#children leaving the Catholic faith

[cmcsmen]

How To Help Your Adult Children Leaving the Catholic Faith

By Frank J Casella

Many Catholic men and their wives feel anguish over how their adult children have stopped going to Mass or are leaving the Catholic Faith that they raised their children in.

Watching your children drift away from the faith can be a heartbreaking experience. For those of us who have raised kids in the faith, attending Mass every Sunday, sending them to religious education programs, or sending them to Catholic schools can feel like a futile effort. We often ask ourselves "what did I do wrong?", "what should I have done differently?"

I have heard Bishop Perry respond to these questions as "You didn't do anything wrong" .. children are naturally bundles of constant change.

You don't have to live with a powerless feeling. Because here is some hope: Continue to give a witness even if the child left the house; always provide an open door, a way back if they are not married - Model your love of the Faith; Believe in the power of prayer, fasting, penance, and blessing - these are not little small things.

God and the Saint's can work on their heart better than you can.

Living a devout Christian life means that we turn everything over to God loving Him with our whole heart. One reality about Catholic's, would you agree, is we follow the rules, we do the right things, but do we really know Jesus and thus we don’t do a good job of talking about our relationship with Jesus.

And speaking of our children leaving the house, many of them are staying longer and not marrying. One man I know says that his son has been out of college for a few years and has moved back home three times after living with friends. He feels that because his son is not married you can't send him back (to his spouse) to work it out.

One young adult woman writes "four of the most important problems that affect devout Catholics when it comes to getting to know a potential spouse and considering marriage: dysfunctional discernment, divisions in the Church or “Catholic camps,” poor examples and mixed messages from parents and mentors, and lack of universal courtship (or dating) customs."

And she goes on to say, "How, I often wonder, can I know so many single Catholic women who say they can’t find a man and so many single Catholic men who say they can’t find a woman? Why aren’t they all finding each other? The answer, I suspect, lies in the fact that far more single men consider themselves traditional Catholics than single women, and those traditional single men want to marry a woman who falls into the same Catholic camp" …. "For this reason, it makes sense to narrow your search down to truly practicing Catholics and not attempt any “missionary dating.” "

So I hope that what I have shared here shows you are not alone if you're experiencing this, and how there are several things converging in our culture, as well as within the Church, contributing to this. And again, you did nothing wrong. In fact you did everything right in providing a faith based foundation for your children while growing up .. now just keep doing it … and praying for them.

[servantofthefates]

How to Summon Your Guardian

Neopagans call them guides. Catholics call them angels. Some witches call them fae. Different names in different faiths, yet the same being. The one who walks beside you.

The First Call

My elders say our guardian is close to us when we are children. Because that is when our soul contract with them is fresh and new. As we grow older, we push them away because we have forgotten they exist. They still check on us now and then, but they no longer stay. To call them back to you, do this:

Wherever you are in the world, no matter what time it is, begin by sitting still and closing your eyes. Take deep breaths until you feel isolated from the world around you. Using these exact words, or simply as a guide, speak out loud or in your mind:

“I now recall. You are the good luck that comes to me unexpectedly. You are the bad luck that saves me from worse luck. You are the whisper that tells me where to go. You are the push that shoves me to the right path. You are the caress that heals my aches. You are the pain that strengthens my resolve. You are the companion I had forgotten about. But now I recall. And back to me, I now thee call.”

Make the words true, by recalling the times when an invisible force seems to have saved you. When something hopeless suddenly worked out for you. When some suffering turned out to have been good for you. These are the acts of your guardian.

Then open your eyes.

The Vision

In the next minutes, hours or days — it is not the same for us all… wait for a response. A dream. A sensation. An encounter. Some sign that your guardian has heard your call and has returned at your side.

This will be different for everyone. But when it comes, it will be undeniable. Because whatever sign is sent will be deeply personal. A symbol that meant something to you in childhood. A song you used to love ages ago. Mine was a hypnopompic hallucination.

More often than not, it will also reveal the appearance of your guardian. A glimpse of their face. The sound of their name. A revelation of who they are. And whoever you see or hear will not be surprising to you. After all, you have known them before. Deep down, your soul still remembers.

Wait for this vision before you proceed. If it never comes, repeat The First Call. This time, more solemnly.

The Gift

Give your guardian an offering. An acknowledgment of your vision and a reaffirmation of your intention to walk with them once more.

Whatever you give, it needs to have value — material, sentimental or both. My elders say it is better to offer something you already own and hold dear, instead of acquiring something new and shiny, whose worth could be artificial.

Leave this offering somewhere special for your guardian. If you have a sacred space, an altar or a shrine… leave it there. If not, it could be a dedicated space in your bookshelf, in your dresser or on your desk.

In your own words, tell your guardian this gift is for them.

The Sharing

You want your guardian to share their life with you once more. So you too must share yours with them. This means leaving out for them a piece of something you enjoy every now and then.

Treated yourself to a bar of chocolate? Give them a piece. Put it beside their gift. Dispose of it the day after. Bought a bottle of perfume? Spray some in the air for them to smell. Received a bottle of wine? Pour some in a glass for them to taste.

Make this second nature to you. Share with your guardian your little happinesses. Not as a sacrifice, and not even as an offering. Think of it as having a friend that your eyes cannot see but your soul can sense. This is not a deal, an exchange or a spell. Just an act of decency and kindness.

The Incantation

In times when you need help, or in moments when you feel scared… make sure you have an incantation at the ready to tell your guardian you need them. If you are religious, think of it as a prayer. If you are pragmatic, think of it as dialing emergency.

The words have to be your own. The length needs to feel comfortable to you. The rhythm has to sound meaningful to your ears. Mine is based on a prayer I learned in Catholic school as a child:

“Lucifer… my inspiration, my angel, my friend… Be at my side, to light and guide, to rule and guard. Amen.”

[r0ugesun]

Guilty as sin

“What If the way you hold me is actually what’s holy?”

warnings — nsfw, religious imagery, Catholic guilt, finger fuck!ng, blowjob, misuse of the confessional, porn with plot, slow burn ooc(?) aemond

Pairings: Priest!Aemond x Reader

Synopsis: Father aemond, a devoted Catholic priest, is steadfast in his vows until a beautiful new parishioner, you, begins visiting his confessional regularly. Each visit is filled with whispered confessions of sin, making it increasingly difficult for him to keep his promise of celibacy and his composure and commitment to his faith. As your confessions become more personal, Father Aeomond finds himself battling intense feelings of desire and guilt, questioning his faith and the very vows that define his life. he grapples with his sacred duty and the forbidden attraction that threatens to consume him.

“Father hear my prayer, witness my devotion”

In the hushed stillness of the dawn, Father Aemond knelt beneath the towering crucifix, where the desolate visage of Christ hung suspended in eternal torture. His hands, gently held an emerald rosary, pressed together in fervent prayer, he whispered supplications into the fabric of the divine. The bright, golden glow of countless candles bathed the church in a holy luminescence, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows upon the stone walls. The smoke of frankincense and myrrh swirled through the air, mingling with the first few rays of light shining through the stained glass.

It’s been years since Father Aemond was sent away to the priesthood by his mother to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather, he didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to leave his home, but seeing his mothers furrowed brow desperate tears in her eyes at having lost his brother Aegon to Satans grasp, he hung his head low and allowed her to place her boundless hope and faith onto him he didn’t want to disappoint her, he didn’t want to see her pained expression of seeing another son following the same dark path.

He found succor in the Lord and he was content with placing all his sorrows onto him.

Meditation prayer and penance

that’s all he needed, nothing more nothing less, he’d place everything in gods hands and in turn the Lord provided.

“May your will be done through me your faithful servant, amen”

Father Aemond rose slowly from his knees, He brushed off his cassock, the fabric rustling softly in the quiet sanctuary.

With a deep breath, he moved towards the grand wooden doors at the entrance, his worn keys jingling softly in his hand. As he walked sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on him as he turned the heavy iron key in the lock, preparing to welcome the day's congregation.

Father Aemond stood at the front of the church, watching as the congregation filled the pews, familiar faces offering him warm smiles and nods, the small children hid behind their mothers skirts unnerved by his eyepatch and tall slender figure, he didn’t mind it too much, the congregations quiet murmures creating a gentle hum that echoed off the stone walls.

His eye swept over the crowd, offering silent prayers for each familiar face. Just as he was about to turn towards the altar and begin, the heavy wooden doors creaked open again, and a woman stepped inside. She was unlike anyone he had ever seen in his humble parish.

She was beautiful—sinfully beautiful. Her h/c hair was covered by a delicate red veil that cascaded down her back, and her eyes, there was a hint of sadness to them, they looked slightly tired and weary but it did nothing to blanket her beauty, she scanned the room before settling on him. She moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, her presence commanding attention without a word.

Father Aemond’s heart skipped a beat, a feeling of unease mingling with an inexplicable attraction. He watched as she took a seat near the back, her gaze never leaving him. Shaking off his discomfort, he reminded himself of his duty and the sanctity of his calling.

As the service began, he couldn't help but glance in her direction, the mystery of her appearance nagging at the edges of his thoughts. Who was she? Where did she come from? Why did she come?

He pushed those thoughts away and focused on the service.

Father Aemond sat in the dimly lit confessional booth. He had been here countless times, offering absolution to his parishioners, guiding them back to the path god wanted for them. Yet today, something was different.

The screen softly slid open, revealing the shadowy outline of a woman. You spoke soft and melodic.

“Bless me father for I have sinned”

Aemond’s heart quickened. He didn’t recognize the voice. It must belonged to the new parishioner, the beauty he had seen at Mass, your presence both a distraction and a source of deep unease for him.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“It’s been….years, Father,” you admit. “I have strayed far from gods light”

He could feel your gaze, even through the screen, and it unsettled him, he grasped his rosary tighter in his hand.

“Tell me what burdens your soul my child”

You hesitated, then began to speak of your sins

Your voice trembling with vulnerability.

“Father I-I have sinned greatly, I’ve left my husband and my home”

Aemond felt a pang of surprise.

“Why did you leave him?”

Your voice began to shake.

“For years, I endured his anger, his cruelty…. H-his indiscretion’s…. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to leave or I feared I would lose my sanity.”

Aemond’s heart ached for her.

“I found comfort in the arms of another man. I’ve committed adultery…. I gave my body to him… thought it would ease my pain and loneliness, it did temporarily but now I just feel more alone than I’ve ever had.”

Aemond’s breath caught. The vivid images her words conjured plucked at his own hidden desires. Flashes of your face contorted in pleasure, your thighs trembling under his hips…. He clenched his rosary even tighter, forcing himself to remain composed.

“Adultery is a grave sin,”

he said, his voice heavy.

“But God is slow to anger and quick to forgive. True repentance can lead to forgiveness.”

“I wanted to feel loved, Father,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I want to feel held, I cannot push away these desires and it scares me.”

He could hear the sob in your voice, the shame. And yet, the way you spoke, the unintentional seductiveness in your words, made it hard for him to think clearly.

“The important thing is to seek forgiveness and to resist these temptations.”

He said trying to keep his composure

“But what if I can’t?” You asked, your voice filled with despair.

“What if my desire is too strong? What if i seek…comfort again?”

Aemond’s pulse quickened.

“You must pray for the will to resist falling into your desires, true pleasure is in Gods light, you will never be alone in his arms”

Was he saying this to you or himself?? He didn’t know anymore.

“Thank you, Father. your words comforted me”

As you left the confessional, Aemond remained, his head bowed. He exhaled a shaky breath His heart was a storm of conflicting emotions—guilt, longing, and a desperate need for penance. He whispered a prayer, not only for you but for himself. For the strength to resist, for the grace to overcome his own lust, and for the will to remain steadfast in his vows.

He looked down at his hands, the rosary he was holding was now dripping blood from his hand.

Over the next few weeks Father Aemond found himself anticipating your presence more than he cared to admit. You continued to attend mass regularly, your beauty a fresh assault on his vows. Your confessional sessions grew longer and more personal, the line between priest and penitent eroding with every shared secret. Aemond knew he was endangering his sacred duty, still he found himself in your company once again.

In the church gardens, the air was perfumed by the rich scent of roses, you often walked together after your confessions. Your conversations ranged from mundane topics to the profound, each exchange drawing you both closer.

As you walked, the setting sun cast a warm glow over everything.

"You've become such an important part of my life," you admitted, your voice vulnerable . "I feel like I can tell you anything."

Father Aemond's heart pounded in his chest. "You know I'm here for you," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and something deeper. "Always."

You stopped walking and turned to face him, your eyes searching his. "But what about you, Aemond? Who do you talk to? Who listens to your confessions?"

He hesitated, the weight of his own unspoken feelings pressing down on him. "God always listens to my confessions, always." he replied.

You stepped closer, your hand reaching out to gently touch his his. "Yes but, even you should have someone listen and answer.”

Your touch sent a shiver down his spine, and he found himself unable to look away from her eyes. "I… God answers me in his own way y/n” but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

You sighed and caressed his hands with your thumb, adding insult to his already aching heart.

“What a beautiful rosary” you said not wanting to press further, something he was thankful for

“Thank you it was a gift from my mother” he said, you gently touched the emerald beads making his heart flutter.

