#them using our hall for their churches

[stormofneurosis]

Destiny church

If you're a kiwi, you know, and might be able to do something

There's a petition gathering signatures to remove their tax exempt status

https://petitions.parliament.nz/a22e0d59-7da2-4edd-35f1-08dc74762dc5

For those of you who are kiwi and don't know, they're the church that thinks domestic violence is just "men being men" and that women should put up and shut up.

They think gay people are corrupt souls

Their leader Brian Tamaki encouraged mass gatherings at his church during covid lockdowns, while he hid out at his private estate and lead the prayer remotely (i.e. encouraged his followers to break the lockdowns while staying safe from the repercussions of them but also causing potential super-spreader events).

He is a RICH FUCK who loves to play groups against each other, a small minded bigot who steals money from people to make his own horde bigger.

He does not deserve to have his hate group be tax exempt

[ketchuppee]

During the 2008 recession, my aunt lost her job. Her, her partner, and my three cousins moved across the country to stay with us while they got back on their feet. My house turned from a family of four to a family of nine overnight, complete with three dogs and five cats between us.

It took a few years for them to get a place of their own, but after a few rentals and apartments, they now own a split level ranch in a town nearby. I’ve lost track of how many coworkers and friends have stayed with them when they were in a tight spot. A mother and son getting out of an abusive relationship, a divorcee trying to stay local for his kids while they work out a custody agreement, you name it. My aunt and uncle knew first hand what that kindness meant, and always find space for someone who needed it, the way my parents had for them.

That same aunt and uncle visited me in [redacted] city last year. They are prolific drinkers, so we spent most of the day bar hopping. As we wandered the city, any time we passed a homeless person, my uncle would pull out a fresh cigarette and ask them if they had a light. Regardless of if they had a lighter on hand or not, he offered them a few bucks in exchange, which he explained to me after was because he felt it would be easier for them to accept in exchange for a service, no matter how small.

I work for a company that produces a lot of fabric waste. Every few weeks, I bring two big black trash bags full of discarded material over to a woman who works down the hall. She distributes them to local churches, quilting clubs, and teachers who can use them for crafts. She’s currently in the process of working with our building to set up a recycling program for the smaller pieces of fabric that are harder to find use for.

One of my best friends gives monthly donations to four or five local organizations. She’s fortunate enough to have a tech job that gives her a good salary, and she knows that a recurring donation is more valuable to a non-profit because they can rely on that money month after month, and can plan ways to stretch that dollar for maximum impact. One of those organizations is a native plant trust, and once she’s out of her apartment complex and in a home with a yard, she has plans to convert it into a haven of local flora.

My partner works for a company that is working to help regulate crypto and hold the current bad actors in the space accountable for their actions. We unfortunately live in a time where technology develops far too fast for bureaucracy to keep up with, but just because people use a technology for ill gain doesn’t mean the technology itself is bad. The blockchain is something that she finds fascinating and powerful, and she is using her degree and her expertise to turn it into a tool for good.

I knew someone who always had a bag of treats in their purse, on the odd chance they came across a stray cat or dog, they had something to offer them.

I follow artists who post about every local election they know of, because they know their platform gives them more reach than the average person, and that they can leverage that platform to encourage people to vote in elections that get less attention, but in many ways have more impact on the direction our country is going to go.

All of this to say, there’s more than one way to do good in the world. Social media leads us to believe that the loudest, the most vocal, the most prolific poster is the most virtuous, but they are only a piece of the puzzle. (And if virtue for virtues sake is your end goal, you’ve already lost, but that’s a different post). Community is built of people leveraging their privileges to help those without them. We need people doing all of those things and more, because no individual can or should do all of it. You would be stretched too thin, your efforts valiant, but less effective in your ambition.

None of this is to encourage inaction. Identify your unique strengths, skills, and privileges, and put them to use. Determine what causes are important to you, and commit to doing what you can to help them. Collective action is how change is made, but don’t forget that we need diversity in actions taken.

[renthony]

There's a post going around right now about women being allowed to wear pants, and the way that relates to discussions on gender nonconformity, etc.. There's a long thread of folks talking about how women very much do not have absolute freedom to dress masculine, and a few other posts that have spawned off the main discussion.

And I haven't added onto that main post because I didn't feel like I had much to add, but now it's been a couple days and I can't stop thinking about how I was forced to wear a dress to my high school graduation in small-town Mississippi. I'm not a woman, but I didn't know that yet, so it's a relevant story.

The school administration threatened every single girl with the punishment of being banned from walking across the stage if we wore pants beneath our graduation robes. We got an entire lecture about how it was inappropriate for us to wear pants to such an important formal event.

My school had a strict uniform policy, and the graduating seniors being allowed to wear our own clothes to graduation was seen as a huge fucking deal. We'd spent four years not being allowed to wear our own clothes or accessories, and graduation was supposed to be our time to finally wear what we wanted. This was a bigger deal than it might have been otherwise, because my school also refused to allow us to decorate our graduation caps. We were not allowed to display any customization at all. One girl put her name on hers so her family could find her from the crowded stands, and the school administration made her throw her hat away and buy a new one or else she wouldn't be allowed in the event hall.

The school, knowing how excited many of us were about picking our outfits, gave us a strict dress code. Our outfits wouldn't be seen until after we took off the graduation robes to go home, but still, we had a nightmarishly strict guide for what we were allowed to wear beneath them. They had to be formal outfits, they had to fit a certain color scheme, they had to adhere to the school policy about skirt length and skin visibility, and, naturally, they were extra harsh on the girls, as dress code policies always are.

One guy joked that he was going to go naked underneath in solidarity with all the girls who were upset about the dress requirement. He got pulled aside by an administrator and told that if he made that joke again, he wouldn't be given his diploma. Which I'm pretty sure is illegal, but it was still the threat that got made.

Everyone was pissed, several people were livid because they had already bought an outfit they were now not allowed to wear, because the administration had actively misled us for weeks into believing we would be allowed to wear what we wanted. There had been no mention of dress code requirements until they dropped them on us at rehearsal the morning of graduation, less than 12 hours before the event.

We had no power to override the school administration. We were given a strict lecture at rehearsal about how flouting dress codes is unprofessional and if we gave that kind of attitude to people over dress codes in the workplace, we'd be fired.

We were ultimately told that, "if it's not appropriate for church, it's not appropriate for graduation." Those of us who asked "what if we aren't Christian and don't even go to church" were told "you still know what kind of clothes church clothes are, so stop being rude."

This happened in May of 2011.

[vibewithma]

Holy Competition

Sinners Modern Au!

Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!reader

A/N: I wrote this with “Man of God” but decided to separate it so it won’t be that long. Here y’all go 🫶🏾

Saturday - 2:00 AM

The whole house was quiet. Not peaceful. Just on pause. That deep silence before the storm hits the kitchen.

And then BAM BAM BAM.

“Let’s go, saints! The Lord is risen and so is my alarm clock!”

Doris’s voice rang down the hallway like the opening notes of a gospel solo. You already knew what time it was, literally. You’d been sitting up in bed for ten minutes, teeth clenched, robe tied, eyes wide open in dread. If there’s anything worse than waking up early, it’s being woken up early by your grandma talking in parables.

From your bedroom, you heard the first victim: Pops.

“Time to rise and pray, husband!” Doris sang, barging into their room. “You gon’ cover this house in the spirit or you gon’ cover it in snorin’?”

You heard a groan. Then the creak of the old floorboards as Pops shuffled out of bed.

“Lord,” he mumbled, voice still gravelly from sleep. “Watch over my girls. Keep our mouths from gossip, our hearts from envy and our chicken from burnin’.”

“Amen,” Doris whispered.

Then she was on the move again.

Next victim: Gloria.

Doris cracked open your mom’s door like a soldier on a mission. “Up and at ‘em, woman of God. Fish ain’t gon’ fry itself.”

You heard Gloria sigh, already halfway awake. “Yes ma’am…”

Then came the most vicious attack of the morning: Dawn.

“WAKE IT UP, MISSY.” Doris threw open her door like she was summoning spirits, flipped the light switch and snatched the covers clean off.

“GRANNY!” Dawn yelped, flailing like a fish outta water. “It’s not even daylight!”

“And still later than I wanted you up,” Doris snapped. “You got potato salad duty and if I see one box of them pre cubed potatoes, I’m callin’ your mama from heaven.”

Dawn groaned into her pillow like she was bein’ punished by the Lord himself.

Doris opened your door and paused.

You were already sitting on the edge of your bed, hoodie on, bonnet secured, face blank like a soldier on the front line.

Doris raised a brow. “Well look at you.”

“I hate being woken up,” you said flatly.

Doris smirked. “Now that’s my girl.”

She backed out, arms crossed, proud as ever. You followed her down the hall and by the time you reached the living room, everybody else was dragging their feet in behind you like sleepy little disciples.

Except Pops, who was already curled back on the recliner with a blanket over his knees, talkin’ ‘bout, “I did my part. I’m restin’ in the Lord now.”

Doris clapped her hands once loud enough to shake the ancestors.

“Alright! We got a mission and we not gon’ fail. Y’all know who you are and what you were born to do.”

She started pointing like she was handing out divine assignments:

“Mac and cheese? That’s me. I already pre-grated the good cheese. Don’t nobody bring up that Kraft mess.”

“Catfish? Gloria. Clean, season, and bless ‘em before the grease even pops.”

“Fried chicken? Gloria again. Don’t double-batter unless you got the Holy Spirit.”

“Pork chops? Me. I got the hand for it.”

“Dressin’? Also me. Ain’t no shortcuts and don’t ask if it’s Stove Top.”

“Potato salad? Dawn. You mess it up, you walk to church.”

“Red velvet cake? Y/N, you know you got the anointing for that. Use that good vanilla extract I keep hidden behind the communion cups.”

You gave her a lazy salute and headed to the kitchen, already smelling like butter, flour and early morning judgment.

Pops snored softly in the recliner, totally unbothered now that his five minute prayer shift was done.

The house hummed with quiet chaos, hands moving, dishes clattering, the air thick with flour and tension. Gospel music floated in low from somebody’s speaker. Gloria started humming along. Dawn was peeling potatoes with the fury of someone who would absolutely talk about you behind your back at the repass.

And Doris? Doris tied on her apron “Doris Made It” stitched in gold and stood at the stove like a general ready for battle.

Tomorrow was the church dinner. The showdown.

And y’all were cookin’ like the soul of the family

was on the line.

The house smelled like heaven, your feet were swollen, your back was talking crazy and your eyes were threatening to quit but y’all did it. Every aluminum tray gleamed under the plastic wrap, each one labeled and boxed, ready to feed the congregation and their cousins.

Doris leaned back in her recliner like a war general post battle, apron stained and eyes half-closed. “That’s what victory smell like,” she said, fanning herself with a church program. “Go ‘head and call Elias.”

You picked up her phone, pick out his name and gave the phone to your Grandma.

“Elias?” Doris said as soon as he answered. “Be a sweetheart and come by in the morning to pick up some food. And tell that brother of yours to behave.”

Sunday Morning – 6:45 AM

Dawn was on fire. Hairbrush in one hand, edge control in the other. She already had your mama lookin’ like she stepped out of a ‘Just for me’ commercial top slick, curls bouncing like they had a testimony.

Granny was next.

The moment Dawn finished that wig install, Doris checked herself in the mirror and gasped. “Whew, Lord. I look like the Proverbs 31 woman and the prize.”

“Granny, stop,” you laughed.

“I’m serious. That wig sittin’ like it just got saved at the altar!”

When it was your turn, Dawn went all out defined your curls, gave them bounce and shine, even fluffed the roots like she was blessing your scalp with holy oil. You glanced in the mirror and had to admit, you were lookin’ good.

Dawn stepped back, eyes twinkling. “Mmm… might have to kiss you.”

“Girl—”

She leaned in, but you dodged and pointed at her forehead. “Get that temptation spirit up off you, we goin’ to church.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, flustered, but still grinning. Her own install a sleek straight wig with a middle part was holding up like it had security clearance.

Everybody had on white, per Doris’s decree: “It’s the color of victory. Purity. The lamb of God. And I look phenomenal in it.”

Even Lenny was suited up in white linen with matching loafers, his car keys twirling on his finger. “Y’all ready to stunt on the saints or what?”

The door rings.

Dawn opened the door and there he was.

Stack and Smoke.

White tee, gold chain, that knowing grin and sleepy eyes that still managed to look fine at sunrise.

“Hey,” Dawn breathed, momentarily forgetting how to function.

Before she could even think to move, Doris popped around the corner, wig bouncing like it had choreography. “Mornin’, sweethearts!”

He blinked. “Well, good mornin’ Miss Doris. You look beautiful today.”

Doris grinned, leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, baby.”

Dawn was frozen like she just saw Jesus walk on water.

Smoke looked at the kitchen, then back at Doris. “Y’all really came through. Whole house smell like the gates of glory.”

Dawn finally spoke up. “I—I helped with the wig. I, uh… did the design.”

Doris raised a brow. “She helped a little.”

From the kitchen, Stack called, “We takin’ the food now before we get too distracted by beauty.”

Stack and Smoke gathered the trays like men on a mission, tossing compliments and thank yous around before they dipped out.

You and Dawn rode together in your car Dawn fixing your edges at every stoplight like y’all were goin’ to the BET Awards instead of church.

Lenny drove your mom and Pops, Doris riding shotgun like she was headlining the pulpit herself.

As you pulled into the church parking lot, the sun hit y’all just right. Doris’s wig bounced. Gloria’s curls gleamed. Your red velvet cake sat like a throne offering in the backseat. The food battle was on. The choir was warming up. The gossip was already brewing.

The sanctuary was filled with people being exiting just like y’all were glowing like the second coming was due before 1 PM. You walked down the side aisle, heels clicking against the church tiles, curls bouncing, voice humming as you found your seat.

Youth Choir pew.

Third row from the pulpit.

Right next to him.

Sammie.

He was already seated at the edge, long fingers resting on his lap, shirt sleeves pushed to the elbow like temptation in cotton. His piano notes from rehearsal still echoed in your ears.

“You came lookin’ like a blessing and a distraction,” he said the moment you sat.

“You look like somebody’s unfinished testimony,” you whispered back, giving him a raised brow.

He chuckled low. “Then come finish me, church girl.”

You blinked. “Sammie—”

But before you could finish Brittnay stood and gave the nod as the choir director.

🎶 “Amazing Grace”

The piano began his hands guiding every key like scripture. His foot pressed the pedal smooth as his smile and the chords filled the room like a river of light.

You sang.

Your voice clear, your heart steady. Sammie played like he was backing you up in more ways than one. When you held that long note, he looked up from the keys right at you. His smile was small, proud, and full of mischief.

When y’all sat down, he leaned over and whispered, “That wasn’t just grace. That was divine.”

“You flirtin’ in the house of the Lord?” you whispered, faking a gasp.

“I’m testifying, baby.”

The church choir had finished and Pastor Jedidiah stepped to the pulpit, Bible open, voice strong.

“Today,” he began, Bible in hand, “we talkin’ ‘bout something the Lord been placing heavy on my heart… how to be a Godly husband and how to recognize one when the Lord sends him.”

The church hummed in agreement.

“You don’t go lookin’ for him, Proverbs 31 women. He finds you.” He continued, eyes sweeping the women, “stop stressin’ tryna find one. ‘Cause Proverbs say he that findeth a wife finds a good thing.”

The sanctuary went wild.

“HALLELUJAH!”

“Say that!”

“Amen!”

“Say it again, Pastor!”

“He sure do!”

“C’mon Pastor!”

Sammie leaned in again, close enough you could smell his cologne fresh linen and something dark and soft underneath.

“A man finds a wife,” he murmured. “And I been lookin’. Real close.”

You blinked at him, cheeks warm. “You sure you not just lookin’ for dessert?”

He smirked. “That too. But I’d say red velvet and Ruth are both worth pursuin’.”

“Now fellas,” Pastor Monroe called, “a Godly man is honest. He’s patient. He works with his hands, leads with his heart. And he honors the women in his life.”

Sammie tapped your hand lightly, playful. “Check, check, check…”

You bit your lip. “You missin’ one.”

“What’s that?”

You turned to him, eyes narrowed. “Godly men don’t flirt this much on church property.”

He grinned, teeth catching light. “Baby, I’m not flirtin’. I’m plantin’ seeds.”

As Pastor Jedidiah launched into the story of Boaz, you and Sammie sat shoulder to shoulder, hearts beatin’ just a bit louder than the organ.

And when the congregation stood for prayer, Sammie’s hand brushed yours subtle, light, just enough to remind you.

He might play piano for the choir…

But he was makin’ you his favorite key.

Taglist:

@cosmicautomatonshark @fanfictiononly4 @pinkpantheris @andthatsonmaryhadalillamb @sweetalittleselfish-honey @bleufu1 @fruitypatooties-blog

[nmakii]

christmas kids

about him, who was also born on december 25th. i used to spot your face in every crowd, now i can’t even remember your smile.

