#but i have a feeling (delusion) that it might not be?

[noirscript]

05; the washing

Pairing: Yandere!Priest x Reader Description: You are not his lover—you are his altar, his sacred ruin, the pulse beneath every prayer he’s ever whispered into bloodstained hands. To Enoch, devotion means worship through possession, and he would rather see the world burn than let anyone else touch what he believes is divinely his. Warning/s: Yandere | Obsessive Devotion | Home Invasion | Implied Poisoning | Religious Delusions | Emotional Manipulation | Implied Kidnapping | Psychological Horror | Implied Noncon Note/s: Enjoy reading! Also, I fucked up a bit irl and behind some bills. Dark Roast is still on sale until end of the month. Also, commissions are still open. Either send me an email or message me on discord (noirscrypt) if interested.

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You feel the roses before you see them. Not the soft, powdered perfume you’d expect from a bridal bouquet, but something heavier—dense and humid, like breath trapped in a crypt. The scent clings, viscous and sweet with decay, steeped in overripe petals and the sharp sting of old blood. They’re waiting for you on the kitchen counter when you return from the final wedding tasting: twelve roses so dark they drink the light, packed in a box too tight, like wet organs stuffed into ribs.

No card. Just an envelope. Sealed.

The wax is unmistakable—red, cracked, pressed with the imprint of an ecclesiastical ring you last saw on the hand of a dead priest. You know that seal. You know that theft. You know who sent it before your fingers even dare to tremble over the parchment.

You were always the altar. I only ever wanted to kneel. Let me wash the dust from your feet, one final time. —E.

James asks who it’s from. You lie. Something about a florist’s mix-up. He hums an off-key tune as he pours wine and scrolls through reception playlists, his fingers brushing yours on the stem of the glass. But you barely feel it. Your skin still remembers the seal—still pulses from the echo of it. That wax might as well have branded you.

Enoch Saintclair.

You haven’t spoken his name in years. Not aloud. Not since you taught yourself not to dream about thunder and stained glass. Once, he was just the silent boy in church with a spine like a cathedral beam and eyes like holy water spoiled in a silver chalice. He smelled of old hymnals and myrrh, always one shadow too still. A former altar boy turned antique dealer with the uncanny grace of someone who never quite belonged to this century.

You sang in the same youth choir. You shared breath in the same confessional box. He once handed you a rose during Lent and carved your name into the wax of a votive candle. You laughed at something small during a storm once—just a joke—and he wrote an entire psalm about the curve of your mouth when you said the word forgive.

He didn’t see you as a girl.

He saw you as a sacred thing.

And instead of running, you smiled.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

The night before your wedding, you lock the door. Bolt the windows. You place James’ wine on the nightstand and watch him drink too deeply, his lips loose with affection and slurred vowels. He falls asleep to the sound of your silence.

You don’t listen for footsteps. You listen for the places where silence folds in on itself. For the way the air changes when something holy goes rancid.

At 2:18 a.m., it arrives.

The temperature dips. The stillness thickens, syrupy and strange, like breath caught in prayer. And you know. Before you open your eyes, you already know.

He’s here.

And when your eyes do open, he’s standing at the foot of the bed—not entering, not arriving, simply being, as though he was never outside the room at all. As though he’s been sleeping somewhere deeper inside you, waiting for this moment like a sacrament.

Enoch stands in the half-light with a porcelain basin in his hands. Ornate. Victorian. Its rim is chipped, kissed by time, and filled with water so dark it gleams like oil. Steam curls from it in rich spirals. The scent of roses hits you first—roses drowned in something metallic, something older, something wrong. Like rust and salt and the slick sweetness of rot.

You don’t scream.

You sit up, throat tight. “You drugged him.”

He waits. Then, calm as candlelight: “He was unclean. He would’ve touched you without reverence. Without worship.”

He moves closer, slow and barefoot, robes of shadow swaying as he kneels beside the bed. The basin rests between you like an offering. He folds his long body into the posture of devotion—head bowed, spine bowed, hands trembling in the space between sin and surrender.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper.

He lifts his eyes to you, and it’s like drowning in sanctified ink. “You don’t believe that.”

Your pulse kicks like a trapped bird. “I’ll call the cops.”

“You won’t.” His voice is velvet, soaked in certainty. “You’re already wondering what’s in the water. Whether it’s holy oil, or rose water, or something redder. You’re wondering if it’s blood.”

You flinch. Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out.

He reaches for your ankle. You jerk back.

He doesn’t chase. He waits.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You said those words once before,” he murmurs. “And then you kissed my hand.”

“I was seventeen—”

“You anointed me.” His smile is the ghost of something unholy. “You touched me, and I bloomed into reverence.”

