#Good News Translation Bible

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

9 Bahwa orang dua baik dari pada seorang orang, karena sedaplah bagi mereka itu hasil pekerjaannya. 10 Maka jikalau jatuh, seorang dapat membangkitkan seorangnya; tetapi wai bagi dia yang seorang orang sahaja apabila ia jatuh, karena tiada jodohnya akan membangkitkan dia pula. 11 Demikianpun jikalau dua orang berbaring bersama-sama, maka tubuh keduanya bersuhu adanya, tetapi ia yang seorang orang bagaimana gerangan diberinya bersuhu tubuhnya. 12 Maka jikalau kiranya seorang orang dapat dialahkan, dua orang akan berdiri tetap juga dan tali yang tiga lembar itu tak suang-suang putus.

9 Two are better off than one, because together they can work more effectively. 10 If one of them falls down, the other can help him up. But if someone is alone and falls, it's just too bad, because there is no one to help him. 11 If it is cold, two can sleep together and stay warm, but how can you keep warm by yourself? 12 Two people can resist an attack that would defeat one person alone. A rope made of three cords is hard to break. — Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 | Indonesian Terjemahan Lama (IndLama) and Good News Translation (GNT) The Indonesian Terjemahan Lama Bible translation was converted automatically from data files made available by the Unbound Bible Project and Good News Translation® (Today’s English Version, Second Edition) © 1992 American Bible Society. All rights reserved. Cross References: 1 Kings 1:1; Ecclesiastes 4:8; Ecclesiastes 4:13

[durn3h]

One of the most interesting things about religion to me is that so many people don’t even see the mental gymnastics they are doing to try and shape the biblical texts into a framework that is acceptable in the modern day and it comes out looking like something that none of the authors would have approved of.

[caileeflavoured]

and lead us not into temptation...

father charlie mayhew x fem!reader

© caileeflavoured 2024, do not repost, modify or translate!

synopsis: During Confirmation, God the Holy Spirit comes upon the person, accompanied by God the Father and God the Son. Father Mayhew, too.

a/n: ahhh, how good it feels so channel my religious trauma into absolute filth again. I was never Catholic so idk how accurate the stuff I said is but I did research and tried my best (really no one cares about Catholic accuracies why are you even stressing about this girl)

warnings: 18+, SMUT, dubcon, little bit of a corruption kink, innocence kink, clueless little church mouse!reader, blasphemous shit tbh, virginity loss, unprotected sex, a priest absolutely abusing his position,

wc: 3.2k

MAIN MASTERLIST | GROTESQUERIE MASTERLIST

They told you that the Sacrament of Confirmation was the most important event of a young girl growing closer to God. They told you it was an honour to attend this spiritual ceremony, that it was the culmination of forming a bond with Christ. They told you that it was high time you were finally sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Father Charlie Mayhew was adamant that you’d finally receive this great gift, having discussed the possibility of a personal Confirmation with your parents after Sunday Mass.

“She’s at an age where it should already have happened,” he told them. “I assume you wish her to get married soon. She ought to finally be strengthened for service to the Body of Christ.”

Your parents trusted Father Mayhew blindly, believing he was a gift sent to earth by the Lord Himself, and quickly agreed. They wouldn’t want their precious daughter to fall into disgrace should a proper suitor be found sooner rather than later.

The priest nodded, visibly satisfied with their consent. “I can arrange it for next week’s Mass, but I  would like for your daughter to come see me for a private confession. The Lord has spoken to me in my prayers, and has tasked me with properly preparing the confirmands. It’s a standard practice at my church.”

Only that it wasn’t.

Father Mayhew had spent many hours not praying, not studying the Scripture, not preparing new sermons since he first saw you in all your womanly glory at Mass. Instead, he often found himself in his office, his pants growing uncomfortably tight just at the thought of you attending Mass every Sunday like the faithful girl you are, hanging on his every word. 

And when you’d get on your knees during the Eucharistic prayer…

His hand would always find its way to his throbbing length during a quiet moment after Mass, the grip on his cock nearly painful as he worked himself towards the highest of highs. And more often than not he would later find white stains on his liturgical vestments, having to go through several clerical outfits in the span of only a few days.

“Tell her to come see me on Wednesday after general confession hour.”

So your parents sent you on your way, Bible in hand, rosary wrapped around your wrist. You entered the empty church, standing between the pews as you clutched your Bible to your chest.

“Father Mayhew?” A timid call for him echoed through the large building, and soon he appeared. 

His chest heaved as he appeared, his robe sitting weirdly on his shoulders as if he had pulled it over his head in a hurry. His hair messy, not slicked back like he usually wore it. 

The appearance caught you off guard, to say the least, and made your blood pressure rise.

“Ah, my new confirmand!” He greeted you with an open-arm gesture, then clasped his hands together. “Happy to see you. What an exciting time it must be for you.”

He closed the distance between you, turning to your side and placing his hand on your back as he led you towards the back of the church. “Let’s go talk in my office,” he said.

“I thought I came to confess?” You asked in bewilderment. “Oughtn’t we sit down in the confessional booth for that?”

But he was quick to shut down your confusion. “No. No, no, no. Let’s not stick to such ancient traditions. I’ve come to learn, in my time as a servant of the Lord, that private confessions are best made in the comfort of a priest’s office. Shall we?”

He opened the door to his office, letting you enter first before closing the door behind his back and quickly turning the lock before you would notice.

“Take a seat,” he motioned towards the armchair on the opposite side of his desk as he sat down in his own chair.

He leaned back and observed you with relaxed eyes. His stoic gaze was intimidating to you, your heart thumping against your ribcage the longer he stared.

“Father?”

The sound of your voice ripped him out of his dirty fantasy, his focus returning to the there and then, which, admittedly, didn’t help much when his hard cock ached from the torturing restraint of his pants.

“Right,” he cleared his throat, bending forward hoping it would cover the growing bulge. “Now, I have to admit I wasn’t quite honest with your parents,” he chuckled smugly.

The picture of you furrowing your brows as you slightly cocked your head to the side in a confused gesture made him lose a couple drops of cum into his boxers. How could a young girl be so cluelessly devoted to God. To him. It made him lose his mind, and throw his holy vows overboard.

To hell with abstinence. Some girls just asked for it. And he knew you were one of them. 

Gifted by the devil himself, a test of his faith and obedience — the bishop had warned him many years ago that the day would come when he would find himself face to face with temptation — and presented on a silver platter right there in his own church. To him, however, a young, ripe girl like you could only have found her way into his office so he could chase the feeling of his former life.

To remind himself how good it felt to lose himself in the warmth of a tight cunt.

“I understand your parents are hoping to find you a husband soon,” Father Mayhew began. “But Confirmation isn’t the only thing necessary in preparation for marriage. You know, there are certain… other things a young woman must be prepared for before she can fulfil her duties of a devout wife.”

“Father, I don’t—”

His hand shot up, immediately shutting down any doubts or concerns you might try to raise. “Tell me… Have you ever touched yourself? After all, this is some kind of confession here, right? God needs you to be completely honest with me.”

He could sense the warmth rush to your cheeks, the way your breath hitched in your throat as your gaze shifted to the floor.

“A simple yes or no will suffice, sweetheart,” he pressed. “This is crucial for your preparation as a confirmand.” His eyes searched for yours. “You can even nod or shake your head if that’s easier.”

Then, finally, he got a reaction out of you. A timid… shake from left to right. “It’s a sin, Father.”

The change in his demeanour evaded you. The way his eyes turned into slits resembling those of a snake, the way he ever so slightly shifted in his seat as his hand carefully moved to his crotch.

A moment of silence passed in Father Charlie’s office as he let your words sink in. You had been even more clueless than he’d imagined. An enticing temptation, one that he had no choice but to succumb to.

“That is very admirable,” he praised you. “However,” he got up, “as part of this… preparation I need you to be… how should I say this… open to… sexual activities.”

He walked around his desk in a few long strides until he stood in front of you and leaned against the edge of the table, folding in hands in front of his crotch as he crossed his legs. He could feel his cock press against his palms through the fabric of his pants, begging to be freed.

“Why should—” You tried to ask, but his hand was quick to shoot up in a silencing gesture. That’s when you first noticed the bulge in his pants.

With your eyes glued to his crotch, Charlie could barely hold himself back from dragging you across his desk and shoving his cock right into your tight little cunt, no matter if you were ready for him or not.

“Get on your knees,” he said in a plain voice. You obeyed instantly.

He took the Bible and rosary from your hands and placed them on his desk before standing up right in front of you, your mouth so perfectly aligned with his length. A few quick movements got him rid of his pants and boxers just enough to pull out aching cock, tip glistening with drops of precum.

