This could be a problem.

It’s okay, Miles. I don’t think we’re going to report you anytime soon... But Dad and Chase...

He has a point, Miles. I know your friends did a lot of good things with the best intentions... But forcing someone to have a change of heart is just not right.

I do not understand, Chief. How is changing someone's blood organ wrong?

Chief Burns: It’s not that kind of heart, Chase.

(groans) And this is why you Autobots will never truly belong on Earth.

Now that’s a little mean, Lucy.

Lucy: I’m just saying.

Miles: Anyway, please don’t arrest them. Everyone loves them. You would be making a lot of people unhappy.

Chief Burns: I’m still not so sure.

Miles: Look, I understand how you feel. Believe me, my dad’s a cop.

Ren: But not a chief of police. That’s Gwen’s story.

Miles: That reminds me, I should probably call her to check up on Harry.

Blurr: And while you’re at it, see if she can convince the Chief.

Miles: I’ll see what I can do.

>Miles opens his laptop and calls Gwen on video phone. She picks up after three rings.

Hi, Miles. How’s Griffin Rock?

Miles: It’s fine. Doc Greene even said he’ll talk at the summer seminar. And how is Harry?

Gwen: (groans) I don’t know what that guy’s thinking. We keep telling him to rest, but he insists that he go out do the hero thing.

Miles: Seriously? What does Pete say?

Gwen: He didn’t even object. I guess it has something to do with all these bad guys that keep showing up. Either way, I just wish they would see reason.

Miles: And why’s that?

Gwen: Well, ever since all these bad guys showed up... Peter’s been working non-stop to deal with them. I guess Harry just wanted to help him. He knows he can’t do it alone.

Miles: I just hope things will be okay with them. Their love should brave through anything.

...

Ryuji: (looking down) ...

Miles: Hey, is something wrong?

Ryuji: It’s... It’s nothin’. Anyway, ‘bout Gwen’s old man?

Miles: Oh right. Gwen, Chief Burns found out that our friends are the Phantom Thieves. I tried convincing him not to arrest them by bring up my dad, but I think the daughter of another police chief could convince him better. Can you help?

Gwen: I don’t know if that sounds right, but I’ll see what I can do. Chief Burns?

Chief Burns: Yes. You’re Gwen Stacy, right? Miles says you’re father’s a police chief himself.

Gwen: Technically, he’s a police captain. Captain George Stacy. But still, I get why you would think Ren and his friends would be guilty of such crimes, but does anyone in the world think that?

Chief Burns: Well, no. I just don’t think changing Madeline Pynch’s heart would be such a good idea. What if something goes wrong?

Makoto: Understand, Chief Burns, we’ve been doing this for sometime. We know what we’re doing.

Chief Burns: ...

As much as I hate to admit it, they might be right... And I know Blurr and Graham would like it.

Chief Burns: ...

Besides, when are we ever going to get a chance to do this again?

Chief Burns: ...

??? ??????: Please understand them, Charlie.

>We turn to see Doc Greene come in.

Chief Burns: ... Why must everyone gang up on me? Fine, I’ll let them go on with this.

Ren: You would?

Chief Burns: But if something goes wrong, promise that you’ll back out. Let’s not forget the real reason you came to Griffin Rock.

Thanks, we won’t.

Yusuke: By the way, Cody san, why would you say Graham and Blurr would be happy with us doing this?

Blurr: Well, remember when I said that I had a connection with you guys?

Yusuke: Yes?

Blurr: Well... Try not to get upset.

>Blurr leads us to his secret spot in the center. There, he showed us his collection of Phantom Thieves stuff.

That’s a lot of Phantom Thieves stuff.

I guess we have an alien Phanboy.

Graham: He’s... Not the only one.

>Graham unbuttons his shirt and opens it to show... A Phantom Thieves T shirt.

Graham, I didn’t know you were one, too.

Graham: I was a little embarrassed. I didn’t want anyone to think I’m falling for trends.

Diego: You’ll find we’re more than a trend.

