#Parish Brewing

[brandonsdrunkagain]

Pizza, Parish and some Oklahoma beers!

Pizza oven is finally a go at the brewery, Parish and Equilibrium Brewing collab, MCGhost, Parish and Other Half collab Ghost Diamonds, Pale Ale and Irish Red Ale from Kocendorfer Brewing in Duncan Oklahoma and Chinook Me All Night Long and Neon Sunshine IPAs from Stone Cloud Brewing. If you are ever in Baton Rouge come by Rally Cap Brewing and grab a pizza and a beer from me!

[thedaily-beer]

Parish Brewing Braincake Double IPA (Picked up at Corner Market in Hattiesburg, MS). A 4 of 4. A really nice big and juicy IPA -- lots of berry and stone fruit on the nose, some candy-like notes, and lots of other tropical fruit, too. The body is medium and has a nice creaminess to it as well as quite a bit of fruit sweetness that fades rather quickly as the bittering hops fade in only just slightly.

[floridaboiler]

[thesiltverses]

so in season three Faulkner mentions that the parish helped him get on T but how do they get it? do they have doctor who’s part of the parish that can get it? or do they just steal it? does the trawler-man provide magical river hrt?

It was too much irrelevant exposition to include in that scene, but what I put in the original script notes for my own satisfaction was that Mason had probably set up an ongoing arrangement years ago to provide medical supplies to young converts and returning disciples in the seminary, whether through raids on pharmacies or pharmaceutical deliveries, or a backroom deal with some corrupt staff in a rural hospital.

It makes strategic sense, right? You're trying to re-establish an illegal faith which has been driven to the point of extinction, much of the older generation wiped out...so you bring in the new generation and ensure their reliance on you by making sure you can get them the vital care that they can't afford or access via legal means.

On the other hand, I know some folks have found enjoyment in the idea that there is some kind of magical testosterone crab-gumbo being brewed up in the caves of the Parish...so I'm not going to rule that out entirely. Maybe there is.

[vilsoo]

୨⎯ CHAPTER THREE ⎯୧

incubus!fushiguro toji x fem!reader

꒰ ✟ ꒱ GENRE: horror, demon au, nsfw 18+, porn with plot.

꒰ ✟ ꒱ SUMMARY: Sex demons are not as provocative as you think they are. Not only do they engage in sexual acts with humans, they thrive off their flesh and haunt them in their nightmares. When an incubus disguised as a Reverend turns a hungry eye on one of the parishioners, gruesome events at the cathedral slowly unfold; blasphemy, gore, and terror...

꒰ ✟ ꒱ CHAPTER WARNINGS: blasphemy, WC: 3,955

PREVIOUS • MASTERLIST • NEXT CHAPTER

written in toji's pov, narration style similar to the Netflix show, "You." this takes place in a fictional setting; St. Reze University & Cathedral.

The morning air had become thicker than the oldest tomes of the St. Reze Clergy House.

Located in the middle of campus was the residence of the clergy along with an administrative office for the local parish. I was sent here an hour ago, deadpanning at the mahogany wooden desk and thought about everything from last night— the way we met, the brief conversation I had with Shoko… But also that screeching, unsettling noise from the stair tower which slightly concerned me.

"Fushiguro. You listening?"

Father Getou Suguru. One of the priests I'm also close with from the clergy. But aside his occupation as St. Reze’s holy priest, I'd feel comfortable drinking with him at a bar or going out to play billiards. Usually his hair would be down when he wears his vestment and cassock, but this morning it was tied back.

Suguru— I refuse to call him Father outside of the church— stood at the opposite side of the room, skimming an old book as he sips his morning tea. His office had varnished brown bookshelves and the fresh smell of brewing beverages. The sunlight tinted of a dusty orange through the large clerestory window, contrasting to the solemnity of this environment.

I cleared my throat. "Sorry. Go on."

I was too drained to listen to him this morning. I could’ve declined or not even show up to this brief rendezvous, but I didn’t want to dig myself in a deeper hole than I already am. He is, after all, the one that pays me for the shit I do. Even if I’m barely involved with the church and its people. There is no doubt that he knows about my blatant and aloof behavior the way Sister Shoko knows as well.

"Remember the other Reverend that got engaged just eight months ago? Their wedding is at the cathedral next month. Interested in helping us?"

I frowned. "Wait— who's getting married again?"

The priest deadpanned at me. "Our fellow Reverend Nanami Kento. I thought you knew this already.”

Feeling indifferent, I watch as the dark liquid swirled around my mug as I held it. "Oh. I forgot."

The priest sighed in exasperation. "I'll pay you extra if you come by and help."

I paused before I could take a sip once I registered his words, averting my gaze right at him. "Fine. I'll do it."

"Of course you would," he taunted. "Is money always going to be your motivation?"

My elbow was pressed on the table and my cheeks rested in the crest of my palm, slightly smirking at him as my drink clanks on the wood. "You know me, Suguru."

The man slaps the book closed with one hand, sliding it back into the shelves. "We'll talk more about it later with the others. Please do not forget the meeting at the chapter house next week. You have to be there.”

I notice him grabbing a few of his things including his vestment. "Leaving for sermon already?"

“I need to be early. Also, I’m leaving you in charge of the conferences in here today.”

How great.

The ominous priest finally left. I continued drinking absentmindedly for the past ten minutes and dwelled at the campus view outside. It was an early Sunday morning and the sermon was starting soon. Fridays and Saturdays are the only days I work at the cathedral, while on Sundays I'm off. Yet here I am in the clergy house when I could've been doing something more productive.

But I didn't care at all, really. This job, this religion, or the coherent idea of a god... I didn't give a damn about the shit I’m required to do in this new life as long as Father Getou paid me— just as he said he would.

I still thought about last night. What a tantalizing night, I must admit. Meeting you for the first time in such a meek state, utterly surprising me with your sullied confession... But then I recalled the unsettling noise I’ve heard from the stair tower. Though there were no screams heard or the smell of blood when Shoko and I reached the first floor, it was something so inhuman to ever think of.

Speaking of inhuman, there was still one thing you haven't known about me yet. An infernal and sinister creature, able to sense the wanton lust of humans and their coiling fantasies, residing within my soul. One that sneakily lodges into one’s nightmares to fulfill their desires… But what also resides with my soul is real mortal blood— the outcome of a half-breed incubus.

Knock knock knock.

I stared at the door for a hot minute with a blank expression, slouching in my seat. I'm usually this lifeless early in the morning, but thanks to that coffee, I managed to stand up and approach the door. But just as I was about to grab the doorknob, my hand froze when I heard a demure voice resonate from the other side. Not from a figment of my mind, not from the faded hues in my memories… It was really you— the sound of your adorning voice reverberating in the back of my mind. And it's been hours since the last time I've heard it.

"Father Getou? You in there?"

I threw away all my inhibitions and opened the door for you. And that was the first time I saw you, really saw you— not shrouded by darkness or drops of rain. The glazing sunlight cutting from the door onto your face like a scalpel, your bare skin radiating and your attire expressed more casually than what you wore last night to the church.

A small smirk slowly crept on my lips. "Father Getou's not here. Need something from him?"

"Oh," you breathed out, slowly trailing your bashful gaze to meet with mines. "I wasn't…expecting you…”

I press my shoulder against the white doorframe as my hand grips onto the opposite side like I was blocking you from coming in. "Looks like we just keep bumpin' into each other, huh. What a coincidence."

You were perfectly in my field of view, sunkissed from the golden daylight. My eyes cast over the rest of your figure, your chest heaving faster and the muscles of your shoulders tightening. This was an odd coincidence now that I think about it. There must've been an underlying reason of coming all the way out here for a conference with Father Getou. It was too bad for you that he left several minutes ago, but not too bad for me to have some company…

"Anything I can help you with?" I coaxed. “If you’re trying to meet with Father Getou, might as well just head to the church where he’s at.”

I watch as you pressed your lips together in uncertainty, your gaze falling to a random corner of the office then back to me. "You know what? It doesn't really matter who in the clergy I talk to. May I come in?"

Feeling slightly convinced, I push myself off the doorframe and make way for you. In cold calculation, I watch the way you hold your breath once you enter, the way your shoulders tensed like the beating of your heart grew erratically. My first time seeing you this nervous and so shy around me.

"So. What brings you here?"

You were standing near Father Getou's desk as I shut the door, glancing at the bookshelves and the plain ceiling absentmindedly. "I wanted to discuss about something that Father Getou might be familiar about," you respond with a sharp exhale. "But… I guess I was too late. I should’ve made an appointment.”

I make my way around the desk where Getou stood earlier as you sat down coyly. You had a dreary expression as you stared into nothing, as if you were ashamed of whatever you were going to say.

"You can tell him after the Sunday Mass," I assured, leaning against the wall with my hands shoved in my pockets.

"I— I don’t know,” you faltered. “Maybe… I think it's better if I don't tell him…”

"Damn. Must've been that bad, huh," I smirked. "Could've saved this for the confession booth, ya' know."

Just like how you confessed to me last night.

"No, no— it's fine," you faltered, your gaze flickering back to my face. "I’m fine talking about this to anyone from the clergy. You’re a Reverend, right? Maybe we should talk more while we have the chance. Get to know each other.”

