#ANYWAY THANK YOU FOR READING!!!

[lauraneedstochill]

“The Pitt”: Jack Abbot’s appreciation post 🔥 original posts: x, x, x, x, x, x, x + other characters: part 1, 2, 3, 5

[calmparticles]

like glue ?

[wyrmswyrds]

Completely Normal Fish, caught by a Completely Normal Fisher

[ghostember]

heres some gouache sardines

[redthemarten]

Lil' bro is smarter than you expected.

[rusticfurnace]

GHOSTSOAP // "you sweet fucker" MINICOMIC!!!

[casscainmainly]

What is a mother?

Batgirl (2000) #25 // Batman (1940) #567 // Batgirl (2000) #54 // Batgirl (2000) #49 // DC First: Batgirl/Joker // Batgirl (2000) #52 + Batgirl (2024) #6

[stump-not-found]

Second or Third Contact

part 1 /part 2 / part 3 / part 4

---

and they never ever had any problems ever . the end

[plushstarrs]

My experience carrying a stuffed animal with me at school every day

Wrapping up my first semester where I decided to be brave and carry a plushie with me, and figured I’d share my experience for anyone who wants to bring their plushies but may be nervous. I carried a small to medium cat plush in my hands and placed them on my desk every day.

I can safely say my experience has been nothing but positive!

- No one ridiculed or treated me unkind for it, any questions were posed with respect. I worried people wouldn’t take me seriously, but it’s not a problem I encountered.

- I made friends more easily and people asked me questions about my plush (name,brand,etc) quite often and seemed interested in my answers.

- None of my professors made any rude comments or told me to put them away. One asked if my plush was a recording device and why I had her but didn’t push further when I replied no, she’s just here because she makes me happy.

- Some professors made jokes, one pretended to punch my cat plush because he “doesn’t like cats” and another told me not to bring a black cat because it reminds him of a past cat he had and disliked. Nothing serious it was all in good fun from professors who frequently joked with other students as well.

- It made me very happy and comforted to have a plushie friend with me!! That alone makes it worth it.

I’m a fourth year college student, if you are in high school your experience may vary as you could face teasing from peers as I had before, but remember the world is so much kinder <3

[screambirdscreaming]

Something that peeves me whenever I see another post going around with some variation on "autistic people take things literally which means we are the only people who communicate Clearly and Directly" is that - for any given statement, there is not one singular, agreed on, universal Literal Interpretation. If there was, none of this would be a problem!

The nature of language is that there's always some degree of interpretability. Words have several different meanings, often overlapping, and there's nuance of context, cultural references, and so on.

Faced with a statement, most people will quickly come up with an interpretation that to them makes the most sense. But if you asked a roomful of people to explain in detail their interpretations, everyone's would probably be a little different, even for a pretty simple statement. Regardless of whether those people are autistic! Everyone conceptualizes the world a little differently, and everyone has a unique personal history of all the language they've encountered, and these things effect our interpretations.

In order for communication to be workable, given this slosh in interpretability, there's another couple of processes that go on. As conversation goes on, people reassess if their initial interpretation matches up with additional context. If it doesn't, they revise it, or ask clarifying questions. And on the flipside of this process, the other person in conversation is tracking if your reactions make sense with *their* understanding of what they're trying to convey to you, and offering context or rephrasing things if it seems you're out of alignment.

These processes are social skillsets that are, like most social skillsets, not ever directly articulated or explained. Many people are bad at one or both. Sometimes you encounter someone who is really, notably good at it - the vaunted "good listener", who puts in the effort to really understand what you're trying to say, or that really excellent teacher who engages with you back and forth until you really get it. But a lot of the time, it's a sort of passive social friction - people just not getting each other.

Sometimes, you encounter someone whose brain works so much like yours that talking to them feels almost effortless - you just get each other. But that's a pretty rare occurrence for anyone. More often, as you get to know someone, you start to understand the shape of the way they interpret things and learn to account for it, so over time it's easier to make sense to each other.

It's honestly not uncommon in society for people to aggregate in groups of people who interpret things similarly, and who are thus easier to talk to, rather than actually building the skills of communicating across interpretation gaps. Particularly egregious are those groups of men who talk about Women as an incomprehensible monolith, but it turns up to a greater or lesser degree on a lot of levels.

I suspect this is the root of a lot of parenting problems - people who have never built this communication skillset, and relied on choosing friends who make sense to them without a lot of effort, and who are then totally unprepared to interact with a child who interprets things in ways they don't expect.

Obviously I can't speak to The Universal Typical Experience, not least because it doesn't exist. But in general I would posit that:

Most people, give or take a few assholes, are not trying to say things that are confusing. Most people think they are communicating clearly, because the first interpretation *they* would come up with on hearing one of their own sentences is the correct interpretation.

Many people are not very good at accounting for different ways people could interpret things they're saying. However, it is normal and polite social behavior to be somewhat flexible about this and forgiving of misunderstandings. If people are being shitty to you about not understanding them, they are assholes. And I wouldn't assume that the rest of the communication they have with everyone else they know goes totally smoothly for them.

I suspect there is a bit of an unfortunate feedback loop, where people have bad experiences when someone gets mad at them for not getting something, and learn to hide when they're confused. Which then leads to larger, more complicated misunderstandings, which other different people get upset at them about, because those people think they should have asked for clarification in the first place.

Truly you can't win with everyone. No one can win with everyone. There is no monolith of "neurotypical communication" which resolves all these contradictions - all those people you're lumping in together under "neurotypical" have just as much trouble with each other.