He took in your form with his good eye, you were…. Divine, if we were made in gods image then you were surely carved from his best parts, he thought.

his lips parted slightly and he felt his cheeks flush and in that moment, he knew there was no turning back. The guilt and shame surged, but so did a deep, undeniable love. Father Aemond grit his teeth, he prayed,but this time, it was not for strength to resist you, but for forgiveness.

Father Aemond sat alone in the dimly lit confessional booth, the flickering candles casting long shadows on the walls. It was late, and the rain outside had started as a gentle patter but had now grown into a relentless downpour. The usual steady stream of parishioners had come and gone, leaving him to his thoughts.

He wasn’t expecting anyone else to come tonight. The storm would keep most people indoors, and he welcomed the quiet solitude to reflect and pray. But as he sat there, he heard the heavy church door creak open. He straightened, surprised that anyone would venture out in such weather.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the empty church, growing louder as they approached the confessional. The door to the adjoining booth opened and closed softly. Father Aemond held his breath, recognizing the familiar presence even before you spoke.

"Aemond, it’s me," your voice trembled

"Y/n you're drenched," he said, concern lacing his tone. "Why are you out in this storm?"

"I had to see you," you replied. "I couldn't wait."

He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. "What is it, my child?"

There was a long pause, thunder clapping loudly and the rain pounding against the church windows. Then, your voice came, barely above a whisper.

“Father Aemond I’ve sinned greatly”

you said voice cracking “my thoughts wander at mass….I’ve been having indecent thoughts….thoughts about a person who’s shown me kindness and I can’t stop these feelings”

you recall how father Aemond would lick his pointer and middle finger before turning a page of the Bible during his sermons, making you instinctively rub your thighs together in the pews.

“I-I’ve been….relieving myself while thinking of him…these desires are consuming me”

Father Aemond's heart raced, and he felt his cock beginning to twitch. He knew what he should say, tell you to resist these carnal desires but he didn’t, he couldn’t.

“Continue” he said trying to keep his voice from shaking.

You continued, your voice breaking. "I know it's wrong but…but I-i” you tried to stop the sob that escaped you, but the shame was too much.

“You what??” he said desperately.

“Father aemond I'm in love with you”

He could feel your desperation, your vulnerability. The rain outside seemed to echo his own inner turmoil, a tempest of feelings he could no longer suppress. He tore open the small wooden panel that separated you both, revealing your tear-streaked face and thin dress clinging to your skin.

You looked up at him shocked, before you could speak he pulled you up and kissed you harshly.

In that moment, all his vows, all his promises seemed to dissolve under the intensity of your kiss. Hungry wet kisses echoed in the booth until he pulled away from you, you stood facing each other, gasping for air the dim light casting a halo around your wet figure.

"I love you too," he admitted, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I've tried to fight it, but I can't."

He closed the distance between you again, and pulled your wet body flush against his, the warmth of his body against yours was a sensation he'd only dared to dream of. As he pressed his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, he felt his cock harden, he lifted the skirt of your dress quickly and started fingering your wet folds.

“I wanted this for so long..” he said quietly.

“A-Aemond!” You cried out, this encouraged him to speed up, he rubbed fast circles around your clit, Causing your thighs to shake in pleasure.

Aemond captured your lips again, it was urgent and breathless, filled with all of the desires he tried so hard to resist. It was a surrender and a claiming all at once, he was unraveling, your melodic moans more beautiful than any hymn, the taste of rain on your skin felt like the holy water that sanctified this union.

He couldn’t take much more he needed to take you fully, he pulled his cock out from his breaches but before he would shove himself inside you he breathed out,

“Do you truly want this?….with me?”

You looked into his eye, there was so much love and desperation and you just wanted to be loved, you didn’t want to be alone anymore, even if it meant straying away from gods kingdom.

“I want this…with you and only you”

He didn’t waste anytime, he flipped you around and ripped your soaking wet dress from your body, you moaned in approval, you felt him lining his cock against your entrance, you held your breath in anticipation, shuddering when you felt his lithe hands grip your hips…. and then he was fucking you, in and out, in and out.

Both of your moans filled the air, intertwining and harmonizing like a choir, each note a blend of passion and desperation, the melody you made together resonated through the empty church.

The pleasure you felt when you felt the drag of his cock slamming in and out of you was what you could only describe as divine, you looked back behind your shoulder and moaned louder, he looked like an angel like this, you thought, his white hair clinging to the sweat on his forehead and his face held an almost pained expression like one of the saints in the stained glass windows.

He groaned “just like that, just like that take me in all the way”

He plunged himself deep inside you, relishing in the tight embrace of your pussy. With one hand, he lifted your leg, gripping your thigh as he fucked into you with increasing urgency. Your body, overwhelmed with ecstasy, couldn’t hold back any longer. You cried out his name in bliss, feeling the tension snap.

Finally, waves of pleasure crashed over you, your clit pulsing in delight as you let out a passionate moan. You writhed on his lap, riding the high of your climax, before slowly and shakily detaching yourself from his cock and sinking to your knees.

Aemond gazed down at you panting, his chest heaving with desire. He tenderly caressed your cheek with his thumb and brushed a strand of your hair from your flushed cheek, his touch loving and possessive. You were down on your hands and knees for him, not in prayer but in a fervent act of worship of a different kind, one he eagerly accepted.

You took his cock into your mouth, locking eyes with him intensely. A low groan escaped his lips as he couldn't resist gripping your hair, his desire palpable, he tried to stop his hips from bucking into your mouth but when you moaned around him he couldn’t help himself. You continued your ministrations bobbing your head up and down increasing your speed when his moans grew louder.

“Y-Y/n I’m close”

He gazed at you with fervent desire in his half lidded eye as you took him deeper, this made his cock twitch, igniting a fire within him. You looked so beautiful like this, you closed your eyes and moaned deeply, the sight was too much for him unable to contain himself any longer, he surrendered completely, he moaned out your name, pouring his hot cum into your eager mouth, which you gladly swallowed.

As both of you were panting, breaths mingling in the air, he gently pulled you into his lap, cradling you close against his chest. His touch was tender yet possessive, as he kissed your forehead softly, his hands caressing your back in a loving embrace.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice laced with concern, he held you close, your knees drawn up against him.

You lifted your head from his chest, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “I’m okay” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your hearts, He kissed your forehead in reply.

the storm outside seemed to grow louder, The windows rattled as though struck by an unseen hand, furious and unyielding.

Aemond pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, the enormity of what he had done crashing down upon him. The storm's fury seemed to intensify, the thunder rolling like the wrath of god himself.

He looked into your eyes, filled with love and fear, with the storm raging outside. He held you close, as if seeking solace in your presence, each flash of lightning a reminder of his failure to his sacred duties. The rain, once gentle and purifying, now felt like a torrent of divine tears, weeping for the sacred vow he had shattered.

“Forgive me, father” he pleaded in his head “For failing you, for failing y/n.”

You gently squeezed his hand, as if reading his thoughts. Neither of you could predict the future, but as the storm eased and sunlight broke through the clouds, he knew deep down that everything would be alright as long as you were together.

Thank you for reading I hope you liked it :> sorry if too ooc

[thewriterwithnoplan]

THE TRAITOR'S SOULMATE (2/2)

Summary: Humans once had four legs, four arms, two heads, and two hearts. For humanity's hubris, Zeus struck them in two. You and Luke Castellan are determined to find your way back to each other, but before that can happen, there are things the two of you need to do.

[Part 2 to The Hero's Soulmate]

Soulmate AU: You meet the future version of your soulmate.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word Count: 7378

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, I use the spelling 'mom' because the series is American but I - and I cannot stress this enough - am not American, she a long one.

A/N: I've loved reading your comments, thank you so much for all the support in part one. I hope you enjoy, because we all deserve a little Luke Castellan every now and then!

Masterlist

Amphitrite had been gifted a premonition and the world was all the worse for it. The dream had come from Apollo or perhaps the Oneiroi or whatever great heart pumped blood and Gods and monsters out into the world.

It did not matter to the Goddess from whom the vision came, for in this dream Amphitrite had watched her husband fall in love and sire a child to a mortal paramour. A precious boy that Poseidon might even one day love, with a taste for the colour blue and a heroism that would grow to rival his namesake. And for the Queen of the Seas, that simply would not do.

It would not be the child’s nor his mortal mother’s fault – she was not Hera after all – and so she would have to punish her husband for the blame would be his. But how was one to punish a King among Gods before his crime even came to be? Why to beat him at his own game, of course.

So, Amphitrite set out to sire her own demigod with the mortal man her husband would hate most. A devout catholic.

Amphitrite stayed with her mortal lover and their half-blood daughter until the girl was all but five.  Far longer than the greater Gods were wont to spend with their offspring. But what a precious babe she had bourn and what a traitorous husband she had back home.

But fate and prophecies and soulmates were such funny things. Inciting chaos. Inviting paradox. Introducing dangers untold.

It took Amphitrite all those years – though seemingly short in her immortality – to realise her fatal error. She had been the one to leave Poseidon. She had been the one to sire a child. She had been the one to drive her husband to the surface and his mortal. And so, the blame was hers to shoulder.

Amphitrite decided that she would be a self-fulfilling prophecy no longer. It was time to venture back below the surface.

In a last fit of guilt, she bestowed her first and final act of mercy unto her mortal lover. She told him everything.

When finally, she had gone back to the sea to reconcile with her husband, the catholic man took his turn to bestow his first and final act of mercy unto his young demigod child.

Against all the teachings of his faith. He abandoned his young daughter at Half-Blood Hill. And let the devil-spawn keep her life.

The Spirit of the Hudson River never did learn to like you. You with your greedy hands, snatching debris from its murky waters. You and your strange sea creature friends who would not dare brave such pollution were it not for your presence. Your pile of war spoils tossed aside like children’s toys. Your strange little bubble of air on the sandy floor of the river, where you stowed your treasures and slept bracketed by water. Were it not for the pollution that slopped against the edge of the river as if it were trying to escape you, the Hudson River Spirit might have chased you and your sea friends and your collection of trinkets out of his waters. But as it were, you made a strangely amicable tenant for a demigod. So, as long as you paid your dues the spirit let you keep your little underwater oasis.

For your first years living there, you made your way in New York City by selling lost things dredged from your river home. Bikes and old weaponry and tarnished jewellery and buckets of coins from across the world. You were careful and you coveted your few precious belongings, but with the rivers bounty, you rarely went hungry.

By the time you were fourteen, you found you could venture further into the city without as many questions. You had met an odd assortment of people whilst selling the lost and unloved things of the river; all who knew someone, who knew someone, who needed another set of hands and so you offered yours. You babysat and cleaned, worked in delis and sandwich shops, helped old women with their groceries and young families mend their clothes. A retired teacher gifted you packets of schoolwork and with little else to fill your hours under the river you took to learning. Your numbers came easier than letters and reading always gave you a hard time but the activities she gave you each time you tended to her balcony garden gave you something to do when the sounds of the city kept you up at night.

All the while you followed Percy Jackson from the recesses of the Hudson. Shuffling your little bubble and its blessedly dry treasures up and then back down the river as he was bounced listlessly from school to school. Watching over him as the mythosphere tried desperately to barge into his little mortal life. Feral harpies that tried to snatch him into the air, great snakes that tried to sneak through air vents and all manner of underworld-born sea creatures that sought to pull him below. You had wrestled and dismembered and slayed them all. Adding their feathers and scales and great weapons to your dragons-hoard.

You were sixteen when you finally knocked on Sally Jackson’s door to introduce yourself. You had spent weeks working yourself up to it, planning your outfit and then fussing over each piece. All your clothes had been gifts and were often a size too big or printed with some generic tagline like Spread peace not hate!; or made entirely from yarn that the old woman whose meals you prepped at the start of each week had gifted you after she had taught you how to crochet; or like the dress you wore now, were sown together from thrifted fabric scraps and embellished with pretty shells and baroque pearls. You had planned the time you would arrive down to the minute so that her oppressive husband would be out, but the hour would not be so late as to make an unexpected visit threatening. You had planned to keep Percy safe while you were away from him by entrusting your friends Clarence the Crab and Emily the Squid to supervise him for the evening.

What you had not planned for was the possibility that Sally Jackson would be the most lovely woman you had ever met. You had been struck dumb by it the moment she opened her door and greeted you with a kind smile. Couldn’t your mother have chosen a mortal as gentle as she to be your parent? Alas, the Gods had never done a thing for you.

“Can I help you, lovely?”

You tried not to burst into tears as you asked, “Mrs. Jackson?”

“Are you alright?” She opened the door wider, leant out and scanned the corridor behind you. “Is there something you need?”

“No ma’am. I’m here about your son, Percy. His father sent me.” A good ambiguous statement that would pique her curiosity but let on nothing about the Gods. Allowing you to spin your tale – that you were Percy’s long-lost step-sister, come to reconnect. 

“Poseidon?” Alas, the Gods had truly never done a thing for you. “Is something wrong? Is Percy, okay?”

“He’s fine Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been keeping him safe.” 

She scanned the hall behind you once more, “You best come in.”

Over a cup of tea, you told Sally Jackson everything.

