#catholic artist connection

[agnesandhilda]

as far as christian-themed art goes I'm of the opinion that you cannot meaningfully appropriate mainline western catholicism (it's a massively powerful branch of a religion that has been spread by imperialism and that actively seeks out converts as a core tenet. how could you appropriate it?) but that it is possible to engage with it shallowly and that that's fair game to make fun of. I will not be taking questions at this time

[g1rlonl1ne]

u guys don’t understand how much i love bo burnham

[reanimatedgh0ul]

since dia de los muertos got mentioned on the tl yesterday bc of that dp post i rb i highly recommend listening to this podcast ep to learn more abt the history of how dia de los muertos and how it's actually been thoroughly bastardized in our modern day both in the u.s. and mexico and has strayed far away from the indigenous communities it originated from

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

30 Sickos, 3.5 Stars, and Pervert Writers

As I gear up to publish Detente for the Ravenous, I've been thinking a lot about these tweets. I know that my writing is solid, but it's not groundbreaking. My designs are fun, but they're not revolutionary. My prose is simple, my plots well-trodden. The fights and monsters kick ass, but god help me my romance is milquetoast at best. It's not what I'm interested in. I'm interested in the 30 years war and Catholic kaiju.

We like to quantify things, online. When I'm shopping for games, I sort by "most popular" and "highest rated." I don't want my time to be wasted, I don't want to spend my money sub-optimally. It's easier to connect to folks over a movie that 3 million people watched as opposed to a podcast listened to by a few hundred. I am not criticizing the impulse. Life is too short, and none of us have enough money.

But as a creator, whatever that means, I think I have to get comfortable with my shortcomings, and be honest about what I actually care about. I am not interested in writing a novel that appeals to all people. I am interested in writing a novel where they assassinate Pope Kissinger. That doesn't mean I won't ever try to improve my romance, or make my character arcs less predictable. But if I am gonna write another book, I have to write it for me, not for my imagined literary agent or Big 5 editor.

There's this great manifesto on itchio by “Average Urotsukidōji Enjoyer," called "Good Writers are Perverts." It touches on this sentiment that I've been stewing on, and I think this passage crystalizes what I'm trying to do with my own work.

I know my best work is the work of the pervert, the ex catholic who grew up on Naruto, the military history dork who trained for years to save lives instead of taking them. That is the stuff that makes me want to create, the hope that I can take all my stupid interests and life experiences and twist them into something at least partially interesting, to hit that 3.5 star rating that isn't all things to all people, but is at least one really good thing to a few people. If a handful of young folks get ahold of my work and it changes their lives in a small way forever, then I'll be happy.

I hope that as art becomes less profitable, as financial incentives only encourage the bland and inoffensive, the tried and true instead of niche and experimental, more artists double down, go deep instead of wide. I'm not afraid to fail, I'm afraid of trying so hard to be loved that I stop giving a shit about the craft

[roronoas4nji]

Sanji is a drag queen who always uses elements of Catholic aesthetics in her costumes, especially Our Lady. Never in a disrespectful way, since her performances only talk about feelings, usually things that afflict him. And he sees in her, as a mother, a certain comfort. Not to mention that it is a great connection to his real profession: as a priest.

Zoro sometimes gets temporary work as a security guard when he needs money and his friend Ace called him to replace him one night. He accepted without asking any questions beforehand, without being surprised when he came across an LGBT club hidden in the quiet town. He didn't even turn towards the stage, remaining completely focused on his work. Until a voice surprised him.

Sanji is a priest in a parish with few faithful, having been given this position after the death of the previous priest. His father forced him to start on this path, as soon as Vinsmoke discovered that the blond was kissing one of his classmates at the boys' boarding school. He didn't want to follow the religious life, however, he also didn't have the strength to fight against it.

His small attempts at secret relationships never went ahead. Sanji thought that either way, with or without the weight of the cassock, he would never be loved. Therefore, in this way, his existence would at least serve some good for others: he could help them. He stopped dating for good and dedicated himself body and soul to both versions of his personality, giving himself completely. His best friend was the one who recommended him to one of her social projects. Robin is a businesswoman who welcomes LGBT artists and tries to help them in their careers. She was the one who encouraged him to try performing, suggesting her bar as a stage. On Fridays, the audience becomes select, with only regulars who eagerly await the special club. After much convincing, Sanji agreed, as long as his appearance was unrecognizable.

Zoro was called on one of those Fridays, which did not arouse his interest in the slightest. However, when Sanji took the stage, singing in French his laments for Christian guilt, even he, who was the opposite of sacred, could not resist. Zoro had to turn his back to see who owned the beautiful voice.

And for someone who never cared about glitter or anything like that, he was quite enchanted.

[luceandfriends]

A Defense of Luce

Many have seen and heard of the Vatican’s new mascot, Luce, and her friends in preparation for the 2025 Jubilee, a year celebrating the emancipation and repentance of souls on earth. Her yellow raincoat, muddy boots and walking staff indicate her attire for a pilgrimage, one to evangelize the youth in an increasingly secular world. Her eyes sparkle with shells, a common symbol of perseverance in faith. She has not spoken herself, but many young artists and fans throughout the world, both religious and secular, have celebrated Luce through fan art and positive discussion online.

I began this blog to join that celebration, my first post being a call to express hope and joy in the face of online persecution, in which a tumblr user had sent hateful messages to various minorities. A day later, the offending blog deactivated, indicating a voluntary retreat from the discourse. It is not up to us to retaliate with our own hate, but rather turn the other cheek, and focus on raising up those who are in need of our compassion.

Another user recently messaged me with concerns for who Luce represents, seeing that my username and persona reflect the Vatican’s new mascot. Skeptics argue that “Luce” is short for “Lucifer” the name of the angel cast out of Heaven by God before the fall of man. The secondary argument correlated the common themes of violence and secularism within the anime community, therefore attributing it to Luce as well. This statement, a defense of Luce, declares that one ought not to live in fear of the World and its decisions, but to seek out hope even in the most remote of corners of the earth.

Luce, according to the Vatican, is named after the Italian word “light,” representing her beacon of hope to those outside of Christianity, and subtly referencing the Bible through various passages (New International Version translation)

And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. -Genesis 1:3-4

Through [The Word] all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. -John 1:3-4

“You are the light of the world…. [L]et your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in Heaven.[“] - Matthew 5:14a, 16b

Our little beam of light is not alone. Her friends Fe, Xin and Sky accompany her in official artwork provided by the Vatican, alongside a dog, Santino, an angel, Iubi, and a dove, Aura. Through the humanitarian power of community and friendship, the Catholic Church aims to speak to the youth in our modern and secular age, seeking connection through a shared aesthetic and introducing the Word of God.

In a year of tumultuous politics and increasing poverty and pessimism, let us embrace Luce, who reaches out beyond the screen and into our very hearts, placing promises of truth and hope.

[whatswrongwithblue]

The Fire in the Sin

Chapter 17 - The Prophetess vs. The Nun

Word count: 7,892. Read on AO3. Series Masterlist. <- Previous Chapter

Summary: Alastor and Mina being the power couple they are. Things get a little messy, in more than one sense of the word.

MIND THE TRIGGER WARNINGS: mind control, mass murder, graphic depictions of cannibalism, graphic depictions of torture, breeding kink (Alastor in rut/Mina in heat), religious/blasphemy kink, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, masturbation, oral (both receiving), monster fucking, tentacle sex, p&v, creampie, double penetration, sex toy/vibrator, squirting.

I can't find the artist for this image. If someone recognizes it, please tell me so I can credit them!

Series Summary:

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

Chapter 17 - The Prophetess vs. The Nun

1984

When Alastor had regained some semblance of control over himself, he returned to the main room of the tower to find Mina sitting at his chair and going through his notes on Kassandra, ready to begin making plans on how to take her down.

Alastor had figured they would just show up and start destroying things but Mina had a more creative and artistic eye when it came to carnage.

Normally he enjoyed working alone. He had his work and she had hers and it worked well for their relationship that those things stayed separate. Only occasionally did they mix work with pleasure but if any situation had ever called for them to be a team, it was this one.

Mina explained to Alaster that while she didn’t necessarily have a “normal” mental connection with Kassandra, where she could possibly push back and invade the other woman’s mind, she had still succeeded in gleaming a sense of personality with the intrusive thoughts that had come along with the possession. Kassandra’s likes and dislikes, her desires, and most importantly, what terrified her.

“Lots of religious trauma with that one,” Mina said, flipping through the many pages Alastor had collected over the last few weeks. “I mean, I could have guessed that. She insulted you and I for being Catholic, even though that made no more sense than insulting herself for being raised in the Church.”

“Ah, the things we hate the most about ourselves is often what we see first in others,” Alastor said.

“She really hates nuns in particular. Must have had some run ins with a few particularly nasty ones.”

“Really? Well that’s interesting,” Alastor said with a smirk. “I think we can have some fun with that one.”

“And food, but I think you already knew that, given her history while she was alive,” Mina said, feeling her own stomach twist at the idea of eating. She still hadn’t been able to get herself to eat anything, although she was getting dreadfully hungry. “I think that’s why she targeted Cannibal Town the way she did. She’s just disgusted by them. Oh, and don’t forget racist. Which I don’t think is a result of any kind of trauma other than being from Texas. Still pisses me off.”

“Well, my dear,” he said with an unbothered grin and placing a kiss between Mina’s ears as he leaned over her from behind. “She won’t be the first white woman this mullato demon will have torn to bits.”  

With a decent exchange of information between them, they were able to formulate a plan, hoping they would be able to act on it by the next morning, depending on how Mina felt. It would have to be perfectly timed; Mina would have to be sure she could stay in control but still feel a small bit of the affects of Kassandra’s blood in her.

