#a blasphemous response to a beautiful ask

[002yb]

do you have any thoughts about priest jason todd? haha i want to see your take on it, esp if in this au dickjay was a thing or happened. i was thinking about priest jason todd and mirrorverse batfam so he’s like the only “good” one and he has a code not to kill while everyone else here doesn’t care ab killing, also the thought of dick tempting jay ^^ or honestly just the entire batfam just mourning and being basically mob bosses until jason gets resurrected and eventually comes to gotham and is oike “so i know i’m back but now i’m a god lover and a priest and hey oh also i don’t kill�� and everyone is just “now hold on a second-“

Demons have followed Jason all his life - metaphorically and literally. At least in the literal sense, it's always the same fuckers, too. They're relentless.

Maybe it's because Jason was one of them, but by some twist of fate he was given absolution and reborn with a 'clean slate' to do right. Or maybe it's a plea bargain - help as many souls as he hurt while Jason was a demon and that will be his retribution, his mercy from hellfire. Or he's part of some twisted game. Stolen from his home and influenced to reject it.

For the sake of this ask: he died. He came back wrong. No memories, no corruption - just a penchant for attracting the wicked. Everything else is open to interpretation.

The family wants him back though. And Jason might not realize, but he's darkness welcomed past the church's threshold; he brings damnation by association.

Not necessarily by the family, but by others. Because Jason's soul is tortured. Tormented. It's known suffering from a life he can't remember and one he does - caused by men created in his God's image and by monsters that were cast from his kingdom.

Basically Father Hot Toddies is prime real estate (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Anyway, background. Jason attracts abusive people. He influences people to abuse him. Try as he might to help, there's a darkness at his fingertips and devastation in his wake.

Instant distraction -- Jason self-flagellating whenever he feels he failed to help someone or thinks he led anyone astray. It's supposed to be a penace, but sometimes Jason is weak and it's just punishment

Okay, we're back. Jason recognizing that something's wrong with him. Because too many bad things happen for him not to pick up the pattern.

Another distraction and it's kinky, I apologize -- Jason being assaulted in the church proper. In the confessional booths or in the pews ahhhhhh blasphemous okay okay

Protective of the people in his community and is well loved, in turn, but is conscious to keep a distance for their safety. He has compassion in spades and shows that in the ways that he can (putting the fear of God into cruel people, going out and sneaking food and blankets to the homeless, nagging at punks across the street to get their asses to school or the orphans at the church to mind the nuns).

Not as lonely a life as it seems because choice demons harass him on the regular.

They look after Jason in their own way, but it's wicked

Every person that hurts Jason turns up dead. It's part of Jason's motivation to keep withdrawn. There's forgiveness for everyone, even those who lose their senses around him.

Would Jason have the same forgiveness if the man who tried to assault him turned on a child? And Jason pauses, because his answer is no - burn him ---- and he burns.

Oh. For a time Jason thinking himself mad. Or figuring he's invited a demon into him because there are voices in his head and in those moments of weakness when he can't be temperate -- people get hurt.

Which leads to a lot of torment and praying because what's wrong with him? Tell him. Let him be better.

Jumping over to Dick's perspective on things for a moment because okay. The family loses it when they realize Jason has been lost to them. They bring apocalypse and travesty in their rage and it's a bad time.

But then - the familiar flicker of a damaged soul. Jason.

Dick going to Jason first. Following the sound of his cries and the smell of his suffering. And where some in the family might like that - Dick isn't one of them. Pain that Jason endures is Dick's to inflict, after all. Possessive!demon!Dick Grayson yes please.

Anyway, Dick shows up and suddenly Willis is shot dead on the doorstep. The cigarettes he would use to burn Jason with stamped into his forehead.

And Jason sees Dick there, stooped over Willis's body. Dick flicks the cigarette away. Looks at this small, scrawny boy and marvels at how Jason is still perfect - even like this. A soft smile, still all teeth and bite and menace. It's vicious in a way that even demons cringe away from, but Jason smiles. Tentative, innocent.

Because he thinks Dick is his guardian angel.

The rest of the family piles on if only because Jason really does attract all sorts of terrible things. They can't fathom what it is. Jason has always had that way about him, but it's amplified now and it puts him in danger. Jason's soul is theirs though; no one else can have it.

It's Gotham that wants it. Cursed land that outdates even the first of their kind.

Jason thinking he has angels looking out for him until he recognizes them for the demons they are. He tries to escape them, seeking asylum in a church and it deters them for a time, but only until Jason's own evil taints hallowed grounds.

This is so convoluted ahhhhh sorry

But basically overprotective!bats trying to save Jason's soul to sate their own desires

Jason rebuffing all their efforts and being a stubborn ass

He only relents when Gotham sends its worst after him and desecrates the church that housed him and the children under his care that he loses it and strikes a contract with some of hell's finest

It's a zero sum game though

Because Dick and the others - they can have Jason's soul. But only once the evil in Gotham is purged. Only the evil.

Just an endless war but it's fine because all the losses and suffering only makes Jason's soul that much more sweet

They're content to starve until then

Only they're not. They taste and nibble when allowed. And Father Hot Toddy? He's a generous man. //u////

Can an AU like this not get a little kinky? It feels like a crime that it wouldn't. Father Todd gets down  (*°∀°)=3

Extra Dickjay details:

Jason seeking out his 'guardian angel' because there's nowhere safer than with Dick. They sit in a grimy alley and Jason falls asleep with his head pillowed on Dick's thigh, or curled up against Dick's chest. And Dick humors it. He's soft about it, content if only because he can wrap himself around Jason and possess him for even a short time

Jason calling for Dick when he finds Catherine, not realizing Dick was the devil whispering in her ear. Jason loved her; Dick didn’t. He tested her love of Jason and she fell short

Dick being the demon Jason calls to in order to make that contract. Because he remembers the times Dick was kind (because for as jaded as Jason has become, he wants to believe that was genuine - not another manipulation). He'll sell Dick his soul, but only if Dick gives Jason hope.

Reverence. Shoulder and spine kisses. Worship. It’s overwhelming, tempting, addictive.

Dick knows how to play Jason. He never considers Jason knows Dick just as well. <3

Something something Dick won’t pray to anyone, but he’ll dirty talk marvel Jason like he’s something holy

Something something Jason anticipating a kiss. To tease him, Dick raises the cross of Jason’s rosary between them - a barrier because ‘what would your god say, little wing?’ And Jason is already succumbed, but he’d bite back a challenge, ‘you would let him stop you?’ And Dick would smile and snap the rosary from Jason’s neck, beads clattering on the stone floors beneath them as he defiles not an innocent lamb, but a wolf in sheep’s clothing. //u///

‘Never,’ he’d breathe against Jason’s lips, his skin. A promise and an oath and the devotion in it would tear Jason apart. 💖

[coldfanbou]

Meeting Your Idol

Eunha day! Today, we get a little help from our girlfriend Wonyoung and meet our favorite idol. Turns out they had a slightly different plan for you. Who would've known Wonyoung likes watching?

Length 2.3K

Eunha X Mreader with cuck Wonyoung

“Don’t touch it,” Wonyoung said, her hands gently pushing you forward. 

“Can you at least tell me what this is about?” 

“I told you I had a gift for you.”

“I don’t even know where I am anymore.”

“And you don’t need to.” She replied, her hand continuing to push you forward, and occasionally, you were provided a direction to turn. With the blindfold on, you were a little more than hesitant with every step. 

“You know, you didn’t need to do anything for me.” You call out. It was partly true; having Wonyong as your girlfriend was already great on its own. You knew any present she got you would have a lot of thought put into it. 

“I know, but things just lined up for me to get you the best gift. Now be quiet, we’re almost there,” she said, her hand shifting from your back to your hand. Wonyoung moved from pushing you along to leading you. 

“Hey, hold on,” you call out, getting into a slight jog as she rushes forward. 

“Almost there,” Wonyoung said with a slight giggle. Wonyoung places her hand on your chest, slowing you down. She pats your chest as a signal. “Don’t take it off yet,” she whispers. Wonyoung knocks on a door, three distinct hits coming along before silence. Wonyoung knocks again, one, two, and you hear the sound of the door opening before you feel Wonyoung tug on your arms, bringing you into what should be a room. At this point, you couldn’t be sure; you still didn’t know where you were. “Alright, here we are. Now I’m going to leave you here for a little bit. I want you to enjoy everything here, and I mean everything.” The emphasis she added to everything had you tilting your head. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, turning toward the direction her voice had come from. There’s no response, though, and the sound of the doors closing tells you something's not quite right. You grab the blindfold and take it off. Turning around, you see the closed door. “Wonyoung?” You call out, looking around the room until your eyes spot a young woman. Not just any young woman, though, it was your favorite idol. Was it a little blasphemous to think that when you had Wonyoung as a girlfriend? Maybe. Either way, you couldn’t control yourself. You were stunned, your cheeks rose into a smile you couldn’t wipe off your face. Your favorite idol, Eunha, was right in front of you. She gave you a small wave, her signature smile on her face. “E-eunha,” you manage to get out. It was all you could say; you were starstruck, feet glued to the ground.

“Hi,” Eunha says, her sweet and cheerful voice ringing in your ears. Seeing that you still couldn’t move from your spot, Eunha stands up. She walks over to you, her soft hand grabbing yours. Your hands got clammy quickly, but it didn’t seem to bother Eunha. She calmly led you to the couch where she was sitting.  Eunha sits first, then pats the seat next to her with her free hand.

“Wonyoung tells me you're a big fan.”

“I-uhm, yes.” You reply, stumbling over yourself to get a single word out. Eunha giggles. She thought it was cute that you would be so nervous meeting her. It made the next part all the easier. As soon as you sat next to her, she leaned her face inches from yours. You babbled, unable to think of a single thing to say, and having the beauty's face so close to yours made you oblivious to her actions. 

Eunha had slipped her hand along your pants, fishing out your cock. It’s only when she glances down that you realize.

“E-eunha,” you moan, feeling her soft hand move across your shaft. 

“Shh, let me get you ready,” she whispers, her plump lips pressing against your neck. “I just need you to relax.” Her hand tightens around your cock as she straddles you. Eunha wraps both hands around your shaft, tugging at it gently. She kisses your neck again, her lips lingering on your skin. “Don’t worry about Wonyoung either. She’s enjoying this too.”  You wonder what she means, but with a flick of her eyes, it clicks. Your eyes shift to your left, where Eunha looked briefly, and a large mirror ran across the wall. Eunha must’ve meant that Wonyoung was watching from the other side of the wall. Knowing that your girlfriend was watching you get it on with someone else was erotic. It made you feel better, stronger in a way. 

You relaxed a little, letting Eunha work her magic. You’d never get this chance again. 

Eunha moves her hands along your shaft, moving them together as she leans in for a kiss. You feel electricity shoot through your body. You were kissing Eunha; you felt the young woman’s tongue trace your lips. It slowly pushed past your own and began exploring your mouth. Eunha’s hand kept a steady pace, even as precum dribbled out and began coating her hands. 

Your moans intensified as she changed her tactics. Eunha was solely moving her hands to the base of your cock now, when one reached the bottom, she’d let go and move that hand back to the top. You moaned in the kiss, Eunha in complete control of your body. “You’re already throbbing,” Eunha tells you. “Where do you want to cum. On my pretty hands? Or on my face? Or maybe you want me to drink it all?” You cock twitched at every option, but Eunha could feel the last one go on just that little bit longer. “Naughty boy, you want your favorite idol to swallow all that nasty cum of yours,” Eunha teased, a slight pout on her face. 

The pout doesn’t last long as she breaks into a smile and climbs off your lap. Eunha keeps one hand on your cock, stroking it while she rests the tip on her tongue. She teases you, moving it from side to side but never sucking on it. Your body tenses as you near your climax. “Cum whenever you want. I’m ready.” She says, moving her hair behind her ear. You can’t handle it any longer. Staring at Eunha pretty face as your cock sat on her tongue pushed you over the edge. You spurt ropes of semen on her tongue, slowly filling her mouth as more shoots out. When you’re done, Eunha’s mouth looks like a small pool. A pool that quickly drains as she shuts her mouth and tilts her head back, drinking your cum.

From behind the glass Wonyoung watches as the older woman drinks your cum. She was already naked, playing with herself as she watched the lewd act before her, whimpering because the pleasure was already wrecking her body. Wonyoung grabbed at her breasts, moaning in the otherwise quiet room as she drove the dildo inside her deeper. She had never imagined she would get the chance to watch her partner fuck another woman, so having that opportunity now she was making the most of it. She grabbed another dildo from the table beside her and began sucking on the tip, her focus shifting from one dildo to the other. 

“All gone,” Eunha says with pride as she opens her mouth. “Now it’s time for the real show.” Eunha rises to her feet, reaching to the side to undo her skirt. You watch it fall to the ground, your eyes slowly drifting back up Eunha’s legs, noticing the curves she has until your eyes stop at her panties. A simple black pair of panties greeted you, with a small wet spot in the middle. A second later, your sight was blocked. Eunha had thrown her shirt at you. “Don’t just stare,” she teases you. You grab the shirt she had thrown at you and put it to the side, your eyes move on from her panties. Eunha wasn’t wearing a bra. Her pale perky tits were out for you to see your eyes became glued to her rosy nipples. Eunha raised her arm, bringing it under her chest. It held up her perky breasts.

Seeing the way you stared at Eunha made Wonyoung’s body feel like it was on fire. She whined as she pushed the dildo deeper into her slit, she was so close and you guys hadn’t even started yet. Wonyoung bit her lip and tried to slow her hand, she didn’t want to cum so soon, even if the temptation was gnawing at her. 

You gulped, struggling to think of anything. “Well?” Eunha asked, bending over. You looked at the small valley between her hanging breasts. “What do you think?”

“Amazing,” you said in a hushed tone. Eunha giggles at your answer. She reaches forward, grabbing the waist of your pants and pulling them down.

“I’m not going to be the only one naked here. Hurry up.” You rush to get your clothes off, not caring where they landed. Soon, you and she were naked, well, almost naked. Eunha kept her panties on; you hadn’t even noticed they were still on until she brought your attention to them.  “I’ll let you do the honors,” Eunha said, her voice laced with a joking sort of pride. 

You lean forward, grabbing at the waistband of her panties. You glance at the young woman’s eyes before moving your gaze back to her panties. You begin to pull them down slowly, revealing Eunha’s neatly trimmed landing strip as you continue to remove them. Once you got past her hips, you dropped them, letting them fall to the ground. Now that you were both completely naked, Eunha pushed you, making you rest against the couch as she straddled you again. 

Your favorite idol grabbed your hands, bringing them to her soft mounds. Eunha cooed as she felt your hands immediately squeeze her breasts. You were too engrossed in their softness to notice Eunha had grabbed your cock. The young woman was rubbing it between her wet folds. You only noticed something when Eunha began to lower herself onto you. The warmth of her slick walls enveloped you as she took every inch. Your hands shake as Eunha’s walls squeeze you. She was working her muscles tightly around your cock. 

Wonyoung from her room mimicked Eunha’s moves, pushing the toy inside her, its silicone balls slapping against her skin. It made Wonyoung tremble. She bit her lip again nearly cumming. She watched Eunha's movements intently, ready to mimic them for her pleasure.

Seeing you struggle with the pleasure coursing through your body, Eunha giggled. The idol began to move, raising her body before slamming herself down. Her body jiggled when she crashed down. It sent a shock through your system, but Eunha continued raising herself again before dropping down.  You shudder, moaning Eunha’s name as she rides your cock. She coats your cock with her nectar, making it easier for her to slide up and down your shaft. Eunha caresses your cheek as she bounces on your cock, “Does it feel good?”

“Good,” you mumble out. Eunha laughs and brings your hands to her waist, dragging them along her smooth and soft body to their destination. You lean forward, attaching yourself to her breast, running your tongue along her rosy areola before flicking her nipple. Eunha coos and wraps her hands around your head, pulling you in close.

“Aw, you’re just a bit of a baby, aren’t you?” She teased. You hug Eunha, moaning into her chest as she continues to ride you, her ass pressing against your legs as she tries to get every inch inside her hungry cunt. “You can cum whenever you like,” Eunha adds. 

Wonyoung had had enough; she had edged herself for long enough, and after seeing you and Eunha getting close, she needed more. She pulled the dildo from her cunt and moved as quickly as she could to your room, her fingers rubbing her slit, keeping her on the edge of cumming.

You feel Eunha press against you harder for a moment, “Cum inside her.” The voice wasn’t Eunha’s, it was Wonyoung’s. You drag your head away from Eunha’s chest and see your girlfriend behind your idol. “You heard me. Cum inside her, she wants it. Isn’t that right, Eunha?”

Eunha nods, her walls constricting around you. You struggle to hold on, your girlfriend was telling you to cum inside another woman. You couldn’t handle it. You grip Eunha tightly, your cock throbbing wildly. She slams herself down onto you, making you cum. It all pours inside her. Eunha moans loudly, along with Wonyoung. 

It’s now you notice that Wonyoung was naked too, her fingers vigorously rubbing her clit. Wonyoung sits beside you, turning your head and kissing you. “It was so hot watching you two. I wish you could’ve seen the way Eunha’s ass shook when she dropped on you,” Wonyoung says, grabbing a handful of the older woman’s ass. “Did you like your gift?”

“I liked it a lot,” you say, trying to catch your breath. 

“And you, Eunha?”

