G L O R Y

[masengarcia-blog]

luca:

“Well, then,” he paused, reaching out and taking Masen’s hand within the palm of his own. Lightly, he tugged him closer and backed away in the same breath, pulling him through the knee-high brush on the other side of the parking lot and into the field behind it. “This’ll be fun,” Luca smiled over his shoulder, taking note of the cute, semi-anxious face he was sporting. “Don’t worry,” he reassured him as best he could. There was no true way to explain what Masen’s first time would be like; everyone reacts and feels differently, but Luca had high hopes that it’d be a good time. And if not, then at least he’d be there to make sure the kid was okay. 

The grass was unkempt, far too high to be comfortable but luckily he had a long-sleeve shirt on and didn’t care. In one fell swoop, Luca bent at the waist and rolled back onto the ground. The grass flattened beneath him and he dropped the boy’s hand in favor of striking the match and igniting the end of the joint. “C’mon,” he inhaled deeply, holding his breath as he waved Masen over, calling him to where Luca sat, “join me.” He patted the ground beside him, extending him arm and brushing aside the few stalks of taller grass as an invitation. 

Pushing himself up to his knees for a moment, Luca clasped his hand around Masen’s wrist and tugged him down to his level with a jolt and a laugh to match. Quickly, he took another hit before turning to face him. He leaned in, smoke hanging in his lungs, waiting for the perfect moment to exhale and lifted an arm up toward Masen’s face. Palm resting against the boy’s cheek, he closed the space between them and choked out three words, “part your lips,” before he exhaled into his mouth. 

“Inhale slowly,” he smirked as he backed away slowly but not too far, hand still cupping the side of his chiseled jaw, “then hold it for as long as you can.”

The very hands Masen had just been observing wrapped around his wrist, firm and persistent but not harsh as they pulled him down next to Luca in the field of grass. From where he was sitting, he couldn’t see the parking lot from which they’d just come; It was pleasant and simple being obscured from the rest of the world, if only for a moment. 

Being hidden with Luca made it even more interesting. 

He lit it, an odor that reminded him of the dorms back at college filling the open air. It was probably best they’d walked so far away; Masen wasn’t in the mood to be scolded by those who would have thought it was stupid to smoke, or reprimanded by those who were jealous that they weren’t invited. 

Luca’s hand pressed against Masen’s face, fingers bending with the curve of his jaw as he was pulled in closer and closer. Thoughts ran rampant within his head, unsure of what to make of it. He and Hunter weren’t exclusive by any means; she liked to make that clear. And was this even a kiss, or was it just a smoking method? 

His lips made contact with Luca’s, and he did as told, inhaling  and trying not to act as disheveled as he felt. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it to happen; he did, in fact. He wasn’t sure if it was the confusion of the smoke that burned within his chest, but even after he coughed one out, the other remained: did it mean anything?

He smiled, genuine and kind, noticing Luca’s hand was still holding him in the face. 

“It wasn’t as bad as I imagined it,” he said, trying to divert the attention from the not-kiss kiss, even as his eyes kept flicking down to Luca’s mouth.

“Tasted better than I expected. That’s for sure.”

[masengarcia-blog]

date: august 2023, 11:00 pm location: inside the hardware store availability: @jacqueline-griffin

Growing up, Masen had always found a sort of freedom that came with the night. There were always warnings and caution signs about things that lurked in the dark, but he had all but convinced himself that it was just to keep people from realizing how much was possible when the moon came into play. 

Sitting around a fire, climbing through someone’s window while they begged him to keep quiet, night swimming and laughing because anything was possible; he could be absolutely anyone he wanted to be, and no one could look through their windows at him and scoff.

Now, even as his limbs felt weightless and he felt lighter in his footsteps, he knew he had to give up that freedom he’d always found comfort in. Now, the monsters he’d been warned of were real, and they waited with hungry bellies and purposeless conviction. He kept his eyes peeled, shot gun at his hip, as he approached the night watch station to meet with Jack. As expected, she waited for him and he greeted her with a half smile.

“Blair and Micah already left?”

[masengarcia-blog]

hunter:

“Go right on ahead,” Hunter took a step forward, angling her head to the side and holding her curls back so her neck was on display. Rethinking, she stood straight and pressed a hand to Masen’s chest. Her demeanor had the tendency to change at the drop of a hat, especially around him. “Wait–is it insensitive to sexualize the undead?”