Tomorrow morning was Sunday, the day that Kassandra always held her black mass. And only those tainted with her blood could open the front doors of her “church.”

Evening came and Mina still refused to let Alastor take the chains off her but she wanted to sleep in their bed, confident she no longer needed to be chained to the wall upstairs.

Alastor accepted the compromise, and as much as he needed a good rest himself, he left her to sleep alone in their bed while he tried to get some rest upstairs. He kept his shadow wrapped around her, the darkness of the room making it effortless for it to take form and give her the comfort that he himself could not. Not without bringing too much temptation onto himself.

He had been stretched out on the sofa in the main room, one arm across his chest, and the other hanging off the edge, in a deep, whiskey aided, exhausted sleep, when a growing sense of alarm invaded his senses, and pulled him from the depths of his slumber.

Alastor opened his eyes to see his shadow hovering over him, its eyes and smile glowing green. He sat up as it reached for him, enveloping him in tendrils and dragging him through the floorboards before Alastor had a chance to fully wake up and comprehend what was happening.

He found himself brought into his bedroom, looking down at a sleeping Mina, while his shadow left his side and fanned itself out across the wall that the bed was tucked up against. It loomed over Mina, looking between her sleeping form and Alastor.

It was trying to tell him something was wrong with her.

Mina had kicked off all her blankets and as Alastor watched her, she fidgeted in her sleep, restless even as her eyes twitched behind her eyelids in a dreamlike state. She looked flushed, with a red tint on her cheeks and across the top of her chest, below where the heavy shackle lay.

Alastor reached over her, pressing a palm to her forehead and felt her burning up as if with fever, though she wasn’t clammy. Alarm bells rang as he wondered what new assault this was and how Kassandra could possibly have given her a literal infection of the body.

Then Mina sighed in her sleep, making a tiny, barely audible whine and Alastor pulled his hand away, understanding the situation once the familiarity of it dawned on him.

Mina wasn’t sick. She was in heat.

Alastor’s shadow felt the idea form in his mind at the same time and though it was a much simpler creature than he, it knew to grab him again and send him back up into the main room.

Once up there, Alastor sat back down on the couch, trying very hard to ignore the massive hard on he now had.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck . . . .

The mantra ran through his mind, the only clear thought he could come up with.

His rut was difficult enough. The two of them had only come into their breeding seasons at the exact same time on a handful of occasions in past years and it was always . . . an event. Mina’s spring heats were easier to keep track of and predict but her fall one was the most intense and seemed to vary quite a bit, year to year, as to when it would occur. When she did go into heat while he was in rut, it was like mixing fire and gasoline. Their hormonal urges only fed off each other’s desires. The last time it had happened, they had rented a little cabin on the far, far reaches of Pride Ring, well outside of the city limits, and didn’t leave the building, and barely ate, or slept, for three solid days. It had been the most intense, blissful, physical experience at the time but the aftereffects had left Alastor completely drained and exhausted. He understood now how real, living bucks could sometimes literally die from their ruts. And it wasn’t something he eagerly awaited happening again.

For it to happen now, when they very much needed to have their attention on other things, and Mina was already at risk of losing her mental faculties, was the worst thing Alastor could have imagined. It was difficult enough to not be practically on top of her every second that she had been around him the last two days. His body was absolutely betraying him, round the clock, his mind wandering to the most lewd and obscene ways he should be using her body.

And now the idea of her down in their bed, literally flushed with desire, likely very wet and welcoming between her legs nearly took over what was left of his shredded willpower. Not only would she not mind if he went down there and fucked her senseless, she wouldn’t be able to resist once it began; her own body would be crying out for it as much as his was.

But if they started tonight, he was sure they wouldn’t be able to stop come morning.

And the rational part of his mind, the part that was still Alastor, the Radio Demon, and not some common Cervidae demon, a slave to his own hellish form and body, refused to let go of their plan of revenge for tomorrow.

Even as he downed another glass of rye and took himself in hand in order to get a little relief from that damnable, based physical need, Alastor still wanted blood more than sex. He still wanted revenge for Mina more than he wanted Mina herself.

Maybe Abaddon was (a little) right and Alastor did crave power above all else. But if any of his desires led him to choose something over Mina, it was only temporary. By the end of the day tomorrow, he would have both his revenge and his lover . . . and his power.

He would have it all.

____

Mina didn’t even mention her heat to Alastor the next morning, though there was no way she hadn’t realized it was happening. Her pupils were always wide like she was riding the highest of highs when she was in heat and sure enough, when she looked at him as he unhooked the angelic steel shackle from around her neck, her usually vertical pupils were as dilated and round as they could possibly get.

This is why they were perfect together.

Forget how well they complimented each other in every domestic regard. Or how while alive, they had both risen from poverty during the same era, both endured racism, but murdered out of necessity and the pleasure of the deed.

It was this, this need to be powerful enough to not be messed with, this burning desire to let others know they were not to be trifled with. Mina may not have shared Alastor’s competitiveness, her desire for power was strictly a manifestation of her desire for safety, but that small difference made her even more perfect. She wasn’t competition for his position and never would be. But she could hold her own against most threats and understood and appreciated how he worked.

And though she didn’t experience touch aversion the way he often did, though she had a much larger appetite for sex and romance than him on a normal day, she could still power through the mental fog of her heat and focus on what needed to be done. Very few Sinners could say the same.

Kassandra’s black mass started at 9:00 am prompt.

At 9:05 Mina stood outside the large, imposing, and grotesquely carved wooden double doors of her church. From within, the faint sound of Kassandra’s voice could be heard, though clear words couldn’t be made out.

She had already started her sermon.

With a deep breath in, Mina opened both doors at once, leaving them wide open as she stepped over the threshold.

The pews were nearly full of ghouls, though there were several empty rows at the back. Room to grow, Alastor supposed, but Kassandra would never be given that chance.

Kassandra had stopped speaking as soon as the doors had opened, looking at first shocked, but then she began to smile as she saw who was coming in. All she could see was Mina, and it was clear Kassandra believed she had just earned herself her first Sinner convert.

Alastor moved through the opened double doors a second later, using his shadow form to drift along the walls until he solidified behind Kassandra at her podium.

In front of her entire congregation, he appeared towering over her, a taller, more monstrous version of his usual form. 9 feet of antlered, clawed, and bloodthirsty demon loomed over the new Overlord, dressed from head to toe as a nun.

“Boo,” Alastor said and laughed as Kassandra began to scream.

Mina felt the doors slam shut behind her and saw Alastor’s magical barricade form between the podium and the rest of the congregation. He would deal with Kassandra, safe behind a soundproof wall of shadow.

The rest of the ghouls were hers. And she was starving.

With Abaddon’s blood singing through her veins and heightening her power to a strength she had never known, Mina opened her mouth and began to sing.

“Take me past the outer courts

Into the Holy Place

Past the brazen Alter

Lord, I want to see Your face

Pass me by the crowds of people

The priests who sing Your praise

I hunger and thirst for Your righteousness

But it’s only found in one place.”

For a crowd this large, it usually took a few lines for Mina’s words to take hold. For the first verse, most would just stare and gawk at her as the music warped their minds, forced into a trance, until her will could be enforced. But with the power of angelic blood in her, Kassandra’s ghouls began to turn on each other by the end of the very first line.

Through the wall of shadow, Mina could see Kassandra, being strung up by tentacles, held by them from the ceiling to better enjoy the show.

Mina stopped singing, no longer needing to bother, as she marched down the aisle.

The ghouls, so starved for so long, in life and death, had been awakened to their hunger. Had been allowed to feel that burning, twisting pain Mina could feel in her own stomach, and the very desperate need for blood and meat. And the only source for that delicious reprieve was each other.

There was a surprising amount of blood in their bodies, considering how little flesh there appeared to be, and Mina was splattered more than once as she made her way up to the altar that stood in the middle of the rows of pews, and then stepped around it.

At the foot of the short set of stairs that led up to where Kassandra gave her sermons, Mina stopped, and turned her attention on the nearest damned soul.

She tilted her head, felt her jaw unhinge in preparation for its meal, and lunged.

___

Alastor smiled, a true and vicious smile, as he watched Kassandra squirm in the grasp of his shadows. The barricade was soundproof to protect them both from the effects of Mina’s singing; he wanted Kassandra as lucid and mortified as possible. But it wasn’t fully opaque. The wall was more than transparent enough to see the affect of Mina’s singing, a Catholic hymn she had thought perfect for the occasion, and Alastor could easily see the entirety of Kassandra’s cult as they began to devour each other.

He lowered the barrier, certain now that Mina had stopped singing, so they got the full surround sound affects of the screaming; along with the wet squelching and tearing noises of over two hundred bodies being torn apart and chewed on.

Kassandra began to scream with renewed vigor and Alastor loosened some of his shadow’s grip on her, just enough for her to get a real good lung full of air and scream for him even better.

With the barrier down, he could also get a better view of Mina.

She was on hands and knees, bent over what was left of the corpse of a nameless ghoul. Its rib cage was cracked wide open, and her face buried in the chest cavity. Her hands, arms, and even her hair were coated in blood, her face hidden from view as she devoured the heart, but her tail was perfectly visible as it swayed behind her.

Alastor had been wound up and strung so taut the last two days and something deep within him finally snapped and broke free as he watched Mina be her most heinous and carnal self.

For a man who had never even kissed her in public, he suddenly found the idea of taking her there in front of everyone to be incredibly arousing.

But first, he just wanted to watch her satisfy herself.

As she continued with her meal, Alastor reached his hand through his robes and began stroking himself. The long slit that he had created was not usually found on the constricting black garments that nuns wore, but this was an outfit of his own creation and he could alter it to fit his every whim.