[devonhale]

actually one of the most beautiful things about hacks is that we can be changed by anyone and at any period in our lives. deborah was in her forties when ava was born. she’d lived a life longer than ava’s before ava even existed yet they both have had a profound effect upon each other. it’s never too late. you haven’t met all of the people who are going to change you yet.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

your krakoa era cherik art has altered my brain chemistry

more krakoa era is to come from me my friend so i worry for your brain

[teratomatica]

you always land on all fours

[libraryofgage]

After checks calendar 84 years, I am once again offering Smart Steve content lmao

Listen the writer's block has been hitting recently if you couldn't tell, but I'm still happy with how this came out.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :P

----

So.

Steve Harrington is smart.

Like, smart smart.

Like, the kind of smart where he not only understands shit, he can explain complicated shit to Eddie without sending his brain into a coma.

It's been two weeks, and Eddie is still trying to come to terms with this discovery. He's four tutoring sessions in and a little spark of surprise still rocks him whenever Steve can easily explain a new topic using the stuff Eddie likes.

He explained velocity using D&D spells. He explained electrical circuits using the concept of plugging a guitar into an amp. After asking a few questions about Lord of the Rings, Steve Harrington managed to explain the in-depth concepts of magnetism using the fucking One Ring.

How the fuck is Eddie supposed to be normal about any of that? Ignoring the sheer fact that Steve is capable of it, how is Eddie supposed to feel about the...the willingness to learn what Eddie understands best and meet him on that level?

If the answer is awed and practically starstruck, he's ahead of the game.

"Hey, you doing okay? Kinda spacing out over there, man."

Eddie blinks, the textbook in front of him coming back into focus. Steve had been explaining the concept of momentum, but his words just floated in one ear and out the other because Eddie was once again consumed by the absurdity of the situation.

It's not like he can say that, though. So, instead, he settles for a grimace and pushes the textbook away. "I think I'm all fried out for physics," he says, looking up at Steve.

"Oh," Steve says, blinking a few times before nodding. "Yeah, sure, uh, sorry."

"Wait, what are you sorry about?"

Steve looks away, an awkward frown tugging at his lips. "I...probably wasn't explaining it too well, huh?"

"Woah, woah, no way," Eddie says, putting a stop to that train of thought before it can leave the station. He turns in his chair to face Steve directly, ignoring how the metal rod that attaches it to the desk digs painfully against his shin. "Listen, Stevie, I've never understood physics more than when you explain it. Like, I don't know, man, whatever you're doing works."

Steve must have been more worried than he let on, because Eddie can literally see the tension draining from his shoulders. "Great," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances away. "Seriously, that's great. I'm glad nothing's been confusing."

"Yeah, so, nothing you did," Eddie says, feeling like he needs to reiterate that point to drive it home. "Honestly, you could probably even make me understand geometry. Not like our teacher is doing shit to help."

"Do you...not understand geometry?" Steve asks, looking a little unsure like he can't tell if that's a joke or Eddie's attempt at suggesting another class he needs help in. This one is a class they share, which means Steve will have seen Eddie's floundering attempts at answering questions, and he feels a whole new burn of embarrassment course through him.

"Do you?" Eddie asks in return.

"Yeah. It's just, like, angles and shit, man."

Eddie stares at him for a moment, eyes narrowing and trying to figure out if Steve is somehow, subtly, making fun of him. But of course he isn't. If Eddie has learned nothing else, it's that Steve doesn't ever think Eddie is actually stupid or deserving of ridicule. He just thinks Eddie hasn't been taught properly, which is more on the teacher than him.

After a moment, Eddie twists around to dig in his bag. He pulls out his geometry homework, slaps it on the desk, and gestures at the triangles and squares and other shapes with unidentified angles and side lengths. "I have literally no clue what the fuck is going on here," he says.

Steve moves closer, looking over the sheet with a slight frown. Eddie knows this face by now. It's the one Steve makes when he's searching for the relevant knowledge in his own brain, pulling it to the front so he can easily identify the gaps in Eddie's understanding. "So, how would you start?" Steve finally asks, offering his pencil.

Eddie takes it, twirls it between his fingers a few times, and looks over the questions. He eventually chooses one asking him to find the length of a side. "I know this one. It's the equation with the squares and shit," he says, carefully writing it out and plugging in numbers under the triangle.

"Right. Pythagorean theorem. A squared plus B squared equals C squared."

"Yeah. That," Eddie says, working through the math on a separate sheet of paper instead of in his head. He can do easy addition and subtraction, but one of the first things Steve did was get him used to using scratch paper. His brain doesn't feel quite as crowded by numbers anymore; now it's just crowded by the endless rotation of bites of knowledge and equations that have nothing to do with the work at hand. It's like his brain can recognize that it needs to remember something, but can't identify what exactly, so it just offers up everything.

When he's done, Eddie shows Steve his work, the answer circled at the bottom of the scratch paper. "Perfect," Steve says, flashing a smile that makes Eddie's heart lurch dangerously. "Okay, so that's solid. What about this one."

He points at a right triangle with only one angle listed and the other marked as unknown. "No fucking clue," Eddie says.

"This one is asking for the unknown angle. It'll just be some subtraction."

"It's only giving me one angle, Stevie," Eddie points out, gesturing to the angle marked as 53. "What the fuck do I do with that?"

"Well, the main thing is that a triangles angles will always add to 180. Also, this is a right triangle," Steve explains, taking the pencil from Eddie to circle the L-shaped corner of the triangle. "This angle will always be 90 degrees on right triangles. Should I keep going?"

"No," Eddie says slowly, drawing the word out as he takes the pencil back. "I'm starting to get it. Lemme try."

Steve waits patiently as Eddie hesitates before adding the angles together and subtracting that from 180. When he gets to a solution of 37, he gestures for Steve to check.