Get to know each other, huh.

It was something about your face glinting from the gentle sunlight that nearly captivated me. Maybe early Sunday mornings weren't so bad, after all. But after ruminating over your words and this igniting spark of interest I have with a human, especially a woman like you— a man like me would never go this far to give my considerations…

An incubus is meant to prey on women like you. Obsess over them, violate them, make them feel things no other human could do. But I’m not like these sick and twisted incubi. Not even a full incubus. There would be these ongoing battles of cunning, dark, and sinister thoughts and actions within my conscience. I'd feel tempted to ruin and corrupt people for my own satisfaction. But then I also have my humanity— the respect, boundaries, morals, and all of the shit I also abide by.

You left me with no choice. The cause of my sleeplessness and these constant distractions sitting right before me. Definitely harmless just to know more about a woman like you, right?

"Alright then,” I obliged. “You’re a student at St. Reze, right?"

"I am. Third year, graduating with a bachelor’s next year."

I squinted slightly. "How come I've never seen you before?"

"I was gonna ask you that, too," you chuckled. "But maybe because it was my first time attending on a Saturday."

I nodded slowly, recalling your words from your confessional. "I work on Fridays and Saturdays only. Makes sense."

"Something was just really bothering me. I felt like attending that day, so..."

I ambled closer, standing at the opposite end of the table from you. Half-lidded eyes staring meekly into mines, setting fire in my ribs and wading into my rufous flesh, strumming every fiber in my body like I was trapped in your aura. Ominous and tense anticipation between us, right in this office, right at this moment.

I've never felt something like this before. And you probably haven't, either. This hidden desire for you and your hidden desire for me has never tasted this fine, like a restless hunger teasing my tongue…

"I don’t think I've ever gotten your name. I'm Y/N."

I repeated your name in my mind, a name I for sure wasn’t going to forget. "Toji,” I then replied. “Reverend Toji Fushiguro."

"Reverend Toji,” you mused, as if you were ruminating upon my name as well. “Nice to officially meet you.”

I really tried fighting the urge to bring up your confession. But according to the clergy-penitent privilege that Suguru informed me about, they are to remain strictly confidential. Any member of the clergy that overhears a confession are bound by this “seal.” But with everything I’ve witnessed and collected from last night at church, I wanted to ask the most ludicrous questions. I wanted to know what was going on in that pretty little head of yours. Why you came all the way here to the clergy office, what exactly is bothering you to the point you open up to me. Like cracking open your skull and spooling your brain, finding out all your sinister and dark secrets…

My jaw tightened as apart of me begged to know, staring at the bay window overlooking the courtyard and other facilities of the campus. But I decided to not intervene— who am I to care about a mere human, anyways?

"So. You said something was bothering you?” I piqued, refilling my cup of coffee with the machine. “Is that why you came all the way here?”

If I hadn't been paying attention to every move and every reaction you made in this office, I wouldn't have noticed the way your chest heaved slowly and steadily, like you were forcing yourself to calm down. I watched the way your body reacted. A trail of goosebumps. Slight shivers. Robbed of speech. And the way your eyes subtly began to pool with dismay, powerful as a surging storm taking over you…

“Well, this might sound a little bit, uh… carnal, Reverend Toji,” you muttered sheepishly. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, or— you know, see me as a parishioner in a different way…”

"You don't need to worry about that," I assured with a small smirk. "I'm not like Father Getou who's so professional with everything here— especially with that seminary shit. So don’t think I’m gonna lecture you with scripture.”

You chuckled lightly. “Spoken like a true layman. That’s harsh.”

"Yeah, but it's the truth." The warm liquid rushed down my throat as I drank, absorbed with this sudden rush of energy. "I don't really care about this church nor your god. I'm just working here for money— so you can tell me anything."

You gazed down solely at your lap, absorbed in your own thoughts as if this was too difficult to open up about. Your eyes were unreadable from this distance, but every time you locked my gaze for a few moments, they become so irresistible as they take me in.

"Look, I don't know if I'm ready to say it.”

"Enlighten me." I set another drink of coffee for you on the desk, the loud thud of the mug causing your body to snap. “Whatever you say, I’m not gonna hold against you. You came all the way out here this time in the morning, so don’t let this be a waste of time for the both of us.”

A human like you testing my patience was a risky game to play. But for some reason, I was a bit amused by your timid submission… Your chin tilting upwards as you looked at me in silence as I leaned against the bookshelves. Your skin continued to gleam right in my view, eyes taking me in like you were drinking the very sight of me.

After a fleeting moment of hesitance, you grab the cup and sipped carefully, watching your shoulders tense down from the warmth rushing through your veins. I stared for another long moment, both hands on the table and leaning slightly forward. It was quite entertaining, really, how things lead us to this point.

"Friday night I had a dream," you muttered softly, "I couldn't stop thinking about it, which is why I came to the church on Saturday night, seeking for guidance. But this dream was, well… a strange experience for me.”

The moment you spoke of having a dream I immediately knew. Even after finding out you came to church on a day you don't regularly attend was enough to convince me. Carnal. Nightmares. It all made sense. In the vulnerable depths of an innocent human’s mind, a disturbing creature would be quietly lurking, waiting until all is calm when the darkness shrouds over the daylight skies. This darkness incarnate springs to life as a vicious, fang-bearing, gnarly, feral incubus. Born to linger on the fragile edges of your mental state and drawing you in with its sapphire eyes…

The muscles of my jaw tightened as I clenched my teeth together in cold silence. I've learned and witnessed the vile ways of how dreams go with demons like me, and how the aftermath will always remain dreadful for humans to recount. Terrorized by such unfathomable sexual nightmares and disturbing hypnotic states of scintillating salacious lust, night after night…

 “… I was in a dark place. I see some kind of shrine with wide teeth, horns on the roof and many skulls laying around. Then I look up and see this creature— he had four arms and four eyes…”

Your gaze suddenly falls back to me again, this time not directly settled on my face, but I can feel the way you trace my features— sharpened, tensed, deliberately making out every outline of me. I couldn't help but fall speechless, embracing this erratic tension going on from between.

“The things he did to me in that dream, Reverend Toji… It was literally sin. Promiscuous to ever think of, really. I'm really ashamed to say this here, but— for some reason it felt... good. If it's so wrong to think of or do, then why did it feel good?"

I notice the way your voice was honeyed with titillation as you explained, hinting with passion. It amused me— how you found a nightmare so pleasant to you. I suddenly thought of our communion from the night before, how you kneeled before me with a heated look in your eyes— salacious and delirious— indulging in submission just like your nightmare.

I wanted to know what demon snuck in your nightmare. Four eyes? Four arms? A diabolic creature I've never even heard of before. I had to suppress a lot of my thoughts back, trying my best to remain nonchalant.

"A nightmare, huh. It’s not uncommon for students here to confess about this," I prompted. “There’s a whole case study on how it’s affecting them, but you… You said it felt good?”

"I— I did," you mumbled, voice almost shaky. "And I don't know what to do— I feel that my lustful craving has ruined my relationship with God.”

After divulging to me with another abashed confession, I was rather fascinated than concerned. How you took pleasure in a fucking night terror was something I’ve never expected to come from those pretty, saccharine lips of yours. It almost enraged me— how could a human like you entice me like this? I’m supposed to do my job. I’m supposed to follow Suguru’s commands. I’m not supposed to form a relationship with any of the students here. But this was a rippling covet that makes my blood rush with urgency, an urgency to dwell in the sinister parts of me. And I can sense how desperate you feel— that covet you find so sinful, so disgraceful to your god— when in reality it isn't.

"Your desire for lust should never make you feel guilty, Y/N," I coaxed. "After all, didn't your god create us as sexual creatures? It was never deemed a sin; only taught to be one for young women like you."

This time I was speaking my mind. How I really viewed the church that condemns malicious creatures like me. All the years of false and inaccurate teachings, mistranslations, and every concept that never appeals to me. I could go on about it all day, but I suppressed my thoughts back once again.

"I've prayed and prayed that day, Reverend. But yet, I can’t stop dwelling on it. It was a very filthy dream, I admit. But it felt so… intense.”

A nightmare, I mentally corrected. Any dream with an incubus involving sexual and immoral acts are considered nightmares.

I take the opportunity to let my gaze glide over your skin. "I understand how you feel," I feigned, nearly lying to myself that I had to take another sip of my drink. "That covet you find so sinful, so disgraceful to your god— when in reality it isn't. Whoever propagated that purity culture bullshit are the disgraceful ones instead."

Your body fell stiff as the realization hit like a brick to your face, contemplating over my words. "Hm. I think I can see now why you're not so fond of the church,” you bantered, taking another sip of the coffee. “You’re more brutal than Father Geto. He’s there to console and sympathize with his parishioners, but you— You’re very, uh… passive aggressive.”

I scoffed. “That’s harsh.”

“Well, it’s kinda true,” you chuckled. “I mean, we can’t always have our reverends and ministers here console us by just spiritual enlightenment and scripture. It was nice hearing your advice coming from a different perspective. So I thank you, Reverend Toji.”

I agreed. But at the same time, I didn’t care. “Just call me Toji. But just not in front of other people and Father Geto, you know.”