Kade: (unhappy) Either way, it’s taking a huge toll on my credit card.

Dani: Only because you spend it a lot on hair-care products.

Kade: Hey, gotta take care of this hair while I still have it.

Self-centered as always.

Still, it’s nice to know that we can learn more of Earth’s culture. They say you work with something called Persons?

Futaba: It’s actually Personas.

Doc Greene: It’s a power you use in the cognitive world.

Futaba: You know about it, Doc?

Doc Greene: I have your mother to thank for that.

What do you mean?

Doc Greene: Futaba chan, there’s something I should have told you... I knew your mother. I met her. And, I don’t know if you remember... But I met you as well.

Futaba: I think I might remember.

Makoto: I’m not surprised. After her mother’s death, Futaba chan became a shut-in and started having delusions caused by cruel adults.

Doc Greene: I see. I’m sorry about that.

It’s okay. Thanks to these guys, I’m better now. Now I’m returning the favor. Including saving Ryuji.

Doc Greene: (smiling) Then I’ll be looking forward to working with you.

Looks like all’s well that ends well... By the way, I know some of you know that they’re the Phantom Thieves... Does that include Aquaman?

Makoto: That would be difficult. I already called Dr. Choi ahead of time to keep him distracted... I wonder how he’s doing it?

>Meanwhile, on the beach...

Welcome to the Annual Miss Griffin Rock Pageant! This year’s going to be very special because of our special guest judges. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the King of the Sea and the World’s Smallest Hero, Aquaman and the Atom!

>Everyone cheered as the two heroes come on stage.

I hope Mera does storm over for this.

Don’t worry. If she asks, I’ll just tell her I dragged you along... Which isn’t entirely a lie. There’s always something about women whose beauty equal their intelligence that always grabs my attention.

>Aquaman was just silent.

>Not the real job begins.

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The KKK, Jesus Christ & The 12 Thugs: What Being a Christian Really Looks Like

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By Preston Sprinkle

Christian subcultures are an entertaining phenomenon. Multiple brands of Christianity claim the same Lord and read the same Bible, and yet they promote a set of values sometimes as different as apples and orangutans.

I once heard a story about a Christian woman from the East Coast who confronted a West Coast youth-pastor, who allowed “mixed bathing” at youth events. “I can’t believe any so-called Christian leader would allow boys and girls to swim together!” She expressed her concern, all the while puffing on a cigarette. The youth pastor couldn’t help but smile, speechless at the irony.

I attended a conservative Brethren church when I lived in Scotland. Some of the women wore head coverings and none of them spoke in church. When I had our Irish pastor and his wife over for dinner, I asked them what he would like to drink. “Beer please,” the preacher said. “And for you, madam?” “I’ll take a glass of Chardonnay, thank you.” Were they liberal or conservative? I guess it depends on which subculture you come from.

When you try to cut out Christians with a religious cookie cutter, you not only tarnish diversity, but you trample on grace. It’s one thing for Christian subcultures to cultivate unique values. But it becomes destructive when those values are chiseled on Sinaitic tablets for all to obey.

It’s even worse when Christians expect instant holiness from recent converts — holiness, that is, in areas where we think we’ve nailed it.

It’s a shame that some believers have scoffed at some of Shia Labeouf’s comments about converting to Christianity, pointing fingers at the fact that he still uses bad language weeks after becoming a Christian. It’s worth noting that some are speculating that Labeouf’s conversion may have actually been more of a rather dramatic example of method acting than a true conversion but, regardless, many Christians chose to focus on his language instead of his heart. God only knows the true believers from the false. But to judge a man’s faith because there’s a residue of potty mouth?

Bad language may take years to weed out. Even more difficult to extract is the pride that drives judgmental Christians to mock the Spirit’s work in a man seeking his Creator. That sin could take decades to discover. Grace means that we are all works in progress, and God shaves off our rough edges in His timing. Just look at the thugs God works with in the Bible.