"That's right," Steve says, nodding as he points to another triangle on the sheet. "For this one, I'll teach you about the SOH CAH TOA trick."

Eddie nods, paying as much attention as he can, but he can't help feeling a little distracted by Steve's happy smile and relaxed posture. He's never seen Steve like this during class, and he's struck by the sudden notion that nobody else will see Steve like this, either.

------

When Steve gets home, he drops his bag in the hallway, grabs a soda from the kitchen, and collapses onto the couch.

A few National Geographic and Scientific American magazines are still spread out across the coffee table. A brief glance reminds Steve that none of the stories were particularly interesting in these editions.

He pops the tab on his soda, takes a sip, and glances at the phone on the end table next to him.

Steve had noticed something today. Eddie's shirt. Most of the band shirts Eddie wears are popular enough that Steve sort of knows them. Metallica, KISS, and AC/DC were recognizable since he's passed their albums on display in record stores.

Today's band, though. He didn't recognize that one. What the fuck was Manowar?

After a few seconds of thought, Steve reaches out and grabs the phone. He's just doing research. Wanting to understand the music Eddie likes is reasonable. That's how Eddie learns. There's no other reason for Steve dialing the number of an old classmate.

The phone rings a few times before picking up. "Amare residence," a girl says, sounding distracted.

"Hey, Dee. It's Steve."

"Hmm, Steve. Steve. ...Steeeeve. Oh, is this Steve Harrington, deserter of friends for the woes of public education?"

Despite everything, Steve can't help an amused smile. "Yeah, that Steve," he says. He doesn't apologize, since he knows that's not what she wants. If she was actually angry, she would've hung up.

"Well, how kind of you to grace me with your voice," Dee says, sounding distant like she's set the phone down. "I suppose I can give you until I finish braiding my hair."

"Great. You know about metal, right?"

"Like iron? Duh, Steve, I'm not thirteen."

"No, like, heavy metal."

"Iron is pretty heavy."

"Music, Dee. Heavy metal music."

"Oh! Aren't you a Tears for Fears kind of boy? What are you doing asking about heavy metal?"

Steve starts to answer but stops himself. He doesn't know why. Dee tutors kids all the time. Everyone in their private school group did. That's how they made money. She'd understand that he's trying to learn more about Eddie's interests for tutoring purposes.

So why can't he just say that?

"This long pause says you're thinking about lying to me," Dee says. "Don't bother, Steve."

"Well, I do want to know for the guy I'm tutoring. But not just because I'm tutoring him."

"Awww, are you trying to make a friend?" Dee teases.

Steve grimaces, wondering why his stomach twists slightly at the question. "Yeah, kind of. I want to know more about the stuff he likes. And he likes heavy metal. So, ya know, I thought of you."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Dee says. "And I love talking music, so I guess we can keep talking even after I'm done braiding."

A relieved smile tugs at Steve's lips. "Thanks, Dee, I appreciate it. So, first question, what's Manowar?"

-------

Tag List!

@estrellami-1, @ravenfrog,

[tzarrz]

i listen to fog lake too much

[kedsandtubesocks]

Born Again

Priest!Joel Miller x F!Demon Reader

summary: you want the handsome priest more than anything, he wants you gone…but what transpires between you & him is either a curse sent straight from hell (or a twisted blessing in disguise)

word count: 5.9k

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. dark themes. no outbreak/modern AU, enemies to lovers, Catholicism themes & imagery, multiple character deaths & discussion of death, heavy priest kink, blasphemy & corruption kink, morally gray!Joel, morally gray!reader, unspecific age gap (Joel is in his 50’s & older than reader), biting & blood drinking, moments of violence, manhandling, blood imagery, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m), finger sucking, major yearning & angst, protective!Joel, use of gendered language, hint of bi!reader, one use of “good girl,” reader addresses Joel as “old man”

a/n: This is my entry for @pedgito SpringFever25 [cemetery + supernatural] please be aware of the warnings - this fic I know won’t be everyone’s cup of tea & I kindly ask if it isn’t please scroll away! Divider credit & thanks goes to the wonderful @saradika-graphics

St. Jude’s church is quaint, rather simple. A coziness inside reflects its small Texas community that sits on the outskirts of Travis County. Beautiful stained glass windows line the walls illuminating the space.

The opening hymnal starts, and you sing the songs like you care. Then your eyes are drawn forward as your prey arrives.

The priest moves around the altar, readying himself for the mass. The cream and purple ecclesiastical robes paint him a holy shepherd of his flock.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…” He makes the sign of the cross deep with an accented twang, and your lips twitch.

You never would’ve expected such a rich southern voice to leave a pastor. Then again, this man doesn’t seem like an ordinary priest.

Father Joel Miller is rugged, reminding you more of an outlaw wearing a costume. The stern look on his handsome face seals a gruff nature to him. Yet you’ve seen his soft heart when the congregation flocks to him after mass finishes.

Many in the church lust after him. You can sense it. Even if it wasn’t in your nature, it’s hard to miss the multiple women during the service batting their eyes and wearing rather revealing tops that would make a nun faint.

You aren’t the only one who wants this man. But, maybe you might be the only one who wants to devour this man’s soul.

As a demon of lust, you’ve always wondered what it would taste like to indulge with a man of the cloth.

And Joel is your perfect target.

This priest has been challenging. Unlike other humans, you haven’t been able to read his desires.

You wandered into this town a few months ago and settled in effortlessly. This church called to you like a siren’s song. The amount of carnal desire seeping out begged for you to feast, made your mouth water. Then you saw the reason why.

Currently Father Joel focuses on preparing the eucharist, his brow heavily furrowed and meditative in prayer.