"Speaking of Father Geto…" My heart jolted faster once you shot up from your seat and walked over in front of me, my skin growing hotter as your body drew closer to mines. So close as if you were invading me, but I allowed it— the gap between us growing thin, feeling our body heat fuel and ignite. I was tempted to trace your flesh, uncover the goosebumps lingering on your skin, and take you on right here on this fucking desk…

What the Hell am I thinking? Why am I being invaded with these kind of thoughts?

"… Please don't tell him about our conference and that I met with you," you continued with a low mutter. "It'll be our little secret."

I slanted my head. Our little secret?

Something crept in the grip of my numb hand, hearing the rough folds of paper crumpling. I peer down and notice your fingers gently grazing mines, feeling your warmth and tenderness as you slipped some cash.

"Are you serious?" I whisper. "You know I can't take this."

"No, Toji. It's fine," you beamed. "After lecturing me like that— I really think you are a good man. Doesn't matter who you are or how you view the church."

I clenched the cash in my grip, not realizing how clammy my palms grew. I was already at a loss of words from this strange, erratic feeling in me right now. Slipping money in my hand as you invaded my personal space, breathing in your darling aroma, your irises dancing with the room's fast-changing glow. You then look at my lips. I look at yours. There's a pause.

You slightly inched forward, my entire body falling frozen as you pressed your lips against my cheek. Immediately I was immersed with this sudden softness and sweetness, like laying on a bed made of clouds, plush and impulsive. Warming my bones, melting my center. My heart beat rising, but also trying to soothe.

"’Till next time, Toji," you murmured, your fleeting breath hitting my ear until you turned away and left.

What did you just do to me?

I wouldn’t say your kiss of gratitude on my face was a violation. But though I had no idea where it stemmed from, it felt… pleasant. Perhaps I was somewhat successful playing the role of a Reverend who’s not really in touch with humanity, but tries to just for the sake of understanding people. I just don’t know how to feel from a tender moment that came from nowhere. I was too astonished to register it through my brain— the intimate touch of a human.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. I've studied every line and every form of your figure, the shape of you and the aching in your glinting eyes. How you starve me with those fucking eyes. How I wanted to see all of you right here, right in this office, right on Father Suguru’s desk— gliding across your body with a wicked purpose. There was no way to fight your embrace. I would’ve allowed Suguru to fucking exorsice me for wanting to feed off your forbidden sexual desire. And I was too selfish to let that lame demon in your nightmare feed off it. Not even any man you encounter here could fulfill you the way I plan to.

Only me.

TAGS: @suget @haezen @heavenlyevil @vampnyx @killzenin @diorsbrando @endurablerose @slut-manifesto @screampied

ALL WORKS BELONG TO VILSOO/POISEUNS © 2024. originally published April 10, 2021. do not steal, plagiarize, or translate without permission. do not repost or share any of my works where minors have access. art by evok99 on twitter.

[alalaya2]

Tim Drakes Sleeping habits save the earth

10 the Crows are coming

In Celtic Mythology Morrigan is either Three sisters or one Goddess with Three Forms the Triplicate goddess. First there is Badb the Crow she is the foreshadow of the carnage to come in war, next is Nemain the havoc of war, and then there is Morrigan the Phantom Queen herself she is Death and Victory of battle. The truth of the Infante Realm is that it’s just a ‘Genetic Quirk’ on her mother’s side of her Family to have Three forms. Clockwork’s were three different ages, she had forewarning of war, war on the battlefield and when the war is won. If Pala Gotham hadn’t been Cursed, she would show her other two forms as well. As it was Morrigan was covered in Crows feathers she could Feel the stir of the battle Brewing in the air.

The Realms seem to be holding its breath the normal ebb of the Ectoplasm was stilled. This part of her was the part that knew things before they happened. It was the part that told her that she would fade and come back. It was the part that told her that her children would suffer, and it was better than the alternative. Normally this part of her would bother her but not today. This was going to be a battle worth it, normally war is not something that she looks forward to she is a Ghost, and a Goddess. The Fighting part is never a big issue, in fact she loved a good fight. It’s the Carnage, the loss of family and life that she doesn’t like.

This Battle, there were no large grey areas. The GIW were the ones in the wrong and everyone that mattered knew it. In the last 200 years there was only a hand full of groups that really deserved the beating they received, not all the individuals mind you, but the group as a majority did. The Nazis were such a group of leaders that deserved the thrashing they received. Morrigan Bared her teeth in anticipation at the injustice being corrected. It was time to join her daughter and with their reunion her curse would be broken.

Gothemites like the Celtics of old were part of the reason there were sayings like ‘Fuck around and you will find out.’ Lady Gotham got her Temperament from her after all. As she stepped through the portal that would take her to the spot ever one would be meeting at, she knew The Green Lanterns and the Justice League were going to start a Riot.

Fright Knight had offered the use of a portal to get to them to Earth faster he was happy to see his father, but he wanted to save the young king first then he would Celebrate the return of his family. A Pre reunion fight would be a good way to start the Celebration, plus His sister would kill him if he started the party without her. About 50 Lanterns were ready to come with him. If they took too long to contact them the guardian would send more, and earths government would fall under their rule until a new world government could be created. Phantom would not be happy if things went that far, and Fright would eat his helmet if they couldn’t handle the upcoming fight before they got to that point.

He was looking forward to seeing how his sisters Knights would handle the fighting back before she had been Cursed, she had been one of the best fighters in the realm and was the first in line for the throne. If Parish had not taken out their father and Pala was injured when she fought him, she would probably be the Queen of the Infante Realms. As it was she would only accept the best of the best her people had to offer.

Pandora gave him a knowing look “I am looking forward to see how my sisters have progressed with their fighting skills as well I think they will take out more than your families Knights.”

Fright huffed “like my sister would choose weaklings as her Knights”

Pandora Smiled slyly “A wager then, my sisters have better fights you take me on a date your Knights fight better than my living sisters I’ll take you out.”

Fight Knights Sputter is echoed by Clockwork and Frostbite in the Ghost Zone. Fright Knight Straighten up and Bowed to Pandora “I’ll take your wager on one condition I would like to use this fight as our first courting Fight together.” He gently reached out to take one of her hands and squeezed a little.

Pandora squeezed back and Grind showing all her sharp teeth “I accept!”

“Finally it only took you two over a thousand years to get your shit together” yells Lazarus as he throws his hands up in exasperation. “You to have been Mooning over each other I was going to help Clockwork with his Matchmaking if you had taken any longer.”

The new couple Flinched Clockworks Matchmaking planes did work but they were not fun for the people who were involved.

Fight cleared his throat a little in embarrassment “The portal is Ready lets talk about this later” He shuffled a little not taking his hand off Pandora's.

Lazarus Smiled at his son knowingly but didn’t say anything.

The Bat Clan were fascinated as Lady Gotham and Alfred worked together in a terrifyingly competent way planning how to take out the laws and the GIW. Congress, Judicial and President Puck Velasco to Repeal the law as the were looking at the largest Revolution gathering in America since its beginning. President Nightingale had a team going though all current laws to make sure nothing else that would cause problems. It was going to take a while as there were a lot of Laws, and the UN was not going to let something like this slip through for any Country on Earth as the Anti-Echo Acts were breaking Galactic law.

With each moment getting closer, all the teams moving to take out every GIW building. Lady Gotham Seemed to be getting stronger less gaunt and her gray skin looking less chalky. Gotham had always had a muggy feeling in the air, it was always there Night or Day, Hot or Cold, Rain or Very rarely Sunshine it was fading. The Gotham Knights were on edge from it as they had Grown up with the feeling for most of there lives. Bruce had enough “what is going on?”

Dora blinked in surprise and looked up from the plans she was reading at Gotham. Her jaw drops in surprise “her curse has broken.”

This causes the rest of the clan to really look at her “How?” asked Bruce.

“No Idea” Dora’s face became predatorial “she is healing fast she should be fighting fit by the time we are ready to leave. Before she was cursed, she was the top fighter of the realms. This is going to be so fun.”

Gotham Smiled “Yes, it is I can Finally give my knights the full protection I have never been able to give them before. I’ll be at half strength by the meet up time it will take me a few months before I am back to full strength, but I’ve only been about 5% power for the last 200 years.”

Bruce Blinked again “That explains some things.” The Clan looks up at the portal opening in the Cave it was go time!

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[goodomensafterdark]

Feature Adam Fursday

FFF - Feature Fic Adam Fursday!

This is a special day of the week: fic recs Thursday (pronounced à la Française)!

Each week, we will browse the Good Omens After Dark official AO3 collection, choose a tag and promote the fics that are featured in it!

But this week is unique. This week...

WE HAVE REACHED 666 FICS ON THE COLLECTION.

Have other fic recs, or your own fic would qualify for the tag? Reblog and throw in the link!

Tag of the week: Adam Young and The Them

(okay, they're usually secondary characters. WRITE MORE OF THEM)

White hat, Black hat by Ezomind

Rating: T

Genres: human AU, fluff and humour

Word count: 14,573 words

Chapter count: 11 (completed)

Summary:

[Eric Disdem] lol my dude you have been *smitten* by Mr Fell

[Anthony J Crowley] WTF is this

[Anthony J Crowley] Why is there a message posted to #london-office offering to bring croissants for everyone tomorrow WITH MY NAME ON IT ???