You liked your home under the river. For lack of a better term, it allowed you to remain liquid. You could follow Percy wherever trouble took him. You could stay up until the city grew quiet for that brief moment before dawn. You could train with the Hudson River Spirit, even if he only entertained you because he enjoyed winning.

You liked your bed made out of stacked wood pallets and a mountain of blankets. You liked your wooden chest of draws stuffed full of trinkets and weapons and the precious few items you owned. You liked this place that you had carved out with your own two hands.

But you also liked your home in the Jackson household. Where there was always music playing. Where it was always warm and dry. Where there would always be some blue-ified food in the oven or blue candy in the mason jars by the sink.

It became your job in the summers to babysit Percy, to keep him away from Gabe and from danger while entertaining his endless need for motion. You took him to art galleries (which he hated) and aquariums (which he loved), to craft fairs (which he tolerated because he liked the things you made) and swimming pools (which he only liked when he won your swimming races).

“What even is a soulmate?” Percy had asked you one day at the park.

“The person with the other half of your soul,” You scrunched your nose up, “Or well, that's what people say.”

“You’re saying I’ve been walking around with half a soul?”

“I didn’t say I believed them,” You rattled your water bottle in front of his face until he took it. “Stay hydrated.”

He frowned at you, “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Of course I do, but it's a little more complicated than that, kid.” You took the water bottle back and played with the cap for a moment while you thought. “Think of it like this. You can have two different puzzles that are cut the same way, right? So all the pieces from one will fit with all the pieces from the other. But that doesn’t mean they belong together, the picture doesn’t come out quite right because even though the pieces fit, they don’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. Maybe that’s what it was like for your mom, like she couldn’t find the pieces that made up her picture and so she went with the ones that fit at the time.”

“You don’t think my mom and dad were soulmates?”

“I never met your father.”

“But he’s your dad too.”

“He’s my mom’s husband. Maybe my mom and dad are soulmates.” Percy didn’t seem to like that answer.  “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe your mom and my mom each have pieces that fit into your dad's puzzle but neither match his picture, or both. Maybe his picture is a year with your mom and a lifetime with mine and having you. Maybe he needs to collect all those little pieces at the right time when they’re the right shape or he’ll end up with a completely different picture at the end.”

“I kind of understand.” But he gave you a look that said he probably didn’t. “What picture are you making?”

You hid your smile behind the lip of your water bottle, “My soulmates about yay-high, pretty as a magazine cover with dimples and all. I’m collecting my puzzle pieces with you and your mom and this city so that I’ll have half of his picture.”

“If you know who he is, why don’t you just go find him now?”

“Still looking for some pieces, I guess.” You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “Souls are fragile. If you go rushing in and trying to jam the pieces in when they’re not shaped right just yet you could damage them.”

“What happens if you do that?”

“It’s probably harder to find each other in the next life. You’ll chip pieces away and your souls won’t fit right.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your cardigan and pulled out a sandwich, you gave Percy the bigger half.

“Who taught you all this?”

“My mom used to tell me and well, I've thought about it a lot.” You tugged Percy by the back of his shirt so he didn't go stomping through a puddle, he glared. “But anyway, some people think it’s just fate. That you find your soulmate no matter what and it’s a perfect fit either way.”

“It would be easier that way.”

“Sometimes that’s just not how the story goes, kid.”

Percy thought that was the most important thing anyone had ever taught him, but he figured some of the other stuff you taught him came in handy too. You taught him the tricks you learned to work around your dyslexia. You taught him to skip stones and to not throw rocks at seagulls. You taught him to flip off the Empire State Building but only when his mom wasn’t around. You taught him to knit and do a cartwheel and make a good cup of tea to take his mother in the morning. You taught him to chew with his mouth shut and to sword fight with wrapping paper rolls. You taught him to braid hair and throw a punch and say all the swears in Ancient Greek.

And then one day, a Satyr came for Percy Jackson, and there was nothing left for you to teach. 

You wrote Sally a brief letter of warning, picked your way through seven years’ worth of belongings and collapsed your life into a backpack. You said goodbye to Clarence and Emily with a brief promise to visit, pushed a final wave of pollution from the waters and thanked the Hudson River Spirit for his hospitality. He gifted you sixteen perfect round pearls and insisted that he never wanted to see you again. You spent the bus ride to Long Island threading them into a necklace made of fishing wire, tying off each pearl with your teeth. 

It was a tentative tradition between demigod soulmates to exchange gifts upon their first meeting. So few and far between were the possessions of a half-blood that even the smallest bauble would likely mean the world. The practice had died out some over the centuries as the Gods received fewer offerings from mortals and turned to their children for sacrifices. Gift-giving to your soulmate as a demigod became all but synonymous with spitting at the feet of the divine and loudly proclaiming you would make offerings to your soulmate instead. A pearl necklace would be an excellent final addition to the collection of small gifts you had assembled over the years. Let the Gods weep at your feet and beg for scraps if they needed them so much, you would ignore them just as they had ignored you. 

You arrived at Camp far sooner than you might have liked, a few hours past mid-day when hopefully the rest of your ilk would be occupied with meaneal chores and activities. You considered waiting at the crest of the hill for someone to notice you only to find a pine tree planted firmly at its peak where you might have stood. Instead, you make the alarmingly easy trek down to the Big House.

“Chiron!” He had always been your favourite of the two men, currently sat on the porch drinking juice and playing cards. 

“Yes, my girl?” He barely spared you a glance as he shuffled his cards between his weathered hands. He stilled for a moment and then tossed his head back in the way a horse might toss its mane. “My dear!” 

You raised a hand, halfway between a salute and a wave, “Nice to know I haven’t been totally forgotten.”

“Au contraire.” Mr. D stuck his nose up at you. “Which one are you again?” 

“The little one that went missing some seven years ago,” Chiron stood as you climbed the stairs onto the porch. “How are you, my dear? Where have you been?”

“Shouldn’t you be at Yancy Academy?”

Mr. D’s eyes turned sharp in the way that had once made your friends whisper that some days, he was more maniac than man , “And how do you know about that little girl?”

“Percy Jackson is at Yancy,” You smiled at him, all teeth, “How did you think he survived long enough for your baby satyr to find him?” 

“You have been protecting young demi-gods?” Chiron asked wearily. 

“Percy Jackson is a full-time job, I’m afraid,” You tugged at the strap of your backpack, praying you could keep control of the conversation. You had a lot of time under the river to think and this was one of many things you had spent countless hours mulling over. Weighing and considering what story you would tell them – to tell the truth of both your parentage and put Percy in harm's way or to lie and balance your life on its sharp edge. “I found him in Manhattan, he was like a magnet for mythological activity. By the time I’d had enough of rebelling and wanted to come back to camp, I was protecting him from attacks every other week. He wouldn’t have lasted a month. I came back as soon as I could.” 

No matter how many times you played it out in your head, the lies won every time. 

“Kids.” Mr. D threw back the last of his juice.

“Perhaps you should settle back into the Hermes Cabin, dear.” Chiron smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes pinched, “You’ve given myself and Mr. D much to talk about. We’ll settle the issue of your paperwork tomorrow.”

“Of course.” You rustled through your bag, digging up a palm sized statuette that you set onto the table. “Before I forget, I brought you a gift Mr. D.”

“A toy,” He snatched it up. “Oh joy.”

“It’s you, as the mortals’ see you. It’s from the gift shop at the Met.”

“How kind of you, my dear.” Chiron softened, and you watched as even Mr. D’s temper seemed to ease, his hands gentle around the gift as he admired it. 

An unseeing piece of plastic for the God who served as no more than a silent observer over the affairs of the camp. Let him choke on his ego, you thought as you left the pair to their discussion. 

Cabin 11 was blessedly empty when you entered, but your old bunk was not. A pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly across the bedspread. You snatched a sleeping bag and a lumpy pillow from the storage closet and threw them down with your bag. If you could not have the bunk that had been yours at twelve, you would claim the corner that had been yours at five. As you shook out the sleeping bag and pulled out your belongings, you tried not to think of your bed of blankets under the river or Sally Jackson’s couch. 

Instead you turned your mind to the Big House and the conversation that was no doubt happening within. 

You had constructed a perfect image, if you did say so yourself. Grown in ways Mr. D could not have predicted but Chiron would insist he had foreseen. Still a rebellious young woman in the mortal sense, with your scuffed leather boots and ripped jeans. But the parts that had screamed ‘insubordination’ to the Gods were neatly tucked away. Your twin knives strapped to your forearms under the billowing sleeves of your crocheted top, your vicious tongue caged behind a sweet grin, your once sharp stare softened at the edges.

Once you had fashioned yourself so that the Gods could not paint you as a hero, now you fashioned yourself so that they might forget you were an enemy. 

Let Chiron think you were a misunderstood wayward girl scout come home from her self-imposed quest. Let Mr. D think you were a stupid girl who had seen the world beyond the Gods’ protection and finally accepted that you needed them. Let them all think wrong. You had left to protect your brother and returned for one reason only. 

“You’re here.” 

You turned, and there he was, “Luke Castellan.” 

He opened his mouth and then closed it, limbs jerking slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to move toward you or stay put. He was almost certain you could hear the way his pulse was racing, his heartbeat clanging wildly in his chest as he searched desperately for a suave reply, but everything else seemed lack lustre when you said his name like that.

Your face twisted into something like anger and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up before your lips curled and you practically spat, “I do like your scar.”

And then he was laughing at you, wild and bewildered and not the least bit contained. Before long you were laughing too, neither of you quite sure what was funny, just so wholly relieved as your chests were flooded with wonder and warmth.

It felt like fireworks and popping candy. Just as he had promised all those years ago. You resisted the urge to throw up on his Converse. 

You might have been crying and he might been too but you weren’t exactly sure because one moment you were both laughing at nothing and the next he was on the floor with you. He held you like he had never held a single thing in his life, like he was lost at sea and you were the only solid thing for miles. He tucked your head under his chin and sucked in great forced breaths that you could feel beneath your cheek. Because he was warm and there and real. And that meant the last seven years, the better part of your life, hadn’t been for nothing. 

 You and Luke make your way to dinner side by side. You had spent the afternoon rambling about your lives, about your meetings with your future selves, about your home under the river, about his responsibilities as a camp counsellor and yours as your brother’s keeper. He told you about Annabeth and Thalia and the rest of his siblings, you told him about your parents and Sally Jackson and your sea friends. You gave him his necklace which he lets you fix in place at the base of his throat – you do not spend a moment too long running your hand up the back of his neck and through his curls. 

He had been almost bashful when he gifted you a watch that matched his, inlaid with twin fragments of mother of pearl taken from the same shell – kind of like your soul had been, he had said. You swear you’ve never owned anything as precious. You let him strap it to your wrist as he tells you about spending a summer diving for it in the lake. And then softly, tentatively, he tells you about his quest.

Luke could have cried from the way you were looking at him alone, so very gently, like you could cradle him with your gaze alone. At a loss for words, you simply whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

His grip is iron-clad and you tell your next story with your face pressed into the side of his neck, pretending you can’t feel him shaking softly. 

When you make your way to dinner you’re both glowing with the soft exhaustion of emotion. You all but lean against one another as you collect your goblets and fill your plates.

The other campers steer clear of you, content to leave Luke to chauffeuring the new kid around. You count yourself lucky, it was only a matter of time until one of the older campers recognised you.

You were almost to the end of the Hermes table – that perfect spot at the end where you might just have a chance of holding a private conversation after dinner – when Chiron interrupted you. 

“Mr. Castellan, I see you’ve acquainted yourself with our newly returned camper.”

“That’s my job, sir.” You tried not to stare at the crooked smile he flashed the centaur. 

“Perhaps you ought to show her how to make an offering,” Chiron says pointedly, “She’s been away for a long time, and it’s your responsibility to treat her as you would any other incoming Camper.”

Luke turned to you, his boyish grin still charming but the mirth leaking out of his eyes, “Of course. Do you remember how it’s done?” 

“I do. Just not a lot of food to be spared in the mortal world.” 

You squinted, the corners of your mouth pulled up in what Chiron would likely mistake for sheepishness. But Luke could see it in your eyes. How your anger had made you pointy in all the places someone your age ought to be soft. He wondered how all the jagged edges of you would feel against all the jagged edges of him. He thought maybe if the two of you were careful, you could make something smooth as sea glass and twice as pretty, together.

You dump a clump of mashed potatoes into the fire with an unconcerned flick of your fork. Luke lops part of his own meal on top of yours, you glare enviously at the reasonable portion he had left on his plate. You hoped the food would burn at the bottom of the braiser. 

“Sorry, sir.” You mocked Luke. He stuck his tongue at you once Chiron had turned his back. 

You hurried to snag the seat at the end of his table, sliding into place across from each other. You flounder for a moment, wondering whether to draw your legs as far under your seat as they will go or bask in the gentle brush of his knee against his leg. You settle for the latter and try not to evaporate under his gaze, as he stares at you even as you start eating.

Luke realised he’d spent too long staring when you all but groaned, “Don’t tell me I have to sacrifice my dinner to you too.” 

He flashed you a grin, then tried to say as nonchalantly as possible,“Is that why you left? So you could enjoy a proper meal every once and a while?”