She searched for an answer in his eyes, allowing herself to stay dangerously close to him. Sometimes, she wondered who he was before his life was destroyed, before survival became the only necessary thing. She’d never asked him about any of that, though; she’d never taken the time to know who was behind those brown eyes. Looking into them now, she couldn’t even make a guess at his ambitions, how he used to spend his time, who he used to love the most. She felt a pang of guilt in her chest.

“Are we going to Hell, or what?”

Masen found himself adrift in that honey-colored stare of hers; Hunter’s eyes told the truths her lips were too frightened to say. He had decided back before she even showed up at her tent that her eyes were what set her apart from the others. They told stories, kept promises. It was the easiest thing to look into those eyes and ask her a question, because he could tell if she was lying in an instant.

Of course, he wouldn’t have ever let her know that. In a whatever-you’d-like-to-call-it like Hunter and Masen’s, one was always trying to have the upper hand. One was always trying to be one step ahead of the other, and usually, that person was Hunter. So, he had to take whatever resources he could find.

But she was so close, and so familiar, that she could’ve told him everything was right again, and he would have believed her.

“Probably,” he carried on.

[masengarcia-blog]

micah‌:

   "Do I?“ he said simply before he could think not to. Irritation bristled in his fingers where he was holding the photo, frowning down at it and at how easy it was for Masen to dismiss the people trapped inside it. He turned to the desk drawer that Masen had found the cigarettes in earlier, and started to go through it, a determination in the rigid line of his brow. After a few seconds of searching, he found an old roll of tape and tore off a new piece so he could stick the photo back up on the wall where it had been. If the family in it ever came back for it, they’d know someone had found it and not taken it.

   The naive sentimentality of it wasn’t lost on Micah, and he was embarrassed enough by the action that he didn’t look back at Masen. He didn’t want to see the look of pity there, similar to the one he’d given Masen only moments ago. Still, it felt good having done it. A heaviness had lifted from his shoulders.

   "It can’t all be tragedy.” The words were said on a weary sigh, as if he was beginning to know otherwise, just not ready yet to believe it.

Hope was the most unfair emotion to ever exist. Anger made people act out; it was too easy to wallow in doubt, or resent those who felt pity. But hope was different— it had a way of making people feel safe in the dark, despite the creatures that waited just within the shadows. It shredded a person, left them as ribbons of who they once were.

 Hungry children felt hope every time a meal came their way, but they would always end up hungry again. Single parents felt hope every time they had a little extra money left over after bills, but they never really got to save it in the end. Hope was cruel, and it did so much damage to the people who still had the heart to try; Masen did not pity Micah. 

He had too much in common with him.

“You’re right,” he said, a moment of softness in his tone. He eyed the picture up on the wall, so ordinary in a world that was anything but. The smallest things made people feel better, he guessed.

“Some day we’ll find a better place.”

[masengarcia-blog]

luca‌:

Sifting through a stack of papers, Luca bent at the knee to get a better look, hoping to find something good — something of use, something to eat. He was starving, hadn’t eaten in two days and didn’t wanna waste his last can of peaches when the chances of finding something were so high. Two days was nothing; he’d gone far longer with a hungry stomach. 

But it’d been even longer since he’d smoked a joint. 

He couldn’t remember how long ago, where or when, but the smell of bacon faintly clouds his thoughts and the distant feeling of gorging himself on breakfast with his sister after sneaking out past curfew to smoke. They’d done it hundreds of time, so many nights that it’s hard to precisely place, but he can feel the warmth of Lola beside him in the booth of Leo’s. She’s laughing and stuffing her face with toast, eyes a little dazed just like his. 

The vision was gut wrenching, like it had grown a hand and seized his heart in its fist. Thinking of her just hurt too fucking much; and he had to look away as his throat clenched.

He cursed himself stupid before rising back up to his feet to meet Masen. He forced an appeasing smirk along his features and took a step toward the back. He’d sure as shit rather indulge in a little pot than live in that memory any longer. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” he slid his hand into his back pocket and retrieved one of the last four matches he had left and headed for the door. “Have you ever smoked?” he joked, leaning out and peering left and right. Clear, he noted to himself. Something he would have tossed over his shoulder once upon a time. To Lola, as they scavenged together. Shaking his head, he hopped down off the step and pushed the thought away as best he could, but they just kept fuckin’ coming. Gesturing with his hand to Masen, he asked for the joint while tossing his bag off his shoulder and onto the pavement. 