This time, when he takes your foot, you don’t resist. He dips it into the basin. The water is hot—intimate, obscene, like a mouth against your skin. You feel the heat ripple through you, feel it curl into places untouched. His hands tremble again, but not with hesitation.

With restraint.

He lifts a cloth. Begins to wash you. Slow. Painfully slow. His fingers trace over your arch, between each toe, up the soft skin of your heel like he’s mapping scripture. With every pass, the act becomes more than cleansing. It becomes adoration.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he says, voice rasping at the edges. “To carry someone in your mouth for years. To speak their name at dawn and dusk. To whisper it into your own skin. To kneel at altars and know—know—that none of them hold your divinity.”

His breath warms your calf. He presses his lips there, a kiss so slow it feels more like a vow.

“I would’ve torn out my tongue if you’d asked. I would’ve burned down every church that dared take your name in vain.”

“Why now?” The question cracks from your throat. “Why not let me go?”

“Because he doesn’t kneel,” Enoch whispers. “He fucks. I worship.”

He switches feet.

You don’t stop him.

The water has gone darker, laced with crushed petals and something thicker. When he lifts the cloth again, it’s already stained red. Beneath the surface, a shimmer of gold catches your eye—a bracelet. Yours. The one you lost your senior year. A single charm dangles from it: a heart, split and hollowed.

“I followed you to college,” he says. “Sat through lectures. Counted how many times you laughed. Knew when it was real. Knew when it wasn’t. I memorized the sound of your lies.”

He kisses your foot again. Slower. Deeper. His lips barely part, but the heat lingers.

“I made a shrine,” he breathes. “Books filled with your notes. Clothes that smelled like you. Hair I gathered from your brush. It was never desecration. It was sacred.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m yours.”

He rises. The motion is fluid, reverent. His shadow drapes over you as he leans forward. Your back hits the headboard. There is nothing between you but breath and trembling will.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Enoch says, low. “You’re afraid of how right this feels.”

“I’m marrying him.”

“No.” A slow smile spreads across his lips. “He’ll sleep for days. The doctors won’t find a thing. And when they ask, you’ll say you don’t know what happened. Because you’re merciful. Because you’re kind. Because somewhere in you, I’m still the boy you never stopped blessing.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m in love.”

He leans close. You feel his breath in your ear—hot, humid, consecrated.

“I’ve worshipped you in silence long enough.”

Then softer. Deeper.

“Let me serve you in sin.”

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

He leaves before dawn. No threats. No chains. No rage.

Only stillness.

You sit there, unmoving, the sheets heavy with him. When you finally rise, your feet leave damp, red prints on the wood. You scrub them. Again. Again. Until your skin peels.

But they stay red.

His scent clings to the sheets—roses and rust and old churches. You light candles. You pray. You try not to tremble.

When you glance out the window, you see it.

A cloth tied to the iron fence.

White. Folded. Bloodied.

An offering.

You want to look away.

But your eyes find the words, stitched in bruised thread along the fraying hem:

Blessed are the broken things... ...for they bend easier to worship.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

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[rei-ismyname]

Daken and Logan have a chat

Daken is self destructing and he has been for a while. From working for Norman Osborn, his disastrous stint as an LA mob boss, burning out his healing factor with drugs, and even blowing up his bizarre friendship with the Fantastic Four. He's in supervillain mode and it's time to settle his oldest debt. 'Claw clown' is amazing.

He has his father at his mercy in what is probably the closest to a therapy session Logan ever gets. Daken has a lot of anger, and many of his gotchas have a lot of merit to them. Logan's schtick is definitely undercut by his contradictions and hypocrisy, but he does try to be a better person, mostly. Better doesn't mean nice or even friendly, but he's tied up here and he really does want to help Daken if he can.

It's unsurprising that Daken and Sabertooth managed to work together - they both hate Logan for many of the same reasons. While he's ostensibly a 'good guy' and is treated as such socially, he definitely kills a lot of people and is a raging asshole most of the time. It frustrates me, so I do empathize with Daken. Being psychoanalysed and condescended to by Logan is the last thing he wants. He was calm-ish and talking. That's something.

Logan is ... not great at reaching him, frankly. A huge part of Daken's anger comes from Logan not being any kind of father to him. Drawing a line under that and trying to give fatherly advice seems like a terrible idea, but it's unclear if there was any possibility of getting a good outcome here. The tough love is 95% tough, which doesn't leave much room for love.

Focusing on Daken's agency feels almost cruel, too. So much of his life has been defined by his choices being denied to him. What he says is true, but the presentation is pretty callous. Sure, he's not good at this stuff but honestly he's had a long time to learn. It's an impossible situation made worse by future knowledge that Daken will massacre the school, but I wonder if spending some of his ludicrously long life on emotional intelligence might have led to a better result.

