#I'm not a religious person but I look forward to this every year

[allthingssoulful-garden]

Easter eggs dyed with red onions.

I spent a couple of hours this morning dyeing these. Wish I had a lot more time though, it's such a therapeutic activity for me, I love it.

[sukinapan]

teenage edgy atheist me would be SO mad at me being into religious symbols and concepts now lmao

i've been thinking a lot about how religion affected me deeply despite my family never being particularly insistent on it... like most people in my circles, i grew up as watered-down catholic. nobody was going to church or reading the bible, but we'd go to people's babies' baptisms, I'd chant a guardian angel prayer my grandma taught me every night, and despite my school being secular, we had an optional "religion" (catholic) period in elementary which most of our parents signed us up for.

i've heard horror stories from people who went to actually religious schools, run by nuns or priests, but this was different. my impression is that the school system never took this religion class too seriously, so there wasn't really a specific curriculum to be followed. the teachers would rotate constantly, and there was 0 consistency to the kind of activities we did. we'd dance and sing songs and play games, and then a teacher would pull a written test out of nowhere. the result being i was never properly explained the basics of it.

i was born catholic by default so i had to somehow know what a sin was already (the word sin in spanish sounds almost like "fish": pecado and pescado, so i spent YEARS believing "sinner" was some sort of fisherman metaphor), i never understood what use jesus's death had or why pilatus "washed his hands". i knew adam and eve were not supposed to be taken as real but then why was the rest of the bible? i was immersed into this strange lore that i couldn't make sense of and nobody was interested in explaining it in detail.

the only devout person i knew was my grandma. she was never the hateful discourse type nor did she go around spouting lore that would help me understand. like many women she was just very devoted to a benevolent god and to the virgin mary as a mother figure (i remember a prayer saying "mary, mother of god" and i was confused af since hadn't god created her?).

i'm not entirely sure where my fear came from. i remember my mom just once or twice mentioning god, she was probably just annoyed at me, and said god was going to punish me for whatever i was doing. and i took that SO seriously. i'd also always assumed hell was some sort of temporary place where you just had to repent for a while. i mentioned it once in the car and my dad calmly clarified that no, hell was forever. i was devastated. i became convinced that i was somehow evil and used to picture a scene in my mind where a cartoonish devil would appear in my room at night to take me to hell with him.

i eventually grew out of this, thankfully. we had our first communion ritual through the school, i realized it made 0 sense to me and became an edgelord atheist at 11, to my poor grandma's dismay. but i think the fear and the guilt and this idea of being constantly watched and judged still traumatized me a little. years after i'd stopped believing, i continued to whisper "sorry" to the air after doing something wrong.

but my whole point with this, i guess, is that i've found a new appreciation for my experience with religion. i still have a poor opinion of most it, but there's many elements i'm starting to enjoy thinking about. especially the ones pertaining to latin american syncretism, like the focus on the mother figure amidst absent fathers (i guess you could say god is latam's absent father too), loved ones becoming angels that stay around and look out for you, or miracles sprouting from tragedy. i'm also very tormented by death and it's somehow so comforting to make art about it. i really look forward to continue using these elements in the future🧸ྀི໒꒱⋆

[scaralvr]

test me. scaramouche x immortal!gn!reader contains :: religious themes, angst, 3.3 archon quest spoilers

synopsis: you have been scaramouche's faithful & loyal assistant since he was graced with the title of balladeer, but your acts of dedication towards his great being go unnoticed by him each time. however, you would never give up on your God. it is him you worship, not the tsaritsa. when he replaces you with haypasia, you refuse to live without another to serve under.

notes :: songfic based off of melanie martinez's song test me! i haven't written in awhile so it may be a little rusty :')

at first, you weren't quite sure what to think of the almighty sixth you would serve for the rest of your life as a fatui recruit. bearing a cryo vision, you found no use for the doctor's delusions, but the sixth himself requested you use one, for whatever reason you aren't aware of. the sixth of the eleven had a temper that you didn't mind, but still didn't deem his behaviour tolerable. he acts like a brat, expecting everything to be handed to him on a silver platter by his pathetic inferiors.

it sickens you to the core. how could you serve someone as cruel and disgusting as him? questions like these flood your mind but a specific one stands out from the rest. why do you serve him? with such joy and enthusiasm, too. you're fully aware that the other fatui have been stirring up some trouble with scandalous rumors they spread around, fixating on how insane you must be to enjoy working under the balladeer's orders.

you're not deranged. a little eccentric, scaramouche would say. he doesn't mind your passion as his assistant, if anything, he prefers to have someone like this rather than a timid and quiet person who has to be told twice to finish things up. you don't even talk his ear off but instead, abide by every single demand of his and choose to stay silent when he says to. he calls you a, 'smart one,' considering the fact that his past assistants had to face the consequences you were avoiding.

you found the happiness you rarely had in serving him, enjoying the way he sadistically looks into nothing while going on and on about his sinister plans to overpower his creator through his birth of a God. he'd been planning this for quite a while and you were there through all of it. you stole for him, risked your life for him, took lives for him, and what did you get in return after years of your service? your knees feel weak and you suppose it's from kneeling to him all of the time.

they grow even weaker and the breath is knocked out of your throat at his words. "your assistance was tolerable and i'll be dismissing you. this is where your job ends, (y/n)." his words pound at your head and repeat like a broken loop, reminding you over and over that you're not needed. the God that you love and cherish is abandoning his divine angel. his fallen angel. you don't know why, but tears spring to your eyes as you step forward with a hand against your chest. you open your mouth to speak in a small voice, "but, my lord, i'm afraid you do need me. who will come along with you on your way through your journey of Godhood?"

scaramouche doesn't spare you a single glance and chooses to look out the window. "a researcher i've come across in sumeru has proven her worth to me. and don't get me twisted, you have proven your worth as well. she is... simply better in terms of everything and if you can't handle that truth, i don't care. do as i say, since you worship me so much," a wide smirk stretches his lips and you catch sight of it in the reflection of the glass window. the light in your eyes go out in sorrow as you percieve the fact that your God replaced you.

hey, God, i'll be the jester. entertain you, to the best of, my ability.

you wander sumeru with a blank expression, still registering the moments that previously occured. you cut ties with your family and loved ones for him and going back there wouldn't do you any good, as they've already deemed you as scum for joining the fatui all those years ago. your immortal state makes it worse, since you figure living without a purpose is much worse than death itself. while walking with your head down, your shoulder hits something. a person. you turn your head and your eyes meet those of a dashing gold. a fairly handsome man with long blonde hair tied in a braid appears astounded. not too far, a fairy with white hair floats next to him.

"sorry, i wasn't looking where i was going."

at that pathetic apology, you narrow your eyes. what type of person puts the blame on themself when they know very well it's the other's fault? curious, you place a hand on your hip and comment, "your attire... it's not from here. may i question you?" the fairy excitedly claps her hands, "oh, we were about to question you, actually!" you raise a brow, "really? whatever for?" the man kindly smiles and explains the situation to you in a tone like he's known you forever. scaramouche has known you forever. he's never shown such kindness like that to you.

you have no one to serve. no one to follow. all of your sacrifices were a waste, for the very man you put everything on the line for, threw you away like a worthless piece of trash. as you listen to the voice of the mysterious traveler, you feel a hope light up within you again. maybe, just maybe, it'll be different. this time, it will. when he finishes his brief explanation, you instantly shoot your shot. "the balladeer, you say?"

in the meanwhile, scaramouche is left to his own gadgets within the solace of his temporary room. temporary, because he knows he'll be on the move again. he always will be, now that he's turned his back on her majesty, the tsaritsa, and ran away with one of her treasured gnoses. he stares out the window, just like he did a few hours ago, and realizes the time. the sun is beginning to set and usually, you would enter the room with a tray of tea for both him and you to share as he discusses his plans.

it's not too long before scaramouche remembers he already removed you from the plan. your company and assistance have brought him this far, huh? he lets out a sigh that makes him realize he was holding in his breath for quite a bit now. he places his elbow atop the window sill and rests his chin in his palm. it's gotten a little boring since you left, hasn't it? it hasn't even been a day. scaramouche grits his teeth and groans in frustration. it seems like he doesn't enjoy the feeling of being alone, either.

but it's whatever! you're his faithful assistant, maybe if you put some thought into that robotic and tiny brain of yours, you'll be smart enough to come back because both you and scaramouche know you could never survive without him. yeah, you'll be back. the moon rises in the sky and scaramouche tightens his clutch on the wood of the sill. you'll definitely be back...

when i suffer, more fragility, when i answer. came here for a reason.

for the next few days, you spend it with aether and his friend, paimon. he easily opened up to you about his lost sister and the nations he previously went to in hopes of finding her but to no avail. you pity the poor male and choose to make his time in sumeru more enjoyable before he goes off to confront the balladeer. ah, it wasn't too hard to tell him that you're the balladeer's assistant. paimon was a little jumpy at first, but he, he was understanding... someone worthy of worshipping.

bit by bit, scaramouche can feel himself breaking. every little thing irritates him. the sound of the wind's harsh currents, the feeling of something rough against the supple skin of his hand, the crippling isolation of his room. with a determined yet firm frown, he remakes a brew of green tea for the several time this week. it doesn't taste right. no matter how much sugar he adds (which he never enjoys in his tea but he's trying), he can't recreate the taste of the way you made it.

little does he know, you're making the same tea, yet it's for another man. "(y/n), this is very well-made!" aether exclaims with a grin and you feel yourself flush red. "is it?... thank you," you mutter, turning away to pour some into a tea cup for paimon. aether chuckles, "you've done alot for me and my traveling companion, (y/n). and i've been wondering about something for sometime." you notice the way he fumbles with the tea cup in his hands from the corner of your eye. "go on," you say, putting aside the tea pot and facing him. aether confidently adds, "i'd like for you to join me on my journeys, if you'll allow it. considering the way the balladeer did all of that to you-"

ah. you uncomfortably shuffle your feet in your position and paimon notices the tense situation. "h-hey, it's alright, (y/n)! aether's a really nice guy, huh? we would never do something like that to you!" paimon says, trying to lighten the mood. you let out a soft sigh, "i... thank you. will you let me think about it?" aether pauses and eagerly nods, "of course. take as much time as you need." and that's how you ended up wandering in the vast forest of sumeru. no matter which way you shift your thoughts, it always ends up drifting back to the indigo haired harbinger.

you delicately hold a sumeru rose in your hands and tilt your head to inspect the flower. suddenly, an anger rises and before you realize it, you're tightly clutching the flower, completely destroying its petals and stem altogether. you loved him. he was your everything. you guess he didn't feel the same for you. because he is a heartless, wretched and brutal — the silent time to yourself was interfered with another person's barely audible gasp. you're quick to whip around and wield your sword, finding the sharp end of it against someone's neck. scaramouche is unfazed, content, even.

"still on guard as ever," he murmurs, using his finger to guide your sword away from his throat, but the pressure of your blade creates a small slit against his flawless skin and you draw blood. you slowly withdraw your weapon as he traces his fingertip along the wound. "what has my little ex-assistant been up to as of late? i don't think you have any business in sumeru, do you?" scaramouche casually asks while impotently wiping the blood on his attire.

you knit your brows together and as much as it hurts to do so, you speak without using your usual endearment, 'my lord,' for him. "you cease to exist to me, balladeer," the way it rolls off of your tongue is foreign to him, it even surprises you. scaramouche has no time for petty feelings, but he lets them get in the way. his pupils are blown with anger as he seethes, "who do you think you are? just because i've abandoned you like the hindrance you are, it doesn't mean you get to treat me with such... inferiority!"

