#I want the church to condemn me for existing

[shadowed-yet-vibrant]

If anyone's wondering about my mental health, I'm going to a Catholic mass tomorrow morning.

[assriels]

take me to church

pairing: azriel x f!reader

summary: azriel was not a religious male, but you were his goddess incarnate and he would willingly worship at your feet until his dying breath

word count: 3.8k

warnings: smut (18+!! mdni pls), canon typical religious imagery, allusions to azriel’s work but nothing explicit

a/n: my hozier era has returned i fear

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune !

Azriel was not a particularly religious male, offering his acknowledgement to the Mother oftentimes in the heat of battle, on the brink of death as a curse on his lips, hoping someone somewhere would heed his plea to live another day. Whatever religious underpinnings existed within him were but remnants from ancient tradition, built into his body as steadily as his bones. But, aside from the rare moments he’d faced Death and lived, Azriel was not one to offer daily prayers of thanks.

Since meeting you decades ago however, Azriel had considered more and more changing his relative indifference to the celestial beings that reigned. He was sure he hadn’t done anything in his lifetime to deserve you as a lover — let alone a mate — but still the Mother blessed him, and for that he was more grateful than words or prayers could ever express. 

Every brush of your lips against his skin, every tender gaze and soft smile was enough to bring Azriel to his knees every night before the altar between your legs. He sang praises and hymns until his jaw was sore, desperate to pull those seraphic moans from the depths of your throat as he worshiped you ceaselessly. He pledged his life to you the moment the bond snapped for him, never having been able to imagine an existence without you by his side.

Azriel had assumed that he was condemned to a life of desolation and loneliness, rotting with guilt and insecurity for all the things he had done and all the things he could never be. But despite the blood that perpetually stained his scarred hands and the weight of his past burdening his shoulders, you never shied away. Never so much as frowned when he confessed to you the serpentine nature of his hidden work for the Night Court or the calamity he’d endured as a young, lost child. 

You had sat and listened all those years ago, delicate fingers tracing the calluses on his palm as if the lines on his hands whispered all of the things he left unsaid. You’d understood the complexities of his character, loved them as much as you loved every other part of him. 

You made your unwavering affection for him known at every possible opportunity, often massaging away the crease between his brows when you knew he was losing himself to the spiral of his unwanted thoughts. You’d kiss his forehead and run your fingers through his hair, silent but understanding as you allowed him time to open himself up to you in whatever manner he pleased.

Azriel’s adoration of you was no different. He cherished the way you confided in him, revealing to him the depths of your own darkness and fears. He would safeguard your trust with his dying breath, always and forever striving to be your safe space, a lockbox where you could store your darkest thoughts and insecurities without fear of judgment. 

Just as you had always done for him. Just as you were doing now.

In the comfort of your shared bedroom in your private residence, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, rolling on to your toes to kiss the back of his neck while he undid the intricate laces and buckles of his leathers. Your deft fingers soon joined his in the process as you both worked in comfortable silence to unfasten the tediously complex web of clasps. 

The tension in his shoulders and the microscopic ruffle in his brow was all you needed to conclude that his latest task was a gruesome one. One of those missions that tended to stick around, following him and taunting him until his guilt festered and spread. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, voice steady as you removed the last of his Siphons secured tightly around his bicep. It was an effort not to gawk at his exquisite physique that lay hidden beneath the constricting leathers; no matter how many times you’d seen Azriel shirtless, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to the sight. 

He hummed in response, taking a moment to survey his torso in the mirror for any cuts or bruises that needed tending to. When he didn’t spot any — most of them had quickly stitched themselves together on the flight back home — he met your gaze in the mirror and shook his head gently, “Not really.” 

Azriel was somewhat avoidant by nature, too used to minimizing his feelings in lieu of the success of a mission, but the gentle definitiveness in his tone told you all you needed to know. He’d open up about this latest operation when he was ready, but he needed time to process and think, formulate coherent thoughts about what had transpired. And as much as you wanted to soothe the emotional aches and pains you knew plagued him after every mission, you would give him that time. 

You sighed and came to stand in front of him, taking both his cheeks in your hands as you forced his gaze to yours. It took everything in him not to lose himself in those pretty eyes of yours.

Azriel could sense the worry you habitually hid in the moments after he returned home, and so he leaned into your touch, turning to kiss the heart of your palm before offering you reassurances, “I’m okay. Promise.” 

Azriel held his pinky out cutely and you chuckled, shaking your head fondly before wrapping your own around his. You used your joined hands as leverage to pull him down to slot your lips over his. Azriel sighed contentedly at the pressure of your kiss, his long lashes fluttering shut as his hands repositioned themselves around your body. 

One hand splayed steadily on the cage of your ribs as the other made the devious trek down, grabbing a handful of your ass to squeeze playfully. 

You yelped and pulled away as he smirked at you fondly. His gaze traveled over your shoulder to look in the mirror, never tiring of how the curves of your body looked pressed against his. 

The two of you stayed like that for a long while, Azriel’s chin hooked over your head as your arms wound themselves comfortably around his waist. The cadence of his heartbeat was one you were well acquainted with, like a steady metronome that measured itself to the beat of your own heart. 

When he pressed his lips to the crown of your head, you murmured, “Want to take a bath?”

You felt the near imperceptible quickening of his pulse against your ear and you pressed yourself further into his chest, reveling in the way he so instinctively reacted to every little thing you did.

“Only if you join me,” he responded cheekily, corners of his lips twitching in affectionate jest.

You hummed and pretended to think about it, shifting to rest your chin against his heart, pretty lashes fluttering as you looked up at him. 

“I could be convinced.”

Gods, how beautiful you looked. How beautiful you always looked. Your charming allure caught Azriel off guard every single time you merely breathed in his direction, and he briefly wondered if he’d ever get used to the ease in which you enchanted him without even meaning to. 

Unable to resist, his hands came up to cradle your jaw, supporting your neck as he bent down to kiss you, his nose brushing affectionately against yours as he pulled away. 

“I’ll carry you,” he offered, lips brushing your skin, hazel eyes never once leaving yours.

“Deal,” you said, laughing delightedly when he lifted you, throwing you playfully over his shoulder to make a beeline to the bathroom.

Running a bath — a normally automatic part of Azriel’s routine — was made infinitely harder when he was so busy pressing his lips to your jaw, your cheeks, your mouth. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him tonight — maybe it was the adrenaline from a hard task completed, the warmth of home coaxing him to let go and savor you — but he wasn’t complaining. And neither were you, if the way you matched his fervor was anything to go by. 

When both of you finally settled into the warm water, he sighed in contentment, lazily, adoringly watching as the tension eased out of your shoulders. 

Before you came into his life, Azriel had never really understood the desire to worship. He knew logically that it was an act of devotion, but never did he really feel the inclination to pray to a god in thanks.

But it was moments like these — the wonderfully mundane moments of bliss with you — that finally made him understand. If the Mother was anything like you, it wasn’t difficult for Azriel to fathom a devotee’s need to pray.

He thought this as he ran his soapy hands gingerly over your body, as he buried his fingers in your hair to massage your scalp. If you were his goddess, then these were his acts of reverence and he would practice until his physical body no longer could.

And when you did the same for him, when you gently scrubbed his back and wings and arms and chest with the deliberation and gentility of an artist with a craft, he thought that maybe this gratification was what the gods felt when their followers prayed. 

After a while, once the soap had run down the drain and the water was warm and clear again, you settled against him with your back pressed to his chest. 

It was in that moment he realized the arousal that had slowly eked its way into his bloodstream; he had been too busy basking in the feel of your fingertips on his aching muscles to realize that your lovingly innocent touch had made him hard. Embarrassingly so.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, his attention now on the way his cock pressed so tightly against your lower back.

Your laugh — melodic and lovely — curled around his ears in a lover’s embrace, “Don’t be sorry. I’m irresistible, I know.”

He knew you’d meant to tease, but he couldn’t help but agree; if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that you’d casted a spell on him to ensnare his unyielding devotion to you. Your head fell back onto his shoulder and you captured his chin in your fingers to tilt his lips towards yours. 

This kiss, unlike the ones you two had shared earlier in the night, was much more insistent, revving your desire with each stroke of his tongue. 

His hands remained frustratingly chaste on the curve of your waist, and you squirmed in his embrace, willing him to touch you. The pressure of him against your back and the feel of his mouth — now leaving a scathing trail of little bites down your neck — pressed to your skin left the space between your legs slick with a wetness unattributable to the warm bath water. 

Your hand settled over his and for a brief moment your mind flickered to appreciation of the ridges raised by the scars that wound themselves like vines up his fingers to his wrists. Azriel had always been somewhat self conscious of the puckered skin of his hands, but you stood firm in the belief that they only served to make him that much more wonderful. 

(And you couldn’t deny the pleasurable sensation they added when his fingers were buried inside you. But that was neither here nor there.) 

You guided his touch as he reared back up to kiss you again. You led one of his hands down between your legs and the other to your chest, where he eagerly played with the peak of your nipples. 

“Oh?” he intoned, amusement coloring his inquiry at the feel of how wet he now realized you were. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, mimicking his earlier apology with much less sheepishness.

“Don’t be sorry,” he mimed back to you. His hands fell into a practiced rhythm, circling your clit with delicious pressure. 

You arched into his touch, moans falling from your lips as he teased your entrance before he mercifully sank a single digit into you. The stretch was a welcome feeling, but it quickly dissolved into the need for more. But it seemed that Azriel was in no hurry, languidly alternating between lazy strokes and nonchalant circles.

You arched again, silently pleading with him to give you more as you gripped his knee beneath the now tepid water. Though the heat of your body alone was probably enough to re-warm the bath. 

Azriel indulged you, unable to resist your alluring pull. He added another finger to his ministrations, blissfully dizzy with the sounds falling from your lips. His other hand snaked from your nipples down between your legs, timing his well placed caresses of your clit to the unrelenting plunge of his fingers. 

He knew you were close — so quick, he thought with a lethal satisfaction — by the octave of your moans and the desperate way your hands fought for purchase on his legs, your breasts. 

He bit down on that wonderfully tender spot at the junction between your shoulder and neck, and shivered when he felt you clench around his fingers, walls pulsing temptingly around his fingers as you came. 

Azriel captured your lips with his own once more, prolonging the pleasure from your release for as long as possible. You shifted to straddle him, never once breaking the kiss as the water sloshed dangerously close to the lip of the tub. 

The way you ground your hips down onto his had him groaning, eyebrows furrowing with the effort to restrain himself. He could take you now, could give in to your attempts to guide him inside you, but you were shivering, goosebumps raising the skin on your back and shoulders as the chilled water and even chillier night air caressed your form. 

Besides, his mind was working in overdrive, crafting plan after plan to have you keening and arching for him, all of which required a more comfortable setting than the marble bathtub in your bathroom. 

He stood with ease, looping your legs around his midsection to carry you back to the bed.

He tossed you softly — though quite unceremoniously — onto the bed, and you would have complained about getting the sheets wet, but 1) you knew Azriel would make an obscene joke about how they’d get wet anyway and 2) the feel of his cock grinding against your clit was enough to rob your consciousness of any coherent thought. 

Azriel was murmuring sweet endearments into your damp skin as he made the excruciatingly slow trek down your body, his lips mapping a tedious trail of kisses down your torso as if he were committing each ridge and valley to memory in fear that he’d lose his way on the journey back. 

Finally, finally his mouth found that wonderfully sweet spot between your legs and he licked a broad stripe up the length of you. You shivered as he lingered, tongue lazily alternating between teasingly shallow strokes inside you to wide circles around your clit. 

It was torture of the purest kind that he wasn’t giving you exactly what he knew you wanted, and by the wicked glint in his darkened hazel eyes, you could tell he was being intentional. Your fingers found their home in the impossibly silky and slightly damp strands of his hair as you attempted to pull his mouth tighter against you, petulant pout curving your lips downward.

His responding chuckle was enough to make you groan, the reverberation vibrating against your cunt before settling tantalizingly in your bones. Azriel’s arms came up to encircle your legs, effectively keeping you from grinding your hips up. You tossed your head back and keened, giving in to the languidness of his affections. 