You stared at him for a long while, “You, future you, told me to leave, to find my brother.”

“Why would I do that? If you had stayed at Camp–”

“That’s almost exactly what I said to you.” You pushed your food around as you stared at a point just beyond his head, he thought for a moment that he could see the neurons firing behind your eyes, like a hundred tiny zaps of lightning, “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I think you were right to send me away.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hearing that very often.” He dodged the pea you fling at him with a grin. 

“I think maybe if I don’t leave, I won’t become this me or do the things I’ve done and maybe that’s important for us or our future or some past you rewrote by telling me to leave.”

“Seems overly complicated.” 

“I think it’s supposed to be complicated,” You couldn’t help but admire the quiet skill with which he wielded his cutlery, “If it were easy, we would find each other in every universe.”

He paused, knife aloft, “You don’t want to find each other in every universe?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” You speared a leaf of spinach onto your fork to hide your scowl behind as you said, “The Gods have made it this way to keep us separated.”

“We’re together now.” 

“Which means they lost.”

Luke watched you for a drawn out heartbeat, then leaned over to transfer the perfect squares of meat he’d been cutting onto your plate. 

You took a long moment to chew before you said, “So, your plan to send me after Percy worked.”

“I thought it was your plan.”

“I forgot to ask you whose plan it was.”

“I say it’s your plan.” He took a long pull from his goblet that left his lips tinted red. 

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” You passed him a napkin before he could ask, “It’s what you will think.”

“Sure, Precious.” He smothers a laugh into the napkin at the way you scrunch your nose at him, “You know, because you're so protective of your food. Like Gollum with the ring.”

“That’s the stupidest explanation for a pet name I’ve ever heard.” But you’re damn near head down on the table as you laughed. “I definitely got the smarter half of our soul.”

“Then it was definitely your plan.”

You’ve still got a hand pressed to your face to conceal your smile when you say, “What about when I meet you? Any words of wisdom?”

“Try not to fall for me. I can tell you’re pretty charmed but it’s really not appropriate. I’m seventeen, and you’re what? Twenty-four?” 

You launched your bread roll at him. You’re twice as incensed when he catches it whilst looking directly at you, “Asshole.”

“Smartass. See, two can play that game.”

Luke can’t help but think you’re just as pretty sneering as you are smiling, like no expression no matter how ugly could detract from your beauty. Maybe you’re like him, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe you’re something better, another part of him whispered. The way you talk about the Gods and turn your nose up at them, and play their game only when it suits you. 

You weren’t vengeful in the way he was. You weren’t the spitting vicious thing the Camp had liked to pretend you were when you weren’t around to prove otherwise. You were worse and better and everything he needed. You were a storm on the horizon, a snake coiled tight. You were better than just angry. You were disillusioned. Not a product of juvenile resentment but true wrath born of awareness. Not the wild foaming-at-the-mouth kind that he had imagined when he had first heard your name. But the dark carefully contained kind he had seen in the face you would grow into.

This, Luke thought, you were the start of everything.

It’s some weeks later when you stick your hands through the grating of the bunk above Luke as leverage to lean over him and croon, “Up and at ‘em, Pretty Boy.”

He pushed his face out of his pillow, curls sticking up at odd angles as he looked at you half-asleep, “What?”

“Remember? Training?”

“No,” He scrubbed sleep from his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Sickly.” 

“I don’t think that was it.” He propped his head up on a fist as he smiled at you sleepily. 

It was so disgustingly cute that you had to turn your back when you said, “Just meet me there.” 

Luke’s freshly showered and holding an apple core when he deigns to join you in the forest. He tossed the apple at you and you caught it without thinking. You fake gag at him as you throw it further into the forest. 

You wiped your hands against his shoulder as you say, “I’m not sure if an apple core counts but that was dangerously close to an Ancient Greek proposal, Castellan.”

“I got hungry.” He shrugged. You squared off across the clearing, stretching as you warmed yourselves up for the ensuing sparring match. 

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Is this you rejecting me?” He landed an open hand on his chest and staggered backward. “You wound me, Precious!”

“Was that you proposing? Because I’m,” You wiped your hand again for good measure, scrunching your nose up, “Disgusted.”

“You would be honoured if I had just proposed to you.” 

“You should be nicer to me.”

“And go easy on you just because you’re my soulmate? Unlikely.”

“Because, asshole, I’m the one who got you out of chores this morning, or have you forgotten already. You seemed rather grateful for your little sleep-in.”

He unsheathed his sword and twirled it round in his hand, “You’re a bad influence.” 

“Like you weren’t ready to worship the ground I walk on when I told Chiron you needed to get my training up to speed.” 

“Do you want me to tell you, you’re brilliant?” He pointed his sword toward you with that grin that made you want to hold him down just so you could admire it longer. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re stalling.” You pull your knives out, one from your boot, the other from your belt. You miss your old clothes with their pretty sleeves and their personality, your camp shirt seems a poor trade in comparison. 

“Stalling? Me?” Luke scoffed. “Never!”

“Don’t you have a counsellor meeting at half-past?”

“I do, so please don’t feel bad when you lose. I only have half an hour to wrap this up. You understand.”

“Who’s fault is that Mr. Just-five-more-minutes?”

He gasped in mock offence and lunged forward, his sword swinging at you in a great arch. You leapt back, out of his range, then ducked low and rushed toward him. Luke was quick, in a viciously smooth move he swept his sword at you again. You brought your knives together, bracing as the impact ricocheted up your arms. Admittedly, you were at a great disadvantage given that you were reluctant to throw a knife at Luke’s head – even though he’d demonstrated an impressive ability to swipe your wayward throws out of the air – and that he had an additional several feet of reach on you.

Luke feigned to the right, you lashed out at his left side and narrowly avoided his sword as it came down at you. He whistled slowly as both of you backed up to circle each other for a moment. 

“You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that.” 

And so the dance went on. Luke struck, you parried or slipped out of his blade's path with a flourish. You struck, Luke swung his sword and slipped around your blows. Finally, you found the chink in his precious armour. He fell back to his right foot when he deflected a blow. You jerked forward. You jabbed the knife clutched in your left hand toward him as you moved in with the right. Just as you hooked a foot around the back of his leg, Luke’s sword made contact with your left shoulder slicing through sleeve and skin. Luke fell backward with a sharp hiss, his sword flying to the side.

In the end you had laid him out flat in twenty minutes. Luke Castellan had spent the last seven years fighting to win. You had spent them fighting to survive. You supposed it didn’t hurt that the greatest swordsman to enter Camp Half-Blood in nearly three centuries was reluctant to let anything sharp or pointed anywhere near you. You secretly thought he might have been going easy on you for being his soulmate after all. You collapsed on the forest floor beside him, your chest heaving to draw in oxygen. 

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Luke huffed. 

“Orange isn’t really my colour.”

He turned to you with a wink, “Oh but it is.” 

You wave your hand through the air.

“I’ve gotten very good at putting broken things back together over the years.” He tried not to look at the line of stitching that ran from the ankle of your jeans to the rips at your knee. You tried not to look at his cheek. Instead you reached out and trailed your hands across his necklace where the pearls sat snuggly at the base of his throat. 

“You’re wonderful.” He brushed his knuckles down your shoulder and they came away red. “Even covered in blood you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You groaned, “Sweetness, you can’t just say–”

“You call me Sweetness when you visit me.” He whispered it like it was his greatest secret. You traced up his throat to his cheek and pressed your thumb into his dimpled cheek. “You’re still being wonderful. I can’t think when you’re–”

“Wonderful?”

“Okay, Smartass.” He sighed up at the sky, then pulled the both of you to your feet, “Enough lounging, we need to get that cut checked.” 

You let him dust the dirt from you and resheath your knives, one in your boot, the other in your belt. Silently revelling in the gentle way he tugs you this way and that. You were well on your way to the infirmary, shoulders bumping and fingers just barely brushing, before he spoke again.

“Where does it come from? The nickname.”

“Sweetness?” 

He looked away from you and squinted off into the distance, as if you were suddenly too bright to look at, “Yeah.”

“My mom used to tell me this story about meeting her soulmate. She probably meant Poseidon, but at the time I thought it was about my dad,” The back of Luke’s hand bumped into yours again, his fingers catching yours, his gaze resolutely ahead but you were definitely holding hands. “She said it felt like swallowing lightning and gorging yourself on popping candy. Like sweetness.”

“You like popping candy?”

“It’s my favourite.” You gave him a queer look as if to say, it’s not yours, you utter heathen?

Luke laughed at you all the way to the Apollo Cabin as he listed all the reasons it was the sub-par candy option. Nonetheless, when you emerge from the infirmary, he unloads a fistful of little packets he’d pinched from the candy bowl when the Apollo kids’ hadn’t been looking.

“Who has sub-par candy options now, Sweetness?” You teased, your mouth crackling merrily.

“Keep calling me that and you can have all the terrible candy you want.”

“Try some,” You shoved a packet toward him, because if he kept saying silly things like that and looking at you the way he was you were liable to do or say something equally as stupid. “You’ve got half my soul, maybe it’s our favourite.”

“I don’t think they had popping candy when we had one soul,” He flicks the packet held between your fingers. “And aren’t you the one who says we’re puzzle pieces not halves?”

“You have been listening to me!”

“Hard not to.”

“Asshole.” You flashed your teeth at him.

“Smartass.” He said, but the bite wasn’t there. He was watching you again, in that way he did sometimes before he said something stupid that made you want to throw yourself in the lake or run back to Manhattan or do something equally as stupid, like kiss him. “You–”

You twisted your hand in the front of his shirt and jerked him toward you, the little sachet crinkling in your fist. For a heartbeat, you were both silent, an inch away and staring as if you could will the other to be the one to press forward. But then he closed his eyes and Luke Castellan was kissing you. Like lightning and popping candy. With all the elegance of two lovestruck teenage fools and all the heat of two people who knew they had all the time in the world but still couldn’t bear to waste a second of it. His hand held you by the chin and then splayed lightly across your cheek and tucked hair softly behind your ear. You were only just reaching for the mess of curls at the back of his head when someone wolf whistles.

“My favourite.” Luke grinned, licked his lips and then turned. Hands stuffed in his pockets and a big stupid grin stretched across his face, as he shouted at you, “Stay out of trouble.”

You flip off the Aphrodite kid who’d whistled at you, and hurried back to the Apollo Cabin. You and Luke Castellan were going to need a lot more popping candy. 

You’re in the lake, encased in an air bubble, sprawled out side by side with your backs against the sand, when Luke tells you what he’s done. That mere weeks before your arrival he had done the unthinkable. He had robbed the King of the Gods blind and betrayed half the Pantheon in doing so. You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.

You had simply laid there, silently, for what had felt like aeons to Luke but maybe that had only been because he had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath. He wasn’t drowning. You weren’t going to turn him in. He hadn’t just blown his whole plan and his life with his soulmate in one fell swoop. He just had to keep breathing and wait for you to say something. He thinks that maybe your mother had passed on some divine knack for diplomacy as Queen of the Sea with the way you seem to turn the issue of his betrayal over and over in your head. 

After a while, you reach your arm toward the bubble and the sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, Luke thinks you’re going to pull the lake down on him. When you don’t Luke spends another infinite second wondering whether he would just let you do it. 

He tosses the thought aside and focuses on the coin weaving between your knuckles. Like magic, it appears and disappears around the bends of your fingers but it wasn't real magic, just you fidgeting. He pressed his lips together and tried not to think about you at the bottom of the Hudson River, flipping your coin and turning over the issue of your soulmate and your brother and the camp you’d left behind. What is it you had said? You’d had plenty of time to think about those things. 

Maybe that's what you need now – time. He’s about to offer it to you, offer to swim his way back to shore so you can think, even if he'd probably drown on the way. He’d give you all the time in the world if he had it. 

But then you finally speak, the golden drachma rolling between your fingers, “If you hurt my brother, soulmate or not, I will kill you.”

“I am your soulmate.” He insisted as the implication made his skin itch.

“You are.” Your smile was so gentle it almost felt sad. “So you understand that my love for him comes before my hatred of the Gods. If you have put him in danger wit–”

“We get married.” He blurted. “We have a future. I woke you, when you visited me. That must mean I win.”

“It means, if that’s the path we’re even on, if those people are even the versions of us that we become… maybe you don’t hurt Percy.”

“I won’t.” He swore and you weren’t sure how to ignore the half of your soul that lies so sweetly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe.” You swallowed like you’d been chewing glass your whole life, and someone had finally offered you something substantial to sink your teeth into. “Maybe if we leave now, there’s a world in which I don’t have to pick between my blood and my soul.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, “We could recruit him. You said it yourself, he’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

“He’s twelve.”

“He’s the son of Poseidon.”

“He’s twelve.”

“You were twelve when you left to protect him.”

“And look how that turned out,” Your grin was brittle, but he swore you were still the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sat here planning to betray everything I was raised to follow.”

“You’re going to follow me?”

Your eyes traced the shape of his jaw, his nose, his scar. You looked pained, “I fear I would follow you into much worse, Luke Castellan.”