"but you're wrong, balladeer. i can and i will." with those words serving a final blow to his non-existent heart, you turn on your heel to find the blonde traveler with the answer to his question bound to escape your lips that used to say nothing but praises to the sixth.

just stop complaining, all have our seasons, it's not just a joke or a lesson to live through.

scaramouche watches your form disappear in the distance, only then, can he fully consume the fact that you aren't coming back unless he asks. stubborn one, aren't you? always playing hard to get. he deludes himself with this, believing that you still want to serve your one and only God. right, he's owned you from the start. he owned you the moment you agreed to be his assistant. you can't just get up and leave like that, no, your work is far from done. scaramouche agrees that it was rather trivial to dismiss you like that and he sees his mistake. why can't you understand that he needs you back?

but the cherry on top is the way you stand before his godly form, alongside the traveler. you're not supposed to be here. scaramouche is struck with shock when he sees you enter the scene with aether. the moment is swept away just as quick when he laughs. he laughs like a crazed man, hands on his stomach as he catches his breath. "oh, this is rich, (y/n)! you're so worthless, you really had to find another to serve after i ditched you. you're nothing but a weak follower and i plan on making you take that role to the grave," his tone drops to that of a condescending one and various emotions surge through his veins.

the immense adrenaline pumping through his system can't compare to the pain he feels when buer seizes his gnosis. this can't be happening. he's done so much to make it this far, only for all of it to come crashing down before him. his mother, his friend, the child, you. you've left a scar on him that he'll never forget. he hates it. you must be smirking to yourself as he falls from the large mech. he misses when you were still by his side, always smiling even when he ordered you to commit something so atrocious as murder.

he acknowledges it now. scaramouche realizes that you were there from the beginning and despite his cruel doings, he was your God. he never needed to go this far, because he was yours. what is this feeling, he wonders. well, it's too late now. scaramouche can only accept defeat, falling, until... he hits something, but it certainly isn't the ground. his eyes can barely stay open from how visibly exhausted he is yet he manages to make out a figure looking down at him. you steadily hold him in your arms and aether rushes to you. "are you sure you want to do this, (y/n)?" he queries. you nod in response, "i'll look after him."

every which way in second, there's a breakthrough.

scaramouche, now being the wanderer, loiters within sumeru with no purpose whatsoever. with no place to go or stay, he explores and occasionally helps the traveler with some of their needs. but it still hurts. even if he's occupied himself with other things, he keeps on thinking about you. it was always you. yet the searing pain makes him wail at night, recalling the way you looked at him like he was... a stranger.

"(y/n)!" for the first time in forever, he genuinely smiled. he was happy that at least, he still had you through this whole wreck. scaramouche had the guts to apologize. coming to think of it, it was a stupid thing from the beginning. he was thankful that you stayed loyal to him and still were at that time, considering the fact that you took care of him when he was unconscious. when nahida informed him of it, he couldn't be more relieved.

you turn at the exclaimation of your name and instantly back away in confusion. "aether, who is this?" your words put scaramouche's movements to a stop and his smile drops. "wh-what do you mean? traveler, what do they mean?" he hurriedly asked, voice cracking in between some words. you furrow your brows together and aether muttered, "they don't remember you,"

he felt the heaviest weight bring itself onto his chest. it's hard to breathe. that's right, he erased himself from the memories of many people, including you. how could he be so blind back then? all he needed, wanted, was someone that could stay by his side forever and love him unconditionally. he knew very well you were immortal, so he wouldn't have to worry about your lifespan. he also knew how much you worshipped him, so he wouldn't have to worry about the potential chance of betrayal, either.

why did he let such a beautiful and caring little thing like you out of his sight?

© scaralvr.

[darlingsfandom]

Little Lamb

AU: Priest Cillian x Fem Reader!

Father Murphy x Fem Reader!

Warnings: Angst! Religious themes, loss of virginity, age gap, p in v, raw sex. Priest kink!

It burned, the bitter taste of jealousy dancing on your tongue as you watched your priest simply talking to one of the church moms. Jealousy and lust have been running through your veins for years. Your family moved to town when you were only six years old and at the time church was fun! All the stories about Noah's ark and all the animals but you're not a child anymore. You grew up in this church watching all the new babies be blessed, all the family picnics, trunk or treats over the years and when you reached puberty it was terrible. You only had one person in mind, Father Murphy. He was double your age, a man of god! He watched you grow there was no way he'd ever look at you in the devils light. He was always sweet to you, thanked you for all your time involved with the church, he'd even let you take some extra candy during Halloween for your help, but you'd refuse because you were worried about your soul.

Soul? You scoffed at the memory while you stood in the cafeteria of the church helping clean up the tables after everyone else left besides a few goers that liked to have a silent prayer up by the alter. You were convinced you had no soul. You were old enough to decide on your own who you wanted to be and now that you were living on your own you were trying to figure new things out, but one thing never changed: your feelings for father Murphy. You stood there clenching a tray tightly as you watched Father Murphy talk to the church mom, your nostrils flared when her hand ran over his arm. Something snapped inside of you causing the metal tray to fall to floor with a loud clank. Both of them looked in your direction making your face heat up with embarrassment. The air became thick as you quickly picked up the tray and tossed it to its correct spot before sprinting off towards your safe spot in the church.

Bubbles of jealousy stirred in your stomach as you hid in the storage closet that kept all the decorations for the holidays. A soft knock came on the door making your body freeze out of fear.

"Y/N? I know you're in there? Are you okay?" Father Murphy spoke softly as you moved around the decorations to slowly open the door. "Oh my, what's the matter?" His hand gently grabbed your cheek. His scanned every black stained tear on your cheeks, darkened pupils and redness bursting on your cheeks.

"It's non of your concern father!" Your words spit out like venom as you removed his hand from your face before turning your face back into the room.

"You are in the house of God! You do not speak that way to your priest." Father Murphy grabbed your arm, pulling you forward and stumbling on your feet.

"I'm in the house of sin!"

"And what does that mean my child?"

"Ask that whore you were just all over!"

Before you could speak a sharp sting came across your face as father Murphy had slapped you in the mouth. You grabbed your face in shock.

"I'm sorry to have done that you my child.. but..

"I'm not a child!" You blurted out before stomping your foot. Father Murphy straightened himself out before grabbing your hand and taking you back into his office. His office has not changed once in over fifteen years everything was the same. You sat down on the old leather cracked chair as he sat down at his desk with his hands folded.

"Would you like to explain yourself for dat little outburst?" He leaned forward with stern eyes lingering over you while you sat there with your exposed legs crossed over each other while slightly swinging your black heel off your foot and arms crossed under your chest to push your breasts up out of your yellow sundress. You chewed on the inside of your cheek while looking out the window of his office before he cleared his throat to make you look back at him.

"I already told you!" Your words were lashing out and he couldn't believe your attitude. This wasn't you. Not his sweet little lamb. Father Murphy had watched you grow. He even gave you the sex talk when you were seventeen because your parents had caught you almost kissing a boy when you were studying. He couldn't understand how you've become so twisted.

"Lashing out, stomping your feet, calling people names, tats actin like a child. Now tell me, wats ta matter wit ya?" His voice was filled with concern this time.

You huffed. "Like you actually care."

"Of course I care, if I didn't I wouldn't have ya in here. Why'd ya tink I didn't care bout ya?"

You unfolded your arms and placed your hands on your lap before smoothing your dress. Blood was pumping like crazy through out your veins when you straightened up and looked dead into his eyes.

"Ever since she showed up at the church, you've acted like I don't exist! You've tossed me aside like a cheap whore! Well I got news for you father , I'm not a whore! I've been saving myself for you since you gave me the sex talk years ago! I've never even touched myself not once! Never even kissed a boy because of you! And she waltzed right in here and suddenly I'm not yours anymore! I'm not special to you anymore! I'm nothing to you!" Your eyes bursted with stinging tears as your heart ripped out of your chest. Father Murphy quickly shot up of his chair before he wrapped his arms around you.

"None of that is true my little lamb! Well at least the last part. Of course you're special to me. I watched you grow into a beautiful young lady. I've always been there for you. Just because we have a new member of the church doesn't mean I'd forget you !" His fingers trailed down your back slowly while you hid your face in his chest. Father Murphy moved his hand up to your hair and stroked your hair making you calm down until you were breathing normally.

Father Murphy pulled away slowly to look at your face. His thumbs wiped away your tears as he held your face in his hands. Both of you stood there silently searching for something in each others eyes. You sighed softly before he cupped your chin and lifted it upwards. His eyes scanned over you again before stepping away to grab something from his desk. He grabbed your hand while holding his prayer beads and walked out of his office until you two were standing at the altar. No one was around , even she had left which made you happy, but father Murphy pulling on your hand brought you back.

"Kneel before me." He had his head held high.

You kneeled before placing your hands in your lap with soft eyes glancing up at him until he placed the beads around your neck like a necklace.

"Y/N , you have admitted to the sin of jealousy and lust. Ta lord has heard of your sins. As your priest I may cleanse ya of yer sins if you ask for it. I shall take away yer sins and re bless your soul if ya dedicate yerself ta me and only me. God knows yer dedicated him days why were asking for his blessing for us!" His hand stayed placed on your head as he spoke. "Do you child, truly wish ta be mine and only mine? To be me only love?" His voice broke a little which made you place your hand over his and pull yourself to up.

"Father Murphy, I poured myself to you. I don't want you to pity me. Do you truly have feelings and urges for me?" Your eyes were pleading as he looked into yours.

"As God as our witness, I have. I have wanted ya for a long time but being a priest ... and you being so young!" You placed your fingers over his lips before standing up straight as his hands cupped your face, his lips connected to yours slowly. Your noses bumped against each other making you giggle which made him smile.

Something took over in you as father Murphy kissed you again. Your hands ran up his chest before clutching onto it. His hands gripped onto your arms making you whimper against his lips. "Take me father, please." Both of you had just declared each other as yours before he grabbed your hands and took you back into his office. He looked through his stuff before grabbing a set of keys. He took you to a room that you had never seen before, the door lead down into a basement that was surprisingly in excellent condition.

"Father? What is this ?" You asked following him down. When he flipped the light switch on you seen that it was fully furnished with a queen sized bed, simple black and white bedding, a statue of the Virgin Mary and lots of candles.

"Tis is where I live sweetheart." Father Murphy walked you over and sat you down on the edge of his bed before sitting next to you. His hand rested upon your knee giving it a squeeze which made you tingle.

"Take me father, please?" His hand rubbed against your cheek, pulled you in closer and kissed you gently. His tongue pushed against your lips which you open your lips slightly so he could slide his tongue in. He tasted like coffee and toothpaste. Fever rushed over your body making you climb into his lap. Father Murphy held your hips while licking your tongue before pulling away. You leaned back into him and wrapped your lips around the tip of tongue, sucking gently his hands ran over your back while pulling down the zipper on your dress. The fabric fell down exposing your white silky bra to him. Father Murphy pushed you off carefully and stood you up so your dress could pool around your ankles.