Your eyes met his at the sound of a purposely lewd smack of his lips against you, and you felt him smirk against you before you were swiftly flipped over. 

“Azriel!”

What was meant to be a gasp of surprise quickly devolved into a moan of pleasure by the time the last syllable of his name left your lips. You were acutely aware of the sudden switch in positions as you were now straddling your mate’s head. 

He coaxed your gaze down to his with a featherlight touch down your spine, and you were met with a swirling mix of love, lust, and adoration swimming in pools of hazel. Your chest swelled momentarily and you probably would’ve said something sweet and much more coherent than what left your mouth as he pulled you down onto him and feasted. 

Azriel was addicted to the way he could make you fall apart, even from beneath you with your knees straddling his head. It was borderline sinful – an angel brought to the precipice of obscenity and seduction.

His hips shifted on the bed, body desperate to find friction. But this moment was yours, and so Azriel refrained from giving in to his baser physical desires. His tongue sang praises against your cunt, his hymns translated to the exquisite moans that fell from your lips. 

It wasn’t long before you were toppling over that wonderful edge into what felt like a never ending orgasm. You could barely register the change in your positions again, head spinning and dizzy with insurmountable pleasure; before you knew it, your back was pressed against the cool sheets of the bed, eyes glassy with a post-orgasm haze.

Azriel leaned down to kiss you then, a sweet contrast to the near indecent way you could taste yourself lingering on his lips. He took his time kissing you, sending you wave after wave of undying love and loyalty down that invisible golden tether wound tight around your heart. 

You briefly thought of returning the favor, of flipping him onto his back and putting your mouth on him in just the way you knew would coax those wonderfully rare sounds of unbridled, wanton pleasure from him. But his body was heavy against yours – a more than welcome comfort – and you couldn’t find the strength in you to pull away from the warmth of his skin. 

You arched into him as you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer while you encircled your legs around his waist. Relishing in the way he shuddered against you, you urged your hips up to grind against his, aching for the feel of him despite having just orgasmed. Twice. 

Thankfully he obliged you, shifting to ease himself inside you, slowly – gods, so slowly – pushing into you with the deliberation and practiced self-discipline of a male centuries trained in espionage. 

Azriel let out a half-restrained groan when his hips were flush against yours, always marveling at how close you could make him without even lifting a finger. He had meant to take a few moments to collect himself, not wanting to ruin the moment with a quick release (though admittedly he was struggling), but you shifted beneath him impatiently as you whispered salacious pleas into the shell of his ear. 

The drag of his cock in and out of you was a pleasure you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to, and you couldn’t help the prurient sounds that tumbled from your lips. Though, this just seemed to urge Azriel faster, more insistent in the most delicious way. 

You knew he was close by the way his breath hitched in his throat and his fingers tightened around the flesh of your thigh. The feel of his abs flexing as he pushed his hips into yours and the perfectly timed grind of his hips against your clit filled your head with a heady, hazy bliss and you nearly forgot where you were for a moment. 

You wound your fingers into his hair to steady him as you bit kisses into his jaw, nails raking a gentle path of encouragement down his back.

“Come for me, Az,” you half-pleaded, half-commanded.

And he did. With a gasp and moan so beautiful it sent you into another spiral of pleasure, arching into him as he whispered incoherent praises into your neck. 

As you basked in the aftermath, chest heaving and legs tangled beneath your fluffy duvet, Azriel couldn’t help but feel a lightening in his chest. He once again thought of how he had been shown so much mercy, so much kindness by the Mother, the gods – who or whatever governed the celestial plane of existence – to be bound so graciously to you. He never ceased to be amazed that he had met his goddess incarnate and had the overwhelming honor of loving her. 

With your cheek resting above his heart, he didn’t doubt that you could hear the quickening of his pulse when he pressed his lips to your hair. “I love you.”

Those three words were his prayer, his penance, his praise, and he would never stop offering them to you so long as you allowed him the privilege of saying them. He could feel you smile as you kissed his collarbone, sleepily offering your benediction in return, “Love you.”

As you fell asleep, encased in the warmth and safety of his arms, he idly traced the lines of your mating tattoo, swirling tendrils of ink dancing up your hip to your waist. He always loved how they were so reminiscent of his shadows. The shadows that were now winding through your hair and tickling your cheeks in adoration. 

As he too began slipping into the sweet relief of slumber, he briefly thought of his mission – it had felt so far away, so long ago now that he was guarded within the shield of your presence – and the guilt and sorrow he’d feel in the coming days. He used to dread the aftermath of his work, never allowing himself to rest comfortably for fear that sleep would be too much of an undeserved reprieve for the atrocities he’d committed. 

But ever since he selfishly allowed himself to love and be loved by you, he had found solace in your embrace. You couldn’t offer absolution of his sins – if such a thing even existed – but he was certain you were his salvation. An offering from the Cauldron – that he was convinced he was wholly unworthy of – as a chance to right his wrongs. You listened and loved him and saw him for all of the parts he was ashamed of, and for that he would willingly spend the rest of his life striving to deserve.

(Though he was sure you’d frown at him and adamantly insist that he need not do anything but exist to deserve the love you gave him.)

As he let himself descend into the comforting darkness of sleep, Azriel thought that if he would be punished in his next life for the sins he committed in this one, as long as he’d be able to love you through it all it would be worth it. 

[kitkatscabinet]

Are you there God?

Summary: A chance meeting in the dilapidated remains of your mother's old church ends up changing the trajectory of two lives

Pairing: Jason Todd x f! Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, mentions of Christianity and nsfw themes. Unedited.

There’s a chill in the air, carrying with it the promise of an upcoming winter. The old church offers little reprieve from the harsh bite of the night air, the wind easily pushing through dilapidated wood. 

The many near burnt-out candles that flicker and cast dancing shadows across the darkened chapel emanate no heat. Nor does the flimsy jacket you’d hastily adorned before this impromptu midnight visit. 

Your fingertips tingle from the cool temperature, even as you exhale smoke from the cigarette you’d used one of the dying candles to light. 

Sacrilegious sure, you could perfectly picture the scowling faces of the nuns if they could see you, but it was one of those nights—the nights where you needed something, anything to take the edge off. 

And if nicotine was your preferred poison? Well better that than heroin you argued. 

Besides, if God existed then he had bigger issues to worry about than you sprinkling some ash on the floor of an old dilapidated church slated for condemnation. 

A tinge of sorrow hits you as you take in the poor state of what was once your mother’s church. You’ve no fond memories of the place, having hated being dragged along every Sunday by your more devout mother in your childhood. Now though, it’s one of your last remaining connections to your long passed mother. 

Gotham had never been an overtly religious city, you guessed it was hard to believe in a supposedly merciful God when you lived in such a shithole. And ever since the discovery of aliens, demons and the like, Gotham’s faith in anything divine had long since seemed to die out completely.

You stare up at the wooden Jesus hanging behind the pew contemplatively. It’s silly, you’re not even remotely religious but something compels you to speak to the empty space regardless. 

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned” That was how it went right? “It’s been… well forever since my last confession.” 

“I look like a priest to you darlin?” A startled screech leaves your lips at the unexpected masculine voice. Jolting, the butt of your cigarette flies from your hand, your free one clutching at your chest. 

“Jesus Christ!” You exclaimed, trying to calm your hammering heart. 

“Not quite.” The voice rumbles as a muscular figure steps into your view. Your eyes trail from booted feet up to thick thighs adorned with gun holsters that inspire some incredibly less-than-holy thoughts. But it’s the blazing red bat symbol stretched across the man’s chest that makes your mouth run dry, it's the Red Hood.

You’d never seen the gun-toting, violent, vigilante in person but it's unmistakable who’s standing across from you now.  Forcing your breathing to even out, you allow your muscles to relax as you lean back against the wooden pew. 

“Too pretty to be a priest.” You agree with his earlier statement, watching in amusement as the vigilante stutters in his steps. It was cute, watching a man of his renown and stature suddenly flounder in embarrassment. 

“Didn’t exactly take you to be the religious sort.” You say, gaze never once leaving his form as he slowly sits down on the creaking bench beside you. 

“I’m not.” He grunts.

“Me neither.” You confess, the two of you sitting in companionable silence as you stare up at the wooden Jesus that presided over the church. 

You don’t know what compels you to keep returning to that dilapidated old church (that’s a lie, you know damn well why), but like clockwork, every Sunday night you return. And every Sunday night, so does he. 

At first, he hadn’t been consistent. Why would he? The Red Hood had no reason to be skulking around a random church, nor did he have a reason to want to see you. 

Still, you kept going to that church, and unbeknownst to you, so did he. 

Since that first night, Jason Todd had been watching. What had started with concern over a young woman walking alone at night had morphed into curiosity into what he refused to acknowledge was a crush. 

Though he’s pretty sure not even the helmet had been able to hide the heart eyes he’d thrown your way when you admitted that Pride and Prejudice was your favourite novel. 

He’s late sometimes, bloodied and bruised, but three months following that first fateful meeting, the Red Hood goes out of his way to meet with a random civilian girl. 

It was nearing the two-month mark when everything changed. The both of you were forced to acknowledge the underlying tension of the odd and unexpected friendship that had formed in the twilight hours spent under the roof of a God neither of you believed in. 

It had been the first time you’d seen him injured, barely a scratch in Jason’s opinion, but the way you’d worked yourself into a frenzy of worry over him, the way you’d dropped to your knees before him and had taken his bloody knuckles into your gentle touch would forever be engraved into his mind. 

It’s at that moment that Jason realises God’s not there, because if so then surely he would have smitten Jason then and there for thinking such sinful thoughts in his house. Besides, as far as he was concerned, you were the only entity worth praying to anyway. 

He wants so badly to rip off the mask, secret identity be damned, and kiss you breathless. In the end, cowardice wins out, but Jason thinks back on that night often with regret. 

“Favourite hero go,” Red asks, turning to look at you with what you imagine is a smirk under his stupid red helmet. 

“It’s not you if that’s what you’re fishing for,” you grin, looking back up at the ceiling from where you lay on the wooden floor, protected from the dust and splinters by an old picnic blanket. 

The terrifying sort-of-crimelord lying beside you scoffs in offence like the big baby he is. 

“Ok then who is it?”

“Wonder Woman.”

“Oh that’s such a basic bitch fucking answer.” You know he’s joking, Red’s made it clear that despite his distaste for Batman he respects the hell out of Wonder Woman. Still, you entertain him, rolling your eyes dramatically. 

“Fine, you wanna know the real answer? It’s Black Canary, but specifically when she was rocking that full-body black leotard with the mesh cutouts on the legs and the cropped bomber jacket.”

There’s a stunned silence that follows your passionate answer before Red bursts into laughter. 

“Oh, fuck you,” you quip, though there’s no actual heat behind your words. 

“You wish.” Any witty retort instantly dies on your lips and you’re suddenly distinctly aware of the heat emanating off his shoulder which brushes lightly against yours. 

Red has stopped laughing, coughing to clear his throat as you suddenly wish for the floor to swallow you whole. For anything to distract you from the way your mind suddenly races, filled with various images of different positions you could achieve right there in front of Jesus. 

“Right, well, I should probably go. Bad guys to catch and all.” It’s painfully awkward and so is your lacklustre response. 

“Oh, yeah … yeah.”

Neither of you move though and you don’t think you’ve ever been more hyper-aware of your body and the one lying next to you in your life. You quickly sit up, the vigilante mimicking your movements. 

“So um —”

“Well I — ” The both of you speak at once, you motion for him to go first and he clears his throat once more. 

“I should probably go now. Bye.” With that, he’s gone so fast he might as well have been the flash, leaving you alone to stew in the mortification and arousal that’s worked its way into your belly. 

A scream of frustration rips its way out of your throat when your mind conjures up the very graphic image of you straddling one of Red’s delicious thighs and refuses to drop the line of thought. 

Little did you know, Jason had needed to cut his patrol short for the same reason. A cold shower having practically screamed his name. 