Distinguished in his age, scruffy beard, strong nose, gorgeous eyes - it’s unbearable witnessing a man like him waste under the holy robes. A bitter taste fills your mouth just thinking about it.

After the service, the church opens their food drive pantry for the weekly breakfast to serve those in the community who need a meal.

It’s your first time joining.

Originally, you had planned to lurk, slowly get accustomed to being around holy ground until finally working up the strength to pounce.

But of course, being a new face in a small church, you were singled out immediately.

You shared a fake sob story about how you were searching for God. Multiple parishioners immediately took you under their wing, even dragged you to bible study. Unfortunately they’ve now roped you into helping out with the event today. But, you view it as a step closer to your handsome goal.

Except the hot priest doesn’t give you a second glance.

You try everything to be in his eyesight, purposefully being extra disgustingly holy and helping out.

Even one of the deacons compliments you.

“A young woman such as yourself taking the time on a Sunday to do this? You’re a fine example.” Deacon Matthews beams at you proudly.

Yet Father Joel ignores you, not once acknowledging your presence.

It pisses you off. Annoyed, you’re sent back to the pantry at the rectory building to put away the plates. In the quiet storage room, heavy footsteps approach behind.

You turn around -

Whatever words you want to say die in your throat.

Father Joel stands in the doorway, staring furious. This is it, your chance. An unbearable excitement bubbles in you.

“Oh, Father! I’ve been meaning to-”

Your words get cut off immediately when the priest raises up a small crucifix, clutching it painfully tight in his grasp. He remains silent.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” You’re slightly confused and glad it leaks into your voice.

“I know what ya are…” his voice rumbles low and deadly.

“God damned creature of sin, I cast you out.” He spits the words seeping with venom.

A sharp pain strikes straight into your chest as if a lightning bolt just struck you. Your eyes sting. A distorted screeching noise, an internal alarm, roars in your ears while an animalistic panic claws across your skin.

You recognize this feeling.

Once after you had slept with a nun and devoured her soul, her hellbent convent quickly found you. The head mother superior, instead of a cross, raised a rosary at you. She spoke similar words to what this priest just said, invoking the same reaction you feel now.

Everything clicks.

You bark a laugh, shaking the sensation away, and look the priest dead in the eye.

“So…You’re an exorcist, huh?” You grin surprised, borderline gleeful.

This is going to be fun.

—

You show up to mass next Sunday, walking prouder than ever entering St. Jude’s church.

Joel murderously glares at you any chance he can. You get tempted to blow a mocking kiss at him during communion.

After mass, you even stay to wish him well. The priest keeps silent, doesn’t even shake your hand. Just nods politely knowing others are around watching.

“Oh what did you do to make Father Joel look at you like that?” One of the sweet grandmothers from bible study jests with you.

“Wait, I thought he always looked like that?” You joke back. The older woman laughs, swatting your arm.

“He’s quite grumpy at first.” She nods. “But after what he went through, I don’t blame him.”

That peaks your interest instantly.

You want to ask more, see what gossip she could spill. But the woman leaves too soon with her husband, and you’re left more curious than ever.

You’re about to leave and slink back into the shadows. Until a hard hand yanks at your arm, stopping you.

Stunned, you find Joel frowning with pure malice.

His touch sparks an immediate reaction. An electric chill runs up your spin. As strong as you are, you can admit, this man must be incredibly formidable to hold such blessed power. He could burn you alive.

“If you’re going to grab me this hard, at least take me to dinner first.” You scoff.

He doesn’t say anything but drags you to a secluded area alongside the shadow of the church. He’s alarmingly strong.

“How the fuck are ya even here?” The priest snarls.

The guy knows his stuff. Normally your kind doesn't last long around churches, especially when a mass is happening.

But you’re strong too. And the sins festering in this house of worship keep you strong, tarnishing the holy ground’s sanctity.

“Maybe you need to recommend more confessions, father. Your flock isn’t as holy as you think they are.” You sneer amused, yanking your arm away from his grip.

He’s closer than ever, and a caged desire rattles to pounce. It begs, aches, for you to consume him and feast.

Soon voices approach, and you slide out from his grasp.

“See you next week.” You wave, happily slipping into the shadows.

Keeping your promise, you arrive at the church the following week. Except this time you’re here for bible study. Of course you play along, the perfect curious believer wanting to learn. But you’re honestly here for the gossip.

“So what’s the deal with Father Joel?” You ask when the pastries are brought out.

Two of the women glance at each other sharing knowing looks.

“We forgot… you’re still new here and don’t know.” One of them mutters quietly.

Apparently, the priest was married before. Not only that, he had a young daughter.

Honestly you’re not entirely shocked. He’s gorgeous. Good for him for enjoying the fun before he decided to become boring and holy.

“But the three of them were in a horrible car accident, and both his wife and daughter perished.”

You don’t have a heart as a demon. But the echoes of sorrow, emotions you understood when you were human, flutter awakened.

“That’s… awful.” You mumble.

“Isn’t it?” The other woman nods sorrowful.

He apparently begged God for mercy the day his family died.

“And after that, he took on the path of a priest.” The other woman finishes bright like this is a happy ending of the story.

You feel upset for Joel now, for his family, getting diminished as a way to remind people of God’s grace.

“Thanks to God.” You say robotically. The words taste awful, and you hate them.

When bible study ends, the sun slowly starts to sink over the horizon. Saint Jude’s is not just a simple church, but an older one. There’s even a cemetery right beside it.

You walk along the graveyard’s edge cautious not to fully step inside.

Further inside among the headstones, the priest sits on a bench beside a tree, looking down at the ground with rosary beads in hand.