The 'stain' comment strikes a chord with Daken but it's something he already knows. He's got plenty of delusions ('you hate me' etc) and a pathological desire for acceptance, but that doesn't override his anger. I might be projecting my own parental trauma here, but I think he wants to be heard and understood. Logan is mouthing platitudes at him but he's not really following Daken's side of the conversation. Aside from 'I'm your goddamn father,' he hasn't directly answered a question or statement. When asked if he wonders what could have been, he looks away and says nothing. Daken is well aware he's burning shit down; he just thinks that's a good thing. Or, he hasn't been given a reason not to.

Daken pivots to what was, instead of what could have been. It's awful, and it's just a tiny sample of what he went through. Logan doesn't listen for very long before before cutting in with tepid regrets. Daken brushes them off and toasts to regret. Keep in mind Daken is like sixty years old at this point, maybe older. He's been carrying this around for a long time.

They have a lot in common - some of which Daken inherited from Logan. Enemies, powers, trauma, anger, expectations, and so on. It's possible they could have reached an understanding of those commonalities, but I'm not sure either man knows how right now. Importantly, Logan received a lot of grace and room to grow from other people. His murder factory was state sanctioned while Daken's wasn't. If Daken did want to try to be better, the ecosystem he exists in definitely wouldn't help.

Logan makes his pitch as Daken decides for sure that he is not capable of giving him what he wants. It might land better if he had reached out a little more openly. Daken says he's been considering it, and he might be lying but I don't think he is. I think a more compassionate, less individualistic Logan might have gotten through - but then it wouldn't be a tragedy. Thanks to time travel nonsense he probably thinks that a fight to the death is preordained. We'll never know, as he goes for Wolverine Kryptonite - drowning.

Obviously Logan escapes, something Daken meets with false bravado. They prepare to finish it.

Logan even puts himself at a disadvantage by choosing not to succumb to berserker rage as Daken does. Well, arguably an advantage, a commentary on their mental states if nothing else. He's not trying to save his son or reach him anymore, if he ever was. He's got many responsibilities pulling at him and Headmaster of the Jean Grey school is the only one left.

We switch to Daken's POV as Logan turns the tables and drowns him in a puddle. The 'what if?' questions and images run through his mind as his brain is starved of oxygen. He struggles but Logan is stronger.

In the ruins of a burning building, a ruined life, Daken dies pathetically by his father's hand. He did always want to torment him as much as possible, and while he didn't maximise it this is really sad. Unnecessary. Yeah, Daken has been a shithead with little regard for anyone (and he'll be back) but it's still a shame. The story frames Logan's agonising choice as whether to kill Daken or not, but the source of that was his future self - even more gruff and grizzled than this Logan. I think he may have been able to avoid that situation entirely, but then he wouldn't be Logan. It's a powerful story, but I think it contributes to their eventual good relationship feeling less earned.

[p4nishers]

no bc i am CONVINCED one of them confesses (crowley) in 1941 and the other (aziraphale) has to reject them, even tho they feel the same, bc of heaven and hell and THAT'S why there's so much fucking tension between them in 1967. like u actually can't convince me otherwise it's canon in my brain.

[stargazingpsychotic]

Tired of hearing some leftists (I try and hear things from various people so these are also some of the 'big' content creators too, as well as irl and online) using 'psychotic', 'delusional' and 'schizophrenic' while talking about politics, politicians and other related current events.

No, they aren't delusional, they're lying/being lied to and relaying that information, and don't care that they're lies. They know what they're doing, that these are deliberate tactics, whether it's testing the waters for what they can get away with, pushing that bar a bit further, or openly encouraging genocide, whatever it is, it isn't delusional.

They aren't psychotic, psychotic doesn't mean evil person out to ruin your life. Same for schizophrenic. These people are holding a demanding job, making decisions deliberately to impact the world, which, speaking for myself, is a lot more than I was capable of when psychotic.

All the things coming out from usa now (the biggest focus I've seen, but this applies everywhere) aren't the product of psychosis or delusions. I would argue that some things being focused on are deliberately done to overshadow some other things happening, either current or things to come. But none of this is 'schizophrenic'.

Please, stop throwing other people under the bus. It's bad enough when people don't trust what you say because it might be 'made up'/a delusion, but associating the bad things with an already stigmatised illness doesn't help anyone. It doesn't work to fight against it. It doesn't hurt the people you're saying it about. It doesn't make the people the words do apply to feel safe.

[roys-our-boy]

HELP???

Sorry Gaku “I’m swimming” panel I have a new favourite gonna post it too anyway because I’m obsessed with it still

[ramunnae]

random childe thought cuz that's half of what I post, but it's kinda weird childe is the only character without a vision story AND that his is the only vision that's ever wavered (and whilst he was actively trying to use it?!). ik it's (probably) to do w his constellation and the whale since that's hinted by the Fontaine quest/whale fight but I really wanna know the details.