There was a large and ornate looking chair tucked into the back of the room, out of sight from the congregation that Alastor assumed was for some kind of ritual, and he summoned it forward so that he could properly relax and enjoy the view.

He gave himself long, slow pumps, building himself up for pleasure rather than for the simple act of finishing, as he watched Mina tear out the ghoul’s liver and bite it in half. His cock twitched in his grip, letting himself succumb to the sheer amount of lust and love he felt for her in that moment.

After she finished with the liver, Mina looked up and her eyes landed on him. They flickered down as she caught the movement of his dirty deed beneath the robe and then looked back up at his face, holding his gaze. There was no disgust or even surprise in her features, just pure determination and desire.

She stood up from her crouched position, the lower half of her face painted red, the ends of her hair, the torso of her dress, and her arms up to her elbows likewise a bloody mess, and walked over to him.

Alastor rose to meet her as she approached and the chair turned to shadow, forgotten as he let go of himself and pulled her to him, grabbing her face with both hands and devouring her lips with his own. She tasted and smelled of blood and death, like power and victory; she was the embodiment of everything he cherished and craved in this world.

Mina pulled away from the kiss and Alastor could feel the stickiness of the blood she had left on his lips and enjoyed the mental image of his smiling down at her, crimson smeared across his features, adding to the blasphemous outfit he had on.

Whatever came next, he was not taking off those robes.

His cock throbbed at the thought of fucking her dressed like that, there in that church, in front of Kassandra and however many of the ghouls that were left alive.

Mina found the opening he had made in the robes and slipped her own hand through, but she surprised him when she used her nail to slice a long slit down to the floor, exposing an entire leg from hip bone to ankle. It made the robes almost appear to be some twisted risqué dress, while also giving her easier access to what she was after, and the debauchery of it only turned Alastor on more.

Looking pleased with her decision, Mina got down on her knees before Alastor and took his cock in her hands.

Before she could bring her mouth to him, Alastor grabbed a fistful of her hair behind her ears and held her still.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” she answered back.

“You like to suck my cock?” he asked.

“Yes,” she panted, never breaking eye contact.

“Pull up your skirts,” he demanded.

Still looking up at him, she let go of his erection and used both hands to first undo the buttons of her sweater and slip it off her shoulders before she tossed it to the side. Then, she bunched up her skirts at her hips. Alastor kept his grip on her hair the whole time.

“Is this how you want me?” she asked.

“God, yes,” he said, feeling almost painful with need as he stared at her exposed cleavage and the spots across her shoulders. “And touch yourself. Show me how turned on you get with my dick down your throat.”

Mina again took him in hand, guiding his shaft in her mouth, as her other hand slipped beneath the top band of her underwear and began working herself.

Only then did she break eye contact, closing her eyes and moaning as he thrust deeper into her mouth. Alastor brought his other hand to clutch at her head, holding her still as he fucked her face. The view of his cock pushing in and out of her willing lips blocked the view of what she was doing to herself, but he could see it on her face, and feel the vibration of her moans on his cock.

“Good girl,” he panted as he watched her pleasure building in her features, felt her whimpering as her fingers worked her up even as she choked on his length. “Put your fingers inside yourself. Fuck yourself for me, darling.”

He could see her shift her weight, spreading her legs a little farther and reaching further inside her underwear, and felt her moans grow deeper as she fulfilled his wish.

Alastor rewarded her by slowing down a little, not hitting as hard into the back of her throat. Mina opened her eyes and looked up at him, giving him a hard and delicious suck in appreciation.

“Hmm, keep doing that,” he encouraged, enjoying the slower, less brutal pace that allowed her to use her tongue better along his length. “That’s it, Mina, just like that.”

She whimpered, and little tears gathered in her eyes, as she shut them again.

“Oh, you’re already so close, aren’t you, my sweet thing?” He wouldn’t let her reply with words, not daring to take himself from her mouth when she was working him so well, but he could see the positive response in the way she looked at him. “Who are you going to make cum first? Me or you?”

There was a question in her eyes and he yanked on her hair, forcing her to take him deeper.

“It better be you,” he threatened, before easing his grip on her hair, stroking his fingers across where his claws had scratched her like an apology. “Or would you like a little assistance?”

A tendril of shadow snaked around his back and traveled across the floor, moving between her open legs. Alastor made it caress her inner thigh and as it touched the edges of her panties, the fabric dissolved into nothing, and the dark tentacle brushed against her fingers that were working her wet cunt.

Mina pulled her hand away, giving the shadowy appendage permission, and Alastor felt it as it entered her, curling around her to stroke her spongy inner walls. He felt her cry out and could feel the edges of her claws hitting the tentacle as she returned her fingers to her clit.

Alastor really picked up his rhythm as he slid in and out of her lips, getting off on the muffled noises she was making as he gagged her with his cock. 

She came hard and fast, his tentacle sensitive enough to pick up on the way her walls clenched and spasmed around it, and she removed her hand from herself, nearly falling forward, if not for the body pressed before her.

Alastor reached down and grabbed her hand before it could fall to the floor. He could feel his own orgasm right on the brink, and he guided her arm up enough so that he could tilt his head down and suck on her fingers.

The wet, sweet and tangy taste of her mixed with the blood of her victim excited him enough that he came right then, and Mina eagerly swallowed his release, holding onto the base of his member with her free hand.

Once he was fully finished, he pulled on her hair as she stood, bringing them together for another passionate kiss, both of them enjoying the mixed flavor of themselves on each other’s tongues.

“My turn,” he said, and picked her up, carrying her over to the altar that stood in the middle of the mass of bodies that were still actively devouring each other, and laid her on her back across the top of it.

Even as he pushed the skirt of Mina’s dress back up over her hips, Alastor was still enjoying toying with Kassandra. He used his shadows to pull her along the ceiling of the church, placing her directly above them. Let her get an even better view as he reclaimed Mina’s body and mind within the walls of her sanctuary. Let Kassandra scream as she witnessed the cannibalism Mina had brought to her door, how absolutely destructive Mina’s power could be, as he worshipped between her legs, on his knees before the altar.

Mina’s fingers had been covered in blood as she had fingered herself, leaving the small patch of black curls and pink lips of her sex painted red. Alastor eagerly ran his tongue over it all, licking her thoroughly clean, and earning him little sounds of praise from Mina.

She leaned forward, grabbing hold of his antlers that poked through the black veil he wore, something she nearly always did when he went down on her. Alastor loved it when she did that and he could feel his body respond to her touch as his antlers spread out even wider.

Once he was finished indulging and savoring the sweet mix of her natural taste with the ghoulish blood, Alastor began truly working her with his tongue. With long, rhythmic strokes from her entrance to her clit, he built up her pleasure until he could hear her gasping out his name.

Just as he had requested of her when she was sucking him off, Alastor began pleasuring himself, pumping his cock with his fist to the same rhythm his tongue was using on Mina.

“Are you? . . . oh God, Alastor,” Mina tried to say in between her little needy whimpers, “. . . fuck, love, that is so fucking hot.”

Alastor had never let Mina see him perform this act himself; not before that morning. He had made her touch herself for him before but never had he reversed those roles. But he could feel her cunt getting even wetter as she processed what he was doing and he used his now unnaturally long tongue to delve into her center, encouraged by her obvious arousal. If he had known she would enjoy it this much, he might have indulged this fantasy of hers much sooner.

He was unbelievably close for how little time they had spent in this position but judging by the sounds Mina was making, she was ahead of him.

“Cum on me,” Mina said, and Alastor’s cock throbbed even harder in his fist. That was also new but the beast within him that controlled his rut very much liked the idea of it. “Please,” she begged, “I want to watch you cum on me.”

Alastor looked up at her from between her legs, his mouth never leaving her mound, and met her eyes with his own. He hoped she could read his nonverbal confirmation and by the way she almost instantly came around his tongue, he knew she did.

His tongue slowed, giving her several lingering strokes as she rode out her orgasm, until her hips finally stilled and she began using her hands to push him away.

It was hardly a heartbeat later that he stood, pumping himself just a few more times, and then he glanced at Mina’s face as she watched, enraptured by his act as he came, leaving streaks of his creamy white seed on her skirt, inner thighs, and sex.

He bent over her and they reached for each other in tandem, kissing and groping, hands desperately roaming, grabbing whatever flesh and clothing they could reach. Mina’s dress and the nun’s tunic he wore were ruined now, both covered in visceral and semen, as they pressed their clothed bodies together.

Alastor reached between Mina’s legs, finding her pleasantly soaked down there, as he used two fingers to spread his cum between her folds, coating her more thoroughly. She moaned against his mouth and ground her hips against his hand, the added slick texture making it even easier for him to play with and tease the folds around her clit.

“Good idea, my love,” he said as his mouth left hers and began exploring her neck and shoulders. “You look so pretty covered in my cum.”

She whimpered in response to the praise and he finally pressed his fingers directly on her little bundle of nerves, rewarding her even more with gentle but quick circular movements.

With his free hand on one shoulder, and his teeth at her other, Alastor pulled the straps of her sundress down, kissing a wet and slopping pattern across her collar bone and upper swells of her breasts, leaving several bite marks along the way.

Mina sat back on her elbows, reaching her hands behind her, and Alastor watched her dress loosen around her chest as she unzipped the back. Recognizing the invitation for what it was, he pulled the obscuring fabric further down, fulling exposing both her tits, and he clamped his mouth around one erect and hard nipple as his fingers slid lower through her folds and curled them in and up once they found her entrance.