He watched your eyes go wild in shock, although he silently wished they would have gone wide from excitement and lust. He’d get you there soon enough…

“From now on, I need you to listen to me, sweetheart,” he instructed. “No more questions, no ifs and buts, alright?”

His eyes stayed focused on yours until you nodded, and he pinched your chin with his thumb and index finger as a gesture of approvement. A pleased look on his face and a satisfied smirk on his lips, he then let his thumb graze along your lower lip before pushing it in.

“Open up.” His voice turned rough, strained even, as he pulled your jaw down and forced your mouth open. 

He could detect a sliver of fear glistening in your eyes as the tip of his cock met your lip, could sense your wanting to ask what he was doing, but was pleased to see you resist the urge to question his actions. 

So he pushed it in. “Yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, feeling your lips instinctively close around him. “Careful with those teeth.”

His hand found the back of your head, his fingers tangled in your hair to get a good grip and properly guide your movements. He pulled back and pushed back in, this time all the way until he heard and felt you gag around him. 

He stopped once he could feel the back of your throat, watching you struggle and start to panic, your hands moving up to the sides of his hips in an attempt to push him back. But, of course, he was too strong for you. 

“Shh, shh,” he cooed. “You’re doing so well.” 

He started to pick up a pace slow enough to relish the feeling of your mouth and not already waste his seed by shooting it into the back of your throat. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out, watching the string of spit connect his tip to your bottom lip with a grin.

“You see,” he started to explain, “in order to become a full-grown adult, which you will be after your Confirmation, you need to understand certain things. And, as the priest of your church, it is my duty to teach you the necessary lessons to let you go out into world with a clear conscience.”

He watched you intently, gauging your reaction to each and every word of his. You were still kneeling in front of him so he bent down, continuing to observe you at eye level. His breath came in slow, hot bursts as it repeatedly hit your face.

“You understand now why I have to do this, do you?” He asked.

You nodded, albeit hesitantly. 

“And you also understand that this is to stay between me and you, and me and you only, right?”

He waited for another nod, and when it wouldn’t come, he raised an eyebrow, his hand gripping your jaw tightly. 

“Do you understand?” He repeated with more force.

“Y-yes,” you mumbled. 

He let go of your jaw, clicking his tongue in approval. “Good. Now I need you to take your clothes off.”

His patience was starting to run thin, especially with the way he couldn’t find any release from this achingly throbbing tension. “Listen, we don’t have much time, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. This body of yours…” 

This fucking body I need to desecrate. This body, this… tight virgin cunt.

“This body is a gift from God, wonderful and perfect like all His creations. And…” A mischievous smirk appeared on his face. “It’s not like I have never seen a woman’s body before.”

He watched your shy reaction, and your inhibitions crumble slowly. So he gave you one last push. “I’ll take my clothes off too,” he said, beginning to shed his clerical robes. “That way we’re even.”

Father Charlie watched you with satisfaction as you rid yourself of your clothes item by item. “Yeah, that’s a good girl.”

Once the last of his garments dropped on the ground, he told you to sit back down on the armchair, placing his hands on either side of you as he bent over you. His eyes travelled along your frame, wandering over the hills and valleys of your young, unsullied body.

“I need you to move your hand between your legs,” he said. “Touch yourself.”

This time you did what he said without hesitation. He could see your chest starting to heave, your breath visibly and audibly quickening as your hand slowly glided down your chest until it came into contact with your pure pussy for the first time.

“Fuck…” Charlie breathed, the grip on the armrest tightening as he fought the urge to fist his cock for at least some kind of relief. “Yes, just like that. Now push a finger in.”

You did.

“Does it feel wet? Does it slide in easily?” He asked as he observed how your lips parted at the initial sensation of pleasuring yourself.

You nodded.

“Try pushing in a second finger,” he commanded.

You did, your forehead creasing once it slipped all the way in.

“How does that feel? Tell me.”

“It feels…” You began, but couldn’t quite put it into words.

“Good?” He finished for you.

You nodded again.

“Try curling them upwards, like this,” he gestured a come hither movement with his own fingers for you to mimic.

And you did.

“But Father…” You gulped, “isn’t this… a sin?” You asked as you kept moving your hand.

He shook his head. “How can a natural urge be a sin? The Lord gave it to us.”

“I know, but—” His hand was back on your jaw, his digits pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks.

“No ifs and buts, remember?” he reminded you, his gaze sharp. 

He quickly glanced at the clock. “You’ve been talking too much. Get up.”

You did as you were told while Charlie pushed the clutter off his desk, his movements rushed. He grabbed you by the back of your thighs, practically slamming you onto the desk and standing between your spread thighs.

So close to that heavenly cunt…

“The reason I’m doing this is because it is my duty as a priest,” he said leaning over you, his hand moving down your neck, over your collarbone, then closer and closer towards your chest.

“You need to know what it will be like to lay with your future husband,” he explained, his length pressing against your dripping core as his lips found your neck.

You reacted to his touches so organically, almost like second nature. Like this wasn’t your first time ever experiencing any kind of sexual activity.

Father Charlie knew he finally had you right where he wanted you. Where he needed you.

“It might hurt,” he mumbled against your neck as his hands cupped your tits, your nipples immediately trapped between his fingers as he pinched and pulled on them. “But that pain is gonna turn into something so much better. I promise.”

His lips travelled down your neck as he pushed you back onto the flat, cold surface of his desk, the temperature a stark contrast to your heated body. His tongue glided along your sternum, first to the left, around your now hardened nipple, then to the right, repeating the same process.

Charlie could hear your laboured breaths slowly but surely transform into hot gasps, soft moans falling from your lips whenever his tongue or fingers would graze the sensitive buds of your breasts. He knew he could take it further without much clueless confusion on your part.

He knew he could finally take you like he had wanted to for so long.

So he pushed into you in one rough motion, not stopping until he could feel the soft tissue of your hymen collapse under the pressure of his cock. 

You cried out, your hands instinctively gripping his strong arms, but he was quick to collect both your wrists in one hand and pin them above your head as he grabbed your thigh with the other. 

“Shh, shh,” he shut you up as he pulled your leg up and around his waist, allowing himself to fuck you from a different angle that would make it easier for him to fully thrust into your virgin cunt.

And, Lord, what a tight little cunt you had.  

His breaths escaped his lungs in ragged grunts as he pushed into you again and again, feeling your tight walls give in more and more to make him fit the longer he kept ramming his cock into you. The desk creaked under the pressure of his body colliding with yours, the wood bending with each new thrust that would allow him to slip further into your silky core. 

“Father—” You pleaded, arms unsuccessfully straining against his grip. “It… hurts.”

“Told you. But not much longer,” he said, his voice ragged as he ignored your attempts to make him stop. “Trust me.”

He could feel himself getting there, could feel how difficult it became to keep a steady rhythm. You were squeezing him in the best way possible, and he couldn’t even begin to think about how it would feel to have you milk his every last drop. 

His moans echoed off the walls of his small office when he felt you start to relax around him. “Yeah, that’s right,” he grunted, his voice nearly failing him. “Let me hear you.”

His thumb pulled your bottom lip down so your mouth would fall open, letting those sweet, clueless whines escape your throat freely. That was all he took as a confirmation of your starting to enjoy the way he was fucking you.

And that was all he needed to find his most earth shattering release so far. He pulled out quickly, finishing off with a couple more strokes before he shot hot spurts of his cum right onto your newly stretched and glistening cunt. 

“Look at me,” he groaned as he rode out his high, his eyes fixed on you, your heaving chest, your skin covered in a slight sheen of sweat, your cunt defiled and disgraced by your priest’s cum.

“Now you’re all set for Confirmation,” he said as he helped you up, then handed you a towel. “Make sure you’re clean before you come back for Sunday Mass. And remember, don’t tell your parents. If you can do that for me, I’ll show you much more if you want me to.”

They told you that during Confirmation, God the Holy Spirit comes upon the person, accompanied by God the Father and God the Son. They didn’t tell you Father Mayhew did, too.

[wellnesswithkuhtrees]

Psalm 37:16 (GNT)

[kellyis4jc]

Restoring Hope Bible!!! ce

We all need the hope of God in our lives. The "Restoring Hope Bible" gives us God's hope as we deal with the traumas we face in life. By having the hope of God, we can look toward the future because our God gives hope in all situations. Be hopeful today!!

We all need hope in our lives. God is the source of our hope. The “Restoring Hope” Bible shows us that we can be hopeful in any situation we face in our lives. In all of our circumstances, a ray of hope shines through. This Bible can help our trauma be healed by showing us that we need to be hopeful in the future. By getting this Bible, you can minister hope to people who need Jesus Christ in…

[lc-holy]

Conférence Masterclass 808 (Translation)

I've taken the liberty of translating the conference that took place last year with the writing director of Miraculous (Sébastien Thibaudeau). It was only made public when someone posted a video of the conference a short while ago.