Our homeward steps were just as light by On1OccasionFork

Rating: T

Genres: Human AU, fluff

Word count: 7,021 words

Chapter count: one-shot

Summary: She flipped to the paperwork for the new gentleman, a Mr. A. Z. Fell. He was a retired literature professor, it seemed. He was slated to be in the room next to — oh, this could be a problem — Anthony.

For Loving One by TheScholarlyStrumpet (equipoise)

Rating: E

Genres: Human AU, slowburn, Priest AU 

TW/CW: religious guilt/trauma 

Word count: 64,012 words

Chapter count: 16 (complete)

Summary: Father Fell has been living a quiet life in a small parish. Despite the looming fear of war, he thought he was content with his small pleasures. Until a mysterious stranger comes to town, turning that life on its head and awakening desires the Father thought he buried long, long ago...

Puppy Love by Letha

Rating: G

Genres: Fluff

Word count: 2,528 words

Chapter count: one-shot

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have a very specific dinamic. Whenever Aziraphale comes into trouble, Crowley gets him out of it. This has been so for millenia, and in a way, it's become "their thing". Now throw Disney and puppies into the mix, and somehow Aziraphale ends up surrounded. He texts Crowley expecting he’ll respond fast “in his aid”.

Sins of Knowledge by anna_bird

Rating: E

TW/CW: dubious consent, references to sexual assault

Genres: Human AU, slowburn, College AU, a little bit of supernatural involved

Word count: 45,193 words

Chapter count: 6 (out of 12)

Summary: Anthony J. Crowley and Aziraphale Fell are just two typical at-odds doctoral students fighting over a university library study room, when they get caught up in an illicit science plot with mind-controlling formulas brewed by an evil chemistry dean! There are Potions! Science labs! Creepy Surveillance! Corporate crap! Libraries and librarians! Sushi! Audited classes! GRADES and FINAL RESEARCH PAPERS! Wheee! Mwhaha!

Anyway: will Aziraphale and Crowley stop fucking long enough to beat the devil and save the day? Or will the formulas change them in ways they never dreamed possible? A Human AU (but also a monster/creature AU?)

That’s all, folks!!

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton and @direwombat

Checking-in with some more of John and Sabrina's AU: from Oliver and Leslie coming clean about their wrongdoings to John's no-so-pleasant introduction to his neighbors. Mwah.

Leslie watched Oliver rush in the division, headed towards his desk with conviction. "Fucker is more patient than expected.", he muttered and threw himself in one of the chairs across from him. "I still can't believe you went there to begin with." "I did it for you, and for her. We need to know who exactly we're dealing with." Leslie's eyes quickly darted to his, before returning to his computer screen, "Nothing comes up on him. He's clean." "You ran a check on him?", Oliver asked and gave him a mischievous smile, "You changed your mind, didn't you? You're not giving up on her." "Nothing like that.", the stern look didn't erase his wide grin, "You said it yourself, we need to know who we're dealing with." "Sure. Tell yourself that.", he gestured behind him, "Rina's on her way up, too. Though, with how he was looking at her like he was about to eat her and not his lunch, it might be a while." Leslie frowned at the absolutely unnecessary information, "I didn't ask." "I'm just debriefing you.", McKenzie shrugged innocently, "You don't like it… man up, Leslie, and do something to shift the tide." "Drop the idea. Better yet, drop the pirate puns." "Can't do. I'm loving playing wingman, but you might want to consider hazard pay for good old Ollie." Leslie scrunched his nose, "Do I even want to know?"

"Sat next to the guy, and you know how tiny Rue's booths are. Have to say, my instincts were screaming at me I might get stabbed at any moment. Fucked with him nonetheless. Even made him pay for my food." His eyes narrowed, "Didn't you just say he was patient?" "Patient. But a storm was brewing beneath it all. I can tell when I need to stop pushing, you know.", Oliver leaned back in his chair, locking his hands at the nape of his neck, "He sure almost broke character when I mentioned a three-way." "You-" "Absolutely did.", he appeared as if he was contemplating something, "Icky visuals to picture, between Rina and him looking like you… no offense. I feel like that threesome will scar me and not in a good way." Leslie snorted at the idea, "He doesn't look like me." "Leslie, do you own a mirror?" The door put an end to their argument about the looks of Sabrina's date. The two watched her silently make her way over to her desk, and her flushed cheeks made him question if Oliver had been right about her taking extra time bidding John goodbye. "Any deliveries for me?", she finally spoke up, leaning against her desk as she regarded them the same way she did with suspects. "Nope.", McKenzie retorted quickly, "You waiting on something, Rina? Did you do some late-night online shopping?" "John sent flowers." "He did?", Leslie made the mistake of joining the conversation. "Indeed. So you two just skip to the part where you tell me what happened to them."

"What a frivolous accusation.", Oliver chirped at the same time as Parish rolled away from his desk to pull out the waste bin and slide it over to her. "What?", Sabrina reached out to touch one one of the pitiful roses. "I threw it away." McKenzie swore under his breath at the unprompted confession. A confused frown marred her features, "Why, Leslie?" "Because it was disrespectful as hell." "I don't understand. He sent me flowers. Flowers, Leslie. Why would-" "Read the fucking card, Rina. Not only is he pompous and cliched as hell, but he has no damn shame either.", Oliver cut her off. Sabrina looked between him and the bouquet before reluctantly picking up the card laying on top. Leslie could tell exactly when she came to the realization, her lips forming a small 'oh' before she pursed them in disapproval, aimed at the wrong perpetrator. "Listen, I'm not shaming ya, you ride whoever you want to ride.", Oliver broke the silence again, "I don't give a fuck if he's a lawyer, a senator, hell, even my father, though my ma would take offense. But this,", he gestured to her hands holding the card, "is tacky. Frankly borderline criminal." "Guys.", a sigh, then she stopped. "What? Tell me you love the flowers. Come on. 100 roses or fuck knows how many, paired with that card. To your workplace. Romantic." "Ollie.", Leslie muttered under his breath, "That's enough." "I didn't…", she huffed, throwing the card at Oliver, "I didn't sleep with him."

He, in turn, opened the small piece of paper and presented it, finger tapping the writing on the inside for good measure, "'Thank you for last night.'" "I helped him with something.", she pointed at him, "And no, I'm not telling you after the shit you pulled at lunch. Hell, it's a miracle he still wants to go out again after being hit by hurricane Oliver." "I'm sorry.", the look aimed at him reeked of disbelief, "I truly am. But come on, you can't leave me hanging. I need more that 'I helped with something' to believe it's all innocent." "You're just going to keep pestering me the whole day until I tell you, aren't you?" McKenzie smirked, "Have we met? Damn right, I will." "No word about it. Promise me. Both of you." "We do. Spill.", he said quickly before Leslie even had a chance to respond. "A bat went into his hotel room while he was in the shower or something.", she let out a small laugh, "He called me, freaking out. I helped him to deal with the poor thing. No bats were harmed." Oliver tilted his head, "But can we say the same about his family jewels?" "Ollie." "What? You know they tend to dangle, hence why they'd look like a target…" "Gross." "Just an observation." "Les, any snarky comments from you? So we can move on from the subject." "Nope. Got nothing."

Sabrina cleared her throat, "The flowers are a 'thank you' for that." "I still don't like it.", Parish uttered out. "Of course you don't. You all won't approve of anyone I'd choose to go out with, not just John. Nobody would be good enough." "No. He doesn't have to be perfect.", it was his turn to point at the roses that were a thorn in his eye, no matter their true purpose, "First thing he does out in the open and he's overdoing it, sending you a bouquet you can't even hold without being hidden behind it. Did he even ask if you like roses?" "Roses are perfectly fine." "They sure aren't something you'd pick." "Doesn't matter. It's the gesture I care about. The fact that he thought of me." Oliver groaned at her excuse, "And the card? Can't tell me he didn't know it could be taken out of context." "He probably wanted to make me laugh.", she crossed her arms, fully set on believing she knew a man she just met, "You saw him at lunch. He's well-behaved, a gentleman. He paid for your food, for heaven's sake. He didn't have to." "Sure he is. You forgot weird from the list, by the way." "I like him, Ollie, strangeness included. And I don't want to argue with either of you, all because I went out on one date." Sabrina took a few steps forward until she was standing next to Leslie's desk and offered out both of her hands for each detective to take, "Understood?" Oliver was the first to react, faking a handshake, which made her smile, "Fine, fine. I still don't know what you see in Batman, especially with how much he looks like a slightly shrunken version of Leslie. You better hope nothing below the belt is-"

"Oliver, oh my f-" "He doesn't look anything like me.", Leslie cut in. "But…", McKenzie made a dramatic pause, "I will tolerate his existence." "Batman? You better not call him that to his face." He patter her hand, "No promises." "Les?", her eyes moved to Parish, noticing he had made no move to grab her hand. A few beats passed and he finally caved in. "Fine.", he muttered in defeat as he enveloped it in his, "As long as you're happy, I'm happy." Leslie did his hardest to avoid the pointed look Oliver tried to give him from across the desk, releasing her hand as he added, "We got a tip on Keats while you were at lunch. Right when you left. Seemed promising, but… nothing came out of it." "You went there? Why- why didn't you call me?", her voice rose at the potential of finally capturing a suspect in one of their older cases, "I told you-" "And ruin your date?" Sabrina rolled her eyes, "Oliver was already on that. You should have called." "I was not. Excuse me for going hungry and stopping at my favorite restaurant where you happened to be, too. Not my fault Batman can't handle another man's presence as he's trying to charm the pants off someone. Hell, he should have thanked me for making things more interesting.", Oliver rattled on. "Ollie." "Yeah?" "You were in his space, stealing his food… when you had your own."