Although he was exceptionally careful with his long claws when they were inside her, making sure to only apply pressure with the pads of his fingers, he held no such reservations when it came to his teeth on her body. Mina’s breasts were particularly sensitive, and he loved to pinch and play with her nipples when he fucked her. They seemed to be her favorite erogenous zone and he had often pushed the limits of their sensitivity when she was in heat. He had even once succeeded in making her cum with nipple play alone. But he was not gentle with them like he was with her pussy, and purposefully used his teeth as he sucked and marked the curvy flesh across her chest.

Mina encouraged it with everything in her arsenal, rocking her hips against his hand as she held his head to her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, stroked his ears and antlers, ran her claws along his scalp, pressing sweet little kisses to the crown of his head, and whispering filthy things to him all the while.

He was getting hard again, his refractory period was alarmingly short and sometimes nonexistent while he was this far into his rut, and his cock bobbed in response to Mina’s panting praises as she begged him to fuck her harder, bite her again, fill her up, make her his.

She paused, the only sound coming from her being the sound of her heavy breathing and the wet noises of his fingers inside her. Around them, the sounds of pain and pleasure from those being eaten and those doing the eating, filled the air and nearly drowned out the noise of their lovemaking. Above them, Kassandra’s screams had turned to sobs of utter failure.

“Make her bleed, Alastor,” Mina said, in the same husky tone she used for dirty talk. “I’m so close, love. Make me cum while I watch her bleed out.”

Alastor head popped up from her breasts and he grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her face to his as he quickened the pace of his finger fucking. She gasped in delight, her open mouth inches from his own as his smile spread with wicked approval at her words.

“I fucking love you,” he said to her and she smiled back, cupping his face in her hands, tenderly kissing his blood streaked mouth.

“I fucking love you, too,” she said, her sweet tone a stark contrast to the depravity of their situation.

Alastor commanded the tentacles of shadow that were constricting around Kassandra, holding her hostage high above them, and they responded in kind. He felt them as they began to puncture her flesh, impaling her through her lower gut as others cut through the skin of her limbs as they slithered around her.

She began screaming again, writhing in the grasp of the deadly appendages, which only made more droplets of her blood rain down from above.

Mina began to cry out as well, and her lusty shouts of pleasure harmonized beautifully with the screams of torture from the other woman. Alastor and Mina had never been interested in adding a third to their dynamic but he had to admit, he was enjoying the way the two woman’s voices blended together. He had never considered mixing his love of murder and torment with his sexual activities but the way his cock was becoming painfully hard, it was clearly a newly discovered kink for both of them. Mina held onto his shoulders, her eyes focused on the show above them, as she came undone, her walls clenching tightly around his fingers as she did so.

Even as she came down from her orgasm and her body began to settle and relax, Alastor continued slowly stroking her sex, keeping her high going. She twitched a couple times, just on the brink of overstimulation, so he softened his movements even more. He stayed patient, even as his cock twitched, hard and ready for more. Alastor took his time, kissing her mouth and neck, stroking her breast with his free hand, tenderly giving her body the small pleasures it needed to keep her wanting more.

Mina sighed into his hair as he sucked hard on her neck, right over where he could feel the hammering beat of her pulse. He felt the shift in her, the way she tilted her hips up and encouraged his fingers, and knew she was ready for more.

Alastor removed his hand from between her legs and once more took the bundled-up skirt of her dress into his fists. The orange fabric, that was now only covering up her stomach and getting in his way, disappeared at his touch, leaving Mina completely naked across the altar. 

Setting the stage for his final act, Alastor summoned flames. They burned in the air above them, fueled by nothing but his power and fury, putting a green and fiery barrier between them and Kassandra. The heat would slowly build for Kassandra as she remained suspended above the fire, first uncomfortable and then unbearable. The perfect contrast to what he was about to do to Mina.

Alastor grabbed hold of Mina’s naked hips and pulled her forward, until they were just hanging off the edge of the altar. Appreciating the new angle, she spread her legs wider and lifted them around him. He reached between them, adjusting the slit in the tunic Mina had made, until it fully exposed him and he pressed his naked pelvis into hers as his cock slid into her welcoming warmth.

He could see the reflection of the burning green glow in Mina’s wide, black pupils. She watched the flames growing above them as he began to move.

“You like that, don’t you,” he said once he got into the perfect tempo and began to fuck her properly. She was drenched, even down to her inner thighs, a mix of her own wetness and his cum, and it didn’t take long for the mess to cover himself. “You want to watch her burn as I fuck you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Mina said, every word punctuated by an inward thrust of his cock into her.

“You want to watch her skin blister? Would that make you cum for me again?”

Mina could only whine and gasp in response to his filthy words. To his amazement, it seemed like she was already close again, so he picked up his pace and began to piston into her with short, hard thrusts.

“You want to watch her burst into flames as I fill your sweet pussy full of cum, don’t you?”

“God, yes, Alastor, yes,” she cried out and then sobbed, brought to tears by the strength of her fourth orgasm.

He slowed his movements, but only to the steady in and out rhythm he had set at the beginning. Mina’s back hit the flat top of the altar a moment later, once the tension of her orgasm left her, but Alastor could still feel the tremble of her walls along his shaft, especially when he refused to let up.

She was properly overstimulated now and under normal circumstances he would give her a break. But the wild and crazed look on her face told him all he needed to know about what she wanted.

“Look around you,” he said, wrapping his hand around the bottom of her jaw and forcing her head to the side, making her look at the bloodshed and slaughter she had accomplished with her song. Over a hundred bodies left in pieces, gutted and torn to bits, and there was hardly a spot on the floor of the entire cathedral that wasn’t covered in a thick layer of blood and tissue. The other half of the cult members continued on with their newfound love of cannibalism, completely oblivious to the couple fucking on their altar.

“You did this. You wanted this,” he said, and removed his hand from her jaw only to replace it with a rope made of shadow that wrapped itself around her neck. “You’re so fucking perfect, my love. So now I’m going to fuck you as hard as I can.”

Mina shook and moaned beneath him, tears running down her temples and into her hairline as he picked up his pace again. Her sounds were audibly strangled now and he watched as her face turned red from the pressure of the tentacle at her throat, but he kept it at just the right tightness, so she could enjoy the high of being choked without blacking out.

Another tentacle sprouted from his back and twisted between his legs. He felt it grazing the bottom side of his shaft as it followed his body to Mina’s, stopping for a moment at where they were joined, and then curling lower.

Mina groaned, spreading her hips wider, as the tentacle began playing with her ass. It slid just the tip of itself in, giving soft and gentle little swirls, making sure she was relaxed and ready for more, and coating itself with the mix of their releases that had pooled there.

“Tell me you want more,” Alastor said, and loosened the tangle of shadow at her throat enough so she could comfortably speak.

“I want more,” Mina answered, her speech nearly slurred as he continued to fuck her far beyond the limits of pleasure they usually reached.

“Want more of what, my sweet girl?” he asked.

Above them, Kassandra’s screaming intensified until it was a high-pitched mewl of madness and misery. The heat from the flames had begun to warm Alastor’s back and he knew Kassandra’s skin must be beginning to blacken and bubble from the growing inferno beneath her.

Mina’s eyes had been fixed on the show above them, but they looked at him then, desperate and sure of her own desires.

“More of you. All of you,” she said, “everywhere.”

There was a whooshing sound from above and Kassandra’s screams changed into something Alastor recognized well. She had finally combusted and was now fully engulfed in flames. But the show was not over. As Alastor had first told Mina decades before, his green fire was more horrific than most as he had purposefully designed it to burn slower, defying all laws of chemistry and physics.

The tendril of shadow beneath his cock thickened and deepened, penetrating her ass fully now, and using both appendages at once, Alastor filled her up more than he had ever before. The added pressure of the tentacle inside her ass pressed the walls of her sex tighter around him than he had anticipated. They both groaned at the intense sensation, his voice full of static and guttural.

Alastor could feel himself losing control over his body. His antlers were growing impossibly heavy on his head, and he could feel his spine and limbs beginning to stretch. His focus was on so many places; keeping Kassandra suspended above them even as she burned, on the tentacle around Mina’s neck applying the perfect amount of pressure, the other tentacle pumping inside her ass, his own building pleasure as he continuously rammed his cock into her, and now he had to focus on not expanding the size of the pieces of him that were in and around Mina, less he actually hurt her, the threat of tearing a real possibility with the double penetration.

“I need you to finish for me, Mina,” he said, desperately, almost nervous. His claws dug into the soft flesh of her upper thighs, anxiously hoping he would start to feel her building beneath him again, but she just wasn’t there yet.

An idea lit up in his mind, remembering the gift he had given her just a few nights prior. He hadn’t brought the device with him but with a little bit more mental effort, he was able to feel it appear and solidify in his hands.

Mina had her eyes closed, so focused on the pleasures she could feel in her body, and the sounds of death around her, that she didn’t react when he twisted the top of the vibrator, and it began to hum. But they flew open as soon as he touched it to her clit and began moving it around the bundle of nerves.

Alastor’s balls tightened in response, not having considered the fact that he would be able to feel the vibrations through her walls.

“Oh fuck Mina,” he panted, the new sensation almost more than he could bare.

“More,” she growled, and he pressed the toy into her clit in way that must have been painful, but the way she cried out in response let him know it was exactly what she had wanted.

He tried so hard to keep his focus on her rather than how hard his cock was being squeezed inside her or how deliciously the vibrator was working both of them, refusing to let himself cum again before she had.

Mina’s chest began to rise and fall, her tits bouncing with every aggressive thrust he gave her, and she touched herself, pinching and pulling on the nipple of one bitten and bloody breast.

Alastor felt the tentacle tighten around her neck even without meaning to but Mina took it well, just moaning and throwing her head back in response.

“Come on, my love, cum for me,” he begged.

Mina opened her eyes again and looked up and then around her, as much as his chokehold on her allowed her to, getting one last look at what their vengeance had brought to this unholy place.