In this conference, Sébastien Thibaudeau will talk about the creation of Miraculous and his work on the series. He is joined by Chloé Paye, a new scriptwriter working on Miraculous season 6.

Sébastien talks a lot and repeats himself a bit, so the summary can be a bit confusing.

I strongly advise you to go and listen to the video if you understand French. There are a lot of details I'm going to leave out, and Sébastien is very funny.

Photo belongs to mlbfanfr on twitter.

Please be respectful in comments or tags. If you want to debate on things related to this conference, please make your own post. I apologize if there are any mistakes, I'm French and I'm not fluent in English.

-12 years ago, Sébastien arrived at Zagtoon, a studio that was just starting out and had yet to produce and broadcast any series. The producer (Jérémy Zag) and Sébastien hit it off and decided to start working together. Zag decides to give Sébastien total freedom over his projects. Sébastien then decides to put the spotlight on scriptwriters, because in this profession they are unfortunately poorly paid and never stay on the same projects.

So they produced a cartoon called Kobushi. A little-known series that did rather well, even if it didn't stay on the "Gulli" channel for long. The scriptwriters and producer were happy with the end result, as it was produced in a very short time.

Jeremy Zag then proposed another project, which he thought was quite good, but which he was unable to sell to broadcasters. At the time, the project was called "Ladybug". No one was interested, as the project was aimed more at an adult audience than a children's audience. Sébastien had to make sure that the project could be broadcast on Disney and TF1.

There was only a "trailer" also called "Ladybug" (but you'll find the video under the title Ladybug PV) animated by Toei animation. At the time, Sébastien had not yet been hired by Zagtoon. It was Jérémy Zag who convinced Toei animation to work with them (no mean feat, since Toei animation doesn't work with anyone).

So Sébastien started working with Thomas Astruc (the man who wrote and created the "Ladybug" project). At first, he didn't want to work on this project because he found it complicated. Thomas wanted to make a series for adults, but at the time, it was very complicated to make a cartoon for adults. What's more, they didn't have enough money to take on such a project. Sébastien finally agreed, but there were some changes to be made, which Thomas accepted.

-What Sébastien appreciated most in this project was the romantic comedy, the love square between the two main characters.

To meet the requirements of the cartoon industry, "Ladybug" had to be set in a neutral universe, in other words, in an imaginary country or the USA, but Zag, who loves Paris, declared that the cartoon had to be set in Paris.

In the end, Thomas Astruc's entire project was discarded, leaving only the love story between the two heroes and the city of Paris, where the story was to take place.

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

-Sébastien explains how he writes Marinette's first dialogues: He says he talks a lot in real life, so he writes Marinette like him. She says out loud whatever she's thinking.

For Chat noir, he makes him tell his father's jokes. Something TF1 doesn't accept. The TV channel went so far as to refuse to validate the Bible (a collection of information on the series and episodes) until it had removed the sentence: “Chat noir makes jokes”. Sebastien has therefore removed the sentence, but will continue to make Chat noir tell jokes.

-The writing director's job is to get the producer, creator and broadcaster to agree. The series broadcast on TF1 and Disney are very different. TF1 wants series whose story can be told in a single episode, unlike Disney, which wants series whose story spans several episodes.

Sébastien and TF1 agree that Miraculous will be a series with one story per episode, a "Formula Show".

He cites the example of Dora the Explorer episodes, where every episode is the same: Dora goes on an adventure from point A to point B, she has to find 3 clues, then she meets Swiper, she sings a song to make Swiper go away, she uses the talking map to get from one place to another, then Dora manages to get to point B and the episode ends.

This episode format is used for children, to give them a reassuring framework, as they build themselves up through repetition. That's why series like Dora work so well with young children.

So Sebastien sold the Miraculous series to broadcasters as a formula show. A person gets angry, is akumatized, then marinette transforms into Ladybug then frees the person from the akumatization and… The End.

It's also for this reason that Marinette tries to confess her love for Adrien in every episode, but is unable to do so.

But he tried to go against what he had planned with TF1, by slipping little extra stories into certain episodes. Audiences were receptive to these slightly hidden stories. The TV channel even asked Sébastien if there really were hidden things in the series, but he denied everything. Thanks to the positive reception from the public, TF1 agreed to develop the characters of Marinette and Adrien and flesh out the universe a little more.

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

-Once the bible is written, they have to write a script. But first Sébastien, as writing director, needs to know the mood of the series, and to do this he calls on Thomas Astruc, the series creator. Thomas is a great fan of classical painting. A single painting can tell a complex scene with lots of detail. He wants the episodes of miraculous to be like these paintings, there will be very few shots, but in a single shot a lot will happen.

-Sébastien explains that one of the things Thomas wanted to convey in the series was emotion. They didn't want to do what a lot of children's cartoons do, which is to beat the bad guys and win at the end of the episode. They wanted to tell kids that it's normal to have negative emotions. We can also become better people, learn from our mistakes and so on. It also reassures TV channels by setting up scenes that are repeated in every episode: people get angry, people akumatize then people deakumatize, end of episode...

Once the TV channels had been reassured, they set about writing a script.

-Sébastien asks Thomas to write the ending, as they're not sure the series will work. They also wondered what the aim of the series was, and what they wanted to say to the children. The two of them sat down in an office and wrote the ending, which turned out to be just the end of an arc. He even adds that now that they've written a lot more, it's important for them to write in advance so that everything is clear to them.

-The first season was written by 19 authors, from home. He found it interesting that the series was written by several different authors, even if some of them didn't quite understand the premise of the series. One episode that Sébastien particularly appreciated was written by two “autrices” (I think it's weird to say “two female authors”, so I'll use the French word): the refletkta episode, with the story of Juleka who couldn't get into the photos. (Note that all the episodes were proofread by Sébastien and Thomas).

After that, they kept a few people on to work together on the scripts for subsequent seasons.

Sébastien explains that he keeps a close eye on the production of the episodes, to make sure that everything that goes into the picture is as faithful as possible to what they've written in the script.

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

-The kwamis exist thanks to Toei, who wanted funny little animals to sell plush toys. So the scriptwriters had to find a way to integrate kwamis into the story.

-(Again, Sébastien advises people to check out the Kobushi series if they can still watch it somewhere, or ask the leaker who leaked the whole of season 5 to give them the episodes (that's a joke, of course)).

-Sébastien talks about the Ikari gozen episode, which could have been a total failure because the storyboarder didn't fully understand the scenario. Sébastien asks Zag to redo the storyboard, which will add 10 weeks to the episode's deadline. The storyboarder admits that he's always done storyboards mechanically, without worrying whether the episode is good or not, whether the jokes are funny or not. Eventually, the episode was redone by the same storyboarder, resulting in the episode we all know today.

- They still have a lot to tell with Miraculous, to the point where they're wondering if they'll have enough seasons to tell everything they want to tell. Sebastien says there will be a season 6 and 7, and probably a season 8 and 9.

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

- Chloé Paye met Sébastien when she was looking for an internship. She had never worked in animation, and knew nothing about Miraculous. She tells us how the scriptwriting team works. Each time, all the scriptwriters in the room have to be convinced of the script. They can sometimes spend hours on details to get everyone to agree.

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

- The driving force behind the series is that there must always be a secret between Marinette and Adrien. The lovesquare can never be broken, otherwise there's no series. Sébastien knows that some people are worried about this. Will they continue the lovesquare for another 4 seasons or more? How will they evolve? Sébastien says not to worry, they know where they want to go.

-It takes them 14 to 16 months to produce an episode, but it's often much longer due to unforeseen circumstances. And they don't work on one episode at a time, but on several at the same time. One episode takes a long time because of the 3D animation.

One of the things that's complicated with Miraculous 3d animation is that they can only display 3 characters at a time on screen, whereas the series requires them to display many more characters. It's also very difficult to correct animation errors, as this takes a lot of time.

-The TV networks were very surprised by the success of miraculous. They didn't think adults and children alike would watch the series. The TV channels were a little confused because they usually make series for a specific age group, but since miraculous had people of all ages watching, they weren't sure what to do.

- Sébastien says he's very happy that miraculous inspires a lot of people to create things, like writing fanfiction, however he's not interested in it because he doesn't want to be influenced by certain fans who would love to see certain things in the series.

- Writing direction also means paying attention to how the characters speak. They all have their own way of speaking. For example, Adrien will never say "j’te parle", but rather "Je te parle".

