#that's a much shorter gospel

[everyryuujisuguro]

[simplygojo]

Under the Desk ⸺ Nanami

author's note ⸺ I may or may not have a crush on the handsome senior consultant on my team...so what. pairing ⸺ Kento Nanami x reader teaser ⸺ "It should have told you that eventually, you’d end up here: bent over his desk, legs spread wide for your mentor, who was more than happy to show you the ropes in a way that had nothing to do with consulting." content ⸺ 18+ SMUT, MDNI, hot office nanami, age gap implied, lowkey perv nanami, office siren vibessss, oral sex (reader recv.), reader got that WAP, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns

materlist || request guidelines || commissions || discord channel

Kento Nanami didn’t particularly enjoy training new hires—especially the ones who were on a short contract like you were. They were often overzealous, unpolished, and too eager to prove themselves. But when you walked in on your first day, something in him shifted.

Nanami wasn’t proud of the thoughts that crossed his mind when you walked into the office on your first day—He blamed that little skirt. Too tight, too short, hugging your hips in a way that wasn’t at all appropriate for a junior consultant. And yet, it wasn’t the skirt’s fault he couldn’t stop staring.

He cleared his throat and looked away. 

This wasn’t him. He wasn’t that guy—the type to ogle a junior or let his mind wander to places it had no business going. 

You were new, eager to learn, and assigned to him as your mentor because of his reputation for professionalism. And so, despite his initial lapse in judgment, he resolved to keep his thoughts in check.

But you didn’t make it easy.

You had this way about you—bright-eyed and ambitious, always so eager to please. Every time you asked him a question, you’d lean in, wide-eyed and genuinely curious, your voice sweet and lilting. When you listened, you bit your lip in concentration, nodding along like his every word was gospel.

Nanami told himself he was imagining it, that you weren’t actually flirting with him. You were just... enthusiastic. 

But then there were the moments that felt too deliberate to ignore. Like the time you stayed after hours, your blazer draped over the back of your chair, leaving only the silky blouse underneath. It wasn’t see-through exactly, but in the low light of the office, he could see the faint outline of your bra.

He forced himself to look at his monitor, jaw tight, and tried to focus on the report in front of him. “Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath. This was a slippery slope, and he wasn’t about to fall.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Things escalated when you suggested the coffee chats. You’d said it so innocently, wanting to hear more about the job and his career path, but Nanami hesitated. 

Alone. With you. Outside of the office. It wasn’t a good idea.

Still, he agreed. He convinced himself it was harmless, part of his role as a mentor.

The first coffee chat was fine. He kept things strictly professional, answering your questions about client strategies and work-life balance. But then you started showing up in skirts shorter than usual, leaning forward a little too much when you laughed.

Your questions turned more personal—how he handled stress, what he did to unwind, if he’d always been this... dedicated.

He noticed your eyes drifting, lingering on his hands as he stirred his coffee, on the way his shirt sleeves strained against his forearms. And you—you—must have noticed the way his gaze followed the curve of your legs as you crossed them.

By the third ‘coffee chat’, Nanami couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He wanted you. Desperately.

He told himself it was harmless, that he could keep it professional even as his thoughts grew more explicit. But then came the late nights in his office. You’d stay back, asking for feedback on your work, standing close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off you.

“Thank you for your help, Nanami,” you said one night, looking up at him through your lashes.

He nodded stiffly, stepping back to create space between you. “It’s my job,” he replied, his voice gruffer than he intended.

He should have stopped it there. Should have set boundaries. But he didn’t.

All of this—the coffee chats, the lingering looks, the late nights—should have been a warning. 

It should have told you that eventually, you’d end up here: bent over his desk, legs spread wide for your mentor, who was more than happy to show you the ropes in a way that had nothing to do with consulting.

Nanami hadn’t intended to go this far. Truly, he hadn’t. But the moment your trembling voice broke into soft, pleading whimpers, any sense of guilt burst.

His mouth found its way to places he’d only imagined in quiet, shameful moments—places that had haunted his late nights and unguarded thoughts.

The slickness of your pretty pink folds coated his lips and chin, shining faintly in the dim light of his office. His name spilled from your mouth like a prayer, broken and reverent, as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

Nanami knew he was losing control. Knew he’d already crossed every line imaginable. But when he felt your thighs quiver on either side of his head, your fingers tugging helplessly at his hair, he could not have cared any less.

All of this—the coffee chats, the late nights, the way your body had grown so eager for his attention—should have given you an indicator—should have told you that you'd end up like this…breathless and undone in his office, his mouth working you open, claiming you in ways you couldn't have imagined.

And that, dear reader, is the story of how you were secured a permanent contract.

[devildomwriter]

A Christmas Song They Absolutely Hate

A request by an anon

Lucifer (That damn chipmunk song)

Enough said, he cannot tolerate it at all, the second he hears those squeaky voices he’ll react somewhat violently. Whatever he needs to do to get that music to stop the fastest, he will do, even launching Mammon into the speaker.

Mammon (Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer)

He hates the song. He’s not so big an idiot that he doesn’t realize everyone only suddenly likes Rudolph because they think he’s useful, he thinks it’s a bad song and the reindeer are big jerks.

Leviathan (Baby, it’s cold outside)

“Those fucking normies. They’re just all over each other, go to hell.”

Satan (God rest ye merry gentlemen.)

They literally diss him in the song, like what’d he do to those guys personally, it makes him very angry to hear carolers singing it especially.

Innocent Carolers: “To save us all from Satan’s power—“

Satan: *yelling from across the street* “I didn’t do anything to you!”

Asmodeus (That damn chipmunk song)

Like normally squeaky or soft voices are kinda cute but nuh-uh, not this one. It feels like nails on a chalkboard to him.

Beelzebub (Believe)

He doesn’t really care but the song Believe makes him kinda sad.

It’s a great song with a bittersweet message and it makes him tear up a little when he hears it so he’s come to not like it much.

Belphegor (Anything hard to fall asleep to)

It doesn’t matter the song, if it’s too uppitty he can’t fall asleep. Even Christmas gospel can send him to sleep but not something like All I Want For Christmas is You.

Solomon (That damn chipmunk song)

It needs no introduction. It’s a song he’d hoped would die out soon after its release but it’s been well over a decade and occasionally he hears it playing and sighs deeply at how disappointing human musical taste has become.

Thirteen (That damn chipmunk song)

She hates it and will only occasionally tolerate it by playing it whenever Solomon is nearby in hopes of seeing his face fall.

Simeon (Santa baby)

The song really drives him nuts, he doesn’t have a real reason he just really dislikes it. Maybe it’s the greed at Christmas time which isn’t even about gifts, but it just really irks him.

Luke

He loves them all, except super romantic ones because that’s not what Christmas is about!

Raphael (All I want for Christmas is you)

That’s not the point of Christmas at all and the song mentions nothing about the true meaning of Christmas everything about some random romantic interest really irritates him. He’s not above spearing the sound system if the song isn’t changed.

Michael (12 days of Christmas)

It's just so long and repetitive.

He’d rather listen to shorter songs than one that just doesn’t seem to end, like get to the next song already, turtledoves aren’t even an existing species anymore—don’t remind him of such a tragedy.

Mephistopheles (Basically all of them)

Mephistopheles isn’t a Christmas demon, he only tolerates it for Diavolo’s sake but he’ll be damned if a song plays around him and Diavolo isn’t there. He’ll contact whoever he needs to to change the music immediately.

Barbatos (Dominic the donkey)

He hates it because he believes it’s rather stupid but also because it cracks Diavolo up so Diavolo plays it a few times a day to amuse himself and Barb is really sick of hearing it.

Diavolo

He loves all of them, even the damn chipmunk song. Even the Christmas gospel doesn’t really bother him but he doesn’t pay as much attention to it as he does humming along to the other songs. He does laugh when he hears Satan’s name in God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, so he actually likes that one.

[empthy1]

AFTER MIDNIGHT ꩜ .ᐟ quinn fabray x reader

character study (partially.) loved writing this. butch!reader implied, i hope my love for butches comes through. 1.75k words exactly.

Her momma always said that bad girls were the ones who ended up in nightclubs, indulging in alcohol and not God's teachings. The girls like that never found good husbands and never formed the families they were meant to. That's what she always said.

It was frequently hissed in her ear, the unfamiliar curl of the word "heretics" confusing her yet nestling unpleasantly in her mind.

Her momma made her promise she'd never become one of those girls. Would be pious, follow the Gospel, and find a God-fearing husband.

So, little Lucy Quinn Fabray, all of seven and sat on her momma's knee, did the only obvious thing when confronted with her seemingly imminent future.

She murmured a soft "yes, momma," and clutched tighter at her momma's modest yellow cardigan.

She was immediately chastised for that. There wasn't much she wasn't reprimanded for.

"Don't call me 'momma'." Her momma mother had huffed, pretty face tightening with annoyance and the hypocritical smell of alcohol on her breath. The line of her mouth thins contemplatively. "You make me feel old enough already. And don't wrinkle my clothes. I'll have to steam this. Again."

Now, some sixteen years later, here she was—going against the words she'd held as gospel for so long.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She nervously smooths down her too-short dress, trying to tug it past her upper thigh. She's not very successful. The amount of sequins sewn onto the garment would make her father red-faced and Kurt proud. She'd know—he picked it out for her.

"Please, Quinn. You have to get this one! It'd look so good on you." Is all she remembered before having the pink silk thrown at her. She had squawked indignantly at the impact, the hanger hitting her temple and catching in her hair.

Despite her (and Santana's) protests—"Oh, you are not letting Jesus Girl wear my nice dress from Sacs!"—she ended up in the form-fitting fabric regardless.

They hadn't even bothered to accompany her, leaving her to traverse her first club alone.

Sure. She was Quinn Fabray. HBIC, Head Cheerio, ex-Skank and a generally competent person. But she was competent in Nowhere, Ohio. Or in the friendly town of college students and old people that was New Haven. Sure, it was the third biggest city in Connecticut, but it was Connecticut.

This was New York City. This was shady alleys, dark, dank corners and the widest variety of people she'd ever seen.

The people in front of her in line were two obviously gay and already intoxicated men. At eleven at night.

The person behind her? A woman so tall and in heels so high she's sure if she turned around she'd make eye contact with her stomach.

She's not used to these types of people. This type of place.

The bouncer is burlier than ninety-nine percent of guys she sees at Yale—nice Polos and slim, toned arms replaced by a regular black tee, a... leather harness and arms like boulders. He scowls where they smile, but his hands are gentler when he takes her ID than they'd been with her. Hm.

She's visually assaulted by bright lights of every color. They flash against the wall and in her eyes, periodically illuminating the people around her.

Some taller than her, some shorter. Some slim like a willow with curling limbs, others sturdy with strong hands and a solid stance. Men, women, people who's gender she can't discern, with long hair, cropped cuts or anything in between in any color she could imagine.

She doesn’t have long to take in any of this. There’s a swell of people at her back and a melting pot at her front. She’s been here before, knows the rules—acclimate or die. Same as high school.

She’s seen the movies. She knows what’s supposed to happen. She’ll walk up to the bar, order a drink, and a handsome, tall man will hop out of nowhere and pay for it. A couple months of nondescript dating, they’ll be married.

Not exactly how her mother hoped it’d happen, but she won’t be too disappointed. She’ll just be glad Quinn is married and she can finally talk about her in church without the pitying coos of other moms.

All she can think is "yeah, scratch that." when the person who saddles up next to her is not a charming, dark-haired man with dimples and is, instead, the most handsome woman she's ever seen grinning at the bartender over her shoulder.

"Yeah, Mike. She's on my tab. Thanks, man." A regular, clearly. And... not the man she expected. Not a man at all.

She'd always thought wry smiles and crooked grins were inherently smug. They'd always been on the faces of boys trying to trick their way into her skirt, thinking themselves clever.

But this grin, the one you direct at her? She likes it more than she should.

"I haven't seen you around here before." Your voice is loud, elevated over the pulsing music. You'd turned to face her, elbow on the bar and strong-looking hand under your chin.

"You're either new to the city or new to the queer scene."

...they sent her to a gay bar. She's going to wring Kurt's neck. And then apologize so he lets her stay in his apartment while she nurses this humiliation.

Is that why the bouncer was in leather?

"...yeah. I'm new to both. I'm here visiting friends." She's not used to raising her voice—it's unladylike, her mother would say. Women were to be seen, not heard. Her volume is low, too low to be heard over the deafening music.

You have to lean closer, shift and tilt your head so she can repeat herself straight into your ear. The music booms, but she swears she can hear you inhale when her hot breath brushes the cartilage. Or when she cups a bare bicep, leaning into the warmed skin.

She had to catch herself, she justifies. She definitely lost her balance.

Except for the fact that she can dance in six-inch platforms and these are only four. There's no way she'd be tripping into you, especially only one drink deep.

Speaking of dancing.

It might be the shot (or three) she'd downed while you two were conversing and laughing and flirting but she wanted to dance. She'd missed it. There isn't many places to go dancing in New Haven, and not many people she'd go with.