Now more than ever Joel looks like a man, beautiful and human, not a holy warrior of God.

He must sense you. Immediately his eyes snap up, and pure rage twists his face.

“What are y’still doin’ here?” Joel snaps low.

“Had bible study.” You shrug.

Daring to be bold, you take one step into the cemetery.

Being in here among the dead is more dangerous even compared to the church. So you remain close to the entrance.

“Y’know I can exorcise your ass right here and now.” He growls, and it sounds beautiful.

“You’re forgetting where we are, old man.” That nickname slips from you effortlessly.

His mouth falls. Eyes, dark as the graveyard dirt, fill with trepidation. It’s a strange reaction that paints him small, almost lost and begging for something.

But you simply shrug it off, kicking a bit of dirt towards him.

A cemetery is the one true neutral place where both demon and saint can walk alongside each other. Neither you or the priest have any power here. In theory, you’re as weak as a mortal. But so is he.

“What the fuck do ya want?” Joel says exhausted with an anger brewing below his voice.

“Demons want everything, that’s a silly question.” You reply.

His earthen eyes narrow, pinning you right where you stand among the dead.

“But what do you want?” He emphasizes his words sounding delicious this calm and deadly.

“Maybe I just want you.” Your answer, earnest and casual, rings borderline soft.

Exiting the cemetery, you wave goodbye to him.

“Until next time, Father.”

A new plan of action hatches.

Being a lust demon you indeed hold the ability to sense the carnal wishes of others. But it also means you can draw out and read what a person’s desires are, erotic or not.

And you want to know why Joel desired to become a priest.

Sometimes you can catch hints of a person’s desires from those they’re close with. So since your abilities, for whatever reason, don’t work on the handsome priest, your next option is Deacon Matthews.

He’s a boring man. Has two kids about to head off to college and a wife he doesn’t know is secretly having an affair. He’s been earnestly trying to talk with you more, and you swear you catch a whiff of lust floating off him.

So you sign up for another church event. This time it’s a rummage sale. You gladly offer to help at the stall Deacon Matthews works.

You catch the look on Joel’s face when he spots you. How disgusted he scowls almost makes you laugh.

“He seems extra grumpy today doesn’t he?” Deacon Matthews notices it too, and you playfully snicker alongside him.

“What happened to Father Joel embracing the heavenly gift of joy?” You joke.

The deacon sighs. “Well, after the trials he’s been through, I understand how hard it can be for him to find grace sometimes.”

Shifting in your plastic seat, you give your full attention to the deacon. Now you sense it, the heated sensation of a man feeling eager being the center of attention.

Deacon Matthew leans closer and of course tells you the same story you already know.

So you decide to act now. You touch Deacon Matthew’s arm expressing your sympathy, but it allows your power to slowly trickle in and search.

You find a glimmer of Joel in the deacon’s memory, but a terrible sensation crashes in.

Anguish and hurt, a frozen grief ripping fierce…

The holy mantle weighs a burden for Joel.

This man swore the vows, took on the blessed robes, as atonement for letting his family die. He wants to punish himself for not saving them, believing he doesn’t deserve to indulge in this world.

Pious, prudence, all punishment.

And by exorcising demons as God’s warrior, he gets to ignore his own.

You didn’t expect this much guilt, and heaven splitting heartbreak.

It makes your lips quiver, and you can’t explain why.

Immediately your hand draws back from Deacon Matthew. His eyes have hazed over, borderline lewd, and you subtly shift away.

“I’m sorry Deacon, can you maybe get me some water?” You ask politely, faking exhaustion.

“Of course, you’ve done so much today. Sit and rest.” He agrees, eagerly scrambling out of his seat.

You exhale, closing your eyes and trying to relax in the uncomfortable plastic seat.

“What? Can’t have me so you’re going after him?” Joel’s voice cuts through sharp, and your eyes snap open.

Standing hands crossed over his chest, he wears his typical glare.

He’s in a simple black button up with the white priestly collar gleaming through. This attire shows off his built arms, his strong physical form. The afternoon light also highlights the glorious grays in his beard and hair.

He’s older, beautifully older - you know this. But it feels as if you’re finally letting it sink, like fully understanding why an art piece is stunning.

You don’t say anything, simply stare at this man who’s slowly been eating away at you.

Deacon Matthews thankfully arrives just in time. Batting your eyes, you exaggerate your thanks. The deacon blushes, and before he can even greet Joel the priest storms off.

You don’t even have the heart to go after him or even make a joke.

—

In the bible, the book of Joel tells a somber tale. Scripture depicts the prophet Joel, in the midst of a dooming plague of locusts, urges the people to repent.

You think it’s almost ironic, a sick goddamn joke, that this man is named after such a biblical figure.

Because Joel Miller has become a plague upon you.

Your thoughts are only of him. You stay at the church more just to see him.

You haven’t feasted or eaten in weeks. Your body feels exhaustedly sluggish, more human, but you don’t even mind.

A new hunger ripens in you now anyways.

At night, your fingers constantly dig deep into your pussy thinking of Joel’s firm hands all over you, strong and dangerous, burning your skin. Demon of desire or not, this craving is unbearable. Your mouth dries parched at the thought of tasting him.

More, something dark in your whispers. You want him more…

After mass, a choir member tells you Father Joel wants you to meet him in his office. This could be the most twisted trap, but you realize you won’t be mad if it is.

“Come in.” Joel’s gruff voice comes muffled through the office door.

A strange nervous energy bubbles in you. Entering the office, you feel younger than ever, faintly human.

The beige room stands desolate, spartan and bare, except for a picture of the Divine Mercy on the wall. At his desk, Joel scribbles away at paperwork.

Closing the door behind you, his eyes flicker up.