Footsteps echoed up the aisle towards where you were sat in the front pew, as had become a tradition between you and your vigilante, playfully you turn towards the source. “Hey Red, you’re late — ” the words die on your tongue, mouth running dry as you take in a trio of figures, none of whom are the Red Hood. 

The fear must show on your face as you shakily stand, and try to create space from the ominously grinning men. 

“What’s the matter darlin?” One of them drawls, and you want to throw up at the use of the petname, that was what he called you. 

“Look, I don’t know what you want but my friend will be here soon.” You mentally curse yourself when you notice the way your voice quivers, and the men clearly pick up on it too. 

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Fear nearly roots you to your place at the surety in his words, but you live in Gotham and Red Hood has made it his mission to get you to be able to defend yourself. 

You don’t think, you just move, and when the nearest guy reaches out to grab your arm you knee him in the balls. He goes down with a howl and you think you break the second guy's nose if the crunch is any indication. 

The unmistakable click of a gun’s safety has you stopping in your tracks once more.  “That’s it, just settle down now. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours now would we?”

Tears well up in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, unwilling to give them the satisfaction. Goon #2 uses the opportunity to grab your arm in a bruising grip before a blow to the cheek leaves you reeling, black dots dancing across your vision as you struggle to regain your senses. 

“Speak for yourself, the little bitch broke my fucking nose.” 

“What do you want from me?” You croak when you finally regain the ability to speak, ignoring the metallic taste of blood on your tongue. 

“From you? Nothing. It’s not personal darling, but the word around here is that the Red Hood is sweet on ya, and well, I don’t appreciate the way he’s been nosing about my business lately.”

You should be terrified of the implications of that statement, about what these men will do to you, and you are — but you can’t stop thinking about how Red will inevitably blame himself for anything that happens to you. 

You close your eyes, trying to make peace with what is likely the hour of your death. You’re in a house of God, you should be praying to him, and yet all you can think of is Red. Your Red.

A gunshot rings out, followed by another, and another. When seconds pass and you feel no pain you open your eyes, just in time to witness the Red Hood reaching gently for your face. Despite yourself, you flinch slightly when his gloved hand brushes lightly against your cheek. 

He reels back as if stricken, and immediately you wish to rectify your mistake. With a sob, you launch yourself into his arms, ignoring what is probably the corpses of the three men lying on the ground. 

“You saved me,” you mumbled against his chest, relishing in how safe you felt encased in his arms. 

“Always.” There’s such surety in that single word, such devotion that you believe him. 

“Red — ” you mumble, pulling away to meet what you expect to be the whites of his mask, only to gasp when you find yourself looking into swirling pools of blue-green. 

“Jason,” the whispered name is a confession to you alone, though you barely have time to ponder the new information before a pair of lips descend upon your own. Your eyes flutter closed once more, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. 

You’ll deal with the after-effects of what you just experienced later, what almost happened to you, for now, you’re content to remain absorbed in Red’s — in Jason’s arms.

The man who'd been there when God wasn't.

[hamliet]

Hazbin Hotel Has Better Theology Than Most Modern "Christian" Stories

As a Christian who was raised in a fundie cult and escaped to now have a far healthier and vital faith, I genuinely really like this show. The songs are bops. The characters are well crafted and interesting, and likable too. The art design is bizarre but appealing.

And, as a theology nerd who studied theology as part leaving said cult and also has since gotten papers published in theology, I'm actually fairly impressed by the show's handling of theology.

No, I'm not expecting the story to preach or even like, be explicitly Christian in a lot of ways. But it's taking a lot of the really beautiful aspects of Christian theology and re-contextualizing them in a way designed to provoke thought: by juxtaposing them with the antithesis of what you would think, by making demons heroes. In my opinion, this makes the beauty shine brighter.

Yeah, yeah, it's designed to be offensive and obscene in a lot of ways. Yet, it's never (thus far) mean-spirited. On the contrary, it seems to have a big, beating heart at its core that is perhaps best embodied by Charlie Morningstar, its protagonist and the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith.

Critique of the Church, with Caveats

The story works best with an interpretation that heaven isn't actually heaven or God (who has been conspicuously absent), but instead as a critique of the church. Specifically, the evangelical American church, and specifically, white evangelicals. (Same as She-Ra's premise, actually).

God's absence therefore makes sense, because while Christians do believe God is present as a living reality among us, we also can't like, see him physically now. So, God being not even mentioned in HH makes it seem more like a mortal reality rather than an immortal one. Honestly I kinda hope God doesn't appear in the story, not only because I think it could cross some lines (which is admittedly personal), but also because I don't see that the story really needs it.

Adam in particular reminds me of every "theobro" on Twitter (I'm not calling it what you want me to, El*n). Basically a dudebro coopting his supposed salvation to flex in an often misogynistic way, who doesn't realize that he has absolutely no love in him and therefore is actually a worse human being than everyone he condemns on the regular.

(Which is kind of why I'm expecting Adam to wake up in hell next season...)

Think red hats. And Mark Driscoll. And, I have a list of pastors. Sigh. They advocate for how "simple" Christianity is, except they themselves make it ridiculously complicated and don't even examine what they suppose is "simple" if it requires them to take the planks out of their own eyes. "Shallow" is a better description of what they actually preach.

But what sends people to hell or heaven anyways?

Eschatology and Atonement Theory

Hazbin Hotel combines a lot of theories, throwing not only the idea of a physical hell (albeit mixed with Dante's idea of what hell is the Inferno, but to be fair a lot of the church has adopted that idea too) but the idea of annihilation, which HH calls "extermination."

See, in Christianity, there's a lot of debate about hell. Like, since 2000 years ago. The reason is because a lot of Bible verses seem to indicate hell, but others indicate the eventual redemption and salvation of absolutely everything in the universe, so you have Christian universalism tracing itself back just as long. But, setting aside universalism, people who do believe in hell tend to fall into one of two camps:

Physical hell, aka suffering for eternity, or annihilation: the idea that souls that aren't saved end up annihilated, or snuffed from existence. HH combines both of them, wherein everyone lives in hell but then every so often heaven "exterminates" a certain number of sinners.

And then you also have Catholic purgatory, which is also adapted in HH in that... for most Christians, physical hell doesn't offer the ability to redeem yourself. Chance over, you're dead. But, Catholic Christianity, which draws on ideas of praying for the dead, has the idea that people can improve themselves or be prayed out of it and into heaven. This seems to be somewhat similar to the idea of Charlie's hotel, in that sinners can improve, redeem themselves, and rise to heaven.

And, I mean, it's already kinda worked. Sir Pentious acted out Jesus' words: Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13).

But anyways, the branch of theology that deals with the afterlife is eschatology. And Hazbin Hotel takes on a related form of theology as well, a type of theology I've only seen covered in stories once before (The House in Fata Morgana): atonement theory.

Atonement theory is something I remember well from my theology 101 class, as in I remember sitting with a friend and her turning to me and being like, "okay, so we know Jesus' death and resurrection give us eternal life, but we have no idea how or why?" To which the answer was "basically, yeah."

Most of the white, American evangelical church is very "penal substitutionary atonement," but the reality is that this theory has only been popular for the past few hundred years. It's also, imo, somewhat scripturally unsound. But there are a lot of other theories, and sometimes the theories overlap. Here's a fairly decent summary. (I'm in general a believer in Christus Victor.)

So how does atonement theory tie into Hazbin Hotel? Well, essentially the scene where Charlie and Vaggie are debating with Emily, Sera, Adam, Lute, and others in heaven is them going over various atonement theories and realizing that they actually know nothing at all. How does one get to heaven? How is one saved? They don't know.

Sera criticizing Emily for asking questions was also very relatable, and I feel for Sera. She's genuinely scared but the truth will set you free, Sera. John 8:32. Anyways, the point is like... the angels are an organized religion, an evangelical church, that preaches about simplicity but mistakes shallowness for simplicity and discourages depth and discovery.

Anyways, the whole crux of theological study and atonement theories is that they should promote humility. We don't know for certain on this side of the curtain. That's okay. So what do we have to guide us?

Love. After all, God is love (1 John 4:8).

Charlie is Jesus

"Why would you endanger your immortal life for these sinners?" 

Adam, the absolute worst, says the above to Charlie in the finale.

I mean... look. That's literally the premise of Christianity. That the immortal son of God comes down to earth, lives with sinners, loves us, and dies to save us. However that happens. Charlie even responds:

"They're my family!"

In other words, she loves them. Yeah, sure, they're destined for extermination, but they are going to be exterminated over her dead body.

In a lot of branches of Christianity, and even in some creeds--though I'm going to give into my pet peeves here and state that it is NOT Scriptural and relies on the faulty assumption that God is bound by time, when I think God exists outside of it--state that Jesus descended into hell after his death and took all the souls of people who were saved prior to his coming to earth to heaven. Again, I think that's small-minded at best. But, the idea that Charlie is working among them to bring them to heaven is pretty reminiscent of this idea. And I don't hate it lol.

Charlie sees worth inherent in everyone, and no matter what they've done, thinks there's a future for them. Honestly we need people like her on this earth.

Angel Dust

Angel Dust is clearly my favorite character. Bite back your shock, I know (I have a type). But his name is also a fascinating multi-layered pun.

Angel is clearly foreshadowing his endgame. Let's be real, we all know Angel is ending up as an angel. And "angeldust" is of course a name for PCP, and considering Angel's drug habits, yeah.

But, dust also has another meaning to it. See, when Adam was created in Genesis 2:7, the words in Hebrew are "apar min ha'adamah," which is translated literally as "dust of the ground." So the dust is what creates Adam, literally "ground."

In other words, I very much expect Angel Dust to end up being foiled with Adam even more so. Adam might be the first man, but Angel is the first sinner working towards redemption. And let's be real, for all Angel's flaws, he's already a better person than Adam. And if there's any hope for Adam (not that I particularly care if there is but) it'd be through realizing that he and Angel aren't actually different after all. Conversely (and not necessarily mutually exclusively), Angel might serve as a more symbolic "adam" in that he becomes the person all sinners look to for hope. Which, y'know, since "the last Adam" is also a Scriptural term for Jesus...

And so it is written, “The first man Adam became a living being.” The last Adam became a life-giving spirit. (1 Corinthians 15:45).

I fully expect Angel's arc, alongside Charlie's, to bring life and redemption for everyone around them. Maybe, maybe even the dramatic "all" of Colossians 1:20 (which means, literally, all, everything, everywhere, in the entire universe).

Closing Thoughts

But honestly, regardless of how the story ends--besides that it will presumably end happily because HH is at its core feel-good despite being profane--season one at least has got good theology. Why? Because it's digging into the questions that theology is concerned with. It's digging into the ideas of human nature, of what it means to be a good person, of what it means to redeem oneself, of affirming how precious each individual human soul is.

It doesn't offer cheap answers, and it specifically calls out the white American evangelical church for how it purports to be simple but actually just confuses people and punishes them for things they can't help, that creates more stumbling blocks than it does shine a light. And it does it in a way that is scandalous. Offensive to many religious people.

But, y'know, Jesus was pretty scandalous too.

So I really love the story so far because it emphasizes what I find so beautiful about my religion, and criticizes the parts that have also hurt me. I don't think it's remotely aiming to be a Christian allegory or anything like that, and I don't at all think anyone has to be religious to enjoy it or gain the core message of it, but I do think that it's doing a hell of a lot more good in the world message-wise than most evangelical movies of the past 30 years.

[aqlstar]

In the context of whatever was going on on @spot-the-antisemitism ‘s inbox- I wrote down some thoughts about Islamophobia and anti-Muslim biases:

I tend to think that attitudes towards Muslims in the West and in West Asia and North Africa should be analyzed separately because they come from such radically different historical experiences and pre-existing power structures.

I therefore understand people that feel frustrated by the term “Islamophobia” because it implies (or may be considered to imply) uncritically that non-Muslim west Asians or North Africans are necessarily subject to the same kind of bias present in, say, some American Christians.

For example, we live in America, but my dad’s side of the family (Assyrian) is generally rather wary of Muslims and afraid of the spread of Islam. By some definitions, this makes them Islamophobic. We do have culturally Muslim Iranian family friends, it just took a little while for us to trust that they were not anti-Semitic or anti-Assyrian and were actually very open to unlearning some of their biases.