"Wow, my little lamb, ya really did blossom into a beautiful woman!" His hands ran down your curves giving your love handles a squeeze before turning you around to look at your ass. Your cheeks turned pink when you felt his hand gripping your ass. "Such a beautiful woman." His lips attacked the back of your neck. Your knees felt weak making you grip his arm as he wrapped it around your waist. Father Murphy continued to kiss your neck while groping your breasts from behind and pressing his hard on against your ass.

In a matter of seconds Father Murphy had your bra unhooked on the floor and you laying on your back on his bed.

"Yer a goddess, I know shouldn't say tat but tis true!" He unbuttoned his pants slowly while you laid there biting your bottom lip. His pants were on the ground before he climbed back into bed with you. His fingers trailed over your thighs while looking into your eyes. The air was thick again , your heart was going to burst into a million pieces . How is this real life? How is this happening when a few moments ago you were pouring your heart out.

Father Murphy kneeled above you grabbing your plush thighs and pulling them up to look down at your sex. It was glistening with your arousal as he looked at in awe before looking into your eyes. He leaned into you brushing his dick against your pussy so he could kiss you gently. His fingers laced with yours while he looked at you again. You were below him with such pink kissable lips, your neck covered his small bruises from his kisses, the way his prayer bead hung on your neck and laid between your breasts, you were his personal porn star. The only thing he left you in besides his beads was your heels.

"Tank ya Lord fer me little lamb. She's been a holy girl til now, she's mine. She's da perfect woman tat I've always needed and wanted. May ya bless her lord as we act in sin, she might be da devil ta others but she's perfect fer me." Father Murphy prayed above you. His words struck your core making your thighs clench before he opened them again.

"Just tell me if ya need me to stop sweetheart!" Father Murphy grabbed your hand and placed it over his heart before he slid the head of his aroused cock inside of you slowly. Your nose scrunched up as a tear dare shed from your eye while he pushed into you. "I have ya darlin, just relax." His cock twitched inside of you.

This was all new yet familiar to you. Your nails dug into his shirt pulling the fabric a little you felt the sting slowly disappear. The room suddenly felt full like everyone was watching the two of you, but when you looked back into Father Murphys eyes you felt safe, loved, protected. His free hand pressed against your cheek and stroked it gently as he gave one final push because now he was all the way inside of you.

"Oh! Fuck!" You cried out as your hips flew up making him moan at the sudden motion.

"It's okay darlin, I'm all the way inside of you." His fingers traced along your jawline before moving over your nipples giving them each a pinch before he slowly started thrusting into you. It was a little weird and messy as he held your hips making sure to get an angle that felt good since you laid there whimpering. Once he held your hips up and slightly twisted his fat cock was hitting you just right making you moan his name while dragging your warm hands over his sweaty chest.

"Yer so pretty like tis , yer always pretty but us actin in sin together ! Ya really could be a little devil!" Your lips curved into a smirk while he thrusted in and out of you at a faster pace making the smirk turn into an O! Your eyes locked in on his as a weird feeling waved over your body.

"Stop stop stop! Father I feel funny!" You tried to push him away when he grabbed your wrist and slowly stopped.

"Wat are ya feelin?"

"Like my insides are going to burst, my nipples are sore ... I ..

"Yer gonna cum honey! It's your first orgasm! It's gonna be okay. I got ya, just relax and let go!" His words went right to your core! Your body jolted forward and with a cry of his name you were dragging your nails into his arms while squeezing your eyes shut. You collapsed into his chest while his own orgasm hit him hard. He filled you with his cum making your eyes widen as he groaned into your ear.

Father Murphy pulled out of you slowly while gently laying you back down on the bed. He disappeared for a second before coming back with a wet wash cloth and slowly cleaned you up before getting into bed with you. "Don't ya worry honey. It's us now. No one will come between us. Yer me girl from now on."

"I thought priest couldn't have girlfriends." You curled into his side while he wrapped his arm around your waist. His fingers played with your hair while you laid your head on his chest.

"No priest can have girlfriends, I just waited for mine to finally get it out there." Father Murphy kissed your head gently before he gave you another kiss. This is all you ever wanted and you finally got it.

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter seven

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: Fuck it, here's chapter 7 since the previous post was technically just an interlude! Once again I'm basically begging for comments/ messages/ any interaction other than just likes because I'm greedy!

Series Masterlist

word count: 3.5k

All she had was an eager cop, a detective, and the detective’s vigilante best friend. 

She hoped it would be enough.

Y/n knew that boredom would be her worst enemy, so she downloaded a police scanner app and listened to it almost religiously while she worked. The constant stream of voices helped keep the grief at bay and helped her focus. 

To her surprise, the cops seemed to want Batman around. There were a couple of calls those first couple of days–an armed robbery and a creep taking pictures through a window–where the officers mentioned him by name. He’d stopped the armed robbery before the cops got there and also caught the peeping Tom. One cop grumbled on the radio how all their work was being taken by some guy in a costume. The rest of them jumped to Batman's defense, saying there was more than enough crime to go around. “Besides,” one chuckled. “I wouldn't want to be the one to catch some creep with his dick out.” 

Y/n was almost pleased to hear the good relationship the vigilante had with GCPD. She wondered how much Gordon had to do with that. She made a few notes of their comments for her article, because it was definitely interesting to see that a city wanted a guy who operated outside the law around. 

It was a few nights before an interesting call came through. 

A witness reported a woman being shot. A young woman. The details were sparse but it was enough to pique her interest.

Y/n couldn’t say what it was that had her dressing warmly and grabbing her camera and phone. Stupidity, definitely. But it was one of those moments where she felt in her gut that something was happening, something related to her case.

Pepper spray clutched in one hand and camera in the other, she left the safety of Wayne Tower. Every shadow made her jump. She called a cab to take her to the crime scene–or at least as close as she could get. It was practically on the other side of the city and she definitely didn’t want to chance walking alone at night in Gotham. 

They were stopped two blocks from the scene, so she got out and peered around. It looked like the actual crime scene was on the other side of an apartment building to her right, but that alley was blocked off as was the street in front of her. So she walked a little further down to the next connecting alley to get to one street over. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Shit!” She screamed. She whirled and swung her arm up to use the mace, but her wrist was quickly caught in an iron grip. She tried to scramble away and almost fell when the hand suddenly released her.

Her heart only slightly calmed when she saw who it was. 

The Batman. 

She pressed her knuckles to her chest. Her heart was jumping out of her chest. “Jesus fucking Christ. What are you doing here?” 

He watched her passively, half in the shadows. He had stepped away as soon as he let her go. “I asked first.” 

She closed her eyes for a beat and inhaled a steadying breath. “Probably the same thing you’re doing here.” She shrugged. Her pulse was still racing but she knew she was safe now. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. And besides, there were about a million cops just around the corner. If she screamed, they would come. 

“It’s too dangerous,” he growled. He took a half-step forward, like he would grab her again. 

She held up the pepper spray. “Not afraid to use this on you, buddy. Besides, you’re here now to keep me safe. And the other fifty cops out there.” 

He stopped. His eyes narrowed. She wanted to get closer, see what color they were, help narrow down who might be underneath the mask. 

“Fine, let’s go.” He started to walk past her, towards the blue and red lights at the end of the alley. 

She blinked in surprise. “That was easy.” 

He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Only because you’re going to do what you want to do. At least this way I can keep an eye out for you.” 

She grinned and winked. “You’re learning already.” 

They walked down the alley together, her shadowy protector moving to stay one step behind her like a bodyguard. 

At the end of the alley, the world was leached of color in the whirling red and blue lights, the flashes timed almost perfectly to the beat of her heart. She snapped a quick wide picture. She could see the area cordoned off with bright yellow tape. 

“Well, of all the officers in all of Gotham,” she said pleasantly when she spied Martinez keeping onlookers away from the crime scene tape. 

Officer Martinez’s young face brightened when he saw her, then changed comically fast when he peered over her shoulder. She could feel the Batman’s presence at her back, looming over her. 

“She’s with me,” the vigilante said. Martinez sighed but held up the tape to let them under. She sensed there was a story between them and itched to find out what it was. 

“If either of you touch anything…” Martinez grumbled. “It’s my neck.” 

Y/n flashed him her most winning smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the big guy in line.” Martinez grinned back. 

“So Martinez doesn’t like you, huh?” she asked the vigilante.

He ignored her. 

The air around them was humid, wet. It must have rained earlier, like most nights in Gotham. A few cop cars were leaving already. She wondered what had brought on the intense response. Her stomach tightened as they approached another alley. Gordon was talking to a young guy, late teens to early twenties, taking notes on a small notepad as the guy wiped at his face. 

Y/n quickly fumbled for her phone and set it to record. She wasn’t making the same mistake twice. Except for, well, the whole leaving Wayne Tower late at night while a murderer might be after her mistake she’d already made. She snapped another sneaky picture of Gordon and the young man. 

She caught Batman watching her and arched an eyebrow as if daring him to say anything. 

He simply turned away and said, “Gordon.” 

“Thank you,” Gordon said to who she assumed was a witness. “We’ll be in touch.” 

The guy hurried off, shoulders hunched, his face almost green. 

Gordon turned, saw her, and sighed. “I would ask, but…”

She winked. “You’re both learning so quickly. I’m proud.” 

“What happened?” Batman asked, all business. Y/n glanced past Gordon and saw a body covered in a sheet. The medical examiner was unzipping a body bag, about to transport it. 

The detective’s attention turned to the vigilante. “Single gunshot to the head at close range. Woman in her thirties walking home from work. Guy heard the gunshots and came running. Said he didn’t see the shooter but immediately called it in. Unfortunately, his dinner has…contaminated part of the scene.” 

While they were talking, y/n quietly lifted her camera and started taking pictures. 

The medical examiner lifted the sheet. She took another picture but paused. 

She took a shaky step back and bumped into something. Gloved hands steadied her by her elbows. 

“Oh,” Batman said softly. He put it together quicker than she had. Her brain was scrambling to keep up. The girl on the ground was a bloody mess, face down, legs sprawled like she’d tried to run. She was wearing a similar outfit to y/n–leggings, sweater, running shoes. 

But that wasn’t where the similarities ended. 

The height, the body shape, the hair color, even the shade of her skin…

The woman looked like y/n. 

She didn’t realize she was shaking until Batman gently squeezed her elbows. 

“Shit,” Gordon said. He must not have seen the body when he first arrived on the scene. 

“Don’t look,” Batman said in her ear, pulling her away, his voice conjuring–of all people–Bruce Wayne. It was just her mind reaching for something familiar, comfortable, safe. She shook the thought away. The vigilante turned her around and held her close. “Don’t look,” he said again. 

She closed her eyes against the wave of emotion. Her stomach swooped dangerously. She’d seen a dead body or two before but not–not like this. 

“Guess we have confirmation, then,” Gordon said softly. She didn’t have to ask what confirmation they had. She knew already, her gut telling her what exactly had happened despite its churning. 

Someone had killed that woman because it looked like her. 

They knew what she looked like. They knew well enough to kill someone even with the chance it might not be her. 

Which meant they were desperate and that it was only a matter of time before they found her. 