— kaiser hates celebrating his birthday. no exceptions; not even for you.

cw: mentions of kaiser’s backstory, gesner being vulgar (im his biggest fan), kaiser is a meany pants, self deprecation

parties like these were a pain. kaiser stood beside his drunken teammates, while ‘all i want for christmas is you’ by mariah carey blasted for the 6th time on loop. it was disgustingly corny how he’d have to act as if he gives a damn to celebrate christmas with his co-workers. if the club owner for bastard münchen hadn’t required attendance for this party, he would’ve definitely skipped it.

to be entirely honest, he never even saw the point of celebrating december 25th. every year, the streets of berlin would be glowing with festive lights, and the halls of cathedrals would loudly ring their church bells.

but in kaiser’s dark corner of hell, his father would beat the life out of him. more so than usual— his eyes would bruise purple for weeks, and his nose wouldn’t stop the stream of red that would bleed all over his ragged clothes.

kaiser had learned from a young age, his birthday wasn’t something that should be celebrated, or even acknowledged. it was the day his scummy mother abandoned his even scummier father; it was the day trash was born. how could such an occasion even be celebrated?

with his birthday being public knowledge though, he doesn’t exactly have a choice on if he wants to celebrate it or not.

as clock struck midnight, everyone yelled out christmas greetings and wishes of good will, as well as greetings for kaiser, now a year older.

“woo! happy birthday, asshat! you’re 19!” gesner, incredibly drunk, slurs to kaiser. “a year closer to your death… in the end, we’re all just waiting for the day we never open our eyes again… oh, this is just too sad…” grim shudders, falling to the ground.

birkenstock pulls grim off the floor, and the team gathers around and very off tunely sings happy birthday to kaiser, while ness struggles to light the candle placed on top of the leftover pizza, yet to be finished.

“…happy birthday to you!” they cheer. “make a wish, kaiser.” ness smiles, holding the box.

‘what do i want..?’ he asks himself. he already has a lot more than he’s ever wanted; a comfortable home, decent company— asking for anything else would just seem… wrong.

the candle gleamed a burning red, its’ shine reflecting on kaiser’s face. the hot flames on his face, and he suddenly realizes what he wants— to be human.

that’s all he’s wanted for the longest time, why should he wish for anything else?

he blows out the candle, and they clap. “you guys didn’t need to do anything, i didn’t want to celebrate my birthday.” he lightly reprimanded. ness frowns, he was the one who had wanted surprise kaiser in the first place.

but, gesner boos at his pessimism. “don’t be a jerk, dick cheese! just accept it!” he roughly slaps kaiser on his back, kicking all the air out of his lungs. “oof..!” he coughs. “g..guh… are you sure you’re a football player? you slap so hard, you’re better suited to volleyball.”

gesner scoffs, and goes off on his rant about kaiser’s narcissism.

‘this environment… it’s hostile but, i’m still in control. this… isn’t that bad.’ kaiser thinks to himself. he doesn’t receive their goodwill; he forces it out of them, and they respond with their own form of resistance. yet, they still pass to him, no matter what. because, he’s the one in charge of this team.

“…and, you keep showing off that pretty thing you’re leaving on the hook. she could totally do better than that ‘will they, won’t they?’ situationship of your’s! seriously makes me feel bad for her…”

…kaiser wasn’t exactly sure what brought gesner to bring you up. but, bringing up your… relationship, was a bit of a sour spot for him.

he wanted to love you, you were someone he wanted to stick around for a while. you were kind, almost heaven-sent. something about you that would make him keep coming back. maybe it was the way you’d wake up early with him and make breakfast together, or the way you’d sass him and put him in his place when he was being an asshole. but, he couldn’t make up his mind on whether or not he should tear down those walls he’s built, and start over for you.

kaiser was used to restrictive environments, he thrived in discomfort. but, being vulnerable simply made his skin crawl with disgust. if it was for someone for you though… maybe he could try it. were you really worth it?

…he thinks you could be.

“it’s not a situationship, we’re just hanging out.” kaiser rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his mocktail. “plus, don’t you already have a girl you’re torturing?” he condescends.

thankfully, the party goes on without a fight starting, or kaiser’s birthday being mentioned anymore further.

and by the time kaiser arrives home, it’s already 2:30. he opens the door into his penthouse apartment.

the light is on.

he’s sure he didn’t leave the light on when he had left, there’s only one other explanation.

“s/o?” he called out.

you probably used the spare key for his apartment he gave you after much more frequent visits. did you think he was home?

“ah, hey!” you finally noticed his presence, waving hello. kaiser still had a suspicious glare on his face, his malice evident simply by his tone. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s your birthday!”

“so?”

“so, it has to be celebrated..! it was the day you were born after all.” you brainlessly informed him.

“i don’t celebrate it.” he sighs as he finally shuts the front door, dropping all his belongings on the console table.

“it’s the same day as christmas. it’s a hassle to celebrate two things.” he says the same excuse he’s used millions of times before but today, his act was getting sloppy. it’s clear by his sullen eyes that it’s more than just because it’s a hassle.

“uhuh… well, i made you a cake!”you urge him to come over. of course, it was a box set cake, but you still put tons of effort into decorating it!

what does he do? he wasn’t exactly sure on how to accept gifts in general. he passed through the narrow hall, and into the dining area.

he stared at the cake— it’s frosted in white french buttercream and its’ edges are piped blue with a french star tip. ‘happy birthday mikka’, it reads.

mikka… that isn’t a nickname that you’ve called him before. but, it’s cute. fuck, did he actually like this gift..?

‘…how sweet.’ he thinks. kaiser picked up the box with both his hands, his touch was so delicate. he carried the cake over to the kitchen counter,

…and opened the trash.

“hey! what are you doing..?!” you run to stop him from dumping your hard work into the garbage.

it doesn’t stop him though, it doesn’t even make him struggle. “i told you i don’t celebrate it.” he huffs as some of the cake crumbles and stains his hands.

he takes a frosting-covered finger to his lips, indulging in his salty sweet taste. “ah… it’s good.” he compliments. something that only happens to make you angrier.

“then why did you throw it in the garbage, asshole?!” you yell out. how insensitive could a person get?!

“i already told you, or are those ears of your’s just for decoration?” he scoffs, the air is heavy.

and at that moment, he knew it.

michael kaiser is not meant to love, or be loved.

…

“get out.” he commands. his cold eyes hit you like a dagger. “h..huh..?” you ask, indignant at how you were being treated.

you knew kaiser would be hard to unravel but, why is he acting so different so suddenly?

“i said get out. i already decided…”

“…we’re over, s/o” he decreed. “whatever romance you and i might have had is gone. go find someone else to care about you. i’m not gonna fit your romantic fantasy.”

“i— wait, mikka, we can work this out, okay..?!” you ask, a panicked expression decorating your face. “goddamnit, fine— i’m sorry for calling you an asshole, okay?!”

you sound almost desperate in your tone. but, it still doesn’t shake his decision. “no… get out. find someone who can fulfill that fantasy of your’s, i’m never gonna be the perfect boyfriend that you’re dreaming about. understand?”

and, the cold reality faces you. a look of despair on your face, it’s incredibly pathetic to be in this low of a position right now.

ah, that look on your face… he’ll miss that look of terror and desperation, on your face especially. the way your pretty eyes gleam with tears, and the way your nose scrunches, trying to hold back your snot.

“…fine. i hope you’re happy with your life, kaiser.” you spitefully spit out. his chest hurts when he hears you call him by his last name. did that hurt him..? just a little bit…

…and, that’s when kaiser asks himself the same question.

were you really worth tearing down everything he’s known just to build it all up again?

the answer was yes. you’re worth everything money could afford; you’re as priceless as every star in the sky.

it was kaiser who wasn’t worth it. you deserved more than a scummy asshole who’s too scared love.

but, that’s just the problem with kaiser, isn’t it?

the closer he wants you, the more he pushes you away.

[gratelove]

Okay yall, I’m a little late to the party, but Rollo Lothbrok🫣 I’m only on season 3 of Vikings and I’m officially in love with the beauty of this man. Be prepared for more Vikings fics🤤 Also, this is a LONG fic, but it’s worth it!🥹

Bridge Between Worlds

Rollo Lothbrok x Reader

In a marriage arranged for political alliance, you, a Christian princess, and the Viking warrior Rollo find yourselves unexpectedly drawn together, bridging the divide between your faiths, cultures, and hearts.

Warnings: smut, fluff, struggles with faith, religion, drinking, cursing

The grand hall fell silent as your father’s voice rang out, echoing through the stone walls. His words seemed to linger in the air, heavy with purpose, like a chain slipping over your wrists. “The Northmen have proposed an alliance, my daughter,” he said, his gaze steady as he looked at you. “King Ragnar has offered his brother, Rollo Lothbrok, to wed you. This marriage will bring peace to our lands and protection from their raids.”

The room seemed to close in, the walls pressing down as you struggled to breathe. Marry a Northman? The very thought filled you with dread. You’d heard tales of these people—warriors who worshipped strange gods, men who swept through villages like storms, leaving only ruin in their wake. And now, to bind yourself to one of them, to Rollo Lothbrok of all people… It was unthinkable.

“But, Father,” you protested, your voice wavering. “Surely, there must be another way to secure peace. A treaty, a negotiation—anything but marriage.”

Your father’s gaze softened, but his voice held the iron weight of duty. “This is the only way, my daughter. We need this alliance. You have always known that your marriage would serve a greater purpose, and now that purpose is upon us.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat. Your life had been a careful sequence of preparations for this role, every lesson, every sermon instilling in you the virtue of self-sacrifice. You’d known that one day your life would be bound to someone chosen for you, but you had always imagined it would be to a noble from a nearby kingdom, someone who shared your faith, your values. Not to a pagan warrior from a distant, brutal land. A beast more than a man.

And yet, you had no choice. The Northmen’s proposal had been clear, and your father had already accepted it. The fate you had so long been prepared for was now sealed.

***

The day of your wedding dawned, cloaked in an eerie stillness. The grand church where you were to wed Rollo was adorned with flowers and candles, symbols of a sacred union. You wore a gown of fine lace, your veil trailing behind you like a whisper of grace. You felt numb, as if moving through a dream—or a nightmare—waiting for the moment to be over, waiting for the reality of it to settle.

Rollo stood at the altar, a tall, imposing figure, his features set in a mask of silent defiance. He looked as out of place as you felt, his gaze hard and unyielding, his mouth a tight line. When he glanced your way, his eyes were unreadable, a mixture of resentment and resignation. It was clear that he, too, had little desire for this union.

The priest began the ceremony, his voice a steady drone of Latin prayers. You barely heard the words, your mind elsewhere, tangled in memories of home, family, the life you were leaving behind. Each phrase, each gesture, seemed hollow, an imitation of the wedding you’d once imagined as a child. This was supposed to be a moment of joy, of love. But there was no warmth here, only the cold formality of duty.

When the priest instructed Rollo to take your hand, he did so without meeting your gaze, his grip firm but impersonal. His hands were rough, scarred from battle, the hands of a man who had known violence more than tenderness. You felt the weight of his touch, solid and unyielding, a reminder that you were bound now to this stranger.

The priest continued, his voice a solemn echo as he blessed your union, but you could see the slight hesitation in his eyes. This marriage between a Christian princess and a heathen warrior defied every tradition, every vow that was meant to sanctify it. And yet, the ceremony proceeded, binding you together in the eyes of your God and your people.

When the vows were exchanged, Rollo spoke the words in a language foreign to him, his voice thick with an accent that turned each promise into something distant, almost detached. You struggled to keep your voice steady as you repeated your own vows, feeling as though you were surrendering more than your hand. You were giving up your life, your dreams, to a man who would never understand you, nor you him.

As the ceremony ended, the church fell silent, a strange, somber quiet lingering between you and Rollo. The people gathered offered their restrained applause, their faces a mixture of relief and curiosity. To them, this was a strategic victory, a bridge between two worlds, but to you and Rollo, it was a prison.

You stole a glance at him, trying to discern any hint of emotion in his eyes. But his face remained a stoic mask, unreadable and distant, as if he, too, were waiting for this day to be over.

That night, as the festivities continued, you and Rollo exchanged only the briefest of nods, acknowledging each other out of obligation more than anything else. You sat at opposite ends of the grand table, separated by language, by faith, by the vast chasm of your different worlds.

And so, as the night grew darker, you resigned yourself to this new life, feeling like a stranger in your own skin. Bound by vows spoken in words that felt foreign, you wondered if you would ever find warmth in the cold, unyielding presence of the man you now called your husband—or if this marriage would remain as empty and silent as the vows you had uttered in that grand, hollow church.

***

The sea air of Kattegat was colder than anything you’d known back home. The winds held a bite, reminding you each day that you were far from the familiar warmth of your homeland. It had been a month since you’d arrived, a month of silent days and sleepless nights in a place that felt like another world. Though married, you and Rollo had barely exchanged a glance since arriving, your only link to understanding his world was the quiet monk Athelstan, who patiently taught you Norse.

Days passed in strange routine. The Northmen spoke a language rough and wild, each word sounding like thunder to your ears. But Athelstan was a skilled teacher, and over time, the foreign words began to settle into your mind. Slowly, painstakingly, you came to understand snippets of conversation, whispers of words. And though you’d never spoken to him directly, you felt Rollo’s presence more keenly than anyone else’s.

Beyond learning their language. You learned of their gods.. gods that were not so different from the one you knew to be true. In the quiet moments of your days in Kattegat, when the biting northern winds were at rest and the village hummed with the peaceful rhythm of daily life, you found yourself questioning truths you had once accepted without hesitation. This land was raw, its people fierce, yet you had begun to notice an undeniable beauty here. And with it came questions—questions that took root deep within your heart, challenging the very foundations of your beliefs.

At first, the differences between you and these people had seemed insurmountable. Their rituals, their prayers to unseen gods of thunder, fertility, the sea, and the harvest—all of it seemed like blasphemy to your ears. Yet, as the days turned to weeks, you saw their reverence, how their lives were woven with purpose and respect for the land, for each other, and for forces they couldn’t see but trusted in deeply.

They worship their gods as we worship ours, you thought one day, watching as a woman carved runes into a wooden charm meant to protect her family. They seek strength, guidance, blessings. Are they so different from us?

The question unsettled you, and you struggled against it, recalling sermons from your homeland, the teachings that painted pagans as savages, their gods as dark spirits. But there was light in these people, too, wasn’t there? A unity, a sense of duty, and a love for family that you had always been taught were the virtues of your own faith.

Your gaze often drifted to Athelstan, your quiet teacher and guide in this foreign world, who had once been a Christian monk but had found himself torn between the faith of his past and the gods of the North. You wondered if he felt the same turmoil you did. Perhaps he, too, had wrestled with questions of what was true and what had been constructed by the hands and minds of men. After all, Athelstan had once told you that the Vikings’ gods had existed long before Christ had walked the earth.

This thought lodged in your mind, growing roots you couldn’t shake. Could it be possible, you wondered late one night, lying awake in the cold silence of your home, that the stories of my faith were born from theirs?

You thought of the tales you’d been told in church, stories of miracles, sacrifices, and holy men who could summon storms, heal the sick, or commune with higher beings. But here, you had seen similar stories told around the fires in the evenings—stories of gods who controlled the weather, who guided their people, who demanded sacrifices to keep balance in the world. You watched the children listen with wide eyes, just as you once had, their awe and reverence echoing your own memories of kneeling in a grand church, captivated by stories of your God.

And the symbols—they weren’t as different as you’d once thought. The hammer of Thor, which hung on a leather cord around the neck of nearly every warrior, wasn’t so unlike the cross worn by priests and devout nobles back home. Both symbols represented strength, protection, a hope that something greater watched over you.

What if, you wondered, heart thundering with the weight of the thought, these people had seen the same truths but woven them differently? What if, in some ancient past, we had all followed the same gods, the same ways, and only time had divided us?

It was a question you dared not voice, even to Athelstan. But the idea stirred something within you, something that frightened and intrigued you all at once. You felt the weight of the cross you still wore around your neck, a symbol of your devotion, yet here, it felt somehow…lonelier than before. Was it possible that your understanding of the divine had been limited by the walls of a church, by teachings passed down without question?

Each day you rose and went about your new duties, the questions circling in your mind like a hawk over the fields. Each time you watched Rollo go to the sacred woods or pour mead onto the earth in an offering, you felt a strange pull, a whisper in your heart that perhaps the world was larger and more mysterious than you had ever allowed yourself to believe.

One night, as you lay beneath the northern stars, you found yourself praying, not just to your God but to whatever forces might hear you. A strange peace settled over you then, as if your heart had found a rhythm that it had been seeking all along, something beyond names and symbols—a sense of connection to the world around you, to the mysteries and wonders that spanned both your people and his.

For the first time, you felt that perhaps there was more than one way to honor the divine, more than one truth, and that perhaps, in marrying Rollo, you had not been lost to a foreign faith but rather drawn closer to understanding the many ways humanity sought to make sense of this world and the next.

***

One evening, after a long day of lessons, you returned to your new home, hoping for the comfort of a bath to soothe your weary body and mind. You went to the small, private bathing room, where a tub of steaming water awaited. But as you reached to untie your dress, you found yourself struggling, your hands fumbling clumsily over the stubborn knots at your back. Frustration welled up, and you cursed softly under your breath, wishing for just one familiar comfort in this strange, foreign life.

Suddenly, a presence loomed behind you, close enough that you could feel his warmth. You froze as a large, rough hand gently touched your shoulder.

“Let me,” came the deep voice, and you knew instantly it was Rollo. His voice was as rough as the northern winds, yet softer than you’d ever heard it, as if afraid to shatter the silence that had always lain between you.