"I was testing his generosity.", he argued, "If he can't share with me, how will he be with my goddaughter?" "What am I going to do with you…", she sighed in exasperation, "Now, enough of you trying to distract me and save Leslie from getting an earful about being reckless." "Don't stop at my expense, Rina. I'm waiting for the spanking, you know I love a good show." Leslie ignored his remarks, "It's not a big deal. All I got to see was an empty house." She sent a frown his way at the nonchalant tone he had used, "Doesn't matter. Wherever you go, I come, too. It's protocol." "I was in no danger whatsoever. Keats is half my size." "It's how you go shot last time, Leslie. Going off on your own. Or did you forget it altogether?" It was almost impossible to erase the memory, of thinking he was going to bleed to death after a suspect had blindsided him, only to be found by a good samaritan, passed out in a warehouse the middle of nowhere in a pool of his own blood. A miracle. He still carried the scar of the bullet that had almost taken his life. Had gotten a tattoo near it to remind himself he had pulled through, that he was still breathing. Sabrina knew it. "You weren't even here back then, Rina." "You-", her hazel eyes narrowed as she smacked his shoulder, "No stunts like that, swear it." "I promise." "Good. Because you're not dying on me, Parish.", she said with conviction before setting on trying to salvage whatever she could from the flowers, just as the phone on his desk rang with a new tip.

"So you would advise me against that?", Owen Montgomery asked for what felt like the hundredth time, causing John to pinch the bridge of his nose as he pushed his simmering frustration down. "That's exactly what I said, Owen." "But-", the man started again and he interrupted him before he could slip into another useless deviation from the issue at hand, from the fact he was close to ending up with nothing as settlement. "Do you want to live in a one-bedroom apartment in the bad side of town?", John asked flatly, "Because that would happen if you go against the prenuptial agreement." Owen let out a string of curses, directed at his soon to be ex-wife. "The settlement is more than generous.", he reminded his client, "You wanted the divorce, you either accept what she's willing to give you or find a way to convince her to be more lenient on your own." John doubted the latter was possible, considering the Mrs. Montgomery had a team of lawyers that communicated with Owen on her behalf after she had cut off all contact with her husband. "I-", he stopped himself, silence taking over his side. "Are we clear?" Owen sighed, "Yeah. Thank you, I guess." He hung up with that without sparing any pleasantries. In a way, John could blame his wife for the way she was responding to the divorce proceedings, considering he was not only leaving her for another woman, but also trying to start anew with her hard earned money. Owen Montgomery was what could be considered a nightmare client. Always making demands, not once stopping to consider how outrageous they would get.

After parting ways with Sabrina, John had returned to his hotel, successfully avoiding any encounters with Candice Donovan. He rolled his shoulders and leaned back in his chair, feeling some of the tension that had accumulated thanks to sitting at the small desk for a couple of hours and going over various clients' complaints. If the amount of calls Penny had transferred straight to him was any indicator, she probably hadn't exactly bothered to clear out his schedule either. At some point into his second phone call, he had moved from loosening his tie to fully removing it. He felt like he could breathe easier with a couple of buttons of his shirt undone and was glad he wasn't dealing with his clients face to face after so soon after having to tolerate Oliver. The fact his PA seemed to only do the bare minimum of her duties wasn't helping matters.

Once he had taken care of everything that needed to be addressed immediately, John settled for staying in again and ordering room service after taking a quick freezing shower. Instead of reaching for a towel like he usually did, he grabbed one of the bathrobes hanging in the bathroom as shivers racked his body. His food felt mediocre at best, giving him a sense of chewing rubber and not a meal served at a 5-star hotel. As much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was miserable. Disappointed there was no laughter to fill the silence that weighted him down as the hours dragged by slower than usual. Annoyed that Sabrina wasn't there and he was stuck replaying their previous conversations in his head. The fuck is wrong with me? He couldn't figure out why he couldn't stop thinking about the slice of chocolate pie they would have been sharing had Oliver not been at lunch. I miss her? Is that it? That was what he mulled over as he walked to his bed and lay down on his back, enveloped by the soft robe. "At least there's no bats flying around.", he muttered out loud, staring at the white ceiling above him, "It could be far worse." Minutes later, he began regretting his words after getting his first clue in how thin the walls between rooms must have been. It all had started innocently enough, with a female's muffled moan that had made him raise an eyebrow.

"More. Yes. YES.", the sound of the headboard banging against the wall carried over as the woman continued switching between languages and shouting out orders at her bed partner. John had lost count how many times she had praised the man's cock in size, he was questioning if she had ever seen a ruler in her life. If she could even begin to realize how ridiculous her comparisons sounded in reality. If I hear another outrageous metaphor, I swear to God- The woman switched to French again, her voice raising even more, joined by the man's grunts. "I hope you've left your window open, and a bat chooses to visit you, too.", John gritted out as he picked up the hotel phone and dialed reception. "Yes, Mr. Duncan?", a female's voice sounded on the other line. "I'm calling to raise a noise complaint. A couple in room 310 have been causing continuous disturbance." "I'm so sorry to hear that. I will call their room, and sort it out immediately." "Thank you." True to her words, he could guess the exact moment the call was made because all of the noises stopped suddenly. "Sweet silence. Thank God.", John muttered with a satisfied grin, and closed his eyes as he snuggled into his pillow. Yet the peace didn't last long, with the two next door slipping back into their previous activities despite the warning from the front desk. "For heaven's sake.", he shouted and it somehow wasn't loud enough to match the woman's screeches that sounded more like a wounded animal, than somebody enjoying themselves.

As more muffled profanities left her mouth, he reached for the receiver again and dialed reception again. "Yes, Mr. Duncan?" "The issue hasn't been resolved.", he said darkly. "I was assured they would keep it down, sir. I'm not at liberty to do anything aside from calling again." "Call the police for all I care. Just shut them up." "Sir,", the woman sighed, "The window for noise disturbances is from 10 pm to 7 am, I'm afraid-" "Remind me again how many stars does your hotel have?", he interrupted the poor excuse. "I will place another call."

After multiple calls later and the wretched noises persisting, John began to wonder if this was a new form of torture Portland had selected for him. Karma. He almost wished he was back in the diner and forced to listen to random stories from Oliver. Where some would most likely find enjoyment in overhearing a couple in the heat of the moment, he could safely say the prolonged show they were giving the hotel wasn't doing anything for him aside from reminding him he didn't have anyone in his bed, that the only thing keeping him company were his fantasies of her. Then as the sky had already darkened and he was considering throwing on some clothes and just leaving the hotel altogether before he would do anything drastic with his anger raising anytime the headboard would slam on the other side of his wall, his phone rang. He accepted the call, doubting Sabrina's voice would cancel the couple's latest role-playing round. "Hey.", she wore a content smile, her overall demeanor the opposite of what he was feeling at that moment. "Hey.", he forced himself to return her grin, but guessed it hadn't worked if he was to judge by the frown she gave him. "What's wrong?" "This,", he said as he rose up in bed and brought the phone closer to the adjoining wall between the two rooms. "Is that-", she paused, blinking quickly at the array of noises that carried over.

"Yes. They're, excuse my French,", he let out a humorless chuckle at the accidental pun, "fucking. Have been for hours, Detective." Sabrina winced visibly and bit her lip, "And the hotel isn't doing anything?" "I called reception to deal with them multiple times, it's like they're taking my complaints as encouragement." "Jesus." "She's been trying to summon him for a while now." A laugh broke free before she quickly said, "I'm sorry." "Don't be… I can imagine how amusing it could be from an outsider perspective. Me on the other hand… I'm contemplating spending my night in the bathroom." He rubbed at his eye, feeling a headache forming, "I'm close to just going out, and I have no idea where I would even go." "John." "Yeah?" She looked torn, almost like she was unsure if she should voice whatever was on her mind. "Now you're worrying me.", he remarked at her furrowed eyebrows. "I'm thinking." He cracked a small smile, "I see that." The woman in 310 began chanting, making him squeeze his eyes shut as he told reminded himself he needed to remain calm. Monday can't come quickly enough. What I wouldn't do for the universe to stop hating me and grant me a plane ticket before Friday. "Have to say, I'm jealous - I certainly can't hear my own thoughts.", he uttered out, raking a hand through his hair. "John.", she repeated his name, making him crack his eyes open at the shift in her tone.