“Let me light it.” 

Luca led the way, sneaking as if there would be a disappointed parent waiting to pop out at any given moment, though Masen had the thought he could also still be on alert for any undead who might have gone unnoticed before. Masen kept his eyes peeled, didn’t see anything all the way to the back parking lot, where Luca held out his hand for the joint so that he could light it.

He handed it over to the boy, admiring the marvel of his features, each unconventional, yet blended together in a way that made him look attractive, from the thickness of his brow to the sharp point of his chin. As Masen handed the joint over to him, he also noticed how long and spindly his fingers were. Despite this being the end times, and despite the first-hand knowledge Masen had that contradicted it, Luca’s hands looked elegant and clean, unused to hard labor. Like the rest of him, they were very good at hiding the truths of their past.

“No, I haven’t smoked before,” Masen said in a quiet voice. There weren’t supposed to be rules anymore; they had just walked out of a building they had destroyed while searching for supplies in the middle of a Tuesday. Besides, weed was legal in California when the world fell apart, anyway. There was no need for him to try and be so sketched out about it, but he was.

“I never could because of football.”

[masengarcia-blog]

hunter‌:

Romantic relationships were never Hunter’s forte. Even when she was in love, she couldn’t seem to commit. In every other type of relationship she was fiercely loyal, but when physical intimacy mixed with emotional intimacy she ran scared. So, this time, she didn’t mix the two. She was careful not to tell Masen much about herself, and not to ask for anything in return. She was careful to never emotionally rely on him, though she did rely on his body to be next to hers on particularly awful nights. So far nothing had gone terribly wrong.

It was rare that she even approached him during daylight, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care right now. He brought a smile to her face, at least. When he brought up their “alleged” late night meetings her smile faltered. Did everyone know? They were pretty obvious, weren’t they? Maybe it wasn’t so worth it after all. The secrecy of the situation was a big part of what drew Hunter to him, but this felt like the wrong time to bring that up. She tried to forget about it.

“And what makes you think you’ll get a funeral?” Hunter asked, prioritizing her need for entertainment over the protection of confidentiality. She tiptoed over to him again, standing tall to look at the spot she’d bitten. She set a hand against his forehead as if checking for a fever. “Looks like you’ll be turning soon.”

He saw it in her, quick as that: hesitation. It washed over her so suddenly and so often that it almost felt like the standard, like Masen should have expected nothing less. He’d gone through several explanations of it: maybe she was just private, maybe she was embarrassed of him, maybe he wasn’t good enough for her— Most of the thoughts had to do with the things he could have been doing wrong, but the most logical explanation, which also happened to be something on her part, was that she was just afraid.

Afraid of caring, afraid of intimacy, vulnerability. In a world like this one, Masen could respect that. He could understand the isolation; being alone was always worse when it was due to loss. If she didn’t have anyone to lose, well...

She glanced at the area she’d bitten him, eyes glistening with mischief now, where before there had been doubt. She was a resilient creature, he’d give her that.

“I have a pretty good idea of who my first victim will be, too,” he joked, stopping himself from taking a step toward her.

[masengarcia-blog]

micah:

   He watched Masen put his cigarette out on the counter, the hot ash blackening the glass as he went over to look at a wall that held a rack of chains. He was glad Masen’s back was to him for the moment because he was sure the pity was quite clear on his face. If it was control Masen was looking for, this new world had very little of it, and most people took it by force. Dulling the rough edges of their reality could be risky at times, but Micah couldn’t honestly imagine going through the last five years of his life completely sober.

   Instead of telling Masen this, he followed him over to look at the rack of slightly rusted chains. “It’s a good thing we’ve got an abundance of both in our group then,” he replied, taking the chain from Masen and feeling the weight of it in his palm. Parts of the metal were rusted and Micah couldn’t think of any practical use it might serve, so he let it drop back against the rack, cringing slightly at the clattering noise it made.