You held your breath as he deftly began to untie the laces, his hands surprisingly gentle as he worked through the knots with ease. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, his closeness overwhelming, every brush of his fingers against your back sending sparks down your spine.

Once he had loosened the dress, he lingered, his hands resting against the fabric at your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat quicken, and with a shaky breath, you finally turned to look at him. His intense blue eyes met yours, filled with an unreadable depth.

“Thank you,” you murmured in Norse, proud yet hesitant as you stumbled over the unfamiliar sounds.

His lips curved, just barely, in something close to a smile. “You’ve learned our language well,” he replied, his voice low. “I am…impressed.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked down. “I wanted to understand. To not feel like a stranger here.” There was a long moment of silence before you finally spoke the question you had been wondering since you arrived. “Will we have a pagan wedding?”

Rollo looked at you with confusion. “We already had a wedding.”

“Yes, but that was a Christian wedding. Our marriage is not recognized in the eyes of your gods, therefore… we are not truly married. Not in the eyes of you or your people.” You held up your, now falling, dress as it slumped around your shoulders.

“Is that what you want? For us to not truly be married?” You hadn’t realized how difficult the answer to that question would be. You would have assumed you would have immediately said yes, but now, in this moment… you’re not so sure.

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? You do not love me.” Rollo scoffed at your words.

“As you do not love me, Princess.”

“Yes, but I love no one. You do love someone, it’s just not me.” Rollo’s eyes widened at your words and he came so close to you, you could feel his breath on your cheeks.

“What do you know of who I love?” You swallowed a lump in your throat, realizing you had hit a sensitive spot.

“I know more than you think, husband. I’m not some stupid and scared girl. The whole month I’ve been here, I’ve been quiet and observant.” Rollo rolled his eyes, taking a few steps back.

“And what is it that you have observed?” You nodded, holding your chin high in retort to his evident doubt.

“I’ve noticed that you are angry. At both yourself and your brother. You’re jealous of him. You feel you are less than and this makes you infuriated. I know you’re in love with Lagertha, but she has never shared that feeling. Though I never knew Siggy, I see the way you act when people talk about her. You loved her, but not in the way you love Lagertha. For this you carry guilt and it fuels your self hate. Did I observe correctly?” Rollo’s expression was one of frustration and astonishment.

“You’ve been busy, Princess. Do you agree with your observations? Am I less than Ragnar?” His question took you by surprise, but didn’t at the same time. The idea that he cares for your opinion is shocking, but not that he needs the validation.

“The truth?” He nods in response. “I think you are a great man. I think you’re honorable and kind. You’ve never forced yourself on me when you could have. You treat me well when you do not have to. As much as you are jealous of your brother, I truly believe that you love him and would not hurt him. You are an honorable warrior, which from my understanding is one of the things you Northmen pride yourselves on. Why you do not see yourself as such, I dont understand. Even my people back home knew your name, Rollo. The Bear, they called you.” A smile spread on his face at the name, and you couldn’t help the one that found yours. “I am proud to be the wife of a man with such high honor.” Rollo was silent for what felt like eternity, just staring at you. You began to feel self conscious, pulling your falling dress as high as you could, and dipped your head to hide your face. “Why are you just staring at me?”

“I suppose I’m surprised. You do not talk to me the entirety of our marriage and the first time you open your mouth you have insulted me and spoken so highly of me in one sitting. I thought you hated this marriage,” he said, each word measured. “I thought you hated…me.”

You looked up, startled by the honesty in his gaze. This was the first real conversation you’d had, the first true exchange, and it struck you how different he seemed now than the man you’d first met. Gone was the stoic warrior, replaced by a man with insecurities, a man who, perhaps, felt as much a stranger to you as you did to him.

“It was never hate,” you whispered, choosing your words carefully. “Fear, maybe. But not hate.”

His hand lifted, his fingers brushing against a strand of your hair as if testing the boundaries of this new understanding between you. “You are braver than you think,” he murmured, his voice like a quiet promise. “More brave than I.”

You swallowed, your heart thundering in your chest. “No, Rollo. Not braver than you.” He smiled, his hand slipping from your cheek to your neck.

“You speak your opinion where I cannot. That’s much braver than facing battle.” The hairs on the back of your neck stood as his hand danced from your neck to your exposed shoulder.

“Maybe we are just brave in different ways. Maybe we can teach each other.” He stepped closer, his fingers curling around the loose neckline of your dress.

“You want to learn to fight?” You shrugged, a smile finding your lips.

“If I am to be a Northeman’s wife, I should learn their ways, no? You teach me the skills of battle and I shall teach you the skills of wit.” He began to pull the fabric of your dress down and you clutched it. He stopped, his eyes meeting yours. “Rollo, I’m…” you realized you did not know what the word was in their language. You searched your mind for it.

“You’re what?” You took a deep breath, embarrassed to have to explain.

“I’ve never been with a man. I don’t know the word in your language.” Rollo chuckled, grabbing your small hand that was holding your dress up.

“Ah, virgin,” he said, squeezing your hand, as if to ask if he could remove your clothes.

“Virgin,” you repeat and he nods.

“Yes, Princess. You are my wife. Should we not bed at least once during our marriage?” You felt your cheeks getting hotter as you finally succumbed to him. Your hand released and your dress fell, pooling at your feet. Your hands covered your breasts, feeling too exposed. His large, scarred, hands clasped your wrists lightly, pulling them down to your sides. “There is no need to hide from me, my wife.” His calloused fingers ran down your exposed chest, to your stomach, stopping at your hip. Goosebumps lit ablaze across your whole body. “It is as if you were carved by the gods.” You giggled as he pulled you close, your bare chest now flush with his.

“As were you, Rollo.” Your palms lay against his chest.

“My gods or yours,” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I haven’t decided yet, but being here… I do question if my god is even real,” you say honestly.

“Are we turning you into a pagan,” you laugh, shrugging.

“I’m starting to think it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” With that, his lips are against yours, hot and wanting. You moaned into his mouth, entranced by how warm he is, how his beard tickled your cheeks with each synchronized movement of your lips. His hands gripped your hips, picking you up with ease. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your lips never leaving one another. He walked you to the bed, gently laying you down.

He got off the bed, standing at the edge. You watched as he undid his pants. His eyes never leaving yours as he moved slowly to untie the laces. He is a man of beauty. Perfectly chiseled and large. His long hair flows down his chest and his tattoos perfectly caress his skin.

“After tonight, we will be officially married in the eyes of your god, no?” You peeled your eyes away from admiring his body to meet his gaze.

“Yes. We never… I don’t know the word. To make a marriage official, the man and wife must lie together.” He pulled his pants down, revealing himself to you fully, as you are to him. You sucked in a breath, an undeniable feeling of want and nervousness filling you.

“Do you want to lie with me? To truly be husband and wife?” He ran his finger along your collarbone, down to your nipple. He circled it lightly and you couldn’t help the moan that came with it. He smiled, licking his lips. You grabbed his wrist, using it to pull yourself to your knees. You are now face to face with him at the edge of the bed. You grabbed his other wrist, placing both palms on your breasts.

“I want you. Just- just be gentle, okay?” He kissed your cheek as his hands squeezed your chest.

“Northmen are not gentle. We do not fuck gently.” He kissed your neck.

“As much as I want you to fuck me like a Northman, I’ve been told your first time hurts.” You looked down at his already hard cock, feeling yourself getting more nervous. “And you are quite large.” This made Rollo laugh as he continued to trail kisses across your neck and chest.

“Don’t worry, Princess. Me and my large cock will be gentle.” You giggled and slapped his chest, making him laugh again. He laid you back down on the fur covered bed, climbing on top of you. You took in a deep breath as he spread your legs. “Don’t be nervous, my beautiful wife.” The words made butterflies erupt in your chest. He kissed your forehead, then both of your cheeks, easing the tightening in your stomach. He grabbed your hands, holding them above your head. He continued to leave gentle kisses as he slowly started to enter you. You squeezed his hands so hard you’re sure your knuckles were white as he pushed farther inside you. He is extremely large and you wince in pain from you being stretched open.

“Rollo,” you whined and he stopped, meeting your gaze. You gave yourself a minute to adjust, then nodded your head. He continued pushing in further until he was finally fully in you. He pulled out, then slowly thrusted back in. His movements were slow and gentle and eventually the pain turned into pleasure. Pleasure like you’ve never experienced. Your head tipped back and your mouth fell open, letting out a moan.

“Does it feel good, Princess?” His hot breath hit your neck as he whispered in your ear and it lit something wild in you.

“Go faster,” you moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist, giving him more access. You felt him push in deeper as he picked up his pace. He was hitting deeper and deeper inside you with each thrust and your eyes fluttered shut at the intense pleasure.

“You look so beautiful.” You opened your eyes to see he is staring at you, drinking in your appearance. Staring into his blue eyes makes all the sensations better. He rested his forehead against yours and you couldn’t help but fall in love with the way he is staring at you as he thrusts harder and deeper inside you. The room is filled with each other’s moans and gasps. You feel yourself reaching a point of release and you can tell he’s about to hit his too. He kissed you passionately as his thrusts become sloppier. You moaned into his mouth as a wave a euphoria rushed over you and your legs shake from utter pleasure. You feel him release inside you and he rides out his high with a few more thrusts.

He laid next to you on the bed and you rolled over to lay your head on his chest. His heart is beating fast and his breaths are short. You ran your fingers up and down his abdomen as you both fall into a comfortable silence. You’re not sure where you find your confidence, but the words that finally come out of your mouth surprise not only you, but Rollo.

“I do not love you, Rollo Lothbrok. But, I can see my falling in love with you.” You meet his shocked expression, but it eventually turns soft.

“Goodnight, my beautiful wife.”

***

The night air of Kattegat was alive with laughter and song, the flickering torchlight casting a warm glow over the village as the Vikings celebrated with wild abandon. Mead flowed like rivers, horns clashing in toasts to the gods, to family, to life itself. You felt the familiar warmth of the drink pulse through you, each sip lighting your blood with a fire you hadn’t known before coming to this land. Tonight, you danced without restraint, twirling with the crowd in the great hall, your feet moving with the beat of the drums, the earth beneath you thrumming with life.

You had grown accustomed to the spirit of Viking celebrations, their passion for life something you had come to appreciate. Though you were not of their faith, their customs, or their world, the sense of freedom here was intoxicating, a heady contrast to the strict life you had known. Tonight, you felt a part of it all. For the first time, you truly felt like you belonged.

The world around you was a blur of laughter, music, and flickering torchlight. You spun and swayed, your feet carrying you to the beat of the drums, your heart pounding with the thrill of freedom, of finally feeling as though you belonged here in Kattegat. The mead warmed your blood, filling you with a giddy lightness that melted away your reservations. This was a new side of you, one that you hadn’t known before—a part of you that had found joy in this wild land, surrounded by people who embraced life as fiercely as they embraced battle.

As you moved, you caught sight of Rollo, standing on the edge of the crowd, watching you. His intense gaze was steady, following your every movement. His face, usually hardened by shadows and silent restraint, now held something softer, almost tender. You felt his stare like a touch, tracing over you, lingering with an appreciation that made your pulse quicken. You and Rollo had not been able to go a few hours without being intimate since your first time.

Without thinking, you met his eyes and smiled, your feet carrying you closer. He didn’t move, his stare unwavering, as if transfixed. The other dancers melted away, leaving only him in your focus, your heart pounding louder than the drums. Before you could second-guess yourself, you held out your hand, a silent invitation, your eyes daring him to join you.

For a moment, Rollo hesitated, his usual guarded expression flickering with uncertainty. But then, slowly, he reached out, his large hand enveloping yours, and you pulled him into the crowd. He stumbled slightly, unused to this kind of playfulness, but his eyes remained locked on yours, an amused glint sparking there as he let you lead.

You laughed, feeling as though the walls between you and this man, the ones that both had been breaking down slowly, were finally crumbling completely. You pressed his hand to your waist, guiding him to follow your movements, his body close to yours as the drums echoed in the night. Though he towered over you, his presence solid and intense, you felt a softness in the way he held you, his grip firm but gentle.

“Are you sure you know how to dance, warrior?” you teased, your voice light and filled with the boldness that only mead could bring.

He huffed, a smirk breaking across his face. “Dancing is not the way of a Viking. At least not the way you dance, Princess,” he replied, his voice deep, but his eyes sparkled with unspoken laughter. “But for you… I will try.”

The two of you moved together, your laughter mingling as you guided him through each step, each sway. His movements were unpracticed, slightly stiff, yet he relaxed with every beat of the drum, letting himself be drawn into your rhythm. It was as if the crowd, the village, the night itself faded, leaving only the two of you bound in this moment, where titles and gods and duty did not matter.

You felt his hand tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. The playful smiles faded, and in their place, a deeper warmth simmered between you, something vulnerable and unspoken.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the music, his gaze tracing your face as if memorizing every detail. “So Free. So Happy.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing over his hand. “I feel alive here, Rollo,” you whispered.

His thumb gently stroked your cheek, a tenderness in his touch that you’ve grown accustomed to since the night you first made love four months ago. “Then perhaps,” he said, his voice rough, “this land, this life, is more yours than you thought.”

You felt a swell of warmth in your chest, a feeling that chased away the last remnants of doubt. Here, with him, in this wild, untamed place, you had found a part of yourself you never knew was there—a part that yearned for freedom, for belonging, for love.

The drums beat on, but the world around you was still, your gaze locked with his, the silent understanding between you deepening. And as he lowered his forehead to rest against yours, his breath warm against your skin, you realized that the music had stopped. Everyone around you had gone quiet. You and Rollo broke contact to see the cause of it. Walking through the great hall doors was Athelstan. Bjorn had told you both that the monk had thrown his sacred arm ring into the fjord.

Rollo’s voice thundered through the crowd. “Athelstan,” he roared, his voice laced with anger.

The crowd quieted, all eyes turning to the monk-turned-Viking who had lived with one foot in both worlds. Rollo stormed toward him, his face twisted with rage, and gripped Athelstan’s wrist, holding it up for all to see. “Look at this man!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the night. “Where is your sacred ring, Athelstan? I was told you threw your ring, the one our king, Ragnar, gave you into the fjord!”

You felt the blood drain from your face as you watched, horrified by Rollo’s fury. You had always known Athelstan was a man of two worlds, like yourself—caught between his old faith and the ways of the Northmen. A pang of sympathy tore through you, a deep understanding of the pain and doubt he must have felt to make such a decision.

Athelstan’s eyes darted toward the crowd. “You have betrayed the gods who welcomed you,” Rollo growled. “You stand here, pretending to honor both, but now we see who you truly are.”

Ragnar pushed through the crowd and wrapped an arm around Athelstan’s shoulder. He dragged him away from the crowd, into a back room, whispering something in his ear.

The celebration resumed, though it was subdued, the laughter tinged with unease. You lingered near the fire, lost in thought, watching as Rollo stalked away, his jaw tight with anger. Before you knew it, you followed him, the words you’d held back now bubbling to the surface.

When you both arrived at your shared home, you closed the door behind you, crossing your arms as you gathered the courage to speak. “Why are you so angry at Athelstan?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. “You’ve always known he was torn between both faiths, just as I am. Why is it different now?”

Rollo turned, his face dark and unreadable in the dim light. “You don’t understand,” he replied coldly. “Athelstan has cast aside his ring. He has thrown it away, shown us he has no loyalty to anything but his Christian god. He cannot be trusted.”

“Cannot be trusted?” you echoed, frustration flaring in your chest. “Athelstan has always been loyal to you, to your brother, to your people. His struggle with faith does not make him any less trustworthy.”

Rollo’s gaze hardened. “He is weak. He cannot choose between one god or another, and now I see he tried to be something he’s not. He insulted the gods by pretending to be one of us.”

“But you do not see it, Rollo,” you pressed, your voice trembling with a blend of anger and desperation. “I see myself in him. I, too, am torn between worlds—between my God and your gods, between my homeland and yours. Am I a betrayer because I am still finding my way?”

Rollo’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he just clenched his fists, his voice low and fierce. “You must choose as well. You cannot love both. You cannot be a Christian and a Viking.”

You shook your head, feeling a pang of sadness as you looked into his eyes. “Athelstan was struggling, just as I am. Faith is not a simple choice, Rollo. It’s complicated, and sometimes it takes time to understand what it truly means. He was searching for where he belongs, and he has found it. This does not mean he cannot love your people… just as I love you.”

Rollo’s shoulders tensed, his eyes going wide. It’s the first time you had said it. Neither of you had ever spoken those words. You weren’t even sure if Rollo loved you. You felt embarrassment and anger at his lack of words.

“Is this why we have not had a Viking wedding? Because you feel I have not chosen your gods?” You felt tears pricking your eyes, but you fought to hold them back.

“If you do not choose our gods, we will never be in Valhalla together.” You scoffed, wiping a tear that slid down your cheek.

“Why does it matter if I end up in Valhalla or Heaven? You clearly do not love me back, so why do you care which afterlife I spend my days?” You began to turn away from him, but he grabbed you wrist, pulling you into his chest. His hand met your cheek, wiping away one of your tears.

“I do love you. But everyone I have ever loved either died or did not love me back.” You met his gaze and your heart hurt at the sight of tears in his eyes.