“Didn’t expect you to exorcise me in the middle of the day and with your poor cute secretary right outside. You’re getting bold, old man.” You snicker.

The priest dully glares.

“So, care to tell me why I’m here?” You ask, sliding into the seat across the desk from him.

He remains silent.

A prolonged pause follows.

“You know… this office feels very naughty professor and student vibes more than hot priest and demon-”

“Enough.” His snarl cuts you off.

He seems more on edge like he’s teetering.

An apocalyptic tension suffocates the room fast, a choking incense that stings your lungs.

Joel suddenly leans back in his chair rubbing a large calloused hand over his face.

“Do you remember… anything from when you were human?” His voice has never been so quiet.

It’s strange hearing this powerful force of a man sound this meek.

“Uh…Sorry I don’t have memories of my old life.” You tell him truthfully.

The only memory you hold of your human days is when you sold your soul. There was pain, absolute wrecking grief that was swallowing you whole. You remember wanting to save the people you love, wishing you could trade your life to keep them alive.

That’s when the quietest voice had asked among the despair - what would you trade, to save those you love?

Anything, you had sobbed out.

Then, the pain drifted away. You woke up brand new and hungry, a clean slate. Now the heartbreak that crystalized you to this new life collects cobwebs in your lost soul.

“You remember nothin’ at all?” Joel presses again, and you shake your head no.

An ancient sigh escapes him, weary and anchored by the test of time. Something in you begs to comfort him.

“You seem tired.” You comment soft.

His endless eyes find yours.

Silence settles thick in the quaint and hauntingly barren office.

There’s so much you want to say. A demonic being of craving, of want, cursed to be silent, how cruel.

You want to ask what plague has he placed upon you. Is this a new form of exorcism? What evil has he unleashed? Because you’ve never wanted someone as badly as you want him.

A knock on the door shatters the stillness.

Joel’s secretary pops her head in.

“Sorry to interrupt Father, but the archdiocese is on the phone.” She’s smug. You sensed her desire before, a powerful drunken feeling knowing she gets to order Joel around.

“Alright,” he nods, and the secretary closes the door. You don’t miss the side eye she gives you.

You take your cue and stand up to leave.

“Hey…” his voice stops you.

“Demons… they have true names. What’s yours?”

That question surprises you.

Of course you’ve been using a fake name this entire time. He must have figured that out. Smart man.

But if he knows your true name, your human name…it’s over. A demon’s true name gives an exorcist the power to permanently destroy them.

A wide knowing grin pulls at your lips.

“You still haven’t even taken me to dinner, Father.”

The smallest wave of emotion flashes across his face. A tug pulls his lips, a hint of a smile he’s fighting against.

You’re about to leave when you stop.

“Oh…Also that secretary of yours definitely wants to dom you. Don't ask me how I know.” You mention casually.

You smirk walking out of Joel’s office, especially hearing his indignant squawks as you close the door.

—

The wind blows gently, barely rustling the leaves to let the dead rest peacefully for now.

A storm approaches. Serious enough that the annual Easter festival is now in question of being canceled today.

In his simple black button up and white collar, Joel stands like an ink blot against the graveyard. You’ve noticed he always stays by this particular tree with the bench.

“I know you’re here.” Joel’s gruff sharp twanged voice pierces through the silence. His face stays focused on the gravestones, holding a rosary tight in his large hands.

You smirk and step out from the shadow of the angel statue you've been hiding behind.

This is the deepest you’ve gone into the cemetery.

“Your senses are getting better, old man.” You greet him.

He scoffs insulted.

“You know… you really are too hot to be a priest.” You’ve made the joke to him before, and you make it again.

“Pressin’ your damn luck…Remind me why I haven’t fuckin’ exorcised your ass yet?” Joel mutters rubbing his temples.

“Because I’m just too fun to get rid of?” You offer with a weak grin.

An unsettling silence grows in the cemetery.

“Or maybe…you really are here just to torment me.” The words come out mumbled, like Joel doesn’t realize he spoke them.

“I could say the same for you, priest.” You openly tell him.

Finally he turns to you.

A strange corroded weight fills your chest. You realize it’s the desire now calcified into your very being keeping you anchored to this man. You wonder if this is your eternal punishment, to crave a man you can never have.

“Tell me… What’s your real name?” Joel asks simply, no hidden motive.

Here in the graveyard, he’s just a human man. Just like you’re the whisper of a human standing before him.

A painful smile tugs at your lips.

You give him your true name, the only thing left of your humanity.

Pure dread falls over Joel’s face.

Then he snaps.

“Ya damned fuckin’ demon from hell… Get the fuck outta here!” He yells, angry and violent, like a vengeful God ripping open the sky.

Demon.

He’s never called you that. It stings more than you thought it would.

But he’s right. It’s what you are, a creature warped from a human soul now relying only on sin. Demons don’t dream. Nor do they cry. But the way your chest twists, you wonder if this is the closest it feels to crying again.

Not saying another word to Joel, you leave the cemetery.

You don’t even know why you stayed to help with the festival. You adamantly refuse to look at Joel. Everyone notices the change in your demeanor. You lie saying it’s the weather.

“Ugh, it really is quite dreary for such a holy day, huh?” The sweet elderly woman from your bible study group coo’s sympathetically. She urges you to rest in the rectory.

“No one will bother you there honey, take some time to just catch a breather.”

You take her advice, especially as the thunder rolls ominous like the heavens stand ready to strike you at any moment.

The rectory is eerily quiet. You wander around until of course find yourself at Joel’s office. You can’t take this ache raging in you anymore. Once the festival fully starts, you decide to leave in the shadows and never return.

The front door out in the main hallway opens. Spurred by a strange sense of hope, you rush out.