So she tugs your elbow, says something that's not much more than an enthusiastic, unintelligible giggle and tears off towards the floor. You stubble behind her, chuckling under your breath when she bumps into some guy. Evidently, you're better at holding your alcohol.

She knows the lessons from bible camp. She'd gone there seven years—they're practically ingrained in her psyche. The most important one, plastered on posters and said by any adult in hearing range at the Summer's End Dance?

Leave room for Jesus.

But alcohol's a funny thing. And her head's all wrong—she feels mushy.

She likes your biceps. And your hair. The ease at which she wraps in your arms, her own fingers curling around the back of your neck, is atypical of her.

And there's definitely no room for Jesus when the sturdy line of you presses right up against her.

She'd like to say it was the press of people keeping you together, but even through the intoxication she knows she's lying to herself. She likes you. It's weird. Even among cheerleaders, with teasing skirts and flouncy hair, she'd never felt... this.

The short crop of your hair is increasingly more appealing. The strength in your muscles, and the charming black slacks that hug you nicely draw her more than long, batting lashes.

There weren't people like you in Lima. A voice in her mind traitorously murmurs, sounding too much like Santana. Maybe that's why this took you so long, Q.

The beat's fast, but you're both too drunk to articulate anything more than a stationary sway.

That's fine with her. She gets to feel your arms around her waist and rest her head on your homely shoulder. The swaying motions keep her steady, stop the stumbling she's bound to do once she's out of your grip.

As songs go by, she starts to go down, down, down. Sobering up, yes, but not expecting the wave of drowsiness that comes with it. She clings to you ever tighter.

"I think I need to go home..." Is mumbled into your ear, her lilting, quiet tone laced with breathiness. It makes you shiver, and she bites back a grin. Your body shifts, supporting more of her weight to help her out of the club—hand splaying over her lower back. So she did find a gentleman tonight.

Once you both slip out of the club—though a backdoor you were totally allowed to use, ignoring the Employees Only sign—she smiles. The city air is cool, brushing over her skin and making her sigh. As you release her, she looses her footing, but is able to recover with a (still slightly tipsy) laugh.

"Get home safe, Quinn." She hears you murmur. A pleased sigh escapes her at the kiss you press to her cheek. Naturally leaning into the touch, she almost misses how you grasp her forearm—deftly scrawling a phone number in Sharpie, big enough to span the whole area.

"Call me." And then you're off. The bouncer gives you a wave as you stroll past, shooting you a grin once he catches sight of her.

Whew.

...should she call a taxi?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She stumbles up to Kurt's apartment door, firmly feeling the effects of the alcohol. Bracing against the doorframe, she can't help but huff as she drunkenly fumbles with the key. Not quite sober yet.

Opening the door causes her friends to freeze—Santana and Kurt being in the middle of putting up a... rainbow balloon arch?

"Oh, there's no way I was wrong. You weren't supposed to be here before morning! Why aren't you with a lady friend, Q?" Santana says, eyes narrowing with discontent at her arrival (typical) and at her... lack of a lady friend.

Santana sent her out to hookup with someone. With a woman. She tried to orchestrate her gay awakening.

She's too drunk to think about that. Or the fact that she did, in fact, have a gay awakening. She doesn't even say anything. She doesn't need to.

She just raises her forearm—dark with the digits of your phone number—and grins at the cheers she gets in response.

[seoulstorms]

PRAY FOR ME

Father Charlie Mayhew x reader

a/n: this might be a part one… I don’t know how to write for father charlie… dr. mayhew however 😏 anyways I’m mid writing for dr charlie so… ;) enjoy!

word count: 972

YOUR MOTHER had always taught you to seek God in all times of need. In the face of the devil’s temptation, sin, helplessness or anything that would stray one’s path from God. You’d go to mass every Sunday, following along with the words of the priest and often staying a little longer to pray. That was, until Father Mayhew became the new priest in your small town church.

He was immediately known for his looks and his young age, taking the attention of many young girls in your town. To their dismay, he was already devoted to someone, God. He was a man of the cloth, holy in his intentions and words, preaching the gospel as if his life depended on it.

You and Sister Megan were acquaintances to say the least, knowing her as she’d hang around in town, seemingly lingering in all the places you wouldn’t expect a nun to be near. Her quick mind and sharp tongue had her helping a detective- detective Lois, that was, in the shocking murders that were snaking through the town. It’d shocked you to your core, such violent acts in near your home leading your mother to believe the devil was returning himself to earth. A ‘warning’ , she’d said, panicked and confused.

“It is a warning from God and a message from the devil. It is the manifestation of all that is wrong with the world mustered up into an act of pure sin.”

Your mother had advised you to spend more hours in the church, in God’s house, in the presence of holiness. So you took her advice and made your way to the church after school hours, unsure of what to do other than pray.

As you made your way into the church, you made the sign of the cross, smoothing out your skirt and sighing at the warmth of it. There was no one in the pews, excluding Father Mayhew, who sat silently near the front seemingly lost in thought. It was only when the soft click of your shoes caught his attention that he turned and smiled, standing and greeting you warmly.

“Ah, apologies I didn’t hear you come in. Your mother came by earlier to let me know to expect you here”

He spoke softly, his eyes darting over your body as he noted your damp clothes from the rain outside. You nodded and shrugged, a quiet giggle leaving your lips as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well yes, father, my mother told me I should come here instead of directly home as it’s closer and well, the days are getting shorter and much darker”

You avoided his gaze as you spoke, not wanting to bear the weight of it as his dark eyes almost bore into yours, however lacking of boredom, more filled with understanding and concern.

“Your mother is right in doing so, it’s not entirely safe for young girls to be walking home alone in darkness. Especially now with these.. acts of violence, consuming our town”

His words were smooth as he ghosted a hand by your lower back, guiding you to the front of the church to the altar. You were familiar with how it all worked, having been to mass every Sunday since you were young. You’d watched Father Mayhew deliver sermons weekly and gotten used to his powerful voice, almost caught in a daze as he spoke. You were no stranger to the allure of him to other women, but being a strict follower of God you never acted inappropriately, immediately asking God for forgiveness.

His voice was smooth as honey, his eyes dark and almost dangerous, his mannerisms pure and holy. This man was a sin in himself, ironically. A man claiming to be so devoted to God but he was just like any other man. He was no stranger to sin, he wasn’t always a priest. You noticed the way he spoke, his eyes betraying his words as his gaze lingered just a second too long on places forbidden to a priest.

“father-“ you turned to face him but he was quick to interrupt, correcting you

“no need, please, call me charlie”

You uttered a small ‘oh’ and nodded, turning back around and keeping your hands busy with the strap on your backpack, avoiding Charlie’s eyes. He ushered you to continue, sitting opposite you but still close.

“fa- I mean, charlie.. I feel as though I have strayed from God..”

Your voice was small as you picked at loose strings and crossed your legs at your ankles. Charlie nodded and leaned forward, placing a comforting hand on your knee and tilting his head.

“how so? I am sure God will forgive you, you are a good Catholic, no? I do see you attend mass every week, sometimes more than once per week”

His words were light as he smiled at you, leaning back and resting his hands crossed in his lap, focusing back on you as his lightheartedness seemed to have no uplifting effect on your mood.

“I feel as if I am doubting Him, Father.. I know He will protect me but in our town, such violent murders… I am very afraid, I must admit.”

“well, sweetheart, you can find comfort here, until your mother can drive you home. until then, why don’t you relax in my office hm?”

You nodded meekly and followed behind him, the soft click of your heels once again echoing in the church. You kept your head low and followed him to his office, your mind filling with questions and wonders that God would bring shame upon. So it brought shame to you, clearing your mind and cleansing your thoughts with thoughts of God. Perhaps it would be a very long few hours in Father Charlie’s company until your mother picked you up.

[twochildreninamoteldemo]

what’s on your personal list of “must reads” for wincest? i have a feeling you’ve got good taste

- @spn2006

i wouldn't necessarily say i have a must-read list as in everyone has to read something, because everybody has different taste, especially when it comes to sam and dean's dynamics (both sexual and otherwise), but the fics that i would heartily recommend that fall into my reading of supernatural (or adjacent to it) go as such, keeping in mind that I am a samgirl, pretty much only care about early seasons, and enjoyer of the family horror of the show:

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy + Two Headed Boy by @dollyluxed

If i had to pick any fic as a must-read for a samgirl cestie, this would be the one. the yearning and desperation speak deeply to the isolation of samdean's youth, especially how sam feels it, and dollylux isn't afraid to get inside the beast of teen angst, which makes it feel really lush and visceral. the 90s nostalgia is excellent (disclaimer: i was born after the 90s, but it made me feel like i was there without being corny), and the way the story is told through several vignettes feels a lot like the show itself. these kind of snapshot short films of how samdean's codependency develops through this unspoken tension over the years. the stanford era portion has a scene i think about every time i listen to joni mitchell (check out the soundtrack for this duology too; it's excellent), and the season 1 section ties together the story in a way that fits well with the show. a slow burn, really beautiful story, and i love the illustrations. i would also recommend dollylux's shorter works for amazing smut:)

@applecrumbledore 's fanficography

The first of Roni's fics I read were "Dream fuckery" and "Drywall dust" (the latter the first of a 4-part preseries story), and the balance of angst, sexual tension, and humor blew me away. It keeps the tone of supernatural, which a lot of fics don't (which is fine), but this was super cool in that it felt extremely natural, and very fun to read. I haven't been updated in all my fanfic reading lately, but I loved the beginning of Pine Sweat, their time travel fic, and "try asking," their pov outsider fic, is fucking hilarious and exhilarating. they have lots of creative ideas from preseries to late seasons and it never gets old!

Gospel Truth by @cowboyified

A case fic with an accute sense of shame embedded within angst, a really great sense of description, and perfectly inspired by art by @thegoodthebadandtheart for the reverse bang a couple years ago. the aesthetic of both frauke's work and the fic itself feel real, both the openness of the great plains and the claustrophobia of incestuous pining. definitely a modern classic.

"Buy You a Mockingbird" by candle_beck

the dark pov outsider fic to crown all others. candle_beck is an amazing writer and i also recommend all their work, but this one in particular stands out because of the horror of the dramatic irony of the story--what the reader knows, but the pov character does not. it's incredible to see everything unfold, and a realistic if bleak interpretation of another classic trope (which i won't name for spoiler's sake).

"Other Brothers" by @homo-pink

another incredible pov outsider fic with this beautiful sense of empathy and also a hint of adrenaline thrill. sam's cheeky and sassy and smart, and dean's cute and so in love. pov outsider weecest has the potential to be disturbing or sweet, and while this teeters the line, i think it falls into the latter category in a way that doesn't feel too saccharine.

"Three Days on the Rack" by keerawa, read by Reena Jenkins

I'd highly recommend listening to this via podfic! reena is great and there's a lovely cello cover of fade to black by metallica that plays in the interlude. anyway, the fic is an orpheus and eurydice-adjacent story about sam trying to get dean out of hell--but it's a torture fic. i love the way it describes hell, i love the way we see dean in the depths of alistair's apprenticeship, i love sam's strength. another gorgeously dark gem.

"Skin Like Fear" [orphaned]

I can't speak much on this one because I don't remember it super well, but it's a take on samdean after sam's hell trauma, something not very touched on by the fandom, and the horror is super well done, it's a great fic. obviously dark, deals with rape aftermath, proceed accordingly.

"show me again, shame takes hold" by objectlesson

if you can't tell yet, i really love preseries fics. this one is a lesbian femchesters AU, butch dean i love u foreverrrrrr. as you can tell by the title, more angst, more shame, etc etc. i was catholic what can i say. there's a lot about the ambiguity of sexuality and gender in this fic too.

and that's it! some of my other favorites are "Tomcat," the Caged Desires series, "The Truth in His Bones," and Brothers, but those i wouldn't necessarily rec on a wide basis because the first one is specifically about transmasculinity, and the second 3 deal with dom!dean/sub!sam dynamics in a pretty sharp way that everyone may not sit with right. that being said they're wonderful and sexy (and the last two, rather sad). let me know what u thought of this list!

[loveerran]

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is Very Gendered (TM). In fact, we are sometimes Super Gendered (TM) (/negative).

We are so deep in this that we actually have cultural names for some hypothetical Gender Ideal (TM). And if you think that’s a little too much (TM)i, then you should try living the reality! Consider:

Molly Mormon, and Peter Priesthood are terms we apply to the ‘perfect’ female and male individuals who fit a quintessential cultural paradigm.

Think about that! We actively, as a culture, push the idea that it isn’t enough to be a Man or Woman, you also must fit some impossible ideal of your gender that carries connotations of advanced obedience to particular interpretations of a hyper-specific religious culture (as opposed to the actual requirements of Christ’s gospel).

Guess how many people fit that paradigm? If you guessed a number approaching zero, then you’re on the right track.

(It’s a non-zero number and I want to emphasize that it’s ok to be a Molly or a Peter! Even admirable!)

But if those aren’t the shoes that fit you, if you want to be a Man who wears long hair and a non-white shirt to church and maybe not even a tie or a little bit of jewelry, that is also ok! And if you are a Woman who has a career and puts a little color in her shorter-than-average-hair or maybe has a tattoo and wears pants to church, you are valid and amazing!