“It was pretty good,” Eunha says, rocking her hips back and forth, your cock still inside her. “It feels so nice to be filled like this. Thanks for setting this up, Wonyoung.”

“I’m just glad it all worked out perfectly. We all got something out of it.” 

“I didn’t know you liked watching,” you reply.

“Oh, Wonyoung loves watching,” Eunha chirps. “She’s always touching herself whenever the girls have fun after a show. I didn’t know she would be a cuckqueen, though; she’s kinkier than I thought.” Eunha runs her hand down Wonyoung’s arm, “Maybe, next time we’ll tie her up and make her a real cuck,” she giggled. Your cock twitch at the idea of your girlfriend being tied up and watching you. “Oh, I think he likes it.” 

“I like it, too,” Wonyoung adds, biting her fingernail. The idea turns her on, “Why don’t we plan it now, then?” The temptation of such a good time overtakes her, and Wonyoung commits to the idea for a future time. 

[fear-is-truth]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘 . . . hc .ᐟ ⭑ 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐰

⟢ tags — fem!reader﹒headcanons﹒domestic fluff﹒nsfw﹒mdni﹒smut﹒kinky rp﹒blasphemy

a/n: requested by… i’m pretty sure i remember who sent the req but not confident enough to @

you’ve mastered the art of meal prepping for him—chicken breasts, egg whites, protein shakes etc. he’ll sneak up to you from behind while you’re cooking, kissing the top of your head as a thank you.

his “controversial” youtube channel, where he films fitness and cycling classes, is something you secretly love to watch him record. you’ll often peek from the doorway as he’s filming, watching as he passionately leads the class, shirtless and full of energy, talking about strength and spirituality.

the two of you have a growing collection of houseplants that charlie swears he’s responsible for watering (even though you know you do most of it). he’s also been talking about getting a pet dog—and he gets excited just thinking about it.

you have a ritual of watching true crime documentaries in bed. he’d throw in some commentary during the episodes, pointing out details others would miss and making sarcastic remarks about the criminals’ poor decisions. you can tell he’s fascinated by the psychology of it all, even though some of his comments make you playfully swat his arm for being a bit too dark.

he’s dedicated to his morning jogs and always tries to convince you to join him, but on most days, you’re still in bed when he gets back, all sweaty and smug. he’ll kiss you awake like sleeping beauty and tell you that he’s already done your workout for you.

he’s super buff. strong enough to lift you effortlessly, and loves showing off. charlie would sweep you off your feet at random moments—like when you’re about to leave the house, or after a long day when he insists on carrying you to bed. he always jokes about how he’ll never get tired of it, no matter how many times you roll your eyes at his over-the-top gestures.

nsfw — mdni

after groundbreaking sex, you’ll be snuggled in bed, and suddenly, he’ll ask, “so, if you had to commit the perfect crime, how would you do it?” charlie loves watching you try to come up with a serious answer, and then he’ll one-up you with some morbid trivia or a clever solution.

one day he got his hands on a nun’s habit, and casually suggests you try it on. the whole thing was more than a bit blasphemous, considering his position, but you decided to humour him. as soon as you put it on, he was all over you.

confessing (in great detail) to him in the confessional booth about how you touched yourself when he’s not there.

christening your shared apartment by fucking you in every room, and on every available surface.

when you’ve ran out of surfaces, it extended to the church.

he has fucked you in the confessional booth at least once.

charlie has crazy stamina—partly because he works out and partly because he’s “blessed by god”.

you have a stash of homemade porn videos that you’ve filmed together.

talked you into wearing vibrating panties to mass. sitting in the front row for him to admire the tiny expressions in your face.

using holy anointing oil to give you full-body massages.

rehearsing his sermons while you cockwarm him.

charlie likes to leave the bathroom door slightly ajar when he’s taking a shower, knowing you’ll peek in. more than often, you join him, the sound of your clothes dropping to the floor muted by the running water. steam fogs up the bathroom as his hands find their way to your hips, pulling you under the water.

he’d scoop you up in his arms, pinning you securely between him and the wall. you’d cling onto charlie like a koala, wrapping your legs around his waist while kissing him, fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed you back with equal fervour, him slipping his tongue past your lips and exploring your mouth lazily.

when he senses your impatience—the telltale tightening of your grip on his hair or the small whine that passed between your connected lips, he’d waste no time lining himself to your entrance and filling you with one deep thrust.

MLIST  fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[inhonoredglory]

Defining Ineffable Love (or, Aziracrow Learn the Rules of Romance)

(In response to this ask about ineffables and asexuality)

One of the major threads this season was Aziraphale and Crowley asking themselves what exactly is their relationship. Not what it is in terms of how much they love each other. (That's a given.) But what it is in terms of the human implications of their love.

Crowley and Aziraphale definitely come at the relationship with different perspectives, in terms of what they’re willing to admit to the relationship being. I don’t think we can entirely interpret it in human terms. –David Tennant (source)

For 6000 years, they’ve never put a name on their relationship. They didn’t, because they’re inhuman, genderless, sexless beings and they didn’t grow up (as it were) with labels. And even when they did learn them, they couldn’t say it was love, because admitting that was a death sentence.

All of Aziraphale’s heart eyes and pining could live comfortably in his mind if he never admitted what that said about him as an angel (trauma compartmentalization). Crowley tries desperately to be cruel and nasty to add white noise around the blatant reality of his constant loyalty to Aziraphale. If you don’t put a word to it, it’s not real and they can’t punish you.

After the Not-pocalypse, for all rights and purposes, Aziraphale and Crowley chose humanity as their identity. We see Aziraphale “playing house” in various human roles (as a landlord, a private eye, a magician).

We even see Crowley intentionally taking on human behavior to handle emotional issues: “Just breathe, that’s what humans do.” They’re slowly and intentionally enculturating themselves into the world they want to belong––earth.

Yet it’s setting up Maggie and Nina that makes Aziraphale and Crowley start thinking about their relationship as a human construct.

Because fundamentally, Aziraphale and Crowley are not human. Like Neil Gaiman tells us constantly, they can’t be defined in human terms when it comes to gender and sexuality. They can shift and move through each and any of those markers at will, purely for the pleasure of the thing: “angels are sexless unless they really want to make an effort.”

IMO that makes them originally asexual, in the sense they were created without the need for sex. And it makes them fundamentally transgender and genderfluid, because while on earth, their sexless, eldritch spiritual bodies take on human, gendered forms and clothing. What gender (and sexuality) they identify with while on earth varies through the eras. Crowley definitely has a fluid gender identity, while Aziraphale appears to have settled on gay man (aka THE southern pansy) for his internal typology (although all of these identities are subject to change).

In the midst of all this fluidity, it’s no wonder Aziraphale and Crowley haven’t thought of their relationship in human terms before. There’s just so much different in them and their bodies than what they see in humanity. And there are no books and songs that show the kind of love they have, in the malleable, sexless bodies they have, with the background they have; it’s all ineffable.

Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t start out thinking they were in a romantic relationship. Whatever feelings they had were long repressed, redefined, and shuttled away. But they did love each other, without question. And it was that love which scared them, because it was bigger than anything they saw among humans, a love that was beautiful and blasphemous and unfathomable.

Kinda like what David Duchovny said about Mulder and Scully in The X-Files, “I don’t know if they’re in love. In a way, their relationship is deeper than that, because they cannot live without each other.”

Now take this profound, ineffable love and drop it into the little boxes and labels human culture has created for itself.

Full disclosure: I’m an asexual demiromantic person in a queerplatonic relationship, so I’ve done a fair bit of research on what romance is and how the rituals of romance are, in many ways, social inventions that vary from culture to culture. There’s love and then there’s romance, and they don’t always overlap. So my interpretation of Aziraphale and Crowley comes through this lens and the fact that Neil Gaiman has affirmed the validity of an ace-spec reading on our ineffables.

Which brings me back to my thesis: That only now are Aziraphale and Crowley thinking of themselves as a romantic couple, precisely because they are interfacing with humans and taking on their social rules.

I like this one asexual person’s description of their experience, which feels very much like our ineffables (from a very good article, I def recommend):

If there is a border between friendship and romance, then in my internal landscape, it goes right through a misty forest where no one has ever bothered to place signs.... Neither of us had intended to start anything even vaguely romantic, but the activities we did and the intense kind of immediate connection we had was coded as romantic in our culture.

That’s what Crowley realizes when Nina confronts him about his relationship to Aziraphale.

“It looks like that from here.” What Crowley and Aziraphale share is beyond definition, but Nina cannot imagine the anything beyond the human labels she was taught. The tragedy of an everlasting love is that it can only be conveyed properly to other humans if it is cast in such small human words––partner, boyfriend, husband.

Because when Crowley denied those human roles for Aziraphale, Nina slid down the path of thinking Aziraphale was just his “bit on the side,” because there were no labels left she could imagine for them. If you don’t put a word to it, it’s not real.

That’s the purpose of labels, to culturally validate a person's identity. Labels, of course, DO NOT create reality; people's experiences are always real, in all their varied ineffability. But labels allow a space for culture (ie other humans and political and legal society) to recognize formally your lived reality.

So Crowley started really thinking about him and Aziraphale, about the ineffable love between them and realized that in human terms, those would be the things he’d call Aziraphale, because those were the words that gave Aziraphale that place of importance in his life.

But with that realization comes all the human trappings and behavioral patterns around those words (the candlelit dinners, dramatic rescues, drinks at the Ritz, etc.) which Crowley had never thought of before, and yet… maybe romance is what he and Aziraphale have been doing all along.

That’s why this season centered so much around Aziraphale and Crowley using cultural artifacts (film and literature) to understand romance, because romance is so deeply socially-defined.

Aziraphale himself has been leaning hard into the romantic social cues (he’s more well-read in the cultural trappings of romance than Crowley is), especially post-Blitz. But when he watches Maggie and Nina dancing, he works up the courage to do something with Crowley that’s even more explicitly loaded as “traditionally romantic” than anything he’s done up to that point.

Because while risking their lives for each other and defying everything for each other is love in its purest form, dancing (specifically in Jane Austen’s world) is a public performance coded for potential marriage partners. It's an intimate ritual of the entire body. (And in British slang, dancing has been used as a euphemism for sex.)

Crowley's "We don't dance" is really telling, because it shows Crowley’s awareness of the unknowable devotion between them vs the human roles Aziraphale is asking him to fill, specifically its physical aspects. Aziraphale is asking to make their relationship more public, more physically explicit, more coded as romantic in a setting specifically intended to couple individuals.

While Maggie and Nina inspired Aziraphale to progress their relationship into a publicly physical direction, Maggie and Nina inspired Crowley to think of the emotional implications of their human roles: the commitment, security, and monogamy of a husband, a partner, an us.

That’s what he decides after Maggie and Nina confront him in the end. “You never say what you’re really thinking.” He wants to codify his relationship so they each become responsible to one another. Aziraphale has always been his soulmate, the one he could always rely on. But he wants to place a word and a role to their love that will bring with it Aziraphale’s commitment and dedication to him.

And that's another reason why Crowley kisses Aziraphale, because he knows Aziraphale was willing to make their relationship physical, and he wants that, too. To consummate this bond in the way humans do.

But Crowley doesn’t really know how to kiss; he’s not as worldly as he makes out to be. (It’s Aziraphale who owns the gun, and Crowley who’s never fired one.) He uses the kiss as a tool to get across to Aziraphale what he wants for them, in the physical language Aziraphale has been using, because "one fabulous kiss and we're good," right?

But it doesn’t work, because real life and real emotions don’t work like that; life and love don’t follow a script, despite the novels and plays and songs.

Aziraphale and Crowley spent this entire season trying to figure out what their relationship is and what they wanted out of it, trying to make sense of the unfathomable thing they share and the human implications of it, and not quite landing on the same page.

Part 2 of this Analysis, covering a correction in Crowley’s statement (“You don’t dance”) and the further implications of dancing/sex.

[comphy-and-cozy]

Dear god - Adrian Kempe

Pairing: priest!Adrian Kempe x Reader (f)

Summary: After a tough breakup, what better place to turn to for support than the church? AU.

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Brief reference to drinking/drugs, religious guilt, extreme sacrilege, desecration of a confessional booth, etc. Smut (18+ ONLY). Unprotected sex, oral sex (m + f receiving), fingering (f receiving), degradation, spanking. Think Fleabag hot priest but if he was a hockey player. If this is going to offend you, please do not proceed. Your media consumption is your responsibility.

Author's Note: Blame @senditcolton on this delicious, deranged, blasphemous beauty of an idea. I'm so sorry. And a huge thank you to Nik, Rickie and my beloved discord fam for answering all of my religion questions 📿✝️ I'm not Catholic but I tried my best!

MOODBOARD ← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST ← BACK TO 'SO CLOSE TO WHAT' MASTERLIST

The breakup left you broken in every sense of the word. No matter where you went, reminders of Rob followed you everywhere—on the 405, at the coffee shop, in the shower.

You tried everything: booze, drugs, men, women, therapy—none of it could banish him from your head for more than an evening. And then you’d wake up, usually feeling worse for the wear, and the memory of his touch, his voice, his scent would flood back into your system and the agony would set back in.

You’re not sure where the idea to return to church came from, but you find yourself making your way to the St. Joseph Cathedral in Los Angeles. It’s been a few years since you were a regular attendee, and since you’re arriving well before evening Mass, you’re hoping that there won’t be a huge crowd that will recognize your very delayed return.

Fortunately, the nave is almost empty save for a few solo congregants scattered throughout the numerous pews. It feels strange to be here, feeling like there are whispers following you, judging you for your extended absence from the pews—you’re sure that’s just the religious guilt gnawing at your conscience.

And then you hear your name, with a lilt at the end like the speaker can’t believe it’s you.

You turn and you’re greeted by a familiar face. “Father Adrian. It’s good to see you.”

He’s smiling, as handsome as ever. His long hair is tied back into a neat bun, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his forearms. You always liked Father Adrian; he had a more approachable energy than the others, his casual nature much less intimidating than the stoic Father John that you grew up with.

You’ve changed, but so has he. He looks older, more comfortable in his skin; he’s filled out his form a bit more than before. He looks good.

“How have you been?” he asks.

Pausing, you contemplate how you want to answer his question. The familiar sharp throb in your chest returns, along with the flash of Rob’s face. But you plaster on your practiced fake smile and manage, “I’ve been fine. And you?”

Father Adrian smiles knowingly, like he can see straight through your lie, but he humors you anyways. “I have been well, thank you for asking.”

You manage some small talk for a few minutes, pausing when the last of the congregants bids him farewell on their way out.

Once the large wooden door shuts, the sound echoing slightly in the marble ceiling of the church, Father Adrian turns back to you. “So, are you going to tell me the truth? Why are you really here?”

Your gaze shifts to your feet, feeling a mix of shame and guilt at his call out. “I… had a really bad breakup. I’ve taken it pretty hard—I’m not doing very good. I’m a little desperate, to be honest.”

Father Adrian’s smile is wry. “You must be, if you’re turning to the church for help.”

There’s levity in his voice, and you let out a soft chuckle. The action feels strange, almost unnatural—you can’t remember the last time you let out a genuine laugh.

“I’m sorry to hear about your breakup,” he says. “It sounds like you’ve been having a tough time.”

You nod, glancing down at your feet. Now that you’re here, standing in front of him, saying it out loud, you wonder why you ever thought this was a good idea. This was stupid, you think, reaching for your bag and ready to make some excuse to leave—

“Would you like to go Confession?”

Your eyes follow his motion toward the booth. You hadn’t even thought of it as an option, but now that he’s offered it, you contemplate. There had always been something cathartic about confession, releasing your sins and laying yourself bare in the privacy and anonymity of the confession booth.

You’ve tried everything else. Why not?

So, after you nod your assent, he gestures for you to lead the way. Drawing the curtain shut, you take a breath, feeling the familiar weight of Rob resting heavy on your shoulders and in your heart. You sit down, and you hear Father Adrian take a seat on the opposite side of the divider.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you say, making the sign of the cross. “My last confession was… a long time ago.”

Father Adrian is quiet on the other side, waiting for you to continue. Your voice wavers, but once you begin talking, the words spill out like a tidal wave. The lump in your throat forms quickly, and before you can stop them, the tears are pouring out, too.

“Please,” you cry, “I want to forget about him. I need to forget about him.”

With the dam of your feelings broken, your deepest, most vulnerable thoughts cascade out into the empty space, absorbed by patient, listening ears on the other side of the screen. You nearly choke on your sobs, breath stuttering in your throat until your words are replaced by short, staccato gasps of air.

The tears slow, like a breath of sobriety flashing through you when you realize that you’ve been babbling nonsensically for who knows how long. There’s silence on the other end, and you take a shaky, sniffly breath, wiping your eyes and praying that your mascara isn’t running too badly.

You shift on the wooden bench, the silence nearing an uncomfortably long length. Embarrassment sinks in and your brain races for a formal response you’re supposed to give at the end of a confession, but there is none.

“Beg.”

Your eyes shoot to the dark, screened window where his voice comes from; you’re sure you had to have imagined that. “S- sorry, Father?”

There’s a soft swish on the other side of the barrier, like he, too, is shifting in his seat; you swear you can hear his breath quicken. “You want to forget about him? Beg for it. Beg Him for it.”