“Come on, you need to get out of here,” Gordon said, and this time he had her by the arm. He pulled her along, the vigilante cutting a path through the crowd before them. 

Her mind was blank. The shock of seeing a body, of imaging her own in its place, had wiped everything clean. She didn’t protest as Gordon bundled her into the passenger seat of his car. At least he didn’t put me in the back like a criminal, she thought almost deliriously. 

Batman stood in the open door, staring down at her. She wasn’t sure when he’d gotten there but now he was filling her vision. Her eyes traced the planes of his armor, wondering what he looked like underneath, who he was. There were dings and scrapes in places, physical memories of past fights. 

“I’m going to find who did this,” he said. His voice pitched impossibly lower. “And keep an eye out for you.” 

This made her snap out of it. “You can’t be in two places at once.” He had black paint around his eyes. She hadn’t noticed before. 

The barest smirk on his lips as he looked away. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were in the darkness of the night. “You don’t know that for sure.” 

She snorted. “You’re right. Maybe you’re some sort of mutant freak. Besides dressing like a bat, you know.” Despite the joking, her hands shook. She tucked them between her thighs. 

“Listen,” he said, serious again. There was a note of steel in the word. His voice was so low she could feel it as a vibration on her skin. “Stop sneaking out at night. It’s too dangerous.” 

She nodded vaguely but didn’t actually make the promise. If they wanted her dead, Wayne Tower wasn’t going to stop them. Slow them down, maybe, but not stop them. She needed to put the puzzle pieces together, and fast. They were getting closer to figuring out who she was, but she and Gordon and even the Batman only vaguely knew who they were dealing with. They needed to even the score. 

“Then give me your phone number so you can be my bodyguard,” she said. She was half teasing. 

The Batman seemed to consider it. Her eyes went past him as the gurney passed with the body on it. She shuddered and he stepped to block her view. 

“If you have to leave, let Gordon know and one of us will come. But only if you have to.” 

“Right,” she scoffed. “You’re allergic to texting.” And probably don’t want a reporter having your phone number, she silently added. 

Batman stepped back and then Gordon was there. He put one hand on the top of the car and leaned in, expression as serious as she’d ever seen it. “I’m taking you straight home and you’re going to stay there, alright?” 

She waved a hand but nodded. Satisfied, he shut the passenger door. She could hear muffled voices as he said something to Batman. Probably berating him for bringing her to the crime scene in the first place. Or telling him something he didn’t want her to hear. 

Within a couple of minutes, Gordon was sliding behind the wheel. 

“How’d you even know where to go?” he asked as they drove. 

“Police scanner app.” 

He glanced over at her. “I hate those things,” he muttered. “What happened to quid pro quo? I would have called you.” 

She bit her lip and shrugged. “I can’t just sit around waiting for someone to shoot me in the head.” She shivered at the image she now had of what, exactly, that looked like. 

“So you’re going to take yourself right to their doorstep instead?” 

“With the way my luck is going lately, it’s only a matter of time anyway. Might as well get as much done as I can first.” She hated to be so casual about it, but she had had really shit luck lately. There was no use hiding from it. If she didn’t leave Wayne Tower, they would probably find a way to break in. Or send a sniper after her. She thought about the times she’d leaned against the windows in the study and a chill went up her spine. 

“All you’ve done is traumatize yourself and give me a headache,” he said around a sigh. He really did sound like a tired dad half the time, she mused. She leaned her head back and watched the dark streets of Gotham pass by. She was reminded of another night in Gotham, years ago, on the back of a motorcycle with Bruce. 

She pushed the memory away and said, “I’ll pay for a bottle of ibuprofen.” 

Gordon laughed softly. “Listen, I know you reporter types are always rushing into danger, but this is your life. Can’t write the story if you’re dead. Text me if you have to go anywhere, and either I’ll come or send someone I trust.” 

“Okay,” she said. “But if it takes too long I might leave anyway.” She smiled so he would know she was at least partially kidding. “Have you learned anything new?” 

Gordon was silent for so long she knew it was bad news. He parked right in front of Wayne Tower–illegally, she might add. 

He turned to face her, his hands idly resting on his knees. “It’s definitely the Gallo family. And another of the suspects we caught is dead. Apparent suicide, but we aren’t so sure. The third one is under around the clock protection, but…”  

“Shit,” she said. Now she was the one with a headache. “That is…bad.” 

“Can you see why I want you to stay home now?” he asked pleadingly. “Like it or not, I’m responsible for keeping you alive. If we can catch the last guy and get him and the other to trial…you’re an important witness. The only witness.” 

“Aw, and here I was thinking you were starting to like me.”

A tightening at the corners of his mouth told her he was trying not to smile. “Let me walk you upstairs.” 

“Do you see all the security in there? I’ll be fine.” She gestured towards the lobby. It definitely looked more like a swanky prison these days, even at night when no employees were in the lower floors of the building. 

“I wanted to see if I could talk to Bruce Wayne.” 

Y/n did a double take. Just the sound of his name made her stomach tighten almost painfully. “Why? To tattle on me? Bruce Wayne is not my keeper. He’s not my anything.” She immediately bit her tongue. She’d said too much with that last sentence, let too much of her hurt and bitterness in. 

“I want to talk to him about his security, see if we can bolster it with our officers somehow.” Gordon was already up and out of the car. She scrambled to keep up, briefly getting caught in her seatbelt before yanking it off and hopping out. 

Gordon flashed his badge to the security. They all relaxed not at seeing it, but at seeing y/n. 

“You better talk to Alfred then, if he’s awake. He’s more in charge of that stuff than Bruce. He’s with me, it’s fine.” She said the last part to the concerned security guard–the new one whose name she still hadn’t learned, the one who had called the police for her the night she’d witnessed the murders. He was in charge of the night shift security, apparently. She wondered if he resented being the only guy at the desk at night to having a whole team around. Or maybe it was less lonely. 

Gordon followed her into the private residential elevator. “Be that as it may, I’d like to speak to Mr. Wayne too.” 

She sighed but hit the button to take them up to the residential part of Wayne Tower. “You really sound like a dad,” she muttered under her breath. 

Gordon cut his eyes at her then smiled. 

The elevators opened, and there was Alfred, already dressed and waiting. Security must have called up, warning him the detective was coming. Had he even gone to bed? She was starting to think that Alfred might be nocturnal. Or maybe he didn’t sleep at all. That was new–she and Bruce had gotten in trouble many times when they were younger for interrupting his precious sleep. These days he always seemed to be dressed impeccably, even late at night. 

“Detective,” Alfred said pleasantly. He briefly narrowed his eyes at her. “How can I help you?” 

Y/n idly scuffed her foot against the floor, suddenly feeling like a teenager again. She had always been caught either sneaking out or sneaking back in. Alfred had a knack for it. Or maybe she wasn’t as good as Bruce had been, who had been caught only twice that she could remember. 

Gordon nodded politely. “Is Mr. Wayne feeling better? I’d like to talk to the both of you.” 

“I would like to add here that it’s not sneaking out if I’m a grown woman,” y/n said helpfully. 

Alfred’s eyes narrowed again before he turned his focus back to Gordon. “Mr. Wayne is out.” 

Now y/n was narrowing her eyes at Alfred. He caught her looking. She raised one eyebrow. Was he street racing again? She remembered the bruises on his knuckles. Or part of an illegal fight club? Neither would surprise her. 

Another thought struck and stole her breath. 

Maybe Bruce had a girlfriend. 

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” Gordon asked. His tone was carefully neutral. 

“Well, as I was just told, the rules are different for grown men–and women. He comes and goes as he pleases and rarely includes me in his plans.” Alfred was being too professional with it. His tone was too flat. Oh yeah, Bruce was definitely up to something, and Alfred definitely knew exactly what it was. Fuck, she thought desperately. She couldn’t breathe. Alfred would know if Bruce had a girlfriend and he knew her well enough to hide it from her. 

Why did the thought of Bruce with another woman hurt so much, even three years later? I don’t love you and I never will, he had said that night. 

Which meant he was perfectly capable of loving someone else. 

Y/n bit her lip until the pain made the panic recede. 

“Of course,” Gordon said in an equally flat, professional tone. “I wanted to chat about security measures. There was another murder tonight, and while I can’t give details of an ongoing investigation…it definitely seems like y/n is a target.” 

She cringed, remembering how eerily similar the body had been to hers. Who had the woman been? She hadn’t gotten a name, an age. But she felt like she should know these things if the woman had died in her place. What if she was only the first? Would they kill every woman who looked close enough to y/n before they caught her?

Alfred blinked in surprise, the professional facade slipping. “I–of course, let’s go into my office.” 

Y/n wanted to go with them but decided against it. It really would be smarter to listen to Gordon. If she needed to leave, she would get an escort, even if it was Alfred. He may walk with a cane but she knew he was secretly pretty spry. He’d been a spy or soldier or something in his younger years, before coming to work for the Waynes. 

“Goodnight, Alfred,” she said, taking a half-step towards the hall that led to her room. “And thanks, Gordon.” 

They both nodded and bid her goodnight before disappearing towards the study. 

Y/n waited a second then darted to the elevator. The other elevator. Bruce’s. 

She didn’t really have a plan other than to see with her own two eyes that Bruce was gone and not just hiding. 

She hit the button for what was once the garage and again, nothing happened. She frowned at it and hit it several more times. Still nothing. 

What if Bruce was down there with a woman, showing her his cars? Or–She shut the thought down and mashed the button one more time, knowing it was futile. 

With a curse, she stepped back out. 

Fine, she would go to bed and leave Bruce alone. It didn’t matter if he was wrecking illegally souped up cars or beating someone’s face in and following the first rule of fight club. It didn’t matter if he was with a woman he might love more than he ever loved her. 

It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

Except, as much as she hated to admit it, he did.

Next Chapter

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[ceilidho]

Do you have any advice on doing a character study for a character before writing them? Stuff like how they’d act/respond 👁👄👁

haha it's quite tricky, I won't lie! it's definitely one of the things I struggle with the most (writing really well-rounded and defined characters). Here are a couple things that I do, but keep in mind that I'm reeaaalllyyyy not an expert on this. I'm still learning so much about characterization every day.

If you're writing fanfiction, watch or read the source material as much as possible, until you can almost hear the way the character sounds in your head. Take time to understand things like their accent and how they speak (do they talk a lot or very little? do they use slang or enunciate everything? do they speak quickly or slowly?). Here, you just want to concentrate on the cadence of their speech / their speech patterns. If they speak plainly or use lots of proverbs or turns of phrases, that sort of thing. If you have that down, you've honestly done half the work. Even I often reread my work and go "fuck, all of these people SOUND the same even though they're saying different things".

This is harder if you're not writing fanfiction and have to create your own universe, but regardless of whether you're writing for an existing IP or your own 'verse, I think understanding your character's cultural and religious background is so crucial to developing them. It's a big part of the lens through which they see the world, whether consciously (if they're a very religious character for example, or raised in a specific country) or subconsciously (for example, I grew up catholic so I relate to the world through that lens, even though I'm not a religious person - it just heavily informed me in my childhood years). For this Bear story, I had to do a bit of research around Baptist theology because I knew Bear would be a religious character (whether or not he's struggling with that religion) and it would heavily inform how he sees the world around him. I listened to some sermons, talked to someone with a Baptist background, and also thought about how that background with tie into his desire to have a family).