- During the writing process, the writers sometimes act out scenes to make the dialogue more natural. This is what happened with the episode "Gang of secrets". They felt that, with the success of the show and the pressure it was generating, they needed to write something to relieve their stress. So they wrote about Marinette and the enormous pressure she was under to keep all her secrets. The final scene, in which Marinette tells Alya that she's Ladybug, came naturally when they performed it together.

[amuseoffyre]

The Ineffable Mrs Sandwich

So. Mrs Sandwich.

I've been wondering at her relevance. I put a post up a bit ago about the signs at her front door that rang honking great foreshadowing bells: "Come Upstairs" and "No pairs. One only. Be Brave" on a wall surrounded by stars. Not to mention they now have a “New Model” with “Friendly Hands” up there.

In the party, she says something to Aziraphale that made my brain jangle because of all the meta that I've been eating: [her girls] stand on their own two feet. Initially I thought this was a sex-work joke, but there's the fact that at the beginning of the season, both lads are completely co-dependent, especially Crowley who talks about "my only friend". By the end of the season, the boys are separated and they will be forced to stand on their own two feet for the first time since 2500BC.

Throw into the mix that God's department is always referred to as "upstairs" and Mrs Sandwich is the only person shown coming down from an upstairs to a ground level that has a chandelier, much like Aziraphale's bookshop also has a chandelier on the ground floor, directly over his contact point with the almighty.

"I don't know why you invited me," she says and Aziraphale makes a point that she's part of their world, even if she feels she's separate from it. Then you have the seamstress conversation and yes, maybe she is a brothel madame, but the fact she can't say what her actual role/position is has very ineffable vibes to me. A convenient way to mask her real identity/purpose.

When Crowley walks her out the party, he says "Have you got your hand in?" and she replies "Oh, I've got more than that, love." which would track for the person who was playing three-card monty with the universe. Since they're so careful with their dialogue, between all of this and her calling Crowley “a good lad”?

Add the fact that her "girls" upstairs can tell when Nina is unhappy when making coffee and that one of the drinks she orders almost matches the order by the Metatron, who has professed to consume human food/drink. His version has almond syrup instead of hazelnut and almond is symbolic in the bible for watchfulness and promise of a new season. (However, interestingly, some Biblical translations of hazelnut and almond mean the same thing)

And what is a sandwich if not two separate sides with something in the middle?

[thatsmimi]

Information on the structure of the Canaries, source from weibo. This is included in the new version of the Adventurer Bible.

(Click for details.)

Inspired by @room-surprise's partial break down of this page, I got it translated! Room also has a lot of good dunmeshi world building posts, so I definitely recommend checking out their blog!

Repost policy: CN->ENG Translation + clean up is done by me! This post is locked because the leaker prefers to not have her stuff reposted to other places to prevent spreading accidental misinformation/mistranslation, so this is only for casual reading before official translation comes out. If you want to crop part of this post and use elsewhere please make sure to add the above addendum, or link back to this post instead. Here's why I don't support Savaralyn's translations.

[dunmeshistash]

Is there anything about Shimea (is that the name of the Elf Queen?) in the new adventurers Bible? I'm super curious about the monarchy system!

Didn't realize she was named anywhere!

Here's her profile in the new adventurer's bible along with google translation (I don't think the translation ended up good tho), apparently her name is Heimea!

Heimea is the literal romaji from her name in katakana but I don't think she has an official name translation, seems pretty straight forward tho different from raiosu and chiruchakku.

Only other thing I know about her is that she walks around with her pussy out

Flamela's extra speaks a little more about the monarchy

[loriache]

Senshi's succubus is probably a parent

Senshi doesn't tell the party what his succubus was, but in the diary extras in the new Adventurer's Bible, he says [my own rough translation]:

'That person' appeared. Even though I almost couldn't recall their face anymore, they appeared before my eyes with the exact appearance from when I was a child! -----after that, I don't remember. It was the doing of a monster called a succubus. Good gracious, it had me at a loss. The dungeon is really an absurd place.

Senshi was bitten on the nose, too.

Like a mother's kiss. I do expect it's his mother, but I don't think either the drawing or the diary entry is definitive on the gender, so could be his dad. He drew them and scribbled the face out... : ( He left Izganda in his thirties, so a young kid. He hasn't seen them since them.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Others Join David at Hebron

List of David's Forces

23-37 When David was at Hebron, many trained soldiers joined his army to help make him king in place of Saul, as the Lord had promised. Their numbers were as follows:

Judah: 6,800 well-equipped men, armed with shields and spears;

Simeon: 7,100 well-trained men;

Levi: 4,600 men;

Followers of Jehoiada, descendant of Aaron: 3,700 men; Relatives of Zadok, an able young fighter: 22 leading men;

Benjamin (Saul's own tribe): 3,000 men (most of the people of Benjamin had remained loyal to Saul);

Ephraim: 20,800 men famous in their own clans;

West Manasseh: 18,000 men chosen to go and make David king;

Issachar: 200 leaders, together with the men under their command (these leaders knew what Israel should do and the best time to do it);

Zebulun: 50,000 loyal and reliable men ready to fight, trained to use all kinds of weapons;

Naphtali: 1,000 leaders, together with 37,000 men armed with shields and spears;

Dan: 28,600 trained men;

Asher: 40,000 men ready for battle;

Tribes east of the Jordan—Reuben, Gad, and East Manasseh: 120,000 men trained to use all kinds of weapons.

38 All these soldiers, ready for battle, went to Hebron, determined to make David king over all Israel. All the rest of the people of Israel were united in the same purpose. 39 They spent three days there with David, feasting on the food and drink which their relatives had prepared for them. 40 From as far away as the northern tribes of Issachar, Zebulun, and Naphtali, people came bringing donkeys, camels, mules, and oxen loaded with food—flour, figs, raisins, wine, and olive oil. They also brought cattle and sheep to kill and eat. All this was an expression of the joy that was felt throughout the whole country. — 1 Chronicles 12:23-40 | Good News Translation (GNT) Good News Translation® (Today’s English Version, Second Edition) © 1992 American Bible Society. All rights reserved. Cross References: 1 Samuel 25:18; 2 Samuel 2:3-4; 2 Samuel 2:8; 2 Samuel 5:1; 2 Samuel 8:17; 1 Chronicles 13:1; 1 Chronicles 15:4; 1 Chronicles 27:17; Esther 1:13; Psalm 12:2; Hosea 3:1

[honestsycrets]

querido i: a reward of 2099 | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | doubleshot; chapter is safe for work.

❛ summary | it's been a long time since you've been with miguel o'hara. when your daughter gabriella finds his wanted poster, life starts to unravel.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats.

❛ sy's notes | here's to listening to the civil wars' devil backbone one too many times. i needed a break from filling most requests, so i only incorporated one very lightly in this piece.

“Mamá, 2099 is a strange amount for a reward, isn’t it?”

Your daughter was a mischievous girl just like her father. She tore down the poster that was tacked up on the homely post office’s bulletin board as you gathered the weekly post. Coming into town was always a bit of a laborious task. With goods to gather and a little girl to socialize, you made it into town once every week.

"Sure is," Jackson the postman said.

“Thank you,” you plucked mail from the man’s dark hands. “I’ll see you next week.”

He wore a warm, kind smile. Working in the post office, he always seemed to be well-versed in what was going on in everyone’s life. His coal-black eyes shone warmly at you.

“Take care now, there’s wild men out there. What with Peter gone and all, you sure you girls will be okay out there? Rio’d sure put up Gabi and you at the hostel.”

Gabi scrunched up her face tight like a screw being twisted into a board.

“That’s real sweet of you to worry but I’m sure we’ll be fine. We've been out there nine years now. I’ll see you next week, sí? ” You tucked your post into a basket that dangled on your elbow, pulling long and heavy skirts to avoid trampling them with your boots as you opened the door.

“See ya then!”

Gabriella stepped out first, pulling on your lace sleeves as a cue for her delayed answer. She wouldn’t butt into a conversation, but she always seemed to hold her questions for a better time. You sighed, looking at the pale wooden buildings. Saloon, feed store, bank, and the occasional hostel. Over the last decade, the town seemed to flourish, bringing all manner of people to your once tiny Spanish town.

“I suppose they didn’t wanna give the extra coin out, Gabi.”

She looked back to the paper in her hands.

“Wanted dead or alive. Notorious badman Miguel O’Hara, 38, native of Nueva… why that’s here, mama!”

Your blood chilled. Congealed even. The sun nearly blinded you, even with the hat that kept the hot sun off of your head. You stepped off the doorway and onto the dusty ground, spinning on your heel to face your little girl with your dark blue fan in your hands, waving the heat of the day off your flushed skin.