I know we’re programmed to see the 12 apostles as saints with halos and contemplative faces. But actually, they were criminals. These guys were more like prisoners than pastors, and few of them would have been let inside our churches today.

Take Peter, for instance. Peter walked with Jesus for three years, witnessing miracle after miracle, sermon after sermon. Still, on the night before Jesus’ death, a servant girl asked Peter if he knew Jesus. “I do not know the man!” Peter responded. And he even evoked a curse on himself to prove he wasn’t lying (Matthew 26:74).

Can you imagine if your pastor did that? “Good morning, church. I just want to say that I don’t even know who Jesus is!” We have a hard time forgiving pastors who commit adultery. I don’t think we’d know how to handle a pastor who had a public bout with doubt.

Then there’s James and John, whom Jesus nicknames “sons of thunder.” Apparently, they never made it through an anger management seminar. On one occasion, these two hotheads wanted to nuke an entire village because they wouldn’t let them spend the night (Luke 9:51-56). The whole village — women and children. Luckily, Jesus stepped in to prevent the destruction. These two holy apostles would have been better fit as bouncers outside an expensive casino in Vegas owned by a mobster, than preachers of the gospel of love.

My favorite pair is Simon the “Zealot” and Matthew the tax-collector. How did those two thugs get along?

Matthew’s vocation was nothing less than political and religious treason. Tax-collectors were Jewish agents of Rome, who mediated pagan oppression through taking money from innocent people. Imagine if you found out that your childhood friend was making a living off funneling money to ISIS. Would you use him to plant a church? Apparently, Jesus did.

Tax-collectors were more than extortionists. They were known for living excessively immoral lives and hanging out with all the wrong people. Religious Jews, in fact, believed that tax-collectors were past the point of repentance. Matthew didn’t have a moral bone in his body. But of course, after becoming a Christian, he immediately stopped sinning and never used bad language ever again.

Yeah right.

 Simon, as a “Zealot,” probably grew up on the other side of the tracks. The “Zealots” were named such not because they were prayer warriors. They were just warriors — Jewish jihadists. The “Zealots” were known for killing their Roman oppressors or other Jews who were sell-outs. They were aggressive, violent and they did anything but love their enemies. Had Simon met Matthew on the streets, there’s a good chance one of them would have been found lying in chalk.

To build His Kingdom, Jesus handpicks what could be compared to the leader of the Black Panther party and the grand wizard of the KKK. I doubt anyone closed their eyes at that first prayer meeting.

You cannot sanitize grace. You can’t stuff it into a blue blazer and make it wear khakis. Grace is messy, offensive and it sometimes misses church. To expect God to pump prefabricated plastic moral people out of a religious factory is to neuter grace and chain it inside a gated community. If God’s scandalous relationship with the 12 thugs means anything, then we should expect a variegated spectrum of righteousness and be patient — or repentant — when such sanctification doesn’t meet our expectations. God meets us in our mess and pushes holiness out the other side.

Not anti-mixed-bathing holiness. But the real stuff. The holiness that serves the poor, prays without ceasing, redeems the arts, loves enemies, elevates community above corporate success, and preaches the life-giving Gospel of a crucified and risen Lamb in season and out.

About the Author: Preston Sprinkle is the author of Charis: God’s Scandalous Grace for Us and he blogs at prestonsprinkle.com. See more from Preston on his website.

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This Pastor Has a Message for the Men Who Murdered His Pregnant Wife—& It’ll Rock You to the Core

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Read more: https://faithit.com/kkk-jesus-christ-12-thugs-christian-really-looks-like-preston-sprinkle/

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The KKK, Jesus Christ & The 12 Thugs: What Being a Christian Really Looks Like

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By Preston Sprinkle

Christian subcultures are an entertaining phenomenon. Multiple brands of Christianity claim the same Lord and read the same Bible, and yet they promote a set of values sometimes as different as apples and orangutans.

I once heard a story about a Christian woman from the East Coast who confronted a West Coast youth-pastor, who allowed “mixed bathing” at youth events. “I can’t believe any so-called Christian leader would allow boys and girls to swim together!” She expressed her concern, all the while puffing on a cigarette. The youth pastor couldn’t help but smile, speechless at the irony.