Pick like 3-5 words that you think best describe your character and just write them down somewhere. I've never been very successful when I make huge character sheets for my characters or try to write a super detailed background for them, so I try to give myself a bit of grace and be brief about it. You can always expand on it going forward. Like for someone like Bear, I might pick: family-oriented, religious (Christian), gruff, and scrupulous. You can also do this in the reverse way and try to think of what they're not (same example with Bear, I might go: conniving, hedonistic, flighty, and optimistic LMAO). This is a nice way to put like, boundaries around your character.

In the framework of your story, try to pick a trajectory for your character, or a goal. At least have one, but you could have a couple. If they're directionless, that works too! But they should want something or aspire to be something. This counts even if they think that thing they want is beyond them or unattainable - it's still a want/goal pushing them forward. This can also be an unconscious goal by the way -> like a very hedonistic character that likes to party who's slowly getting worn down from that life and doesn't even realize they want to settle down, or vice versa! Someone who feels trapped in their mundane life but thinks that's what's expected of them. The character doesn't have to know they want this goal.

Fatal flaws. This is a big one. What is something that might get in the way of them achieving their goal or might influence how they get it? Easiest way to think of this is just looking at the 7 deadly sins (soooo corny, but it's a good place to start). Characters are never perfect, so give them a reason to struggle.

And honestly lastly? Trial and error, baby. Take your vaguely defined character and figure out what you want them to achieve (whether or not they get it is beside the point), and then work out how they might go about achieving that. If they'd run full throttle towards it because they think they deserve it or whether they'd fight it every step of the way because they either don't think they want it or don't think they deserve it.

I'm sorry if this is very messy!! It also totally depends on you as a writer. When I try to make "character background sheets", it gives me anxiety and I end up not following through with my writing versus when I try to keep it brief and just dive into the writing and slowly change things and edit as I write. But maybe a sheet works best for you!

[momhwaissues]

Losing My Religion

《Chapter one》

Pairing: Deranged Hongjoong x Too-Good-For-This-World Seonghwa

《 Summary 》

In which photography major Hongjoong worships the ground education major Seonghwa walks on, to the point of obsession; all goes well until Hongjoong crosses the point of no return... And Seonghwa wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom

《 Chapter Warnings 》

kidnapping, mentions of violence, obsessive behavior, religious themes.

《 A/N 》

Proofreading and fixing this chapter took longer than I thought, but alas; this was a thread on Twitter that I decided to cross-post here and on AO3. Comments are always welcomed! Hope this little introduction sets the tone for what's to come.

THIS CHAPTER IS PART OF 18+ CONTENT, MINORS DNI

♱⋆ִ࣪𖤐♱𖤐⋆ִ࣪♱

Hongjoong wouldn't be caught dead admitting being wrong, but right now he had a feeling he may have fucked up. He stared at the man laying on his bed, features peaceful as sleep protected him from reality. He may have fucked up indeed. But Hongjoong knew that everything he did what was necessary, that things escalated quickly, and he needed to fix it somehow. Bringing the other to his apartment would probably buy him some time; not even his friends knew where he lived, let alone those vultures from campus

Seonghwa shifted in his sleep, only to feel a tug on his leg restricting his movements; he furrowed his brows, and a barely audible whine escaped his lips. Hongjoong could only stand there, staring, taking in every single detail of his skin, every movement of his body. Oh, how divine he looked like that.

He had no idea how many hours had passed, legs and back aching from standing still for so long, shivering from the night air. Startled by a particularly cold breeze, he realized how careless he had been, tucking Seonghwa in on his bed with nothing but his clothes and a thin sheet. He must be freezing there without a blanket!

Taking one from the wardrobe behind him, he inched closer to the bed, covering Seonghwa up as delicately as possible. Still leaning forward, towering above the older, he’s caught by surprise by the man starting to wake up.

His mind went a mile per second looking for ways to explain what exactly had happened, to justify the whole situation; it wasn’t his fault if that despicable man decided to invade Seonghwa’s room, his sanctuary. His Star was pure, divine; he held a light of his own, radiating warmth and managing to bring graces to the life of those around him. He wasn't supposed to be tainted by the mundane, corrupted by filthy hands and thoughts.

All Hongjoong could do was stare back as Seonghwa’s eyes started to focus, confusion painting his features at the foreign bed he found himself on. This wasn't his room? Or his date's room? At least he supposed it wasn’t, as the decor didn't match the man he went to the bar with. Has he had too much to drink? Had someone spiked his drink? He couldn't remember much of the date, memories blurring after he had met up with the man. But he could still feel the texture of his clothes on his body, so maybe nothing dangerous had happened.

Hongjoong waited patiently. Not that he had a choice, he could barely breathe standing so close to the man he'd trust his faith and soul to without a second thought. He wasn't worthy of being in his presence, but still there he was, in front of him, on his bed.

Seonghwa was his muse, his faith, his personal belief; for years he had watched him from afar, witnessing his miracles and graces. He was benevolent, never turning his back to those who needed him, even those who didn't know they did. And Hongjoong was his faithful sheep, never straying away, witnessing his every good deed, immortalizing them, praying at his images for his unconditional love.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize that the weather had dropped so much, I should have gotten you a blanket earlier" Seonghwa stared at him, still confused but at least less scared than he was before "It's okay, I'm not cold... but where am I?"

He tried to sit back against the headboard, and once again felt a tug on his leg; Had he injured his ankle somehow? "And I apologize, I can't remember much... what happened?"

The slight slurring on his voice made Hongjoong’s heart skip a beat; he looked even softer like this, washing away his worries. Seonghwa was ever calm, ever patient waiting for Hongjoong to answer. "I saw you at the bar a few hours ago, but I had a feeling you weren't safe; that person with you, he wanted to harm you! And I couldn't let it happen.” he felt anger bubbling again inside him at the mere memory of Seonghwa taking the man’s glass, looking completely out of it a while later. “The only place I could bring you safely was my apartment." Hongjoong lowered his head, avoiding his gaze.

His round eyes went wide at Hongjoong’s words, mixed feelings swirling inside his head. He had been fooled, once again. No person he ever got close seemed to care about him or his feelings; they either ghosted him, or got inexplicably wary around him, acting cold and avoidant. It didn't matter how much he offered to others, it never seemed to be good enough.

Tears started slowly streaming down his face, heart aching, and the sight twisted something inside Hongjoong’s own chest that he couldn’t quite name yet. The world didn't deserve Seonghwa. They would only play with his feelings and hurt him, despite his good nature. Only Hongjoong knew how glorious he really was.

Only Hongjoong deserved him.

"Hey, don't cry, it's all good now;” Hongjoong tried to look as reassuring as he could. “you're safe now, and won't ever have to see that bastard again." He was resolute in making sure of it; Seonghwa nodded back at him, drying his tears with the back of his hands. His eyes were still glistening, but he felt calmer, safer.

After that, Hongjoong managed to convince Seonghwa to sleep some more, saying he still looked a little out of it and promising he'd bring him something to eat as soon as he woke up again. Closing the bedroom door, he felt like he could finally breathe; everything worked out so easily in the end.

Grabbing a set of keys and a black face mask, he left the apartment, going down the stairs towards the building's boiling room; He had unfinished business to take care of.

♱⋆ִ࣪𖤐♱𖤐⋆ִ࣪♱

The place always irked him; too loud, humid and dark, as if straight out of a horror movie. But worse than the room, was the man unconscious on the floor. Being completely honest, Hongjoong had no idea how he managed to bring him there. It had happened before, being so enraged that his body acted on its own accord. He probably dragged the man through the service entry at the parking lot, the possibility of getting caught never crossing his mind. The lack of security on the building helped a lot in times like this. And if the guy ended up with a concussion or two, he couldn't care less.

It wasn't the first time he had to teach someone a lesson, to make them repent from trying to taint Seonghwa’s purity, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. More than anything he wished it could be, that others could come to their senses and see Seonghwa as the magnificent being that he was. The absurdity of their blindness instigated too much all at once: the protectiveness, the rage, the jealousy.

And once again the hour passed on a blur. The stranger was tied to a pipe, dangerously unconscious; he sported several bruises and burn marks through his broad back and naked torso. Not even fire would be enough to purify the man from his sinful intentions, but at least for now he had repented from his misstep.

He untied the sinner and pondered what to do next. Exiting through the same route he got in, he left the barely alive body on an alleyway several blocks from the building, a known spot for burglars and other criminals to reign free. Another perk of living on the least privileged side of the city.

With that nuisance taken care of, he took the time to get himself cleaned and to prepare something for Seonghwa to eat. He may not be the best cook, but his mother's special dish was one he was very proud of learning; his Star deserved something worthy of his appetite.

Seonghwa woke up to the rich smell of broth and the sound of the door opening. He still felt dizzy, but considerably less than earlier; he could now recognize the short man in front of him, someone he had seen many times around campus but never got the name of.

"Oh, did I make you wait for too long? I'm sorry, I had to fix some things before coming back. " Hongjoong almost looked wary, but he presumed it was simply worry for his well-being. The food looked delicious, and Seonghwa couldn't remember when was the last time he ate. He couldn't remember much at all. "Don't worry, I just woke up. I'm feeling a lot better too, only hungry." Hongjoong relaxed as Seonghwa seemed less scared than before, almost glad to see him again.

He was waiting for him, and that alone made everything worth it.

After eating, Hongjoong was persistent about him drinking at least the glass of water he brought. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was, throat burning and tongue dry. Now that most of his needs were satiated, Seonghwa felt light and floating, the horrible experience mainly forgotten for now. He could feel Hongjoong’s heavy gaze on him, waiting for something, or maybe to say something.

"I don't think you remember me, we used to go to the same school before college, the same classroom as well" He looked shy and hopeful, although odds were the man in front of him didn't; how could his Star remember him, know about his existence? He was an observer, a sideliner, a nobody.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure…" and he could feel a little bit of his heart breaking "Kim, right? Your last name, I mean."

The soft light from the table lamp reflected on Seonghwa’s golden skin, and there hasn't been a moment before that had looked more divine than now; Not when alone at the park during sunset, nor when peaceful asleep, illuminated by the full moon. Right now he looked holy, an angel from above so benevolent to the point of remembering his name.

"Yes! It's me!” He could barely contain the pure joy he felt. “I mean, sorry, I'm Hongjoong. Kim Hongjoong. " The way he stuttered may have made him embarrassed, but it was worth the melodious giggle that left Seonghwa’s lips. He once again looked peaceful, almost dozing off again, "Thank you, Kim Hongjoong, for taking care of me;” the movement of his eyelids slowly coming to a halt with each blink. “I'm really grateful you were there. My guardian angel."

As the world faded to black again and reality and dreams blended together, Seonghwa barely acknowledged the painful tug on his ankle as he tried to get more comfortable, or the distant voice whispering back to him "I've always been there my angel.”

Hongjoong couldn’t hold back the urge to finally feel him, a chaste kiss on his forehead.

“And I forever will be.”

[uneducated-author]

Something that's been interesting me a long time is the sword Solslevni? Sosevly?

So the sword was originally a human, with the ability to fuse a body and ability. Which means it's incredibly valuable in the hands of Aya, who has iterated that she is a normal girl without abilities, with nothing but her heart ("which is why I need help from the people of that world") and her determination to never turn away from justice. It gives her a level playing field.