From a religious perspective, what matters is that you are seeking the light and sharing it with those around you. That you are engaged in the wrestle. That you are loving God, your neighbor and yourself.

Personal opinion:

Almost no one in the world can identify with these gender stereotypes. The risk in maintaining them is that we are giving the adversary of our souls an opening. When individuals feel measured or judged by their performance relative to a cultural mandate (worse yet, one with an imprimatur of divine endorsement), we make it easier to believe harmful things.

'See? You don't really belong. You will never be one of the good ones.'

And we risk leading some to confuse cultural conformity with being righteous or being loved by our Heavenly Parents.

Supplanting gospel standards with cultural standards hurts children and families.

[vellichorom]

what would thierry think about rosemary

It started out as a simple thing.

His love for Stanley was like that of any creator's; chest swollen with pride as grand & everlasting as the sun, even for having made him with every intent to be as mind-numbingly simple as possible. But beyond that; beyond their roles as creator & creation, beyond The Protagonist & The Narrator, Thierry couldn't help but consider him as something... more, something akin to a friend - where there was no one else to take up that spot, someone to talk to- at, rather, someone he felt connected to - if only by time.

& with the kind of solitude that would drive a man to favor his own doll in such a way, to the point where he mattered more than anyone or anything else, & telling his story & sharing him with the world was all that was left to repay his listening ear, something more than a mere friendship was BOUND to develop.

This wasn't helped the day Stanley suddenly got a couple hundred pounds heavier, some degrees shorter & curvaceous, & developed a voice which was just loud enough to tell him that her name was " Rosemary. " He never batted an eye, & his heart didn't discriminate.

It wasn't helped the day he realized that Stanley had left him long ago, & Rosemary was someone else entirely, a stranger to him; stifled, to be sure - the rush of warmth in his chest replaced with the hollow & disgusting feelings of cold grief as his crimes were realized, but as the sting began to fade, as time passed & wounds began to heal, he realized - to his gut-wrenching chagrin, this attachment never left him.

Simply transitioned to this poor woman, of whom he didn't even KNOW, of whom he'd since put through Hell, of whom miraculously didn't hate his guts - but would no doubt find him as abhorrent as he did if he ever so much as breathed a word of endearment after this all, he was so certain of it. Years of fondness, now thrust onto this random person after his doll & his only other company fell from his grasp; surely because he was just so sickeningly LONELY that any company would draw his pathetic heart in.

But it only got worse the longer they spent together.

He learned; she was far more talented & intelligent than his unwarranted pride would allow him to credit others for. Her capable hands bore a poison touch that handled him as though he were one of her own handiworks - so tender & kindly, searing & so stomach churningly intimate, even as only their fingers touched - but especially as her hands met his face. Her voice, like it was the only other voice in the world, buzzing in his ears & making his heart radiate warmth like a roaring fire whenever she spoke, & GOD- the way she spoke; like the world was a holy gospel & she was the Lord who made it so.

Thierry paid so much attention that it felt obscene & wrong.

Her body, how gorgeous & real; as sweet as her hands, as shameless as breathing - her lips, her skin, the dimples of her cheeks & hips, the imperfections of her makeup, her nails that clicked on desks & taunted his yearning skin, the salt of her blood, the unplucked hairs on her chin & unshaven nooks... Her chocolate doe eyes that beckoned him closer, tilted too softly, glittered in the office lights, & shone her every thought as blatantly as a painting; only through her eyes, in a glint of gold, has he ever found his own as remotely appealing. Her heart was so impossibly open, too; treating him unlike the mangy mutt of a rabid wolf he knew he was, & instead with dignity, respect, care, patience, understanding, Love...

Thierry loved her like no one should ever love another person.

& that was mere months into treating her like one.

It wasn't helped the day Thierry turned a shade too red at her touch & spilled his heart onto the floor for her to see... & she returned it with a kiss that seemed too overdue to believe.

It wasn't helped the day things escalated into their first exploration of each other, their skin & beneath it, which ended with them sharing a bed for the first time, terrifying as it was.

It wasn't helped the day Rosemary kissed him with reckless abandon & he felt his brain dissolve into mush, & she overwhelmed him until there was nothing less.

It wasn't helped the day she asked he gut her like a lamb, & her response after her rebirth was to raise him into divinity.

& by the time Rosemary first grabbed him in a cold sweat & tears, begging & offering anything to him to never ever leave her, which ended in the two being clawed apart by the other just to mark them as each other's, it was far too late for either of them.

Truth be told, it was already too late as soon as Rosemary fell into this world.

& now, nothing else matters. Nothing.

Stanley was mourned, but ultimately abandoned, as was his story. The complex to house the game is kept only to house the two of them now. Thierry's crimes are revered as a couple's activity for them both, Rosemary too carrying his wealth in her own hands. He's obsessed with her, sickeningly so, criminally so, DISGUSTINGLY so, embarrassingly so - & she mirrors & enables this in full. They both do. They regularly beg & plead with the other to live for them as though they would die without.

& they would. At least, Thierry would try to.

Nothing else brings him the kind of unfathomable joy that Rosemary does when she so much as walks into his view or appears in his thoughts. Nothing else makes him more ill than when she's not there for long enough. Nothing else makes him more painfully miserable than when her ire is pointed vaguely in his direction. Everyone else is a waste of space by comparison. Anything else isn't anywhere near as important.

He needs her to function & is all-too-happy to let himself waste away until there IS nothing left but her to fill him up & make him alive, his every thought & action dependent only on her, with only the slightest bit of shame left to apologize to her that it must be this way.

But as she asks for the nth time for him to drink her lifeforce away, as his bile is cleaned with a soothing stroke to his cheek, as his history is slowly wiped & replaced with only their memories...

Woe, it started out as a simple thing.

But Rosemary is all Thierry is now.

That's what he thinks.

[allegraforchrist]

Hi, my (middle) name is Allegra, and it means jovial and lively- as the Italian musical term “Allegro”.

♡ I’m 18

♡ female

♡ favorite verses is Lamentations 3:25-27.

♡ Favorite colors are pink, red, black and white.

♡ BLESS and FREE ISRAEL 🇮🇱

♡ God bless America! 🇺🇸

This is my blog, and I’m very excited to be on here and share God’s gospel and the teachings of Jesus Christ.

I want to make a note that, if you do not like my blog, you can ignore it and scroll on. There’s no need to be hateful or aggressive.

My blog is a non-judgemental, safe space for all Christians, youth and older, tall or shorter, all ethnicities and cultural backgrounds, all persons and those who are newer followers of Christ.

My blogs purpose is not to:

-> ‘indoctrinate’ or force opinions

-> be exclusionary or bigoted

-> express hateful or ‘guilt-trippy’ beliefs

-> suppress or oppress any minorities or marginalized communities/religions/cultures

💕 I’m sharing my love of God on a platform, and will not exercise hypocritical judgement on those who aren’t followers of Christ, and I hope the same attitude and respect can be shown towards me. I value all with respect, humility, and kindness.

🙏 Curiosity, questions, and all topics are welcome, however arrogance, and prejudice are not. I will stand strongly for my faith but I do not need to validate it to those who do not share it.

🩰 I post scriptures, Bible Study Notes, songs, art, podcasts and vents about Jesus and God, to elevate, praise and worship them. None of what I talk about is to be taken as criticism for whomever’s lifestyle choices, beliefs or practices- it is not about you.

🌸 A lot of what I post about comes from personal struggles with my sexuality, my connection to the Church, my mental health, religious affliction, and all ways that Jesus saved me. I don’t identify as bisexual or use they/them pronouns anymore, as my identity is in Christ, and I’m a woman of God. However, that doesn’t mean my page is welcome to homophobia, transphobia, queerphobia; or xenophobia, antisemitism, Islamophobia, or hate toward other Christian denominations. Nor will I tolerate allegations of hatefulness towards other communities.

🪖 Edit: I don’t politically identify as conservative, liberal nor democratic. My politics are biblical-based. I do say I support MAGA and Trump’s party based on their policies, not their personality. I’m also open to the failures and weaknesses of every political party, MAGA included. However, my blog is not a space to discuss wokeness, MAGA support, MAGA hate, and any political rhetoric. I don’t support hate, or virtue-signaling. If such is commented under my posts, I will give one warning. Done again, I will block you. Because I will not be guilted, or threatened nor tolerate political violence or discrimination against myself, or demographics of voting people.

🤍 Lastly, I do not aimed to be liked or respected by the masses, as I live for the approval and wisdom of God. If you don’t like that, please, as much as any opinion is valued, keep your condescension to yourself. Christian or not, there are boundaries I have.

🪽 Please Note: I cannot make any monetary donations, online or internationally via PayPal or such apps. I do not reside in the US, and I do not have independent access to funds that I could give. I want to donate and assist the best I can, however I can only petition, reblog and pray for you- as far as my current liberty goes.

Thank you so much.

Jesus loves you!!!

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

The Fall of the House of Lamentation

All seven brothers (and reader, but neither romantically or platonically specified)

Summary: Inspired by "The Fall of the House of Usher" by Edgar Allan Poe, the reader reflects how different the brothers and the House of Lamentation are from the present to the past.

AN: Uh, hi! This is a bit obscure, I'm sure, but I liked "The Fall of the House of Usher" and was inspired to write this, but with the House of Lamentation. Literally have two finals projects due tomorrow that I put off while writing this, so...go me!

Warnings: Light spoilers for the beginning of Nightbringer, but nothing specific, it's angsty...so there's that.

After being thrown back into the past, you’ve found the Devildom to not be much different from the present version. Sure, there were some shops that had gone out of business in the present that you can visit now in the past, RAD hasn’t been established yet, and hey, there’s seven new demons who are one year into figuring out the demon life. But right now, they aren’t quite demons - they’re seven fallen angels.

These aren’t the demons you’ve come to know and love throughout several years of your significantly shorter lifespan, these were beings of confusion and hatred of who they’ve become and where they’ve fallen. 

One such place - the wonderful and terrible House of Lamentation. 

In the present, it’s the den of seven mighty, powerful, and influential demon lords. Upon first glance when you had first arrived in the Devildom, you noticed the haunting vibe the house gave off. A glorious, gothic - perhaps even medieval, mansion. It’s large. The paneling is dark and worn from time and the harsh Devildom elements, and a select few roof tiles seem to be missing. The four towering steeples that reach towards the sky have piercing points that remind you of a front of a church, but there is no gospel to be found in a place such as the Devildom - where many demons practice hedonistic lifestyles without care. And, the many ominous headstones that line the yard give a less than inviting impression. 

Several millennia forward, it stands tall like the demons who occupy it. A little worn, but seemingly everlasting. The house emanates every sin that lives within it in a determined stance, in learned harmony…and chaos. It holds and shelters the beings of old sin, true sin. And for every sin, the gothic house stands arrogantly, possessively, resentfully, cholerically; it stands lasciviously, insatiably, and lackadaisically. 

The vision to anyone who unknowingly stumbles upon it would be chilled to the bone and filled with a feeling of dread - and possibly a longing to indulge in every sin that permeates their senses from behind the iron wrought gate. 

However, in the past, the house looks relatively the same, but the feeling, the aura, is different. No, this past version contradicts what you’ve come to know of it, as a home that was once yours as well.

Standing before it now, the House of Lamentation is consumed by sorrow. An aura of contempt, confusion, and regret fill the everlit windows. The house that once felt welcoming to you in the present, doesn’t even feel welcoming for the brothers who live within it in this unfamiliar timeline. 

The first step through the grand front door is a shock, to say the least. Like the exterior, the interior is relatively the same. But now the feelings of chaos and hurt seem to suffocate your very being. There is no love or life in a house like this, there’s only hate and decay of lives that once seemed perfect. The air is thick with hidden truths and spoken lies. Truths about the memories and emotions that reflect the brothers’ involvement in the Great Celestial war, the defeat in their cause, and the fall from their home kept locked in their hearts and minds, only for the four walls in their respective rooms to watch tumble out of them in the form of hot tears or muffled curses into feather stuffed pillows. Lies spoken between the seven in a frantic dance to not show weakness or insecurity of who they are now. 

Who are they now? 

Seven angels with eyes and bodies tainted with the muck of sin? Or seven demons who still reach for a paradise lost? 

It’s here that whispers can be heard if you were a fly on the wall –

Where Lucifer sighs behind his desk with his head in his hands, mussing up his graying hair, his elbows becoming sore from the long duration upon the sturdy oak, “my pride hurt my brothers…” 

Where Mammon sits on his bed as he stares at the floor, biting his lip until the taste of blood mixes with his saliva, his arms resting lazily in his lap as he attempts to reason with himself, “we chose to follow Lucifer here. We all had reasons for doin’ what we did.”

Where Leviathan lays in his bathtub, the tail he despises curling around him for comfort as he sobs, “I never wanted to come to this awful place to begin with!” 

Where Satan seethes in his room, pacing as irritation builds beneath his chest, “I can barely stand being around them…it’s torture.” 