“I’m trying to lead you to something better.” He reached for your hand, took the drachma from your fingers, and pressed a slow, soft kiss to your palm. He smiled and there were dimples in his cheeks and tears in his eyes as he whispered, “We can try for better.”

“Leave Percy.” You pressed your fingers to his cheek, “Let him come to camp, let him join us when he’s ready.”

“You’re sure he’ll join us?”

“He will, I know it. We just need to let him see the Gods’ apathy for himself.” And you sighed. Luke wondered how many lifetimes your souls had seen, how many times you had searched for each other, how many times you had been torn apart. You sound ancient when you say, “You and I have seen more than enough.”

He turned his head and whispered in the scarce distance between you, “What do you propose?” 

“We leave. As soon as anyone catches on, we take anyone who agrees with us and flee.” You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his knuckles firmly, “We can plot your revenge and plan my new world on the way.”

Luke feels ancient when he promises, “Okay, on the way then.”

But he swears, as you lean forward and kiss him, that no matter how many times you do it this lifetime or in all the lifetimes until this story – of you and Luke Castellan – became ancient, it would still never stop feeling like the first time.

Like lightning and popping candy.

Tag List:

@emelia07 @star611 @7s3ven @kissingyourgrl @myxticmoon @shermanno @moonsficrec @soleilgrec

[alicentsgf]

no seriously the way gwayne and alicent struggle so much to be sincere and to comfort each other. The want is there. the need is there. but how embaressing would it be to sucumb to it. its sooo catholic of them its so funny. Like this whole idea that needing comfort, physical comfort especially, is weakness. The idea of faith as the only comfort. Lighting candles to feel their warmth because to hold your children, your siblings, your parents, would be to tell them that you need them. That you cant cope on your own. Gwayne speaking softly and reaching for Alicents hand as he turns to leave, because to make eye contact would be too much. could open the floodgates. 30+ years of pretending to be just fine on your own. without a mother. seperated from each other. where making eye contact, seeing that all along they wanted to hold your hand too, would be too much. No, you need to just... get on with it.

[squadmuse]

SFW ALPHABET

THE SONNY CARISI EDITION

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Sonny Carisi is the epitome of affection - he is so soft, caring and loving! He’s a touchy kinda guy, so he loves hugs, touching you whenever he can. His love language is cooking for sure and he loves taking care of you… and he loves kissing you too.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Sonny is a friendly guy and talkative, so it didn’t take you and him long to become friends and then best friends. The two of you bonded at first over family and food, and you two support rival ice hockey teams (you & the Rangers, while he supports the Islanders) so you affectionately argue over them & go to games a lot. You’ll be over at each others homes cooking too and have most likely met each other families and friends.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Sonny is the King of Cuddling, he loves it so much! He is long and lanky so his limbs wrap around you like an affectionate vine. He loves cuddles on the couch, you on top of him with legs intertwined. Spooning happens a lot too with him pulling you right against him.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Oh my god, YES! Sonny desperately wants to settle down, and he is so talented at cooking in particular. He wants marriage, to be married to you with a ton of little ones following soon after the big day. The two of you dance and sing together as you clean as you’re both goofy and it makes you both laugh after tough jobs.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

His Ma would kill him if he didn’t do it in person! He’ll be really explanatory yet guilty, especially if you cry. He’ll want to remain friends afterwards if at all possible.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Sonny is the King of Commitment. He is loyal and dedicated to you. He is a devout Catholic who wants a family and doesn’t go into relationships unless they want the same & understand his faith. If you’re wife material then it happens fast but he knows you’re The One.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Sonny is so gentle in every way possible. He is literally so so soft and squishy! That saying, he does have off days. He’ll never raise a finger to you at all.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Sonny loves hugs and to give them too. He does it a lot in different ways: cuddled in bed, wrapped up on the couch, snuggled in the bathtub, from behind as you cook or do something etc. Sonny’s hugs are warm, welcoming and just such an experience.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Sonny will say it once he knows you’re his endgame, which can be fast or slower than usual depending on the situation or external circumstances. He just loves you so much, you mean so much to him and he will not stop saying it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Honestly, Sonny isn’t a jealous kind of person at all. He trusts you and knows how loyal you are too that he doesn’t need to worry about that sort of stuff. However he is a protective guy and keeps an eye on you whenever he can.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Such a great kisser, and they leave you dizzy & weak in the knees. Sonny loves kissing you on the lips most but he will kiss anywhere he can such as your temples, neck, nose, cheek, hand etc.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Sonny is a natural with children and particularly with younger children & babies. He adores his nieces and literally can’t wait to become a dad of his own brood.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Sonny start with him up early to shower and cook some light breakfast, he’s a firm believer in a healthy cooked breakfast to start the day. The two of you work in tandem as you make the coffee using the Italian machine that cost a fortune and check emails for work etc. The weekends however are when he usually has a lie-in or morning sex…

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Weekdays are more tiring as you both work in the law area (with him as a detective and then assistant district attorney, and you as an assistant district attorney also) and it’s basically a warm home cooked meal made from some frozen meal prep and cuddled together on the couch, chatting and destressing. Saturday nights are usually date night so Sonny takes you out somewhere, sometimes a nice restaurant or dancing, maybe a movie sometimes before coming home to rut like rabbits

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Sonny could talk about his family until the cows come home, he’s so proud and loving about them all. Even though you’re a lawyer, he hates bringing work or the effect of it on him home and takes a bit of time before he gets able to know you’re able and wanting to be there for him. He doesn’t want you scarred, you’re his safe space & home.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Sonny is usually a guy who is extremely patient and sensitive, and is very very hard to anger. However he is human and bottling it all up can explode out of him but he never gets physically angry. As an assistant district attorney now, he’ll come home and you can hear him stressing out in Italian in his study.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He tries his best so much! He doesn’t forget your birthday or anniversary though, he has reminders in his phone and physical paper calendar too - and now as an assistant district attorney, he has an assistant who can remind him if he he’s knee deep in cases. He’ll remember your favourite recipes and coffee order/like though too.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

It is a tie between your first kiss or the first time he was taking you to his parents home for Sunday Mass & lunch/dinner. The kiss happened at your apartment door, he had walked you up to it so to make sure you got home safely after a date night together where he had made a fantastic dinner before taking you to a Broadway show for a change… and that kiss was so good but as your lips touched it was then that you both knew. Now, the other story; Sonny had arrived to your apartment early to take you out to Staten Island and found you cursing at the oven to hurry up. You had went to the trouble of not only baking ricciarelli but also melanzane alla parmigiana and lasagne al pesto too. He had been blown away by the effort you had put into it all and couldn’t help but kiss you right there and then.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

As a detective or assistant district attorney working in sex crimes, Sonny is very protective of you. He makes sure you know how to protect yourself, perhaps even how to fire a gun too. If he’s in danger then he’s having you in protective custody or with a 24/7 police detail around you. Sonny knows you’re very protective of him too and like a mother bear at times.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Sonny tries to make every date, anniversary etc. better than the last one but sometimes he’s too busy or drained and you never judge him. Whether it’s sticky notes on the mirror or elsewhere or homemade biscotti with a warm cup of coffee, you know how heartfelt Sonny’s action is.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He works long hours and can’t get away at times. Also he loves his family so much that he can sometimes prioritise them over you at times. As a Catholic, Sonny prefers praying or attending Confession over opening up which takes a long time for you to get him to break as a habit (sort of; he still goes, but now he tells you also) Sometimes as well, Sonny makes a mess in the kitchen with his concoctions and you don’t know where to start with the washing up.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Sonny loves his hair. He also loves fine Italian suits and other fashion items. Once upon a time he did have a moustache but he keeps himself clean shaven now and puts gel in his hair. However on when it is his days off, then he’s not as precise and will cuddle up with you in just a laidback shirt and jeans with his hair floppy (which you love).

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Oh man, Sonny would be lost without you! You’ve become a part of him; his heart, his soul and his everything.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Sonny mentors children within his church and teaches Sunday School when he can, he loves being able to do some good in the world. When they’re older and looking for an internship or work experience, he’ll help them out.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Sonny doesn’t like bigots or bullies, and he doesn’t want someone who isn’t loyal or supportive nor anyone who doesn’t want a large family and to settle down. He also isn’t a fan of aloofness or smugness either.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Sonny sometimes takes a sleeping tablet to help him sleep as he’s got a stressful job and he’s seen some horrors in his career too. He also likes watching you drift off to sleep next to him as it helps anchor him. When he’s a dad, Sonny is absolutely bringing the baby or babies into the bed and cuddling with you & them on the weekend.

[jazziejax]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

Odessa Moore and Antoinette Benoit were best friends. Sisters in a way. Two girls with opposite personalities that were both raised together in the Catholic Church foster care system. After coming of age they moved away together, relying on each other to work through the trauma such a time brought them. But life away wasn’t any sweeter. They were struggling to stay afloat in the big city and the days were getting more miserable by the day.

And as if the great force up above answered their prayers, that only one continued to do, a letter was sent their way. A letter addressed to them from the church, asking if they would like to come back and help out the foster home for the summer, the death of Mother Martha taking a toll on the community. Pay and housing included. And after some careful consideration, the girl agreed, leaving behind the small life they created in the span of four years to go back home. A place that brought back terrible memories.

But things have changed in the past four years. There are new children within the home, better establishments within the town, a new church was added onto the old one and new people roamed the area. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

𝐈. 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

I just want to preface by saying that I mean no harm to any religion. I love and adore all religions, they are very important to my development as a person and to me as a person of faith. I just want to use this story as a way to explore religious trauma and controversial topics within some religions, while also adding some romance. I mean no harm whatsoever and if it’s too much of a problem, I have no issue with deleting the story. Trust me, I get it. There are some things I don’t like about people disrespecting religious groups. Thank you! <3

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

Yes, there are gay characters in Tolkien’s books

There seems to be an entrenched view among Tolkien fans that Tolkien did not write any gay characters, and that by interpreting any of his characters as gay you are going against what he would have wanted. Homophobes obviously believe this very strongly, and have always been hostile towards queer fans and queer interpretations of Tolkien’s works. Many members of the LGBTQ community also believe that they’re contradicting canon when they interpret Tolkien’s characters as gay—the only difference is they don’t mind doing so.

But is it so against canon to interpret any of Tolkien’s characters as gay? The assumption that Tolkien did not write gay characters hinges on his Catholicism, but I’m going to explain why this is flimsy reasoning.

First, it should be noted that Tolkien didn’t leave any writings expressing his views on homosexuality, so there is no evidence one way or another. But it seems relevant that Tolkien was good friends with W.H. Auden and corresponded with him over multiple decades. They first met when Auden listened to one of Tolkien’s lectures at Oxford and was inspired to learn Anglo-Saxon. Auden loved Tolkien’s poetry and prose and defended LOTR from critics at a time when it was seen as an unserious work in an unserious genre. Did Tolkien know Auden was gay? We don’t know for sure. But there’s at least a chance that he did: the secret of Auden’s homosexuality is one he “loosely kept”, according to an article in the Guardian.

So, Tolkien was friends with a gay man whom he may or may not have known was gay. But are there gay characters in Tolkien’s books? Unfortunately for the homophobes, even if you believe that Tolkien opposed homosexuality on principle, that still doesn’t mean no one in Middle-earth is gay. Actually, no one in Middle-earth is Catholic. I mean that literally, in the sense that Catholicism does not exist in the time period Tolkien wrote about, but I also mean it in the sense that Tolkien’s characters need not adhere to the tenets of his religion, even if it’s not named. Why would they?

It shouldn’t be controversial or surprising to point out that writers can, and often do, write characters that live very different lives from their own. Needless to say, Tolkien didn’t condone the actions of the antagonists of his work, but what about the protagonists? Are we to believe that all of them act in an unfailingly Catholic way at all times? In Laws and Customs of the Eldar, it is strongly implied that (especially in their younger years) Elves do have sex for pleasure and not just to beget children, something that is discouraged by Catholicism. That’s just one example.

(Please note that I’m not arguing that Tolkien’s Catholicism had no influence on his writings, because he explicitly said that it did. I’m saying that Tolkien’s characters themselves are not Catholic and do not necessarily behave like Catholics. So even if you think that all Catholics believe homosexuality is wrong, it has no bearing on Tolkien’s stories.)

Another line of reasoning goes that homosexuality is too taboo for Tolkien—but I have to wonder if people who believe this have read his books at all. The Silmarillion is full of taboo subjects. Túrin and Niënor marry, not knowing they are brother and sister; they find out the truth, and that she is pregnant, and they both commit suicide. Eöl’s relationship with Aredhel is one that, even if it didn’t start out as controlling and abusive—although I suspect it did—it clearly ended up that way, and depending on your interpretation of the text, he may have raped her. Celegorm attempts to force Lúthien to marry him, which would also involve rape, and there is a passage that implies that Morgoth also intends to rape Lúthien. Neither incest, rape or abuse are too taboo for Tolkien—neither are suicide, torture or mass murder, as the rest of the Silmarillion shows.

I don’t want anyone to take this in bad faith: I’m not saying that being gay is comparable to incest, rape or abuse, and I’m part of the LGBTQ community myself. What I am saying is that Tolkien clearly did not shy away from certain subjects, including sexual taboos, simply because they’re taboo. If you’re going to argue that none of Tolkien’s characters are queer because it wasn’t accepted at the time, that’s very unconvincing given the other subject matter in his books.