(It could also potentially give her an ability. Personally, I like the idea of a normal girl helping to save the world, without having to develop superhero abilities. Aya has trained every day, has devoted herself to justice, is determined to be brave and never cowardly, and I think that should count as much as any ability.)

Bram also references the Holy Crest, meaning a sigil burned onto the hand of someone, who can then wield the sword. This is the second time he's been impaled on it. We aren't given many details on the first occasion, weirdly don't even see the sword, just know that he lost his fiefdom. He obviously cares about them enough that as a literal muppet he's begging for them to have ownership of their land.

But remember that flashback? 'Because I'm not interested in the World'? With a girl who looked exactly like Aya?

There are theories of reincarnation with that, of Aya being the soul of Bram's wife/daughter, but I don't think reincarnation fits super well? Bungou Stray Dogs treats death seriously. When someone dies they don't come back in anything other than a hallucination, and we don't get references to heaven or hell, just angels and demons. Even Fyodor, who is the most vocally religious speaks more about a god blessing his endeavours and respecting his efforts, not about his final reward or anything. Fukuchi recited Buddhist doctrines and philosophy, but they're more introspective than religious, on his own character and perception of flaws and sin.

(This is to my understanding, I'd love to hear anyone else's perspective on the matter as I am not Buddhist.)

What if Aya was a past wielder of the sword? Someone dear to Bram, who took out the sword after the owner before her died, or some other circumstances. Someone he cared about, and someone who saved him. Someone who utilised the sword to give herself the ability to send her soul further forward in time, to whenever Bram may need her.

Imagine Aya, with no memories or knowledge, but the vindication to protect people. Imagine her forever knowing that there is someone she has to defend. Imagine her with a dead mother and sister, but the knowledge that she has to train, has to be brave, has to fight.

Fukuchi may not be the only the Holy Crest, because years ago, someone loved Bram so dearly that she made sure there was a chance that should he ever be hurt again, she would be able to help him.

And imagine what Aya could do when she uses the Holy Crest to use the sword. Could she tear away Fukuchi's ability? Shred Brams vampirism? Give herself the power to save the world? Take away the power of the book?

Who knows? Every child wants to change the World, let's see what happens to a child who can.

[andromedaexists]

WUPDATE: Desecrate

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟼𝚝𝚑 || 𝙱𝙴𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙸 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙾𝚃

sorry for stepping away for a few weeks, there were a couple things happening in my life that required my full attention!

BUT I'M BACK!!! (a lil bit late BUT THAT'S OKAY) and I come with news!

I was accepted into Lavender Con! It's a new book convention in Washington, DC that's coming up in June! I will be attending as an author with 2 days of signing time for Call Me Icarus! I will also be bringing a couple proofs of Incorrect Eyes, I might even give them out as ARCs!!

Incorrect Eyes is entering revisions! I stopped working on it for a few weeks to let it ruminate while some alpha readers looked at it. Not all of my readers have come back to me at this point, but I have enough feedback that I want to start working on it and get it rolling!

Desecrate is entering re-writes! I have a decent amount written from last spring when I used Desecrate as my final project for Starting A Novel. Since then, I have changed a lot of things including the entirety of Kit's personality, so the story is going into full re-writes!

I have a new project on my plate! I had the idea for a cozy fantasy that I would love to work on in the background as a way to sort of decompress from my heavy hitters (a.k.a. my stories about: rebellion & revolution, paranoia & body horror, and the deconstruction of religion & religious trauma). This is a background work so I don't wanna talk too much on it, but i'm very excited about it!!

I think that covers most of what's going on! I spent a lot of time developing a (nearly 10k word) plot outline for desecrate and we're going back in from square one!

But I know y'all are here for the snippies:

snippies are going to be a little bit different moving forward now that the news of tumblr feeding our posts to AI has come out. I've already opted out of this happening again, but just in case tumblr is a soulless corporation (it is), I am still going to remain cautious. That means the snippies I share will now be from early drafts of my stories and will not be the same as they appear on page. They might also be shorter! but I don't want to stop sharing all-together

from desecrate:

Kit feels emotions thick in the back of his throat as he walks through the home. Everything has been left untouched, covered by a light layer of dust from the year of vacancy. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have a lot to move in, there isn’t much room left. “Whoa, are these all you?” Benny asks from across the room. Ah yes, the Kit wall. His mother had installed it in the house before they moved to the city, leaving his papa here alone. It’s the far wall of the living room and it’s filled with hundreds of photos, all of him from the time of his birth up until the day they moved about a decade ago. Kit walks over to join Benny just as Father Isaac comes up behind them, resting his hands on their shoulders (Kit & Benny are shoulder to shoulder w/ father Isaac between then but behind them family portrait style). His eyes scan over his youth photographed before him. Pictures of him as an infant in the frilly dresses his mom made him wear, pictures from every year of ballet he did, pictures from ever sport he ever participated it. “Oh my God!” Benny gasps. “Kitty, you never told me that you were a cheerleader?” In her hand is a picture from 8th grade, the year before they moved. The year before kit’s life changed. A pang of sadness resounds through Kit’s heart as he looks at the picture. He was happy, truly happy then. He misses those much simpler times when he didn’t know who he was but that didn’t matter, that didn’t stop him from doing what he loved to do with the people he loved.

TAGLIST

@lockejhaven @mr-writes @eleanordaze @flowerprose @starlitpage @dogmomwrites @annetilney @ceph-the-ghost-writer @inkspellangel @outpost51

Please fill out this form to be added or ask to be removed!

[sunwarmed-ash]

🌹 I heard you have more DBH goodies to share? 👀❤️

Yyyyeeeeaaaaa!!!!!

@sweeteatercat do yall remember the Christmas party one? I couldn't find it to reblog so im reposting plus more 👀👀👀👀👀

Gavin’s not really a Christmas person. In fact, he generally hates any hallmark or religious based holiday. But, the DPD throws one hell of a Christmas Party every year and any place with free booze and food is a place Gavin will be. 

He’s lost track of how many spiked egg nogs he’s had by now. It's well into the late hours of the night and the only people still here at the party are the desperate singles hoping to take someone they work with home for the night.

Gavin sorta falls into that category. Publicly he is single. But in actuality, he and Nines have been banging pretty much any time they get a free moment.  

Speaking of Nines, he hasn’t seen his partner-turned-fuck-buddy in a while. He scanned the room looking for the blue LED, not seeing him in the dim-lit bullpen. 

His peripherals catch movement and when he turns he sees the reflection of an LED on one of the glass office dividers. 

“Gotcha.”

Gavin dips from the bullpen after the android, hoping for once, maybe he can get the jump on Nines. 

-

“There you are,” Gavin growls, grabbing his android by the back of his neck before moving them swiftly and silently into a storage closet. “Been looking for this sweet ass all night.”

As soon as his boot kicks the door closed, Gavin’s lips are on Nines’, kissing him hard. It's been too long since he’s kissed his boyfriend and the spiked eggnog in his veins is making him frisky. 

“Gavin,” Nines pants and Gavin takes the opportunity of the androids mouth being open to push his tongue inside. The android whines before returning the kiss with equal excitement and Gavin chuckles. He’s never been able to reduce Nines to a whimper before. It fuels his ego enough to let his hands explore, slipping under his layers until Gavin’s fingertips touch heated, synthetic skin. Nines’ is speechless but his hands find Gavin’s hips and grip him tight, pulling him in closer. 

As soon as Gavin’s exploratory hands slip between Nines’ legs and squeezes his hard cock, two things happen. One. Nines pants, 

“Gavin, Gavin, it’s Connor,” against his lips, and Two. The door of the closet they are making out in flies open, casting their explicit activities into the light. 

The next moment Gavin is being yanked off Connor’s body by an invisible, familiar force. He’s moved and then pinned to the wall by unmistakably now, his android partner. A warning hand wraps around Gavin’s throat and Nines glacier eyes are lethal.

Shame and arousal burn hot through Gavin’s veins and Nines threatening punishment only makes him hotter. 

“N-Nines, come on.” 

The hand around his throat tightens. Gavin yields further. “I’m sorry, I didn't know, swear-”

“So you'll throw yourself on anyone who shares my face? Should I call up Sixty? See if he’s free to fuck your loose hole too?”

Gavin’s hips rocket forward with a groan, positively begging for friction, attention, anything his partner will give him, but Nines anticipates it and moves out of the way, not giving Gavin an inch. 

“Nines, babe, come on, it's not like that,” Gavin pleads, hoping this fit of jealousy turns into more of the hot claiming sex that always leaves Gavin’s mind clear and body limping the next day. Because Nines did get jealous, even if he insists his ‘advanced model’ doesn't. Especially when it comes to Connor. 

“Right, its not personal, you're just a slut.”

Gavin hates to admit it, but yeah, that’s really it.

“You're both hot, phcking sor-ry.” And it was an honest mistake. Outside of the eye color Connor and Nines look identical. And it's dark, and he’s been drinking. Its a party, cut him a phcking break.

Nines’ eyes lower threateningly but Connor smiles like Gavin just gifted him the highest praise. It does stupid, conflicting things to his heart. 

“Boy I sure hope I'm interrupting,” someone slurs a little drunkenly, and Gavin’s entire body breaks out in a hot sweat because he’s caught, with his literal pants undone, still obviously hard, and very much in the middle of something explicit with not only his android, but Hank’s. 

“On the contrary Lieutenant, you're right on time,” Connor chirps, leaning over to kiss him right in front of Gavin and Nines. 

Gavin is phcking shocked by the motion whereas Nines barely flinches. Which can only mean,

“Wait, you knew?”

“I’m surprised the entire precinct doesn't know. It’s not like they’ve been particularly stealthy,” Nines scolds.

Connor giggles and Hank joins in on the laughter. 

“Yeah, well you're just pissed Gav doesn't put out as much as Connor does.”

“Excuse me?” Gavin sasses before Nines’ strong grip on his cock has him snapping his jaw shut. He moans and attempts to gain some control over his body before clearing his throat. Nines smirks. 

“Oh I’m sorry, did you think anyone was talking to you slut?” Nines mocks and Gavin’s mouth falls open to pant again.

“Phck. S-Sorry…”

“Better. Now did you need something?”

“Fuck me, please,” he begs a little brethless, because that’s all he wants. Is to be fucked so hard he can’t walk tomorrow. By all three of them most preferably. 

“Oh you’ll be fucked. But you’re getting punished first. Hank and Connor will watch.”

Gavin’s knees buckle from the overwhelming pleasure that fills him with.  

-

Gavin’s hands are behind his back, handcuffed together and his ass is naked and exposed for Nines to punish and Hank and Connor to openly ogle. It makes his cock ache and his body itch in anticipation for whatever Nines is going to do next. 

The first strike comes across both ass cheeks hard, and Gavin's hips buck against the cold metal table. 

“Phck Nines, don’t cripple me.” 

“Act like a slut get treated like one.”

“Yes Sir,” Gavin groans, melting a little deeper against the table. The second hit is hard, but not as much as the first and its perfect.

Other people might object to this kind of treatment, but in all actuality Gavin likes it. It's kinda the problem. Well its not a problem in his eyes... “Does that mean you’re all gonna fuck me too?”