I attended a conservative Brethren church when I lived in Scotland. Some of the women wore head coverings and none of them spoke in church. When I had our Irish pastor and his wife over for dinner, I asked them what he would like to drink. “Beer please,” the preacher said. “And for you, madam?” “I’ll take a glass of Chardonnay, thank you.” Were they liberal or conservative? I guess it depends on which subculture you come from.

When you try to cut out Christians with a religious cookie cutter, you not only tarnish diversity, but you trample on grace. It’s one thing for Christian subcultures to cultivate unique values. But it becomes destructive when those values are chiseled on Sinaitic tablets for all to obey.

It’s even worse when Christians expect instant holiness from recent converts — holiness, that is, in areas where we think we’ve nailed it.

It’s a shame that some believers have scoffed at some of Shia Labeouf’s comments about converting to Christianity, pointing fingers at the fact that he still uses bad language weeks after becoming a Christian. It’s worth noting that some are speculating that Labeouf’s conversion may have actually been more of a rather dramatic example of method acting than a true conversion but, regardless, many Christians chose to focus on his language instead of his heart. God only knows the true believers from the false. But to judge a man’s faith because there’s a residue of potty mouth?

Bad language may take years to weed out. Even more difficult to extract is the pride that drives judgmental Christians to mock the Spirit’s work in a man seeking his Creator. That sin could take decades to discover. Grace means that we are all works in progress, and God shaves off our rough edges in His timing. Just look at the thugs God works with in the Bible.

I know we’re programmed to see the 12 apostles as saints with halos and contemplative faces. But actually, they were criminals. These guys were more like prisoners than pastors, and few of them would have been let inside our churches today.

Take Peter, for instance. Peter walked with Jesus for three years, witnessing miracle after miracle, sermon after sermon. Still, on the night before Jesus’ death, a servant girl asked Peter if he knew Jesus. “I do not know the man!” Peter responded. And he even evoked a curse on himself to prove he wasn’t lying (Matthew 26:74).

Can you imagine if your pastor did that? “Good morning, church. I just want to say that I don’t even know who Jesus is!” We have a hard time forgiving pastors who commit adultery. I don’t think we’d know how to handle a pastor who had a public bout with doubt.

Then there’s James and John, whom Jesus nicknames “sons of thunder.” Apparently, they never made it through an anger management seminar. On one occasion, these two hotheads wanted to nuke an entire village because they wouldn’t let them spend the night (Luke 9:51-56). The whole village — women and children. Luckily, Jesus stepped in to prevent the destruction. These two holy apostles would have been better fit as bouncers outside an expensive casino in Vegas owned by a mobster, than preachers of the gospel of love.

My favorite pair is Simon the “Zealot” and Matthew the tax-collector. How did those two thugs get along?

Matthew’s vocation was nothing less than political and religious treason. Tax-collectors were Jewish agents of Rome, who mediated pagan oppression through taking money from innocent people. Imagine if you found out that your childhood friend was making a living off funneling money to ISIS. Would you use him to plant a church? Apparently, Jesus did.

Tax-collectors were more than extortionists. They were known for living excessively immoral lives and hanging out with all the wrong people. Religious Jews, in fact, believed that tax-collectors were past the point of repentance. Matthew didn’t have a moral bone in his body. But of course, after becoming a Christian, he immediately stopped sinning and never used bad language ever again.

Yeah right.

 Simon, as a “Zealot,” probably grew up on the other side of the tracks. The “Zealots” were named such not because they were prayer warriors. They were just warriors — Jewish jihadists. The “Zealots” were known for killing their Roman oppressors or other Jews who were sell-outs. They were aggressive, violent and they did anything but love their enemies. Had Simon met Matthew on the streets, there’s a good chance one of them would have been found lying in chalk.

To build His Kingdom, Jesus handpicks what could be compared to the leader of the Black Panther party and the grand wizard of the KKK. I doubt anyone closed their eyes at that first prayer meeting.