"What is it?" "Did you have dinner yet?", her question took him aback considering the more pressing issue he was faced with. "No.", he lied with ease, gaze darting to his half-finished plate, to his meal that had no doubt turned cold after being becoming long forgotten thanks to his lack of appetite paired with the neighbors' antics. She nodded but didn't elaborate further. "Why did you ask?", he pushed for an answer, his curiosity fully awaken. "It's probably a weird thing to suggest after we just had lunch." Now you have my full attention. "Weirder than her,", he titled his head at the wall behind him, "comparing her lover's moves to a sledge hammer? Both in English, and French?" A hand covered her mouth as she tried to stop a giggle from emerging. "It's okay to laugh, you know. At least something comes out of my misery then." "You could always march over there and threaten to sue them for harassment… Your poor ears would thank you." "Don't tempt me. Because we might end up with a different situation on our hands." She raised an eyebrow, "Them asking you to join?", all he could do was blink as she laughed quietly, "Kidding. Oliver isn't rubbing off on me, I promise." Chances are things would be getting physical in a different way. "Frankly, I won't be shocked.", he leaned his head on his head, willing for the throbbing at his temples to reside, "Back to the subject at hand - what were you going to suggest?"

Her eyes darted away from his as she looked down, her unease on full display, "Forget I said anything, it's stupid." "Impossible.", he retorted, "I highly doubt whatever it is is more embarrassing than me hiding away from a bat and calling you in the middle of the night. So, try me." Her cheeky smile made a return, "You forgot the naked part." "Trust me, I haven't forgotten. And I'm listening, as much as I can, really." The woman in the other room was back to shouting profanities in French, making him sigh in defeat. "I-", Sabrina cleared her throat, getting a couple of words out before she could change her mind, "I have some leftovers from dinner and since you haven't eaten yet…" Leftovers? His lips quirked up, "Are you asking me to come over?", the unintended innuendo behind his question caused her to frown, so he rushed to add, "I know you don't mean it that way." He was back to gesturing at the wall separating him from all the action happening next door. Her face relaxed at his words, "I am. Yes. But if you think it's too weird…" "Sabrina?" "Yeah?" "Offering to spare me having to listen to them fornicate,", he couldn't help his snarl as the man moved into grunting out lines from his usual repertoire, "isn't weird. I'd call it generous as hell." He was fully preparing himself to slip into an argument how he hated ear plugs, before moving onto invalidating any other simpler solution that stood between him and seeing her again, when she nodded, "Should I text you the address?" The second she asked that, his heart began to thump almost as loud as the couple's bed, causing him to rub his chest through the robe as he mumbled a quiet, "Yes." "Okay." He matched her smile, "See you in a few, then."

Tagging, @josephseedismyfather @adelaidedrubman @poisonedtruth @theelderhazelnut @madparadoxum @cassietrn @corvosattano @florbelles @josephslittledeputy @trench-rot @g0dspeeed @aceghosts @direwombat @strangefable @dumbassdep @euryalex @purplehairsecretlair @voidika @simplegenius042 @thesingularityseries @the-silver-chronicles @nightbloodbix @clicheantagonist @harmonyowl @wrathfulrook @jillvalentinesday and anyone that would like to share something <3

[lorei-writes]

Halcyon Among Hills

Chapter III: The Gambler

Arthur x Reader Alternative Universe "Mystery" Premise: The death of your great-grandfather comes with an inheritance hefty enough to pay off your family's debt. While dealing with the financial matters himself, your father sends you to your great-grandmothers estate, to properly show your gratitude... However, things aren't quite the way they should be. Word Count: ~700 Masterlist

Content Warnings: none

“Great-grandmama, perhaps one ought not to be this harsh,” you interject, hoping to smooth the situation out… Although you begin to regret your words before they even fully leave your mouth, the grin on Arthur’s face leading you to believe he has been waiting for just that.

“Sweetheart, could you pass me the honey?” your great-grandmother asks. Although pruney after years of being submerged in living, her hands are still steady, long wrinkly fingers elegantly bringing a cup to her fuchsia lips. Her eyebrows arch in contentment as she takes a sip, pigment painting a kiss across the porcelain rim. “Although… On the second thought, no thank you,” she giggles. “Arthy knows how to brew his tea finely, I must admit.”

“Why, of course. Ma’, is your memory alright? You keep forgetting that much,” the man replies, light cast by oil lamp reflecting in the shiny leather of his Oxford shoes as he taps his foot in mock annoyance. “I may get deathly offended one of those days.”

“You, Arthy? Impossible. Impossible, I say. Or should I rely as much to the children?”

The man, Arthur, lifts his arms in a gesture of defeat. “I don’t work at the parish school anymore, Ma’. Let’s not bring the children into this — Earl Grey is for adults, you see.”

Your great-grandmother shakes her head, conceals her smirk with another sip.

It’s been hard to wrap your head around this evening. From the hostility of the butler, to the delight of your great-grandmama, all through the very figure, the very cause, at the centre of it – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – and his jaunty quips, none of it seemed to form a coherent whole. You cannot let your distress show, however. You simply cannot, so you clutch at your cup and put on a smile, and listen you will, for listen you must; for you are a guest, and…

“Although I suppose our missy is already of age? Ma’, you’ve never mentioned such a lovely guest would visit.”

… and you are not prepared to talk.

“I’d never say a word about her to a rascal such as yourself.”

“Rascal? I?! Rascal?!” Arthur theatrically clutches at his chest. “You wound me.”

“Great-grandmama, perhaps one ought not to be this harsh,” you interject, hoping to smooth the situation out… Although you begin to regret your words before they even fully leave your mouth, the grin on Arthur’s face leading you to believe he has been waiting for just that.

“See? Let the little lady decide,” he exclaims, both amused and amusing, before turning to face you properly. “Now, luv, what qualities would you look for in a man?”

You wish to be swallowed by the plush couch and bottle green velvet pillows lining its backrest. “Well… It’d be lovely if he was patient.”

“Ha! And I am —”

“Haven’t you just said you quit?” your great-grandmother notices.

“ — was a teacher, at the local parish school.”

“And it’d be nice if he had some wits about himself.”

“Ah, a heroic type then?”

“An intellectual, much rather. Somebody able to hold a conversation.”

“An interesting one, I presume?”

“Yes, unlike this one. What other point would be there in conversing?” you question the reason behind his inquiry. You prop your hands on your hips, suddenly feeling rather invested in the talk. Whatever he may be insinuating, you —

“Some ladies would rather listen to poetic declarations of endless devotion.” Arthur sets his cup down on the glass table. He rubs his hands together, few wayward strands of hair intruding on his eyes. There is no need to brush them back, however; his gaze is as clear as spring water, as sharp as a surgeon’s knife. And he points this scalpel at you.

“What would you say about a story then, hm? A… murder mystery, perhaps? Our cast is: an elderly couple, a young not-quite-nobleman, a gardener with a thing for sharp things, a wretched gambler of unclear past, and a lovely young lady who has never left her home town before.”

Your great-grandmother sighs as you look at her, not a word of aid being offered to you. Dumbstruck, you answer Arthur’s gaze. He laughs at your surprise… And perhaps you have not dreamt it. Something truly is not right. Where is the mourning? Where is the sadness, and crying, and flowers for the funeral, and… Thinking of it now, why did you receive inheritance when your great-grandmama is still alive?

“I am not sure,” you mumble out.

“What a shame. Now if you want it, you’ll have to tell it yourself.”

You've seen a typo? Let me know!

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @tele86 @rinaririr @queengiuliettafirstlady @ikesimpleton

Tell me if you'd like to be added to my tag list :)

[rherlotshadow]

In the middle of Dartmoor village South Tawton is the National Trust's Sextons Cottage and Church House. The church house was the medieval equivalent of a church hall and apparently its chief purpose was to house the festivals and church ales which raised funds for many an English parish church. Church ales 'were revels which could include sports, plays and Morris dancing, encouraged by a brew of strong ale, made on the premises'.

[potroasttheghostdog]

Being on the spectrum, and having weird interests is actually crazy sometimes. Just scratching an itch leads you down an hours long rabbit hole of discovery and wikipedia pages. For me, one of my more mundane interests is fruits, plants, and botany.

I was eating an orange. Just chilling, while feeding my dog. I wondered what my favorite orange (cara cara) was a crossbreed from (it's *gotta* be blood and navel right it's so tasty but distinct from other oranges, can't be a valencia the color's not right!)

So I looked it up. Turns out, there's like 600 of these bastards. Well let's fucking read about all of them.

Oh Ermelo's orange. That sounds weird. What's that.

Oh it's just called that because takes its name from 'Ermelo', a parish in Arcos de Valdevez Municipality, Portugal. It was introduced to the region by Cistercian monks in the 12th century, but it is sweeter than the average orange. Oh, but it's on The Ark of Taste.

What the fuck is that.

Well, turns out it's kinda like the Endagered Wildlife registry, but for sustainably sourced heritage foods and local cuisines. They see local foods as tantamount to cultural landmarks that should be preserved and foods go on the list if they are either impotant orbrelevant to a specific culture or ethnoregion, or are in danger of dying out whether from extinction or a fading cultural relevancy. They urge the perpetuation of their existence by encouraging their continued consumption. This includes foodstuffs like fruit from extremely specific regions, breads, cheeses, and even certain breeds of livestock that meat comes from.