You sit in shocked silence. And then you find yourself sliding off of the bench, finding the hard, wooden floor where so many confessions have taken place. Settling on your knees, you clasp your hands in front of you and squeeze your eyes shut. “Dear God—please help me forget about him. Please. I can’t do this anymore.”

The sound of heels clicking on the floor beside you reaches your ears and moments later, the thick velvet curtain is ripped to the side. Father Adrian is standing, looking down at you on your knees, his frame so large it nearly covers up all of the light from the nave behind him.

“I can help you forget about him.”

Tears line your eyes again. “Please, Father.”

Father Adrian’s lips are on yours before you have a chance to take a breath, hot and insistent. It takes an embarrassingly little amount of time for you to give in, accepting his kiss and returning it. You feel the curl of his smile against your mouth as he helps you to your feet and backs you up, creating space for him to step into the booth with you. He tears away from your lips to tug the curtain shut, wrapping the two of you in secrecy and the promise of sin.

You wouldn’t have been able to remember your ex’s name if God herself asked you. All you can see is him, the crisp white collar distinct even in the dim light. The weight of a thousand worries is no longer pressing on your heart, your mind only able to echo one word: “Father.”

His smile is dark, darker than you’ve ever seen it, and he smirks down at you. One large hand comes to cup your chin, a thumb running along your jawline. The touch makes you shiver with desire.

“I can help you forget about him,” he repeats. “But first, you have to repent.”

You can hear the sound of his belt buckle followed by a zip and a soft whoosh of fabric. Sinking to your knees once again, your hands grasp in front of you, coming into contact with bare, taut thighs. A quick assessment in the dark brings your hand to a firmer appendage, and your body blazes.

Part of you is expecting to be struck dead as your fingers wrap around him, stroking slow and tentative caresses over the velvety skin. Bringing your mouth closer, your tongue drags over his length, and the low sigh of approval directs you to repeat the action. Obediently, you do, the weight of him heavy along your tongue. Once his tip slips past your lips, it isn’t long until its working its way toward the back of your throat. Another low moan echoes quietly inside the walls of the confession booth, thick fingers carding through your hair.

“Eyes on me,” he commands, tilting your head back to allow you a better view. With the change in angle, the control also shifts; Father Adrian holds your head still and presses his hips forward, slipping the tip of his dick over your tongue and back down your throat. Your jaw hinges to accommodate his more than generous size, eyes watering slightly at the tight fit.

In the dim light, you see a smile flit at the corners of his lips at the sight. His eyes, dark and fierce, watch the way his length pushes between your lips, flushed and wet with spit. You blink away your tears, feeling a droplet slip out, sliding down your face.

“Good girl.”

The low praise makes you shiver, a throb of arousal thumping sinfully between your thighs. Father Adrian pulls away to reach for the buttons on your cardigan. He pauses. “May I?”

You look up and your eyes meet his. It’s intense, his heady gaze, and the keen attention he has on you makes you dizzy. In answer, your hands reach up and you begin to unbutton them yourself. You shrug it off, leaving only the lacy bralette that was hiding beneath the light knit.

He breaks his stare, looking down to admire the sight of you. His hands move to run over your breasts, feeling them in his palms; your nipples harden at his gentle touch. Based on the way his dick twitches, you assume he can feel it.

“Gorgeous,” he says, and the compliment makes you preen.

You reach for his length again, eager to touch him once more, and he chuckles. “You like to be praised. Is that because it’s me, or because it’s God?”

“What’s the difference?” you ask, wrapping your hand around him again and earning a stutter in place of a retort.

And then, as if a flip switched, Father Adrian resumes control once more, gently pulling you up to stand. You can hear his heavy breath as he directs you to turn around, encouraging you to bend forward. His body presses up against yours, the rigidity of his hard-on rubbing into your ass while he leans forward and purrs, “The difference is that God can’t fuck you.”

A smile blooms on your face, your hips swiveling against him, feeling the weight of his cock against your ass through the thin, breezy material of your skirt. His low chuckle echoes in your ear as his hands reach for the hem of your skirt that’s past your knees—a respectable length for church despite the very disrespectful things you’re doing inside it—and dragging it up your legs, holding it in place at your upper thigh, exposing your bare legs and mostly bare ass in the very cheeky underwear you’d decided on. You aren’t sure what gave you the instinct to wear lace today, but you’re glad you did.

Despite the darkness in the booth, you still feel the heat of his gaze on your ass. “You wore these to church?”

The irony drips off your frame as you say, “I wasn’t expecting them to be seen by anyone.”

Father Adrian hums. “Take them off.”

You do as you’re told, fingers hooking into the sides and shimmying the lace down over your hips. He drops to his knees behind you, nudging the bunch of your skirt to signal for you to hold it in place; he wants his hands free. You can feel the scruff of his beard scratch against the sensitive skin on your ass, his lips dancing near where you want him, but not quite there.

“Please, Father,” you whine.

He groans at that, and you’re rewarded with his mouth pressing against your folds. He groans again, this time at the taste of you on his tongue, and the vibration of it against your entrance elicits a moan from you.

Your pussy throbs with want just from the feeling of his hot breath against it; the spasm it gives when he drags a finger through your dampness, plunging his tongue between your folds is enough to make you cry out in pleasure. Father Adrian hums, pleased, his mouth moving so expertly on your cunt you wonder how much practice he’s had.

“Fuck,” you moan, dragging your hips over his mouth.

“Watch your language in the confession booth,” he scolds while he brings his finger up to your clit. You can barely huff out a chuckle—surely both of you will be smote any moment now—before that same finger dips inside you and you moan out again. “That’s it, baby. You want more?”

“Please, Father,” you beg, desperate to feel more of him. His tongue dances with his fingers, teasing you and coaxing more arousal from your already weeping lips.

Father Adrian’s finger slips to your entrance, pressing into you slowly until he’s two knuckles deep. Another moan falls from you, and soon he’s added another finger. “You’re dripping, baby. Only sluts get this wet.”

The statement makes you whine, heat radiating in your cheeks, and your hips roll against his face, seeking out more friction. Your action earns a sharp slap against your ass and the loss of his mouth against you. His low voice asks, “Are you a slut?”

“Only for you, Father,” you whisper, pushing back. He spanks you again, this time on the other cheek; a whimper of pleasure leaves your mouth, wordlessly begging him for more.

“Good girl. Now be a good little slut and come on my face.”

Before you have a chance to open your mouth to respond, he dives back into your center, lapping at your folds with fervor.

“Fuck, Father,” you cuss, no longer able to hold it in. He doesn't scold you this time, only increases the pressure of his tongue. You should be embarrassed by how quickly your orgasm approaches, why your fucking priest’s tongue in your pussy is what does it for you, but all you can focus on is seeking it, seeking more, seeking him.

You come with a cry, fingers clutching at the walls of the booth, shaky legs buckling as the waves crash into you. His eager tongue laps it up, warm and wet against your leaking pussy.

And you want more. Surely, you’ll be struck dead soon for the filthy, delicious sin of lust, so you might as well go out with a bang.

“Fuck me, Father.”

Behind you, he freezes, and for a moment you’re terrified you took it too far—oh my God, you freak, you took your priest fucking fantasy too far—but then he’s standing and you hear the clink of his belt hitting the floor.

“Having it in your mouth isn’t enough for you? Want it in this slutty, dripping little cunt too? Want your priest to fuck you until you come on it?”

Heat burns your cheeks—and another part of your body—at the filthy words pouring from his mouth. Your voice is breathy when you say, “Yes, Father.”

“Ride it.”

He sits, hands reaching for your hips and dragging your body toward him. His lips press against your chest, mouthing at the lace of your bralette before his hand tugs one of the cups down, then the other. He licks at your nipples, teeth grazing them until they can tug gently at the hardened buds. At the same time, his hand pulls your hips into him; he gazes up at you with dark eyes as his fingers hook into the waist of your skirt, tugging the material down to pool at your feet. You’re almost completely exposed, while he has his entire garb on; the contrast heightens the power dynamic in the booth, along with the throb between your thighs.

Father Adrian drags you closer, encouraging your knees to straddle his legs. He hums at the position, admiring the way you look perched on his thigh. His lap is taut, muscles lithe beneath your body, and that delicious length bobs against your stomach like a tempting and sinful invitation.

Your breathing goes ragged when he pulls away from your chest, hand snaking between your bodies to fist at his length. A whimper leaves your throat when he glides the tip through your folds, collecting the wetness so he can slide over your clit.

“So wet for me,” he purrs, though his tone is not one of reprimand, but of desirous approval. “Leaking down my cock like a filthy whore. Is there something else you need to confess?”

He presses the very tip into your entrance; not enough to feel more than the pressure, but enough to drive you nearly insane with desire. You squirm, hips desperately seeking out any more friction, but his arm wraps tightly around your waist, holding you in place. “Ah, ah. What is your confession, little dove?”

Your cheeks burn, wondering how he can see directly through you to the deepest circle of your innermost private thoughts; you get the distinct sense that he can read your mind like a diary. “I—I’ve had a crush on you for a long time.”

Father Adrian’s mouth curves up into a smile against your collarbone. He rewards your vulnerability with another dip inside you, this time just the slightest bit deeper. “Is that so?”

“Mmhmm,” is all you can manage with how unbearable the teasing is; you’re sure you’ll burst any second now—from the blasphemy or the insatiable need for release, you aren’t sure.

“Think about this?” he asks. “Did you think about sitting on my cock while I was up there giving the homily?”

Now you’re confident he can read your filthy thoughts—maybe that’s what he’s doing with his intense gaze, peering into your soul. Hot shame blankets your body, conflicting with the sheer pleasure you feel at his tip probing gently against your most sinful area. This isn’t why you sought out the church, but since the opportunity presented itself, you’re accepting is as a sort of divine intervention.

A sharp slap to your ass pulls you out of your thoughts, the sting sending delicious shock waves through your body. “Answer me.”

Your voice lowers to a whisper. “Thought about sucking you off on the pulpit.”

“Is that all?” He gives another lift of his hips, pressing himself another inch inside.

“I—I’ve thought about you while I touch myself,” you confess, the last part of your sentence scarcely more than a whisper.

“Self pleasure,” he comments with a hum. “That’s a sin, you know.”

The irony dripping off of his words is almost enough to make you laugh. He doesn’t give you time to respond, though, pulling himself completely out of you so abruptly that your whimper echoes off of the wooden interior of the confession booth. A punishment for your sin.

Father Adrian stills, looking up at you, perched half-naked in his lap, his erection glistening with your own arousal bobbing at your entrance. “I have a confession, too.”

His intense stare returns, and this time you feel like he might swallow you whole if you let him. The heat between your bodies is sweltering; your pussy throbs with want. His mouth makes a sloppy path up your neck to the base of your jaw before his lips tickle the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I’ve thought about you while I touch myself, too.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s pressing back into you, sheathing himself inside you completely this time. The surprise elicits a cry, what can only be described as a pornstar moan, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support for where your legs tremble with the pleasure. He pulls out, no longer in the mood for teasing when he thrusts upward again with a groan.

“So tight,” he grunts out. “Good girl.”

With the help of his hands, you begin to ride him, sliding up and down his delicious length. Your breasts bounce in front of his face, giving him an eyeful while you seek out more pleasure. It’s wrong, so wrong, and yet the pleasure is something you've never felt before, the forbidden nature of the act elevating the ecstasy that comes with it. Maybe Lucifer was onto something.

“Give me your hands,” he commands in a low voice. He collects your wrists together, holding them in place behind your back and giving you another expectant eyebrow raise. “Keep riding it, baby.”

And you were taught that when your Father tells you to do something, you do it. Your legs carry you up and down, pistoning him in and out of your aching pussy. Low sighs fill the booth, accompanied by his soft grunts that you yearn to keep pulling from his gorgeous mouth. Your mind trails to how much you shouldn’t be doing this, and every time, as if he can sense it, his free hand grips at your ass in encouragement; a silent command to keep going.

So you do, giving in to the sinful pleasure, feeling that delicious, bubbly warmth rise in your body. The bundle of nerves that brushes against his pelvis with every rock of your hips is sensitive, aching to be touched.

“Father,” you manage to say, voice shaky, “may I touch my clit?”

Attentive eyes land on you, a small smirk gracing his face at your question. “You close? Gonna gush all over me?”

You nod, not trusting anything more than a desperate whimper to come out. He doesn’t answer, and you swallow your huff of frustration.

“You may not,” he finally says, and this time you do whine like a petulant child. Your release is so close, just over the horizon, and your only instinct is to chase it.

“But I can.”

Father Adrian releases your hands behind your back, freeing up his extra hand to snake between your bodies. One palm trails heat over your stomach, your sides, your breast, while the other finds a home at the place where you two connect. With slow, steady intention, he presses the pad of his thumb against your clit, circling it while your hips resume their pace.

In an instant, the temperature between you grows to a scorching heat, white hot pleasure radiating from where he touches you. Your movements become more frantic, your release finally a tangible distance away, edging ever nearer.

“Fuck, Father, don’t stop,” you pant, using the sound of your skin against his like a metronome, counting down the strokes until you reach euphoria.

And he doesn’t, keeping his diligent, steady strokes of your clit until your body shudders and the world around you shatters. Your hips falter, trembling with the force of the orgasm that rips through you, a loud cry echoing against the walls inside the booth. “Oh, God—”

A buttery, liquidy warmth fills you as your climax courses in violent tidal waves, eventually subsiding. Once your vision returns and your breath slows back to normal, you look down at Father Adrian, whose hand has stilled along your pelvis. A self-satisfied smirk rests on his face. You can feel him, still achingly hard inside you, twitching when you roll your hips over him again for good measure.

“Can I help you with that, Father?”

The thought of him coming inside you, filling up your bare pussy—oh, God, you just fucked your priest raw—makes you shiver, but before you can even suggest it, his arms are lifting you off of him. He slips out of you, a sigh of disappointment huffing out of you at the loss.

“On your knees.”

They’re wobbly, but you obey. It’s your original praying position, only this time, Father Adrian remains sitting on the bench, his erection soaked in your cum standing proudly in front of your face. His hand grips himself loosely; the sight makes your mouth water.

“Open wide, baby.”

You do as you’re told, and a few strokes later, hot spurts coat your tongue and your cheeks while he lets out a low, guttural groan. He pants long after the cum on your cheek drips down while you swallow the salty liquid on your tongue. “Good girl.”

The next moments are uncertain but not quite awkward as he tucks himself back into his pants. Glancing down at you, he collects a drop of cum from your cheek with his finger, feeding the last bit of it to you. “Can’t waste it.”

You suck the digit, quickly swallowing the last drops of him. Then, he offers his hand to you, pulling you up on shaky legs.

“Feeling better?”

All at once, you realize you haven’t thought about Rob since you first walked into this booth. Father Adrian wiped his memory clean, sanitizing it and putting guardrails around it so you can look back and observe, but don’t linger.

You nod. “Thank you, Father.”

He smiles, pulling back the velvet curtain to let you out first. “I’ll tell you a secret: sometimes the best cure is sin.”

Taglist (message or comment to join!): @lam-ila @ashloveshockey @cellythefloshie @smileysvech @senditcolton

@fallinallincurls

[mins-fins]

âme sœur ﹙l. jn﹚

❛ âme sœur ❜ means soulmate in french.

synopsis . . with the new responsibilities as the kings courtier, you find yourself at a crossroad where you can't exactly determine your feelings for your childhood friend.

pairing . . king! lee jeno × courtier! male reader

genre . . royal au, fluff, some angst, some humor, childhood friends to lovers, medieval.. kinda

warnings . . some profanity, just mentions of forced marriage, somewhat inaccurate depictions of the medieval era, our main leads are SICK

word count . . 4.9k

notes . . take this mess that was meant to be something.. that eventually became nothing but some royal childhood friends to lovers conglomerate that could've been more specific but it was never going to get that far 🤷‍♂️ in light of my obsession with french phases (considering i literally am forced to learn the language) and obsession with putting every nct member in a royal setting, this is for jj 💗 only three scenes.. but it was never going to be more anw

THE SCENERY IS ENCHANTING, lavish gifts, lavish cakes, lavish everything. the wealthy are extra, even extra for the king— well, newly turned king. he was still a prince no more than a few hours ago, you were right there when he was overwhelmed about his own coronation, it's only been an hour and a half since this event has began, yet you've already found yourself at the receiving end of many personal inquiries.

who thinks to ask you about the king? you've been his friend longer than his advisor.

"no marriage? this is blasphemous!"

and of course, lee donghyuck can't keep himself away from a glass of wine. he's far from sober at this point, which draws a small chuckle out of you, the use of the word 'blasphemous' amusing you out of your dissociative episode. "i'm sure he'll be fine".

"he's lonely y/n" he slurs, twirling the glass of wine in his hands, an anxious gasp leaving your lips at the sight. good god if he drops something you're going to kill him. you promised him this day would be perfect, he had already been so worried about it for several months, you had to make sure nothing went wrong. "do you see how sad he is?"

"not sad, just worried".

another sip of the wine, a sigh releases from your lips, he's going to have to be carried home tonight, but the thought of that vision makes your lips turn up. it's pretty hilarious. "how boring, marriage is important!"

you allow for yourself to get distracted by the many treats which litter the expensive dining table. you scrunch your nose, unable to work up an appetite. now you feel nervous. what is that even about? it's not like today is your coronation.

"you sound like your mother" you mutter, teeth biting into your inner cheek. "can't you just be happy for him?"

lee donghyuck snorts, his breath reeking of grape juice. "i am happy for him, just pointing out the obvious".