“Wanted for--”

You swiped the paper from her fingers.

“That’s about enough of that. We best get on our way, we got goods to buy, the undertaker to see, and a new dress to fit for your papá’s funeral.”

“I was just reading it. In case we see him?”

“We won’t. It’s been a time since he’s shown himself around these parts. You have no business looking at-- that kinda man. He’s a troublemaker. Now get in the cart, let’s not dolly around.”

You would know.

“O—okay, mamá.”

“I’m sorry, Gabi, I don't mean to yell. You’re all I got, preciosa,” you wedged the paper into a new bible, right next to your wooden rosary, and flung it into the basket.

"I know."

You started ahead of her, fussing with your white veil, sparing no expense to the many questions that she had that day. You had just as many questions as she did.

You just couldn’t articulate them to a grieving little girl.

Do you think it's a boy or girl? the seamstress asks a woman in her shop. She fashions all sorts of fashions from birth to death. Her store is stuffed to the brim with frilly and lacy baptismal dresses. Your gaze fell on her belly, tracing the curve.

"Una niña," she says. Her voice triggers something old, some ancient memory you've suppressed. His voice in your ear, a soft kiss on your head. You're sitting there, next to the little girl that he always wanted, haunted by the flood of memories that comes with looking at another woman's pregnant belly.

"You're not like the others. Aren't men supposed to want sons?" you teased him. Miguel snorted, his arm underneath your neck as he gazed up at a sky of glittering stars. The air was lightly warm, a light wind fluttering through the tall grass. Post-relation bliss was warm on his skin, peaceful and quiet.

"For what? Men are jealous of sons," he muttered, shifting his head to kiss the top of your head. "Little girls are... the light in their lives. I'm going to call mine Gabriella. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"That's a real pretty name."

"Sure is. ¿por qué?"

You didn't tell him why. That you hid a secret underneath the layers of your dress. A secret that you knew Miguel would have more than an issue with if he knew.

"Mamá?" Gabi shakes your arm, "Mamá we're next."

Your mind likes to pull mean tricks on you.

Wanted for double murder.

Miguel O’Hara was always somewhere between a hangman’s knot and three mouths to feed. For you, the latter. You were under no illusion of the sort of man Miguel was.

Every look at your daughter’s soft, peaceful face at night reminded you of him. You worried that the more she looked at posters of Miguel, peered into an artist’s rendition of Miguel’s slight, sultry eyes, lush lips, and strong jaw-- she might be able to locate the similarities when she looked at herself. That was why you had to take the flyer from her. The artist sure had a fine hand at drawing him, the man who danced in your dreams by a warm fire and stayed up late counting the stars. He’s gotten thicker, you thought. You sat on the rocking chair as she slept peacefully, rocking back and forth on the chair.

A violent knocking at the front door swept you free from your thoughts. You snatched up the silver lantern, yanked a fine ivory rebozo over your shoulders, and rushed down the stairs. The booming knocking became louder, more urgent. The movement was mechanical, with no husband to answer the door for you, you checked the window first. The man who stood there was not a man you’d want to see. Not now, not back then. He had a wicked face that sat beneath a wide-brimmed hat that obscured the balding spot on top of his head.

God, not him. He was obsessed.

“Buenas noches, Doña O’Hara,” he peeped into the window.

“Bendito, don’t call me that,” you rushed out, the heavy wooden door slamming to a close behind you. “I’ve told you already, he is not here.”

“And I don’t believe you. First, your man-loving husband dies. Next, sightings of Miguel a town over. ¿Qué piensas? Hm? What comes after that?”

“My husband was trampled, Aaron. By a bull. He was a hard-working man who worked with violent cattle. These accidents happen. Why don’t you ask the undertaker?”

He wouldn’t. Although you don’t think Aaron is a complete idiot, he surely has his own motivations for which leads to follow and which leads to ignore. Your husband’s death was one of them.

“I’ll tell you what comes next. You come next. It’s only logical that he would come back to you. You have his daughter and all. Or… does he not know about that? I seem to recall him running out of here like a bat outta hell.”

“You’ve checked my property three times. Barn, basement, home. It’s been nine years, Aaron. Gloria a Dios, he’s probably remarried and forgotten me by now.”

“Not according to my reports.”

You hate the twinge of delight that comes from that admission. Your cheeks warm with blood, highlighting the rouge that sits across your cheeks. He chuckles caustically at how easily it shuts you up. Aaron takes a step forward, his deep leather boots creaking along the aged floorboards.

“What’d you want me to do with that information?”

“If he comes to see you, and I know he will,” he reached out for your chin. Your hand connects with his, shoving him back. “Tell me. You know, it’s a crime to kill another man without good cause.”

“You wanna catch Miguel for your own reasons, Aaron. Don’t bring none of that holier-than-thou bullshit to my footstep.”

“She can curse,” he laughs again. “Here I thought you were a good Christian woman.”

“Don’t try me,” He tries to corral you against the door. You flip your skirts up, his eyes following the motion. You seize the handgun strapped to your thigh, threatening to pull it on him. Aaron slides back, holding his calloused hands up. "Get off my property."

“I’m just saying. If you see him, you know where to find me. Who knows, you and I could work a lil something out.”

Even if you knew where he was, you would be hard-pressed to turn him into Aaron Delgado. You knew Miguel O’Hara would kill him. So, really, it was for his good. You watched him beat down the squeaky steps and mount his horse, fading into the distance of dark, twinkly stars. You probably shouldn’t be praying that robbers got ahold of him.

But only Diosito could judge you for that.

You dipped down to pick the lantern up, stepping off the steps to ensure that he was not just off your property, but properly gone. Then, seeing him set off toward town, you gazed up at the deep night sky. It was littered with an abundance of stars, massive and twinkling brilliantly. Miguel’s favorite constellations shone brightly in the sky. The Anglo called it-- Orion’s belt. Around here, it was named for the hunter: the deer, the pronghorn, and the sheep. You count each of the stars on your way back indoors to sleep in your empty bed.

You prayed Aaron’s hunt would be fruitless that night.

With your husband's untimely death came several complex decisions. Namely, what to do with his cattle hands and the animals under your care. You were fortunate enough to have support from the community in caring for the cattle, but you knew human affection did not last forever. You could sell his property at a scam of a price as a woman or you could keep it and work bitterly on the farm.

Or, as Aaron suggested today in the cover of concern, you could remarry yet again. It was nearly the only good option. Working wasn’t sustainable when you had a little girl to raise and a whole host of children to teach, as you always had. It would be nearly impossible to find someone like your dearly departed husband who knew your situation and couldn’t care less about it.

It’s good for a lil girl to have a father, he says. You know that-- but Aaron should be no one’s father. Not Gabriella’s. Miguel would’ve never approved. Neither did you.

You loosened beads of sweat from your hair as you returned inside, the ends of your skirt matted with dust. Gabriella would return home from school soon and you were fully intent on feeding her a slice of fresh peach pie.

You made your way into your home, your boots between your fingers. The smell of a smoky hearth piqued your attention. It didn’t arise from your great big wood stove that sat against the wall, ready to cook fresh tortillas, but the sort of hearth settled in the deep outdoors.

“Dios mío.”

Miguel sat there, plain as a field flower. His fingers tapped over the heavy wooden table, rolling in succession. He’s older than you remember-- jaw peppered with dark facial hair, his hair dark and wild, set away from his kind eyes that caught yours as quickly as you caught his. You dropped your boots at your feet, backing up once, twice.

“Don’t run, you won't get far,” his voice trilled, low and warm. Beside his sombrero on the table sat a thick rope and his gun, you don’t want to know which one he was planning to use today. His head twisted, a mused smile growing on his face. “You look so surprised, amor. You had to know I was coming.”

The nickname cut more than it used to. You had not been someone’s amor in a very long time. Married strictly by the weight of paper, you don’t exactly recall what the fleeting emotion of love felt like. Wisps of it licked a dead flame to life in your stomach.

“Miguel.”

“You look gorgeous,” Miguel hummed, turning his impossibly broad arms one over the other. You don’t remember him being this thick. He lurches onto his leather boots, taking a few practiced steps closer. Brilliant, you think, you’ve languished years thinking of this moment just to smell of sweat and cow shit. You suppose he’s smelled worse as an outlaw, a name that doesn’t quite fit the handsome man before you.

“You were always a bad liar.”

“Look, not smell.”

“My point stands,” you say.

Your normally practiced updo has gone frizzy, bits of hair escaping the clips that kept it flat against your head. Miguel’s eyes flickered over the strands, then down to your skin flush with blood and exhaustion.

“Mine too.”