It bothers me that their generational trauma response that has unfortunately been proven useful and necessary would be grouped in with ignorance and bigotry that some American Evangelical Christians display when it comes to Islam. (Saying things like all Muslims worship the devil or that they hate Jesus or defending Christian imperialism while condemning Islamic imperialism.)

On the other hand, I support combatting said ignorance and bigotry, whether we call it Islamophobia, xenophobia or just anti-Muslim conspiracy. I don’t really want to die on the hill of word choice.

I also believe, contrary to the opinion of most young leftists, that it isn’t okay to dehumanize people that are part of the historical “oppressor class.” I can see how a very rational generalized wariness of Muslims in a West Asian context could hypothetically be weaponized to promote hatred and violence against Muslims. What word would be used for that phenomenon?

Does anyone have any thoughts, additions, objections, concerns?

*also note that I think a similar distinction needs to be made for the phenomenon of Christian oppression.

In North America? We have Christians whining about not being able to evangelize in public schools and calling it Christian oppression.

In Egypt? Christian oppression means violence against copts, burning churches, and human trafficking.

[thoughtfulfoxllama]

I recently got the Oxford "Annotated Book of Mormon" from the Library, and I love it

Reading "Come, Follow Me" this week, I found an interesting polarity "Faith-Skepticism"

In Alma 30, we read about Korihor, in 31, the Zoramites. And, in the original chapters, 30 & 31 were in the same chapter, indicating a connection between them

Korihor represents Extreme Skepticism (yes, I know, he never disbelieved, but that was his philosophy), while the Zoramites exhibit Blind Faith

This may be controversial, but Skepticism isn't a bad thing. God created us as rational beings, to think about things. He didn't create rationality so we could ignore it. Science is rooted in skepticism (I'm not sure if this is right, so I'll test it vigorously)

Skepticism is only negative when it prevents one from actually applying Faith. The Lectures on Faith make it very clear that Faith is an Action, not merely a belief. Next Week, we read one of the most important sermons in the Book of Mormon (Alma's Parable of the Seed). He makes it clear that we can only see the affects of the seed if we nurture it, and let it grow

Many Scientists were also Men of Faith (such as Heisenberg, or Newton). Even those who weren't religious didn't outright deny the possibility. For example, Darwin was active in his Church while writing "On the Origin of Species," said until his death he didn't know if God was real or not, but wasn't going to assume he's not there (and he once told a group of atheists that it was folly to say God didn't exist, because you can't know)

The idea of Science being anti-god is only so popular nowadays because of people such as Dawkins, who (like all too many people, religious & atheistic) don't understand what Faith actually is

On the other hand, there is Blind Faith. The Zoramites had faith, that is for sure. The Zoramite Prayer only consists of Thanks, and no requests. But what did that Faith lead them to? It led them to Pride (we're unconditionally saved, you're unconditionally damned). It led them to neglect & even condemn the poor (similar to the "Seed Faith" we see, especially with Televangelists). It eventually led them to War, because of their blind hatred for an "other" they had created (which is sadly too common in the Modern Church, be it with the LGBT Community, Liberals, or even Beards (yes, there is a story behind that. And yes, I do have a glorious beard))

So, what did Mormon want us to learn? We have 1% of the records he had, and even then, they're abridged. Everything in the Book of Mormon has a reason to be there.

I think he wanted us to acknowledge that humans have Polarity inherent in us. We have to learn how to balance that polarity if we are going to be healthy & happy. We can't let either Skepticism or Faith lead us. We need to test the "Seed of Faith," and see if it is good. We can't let Faith overrule us (and inadvertently let Wicked Seeds infest us), and we can't let Skepticism overrule us (refusing to test any seeds)

If we see a beggar on the street, Skepticism can lead us to help him ("what's God going to do for him"). If we are that beggar, Faith can allow us to accept the charity they need ("God sent that person to help, so I'll accept their help"). These are two opposing forces, but they both lead to God's Will being done (charity being given). We need to learn how to balance, and when to express each attribute

[profanepurity]

Mummy Dust was a huge inspiration for how Mammon works in the AU, as well as how the three demons of Greed operate, which consists of Mammon, Beelzebub, and Belphagor (who I will be introduced soon!). A little bit of their working dynamics, as well as their relationships with Secondo and Terzo are below!

There's the obvious imagery of "I was carried on a wolf's back", which to me alludes to the symbolic relationship of wolves and greed. This is why I chose to make Mammon's more demonic form a wolfish creature with eight legs and eight eyes (wolf spider lol) in the second panel. Beelzebub's form is more ambiguous and massive, and he would probably present himself on a larger scale than I have him next to Secondo in the first panel. His mouth can open absurdly wide, and he has various other mouths along his body. The Lord of Flies of course possesses some bug-like characteristics and behaviors: constantly being accompanied by glowing insects, moving on all fours legs, sometimes six, and having moth-like wings. Mammon and Beelzebub operate like "two sides of the same coin", much like how I HC Terzo and Secondo to be in a lot of ways. Secondo allows himself to enjoy the pleasures of life, often as a means to cope with internal wounds and his discontent towards the world around him. On the flip side, Terzo uses his internal conflicts and struggles to fuel his pursuit of condemning hypocrisy, injustice, and corruption in the world, finding pleasure in that act. Secondo does this too, of course, but he does it in a way that is melancholy, weary almost. Secondo's approach to "spreading the word" is to appear as this cold, intimidating old man, but who really has a soft, bruised soul inside. By contrast, Terzo appears as this charming and attractive man, spinning beautiful lyrics with hidden self- hatred and anger. When they were boys, these roles were reversed. Secondo would often lash out as a child, holding onto resentment and emotions he didn't know how to process until he eventually learned to soften with age. Once again, on the opposite side, Terzo was a very happy boy who suffered oppression and hardship repeatedly until that happiness turned into masked anger for the sake of maintaining an image. In this AU, Secondo is devoted to the three proprietors of the umbrella sin of greed, and has an especially close relationship with Beelzebub and Mammon. It wasn't until Terzo entered early adulthood did Mammon approach him. The Lord of Wealth working with someone like Terzo might seem a little confusing until you understand the way the wolf hunts. Going back to Mummy Dust for a moment, Mammon's method of obtaining and devouring sin can really be summarized with the line, "I'm the magnet for stupidity". Mammon represents rapacity, and he feeds off of intense desire for monetary profit, but he himself find it to be disgusting and stupid. Mammon likes to let his victims marinate a bit. "I'll smother you in riches, 'til you choke on sordid mirth.", is essentially Mammon tempting weak minded pigs with their desires just to lure them into their own demises. He attracts those who are dumb enough to worship money so he can devour them. He literally eats the rich. He is "... the ruler of the earth" for that reason, as money is the ultimate dictator over mankind.

Mammon himself is also someone that holds a lot of underlying self hatred because of who he is. He feels as though his existence is the reason that immorality and corruption as a result of avarice exists, and feels an intense personal responsibility to try and purge the world of it by taking as many victims as he can. This is why he strictly forbids the church from worshipping him, or giving him any kind of offerings of cash. Once Terzo understood this, he was more than happy to work with a demon that wanted to tear apart exploitative oligarchies, who also happens to have a good sense of humor. In the AU canon, he opens Mummy Dust by introducing it as a song about "one evil motherfucker" for the purpose of negatively presenting Mammon as the noun, as well as making sure the song was not worshipping the demon in anyway, despite his obvious influence when he wrote it. Terzo is "carried on a wolf's back", alluding to his partnership with Mammon. Beelzebub is one of the most worshipped infernals in the church, second only after Lucifer. He represents hedonism, and the pleasure, benefits, and freedom that gluttony can bring. We all know Secondo loves to party, and that enjoyment of self- indulgence is something he learned as a result of his relationship with Beelzebub. You have to learn to care for yourself and allow yourself enjoyment, even when you feel like you don't deserve it, or life has denied you happiness. Of course, Beelzebub had to teach Secondo the balance of discipline and intemperance, but the demon himself also struggles with this. Along with that, there is a guilt that he carries for living in excess, especially next to his brother who starves himself.

 Beelzebub's alias is Reverend Martin Avarice. Avarice means to have extreme desire for money and material. Mammon's alias is Reverend Erik Lucrum. Lucrum means to profit or benefit. I gave them opposing names on purpose. In the realm of greed, Beelzebub is really the one that profits, where as Mammon is the one desiring those that possess avarice, despite despising it.  Belphagor comes into play in a lot of different ways, often bridging these two together. He works work with Terzo, Secondo, and Copia too. There will be more on him later when I get around to drawing him at some point lol.

[exhuastedpigeon]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

I have been sick and crampy and PMSy the last like six days, but today I woke up and feel like a whole new human.

Here's a snippet from my Eddie goes to confession fic. I restarted it after the last episode and I am very please so far with it, even if it's extremely introspective and I'm kind of using it as my own therapy.

The front doors to the church are heavy and when he opens them and steps inside he’s suddenly 5 attending his youngest sister's baptism. It’s important, that’s what Abuela says as she sits with him in a pew at the front of the church, the scent of incense that is no longer burning making him sneeze.  And he’s 8 taking his first communication and not really understanding what it means, only that it’s important. That eating this stale, dry cracker is supposed to change something inside of him, but he doesn’t feel different.  And he’s 13 the Bishop is dipping his thumb in the oddly sweet smelling chrism and saying “be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit” and Eddie is saying Amen. This is the moment where he’s supposed to be choosing to commit himself to God, but he didn’t have a choice of being here, not really.  And he’s 18, freshly graduated from high school watching as Shannon walks down the aisle toward him in a hand-me-down wedding dress, the bump of her stomach just barely starting to show. His suit is too big and too small at the same time. The smell of sale church air, of dying flowers and decades of prayers breathed out to a god Eddie isn’t sure exists feeling like a vice around his neck.  And he’s 26 carrying the casket of the only woman he's ever loved, the smell of burning frankincense tickling his nose and prickling at his eyes even though he hasn’t cried, not since the hospital.  And he’s also 31 standing in the doorway of an empty church that he’s never been to before but has somehow been in a hundred, maybe a thousand times. Because that’s the thing about catholicism - it never really leaves you. It burrows deep, into the very marrow of your bones and leeches the life out of you if you let it.  It riddles you with guilt for sins you haven’t committed. It tells you that you were born a sinner and you’ll die a sinner and every moment in between should be spent in penance. That unless you follow the church’s teaching exactly you’re condemned to an afterlife in hell. That anyone who doesn’t accept the church is condemned even if they’re the best person to ever exist. It doesn’t leave you - it chokes you and makes you hate yourself. It’s made Eddie feel like less than for his entire life and when he takes in the first lungful of air he can taste thirty some years of guilt on his tongue.

Tagged by @elvensorceress @diazsdimples @tizniz @spotsandsocks @jesuisici33

@dangerpronebuddie @wikiangela @cal-daisies-and-briars @goforkinard

No pressure tagging @tommykinards @spagheddiediaz @neverevan @inell

@monsterrae1 @loserdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @thekristen999 @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming

@wildlife4life @devirnis @butchdiaz @911-on-abc @rainbow-nerdss

@steadfastsaturnsrings @underwaterninja13 @watchyourbuck @actualalligator @rosieposiepuddingnpie

@acountrygirlsfun @honestlydarkprincess @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @fortheloveofbuddie @bi-buckrights

@shitouttabuck @theotherbuckley @loveyourownsmiilee @hawkbutt @epicbuddieficrecs

any anyone else who wants to share!

[linalina-universe]

I've been praying on this daily. Transgender Christian converts.