"the obvious isn't always correct".

"at least someone here is reasonable" na jaemin is exhausted, and donghyuck laughs at the expression of misery on his features. "i swear all the people here are on the same mission, trying to set up young debs with the new king, do they realize how ridiculous they sound?"

"they'll never get out of their own heads".

jaemin hums, sharing a weird look with a certain lee who can't stop his wasted giggling. "is he insane?"

"the wine is adding to his idiocy tonight".

as soon as you say that, lee donghyuck lets out yet another overdramatized laugh, not his last drunken chortle of the night unfortunately. you lightly grimace, put off by the behavior. "you haven't happened to see our beloved king have you?"

you offer a shake of your head. "not since before the coronation anyway, i thought he would've been hard to miss".

"well he is hard to miss, he's a spectacle".

you let yourself snicker, giving a mere glance at the strawberry scones on the table. "you make it sound like you have feelings for the guy".

"don't take my word out of context, a beautiful man is a beautiful man".

you simply smile at that, jaemin can certainly speak the truth on some occasions. he scoffs, just barely fighting back a gag. "i hate strawberries.."

"not on his coronation day, nana, you're gonna stress jeno out".

na jaemin gives an incredulous look, his stare reminiscent of those he sends donghyuck. "you're on first name terms with the king?"

you laugh, just a little bit of disbelief hidden in the sound. "we've all been friends for years, wouldn't it be strange if i wasn't?"

"considering your his courtier now, it seems weird".

"jeno isn't like that".

jaemin hums. "i guess you know him best" he scans you up and down, a bubbling thought in his head itching to leave his mouth, but he decides against it last minute, picking up a sweet chocolate tart which he takes a bite out of. "let me know when you catch sight of him, i've been meaning to talk with him".

you only offer a nod in return, and when jaemin turns on his heel, donghyuck jumps up to follow quickly behind him, annoying the other to no end. "give me a tart minjae-ah! pleaseee!?"

ah, donghyuck sober is no different than donghyuck drunk.

considering you still couldn't work up an appetite, you entertained yourself by conversing with the people around you. gossip is high, other people can't really do anything but worry about what their king is doing. you somehow manage to make it through an intense conversation before the ones whispering realize that you indeed are the king's right hand man, you can't lie, their reactions were priceless.

it wasn't as easy to turn down dance invites as you assumed, you aren't exactly the prized possession of this gathering, but when people have a dance opportunity, they'll take it. you can't believe the amount of polite smiles you've faked tonight, it's astonishing.

but with no sight of the king, you couldn't exactly refuse advances for long, the excuses took much too long to form. you danced with at least three woman, one of them specifically curious about the details of the palace's pastries (as if you knew anything about that, you just enjoyed watching treats bake in the oven). she almost spun it into an opportunity to ask if you were single, an opportunity that you quickly rushed away from with the excuse of needing to go find the king.

not that much of a lie, but you couldn't exactly find another way to escape the situation. you gave her one last twirl and rushed off to another corner of the ballroom, good lord the king couldn't be more invisible today, on coronation day of all days too? you haven't seen him in hours.

"you look lost".

you jump from your spot, startled by the sudden voice. you only relax when you catch sight of the one man you've been searching for the entire night. "good lord jeno! don't do that!"

the newly appointed king smiles, eyes forming into crescents. "sorry, i couldn't resist".

your eyebrows furrow, indignation in your eyes. "do you know how long i've been looking for you? i assumed you bailed on your own coronation".

"you think so lowly of me" jeno sighs, batting his eyelashes excessively. "mother was being hard on me".

you narrow your eyes. "i'm sure it's just the usual, she's looking out for you".

"it's all piling up pretty quickly though, this room is so.. hot don't you think?"

jeno's eye twitches, the irritation getting to him quickly. "it's only a few more hours, i can get through it".

he's muttering, a clear indication he doesn't exactly have faith in his own words. his habits are customary for you to pick up on, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, you have to distract him.

"hey, did you know they made strawberry scones?"

you whisper the word of the baked treats, a little nod to a joke you two have. jeno immediately snickers, looking down at the floor. he almost looks astonished, as if he couldn't believe such a thing. "scones? you're serious?"

"so serious".

all jeno can do is sigh, not exactly disappointed, but not exactly impressed either. "i can't even eat anything, is it really that weird i don't want marriage at this time in my life?"

"they say most kings need queens".

jeno scrunches his nose, those words upset him clearly. "i thought mother would be angry but it's just everyone else.. i can do well on my own, i have you by my side".

you can barely fight your smile. you always wonder why he decides to say things like this, your heart pounds against your chest. maybe their just normal words to him, but to you? they aren't just words. they're so much more. if you feel the room grow hotter, no one should know that.

"you're bound to do well anyway, i'm just a little tick at your side".

"there's no need for such irrelevant words, you're much more than that".

you let another sigh leave your lips, he's so sweet, the man you've known for as long as you remember is simply the same sweet boy you met while sneaking through the kitchen to eat cake in the wee hours of the night. nothing has really changed.

lee jeno is simply wonderful.

"oh you flatter me" you choose to respond, fanning your face to accompany your dramatic tone of voice. "choosing me as your courtier? surely there were better candidates".

"no one was better than you, it was barely a challenge".

he doesn't glance at you, instead focused on the many decorated tarts on the table. "i cannot stomach these".

you chuckle. "you could at least try them".

"i might vomit".

"don't be so vile your majesty" na jaemin places a light hand on jeno's shoulder. "give credence to the chefs".

"i'm not demeaning their efforts, it looks good yes but i can't eat anything right now".

"it's not just you.."

your silent mutter earns a small smile from jeno, and he sighs. "i see none of you have a shortage of admirers, courtesy of our new king of course".

those words just get the slightest hint of a chuckle out of you, your shoulder shaking as you try to hide your laugh. you miss the incredulous look jeno gives you, too amused by the comment.

"are you actually laughing at that?" you only laugh again when you hear the offense in his tone. you can barely contain your giggles, but you have no idea why the statement is so funny.

"no not at all" you shake your head midway through your fit, mouth twitching as you try your best to stifle your smile. "i would never".

jeno narrows his eyes, and you just barely make it through eye contact without breaking under his gaze. "see? y/n enjoys my joke".

"it wasn't even a joke".

jaemin lets out a loud 'hmph', just the slightest bit upset. "you don't understand my comedy your majesty".

jeno sighs, why is he even beginning to argue with him? it's all useless anyway, he's just running into a wall. "maybe you won't come to another event at the palace then".

you almost laugh again, but jeno glares peripherally, so you suck in a breath.

"what a snippy king you are, surely you'll get along with your subjects".

"is that your attempt at sarcasm?"

"nope, just a show of truth".

jeno scoffs, an eye roll being his silent response to jaemin's smile. you glance between the two, sensing a budding tension. you have to kill this.

"you haven't happened to see mark have you?"

the na suddenly brightens, a light bulb going off in his mind. "oh you're correct! i have to discuss kingdom relations with him! you're a blessing y/n, enjoy your night your majesty!"

jeno narrows his eyes, irked at the exaggerated pitch of his voice. you simply smile, waving him a goodbye as he skips away, the man beside you immediately scoffing once he's far enough of a way. "he's truly a.. character".

"i think eccentric is the word you're looking for".

"you truly do get me l/n".

you chuckle, feeling your cheeks flare up.

it's just the heat of the room, it's just super hot in here, i'm being squeezed to death by this suit.

yeah, what an amazing excuse.

"if you aren't gonna eat, then what exactly do you plan to do?"

"i originally wanted to use feeling bad as an excuse to avoid dancing but.." he pokes your shoulder, motioning toward a group of woman eyeing him like candy, he probably wouldn't be able to escape them if they decided to come over. "they know i'm feeling just fine" he whispers to you, and you stifle your laughter by putting your head down.

"you can just turn down advances, you know".

"as if you don't make excuses to scurry away from waltzing, i know how you play".

you lightly nudge him, he did get you there. his lips turn up in victory, and you resist your eye rolls. "you're ridiculous, your majesty".

jeno furrows his eyebrows. "don't call me that".

"it's your title".

jeno's lips press into a thin line. "it sounds lousy coming from you".

"lousy?" you probably would be offended if not for knowing jeno.

"it doesn't make any sense, we've been friends forever, don't just switch like that".

"i'm technically your staff now".

"you'll always be my friend first.."

you don't even fight your smile at this point. did you say lee jeno was wonderful already? oh who cares? he is. he is so wonderful. in his own strange way, his eyes sparkle as he stares, a barrage of stars hidden in his irises. "okay jeno, i see".

jeno hums, again glancing at the center of the room. he scratches at the pure white tablecloth with his nail, you can practically hear him thinking. "would you like to dance?"

you blink, completely puzzled. "what?"

now it's his turn to laugh at the expression gracing your features. "i'm asking for a dance, with you".

"you usually dance with your staff?"

"you're more than that, don't start".

he holds out his hand, beckoning for you to take it. waltzing with the king? you've surely been blessed tonight. his empty hand practically speaks to you, begging for you to take it. you have nothing to lose y/n, there is no need to be nervous about it y/n.

you stare for a moment, the skin of his hand looks soft.

you sigh, you really can't resist lee jeno. you take his empty hand, your fingers intertwining as they fall together. his hands are just as soft as you imagined they would be, how fitting.

"you agreed without a single indirect comment".

"i'm simply speechless".

jeno seems amazed by such a prospect. "and why is that?"

"you want us to dance? is there any specific reason?" you lace both of your hands together, sighing in contentment as you begin stepping in motion.

"does there have to be? i happen to enjoy dancing with my friends".

friends, right.

"you just sprung it on me all of a sudden, i'm a little puzzled.." you mutter, successfully able to avoid his eyes considering you had to worry about not stepping on his feet.

"you can't see how attractive you are, y/n".

see this? this. how does lee jeno expect for you to act sane when he says stuff like this? does he even consider how you're feeling? how do you let him get away with this?

you let a breath fall from your lips, making sure to focus on the rhythm. "oh.. and you can?"

"it all just comes down to how i see you through my eyes".

is this some sort of romantic thing? is this a build up for him to ask for your hand in marriage?

now why would you ever assume that?

your about to inquire once more, and jeno senses that, because he cuts you off. "is there a reason to question it? you should've read my mind already".

"things can change, i assumed any of the other pretty women would be your pick".

jeno finds that amusing, indicated by the way his lips turn up to reveal a smile. "can't you stop questioning my decisions now? you're my right hand, i think it's obvious why i chose you".

you stare, mouth going dry. you pretty much have no responses left, you can't fight him on it anymore.

"you're sometimes an enigma to me".

and maybe lee jeno doesn't know how to respond to that one.

IT'S NOTHING SHORT OF overwhelming, you'll never be able to understand what jeno is feeling, but you can practically feel the anxiety permeating from him. he takes all the kingly responsibilities with fear hidden behind his eyes, it's a lot, and maybe he feels as if he isn't ready yet. you can sense his thoughts at this point, lee jeno is an open book to you.

"you haven't slept yet?"

"hard to sleep at a time like this" jeno mutters, caressing the material of his nightgown. he admires the night moon through the window, the light pretty much illuminating the whole kingdom. "i didn't mess up did i?"

"mess up what? you're spectacular".

he doesn't look away from the window, simply makes eye contact with you through the glass. "i want to make sure everything is okay, can't fall asleep feeling so.. nauseous".

"do you want tea?" you inquire, fingers beginning to pick at your nails.

he immediately shakes his head. "no need to bother the castle staff".

"i mean.. i could make you tea".

"don't waste your time" jeno replies, finally peeling his eyes off the moon to walk over to his desk.

you snicker. "it always helps you sleep, don't want to be sleepless at your first meeting as king".

"you're really taking that advisor role seriously now".

"there's a difference between being an advisor and being a friend who looks after you".

"you're really beginning to blur those lines.." he states with a hidden feeling of distaste.

you raise an eyebrow, puzzled. is he angry with you or something? he doesn't exactly seem pleased by your presence. a small breath falls from your lips, a breath jeno hears. "clock's about to strike midnight, make sure you get sleep".

"can't you stay for a while?"

you pause at that. okay, so maybe you're wrong. maybe he isn't exactly sick of your presence, maybe you aren't as good at reading him as you assumed. "how long is a while supposed to mean?"

"just until i get sleepy".

so he just wants to talk, alright, you can deal with it. "it isn't tea that helps me sleep, it's you".

the words seem too honest to have any feigned meaning. you can believe he isn't just uttering them to please you, he continues to catch you by surprise. he sits beside you, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. "i'm afraid of not fulfilling everything my father did, it's scary how fast it all is going, what if i don't do well?"

"well there's no need to worry" your hand graces his, but your eyes avoid his. "even as a prince you were at the top of it all, you aren't your father, and i know you're going to be exceptional, i'm right here, you know i always am".

jeno stares, fully taking your hand and basking in the warmth of the feeling. "choosing you as my courtier was a good idea.. you understand me".

"is that flattery i hear?"

"simply the truth.." jeno mutters, fingers softly intertwining with yours. "were like soulmates aren't we?"

ah. there's that word.

soulmates. is that really what you two are? is that the essence of your bond? you two fit. even the king thinks so.

"soulmates?" you whisper, not really looking for an answer, simply trying to figure out exactly why he decided to say that word.

jeno hums, agreeing with your question-not-question. his finger caressing the back of your palm, there's a certain feeling hidden in that hum you can't exactly decipher. it must be pleasantry, maybe satisfaction, you have no idea how to read him at the moment, and that prospect sends alarm bells ringing through your mind.

what is going on?

"mother told me certain people are simply made for each other, sometimes i feel as if the world handed you to me, you're my symbol of luck".

your lips press together, words dying in your throat. jeno doesn't mind the silence, simply basking in the air of the room, your hands squeezing against each other.

a small gust of wind drifts in through the open window, his eyes closing momentarily. "you say things that confuse me sometimes.."

"it's late, i'm overwhelmed".

your hands stay the together, the puzzled nature of your mind not exactly willing itself away. "maybe i'll take you up on that offer for tea".

you light up immediately, the upward curve of your lips being parroted by your eyes. "i'll come with you".

your chuckle is breathless, and your fingers slip from his, catching just the smallest slight of his smile dropping in your peripheral vision. "it's so late, though".

jeno uncharacteristically snorts, slipping on a thin layer to protect him from the cold. "i assure you that the night breeze won't take me away".

your narrow your eyes, opting to scrunch your nose at his show of sarcasm. "alright then, come on" you offer out your hand, an action reminiscent of the very one he performed earlier tonight when asking you to dance.

he takes your own hands rather quickly, the comforting feeling of your intertwined fingers is homely, something you two have both found comfort in with the long stretch of time consisting of your friendship.

it's a firm hold, one that could provide you enough safety and security in a terrible place.

"holding hands with your advisor must be typically frowned upon".

it's joke, tease on the tip of your tongue as you two walk the wall with your fingers intertwined, appearing as some sort of couple.

you'd be a pretty cute couple, you consider.

jeno closes one eye as he contemplates his next fit of words, but there's a strange smile on his face, whistling in the air. "i don't care what others think".

your chuckle is again breathy, and you decide to stick your gaze onto the floor.

lee jeno is a huge enigma, yes, but figuring him out is about the most engaging thing you can say works.

THOUGH LEE JENO IS a sweetheart, he is also just infuriating in the worst way possible. weeks pass from his coronation, kingly responsibilities seemingly taking years and years from him. you thank the ones above for jeno having chosen you as his courtier, because if you simply remained a regular noble, you wouldn't see him for hours upon hours of eligible days.

jeno has never been good at taking breaks, and the hours he spends locked away behind the stupidly large doors of his father's former office clearly indicate you of that.

you can barely contain your eye rolls when he makes up excuses at breakfast, his eye bags growing much more prominent as the weeks pass by.

you bite your tongue once he sends you occasional glares, your worries now kept in your mind.

you're an advisor, yes, but you can barely even attempt to bring up his newly terrible routine without him shutting you down.

it's an order, lord, you really want to punch lee jeno sometimes.

"donghyuck takes me for a fool, can you believe that?" your irritation is endless as you suck your teeth, dropping a stack of papers atop jeno's desk.

jeno leaves your inquiry unanswered, your eyebrows raising in retaliation to that silence. his eyes trail off into the darkness of the shrouded night sky, fingers tapping on the stack of papers placed onto his desk. "hello? someone in there?"

jeno glances in your direction, and you suck your teeth, irritation skyrocketing. "what's wrong?"

your tongue prods at the side of your cheek, arms crossing defensively over your chest. "i should be asking you such a question".

jeno narrows his eyes accusingly, and you manage the nicest scoff which can escape your lips. "jeno, midnight is rounding the corner".

"i'm not tired".

"yes you are".

jeno's glare settles something terrible in your stomach, your hands dropping at your sides. you lick your teeth, rolling your eyes. you step closer to him, turning his chair around. "are you going to try to convince me all the exhaustion is a front?"

"i'm.. fine".

"you're typical word of choice" your arms cross above your chest, disappointment etched on your features. your hands settle on his shoulders, and jeno simply watches as you keep him grounded in his place. "when was the last time you slept?"

"is sleep really that important?"

"is sleep really that important?" you mock with your hands on your hips, slapping his shoulder with a curse on the tip of your tongue. "you're an idiot".

"i can have you beheaded, you know".