Where Asmodeus stares at the reflection in the mirror with mascara running down his cheeks, gently touching the rough texture of his demonic horns, “I want to return back to the Celestial realm…! I want to be an angel again!” 

Where Beelzebub lays on his back in his bed on his side of the twins’ room, glancing over to Belphie’s dark sheets with a sigh of frustration as he tries to suppress the stomach growls like that of a grizzly bear, “I have a big secret that I’ve never been able to tell…not even Belphie.”

Where Belphegor lays like his twin on the floor of the planetarium with his arms behind his head for support as he gazes at the Devildom stars in contemplation, “who deserves to be punished the most?” 

The Great Celestial war has been fought and long concluded, but not short of a year, seven different wars have been waged behind closed doors - behind closed eyes. The angels who have fallen from grace, are falling even harder as demons…within the House of Lamentation.

[khepiari]

Does it matter if it’s LawLu or LuLaw?

Top/Bottom heated discussions feels so irritating! Especially when it’s about fictional people who have less than 0.00001% chance of being an end couple in canon.

Heteronormative projection on “queer-sex” aside, the whole thing feels like people have a very juvenile understanding of what sex is! When we evaluate and present sex and participation in sexual activities from the tinted lenses of penetration we are limiting sex to one category: intercourse! But the End goal of sex is mutual pleasure and excitement.

Some people can get orgasm with nipple stimulation. Some people love thigh fucking! Some can get wet by kissing alone! Sex is diverse!

I am especially venting because of my OTP fandom LawLu. Why is top/bottom talk lurking in LawLu fandom again?

Just draw, write and read whatever you want you idiots. LuLaw is not real! Everything about the ship is our projection! Anything we add to a ship pairing is fiction! So being adamant that shorter one has to be bottom and taller one top is so so so so limiting! What about a bottom who always rides? What about a top who likes to being guided in bed! We need to break our perception of sex from the notion a mortar and pestle! Intimacy is not limited to the pov of dominance and submission, nor is top/bottom parallel to passive and active participation!

Like dealing with anti-LawLu was not enough! Now we have to again see top/bottom “discourse” resurfacing! It’s fiction; our OTP will never be canon, and cribbing about preferred position or and insisting sexual role as gospel truth is just laughable.

Yes you are allowed to enjoy a specific dynamic. So are others. Some love LawLu and some LuLaw: both are valid because it’s fiction and shipping is fun hobby! Creating ruckus about who gets to spread whose legs is very juvenile!

And I am not free of criticism! Initially when I started as a fanfic writer, I wrote top Law and bottom Lu; the LawLu fandom was young then and I didn’t know about sex much either especially the implications behind the top/bottom dictums! As a closeted teen I was typing away my fantasies and I went with LawLu flow because everyone I knew and interacted with was writing LawLu then, without thinking I went along.

But over the years as I read more, talked with others and wrote more I began to understand sex is not rigid! It is about fluidity and when I am shipping I want enjoy and present that fluidity to my readers!

Now I can’t see top/bottom role being fixed between Luffy and Law or any slash ship I indulge in. Hence now by default every LawLu fic of mine has Switch dynamics! Because they are people who will like to see and experience every aspect of sex and pleasure!

And Luffy is Greedy he will like it both ways and every other ways one can enjoy intimacy. And Law definitely is a Giver so he will give both ways and more too!

[anime-kia]

Lust and Temptation

I know I said that I was on my writing hiatus, but a wave of inspiration hit me. I was in my room jamming to some Kirk Franklin when the idea came to me. Yes you can turn up to gospel, don't @ me. 

This is going to be a religious fanfic (with a bit of blasphemy), if you're not Christian and/or don't believe in God you can still read this story, BUT! Do not leave any comments that would be disrespectful to my beliefs. If you do leave anything disrespectful: Delete and mute :) You are not obligated to read this story, it's your choice. 

And also I'm gonna dive a little more further, beyond what is openly taught. The worldly doctrine as it is called because I'm sure Erik would be that type of guy.

~ Post Black Panther ~

Warnings: Smut (takes a while for it to happen btw), Angst (a bit), A tad of deep stuff (religion wise)

Relationship: Erik x Christian Reader

Sunday morning, you dreaded it as a child, but now it was a lot more tolerable. It was the same thing every week; wake up at ten, use the bathroom, shower, brush your teeth, eat breakfast, get dressed into your Sunday best and head out to church to catch the twelve o'clock service. 

As a child your routine was fairly the same, except you had to wake up much earlier and attend all three services. Why? Because you're the pastors daughter. The only thing you genuinely enjoyed about church was the singing. You always had the ability to sing, but you were too young to join the choir. You loved the Lord with all your heart too, but you hated sitting down for hours listening to your father preach. He had a nice voice, but you could only listen to the same thing for so long. 

The memories of your mother scolding you for fidgeting too much or asking to leave early made a smile grace your face as you drove down the relatively and empty highway. 

It was warm out, and knowing that, the A/C would be blasting so you decided to wear a long sleeve cream coloured blouse that was tucked inside of a long black body con maxi skirt (appropriate enough for church) and black stilettos. You paired the outfit with gold accessories and light makeup.

One of the perks of being the pastors daughter included getting close parking, and you always took your spot on the right side of your father's white Lexus RX. Locking your car door, you made your way to the front doors being held by two young boys that you teach after the singing is completed. 

"Good afternoon, Miss (Y/N)." They both said in unison. 

"Good afternoon boys, how was your vacation?" They were away for two weeks, you remember how happy they were when they told you they'd be traveling out of the country for the first time.

"So fun!" The shorter one missing his two front teeth, Anthony, enthused.

"Yeah, we got to swim in the ocean!" Jacob matched his brother's excitement. 

"Oh really? That's so cool!" 

You allowed them to chat your ears off about their vacation to the Bahamas while they continued to hold the doors. Anthony was about to tell you about the shark he saw until your mother spotted you. 

"Hey, baby. How are you?" The familiar scent of Estée Lauder whiffed through your nose as she pulled you into a hug. 

"Hi Mom, I'm good." You waved to the boys as you walked with her towards the nave, "How's dad?" You greeted the church brothers and sisters who were setting up the equipment and rehearsing before the service started.

"The same, of course." She rolled her eyes and you chuckled.

"There's my star! Come here." Your father came down the stage and gave you a bear hug. 

"Hey, Dad." Your voice was muffled into his shoulder. You took the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped his shiny forehead. "You're sweating." You said and placed it back into the pocket.

"It's a great service. Speaking of which, why did you stop coming to all three? We could really use your voice for all of em. Sister Eva is great, but you know how to get the crowd going."

You thanked him, and avoided answering the question truthfully. 

"(Y/n), let's get you set up." One of the technicians pulled you to the stage and gave you your usual equipment for singing. 

There were about ten minutes before the service was going to start so you quickly rehersed with the band and before you knew it people started filling into the space. Familiar members of the church gathered in, sliding into the seats and making room for others. You spotted a few of your church friends and gave them a little wave.

They would often tease you for being a good girl. The pastor's daughter usually got a bad rep. Them being the ones to do it all; sex, drugs, smoking, tattoos, etc. But you never found the need to do any of that. The only "rebellious" thing you've done was get your nose pierced. Your dad hated it (and he still does), but your mother was a lot more lenient. 

"Good afternoon everyone." You greeted the congregation with a smile, and they replied with a drowsy response. "I said good afternoon, everyone!" You had more enthusiasm in your voice this time, and they also did. "Much better. Now has God been good to you?"

"Yes!"

"And has he provided for you? Loved you unconditionally?"

"Yes!"

"He is great, ain't He?"

"Amen!" Cheers and applauds sounded the room.

"Yes, amen. Now I wanted to start off with an upbeat song. Let's get everyone up on your feet and clap your hands like this."

The congregation stood to their feet and followed your pace of claps. The band started playing their version of Kirk Franklin's, Looking For You. You allowed them to play the intro and then you and the choir joined in.

I've been down so long

I've been hurt for so long

There were times I thought I'd never see the break of day

It was hard for me to see your plan for me

And I tried to believe surely it won't last always

You enjoyed seeing everyone getting in tune with their souls through the music, parents were dancing with babies and children on their hips, little kids were jumping up and down. This was the best song to get everyone moving and ready to celebrate their love for the Lord. It almost caught you off guard when you noticed someone was still seated, it was hard to see him clearly because he was in the far back, but you knew that this was his first time coming to this church. He had a very distinct look, dreads, and a large frame. You thought maybe he was just one of those people who stopped by to hear a few words then leave, but he was dressed in his Sunday best, just like everyone else. He also looked like he had full intentions to stay.

You continued to sing your heart out, hyping the crowd up with reminders of why God is so good, and them replying amen. You danced and let the music flow through your body. Yup, this was the best thing about church.

Your voice was warm and welcoming, your energy was refreshing, your beauty was tranquilizing to him and he wanted to get to know you. He had the right intentions coming into the building, but seeing you lit a spark in him that he tried to suppress. 

The song came to an end, and he hadn't realized. The thunders of applauds and praises pulled him out of his trance, and he soon joined in. 

"Amen. You know what my favourite part about church is? The singing, not only because God blessed me with this voice, but because it touches my soul. Psalms 95:1 says 'Come, let us sing for joy to the LORD; let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation'." 

"Amen!"

"Glory be to God, and we lift our hands to you. We sing our praises to you! Every praise, is to you oh Lord." That was the cue for the band to get into the next song, Every Praise. You once again set the tempo for the sways and the congregation followed. 

Every praise is to our God

Every word of worship with one accord

Every praise every praise is to our God

Sing hallelujah to our God

Glory hallelujah is due our God

Every praise every praise is to our God

He decided to sit still, but tapped his feet to the beat of the song, his hands folded in his lap. He was so enamoured by you, that he hadn't noticed when a little girl rested her hands onto his knee. He looked down at the brown skinned baby, no older than two he assumed. She had two little puffs secured with bow clips, and a pink and white dress with matching shoes. She pushed herself off of his knee and smiled at him, her little hand waving to him. He smiled at her until she was pulled away.

"Sorry about that." A younger looking lady said, "My baby likes to meet everyone." She was a beautiful lady with dark skin, coily tresses fixed into a puff and pearly white teeth. 

"No problem." He simply replied with the same smile he gave the little girl. 

When she returned to her spot, which was only a seat away from him, he noticed that she wasn't with a man. He predicted that she was a young single mother, and he could tell she was somewhat stressed out. His training gave him the ability to read people with ease, and his past self had a knack for "fixing" stressed out women. He was so close to getting out of his seat and reverting back to his old ways, but that was why he was here in the first place so he decided to stay seated and listen to your voice.

"I have another verse for y'all. Ephesians 5:19, 'Speaking to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit. Sing and make music from your heart to the Lord'." You recited. "I have one more song before I let my father take over. This one always gets me emotional." The band once again started up with a softer melody. "Everyone just lift your hearts and voices as you sing with me."

The graceful rhythm of Healer flowed through the room and everyone calmed down, getting in tune with themselves and their saviour, you included.

You hold my every moment 

You calm my raging seas 

You walk with me through fireand heal all my disease 

You closed your eyes while singing, swaying to the beat. The choir handled majority of the song while you let it resonate in your heart. You could feel tears welling into your eyes.

Nothing is impossible for You

Nothing is impossible

Nothing is impossible for You

You hold my world in Your hands

He could feel the depth in your voice, the emotion wrapped around him, he was almost driven to tears. He had never seen anything so beautiful, so dedicated, so pure and loving. Your voice was more than enough proof for him. He was a sinner and he knew he would corrupt you, but you were like a lure, pulling him in.

"Amen!" Your voice called out, as the song came to a close. He was surprised that your voice sounded so normal, not a crack present. Had you not said anything, anyone would've been convinced that you were crying, but your voice had masked that very well. "Thank you everyone, thank you." Applauds filled the room, he was surprised to find himself clapping as well. You walked off the stage, your father giving you another hug just before you got to your seat.

"Amen indeed," He began. "My daughter everyone!" He clapped and the congregation joined in again. You smiled as your mother kissed your temple, stating how beautiful you sounded. It always felt good, not the applauds and recognition from everyone, but being able to use your talent to praise God and to be able to allow people to do the same whether they could sing or not.

Today's lesson was about forgiveness and acceptance. 

"Now I want y'all to think. And think real good." Your father eyed the crowd, "Are y'all holding a grudge against someone?"

Some folks shook their heads, others remained silent. He was one of them who remained silent.

"Why? Maybe they've wronged you, hurt you, lied on you, stole from you. But you know what, you know who doesn't hold a grudge... The Father. In fact, He loves you all so much that He sent His only son to die on the cross for all of our sins. Imagine that." 

He listened carefully to the pastors words, taking in everything like a sponge. You on the other hand had this speech given to you a thousand times, you could probably teach this lesson if you wanted to. Holding grudges was not natural to you, so you never did. You always forgave and forgot, no matter the circumstance. 

Usually you were sent off to teach the younger kids their own lesson, but another one of the members allowed you to take this Sunday off and took your place instead.

The lesson continued for an hour and church had finally started coming to it's end.

"I would like to close this off with a prayer before you all leave. Anyone who needs a special prayer is more than welcome to stay behind. Please join your hands together as we say this prayer."