“Rollo, everyone dies. Just because the people around you die, does not mean you’re the cause of it. You cannot be afraid of death. You, more than anyone, know that. You Northmen do not fear death.”

“It is not death that I fear. What I fear is loving a woman who will not join me in Valhalla. It is not being able to spend eternity with you.” You stood on your toes to reach his lips. You gave him a soft kiss, then pulled away to meet his sadden gaze.

“I love you and I would do anything to spend eternity with you. We were fated to be together, Rollo. I can feel it. No matter what god willed it to be.” He looked down at you, his expression softening further, the anger that had once filled his gaze replaced by something warmer, deeper. In that moment, you felt that perhaps, just as Athelstan was searching, you and Rollo were finding something—a bridge between worlds, a space where faith, love, and understanding could coexist, no matter how different they seemed.

“We were fated to be together.” He pulled you as close as he could, kissing you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, standing taller to deepen the kiss. When you pulled away, you were both out of breath.

“Does this mean we will have a wedding?” He let out a deep chuckle, nodding.

“Yes, of course we will.” A smile spread across your face.

“Good, because I wouldn’t want our child to be born without married parents.” You grabbed his hand, resting it on your belly. His face lit with excitement and he let out a laugh.

“You’re… you’re with child?” You nodded, tears falling freely to see the joy that found his rough and beautiful face. He picked up you, twirling you around. You let out a laugh as he set you down, kissing you.

You nodded, unable to stop smiling. “Yes, Rollo. You’re going to be a father.”

He let out a shout of pure happiness, his arms wrapping around you again, holding you tight as if he were afraid you might disappear. His hand returned to your stomach, resting there reverently, his thumb brushing over the place where new life grew.

“I cannot believe it,” he murmured, his eyes shining. “You… you have given me more than I ever thought possible.”

The look in his eyes was raw, filled with joy, wonder, and a fierce love that made your heart swell. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, and finally, his lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss, his hand still resting protectively over your stomach.

When he pulled back, he grinned down at you, his expression so soft, so full of love that it nearly took your breath away. “You have given me a family,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I will protect you both. I will give you everything I am, everything I have. I swear it.”

The drums beat on around you, the celebration continuing in the background, but in that moment, the world felt like it held only the two of you, wrapped in a love you hadn’t dared dream of, a love that had grown against all odds.

And as you stood there, feeling the warmth of his hand on your stomach, you knew that whatever came next, you and Rollo would face it together—with joy, with strength, and with a love that was stronger than any doubt, any fear, any past that had once divided you.

[cocoakrispis-blog]

THE INTRODUCTION OF (Y/N)’S PERFCT LIFE

pairing ~ ellie williams x fem! reader

summary ~ we get a little bit more insight on the life that (y/n) considers perfectly perfect.

warnings ~ not much its just background and introduction, weirdo boyfriend, homophobia

wc ~ 2.4k words

SERIES MASTERLIST

getting good grades and impressing your teachers by beating the stereotype of cheerleaders being dumb, showing your boyfriend just enough attention to keep him out of your hair but not cross any of your boundaries, and going to church to affirm your faith in the lord were almost all of the things that kept you waking up in the morning with a smile on your face.

you loved all of those part of my life with my whole heart but the thing that truly made you feel one hundred percent you was cheer.

your team was your true home.

the sisterhood required to be such a successful cheer team was intense but also very rewarding. you were extremely close to all of your teammates and always made the effort to personally get to know all of them.

you guys were required to trust our fellow teammates to toss us into the air, hold us there, and then catch us so that we could perform gravity defying tricks.

it took a lot of strength to be able to do that and you know firsthand how strong each and every girl on your team was. i mean from the muscle definition on all of them it would be difficult to deny the physicality they all had.

the pure freedom you felt as you were soaring through the air was for lack of better words, euphoric.

it took a different type of trust to allow yourself to be catapulted in the air like that, but it felt so good to be supported by girls you knew you could rely on wholeheartedly.

along with trusting your teammates you all also had to trust your own bodies which required you to take care of what our coach always called ‘our temples’.

eating properly and staying in shape was a big part your, but you couldn’t be mad about it. being healthy allowed us to do mesmerizing flips and splits or contort our beautiful bodies into gorgeous silhouettes.

maybe the best thing about cheer is that the benefits of it didn’t only exist on the fields where your team would perform but also off the field. when you are a cheerleader you would always have someone to talk to or spend your time with.

the cheerleaders all had their own lunch table where they were given the privilege to spend quality time together. it might have been your second favorite part of the day, to be surrounded by so many beautiful and talented girls just filled me to the brim with a special feeling you only got around them.

in the halls there was always a pretty girl to compliment your outfit or gush over your new trendy makeup. no one was better at noticing the smallest differences than your teammates.

or in class where you knew you would have someone to sit next to and share notes with.

even school parties when you were a member of the team, no matter how lame they were would be fun because you always had someone to dance the night away with when your boyfriend didn’t want to.

the weekly slumber parties were the best way to end your week because it just felt like pure girlhood. sleeping next to the girls you trusted the most in the whole wide world always gave you the best sleep of your life.

so yeah being a cheerleader was great.

but of course there was more to the perfect life you were blessed with.

you were lucky enough to have a boyfriend who was a football player. super popular super handsome and super well… boyfriend!

you two were just the picture perfect relationship.

holding hands in the hallway as he talked about his latest football game that of course you attended since you were a cheerleader. walking to the field with his letterman draped around your shoulders while he continued to talk about football. oh and of course sitting in his car while you made out with him in between more talk of football.

you loved him very much and he loved you the same.

you were also very active in your church to which you held very near and dear to your heart. it was only right that you thanked and gave praise to the god that had given you such a perfect life.

the cross necklace you always wore being the best symbol of your devotion.

and to top it all off you had a wonderful relationship with my mother and my father.

because you were their only child allowed them to focus all of their time and attention on you. even though that meant they were a bit more hard on you you knew they loved and cared for you very much.

today was another one of the perfect days of your perfect life except this one was a little bit more special. your cheer team and the football team was heading to a far away football game. since both of you and your boyfriends coaches were such big supporters of your relationship they allowed your boyfriend to drive you there.

“aren’t you so excited about the first away game of the season i’m so pumped to watch you play and show off the new cheers me and my girls learned this week.” you smiled to yourself fondly as you remembered the hours of practice you and your teammates put into learning this new cheer.

“yeah babe of course” your boyfriend muttered under his breath.

you frowned at your boyfriends clear disinterest at your words and decided to keep quiet in case you were bothering him.

after a couple moments of silence you looked up to see that the yellow school bus you had been following closely behind was now no where to be seen and you were now in a very familiar area.

“hey baby i can’t see the bus anymore are we supposed to be going this way.” you begin to twiddle with your red and white pom poms as a wave of confusion and anxiety washed over you.

the frown previously on your face came back in full force whenever your boyfriend ignored you and silently tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

soon after your boyfriend pulled into the driveway of your home and parked his car.

“let’s go.” your boyfriend speaks to you for the second time today.

his tone of voice give you no opportunity to argue and you nod before walking behind him to your front door with your pom poms being held tightly in your hands.

before you made it to the door you quickly glance behind yourself and see an unfamiliar van with the words ‘true direction’ on it.

as you open your mouth to ask your boyfriend about it you hear the door open and he stares at you as if expecting you to walk in first.

you gulp at the look he gives you and cautiously walk in the door to your on home.

once you fully enter inside your eyes easily land on the large group gathered in your small living room with concerned looks on their faces. your brows furrow in confusion at the oddly thick atmosphere surrounding the room and you allow your eyes to sweep around the rom to properly take in the guests.

some of your parents, closest teammates, and even a couple of your boyfriends friends were there. the most odd character out of all of them was a man you had never seen before in a blue sweatshirt and matching shorts with a shirt that said ‘straight is great’.

“is there something wrong?” you immediately blurt out into the room.

no one responds to you and the room stays dead silent.

“hi sweeties why don’t you have a seat.” your mother was the first to break the silence, almost making you flinch.

almost as soon as your mom said that the unfamiliar man began to speak. “hello (y/n) my name is mike all of the most important people in your life have gathered here today to have a conversation with you and i am here to help assist them with it.”

you give the guy a slightly weird look but nod before having a seat on the couch that was facing all of them. once you settled in mike spoke up again to jump start the conversation.

“would you link to start us off peter?” mike signaled to your dad who had been completely silent up until now.

your father cleared his throat before straightening his collar and beginning.

“(y/n) dear everyone that is here in this room loves you very very much however more recents we have been concerned about some of your specific behaviors and we are tarting to become worried you are being influenced by a certain lifestyle and we are starting to worry there is a chance that you may be…” your dad slightly trails off at the end but your mom quickly finishes his sentence.

“we think you’re turning into a lesbian!” your mom exclaims but makes sure to whisper the word lesbian as quietly as possible.

your jaw drops at the accusation and you very quickly force your brain to formulate a response.

“me a l-lesbian?” is the only think you manage to think of in retaliation.

“to start you’ve been forcing us to eat this weird vegan food.” your dad holds up a plastic bag with some of the half eaten tofu you had for dinner the night before.

“i-i’ve just been trying to eat healthier for cheer and-

your argument was cut of by your mom forcing one of your pillows into your face while pointing at one of the parts of the flower design the pillow had with a disappointed look on her face. “you have vaginal decor all over your room.”

“you’re looking too hard at it it’s just a f-flower-” you shake your head vigorously while avoiding the burning feeling behind your eyes.

“instead of pictures of guys in your locker you just have pictures of female models your locker.” one of your friends from cheer holds up one of the posters of a girl in a bikini taken from our locker.

“i like looking at them so i can see what i can do to make myself prettier-” you feel your eyes start to water.

“you don’t even like to kiss me let alone go further than that with me!” your boyfriend speaks up while his friends beside him nod in agreement.

at your boyfriends words you quickly turn away from the group to hide the tears now trickling down your cheeks .

after everyone had said their peace mike once again us something to further the conversation.

“you know (y/n) i used t consider myself gay too when i was younger but now im an ex-gay and it was all thanks to an amazing place called true direction.” mike looks at you to say something but continues when he sees you still looking away from the group in shame silently. “true direction is a camp a little ways from here that helps teenagers like you figure out how to overcome the homosexual influence in their life and find the real straight them!” mike finished his little speech with a cheerful speech.

your eyes widen when you actually process what he had said and instantly snap your head back to the group to give them a betrayed look.

“you’re sending me away?”

everyone in the room slightly shitss uncomfortably at your question but gives you a sympathetic smile.

“no of course we’re not sending you away sweetie it’s not at all permanent.” your dad attempts to reassure you.

“yes exactly once you graduate the camp and they fix you we’ll come and get you so you can come right back home safe and sound!” your mom tries her best to sound slightly enthusiastic.

you shake your head in defeat and drop your face into your palms to muffle your sobs.

“i don’t want to go please don’t make me i’ll be normal just don’t make me go there!”

after your family manages to get you to calm down they get you to pack your things and soon after you your mom and dad pile into the car to begin your journey to the true directions camp grounds.

as you drive of you don’t even bother to look back at your teammates and boyfriend due to the fact that the current betrayal you felt from them ran extremely deep.

the ride was pretty unenventful and soon you arrive at your destination.

once the car came to a complete stop your parents very eagerly jumped out of the car leaving you to finally have a small moment to yourself.

“why me?” you grip the cross necklace hanging from your neck tightly.

“come on (y/n)” your parents call from outside the car.

you give the pendant one more squeeze before reluctantly grading yourself out of the car.

when you leave the car you follow your parents as they walk up to a large pink house.

before you make it all the way up to the door a blonde woman in a pink suit and a taller man in a tank top and shorts exit the building and walk towards your family with a large smile on their faces.

“hello there you must be (y/n) and her family my name is mary!’ the woman looks at you with kind eyes.

“yes that would be us!’ your mom responds enthusiastically.

you stay silent and somewhat zone out as they begin talking about how the camp and visitation would work.

“we love you sweetie.” your mom pulls you into a tight hug.

“we promise we’re doing this from your own good.” your dad pats you on your back before they both walk off to reenter their car.

you watch as your parents make jock work of pulling out of the entrance of the camp and drive away with two short honks.

“come on (y/n) let’s get going now.” mary pats you on the shoulder to shake you out of your trance.

you nod silently and follow the woman through the doors to the place where you wold be spending the next couple months of your life getting fixed.

a/n: holy moly this was a lot. my original plan was to make this 5 chapters from all. steps but i feel like the beginning is united a bit detached rom that so i decided to make this it’s own chapter. so sorry if this is shit i a so tired i may go back into to edit it later on. this is not going to be word for word at orf and the movie but it will be very similar with slight changes. my masterlist got a lot more attention than is as expecting so i rushed to whip up something that you guys could read while i plan out the rest of this i really hope this lives up to your expectations!!

taglist: @st4r-b3rries @dollyvuu @lvlymicha @jellyfishrnice @machetegirl109 @smiths-fan--13 @elliewilliamssrealgf @ravyaryn @yuhgetintoonit @nelzooo @luvmily @dearestdolly444 @venuzasmuse

[rosewine-5]

𝑽𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑨𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝟏)

Billy the Kid x b!woc reader

Being the pastors daughter meant you had to always be on your best behavior, never stepping off the right path, walking the straight & narrow path, and her eyes towards heaven. That was until a certain outlaw rode into your life, and taught you sometimes it okay to have a taste of hell with a little bit of heaven.

AN: readers last name is Bennett.

Word count: 1.3k

Here’s the link to part 2 & part 3

Divider by saradika

It was the same schedule: Wake up, pray, work, eat, give thank, sleep, repeat. It had been the routine for 20 years. Well, maybe just for you. The family consisted of her mother, father, 2 brothers, Michael and John, and then yourself. Father raised the 3 of you to have unwavering faith and trust in a higher power no one would see while you were still alive. In a way, if offered stability to your family, and yourself.

But it also came with rules, which in your case, sucked, especially being the only girl in the house. You weren’t allowed to go out late, while your brothers could come home as late as early morning. Your father wanted his “little girl” to be, as he said “the gem of the Bennett name” , and for the most part, you didn’t know what else to be, other than a farmer.

The town you resided in had enough fertile soil for people to grow their food, there was even a lake not too far from town with a few trees close by. You used to swim there, before some men decided to ransack the town. That night everyone met in the church since the raiders burnt the town hall to the ground. That very night the leaders of the community, including your father, all agreed to hire mercenaries to keep the town safe.

If this wasn’t desperation, you didn’t know what else it could be.

When everyone got back to the farm, you and your brothers questioned your father. His only excuse was “There are some times in which we can’t wait for God to save us”, and there was no further argument. “This is something we can’t pray our way out of, child! Maybe one day you’ll understand.” He shouted, making you shrink.

The next day you woke up early on the property and walked over the kitchen, where Michael was packing up a bag along with your other John. “What’s the occasion?” You asked. “Pa told us we’re going with him to meet the mercenaries the next town over.” Your brother, Michael said in a rushed tone, sitting down to stuff his belonging in a bag. “You never told me that.” You said, walking towards him. “Well you’re not my mother.” He said, not looking up at you. “But I am your sister, and older than you.” You added.

“By 5 minutes.” He said, smiling up at you. Your mother had given birth to you first on a winter day, and then Michael a few minutes later. You didn’t know if it was the fact you two were born on the same day or being twins, but you were closer to Mike then you were John.

“Are you two bickering again?” Your mother said, walking in. “We were just saying our goodbyes, Dove and I.” Mike said, putting on a smile and slinging his arm around your neck.

You had adopted the nickname Dove after your 10th birthday by your father. To him, the name symbolized what he wanted you to be: pure, innocent, peaceful. For the most part, you were pure, you didn’t have a choice to be anything but, being the pastors daughter and all. A part of you didn’t mind being stamped as “Holy” but that also meant you didn’t have the same freedoms or privileges you would’ve loved to have.

You were snapped oh of your train of thought when your father came from outside and called for your brothers. Three horses were already set up, belonging to them. None for you. “We’ll be back by the end of the week.” He said, kissing your mother goodbye, and then waking to you. “Best behavior, my dove, as always.” He said, kissing your forehead before riding away, your brothers behind him.

The next few days were full of chores, errands, and work. And boredom. Then came the day they were expected back, your mother stood next to you. “Penny for your thoughts, honey?” Your mom asked, making you nod. “He means the best for you.” She said, putting her hand on your shoulder, trying to stick her point. “He just doesn’t want to see you-.” “Act out of line? Have fun? Have a real life?” You interrupted, looking at her. “You know that’s not what I meant, love.” She said, putting some of the vegetables that were grown in a basket.

“Here, take this, throw them out, and get some air.” She said, basically leading you out of the room. “And honey?” Your mom called, making you look back, “We only treat you with different rules to keep you safe.” After throwing the vegetables out, you looked towards the town, and sighed. “Safe my god given ass.” You mumbled to yourself, walking towards the lake for the first time in a while.

There was a cool breeze coming from the lake, one that you took in with a content look on your face. You laid down in the grass and took a deep breath in, before closing your eyes. After a few minutes, all you could hear was the breeze blowing and the rustle of the leaves. It almost drowned out the noise from the town, as well as the noise in your head. It even almost drowned out the sound of the twig that snapped behind you. Almost.