"try me" you bite back, hand again trailing onto his shoulder. "it's time for you to sleep".

his fingers grasp at your wrist rather quickly, an immediate act of defiance. of course. your glare is as quick as it is tired, but you don't immediately attempt to escape his grip, instead scrunching your face. "you're acting like a child".

"i still have things i need to do".

"things you can do in the morning, you shouldn't argue with me".

how is it always that when you question his well being he chooses to fight you on it? you find that spectacle of him to be the most infuriating. "i think part of being king is learning to sacrifice the luxury of sleep".

you tsk, shaking out of his grip. "that isn't exactly convincing".

"it wasn't meant to be".

you question his integrity, licking your teeth. "jeno, as your trusted advisor, i advise that you need a good twelve hours of sleep".

"i haven't been awake that long".

"almost two days whole is pretty long" your eyelashes flutter, extending out your hand for him to take. "it's a good time to sleep now".

jeno sighs. "y/n".

"jeno" your teeth grit, right eye twitching at his stubbornness. "sleep, now".

it's astounding how easily the king follows your orders, you assume it's something concerning your tone, maybe it's the way you stare that gives him the unknown feeling of being small. jeno takes your hand, intertwining your fingers together.

you click your tongue at his eventual obedience, gaze softening. "you could at least not look at me like.. that".

you cast him a look. "it's not like i threatened you".

jeno narrows his eyes. "i'm inclined to disagree".

"nothing physical happened, you can't make a case against me".

he doesn't seem to like the display of sarcasm. "you seem quite content with that outcome".

"i didn't say anything".

your pointer finger completely directs itself in front of his face. "if i find out you aren't sleeping".

jeno finds this display to be the one of amusement. "now this is a threat".

you merely tilt your head. "maybe i'll finish you off myself, then you'll finally sleep".

jeno's gasp is of audacity, yet your grip nor your pointer finger neither falters. "that's awfully sweet of you to say".

you pay no mind to the sarcasm thrown your way, squeezing his fingertips that just happen to be pressing against yours. "a good king won't risk fainting at his upcoming announcement, get to sleep, it shouldn't be that difficult with all of this fatigue coursing through you".

"y/n.."

"jeno, quiet, i care, just.. sleep, i'll take care of everything".

"you don't have to".

you, again, scoff. "it's my job, jeno" your hand graces his shoulder, gaze still. you look even more exhausted than he is, sucking a breath between your teeth. "besides, i'm always here".

jeno pauses, staring at you with a gaze that you could only describe as.. loving.

affection, in all it's forms, has always been apart of your friendship. from the moment you two met as kids, it was established in the air, no words having to be said, just actions having to be performed.

your eyes don't stray from him, and neither does his from yours, it's a silent exchange that settles into the air, nothing verbal, simply stares.

stares can mean a lot apparently.

"i know".

you raise an eyebrow, watching him contemplate his next course of speech. "are you gonna stay with me tonight?"

you blink. "would you like for me to?"

jeno keeps your hands locked in place, forbidding your fingers from slipping apart. it's important to him that they don't. he remains standing before his bedroom door with your fingers intertwined, it's something that seems to be a tradition at this point.

"i'd love for you too".

love. love. love? that's what it must be.

maybe that explains why, even in all his mystery, lee jeno is simply so alluring. it's love. it isn't the replica of love that you felt for him back when you were young and naive, no, it's grown into something more.. determined.

you're in love with lee jeno, which, when you think about it, isn't as much of a revelation as any other result that could've been the case. your lips part, and you clear your throat as to keep your words to yourself.

you opt to sigh, letting your gaze fall to the floor. "give me a minute".

and you can't help your smile when jeno smiles, it's simply to difficult to ignore.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Sister Daniel (Real Person) Masterlist

blasphemous. (ao3) - razussy

Summary: sister daniel helps lucifer lester get on the path of reformation.

cheek & tongue. (ao3) - razussy

Summary: being your true self to the person you love is a special kind of feeling.

Confessions of the heart (ao3) - Frog910

Summary: Sister Daniel always knew he was different. A male accepted into the Covent. Many whisper in the halls, but he knew they didn't matter.

But sister Daniel starts to struggle after hearing father Philip talk about love.

Can they move past their positions and be together?

I Absolve You From Your Sins (ao3) - microwaveoven

Summary: sister daniel and father philip fuck in a confessional. everybody cheers

i will not ask you where you came from (neither should you) (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Dan was seven years old when he knew what his calling in life was. He had sat, squished between his parents and infant brother, in the front row of Sunday mass. As he swayed along to the choir singing Amazing Grace, he looked up at his mom and said: “Mommy, I want to be a nun when I grow up!”

or, sister daniel is a nun who wants to make some extra money. he starts a demon-magic etsy shop offering penis enlargement spells and summons the demon phil to fulfill his orders. he quickly becomes infatuated.

I've Been Sprawled on These Cathedral Steps (ao3) - imademon

Summary: Father Philip is shocked when Sister Daniel drops to her knees for the Eucharist. This awakens new feelings in Father Philip that he is afraid to explore.

just as love is a verb, so is faith (ao3) - howell_slide

Summary: “I figured I’d find you here.”

Sister Daniel jumps slightly when a robed figure sits on the bench next to her, startling her out of her tears.

“Philip,” she says, meeting Father Philip’s eyes. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her face tear-stained, but to Philip, they’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment. “How did you know?”

My Sanctuary, You're Holy to Me (ao3) - skygremlin

Summary: Sister Daniel isn't very good at being a nun, but she's stuck living in a convent because she's got no other plans. The church needs a new priest for Sunday mass, and the responsibility falls on her to meet him for the first time. Will he see through her false devotion?

Sister Daniel/Father Philip convent au (Sister Daniel's origin story)

prayer for love (ao3) - lionxlioness

Summary: “You're ridiculous,” said Dan, unable to stop one side of her mouth from curling up. I love you, she thought. But she couldn't say it. Not out loud, in the way that she meant it, which would be more an admission of sin than anything else. Maybe not ever.

Dan and Pippa meet as sisters at a convent.

Prey for the Wicked (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Phil isn't the worst demon ever, but he's hardly the best. That's why he's not super thrilled about his newest assignment. After all, everyone knows that nuns are notoriously difficult to tempt.

sister daniela (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Daniel, on the run from his family, has disguised himself as a nun. Little did he expect to fall in love with the young, sensitive priest Father Philip. This is the culmination of their sinful attraction.

The Father and The Nun (ao3) - cosmic_angel_writes

Summary: Sister Daniel has wanted nothing but Father Philip since she first joined the church. Today is the day she finally gets what she wants.

You go down just like Holy Mary (ao3) - lesbosz

Summary: No matter how hard she tries, how much she prays Sister Daniel can't stop the sinful thoughts. The beautiful nun in the convent doesn't make this any easier for her.

[shunshunrika]

Your Midnights, My Daylight - Prologue

art: Yuta - sso_s__ (Twitter), Gojo - unknown

Chapter List

a/n: hmm so, title credits to Tay-Tay for sure. This might turn out to be angstier than expected so hold on fellas! This is just the prologue.

warnings/tags: modern au! Gojo x f! reader x Yuta, profanity, alcohol consumption, love triangle

“You’re so beautiful.” 

A pair of azure blue eyes reflected your awe-struck face as they narrowed and formed smiling crescents.

“You really are.”

You remembered the first time Satoru hinted at embers of attraction for you crackling inside him. He was subtle about it but you knew, after all, you had begun to feel something within as well. It was gut instinct. Chemistry. A union meant to be.

Laying side by side on his bed, you touched the young, ethereal man’s face, cupped his cheek and let him know that there was no one else but him for you, no one. He would smile at you, with an expression as sweet as honey and cage you in his arms, stroking your hair. His slender and careful fingers would weave through your locks and put you to sleep with ease as you drifted into dreams, your head tucked away safely under his chin. You were his. All his. That’s what he told you, didn’t he?

Then why?

Why was he dancing in the dim, ugly blue lights of this dreary party, groping her hips and stroking her hair?

You wished you could leave before you witnessed them share a kiss. You wished. Now all the alcohol swimming in your system was threatening to make a reappearance through your mouth. A mutual friend of yours and Satoru’s, Nanami steadied you with a respectful hand. 

“You okay there, Y/N? Too much to drink?” he asked, making sure you don’t stumble or throw up on his expensive clothes. 

“I-I am— uh, fine” you manage to say, throat drying up quicker than you can swallow your spit. It hurts. It burns. You can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or seeing Satoru and some bitch practically eating each other. 

“What the hell is he doing?” you turn to Nanami now. He would know, surely. They are good friends after all. But Nanami looks just as confused as you do, in fact, he looks noticeably uncomfortable. He takes a moment to phrase his answer before sighing and dropping it on you.

“I did say Gojo has tendencies. I warned you.”

Your eyes go wide and you claw at Nanami’s shirt. 

“What the hell, Nanami?” you spit out. “I-I thought. But he told me that he—”

“I am sorry Y/N.” he says, avoiding eye contact and pulling you away from his shirt. Damn his expensive shirt. You will definitely throw up on him. “It’s just how it is.” 

“What do you mean? You’ve seen him. You’ve all seen him for months! You see how he is with me!” You plead. Who are you trying to convince? Nanami? Megumi, who noticed you yell and is walking over to check? Or yourself?

Can you really trust yourself when you so easily trusted when Satoru told you, “There’s no one but you for me, Y/N.”

"He told you guys that he's dating me now right? He said he's going to make it official!" you say desperately hoping to get some sort of positive response from Nanami but he just purses his lips.

"I am so sorry, Y/N." he says. "He said he never had feelings for you."

Just like that, days would pass. Weeks. Months.

It would take endless days of crying, self-doubt, hiding from friends and peers, rejecting everyone and rejecting yourself. It would take so much more to get yourself back. To look at yourself again and smile again.

You were now over it, over the whole concept of love. Done with men. Completely. You didn't want to see any other guy and definitely not another shade of blue.

When you finally down your first drink, months after that incident, you get a good rant out of you, telling some poor man who was beside you just how filthy and blasphemous men are. You can't trust your memory influenced by alcohol but pretty sure the man had a weird name.. Okk.. Okkot.. Occult?

[uselessgay10101]

Summary || Matteo and Sangah have a fight. Solace goes to comfort her "wait for me" girlfriend.

Warnings || FEELINGS!! Toxic a bit at the beginning but it ain't much no worries

W/C || 3,381

Pairing || Matteo x Sangah (TECHNICALLY), Sangah x Mc (Main Character)

A/N || clearly this is for my pleasure completely! Check out Couple UP! in Playstore! It's a good game and honestly a somewhat better alternative to Love Island (in my humble opinion!) The team of Native game studios responsible for Couple up! are a 🇺🇦Ukraine-based🇺🇦 studio located kyiv soooo…show love &support!!

A03 Link || Right here bb <333

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Edgechatters: The Pool Game!

---------- ---------- ----------

The day was beautiful! Clear skies stretching endlessly, warm but not hot, with that delightful fresh breeze that cooled your skin just right.

The Voice obviously had to come in and ruin-... better it! With the FUN activity!!

EDGECHATTERS!!

The rules were simple! You, the speaker, pick someone to be your talker. You ask them to compliment you or talk about anything you want! If it satisfies you, you save them from an impromptu ice bath in the VERY cold pool behind them.

And if it doesn't... you push them in.

It was good... enough—

"First question! What is your opinion of me, The Voice? As your host and a person in general," The Voice asked from the heavens—speakers—disembodied and all.

Solace thought before confidently answering with a smile, "You're charming! Something about you feels so intriguing. Maybe it's because we don't know how you look. But still, you have your own unique charm!"

Her smile slithered into a smirk. "And sometimes it works on me," she said, lowering her voice seductively, licking her top lip.

Sangah gasped, eyes darting between the speaker and the flirtatious woman.

"IS SHE-?!"

Solace grinned directly into one of the cameras.

Sangah screamed, "OH MY GOD SHE IS!!"

….

Ahem.

The game continued!

After some time, Sangah chose Matteo to be her "talker."

"Do you want me to compliment you?" Matteo smiled.

Sangah blinked, momentarily confused. After a beat, she puffed her cheeks and shrugged. "I didn't even choose but sure, I guess."

Matteo flashed a sweet smile. "Sangah, you're a wonderful girl, unique as every handmade piece of art, and not like everyone else. I'm lucky to call you my girlfriend."

Ahune made an 'ew no' face and leaned over to Solace, who was barely containing her own cringe.

"Oh no, he pulled the 'You're not like others' card," Ahune whispered.

Solace giggled before catching herself and elbowing Ahune. Hard.

"Ow! I'm right though!"

Solace shot Ahune a warning glance. "Yes, but—"

Matteo sighed loudly and turned to them with visible irritation. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about us while we're here!"

Solace lifted her hands defensively. Ahune simply looked at him, annoyed.

Sangah interrupted their silent argument with a sigh. "Just... let's continue, Matteo."

Everyone returned their attention to the pair beside the pool.

Everything was fine!

Sangah told Matteo, grinning happily, "Compliment one thing I like about myself!"

Matteo paused, thinking before saying, "You're also... good at playing... whatever you play. The League of something?"

Sangah gasped playfully, covering her mouth. "You blasphemed!" She pointed at Matteo, laughing. "You can't confuse a shooter with a MOBA! They're two completely different genres!"

Still laughing, she moved to push Matteo into the pool.

—he resisted.

Sangah stepped back, confusion wiping away her laughter.

"What are you doing?" Matteo asked, genuinely shocked.

Sangah laughed uncertainly. "Come on, it's Apex Legends!" She threw her arms up in disbelief, as if this were common knowledge. "You could've at least tried to remember!"

Matteo squawked, "That's not a reason to push me into the pool. I did as well as I could!"

Sangah blew him a raspberry. "Hey, I decide what's the reason and what's not!"

She pushed Matteo again, laughing.

He gripped her wrist as he pushed back, resisting.

"I complimented you! As intricately as I could!"

Sangah puffed, rolling her eyes playfully even as annoyance crept into her expression. "I guess we have different ideas of what compliments are!"

She gathered herself again, focused on pushing Matteo into the pool. She nearly ran!

But he managed to stay firmly on his feet.

Matteo's brows furrowed. "Stop this, you're embarrassing us!"

Sangah blinked, looking up at Matteo, now genuinely peeved. "Me? Embarrassing us? You're the one trying to embarrass me!"

Matteo sighed, rubbing his temple. "Sangah, I didn't want to have this talk in public, but you constantly say and do strange things."

He threw his arms wide, exasperated. "I've never tried to embarrass you! Believe me, more often than not, I'm the one who gets embarrassed by you!"

Sangah blinked up at him, shock washing over her face. "Excuse me?"

She stepped back. "You really said that? Really?"

Matteo simply looked down at her, eyebrow raised, waiting for what he deemed a worthy response.

Sangah laughed in disbelief. "Nope. No no! I won't buy it. Have a nice f***king time standing here, Matteo! Embarrassed or whatever the F**K you wanna call it!"

She stormed off. From a usually happy and giddy girl, her storming off was like a sharp knife cleanly piercing the heart...

For Solace, of course! Not everyone feels this way when seeing a tiny woman stomp off furiously...

Caleb turned to Solace, concern etched across his face. "Hey, I think you should—"

"On it."

Not even letting him finish processing her agreement, Solace darted towards the mansion, almost desperate to console Sangah. She knew that feeling, and it hurt knowing she had once inflicted that same pain on others. She couldn't change the past, but she could—

Matteo rolled his eyes, yelling after Sangah's retreating form. "You act like it's my fault! I gave you what you wanted!"

"F**K YOU!!!" Flipping him off, Sangah slammed the backdoor shut, cutting off any response.

Matteo threw his arms up in exasperation before turning to the cast with a sigh. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

Laksh, whose eyes had grown wider with each passing moment, spoke in disbelief. "Dude... I don't know where to start."

Matteo didn't even have time to register the response or the stunned faces of the cast before someone pushed him forcefully into the pool.

Jolene gasped, covering her mouth, shocked at the shove. It wasn't gentle at all—no, not even close! It was the type of push where the person's body moves first and their feet follow helplessly.

"Solace!" Jolene screamed, shocked by the sheer force.

In response, Sol simply threw the rolled towels as far as she could. "AND STAY THERE, B*TCH!" the furious woman yelled before rushing after Sangah. She had no time for that rat!

Matteo stumbled out of his impromptu ice bath, shaking like a chihuahua in a wind tunnel—small, shaky, and clearly not built for this life..

"WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?!" He yelled after Solace's retreating form, his hair draped over his face, destroying the thirty minutes of careful brushing from this morning.

Laksh stared at the dripping historian screaming after the already-gone woman, still processing what happened.

Soon he leaned over to Hazel, whispering, "This isn't supposed to be funny, right?"

Hazel whispered back, "Right. I think it was meant to be... serious." Yet she chuckled ever so quietly.

---

-In the Mansion-

Following the yelling, stomping, and light sounding hits, Sol soon stood before the dressing room door. To say she knew what to say would be... wrong. Very incorrect. Frankly, she hadn't thought before following the smaller woman.

Solace looked away, biting her lip—should SHE of all people really do this? She was still technically waiting for Sangah to figure out... whatever she had to figure out!

She was biased, yes... but she knew what Matteo said wasn't okay. Sangah wasn't okay in the slightest, and Sol didn't need years of therapy to recognize that!