You stared at him a moment longer before you found yourself laughing, just a light-- a small thing that you had failed to do over the past week. His death, and the subsequent funeral, was all too miserable. Now he was here and for a moment, just a brief thing, everything didn’t feel so earth-shatteringly dire.

He cracks a smile, drawing his hand to your flyaways, soothing it down against your head. You should be more angry at him-- settling you with a baby like he did and disappearing into the long grass with Widow and not a word more.

“I missed you,” you said quietly. His hand falls away from your head, drifting past his dark blue vest, and hooking at the fat metal belt buckle. “Pero… why are you here?”

“I heard Peter passed,” he said in a practiced tone. “I was a few towns over. Seeing how he’s taken good care of you all these years, I dropped in to say my dues to him. Came to see my girl too.”

The grief may not be readable in his eyes, but you know he’s practiced it in the same way you did for your Gabriella. Her only daddy was gone, deep in the cold earth. His words echoed in your ears, cutting through your grief bright and resonant. You wonder if he knew, but logically, you knew he couldn’t. Miguel always wanted to be a father.

“Who’d that be?”

“You,” Miguel turns your name over, making your name sound beautiful and light on his tongue. It’s sweet, like the peach pie cooling in your aged windows.

“After all these years?"

"Claro."

"You... shouldn't be here. You’re a wanted man,” you said. “Aaron is looking for you. You know that, right?”

“He's nothing to be concerned about.” Miguel shrugged off your suggestion. "I'm only wanted in these parts."

“Where else is there?” you said

“Out West. South. You take your pick,” Miguel lifted his hand, tracing your parched lower lip. “It don't matter to me. I seen all manner of places, like it here more than anywhere.”

"There's nothing here."

"Nothing but you."

You felt your stomach swoop, a delight filling it better than any meal you’d had. You parted your lips to say something else, to find a response that would fit-- to tell him the truth. But he left you then, came back when something fit better than the road. You wonder what fortune he must have made on the road that he’d come back. His hand caressed your cheek, rubbing it as if to soothe you. It didn’t.

“You think you can just go and come back like nothing happened? After what you did?”

The front door squeaked, dragging with a long hiss. Miguel peered over your shoulder as if it were instinctual, his hand snapping to the gun on his hip. You stopped him short of seizing his handgun. Gabriella bobbed in, closing the door tightly shut behind her. She wore a plain blue dress, fine ribbon braided in the updo she had on that day. She takes a few short steps forward before realizing who you were talking to.

“Mamá, I’m home!” she gasped. “That’s the man in the— in the flyer mamá--”

“Gabi go to your room.”

“I’m not--”

“Gabriella,” your voice went soft but stern. Nearly apologetic. You had been so hard on her lately. Miguel’s eyes dropped from Gabriella’s huge, doe-like eyes to her nose, then lips. His eyes sharpened, whipping back to look at you. “Por mí, okay? He won’t hurt me. Te prometo.”

She darted up the many steps to her room.

"Gabriella?" He stared at you uncomprehendingly. He quickly goes quiet, searching your eyes for something. You worry that he’s found the truth, your breath light as you walked over to your wooden stove, checking the flame and setting a pot of water that you brought from a nearby creek to bathe with. He follows you to the stove.

“My daughter is home. You should go,” you remarked, less of a command than a meek statement, floundering on your lips at the end. As delightful as it sounded, running off into some other territory, town, or world with Miguel-- it was unfeasible and irresponsible to be with a man whose name was stapled on the bulletin boards towns over.

“How old is she?”

"That's none of your business." Your outlaw hovers over you, absorbing the space, a bundle of heavy muscle and rage that plumes off his skin like the smell of sweat on your skin. It’s almost as if he can smell the regret seeping off your skin, despite knowing you couldn’t have done anything differently. No one told him and you could not reach him. Whatever the reason he stayed away, you were not the one he reached out to for updates.

“Tell me,” he growls, waves of anger causing his voice to shake. The tone is heartless, empty of the nights together, of slipping off with the old cattle hand at night and day, in the barn and the field. You’re stuck in the memory of your lovemaking with your vaquero, now your outlaw man. You missed him.

“Don’t do this. She could be listening.” You pad away from the stove to the window with the hope that he wouldn’t follow. He backs you up into the wall, his calloused hands so tight on his belt that you could draw lines of tension through his veins.

“You're not telling me because she’s mine,” he’s whispering, the words going through your chest, fizzling out into terrible pain. He reaches out, squeezing your hips to keep you put. Miguel leans into your space and buries you in his overwhelming scent.

“What do you want me to say?” you stare at his prominent muscles, the shift that is thrown open to expose his skin. He cups your jaw and throat with his large hand, forcing you to confront the truth. Your eyes blink closed, bits of tears dripping there. Miguel doesn’t have the patience for pity, or empathy, whichever the two you were looking for right then.

“I want you to tell me the truth. It's not hard.”

“Me telling you the truth changes a whole lot of nothing. You're putting her life at risk just being here. You're an outlaw,” you say, trying his rapidly evaporating patience. "You got a bounty on your head."

"It changes it all," he shoves you back into the window, a choked cry slipping from your throat. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to have the truth. Distantly, you were aware of Gabriella’s feet beating down the steps. You’re relatively certain she’d never gone all the way up to her room. In this creaky house you would have heard her door shut, the floorboards bounce. In either case, there’s no point running away from what you both know to be true.

“Sí, she’s your daughter,” you mustered the words in a bid to get it over with. Miguel always had to get his way. “Now what?”

Miguel flicked a look over his shoulder, marked by the heavy drag of his weighted firearm skidding across the wooden table. A life on the run will do that. Gabriella’s tiny hands slipped around his handgun.

“That ain't true!”

“Gabriella,��� you cut her short. “Gabi, bebe, put that down.”

Miguel took a step back, pulling his head back slightly as you shifted in front of him. Her tiny head shook, over and over, tears pricking her bright brown eyes. You fooled yourself into thinking that she wouldn’t listen-- because your Gabi was a good girl. A wonderful good girl who liked nothing more but running in the field with the boys and brightly colored ribbons laced into her braids. She was also a mischievous girl who had been trying really, really hard to be good for you this week. Children had their limits.

“My papá is dead,” she said, her fingers trembling about the thing. Miguel’s head tilted in response, expecting you to take care of it. “His name was Peter and-- he liked sunsets and fluffy chocolate calves and--”

“Badly made blankets,” Miguel said lowly. Gabi lowered the gun, slowly, just an inch or two. “Shorn fabrics, uneven stitching, ugly colors.”

“He liked to make you smile-- be helpful,” he added. You snapped to look at Miguel as he rose his hand to his hips, gazing at the floor and rocking. He waits another moment, noting how Gabriella’s head nodded, rubbing away the tears that dripped off the corner of her eyes with her shoulder. She set the gun down on the table.

“You knew my papá?” she turns her arms one over another. “How?”

“He was my friend.”

“Mamá?” she looked toward you, seeking an answer from someone who wasn’t a face on a wanted paper with a reward of 2099 dollars.

“Peter was your papá but-- Miguel is your padre, mija,” you breathed hard, exhausted from years of suppression. She looks at you, not used to this level of betrayal. Her eyes are distant, somewhere in her tiny memories. She whips around and runs out the back door. Miguel turns his eye out the window, her tiny body disappearing into the deep green fields. The sun blinds your eyes as you look out to the fields full of cattle. He reaches for his rope and gun, settling them in their respective places.

“¡Déjala! She needs time alone.”

He heads out the backdoor. He never did listen well.

[david-goldrock]

hi!! this isn't a hate ask, just a genuine question.

i have a quite a few jewish mutuals and my personal knowledge of a typical holiday season for jews is very limited.

i know i could go to google and stuff but i thought i would also ask a few blogs who are jewish.

i'm a minor and i go to a catholic school, so my lack of knowledge about judaism has a bit of a reason ^^"

tldr; the question here is how do jewish people celebrate around the typical holiday time? (november/december, sterotypical xmas season for people who celebrate)

So around the christian holiday time there's a single Jewish holiday- Chanuka.