Then to Alastor’s initial confusion, she lifted the arm that wasn’t still teasing her breast, and brought it up and over her head, reaching her fingers out behind her as if she were trying to touch the nearest ghoul’s body.

There were still several dozens of them left alive, still mindlessly feasting on the remains of their fellow cult members.

Alastor watched as a soft golden glow shot forward from Mina’s open palm and then all at once, every one of the two hundred bodies burst into angelic flame.

She smiled for a moment and then closed her eyes, her jaw dropping open as she screamed out her pleasure, her orgasm ripping through her body and tensing every muscle she had.

Alastor felt the rush of fluid over his cock, drenching his pelvis and the tentacle beneath him.

Mina screamed on for several more seconds, and Alastor released the vibrator and his tentacles from her body, patiently letting her come down from her heightened state of bliss.

“Wha-,” she stammered as her eyes finally fluttered again, even as he continued to pump himself in and out of her, “what did I . . .”

No longer holding back his own release, Alastor loomed over her, feeling even his neck beginning to lengthen as his body changed into something far less human. Mina wrapped her arms around him, embracing his larger, demonic form.

He ignored her question, so completely aroused by her first ejaculation on him. He could tell her later what a compliment it had been to the fucking he had just given her, but right now his mind could no longer process words.

There was a second where Alastor felt Kassandra finally pass, her soul completely devoured by his flames, as her power seeped into his being.

The shadowing restraints that had been holding her up disappeared as Alastor gave himself completely to Mina, and what was left of Kassandra's charred body fell silently into the angelic flames around them.

Mina clung to his distorted body, holding him gently as only a lover could do, as he continued to rut against her, on the very brink of his own final orgasm.

Despite his increased size, she was able to slip her hand under his robes and reach around him to grab the base of his tail. She stroked it to the same beat that he fucked her, gently running her fingers through the soft fur and over the ridges of the vertebrae beneath the skin.

“It’s over, Alastor,” she whispered to him. “You can let go, now. I’m all yours.”

His release was almost instant, and she continued to caress his tail as he pumped his seed inside her, nuzzling her face into his chest as he began to relax, gradually returning to his normal form and size.

They lay together, him still inside her and becoming soft again, even as the flames began to consume the walls around them. Mina somehow kept them at bay, her command over the angelic flame increased by the power that Abaddon’s blood had given her.

She pulled off the black veil of the habit so she could lovingly run her fingers through his red and black hair, kissing his cheek and neck, all while he lay limp above her, trying to catch his breath and collect himself.

“I love you,” she said, smiling at him when he finally lifted his head and met her eyes.

“I love you,” he replied, still panting a little, and kissed her tenderly on the lips as he finally pulled himself out of her warm, wet heat.

They both sighed a little at the empty feeling. It wouldn’t be long before they were both ready for more but the flames were beginning to reach the high ceiling of the church, telling Alastor they had officially run out of time.

A minute later, the front doors of the church flung back open, and a melted form of shadow burst out and streaked away, heading for the heart of the city and the radio tower, carrying with it the two lovers as they left to enjoy the rest of their vacation in isolated bliss.

Golden and green flames mixed and began licking at the open doorway. Stained glass windows shattered and smoke and more flames billowed out from the gaping wounds left behind. Then the ceiling collapsed as onlookers began to gather and watch, unsure of exactly what had happened, but knowing the Radio Demon had finally gotten his revenge against The Prophetess.

Next Chapter ->

@inuhalfdemon @saccharine-nectarine @whoknowswhoiamtoday

[victusinveritas]

For those Catholics worried about the connection between the mascot Luce and LGBTQ+ art works, I have some distressing news for you about Michelangelo, Raphael, Caravaggio, Bernini, Leonardo...all the artists who were also Turtles and a few of their friends roommates pals.

[icarusignite]

Master Post

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Hey, Ace here, hope you have a good time on my page!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ (she/her), Ravenclaw, INTJ, fanfic writer of many fandoms, self-taught artist, kpop/anime enthusiast, feminist, procrastinator extraordinaire.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Tiktok/wattpad/AO3/instagram: ace_asterisk

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ AO3 | Wattpad | Carrd

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Join the taglist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Fandoms I write for

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ All completed series and longer stories are uploaded fully on wp/ao3. Oneshots are Tumblr/AO3 exclusive.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ for writing updates: @icarusignite-fics

(all fics are reblogged onto there)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ DMs and asks are always open! Drop by and chat <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Requests: OPEN

House of the Dragon

Series

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ An Eye for an Eye Masterlist (Aemond Targaryen x OC)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Before the Sky Falls Masterlist (Aemond Targaryen x OC)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ For Whom the Bell Tolls | HOTD World War 2 AU

(Soldier! Aemond Targaryen x Nurse! Reader)

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I hate you I love you (Cregan Stark x Fem! Reader)

The five times you told Cregan Stark you hated him, and the one time you actually meant it.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I want to fly with you on dragonback (and eat only cake) (Alicent x Rhaenyra)

Basically the title. Rhaenyra finally gets to take Alicent on that dragon ride and eat cake....and maybe kiss the girl she loves.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Like an old melody, my heart resumes (Daeron x Fem! Reader)

Parts: 1 / 2  / 3

After years apart and with several misunderstandings between them, you meet Prince Daeron at what is meant to be his betrothal feast. When secrets and unspoken desires come to light, you and Daeron are faced with a choice: to let go of the past and embrace a love that has always burned between them or allow your tumultuous history to keep you apart.

The Last Kingdom

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you

(King Alfred x POC! Fem! Reader)

Parts: 1 / 2

You are a prominent scholar from Baghdad, visiting Wessex to learn more about English culture and try to help its ailing monarch with your medical expertise. However, conflict arises when you find yourself falling for the Catholic king, knowing he cannot give you what you deserve.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Valhalla Bound  (Finan x GN! Reader)

During the ransacking of Rumcofa, you save Osferth thus exchanging his fate for yours. aka you die and Finan's reaction to that

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Night Terrors (Sihtric x GN! Reader) 

Sihtric has a nightmare, and he accidentally snaps at you. What comes after is the most awkward confession of his life and you are oblivious af.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Praying's just a poor man's way of begging 

(Sihtric x Fem! Reader) 

You are Earl Ragnar's youngest daughter and the boy you've spent many pleasant afternoons with as a child was none other than Sihtric Kjartansson. Reunited after years apart, will the two of you be able to face the truth of your feelings or will it all end in heartache?

In this labyrinth of time, our souls entwined

(Modern AU Finan x Fem! Reader)

Finan and his friends witness a bar fight during their night out and Finan feels a magnetic connection to the hero of the fight. This can be read on its own but it can also be seen as a continuation of my earlier fic Valhalla Bound where you died and now your reincarnation meets Finan's in another world and that's why you seem so familiar.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Go ahead and cry, little girl (Aethelstan x Fem! Reader)

You are Sihtric’s daughter from his first wife. Your mother dies after he leaves her for his current wife and you blame him for his death. Aethelstan is yoiur dearest childhood friend.

Ateez

Series

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Danse Macabre Masterlist (Jeong Yunho x OC)

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Pirate Ateez Masterlist

Percy Jackson & the Olympians

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I don't want your sympathy (i just want myself back)

(Luke Castellan x GN! Child of Hypnos Reader)

Terribly injured after returning from his quest to the Garden of Hesperides, Luke Castellan turns to the only person who can help him sleep.

Criminal Minds

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Steady Your Heart in Mine (Spencer Reid x GN! Reader)

Exam season brings you a lot of stress and Spencer Reid is there to walk you through it. Established relationship, descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks.

Lockwood & Co.

Oneshots

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I thought I dreamed her (Lucy x Lockkwood)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ I love you forever, I'm not a dreamer (Lucy x Lockwood)

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes:

Series

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ These Violent Delights Masterlist

[esoteric-chaos]

What is Ancestor Work? Breaking it down and how to start + extra's

TW for death and sensitive topics in this post. Especially when we get into the category of ghosts. You have been warned. The appropriate tags have been placed below.

What is Ancestor work?

Ancestor work is venerating and working with well, you guessed it. Your ancestors. Why do we want to work with them though? Creating relationships with the known and forgotten dead can lead to many great things for yourself such as learning how to break generational curses and cycles. Creating these meaningful and loving relationships with those long since past has been one of the most heartwarming parts of my practice.

I find it is important for people of all ancestry to work with and honour their ancestors. There is much to heal and grow from. We learn through mistakes of the past and some of those mistakes we have to heal from for cycles to be broken.

Who are our Ancestors?

Just who are your ancestors though? According to Honouring Your Ancestors by Mallorie Vaudoise they are your Blood Ancestors, Lineage Ancestors, Affinity Ancestors, Saints, Spirit Guides, Ghosts or Related Spirits.

Blood Ancestors are exactly how they sound. They are the ancestors you find within your family tree that goes all the way back to the beginning of when humans first came around. This goes into the known dead who are ancestors we know of and can be traced back. These ancestors are easier to work with as we have a direct line to them. The unknown dead are unknown ancestors that we can't trace back. Perhaps we only have a name and know nothing about them or maybe we know they existed but have no information at all. This happens to be the case for most of us learning our family tree.

Lineage Ancestors are ancestors we gain through partnerships like marriage, adoption or even initiation such as in a closed society. Examples include religions like Wicca or any religion which needs initiation.

Affinity Ancestors are those who share your cultural identity or even something you are talented in. For example, you are fluent in the arts and you are an artist or musician. You may see a famous passed-on talented artist to venerate as an ancestor. As someone who's LGBTQ+, we can look throughout history and choose to honour and venerate famous LGBTQ+ figures in history as our ancestors as well. In times like this, it is important to venerate and honour these figures in life for strength and courage to move forward.