...but what if Sangah didn't want to see her? What if she just made things worse? What if she got even more upset?! She definitely didn't want that!

Solace shook her head. "None of that!" she whispered to herself, taking a deep breath before raising her hand to knock.

She stood at the door, heart hammering in her chest... her hand trembled.

But—!

Grumbling...

Seconds later after failing to complete the motion, Solace—

...turned away.

"Maybe Caleb will still help!"

-SSShe walked away like a COWARD!!!-

"Oh, Shut up..."

Solace grumbled.

Until she heard a crash.

Despite her previous words, Solace immediately rushed in without hesitation. Sangah could be in danger! From what? She didn't know, but she needed to find out!

Rushing into the room, Sol yelled, "Sangah! Is everything—"

Sangah, frantically gathering Jolene's scattered makeup products, yelped in surprise as the door slammed against the wall.

Both women sighed in relief before staring at each other for several long beats.

Solace silently helped pick up the thankfully unbroken $201 Vellora Mascara and Sensia cream that was—

$6200!?!?

After placing the product extra gently on the table, Solace smiled softly, looking at her hand resting on the drawer.

"Hey Sangah, are you GG?"

Sangah stared blankly at her for a moment

—before bursting into laughter, tears making her eyes glisten beautifully.

Solace caught herself staring, mesmerized by the way Sangah's tears sparkled in the room's light.

'Snap out of it!' she scolded herself, mentally slapping herself hard enough to tear her eyes away... and banish the intrusive thought!

Sangah... Beautiful? To Solace? Still? After everything? The breakup—if you could even call the Korean woman's awkward "Will you wait for me?" a conversation...

THAT—THAT was barely a DAY ago!

Of course the wound was still fresh enough that every word from Sangah felt like salt being rubbed into it. Yet here she was, heart skipping traitorously when Sangah did anything.

Solace bit her lip and forced her gaze back to the laughing woman, cursing her inability to untangle her feelings as easily as she could solve a puzzle! They were nothing if not friends, right?

...she agreed to that...

Friends now...

Friends.

Just friends!

She'd have to keep reminding herself of that, however much it hurt.

After some time, Solace finally registered that Sangah was laughing... at her?

Sol, embarrassed, asked, "What? What's so funny? I was just asking if you were good to go for a conversation!"

Sangah, still laughing, wiped her tears. "Oh my god, no! GG means 'good game'! It's what you say at the end of a match, not to start a conversation!"

Solace blushed deeper. "But I thought…! My sister told me that..."

Sangah took several deep breaths, struggling to compose herself. "Sorry but... she was definitely messing with you. We just say 'you free to talk?' or 'got a minute?'"

Solace blinked before slapping her hands on her reddening face, yelling in frustration, "Of course she did! That absolute—!!" she screamed.

Sangah laughed again. The storm in her head had calmed enough to laugh! Sol always knew how to do that—even when she didn't mean to!

"I'm never going to get all this gaming lingo right! It's been years but no, of course I don't even know how to start a conversation!"

Sangah laughed, snorting slightly as she patted Sol's back. "No, no, it's okay! It was actually pretty cute!"

Solace froze. 'Cute?'

A mental slap again.

'SHE DOESN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT, YOU IDIOT!'

Sangah finally composed herself. "Just... maybe don't tell people 'GG' when you're trying to start a conversation!"

Sol reluctantly looked at Sangah. "Can I... I don't know—de-spawn?"

.........

Sangah doubled over laughing again.

Solace sighed loudly, looking off into the distance in complete defeat.

After a moment, Solace reluctantly said, "That... outside. He wasn't nice." She asked, genuine concern in her voice, "Are you okay?"

Sangah blinked and looked up at Sol. She whispered, "Oh wow, you just..."

Solace blinked, confused, before jumping up, hands raised defensively. "Sorry! That's why I wanted to start off with a joke but uh—" she coughed before rubbing her neck, embarrassed, shrugging. "You know..."

Sangah smiled tightly before looking away. "...No?"

Solace's eyes softened. "Mind telling me more?" She guided Sangah to a chair.

Sangah flopped down, hugging her knees. "I'm... I don't knoooow." She covered her face, groaning a whine.

"Sad?"

"No!" The smaller woman threw her hands up.

"I'm mad! Matteo is such a jerk! I don't even know why he acts like that sometimes!"

Solace winced internally. "I know... it must be hard."

She couldn't help the small flicker of satisfaction that sparked in her thoughts. Sangah willingly left and brought this upon herself.

'You brought it on yourself willingly... oh you silly girl. You regret it, don't you?

She wasn't the only one hurting...

Solace bit her lip, immediately feeling guilty for such a thought... but she wasn't entirely wrong.

Sangah did regret it but...

She whispered quietly, softly enough to barely disrupt the silence, as if scared to admit—

"I don't know what's happening..."

Biting her lips, Sangah spoke again, louder this time. "He's nice. Really nice. I don't know why he acts like this."

She sighed, dropping her head onto her crossed arms. She was exhausted... tired of everything she was feeling...

"Maybe he's right. I really am the problem, aren't I?" Sangah sighed again. "Maybe I'm not doing enough for this whole relationship thing?"

Solace's brows furrowed immediately—not in anger!

...not really.

Of course she was mad at Matteo for even suggesting Sangah was anything but perfect!

...enough.

She was offended—hurt that Sangah even dared to suggest she of all people was doing something wrong!

Sol didn't know everything Matteo told Sangah. But she knew what she herself had said in her first relationship. And she knew Sangah.

Solace knew that even if Sangah thought "dating sucks," no one tried harder to make someone comfortable in her presence.

It's true. Sangah isn't perfect…

But she tries.

She's always trying to be a better version of herself.

"That's dumb."

Sangah looked at Sol immediately. "Huh?"

"Don't say that again, Sangah!" Solace poked Sangah's side repeatedly, making the other woman slap her hand away laughing.

"But seriously. Don't say that again because it simply isn't true," Sol stated it as if it were the most basic knowledge in the world.

Sangah looked away. "And if it is?"

"It's not," Solace responded confidently.

"You say you don't try hard enough, but since I met you on day one, you have done nothing but be kind to literally everyone! Even Bobby, who you kinda hated."

Sangah laughed, bumping Sol with her elbow. "I didn't HATE her!"

Solace smirked at Sangah. "Oh, so it WAS because she flirted with me."

Sangah blushed, groaning. "Quiet." She pushed Solace lightly as the woman laughed.

"And Jolene! You were mad at her, but you weren't outright mean! You were being yourself!"

Sangah huffed, laying her head on crossed arms, looking away. "And in being myself, she was about to start an argument on 'who is the perfect man?' Remember?"

This time Sol elbowed Sangah gently. She whispered soothingly, "But you were never mean. You just stood your ground like you always do. I've always loved that about you."

Sangah's cheeks immediately flushed pink.

However, before she could respond, Sol continued, her eyes sparkling as she spoke about the smaller woman.

"You were true to yourself, and there will never be a time where I think that's a bad thing!"

Sangah looked at Sol reluctantly, barely hiding her blushing cheeks.

"Maybe not you... but Matteo... he doesn't like it. He doesn't like me being so... annoying," Sangah admitted, her words growing softer as she spoke.

"He said that?" Solace carefully kept the anger from her voice and face as she met Sangah's eyes.

Sangah looked down without responding.

Clenching her fists, Sol forced her anger away.

"Alright. If you were dating you, how would you treat you?"

Sangah blinked, turning to look at Solace, baffled.

"What—?"

Solace covered her mouth immediately. "Trust me. How would you treat yourself?"

Sangah looked down, her lips thinning. "...I'd... I'd be nicer?" She thought for another moment, then spoke softly. "I'd be gentle with her sensitivity, listen... laugh with her, maybe cry too. I'd treat myself with respect."

Solace smiled. "Exactly."

"Listen, Sangah—you are not perfect. But that's not what makes a good relationship! You said it yourself, remember?

---

"Because at the end, relationships are all about both of us being comfortable and having fun!" Sangah had grinned happily at Sol.

---

Sol's eyes softened the more she looked into Sangah's eager eyes. "You have your own weaknesses. Flaws even. But don't you dare let that piece of- man! ..try to convince you to be ashamed of who you are."

Despite everything in her screaming to stop, Sol took Sangah's chin, forcing her to look up.

"If he can't appreciate you for who you are, then he's not worth your time or your heart, and especially not your tears."

Solace almost unconsciously wiped away a stray tear escaping Sangah's eye.

Their faces grew closer as Sol spoke—

"A room isn't truly alive if you're not in it, Sangah. You're what people are too afraid to be."

Sol smiled, looking at Sangah softly.

Sangah didn't think about how physically close they were. She didn't think about how beautiful Sol's eyes were. How gentle and soft Sol was with her. Or how tantalizing her full lips were.. how beautiful she was..

No.

Sangah was grateful. Grateful Solace was here to give her... well, solace.

Cutting through her thoughts, Sol chuckled, smirking.

"Everyone is too serious anyway."

Sangah laughed as she allowed tears to roll down her cheeks. It was silly to feel pathetic in front of Sol of all people. Sangah trusted her... she was her everything..her best friend, her rock, her...

Solace's eyes widened seeing Sangah's tears. "Wait, no, don't—!"

Sol yelped as Sangah tackled her in a tight hug, hard enough to cut off her air supply.

They lay on the floor, their bodies pressed against each other emotionally. Sol hugged Sangah hesitantly as the woman cried on her shoulder.

Sangah snuggled her face against Sol's neck, sobbing.

It wasn't good but—

Solace's mind almost involuntarily panicked at having the smaller woman in her arms again. No matter how she tried, she couldn't control her feelings.

Her arm tightened around Sangah as she buried her face in her shoulder, her eyes filling with tears. She buried her face deeper onto Sangha's neck breathing her in. Sols eyes closed.

No matter how she acted... It hurts. It hurt how everything happened.

---

"Do you think you could wait for me?" Sangah had asked quietly.

Sol wasn't even looking at her. How could she?

—"Oh, Matteo talked to me, so I decided to put you aside and ask you to wait until I decide if I really want you"—

.....

---

That was it.

That was their WILD "breakup."

Sol knew this wasn't... good. But she'd be lying if she said she cared. Either way, it was only a few hours before the recoupling! It wouldn't be long until Sangah chose her again... right?

Sangah herself didn't think about what she felt for Sol. How could she?!

She was crying on her shoulder, for heaven's sake!! Her heart was just thankful to have her near being... herself. The same woman who seemed to be the only thing keeping her grounded in the furious sea of emotion..

Sangah was grateful for Sol in every way that mattered.

After Sangah's breathing calmed, Solace pulled her away, looking into her eyes. "Seriously, don't let this man decide for you because his advice is sh... poop."

Laughing, Sangah wiped her tears, genuinely smiling. "Okay!"

Solace smiled. She was happy Sangah was smiling and even happier she had helped…

After a beat, they both realized how Sangah was straddling Sol's lap, hands on her shoulders. Sol's hand on her thigh. Their bodies pressed against each other's as if wanting to mold together..

.........

"SORRY!!"

"NO I'M SORRY!"

They both scrambled to get up.

"Sorry!"

"No, you're fine! I'm sorry—ow!"

"Sorry! I didn't mean to hit your boob; it was in the way!"

"No, It's okay! it does that!"

They both finally got up, standing facing the door, faces crimson.

After about 30 painfully slow seconds, Sangah asked, her face still red:

"Can we put black paint in his shampoo?"

Sol's eyes widened before turning to Sangah, horrified. "No! I would literally kill someone if that happened to me!"

Sangah pouted. "Come oooon! We have to do something!"

Sol grumbled, thinking. She had to come up with something or Sangah would suggest something equally bad—and she'd agree! Because... pretty woman.

"Can we at least... I don't know, hide his socks?" Sangah whined.

Sol immediately perked up.

"No, not socks! His cocktail suit!"

Sangah gasped happily. "YES!"

Both women ran out of the dressing room.

Seconds began to count down for Matteo's poor cocktail suit…

[aventurineswife]

I think I'll break the anonymity now since I feel a bit more comfortable sharing these shepherd!reader concepts with you ^^

To start off, how was your day? I hope college isn't slaughtering you the way it did to me. Second, here's to us getting the beautiful, dromas-loving blasphemer later when his banner comes out 😍✊ Third, I just saw the official trailer for Zani and wowie, she's amazing! I loooove her character design. She reminds me of Marisa from Street Fighter 6 ngl, with the whole brawler thing going on and the accent. Hoping you get her too (⁠◠⁠‿⁠◕⁠)

I'll try not to bombard you too much, but here's a general idea of how I view her relationship with the characters in the game. With the Astral Express crew, she acts like a third parent after Welt and Himeko, but due to her being closer in age to the trio, she hangs out with them more and is mostly involved in their shenanigans. She plays a versatile role—sometimes, she'll support Dan Heng as the level-headed person in the group. Sometimes, she'll share March's enthusiasm in exploring new worlds and getting to capture new memories. Other times—well, most—she'll act like a second gremlin alongside Caelus. And the thing is, when people comment on their shared impish behavior and express their surprise in seeing someone who's known to be a soothing, tender soul be so unhinged, Dan Heng and March just shrug. “Before we had him, we had her. We had practice.” ← their go-to response when anyone asks how they're easily accustomed to the TB's eccentricity.

I picture the reader to have the personality of a mother and a father stuck in a single body, as in she's protective, nurturing, and gentle the way mothers are… while also possessing the same occasional sternness and weirdness that comes with being a father. She likes cracking dad jokes; she laughs when TB causes trouble for himself; and the most vital element of all, she has that earth-shattering sneeze that dads have. People see her and think “aw, she's gonna sneeze. I bet it'll sound like a kitten.” only for their eardrums to burst the moment she actually does so. The Express crew probably has PTSD over their first time hearing her sneeze. 

When it comes to Caelus and her, the simplest explanation I can supply you with is that they more or less have the same dynamic as Gumball and Darwin from TAWOG. Her being the voice of reason and subtly trying to steer him away from any potential conflicts, but never really rejecting his ideas of mischief outright. If he does get unbearably embarrassing, she'll quietly remove her armband emblazoned with the AE's insignia so people won't know that they're from the Astral Express. When Caelus first boarded the Express, it was her who helped him blend in and adjust to the environment. She took initiative in getting close with him, looked after him as a newbie member, and basically stuck to his side until he was comfortable with the entire crew. Then from there, it all went downhill as they got progressively more involved in weird stuff together and now the entire crew is realizing that these two shameless gremlins should've never been put together. They run around doing side quests, getting into all sorts of trouble, and creating unforgettable memories in the process (and probably even leaving behind a mounting pile of bills for property damage, public disruption, etc.) 

This is a secret she'll take to the grave: she adores Welt to bits. There's something about his calm and protective demeanor that draws her in. He's a steady presence and an unending source of comfort with how confidently he carries himself. If he was closer in age to her, she would definitely pursue him. Ask her what her type is, and she'll sheepishly point at Welt or mention vague descriptors of him. 

When it comes to the Stellaron Hunter, she's fairly neutral about them. On one hand, she acknowledges that Elio might have good intentions with wanting to prevent a catastrophe from taking place in the future, but the countless bloodshed they commit in pursuit of it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. What's the point in even saving the universe from total annihilation if you're going to annihilate some of it in the process? However, she won't be openly hostile to them if they do encounter each other. Likewise, the Hunters also don't have much thought about her, except for Kafka and Blade. They're well-acquainted with living a life of danger and have years of combat under their belt; if anyone can smell a formidable foe, it's them. Blade describes the reader as “having the composure of someone who's fully aware that they can kill everyone within the vicinity.” Kafka probably laughs at this and replies with “a shepherd like her doesn't need something as measly as my Spirit Whisper. Just look at the monsters she has under her control.” Reader would most likely respond to these comments by opening her mouth, closing it back again, looking away to digest their words, and then aligning gazes with them with a hesitant “thank you?” During the Luofu quest when Blade met with Dan Heng and attacked him, he had essentially laid hands on one of the Express members. If Kafka hadn't stepped in to stop their fight, reader would've done so instead, and since she doesn't have Spirit Whisper like Kafka does, she might have resorted to a less peaceful route.

She has reservations about the geniuses, particularly Ruan Mei. After what she did to TB and making him battle the remains of her Tazzyronth copy, reader's trust and respect for her took a nosedive. She tells TB that she would rather entrust him to Screwllum and Ratio than Herta and Ruan Mei because those two gentlemen at least “care” for his well-being. Though, out of those four, she favors Screwllum the most. He's approachable and speaks tactfully compared to the rest; he's courteous–need I say more? Though in terms of interaction, Ratio is at the top, with his subsequent appearance in Penacony and their frequent contact after their first meeting in the Space Station. She might not like his abrasive demeanor too much, but she knows that he's someone with good intentions at the end of the day. Plus, he's surprisingly friendly when you don't act like a complete buffoon.

The IPC trio? Refer to my previous scenario pertaining to the opiuchus and the IPC's involvement in her planet. She doesn't hate them per se, but she'd be lying if she said she doesn't have her misgivings about them, especially Jade. Her and Topaz get along well, though she does wonder why Numby is so afraid of this seemingly harmless and demure woman. Aventurine, as shady as he is, does hold her in high regard because in a melancholic sort of way, reader reminds him of his sister. In the penacony arc, she meets him when he was under the influence of the Harmony and does her best to help him. It tears his heart to see someone show genuine kindness to him in his supposed last moments alive. Jade, on the other hand, is the most dangerous one of all. Reader can tell she's got the most influence out of those three. However, as usual, she doesn't outright show it because, manners, maturity, and all that. She's cordial with her at best. Similar to Topaz, Jade does question why her snakes seem cautious of her. Meanwhile, reader just views the giant snake she has and sighs wistfully. “I remember when one of my companions used to be as small as that. Now, they're all grown up.” She would say, unfazed by the intimidating size. 