He was hesitant to hold hands with any stranger, but an old lady (with a surprisingly strong grip) to his left and the single mother to his right held his hands and already had their heads bowed. He followed suit and listened to the prayer that the pastor had recited.

"I pray you all have a blessed week, and we'll see you again next Sunday."

You were required to stay behind, not that you minded, but you were apart of the church crew. Leaving so soon would seem inappropriate. 

A few people made their way down to the front to receive an extra prayer, he was going to leave, but he saw you standing off to the side waiting for anyone to come by. 

Of course he wasn't nervous to greet you, women were so easy when it came to him.

"Bye, Sister Mary. See you next Sunday." You waved to the older lady as she made her way out, smiling at him as he made his way over to you. 

He stood in front of you, towering over you.

"Hello." You greeted him. This was the same man you saw seated when you first opened the service. 

"Hey." He replied with a smirk.

"What's your name, stranger?"

"Erik."

"I'm (y/n), nice to meet you. I don't think I've ever seen you in this church before."

"Nah, I'm new. It's actually my first day here."

"Oh lovely, so I guess you're going to be joining us from now on?"

He was very hesitant to reply and you had already figured out he was one of the lost as our father would describe them. People trying to find God again after hardship. He did look quite rough on the edges, handsome though.

"That's alright, but I do hope you consider. Now what type of blessings are you in need of today?"

"I'm looking for peace." His voice was very gentle as he explained.

You held your hands out to Erik, "Aren't we all." You smiled at him as he placed his calloused hands into yours. This alone told you he's been through more than you could ever imagine. You began to pray for him, asking God to bring peace and security to his heart. 

Like your singing, there was so much passion and sincerity in every word you spoke. He found it strange that someone he'd never met before could actually lend out their time to wish him all the best through the form of prayer. It was odd, the feeling in his heart was warm. Not something he was use to.

"Erik?" He was staring so deeply at you, it was like he was in a trance. "Erik?" You called again. 

He hadn't realized when you stopped praying, "Oh shi- I mean shoot. Sorry." He let go of your hands as he apologized.

You gave him a sympathetic smile, "It's all good."

He was at a loss for words, all he could say was, "Thanks for this."

"Of course, I'm here every Sunday. I hope to see you again."

"Yeah."

Next Sunday rolled around and you were a lot more excited this time. You really hoped that Erik would be there. On the highway you exceeded the speed limit just a little bit to get to church faster. You parked your car and got into the church, this time no one was holding the door as you were a lot earlier. 

Everything followed suit as usual, you sing, your father preaches and closing prayer. You had spotted Erik while singing, this time he was standing up and clapping. It was a good start, he'd get to singing eventually.

This week he had asked you to pray for healing and restoration in his heart. Before leaving, you gave him a hug and you were quite surprised when your palm touched his back. You felt ridges, lot's of them. You wanted to ask him about them, but it would probably be rude. Maybe he had a skin condition.

The following Sunday was also the same, but this time he had asked you to pray for guidance. You knew he was lost, and you were more than happy to help. You didn't know, however, about the burden he was carrying, nor did you try to pry into that. After the prayer he thanked you.

Suddenly your mother and father came over to greet you both.

"Hey Mom, Dad. This is Erik."

"Lovely to meet you, Erik." Your mother shook his hand.

"Welcome to the church. You must be new." Your father also shook his hand.

"Yeah, it's his third time here." He nodded as you spoke for him.

"Glad to have a new member." He patted Erik on the shoulder. "(Y/n), are you coming over for dinner tonight?"

"Yes, I just gotta grab something at my place and I'll see you there."

"Alright, we're heading out now. Drive safe. Once again, nice to meet you Erik." Your parents waved to you both as they left the church.

You sighed, "I hate closing up this place, it's so eerie in the dark."

"For real?"

"Yup."

"The Lord's house?"

"Yes, Erik."

"How God suppose to give you bad vibes?"

"He doesn't, it's just my mind running rampant... Plus, this church is really old."

"Aight, I can stay and protect you just in case." He joked.

You rolled your eyes and agreed anyway. "I gotta do the basement first."

So he followed you down to where the bathrooms and meeting rooms were located.

"I guess I could give you a little t-" You turned around, but he wasn't there. "Erik?!" You called out. "Erik, come on this ain't funny." The light shut off and you were alone in the dark. You screamed when you felt a hand land on your shoulder. You slapped the hand away and the lights came back on revealing a laughing Erik. "So. Not. Funny."

"I'm sorry." He continued to laugh.

Two months had passed and this Sunday followed the same, but when closing prayer rolled around Erik had prayed for a date.

"What do you mean a date?" You giggled at his request. "I'm gonna need you to be more specific." 

"Exactly that, a date. With you."

You were taken aback by his statement, but then smiled. "What will this date consist of?"

"Anything you want."

One thing you learned about Erik with knowing so little about him was his bold and cocky demeanour.

"Alright... Hmm..." You thought of how you would play along with his request. "Oh Lord, I pray that Erik takes me somewhere nice, with good food and good music. I also pray that this may not turn out to be a bad experience, in your holy name, amen." 

He loved to see your laugh, "So that's a yes?"

"Yes."

Your parents had left early again and you were subject to Erik's pranks and duty of closing up. After locking the church, he walked you to your car as you entered your number into his phone.

"So I'll pick you up on Friday at six?" 

"Yeah, see you then Erik." He locked your door for you and strode off to his car as you drove away. 

Erik was really hoping that he wouldn't screw anything up. You could be his redemption and he truly felt it. Sure he'd only known you for such a short time, but something about your presence felt so promising to him. 

It was five p.m. and you just got out of the shower when you had called Erik.

"Ya know, you still haven't told me where you're taking me." 

"Don't worry about it, ma."

"But I don't know what to wear."

"Just dress good."

You frowned at the general answer, "That could mean anything. I have good pyjamas, good gym clothes, good church clothes."

You could hear him sigh on the other line, "We're going on a date. Wear something sexy then."

You blushed at his comment, "Wha- Fine."

"Just don't take forever, aight."

"Okay, Erik see you soon."

"Later, princess."

Before you could ask him about his pet name for you, the line went dead.

Your black Persian cat, Minnie, hopped onto your bed and meowed at you. Her name was quite ironic because her fur gave her a large appearance. 

"What's up, Minnie? You hungry?" 

She rolled onto her back and meowed again. 

"Alright, lemme just finish getting ready then I got you, okay." You rubbed her stomach, (luckily she doesn't mind that) and went into your closet looking for the perfect outfit.

Something sexy...

You never thought about dressing "sexy". You didn't have bad style, but you never wore anything to attract attention. Your outfits were mainly business casual or business dressy when you were out. At home, you settled for something comfy.

But remembered your sister taking you shopping when she set you up for all those blind dates. None of the men you met were intriguing in the slightest. They all had their quirks and nicks that were huge turn offs. You weren't stuck up, but you could not see yourself spending the next fifty years with them. Erik though, had something enticing about him. He made you curious.

You decided to go for blind date outfit number two. A high-low dress with a white polyester satin top and royal blue mesh bottoms, silver accessories, light makeup and white stilettos. You slipped into the dress, zipping it up and adjusted the bottom. 

You thought about what food you were going to order as you filled up Minnie's food bowl with wet food, salmon to be exact, her favourite. If he was one of those cheap men, he'd take you to McDonalds. You were told to be grateful in any case, so you would order a combo. But maybe you were lucky enough to be going on a date with someone who has a decent bank account. Maybe he'd take you to a restaurant where you could order pasta or a fancy fish. Maybe a hibachi grill! Those were always a ton of fun to go to. 

Though Erik and you have known each other for two months strictly because of church, you didn't know anything about him. Once again, he never failed to remind you of how mysterious he was. He could be a killer for all you know.

You stroked Minnie's back as she quickly ate her dinner. 

"Maybe I could order the same thing Mom and Dad made me the last time I was over there." They had made grilled steak and potatoes, it was delicious. Your mother was actually a queen on the grill, and your father tagged in with the perfect seasonings. You always ate good with them. While you daydreamed about consuming their cooking, your father's words replayed through your head. 

"I dunno, I feel like I've seen him before. Like he just seems so familiar."

"How so?"

"I'm not sure, the name... Also, when I touched his shoulder I felt these bumps, it reminded me of something, but I'm not so sure."

"Maybe it's a coincidence." 

"Maybe..."

The raps against your door brought you out of your thoughts and you went over to go open it. There Erik stood in a black semi casual suit and black Louis Vuitton loafers.

"Hey, Princess."

"Hey, Erik." You gave him a hug getting a whiff of a cologne that was very subtle, but you already knew it was very expensive. You recall smelling it in a high end store at the mall.

"You smell good." He said. What he was smelling was your body mist from Victoria's Secret, you got it on sale for five dollars.

"Thanks, I should be saying the same to you."

"You look sexy too."

"Ah thanks." You stopped yourself knowing where he was going.

"What, you ain't gonna say the same to me?"

"I mean, I guess you look alright." You teased.

He kissed his teeth and shook his head and you laughed. 

"Bye, Minnie. I'll be back later." You locked the door and latched arms with Erik as he guided you down the steps to his car. "Oh my gosh, this is your ride?" You exclaimed, charmed by the shiny black Corvette.  

"One of." He plainly stated, opening the passengers side for you.

"One of?!"

"Hop in." He ignored your question for clarification. You got in and he locked the door, making his way around to the driver's side. He wasted no time taking off into the night. The sky was shaded with a warm orange colour as the sun began to sink below the Oakland skyline. His music was a lot lower than you had originally expected.

You could faintly hear the tune and lyrics, it was a Biggie Smalls song that you've heard throughout high school. You hummed to the beat of the song until it completely stopped.

"Hey, it was low enough." You frowned at Erik. 

"Why don't you sing for me instead?" His focus was still on the road.

"Well, I usually like to have a beat playing."

"You don't do A Capella?" 

"Only when I'm at home."

"So you ain't tryna sing a lil something for me?" He turned to look at now that he was at a stop light.

"Only if I can get a beat."

"I don't beat box."

You rolled your eyes, "I wasn't asking you to do it. Do you have an aux cord?"

He laughed, "Aux cord?" 

"What's so funny about that?" You narrowed your eyes at him. 

"Just connect it to my bluetooth."

"Oh alright, Mr. Fancy." You held your hands up in a surrender. 

After setting it up, which was surprisingly really fast compared to your car, you chose to play another one of your favourite Kirk Franklin songs, I Smile. 

Today's a new day, but there is no sunshine

Nothing but clouds, and it's dark in my heart

And it feels like a cold night

Today's a new day, but where are my blue skies

Where is the love and the joy that you promised me?

Not even a minute through the song and this man had turned the radio off.

"Erik!" 

"You singing that gospel shit, it ain't even Sunday."

"I'm not a Sunday Christian, I practice it every day of my life."

He laughed, and began driving as the light changed to green. "You're the first."

"What do you mean?" 

"You know, I always thought this religious thing was bullshit."

"Excuse m-"

"Hold on, let me explain." He held his hand up, "You even admitted it just now. Y'all go to church every Sunday, belting your hearts out and praising God. But as soon as it's over, people go back to their sinful ways. Whether it be cheating, lying, stealing, ya get what I'm saying?"

It's true, it has definitely crossed your mind on multiple occasions, and that's why you said what you said. "I do."

"What's the point if you're just gonna go back to being a sinful person?"

"I guess it just gives them some type of security." You didn't exactly know how to answer his question, and you've asked your father the same thing many times, but even he could not come up with the perfect explanation. 

"Anyway, what else you got on your phone?" 

"Mainly just gospel, it really gets me through the day."

"You was just humming to Biggie. I'm sure you got something other than gospel, let me see." He held his palm out for you to place your phone in it. 

"You're driving, focus on the road."

"The light's gonna change, let me see it." He slowed to a stop.

"Fine." You placed the phone into his hands and scanned for songs other than gospel. His sudden laughter made you stare at him, "What's so funny?"

"Clean, clean, clean. All these songs got the little clean icon." He handed you your phone, "Aight, I'm firing you from DJ duty."

"Wooowwww." You rolled your eyes and folded your arms across your chest.

"I got you." He lifted his phone and scrolled through his list, you alerted him when the light turned green and he set his phone back down in the cup holder. "You got this one on ya phone."

T-Pain's, Bartender filled the car and you were a little surprised. You really thought he was gonna chose a song that was loaded with cursing and sexual innuendos. But you didn't have songs like that on your phone. Honestly, you lived for the early 2000s throwback songs and you felt your voice complimented T-Pain's as you sang along.

Erik handled the verses as you sand the pre-hook and the hook. The bass in his car was amazing, you felt as if you were at a live concert seated in front of the speakers. You continued to listen to his early 2000s playlist until he decided to change it up to more recent songs. 

"Please don't play those new artists."

"Artists? They ain't artists, they fuckin' trash. Disgraceful to even call themselves rappers." He scoffed.

"I'm glad you agree, but do you have to swear?"