Saints are found in many cultures. A single example of a saint from a Christian and Catholic point of view is a Christian or Catholic who has passed on and performed miracles before or after death. Then they were elevated to sainthood by the church (This is all from a standpoint as my family comes from a Catholic and Lutheran background). There are also folk saints who are venerated in a specific region or location because of something that was done within that region. Then we have pop culture saints. Pop culture saints for example are people who have influenced or have done things for a group of people that we resonate with deeply. While they do not perform miracles they are venerated as significant to that group.

Spirit Guides are elevated ancestors who have decided to walk alongside us on our journey. They are not usually connected to us by blood or lineage, however, in some cases, they are. In many cultures, you see the concept of a "court". Which is a group of guides. I refer to my ancestors, guides and deities as my spiritual team personally as I am not involved in such cultures that use courts but still am among the belief that I have a group of close guides on my journey as do most others without encroaching on that culture's significance.

Ghosts as Mallorie Vaudoise in Honouring Your Ancestors I agree with their description of ghosts. Some spirits are burdened by the realities of what they went through during their living days. Some call it spiritual disease or they simply lack the power to aid. The spiritual disease of their burdens causes them to act irresponsibly. A lot like Mallorie Vaudoise I too was told ghosts still roam this plane due to unfinished business and they seek resolution through the living for now they feel powerless or they wish to still seek what they started. This can be a grey area for things like passing on murder victims, abusers, children, and relatives. When you are getting into spiritual work it is very important you have strong boundaries and protections. If you do not want to help a spirit move on since you do not identify as a working medium. Do NOT let them step on you. Assert your boundaries, banish and protect. It is not your responsibility to handle the business of otherworldly concerns just because you are a practitioner. If you would like to help a spirit move on, praying in their name to help ease them into the afterlife is a great way to do so to give them strength. May I repeat though, not your responsibility if that is not your focus point.

Related spirits such as land spirits, house spirits and non-human ancestors.

Land spirits are spirits which reside on the land you live on. They can be humans, plants or animals that were born, lived or passed on that land. Honouring the spirits of the land is very important. The land has gone through so much grief and colonization, rebuilding that relationship to take care of the land in turn they will take care of you.

House spirits are arguably land spirits. They reside on that very same land that you do. Proper acknowledgement of the house spirit itself (spiritual upkeep & physical cleaning) and the spirits that live within that old home. They can be from the materials that the foundation of that home is built on or other lesser-known entities. Try speaking to what's in your home. You'll be surprised by what you find.

Non-human ancestors. Through evolution, we have evolved from animals through a series of evolutions before that. So what makes you think we cannot have animal ancestors? Try doing some deep diving into evolution and doing some work with those animals or organisms. You might be pleasantly surprised.

Building your Ancestor Altar

Now that we have what an ancestor is out of the way. How do we build our altars and reach out?

Let's dive into how to make an altar space. We can add some simple tools such as fire, water, an altar cloth, pictures or representatives of ancestors like human skulls (please not real ones obviously), any holy images that bring personal power, offerings and methods of communication.

Fire aids in symbolism in prayer across cultures. If you cannot have real candles on your altar because your altar is within an unsafe place to do so, electric candles are excellent.

Water is said to represent the medium through which the spiritual energy passes. Have you ever felt really dehydrated after a spell, working or spiritual contact? So have I. You can only imagine how dehydrated your ancestors must feel. Leave them an offering of water and maybe even a snack in honour. Remember after veneration to hydrate and fuel yourself too.

Altar cloths are not just there to look pretty. They represent the hard work of our ancestors weiving and working with cloth over the years. Their beautiful craftsmanship is never forgotten. A simple piece of cloth on the altar is a great representation of all of their hard work.

Pictures or representations of our ancestors act as an anchor to connect with them. When I am working with the known dead I'll place photos of them and their names, birth dates and death dates along with a few notes on the back of their photo. With the unknown dead I'll use statues or skulls in place of them. My mother who recently passed is a good example of this. I placed her photos, and ashes, along with some things she may have liked on her little corner.

Holy images. Maybe your ancestors were religious and find comfort in religious imagery. Even incorporating your family's patron saint on the altar might bring them some joy. Do what feels right for you and them.

Offerings. Leaving them offerings such as water, coffee, alcohol, tobacco, and food. Anything you personally love especially as a sweet little treat. I find something you have a hard time parting with like that last piece of candy to be a great offering or that dish you're cooking that's been within the family for years.

Dedicated pendulum, tarot or any other method of communication so you can communicate with them efficiently.

What can I do with my Ancestor Altar? How to work it.

There are many ways you can work with your ancestor altar. You can use it as purely an act of prayer and veneration or you can use it as both for veneration and working.

Leaving oils, charms, bags and other spiritual items on the altar overnight to bless and give an extra kick or even some mundane items.

Incorporating them into a spell working for prosperity, blessings, healings, protections, etc.

Active working to break generational trauma and curses. Working through breaking cycles and helping them heal.

Turning to them for guidance and direction through divination from the tools in their space.

Aid in spiritually cleansing myself and my space from any negative influences.

How to reach out?

Reaching out there are many different methods. There are methods through prayer and divination for example. Many different people from different cultures and religions will have different ways of reaching out and praying. I never actively practiced any religion growing up so I adopted prayer through a folk catholic perspective from what my ancestors practiced and used my tarot deck as an adjacent. There's wrong way to pray. We pray from what feels right to us and from what is respectful.

Conclusion

There's no right or wrong way to work with your ancestors except for building a practice solely on gain. By gain, I mean getting them to do things for you. It is a relationship you are building. If that is not what you are seeking then ancestor veneration is not for you. It's the same for any relationship spiritual or not. Relationships freely flow between each other with mutual aid. Not everything is purely transactional. Keep things respectful and everything will be okay.

To close out I'm sure everyone is wondering "Do I have to work with my ancestors who did awful things?" the answer is no. We have to heal from and acknowledge what happened. Move forward with purpose and do the work but we absolutely do not have to go anywhere near them. Spirits are not all-knowing and not all have done the required work. I will echo a previous statement of mine. It is not your responsibility to handle the business of otherworldly concerns just because you are a practitioner.

If that person has not changed and grown in death. Move on and grow from the experience. While not everyone will agree with me I believe it is important to work with things when you are ready. A newer practitioner will not be prepared to work with such heavy energy. It will have to be worked with one day to heal but do not throw yourself in if you are not ready or maybe you just aren't equipped to do it and maybe it is someone else's journey in your lineage, not yours. Do not be hard on yourself if that is the case. Not everyone is built for that or ready. Be kind to yourself, that's what your ancestors want.

Extra's

Ancestor Oil

Need an oil for communication, veneration and one to work with your ancestors for all purpose? I got your back.

What you'll need

A clean and cleansed jar

Frankincense - helps in hardships, divine connection

Peppermint - money matters, underworld symbolism

Rosemary - protection, remembrance 

Rose - raising spiritual vibration, love, symbol of blood

Lavender - Grief, dream work, relaxing

Myrrh - Spirit communication, psychic power, grief

Allspice - Awaken ancestors, drawn in favour

Coconut carrier oil - Moon, emotions, divination, spirit

You can either do the folk method or the hot method. You can find my post on infused oils here to learn how to make infused spell oils. I suggest if you are an animist or someone who wants more power from your oils. Speak to the herbs kindly, treat them less like an ingredient and ask them respectfully for their aid and the purpose they'll have in your oil. Use intention. The same goes for the Coconut oil.

You can sub any of these, however. Try to keep within the theme of the ingredients. Some of these are herbal allies so they will work differently for me than you. Do what feels right.

Blessings!

[groenendaelfic]

I will not write a Wilmon debutant(e) ball AU. I will not write a Wilmon debutant(e) ball AU. I will not write a Wilmon debutant(e) ball AU.

I will not— okay I really will not. Because Young Royals is already inspiring enough and I dread what s3 will do to my fic ideas folder and also I have more than enough wips.

HOWEVER imagine a (pseudo)historical AU setting. Baron Eriksson is sickly and elderly, his two oldest sons died without male heirs, and so it's the drunken third son's get who is bound to inherit.

The Baron never would have approved Micke's marriage had he known, but at the time both of his daughters-in-law had already born his other two sons healthy children, and Micke was never going to amount to more than a whoremonger anyway, so the Catholic merchant's daughter (don't worry she converted) it was. Who could've known she'd be the only one bearing a grandson who'd live to adulthood.

So here Simon is now, suddenly thrust into a position no one ever wanted him in. The old Baron (who never allowed him to call him grandfather) too sick to leave his bed, and his father drinking away their money and not caring how much the steward mismanages the estate.

If it were only him it wouldn't matter, but the local count (a Horn of Årnäs) has an eye on their small manor house and wants to turn it into a hunting lodge once the old Baron dies, getting rid of all the staff and farmer tenants while he does so, and Simon is their only hope.

For this Simon needs money however, and the only way he can get that is finding an heiress with a sizable dowry happy with a lavender marriage, or at the very least a good match for his sister so that at least she he doesn't have to worry about.

Simon hates it, but after the fifth tenant came to him clutching a coughing baby to her chest he relented and packed up a delighted Sara to travel to Stockholm for the season.

At least one person is happy about it all.

They make it to Stockholm just in time, their grandaunt willing to put them up in her townhouse if only for the novelty, and once both Simon and Sara have used what little money they can spare on debutant/e clothes it's already time for the first and greatest event of the season, the one during which all the young men and women of rank will be introduced to the monarch in a grand ceremony followed by a lavish ball.

Simon tries his best to make a good impression and ignore any and all snide comments about his exotic looks if only for his sister's and tenants' sakes (lives depend on him!), but it's hard, and his lack of wealth and connections don't help.