You cannot sanitize grace. You can’t stuff it into a blue blazer and make it wear khakis. Grace is messy, offensive and it sometimes misses church. To expect God to pump prefabricated plastic moral people out of a religious factory is to neuter grace and chain it inside a gated community. If God’s scandalous relationship with the 12 thugs means anything, then we should expect a variegated spectrum of righteousness and be patient — or repentant — when such sanctification doesn’t meet our expectations. God meets us in our mess and pushes holiness out the other side.

Not anti-mixed-bathing holiness. But the real stuff. The holiness that serves the poor, prays without ceasing, redeems the arts, loves enemies, elevates community above corporate success, and preaches the life-giving Gospel of a crucified and risen Lamb in season and out.

About the Author: Preston Sprinkle is the author of Charis: God’s Scandalous Grace for Us and he blogs at prestonsprinkle.com. See more from Preston on his website.

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This Pastor Has a Message for the Men Who Murdered His Pregnant Wife—& It’ll Rock You to the Core

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F-Bombs and Bikinis: What It Really Means to Be a Christian

“You cannot sanitize grace. You cant stuff it into a blue blazer and make it wear khakis.”

By Preston Sprinkle

Christian subcultures are an entertaining phenomenon. Multiple brands of Christianity claim the same Lord and read the same Bible, and yet they promote a set of values sometimes as different as apples and orangutans.

I once heard a story about a Christian woman from the East Coast who confronted a West Coast youth-pastor, who allowed mixed bathing at youth events. I cant believe any so-called Christian leader would allow boys and girls to swim together! She expressed her concern, all the while puffing on a cigarette. The youth pastor couldnt help but smile, speechless at the irony.

I attended a conservative Brethren church when I lived in Scotland. Some of the women wore head coverings and none of them spoke in church. When I had our Irish pastor and his wife over for dinner, I asked them what he would like to drink. Beer please, the preacher said. And for you, madam? Ill take a glass of Chardonnay, thank you. Were they liberal or conservative? I guess it depends on which subculture you come from.

When you try to cut out Christians with a religious cookie cutter, you not only tarnish diversity, but you trample on grace. Its one thing for Christian subcultures to cultivate unique values. But it becomes destructive when those values are chiseled on Sinaitic tablets for all to obey.

Its even worse when Christians expect instant holiness from recent convertsholiness, that is, in areas where we think weve nailed it.

Its a shame that some believers have scoffed at some of Shia Labeoufs recent comments about converting to Christianity, pointing fingers at the fact that he still uses bad language weeks after becoming a Christian. Its worth noting that some are speculatingthat Labeoufs conversion may have actually been more of a rather dramatic example of method acting than a true conversion but, regardless, many Christians chose to focus on his language instead of his heart. God only knows the true believers from the false. But to judge a mans faith because theres a residue of potty mouth?

Bad language may take years to weed out. Even more difficult to extract is the pride that drives judgmental Christians to mock the Spirits work in a man seeking his Creator. That sin could take decades to discover. Grace means that we are all works in progress, and God shaves off our rough edges in His timing. Just look at the thugs God works with in the Bible.

I know were programmed to see the 12 apostles as saints with halos and contemplative faces. But actually, they were criminals. These guys were more like prisoners than pastors, and few of them would have been let inside our churches today.

Take Peter, for instance. Peter walked with Jesus for three years, witnessing miracle after miracle, sermon after sermon. Still, on the night before Jesuss death, a servant girl asked Peter if he knew Jesus. I do not know the man! Peter responded. And he even evoked a curse on himself to prove he wasnt lying (Matthew 26:74).

Can you imagine if your pastor did that? Good morning, church. I just want to say that I dont even know who Jesus is! We have a hard time forgiving pastors who commit adultery. I dont think wed know how to handle a pastor who had a public bout with doubt.