Her dynamic with Boothill and Argenti is a fun one to explore. Boothill would probably find comfort in her presence given their shared background as people who has worked with farm animals. I'd like to think he would settle down with her if his life hadn't gone the way it did–she's a farm girl, she's kind, and she's good with kids? That's an ideal wife if he ever saw one. Argenti would praise her upon their first meeting like he did to everyone, and when it happened, reader just chuckled and replied, “your faith is beautiful, dear knight.” To him, she is someone who poses a threat to his journey to spread the word of Idrilla. Not because of anything bad, it's just that to Argenti, she has such a homely and warm disposition that makes you want to just stay with her and forget all about your expedition. 

First of all —

I'm honestly honored you're trusting me with your Shepherd!Reader ideas, because this is something really special you're crafting here.

Thank you for sharing this with me. Truly.

I'll treat it with all the love and enthusiasm it deserves!

Also before anything else —

You are so sweet to ask about my day!!

It’s been a bit crazy but much better now thanks to your message, actually. College has been a little brutal lately, ngl — deadlines everywhere, my brain feels like it’s sprinting a marathon while eating chips lmao.

AND YES.

WE WILL GET OUR BEAUTIFUL BLASPHEMER.

We will love him and his dromas and I will personally hold a tiny festival when his banner finally arrives.

AND ZANI, UGH!

SHE’S SO GOOD.

The brawler vibe? The Mediterranean accent?? Sends me directly into orbit.

I’m praying to the gods that you and I both get her without suffering through pity hell!!

Now for your Shepherd!Reader lore:

I AM IN LOVE.

This isn’t just a character concept, you’re building a fully-fleshed soul.

Someone that feels deeply real, like someone the Astral Express crew could lean on while still being absolute menaces together.

I ADORE About Your Vision

The Third Parent Role:

I love how she naturally fits between the parental wisdom of Welt & Himeko but still "hangs out" with the trio.

That "older sibling/young aunt" energy is SOOO warm.

Like she's not just keeping them safe, she's making their journey beautiful and fun.

Her Dual Personality (Mom + Dad energy):

YESSSS.

That contrast of:

Sweet nurturing presence

Absolute gremlin chaos

Dad-level destructive sneezes.

PERFECT.

It humanizes her in a way that's so rare — she's strong and reliable but still goofy enough to laugh at Caelus's disasters.

Caelus Dynamic (Gumball + Darwin vibes):

THIS IS GOLD.

The image of her just quietly sliding her Astral Express badge off to not be associated with Caelus’s newest shenanigans is SO FUNNY.

And so tender too — the fact that she stuck by him when he first joined says so much about her patient heart.

Her feelings about Welt:

I LOVE how grounded this is.

The quiet admiration?? The "If he were my age..." longing???

It's realistic, unforced, and it doesn’t have to be romantic — it's that deep respect that's so much stronger and more complicated than a simple crush.

(AND YOU WROTE IT BEAUTIFULLY.)

Stellaron Hunters Relationship:

Blade and Kafka sniffing out her hidden strength??? YES.

Blade calling her composure dangerous.

Kafka being impressed by the sheer size of the monsters she commands instead of her raw combat ability.

And her "thank you???" reaction to their comments cracked me up — it’s so natural.

Geniuses and IPC Dynamics:

Her cautious respect toward Screwllum and Ratio is perfect!

I love how you show she’s mature enough to judge individuals, not just groups.

(Also Screwllum IS the most polite. You're so right.)

The stuff with the IPC trio (especially Aventurine seeing his sister in her??) OH MY HEART.

That melancholy flavor is so strong and beautiful.

Jade being the most quietly terrifying one while Topaz is harmless-seeming is dead on too.

Boothill and Argenti Interactions:

Boothill seeing her as an ideal wife??

Tears.

That's so gentle for someone like him — you captured the idea of finding peace after chaos so well.

Argenti, who usually spreads devotion so easily, being so drawn to her warmth that he almost forgets his mission???

MASTERFUL.

Homely, comforting goodness so strong it derails even a pure soul’s journey?? That's so romantic in a very pure, non-shipping way.

You’ve created a rare type of character:

Strong, but not cruel.

Kind, but not naïve.

Funny, but not foolish.

Warm enough to be a home, but still wild enough to cause absolute chaos with Caelus.

I am so incredibly invested already.

[cheerfullycatholic]

Hello--I have sent asks to other Catholics and am a little scared that I will confuse details between them because I am upset and afraid right now, but will you please pray for me?

I have been failing miserably at following any of the plans I set out for Lent, and on Ash Wednesday, our priest told us that Lent is a contract with God, meaning that if we don't follow through or aren't really committed then it isn't God who comes to collect and give you blessing, but it is the Devil who swoops into fulfill his job as Satan.

I'm sorry for sending this on anonymous--this plan is posted very publicly on my side blog, but it wouldn't let me ask under that name and I don't want people connecting the two. Anyway, I would talk to my current and local priest about this, but I have previously been involved in a controversy with members of the Diocese because of some things I believed, and I don't want to drag those still active members into more drama, nor do I want to end hurting new people who are only trying to serve my community as best they can.

I'm scared of judgement, drama, and unintended consequences. I only want to do the right thing. I'm scared, upset, feeling very alone and worried that God is not happy with me because I am failing so hard at these things I agreed to. I've been getting positive signs, but I am afraid that I am only reading into it what will comfort me and not taking srsly the consequences or the intentions of my actions. I know my current priest believes very heavily in spiritual warfare and I am afraid he will try to exorcise me or that I will end up being condemned.

{{{{{Lenten Plans from the Universe/The Messiah/The Golden Timeline (02/13/24)

Okay so basically, here is the plan--handed down through divine intuition or signs or whatever gave me the information--I trust the information source--so here's my spiritual cleanse for the 40 days:

3 days of (as close as possible) no sleep--72 straight hours--then 2 days of regular sleep schedule for the next 40 days

40 days of no more than 1200 calories every day

40 days no spend (outside of food and bills)

40 days (at least) of no medication (exception--Excedrin Migraine but only in extreme situations...)

Increased prayer/communing/sign reading

***I want to be clear that this is something that I am doing for my own spiritual cleanse and enlightenment and enrichment and etc; I'm not advertising this as a responsible or safe or anything--this isn't a recommendation--you're welcome to join me in an attempt but consult with your own support system including mental health team.***}}}}}

I am in contact with my mental health team, including my therapist and they are aware of what I am doing, and they are trying to support me, but they aren't Catholic, and they don't know the anxieties that come with the rituals and traditions of the Church. I am very scared, and I hope you are having a beautiful Lent. God bless you; I know if you find my side blog that it has a lot of very controversial statements about the Church and my beliefs--but I'm trying my best to make sense of what is happening, and I do not want to be insulting. I'm scared about that too--that all the Catholic blogs I admire will find that place where I explore spirituality and think I am being flippant or cruel or sacrilegious when I don't mean it that way at all. I am confused, scared, and very, very much trying to do what is right. God bless you and thank you for reading this--I understand if you do not post this, but I would still appreciate prayers--I know you are kind enough to pray for me even if I am a blasphemer. I will keep you in my prayers as well.

Of course I'll pray, but I also need to say something

Lent isn't a contract, it's a time of prayer and fasting in preparation for the Resurrection. God isn't looking down on us with a giant microscope to see who stumbles with their Lenten promises to add to His list of naughty kids, that's not how it works and your priest is wrong. It's human to mess up sometimes, especially with promises as extreme as yours. Thankfully, God is merciful enough to not condemn us for it. Now, I do believe the devil can use moments when we stumble for his own gain, but we can stop him by not feeling discouraged and continuing on as best as we can. Media has made the devil out to be this scary, unmovable force, but he's not. He's a weenie

I really like this quote from an article I once read on Grotto Network

If you have fallen away from your Lenten practice, there’s no scorebook where you’ll be penalized. It might be a good time to re-evaluate what you are committing to and why, and to listen for ways the Lord might be leading you in a new direction. In Lent, we remember Jesus who himself fell three times en route to Calvary. And three times he got back up and continued on. In Lent, as in all seasons, Jesus is our companion and guide. No matter how perfectly we’ve executed our Lenten disciplines so far, it’s never too late to continue to walk with Him toward Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

[solas-backpack-mug]

Pray for me, oh children, pray for what I've done

warning: depiction of the aftermath of a suicide

High Priestess Asaria felt different somehow. Smaller, quieter. She averted eye contact, not out of superiority to everyone else here, but out of fear, it seemed.

She's been like that ever since she returned from the trial of the Witch of Creitum. To think that the High Priestess had second thoughts about having brought about the end of her own sister, although traitorous, but still flesh and blood - prepostrous and blasphemous. As a fairly new initiate, Oreios was in no place to throw such accusations.

Yet it seemed so logical. He couldn't help but watch her leave the chamber once she passed him.

Oreios had dripped some candlewax on the cover of a beautiful Eothasian prayer book yesterday. The High Priestess had ordered him to clean it up. No humiliation. No punishment. Not even a scornful look.

----------------------------------------------------

He found himself worrying for her, strangely enough.

Oreios felt hot-sharp anxiety at the back of his head.

"Go to the High Priestess' chamber and inform her of my request."

"Priest Hephalon, I am but an initiate. I cannot invade the High Priestess' private quarters and give her orders" he said in a rushed panic. Unwise words despite a wise choice.

"You are but an initiate. And my subordinate. Do as I ask. Summon the High Priestess" Hephalon's voice was stern, borderline vicious.

"Yes, Priest."

Oreios scurried away.

Oreios hurried through the corridors of the temple. He stopped at the door to the High Priestess' private chamber. Only high ranking Eothasians were allowed to knock on this door, and even they were often met with her displeasure.

Hephalon wouldn't risk the High Priestess chastising him for a reason as fickle as wanting her advice with the preparations for the mass next dawn celebrating the fall of the heretics. He must have noticed it too. Her changed demeanor, the air of uncertainty that surrounded her.

Perhaps since something is apparently wrong, she won't mind it that much, he hoped.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

No response.

He waited a minute, two minutes. Once courage steadied his mind, he attempted opening the door. Bold move.

Locked.

"Priest Hephalon?" Oreios announced his presence. "The High Priestess didn't answer the door."

----------------------------------------------------

"Where is she, then?" his previous frustration seemed to have subtly molded into worry.

"I do not know."

"No one knows, is the problem. No one has seen her all day, and there is so much work to do for tomorrow" Hephalon furrowed his brow, thinking. "We shall enter her chamber. Forcefully, if we have to."

Oreios nearly gasped in shock at the idea.

"But Priest, doing that this strictly forbidden!"

"I'm aware. But since she is nowhere to be found and no one seems to have seen her leave the temple, logic dictates that she is probably in there. Something might have happened to her. Not checking on her would be shirking our duties."

Hephalon looked at the magnificent stained glass window depicting the cycle of rebirth.

"May the light of Eothas bless her."

----------------------------------------------------

The door stood unchanged, still locked, a mystery on the other side. Hephalon had knocked several times. No response, just like before.

Just like when Oreios had visited this place, there was no answer. He noticed Hephalon's ears twitching nervously.

"High Prestess! Are you in there?" anxiety crept into the Priest's voice. "Is everything alright?"

Some time passed, in complete silence. Eventually Hephalon handed a crowbar to Oreios. The initiate wedged it between the door and its frame. A moment later the door gave in and opened with a loud crack.

The priest pushed the door, slowly and carefully. The inside of the chamber was pitch black. Hephalon muttered a quick prayer to Eothas and a glowing orb appeared in his hand, basking the room in soft light.

----------------------------------------------------

There was so much blood.

"Bright Eothas" whispered Hephalon, his hands trembling.

The High Priestess' body laid on an ornate bed, sheets soaked in crimson, long dried. A deep cut marked each of her wrists.

Oreios had thought it possible that something might have happened to the High Priestess but he hadn't imagined this.

Polished silver mirror, thrown on the floor. Ceremonial robes, singed and crumpled up right next to it. The air around them smelled faintly of smoke. That unique gold Eothasian pendant the High Priestess always wore, bent in half.

A dagger, covered in dried blood.

Finding a bit of tranquility among the disturbance in his mind, Oreios pieced together everything he saw. That fleeting thought he had when he last saw the High Priestess, that blasphemous idea - it was true.

High Priestess Asaria's faith had broken.

----------------------------------------------------

The tragic news travelled faster than either of them expected. Not longer than three days after their discovery, the Grandmaster himself arrived to the Temple.

The mass had been cancelled. The beggars were fed, as was the custom, but celebration would have to wait until after mourning was over. Everyone in the temple had been informed of the High Priestess' death, though Hephalon and Oreios had decided to keep the details to themselves, for now.

Hephalon, as a higher ranking member of the temple, was invited to speak with him first. After what felt like an eternity, Oreios was asked to enter the chamber. He expected to see Hephalon there but the priest was nowhere in sight.

"Tell me, how does a priest and an initiate find themselves in the High Priestess' chamber?" The Grandmaster's gaze was deeply uncomfortable, nearly painful. His demand to constantly keep eye contact made it all the worse.

It was a great honor to speak to Thaos ix Arkannon himself, the Chosen of Woedica, and yet Oreios couldn't help but feel uneasy at his incessant questioning. Question after question, he became increasingly convinced that it was not only an investigation into the High Priestess' tragic death but also an interrogation against him.

"We had to do something. No one had seen her all day, despite the fact that she was needed. No one had seen her leave either. She didn't answer the door when we knocked. Priest Hephalon was concerned that something was wrong. He asked me to forcefully open the door.

The Grandmaster furrowed his brow, considering his words "So you admit to breaking into High Priestess Asaria's private chamber?

"I... no! I mean... yes, but we had good intentions, we only wanted to help. I would have never done that if I didn't believe the High Priestess could have been in danger. I had to do something."

"So you keep saying. Do you think High Priestess Asaria was strong enough to bend her pendant?"

The bizarre question made Oreios even more uneasy than before. "I... maybe? I don't know."

"Have you ever seen her bend metal?"

"I don't... think I have."

"You are quite physically strong, aren't you? You managed to force that door open." The implication chilled the blood in Oreios' veins. Thaos continued after several excruciating seconds. "What do you think happened to her?"

"I... I don't think it's my place to speak of such things."

"I want to hear your opinion regardless." It was a trap, and Oreios knew it. Nevertheless, the Grandmaster wouldn't accept refusal as an answer. He had no choice but to tell him what he thought.

"Well... She had been acting strange since she got back from the trial of the Witch of Creitum. It was like all confidence had left her. Then the locked door and her wounds... I uh... I think she may have killed herself."

The Grandmaster stayed silent, staring him down, waiting for more. Oreios gave in.

"The pendant and robe... it seemed like she had forsaken Eothas and couldn't bear it."

A fleeting emotion crossed the Grandmaster's face. Satisfaction?

"You forcefully entered the High Priestess' chamber and now you are accusing her of heresy, suggesting she put trust in the lies of the Witch of Creitum. A new initiate, saying such bold things - quite suspicious, don't you think? It's a wonder how Iovara and her people survived as long as they did. Hephalon told me everything, after some encouragement. You didn't think you could lie to me, did you?"

Oreios' heart started racing, a hundred thoughts crossing his mind at once. Was his life over?

"...WHAT?! We didn't kill her!"

"I never said you did. An yet here you are, defending yourself anyway."

"Grandmaster, I swear, my devotion to Eothas is true! I would never act against the High Priestess!" Oreios pleaded, though it was no use at all.

"Spare me your words, traitor."

Oreios was tied, blindfolded, and gagged. Even that couldn't muffle all the sound of his wailing. He knew exactly what happened to those accused of heresy. He'd seen the trials and executions, many of them conducted by High Priestess Asaria.

----------------------------------------------------

How could he have ended up in this situation, innocent but accused? How could the Chosen of the goddess of law do this?

How many more had been falsely punished?

When Oreios was thrown onto a cart, he heard a faint, muffled yelp. He recognized the voice. Hephalon. As the cart began moving, Oreios started feeling around with his tied hands, searching. Eventually he found Hephalon's furry hands and squeezed them.

Hephalon squeezed back.

In his last moments Oreios was glad there was no trial. Only lake water, only sinking deeper and deeper, to erase any trace of the two men who found out something that could shake people's faith in the gods.

A small fish noticed a bit of green growth in the distance. Hunger led it to an unfamiliar structure, full of strange holes and angles. It nibbled at the algae growing from the surface of the formation.

----------------------------------------------------

Another structure like it, but smaller, a little further away. Good hiding spots, the fish thought.

It would be a long time before the two skulls broke down and became a part of the lake and its creatures. For now, they remained. A memory of a scheme much grander than any of their current inhabitants could possibly comprehend.

Another body, in another place, perfectly embalmed, laying in a perfect gold sarcophagus. Saint Asaria, Eothasian patron of warriors of a righteous cause. Holy martyr brutally murdered by what remained of the heretics who followed the teachings of the Witch of Creitum.

sincere thanks to @adozentothedawn for allowing me to adopt the martyr saint idea. your fic is SO GOOD

Regrettably for herself, the Grandmaster, and the Queen of Gods, she wasn't done. Not yet.