Wilhelm thinks there's nothing more boring than debutant(e)s, stiff and formal and trembling, as they nervously bow and curtsy, hoping to make a good impression and curry royal favor, as if he's going to remember a single one of them come morning when he wakes up hungover and surrounded by naked artists happy to help him cure his royal ennui.

Then Baron Eriksson of Bjärstad's heir is introduced however, and suddenly Wilhelm's perspective changes.

[vivicantstudy]

Who is Luce? The Vatican’s New Anime-Style Mascot

The Vatican recently introduced “Luce,” an anime-style mascot, as part of its outreach for the 2025 Jubilee Year. Luce is designed to connect with young audiences by embodying the theme of hope and pilgrimage central to the upcoming Holy Year celebrations. Dressed in a yellow raincoat and boots, and carrying symbols like a cross and the scallop shell (a traditional pilgrimage emblem), she reflects both tradition and a contemporary visual style inspired by anime. Her creator, Italian pop artist Simone Legno, is co-founder of the Japanese-inspired brand tokidoki, and he designed Luce to resonate with global youth through a “kawaii” (cute) aesthetic.

Luce made her first appearance at the Lucca Comics and Games convention, where she was joined by other characters in her fictional universe, such as friends named Fe, Xin, Sky, and her dog, Santino. This initiative also includes her future representation at Expo 2025 in Osaka, Japan, under the Vatican’s theme of “Beauty Brings Hope

She was unveiled as part of a strategy to bring the Catholic Church’s message of hope and faith to a younger, global audience in the lead-up to the 2025 Jubilee Year. The character’s design and concept were created by Simone Legno, co-founder of tokidoki, known for blending Italian pop culture with Japanese aesthetics. Luce’s mission is to serve as a “light” (as her name suggests) to young people, embodying the values of pilgrimage, guidance, and spiritual companionship.

Character Design and Symbolism

Luce is visually characterized by her bright yellow raincoat, practical mud-stained boots, and a pilgrim’s cross. These details underscore her role as a modern-day pilgrim, meant to walk alongside and support young people on their faith journeys. Her eyes feature tiny shells—a nod to the scallop shell emblem associated with the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route—signifying the spiritual journey. She’s often accompanied by a loyal dog named Santino, adding a sense of warmth and relatability.

The Purpose Behind Luce

Archbishop Rino Fisichella, head of the Vatican’s evangelization office, highlighted that Luce’s creation aims to make the Jubilee Year approachable and engaging for youth, particularly through pop culture. She serves as a friendly and symbolic presence to guide young pilgrims through the Holy Year festivities, spreading messages of hope, resilience, and community. Additionally, Luce will be featured in digital and social media campaigns, helping to bridge traditional religious themes with contemporary cultural elements that resonate with younger audiences.

Launch and Public Engagement

Luce’s debut at Lucca Comics and Games, Italy’s premier comics and pop culture event, marked the first time the Vatican actively participated in such a convention. At the event, Luce was introduced alongside “Luce and Friends,” an array of characters designed to appeal to diverse youth. Luce will also represent the Vatican at Expo 2025 in Osaka, Japan, embodying the theme “Beauty Brings Hope,” a concept that aligns with her mission to convey light and positivity.

Through Luce, the Vatican hopes to foster a deeper connection with younger generations, presenting the Catholic faith’s messages in a format that is visually and culturally engaging.

[beesmygod]

What are some of your favorite pieces of art/ art that has made you think a lot?

this is such a cheesy cop-out answer, but there's a lot of things that im going to struggle remembering because of 1. how situational the experience was (as in, the context in which i experienced the piece) 2. how wide the word "art piece" is. 3. the great fortune to have been born to parents with strong artistic sensibilities and a love of travel/education. so these are like. really weird and specific but maybe thats the way it should be:

let's start with the most overly dramatic: st. paul's cathedral in london has guided tours where they take you into rooms and let you mill around before moving to the next one. my family took a trip overseas as a really, really big special vacation to celebrate my sister and i graduating from high school (we're not twins, we just combo'd it after she graduated) that i was too brain-broken and teenage to fully appreciate. its a beautiful cathedral but i was in my edgy internet atheist stage and refused to be impressed by it until i stood over a grate in the floor. through the grates you can see the crypt that you visit next. but standing over the grate, someone below started to sing something hymnal and very catholic. and i realized i was the only one who could hear it because of the crowd chatter. and it made me feel, in the moment, so special and so lonely in a way that i still think about, a lot. it was for me only. divine providence.

a date with adam to a place i had no idea existed but he had been to before: the bad art museum, which is split over like 3 different buildings in a bizarre way. we only went to the one where you have to buy a ticket to a movie as entry and it was some truly lovely bad art and made me sad how inaccessible it was but resolute about my love of the nuances of uncelebrated anti-art masterpieces. then we watched "assassination nation" and it was fucking terrible. great date.

reading the theory regarding the "venus of willendorf" being a self portrait as a 20-something year old and running into the bathroom to take my clothes off and look down at myself and having my mind blown. not just by how much i instantly understood it, but because of the tugging feeling on my heart when i feel that strand of history connecting women artists driven by that unknown compulsion to create for creations sake!

similarly, seeing artemisia gentileschi's work next to her fathers and realizing how much she outclassed him in every single way and feeling the tugging feeling again, but this time with a dark woe of realization of how history minimizes achievement and talent when it eases a narrative

reading jane erye's descriptions of herself and her approaches to her plights and for the first time feeling like someone had walked a path that i currently found myself lost on.

reading 1984 as a middle schooler and becoming so angry at the ending i threw the book across the room (something i had never done before and never did again in my life) and stormed out of my room to complain to my mom lol. IT REALLY UPSET ME!!!

reading les miserables for the first time and weeping piteously for days after the ending and having it impact my brain so hard it re-wired how i think about the concept of "legacy" and what it means to matter in the world and how love is nothing without the courage to stand up for it. and that mercy should, and will, always supersede unwavering justice (hard lesson to remember, maybe im due for a re-read)

sneaking into my parents room to read the books i wasnt supposed to yet as a really little kid lol. my mom used to get "dykes to watch out for" in a newsletter she was subscribed to! but i didnt read those bc they were dumb relationship comics for grown-ups. i wanted to read about opus the penguin and lee iacocca, as if i knew who that was. my mother's comic collection was the single most influential constant in my life. knowing that i was exposed to bill watterson's commentary about his own work via the big collections my mom owned probably explains a lot about what's wrong with me. but she also had a lot of berke breathed before he fully wussed out

the general experience of playing a video game that you arent supposed to/when you arent supposed to is probably one of the most freeing means of meaningless rebellion as a kid that everyone should experience. i used to be up playing pokemon past my bedtime under my covers with a huge heavy rubber flashlight i stole from the kitchen and had to replace every morning without getting caught once i was done with it. god, the days before backlit screens we had to get really fucking wild with it. in high school i would wake up at 5:00am, sneak into the computer room where the ps2 was and play an hour of FFX bc its the longest fucking non-persona game in the world, stop playing before my mom woke up at 6:00am and sneak back into bed. if i hit a part where i couldnt save i would just turn the screen off and come back to it tomorrow lol. secrets......

reading the "pictures for sad children" arc about paul, who is a ghost, finally losing it and going on a rant about how it has never mattered how thin a computer screen is. they were right and reading it helped me articulate and understand a growing feeling of restless frustration at the world around me that i felt singular and alone in. im glad that last i heard that artist is doing ok. i hope they recognize the incredible value in their work as imperfect as they perceived it to be. i do not think they would be happy to know that their old work was impactful, but i hope they realize that what people are able to tease out of their work is meaningful, at least to me it is. ill transcribe the comic rather than repost it i think: paul [while smashing electronics]: "have i told you about [bam] how nerds destroy the world take conspicuous consumption as a lifestyle choice and combine it with early hardware adoption and you have great swaths of gadgetry out of stock because they're incrementally better than the last model and there are landfills full of functioning electronics wasted time, resources, money, etc. the best part is that these things were never necessary it has never mattered how thing a computer is." [smash]

this is too long. i like art.

[cityofmeliora]

Where did the papas grow up and by who were they brought up?

The Dance Macabre music video suggests that Nihil was introduced to the church when meeting Sister Imperator. So... Primo, Secondo and Terzo must've joined the church quite young because Nihil wanted them there? What were their mothers' roles in their upbringing?

Copia most likely was brought up by the clergy since he didn't know who his parents were (or just who his mother was? Correct me here, I can't remember haha).

And where has Copia's twin been all along?

There probably aren't any definitive answers but it is interesting to speculate.

thanks for the ask!

in the main timeline, i think the brothers were all raised separately, and Nihil basically had nothing to do with raising them.

Primo - i choose not to think about Primo's backstory because he says he doesn't really remember his life before he joined the cult. i like the mystery.

Secondo - i think he was raised by his mom and he lived in Southern California his whole life. my headcanon is that Secondo has pretty much always been religious, but his mom's family was catholic and he quit catholicism years before he joined the cult.

Terzo - it's strongly implied in canon that Terzo's mom was a great parent and she had a really good relationship with Terzo. my personal headcanon is that he was born in LA and then moved to NYC with his mom and grew up there. also i think she was an artist and encouraged Terzo's interest in art.

i don't think Primo, Secondo, or Terzo had any connection to the cult when they were younger– they all joined the cult when they were grown adults. i don't think it was Nihil who wanted them to join the cult. honestly, Nihil was barely aware of his first 3 kids existing. i think it was Sister Imperator who eventually tracked down the brothers and orchestrated their recruitment into the cult, like she had done with Nihil. for her schemes.