Then theres James and John, whom Jesus nicknames sons of thunder. Apparently, they never made it through an anger management seminar. On one occasion, these two hotheads wanted to nuke an entire village because they wouldnt let them spend the night (Luke 9:51-56). The whole villagewomen and children. Luckily, Jesus stepped in to prevent the destruction. These two holy apostles would have been better fit as bouncers outside an expensive casino in Vegas owned by a mobster, than preachers of the gospel of love.

My favorite pair is Simon the Zealot and Matthew the tax-collector. How did those two thugs get along?

Matthews vocation was nothing less than political and religious treason. Tax-collectors were Jewish agents of Rome, who mediated pagan oppression through taking money from innocent people. Imagine if you found out that your childhood friend was making a living off funneling money to ISIS. Would you use him to plant a church? Apparently, Jesus did.

Tax-collectors were more than extortionists. They were known for living excessively immoral lives and hanging out with all the wrong people. Religious Jews, in fact, believed that tax-collectors were passed the point repentance. Matthew didnt have a moral bone in his body. But of course, after becoming a Christian, he immediately stopped sinning and never used bad language ever again.

Yeah right.

Simon, as a Zealot, probably grew up on the other side of the tracks. The Zealots were named such not because they were prayer warriors. They were just warriorsJewish jihadists. The Zealots were known for killing their Roman oppressors or other Jews who were sell-outs. They were aggressive, violent, and they did anything but love their enemies. Had Simon met Matthew on the streets, theres a good chance one of them would have been found lying in chalk.

To build His Kingdom, Jesus handpicks what could be compared to the leader of the Black Panther party and the grand wizard of the KKK. I doubt anyone closed their eyes at that first prayer meeting.

You cannot sanitize grace. You cant stuff it into a blue blazer and make it wear khakis. Grace is messy, offensive, and it sometimes misses church. To expect God to pump prefabricated plastic moral people out of a religious factory is to neuter grace and chain it inside a gated community. If Gods scandalous relationship with the 12 thugs means anything, then we should expect a variegated spectrum of righteousness and be patientor repentantwhen such sanctification doesnt meet out expectations. God meets us in our mess and pushes holiness out the other side.

Not anti-mixed-bathing holiness. But the real stuff. The holiness that serves the poor, prays without ceasing, redeems the arts, loves enemies, elevates community above corporate success, and preaches the life-giving Gospel of a crucified and risen Lamb in season and out.

About the Author:Preston Sprinkle is the vice president of Eternity Bible Colleges Boise extension. He blogs at Theology in the Raw. See more from Preston on his website.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2bAnHNP

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2fSGQOk via Viral News HQ

[trendingnewsb]

F-Bombs and Bikinis: What It Really Means to Be a Christian

“You cannot sanitize grace. You cant stuff it into a blue blazer and make it wear khakis.”

By Preston Sprinkle

Christian subcultures are an entertaining phenomenon. Multiple brands of Christianity claim the same Lord and read the same Bible, and yet they promote a set of values sometimes as different as apples and orangutans.

I once heard a story about a Christian woman from the East Coast who confronted a West Coast youth-pastor, who allowed mixed bathing at youth events. I cant believe any so-called Christian leader would allow boys and girls to swim together! She expressed her concern, all the while puffing on a cigarette. The youth pastor couldnt help but smile, speechless at the irony.

I attended a conservative Brethren church when I lived in Scotland. Some of the women wore head coverings and none of them spoke in church. When I had our Irish pastor and his wife over for dinner, I asked them what he would like to drink. Beer please, the preacher said. And for you, madam? Ill take a glass of Chardonnay, thank you. Were they liberal or conservative? I guess it depends on which subculture you come from.

When you try to cut out Christians with a religious cookie cutter, you not only tarnish diversity, but you trample on grace. Its one thing for Christian subcultures to cultivate unique values. But it becomes destructive when those values are chiseled on Sinaitic tablets for all to obey.

Its even worse when Christians expect instant holiness from recent convertsholiness, that is, in areas where we think weve nailed it.