[glassrowboat]

6, 9, 10, and 18 for the fanfic ask game <3

6. Are there any fics from others you read all the time?

Juni's Blasphemous Rumors. It has a chokehold on me ;-;

9. Do you write everyday?

No. With my schedule, I reasonably can't. But that's how it is sometimes *shrug*

But I can share smth I wrote yesterday for a exercise:

Growing up on the coast meant many things. It meant you would wake up and hear the crashing of waves against the shore as water met land in a boisterous cry, even with your windows shut tight. The sound always crept through the same way the sand did. Sweeping it away never proved to help, either, not when you would track it back in every time the door opened. A creak and the ocean, the sand, and the sweetest blue you could imagine were all trademarks of a home you relished in. Soaked in after you had made your way down from the steps of your house, past the field of sand that stung at your feet from the hours basking in the sun, and met salt upon your toes. For the ocean was home. And then you had to move away.

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you expected?

Actually, that Kim Dokja fic. I wrote it mainly for myself and wasn't expecting much attention from it, but it's at around 250 notes now

18. What's one of your favorite lines from a piece you've written?

This was a play picturing the most beautiful tragedy you could ever imagine. Romeo and Juliet paled in comparison, for what could compare to the most beautiful rose that pricked at your skin and drew your very own blood for it to taste? To delight in your suffering as your hand draws back in misery.

A play of the Archons making

-From Emerald Sea. Dainsleif.

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for December 30, 2024

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 31:27-29 (KJV): 27 She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness. 28 Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her. 29 Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all. Proverbs 31:27-29 (AMP): 27 She looks well to how things go in her household, and the bread of idleness (gossip, discontent, and self-pity) she will not eat. 28 Her children rise up and call her blessed (happy, fortunate, and to be envied); and her husband boasts of and praises her, (saying), 29 Many daughters have done virtuously, nobly, and well (with the strength of character that is steadfast in goodness), but you excel them all.

Thought for the Day

Verse 27 - A godly woman runs her household well and does not indulge in laziness. Satan uses tactics such as idleness to weaken a woman's character. Timothy was told to instruct widows under sixty to marry and keep house; otherwise, they became busybodies (1 Timothy 5:13-15). Another tactic he uses is pushing women to either extremes in spiritual pursuits, or the opposite: extremes in their household duties. There should be a balance. If unequally yoked, some become overly spiritual and neglect their husbands. In such cases, she should remember that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach! She should take good care of her husband, cooking what he likes and doing special things for him. This should not be done as a bribe, but out of love for him and obedience to the Lord. He might then ask her the reason she has changed. She could humbly tell him that the Lord spoke to her about neglecting the home, and that God wants happy marriages. Knowing that God is interested in him draws a man to God.

Corrected priorities also frequently win rebellious children. Many Christians show the love of Jesus to everyone outside their homes while their own families are starved for it, and are often crying out through their rebellion. We should certainly demonstrate Christ's love to others, but should show it first in our homes. Wives and mothers must recall that properly caring for their husbands and children is their primary responsibility. "That they may teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children, to be discreet, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed" (Titus 2:4-5). It is easy to become overly spiritual like Mary or overly practical like Martha (Luke 10:38-42). The Lord wants us to be balanced; to beware of becoming so "heavenly minded that we are no earthly good" and of being so practical that we miss the beauty of the Spirit.

Verses 28-29 - Bathsheba began the conclusion of her instruction by observing that a virtuous woman's care of her family is so excellent, that her children call her blessed and her husband praises her. Some of us may feel we fall far beneath this Biblical model, but we can aspire to her example by asking the Lord to help us in the areas where we are failing. As wives and mothers, you must examine your lives to see where you fall short, and ask God to help you be like the woman spoken of in these verses. Do your children call you blessed? What about our husbands or wives? Are they praising you? Perhaps our children are rebellious at this time; maybe your husband and wife are far from the Christian ideal, and neither is praising or blessing you. Do we blame them, and insist that the Lord change them, or do we ask the Lord to turn the searchlight upon our own faults and failures, so that He might work a change in us? Our number one problem is not our children, our mates, our job, or our circumstances - it is ourselves. Until we are willing to change ourselves, the Lord cannot begin the needed change in our own family.

How does God effect these changes in our lives? First of all, we must be honest with God and face our shortcomings and sins. We must come confessing: "God, I am resentful toward my husband or wife and children. I don't want to be like this, but I can't help it. Please enable me to be the kind of wife, husband, mother and father that will inspire them to bless me." When we do things out of love, without expecting anything in return, and ask the Lord for a loving and wise spirit to perform our daily chores, we will see changes in ourselves and those we love, since our seeds of love will bring a harvest.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, thank you for the privilege of serving my future wife and family. Lord, give me the grace to take care of them in the manner that is pleasing to You. Although I may not be called to accomplish all the many things the virtuous woman of Proverbs 31 did, but allow me to be faithful in my particular duties as You give us in different ways. Empower me to use my gifts to bless my family, and bring glory to You. Give me Your love, so that I may serve out of love, and not duty. Lord, may I turn my daily tasks into celebrations of love. I ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen. From: Steven P. Miller, @ParkermillerQ,gatekeeperwatchman.org , TM, ‎Founder and Administrator of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups., #GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #SPARKERMILLER Sunday, December 29, 2024, Jacksonville, Florida USA 10:32:05 AM www.facebook.com/gatekeeperwatchnan www.facebook.com/ Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956

[lifechanyuan]

Interpretation of the “Words” of the Greatest Creator

Xuefeng

(Translation edited by Conglong and Ailian)

　　　　

The Greatest Creator never directly speaks to humanity. The Greatest Creator 's "words" are implicit in the laws of nature. To put it simply, the Greatest Creator 's "words" are the "Tao". Specifically, the Greatest Creator's "words" are the formulas of physics, the molecular formulas of chemistry, the equations of mathematics, the structural formulas of biology, and the causal formulas of life science…

Therefore, those great physicists, chemists, mathematicians, outstanding doctors, and other professionals are the ones who can truly translate the Greatest Creator's "words". Works such as the "Tao Te Ching", "The Yellow Emperor's Inner Classic ", and "The Treatise on Response and Retribution of the Supreme Clarity" can be seen as translations of the Greatest Creator's "words" in social life science.

In human society, those who have succeeded in various fields are those who have inadvertently followed the Greatest Creator's "words", because they have followed the laws of the movement and development of things in their time and place (the laws are the Greatest Creator's "words"). Those who fail are those who go against the laws.

People who are spiritually or materially rich are those who consciously and voluntarily follow the rules, that is, those who understand the Greatest Creator's "words". People who are spiritually or materially poor are those who ignore the existence of the Greatest Creator and misinterpret the Greatest Creator's "words".

Anyone who can humbly accept education is someone who understands the Greatest Creator's "words". Those who are stubborn, rigid, restless, inflexible, and cannot calmly contemplate are the ones who go against the Greatest Creator's "words" and are unreasonable, irredeemable, and destined to suffer.

Translating the Greatest Creator's "words" requires wisdom, contemplation, and insight, a calm and peaceful mindset, a complete spiritual and divine state, and an attitude of reverence for the Greatest Creator, respect for deities and Buddha, love for nature, love for life, and love for humanity.

I will attempt to translate some of the Greatest Creator's "words" and kindly ask for corrections from the hidden talents and potential and high-level practitioners in the world.

"I am the Greatest Creator, the supreme ruler of the universe, the commander of all the gods, the cradle of life, the birthplace of wisdom, the driving force of the universe, the energy center of the supernatural world, the oasis in the desert, and the lighthouse in the fog. I am omnipotent, omnipresent, perfect and flawless, and I can see through everything.

"I have prepared the Thousand-year World, the Ten-thousand-year World, and the Elysium World for those who respect me. These are infinitely beautiful worlds, where you will no longer have to worry about food, clothing, shelter, and transportation, nor will you be anxious about aging, sickness, and death, or concerned about the impermanence and disasters. You can enjoy and play to your heart's content. Therefore, you should follow my path.”

"I have also prepared the lower realms of life - the nether world, the frozen layer, and the inflamed layer - for those who ignore my existence, insult me, blaspheme me, and betray me. You will suffer torment and eat the bitter fruit you have sown. Therefore, you should repent and ask for my forgiveness.

"Your life is short, don't waste precious time on useless things. You should prioritize seeking me. If you seek me, I will appear. If you knock on my door, I will open it for you.

"Everything you see is fleeting and illusory. The real things are hidden behind what you see. You must learn to seek them out.

"Everything you have in the world will not bring you true happiness and joy. The more you have, the more you will suffer. You should pursue wisdom. Only wisdom can make you happy and blissful, and only with wisdom can I let you enter the higher level of life space.

"Don't make life too complicated. You should pursue a simple, ordinary, and rich life because I prefer people who have wisdom and are ordinary and plain, not just those who have power, status, and fame.

"Don't limit your thinking to three-dimensional space. Otherwise, you will not see other spaces. Don't deny the existence of other spaces just because you cannot see them, just like denying the existence of particles because you cannot see them.

"You should stay away from evil deeds. Those who steal, rob, deceive, extort, rape, kill, are greedy, and corrupt will never have a bright future.

"Don't have jealousy, slander, arrogance, conceit, resentment, or cunning in your heart. These things are like viral bacteria that will erode your spirituality."

"Do not compare yourselves to others. Be your own person, walk your own path, and do not chase after trends or fads. Do not lose your way."

"Humbly learn from those who are wise, listen to the teachings of the knowledgeable, and have the courage to acknowledge your own ignorance."

　

"You were born into this world to be human, so do not pursue extraordinary abilities or strive to become gods or Buddhas. Walk the path of being a good human being, and the quality of your next life will be determined by the merits you accumulate in this one. I dislike those who behave weirdly or act peculiarly."

　

"Earth is the home of humanity. Love every mountain, tree, blade of grass, every particle of earth and drop of water. Whoever destroys their home will have no home left, but those who cherish it will go to a beautiful home."

"How you treat me, I will treat you in the same way."

"I have not created many contradictory religions in the world. I have only created laws and regulations for the universe and life. Religions are created by humans yourselves."

"Do not build temples or churches for me, for the entire universe is where I am. Do not sacrifice animals to me, for I am the Greatest Creator and I do not eat such things."

"You should revere me with your heart, and not deceive me with superficial forms. You cannot deceive me. I detest those who appear devout on the surface but hold contempt for me in their hearts."　

"You should respect the elderly because you will also grow old. You should care for the young because in my eyes, you are also young. If you do not care for the young, I will not care for you."　

"Respect your teachers and humbly accept education. Otherwise, ignorance and foolishness will obscure your mind, leaving you groping in the darkness for lifetimes.

Observe laws and respect your rulers. There are universal laws governing all things in the cosmos. You cannot act recklessly without consequences.

The right to exist as human beings is given to all of you by me. Protect your rights as human beings, and resist those who would deprive you of them. Stand tall and upright like humans, not groveling like dogs.

Help yourselves, and I will help you. Abandon yourselves, and I will forsake you.

The population of humans on Earth is already too high. You must exercise self-control and not reproduce like animals. Otherwise, disasters will befall you by my will. This is a warning, so do not blame me for being cruel.

Actively seek me out and follow my path. If you disregard my existence and do as you please, disasters will strike you at any time.

Hold on tight to my hand!"

Please kindly critique and correct my interpretation if there are any mistakes.

Your spirituality will grow, and your thinking will transcend that which arises from human nature and ethics.

Stay and study in Lifechanyuan; a new LIFE will begin.

Take a broad view, you will see the faraway mountains fresh and green.

Open the windows, the sunlight and fresh air will come in.

[berezina]

In the summer of 1967, I was asked to arrange a medley of the great American national songs: 'America the Beautiful', 'The Star-Spangled Banner', 'America (My Country 'Tis of Thee)', 'God Bless America'. I put a lot of time into it: I'd been listening to a lot of Thelonious Monk and Stravinsky, and my arrangement had some of the same kinds of angularity and dissonance. (I was also listening to Cecil Taylor, but at that time I found I wasn't able to do much with Cecil's music in terms of integrating it into an orchestration for a concert band.)

The bandleader was away, so he never heard the music before we performed it. I did the arrangement and a sergeant named Marcato was leading the rehearsals in the absence of the band director. The guys in the band were knocked out. 'Damn, Henry,' they told me, 'this is really sophisticated stuff!'

We went to play the medley in Kansas City. We knew the premiere would be a big ceremonial occasion, but we didn't know who would be there. It turned out to be a gathering of all the big military brass—the generals, the colonels, the majors from all the divisions stationed in the region—as well as political leaders, including the governor and state legislators, the mayor and the city council, and religious dignitaries from the Catholic Church and various Protestant denominations. They were all seated up on a platform in front of a large audience.

The band director showed up just in time for the concert. He hadn't even had a chance to look over the score, much less approve it. The plan was for him to conduct it on the fly and hope for the best. We launched into the arrangement and didn't get more than eight bars into it before the Catholic archbishop stood up and yelled at us: 'Blasphemy!' He was furious. The pristine white and crimson of his chasuble and his ornate pointy miter only made his outburst all the more shocking. 'This is an outrage!' he thundered. 'Pure blasphemy!' The conductor, unsure what to do, signaled to the band to stop.

I was standing in the wings. Once I was promoted to arranger, I didn't even have to play in the band myself anymore. I was just along for the ride. I figured I'd hear my arrangement and then hang out in Kansas City.

The crowd murmured in confusion as the archbishop glared at the governor and the other politicians. Flustered, they turned to the clutch of generals. 'Who's responsible for this travesty?' the politicians demanded. The generals jumped off their feet. They were certainly not going to be called on the carpet over this mess. They looked over to the band director, and he looked at Sergeant Marcato. And Marcato pointed at me and said, 'Threadgill's the one who did it! He wrote the music.'

I peered out from the wings. 'Um, what's the problem?' I asked.

They stopped the entire event right there. As the audience shuffled out, there was a sort of huddle around the archbishop with the band director and the army officers. I didn't know what was going on. Blasphemy? A piece of music? What did that even mean? How could an arrangement be blasphemous?

The band was herded back into the bus to return to Fort Riley. The band director informed me: 'Threadgill, you're back in the band tomorrow. Report for band in the morning.'

'What? Back in uniform?' I was confused. As the arranger, I didn't even need to wear my military dress. I had been dressing in civilian clothes for months.

'Yes,' he answered in a severe tone. 'You're in the second clarinet section, in uniform, tomorrow.'

I tried to engage him in civil conversation. 'What is this about? What's going on?' He refused to discuss it further. I wasn't sure what was up, but I knew I was in trouble. I knew how the chain of command works. These people kick spit on asses. When the archbishop jumped on the generals, they had to find somebody to take the blame.

We got back to the fort in the early evening. I remember that even the sunset looked ominous that day. The next morning, I scrambled to get ready for band rehearsal, trying to get my fatigues on straight, looking for a reed that would work for my clarinet. We started at nine o'clock and rehearsed until noon, when we had a lunch break.

The rehearsal studio was a big, beautiful room, and by midday the sunlight was streaming in through the windows. As we sat back down for the afternoon session, I was thinking that despite the abrupt reversal of fortune, it was actually a pleasure to play in the group again, to rediscover the reflexes of section playing in a large ensemble.

The band director taps on the podium and we sit up attentively as he raises his baton. Just as he is about to give the downbeat, the door opens and there's a messenger in full dress carrying a dispatch bag. 'At ease and attention,' the band director tells us. We place our instruments down to listen to the messenger.

He opens his leather dispatch bag, pulls a number of documents out of an official-looking envelope, and starts reading. There's a laundry list of orders. 'According to so-and-so… The 5th Army such-and-such… In accordance with the…' It went on and on. And then: '… According to the Military Code of Justice, Private Henry Threadgill—'

I look up, surprised to hear my name. 'Who? What did he say?'

'Be quiet and listen,' the band director reprimands me.

'—has been assigned to the 4th Infantry Division in Pleiku.'

'Pleiku?' I sputter.

The director snaps: 'Shut up and listen!'

I have thirty days to get my life together, the order continues, and then I have to report to Oakland, California, on a particular date.

'Wait one second!' I say. 'Listen—' The bandleader tells me again to close my mouth, but I ignore him. '—I play clarinet. This is a high-priority instrument. In a concert band, this is the highest-priority instrument there is. It's like a violin in an orchestra.'

The band director gives me an icy stare. 'We know what you play.'

'What do you mean, I'm being transferred? I applied to be stationed abroad, either in France or in Panama. I was told I couldn't join those bands because there was a shortage of capable clarinet players here. Now you're letting me go?!'

'I've got nothing to do with this,' the band director says.

I'm completely numb. The guys in the band sit there in complete silence, trying not to look at me. I know what I want to say: 'What in the world is going on? My arrangement was just a piece of music! Doesn't anyone have a sense of humor here? You're telling me that you're shipping me off to war because of a piece of music?'

But there's no one to say it to.

And that's it. They order me to get up right there and leave the rehearsal hall, go back and clear out my bunk, turn in my clothes, go to the quartermaster, stop by the finance office, get all my papers. And I'm on my way back to Chicago for thirty days to arrange my affairs before I'm deployed to Vietnam.

~Henry Threadgill & Brent Hayes Edwards [buy]