There is another reason why I think there are gay characters in Middle-earth, and it has to do with Tolkien’s inspirations. It’s well understood by Tolkien fans that you can see echoes of other mythologies in Tolkien’s works. But which ones? When Lúthien brings Beren back from the Halls of Mandos, there are obvious parallels with the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice—though the genders are reversed, and Lúthien succeeds where Orpheus did not. There are parallels between Túrin and Kullervo. There are numerous examples of this kind of thing throughout the Silmarillion and LOTR. Even the name Middle-earth clearly has its roots in the Norse name Midgard. There are some influences that Tolkien explicitly acknowledged, like the Kalevala and the Völuspá, and some that Tolkien scholars have only theorized about. While there are some scholarly articles on Tolkien and the Aeneid, one thing I have never seen anyone discuss is the parallel between Beleg’s death and the story of Nisus and Euryalus.

In the Aeneid, Nisus and Euryalus are a pair of friends and lovers who are fighting for Aeneas in Latium. Nisus, the older of the two men, is said to be a skilled javelin-thrower and archer. Nisus proposes a night raid on an enemy camp, and Euryalus insists on going with him. During the raid they kill many men in their sleep, collecting some of their armor as loot, as was customary. But when they leave the camp, the glint of light on a helmet taken by Euryalus is seen by a group of enemy horsemen, who capture and kill him before Nisus can stop them. Nisus is distraught and kills many of them in retaliation, ultimately dying beside his lover’s body. (In some versions, it’s a stolen belt, not a helm—but the constant motif is the glint of light that reveals Euryalus to the enemy.)

There are so many similarities with Beleg and Túrin that it cannot be a coincidence. Beleg and Túrin also fight side by side, first on the marches of Doriath and later when Túrin is an outlaw. They are very loyal to each other, and clearly love each other. Like Nisus, Beleg is known to be a great archer. Meanwhile, although it does not feature in Beleg’s death scene, Túrin is associated with a particularly significant helm. There are differences too: Túrin’s captivity is the reason for Beleg’s raid on the Orc-camp, whereas Euryalus is captured after the raid; both Nisus and Euryalus are slain one after the other, whereas only Beleg dies in the raid on the Orc-camp. But there is still the overarching parallel of the night raid, in which the enemy guards are killed silently in their sleep; the raid’s connection with an attempted rescue; the chance moment that leads to the tragic death; the imagery of the flash of light; and the distraught reaction of Nisus and Túrin when they see that Euryalus and Beleg are dead. Tolkien read the Aeneid as a student and so would have been familiar with its contents.

There is also the fact that in some versions of the story Túrin kisses Beleg on the mouth in this scene. Although kissing someone on the mouth has not always been a romantic gesture in all cultures and time periods, the clear parallels to the scene in the Aeneid lead me to think that it is in this case. Whether you see the relationship between Túrin and Beleg as romantic is up to you—all that I’m trying to do is show that it’s a legitimate interpretation.

Ultimately, like I wrote here, I don’t think you need permission from anyone in order to interpret Tolkien’s stories the way you want to. If you want to interpret one of his characters as gay, you don’t need to cite obscure plotlines from the Aeneid to justify it. But I do take issue with the idea—which is so pervasive in the fandom—that Tolkien’s stories must not have gay, or bisexual, or trans people in them, and that any interpretations to that effect are against canon. At the end of the day, Middle-earth is supposed to be our world, and guess what? Queer people exist.

[living-dead-author]

Hail Mary: Negan Smith x GN AFAB reader smut

I have a thing for Priests and also Negan. Today is Jeffery Dean Morgan's birthday also so perfect unintentional timing for me. This one shot is 18+ do not read if you are under the age of 18

Content includes: Pre season 7 Negan, Age gap (reader is mid/late 20's Negan is in his 40's), dub con in the beginning if you squint, spanking, reader orgasms from clit stimulation, praying while being spanked and stimulated, praise, pet names, some aftercare, maybe ooc Negan, not proof read

You step into the makeshift confessional booth in The Sanctuary. A couple of priests being here, one of them Catholic, has helped you retain your faith throughout this hell on earth. You shut the door and make yourself comfortable. 

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” You say, waiting for a reply, but you don’t get one. You can see the priest on the other side of the booth, but you decide to go on with it anyway, you need to get this off your chest. “I’ve sinned minorly and one sin that I think is bigger. A couple of days ago I stole a needle and thread from a bunkmate of mine to sew back up a sweater I have.” You pause, waiting for any kind of reply, but you don’t get one. You sigh and keep going. “Then about a week ago I lied and said I don’t have any experience watching children when I do. I only said that because I knew I was in no place to watch over someone else’s child at that time.” 

You pause again, moving a hand up to the cross necklace around your neck. You shut your eyes and continue on. “I spoke back to someone in a position above me. I apologized and they forgave me. I purposefully avoided some people because I didn’t want to speak to them, and I um…I’ve been having some very sinful thoughts.” You say, pressing your lips together tightly. You sit in silence with the priest on the other side of the confessional.

“What kind of sinful thoughts?” Your eyes quickly open and you know that the other person in the booth isn’t the Catholic priest here, it’s Negan. You feel your body get frozen with fear. Your hand grips your necklace tighter as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Don’t keep me waiting now.” He says in a bit of a playful tone, but all you can hear is how his voice has boomed before. You take a deep, shaking breath before you continue. 

“There’s a man here. His name is Warren. He’s an older man, barely old enough to be my father. He’s been very kind to me since we’ve met and I um…I’ve been having thoughts of what it would be like to kiss him. Thoughts of what it would be like to have him touch me in pleasurable areas. I um…” You hesitate. Knowing that the man who’s basically a god of his own here is listening, it's hard to find the right words. 

“You what? Come on now darlin’ don’t leave me hangin’.” He says in that same playful tone. You can tell he’s smirking behind that wall, getting aroused by your words. The problem is, you’re getting turned on too. You swallow hard against a lump in your throat and you speak. 

“I touched myself to the thought of him. I um…I had an orgasm too. I just couldn’t stop myself. It felt so good and those thoughts of him made me keep going.” You hang your head a bit lower as you hear him chuckle. After a brief silence he speaks again. 

“I know what you need. Now, you’re going to say five “Hail Mary’s”. But you’re going to have to finish them while I give you a bit of corporal punishment of my own.”  He chuckles again and you feel your face flush pink. The thought of him spanking you gets you wet and oh lord you’re biting your bottom lip to keep in your excitement at the thought of that. “Now, you’re going to come out of the booth and walk with me to a better place for this to happen. Somewhere private.” 

“Yes sir.” You say, slowly standing up as you fidget with your hands. It feels like eternities as you open your door and step out of the booth. Soon you’re looking up at Negan from where he stands. He’s got a huge grin on his face as he grips his bat, Lucile in one of his hands. He takes his other hand and firmly grabs your bicep. 

“God can forgive you for this, you’ve just got to take your punishment.” He says with that wide grin on his face as he leads you out of the makeshift church. You walk with him down the hallways and up some stairs, getting curious glances from people passing by as you try and hide your own growing excitement at what’s to come. 

Soon Negan takes you into a room with a couple long folding tables lined up together. You can assume this is a meeting room. 

“Now, bend over the table in whatever way you please and drop your pants.” He says, his tone teasing and excited as you do as you’re told. You hear him lock the door as you undo your belt and drop your pants and underwear, feeling the air hit your wet cunt and throbbing clit. You bite your bottom lip as you feel his gloved hand run over your bare ass. He sets Lucile down on the table next to you and he speaks. “Five Hail Mary’s. Remember that.” You stay silent, biting your bottom lip before he delivers a small smack on your rear, making you squeak and jump slightly. 

“Hail Mary, full of Grace, the lord is with thee.” You say as he rubs his hand over your ass before spanking it again, this time a bit harder in a deliciously painful way. You jerk slightly with the shock and pain but you continue on. “Blessed art thou amongst women-” He spanks you again, making you let out a soft noise and jerk again, “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” 

“You’re doing so good for me darlin’. Keep going you’re almost done with the first one.” He says in a sweetly mocking tone as he spanks you again, getting another jerk and moan from you before you continue on. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God-” Another spank, this time you don’t jerk but you bite your bottom lip and moan before you go on. “Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.” He delivers another spank and you moan again. Negan starts to rub your pink rear.

“Oh you’re being so good for me. So obedient. Now, keep going.” He says, spanking you again, this time a bit harder. You moan louder at the harder spank and you shut your eyes before continuing. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord it with thee.” He spanks you again, at that same, harder rate and you moan, taking a breath before you continue. “Blessed art thou among-” Another spank, “women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” He spanks you again and you whine out in pleasure at the perfectly painful sensation. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us-” Negan spanks you again, your hips buck forwards and he quickly pulls them back. 

“Come on now, be good for me. Be good for God.” He says in that same teasing tone before you continue. 

“Sinners now, and at the hour of our death, amen.” He spanks you again before rubbing your bright red ass. You feel your clit throbbing as your slit grows wetter and wetter. “Hail Mary-” You can’t even get the third word out before he spanks you harder than before, earning a loud, gasping moan from your mouth before you’re able to recover and continue. “Full of grace, the lord is with the.” Another deliciously painful spank hits your red ass and you moan again. “Blessed art thou among women-” Another spank and you’re barely able to take how turned on you are, your poor clit is throbbing at how badly it needs to be rubbed. “And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray-” This spank hits you right in a sweet spot and your knees bend down as you moan loud and long. 

“Do you need to stop?” Negan asks, that smug tone wearing off a bit as he grips your hips and helps you stand. You shake your head and moan again, biting your bottom lip before you continue. 

“I’m fine. Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.” Negan spanks you again, but this time it’s softer. You rest your entire upper body against the table as Negan starts to rub your aching, red, rear. You take a deep breath and continue on, only two more to go. “Hail Mary full of grace, the lord is with the.” As you continue on he just keeps rubbing your rear, his hand slowly moving towards your cunt. “Blessed art thou among women, and blesses is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” You take another deep breath and moan as he starts to rub your aching clit. You start to grind against his fingers as you pant out the last of your fourth prayer. “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen.” 

Negan chuckles as you grind against his fingers on your clit. He leans down and whispers in your ear. “One more to go darlin’. Now Once you finish this last Hail Mary, I’m going to let you cum. How does that sound?” He asks in a smug, husky tone. You bite your bottom lip so hard you swear it’s going to bleed but you nod your head. You take a deep breath and start your final Hail Mary. 

“Hail Mary…full of grace…the Lord is with the.” You say, your tone getting shakier and your words spaced apart as you feel him rub your clit in the perfect way. “Blessed…Blessed art thou among women, and…blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.” You’re basically moaning the words now as he keeps rubbing your clit perfectly. “Holy Mary…Mother…Mother of God…Pray for us sinners, now and…at the hour of our death, Amen.” You finish, your hips moving with his fingers as you feel your orgasm getting closer.

“Oh yes honey. God has forgiven you now.” Negan says, his pleasure evident in his tone as he keeps rubbing your clit at the perfect pace, almost like he knows exactly how to make you cum. 

“Oh Negan please~” You moan, your fingers trying to grip the plastic table you’re laying on top of as your body gets overtaken with pleasure. You pant and moan as your orgasm finally comes. You raise up your hips and you hold your breath as he keeps rubbing your clit, making you ride out your orgasm. Once you’re breathing again he moves his hand out of between your legs and he goes back to rubbing your sore ass. 

“You did such a good job darlin’.” He says, his tone still smug but you can tell he’s trying to sound more genuine. “Now, I’m going to get you set up in a room of your own. It’ll be small, but I promise ya that this won’t be the last time you’ll be cumming because of me.” He says with a chuckle, that smug, teasing persona coming back. “Now your pretty little ass is going to be sore for quite a while. So I think you should let me take you back to that room so I can properly help you recover.” You know that it’s not an offer. But lord if you knew that getting in Negan’s good graces would get you your own room you would’ve done this a lot sooner. 

“Thank you. I appreciate this.” You say, pulling your pants back up, carefully doing your belt and turning to face him again. He wraps an arm around your waist and he walks you out of the little conference room. You wonder what other benefits you’re going to get from going to him for your confession. 

[justaneedle]

If Bianca di Angelo was alive one day she will leave Hunters of Artemis, fight me.

Like, I don't care why: she will get puppy 12-year-old love in boy/girl/monster/whoever/just quite Artemis without specific reason, because FUCK HER.

(I hate Artemis in myths. Just try to imagine how much more I hate Artemis in PJO).

Because you know what?

A little girl, who had one of the TWO reasons for joining them — the desire to find a caretaker, a new family, sooner or later realizes what an unhealthy and toxic environment she has fallen into.

Because hey, what it is — an adult figure who takes on deadly quest the rookie? Who voiced what she doesn't want and hesitate and scared?... Or the head of the cult of men-hating women who preys on prepubescent girls?

Give me di Angelo sibs being part of TA, please.