"Fuck yeah." He set his phone back down and a song you were unfamiliar with filled the car, "Neighbor, Juicy J and Travis Scott." He told you. You knew Travis, his songs were pretty good.

You were bopping to the music, ignoring the little "Shut the fuck up" at the beginning. Erik was vibing to the song as well, bopping his head and doing little dances with his hands. You were enjoying the song until the chorus came. He was looking at you the whole time with a smirk.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

Your mouth was ajar, watching him recite every single word. He bursted out laughing at your shocked expression. 

"Damn shorty, it ain't that serious." He turned the volume down, "You telling me you've never cussed?"

"No, never."

Your expressions changed, his mouth was now ajar this time. "Never?"

"Never."

"Say, sofa."

You stared at him suspiciously. "Sofa."

"Now say, king."

"King."

"Say it together real fast."

"Sofa k- Really?" You glared at him.

"I tried. Anyway, we're here." He hopped out and came around to the other side to get you.

"This place is beautiful, oh my gosh. I thought you needed to make reservations some months ahead to get in." You gawked at the super high ceiling with crystal chandeliers, the marble walls and floors, and the large gold fountain placed right in the centre. "How'd you do it?"

He simply shrugged.

"You're taking this very lightly. I mean, this is a lot for a first date."

"You don't like it?"

"No, no. I love it, it's just, a lot to take in and you're acting like this is normal."

"It is." He shrugged again.

"What?" You stared at him incredulously. 

A waiter arrived at the table, placing a basket of bread and fancy cheese platter on the table.

"Good evening, can I start you both off with some drinks?" 

"Lemme get your best bottle of Rosé. The whole thing."  

Erik hadn't even looked at the menu and you were searching through it quickly. The waiter had already gone off and you didn't have a chance state that you only wanted a glass of water.

"I don't drink." You told Erik.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't care to."

"You never had a little sip?"

"Nope, never. Just like swearing. Never done it, never will."

"Say sofa-"

"Be quiet." You cut him off and he chuckled.

"Ya know, Jesus turned water into wine. John 2:1-11. The bible ain't against drinking."

"So?"

"So, he wasn't afraid to have fun. We talking about God's son. That man had serious responsibility, but he still did that. You need to loosen up, girl. I ain't asking you to get drunk."

You sighed, and the waiter had returned with a bottle of the Rosé. He poured you a glass and asked if you both needed some time to order, but Erik had already placed his order and yours. 

"Wha- I don't even know what you just ordered." 

"You'll like it, I promise."

Goes to show how often he comes here, maybe with other women too.

"So this is the part where you tell me about yourself." You began.

"Well shit, what do you wanna know?"

"Well first of all, what in the world do you do?"

"I work for a Wakandan outreach centre in Oakland. Helping our people do better with the fucked up system."

"Oh that's pretty cool, it pays well?"

"Well if you're trying to ask how I can afford everything I got, I also work beside the King of Wakanda. His advisor to be exact. So I get my money like that."

You stared at him puzzled, "Huh?" 

He smirked, "I guess you can say I'm royalty. That dude I called King, he's my cousin."

You almost choked on the bread that you just took a bite out of, "WHAT?"

The white people turned around to look at the source of the sound, their noses scrunched up at your vulgar outburst as Erik laughed.

"You know Erik, lying lips are an abomination to the Lord. Proverbs 12:22." 

"Who said I was lying?"

The waiter had come back with two steaming plates that were covered by a cloche. As he raised the silver metal covering, steam smoked out from the sides revealing two plates of alligot and garlic roasted chicken sliced into perfect pieces with truffles and caviar. You've heard of alligot once on a YouTube video, but you hadn't planned on trying it.

You both thanked him as he left you two to finish off your meal.

"So, what do you do?" He used the knife to cut the chicken breast into a smaller piece before putting it into his mouth.

"Well, I'm a full time social worker at a high school and part time singer and youth teacher on Sunday's. But you already knew that." You said while scooping the cheesy potato onto your fork.

"Maybe you could come talk to some of the kids at the centre. Teach em a bit."

"I could, but I'd have to find somewhere in my schedule to fit it."

"We're always open and willing to get more people on our team. Just let me know."

"For sure." 

You both ate in relative silence, only because you were still staring at the rose coloured drink resting to the right side of your plate. Erik had already finished half of his glass. You told him, maybe you'd opt out because surely he can't drink and drive home, but he assured you his alcohol tolerance was very high. It was a little insipid how high it was a matter of fact.

"It won't kill you, just think of it as pink lemonade."

You narrowed your eyes as you brought the glass to your lips, allowing the liquid to enter your mouth.

"Swallow it."

And you did. It actually wasn't as bad as you expected it to be. 

"See, how was that?"

"Not bad." You actually really enjoyed the taste.

The rest of your night consisted of questions and answers, jokes, serious debates on religion, politics and what the hell was going on within the black community, internally and externally. You had downed three glasses of the Rosé without noticing. 

"So, would you date a white girl?" You asked him.

He didn't even spare a second to think, "Nah."

"Why not? Don't black men love them?"

"I mean, they aight. But I need someone who I can really connect with. Mentally, spiritually, emotionally and physically. No white girl can truly understand the struggle, I need me a lady to not only sympathize when I'm crying for one of my brothers murdered unjustly, but to feel exactly what I'm feeling."

"I say that too. Relating is super important in a relationship. There's no way I can be silent just because you don't want to hear about the things we deal with. I use to be friends with this white girl, back in 2016 when police brutality was at a high. She did not have a single care when I was speaking about it, she would find excuses for the police... She really tried to justify their actions. I was appalled."

Erik shook his head, "Damn. But that's to be expected. If it ain't affecting them, why should they give a fuck?" He rhetorically asked.

"I would then ask God, why. Why us? Why black people? Why do we carry the burden and the struggle."

Erik leaned in, intrigued by your question. "Did you find the answer?"

"It's all in the bible. A lot of people miss it, a lot. My father included and it's so sad."

Erik had already asked God the same question. He knew the answer.

"It's all right there, the verses, the scriptures. Everything. You should check out Romans 10:19."

Erik had already started siting the verse, "I will make you envious by those who are not a nation; I will make you angry by a nation that has no understanding." He shook his head, "When you know your true identity, you become unstoppable."

You stared at him in shock, "You know?"

"We're a lot alike, (y/n). Trust me, I've asked that question countless times." His grip on the neck of the glass was tight, "Not necessarily as a whole, but 'why me?' Why do I have to be the stereotype, why do I have to be the black parentless, foster-care kid, why couldn't I grow up like a normal child. Two parents, maybe some siblings. Hell, a dog too."

"What do you mean?"

"I lost both my parents at a young age, barely knew my mom. My dad was murdered by his own people..." You tried to look into his eyes, but they seemed so distant as he continued to explain the story.

"I'm so sorry, Erik."

"Nah, it's all good now. My life was shit, but like you sang back at church, that Kirk Franklin song."

"Looking for you?"

"Yeah, the beginning part."

"I'm glad my singing got to you." You smiled at him. You're not sure when it happened, but your hand had found his and your thumb rubbed over his knuckles. He lifted your hand up and pressed it against his lips.

"How you get drunk off of Rosé?" He shook his head with a judgemental look on his face.

"I'm not." You weren't totally drunk, just a bit.

The drive to his place was rather quick, you were already making it into his gated home. It was a little hard to make out what the place looked like in the dark, it was almost as if he made it incognito. Not a single light was on. As he unlocked the high tech door, a wave of cold air slapped your bare arms making you shiver. 

"Why does it feel like Antartica in here?" 

"It's just how I like it." He closed the door and put the lock back on.

"No way." You held your arms as you shivered, but he placed his very hot blazer over your shoulders. Okay, so now you understood why he kept his place so cold. The man generated heat like an oven. You were instantly warmed up.

"Lights on, main floor." He spoke to no one in particular, or so you thought until a robotic female voice recited his command and lights began turning on. 

"Whoa, is this one of those smart homes?"

"Kinda. It just got vibranium and Wakandan technology."

"Seriously?" 

"I did tell you the King is my cousin." He began walking into another room.

"Hold up!" You caught up to him. 

You were now in his kitchen that connected to his living room. His style was very modern and sleek. It was so clean that not a single spot of dust was visible to the naked eye. He had many African artworks and artifacts around the room and a gigantic map of the world with little red pushpins located in different spots. 

"Hey Erik?"

"Hmm?" He was taking a shot of something with a golden brown colour.

"What's up with this map?"

He swallowed the liquid and made his way over to you. "It's for every place I been."

"Cuz you were in the military right?"

"Yup."

Then the thought came to your head, "Hey, Erik?"

"Wassup?"

"Have you ever um..." Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to, "Actually, never mind."

"Aight." 

You sat down on his large sectional sofa and released your curls from your hair tie. It felt just as good as taking off your bra, but of course you couldn't do that at the moment. Then another thought came to you, but Erik had already seated himself beside you with a bottle of Hennessy in his hands, placing it down on the glass table. 

"More alcohol?" You've heard about Hennessy before, but you knew nothing about it.

"Yeah." He simply stated and turned on the TV.

"Can I get some?"

He looked at you funny, "Of what? That?" He pointed to the bottle.

"Yes."

"So you a drinker now?"

"It won't kill me." You restated what he said.

"Aight, look for a movie." He got up from the couch and went back into his kitchen to get you a glass.

You scrolled through the vast selection, you weren't sure what to watch. Anything but horror, you didn't want to invite anymore demons into the world. He came back before you could find anything.

"Just pick one." He said while filling your glass.

"There's too many to choose from. Why don't you do it?"

"Cuz, you're the guest and you won't like what I pick."

"How do you know what I like and don't like?"

"I got a pretty good understanding, ma. Now choose one."

You sighed and settled for one that looked decent, appropriate too.  You took a sip of the drink, your face scowling at the taste. "Oh my- You like this?"

"Mhm." He responded while taking a few more shots. You sucked it up and drank the rest, you didn't want to waste his booze anyway. 

By the thirty minute mark of the movie, your head found its way onto Erik's lap. The drink had sucker punched you, but you tried play it off. Erik was still unfazed, barely watching the movie. His attention was mainly on his phone.

A new sensation sparked your lower half, something you've briefly felt before, but suppressed it knowing exactly what it was. This time though, it came in all at once with a full force. It was an itch that needed to go away.  

You've heard about alcohol being an aphrodisiac before... Uh oh.

You compressed your thighs together relieving it for a few seconds, but it felt as though it intensified and Erik noticed you shifting. 

"You good?" He asked. His voice was so soft and enticing, calling you forward. You raised your head out of his lap and straddled him. "Whoa..."

"Erik..." Your voice came out very relaxed.

"Aye, you go-"

Your lips found their way onto his, stunning both of you in the process. You were kissing him so deeply without the intent of letting go. It was a sloppy kiss, truthfully, as you've never kissed another man before.

You had him on his back as you began undressing yourself down to only your matching pair of bra and panties.

"Baby girl, whatchu doing?"

"I'm tired of being the good girl, Erik. It's so boring." You whined to him.

Erik felt his dick twitch at the lust in your voice and eyes, he could feel his old self coming back quickly. He should've known better than to be drinking, but it was a rough week. 

You leaned in and met him with another kiss, this time he was the dominant one. You helped him out of his button up, your hands now coming in contact with the bumps that you felt back at church. Had you not been so wasted, you would've reacted, but that was the last thing on your mind. 

He was out of his pants before you knew it, and you were on your back. He kissed down your neck, making sure to leave love bites on you. He trailed all the way to your stomach, right down to the band of your blue lace panties. His fingers slid under the band yanking them further down till they were off completely. 

"Damn, ma." He ran his finger up and down your wet folds before inserting it.

"Uhh." You moaned at the intrusion. 

His tongue soon found it's way onto your clit as well. You moaned and thrashed as he continued to assault your womanhood. He made sure to hold you down as he ate you out. He was an expert, despite this being your first time, you could tell he was really skilled. He lifted your leg over his shoulder and stuck another finger into you. You hands found their way into his dreads and you gripped tightly, he hissed at your action.

"Ohhhh." You moaned aloud.

"You like this, mama?" 

"Nngh, yes!" 

The feeling in your core intensified until you could no longer hold it and you released without warning, a plethora of moans falling from your lips.

"Damn baby, you ain't warn me."

"Mmh, I'm sorry."

"Nah," He sat up. "Sorry ain't gonna cut it." 

He pulled off his boxers and climbed over top of your shaking frame. He took the tip of the penis and rubbed it along the outside of you, coating it in your wetness. You shivered at his touch.

He had one hand by your ear and the other on his member, guiding it into you. The stretch was unbelievable, your hands gripped his arms tightly. 

"Fuck, this pussy so tight." 

"Oh, unnghh."

"That's it, just a little more." He continued to slide into you, and you tried your best to ignore any pain you were feeling, but that was almost impossible. His gold chain that you hadn't noticed before dangled over your head, it had a ring attached to it.

He thrusted into you, not checking if you were alright. All you could feel was pain and little spurts of pleasure here and there.

"Mmh, oh. I-it's too much!" You groaned.

"I know you can take it, come on girl." 