Edit: While I do talk about Orthodoxy in this post. I am part of the Episcopal church. I posted this while I was on a journey of faith and It's had it's ups and downs. Please find the church you feel most comfortable in. I've been asking some of the saints, Holy Theotokos, and Jesus our Lord. As well as talking to my Guardian angel as I can. To help Bring my transgender eunuch siblings around the world to Faith in Jesus. Seeing all of the LGBT Christian Blogs recently on Tumblr is making me so Glad. God is Good. God Cares about us. Even if there are teachers in the church who condemn us for being different. Seek Reconciliation, Repentance. Learn to Forgive one another. Learn to Love one another. The path towards Jesus isn't easy. Much learning and Discernment it's a LONG ROAD. But keep learning about Jesus. Don't settle for less, but find a place to plant your roots. If you want to really get into the thick of it learn about Orthodoxy. But it takes time for us to get where we need to be. I do believe God listens to all of His Children though. The Holy spirit is everywhere. I would never judge whether or not a person is damned or saved due to what church they go to. That's up to Jesus, he is the judge. But come as you are. Never let a Church teacher hold Jesus over you do not conform to the whims of man as we are not of this world. Only Conform to the Whims of Jesus. Learn to be humble in life, Obedient to Jesus. Learn about humility. Realize no one person on this earth is any better than another. True humility is a virtue. It takes time to cultivate. We are imperfect. Learn LGBT History, ancient history, learn about eunuchs and Queer Saints. qspirit.net, But realize that many of these things are unkown without a time machine. Be sound in wisdom of our ancestors. Do not be defensive all the time though. Learn when to talk, listen to the silence. Do not let hate, and the machinations of this world such as political ideologies, capitalism control your life. We need money to work in this world. But money and possessions are temporary while Jesus and God are eternal. Pray for the Rich kings and politicians who persecute us pray that they seek Jesus. "It is better to Light a candle than to Curse the Darkness." Do not let the Darkness of media news overtake you. Pray for people around the world suffering. Count your blessings. Realize just how good you might have it. I recommend you learn about the Orthodox Saints of Alaska if you want to learn about actual anti-colonialist Christians. The Saints are wonderful examples of ideal Christian lives. I recommend Trisagion Films on youtube to learn about the saints. While I affirm LGBT relationships and see true Joy in them. I know unless Heaven and Earth are moved. The Orthodox/Romans will never Affirm them. I recommend merely Getting Married under the Law of the Land and then showing up at church. Have a celebration an an episcopal church I love the episcopal angelicans it's a safe respite for us queer Christians. I wish that LGBT marriages had been affirmed decades ago, then maybe some of the self destructive generational trauma we see in the queer community wouldn't exist. But we are a persecuted class and either way people dislike us. I hope someday the Orthodox have church mothers. We need women for the women and girls in the church to confide in. We need equal representation. I understand if not everyone agrees with me. But I love Jesus. I hope that being his servant like the court eunuchs of ancient times can be well pleasing to Him. Eunuchs were seen as angelic. His divine eros fulfills my heart in some ways as someone by tradition of ancient orthodoxy should technically be celibate. Live as yourself and know God loves you. Take your medicine and heal. He will never Give up on you. Art By Devlev on Deviantart. Please support them. They Draw Beautiful Queer art.

[toxinellebug]

The World Under The Supreme - The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

Action packed posts with Claw Noir and Shadybug are coming but some important details of their world need to be addressed first! These will be relevant in posts to come.

So prepare yourself; EmoNette and EmoAdrien live in a dark world… A world that Betterfly hopes to change.

The GOOD:

Religion is not a crime, which is why celebrating holidays like Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanza, etc. is permitted, even if the true meaning behind those celebrations has been lost over the years.

    After all, for some people, their faith is all they have- Plus, it’s good for capitalism!

HOWEVER, organized religion is nearly a thing of the past…

      In every country, Churches, Temples, Mosques, etc. are HEAVILY TAXED. 

          The Supreme has the ONLY say in law, so religious “leaders” have no authority or power.  So, unable to become filthy rich off of devout believers, and unable to sway people to commit atrocities in the name of “God”, there is no point.

           As such, those who do still have some kind of belief in a deity, choose to practice quietly at home.

As a result, there is peace!

      Women all over the world have autonomy over their own bodies AND reproductive rights!

         Girls are allowed to learn to read without fear of being burned with acid.

             Circumcision of boys and girls (yes, some countries mutilate girl’s genitalia for religious reasons) no longer exists.

                 Only old grannies wear hijab because women actually have a choice (not just wear it or be stoned to death).

                   THERE IS NO CASTE SYSTEM.

                        No child marriages.

                            Pedophilia is rare.

                                 Homosexuality is not illegal.

Anti-vaxers DO NOT EXIST!

So there has been a lot of progress in medicine (good news for Rose!)

    No school teaches creationism or claims that man lived at the same time as dinosaurs.

But churches, even famous ones like Notre Dame, Sistine Chapel, Saint Basil's Cathedral, etc. are seen as old relics… tourist sight seeing destinations at most.

       But with the taxes being so heavy, and so few people who identify with any religion, it is not profitable to maintain up-keep on these decrepit buildings.

            As such, when they fall into enough disrepair as to be considered “unsafe” even for tourists, they too will be condemned and demolished so the land can be purchased by the highest bidder and something more useful will be constructed there.

 The BAD:

Mutual aid is a crime… Socialism is forbidden… Protests are not tolerated and severely punished!

            There is no such thing as Charity.

There are no donations of toys to sick kids in hospitals. 

(Prince Ali, non-existent is he, Ali never-heard-of-ya’… Princes and Kings, no such things, only The Supreeeeeme~)

      *No, I will not write out the whole dang song. I don’t want to get sued by a company with mouse ears, thanks.

Everyone pays their own way in life. Those that can’t pay are forced to work (which is why there are no homeless people asking for spare change on the streets).

There is no cooperation without compensation.

The strange, odd, abnormal ones are those who wish to offer help without expecting anything in return.

(You can’t achieve freedom with one person. Freedom is only achieved by collective cooperation, sacrifice, and compassion for others, no matter how different they may be. So long as everyone only looks out for themselves and keeps their heads down rather than risk getting punished for sticking their neck out for others, Freedom for all is impossible. This is the dark price of Wang Fu’s wish for World Peace.)

The Ugly:

Everyone pays the price for selfishness. Especially the planet.

       In a world that only cares about “me”, the comforts and profits of the current generation, there is little to no concern for what future generations will inherit, including the planet.

Quick and easy money, progress for profit with no consideration for environmental impact has been the norm since the end of WW2.

Pollution is a world wide issue;

      Costs of food are higher everywhere because crops and livestock take a LOT of money to grow.

            Crops (grain, fruit, and vegetables) have always been more expensive of course because they require so much land, water, time, and workers to produce.

                 But with polluted air darkening skies, tainted soil, rapid decline of bees, butterflies, and bats, and such dirty water… Plants are suffering.

Crops require massive greenhouse facilities, heavily filtered hydroponics systems, and hundreds of thousands of human workers to pollinate things by hand (yes, we do that even now for rare plants), or at least until Tsurugi Enterprises can develop robots to replace human workers.

Since grass is not that hardy and expensive to maintain, free range livestock is just not possible.  And since most grain has no nutritional value for humans (we can’t really digest it, it is mainly grown to fatten livestock) it is even more expensive since it is a pain in the butt to produce and is mainly consumed by animals, thus meat, dairy, and egg prices have gone up. 

Flowers are more expensive than jewelry.

Since only the hardiest plants can endure the world’s level of pollution, many animals have gone extinct and forests are suffering.

Only the richest of cities still have “parks” though they are a far cry from what we think of as parks.

Most flowers are delicate, so many varieties that we are familiar with can not be grown in your average backyard garden or found in pots on a balcony.

An orchid flower is worth more than a diamond.

The hardy, invasive, “ugly” flowers that we consider as weeds have replaced the wildflowers we once knew.

Only the rich can afford to go to a florist to afford luxuries like carnations, tulips, lilies, daffodils, snapdragons, lilacs, peonies, or something as flashy as a rose.

But thanks to Bertrand King, even the lower class can enjoy the beauty of a bouquet thanks to plastic flowers!

     Plastic truly is fantastic! 

And unlike, fragile, boring, real flowers… PLASTIC FLOWERS can come in any color you want! And they last forever!

      Even a poor man can feel rich if they decorate their home with plastic potted ferns! 

The best part? You don’t have to waste water!  They are so hygienic too! No dirt, no bugs, no allergies, no rotting, dying leaves to prune and clean up!  No worries about little kids or pets eating poison leaves! 

        Plastic plants never lose their luster! They are durable, washable, colorful!

             Can’t afford a diamond? 

              You buy cubic zirconia!

                    Can’t afford a houseplant?

                     Buy plastic!

Of course, there IS one event where even someone living paycheck to paycheck can get a chance to see a variety of REAL flowers (assuming they can pay the admission fee).

Every year, people all over the globe celebrate “World Peace Day”, where they give thanks to The Supreme for putting an end to WW2 and preventing any other war thereafter!

There is no celebration more massive!

On that day, Major cities show off their wealth (through the taxes of the citizens) to throw not only parades, but have massive displays of real flowers for citizens to admire (for a price).

It is a day many look forward to!

A day that celebrates peace between all people regardless of race, ethnicity, or religion!

A day of life and beauty!

ALL HAIL THE SUPREME!

[saras-devotionals]

Quiet Time 5/4

What am I feeling today?

I feel rather relaxed today but also guilty. There was a church event I wanted to attend early this morning but my brother and I had gone late to bed and this morning we were both really tired and he didn’t want to make the drive. I wish I was there, spending time with the kingdom but I’ll give myself grace. Either way, I’m looking forward to the rest of my day bc I’ll be heading to the rink twice and teaching ice skating which is always fun! I’m also grateful for how free my time has become now that I’ve finished my semester!

One last thing: I’m sorry I haven’t been posting much. It’s been selfish of me to keep my quiet times to myself when what I’ve been learning can be beneficial to other believers beyond me. I’ll try to be better about posting daily again!

Romans 7 NIV

(v. 4) “So, my brothers and sisters, you also died to the law through the body of Christ, that you might belong to another, to him who was raised from the dead, in order that we might bear fruit for God.”

As disciples of Christ, we belong to Him now and everything that He commands of us rather than the laws of the world (that’s not to say to be rebellious on earth, rather to keep the Lord’s word as the priority).

(v. 14-17) “We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me.”

In all honesty, I’m having a very hard understanding all this. I believe what Paul is trying to express is how people were before Christ. How they regarded the law and then the sin they felt bound to since they did not have their freedom in Jesus (as is stated earlier in Romans about being a new creation and no longer bound).

(v. 18-20) “For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.”

Again, I had a hard time understanding this so I went to commentary:

This knowledge of what it means to be out of Christ and under the law of Moses is imparted to us, not from the standpoint of the intellectual pagan, but from the viewpoint of the great Christian apostle who saw much more clearly than any unregenerated man could have seen it, just what an awful state of wretchedness and misery must ever pertain to the man who is unredeemed, who is not "in Christ." Apart from Jesus Christ, there is no way by which even the best intentioned of unregenerates could exist in any other state than the one depicted here. That wretchedness, truly considered, is the perfect description of every man who is out of Christ, whether or not he might be less or more aware of it; and it is also a description of the true state of every Christian who for any reason whatever failed to abide "in Christ." The interpretation which would make this marvelous description of every non-Christian to be a description of the true life in our blessed Lord partakes of the genius of the evil one himself, and it should be rejected out of hand. Think what a terrible description of humanity apart from the Saviour this passage presents. It is a picture of humanity unable to do what is approved and desired to be done, and at the same time a humanity condemned to the "practice" (yes, that is the word) of things which are acknowledged to be undesirable and reprehensible even by the victims themselves. If this is not a good description of our own sinful generation which has turned away from God to walk in their own foolish ways, where is there a better one?

(v. 21-25) “So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself in my mind am a slave to God’s law, but in my sinful nature a slave to the law of sin.”

I think what this is trying to say is that before being in Christ, a lot of us wanted to do the right thing but we were bound by our sinful nature because we still took it upon ourselves instead of submitting fully to Christ. Once we have given our life to Jesus, he delivers us from our binding to sin and we are dead to it (we are forgiven fully of our sins but that’s not to say that we don’t struggle, instead we must daily rely on God for the strength to overcome and resist the temptations of the devil).

[candy8448]

(Also posted to @yourbigendergremlet my bigender community blog)

Ive been meaning to make this post for a while so what better day to do it than on trans visibility day/easter?