Because honestly? They were in a Catholic household. Maybe their faith wasn't deep, considering they were children, but, damn it, do you know who has even more reason to look critically at the pjo gods? Those demigods who originally belonged to a different faith.

And it seems like everyone expected Bianca to be their ideal.

First of all, the time and class in which she was born?

Hades, who literally humiliates Nico, saying that Bianca would be better than him (man, you don't know her at all, shut the fuck up with such statements)?

How obviously Bianca thinks herself obliged to take care of Nico, who is actually not much younger — and if we are going to explain this not from the point of view of another fuck up of Rick (!) — then this is due to her loss of memories: Bianca remembers only the last ± year?

Zoe's expectations, seeing her as the next leitnant, what literally killed Bianca?

There is absolutely no doubt to me that sooner or later Bianca would have snapped—

Oh, hi Luke, come in, we have the new candidate for the club ‘too much shit (burden) on our shoulders'.

[wrathofrats]

Yeah hi idk what this is I blacked out and came to and this was in the docs

Uhhh basically ifrits first church service and communion as hosted by Omega and alpha

Or omega baptizes ifrit and alpha lets ifrit drink the blood of Christ from his cunt.

Major warnings for intense blasphemy, mockery of the Catholic Church, degradation and religious shaming.

Also alpha is trans because WHY NOT

Ok enjoy.

-

A strong stream of incense wafted into ifrits senses.

The thick air of dust and smoke invaded him, his vision and hearing feeling more cloudy than usual.

He knelt on the carpeted steps to the church stage. Omega standing a couple of feet in front of him and looking impossibly large at this angle.

“What do you ask the church for your summon?”

He doesn’t think he should be looking up. Omega looms directly over him, staring at alpha who sits behind him. He acts as some sort of guide, as some sort of owner of ifrit, like he’s in charge of him.

Ifrit truly cannot make out alphas answer, the words tumbling over his head. Only the low tone of alphas voice penetrates the anathemic fog that surrounds him.

“Are you willing and able to fulfill your duties to bring up your summon in the satanic faith?”

A cold draft creeps down ifrits back as alpha moves to sit next to omega. He doesn’t look at his summon, he stares only up at his own form of deity. The shadows cast across his face make him more demonic, more monstrous than usual.

He reaches down and puts his wrist to alphas mouth, forcing him to sink his fangs into the rich vein of liquid. Omega serving as some metaphor for the word of their lord, his existence meant to praise someone higher but forced down with his own hands being covered in blood.

A warm wet thumb swipes across his forehead. Omega using the blood that drips down his wrist to mark him with the sign of the cross. It’s comforting in a horrific way. The warm sinister smiles of the church combined with the macabre comfort of the blood dripping down his face.

Ifrit thinks he too would bleed for the church if it held him tight like this.

“Do you renounce god and all of his empty promises?” Omega holds his book high with one hand, the other reaching down to unbutton the pants of his uniform. He’s already hard, a true testament to his devotion and love. It’s admirable.

Ifrits hand plaster together in front of him. “Yes father”

“Do you believe in the almighty father, the creator of the earth and all its demonic beings?”

A drop of precum beads at the head of omegas cock, long thick strokes milking himself of the holy liquid. Ifrit truly can’t help but stick out his tongue, desperate for a taste of their sick purity.

The book snaps shut. A screaming echo in the old room. Alpha doesn’t look up in fear of what has angered omega, ifrit being the antithesis and staring his leader in the eye in confusion.

“You’d think you’d know better from the pits. Rotten children don’t deserve to be saved”

The moisture leaves the fire ghouls mouth. He’s confused, scared, ashamed for being so greedy.

“You’re disgusting, I’ve let a sinful being kneel in front of me, offered to cleanse you of your blasphemous ways and you’ve repaid my kindness by being a greedy whore?”

“Father I’m sorry please forgive me-“ ifrits stammers out his apology through forming tears. Omega words cut deep through his devotion and lets it bleed through him, taking over his need to be.

“I hope your knees are raw. I pray you repent”

The book opens again and omega scans it for the place he stopped, continuing to stroke himself just above ifrits face.

He can’t tell when he becomes close, the act of masturbation only serving as a ritual to please his higher lord.

“There is no god that can give you your purity back”

Omega cums hot and thick across ifrits face and chest. Ropes of holy water landing on his cheeks, blessing him, baptizing him of his former demonic ways from the pit. He can feel the sin lift from his skin and burn with the holy liquid.

A rough sleeve wipes ifrits eyes, tilting his chin to smile at him.

“You’ve done well, you may savor the blood and body of Christ now as a child of the dark church”

The unmistakable sound of someone undressing comes from behind omega. Alpha rids himself of his clothing as omega slots behind him, both still perched on the carpeted stage and stairs. Candles and golden objects surround him like his own altar, his own ritual of body and blood.

Alpha opens his legs with a push from omega, hairy thighs leading up to his cunt, shining and on display. His clit engorged with devotion and peaking through his folds. Omega picks up a golden chalice, holding it high above his head, the other hand spreading alpha for ifrit to see.

“Through him, with him and in him, in the unity of the dark spirit, all glory and honor is yours almighty, forever and ever”

“Amen”

Omega tips the chalice over alphas chest, letting the red wine trickle down his body to pool between his legs. It stains his skin a crimson red, a stream from the top of his neck to his thighs. No doubt some kind of blood lain metaphor

“You may take your first communion my ghoul”

Ifrit doesn’t hesitate, dives between alpha legs to lap up the wine from his cunt, sucking the sweet liquid from his t dick. Alphas slick mixes delicately with the blood of Christ. His smoky musk catering the bitter sweet taste of the intoxicating alcohol. Ifrit truly cannot tell what he’s more drunk off of. The wine or the devotion he feels to his own lord.

[avelera]

What religion do we think IWTV show Armand is, at this point?

Because with almost any other character, especially a centuries old vampire, I would add "if any", but that really really doesn't apply to Armand. Religion is absolutely core to his character throughout the books in ways that it is for very few characters even within the Vampire Chronicles.

Below the cut is a rundown of Armand's faith in the books, questions that arose as a result of him pretending to be Rashid in the show, and my fundamental question which is: where does that leave us with regards to Armand's faith as it stands today?

Book Background:

For those not familiar, Armand's religion in the books is, presumably, Russian Orthodox when he was a child or its equivalent in Kievan Rus in the 1400s and he was quite devout.

Presumably, when he was sold as a slave to the Venetians and became immersed in the Venetian art scene as part being an artist in Marius's studio (forgive my somewhat patchy memory of TVA, this is based more on TVL which I'm currently re-reading) he would have been surrounded by and partaken in Roman Catholicism.

When he is kidnapped and indoctrinated by the Children of Darkness, a Satanic cult that believes vampires are a punishment sent by God (in a Roman Catholic tradition) and eventually becomes the leader of the Paris Coven, Armand is still heavily steeped in a Catholic, arguably almost Catholic monastic existence.

Even when the Paris Coven transitions into the Theatre des Vampires, Armand maintains a great many of the rules from the Children of Darkness and the Theatre is very much a spiritual successor, reinvented specifically for the Age of Reason because they were hemorrhaging followers and believers in the 1700s.

(Because the Children of Darkness was a fundamentally Medieval cult, founded in response to the Black Death, and the ways of thinking were changing to make that level and flavor of religious devotion old fashioned and no longer as compelling to modern people of the time, but I digress.)

For all that Armand no longer presents as particularly religious by the time of the Devil's Minion, and even to have left that part of his life behind, the events of Memnoch the Devil show that Armand's religious faith was merely dormant, and when given a sliver of proof that God and the Devil, Heaven and Hell exist, his faith returns in a fiery (heh) explosion. Specifically, his reaction is to evidence of the historicity of Jesus Christ via being confronted with the Veil of Veronica. It's a heavily Christian moment, though one that would be meaningful to Catholic and Orthodox believers.

Ok, so there's the book background. So what about the show?

When Armand was presented as Rashid in Season 1, I was quite willing and indeed excited at the notion of Armand reinvented as a member of the Islamic faith.

While it would require some alteration from the book canon as described above, it wouldn't necessarily be all that different than updating Louis from an 1800s plantation owner to a 1900s brothel owner and business man. Basically, I had faith the writers could pull it off and indeed make it beautiful.

Based on the S1 finale, I had assumed that Rashid was a character created wholly by Armand and, in the manner of all masks, therefore included a piece of his true self including his Muslim faith when he prayed.

But now in S2 we have Real Rashid. And we have Armand's theatrical background to show he's familiar with acting and putting on a character, in this case, the character of a real person he knows. So I'm beginning to think, much like Daniel when he shot those questions about Islam at Armand, that Armand was only praying in order to better 'inhabit' the character of Rashid, based on Real Rashid, who presumably is a Muslim.

That leaves us with a question: was Armand praying out of personal faith, or to better perform as "Rashid"?

Then there's the fact that in this season, we learn what alterations have been made to Armand's background. He is no longer Andrei of Kievan Rus, he is Arun of Delhi.

Thing is, Muslims make up a little over 10% of the population of Delhi today (according to a cursory Google search) so it's still entirely feasible that Armand was born into a Muslim household, rather than say a Hindu one, and practiced that faith as devoutly as Andrei practiced Russian Orthodoxy.

But then we get into the thornier issue, because Andrei/Amadeo/Armand going from Orthodox to Catholic is still a conversion, it's perhaps a less fundamental one. Especially since as a peasant in the 1400s, the differences in dogma between Catholics and Orthodox beliefs would be less relevant to Andrei than they would be to, say, a priest. (Not to say these differences aren't important. Just saying that many laymen at least in the Catholic faith at this time only had a fuzzy idea of what the dogma even was.)

But making Arun, who might have been Muslim, convert to a faith that believes in Jesus Christ as the Messiah rather than Muhammad as the Prophet is a much bigger, more fundamental betrayal and a potentially forceful conversion. Do you see what I mean?

So basically, I'm wondering where we're at in terms of potential later story beats that revolve around Armand's faith being specifically some flavor of Christianity (ex. in Memnoch) and potential prologue story beats of his time as a painter in Venice with Marius which would likewise have been fairly steeped in the Christian faith which this version of Armand was almost certainly not born into (at least, it would be very unlikely, Christians making up less than 1% of Delhi today, I confess I don't know the historical percentages).

So, where do we stand on Armand's faith by the present day? Did he convert wholeheartedly (or perhaps reluctantly, or perhaps neither since he didn't remember his childhood he simply adopted the faith of those around him, who knows?) to Christianity under Marius and the Children of Darkness and therefore consider those faiths as fundamental to him as his book counterpart, since they'd represent 99% of his life, or was his Muslim prayer as Rashid in any way a homage to his childhood faith, if he even recalls it?

[little-diable]

Tangled Faith - Tommy Shelby (1/4)

Okay ngl, I am obsessed with this story, I hope y'all like it just as much as I do. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader, a female pastor, takes over the Catholic Church in Tommy's part of the city, so, it doesn't take long for her and Tommy to cross paths. Even though she tries to stay out of his business, Tommy can't help but notice that something seems off about the woman.

Warnings: 18+, masturbation (m), mentions guns and threats, religious connotations, a lot of tension

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x female pastor reader (2.3k words)

Part Two

Every step she took made a sound so defeating those close by couldn’t help but wonder which demonic power had managed to break down the heavy doors of the holy halls. (Y/n) had her eyes set on the altar, on the heavy stone columns that formed the church into the building that towered over the surrounding houses. Her habit floated around her ankles, making her appear taller, growing in the shadows like Lucifer himself, lurking behind the wooden benches that were now empty but would be filled within the next hour. 

The scent of incense and burning candles filled her nostrils with every breath she inhaled, forcing her closer towards the altar, dropping to her knees right in front of it. With her fingers laced together she spoke a quick prayer, ending it with a cross sign. Her body knew the routine by heart, trusting herself to prepare for the upcoming service, placing down the heavy goblet, filled with wine that no longer tasted of sun dried grapes and fresh Summer, but of older times reminding one of dropping bombs, crying children, and grieving lovers. A stale taste she’d never get used to. 

(Y/n) had taken on her position only a handful of days ago, replacing the old, all too corrupt pastor, at least that’s what she had been told. A woman amongst a crowd of greedy, power hungry men that couldn’t bear being around a woman as strong-headed as (y/n), a foolish mistake those that dared to doubt her standing would eventually pay for, burning in the fires of hell down below. 

“Pastor (y/n)?” Her eyes found the dark ones of a nun she hadn’t crossed paths with yet, eyebrows raised to wait for the woman to keep on talking. “A woman’s here to see you, her name’s Polly Gray.” 

She couldn’t help but notice the slight tremble of the nun’s voice, quivering as if the name she just had spoken was a demonic ritual, unleashing powers those that breathed the same air as she did wouldn’t be able to fight against. Curiosity began to fill (y/n)’s system, studying the young nun for a moment before her gaze flickered down to her pocket watch, “There’s no time for such meetings, service starts in a few minutes. Tell her to come find me afterwards. Invite her to join in on the service.” 

The nun hesitated for a moment, fumbling with her fingers, trying to find the right words to go against the pastor’s command, but no word left the woman, slowly nodding her head before she disappeared within the shadows of the holy halls. A deep breath was exhaled as (y/n) found herself being alone once again, eyes fluttering close as an annoyed “May You give me the strength to endure this place” left her lips. 