He was definitely curing your itch, but that same feeling was welling into your core once again. You placed your hand on the lower half of his abdomen and begged for him not to go any deeper.

"Mhh-mmh. That's it, that's it." You continuously chanted as he continued thrusting. 

He pulled out and had you go on all fours, you were a shaking mess. He dived right back into you pumping at a steady pace. 

You cried out his name. "Erik, ohhhh fffff-" It was so overstimulating that you almost cursed. 

"Was that a bad word?" He spanked your ass.

"Ah! Noooo." You sighed.

"Come on, say it. I dare you."

"Mmh-mmh." You shook your head slightly.

He picked up the pace and your moans turned into screams as he brushed your cervix. Your toes curled tightly.

"Ahhhh, s-slow d-down unnghhh!" You could swear you were seeing stars as he hammered you into the sofa. 

"Ahhh shit." He sped up even faster. Your high was at it's peak now.

"Fuck!" You screamed out, not even realizing it, but a string of curse words followed. You couldn't stop yourself as you released onto his cock with a scream.

He pulled out and released onto your back as you collapse, blanked out without a care in the world.

The next morning, you felt something warm and wet on your shoulder.

"Minnie, stop. That tickles." You pushed the culprit away, but your hand retracted as soon as you felt human skin and kinky hair. You shot up and stared down at him. Regret instantly clouded your heart, and nausea filled your stomach. 

It wasn't a sinful dream... You had lost your virginity so a man you had barely known. Something you promised to keep to yourself until marriage.

"Get away from me." You pushed him away as tears streamed down your face. You scooted back so far and almost fell off of his king sized bed in the process.

"(Y/n), it's just me." 

"N-no, oh my gosh. Please tell me I was dreaming?" You held your head in your palms. You knew it was real, seeing that you were wearing one of his shirts, your curls were a hot mess, and you woke up in his bed. Not to mention the ache in between your legs.

"You good, ma?" 

"No, Erik! I'm not 'good'! I'm terrible." 

"Did I go too hard?" He asked without shame.

"That's not the issue, Erik! We had sex, right?"

"Yeah, it was great."

You sighed, collapsing your head into your lap. "I'm a sinner. I can't- I-"

"What's that suppose to mean?"

Your tears rolled off your cheeks landing onto the bed sheets, "You took my virginity, Erik."

"Oh shit..."

"I was saving it. Sex before marriage... Why would I do that? Ugh!"

" We were both drunk. It's not that serious, (y/n)." 

"Of course it is!" You snapped at him. "We barely even know each other... This is my first time seeing you outside of church."

He was silent as he watched your tears of regret fall.

"I gave in to one of the cardinal sins... God must be so disgusted with me." You sighed, "Hebrews 13:4, Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral."

"Hold up, you talking about lust, right?" He finally spoke up.

"Yeah." You answered with a sniffle. 

"Ain't you the one who told me about forgiveness. Redemption. All that shit." 

You looked at him a little puzzled.

"You really think you a bad person for fucking?" He took off his shirt, "You know what these bumps are? They each represent a kill."

Your eyes widened as your hand covered your mouth.

"Thou shalt not kill, one of the Ten Commandments. I disobeyed that one, each scar on my body reminding me. You know what's the sad thing about it, I don't regret any of them. I did what I had to do, that's the path I chose." He scoffed, "You worried about sex, I got blood on my hands, baby. Shit, I don't even know if I can be saved."

You had to register a lot, it was all so overwhelming. You had given in to temptation and had sex with a man you only knew so much about, not to mention he's a killer... But then it hit you.

"W-wait... Don't tell me that you're K-Killmoger..."

"Surprise." He said unenthusiastically, his eyes had glossed over at some point, but you missed it. 

It felt as if the weight of the world came crashing down on your shoulders. You weren't sure if you should run away, leave or stay. 

Surprisingly, you found yourself cradling his head in your lap. You both remained silent and let the moment register.

"John 1:9, If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." He said while your fingers ran against his scalp.

You decided not to sing this Sunday, as it would feel hypocritical to be teaching these people what it means to be a good Christian through songs. Throughout the service, you hadn't seen Erik. He was kind enough to drop you back at your place the night before, but he took off in a hurry.

"(Y/n), you're not praying for anyone today?" Your father asked as he waved a few sisters goodbye.

"Actually, I needed a prayer for myself. And also with Erik in mind."

"Sure, what about?"

"Forgiveness of sin and restoration."

The look he gave you was quizzical, "Alright."

As your father prayed, Erik watched from a distance. He could feel your father's words in his heart without actually hearing anything. He knew that he was no good for you. You were just a church girl doing the right thing, while he was still trying to figure it out.

He was your temptation and you were his.

Okay, so this has been my longest one-shot with 9000+. I hope you enjoyed!

(Start/Finish: November 7-8, 2018)

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

29th November >> Fr. Martin's Reflections/Homilies on Today's Mass Readings for Friday, Friday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time (Inc. Luke 21:29-33): ‘My words will not pass away’.

Friday, Friday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA) Luke 21:29-33 My words will never pass away.

Jesus told his disciples a parable: ‘Think of the fig tree and indeed every tree. As soon as you see them bud, you know that summer is now near. So with you when you see these things happening: know that the kingdom of God is near. I tell you solemnly, before this generation has passed away all will have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.’

Gospel (USA) Luke 21:29-33 When you see these things happening, know that the Kingdom of God is near.

Jesus told his disciples a parable. “Consider the fig tree and all the other trees. When their buds burst open, you see for yourselves and know that summer is now near; in the same way, when you see these things happening, know that the Kingdom of God is near. Amen, I say to you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.”

Reflections (8)

(i) Friday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

We have become used to rapid change in the course of our life time, especially for those who are now into their later years. So much has passed away, and so much that is new has come along to replace it. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus speaks of heaven and earth passing away. The expression ‘heaven and earth’ suggests all reality as we know it. Yet, this passing away of heaven and earth gives way to what Jesus calls the kingdom of God, and to what the first reading calls a ‘new heaven and a new earth’, ‘the holy city, the new Jerusalem’. God is always bringing something new out of what passes away. God is always the Creator. God is always at work creating a world that is an image of the kingdom of God. Jesus reveals God to be not only ever ancient but also ever new. The God who brought new life out of the death of Jesus is the Creator God who is always at work among us, in and through the risen Lord, bringing forth something new and wonderful from what is passing away. The risen Lord calls each of us to share in some way in this creative, life-giving, work of God. By our values, our attitudes, our actions, we are called to create little openings for the coming of God’s kingdom into our world. In this way we will be sharing in the continuous creative work of God the Father and his Son.

And/Or

(ii) Friday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

November can be a difficult month for people. It is a dark time of the year. During the month the days are gradually getting darker and shorter. It is a sombre month, made all the more so by our custom of remembering our loved ones who have died during this month. Even the readings at Mass tend to reflect the dark mood of November. The gospel readings have been very much about things coming to an end. That theme is summed up in today’s gospel reading as, ‘Heaven and earth will pass away’. ‘Heaven and earth’ was a way of speaking about every created reality. Every created reality is destined to pass away. It is a sombre message, even a dark message. Yet, the fundamental message of the gospel as a whole is that a light shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overcome it. It is perhaps above all in this month of November that we need to attune ourselves all the more to the presence of the light, the Lord’s light. The presence of that light is there to be found in our gospel reading. Having declared that ‘heaven and earth will pass away’, Jesus goes on to declare that ‘my words will never pass away’. His words will never pass away because he himself will never pass away. When all is taken from us, he remains as the one who love us to the end. When darkness seems to envelope us, the light of his loving presence is an even stronger reality. This conviction keeps us hopeful, joyful even, in dark and difficult days.

And/Or

(iii) Friday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

The gospel reading begins with one of the signs of the coming of Summer in the land of Jesus. When the fig tree begins to bud, then people recognize that Summer is near. Summer seems a long way off for us. There are signs of Autumn everywhere. There are some lovely Autumn colours about at the moment. We know that Autumn will give way to Winter and we associate winter in particular with the months of December, January and February. It will be March before we see real signs of the Summer to come in the form of buds on those trees that are first to come into leaf. The seasons come and then they go. The seasons change, just as so much changes in our world and in our lives. However, at the very end of the gospel reading Jesus says that there is something which never changes, which endures. ‘Heaven and earth will pass away’, he says, ‘but my words will never pass away’. The Lord has given us the gift of his word. We find it in the whole of the Scriptures, but especially within New Testament and, more particularly, within the four gospels. That word which does not pass away is an expression, a revelation, of the Lord who does not pass away, who is always present to us, in good times and in bad, in season and out of season.

And/Or

(iv) Friday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

This morning’s gospel reading comes towards the end of a passage which began with Jesus announcing that a time will come when not a single stone of the wonderful temple in Jerusalem will be left on another. It must have been impossible for people to conceive of that ever happening. The temple in Jerusalem was one of the Seven Wonders of the World at the time. Yet, in the history of the world so much has passed away that people thought would have been around forever. Even in recent times so much has fallen that once seemed immovable; we only have to think of the countries of the Middle East. We are left asking, ‘Will anything endure?’ In this morning’s gospel reading Jesus declares, ‘Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away’. The words of Jesus and the values they express will endure, and the one who proclaims those words, the Word made flesh, will endure. When all else fails, the Lord will be there. His relationship with us endures, even when our relationship with him grows weak, as Paul says in one of his letters, ‘if we are faithless, he remains faithful’. Indeed his relationship with us and ours with him endures beyond this life. His endurance is the foundation of our endurance.

And/Or

(v) Friday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

In the gospel reading this morning, Jesus speaks about heaven and earth passing away. We know from our own experience that a great deal passes away. Many of us will be able to think of very significant relationships that have passed away, relationships which we considered central to our existence. In this month of November we may have been thinking about and praying for such people. There is much that we want to hold on to that we know we will have to let go of. The time will come when we will have to let of our health, and even of life itself. Having said, heaven and earth will pass away, Jesus immediately says, ‘my words will never pass away’. When we have to let go of so much, the Lord’s words remain. We can continue to draw life and light and strength from the word of the Lord, no matter how much we have to let go of. The Lord endures and so does his word. The Book of Revelation from which we are reading these days speaks of him as the one who was, who is, and who is to come. We could say of the Lord’s words, that they were, they are and they are to come. This morning we thank the Lord for the gift of his words; we rejoice that here is a gift that never passes away.

And/Or

(vi) Friday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

We live in a world of rapid change. We have had changes in society, changes in the church. Many people find change disconcerting and unsettling. In the midst of change we need some constants. We find change easier to manage if at least some things remain the same. If we are to come to terms with change, especially very significant change, we need some element of stability. In the gospel reading this morning, Jesus speaks about change, not just change on a small scale, but change on a cosmic scale, hugely significant change. He makes reference to heaven and earth passing away; it is hard to imagine a more radical experience of change than that. Yet, having spoken of such radical change, he immediately refers to something that will never change ‘my words’, he says, ‘will never pass away’. In the midst of all our changes the word of the Lord remains a constant, because the Lord himself remains a constant. In the midst of disconcerting change we know that the Lord abides; when everything else is moving, he remains steady, and our connection with him, our relationship to him, and his to us, will keep us steady when all else seems unsteady.

And/Or

(vii) Friday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

The gospel reading speaks about trees budding as a sign of the nearness of Summer. We are many months away from that happening here. The trees are shedding the last of their leaves as Winter takes a grip. However, Sunday is the first Sunday of Advent and before Advent is finished the days will begin to get longer and the gradual return of the light will herald the coming of Spring in a couple of months. Regardless of whatever season we are in, another statement of Jesus in today’s gospel reading will always hold true, ‘the kingdom of God is near’. The reign of God through Jesus, our risen Lord, is always near to us. The Lord is constantly present among us and within each of us. One of the ways the Lord is present to us is through his word. His presence in and through his word is constant. In the concluding words of Jesus in our gospel reading, ‘Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away’. The Lord’s life-giving word accompanies us not just through all four seasons of the year, but through all the seasons of our life. The seasons of our life are not as regular as the seasons of nature. We can find ourselves in a personal winter at any time of our lives. We can suddenly enter a time when signs of light and life are difficult to find. It is at such times above all that we need to keep reminding ourselves of what Jesus says in today’s gospel reading, ‘the kingdom of God is near… my words will never pass away’.

And/Or

(viii) Friday, Thirty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

We are all familiar with the hymn, ‘Abide With Me’. In one of the verses we sing, ‘change and decay in all around I see, O thou who changest not, abide with me’. There is a recognition there that everything changes, everything passes, but the Lord himself does not change or pass away. That sentiment is very much in keeping with what Jesus says in today’s gospel reading. Jesus has been speaking about so much that is destined to pass away, including the wonderful Temple in Jerusalem, the city of Jerusalem itself, even the elements of the cosmos. Yet, he declares that ‘my words will never pass away’. The Lord’s words will never pass away because he himself will never pass away. In the Book of Revelation, the risen Lord declares, ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end’. He is our past, our present and our future. His loving presence in our lives endures forever. In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul says, ‘Love never ends’. God who is love never ends, and Jesus who is God in human form never ends. His loving presence is steadfast, enduring and faithful. All genuine love is life-giving and the Lord’s enduring love is supremely live-giving for us, bringing new life out of death itself. The Lord’s love endures beyond this earthly life and his relationship with us endures beyond this earthly life. It changes but does not end. Because the Lord’s love endures, never passes away, we can look forward in hope to a deepening of our relationship with him beyond this earthly life.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[kariachi]

Okay, looking at the history of Alan's page on the wiki, look into age shit. Going to try to keep my "I was literally there" commentary to myself.