Nines rolls his eyes. 

"You don't deserve it, but yes." 

Gavin whines and his brain whites out in pleasure in anticipation of actually being fucked by all three of them.

"Open your mouth." Nines orders.

Gavin does, naturally sucking Nines long slender fingers into his mouth, and coating them generously with saliva. 

"He's got you trained real good Reed," Hank teases.

It makes Gavin’s whimper around the digits as his cock pulses out more precum.  

"Enough," Nines says, pulling his fingers back before finally, finally breaching his ass with one, then a second in quick succession.

“Oh phck.” 

"Connor, come here," Nines orders and Connor takes a place behind Gavin. 

"He needs to be looser if he’s going to take your Lieutenant.”

“Yes, he is,” Connor confirms, and Gavin is hit with the visual of Hank breaking Connor with his enormous cock and pre cum is pushing out the pierced head of his cock. 

“Oh phck…”

“Lick him open. Don’t make him cum.”

[rainbowbarnacle]

So I finished playing Pentiment

and I am lying here face down weeping into a pillow. It broke my heart and then it mended it again. Definitely up there as one of the best stories I've ever wandered through in a videogame.

You start out as an artist in the 1500s trying to finish your masterpiece while doing illustration work for the local abbey to make money, and when a sudden murder occurs you're left to try and solve it, but this is just Act 1. There is so much to see and do and read about in this game, it stretches onto this unspeakably detailed journey centered around this town and its people and its history.

I went in without knowing a thing about it other than what I saw in the trailer, and I. had. a. blast. Along with getting to explore various settings in this town, there are a sprinkling of fun mini games that shake things up just enough to keep you from feeling like you're doing nothing but roaming from place to place and reading all the dialogue and flavor text.

The plot goes places you would never guess in a million years, and every new twist and turn just reveals EVEN MORE INCREDIBLE THINGS. There are dialogue lines that will stick in your brain and parts that will make you laugh and parts that will make you cry and parts that will just wrap you up in everything it is to live in this town--its people, its culture, its holidays, its food, its art, its landmarks, how things change, how things stay the same, you will love it all so much as the game goes on. All that aside, the entire concept of a game being a story in a manuscript and all the gameplay occurring inside the little illustrations? That was such a visual stroke of genius, just seeing that drew me in right away. The art style is lovely and the music is lovely and the background noises are wonderful and immersive and I feel like you could spend hours just looking and listening to all of it.

And there's enough of the "book" in there that you don't forget it's a book. When you enter different areas, it interprets this through page turnings. Instead of the usual "bidibidibidibi" sounds you get with videogame dialogue, it's scribbly pen noises or print machine clunking. Characters have different fonts and sometimes the font changes in mid-sentence, and sometimes for violent emphasis there's a SCRAWLING sound like the writer is carving the words into the page with the pen. Sometimes in even worse situations there's even ink splattered among the words.

There is an option to see the text instantly, (as well as a nice accessibility option where the fonts are easier to read if it's too detailed to make out) but I found myself liking seeing the words written out for me with an invisible pen, especially since there are little moments where stuff gets crossed out and rewritten or the writer corrects little spelling mistakes. There's also a ton of replay value--you decide things like what topics your character studied in school, what personality they have, what languages they know, what types of books your character reads, and what skills they have--and throughout the game you can make choices and have special skills depending on what you pick. (Alas, this is not a game that lets you create your own character entirely like you would in, say, FFXIV or Baldur's Gate 3; I'm being a little vague for spoilery purposes, but you'll have fun figuring out what you want to do. I'm already looking forward to seeing what happens in Playthrough 2 when I do things way differently. :D)

It's been an hour since I wrapped up my first playthrough and I'm still reeling at everything. What an incredible, incredible game.

So in short: thank you so, so much @mercurialmalcontent for getting me this for Christmas. <3<3<3

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

Nazi dumbfuck

I know you're trying to goad me but let me explain something about my family history

My ancestors name was Julia Levy, she immigrated to America in the year 1848, Levy is another version of Levi my family comes from the Levite tribe, I had family not directly but I had cousins in the Holocaust my main family tree is burnt to the ground and only really my branch has survived as a result nobody in my family can figure out before Julia who belongs in our tree because all the records have been burned by actual Nazi's

Did you know a majority of my family laid dead in Ukraine as Ukraine had another term for their Holocaust the Holocaust of Bullets. A majority of my family probably lie in Mass Graves out there

Also, if this is about Palestine, let me explain something to you the Is Not Real state is breaking every single rule in the Torah when it comes to being Jewish

I was not raised Jewish religiously because my family left the faith after a couple of generations because of hatred but I do know the Torah and it's rules

There is a line that says only King David can lead the Jewish people anyone else is blasphemous and trying to bring about the End of Days because the only reason King David would be bringing the people together into Israel is if Revelations was happening

Again nobody else let alone the Ten Commandments coveting what is not theirs what is their neighbors murdering to get that

Is Not Real is a Zionist Colonizing Settler State,

I'm not anti-semitic I'm anti-zionist and anti nazi if I find out anybody is a Nazi around me I don't care if I go to jail they'll be finding themselves facing Yeshua for judgment because I personally sent them to him

Because I'm Jewish in blood but Nordic pagan in religion, and we have been busy cleaning out the muck that is those white supremacists that have tried to touch this religion the Nazis that tried claiming it as their own once again I will send them to their maker

Fucking try me, I do not stand for hatred I do not stand for genocide, I stand for a diversified world where there are no borders where there are no walls and there are no slaves being forced to work for other countries even if it meant I had to give up what comfortabilities I have! If it meant another could have warmth love and something to look forward to in the future a stable amazing life.

Because right now children in the Congo they're busy mining for the Cobalt needed to make our Electronics

Right now Palestine is the most noticed and recognized genocide occurring happening, but there are four other genocides going on right now. Can you label them, dear reader, the Uyghurs Muslims, Myanmar, Congo Sudan

And yes I dare say North Korea because while those in the city live in relative comfort outside millions of Koreans are dying of starvation and being offed by a government that is tyrannical.

And yet our governments stand by, our people go after each other making false claimants like this while Millions possibly upwards of a billion people are having their lives brutally cut short for only being who they are.

[okayto]

Mini-Review: Akuma Kun

Ichiro Umoregi is the second Akuma-kun – adopted by Shingo Umoregi as a little boy, Ichiro is meant to be carrying on his father's work of bringing about the utopic Millenium Kingdom. But Ichiro has a difficult relationship with his dad and despite the sometimes desperate attempts of his cousin Mephisto III, Ichiro just kind of trudges through life. But when a strange angel from his past appears, Ichiro is forced out of his torpor because sometimes the world really is worth preserving.

-or-

Akuma Kun, a boy raised by a demon, works with his half-human partner Mephisto III as paranormal investigators to solve various murder and mysteries.

Paranormal investigators? Right up my alley! This was pushed to me on Netflix and as per uzh I added it to my watchlist and ignored it for a while. I was definitely intrigued, but the art looked...odd. Not bad, but with some round heads and other features that put in in mind of styles popular before I was born, I figured I'd look into it another time.

Interesting art style, right? Not bad--let me be clear! But definitely distinct, and when I see something that appears to have roots several decades old, I often want to look it up and see what its backstory is, y'know?

Fast-forward a couple months later: I'm reading Anime News Network's best/worst end-of-year roundup, and Rebecca Silverman listed this anime as one of the top five "moments of the year," writing:

Shifting from Japanese folklore to Western religious lore, the story follows the second person to bear the title of Akuma-kun, the adopted son of the original. Shingo rescued Ichiro as a child, and he gives the impression of not being nearly as invested in his role as "Akuma-kun" as he perhaps ought to be. But as the series goes on, it becomes apparent that it's not that he doesn't care; it's that if he lets himself, he'll get lost in the role, and that means seeing the absolute worst that humans are capable of, over and over and over again.

Mentions of horror, investigation, supernatural, and a character who appears to be hiding under a gruff or apathetic exterior? Suddenly, it seemed like a good time to start watching. And then the moment I heard the main character's voice, absolutely marinading in calm apathy, I knew it was going to be good.

So, this is a new (2023) anime that apparently can act as a sequel to a 1989 anime of the same name, which was itself an adaptation of a 1960s-70s manga by the creator of Gegege no Kitaro, a classic series involving many yokai, and one which I've heard about but have thus far never managed to read or watch. The connection between the classic about Japanese ghouls/ghosts/creatures and Akuma-kun, which is more based (vaguely?) on Abrahamic mysticism, intrigued me.

The basis is this: every 10,000 years, a child, always called Akuma-kun, is born who will help usher in a period of peace between humans and demons. Our current Akuma-kun (whose non-prophecy name is Ichiro) is the adopted son of the previous one (Shingo, who starred in the 1989 series). He's assisted by his cousin-by-adoption, the half-human, half-demon Mephisto III.

Together, the two boys set up a supernatural detective/investigative agency, and that's when we get to see how good this series actually is.

Don't let the cartoony designs fool you, this stuff gets dark. While it's never particularly gory, there is blood, there is at least one off-screen-but-audible instance of ripping a heart out, etc. So as the viewer, we quickly realize that these kids are up against actual threats.

The cases cover things like demon possession, trying to use power beyond your control, and so forth. They're not mysteries the viewer can solve, but they're good at keeping you paying attention to learn the result, not drawing things out too long nor fixing everything too quickly.

The recurring characters are what makes or breaks it, however. Mephisto III takes everything seriously, understanding and worrying about what happens when normal humans come into contact with a demon. He looks like comic relief, and he can get a bit shouty, but at his core he's just a straightforward boy who wants to help people and is frustrated at his cousin's...lack of that.

Ichiro, the current Akuma-kun, is more of an enigma. He's clearly brilliant, book-smart with good recall and not particularly excitable. He also has absolutely no social graces and is frequently rude, not because he's mean or wants to be, but because he's incredibly blunt and, despite Mephisto's attempts to rein him in, has no concept of tact regarding delicate subjects and really doesn't care about learning. (And let's be real, that's a dream for many people in at least some situations.)

We know that Ichiro lived with demons for a while, and his relationship with his father, Shingo, the previous Akuma-kun, is strained despite Shingo appearing to be a perfectly nice and well-adjusted person. It takes the whole series to work out the details, which makes the ending feel like excellent payoff.

As the series goes on, it shows more and more of its worldbuilding, and it's just so intriguing. I want to know more about demons! And the demon world! And Ichiro's life with the pre-adoption! How'd he even get there? What is sexy ghoul Gremory's deal? She's so fun, can we get her history? What happens next?

Verdict

English dub? Yes! And like most dubs through Netflix, it's good. Everyone was excellently-cast; Mephisto's voice was exactly what I expected based on his performance, yet without being grating on the ears. And Ichiro/Akuma-kun's flat, unexcited voice was perfect. It would have been easy to take that voice and make it boring or monotone, but it's not: it does an excellent job from the moment you hear it conveying that this is a character who doesn't really get upset or display strong emotion, without making the character himself seem flat.

Visuals: Very nice! Not only is this a recent series, but I really liked the kinda-round, cartoony style. Like I mentioned above, as soon as I saw it I thought it originated in another time period, which it did, and there's something about older art style that appeals to me; maybe it's just a weird combination of nostalgia for things I did experience as a kid (the way Ichiro's mouth is drawn slightly droopy, is reminiscent of a lot of older American cartoons I watched) and a really strange nostalgia for anime I've never watched but which floated around when I was first entering fandom, names and pictures of things I'd never heard of, but which everyone older than me sure seemed to.