   Finally, he went over to the back wall behind the register where Masen had found the cigarettes. Taped there were newspaper clippings, local events. He wiped some of the dust away and underneath the grey streaks was what looked like a family photo taken in front of the store on the day it opened. A burly man with a curly red beard and a woman with kind, smiling eyes looked out at him, their hands on the shoulder of a surly looking teenage girl. “Do you think any of them made it out?”

The world hadn’t changed, exactly. There were parts of it still rich with nature, with entire herds of deer and elk in the forests, flocks of ducks swimming in ponds, plump fish swimming in lakes. The world was fine, and it would survive just as well.

Humans were not fine, and it was their own fault. Masen had realized that during the first Christmas he’d spent alone: he was alone because he hadn’t gone sooner; they were dead before he got to say goodbye. So many people were dead because the earth had finally started to fight back against humanity’s disrespect and blatant disregard of the natural order, and he couldn’t help wondering how long the punishment would last, and if he or any other human would be around to see what came after.

He looked down at the picture in Micah’s hand, dated and tattered. It was probably just one picture of many, something to glance at when whoever was keeping it there felt sentimental. A heavyset man with poor grooming habits smiled through a ginger beard and a rosy complexion, arm on the shoulder of a small, mousy woman, and a younger girl who must have been in her rebellious phase when this picture was taken. Masen liked finding pictures like these when he was forced to loot; it was a way for him to put a face to the silent thank-you he always whispered on his way out.

“I don’t see them around here,” Masen said casually, “It doesn’t do well to think about stuff like that, Micah. You know that.”

[masengarcia-blog]

date: august 2023 location: back parking lot [hardware store] availability: closed for @lucapalermos

Looting was, of course, necessary for survival in a world like this. People begged and borrowed and stole whatever it took to keep their skin free of bites and blood pumping through their hearts. So, they stopped places that might have had things they actually needed, like gas, or weapons, or food, fresh water, more weapons. 

Masen liked to look for other things, things everyone else wouldn’t have cared about. Those were the things that told him what he needed to know about people. He remembered a picture of a father and daughter on a fishing trip at that bait shop he’d stopped at in Texas. The back of the picture had a name, and that name had matched the name of the shop, and Masen couldn’t help feeling like he owed these people something, even if that something was as small as remembering them when no one else did.

This time, he’d opened the bottom drawer of an old wooden desk and found mostly your typical desk items: loose staples, writing utensils, extra rolls of tape, some manila folders; he was about to shut the drawer when it caught his eye, small and white.

“I think I just found a joint,” he whispered to Luca, laughing. Masen had always been too afraid to try drugs, both because his physical health was the only part of him people depended on, and because if he failed a drug test his life would’ve been over and his mother’s heart would’ve been crushed. But none of that was a factor anymore, so he held it up for the other boy to see.

“Back parking lot?”

[masengarcia-blog]

blair:

date: august 2023 location: outside (hardware store) availability: closed for @masengarcia​

The options are considered, a decision is made — and Blair doesn’t bother to hide her distaste. It’s not like she can stay behind and wait for the group to finish screwing (ha!) around. She has to go with them, has to scavenge for something useful in a useless place. And it’s childish, she knows, but she never got the chance to outgrow her spoiled upbringing. It’s likely that she never will.

“Masen, what do you think about this?” She settles beside the young man as they walk, kicking at rocks and not caring about how risky it is. Her tantrums have always been a silent storm. A plea for someone to ask if she’s okay. Blair only shrugs, expressing her disappointment. She feels a rare comfort when she’s around Garcia, like he’s worth the effort of being social.

“I miss hot showers, and warm beds, and candles that smell like apple cinnamon, and it’s just that—” she pauses, looking down. “I know the motel’s been abandoned for years, I know I have to give those things up, but I just thought… Maybe…” She closes her eyes and shakes her head, dropping the argument. “What do you want back? Out of all that stuff we took for granted?”

One thing about the apocalypse: who you were before became irrelevant. Masen looked around him and saw men of good faith, who were in good standing with their gods, and then he saw men who were godless long before the rest of the world was. He had seen parents who no longer had their children, loners who never wanted them; he’d seen good people die while the bad survived.

And they were all in the same situation.

Masen had always thought that concept was lost on Blair, but he supposed he could understand: when an outstretched hand is used to being handed whatever it wants, it only wants more in the days to come. She wasn’t used to hearing the word no, and he recognized why others would have a problem with it; it did nothing to hide the fact that she was still afraid, just like the rest of them, and it didn’t change the fact that she had fought for her own survival just as hard as the rest of them.