You’re not one for prayer, but you pray it’s Joel.

Deacon Matthews, in his boring salmon colored shirt, instead stares at you. Danger gleams in his eyes.

“Finally…I was hoping to get you alone.” His voice boils with desire, radiating from him a rancid stench.

“You’ve felt it too haven’t you? What we have between us?” He grins, a serpent slithering closer to you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” You play dumb and confused.

“You've been flirting with me this entire time. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” His voice jumps more erratic.

His desire is brewing to a poisonous level that threatens to clog your throat. So you try walking towards the door, but he stands firmly blocking it.

You haven’t eaten in months. Any time you consider feasting, your stomach now turns sour as you only think of Joel. He really has ruined you in so many ways.

With your senses dimmed, you’re too late to react when a greedy hand grabs your shoulders and pulls you closer.

Panic erupts. Feeling like a cornered animal, your teeth sharpen. Your hands twitch, itching for the attack. But your mouth acts first.

You bite down hard on the deacon’s hand, and a violent scream rips from him.

You haven’t tasted blood in months. This bite, you thought, should have sent you into a frenzy. Instead you gag tasting this pathetic man’s blood.

“What the fuck are you?!” The deacon yells in terror.

You realize you must look quite the monster now.

So you decide to show him.

Hellish claws, your claws, yank this man’s face closer. Then you whisper into his ear the tongue of the damned -

“…ⱤØ₮ ł₦ ⱧɆⱠⱠ…”

The deacon screams horrified.

Someone yanks you away.

Then Joel’s fist collides with the man’s face.

At the impact, Deacon Matthew’s cries in agony while Joel holds you close to his side. The smell of his shampoo, his cologne and something so familiar, surrounds you in a heavenly cloud.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her.” Joel snarls deadly.

Blood spills across the deacon’s face and his hand while he sobs.

Joel holds you protective, hand cradling and covering your face. Slowly you revert to normal, the demonic retreating to hide.

No surprise, the commotion is heard.

People swarm in. Joel effortlessly explains what transpired and how you even used self defense against the deacon.

The bleeding terrified man however screams that you’re the monster here.

You stay quiet against Joel's side, keeping your face hidden, clinging to his black button up shirt. The church reacts ready to reprimand Matthews.

Everything goes hazy. Your head even aches painful, like something is trying to break through your skull.

“If y’all don’t mind, I’m gonna stay with her.” You hear Joel say.

Of course everyone strongly agrees. A few even offer to stay with you instead. But Joel keeps you in his hold.

In a blink, a door closes and you realize you’re in his office.

Then Joel’s hand slides up to your cheek. The simmering heat from his skin touching yours burns beautifully.

Even without the claws, or monstrous eyes, you still must look every bit a terrifying creature.

Then, with a white small handkerchief, he wipes away the blood on your face tenderly, cleaning you with the delicate care of someone who is precious.

“Y’got a good bite. Scared the shit outta him too.” Joel mutters, faintly joking, but you catch a hint of pride.

You stay quiet now.

“Hey, look at me.” Joel orders low, but concerned.

And you do. His eyes search yours.

He’s never been this close. You soak in the sight of him, a sharp gorgeous hawkish nose, aged wrinkles, soft touches of storm cloud greys floating among his chocolate curls. Heaven never looked more beautiful.

No words reach you. You can’t think of anything to say.

You don’t know who moves first, but a revelation comes when your lips surge to meet his.

It’s raw, consuming, rattling your bones.

You barely get to chase this greed, the taste of this man, before a searing pain cracks open your skull.

Your vision goes white. You don’t even know where you are.

Glimpses of home warm and welcoming, with a loving man and a wonderful daughter you’ve raised like your own, fill your mind.

Soon, the picture crystalizes clearer. The man driving, holding your hand. The young girl in the backseat laughing at something you said.

Then your world ends in fire.

The truth resurfaces you frantic and panicked, like emerging from the flood of ancient times. Blinking back into reality, everything is clear, pure as crystal.

Someone calls your name, and it sounds like home.

“Y’alright? Talk to me darlin’ please.” Joel begs frantically, still holding your face.

Darling, the word rips through you wild.

“Joel.” His name leaves you blessed and sanctified. You see him with eyes brand new.

The closest thing to a sob escapes you.

Confusion colors Joel’s face while you clutch onto him like a life raft.

You swallow hard.

“My old man… my husband.” You whisper.

You jokingly, affectionately, had started calling him ‘old man’ when he pulled his back after a job. Tommy and Sarah had laughed so hard at the nickname. Back then he was a few years older than you, but now…

Joel cracks. His face falls. Tears simmer in his eyes threatening to spill.

He kisses you again. This time it’s filled with an ache that draws you back from the grave.

The kiss grows heated fast. Desire explodes off Joel now and you want to drown in it. He licks into your mouth, pushing you against the door. You moan, sliding your hands into his hair.

Commotion returns outside interrupting the moment.

You growl annoyed.

Joel shushes you against your lips, yet his hands continue holding you tight.

Eventually you untangle out of his arms. Yet you feel like a newborn foal on shaky legs. Joel keeps you close the rest of the day. No one from the church thinks anything of it especially after what happened.

If only they saw you now.

Sprawled out in his bed, Joel devours your pussy and grinds into the sheets. You moan loud enough for all the angels to hear. He eats you starved, as if he’s found divine communion between your thighs.

“Need you inside, Joel please,” you beg, yanking at his grey curls.

Who is he to deny you, not just a demon of sin, but his wife?

Sliding into you, Joel feels like the beginning of the world, a Genesis life changing. It’s a lust that makes you melt, pure and dangerously addictive.