Your head snapped behind you to see a tall slender boy leaning on a tree staring at you, a small smirk on his face. From his face alone, you could tell he wasn’t a local, you couldn’t even recognize him. You looked him over, his rough appearance a clear sign he wasn’t one to walk over. But his eyes were the most enchanting part of him. Those blue eyes drew you in like a siren to a sailor. And as much as you wanted to drown in them, you knew shook out of the trance; who is this man?

“You new around here?” You asked, breaking the silence. He looked you up and down, before meeting your eyes with a wolfish grin, chuckling to himself. “You could say that.” He said, looking deep in your eyes. “I’m Billy.” You nodded your head toward him, “Nice to meet you, Billy.” “So what’s your name, honey?” He asked, the smile never leaving his face. “I’m Bennett.” You said, holding out your hand. Billy then took your hand and then kissed it, “You must be the pastors daughter, you and your brothers have the same eyes.”

Here we go again

He then smirked to himself, “If I may, humor me Ms. Bennett.” You immediately turned back around and looked at the water, “I doubt I could make you shut up anyway, so go on ahead.” You said, making him huff out a short laugh.

“What’s a lady like you doing by herself?” Billy asked, looking over you with a curious look in his eyes. “Like myself, huh? What’s that supposed to mean, cowboy?” You asked, not looking away from the water of the lake. You then heard his footsteps get closer, and then he was right behind you.

“I thought the pastor’s girl would know it would be safer to stay close to the house of the lord, than out here with her back turned, vulnerable.” Billy said, and you could see his shadow cover your frame, making you turn around, holding your shawl closer to your body, covering your shoulders.

In the moment you turned around, his eyes didn’t hesitate to look over your face, and then your body. Billy’s eyes went down to your neck and chest, making no effort to avert his gaze. “What a beautiful ring,” He said, getting your attention,” You engaged?” “No, it’s my purity band.” You said, holding it out so he could get a better view, and hoping he would leave you alone.

Instead, you saw a new look in his eyes.

One that let you know he wouldn’t leave you alone.

Interest.

Let me know what you think, feedback is welcome!

[mariacallous]

Cantor Jennifer Bern-Vogel was used to hearing her mother tell the story.

On the evening of Nov. 9, 1938, her mother, then Marianne Katzenstein, who was 16 at the time, was in her family’s synagogue in Bielefeld, Germany, practicing the organ. She finished up, used a key to lock the building and returned home. Later that night, the synagogue was burned to the ground by the Nazis in the Kristallnacht pogrom.

Only two items survived the fire: a Torah scroll and Katzenstein’s key.

“I just remember her talking about it, her voice would change and she was just kind of slower and softer and very nostalgic when she talked about the whole story,” Bern-Vogel, 67, said in an interview. “Whenever she told the story and then held up the key, people always — and I experienced it myself — there was always this kind of gasp.”

Bern-Vogel, who has been the cantor at Congregation Emanu El in Redlands, Calif., since 2009, said the story of the key was “legendary” in her family.

And on Saturday, 86 years after Kristallnacht, the key returned home.

Bern-Vogel spent the past week in Germany, where she had lived for more than a decade when she was younger, reconnecting with friends, family and the Jewish community of Bielefeld, where the synagogue was reestablished shortly after the Holocaust. It was her first trip to Bielefeld with her husband and daughter, and her brother and niece, as well as a cousin from Denmark, also flew in for the occasion.

On Friday night, Bern-Vogel and the cantor of the Bielefeld synagogue led Shabbat services together. Bern-Vogel sang a song that was adapted from a poem written by her grandfather, with music composed by a longtime friend from Germany.

And following Havdalah on Saturday, the town held a ceremony that began at the site of the destroyed synagogue before moving to City Hall, where the official hand-off was made. The key was added to the collection of the town’s history museum and will be on display at the current synagogue building.

According to Irith Michelsohn, the president of the town’s Jewish community and of Germany’s Progressive Jewish movement, Bielefeld’s Jewish community has 450 members. The synagogue the community uses now was renovated from an old Protestant church and was inaugurated in 2008.

Prior to the Holocaust, Bielefeld was home to almost 1,000 Jews, Michelsohn said. The community has been revitalized since Michelsohn took the helm on Jan. 1, 2000, at which point she said there were only 35 members.

Michelsohn said the key’s return is immensely meaningful to the community.

“I was so excited, because we only have one Torah scroll, and now the key, that’s all we have from our old synagogue,” Michelsohn said. “And now the key is back. That’s so great, you can’t imagine.”

Michelsohn said the key is especially important as a vehicle to educate the current community about its past. She explained that like many German Jewish communities, Bielefeld’s Jews are almost all originally from the former Soviet Union.

“You don’t have many people who are originally from Germany,” she said. “Some of them converted to Judaism, some immigrated from Israel or other countries or are working in Bielefeld with a university, but most of the members in all of our 120 Jewish communities in Germany are from the former Soviet Union.”

The key, Michelsohn said, represents an opportunity to “teach them something about history, about the past, what we lost.”

It also returns a physical reminder of the old synagogue building, which had been built in 1905 and was commissioned by the Katzenstein family. Bern-Vogel’s maternal grandfather had been the head of the Jewish community, and helped hundreds of families escape Germany.

“It symbolizes a connection to the old and very, very nice building which we had,” Michelsohn said, adding that the destroyed synagogue was “such a marvelous building.”

Like the key she kept, the remarkable story of Bern-Vogel’s mother did not end in 1938. The following year, she and her younger sister escaped to England on the Kindertransport. Years later, she was at a Shabbat dinner in Israel when she met Julian Bernstein (later shortened to Bern), Bern-Vogel’s father, who also survived the Holocaust.

Julian was one of six children from a Lithuanian family, but only he and one brother survived the Holocaust. That brother, Leon Bernstein, and Bern-Vogel’s mother were both working for the World Jewish Congress; Leon hosted the Shabbat dinner where Julian and Marianne met.

The two were engaged within a week, and eventually settled in Iowa, where Bern-Vogel and her brother were raised.

In the later years of her mother’s life, Bern-Vogel said there had been efforts to bring the key to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. But a contact her mother had at the museum passed away, and in 2017, so did she, at 94 years old.

“It just held a very deep connection,” Bern-Vogel said, referring to the key, a copy of which she still has. “I don’t think I thought about, when we were growing up, that the key would be anywhere else but with us. It kind of belonged to us.”

But as her mother aged, Bern-Vogel said her family wanted to determine where the key should go to be best taken care of and hold the most meaning. After a couple recent trips to Germany, Bern-Vogel said the answer crystallized.

“It just became clearer over the last couple of years, and especially after I went there last summer to meet with them at the synagogue and the museum, that it would really mean the most for everyone and future generations for it to be there,” she said.

Bern-Vogel said that even though her mother had a fraught relationship with Germany because of how her family’s time there ended, Bielefeld will always be their home. And she knows her mother would appreciate knowing that the key has made it back.

“I think that she would be incredibly moved by the reception that the key is going to have, and the people that are involved in the city,” Bern-Vogel said. “I think she would be very honored and happy, and I think grateful.”

[valkierrie]

ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): (Liam Gallagher smut), swearing, alcohol.

Plot: Y/N was considered by others to be tied down by her religion. She didn't think she needed anything apart from her bible, but upon meeting Liam Gallagher, he shows her the pleasures of life she was taught was taboo and opens her up to a world of Enlightenment.

Word count: 6.4K

A/N: A story I've been dying to get out, don't worry, I will be back on the requests for the Damon girlies and the one Noel request as well as Ian Brown. This story was hell to write and even worst to edit. Enjoy.

X

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The chapel was packed, as it normally was on Sunday mornings. The church was bigger than most and could hold twice the size. The soft smell of freshly baked chocolate chip biscuits filled the air as worship leaders served them to entering bodies of people. I chose to sit towards the front. Not the front row, but two or three rows behind it. My own biscuit rested on top of a white napkin and set beside my Bible on the wooden bench.  

As people filed, filling up the seats left and right, I wore the usual. A long-sleeved shirt tucked into a long skirt, finished off with the usual smile that was on my face when my eyes met someone else’s. There was the familiar sound of chatter as couples greeted couples and families greeted families.  

Pastor Thomas took his place on the high platform, behind the large, white altar. His tall figure stood before the church, looking over all of us with an intense level of authority. Which to some extent, one could argue he had. The chatters turned to murmurs before it went to silence. He had that power. He didn’t need to speak to command a room, but when he did, everyone listened. Myself included. I admired him dearly. Always impressed with his self-control and discipline—qualities I lacked and wished dearly to grasp with the same firm hold he had on them. 

“Good morning.” Pastor Thomas greeted. 

There was a chorus of greetings all throughout the congregation. 

“Now, today’s sermon is going to be a little different.” He glanced around at the rows of families, his face in an expression that I couldn’t quite decipher. “Let’s have our little ones onto the room next door, please.” He signalled for one of the worship leaders, who was guided the kids towards himself.  

Parents ushered their small children towards the worship leader, some tinkering or fixing their clothes before nudging them towards him. He led them out of the large worship hall we were in and took them elsewhere. There were small conversations and shuffles as the transition occurred. 

Pastor Thomas gathered everyone’s attention back. “Right.” He coughed. “Dear brothers and sisters in Christ—” His voice falters, as if the titles were poison at the edge of his tongue. “Though, I hesitate to call you that. Let’s not lie in the house of the Lord, you are all sinners.”  

There was an echo of whispers all around the flock. 

“Yes, each and every single one of you.” Pastor Thomas didn’t waver; his tone was cold and convicting. “As I am very clearly pure in the eyes of the Father, I am your shepherd, and it is my duty to make sure your souls aren’t dragged to the pits of hell.”  

There was a small pause between his words, allowing us to take it all in. I wasn’t too sure I was taking it in well. I understood what he was saying, and it wasn’t anything new. He always spoke in this tone, but lately something strange had been simmering. I didn’t know how to go about it, really.  I found myself doing less of the expected head-nodding and seal-clapping, instead my brow rose.  I may have looked up to the man, but one couldn’t help but...inquire on his choice of words when he preached. I tried to orient myself in the way he preached, and the more I tried, the harder the feeling unsettlement settled. Even now, I was uncertain, but there wasn’t exactly anyone I could go about my thoughts with.  

“Today, I bring upon you a topic that has been plaguing our youths and poisoning them, worse than any alcohol and drug in the world.” He spoke gesturally, using his hands to emphasise his point. “Fornication. Sexual intercourse before marriage.” Pastor Thomas’ hands touched the pulpit softly, though his grip was firm. “This topic isn’t up for debate, it is clear in the book, First Corinthians, chapter six, verse eighteen. You are to ‘flee from sexual immorality’ but instead today what do I see? The complete opposite. One can only wonder what our Lord in heaven and what I think about it all.” 

There was silence, only sounds being made was the silent shuffling made by the movements of heads in agreement.  

“Even something as small as the thought of fornication is destined take you to eternal hellfire. Unless you follow me, your fate is sealed.” 

I adjusted my posture uncomfortably, moving my shoulders slowly. That last sentence felt targeted towards me specifically. Though there wasn’t any logical explanation or concrete evidence that it was, that didn’t stop my mind from betraying me. As of recently, I’ve been having... less than holier thoughts. The fleeting, unbidden thoughts. The kind that left small yet remanent wet patches on my undergarments. The yearning desire was strong, I didn’t understand why I felt this way, nor did I want to know. There was no way I was going to talk to anyone about it and risk the inevitable judgement that was to come. I couldn't. I picked up my Bible, like a sigil that was meant to protect me from the civil war in my mind. It wasn’t me anymore—the girl who found peace in a place like this. The sentiment was nothing show of a distant memory; I wasn’t so sure that I fit in anymore. 

“I decree today...” Pastors Thomas set his gaze firmly on the congregation with importance, as if the following words that would come out of his mouth would become the next testimonies of the New Testament. “That as long as you abide to my words, your soul will be saved. If you don’t, don’t expect to be remembered for anything aside from choosing to separate yourself from God, after all, no one mourns the wicked.” 

That was the last of what he said about it, and it left a dry taste in my mouth. Something felt wrong—something was wrong. Ironically, it felt like God was trying to tell me something at that moment. Pastor Thomas’ words covered my ears and his presence blinded my eyes. As the rest of the service went by, rather forgettably, my regard shifted to the glass windows. For what seemed like a few seconds, my thoughts drifted to what could have been, without any of it. The judgement or the expectation. The light peering through was bright, enticing, almost beckoning. Pastor’s Thomas’ words still lingered in my head as I walked home.  

“You finally back to the land of the living, love?” Eliza called out as I walked into the flat. Eliza, my darling antithesis of a flatmate, laid on the sofa, feet tucked under her as she applied layers mascara over her eyes. 

I sighed, removing my flats and leaving them beside the door. It took a few strides for me to reach the sofa and plop down beside her. 

“How was it?” She asked, her gaze still fixed on the small mirror on her lap. 

“Fine.” 

“Uh, oh,” she teased, “that sounds eventful.” 

“Eliza, please, save the sarcasm for another time. I’m not in the mood.” 

Eliza smirked, moving her gaze from the mirror to me. “What’s going on?” 

“Why do you think anything’s going on?” 

“You usually have that stupid smile on your face after ev’ry church visit.” 

A tired sigh escaped my lips. “Do you...” There was a flicker of hesitation in my tone. “At church today, something felt off...” 

Eliza rose a brow. “What do you mean?” 

“Well...” I sat up, straightening my back. I wasn’t exactly sure how to sum up what was going through my mind in simple words. “Pastor Thomas was preaching about fornication.” 

“Is that what’s got your knickers in a bunch?” Eliza rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you once and I’ll say it again a million times, getting a few good shags once in a while won’t kill ya.” 

“It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it.” 

Eliza adjusted her position, turning her crossed legged self towards me, her head tilting ever-so sightly. 

“He was authoritative, it felt as if he was playing God—or he thought that he was God. It felt cultish.” I sighed, this time not out of tiredness, but in discord. “It’s stupid. Maybe I’m just overthinking it...” 

“It’s not stupid, you’re just...curious, that’s okay.” 

“It shouldn’t be like that though...right?” 

“How should I know, I haven’t been to a church in years, let alone picked up a bible.” Eliza snorted. 

The humour in the situation hadn’t caught up to me, Eliza could see that. She placed the tube of her mascara on the coffee table, grinning. “Tell you what—I’m going to the pub downtown with a couple mates, why don’t you come?” 

“A pub, really?” I blinked. 

“Hey, don’t knock it,” She laughed, using her knee to nudge mine. “A change of scenery’ll do you some good. In addition, you get to see me in ideal element—chugging down pints.” 

“Of course.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. I wasn’t sure what prompted me to accept her invitation, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt, especially since it I was adamant that this was going to be a one-time thing.  

Eliza squealed, pulling me into a small hug as a reluctant smile tugged at my lips. 

The evening took over quicker than I had anticipated, and I found myself stood at the entrance of a dodgy building, adjusting the blouse Eliza had begged me to wear. 

“If you’re not going to wear anything flattering,” She had told me, rummaging through her closet. “Then at least wear this.” She had pulled out a small white blouse. The shirt was cropped at the bottom, the neckline was a low V-neck. Not low enough to give my mother a heart attack—just low. 

Eliza pulled me by the arm into the pub. The place was packed despite the size.  

“I swear,” Eliza tried to speak over the other loud conversations. “It’s never this crowded, must be a match day or summat.” She pulled me through the crowd of people. Her theory might have held validity because a few—a lot of a them wore jerseys. They stood, crowded near the bar, their gazes fixed on the small TV mounted on the wall. Screams and shouts were all over. 

Eliza led me to a small table towards one of the corner windows. She greeted the strangers sat there with a smile and a simple, “Alright?” 

There was an ensemble of greetings returned to her.  

“I brought me mate, Y/N.” Eliza nodded towards me.  

The row of eyes that fell onto me felt a bit intimidating. I gave them a simple wave before taking an empty seat. Eliza began chattin’ up one of her mates. It was clearly one she was very familiar with; anyone could tell by the way she moving her hand up and down his shoulder. From how he looked like and how Eliza had described him in prior conversations, I assumed it was her boyfriend, Alexander. I sat there awkwardly, not really sure what I could’ve done. My mind was all over the place and contrary to what Eliza had claimed, this was doing nothing to help. The yelling and rowdiness of it all rendered me unable to think clearly in the sloghtest. 

“I leave my seat for 3 seconds, and some bird’s already nicked it.” A voice broke my thoughts. 

“Excuse me?” I turned to the side, where the source of the voice came from, only to be greeted by a tall bloke. He stood with a lanky build, and short, shaggy, dark hair. He had a light blue jersey worn over his torso; the colour was almost as blue as his eyes. A lit cigarette dangled from his lips. I couldn’t lie; he looked quite fit under the low lights. 

“I said,” he repeated. “You’re in my seat.” He took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling the fumes, tapping the butt of his cigarette. 

I was taken aback by the tone, and bit annoyed. “I didn’t see you sitting in it, nor did I see a name on it.” 

“Got a right gob on ya, don’t ya.” He crossed his arm.  

I opened my mouth, ready to say something, but whatever was about to come out of my mouth was cut short when Eliza approached. “Liam, finally. Didn’t see ya, was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” 

Liam, scoffed. “I wouldn’t show,” he mocked. “Yeah right. City’s playing United, like I’d miss that.” 