The Jewish calendar is not consistent with the Gregorian one every year, but this year chanukah will be between 25th of December and January the 2nd

Chanuka is a Hebrew word that means "the celebration of the establishment of a new house, factory or other building"

In the case of the holiday, that building is the second temple

The story of Chanukah is beautiful, but if you want the TLDR:

After the conquest of Alexander the Great (refered to as Alexander from macadonia), the Selucid empire controlled Israel. At first they were tolerant of the Jews in the area, but when Antiochus the fourth came around, he imposed a much worse rule, including disallowing Jewish customs and Jewish bible learning, and making the temple Ta'meh (not kosher for sacrifice)

In the city of Modi'in, a resistance grew, and after many battles, they won the fight against the Selucid empire, even though their forces were much fewer and less trained, And established the second Jewish state

The legend says that when they got to the temple and tried to relight the Menorah there, there wasn't any oil good enough for the task anywhere there - only a single beaker of oil with enough oil to light the Menorah for a single day. Regardless, when they tried to light the Menorah with it, G-d made a miracle happen and the beaker lasted for 8 days, enough for new oil to get to Jerusalem

There are various customs of hannukah. Most refer to the oil beaker part for... Ancient political reasons we won't get into right now, but they include eating fried foods and lighting up the Chanukiya (which is a replica which is legally distinct from the Menorah so that it won't be a sin to make it)

There is an ambivalent custom - playing with a dreidel, which is a gambling game with rules I don't remember. On the dreidel 4 letters appear. In the diaspora - נ ג ה ש which is an acronym for נס גדול היה שם. - a great miracle happened there. In Israel the acronym is נ ג ה פ which is an acronym for נס גדול היה פה - a great miracle happened here. In some places, that miracle is the establishment of the state, in others it's the oil beaker

There was a custom inspired by Christmas which is to share chocolate coins with the children on Chanukah. In the diaspora this becomes more and more like Christmas with gifts given on the holiday, while in Israel that custom is, as far as I can tell, slowly disappearing

There is one custom which is definitely war related and not oil related, which is children making re-enactments of the story of Chanukah. It's not very common, but I remember it fondly from my youth

Chanukah has many songs also, which I will translate in the coming weeks so stay tuned XD

If you have any more questions, ask away!

[demiromanticmickey]

On today's "I am SO not normal about Dead Friend Forever": Discussing Catholicism and Colonization in this gay Thai slasher series

Some background on me: I am from a Latine Catholic family. Raised as a non-practicing Catholic (we didn't go to church or pray). Then my parents enrolled me in a Catholic school that I attended from 5th grade to the end of 7th grade. Today, I am not Catholic and have never really considered myself as such.

Ok, so in the flashback episodes of DFF, I have been noticing a lot of things. My findings under the cut.

Let's start with this crucifix and photo of the Virgin Mary and a baby Jesus.

Screenshot from ep. 5.

The camera lingers here a bit so we're obviously meant to pay attention to the phrase. I put the screenshot through Google translate's image translator and the translation it gave me was, "Think good, do good, be a good person." I didn't think much of it when I first watched the episode other than it was supposed to establish that the boys attend a Christian or Catholic school.

But then there was this image posted on Be On Cloud's Instagram (also from ep. 5): X

Zooming in, we can see there's another picture of Mary in the background. Watching the classroom scenes, it's easy to miss because the series itself is more washed out than the official photos posted. But this emphasis on Mary led me to believe the school is a Catholic one. So out of curiosity, I looked up the schools the writers and directors attended because I felt I was onto something here. And boy, was I!

Source: MDL

Ma-Deaw, if you didn't know, is one of the directors of Dead Friend Forever (he also directed Manner of Death and Inhuman Kiss , and lots of other things).

One Google search later (X) and I learned "Montfort College" is a Catholic school. It started out as a primary school that later added a secondary school as well.

Now let's take a closer look at some of the details of this school:

First, the school's motto "Labor Conquers All Things". This reminded me of the phone conversation Tee had with his uncle:

On my first watch, this sounded familiar to me but I couldn't really place why. It wasn't until I saw this other Tumblr post (X) that pointed out it's similar to a bible quote from the New Testament. The quote varies a bit depending on which version of the bible you're using but it's along the lines of, "He who does not work, neither shall he eat".

This is meant to discourage "laziness". Nevermind the fact that people deserve to eat simply because we get hungry and need food to survive. The idea that we only "deserve" things based on productivity is an extremely colonial one. — Reminder also that Tee is being forced into this "work" in the first place. He's just a high school kid. I don't need to like his character to understand how fucked up his situation is.

Then there's the patron of the school. St. Louis de Montfort was a French Catholic priest most known for his study in Mariology. What is Mariology (X)? The study of Mary, the mother of Jesus. I didn't know that was a thing but it's unsurprising considering how prominent images of Mary were in my own religious upbringing. And she's what started me down this rabbit hole in the first place. Mary is a big deal to the Catholics. I'm going to be paying even more attention now if more Mary imagery pops up.

The Garden of Eden and Original Sin

Now I want to draw attention to these images:

Screenshots from ep. 7

Here we have Non and Phee biting into an apple as they leisure around this lush green field. We know they've visited this location more than once because they're wearing different outfits in the screenshots. And I think it's important to note that it's Phee holding the apple and offering it to Non.

The use of the word "bait" in the bts of ep. 7 is quite interesting too. (X)

The Garden of Eden was the paradise in which Adam and Eve resided. In this garden, there were many trees to eat from. The one tree Adam and Eve were forbidden by God to eat from was the Tree of Knowledge. A serpent (Satan), first tempted Eve into taking from the tree to eat it's fruit. And then Eve gave the fruit to Adam. That is Original Sin. And because Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, all humans thereafter are born sinful and bad, and can only find salvation through God.

Of course in the scene between Phee and Non, the sin the apple represents is being gay. And it's after this, and after the bracelet scene, that Non becomes involved with Por's film and his tragedy begins.

Zoomed in screenshot from ep. 5

And I wonder if the bracelet scene is the last time Phee and Non visit this forest location. It would parallel how Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden once they sinned.

Final Thoughts

You give me a story that criticizes Western religion and how it's used as a tool for oppression and colonization, and I'm gonna eat that shit up. I am gonna eat it up. Every. Single. Time.

I really wasn't expecting anything like this from Dead Friend Forever. This level in attention to detail is unmatched. I don't think I've watched a more well planned out show. And no matter where DFF goes from here, these seven episodes will always hold a special place in my heart. 💗

[haru-dipthong]

My Utena Fansub Ep 2 (and Ep 1 rerelease)

Here's episode 2! A huge thank you to @dontbe-lasanya for their incredible efforts at editing my translation!

Also, episode 1 has been revised. I'll update the link on my original posts, but if you're looking at a reblog it will still have the old link. From now on, I'll be posting a link to a folder with all the episodes after each release, so you can easily find old episodes. You can find the new ep 1 and all other episodes as they release here:

Translation Discussion

Utena uses boku. There’s no way to convey this aspect of self-identified masculinity in english, so the translation needs to make up for it in other ways. One way I did this was the “Master” translation of 様 (sama), but this isn’t self-identified (in fact, Utena dislikes the use of 様). I saw a good opportunity to do this here:

まあ、一人部屋らしいから、クールな僕の趣味には合ってるよ。

I think I’ve got a room to myself. Kinda perfect for my bachelor lifestyle. (my translation)

I'm gonna have to be on the lookout in the future for other opportunities for Utena to gender themself masc!

-----

世界の殻を破壊せ... 世界を革命するために！

Destroy the shell... and revolutionise the world!

Other translations often translate this as "For the revolution of the world!" or "For the sake of revolutionizing the world!". I believe these translations are trying too hard to make explicit the function of ために to express purpose/aim. I think it's unnecessary - a simple "and" will do, because the fact that "revolutionising the world" is the point of "destroying the shell" is wholly self-evident through context.

-----

I didn’t have space to talk about the A-ko/B-ko translation or Zettai Unmei Mokushiroku in the first post, but there were some interesting decisions to be made!

かしらかしら、ご存じかしら？

My oh my, haven’t you heard? (my translation)

This was in important translation because it gets used so many more times in the show, and it needs to make sense in many different contexts. The shadow girls tend to echo their opening lines in their closing lines:

でも、勇者様、わざと負ける難しさをご存じかしら？ かしらかしら、ご存じかしら？

but, sir knight, haven’t you heard how hard it is to lose a fight on purpose? My oh my, haven’t you heard? (my translation)

The opening line needs to be able to be recontextualised from a relatively innocent phrase that signifies the shadow girls are gossiping, to a more sinister taunting of “the knight” for being naive (or, in the first episode, not knowing what they’re getting into).

I went with “my, oh my” for かしらかしら because it sounds a bit old fashioned and feminine, just like the Japanese. I originally had “have you heard?” but it didn’t sound nearly taunting enough when repeated in he closing lines.

-----

絶対運命黙示録

Certain destiny: the Revelation! (my translation)

Most existing translations have this as “Absolute Destiny: Apocalypse” or “Absolute Destiny: Revelation”.

黙示録 is the word for the Book of Revelation, from the Bible. It’s not just describing any apocalypse, but the Biblical, Christian Revelation. I think “apocalypse” has become more generic in modern English, whereas “Revelation” is decidedly Biblical. This also influenced some of the decisions to jazz up the rest of the song to emphasise the Biblical references.