Here's some fun ones: classic mortadella of all things (because it originates in Italy and has been a staple of their cuisine for centuries) cuccalar (a specific type of italian bread) casu marzu (a gross kind of cheese, do not google if you have a weak stomach) carosello (an italian melon), Lake Michigan Whitefish, Gravenstein Apples, Mayhaw jelly, bogong moths, and bunya nuts. They have things on the list from all over the world and it's actually really gratifying knowing that someone somewhere can see whatever random little thing you have and see everywhere, is valued, because it represemts a culture that not everyone has. I've had Lake Michigan whitefish. I consider it just a fish. But it's on a list of important culture for the US that should be conserved for the sake of culture, and that's kind of eye opening.

The Ark of Taste is run by Slow Food.

Ok. What the fuck is that.

Turns out it's an international org dedicated to preserving cultural foodstuffs that also emphasizes sustainability by supporting eating, growing, and traditional cooking local foods. Think Audobon but for cheese.

What was I reading about? Oh right, oranges. Oh the chocolate orange has a 12 Brix.

Ok.

What the fuck is a Brix.

Turns out Degrees Brix (°Bx) is the measure of dissolved solids in liquids and aqueous solutions, but is used to measure sugar content in foods and juices in common. So like Scoville scale but for sugar. Honey, soda, wine, sugar, fruit juice, fruits, and maple syrup use it to measure their sugar content. There's also some other scales that are used for sugar measuring. The Plato Scale (°P) is used in brewing, The Oechsle Scale used on german and swiss wine, and the Balling Scale, which is the oldest and not commonly used anymore.

What was I reading about? Oh yeah oranges.

Oh Smith Red Valencia. Sounds sultry.

It's a pigmented bud sport of the valencia orange tree.

K.

What's a bud sport.

Turns out a bud sport is any kind of sudden morphological difference growing from a plant caused by genetic mutation. Like when a dwarf pine starts growing foliage branches that are morpholigically identical to a regular pine. You ever notice how sometimes your christmas tree, if you get a live one, has irregular branches where they grow out longer than normal, and the needles are a bit different than the rest of the tree? Bud sport. Neat. Oh it's night time.

What was I reading about? Oh yeah. Oranges.

Yeah turns out I was right, cara caras are the hybrid of blood and navels. Knew it. Also, apparently oranges aren't even the original thing. They started out as a hybrid between pomelos and mandarins. Also, also, apparently fruit genomes have "moms and dads", i.e. the chloroplast genome is considered the "maternal line" of a fruit's ancestry. The orange's chloroplast genome comes from pomelos, meaning pomelos are the orange's "mother".

Also---

[brandonsdrunkagain]

Dogs at the brewery.

[bagelswithtoast]

It never feels right when a Catholic parish’s website is sleek, polished, and functional. Shiny website design is for evangelical megachurches with tech-startup-looking logos on the side of the interstate. Catholic websites should be clunky, web 2.0 home-brews with terrible user interfaces and inaccessible content as God intended.

[theelfmaid]

FORBIDDEN - Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt fanfiction

Chapter 1 - Mystic Brews

Words: 1588

In the peaceful and secluded town of Crockett Island, where the sound of breaking waves and the aroma of salty air filled the atmosphere, the arrival of a new priest brought a sense of renewed faith to the community. Father Paul Hill, a man of gentle temperament and unwavering devotion, had been assigned as the new priest at Saint Patrick's Parish. Little did he know that his life was about to take an unexpected turn.

At the heart of the island, hidden among charming streets and picturesque buildings, stood a cozy coffee shop called "Mystic Brews." Run by a mysterious woman named Isabella, it was a place where locals and visitors sought comfort in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, stuffed pastries, and other delights that only this place had the privilege to savor. Unknown to the rest of the world, Isabella was no ordinary woman. She was a witch, endowed with magical abilities that she kept well-hidden from prying eyes. Therefore, her personality was marked by professionalism and introversion when it came to personal conversations.

That day was marked by the presence of the new priest, who had come to replace Monsignor Pruitt, who was unable to return to Crockett Island due to his delicate health condition. Mystic Brews quickly filled up with a few faithful followers who came directly from Saint Patrick's, as they were frequent customers. Even though the number was small, the cozy coffee shop welcomed them with open doors, as the demand was not as high as in the big city. But Jane managed the place with ease, as there were not many expenses and she perfectly controlled the supplies.

As the time passed, the number of people in the coffee shop gradually decreased, which was quite usual. Sometimes she received orders that she delivered before the lunch hour, when Mystic Brews had no clientele.

Standing behind the counter, putting some croissants in the display case that had just come out of the oven, Jane finished her little task while waiting for lunchtime to close the coffee shop and make her deliveries around the Island. A sound interrupted her lost gaze at the floor and led her directly to the laptop, which was signaling a FaceTime call.

"Sasha," she pronounced the name that shone on the screen, while checking the Wi-Fi before answering to make sure the call wouldn't drop this time.

"Hi! Finally, Jane, this island's Wi-Fi is terrible. I almost sent you a letter; I might have received a reply before managing to make a call with you," Sasha laughed, taking the phone with her as she walked down the street.

"Wow, a new way to say I live at the end of the world," Jane rolled her eyes with a smile, adjusting the webcam so that Sasha could see her better.

Sasha agreed, pursing her lips, as she had no shame in voicing her opinion about her younger sister's life, and Jane pretended to care about the criticisms, but deep down, she didn't care at all about pleasing her sister. The young witch knew that Sasha followed the strict and intrusive steps of their mother.

"I'm sorry, J. But you know this place is the end of the world," Sasha admitted. "I think even the countryside would be less difficult to live in. A weirdly named island that smells like fish and is sinking further into misery."

Jane could be offended, but she chose to focus her annoyance on the place itself and the people who lived there, some of whom she had grown to like. Erin Greene, her dear friend, was one of them.

"I don't know how you manage to keep this book cafe running without sinking into debt and everything else," her older sister commented.

Jane took a deep breath, hoping her mind wouldn't be disturbed by the thoughtless words her sister so casually uttered without considering their impact. The gods knew that she wouldn't want those words to be overheard by any island resident, even though they were used to criticisms, or by her eight-year-old daughter, Matilda. The little girl had taken a liking to the place since they arrived a few months ago.

"I managed one of the Mystic Brews branches in Chicago, so cut me some slack. This was our grandmother's project and dream in her youth, before she came here to live with our grandfather. But she loved this place just as much, and she loved the people here. I'm proud to fulfill my part in her will and use it to escape the city and build her dream in the place she loved. This isn't the original Mystic Brews, but it certainly has Millie's essence." Jane wisely replied to her sister, silencing her for a moment to reflect on her thoughtless judgments.

"I understand, J," Sasha mumbled. "But I imagined you would want to pursue bigger ambitions before settling in a place like this that has nothing for you or Tilda."

Jane sighed.

"Matilda is happy here, she has few friends, but she helps me a lot. And she has a home surrounded by the ocean, trees, and books. Since the internet access is a disaster," Jane laughed. "But I see that it's enough for now. Away from the city's noise, from the hustle and bustle... from Howie..."

"And from her family," Sasha completed.

Jane sighed.

"Not from her family," Sasha. "We do the best we can-"

Jane's argument was cut off by the ringing of a bell coming from the door, announcing the entrance of a new customer. She looked up to see the tall, slender, and timid figure of a man with dark hair and a white collar around his neck.

He was a priest.

"Morning...! Hello," he smiled timidly, entering the place, carrying a leather bag and wearing a gray cardigan.

Jane corrected her posture, feeling a little awkward due to the unexpected presence. She gave a courteous smile.

"Hi! Welcome, feel free to make yourself comfortable, Father."

He alternated his gaze between her and some empty tables, taking a seat, still feeling shy as the place was new and quiet.

"Work is calling you!" Sasha said amidst the buzzing of the city, as she was still walking on the street during the video call.

Jane promptly turned her attention back to her sister, giving her a nod with a forced smile before ending the call. She stepped down from the stool behind the counter and slowly made her way to the jukebox.

The priest looked curiously from his seat at the surroundings. The plants, the organized and displayed books for customers' reading, the pastries in the showcase, the smell of coffee from the machine – all of it gave him a sense of being at home.

In the background, he heard the jukebox's volume rise as the music began, and now Mystic Brews was less quiet and more inviting than it had seemed before. He watched in silence, a gentle smile on his face, as the young woman glided in her boots toward the counter and him, holding a menu in her hands.

"Maybe you already have something in mind to order, but still, I'll leave the menu with you to check out the options, in case you want something different from the usual and simple: coffee," she handed it to him, and he thanked her with a nod.

"Oh, thank you. The place is very inviting; I understand now why the parishioners spoke so highly of it," Father Paul Hill smiled, glancing over the menu. "I'm Father Paul Hill, by the way. I've come to temporarily replace Monsignor John Pruitt."

Jane vaguely remembered the figure of Monsignor, but not as much, as he had left Crockett Island shortly before she had noticed.

"Ah, yes, a figure of great influence here on the island. But I only knew him by sight," she replied.

Father Paul Hill furrowed his brow. "Really? You didn't attend his Masses?" he asked carefully.