Cardi - canonically, Cardi didn't find out who either of his parents were until late 2021, when he was 51 years old. i imagine his upbringing was basically the satanic equivalent of those irl catholic "orphans" who aren't actually orphans, they're children of nuns / priests who can't claim them. i think Sister Imperator checked on him semi-frequently, but she wasn't really involved. Cardi is the only one who was raised in the cult, and he grew up in LA.

i don't want to speculate about the twin.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Genius is nothing other than the ability to retrieve childhood at will.

Charles Baudelaire

Is this all there is to art? A kind of solipsism? An inability to get past the egoism of infancy?

In Fellini’s masterpiece 8+1/2 the answer seems to lie with unraveling the mysterious phrase ‘Asa Miso Nasa’. Up front I will admit the film is not easy to follow as it doesn't really have a great plot and it does feel like episodic that gives it a disjointed look. But that doesn't mean there are no grand narratives underpinning it because there is.

The film, released in 1963, is about a movie director named Guido. His latest project has stalled before filming has even begun. Played by the incomparable Marcello Mastroianni, Guido is suffering from anxiety and creative block. It’s no wonder. He has sown chaos in his love life, and his creative indecision is producing near-mutinous levels of angst among actors, agents and crew. But all of this is mere surface tumult. Guido is haunted by something deeper. Something to do with . . . what? His parents, his childhood, the Catholic church? Feelings of shame and bliss? Death? All he has to answer his question is the phrase 'Asa Miso Nasa' to unlock answers but something he doesn't quite get.

In many ways ‘Asa Miso Nasa’ is a red herring, a sort of wild goose chase to nowhere. Like "Rosebud" in Orson Welles' Citizen Kane, or the madeleine in Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time, "Asa Nisi Masa" is a Hitchcockian ‘MacGuffin’ - a convenient object upon which the plot turns. In Fellini’s film it’s used as a gateway to crucial memories of the central character - even though it is itself peripheral to the central story.

Fellini’s answer is, I think, with his apprehension that the urge to make art is connected to a time in our lives when we were lifted and carried about, lowered into baths, tucked into bed; when we first used our lips to suck and to kiss; when we flapped our arms and kicked our legs; or when we danced without unrestrained joy. In other words, when we felt ourselves to be unique in our childhood.

Why should that be so? James Fenton, the great poet and critic, provided a plausible answer, even if he was writing about something else.

“Because,” wrote Fenton - and here comes the part that Guido, the anxious, grown-up filmmaker, must reckon with - “there follows the primal erasure, when we forget all those early experiences, and it is rather as if there is some mercy in this, since if we could remember the intensity of such pleasure it might spoil us for anything else. We forget what happened exactly, but we know that there was something, something to do with music and praise and everyone talking, something to do with flying through the air, something to do with dance.”

Something Fellini-esque, you might say.

Art is more than a pathetic desire to revert to childhood bliss. It’s true that the self-centredness of great artists - and by no means just male artists - is bound up with their desire to find again the treasure in the corner of the childhood bedroom, and the only sound is the children’s chant: “Asa Nisi Masa.” But what do all artists want if not to be understood.

But here we run into a problem. For all the attention artists seek, there is a kind of shame for them in being “understood.” Being “explained” is never more than an inch from being “explained away,” rendered redundant, losing the vital quality that makes one unique. Their egos can't handle that. So we can never judge beauty in art if we limit ourselves to just the life and meaning of an artist. If anyone ever says they don't like this art because of this artist was not nice or was abusive or held questionable beliefs then they are either illiterate fools or as shallow as the unfunny Hannah Gadsby is about Picasso.

There is much, much more to art, which, at its best, is always about transcending solipsism and reaching for beauty.

For Roger Scruton, the great philosopher of aesthetics, “Beauty is an ultimate value - something that we pursue for its own sake, and for the pursuit of which no further reason need be given. Beauty should therefore be compared to truth and goodness, one member of a trio of ultimate values which justify our rational inclinations,” Scruton developed a largely metaphysical aspect to understanding standards of art and beauty. For Scruton, the purpose of art is to save the sacred - the beautiful.

For Scruton, beauty is wrapped up in his view of the sacred. The sacred begins with the fundamental nature of man as an end, not merely a means - here childhood memories are a means not an end. Scruton then, is able to apply this concept of ends to beauty. The ability to place meaning on things is what gives man his sacredness and makes him an end unto himself. The sacred gives us a glimpse into eternity, and provides man with the cure to his temporal misery. In a manner almost Platonic, Scruton describes the sacred as pulling man out of the world of things and into the transcendental realm. It is an attempt not so much to find a glimpse of our childhood so much as to find Eden again, even if only in a finite temporal way, and to “prefigure our eternal home.”

Thus, it is this sacred nature of ends, not means, that Scruton puts forth in his understanding of beauty. In this Scruton echoes those philosophers of that past. Some like the Greek philosopher, Plotinus, beauty is seen as an ultimate value, pursued for its own sake, and the way in which the “divine unity makes itself known to the soul.”

Beauty is the glue that holds cultures together. It transcends individual places and ages. Light shining through stained glass in the Notre-Dame Cathedral, the face of Mary in Michelangelo’s La Pietà, a Bach orchestral suite, or a Frederico Fellini film (and none more so than the playful but sublime 8+1/2). Our experiences of these things connect us to the experiences of so many others over the decades and centuries since their creation. The beauty links us with a sense of profoundness and awe.

[rapha-reads]

To those of you wondering (aka no one), I finished both The Vampire Armand and Merrick and I have a lot of thoughts and feels. I'm skipping Blood and Gold for now to go directly to Blackwood Farm (I'll read B&G later), but first I'm going to read something else, just to take a break.

TVA thoughts: man, Armand is messed up. And extremely compelling. But so messed up. As always, the theme of faith crisis, which seriously reaches new heights with these bitchy vampires, is not something I can fully immerse myself in, but it was fascinating to see his numerous metamorphosis. I liked how he bridges Western and Eastern Christianisme, especially through art. Now I'm thinking that if Rolin Jones makes him originally Muslim in the show, that could expand even more the conversation on how faith, and especially Abrahamic faith, has been in conversation for thousands of years and could be such a rich, diverse and spiritual, intellectual and artistic theme. I can already imagine some fascinating discussions comparing (not in a superior way but in a complementary way) coming from Muslim faith to Roman Catholic faith, the way book!Armand talks about the richness of his life in Kiev Rus despite the poverty and ascetism, and the richness of his life in Venecia despite the luxury and abundance.

As for Benamin and Sybille... I don't have much thoughts about them. Sybille is one of those female characters AR seemingly favors, not so much human as a nymph or a dryad, "perfectly splendid". And Benji is a caricature of an Arab child. Nuance? 401 not found.

Merrick thoughts: David for the love if everything, shut. The. Fuck. Up. Holy moly. I like David, I do, but damn the entire recollection of his history with Merrick was looooooong. I'm here to see Louis haunted by Claudia and haunting Lestat's coma, not how hard you're pining for the kid you practically raised! Also. ALSO. You're just going to leave that whole thing with the Olmec or possibly another more ancient Mesoamerican civilisation without ever giving us more? That was the most interesting part of it all! The vodoo history, the connection between Louisiana and Caribbean vodoo and old Native South-American religions! More about this, less about Merrick's perfect breasts, I am begging you. (It is at this point that the reader of this post realises OP is 100% definitely ace and more interested in books and witchcraft than breasts and whether a 70yo man can still get it up - also, hey, Anne Rice's vampires are practically asexual and their lust and pleasure is mostly derivated from blood, with some notable exceptions like Armand and Marius, and a love relationship between two vampires is then based on romantic love and blood sharing, so can I hear a hell yeah for some ace representation or are we still conflating eroticism with sex)

Another thing I kept thinking about throughout the book is how Louis is perceived by his fellow vampires. Since basically the second book, since we've lost his own POV, everybody who's ever said anything about him (so Lestat, Armand and David) have insisted on two points: how very weak and meek Louis is, and also how irresistible, beautiful and charming. Granted, I've known Louis first through his portrayal on the show (hi Jacob you're so fiiiiiiine), and then through his own narration in the first book, but I've never had the impression that he was weak. Beautiful and seductive, yes. Weak? I see a human man going through tragedies and still enduring, going through vampiric transformation and then suffering for decades the loss of his humanity, struggling with reconciliating both sides of himself, but mostly I see a vampire who rebuilt himself after losing everything without sacrificing his sense of self. I see Louis as very strong actually (up to the point where resilience breaks, because resilience cannot be sustained on a long term, but that's another debate). He knows who he is, and don't you know how hard that is? He doesn't cling to faith or pride. He knows he's doomed, he knows he's monstrous, he knows there's nothing he can do to change that, and instead of railing against his fate, he goes on about his undead life. He gets his books and he reads them, he surrounds himself with literature and what little comforts he thinks in his shattered self-esteem he deserves (his ragged sweaters and soft trousers); let's not lie to ourselves tho, Louis doesn't like himself, or more exactly he doesn't care about his corporeal body - what matters to him is his mind, and once again, this author is extremely ace and also very aro and very nonbinary, so Louis to me is very much ace and agender coded, though really not aro, because his love for Lestat (and sometimes his fondness, shall we say, for Armand) is the only thing that can rouse him up from his literary slumber.

...

Oh, man, I have a lot to say about Louis, for how little he appears in the books so far. Still have BF, BC and the PL trilogy to devour. So I guess you can say, for as much as Lestat is occupying my entire brain, very much like him, my favorite is Louis? Yeah, that tracks. Melancholy, quiet, dark-haired green-eyed monster with more humanity than humans, preferring his solitude and the company of books to anyone else, hopelessly and helplessly devoted to one person, expert in brooding and grieving, literature specialist, not very attached to his physical self. Yeah. I'm not surprised.