The word 絶対 can means “absolute” as in “without question”, but “absolute” has other meanings besides this in modern English (e.g. “extreme”). I decided to go with “certain” because I believe the original Japanese is trying to get across the unquestionable destiny of the Revelation: “It’s absolutely going to happen”. Also, maybe I’m too online but I think “absolute” just sounds silly here. Online vernacular has made “absolute” an almost jokey word (e.g. “absolute unit”).

However, I did include the classic name of the song as the lyric at the end of the song before it goes into the syllable switching chant:

絶対運命黙示闇

Absolute destiny: Apocalypse!

Note the slight difference here in the japanese. 闇 means darkness, and 黙示闇 isn't a real word, it's just a combination of "Revelation" and "darkness". The last kanji in the more common 黙示録 means "record" as in "the records of the Revelation", the Book of Revelation. While the meaning doesn't change much with the substitution of 闇, it makes the line feel a bit darker, a bit edgier, which made it feel appropriate to include the edgier classic name of the song here.

出生登録、洗礼名簿、死亡登録

Records of childbirth, records of baptism, records of death. (my translation)

Other translations have this as “birth records” and “baptismal registry”, which I think sound awkward. “Birth records” has too few syllables for the line of the song, and doesn’t sound poetical enough, while “baptismal registry” reeks of someone looking up the word in a dictionary and plopping it in without thinking about how it would sound in a haunting apocalyptic song.

もくし くしも しもく くもし もしく しくも

Revelation, Apocalypse Apocalypse, Revelation

The syllable switching chant is impossible to translate - doing such a thing in English just makes it sound silly. Since this line comes directly after the switch up with the original song name, I decided to use the synonyms Revelation and Apocalypse in an alternating sequence to give the same impression of a haunting, cult-like chant. I think this alone makes the decision to use the original song name worth it! Really happy with how the song has turned out.

[tame-the-lion-writes]

[legate!joshua graham x reader] what god hath joined together

This is reposted from my ao3!

[Joshua Graham] tags: religious imagery and symbolism, religious discussion, religion in a positive and respectful light

_

“Have you ever thought about it? That we aren’t married.”

“Slavery is marriage by Legion. And you are mine. Is that not enough?”

You shake your head as you sit upon his bed of furs – warm yet wrapped in the scent of gunpowder and smoke. The scent of him after many a battle – for which he was once praised – yet now finds disheartening. For though the title of Malpais Legate held prestige and power amongst the ranks of Caesar’s army, Caesar’s army was made of slaves, and the legate, too, was no exception.

And so, while your husband – no, master – makes his way toward you from across the room, you imagine the chains upon his skin. Wrought iron clinging to his wrists and ankles – perhaps a muzzle. For they exist, albeit as air – as the raw and undefeated power of Caesar. A man who picked and plundered the history of an old world, and forged an empire in the image of an idol.

“That is marriage under the law of a broken man,” you tell him, inching closer to the edge of the bed that you may take his face in your hands. “That is not marriage under God. There is a difference .”

He hisses in dismissal as he withdraws from your touch, but you can tell your inquiry lingers by the look in his eyes.

“As legatus, I do not know your god. Only the law of Caesar–”

You huff – a sharp exhale through your nose – and follow after him to reach for the bedside table. In it is a false bottom – a wooden panel to harbor a Bible that Joshua had long harbored in secrecy before you came. In the weeks before your arrival, he’d stolen seconds out of the night to skim through the yellowed pages. Back then, he didn’t know why – it was a past he’d decided best forgotten, and buried alongside the bodies he’d left rotting in their graves. But just as the Son of Man, the Word rose to roll the rock away, and burning light began to seep through every battle scar ever inflicted. Those wounds he cast upon others, and to himself. 

He could deny God all he wanted, but timing was never a coincidence. Not in the grand scheme of Creation.

Case in point: you were a translator years ago. Worked with the Followers of the Apocalypse before being absorbed into the New Canaanite fold. What was once simply outreach work — teaching — became learning, and though you’d grown in religion before, now it wove its way through every vein. So when the tribe you’d lived with for months soon became your fellow captives under the scarlet red flags of the Legion, you didn’t blame God. You blamed men. 

Blessed is free will, and cursed is what man does with it.

“‘Ye thought evil against me’,” you muttered to yourself then, “‘But God meant it unto good.’” And what can one do in their most desperate hour – when there is no way to act, and only plead – but believe?

In hindsight, you knew that it was God who sent you Joshua – for amidst the crying and soothing lies, he’d heard your prayer. Reminded him of a younger man, with hopes and dreams, and promised land. So he took you out of the pen, and purchased you like a sacrifice – from a temple taxed and forbidden, offerings sold like heresy.

It’s not as though the legate was warm, but you never expected him to be. No – at first, he merely spared you from the worst the Legion had to offer. You knew, for you heard the rumors, and the screams and sobbing in the night. The silence that followed, beaten to submission. Women reduced to cattle and children reduced to fodder.

By contrast, your “worst” was a hard, leather cot, and eating on the floor but never off of it. You were soon welcomed at the table, albeit for leftovers, and granted new clothes once the rags became threads. Small mercies, you understood, and took with careful hands. One at a time. A gradual gift of grace – for when you discovered the Bible, he did not execute you – bury you – blind you, as was his right.

He sat with you at the edge of his bed – took the book from your hands – and slipped it back into place as though nothing had ever happened.

In the days that followed, it became clear that God had made room in Joshua’s heart for more than bloodshed. You hummed hymns, and he would listen. You spoke scripture, and he would still. He would hardly confess his true thoughts on the matter, but there were nights when he’d tuck a blanket over your shoulders, and in your muddled state of half-consciousness, you’d hear the steady flip of a page. A murmur under his breath, and by firelight, salt and tears. Bittersweet, yet made you smile: his tent was your abode, and your abode was given to God. There would be no return for Joshua – only forward – to fill canyons of prodigal defiance. For your God was a jealous God, who sought to heal the empty with love.

Unconditional, but not accepting. Never enough, but what did it matter?

Come as you are, and –

– change .

“I want to get married,” you decide, pulling the Bible from its hiding place. “I want to do this right. As right as it can be, anyway–”

“Mea ocella. ”

Joshua stops you with a hand over yours, gentler this time.

“If you wish for a husband under covenant of God, do not seek me. I am a leader of war. Not a household, or in spirit.”

Your lips thin.

“Let me be your equal, as one flesh, under God. If not that mercy, at least tell me why.”

Joshua frowns – the expression aging his features by many a year. “I do not mean to insult you, or to refuse you as my equal. I mean to say that to bind you to me would only be another sin.” He lowers his voice– “‘Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness?’”

This time, he cups your face in his hands. Rough and scarred and trembling as if amidst war.

“I wish to save you from the shackles that are mine. For though I cannot save you from the Legion, I can spare you the trouble of me.”

You stare back at him, a challenge in your eye – yet a soothing hush in the way you press your forehead to his.

“The trouble of the Malpais Legate, or of Joshua Graham? To which man do I speak now? ”

It’s subtle, but you see the way his jaw clenches. The next move is his, and you’ve offered yourself up on a plate. Willingly. No Legion auctions, no threat of the whip. Just you, him, and the Word still in your hand.

Slow, you place some space between the two of you. Undo the silk ribbon holding back your hair. Joshua – not the legate – bought it from the market on your birthday. The sweetest gift, small and unnoticed. What would it say of the Legion to have a soft legatus?

But he is soft, and ever softer — here and now — and allows himself to be so – as you take his hand and wrap it in the ribbon. His and yours, without a ring, but this would have to do.

“I,” you begin, glancing down at your entwined hands, then up to his blue eyes, “take thee, Joshua Graham, as my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. To love and to cherish…”

You trail off to give him room. Seconds, perhaps minutes in your nervousness, to undo the ribbon if he wished, and all ties that came with it.

Yet Joshua finishes for you:

“Till death do us part. According to God's holy ordinance. And thereto I pledge thee my faith ."

It is him that squeezes your hand – him that pulls you forward – and him that first presses a chaste kiss to your lips. His and yours, his and yours. You meld into one, allowing him to take you by the waist, and lower you back onto the bed.

“'And they twain shall be one flesh: so then they are no more twain, but one flesh,'” he whispers. Recitations. Remembrance. “'What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.'”

List of Biblical references and quotes (off the bat that I can remember): - Genesis 50:20 - Matthew 21 (Jesus flipping tables at the temple) - Luke 15 (prodigal son) - Exodus 34:14 - 2 Corinthians 6:14 - Mark 10:9 Also -- "mea ocella" means "my eyes/my sight" but is otherwise a term of endearment in Latin :)