What do you want back? she asked, and Masen pondered the question for a moment, suddenly taking slower steps and steeling his gaze forward.

“Concession food. Like, nachos and hot dogs. And cheese fries— god.” 

He allowed a moment of silence, wondering if he had the nerve to be honest with her. There was a sort of unwritten rule involving talking about the past, which was that people usually didn’t do it. But, he decided, why the hell not?

“But there wasn’t anything like my Mom’s cooking. Every Christmas she would go all out, and the last Christmas before she— Anyway, I couldn’t make it.”

[masengarcia-blog]

hunter :

date: august 2023 location: back room of the hardware store availability: closed to @masengarcia

Even with all the familiar faces in the hardware store, all the pairs of feet shuffling along, it felt irrevocably lonely. Hunter thought, maybe at some point in time this place was alive. Maybe there were people who loved it. Maybe there was history woven into the walls that told of someone who devoted their life to this business. But she couldn’t feel any of that now. There was just emptiness, and silence, and an air that left Hunter’s lungs stinging. 

The loneliness that haunted this store was the same loneliness Hunter felt when she stopped moving, stopped distracting herself. She was sure it never went away, but if she kept herself busy enough she wouldn’t have to feel it. This hardware store didn’t seem to have anything in it worthy of distraction, and Hunter considered going back to the perimeter–until her eyes caught onto someone that she had deemed worthy of distraction.

Masen wouldn’t have been Hunter’s type five years ago, but her standards were a bit different now. She just preferred spending nights with him over spending them alone, but she liked most things more than lonely nights. Plus, it was fun. He was fun. And right now, he was also distracted. Hunter took this opportunity to sneak up behind him, snaking an arm around his waist and gently pressing her teeth into the crook of his neck.

“Aaaand you’re dead,” she whispered before retreating backward a few steps.

Masen should have been guarded in a world where death was so commonplace. It seemed almost standard for a person to find some fortress tucked deeply inside of themselves to lock their hearts in and throw away the key; after all, it was easier not to care. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. When opportunity showed up outside his tent with lips that tasted like the alcohol that had probably led her there, he offered for her to come inside.

He knew he was little more than a game of pretend Hunter liked to play, a fantasy where the world was normal and they were just two people who enjoyed each other’s company, and he would have been lying if he said he didn’t care. What had started as a casual fling had somehow morphed into him biting his tongue moments before whispering “don’t go” when she got dressed in the night. And it was stupid, he knew, to care. He should have been more careful but that was the thing about Hunter: she always found him when his guard was down.

Her teeth grazed the bend of his neck after she’d tiptoed up to him from behind and he grinned, keeping his gaze on the jar full of nails he was inspecting before.

“Then you’d better start preparing your speech now,” he chuckled, “They would probably make you speak at my funeral, what with all the alleged late night sneaking around we’ve been doing.”

[masengarcia-blog]

micah:

   As the sun started to set the heat faltered, but it was still a far cry away from pleasant inside the ransacked hardware store. Micah looked to where the sunlight filtered in through the dirt-streaked window, watching the beams collect dust, wondering who had owned this place years ago. He could feel the sweat cooling on his back as he crouched down to get a closer look at one of the shelves that had been overturned. The place had been picked over, but not thoroughly. There could still be something here worth finding.

   The smell of stale nicotine and the sound of Masen’s voice made Micah look up from the array of broken porcelain pots and lawn ornaments he’d been sifting through. There was a time when smoking had bothered him, when the smell had made his nose scrunch up with distaste, but this new world reeked of death and sewage and he’d become desensitized.

   "If you’re looking for vices to indulge in,“ he said, standing up and dusting off the front of his jeans. "I’d say alcohol would be the safer bet. You still need your lungs, and coughing attracts attention.”

Masen knew a good small business when he saw one; they’d practically kept food on his family’s table while he was growing up. Local grocery stores, diners owned by bored couples with too much retirement money: they were always the easiest sales according to his father.

This place was definitely locally owned; all the signs made it so. It was spacious in size, but crowded and cozy, overfilled with aisles metal tools and ropes and plastic tarps.Of course it had definitely seen better days, as the signs of looting and pirating were obvious by the broken windows and the almost empty racks behind the front counter. They always kept the good stuff out of the public’s reach.