~~

First mention of his age comes on April 28 2010, claiming it was stated by McDuffie but with nothing backing the claim.

It then back and forths a bit between his age being listed as 10, being listed as in his teens, or not listed at all based essentially on 'you don't have proof he's that young' 'you don't have proof he's not' and presumably 'guys he's like an inch shorter than Ben and built like a teen' it seems, eventually being left on 'he's 10'.

On January 2 2011 McDuffie is asked if the wiki is accurate as far as Alan's age and answers with "No, he's 11". This claim isn't added to the wiki, it seems nobody was citing any sources at the time.

On January 15 2011 the wiki is altered to show Alan as being 14 in AF, though the same page also lists him as 11.

January 16 2011 sees the 11 removed and replaced with fifteen.

An January 20 2011 the page is again altered to list him as 10 in AF and remove the mention of his age from the main body of the page.

On June 20 2011 somebody alters the wiki to state that he's 12 during AF, again with no citation.

This is changed back on June 24 2011.

On October 8 2011 the page is again changed to state that Alan is 14 in AF.

The page stays this way, including through multiple edits by the seeming originator of the 'Alan is 10' concept, until July 6 2014, when his age is removed entirely from the page.

The next time we see his age listed is after a long stint of the page being partially broken, on November 23 2014, listing him as 14 in AF.

His age is then removed again on January 18 2015.

And it stays like that until February 13 2019, when his age in AF is listed as 10 again, this time at least with a damn citation. The first, by the way, up until that day nobody was citing shit.

And that's how shit remains to this day.

~~

Now, doing this for 2 reasons. One- to back up my claims that 'he's 10' is inaccurate, there's a reason it was changed in the first place after that first comment from McDuffie ended up staying up nearly three years. And these weren't inactive years either, there were plenty of people going in and editing shit. Two- to give me a time to start looking to see if I can find where McDuffie clarified his age- somewhere between Jan 2 and Jan 15, probably closer to the latter.

Probably I won't be able to find it, it's been ages since the forum was taken down, and surely if it hadn't been lost to time somebody would have tracked it down by now, but I have to try. It just, burns at me so damn much, I have to make as strong an attempt as I can.

So, here I am off to search...

~~

And back several hours later with nothing to show for my trawling of archives, and I did fucking trawl. I've got 80 tons of shellfish and not a sign of this damn post because there's a massive chunk gone between the thread page fuckers managed to find and the next one I could get my mitts on.

Also the fucking site this thread page can be found on. It has like 70-odd pages from the old McDuffie site saved, all of them random single pages. How did this happen? Who set this up? The Internet Archive has shit in small batches, but this shit is just individual pages with whole chunks unaccounted for between them. Fucking weird. If nothing else these fuckers need to get in touch with each other and share what they've got.

~~

In the end though, I think this is if nothing else a solid reminder to archive shit. And to cite your goddamn sources when you're editing a wiki! Seriously, how the fuck did it take over twenty years to get a single citation on Alan's page? If people had been doing that from the start we would have had far fewer problems because we could just go 'this is what was said'! But no, now we're here, with me having to submit to the fact everybody is going to take a sarcastic remark as gospel despite contradictory evidence on the fucking screen until all knowledge of this fandom fizzles away!

Sorry, sorry, was trying to stay off that soapbox.

But, as important if not more so than the citations on wikis thing is still, back shit up people. Archive crap if you can. The Internet Archive has a Firefox extension, you can literally set it to automatically archive pages you go to. Because if this whole situation brings anything into the spotlight, it should be the fact that it's real easy for information to be lost to time. One man died, and because so much wasn't backed up, hundreds of pages, we've lost entire huge chunks of WoG and worldbuilding that now exists only in the heads of the people who were there to read it.

'The internet is forever' only holds true if we put in the effort, because otherwise everything from fandom crap to news articles to instruction manuals can vanish in a poof of lost funds and lost attention. If we wanna know shit later, we've got to store it now.

[bylightofdawn]

WIP Sunday

Alas, I don't think I'm going to finish this fic today, my attention span has been shit for most of the day though I did manage to write this. It's kinda longer than is prolly necessary but I could not find a good place to break it up. Cahir is having a minor philosophical crisis and Gallatin continues to be a ride or die bestie who is probably the only thing keeping him sane at this point. Aside from that, no REAL story spoilers. I guess for context, Cahir had broken off from him in the forest to seek out a mage/hedge witch in hopes she might be able to assist him in breaking the curse. In order to facilitate that, she cut off a slice of his arm and got some blood from him. NGL I know nothing about magic in the Witcher universe but everything I've seen seems to have very much a something must be sacrificed in order to power the spell with a lot of entropy magic tossed in. And at least one of the curses we see in the show is based off of blood magic sooooo I'm just making shit up as go along.

EDIT: And I'm at 9K already so nope, definitely NOT going to keep this under 10K. I've also made th decision I am going to break this up into chapters if only because the Witcher fandom in general seems to have shorter fanfics and chapters. Posting a 5K or 6K chapter in Star Wars is nothing but I think I'll need to come up with making this a bit more palatable in shorter doses which honestly, thanks to the structure of this fic being intertwined scenes, I think will be pretty easy. -crosses fingers-

This was one of the poorer parts of the Cintran capital and people who had even a sliver of roof space were prone to keeping pigeons for meat animals. They took up less space than chickens or other barnyard animals, and the scent of them was prominent in the air.

Cahir was faced with the dilemma of whether or not he wanted to risk potential food poisoning by visiting one of the local ale houses or if it would just be smarter to go to a better-heeled part of the city. After some trial and error, he had found a vendor two streets over that sold reputable pigeon pies. The problem is, they were often busy and sold out by this time, but Cahir opted to take his chances.

The Great Sun was in his favor today because he managed to snag one of the remaining hand pies and a relatively quiet place to eat in peace. When he’d been a small boy, before the Usurper ruined his childhood by arresting and locking away his father and older brothers, Cahir would have never had something so pedestrian as a pigeon hand pie.

Still, since the fall of his family during the reign of the Usurper, Cahir had eaten far worse things than pigeon pie. There’d been a time when he’d been literally starving where he’d have done anything for even the burnt crust of a leftover pie.

That was before the White Flame had found and rescued him from the worst pits of Hell and had given him a purpose. He’d anointed him, molded him into the perfect soldier and finally a commander of his army and Cahir had repaid that kindness with a devotion that bordered on zealotry.

He’d learned to stop asking questions, deeming all violent mayhem and bloodshed even if it seemed utterly unnecessary was required. As a boy who had lived through one Usurper’s reign and grown up to hate and eventually overthrow that regime he knew how dangerous it was to leave a crop of angry youths the room to grow into angry men and eventually kill you.

Or at least, that was what Emhyr had told him and Cahir had accepted it as gospel truth.

For nearly fifteen years, he had eaten up everything the White Flame had told him without question. He had committed some truly heinous actions, like the wholesale slaughter of towns that dared to resist the might of the Nilfgaardian Empire.

Yet at time went on, the voice of conscience had steadily gone quieter. There were times when it still bothered him but those times had become less frequent. Older soldiers he met had claimed that was signs of a seasoned campaigner. And that good soldiers followed orders because they only have a micro-view of the battle.

Making sense of the bloody arithmetic of war was up to the generals and commanding officers. They had the vision to recognize that the slaughter of ten dissenters would prevent a hundred more from getting any ideas of rebellion. And in doing so, a thousand lives might be saved.

When Cahir had risen through the ranks, those choices had fallen into his shoulders and he’d made them with the same bloodless dispassion he’d witnessed from the White Flame and it has mostly served him well.

Still, he’d found himself becoming more and more disillusioned throughout this seemingly endless campaign and even more so since he’d been stuck in this hellish reality of being forced to replay the same day over and over again.

For the first time since he’d been a starving whelp, he’d begun to question his place in it all. He still wanted to find Princess Cirilla, believed in the pit of his bones he was destined to find and rescue her.

At first, it had been with the intention of delivering her to her rightful father, but lately…lately he was no so sure of that. The nightmares and dreams he had of her foretold of a terrible fate if she was delivered to the White Flame’s hands.

He didn’t know why he accepted that so readily but it felt so real and more like a prophetic vision than the troubled nightmares of a troubled mind that now Cahir did not know what he would do when he found Cirilla.

Of course, until he figured out how to break this damned curse, there wasn’t much he could do.

“Do you know how fucking long I have been searching for you? And here you are just eating and wiling away the day like it is nothing.” That familiar pissed off voice dragged him from his maudlin thoughts and Cahir was not surprised. Gallatin had found him in this place more than once.

Maybe a part of him had subconsciously sought out this space because he knew the elf would find him here. Cahir broke half of the pie and held it out to Gallatin without a word.

The black-haired elf’s nostrils flared with irritation and he reached out to grab Cahir’s arm in a tight grip. “Chaos take you, Cahir!”

Cahir could not contain the hiss of pain that escaped him when Gallatin managed to grasp him right over the bandages mostly hidden by his sleeve as pain licked up his arm like fire.

Gallatin was many things, but unobservant wasn’t one of them, and he immediately moved his grip down so that he could catch the man’s wrist in a much gentler touch. It was a minor miracle Cahir managed to keep his grip on the pie. “Do you mind?”

“What have you gotten into now?” The other man demanded as he shoved the man’s sleeve back to reveal the pink-tinged bandage.

“It’s nothing to be concerned with.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you very much.” The elf said tartly and frowned at the bandages.

“It��s a minor injury, and as you can see, it has been addressed adequately.

“What happened Cahir?” There was a strange note in Gallatin’s voice, one which Cahir could not quite parse.

“I’m cursed, I sought out the help of a witch in order to find a way to break said curse.” The brunette finally confessed quietly. “Grab a seat and I’ll explain as best I can.”

By this point, he’d made it an almost artform, explaining to Gallatin the various vagaries and sordid tales of this walking nightmare. By now, he knew what to avoid if he didn’t want to lose control of the situation and what might set the elf off into a questioning tangent.

The first time had taken him the better part of an hour to read Gallatin in, now he’d gotten it down to a tight fifteen minutes. It never ceased to confound him why the elf was willing to accept the truth so easily when those closest to Cahir such as the White Flame doubted it.

He’d asked the elf about it once and got a vague answer about how magic had played such a centralized component in their lives that you just came to accept the impossible as real possibility. And while his people did not general dabble in curses and the darker side of Chaos and that the Aen Elle had been known to dabble in the darker arts.

By the time Cahir was done, Gallatin had finished his half of the pigeon pie without a word and looked vaguely poleaxed by the whole tale.

“And you think this witch is going to be able to conjure a cure for your curse?”

“I hope so, I’ve been doing this for almost six fortnights and have made little progress.”

Gallatin reached out and caught him by the shoulder in a companionable grip. “I’m sorry you have had to go through this, my friend. I hope this witch can help you but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned for you. Trusting your blood and flesh to some unknown witch…do you know the things she could do to you?”

He asked with concern bright in his eyes.

“I do, but even if she curses me with some kind of death curse…chances are I will simply wake up tomorrow free of the curse, and she will have no memory of me or hold any piece of myself she can use to curse me again,” Cahir admitted softly.

“It’s a dangerous game you are playing, Cahir. I will go with you to make sure she does not get any stupid ideas.”

That surprised him because he usually had to warn Gallatin of his impending death to divert the elf from his quest to reach the palace and his inevitable doom. And even then, it was a coin toss on whether or not he could convince him to put aside his overgrown sense of responsibility towards his people to listen to the human.

But Cahir would not look a gift horse in the mouth and nodded gratefully.

“I appreciate your assistance, Gallatin.” Cahir said with honest sincerity before climbing to his feet.

[spngeorg]

Episode 91: 5.09 The Real Ghostbusters

Chuck makes problems for everyone. But that’s pretty much the meta overview of the entire series, isn’t it? In this episode, he specifically gets to be a petty lil guy, though, which gave me an awful lot of real estate to roll around on.

I think I started this episode by hoping it would come in shorter than last week, and... uh... sorry about that? I was really on track to succeed at that! And then I had to keep adding in meta tangents. Once again, though, at least it’s a fun episode to spend time with.

Let’s get right to the links!

The Superwiki page for this episode

My tag for this episode

He seems helpful and dreamy… Lizbob’s thoughts on in-narrative book!fandom vs our tv show fandom

The Winchester Gospels tag on my blog for all your book fandom needs

Gore Orphanage Wikipedia page for Kripke’s inspiration behind the case

Production draft script with notes by James L Conway

Technical package (9 pages of set diagrams)

Casting call for Demian and Barnes

The CW promo for this episode

Listen now on AnchorFM, or wherever you enjoy podcasts!