I am bigenderfluid, but i can also somewhat consider myself christian.

These two factors weigh heavily in my life.

I am in an extremely orthodox christian, extremely lgbtphobic household and it is tough. Being christian was always tough for me. My mum tried to raise me as a perfect christian but it never worked and only recently did i figure out why. She never actually taught me what anything is for, just that i have to do it. I have to follow these rules, why? Because the Bible said it. And there are so many things in the Bible that contradict eachother and ive never gotten a straight answer, not even from priests at church.

I discovered i was bigender in late 2023, but many years before then i was an ally. This is tough.

Trans and lgbt+ people are always weary of religious people, always making arguments against and fighting back religion, while religion is hateful and they fight against lgbt+ people. At home i cant come out because it isn't safe, at school and with my friends and trans spaces i cant say im christian because of the shame i feel because of the correlations between religion and hating lgbt+ people.

Its tough.

My bigenderness is currently a massive thing that has me struggling with my faith. Ive been hating being a christian for years now but only recently have i discovered that i do believe, and i want God to love me but being bigender, and being christian gets in the way of that.

I can't trust the christian faith specifically anymore and i feel reluctance with religion because being trans means i will go to hell. I feel i can't go to church because i am trans. I dont know if God will love me or condemn me to hell.

Being trans is a big factor to why im struggling so much with being christian right now, even though i desperately want to be, and it sucks. I can't be bigender because i am christian, and it sucks.

My end message? You can be both. Being trans and being christian can exist at the same time. God loves everyone and God made us the way we are so it should not get in the way of that. It can be tough, really tough to accept that (i am battling with that) and it can seem like a tug of war from both sides when you just want to be in both sides at the same time. We have to accept that the lgbt+ community isn't all that accepting and that christians aren't all that loving and that realisation will tear you apart but as long as you can live how you feel you should live, and find your own faith and/or connection with God or whatever else you may or may not believe, inside or outside of religion, then i hope you can find peace with yourself,

Especially because i need to find that too...

[bambistan]

A correspondence between jegulus in a homophobic world bc angst.

⬇️⬇️⬇️

Dear Regulus,

It's been a while since we last spoke, but . . . I was thinking of you today.

I was by the ocean, and the greying clouds created a storm as beautiful as the one in your eyes. I couldn't bring myself to look away, even as it turned violent.

I fear I'll spend every second of my existence longing for someone I can't have . . . Someone I shouldn't want.

I wish one of us wasn't condemned to live in a man's body. Maybe then, I could love you as loudly as I please.

Maybe then we could've been together.

Sincerely,

James

~*~

Dear James,

Much to my own dismay, I was excited to receive a letter from you. We'd agreed not to speak - though is writing really speaking?

I share your sorrows, your pain. I know the feeling all too well as it has made a home inside me.

In the darkest hours of the night, I fantasise about how differently things could've gone had I been born a girl.

I miss you.

Sincerely,

Regulus

~*~

Dear Regulus,

I will admit I hadn't expected a reply - I thought you'd hated me. However, I'm pleased to know you miss me.

I miss you too.

I miss waking up next to you. Watching as the sun slips through the crack in the curtains and paints your face in the most extraordinary shade of gold.

I miss having you close to me. Feeling your head on my chest, rising with each breath I take, ever so slightly.

Do you remember that day in the orchards?

Sincerely,

James

~*~

Dear Jamie,

How could I forget?

We'd exhausted ourselves on the race there and ate almost every apple on every tree.

However - shamefully - my favourite moment was afterwards, in my parents' lake.

I can still recall the feeling of water rippling as you moved against me. The words you whispered in my ear as your grip on me tightened.

I'd sell my soul to go back to that day.

Sincerely,

Regulus

~*~

My dearest,

Regulus,

You have no idea the things you do to me.

If anyone knew, I'm sure I'd be castrated and hung for my crimes - but I'd die with a smile on my face.

Why did we ever stop?

We could go back to that day together.

I need you like I need air. Please come back.

Yours,

Jamie

~*~

Dear James,

Please do not make this harder for me.

You know why I can't go back. There are people who hold such hatred for love like ours.

My parents, the church, everyone in that godforsaken town.

I have to kneel for hours on end in the darkness of the church basement to repent for my sins. To forget you had ever existed . . .

But I cannot.

Even if it hurts . . . I fear that's when I love you most.

Sincerely,

Regulus

~*~

Dear Regulus,

Just say the word and I'll come to you.

Please, my love, I am desperate. It's been years, yet without you, they feel like centuries.

We could run away together - live in the mountains. You always did like caves.

I don't know any other way to ask then to beg, so please please please . . .

Come home to me, love. Let me come to you.

Please.

Love,

James

~*~

Dear Regulus,

I had hope for a while. I'd thought your inability to write back was due to your travelling.

However, it became apparent that that wasn't the case as you would've reached me already.

I can only assume my feelings aren't reciprocated and your previous letters were nothing but a reminiscence of good times.

I will bother you no longer.

Fondly,

James

~*~

Dear Regulus,

It's been months.

I know I swore not to write but is it really so hard to pick up a pen and tell me to fuck off?

I'd do anything you asked, including leaving you alone, so just say the word, and I'm gone.

I'll be, but another memory you smile fondly at before passing by.

Sincerely,

James

~*~

Dear Regulus,

You know it's not like me to give up.

I will fight for the things I want - and I want you.

Madly, desperately, I want you.

Feel free not to answer my sorrows, but know that they will never stop coming.

Love,

James

~*~

Dear James,

Come to me.

Love,

Regulus

Yay!! Happy ending.... Or is it?

[the-final-sif]

Kind of interesting how a lot of tumblr condemns attraction but also thinks aces and aros are unnatural. Like are people just supposed to exist in a state of punitive denial

Oh I mean it is literally a fundamentally christian thing, I think the term is "culturally christian" and it was one of the things that really confused me when I first started hearing about christian beliefs from my friends. Like, there's this idea that sex is fundamentally bad and evil, and you should feel guilty and ashamed for having sexual thoughts.

But also don't you dare not want to have sex, you have to want it, but you should also feel bad about wanting it. It'd be unnatural for you to not want to have sex, but you also need to feel guilty about wanting to have it. You're supposed to just feel guilty. That's it. No matter what.

Like, it's just a fundamentally abusive system. The point isn't even to stop you from having sex, it's about making sure that you constantly feel guilty, ashamed, and like you owe something to religious authorities. It's just one more way to generate guilt as a means of controlling people.

Anyways, yeah, it's very telling how often certain groups spout this stuff off. They want anything sexual to be bad, but also you must want this bad thing. You can't want it and you can't not want it. Feeling bad? Well maybe if you pray and donate some money to the church you'll feel better. It's exploitive and there's a lot of people that consider themselves liberal that have some serious work to do unlearning it.

[archiveikemen]

"Black Wedding" Story Event: Chapter 1

Liam's Route

I do not own any of the Ikemen Series content being uploaded on this blog, everything belongs to CYBIRD. Please support them by playing their games and buying stories. Not 100% accurate, expect mistakes.

read this before interacting with my posts

— Out of the blue, he asked me if I thought that eternal love existed.

This story is about how Liam and I, who had just become lovers, thought about eternal love.

…

There was no such thing as “peace” in Crown.

And today was no exception—.

Victor: Lady and gentlemen, I hope that you're still letting your wickedness lead today!

Liam: Yes!

Ellis: … Yeah, within limits.

Victor: I see, I see. It makes me happy to know that all of you are doing well.

Harrison: Only two people responded to him, and yet his mentality is still staying strong.

William: He wouldn't be the Queen’s right hand man if he didn't have a few screws loose.

William: — Anyway, what sort of condemnation does Her Majesty want this time, Mr Aide to the Queen?

Victor: Always so sharp, William.

Victor: Well then, shall I begin explaining the details of our mission?

Liam: Ah, Victor. Not everyone is present, is that alright?

Victor: Yes. I was actually thinking of letting you and Kate handle this mission.

Liam • Kate: Huh?

Victor: The mission is to conduct an undercover investigation of an organisation by the name of “Amour”.

(Amour…?)

William: Amour… that organisation was established a few years ago.

Victor: Indeed. On the surface, it’s an ordinary religious group.

Victor: However, there have been several cases of people never returning after going to that organisation.

Harrison: The police are on the move, but they’re unable to get a lead. And so Crown has to do the job, is that it?

Victor: Yes, you’re right, Harrison. There is something strange about this case.

Harrison: Strange?

Victor: All the people who never returned had one thing in common. They were all couples.

(I see, so—)

Kate: If we approach them disguised as a pair of lovers, it would be easier to get our hands on the truth. That’s why you want Liam and I to handle this mission.

Liam: No, Kate. We’re not “disguising” as lovers, we’re real lovers.

Liam: OK! We’ll do it. Right, Kate?

Kate: Yes, please leave it to us.

Victor: Thank you, Liam and Miss Kate.

Victor: Show no mercy if they're proven guilty — is what Her Majesty instructed.

…

The next day, Liam and I left Crown’s castle to go on our undercover investigation.

(— Even though I agreed to accept the mission.)

I couldn't get rid of my feelings of anxiety.

(We don’t know what the situation is really like, so there’s no telling what can possibly happen.)

While I was deep in thought, Liam stretched while walking next to me.

Liam: Mm— I’m glad I’m spending today by your side too.

Kate: … Liam?

Liam: Just being next to you is enough to make my heart leap with joy, even though we’re in the middle of a mission filled with uncertainty.

(Oh…)

Liam: Kate. I hope that you’ll have a pleasant day today.

Liam: Therefore—

Liam tightly held my hand in his.

Liam: I’ll get rid of everything that will make you frown today.

Liam: Let me be your protector.

Kate: … Thank you, Liam.

Kate: But the reason why I was uneasy wasn’t because I was afraid of getting hurt.

Liam: Huh?

Kate: I don't want you to get hurt. Therefore, let me protect you as well.

Liam: …!

Liam: … Haah. … You’re such a smooth talker.

He strengthened his grip on my hand, and his rose-coloured eyes filled with passion—.

Liam: Hey, I really want to kiss you right now. So badly that I feel like I’m going to melt.

(Here…?)

Kate: Please don’t. There's so many people around…

Liam: Ahaha, I know. Then… I can only bear with it.

Liam planted a kiss on my hand and gave me a smile so charming that it could win over anyone.

That smile made all my anxiety disappear.

(... With Liam by my side, everything will be alright. I don’t have anything to fear.)

…

When we arrived at the church, a group of people were waiting for us at the end of the hallway—.

Cultist: Welcome to Amour.

The cultists were dressed in white and wore calm expressions on their faces.

I was slightly taken aback by their calm expressions—.

(... I don’t know what might happen to us. I must brace myself for anything.)

???: You must be Liam and Kate, the two people who wanted to join us.

Founder: A pleasure to meet you. My name is Amor, and I’m the founder of Amour.

The man who introduced himself as the “founder” had long hair, wore glasses, and had a gentle demeanour.

(I didn’t expect to meet the founder this soon. Looks like we’re in luck.)

Liam: It’s a pleasure to meet you too. We’ve heard a lot about this organisation, so we’d really like to join you.

Liam: Rumour has it that if we join you, our love will last forever. Right, Kate?

Kate: Y-Yes!

According to Victor, this cult claims to have the ability to “make love last forever”.

That catchphrase has enticed countless couples to visit.

(... I have to put up an act so that we don’t get caught for being here for an undercover investigation.)

Liam was a professional actor, and I couldn't allow myself to get in his way.

Kate: My partner and I are very much looking forward to our time here.

Founder: Ah, I see. So you’re a couple that wishes to make your love last forever.

(... Thank goodness. He doesn't seem to find us suspicious.)

Founder: … However, not everyone can have eternal love bestowed upon them.

Founder: Only two people who truly love each other can be allowed to join us and be given eternal love.

Kate: What do you mean by being “given” eternal love?

Kind Cultist: Those who are allowed to join the organisation may hold their wedding ceremony in this church.

Kind Cultist: After the ceremony, they'll have completed the process of obtaining eternal love.