Jane hesitated, but she answered, "I'm not a churchgoer, exactly... Well, I don't go to church. I don't believe in..."

He adjusted his posture, arching his eyebrows, and Jane imagined she had made Father Paul uncomfortable with her pagan and unbelieving presence.

"Forgive me," Father Paul said politely, surprising her. Forgive? "I couldn't have imagined, of course. But I shouldn't have assumed you had to be religious..."

Jane promptly reassured him, "It's alright, Father. I understand that such assumptions are common on an island where the heart lies in the Parish."

He smiled gently, nodding his head to look at the menu again and order something to satisfy his hunger.

"Well, I'll have the coffee..." He looked at Jane and let out a nearly inaudible laugh. "A croissant with salted caramel, and toast with egg and oregano. Please..."

"Jane,"

"Yes, yes... Jane," He said sweetly "Please, Jane."

The atmosphere was now calm and more relaxed. He watched Jane nod in agreement and leave to prepare his order. Father Paul took out his sacred book, a notepad, and a pen from his bag. With Neil Diamond's "Holly Holy" playing from the jukebox, he felt less anxious, now casually at peace in the presence of his thoughts, all focused on his future sermons. The aroma of coffee and fresh eggs filled the air.

Jane observed him curiously, happy to have another customer, especially someone who seemed pleasant and new to the place.

In the back of the coffee shop, behind some shelves, huddled and curious, was a little something with eyes fully fixated on the newly arrived figure of Father Paul Hill.

Jane's calm and melodious voice resounded, "Matilda...? Where are you, dear?"

AN: Thank you for reading my fanfiction with John Pruitt. Hopes you enjoy it and stay here, bexause it'll be more. Like and reblog if you like it, I'll love to know your opinion.

[beerselfie]

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[thegospelofstjohn]

"The Tal Hadas." From the Gospel of Saint John, 7: 45-52.

The conclusion to the chapter indicates there is trouble brewing in Jerusalem, a lot of it. A stranger, a man named Jesus of Nazareth, who recruited some state officials and legion or two of the Roman army started to lead an insurrection against the state for the sake of fulfilling the Words of Moses. The Temple Priests were very alarmed by this. Wasn't this their job?

The Episcopal Church recently started a forum within its parishes wondering aloud, "should the church be involved in the village square or not?" The primary concern was divisiveness, party politics, possibly resulting in the capsizing of popular opinion.

I have always said no, the Church should not openly challenge the government, but it should minister to the people in a manner that teaches them about the divine origins and purposes of the government. The duty of the church is to explain why we govern, the government says how. Now I have incited revolution against the government numerous times because how and why are not adhering to the spiritual legal code in the slightest.

I did not once shake my fingers at Donald Trump over the fact he stole the 2016 election or personally witnessed Karl Rove and Clayton Green and their Republican Mormon friends torture other people who about it to death, I said "arrest this man and legally execute him for it."

When this resulted in retribution against me and members of my family I expanded my efforts to get an arrest to include anyone who knew what was happening to me and others like me and every last government official that turned the other cheek in my case(s).

The fundamental reason I pursued Donald Trump and the rest is the entirety of the Bhagavad Gita a companion to the Torah was written to force persons who run afoul of legal practices of the government to appear before a judge. During the process of trying to froce Hillary Clinton to prosecute her opponent for election fraud and put a loaded gun in his mouth, I discovered Donald Trump and nearly every member of his Republican Party practice ritual sex with persons who are underage.

Then came January 6, an activity that legally precludes any of its participants from ever holding any public office ever again. Still Joe Biden and Kamala Harris and the American people did the chugalug and allowed the man to put his name on the presidential election ballot once again.

Read this one more time:

A man who has behaved like Donald Trump and his contemporaries may not participate in politics. If there is a religious vein to this it comes from the Bhagavad Gita, the Torah, and the Holy Gospels wherein God says "suffer not one such as this to live."

It is both holy and legal to kill this man and everyone like him. This must be done. Shabbat means to live, but it also means sometimes we have to kill to do it. If this means we have to gather in large numbers and go and get these persons before they are enabled once again, then this is what must be done. Joe Biden for reasons I do not understand so far has not been willing or able to properly pursue Donald Trump and he must not be allowed to default in this matter. It is wholly intertwined with the foundation principals of his job as the sitting president, it must be done, there must be a hearing. Jesus even says "look ye not with unbelief at the power of the law."

John calls the phenomenon Nicodemus, "the victory of the common people." This is the same thing as Krishna from the Bhagavad Gita "the scourge of the wicked."

A war of revolution commenced against Rome but it failed. Concerns about the chances for its success, rightly so, made the leaders in the synagogue very nervous, which is why some struggled to believe. But many did believe. Those Jewish boys gave the Romans a run for their money.

Here ends the chapter:

Unbelief of the Jewish Leaders

45 Finally the temple guards went back to the chief priests and the Pharisees, who asked them, “Why didn’t you bring him in?”

46 “No one ever spoke the way this man does,” the guards replied.

47 “You mean he has deceived you also?” the Pharisees retorted. 48 “Have any of the rulers or of the Pharisees believed in him? 49 No! But this mob that knows nothing of the law—there is a curse on them.”

50 Nicodemus, who had gone to Jesus earlier and who was one of their own number, asked, 51 “Does our law condemn a man without first hearing him to find out what he has been doing?”

52 They replied, “Are you from Galilee, too? Look into it, and you will find that a prophet does not come out of Galilee.”

The section ends stating prophets do not come from Galilee, the whirling of the wind. Except the fight Jesus started, against Rome is far from over. These words He left for us to find are our marching orders. Tyrants and assholes do not belong in positions of authority over other men. Men who are openly planning to harm women, the poor, foreigners in need of our help do not get to enter the White House and plunder the world. In my opinion, the dance of the wind has just started.

If you were harmed by the Mormons, the Republican National Committee, the Family Research Council, the Heritage Foundation, the Family Research Council, Gordon or Pat Robertson, Jerry Falwell or his wife or sons, any of these, were the victims of any kind of super religious domestic terrorism, the US Government is liable. It is legally obligated to deal with the criminals responsible with extreme prejudiuce and it must compensate you. These it must do openly and very effectively. The government cannot be allowed to kick victims of terrorism or organized crime to the curb and then bob along as if nothing happened at all.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 45-46: No one ever spoke like this man does. The Number is 10775, eeaze, "this place, the insula belongs to the House of Israel. You shall not have it."

v. 47-49. This mob, there is a curse on them! The curse is hate. It can only be cured through retribution. If you are black, gay, Jewish, Muslim, one of the ten million persons Donald Trump is about to throw out of the country, you have recourse. Your hatred of those Republican fuckers can be fed if we force Joe Biden to rid us of Donald Trump and the Rebs using the firebrand of the law I have provided. I want their house and everyone in it burnt to the ground.

The Number is 10759, קזהט‎, kazhat, "this oneness, this sameness, this unavenged persecution, it is our identity."

v. 50-51: Nicodemus went to Jesus. We need to explore legal peaceful options for ways to incite the death and destruction of the corruptors within the US Government. And fast.

The Number is 11978, hayatz, "speed up, accelerate. Do it now, arrest and kill Donald Trump now! Pay his victims their compensation NOW.

Josh Rush, Channing Tatum, Kevin Quinn, Tom Cruise, Geoff Johns, Milo, David Hogg, the Kooks, the hundreds of other boys and men and tens of thousands of women harmed by the illegal RVW overturn, or by Karl Rove, the RNC, and the LDS exploited or harmed are waiting. Donald Trump, who cheated in the election of 2016 (and everyone knows it) is not a protected citizen, he is an ordinary man. It is time for the government to embrace the consequences of his criminal past and prosecute.

v. 52: Look into it. We are no longer going to crack open the Bible and listen to halfwits tell us why they are so important and why we have to act stupid like they do and then run for our lives. Shabbat is a final awakening to all the non-necessities in life that have been causing us to make expensive mistakes and then to mourn. Look around and let us do nothing the same ever again.

I do not want the Republicans or their pedophile Christian friends to be in charge of my life any longer. I do not want to wipe crocodile tears off the cheeks of shoddy government prosecutors who think they cannot handle doing their jobs. I called DC Victims Services again, and again they said "we've decided not to do anything about this." And I have said "you are going to do something about it. You are!"

This is not a complex case. The case is very simple, easy to understand. We are about to be subsumed, a second time by an oppressive illegal regime and we are being told to paint a smile on our faces about it.

I am not the only one the Government has oppressed or stranded, millions have been abused or left behind by its corrupt practitioners, and this has stunted all of us in the past. We need Shabbat.

I watched Presidental Cabinet members torture and in some cases murder the enemies of the Republican Party like David Hogg and Josh Rush right before my eyes. I called the police and told them all about it. Not a thing was done. The same persons are heading back into the White House in a very short time. The Government is going to act appropriately. I insist.

The Number is 5479, ט‎הדז‎ , tal hadas, "not hell, but a fresh new story."

This scripture along with the others penned by men and women about Jesus were meant to ensure life is evernew. Anytime an oppressive regime tries to wrest control of the lives of the persons it was prescribed by God to protect and hold them back, His Spirit will verily come to their rescue.

Thus concludes the chapter.