Joel’s lips stay attached to your skin, biting and licking every inch of you.

“Fallen Angel, light of God, you are crafted in beauty and loved.”

You remember that’s the prayer the nuns said. Now Joel whispers it reverently against your skin.

“Lost creature of heaven, you are found.”

You cum hard clutching at his shoulders. You worry about hurting him. Yet Joel bites at your skin like he’s the one now longing for your blood. You wonder if you and him could both dig into each other’s bones.

But once the passion finally simmers, and your poor husband needs to rest, the heavy reality sets in.

Naked in his arms, you know understand the strange passion and awareness Eve must have felt being in her husband’s arms after biting the forbidden fruit.

“You really sold your soul…” Joel mutters.

You sigh, rubbing your face into his warm strong chest.

“I didn’t care… I begged for anyone to save you or Sarah.” You whisper.

Your sweet sunshine girl.

Even without a heart, thinking of Sarah brings immeasurable pain. You mourn her with Joel, his arms becoming your sacred church.

—

“Sweetheart, ya need to eat,” Of course Joel notices how weary you’ve become.

“It’s okay… I’m fine.” And you’re half right. The desire unleashed between you and Joel helps maintain you enough. You wouldn’t dare devour his soul now. After all, there are other things you gladly want to consume from him.

You kiss the palm of his hand holding your face.

But ever the provider, ever the caretaker, your husband moves his hand down to your lips. His fingers trace your mouth. His eyes darken, and your body hums wanting him again.

“Bite me.” He mutters.

You bluntly tell him no.

“Do it or I’ll exorcise your ass.” His words hold no threat.

“Come on baby,” he adds, a soft purr, your personal temptation.

You’re worried. Worried if you bite you won’t be able to stop. You don’t want to hurt him.

Joel’s hand returns to cradle your face, stroking your cheek tenderly. He whispers your name.

“You won’t hurt me.” He’s always been able to read your mind.

It’s why he draws your face to his neck, the perfect spot to hide beneath his robes. Reverently you kiss his skin thanking him, then your teeth sink in as gently as you can.

His blood rushes into your mouth tasting of salvation. Your mind shuts off, instantly consumed by him. You lick and suck, pouring your devotion into this man. You moan or maybe it’s Joel. Because the way his hips grind seeking release, he’s drunk on this too.

This is the ecstasy saints dream of, a holy feast of unbelievable bliss that has you coming untouched.

This is your sacred sacrament you would die for.

—

“My husband, the priest.” You snicker watching him get ready.

You hate how incredibly sexy it is watching him slide the white collar on.

“Well, my wife’s a demon.” He smirks.

“I think there’s an actual shirt that says that.” You wonder.

Joel rolls his eyes and you laugh.

Kissing him before he heads to mass is pure sinful bliss. It only gets worse when you visit his office. Closing the door, Joel sits at his desk raising an eyebrow seeing you.

You make it known why you’re here when you sink onto your knees between his legs.

Nuzzling against his thigh, a possession overtakes. Joel’s hand runs to your face.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” You mutter peering up at him.

His thumb swipes across your lips, and his eyes melt into dark pools. Especially when you slide his thumb into your mouth and suck, moaning at the taste of his skin. Your teeth ache to bite him, taste him like you did again this morning.

“Y’look like fuckin’ sin.” He mumbles, but rapidly draws your face up closer to him.

“Gonna be my good girl and keep quiet?” He asks leaning down to kiss you, meeting you halfway. Nodding, your hands fly to his belt.

A knock on the door comes. Joel cusses sharp under his breath.

“Should let your secretary walk in and see us like this.” You grin.

He shushes you.

“Next time let’s try to fuck in a confessional.” You mutter against his lips.

“Little fuckin’ trouble maker.” He growls, a beast that you welcome with open arms.

Later, in the witching hours, you wander around Joel’s living room. You spot a photo of you, him, and Sarah at Halloween the one year she dressed up as a power ranger princess.

Warm strong arms suddenly wrap around you from behind.

Joel’s gorgeous nose nuzzles against your face.

“You don’t mind… that I’m like this and not like how I used to be.” A shadow frozen forever, a creature condemned to hell.

He places the softest kiss on your cheek.

“Ain’t who I used to be either. M’old now.” He mutters.

“You’re hotter than ever.” You tell him firmly, and Joel snorts amused.

Shifting in his arms you embrace Joel tight.

“I’m a selfish demon now. You’re the only one who can get rid of me.” Both figuratively and literally.

“Like hell I ain’t.” Joel replies firmly, inhaling your scent.

“Besides, ‘m not so holy anymore.” He adds.

“Are you okay with that?” The question escapes you quiet, small and worried.

“Wouldn’t fuckin’ change it.” It’s the last thing he says before he dives in to kiss you.

Maybe in another life you would’ve been blessed to be Joel’s wife, pure and human, would’ve grown old with him…maybe even adopted a cat like Sarah had been begging.

Heaven will never greet you. So you hold this version of it tight in your hands.

You used to wonder why you had wandered to this specific town. Now everything aligns. A piece of you was trying to return to your other half, the love of your life.

Walking into the cemetery, you find your husband again praying at his favorite spot.

That’s when you finally notice a small memorial plague against the tree. Walking towards it, you read what’s on it.

There’s a scripture verse…then Sarah’s name and yours below it.

An emotion too powerful to describe swells in you.

Done with his prayer and alone in the cemetery, Joel soothingly now rubs his hand against your back.

“Let’s head home, sweetheart.” He mutters, your home and salvation.

A particular line from the exorcism rites suddenly comes to mind -

Lost creature of heaven, you are found

As you head out of the graveyard by Joel’s side, you truly believe you are.