“’Course, good old Liam Gallagher just couldn’t stay away.” Eliza chuckled; she turned towards me. “Y/N, you’ve met Liam, right?” 

“Can’t say that I have.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Liam smirked; he turned to Eliza. “You’re—uh mate here stole my chair.” 

“Can’t steal something that doesn’t belong to you.” I retorted.  

“That’s Y/N for ya.” Eliza shook her head, laughing. She turned towards the bar. “I’m gonna get a drink. You two want anythin’?” 

“Just a pint for me, yeah?” 

I simply shook my head. 

“Suite yerself.” Eliza shrugged.  

“You not drinkin’?” 

I shook my head. “What’s it to you?” 

“Nowt, just askin’.” he chuckled, pulling up another chair that was left unattended. “You’re at a bar, figured you’d get a drink or summat, but then again...” His voice trailed off, and his gaze lowered to my chest, where a small, gold, crucifix necklace laid. 

“So, why’d you ask?” 

“Didn’t wanna assume.” Liam shrugged. He exhaled another cloud of smoke, allowing it to curl between us. His gaze was set on necklace once more before his eyes met mine. “What brings a bird like you out here, then?” 

“Stretching my horizons.” I responded light and sarcastically, placing my hands on my lap. 

“Right.” He rolled his eyes, tapping his cigarette against the table. “And I’m the bloody Queen.” 

“Eliza’s idea. She needs someone who isn’t pissed to take her back to the flat at the end of the night.” 

“Nice thing, that.” Liam nodded, as if processing the information. “That shirt also her idea?” He nodded towards my top. 

“Why d’you think that?” 

“It’s actually got a neckline. Gives a blokes summat interestin’ ‘bout ya to look at.” 

The statement caught me off guard, before I could respond, Eliza interrupted me once more, this time coming back with a long glass cup filled with the beverage Liam had requested, a cloud of foam overtaking the top. 

“Cheers, love.” He thanked Eliza. 

Eliza gave him a smile before returning to her other mates. Liam took sip of his drink.  

“You’ve ever had one of these?” 

I shook my head. 

“Tragic, you’re missin’ out. This is heaven, this.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” 

“It is,” Liam nodded in agreeance. “You should get one.” 

“I don’t drink.” 

“Ah, you one of ‘em proper good girls?” He smirked. 

I didn’t like that question, at all. Liam could tell; the smirk grew wider. He kept going, as if getting a rise out of me was some kind of funny humorous thing. I didn’t feel like dignifying his taunts with a response. I stood up, ready to find Eliza or elsewhere to sit.  

Liam’s hand caught my arm with a gentle grip. “C’mon, I’m just takin’ the piss. Fair play an’ all that.” His tone was still the same, but I could tell that he wasn’t outright trying to mock me. 

“Right.” I pulled my arm away. 

Liam raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’ll back down.” 

I sat back down.  

Liam smiled. “Let’s try again.” He stuck out his hand towards me. “Liam. Liam Gallagher.” 

My eyes flickered from his hand to his face. “Y/N,” reluctantly, I took and shook it. “Y/N L/N.” 

Liam leaned back, his grin widening. “So, Y/N. You ever head of Oasis?” 

“Oasis?” I repeated, trying to figure out if the band held a place of familiarity. “I’m not sure that I have, what is it?” 

Liam chuckled. “Only the best band in the fuckin’ world.” 

“Is that right?” I rose a brow. “Why’s that?” 

“’Cause I’m in it.” Liam stated it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“That sounds biased.”  

“It’s not biased; It’s just a fact.” 

That was the first thing that evenin’ that managed to get a smile out of me, I didn’t know why. His confident demeanour almost made me want to believe him. The rest of the evening went by pretty fast with Liam keeping me ‘entertained’ with stories about his band. They were unusual for sure, but somehow, they had managed to tug at the corners of my lips or made a chuckle escape my lips before I could stop myself. 

By the time Eliza made her way back to me, the time was well past when I’d be in bed, and Eliza was stumblin’ about. 

“That’s my cue.” 

Liam nodded. I placed Eliza’s arm over my shoulders, my arm going around her waist for support, and helped her out of the pub. I wanted to say that I had a lousy time, but it wasn’t all bad. 

Eliza mumbled some slurred intelligible statements in an effort to convey something, whatever it may be. For someone so tall, she was pretty lightweight. It was darker outside than a had been when we arrived, the temperature seemed to have dropped as well, the cold air hit me like a slap to the face. Almost made me regret leaving the flat without a jacket. It made sense as to why Eliza had gone without out. She’d be too out of it to complain about the cold.  

We passed a strange-looking building; one I saw frequently on my way to church. It hadn’t paid much attention to it—mainly because it blended in well with the other buildings. Tonight, however, it was lit up. Coloured lights everywhere, mainly red ones. Women, many in various stages of scantily clad clothing, stood outside. Some leaned against the lamp posts while others were near the entrance or likely inside. 

I paid them no mind, I had no business with them—plain and simple. As I gently dragged Eliza forward and down the street, something caught my eye—rather someone. Coming out of the building was a tall man, a woman’s arm interlocked with his. I recognized him immediately, and holy fuck. 

Pastor Thomas. 

Pastor Thomas grinned as the woman pulled him forward. Their lips were moving, but I couldn’t quite make out what was being said. But from the smiles on both of their faces and the ease between them, as well as the way her face lit up with a grin when Pastor Thomas handed her a few note, it was obvious what was going on.   

There wasn’t a single bible in sight.  

Of course, I was aware that people had lives outside of church, but seeing him coming out of somewhere like that? There was no logical way to put the pieces together without something being wrong. I couldn’t make sense of it. 

It should have been obvious what was going on, but my brain supressed the truth. My head didn’t want to allow me to get to that point of acceptance. Not yet. I almost dropped Eliza from my shock. I adjusted my grip around her waist as I quickened my pace, hoping to pass unseen. As we did, I turned back, silently praying that it wasn’t who I thought it was—that fatigue was just playing a cruel joke on me. 

Pastor Thomas’ eyes met mine. I couldn’t possibly tell you what going on in his brain. His expression changed, not to that of guilt, or embarrassment, or anything of the sorts. This moment felt like a page out of Animal Farm. I didn’t recognize him. His gaze felt like a was sort of a silent threat, a challenge of sorts. One that told me that he was aware of what I had seen and dared me to say something about it. I moved Eliza and I along until we reached the flat. I fumbled with the key until the door unlocked. Kicking it open, I helped Eliza inside.  

I helped her out of her shoes, taking her to her room. I wasn’t exactly sure how much she’d to drink, but I was certain it wasn’t enough to let her sleep on her back. I adjusted her position, letting her sleep comfortably on her side. 

In my own room, I changed out of my clothes and into my pyjamas. As I laid on my bed, sleep just wouldn’t catch up to me. My mind was begging for a conclusion—anything. It replayed what I had seen, searching and scanning for answers and loopholes. What I saw wouldn’t suffice. Was that what God was trying to tell me?  

God, I sounded crazy, getting warnings from God. Now I knew how Joan of Arc felt. Was this what I was warned about? That my pastor taught one thing and did the opposite. I was undeniably disappointed.  

If he couldn’t hold himself to the standards he had set, what did that say about what I stood for? 

My thoughts didn’t keep me up for too long. I wasn’t sure when I had fallen asleep, but I knew I had when my eyes fluttered open and bright light spilled into my room from the small available cracks on my shutters.  I blinked rapidly, allowing my eyes to get adjusted.  

In the kitchen, Eliza leaned against a counter, one hand on her temple and the other on a glass of water.   

“Remind me to never drink again.” She groaned.  

“That’d be in vain.” I spoke with a dry tone. 

Her head lifted, a small yet weak smile on her face. “Thanks for last night. Who knows where I would’ve ended up if you weren’t there.” 

“It was nothing.” I shrugged. “It’s what a friend does.” 

Eliza turned so her lower back hit the counter, she took a sip of her water. “How’re you holdin’ up?” 

“What?” I blinked. 

“Did last night help you clear your mind?” 

“No,” I shook my head. “If anything, it made things worse.” 

“How?” Eliza’s brows knit in confusion; her smile was replaced with a frown. “Was it Liam? You were talkin’ to him all night—did he say summat?” 

“No.” 

“Then what?” 

There was a hint of hesitation before I spoke.“When I was walking you back home, I saw something.” 

“Really?” 

I nodded. 

“Okay, well tell me.” 

“I saw Pastor Thomas coming out of a building—” 

“Is that it? ” She blinked. 

“I think it was a brothel.” 

Silence. 

“A brothel?” Eliza repeated, in surprise. “Are you sure?” 

“I know what I saw—” I said, my voice firm. “—and I didn’t see a bible or anything.  

“wow...” Eliza's mouth was still ajar from the semi bomb I dropped. “You plannin’ on going back to that church?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“I honestly wish I could help, really, I do.” She spoke, her fingers massaging her temple. “But this hangover is doin’ me head in.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.” 

Eliza gave me a sympathetic smile, placing her hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. 

—  

Days of loitering about on the sofa occurred. Times where I should have been at church, where spent in the flat, doing nothing in particular. Luckily, Eliza kept me fed and kept away anyone from the congregation who was “too curious” about my absence from the church. The weigh of it felt like a heavy rock pressing down on me. 

It felt ridiculous, something so small, yet it held significance and I wasn’t sure why. Was my “belief” truly a belief if it had managed to be shaken by something like this? 

“You can’t keep sitting around like this.” Eliza said, one morning.  

I sat on the sofa, pulling my blanket higher over my shoulders. “Sure I can,” I argued. “I’m doing it right now.” 

“You can’t.” Eliza rolled her eyes, settling beside me.  

I didn’t say anything. 

“If you’ve got nowt to do...” Eliza started.  

I rose my brow, I knew where this was going. “No.” 

Eliza’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “You didn’t even lemme ask.” 

“Didn’t have to.” 

Eliza rolled her eyes. “I was gonna ask you to take me to the pub. Again.” 

“No way, that was a one-time thing.” 

Eliza stuck out her lips in a small pout. 

“That’s not going work.” 

“It works with Alexander.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not Alexander.” I turned towards her, giving her a look. “And didn’t you say you were going to stop drinking.” 

“People change.” She shrugged. 

“Right.” I deadpanned. 

“C’mon, please.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” 

Eliza grinned triumphantly. 

— 

Eliza and I found ourself in the same place we had been. It was like déjà vu, minus the blouse. I chose to stick with clothes that came from my own closet, much to Eliza’s annoyance. The pub was tamer than it had been the other time. There were actual visible empty chairs. Eliza greeted her mates near the bar. I sat further away, not really having much interest in them.  

The scraping sound of a chair being pulled back caught my attention. My gaze turned to the side, there he was again, Liam. An ever-present and cocky smirk accompanied him. “Back again?” 

“Yeah, I am. You got a problem with that?” 

Liam shook his head, the smirk remained as he leaned back. “Not at all, didn’t see you for a while—got worried I might of scared ya off.” 

“Great, now you’ve seen me.” I deadpanned. 

“I would, but it’s not as fun, y’know what I mean?” 

I rolled my eyes. 

“What’s got you in mood, then?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but these last few days haven’t exactly been a cakewalk.” 

“Lemme guess,” Liam leaned back. “You havin’ trouble deciding which bible verse to read before bed?” 

My eyes narrowed slightly. That didn’t bother Liam one bit, if anything, it made his grin wider.  

“My problem isn’t exactly that simple.” 

“I’m sure it isn’t.” He chuckled.  

My expression remained very much the same. I adjusted my position, placing my elbow on the table and my chin on my palm. 

“Y’know what’ll be bound to make you feel better?” 

“What?” 

“A cold pint.” 

“I don’t drink.” I reiterated. 

“C’mon, love, why sit and stress when you can drink and forget?” 

I just stared at him. From the short time I’ve gotten to know what he was about, I learned that he wasn’t what you’d classify as Harvard-level intelligence, but he wasn’t stupid. I wanted to get out of this funk—I really did. He seemed to know what he was talking about, and Eliza always did look happy when she drank.  

“...Fine.” 

Liam’s brows shot up, as if he didn’t quite believe what I’d just said. “Alright.” he nodded, standing up. He went towards the bar, telling something to the bartender. The bartender handed him two glasses. Liam sat back down at my table, sliding one of the drinks towards me.  

“Try it.” Liam encouraged, taking a sip of his own drink. 

I did so. The taste was...unique. I’ve had alcohol before, if you count the wine they offered at church. The liquid burned my throat, it tasted bitter. After I swallowed it, a strong taste remained. I shook my head a bit.  

“Atta girl,” he grinned. “You’ll get used to the taste.” 

“I’m not sure I want to.” 

“It’ll grow on ya.”  Liam encouraged with a chuckle.  

I took a few more sips of the liquid and true to Liam’s words, the bitter after taste was almost numb to me. 

“Feelin’ better?” 

“A bit.” I chuckled. “My head feels fuzzy.” 

I leaned back, unbuttoning some of the top buttons of my shirt. 

“Look on the bright side, you look fit.” 

I turned my head to look at him, a ghost of a smile playing at my lips before I could stop it. Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Is that what you tell all the girls you trick into buying a drink?” 

“Only if they’re fit.” Liam shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” 

I leaned in close; Miscalculated my move. My drink to spill right on my lap. I quickly sat the cup right side up. 

“Bloody hell.” Liam burst into a fit of laughter. 

I stood up quickly, causing some of the drink to spill on to the ground. I released an aggressive sigh.  

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” I rolled my eyes. “I swear, I’m never drinking again.” 

“C’mon,” Liam stood up, grabbing my arm. “I’ll help ya.” 

He didn’t give me a chance to give him an answer. Eliza saw us as we passed, her brows knit, I had barely had time to register it. 

Liam led to the restroom, pulling me inside after him and closing the door behind him. He picked up a stack of paper towels, dabbing them over my clothes—uselessly. his efforts did less to help than he had likely hoped. I placed my hand over his, stopping him.  

“It’s alright, I got it.” 

“Lemme help.” he insisted. 

“I don’t think what you’re doing qualifies as help.” I giggled.  

“Counts as summat.” 

My shirt was tainted by the beverage. I was certain I looked absolutely ridiculous. Liam just stared at me. I wasn’t sure what expression he was conveying to me. 

“What?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, as if atmosphere between us was sacred.  

“Go on then, tell me what’s been doin’ ya ‘ead in.” His voice was soft. 

“Just stuff with my church.” I spoke vaguely, hoping he wouldn’t pry deeper. 

“What happened?”  

There was the hesitation again. I looked at his face for any hint of malice or insincerity, but I found none. With a sigh, I spoke. “My pastor preaches about abstinence before marriage, while he goes to brothels.” 

Liam’s eyebrows shot up, laughter escaping from his throat. 

“Shut up, it’s not funny.” I hit in the chest; Liam only laughed harder. 

“Nah, it’s fuckin’ hilarious.” He grinned, wiping the corners of his eyes. “A brothel—now I’d pay good money to see that.” 

My eyes narrowed.  

“I don’t see how that would bother ya.” 

“He’s a pastor, always goes on and on about how that kind of thing is bad then goes around and does? He’s a hypocrite.” I looked down at my hands. “I looked up to him, now I just feel stupid.” 

Liam’s laughing subsided, fading. His expression fell to something softer. “Hey, c’mon, don’t say that. The tosser had no right to order you lot like that, ‘specially if he was doin’ that shit. You’re not stupid, alright?” 

I looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The warmth of his words spread all throughout my chest. “Thanks Liam.” 

Liam smiled, stepping closer. For a brief second, his eyes darted downwards to my lips, then back to my face. He just stared at me.  

Then, before I knew it, his hands cupped my cheeks, pulling me close and our lips met in a kiss. A startled sound escaped my lips. My hands found his shoulders, my conditioned state yelled at me to pull back—to push him away, but I couldn’t. Liam’s hands slid down, finding my waist. His tongue had made its way inside my mouth, wrestling with mine. 

He pulled away briefly, attempting to grasp as much oxygen as he could. I did the same, before I was pulled back, lips locking on to his.  

The buttons of my shirt were slowly coming undone until it was completely off. Left in my bra, the cold had goosebumps slowly making their way up my arms. It was strange standing like this in front of him, but I had a feeling, an almost animalistic desire—primal. It didn’t Liam long to get his shirt off and on the floor. At the moment, there wasn’t a care in the world about how dirty they were. Liam’s hands grasp my waist firmly, his fingers digging at them. It wasn't painful, there was just a feeling of pressure. 

His lips moved with mine, there was a strange sensation I felt as we moved together. I wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it, but it was...good. 

Liam slowly moved me back against the wall adjacent to the one that had the sink and mirror attached to it. The cold wall hit my back softly, lips still moulding against each other. Liam’s hand held my lower back, while the other grazed my thigh, slowly rising up and under my skirt. It moved gently, there was no haste nor rush in his touch, as if he wanted to savour every second. 

“You can... touch me, you know.” I told him. The brave tone in which I spoke with surprised myself. Perhaps the drink had an elixir-like effect on my brain chemistry. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” I confirmed, leaning back towards him for a hungry kiss. 

For once, I didn’t feel confined—trapped, that was how I felt and it felt fucking amazing.  

Liam’s hand flickered upwards, a soft whimper escaped my lips. I didn’t why it did, but it did. 