Liam: Um, so in other words…

Liam: We’ll be allowed to join you once you’ve ascertained that we truly love each other, am I right to say that?

Founder: Yes.

However, love was something invisible to the naked eye and was thus difficult to prove.

Kate: How will you ascertain it?

Founder: First of all, the two of you will—

[lewmagoo]

before the devil comes for you | robert “bob” floyd

chapter two previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the year is 1975. robert floyd is a young reverend haunted by demons from his past. fresh out of seminary, he is led to take up a backwoods church in a small mining town. there, he meets a woman who is in the midst of questioning the very foundation of her faith. as their worlds collide, robert soon finds himself tangled in a web of temptation and lies. with the past he’s spent so long trying to outrun quickly closing in, he is faced with a decision, in which he must either condemn the woman he loves, or turn his back on his faith.

listen to the playlist here

pairing: robert "bob" floyd x oc (fairlight mackall)

warnings: 18+ ONLY, heavy religious themes, slight sexual innuendos, mentions of death, some misogynistic idealism, mentions of parental abuse, gunshot injury (not described in great detail but it's still a a significant part of this chapter), mentions of gun violence, medical emergency. i think that's all? let me know if i missed anything!

Morning dawned upon the mountains of Backforty Gap. And in an old farmhouse on a bountiful plot of land, a young woman was just waking to prepare for the day. 

Fairlight had risen with the sun, and when her eyes opened, a smile graced her features. This was no ordinary day. Her mundane life, the life she was so desperate to escape, had suddenly become very, very interesting. 

And it was all thanks to the young preacher currently residing on her property. 

When her father had informed her of a new reverend by the name of Robert Floyd taking on the church, she hadn’t been all that thrilled, only because she imagined a carbon copy of their previous reverend. 

But then a fresh-faced man who couldn’t have been any older than thirty appeared, eyes hopeful, hands trembling with his eagerness to help this community, and Fairlight’s world was turned in its axis. 

She didn’t know what it was about him that drew her in. He was just magnetizing. A little shy, very clean cut, in both appearance and the way he carried himself, and shrouded in mystery. 

She wanted to know more about him. Where he came from, who he was before he became a man of the cloth. Fairlight had always been particularly skilled at reading people, and when she looked into the pale blue eyes of the preacher, she saw a man running from something. But what it was, she had yet to figure out. 

He was the first thing on her mind as she got up that morning, readying herself for the day. She found herself wanting to impress him. To show him what a good host she was, even here, in the backwoods of a God-forsaken town in the middle of the mountains. 

Surely he was used to city comforts. Coming to a place like this was probably a culture shock. She could only imagine such a thing. She’d lived in Backforty Gap her entire life. It was a place that was frozen in time. While things had certainly changed over the course of her twenty-one years of life, it was still the same impoverished community it always had been. 

She’d been to the city, with her father. She knew how much life differed from the village. The people of this area were incredibly poor. If she had to guess, she might even say it was one of the poorest communities in the entire state. And no one cared. Why would they, after all? A group of backwoods hillbillies were better left out of sight, out of mind. 

The children were hungry. The parents worked their hands to the bone to provide for those children. Many of them lived in squalor. Illness was often prevalent, especially because many of these families had a surplus of children, who spread illness back and forth. 

That was why an outbreak of scarlet fever the year before had deeply affected the community. And before that, many eldest sons had left to fight in Vietnam. It seemed that the community kept dwindling, growing smaller and smaller. Fairlight feared that it would soon cease to exist. And that was part of why she wanted to escape. 

She felt like the walls were closing in on her. Like she was going to be trapped here, destined to be someone’s housewife, to stare into the hungry faces of her children and grapple with the reality that she could not provide for them. She would be forced to depend on her husband for that. And life in these mountains was hard. It could be beautiful, but it could also be cruel and unforgiving. 

She didn’t desire a life in which her husband lost his to the mines. She refused to be a young widow with little ones to care for. 

The first chance she got, she was going to leave this place behind. She would remove herself from the control of her father, and start her own life. 

Montgomery Mackall kept his daughter on a short leash. As the deacon of the church, he expected much from her. She had to attend every church service. She had to participate in ministering to the community. She had to take care of the household. Tend to the cooking, cleaning, sewing. Everything her mother was supposed to be responsible for. 

Opal Mackall had left when Fairlight was only six-years-old. By default, “woman’s work”, as Montgomery called it, fell upon his daughter, even though she was but a small girl. She’d been forced to grow up fast. 

She had forced herself to grin and bear it, doing everything the right way in front of her father. If she disobeyed or committed a grievous sin, she would be in a world of trouble, and would often suffer an onslaught of lashes from his heavy belt. 

However, instead of walking the straight and narrow, she learned to hide things from him, to sneak around behind his back so he would be none the wiser. But it was only a matter of time before she stopped caring. Stopped hiding, stopped playing the part of the good little church mouse. And when that time came, she would leave her father and his iron rule behind, and become the person she’d always dreamed of being. 

Until then, she was trapped in a never-ending limbo, just waiting to take that leap of faith. 

But now, while she waited, she at least had someone interesting to observe. And observe him, she did. While she strolled out to the chicken coop to gather the eggs for the day, she caught sight of the reverend making his way back to his quarters. 

It appeared that he had just bathed in the river nearby. His shirt hung over his body, the front open to expose a flash of milky white skin. His hair was still damp, and curling around the edges, just against his forehead. 

Fairlight found herself staring, unable to take her eyes off his ethereal countenance. But she quickly averted her gaze, burning with shame when she realized what she was doing. It was one thing to lust after a boy from the community. But the preacher? Surely God would curse her to eternal damnation.

But the holy fire she was sure she was going to be struck with never fell, and when she looked up again, he was gone, having slipped into his cabin and shut the door behind him. The flaxen-haired girl let out a soft breath, shaking her head at her own foolishness.

Even still, as she gathered the eggs from the hens, Reverend Floyd remained at the edges of her mind. But she would quickly find that he would take up permanent residence there very soon.

Inside his quarters, Bob had a sneaking suspicion that he was being watched, but he refused to acknowledge it. Refused to look at the beautiful woman whose storm-gray eyes he could not get off his mind. Instead of letting his mind wander, he stepped over to his bed and retrieved his beloved Bible. 

Get thee behind me, Satan.

He read a passage of Proverbs as he got ready for the day, quoting each verse out loud. Then, as he stood in the middle of the room, fully clothed, hair combed, he breathed a prayer to the Almighty, and then, he stepped back outside, ready to join the world.

He checked the time on the pocket watch he always kept on his person. One that had belonged to his grandfather. Six fifty-nine on the dot. Once he made it to the main house, he would be right on time for breakfast. 

He hummed the tune of Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing as he walked. It was one of his favorite hymns, one which he planned to sing with the congregation of Backforty Church when he met with them for the first time on Sunday morning.

Inside the house, Fairlight was just finishing breakfast preparations for the morning, and she couldn’t help but take pause when she heard the sound of melodic humming carrying in through the open window. 

Moments later, a knock could be heard at the door. “It’s open!” She called out as she set a basket of homemade bread down on the table.

Reverend Floyd stepped into the house, offering her a kind smile. “Mornin’, Miss Mackall,” he greeted her.

She mirrored his smile. “It’s Fairlight, remember?”

He nodded, eyes twinkling with something she couldn’t quite place. Before another word could be exchanged between the pair, the screen door squeaked open again, and in walked Mont. Fairlight faded into the background as her father walked into the room, his boots scraping against the unfinished wooden flooring. 

“Reverend,” he greeted Bob, reaching out to shake his hand.

Bob nodded. “Morning.”

The older man motioned toward the table, and Bob moved to step toward an open chair, allowing Fairlight to take a seat first before he sat down. Then, he caught Mont looking at him expectantly. “Mind sayin’ grace?”

Bob bowed his head and evenly spoke, “Bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, Our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” both Mont and his daughter echoed.

Breakfast was served, and Bob couldn’t help but feel a bit like he was intruding. This was their home, after all. And he was but a stranger in it. But Mont soon pulled him into a conversation, and he didn’t have a chance to dwell on it much longer. 

“So, Reverend. Now that you’re settled ‘n all, I wanted to ask ya. Most of my livelihood comes from the woodworking I do. Haven’t had time to get any orders done because I’ve been so busy running the church. Now that you’re here, I was wondering. You any good with carpentry?”

Bob got the sense as to where this was going. “I’ve worked in carpentry, yes. Why?”

“Would you be obliged to help with some of the projects? When you aren’t busy ministering and studying sermons, and all.”

Bob could see a weariness in the man’s eyes, manifesting itself in the deepening lines on his face. He couldn’t have been much older than fifty, but years of hard work and the stressors of life had aged him. The young preacher nodded, figuring Mont desperately needed the help. “I’d be happy to help. I wanna earn my keep, after all. Just let me know what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

That seemed to satisfy the man, and the conversation shifted to other things. As they spoke, Bob couldn’t help but notice the way Fairlight remained quiet as a mouse, hardly contributing anything but a smile or nod here and there. He got the sense that she felt left out, so he made a move to include her.

“So, have you lived in Backforty Gap your entire life, Fairlight?” He asked, voice gentle.

Her eyes flickered to his, and she found him looking at her with such kindness and interest that it took her breath away. She only person who was ever that interested in what she had to say was her best friend, Zinnia Allen.

But just as the pale-haired girl opened her mouth to speak, her father interjected. “She was born and raised here,” he said. 

Bob tried to hide the frown that creased his brow. Before he could attempt to redirect the conversation to her, so she could answer for herself, Mont continued. 

“She was born in this very house, actually.” The man’s face grew serious, and he leaned over the table, elbows resting against the wood. “Her momma died givin’ birth to her, so it’s just been me and Fairlight all these years.”

Bob jumped slightly at the sudden sound of metal clattering loudly against a plate. When he glanced at Fairlight, her gray eyes had gone dark as an approaching summer storm. She was looking directly at her father, fury clear on her features, but she said nothing. Instead, she pushed her chair away from the table and rushed out of the room, the screen door slamming behind her.

Montgomery sighed, shaking his head. “It’s a sore subject for her. We don’t talk about it much.”

But the preacher got the sense that there was much more than met the eye. He let his eyes settle on Mont, regarding him silently. He was lying about something, that much was certain. But it wasn’t Bob’s business to stick his nose into. So he simply left it as it was, and let Mont change the subject.

During the rest of breakfast, they spoke of the church, and Mont warned him that the congregation might be difficult to minister to. But the entire time, Bob’s mind drifted to the girl that had stormed out of the house, and he wondered why she’d done so. The venom in her eyes had not been something he’d been expecting from someone as kind as her.

When breakfast was finally over, he eagerly stood, making his way back out into the sun-warmed morning. When he stepped onto the porch, he was surprised to find Fairlight sitting on an old, wooden rocking chair that stood in the corner of the porch.

He hesitated, unsure if he should say anything. Finally, he settled on, “are you alright?”

She managed a smile despite herself. “I’ll be fine,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively. 

Bob opened his mouth again, wanting to say more. But what could he say? He took a tentative step forward, hoping to offer comforting words from the Good Book. However, he was barely able to take the breath needed to utter those words before a desperate shout ripped across the property.

His head whipped in the direction of the sound, and beside him, Fairlight quickly rose from her seat. A young boy was sprinting up the Mackall property, waving his arms and screaming at the top of his lungs. 

“That’s Will Allen,” Fairlight gasped. She hurriedly pushed past Bob, shouting for her father as she went. “Daddy! Something’s wrong!” 

She was already scrambling down the porch steps, and Bob followed at her heels, unsure of what was taking place, but willing to help in any way. Fairlight ran like the wind, hair flying behind her as she caught up to the boy.

The young one, who couldn’t have been more than eight years old, threw himself into her arms, wailing uncontrollably, hyperventilating as he fought to catch his breath. Fairlight stepped back, holding him at arm’s length.

She bent forward so she was at eye level with the boy. “Will, I’m right here, honey. Slow deep breaths, in and out. Come on, just like that.”