“I don’t like the feeling of being drunk,” Masen admitted, smearing the burning part of his cigarette out on one of the glass counters up front, “I like to be in control of myself, I guess.” 

Eager to change the subject, he stopped and took quick stock of the place, held up  length of chain for Micah to look at.

“This place is a dream for craftsmen and murderers alike,” He joked.

[masengarcia-blog]

date: august 2023 location: front of the hardware store availability: closed to @micahhan

The topic of religion was one Masen often liked to avoid. There was a time in his life when he considered himself a believer; there was also a time in his life when he never had any reason to question his faith. He could recall attending church with his parents all throughout his childhood and, though he had his doubts at times, his mother would just kiss him on his forehead and assure him that he would understand on his own some day. She was wrong, of course.

When the preacher laid hands on him, Masen did the same as the others: fell back, closed his eyes as if the event was too precious for his eyes to comprehend, and the crowds just  cheered. They didn’t even notice him slipping away to the bathroom where he began to cry, because he had faked it and none of them had even noticed the difference. He wept because if he had faked it, how many others had?

He sobbed because he no longer believed and it made him feel so very, very alone.

Masen’s eyes darted over to Micah, empathizing with him. There was, perhaps, no greater torture to a man of faith than to be stuck in these godless times; maybe Masen had lucked out by becoming a non-believer in the end.

“Gotta be honest here,” he said, sparking his lighter and taking a drag from one of the cigarettes he’d found in a desk drawer. All those years avoiding parties with his friends, avoiding alcohol and drugs and anything that could distract him from being the best athlete he could be, and for what? In the end, it hadn’t mattered at all, had it?

 “I think maybe I was missing out.”

[endurerpg]

WELCOME, PLAYERS! And with that, we have all of our skeletons posted and ready for all of you to love to bits! We’re so excited about this group and for everyone that’s show interest thus far, we thank you for the support from the bottom of our hearts. With that being said, we thought it might be fun for applicants to be given some questions regarding their characters to help them with inspiration and muse! Feel free to reblog or like this post if you want people to send you prompts with these questions for your character. We want to be clear though that participation in the talk tag is not by any means required, and that if you choose not to post any of your writing prior to acceptances we completely understand! (I will say, these are great prompts for coming up with headcanons for the concept expansion section of our application, so it might be fun to read through these if you need some help with inspiration in that department!) Anyways, we hope you enjoy these, and happy writing! ♡

ACE: What is your characters most cherished memory from their life before?

ARCHITECT: When the world gets too loud, how does your character find peace?

ATLAS: How would you describe your character using only three-words?

CLOVER: Does your character believe in luck? What about fate?

FALLEN: Where does your character’s faith lie?

GLORY: Who is your character when they are alone? Do they change when they have an audience?

GUARDIAN: How does your character feel about family? What does family mean to them?

HALCYON: What kind of humor does your character have?

HAZARD: How has your character adapted to this new world? Do they enjoy it, even prefer it?

JUDAS: What is your character’s worst betrayal, unto themselves or unto another?

LOYALTY: Does your character tend to think more with their head or with their heart?

MYSTIC: What are/were some of your character’s favorite hobbies?

PASSENGER: When your character imagines home, what do they see?

PHOENIX: What does your character think about when they think about love?

PIONEER: How does your character contribute to the group and its survival?

PISTOL: What was the relationship between your character and their parents? Do they ever miss them?

REAPER: What is your character’s greatest loss, and how are they coping with it?

RELIC: How does your character remember the past? Does nostalgia lend them rose-colored glasses, or do they avoid it as much as possible?

SCHOLAR: What sparks your character’s passion and gives them confidence?

SUNKISSED: What were the goals your character once used to navigate their life? Did they know what were they working towards?

[muggler]

GLORY ; ; Masen Garcia

“ They called you golden boy and pushed you up to heavens to live amongst the stars. But you couldn’t bear the weight of the universe, so you crumbled and you fell. And you burned. And you burn. ” ( X )

[tposeysource-blog1]

[muggler]

GLORY —

❝  this is what you’ve always done: you flash a smile / and the camera flashes back / you pull at heartstrings / until their hearts are shrines to your name ❞