[blushouyo]

thinking very hard about the ending of tfone and megatron's reasoning behind the things he says and does... at first i couldn't reconcile with the way he spits out the word prime when referring to optimus bc ???? the primes were never the problem... it was sentinel ?? but then i realised that other than it being bc sentinel tainted the idea for him somewhat. it's also probably bc he's deliberately separating orion from optimus for his own sake... deciding that his best friend really did die when he dropped him as the other option is too difficult for him to even think about acknowledging in his current mental state... 🥲

[marinsawakening]

What if I projected my childhood hallucinations/delusions onto Minish Cap Zelda and/or Link. What then.

[cobaltfluff]

a meme because i am delusional

[moonfurthetemmie]

Carver/Gouge and Terry the Tarantula Fire Familiar That Is Way Too Big

it could be worse, though.

it could've had wings

come closer. she wants to try a new spell on you. it's definitely not going to burn off all of your skin without killing you hahaha

anyways. she and ds ink have the same origin story

not even in a 'they're very similar' way. they just straight up got stuck in the same hell hole at the same time. They were very rarely trained/experimented on separately, but they don't remember each other at all.

Which is very unfortunate, but I guess it won't matter to them too much since they don't remember ever having a twin.

Gouge's given name was 'Carver'. Ink's was 'Aerosol'. but now they're Gouge and Ink. They couldn't remember their old names but they needed to be called something.

[a-sky-full-of-ideas]

In my nth time rewatching psychopath diary, episode 1, minute 24:22 could …

…Could that be Seo Inwoo ? Probably not but imagine all the possibilities of that!

Did he genuinely just pass by, distracted by the shouting ? Die did he hear the entire outburst of “why are you always so sorry/letting yourself being taken advantage of?”,and only later learned that it was about his company ?

Or was it the opposite and he already knew Dongsik was being taken advantage of; cause he was trying to get dirt on his brother aka him walking by was no coincidence at all ? It could explain why he immediately knew his brother, who is known for yelling at just anyone, was yelling at Dongsik cause he was the scapegoat. He could’ve gone after the homeless guy, cause he saw him being rude towards Dongsik.

Speaking of the homeless guy… he had clearly been watching him so maybe he just saw that and wanted to make sure Dongsik is not associated with that guy and would miss him/notice he is gone aka that Dongsik would not be a danger to him

[aromanticasterisms]

read through alien space for star rail context and every frame himeko's in you can faintly hear me in the bg trying hard not to think about how much she looks like diluc

[ricracing]

"We spent the last seven months rebuilding him and getting the old Daniel bank that we recognise from when he was last with us"

[sovonight]

i was back on track to finish my soa playthrough for a while there--but then i reached xan's we-survived-bodhi celebration scene

[thethingything]

our current dilema is that the pain from our wisdom tooth keeps getting so bad we have to take pain meds (like it keeps hitting an 8/10 for several hours at a time. we can't not take pain meds) but the only pain meds that touch it have a warning on them saying not to take them for more than 3 days in a row, and we have at least another month of dealing with this, so I don't really know what to do.

the warning is because they're opioids and can cause addiction but I don't actually know how bad the risk is because everything seems to treat it like opioids are the worst thing ever and should be avoided at all costs and you'll get addicted if you so much as glance at them.

either way, my options are to either keep taking them and just accept that risk, or deal with being in so much pain I can't function. even with taking the pain meds I can tell we're a lot more irritable and short tempered and probably just insufferable to be around honestly and I hate the fact that pain causes this, but once again we've got to deal with this for over a month and we've also got to deal with the anxiety over what the treatment for it is going to actually involve.

I've had to deal with medical trauma stuff I didn't even know about until like yesterday when Lucy suggested it might be part of why I feel so shit, and I've had multiple panic attacks per day and constantly feel way more anxious than usual and I get the feeling we're just gonnaa have to put up with this for the next month and I don't know how the fuck I'm meant to cope with any of this

[dandyshucks]

i get slightly annoyed when people make community posts that tell ppl to stop doing xyz and use the phrases "they're a FICTIONAL character, theyre NOT REAL" to justify whatever theyre saying because:

1) everyone knows that already, we're all aware these are blorbos from our media;

2) if someone is genuinely struggling to grasp that because of a delusion or similar, a forceful reality check is only going to cause harm rather than help;

3) it just feels so needlessly patronizing;

4) most of the time whatever I see people complaining about is either smth that I never see anyone doing or if it is smth somebody is doing then the block button is a very quick and effective fix for the issue (or even a quick convo w the person in DMs can resolve issues!)

(granted I keep my following circle very small and probably miss a lot but if i can do that then perhaps... perhaps other people can do it too fhfkdl like just prune back whatever u dont like seeing! unfollow or block as needed!)