Bob watched as she miraculously settled the boy down enough to speak coherent words. His heaving gasps calmed, and his sobs slowed. Her gentle hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs wiping at his tear tracks.

“What happened?” She asked.

“My daddy! He’s hurt real bad! Gun went off an’ he’s bleedin’!”

At that moment, Mont caught up to them. His daughter whirled around to face him. “Jed’s been shot,” was all she had to say. 

He nodded firmly. “Get to the truck.” 

Fairlight grabbed Will’s hand, motioning for Bob to follow as she ran after her father to the rickety pickup sitting in the front yard. The reverend was reeling, his body buzzing with a sudden rush of adrenaline. Before he even realized what was happening, he was seated in the bed of the truck beside Fairlight, while young Will sat up front with Mont, describing to him where Jed was. 

“Jed is my best friend’s father,” Bob heard Fairlight speak beside him, her voice wavering.

“Did someone shoot him?” 

“I-it’s hard to say. Jed is a hunter, it could’ve just been an accident.” But, it also could have been intentional. She didn’t add that, however. She wouldn’t jump to conclusions until she knew what had happened. There were certain members of the community who were prone to violence, and she wouldn’t be surprised if one of them, namely Hawk Neiman, had been the one to shoot Jeb.

Russell “Hawk” Neiman was well known in Backforty Gap for being the best shot in the area. It was where he got the nickname Hawk. His eyes never missed a shot. He usually kept his gun use limited to hunting, but pair his alcoholic tendencies with a loaded gun, and there was no telling what he’d do.

But now was no time for pointing fingers. Jed needed help, and he needed it now. The nearest hospital was forty minutes out, and most of the people in the community didn’t trust hospitals as it was, so trying to get him there would be fighting a losing battle. It was best to get him to the doctor’s house instead.

The entire ride, all Fairlight could think about was Zinnia, Jed’s daughter. The two girls had been friends since they could remember. Although their friendship had dwindled as they grew into adulthood, and now with Zinnia engaged to be married, Fairlight still cared about her well-being, and she could only imagine how upset the girl would be about her father. Jed and Zinnia had a close bond. One that Fairlight had always envied.

Beside her, as the old truck rattled down the unkempt country roads, Robert Floyd’s own mind was spinning. He’d been in Backforty Gap all of one day, and he’d already been thrust into a life-or-death situation. What had he gotten himself into? And what more awaited him?

He had no time to dwell on it, for all too soon, the truck skidded to a halt. As Mont climbed out of the truck, Bob scrambled to jump out of the truck bed, turning without thinking to reach up and catch Fairlight, gently lowering her to the ground.

Young Will ran up ahead, and the trio followed, until they came to the riverbank, where Jed Allen lay at the water’s edge, the water around him tinged red from the blood that had soaked through his clothes.

“How’d this happen, boy?” Mont asked Will as he knelt beside Jed.

Will’s bottom lip quivered, his bright green eyes filling with tears. “I tripped on the…the gun. It went off and it hit him.” 

So it had been an accident. 

“It’s okay, honey. It was an accident,” Fairlight assured the boy, pulling him into her side. He immediately began to sob, burying his face against the fabric of her dress.

“Help me out, Preacher,” Mont spoke up, and Bob sprang into action, stepping forward to help Mont lift the man off the ground.

Grunting laboriously, both of them managed to carry the man back to the truck, lifting him into the bed with much effort. Once again, Mont jumped into the driver’s seat, with Will climbing into the truck bed this time, pressing himself against Fairlight as he cried, terrified of what would become of his father. 

The girl held him tightly, soothing his cries as she watched Bob, who desperately pressed his hands against the man’s wound, trying to slow the bleeding. The shot had hit him in the lower abdomen, and there was no telling how deep it was. 

Pale blue met stormy gray, and the pair held each other’s gaze. Bob’s full of uncertainty, and Fairlight’s full of fear. What would become of this man? Bob spoke a silent prayer to the Lord that he would pull through, if only for the sake of the young boy weeping across from him.

Suddenly, the truck jerked to a halt. Bob looked up

to find that they’d stopped outside a modestly sized cabin, nestled in a grove of trees. Mont jumped out of the truck, boots crunching against gravel as he ran around to open the bed. 

Wordlessly, Bob helped him drag Jed out, and he followed the older man’s lead as he moved toward the cabin. 

“Doc!” Mont shouted. “Doc, we need help!”

Moments later, the door swung open and out stepped an older, blonde-haired man. Doctor Quinton McHone, to be exact. When he saw what was taking place, he sprung into action without a moment of hesitation. 

“Talk to me, Mont!” He instructed as he reached the men. 

“Gun went off, shot him in the belly,” Mont grunted. 

“Alright, get ‘im inside and up on the table.”

Bob followed the two men’s lead, managing to get Jed into the cabin. There was a large, empty table in the middle of the room, and they heaved him up onto the surface. 

Bob stumbled back, gasping heavily for breath, realizing just how exerted he was from the ordeal. His chest heaved beneath the cotton of his shirt, and he reached up, running the back of his hand over his damp brow. 

“Livy and the kids know about this?” Doc McHone asked, already moving to roll his shirt sleeves up his brawny arms. 

“Will knows, he’s the one who came and got us. I’ll take the truck over and pick up Livy and the rest of ‘em,” Mont quickly responded, already clambering toward the door. 

Bob watched him leave, and just outside the door, he noticed Fairlight, who kept Will on the porch, soothing him gently as he sniffled and cried. But the reverend was soon interrupted by the gruff voice of Quinton McHone.

“You the new preacher?” He asked.

Bob met his sharp gaze. “I am.”

“Your God still perform miracles?”

The young man nodded. “He is.”

“Good, ‘cause this man’s gonna need one.” Then, he motioned Bob closer as he moved to unbutton Jed’s shirt. “Help me with him.”

Bob sprang forward to assist with whatever the doctor needed. He could scarcely believe that this was actually happening before his very eyes. His hands shook with a tremor he could not control, and he fought to remain calm. In the city, this would be an easy fix. But out here, in this seemingly Godforsaken cove? This was life or death. If the doctor didn’t act fast, Jed Allen would die.

Before his mind had a chance to spiral, the sound of Mont’s truck approaching caught his attention, and moments later, the sound of rushed footsteps. A woman burst into the cabin, dark hair wild around her head. When her gaze fell upon the man sprawled out on the table, a sob ripped from her throat, and she rushed to his side.

“Jed! Oh, Jed!” She wailed. 

“I’m going to do everythin’ I can, Livy,” Quinton assured her, stepping around the table to gently pull her away from her husband.

The frightened faces of four other children, and a young woman, remained in the doorway. The youngest child couldn’t have been much older than five. The young woman stepped into the cabin, her eyes hard set on the doctor.

“You can save him, right? Please tell me you can,” she said, as she reached out and guided her mother out of the man’s arms. 

“Like I told your momma, I’m gonna do what I can. I need you to keep her calm, and keep her out of the way so I can work. Can you do that f’ me, Zinnia?”

She nodded, holding her mother close as the woman sobbed. “I can. But you better save him. We…we can’t get on without him.”

In an instant, Livy Allen pulled away from her daughter, suddenly realizing the presence of a stranger in the room. She pointed her finger at the reverend, her hazel eyes wide with a wildness he’d only seen in the eyes of a caged animal.

“You. Yo-you’re him, ain’t you? The preacher?!”

Bob took a cautious step toward her, reaching a hand out, prepared to offer her comfort. She grabbed his arm in a death grip, her nails digging into his skin, even through the fabric of his shirt. “Say a prayer for him. You have to! I can’t lose my husband! I already lost my boy to the war! I can’t lose Jed, too!”

“Momma, let go,” Zinnia gently coaxed, trying to pry her away from the reverend. But Bob held his free hand up, signaling for her to wait, before he placed that same hand over Livy’s. He looked into the woman’s eyes, and at that moment, he fully realized the weight of responsibility that sat upon his shoulders.

What he said and did in these next few moments would shape the way these people saw him. It could either make or break his chance to have an impact on this community. He needed to garner the people’s trust if he was going to be any good to them at all.

He took a deep breath, nodding his head. “I will, dear sister. I will.”

Then he pulled the woman into his chest, holding her close, and he bowed his head. He prayed over her, asking the Almighty to bring her husband out of the valley of the shadow of death, to guide the doctor’s hands as he worked, and to give peace to her and her children.

When he breathed Amen, Livy had calmed considerably, and she pulled back to look up at the young preacher. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

The spell was broken by Doctor McHone, who began barking orders as he prepared to tend to Jed. “If you can’t be of any help, clear the room!” He called. Then, he pointed a thick finger toward Bob and Mont. “You two, I need you both to hold him down.”

Bob hesitated, realizing that this was actually happening. It wasn’t an action scene from a film, or a tense chapter from a book. This was happening in real-time, and he had a decision to make. 

His legs were moving before he even realized they were. He took his position at the top of the table, near Jed’s head, while Mont held onto his legs. 

Bob watched the doctor intently, gaze following his every move. Everything else faded into the background. Jeb’s crying wife. His whimpering children. 

Quinton set to work immediately, and as he prepared the area to extract the bullet, an all too familiar sensation came to life in Bob’s shoulder. An uncomfortable burning, a bone-deep ache. A pain he had not felt in a long time. 

His mind drifted back to a time of his life that he’d tried so hard to forget. A moment in which his own foolishness had resulted in a bullet to the shoulder. A bullet that had been meant for his chest. Meant to take his life.

A strange sensation came over him then. A tightening in his chest. A residual tingle in his outer extremities. And as Doctor McHone began the process of extracting the bullet, and as Bob held down a thrashing, groaning man, he thought he was going to pass out. 

Not from the sight of blood, nor from the intensity of the situation. But from a memory that he’d tried to keep buried in the depths of his mind. 

He almost allowed himself to succumb to it, but managed to pull himself back into the moment. He’d be of no help if he was passed out cold on the floor. And it certainly wouldn’t do to have the reverend fainting during a moment when he was meant to be a pillar of strength and hope. 

Much to his relief, Bob remained steady while the doctor worked, and the very second the procedure was finished, he stumbled back, not even waiting to hear the verdict of whether or not Jed would be okay. Instead, he turned to rush out of the cabin for a breath of much needed fresh air. 

He made it out to the porch, taking in ragged lungfuls of mountain air as he went. His hands rested upon the porch banister. His eyes remained closed. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t cut out for this. Coming here was a mistake. 

Stop. Take a deep breath. Don’t let yourself panic. One breath in. Hold. One breath out. One breath in. Hold. One breath out. 

He repeated this a few times, until he finally allowed himself to open his eyes and come back to the present. As he did so, he heard the sound of voices beside him. Or, namely, a singular voice, clear and sweet. 

He turned, only to find Fairlight seated on the floor of the porch, surrounded by Jed’s children. As Bob began to calm down, he watched her comfort each and every one of those children. One arm was wrapped around young Will. The other around Zinnia, the eldest. The rest of the children were huddled close, listening as she softly sang a mountain melody to them, providing a welcome distraction from the sounds of distress and pain their father made. 

“The cuckoo, she’s pretty,

She sings as she flies;

She bringeth good tidings,

She telleth no lies.

She sucketh white flowers

For to keep her voice clear.

And although she sings ‘cuckoo’, 

The summer draws near…”

Bob stood there on that porch, in the middle of Appalachia, surrounded by trees and mountains and unfamiliar terrain, and he watched this young woman, who he’d only just met, calm an entire group of frightened children with just her voice. 

He marveled at such a thing. But he also found that it had calmed him, too. His spiraling thoughts had been reduced to a quiet hum in his mind. That tightness in his chest was gone. The burning in his shoulder had ceased. 

A moment of peace in an otherwise grim and uncertain situation. A sign from the Almighty  that life wasn’t all bad. There was beauty to be found even in the ugliest of moments. 

And somehow, he knew, as he gazed upon the flaxen-haired girl, that it was all going to be okay. He was cut out for this job. No matter how difficult or gruesome it was. He’d been placed here for a purpose. And he was going to fulfill that purpose. 

Reverend Floyd had been called to care for the people of Backforty Gap. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

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