“Do that again.” I whispered. 

Liam complied; another sound was expelled from lips. The lace of my underwear was toyed with by Liam, brushing against my entrance with a frustrating slowness. 

Something between a gasp and a moan was the reaction that occurred when he slipped a finger inside. It stretched me in a way that made me shudder. The sensation felt odd—not in a bad way, just the unfamiliarity of it.  

I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. Maybe it was the weird buzz in my head from the drink, or maybe my thoughts had been cleared and I had subconsciously realised that maybe those standards that I held myself to wasn’t how I felt anymore. 

Whatever the case might have been, it felt liberating. A feeling of liberty. 

Liam’s finger managed to get a hold of a spot that had my head tilting back and my vision blurred. Then he inserted another one.  

“Ahh—” I gasped, my hand holding onto his shoulders tightly as his fingers thrusted inwardly. His angles changed ever so slightly, eliciting a feeling of anticipation. 

I wanted—no, I needed more. 

My hips bucked almost instinctively towards his hand. Incoherent babbles were all that were coming out of my mouth. Liam kissed the corners of my mouth, his wet kisses slowly trailing downwards. My breath hitched when Liam’s lips met a particular spot slightly above my collarbone. 

I could feel a smirk forming against my skin. Cheeky bastard. 

One particular thrust of Liam’s fingers made me jump, sending an intense feeling throughout my entire body. It felt as if I was having a heart attack, but without danger. My heart was racing, palpitations sending heavy vibrations throughout my body. The rate of my breathing increased rapidly, rising and the decreasing as the foreign, yet satisfying, feeling went away. 

Liam’s fingers pulled away gently as the intensity slowly dissipated.  

“You good, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” I panted. 

“Good.” Liam’s hand remained on my back. 

Liam’s face came close to mine once more until our lips met once more. His hands rose to my upper back, fumbling with the hooks of my bra until it came loose. The light under garment fell with ease. My hands instinctually fell over my chest. I’d never been exposed to this degree if front of anyone, it felt new. 

“None of that.” He gently pulled my arm down. “You look beautiful.” 

My breath hitched. His lips grazed my collarbones, going lower and lower. My hands raked him dark brown hair.  

Liam reached down to undue his belt, letting his jeans fall to the floor. His length looked firm, pressing against his boxers. 

His eyes flickered onto mine, as if he were silently asking me for permission. I nodded. Liam pulled me close. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I hadn’t anticipated the stretch I felt when Liam slowly pushed inside me.  

I took a sharp breath, my hands squeezing his shoulders. It hurt—it did. Liam did his best to accommodate that, moving slowly.  

Liam groaned softly, muttering obscenities. “Fuck...”  The pace wasn’t rushed—it was slow, but steady, slowly allowing the discomfort to be transformed to pleasure.  

I couldn’t believe it, genuinely. I was having sex, and in a pub bathroom no less. It wasn’t at all how Pastor Thomas had painted it out to be. This didn’t feel dirty or wrong, not at all. I felt connected, our pleasured sounds over taking the bathroom. 

It was simply too much. I caught sight of Liam’s damp forehead, his hair clinging onto his forehead. His pink-tinted swollen and moist lips kissed mine with ferocity. It was hard to keep up when his hips kept colliding with mine faster and faster... 

I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t think at all. I wasn’t even kissing Liam at this point, instead I gasped and moaned into his mouth.  

Liam’s pace quickened. “Fuckin’ hell... Yeah—fuck, so good...” Liam moaned. With a couple more sloppy thrusts, Liam let out throaty groan, his head falling on my shoulder. An intense feeling that I could only describe as pure euphoria took over. It felt like death. A heavenly way to die. My head tipped back once more; I was releasing sounds I didn’t even know I could make. I felt a warm, liquid-like substance filling me up. As soon as Liam soften inside me, he pulled out.  

As soon as he did, the liquid dripped down my thighs.  

I attempted to catch my breath, and he seemed to be doing the same. “You, okay?” He asked. 

“Yeah. You?” 

Liam nodded.  

There was a small moment of silence. It wasn’t awkward or anything, quite the opposite. 

“Reckon we’re proper filthy, eh?” Liam teased. 

I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess we are.” 

Liam helped with me get sorted with my clothes before getting to his. His hands shrugged mine off as he buttoned up my shirt. When he finished, his hands found my cheeks again. He didn’t kiss me this time, just looked at me, as if I was someone important. Someone worth looking at like that. 

My mind was racing, not with stress, just confusion. I wasn’t what this meant. Did this mean that my faith was tarnished?  

I enjoyed it, I did.  

What did it mean? 

[yikesharringrove]

steve and billy teaching in the same school!! there's these teachers in my school and they work right across the hall from each other. they're always yelling into each others classrooms.

she teaches english lit 101 and he teaches gov 102

"Harrington!"

Some of the kids snickered quietly when Mr. Harrington jumped at the shout from across the hall.

He stared blankly at the last word he had written on the board, the black Expo mark wiggles from where he had jumped at the yell of his name.

He turned around, sighing exaggeratedly at Mr. Hargrove standing in the doorway.

"Kids, excuse my coworker here." He crossed his arms around his chest. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can Mr. H."

Steve rolled his eyes as his husband swaggered into his classroom, leading a line of ninth graders with him.

It's not the first time Billy's interrupted his class with a question about some inane bullshit that launched Steve into an over-excited rant for the rest of class.

Steve's tenth and eleventh graders were already closing their textbooks, knowing their teacher was just about to be insanely distracted for the rest of class.

"The birds n' I are reading The Crucible."

Fuck.

Steve's pretty sure Billy's kids pay him to bring them across the hall for these impromptu lectures.

"Witch hunts. I get it."

"Yeah, you know. Anyway, I'm giving some context to the publishing of the book. The Red Scare in the United States, well, the second Red Scare, as well as the rise of McCarthyism coincided with the publishing of the play."

Goddammit.

Steve's fucking master's thesis was on all about McCarthyism (more specifically, how the second Red Scare was directly linked to the Lavender Scare.) He cited the stupid play in his research.

Billy knows that. They were already engaged by the time Steve began his master's program.

Fuck this guy, for real.

Steve quietly closed his power point presentation on interest groups in America.

"Fine. Mr. Hargrove's class, find a seat. My class, your packet is still due Friday. I'll post the slides after class." He glared at Billy.

Billy grinned right back, his tongue poking out in that frustrating way it has since high school.

"1950s United States. What do you know?"

A few hands went up.

Even Billy raised his stupid hand. Steve ignored him.

-

"Which brings us to the end of the decade. With the early 1960s, we have the reformation in the Catholic Church, known as Vatican ll-"

The bell cut him off mid-sentence, and there was a mad scramble as the students all tried to pack up as quickly as possible, before Steve could keep going.

"My class," he nearly shouted over the scraping of chairs against linoleum. "Your packets are still due Friday! I don't care that Mr. Hargrove interrupted our time."

"And birds! The rubric is posted on the class page! I want outlines handed in on Tuesday."

The classroom door closed behind the final kid.

"You're a dick."

Billy laughed.

"Nah, you just teach that shit so much better than I do."

Steve rolled his eyes. He sat behind his desk, yanking over a stack of twelfth grade research assignments to begin grading. Billy perched on the other side of his desk.

"Y'know, you could just ask me to come in and lecture. You don't have to interrupt my own class."

"Yeah, but it's fun to wind you up and watch you go. And I think the birds like it when they see that you're passionate about something. Why do you think I always start with The Joy Luck Club?"

"Because you have mommy issues."

"No. Because Ying-ying's story makes me sob like a bitch, and the birds get to realize that I'm a real-life human."

Steve scrubbed his face with his hands, collecting himself before facing his dumbass husband again.

"Wait, you said they had an essay due. What's the essay?"

"Oh, comparing the Salem Witch Trials and the goings on of the U.S. government in the mid 1950s. You know."

"So, you created an assignment, knowing that I would infodump all that shit to your kids?"

"Yes."

"I want a divorce."

Billy laughed, leaning over Steve's desk to kiss his forehead.

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't. I love you. But also you suck."

The bell sounded to indicate the end of passing period.

Billy got off the desk, stretching with a groan.

"Would you be mad if I brought my senior class in?"

Steve glared at him in the doorway.

"What's the assignment?"

"They're presenting on the parallels between 1984 and the current political climate."

Goddammit.

"Bring 'em in."

[avocado-writing]

Hi, I hope my letter finds you in good health. But what if the reader is on the verge of a nervous breakdown due to preparations for the wedding with Copy and he comes to her aid and comforts her?

It’s your wedding day and everything is going wrong.

First, there were issues with the catering, meaning that your chefs arrived two hours late, so dinner would be delayed. Second, it turned out the barn on the outskirts of the Ministry you were going to use for the ceremony had a termite infestation and had fucking collapsed overnight. Third, one of the ghouls has made off with your seating arrangement chart - you think Dew - as some sort of little game between the group of them, and you know if you get your hands on him you will beat him to death, wedding or no. Right now you’re just trying to centre yourself by setting up the sanctuary, your backup venue.

Things cannot possibly get any worse.

“Amore mio?” Copia calls as you fiddle with a table arrangement. “I have some bad news about the, ah, flowers…”

“Bad news?” you spin on your heel. He scratches the back of neck, awkward.

“The florist mislaid our order. It turns out they don’t have the black roses we asked for, after all.”

You stare Copia down for a moment.

Then you burst into tears.

“Oh, no, my love!” he gasps gathering you up in his arms as you wail. You just about make out him shooing away the Siblings who’ve been dotted around, helping to quickly transform the sanctuary to a wedding hall, so it can just be the two of you as you fall apart. “Come here, tesoro, it’s alright. Everything will be okie-dokie, I promise.”

“It won’t! Everything has gone wrong, Copia! The venue, the decorations, the fucking ghouls! I can’t keep on top of it all and I’m going to ruin everything! I’m going to ruin our day!”

Your body is wracked with sobs but he holds you as you cry through them, until you’re only left with soft little sniffles. He strokes your hair, then takes your chin between his finger and thumb.

“Do you love me?”

“What?” you ask, wondering what that possibly has to do with anything.

“Do you love me, tesoro?”

“Of course I do.”

“And I love you too. That is all that matters, yes? I will walk to that altar with your hand in mine and we will swear our vows before the Olde One, and we will be together for the rest of our lives. Nothing can stop that. Nothing will change my mind about it. I will send every ghoul here back to hell if needs be, but we will get married, and it is going to be the happiest day of my life, catered desserts or no catered desserts. I still mean everything I said last night, you know.”

In other churches, it is bad luck for the married couple to see each other the night and day before the wedding. Here, though, they spend as much time together as possible, encouraged to indulge their lust for each other until the moment of the ceremony. And the two of you had, of course — but then you’d both realised you were too excited to go to sleep when the time came round for it, because you were both giddy over the idea of getting married the next day. So you’d thrown a bag of popcorn into the microwave and snuggled up on the couch to watch a movie instead, fantasising about what the day would be like when you’d finally tie the knot. He’d looked down at you, eyes heavy with devotion, and said: “my love, I would marry you no matter where we were. I cannot wait to be your husband.”

And it’s true - he would marry you no matter where you were, and you’d marry him anywhere too. The thing that matters is that you will be together. You dry your eyes and give him a smile. He kisses a tear off of your cheek.

“There we go, there’s my love. I don’t want you to cry, not today, sì? You let me worry about everything. You relax. I will hunt down Dew, I can banish him for the day if you want.”

You pull him in for a proper kiss, a little wet, but sweet and long. His hands come to settle on your ass and he pulls you to him, squeezing you tightly.

“Copia!”

“Nobody is here… we have the sanctuary to ourselves…”

“Really? You’d have me right here, right now?”

“I’d have you no matter where we are. You’re very have-able,” he says with a wink. You collapse into laughter and pull him onto one of the pews.

He’s right. Things will be okay. Because it’s him. Because soon it will be both of you.

[themuseumofwitchcraftandpaganism]

Did Christianity Steal From Paganism? Yes... No... It's Complicated. Part 1: Rome

Tis the season so I figured I'd talk about the topic that's been the subject of debate for a long time, most recently with the 2024 Olympics. I will be discussing the visual aspect of these religions, not the theological aspects.

Short answer: Yes

Long answer: No

Let's get into it: It took about a hundred years after the death of Christ for Christianity to start gaining popularity in the Roman Empire. At around 100 AD the first congregations secretly started meeting in basements and had to be very subtle with their worship. Being Christian at this time was a crime; they refused to pay the federal taxes that exalted the emperor as a god. At this point, after the Roman Emperor died, the Senate would vote to either add them to the pantheon or erase their legacy from public consciousness. Some emperors weren't very lucky but most of them got deified. The Christian citizens of Rome refused to offer sacrifices to the emperor because it broke the first of the Ten Commandments, "Thou shalt not have no other gods before me." There isn't much Christian art from this time, and they were definitely the religious minority.

Skip forward to 306 AD, there's yet another civil war over the throne of the Empire. The two men fighting for it were Constantine I and Maxentius. In addition to battles, the two of them funded public projects to gain the approval of the people. They both built baths, aqueducts, and basilicas. Basilicas were the Roman equivalent of city halls: the local government operated out of them, trials and town meetings were held there, and there were small niches in the walls dedicated to different gods. Maxentius built the basilica on the left (below) and Constantine built the one on the right (below). Constatine's basilica, Aula Palatina, is still the largest remaining Roman structure that's a single room.

Maxentius' basilica was bigger but in 310 AD Constatine beat him and took the throne, partly because of the support he got from the Christian citizens. In 312 AD, Constatine converted to Christianity and enacted the Edict of Milan which made Christianity legal.

But look at Aula Palatina. It looks like our modern idea of a church. It has rows of benches, which would've been used for town meetings, and a semicircular niche at the end called an apse. In a Christian church, the apse is where the altar goes just like the niches in the Roman Pagan basilicas where different gods would be worshiped. Constantine didn't change the design from a Pagan basilica at all --because why fix what isn't broken? -- and just placed it into a Christian context.

For the next hundred years, Roman citizens started to mix Christian and Pagan imagery.

Families would bury both Christian and Pagan members in the same catacomb and decorated it accordingly. The fresco below (320-340 AD) is from the Catacombs of Priscilla (200-400 AD). It has an image of Christ as the Good Shepard in the middle, but the birds along the outside represent the four seasons; an image that featured commonly in Pagan catacomb frescos. Christ's clothing and contrapposto posing is also reminiscent of Pagan statues, particularly of the god Apollo.

The fresco on the left (below) from the Catacombs of Saints Marcellinus and Peter (~300 AD), is visually similar to the last one fresco we looked at. Christ is in the middle and around him are the four Evangelists and Bible stories like Jonah and the whale. In the four corners again, there are personifications of the four seasons. Elsewhere in the Catacomb, there's a depiction of Christ as Orpheus (right, below), again combining these Pagan and Christian icons. In the Bible, it says that Christ will tame all the wild animals, and the artist is likening that to the Roman Pagan story of Orpheus taming animals with his music.

If you look at the middle of this complex fresco on the left (below) from the Catacomb of Commodilla (100-800 AD), it has a depiction of Jesus and three of the apostles dressed like Roman senators (300-400 AD). On the right is a depiction of St. Paul as a Roman philosopher from the same Catacomb.

But this interest in combining artistic traditions extended to the sarcophagi that people were buried in too. Roman Pagans usually opted to be cremated rather than buried but when they did choose to be buried, they liked to carve scenes of their gods into their sarcophagi. Roman Christians, who almost always chose to be buried, did the same. The sarcophagus on the left (below) belonged to a woman named Arria (b.~350 -- d.~400 AD) and depicts a story about the Roman Pagan moon goddess Selene. The one on the right (below) belonged to a Senator named Junius Bassus (b. 317 -- d.359 AD) depicts difference scenes from the Bible like Adam and Eve and Jesus entering Jerusalem. Do you see the visual similarities? Both sarcophagi are also carved from marble.

The mosaic below is perhaps the best example of how Christian and Pagan imagery and theologies were mixed. It used to be the floor in a wealthy Roman's villa and was found in Hinton St Mary, Dorset, England; it's the furthest north Roman mosaic ever found. The bottom panel depicts a beardless Christ with a chi-rho behind his head. (The chi-rho, XP, came from the first two letters of Christ's name in Latin. It's a Christian symbol that's still used to denote that a figure is Christ.) On either side of him is a pomegranate. Pomegranates were sacred to the goddess Persephone; Roman Pagan religion taught that she went down to the Underworld for half the year and then up to the mortal world for half the year, fueling the changing seasons. Persephone and Christ are both gods that went to the afterlife and then came back to bring new life to humans; it's not hard to see how they got conflated on this mosaic. In the corners around Christ there are four men. Their imagery is reminiscent of both the four Evangelists and the gods of the four winds, again doubling Pagan and Christian imagery. In the upper panel, there's a scene portraying the Pagan story of Bellerophon spearing the Chimæra while flying on Pegasus. That story is frequently understood to be the "Good triumphing over Evil" story archetype, much like the story of Christ triumphing over death/sin is. Whoever owned this villa literally mixing both the visual and theological elements of both Paganism and Christianity.