Its a shame that some believers have scoffed at some of Shia Labeoufs recent comments about converting to Christianity, pointing fingers at the fact that he still uses bad language weeks after becoming a Christian. Its worth noting that some are speculatingthat Labeoufs conversion may have actually been more of a rather dramatic example of method acting than a true conversion but, regardless, many Christians chose to focus on his language instead of his heart. God only knows the true believers from the false. But to judge a mans faith because theres a residue of potty mouth?

Bad language may take years to weed out. Even more difficult to extract is the pride that drives judgmental Christians to mock the Spirits work in a man seeking his Creator. That sin could take decades to discover. Grace means that we are all works in progress, and God shaves off our rough edges in His timing. Just look at the thugs God works with in the Bible.

I know were programmed to see the 12 apostles as saints with halos and contemplative faces. But actually, they were criminals. These guys were more like prisoners than pastors, and few of them would have been let inside our churches today.

Take Peter, for instance. Peter walked with Jesus for three years, witnessing miracle after miracle, sermon after sermon. Still, on the night before Jesuss death, a servant girl asked Peter if he knew Jesus. I do not know the man! Peter responded. And he even evoked a curse on himself to prove he wasnt lying (Matthew 26:74).

Can you imagine if your pastor did that? Good morning, church. I just want to say that I dont even know who Jesus is! We have a hard time forgiving pastors who commit adultery. I dont think wed know how to handle a pastor who had a public bout with doubt.

Then theres James and John, whom Jesus nicknames sons of thunder. Apparently, they never made it through an anger management seminar. On one occasion, these two hotheads wanted to nuke an entire village because they wouldnt let them spend the night (Luke 9:51-56). The whole villagewomen and children. Luckily, Jesus stepped in to prevent the destruction. These two holy apostles would have been better fit as bouncers outside an expensive casino in Vegas owned by a mobster, than preachers of the gospel of love.

My favorite pair is Simon the Zealot and Matthew the tax-collector. How did those two thugs get along?

Matthews vocation was nothing less than political and religious treason. Tax-collectors were Jewish agents of Rome, who mediated pagan oppression through taking money from innocent people. Imagine if you found out that your childhood friend was making a living off funneling money to ISIS. Would you use him to plant a church? Apparently, Jesus did.

Tax-collectors were more than extortionists. They were known for living excessively immoral lives and hanging out with all the wrong people. Religious Jews, in fact, believed that tax-collectors were passed the point repentance. Matthew didnt have a moral bone in his body. But of course, after becoming a Christian, he immediately stopped sinning and never used bad language ever again.

Yeah right.

Simon, as a Zealot, probably grew up on the other side of the tracks. The Zealots were named such not because they were prayer warriors. They were just warriorsJewish jihadists. The Zealots were known for killing their Roman oppressors or other Jews who were sell-outs. They were aggressive, violent, and they did anything but love their enemies. Had Simon met Matthew on the streets, theres a good chance one of them would have been found lying in chalk.

To build His Kingdom, Jesus handpicks what could be compared to the leader of the Black Panther party and the grand wizard of the KKK. I doubt anyone closed their eyes at that first prayer meeting.

You cannot sanitize grace. You cant stuff it into a blue blazer and make it wear khakis. Grace is messy, offensive, and it sometimes misses church. To expect God to pump prefabricated plastic moral people out of a religious factory is to neuter grace and chain it inside a gated community. If Gods scandalous relationship with the 12 thugs means anything, then we should expect a variegated spectrum of righteousness and be patientor repentantwhen such sanctification doesnt meet out expectations. God meets us in our mess and pushes holiness out the other side.

Not anti-mixed-bathing holiness. But the real stuff. The holiness that serves the poor, prays without ceasing, redeems the arts, loves enemies, elevates community above corporate success, and preaches the life-giving Gospel of a crucified and risen Lamb in season and out.

About the Author:Preston Sprinkle is the vice president of Eternity Bible Colleges Boise extension. He blogs at Theology in the Raw. See more from Preston on his website.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2bAnHNP

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2fSGQOk via Viral News HQ