Worth watching? Yes, as long as you have a tolerance for paranormal murder investigations where people sometimes die and/or there's some blood splatters. I think it's really interesting, particularly because this kind of supernatural topic doesn't come up in anime a lot. The two minor downsides to it are:

It gives you enough information to understand, but there are probably some references or other context missed because of its connection to the 1989 Akuma-kun. Don't get me wrong, it's understandable and enjoyable regardless! But I did read the non-spoilery series review on Anime News Network before I watched, and I think having that context going in specifically understanding that Shingo was the previous Akuma-kun (and ran around with Mephisto's dad, who now cheerfully supports his son) was helpful context.

Netflix for some reason calls it Akuma Kun. Trying to recall, I think this is the only Japanese honorific used in the English dub, so I assume this was a stylistic choice to allow them to keep the same name/title as Japanese. But to people who have some familiarity with honorifics, it's weird to see it written like Kun is a second name, like "Mary Ann."

Where to watch (USA, as of February 2024): Netflix

Click my “reviews” tag below or search “mini review” on my blog to find more!

[claireelizabethsblog]

~ August's Books Reviewed ~

The month started out strong with me riding a Sanderson high, then I did a thing that I objectively hate and know will 9 times out of 10 have me reading less, which is started several books at once.... as of the end of August I was reading three books at once, yet none of them were finished so none of them get included in August's round up... look forward to that in September I guess!

The Well of Ascension by Brandon Sanderson

(763 pages)

The stress I felt reading this was unreal... which is simply evidence of how good it is. It genuinely was pulling actual visceral reactions from me and I physically could not put it down at points. I know this is a shorter review than usual, but I can think of nothing else to say.

I gave this book 5 stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Hero of Ages by Brandon Sanderson

(748 pages)

An amazing conclusion to a really really good trilogy. The twists and turns of this were so well executed and completely shocking in exactly the right way. The ending in particular I never could have seen coming. If this were a spoiler review I'd be able to go on more, but for now, I leave with simply the promise that if you love fantasy novels, Sanderson novels, epic twists and/or social/religious/political commentary then you should definitely give this series a try!

I gave this book 5 stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

(585 pages)

I was gifted this book and admit to being a little wary before committing to reading it, as a general rule books that blow up exclusively on social media tend to be a let down to me after the copious amounts of hype they've received. I'm pleased to say that was not the case with this book. If anything, I was pleasantly surprised with how much I enjoyed it. It was extremely uniquely written; it was emotional, clever and beautiful. The characters were all so complex and felt genuinely so real. I would say that was the highlight of this book, the characterisation. Every character you could relate to a real person. You sympathised with their decisions, or at least understood them. Like real life, there was no villains and heroes. Bad people and good people and somewhere in the middle people, sure. But also like real life, the last group was the most prevalent, and the first two groups different to each individual's opinions. I would actually really recommend this book to almost everyone I know who reads, I'm pretty sure everyone could find something in it that keeps their focus, be it the mystery, the love story, the characters....

I gave this book 5 stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The twist of a knife by Anthony Horowitz

(373 pages)

I am like 90% sure that this was not the first book in a series, however it stood well as a stand alone book too! Like the other Horowitz book I read earlier this year, I found this novel a little slow to pick up at first, however I did get into it in the end. I found it clever and quirky and I loved the meta elements. Ultimately, it was exactly what it was advertised as - a light, humorous murder mystery - and actually, I'm not mad about taking a break for something silly every so often!

I gave this book 3 stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️

If We Were Villains by M. L. Rio

(422 pages)

After the success of The Seven Husbands, I felt brave enough to try another recent social media favourite book. I'd seen mixed reviews over this one, however my flatmate strongly recommended it and as usual, our tastes in books aligned and it was extremely good. Despite the predictability of the plot, I was fully engaged the entire way through which speaks to how well the characters were depicted that I was willing to look past the predictability of it all just to read more about the people. In fact, I would like to make this a formal call for more people to start writing fanfictions for this novel because I want to read even more about these characters and am being denied that currently based off the limited options on ao3 (if anyone has any good recommendations please let me know!) I think, if I had read this in another month it would have received five stars, however it was let down by the fact that it was read within the same weeks as Sanderson and The Seven Husbands which meant I could not in good conscience give it full marks when the plot was just a little too easy to see coming for me. Therefore....

I gave this book 4 stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

[thegodthief]

What're you most looking forward to next year? It can be spiritual / religious, or magical, or just completely mundane!

Every time I have looked at this ask, it has been a different time of day, and my answer will have changed accordingly! Let's see... since it looks like I'm going to stick around and make it everyone else's problem, what kind of problems do I want to get into?

LASAGNA! Garfield had it right, a good lasagna is a reason to keep going. Not the modern thick slabs of barely cooked pasta with meat flavored "sauce" and whipped cellulose cheese substitute. I want something that Baba made after sending us kids to all the grocery stores for just the right collection of cheeses. I want a lasagna slice so dense with animal proteins, a deep-dish pizza is going to spill itself in the oven in jealousy. I want a lasagna that requires a steak-knife to cut, none of this "press firmly with a spatula" bullshit. I need my ribs spackled!

Finishing Book Two. Really. Seriously. It's time to let the guilt of falling down go away and get back up and get back in it. When I look back and see what had happened that year, that so many people at work saw that I was spiraling in a bad way but chose to get popcorn, or worse, do nothing, so that when I crashed and openly broke down it was to no one's surprise... when I look back and see what I fucking lived through... Fuck it. Melissa's story is not going to get told unless I tell it. Even though I don't expect anyone to read it. I've noticed that stories set during the height of the pandemic are vigorously avoided. And I get that. A lot of people don't want to be reminded of what happened. But some of us don't have the luxury of forgetfulness and if finishing Book Two (and eventually, the planned series) is what helps me heal, well, it's cheaper than anything the medical system can offer me.

Change of Address. Last year, I had the opportunity to purchase a house. Between credit score and income, it looked like I was going to be able to do the thing after all. I had the help of some competent agents that were frank about what I could afford and what kind of neighborhoods that looked like around here. I almost jumped for it at the time, but did not. Staying put was the right thing to do after all that happened, but I haven't forgotten the opportunity is still there. I just want a better launch pad to go from. (Besides, if all works out, I might even get to host a dinner.)

Connecting with others. Because of what had happened to me at the local Well-known Pagan Occult Shop (they don't like being called pagan because SEO) a literal decade ago, I had given up on any local meet-ups, seminars, or even just safe places to hang out. I was well played and was being set up to be the Bad Person™ when I walked away and I knew that any attempt to tell the truth would just result in me being targeted harder for retaliation either by the asshole that took advantage of me or the people who thought he walked on water such that he was incapable of being a sexual predator. Just when I thought I could start again in other areas, the pandemic showed up, and in the midst of that, a Big Name Occultist revealed what all the outsiders knew about his leanings and getting away from all that left me stained and crushed because I thought I had learned my lesson from the first grifter, but apparently not. But. I survived that, just like I survived everything else, and learning how to make friends is going to be harder than learning how to live, but I'll give it a try.

MOAR BITCHING! I have become competent enough in Spanish that I can speak it at work and hold my own to the point where some of the native Spanish speakers look at me funny when they realize that I'm conversing with them because it's fluid enough for them to forget that it's not my first language. It feels like I've hit a critical milestone in that my lessons now are about the more obscure words, phrases, and topics to round things out. I'm not going to throttle down on the Spanish, but it's time for me to begin on a few other languages that I've always wanted to learn but my childhood teachers said I was too stupid to pick up. Spite is an incredible motivator. My goal is to be able to bitch out a cunt in at least three different languages in the same breath and still be parsable to any eavesdropping native speaker.

[blindedbythedarkness]

The Undeniable Dystopia is Here.

Life is bad. Like shockingly, horrifyingly bad. Growing up really felt like living through a series of unfortunate events- I was certainly repeatedly traumatized. But I never had to fight for my life every single day. That's where we are right now, and yet 95% of people can't or won't acknowledge reality. Hell really is empty and all the devils are here.

We live in a cesspit of plague. That's the state of the entirity of the Western world. I didn't want it at the start because I knew I was more "vulnerable" to its effects. Now I'd avoid it with just as much effort even if I was the healthiest person on Earth. The vaccines didn't stop the death, they just made it slower so people wouldn't notice.

All around me the effects are obvious. Everyone is ill. "The worst colds ever" and "the first year they've ever had hayfever". Quality of life is plummeting. Life expectancy is plummeting. Workers shortages. The internet full of people begging society to change course but incapable of leaving their beds to plead in person. Babies born tiny and starved, the effects on their brains untold. Kids collecting autoimmune diseases like pokemon cards. More Strep. More RSV. Kid after kid with their limbs stripped to the bone to stop the bacteria killing the rest of them. Brain damage termed just "brain fog." Friends of friends dropping dead. Strokes galore.

But you only see it if you're willing to open your eyes.

I can't study safely. I can't sit my exams without risking another hit of the virus that has already left me more disabled. It's not safe to go to the shops. It's not safe to sit in my own garden without a mask. It's not safe to go to the hospital- I know for sure because that's where I caught it last time. Every possible step forward, every possible move, every single day, involves a level of risk I couldn't comprehend 4 years ago.

I don't have PTSD, because we are not 'post'. The trauma is still growing.

At uni, I sit there in full PPE. PPE I spent more money on than I can afford, as someone who lives on less than minimum wage. I look around the room for the seat with the best ventilation, the best chance of air flow. I'm not religious, but I pray. Because I cannot afford to become even more disabled and I cannot afford to disable the person I love most. And then in filter 200 people who no longer care who they hurt with what they spread. Most avoid me- an uncomfortable reminder of the ongoing horror. One decides to sit next to me, coughing, excitedly asking me if I will be joining them for post-exam drinks. Indoors. Unmasked. We live in parallel worlds and yet they cannot even acknowledge that much.

They jet off abroad. Go to clubs. Have a sniffle but visit gran anyway. I pay attention when watching shows set in other dystopias, taking note of how to clean and suture a wound at home if needed. We cannot risk the hospital. I grow vegetables as the online prices rise and we cannot risk a trip to the store. I'm reminding my family what's at stake and begging them to protect themselves because I can't lose anyone else. And I'm praying.

Once again, just like when I was a teen, I find my comfort in misunderstood monsters and outcasts. The lonely characters that the world hates, who break down in tears when shown an ounce of kindness. I get wrapped up in the fantasy of having a safe space where I can finally let my guard down just for a minute. Where I can finally feel seen and see a bearable future. And when I see their visible scars, I feel them too, and I struggle against the urge to make more of my own.

There's no one coming to help me though and no safety in sight. There is just endurance. Even what remains of the mental health service is useless- why would I explain my pain to someone likely happily spreading the very virus that has created this hell? And I can't ask for support from my uni- they've made their views clear that this is my "anxiety" and I'm merely "overly cautious".

But I caught it, so not cautious enough. And it damaged my already disabled body further, so not anxious enough.

The undeniable dystopia is here and there is no end in sight.