In the late 300s, the Emperors (who were all Christian now) started introducing laws that made it harder for Pagans to practice. They banned animal sacrifices eventually Christianity was officially declared the religion of Rome in the late 400s. However, the enforcement of these laws wasn't applied very well and people continued to practice Roman Paganism until the fall of the Empire.

But even after the fall of Rome, Roman Pagan imagery persisted in a Christian context. In the West, Emperor Charlemagne of the Holy Roman Empire, which was Christian, purposely copied the imagery of the Roman Emperors. He used equestrian statues and coinage of him wearing a Roman laurel to demonstrate his power. The top two images below are of the Chrisitan Emperor Charlemagne and the bottom two are of the Pagan Emperor Marcus Aurelius.

In the East, the early Byzantine Empire were still interested in Roman drapery and architecture. Below is Archangel Michael (left) as well as Emperor Justinian and Theodora (right) preparing the Eucharist. Both images display Roman architecture and drapery. Byzantine would eventually move away from Roman influences but in its early days, they were definitely inspired by it.

So, the answer everyone is looking for is NO.

The Christians didn't steal anything from the Pagans, they made an association. They produced art in the style that was popular and followed the artistic trends of the time. Christian and Pagan imagery was produced in the same medium and combined until Paganism was phased out over hundreds of years. They saw similar gods and iconography and combined them to make a message that was understandable to all audiences.

Happy Yule! Happy Winter Solstice!

Further readings:

The Deification of Roman Emperors (Chapter 4) - Invented History, Fabricated Power

BBC - History - Ancient History in depth: Roman Religion GalleryThe Paleochristian Art of the Roman Catacombs ~ Liturgical Arts Journal

Chi Rho - Wikipedia

History of Christianity - Wikipedia

Anglicanism: a Gift in Christ – Part 1: An Ancient Church

Constantine the Great - Wikipedia

Maxentius - Wikipedia

Sarcophagus of Junius Bassus - Wikipedia

Marble sarcophagus with the myth of Selene and Endymion | Roman | Severan | The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Smarthistory – Equestrian Statue of Marcus Aurelius

Persecution of pagans in the late Roman Empire - Wikipedia

Equestrian statuette of Charlemagne - Wikipedia

Smarthistory – San Vitale and the Justinian and Theodora Mosaics

ARH1000 Early Christian & Byzantine Art.pdf | Free Download

The image of Christ in Late Antiquity | Semantic Scholar

mosaic floor | British Museum

[carolmunson]

carol is at the laundromat.

(reader references being formally catholic as a child.)

New guy, you think, when you shuffle through your apartment door and down the hall — spotting him at the end of it. You’d seen him once or twice before in very brief passing. You’re sure he’d never noticed, you barely noticed him. Only that mop of curly brown hair and the clink of his wallet chain.

“Oh here,” he smiles, holding the door open for you that leads into the stairs to the basement.

“I’m actually not going to the laundry room,” you smile politely but tightly.

“You sure?” his brows quirk behind his curly bangs, brown eyes landing on the laundry in your arm.

“I’m sure,” you nod, “I’m going up the street.”

“Why?” he asks, lifting his full laundry bag higher up his shoulder, “There’s laundry in the building.”

“Eh, when your panties start going missing you stop wanting to use the amenity,” you shrug, “Plus, you’re not gonna find one washer open down there right now.”

“And you are? It’s Sunday — peak laundry day,” he counters. You chuckle, shaking your head — it only makes him more intrigued.

“Maybe downstairs,” you shrug, “You new to the neighborhood or something?”

“Seven months.”

“Hmm,” you nod, “Well, if you didn’t notice yet - lot of churches over here. And if time serves me right, church starts around 9 and runs until 10; sometimes 11.”

Your head tilts toward the clock on the yellowed walls of the hallway, “So, 9:15 is the perfect time to go.”

“No way,” he grins, “I don’t know if I buy it.”

“Don’t take my word for it. Everyone’s at church and everyone who isn’t is probably hung over,” you explain, “You wanna come and see for yourself? Washers are weirdly better over there anyway.”

He looks at the stairs and then at you, then at the clock, and the rainy weather outside. The elevator dings, two people walking by with laundry bags to head down the stairs.

With a sigh, he accepts the fate, “Alright, you got me.”

You both venture out into the soft mist of a dark gray Sunday morning, your IKEA bag of dirty laundry weighing heavy on your shoulder.

“Seventh months, huh? Welcome.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

“Ten years,” you laugh, “Not in this building, this is year three. But I’ve been in the area a while.”

“Cool,” he smiles, “I never see you around.”

“I live on the first floor, so our chances of an elevator meet cute are pretty slim,” you pull at the bag again while you turn the corner, he follows suit.

“Oh true, I’m on four.”

“Jealous. Good sun?”

“Yeah,” he smirks bashfully, “Like, really good.”

“That’s good. Though, it’s a good compromise for sharing a floor with Mrs. Slattery.”

“I really thought I was on her good side,” he turns back when he realizes he’s a few steps ahead, “Three weeks in she saw me in a Dio shirt, came home to a cross on my door.”

“She is…” you roll your eyes, crossing the street to the laundromat on the corner, “Easily the most god fearing Catholic I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot.”

You both make your way through the door, loose on its hinges. It’s a dilapidated place, and there’s a better laundromat two more blocks down, but you’re used to this now. The owner in the corner with her earbuds in, listening to gospel while she works on wash and folds. An older man with four bags of clothing on the other side, bedding for the family.

“You weren’t kidding,” he observes the emptiness, putting his laundry over an unused washing machine. There were plenty available for the taking.

“I know,” you murmur while you load your own machine - your favorite one. Row three, four washers down. Medium sized.

He gets to work too, the hardware on his wallet chain and leather jacket jingle like change in the pockets he pulls out of his jeans and sweatpants before he tosses them in to be washed.

Locked and loaded, he stands next to you, “Do you just go back home and come back to switch?”

“I stay for the wash,” you explain, “And then once I switch, there’s a café another block over that I’ve been going to for a while. Normally get breakfast while I wait for my clothes to dry. They have the best fucking biscuits.”

“Okay, okay, I hear that,” he grins, lower lip tucking into his teeth while he pulls his frizzing curls up into a bun at the back of his head, “Mind if I join you?”

“Nah, I don’t mind,” you take a seat on one of the cracked plastic chairs against the windows walls where he follows suit, “Been here almost a year…have you like, explored the neighborhood at all?”

“Honestly?” he holds his shoulders up by his ears with a hint of embarrassment, “Not really. Hate doing shit like that alone.”

“Do you not have friends?” you ask, realizing how accidentally mean it sounds as it comes out. He laughs anyway, heartily.

“Some, not around this area though,” he finishes out with a chuckle.

“Well, I’ll show you the café, there’s a lot of stuff over there that’s pretty cool,” you assure, checking the clock.

“I believe you. I’m not in a position to be saying no to friends in the neighborhood.”

“Good,” you smile, not even caring that you look exactly how you did when you rolled out of bed this morning.

“But if the biscuits are bad, it’s over,” he teases in faux seriousness. Denim leg crossing over the other, Vans now a grey and black from the weather outside.

“You’re gonna be more mad at me over how good they are,” you cross your legging’d legs to match his posture.

“You better hope so,” he huffs playfully, “I’m Eddie by the way.”

“Eddie,” you repeat back, introducing yourself, “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad we didn’t have our meet cute on the elevator,” Eddie smiles, “This is much more fun.”

“Also,” he turns, “If you ever wanna see how good the sunlight is upstairs, you can come over if you want.”

[ellitx]

Hi hi hi! I wanted to hear your thoughts about the Hexenzirkel–our beautiful and equally powerful witches (mages)–finding out about Darling (illusory). Given they have incomparable strength, and the fact some of their children currently reside in Mondstadt, would they help Darling out for their sake, move their children elsewhere, or in someway negotiate with the Anemo Archon? If worst comes to shove, they are not afraid of fighting the god patron of the nation. I mean they already almost did so. And given the state Venti is in, I don't think he could win (unless he pulls some cards up his sleeves). That's all, –Y

The hexenzirkel mages— most especially alice— will give the couple a surprise visit at their sanctuary. Somehow they managed to pass the wind barrier, which should prevent any trespassers and intruders from coming in (even the church and knights cant get through). 

Venti was somehow unsurprised, but it did annoyed him this one particular mage was ruining their peaceful life. Fortunately you werent around, busy drying out the clothes near the west side of the sanctuary.

Well not anymore… upon returning to the tower, you were surprised by this unfamiliar face. Venti never told you there was a guest coming so you hadn’t prepared any tea and snacks for this lady—

Until the said lady squealed.

“Oh my! You look lovely in person! Venti, why have you been keeping her from us?” 

Alice exclaimed as she walked towards you and cupped your face with both hands. You blinked, utterly caught off guard by the sudden burst of attention.

“U-uhm…” you stammered, eyes flickering toward venti in a silent plea for help.

Your lover was sitting with his cheek propped lazily on his palm, offered the most insufferable smirk from his seat. 

“Yes, Alice, lovely, I know. Now, please don’t scare her like that,” he said dully, clearly over this entire social ambush. 

While she was giving you gifts on behalf of the hexenzirkel and ambushing you with questions about your romantic life with venti, he knew she wasnt here merely for a visit. And if they were here to convene for their tea party, well certainly this wasnt the appropriate place.

The only reason alice could be here and visit them personally must be because of something serious or if it concerned her daughter. Venti needed to find a distraction for you so he and the alice could discuss things privately.

Once he calmed her down, he pulled you to his arms, leaned in, and asked if you could check on dvalin since barbatos kept complaining about the dragon’s wind current. He didn’t need to use his charisma, but he had to and he needed to distract you for half an hour— or an hour at least. If it didn’t work, then he’d look at you subtly, hoping you’d get his message. 

You looked up at him and something about it told you this was a coded request. You nodded slowly, sensing the shift in his tone. “Of course, love,” you said sweetly, giving his hand a squeeze before excusing yourself.

The moment your footsteps faded down the hall and you were completely gone, venti’s lighthearted expression dropped in a second. He then turned to face alice.

“All right, why are you really here?” He asked.

Alice stepped forward, her usual cheerfulness still present. “You know me too well, Lord Barbatos. As much as I adore your darling, we wouldn’t intrude without reason.”

Venti resisted the urge to sigh, his jaw tightening slightly. He never liked being called by his archon name, not when you were around. He glanced toward the hall where you had disappeared then returned his gaze to alice.

“Who’s we?”

Alice twirled a strand of her hair and gave a sheepish shrug. “The rest of my sisters were supposed to be here as well. You know, to formally introduce ourselves to your ‘wife’, the Lady of the Winds. But I thought it might overwhelm her so I decided to just go alone.”

Venti crossed his arms and motioned her to take a seat. “Back to my question. Why are you here?”

With a flick of her wrist, alice summoned a chair out of thin air and propped herself elegantly. She crossed her legs and laced her hands together over her lap. “It’s about what happened during Ludi Harpastum. I’m quite surprised to hear the Anemo Archon was enraged at that time. I suppose it had something to do with your dearly beloved?”

Venti’s gaze darkened ever so slightly. “Just get to the point, please.”

Alice’s smile faltered. The playfulness in her eyes were replaced with something more serious. Her large witch hat casted shadow over her eyes as her tone dropped. 

“Grandmaster Varka told me he received reports from the Knights of Favonius about Mondstadt’s havoc. They even had to postpone their journey to tend and provide supplies for everyone.” Alice crossed her arms, tapping a gloved finger against her elbow as she continued. “If something happened in this nation that even the Grandmaster himself had to return, then something serious occurred.”

Her gaze sharpened, and her lips pressed into a tight line before she added pointedly, “You know very well Klee was around at that time and I couldn’t let this pass by if something had happened to her when you were throwing your own fit.”

Alice “threatened” venti she could expose all his secrets to you. She’s the defender of old mondstadt, she wore that title for thousand of years. She saw decarabian’s ruling and even witnessed your birth. You may not know her, but she knew you very well.

She knew everything and she will not hesitate to use that against him if klee and mondstadt was in danger because of the anemo archon’s childish tantrums. They even made a pact they wouldn’t war against each other.

Seeing where alice was getting at, they had a discussion. In essence, alice will negotiate with venti and surprisingly he’s fine with it and will be lenient as long as 1) it benefits them, 2) no one intrudes their relationship, and 3) darling never discovers his identity as barbatos. That’s all venti ever needed, but this pesky blonde traveler is being so nosy and he’s the only one making things worse.

The lord’s tempest wouldn’t ever happen if aether just minded his own business. Mondstadt wouldn’t be damned if aether just kept his mouth shut. The church and knights wouldn’t have separated if aether stopped being so persistent in banging and screaming at their wind gates.

The traveler was nothing more than a meddler.

And now? Mondstadt paid the price.

So yes, alice saw where this was going.

They eventually discussed everything. Venti leaned lazily on his seat with his lyre untouched on the nearby table. But there was nothing lazy in his eyes. His smile was patient, but his gaze was storming.

Alice crossed her arms and spoke diplomatically, “Then we’ll act as mediators. You’ll get your peace and privacy, and in return, you do NOT harm any of our children and we’ll clean up the mess in Mondstadt—”

Venti waved a hand dismissively. 

“Don’t trouble yourselves with that. I already sorted it out, and I wouldn’t want the Hexenzirkel biting my head off because of the mess I caused. What I want you to do is get that traveler away from our sanctuary. I don’t want him stepping near our home, I don’t want him meddling on our own affairs, and I wouldn’t want him taking [Name] away from me.”

He drummed his fingers along the arm rest, his tone edged with quiet fury each time he spoke of the blonde outlander.

“He can come and go from Mondstadt all he wants, as long as no one lays a hand on her. As long as no one utters a word of who I really am to her, I’ll be merciful.”

Silence settled for a beat too long between them. Despite his irritation, a small part of him considered the upside of this uninvited visit. You were a first time mother now and in need of companionship apart from him. Befriending alice and the other mother witches would help you familiarize on taking care of your little windblume and navigate the path of motherhood.

His pondering was broken by the familiar mechanical click of something in alice’s hand. She casually turned over the rabbit shaped device in her palms.

“Is that everything? What would you like me to say to Aether when he starts poking around again? You know well he’d look for me once I return to the city.” 

Venti paused and turned away when she gave him a knowing smile. 

“Tell him whatever you want as long as he stops nosing around…”

The eldest mage’s lips curled to a smirk as her eyes glinted. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I have a little chat with your darling while I’m here? You said so yourself we can be friends.”

Venti’s eyes immediately darkened and he glared at her, but she didn’t faltered as expected of the founder of hexenzirkel.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be spilling your secrets to her, dear. A genuine answer from her makes it more convincing for Aether is it not?”

He narrowed his eyes at her and folded his arms tight over his chest. “Convincing Aether is one thing. Dragging her into your schemes is another.”

Alice merely smiled. “Oh, come now. You’re not the only one who knows how to protect a secret with a smile. I wouldn’t endanger your little sanctuary.” She turned the rabbit-like device over in her hands, idly inspecting it. “But Aether’s not a fool. He’s stubborn. He’ll keep digging. If he hears the truth from her it might finally bury his curiosity.”

Alice held her hand out and looked at the anemo archon. “So what do you say? Do we have a deal?”

He stared at her hand in silence as his eyes flicked downward in thought.

He knew you genuinely loved staying with him and living this peaceful life, and now there’s a blooming family awaiting for you both. You were content, happy, and so blissfully unaware of the secrets he had deeply buried.

Even if alice came armed with her most eccentric questions, he knew you'd answer from the heart. Soft, sincere, and so trusting and gullible of having venti there by your side.

After all, you had been together for so long. That alone was his greatest assurance.

Finally, he reached forward and clasped her hand in his.

“Deal.”

—

This is not canon in the story btw asdksd unfortunately hexenzirkel doesn’t have a major role in the story. But you can think of this as an alternative route in illusory sense.

[ashubii]

Old Town BACC Round 1 Summary

I realized that I never actually shared a screenshot of the actual neighborhood, but there isn't really much to share yet. I'm not going to do a lot of hood decorating right off the bat, it'll be gradual and everything seen is liable to change. The clusters of trees were an experiment and I'm not sure I like them there.

I'm using the Sameville terrain map by @catherinetcjd. I was drawn to it because I, too, grew up in a very small Florida town, so right off the bat I was in love with the map based on one. However, I don't think Old Town will end up very Florida themed (though I might dl some of Catherine's available lots too).

I've named the neighborhood where our households currently are Floral way. But anyway, on to the summary (the summary organization inspired by Keoni-chan's!):

As a side note, this first round the seasons were all sorts of random and I hated that. So from round 2 onward I'm going to start with one season and set the entire neighborhood to only that Season. When the round finishes, we'll move into the next season. I hated having one household end in spring, another in winter, it was lame.

Population: 22 (multiplier x 2) I think i accidentally included some births from round 2 into this but it's fine, it was only 2

City Taxes Paid: $2540.90

Families:

Fox

Flores

Sharp

Potts

Weddings

Darby & Sinjin Fox

Millicent & Xavier Sharp

Nathaniel & Oliver Potts

Babies Born:

Lily Flores

Community Lots/Businesses

Floral Park

Main Street Church

Town Hall

Flores Flowers Shop (not actually built yet, but the lot exists and Macy Flores did buy it)

Unlocked:

1 position in Gamer career - Millicent Sharp