……

“I don’t like being told to wait.” A strong, unfamiliar voice echoed through (y/n)’s office, eyes finding a pair of dark ones. A woman by far older than she was was sitting in one of the leather chairs placed in (y/n)’s office, lips enclosed around a cigarette, releasing the blueish smoke one wouldn’t be able to run from. 

“I don’t like being commanded around. Seems like we both have our minds set on things we like and don’t like.” (Y/n) closed the door to her office, finding her way to her desk, plopping down in the all too uncomfortable chair with a tired sigh. “You joined in on the service.” 

“No need to sound so surprised, pastor, I cherish my faith.” Polly Gray’s eyes didn’t dare leave (y/n)’s features, as if she was looking for something, anything she could use to go against the female pastor she had no information on. There was something about the newcomer that screamed of anger, of troubles those that were too focused on their own back and forth with men and women that found pleasure in using weapons couldn’t waste any time on. 

“Speak what’s on your mind, I doubt you’re here to confess your sins.” (Y/n) watched the woman take one last inhale, blowing the smoke out into the room before she stood up, walking closer. The two didn’t break eye contact once, a game that would go on till one of them decided to give up, to back down from a fight that wasn’t fuelled by words, though by the need to scare one another off, to mark their territories. 

“It won’t take long till you’ll find yourself having to decide who you will work for, a decision that will either put you in your grave, or help you and the church financially. We count on your help with whatever we may ask of you.” A humourless chuckle ripped through (y/n), hands toying with the wooden rosary dangling from her neck, the cold cross that pressed against her fingertips like the trigger of a gun. Perhaps Polly had expected her to give in, to tremble in fear, stuttering her words – just like Polly was used to – but whatever was going through (y/n)’s mind was by far more daunting than the other woman could expect, memories so cold even those coming from the lands far up North wouldn’t be able to endure for long. 

“The other pastors may have found themselves trapped in your empty promises and cheap threats, but I’m not them, Polly Gray. Light a candle on your way out, have a good night.” It took the dark eyed woman a few seconds to start moving, slowly nodding her head as she started walking towards the door. The clicking of her heels rang in (y/n)’s ears like machine guns going off, triggering memories she had buried beneath the cold ground, slowly giving into the tantalising call of her name. And with one last glance shared between both women, the door to (y/n)’s office was ripped open and shut with a heavy thud moments later. 

……

With her eyes set on the colourful windows, (y/n) found herself cherishing the silence filling the church. It hadn’t even been twenty four hours since her run in with Polly Gray, a fleeting night she had spent going through old notes, piecing the puzzle pieces together. By now she knew everything about Polly Gray, the Peaky Blinders, and a man called Tommy Shelby, at least the side of the story the church books told her. 

The nuns had warned her of those that walked earth with a dark aura following them, a dark aura only those that were damned could endure, feasting from their hearts and souls. Whispers (y/n) had barely spared any attention, not caring about gang wars, guns, and drugs that were smuggled, not wanting to get involved in battles that weren’t hers to fight. 

But even though she had made it clear to those surrounding her that they would no longer get tangled in the Shelby business, her peace didn’t last long. Heavy steps interrupted the silence, filling the church, walking closer towards the pastor that was sitting on a wooden bench, hands holding onto her black, worn out bible. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed. No other woman has ever managed to say no to Polly Gray’s threats.” The man’s accent grew thicker with every syllable that rolled off his tongue, body finding rest next to her frame. (Y/n) didn’t avert her gaze, kept staring straight ahead as she listened to the stranger alight a cigarette, deeply exhaling. She knew who he was, the one others feared, not wanting to cross paths with the reaper himself.

“Tell me, Tommy Shelby, have you ever read the Romans?” She felt his eyes on her features, studying the woman for a moment before he let go of an emotionless “No, I haven’t”. With her lips pulled into a smile, (y/n) slowly turned towards the handsome stranger, speaking the words she knew by heart. “If you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer. Your threats may have worked on those who have called this church their home before me. Greedy men that were easy to fool, but I find no beauty in weapons, drugs, and jewellery, Mister Shelby. This church is for those who beg for His forgiveness, a forgiveness that shall only be granted if the plea comes from their heart, carried by true intentions. Pardon me if I am wrong about this, but I don’t think threatening a pastor’s life and her church will do you any good.” 

“I’ve been damned a long time ago, I don’t fear God’s wrath.” The man’s head rolled back, blowing the smoke out into the church as (y/n) kept studying him. “It seems like you’ve asked the right questions, you seem well informed about what is happening in our part of the city.” He was undoubtedly handsome, the piercing eyes that reminded her of a life she no longer was part of, the calloused fingers that felt more mental beneath them than any blacksmith in their area. Tommy Shelby intrigued her, pulled into his trap by the danger he exuded, by the tantalising shadow of death that followed him around, old schemes (y/n) was all too familiar with. 

“I know enough to pull away from whatever deal you have forced the other pastors into. This church may be open to you for prayers, confessions, and calls of guidance, but not for the price of another living soul. Now, if you excuse me.” (Y/n) rose to her feet, walking down the hallway till the sound of Tommy cocking his gun found its way to her, forcing (y/n) to halt in her steps. The sound of a gasp broke through the air, two pairs of eyes watching the frame of a young nun flee from this very hallway, finding shelter amongst those that didn’t dare interfere. Slowly (y/n) turned towards the smoking man, staring at him for a few seconds before she walked back into his direction, finding a sick satisfaction in the surprised gaze swimming in his pupils. “You may aim your gun at me, but don’t tempt me with a good time, Mister Shelby, not if you don’t intend on shooting me.”

(Y/n) came to a halt in front of him, palm pressed against the muzzle of his gun, slowly directing it towards the ground. Tommy’s piercing eyes bore into hers, silently communicating with the pastor. She stood close, breath about to clash against his lips with every exhale of cold air her lungs tried to grasp. With her hand finding his shoulder, (y/n) whispered into his ear a taunting, “Find me once you’ve made up your mind.” 

……

Days later, as (y/n) found herself finding comfort in the darkness of her office, staring at the letter that had been addressed to her, asking her to find her way to the Garrison tomorrow evening, Tommy Shelby found himself leaning back in his bathtub. The night was dark, awfully calm, an unfamiliar calmness that allowed the man to find comfort in the warm water that offered him enough peace. It felt as if the water was hugging him, reminding him of how it felt to be close to a woman, and yet his mind hadn’t been able to stop thinking of a certain woman he had crossed paths with days ago.

The moment (y/n) had walked back towards him, eyes carrying an undoubtedly challenging gaze, his mind had painted a colourful picture of her body pressed against his. He had taken a look at the forbidden fruit, getting lost in the appearance that may look like God himself had crafted her with his bare hands, but seeped something dangerous Tommy couldn’t pinpoint. 

His eyes were squeezed shut as his hand grasped his cock, giving his hardening length a strong tug. His thoughts kept guiding him, focusing on her beautiful face, the memories no longer vivid and bright though blurred as if he had woken from his dreams moments ago, unable to remember what exactly he had dreamt of. A heavy groan left Tommy as his fingers picked up their pace, hips jerking to fuck his hand, wondering how it may feel to have her touching him. 

“Fuck,” the word rolled off his tongue as if he was speaking to her, as if (y/n) was sitting in front of him, hand wrapped around his cock, tongue brushing away his drops of precum. Like fingers rolling wooden beads, she’d put her tongue to good work, carefully touching him, allowing him to fuck her mouth with enough care to not hurt her throat too much. Tommy’s heart picked up its beat, roaring in his chest to warn him of his arising high, soon enough he’d cum on his fingers, thinking of her for one last time before he broke through the cloud of lust he was stuck in. 

A string of curses left the man as he came, eyes squeezed shut, hand lazily moving for a few more moments before he let go, sinking back into the warm water. Tommy Shelby had his eyes set on the price, and he’d get his hands on her, eventually.

[val-of-the-north]

Interesting find regarding the Church of the Deep

While trying to build an argument for Caitha possibly being a wife of Gwyn, I accidentally stumbled upon a little detail that I was not really expecting, but that puts a few things into perspective.

The description of Caitha's Chime claims that the Archbishop concealed its existence because it was considered anathema... however, that didn't seem to make much sense to me, as the one Archbishop mentioned in item descriptions is that of Carim, whom Morne became an apostle of. The thing is, Morne was first a follower of Caitha, and the clergy of Carim (which is part of the Way of White) was taught her miracles from him with little to no problem, so her chime being hidden seemed strange.

So I did something I've grown accustomed to doing because of my time trying to read into the lore of these games: consult the original text and see if there had been an oversight. I used this resource here to do it [x]. It features the Chinese (left), Japanese (middle), and English text from all three games, I recommend checking it out if you are curious about this stuff. Anyways...

In Japanese, the kanji used for the Archbishop of Carim is 大司教 (Daishikyō), which makes sense.

On the other hand, the Archbishop mentioned in the description of Caitha's Chime is 大主教 (Dai shukyō), which is the same kanji used every time the Archdeacons of the Deep are mentioned.

So that explains the apparent discrepancy! The one who concealed Caitha's Chime is one of the three Archdeacons of the Deep, not the Archbishop of Carim. This lines up with stuff we can see in-game as well. The Cathedral of the Deep seems to have been dedicated to Caitha at some point, as it prominently features statues of a weeping woman, with many of the ones found inside the building itself having been covered up by red cloth. One of them, found in the Chapel of Cleansing, was even hidden behind an altar that depicts the Deacons of the Deep, which clearly wasn't there before.

But then, how did the localizers miss this bit? Well, you see, both of those kanjis are extremely similar as you might have noticed... and that's because they both mean Archbishop! And here lies the discovery: 大司教, used for the Archbishop of Carim, refers to an Archbishop of the Catholic Church.

Meanwhile, 大主教, used for the Archdeacons of the Deep, refers to an Archbishop of other denominations, but mainly those of the Orthodox Church.

This revelation explains a few things about the Church of the Deep, like how it's both connected and separate from the Way of White, which according to the way its Archbishop is identified, is inspired by the Catholic Church... and I mean, the fact that Sulyvahn is literally the pope seals the deal for me. It might also help explain Aldrich potentially having a wife in Rosaria, and how he was allowed to have as many children as he did. From what I was told, Orthodox Priests can get married and have children after all.

Archdeacon Royce also genuinely looks the part. The Orthodox clergy is encouraged to grow out their beards, unlike most of the other Christian faiths.

Does this imply Aldrich had a big beard as well? Or perhaps, being the... messy eater that he is, it benefitted him to be shaved clean? I'll leave the pondering to you...

When I first shared this discovery with my friend @katyspersonal, who lives in an Orthodox country, she was quite surprised, but she almost immediately came around to the idea and even told me it fit Aldrich's vibe quite well... so yeah, I'm trusting her judgment on this one lol.

And there it is, a little detail that was understandably lost in translation, but that could shape our understanding of the Church of the Deep a little better.

[anarchotolkienist]

Found a disturbing and deeply patriarchal Swedish folk ballad, Maria Magdalena (Types of the Swedish Ballad B 16, if you want to look it up, nr. 43 in Sveriges Medeltida Ballader), which originates as a ballad from Catholic Sweden that illustrates Purgatory (I think) - in its origin, it's explicitly about Mary Magdalen, who encounters Jesus, who knows her sin (that she has birthed three children, two with a father - in other words, a married man - and one with his brother), and he condemns her to seven years wandering the forest, sleeping on hard mountains, drinking only the dew and eating only the bitter shoots of birch trees, and with only bears and lions for company. On the eighth year, she walks to church (!) and encounters her Saviour ('sin frälseman') again, who asks her how she found her drink, food, bedding and company, respectively, where she responds positively to all of them, and Christ grants her a spot in Heaven on account of her noble bearing of her righteous punishment; end of ballad.

Of course, there is no indication that the men who slept with her and shared her sin are ever punished.

A later version from the early 19th century, in what seems like a competition over the years in who can most emphasise the depths of her (and her alone, obviously) sin, is way more grim. In this version, she (it is no longer clear that it is Mary Magdalene, just a woman called Magdalena) makes it clear that she has had two children, one with her own brother and one with her father, which she has drowned in blackest river and reddest sea, for which reason he completely refuses her touch (she is apparently so sullied by her being the victim of the worst kind of abuse that the Redeemer won't touch her). She is condemned once again to wandering the forest for seven years with only dew to drink and birch to eat and moss to sleep on, which she endures, after which she once again meets Christ, who asks her how she found her punishment. She responds that the dew was as though she was drinking angels wine, the moss was as bedding of clearest silk, and you get the idea. Jesus grands her leave to ascend into heaven 'because of her strong faith', which is clearly a nonsensical tacking on of Lutheran doctrine onto what is clearly a Catholic song - it's not her faith, but her suffering, which actually redeems her.

I might sing it at some point, I really like the tune.

[onethousandwords]

Self-Sacrifice, Forgiveness, and Other Christian Elements in Gravity Falls

I'm a Christian who enjoys various books, cartoons, anime, and video games. Although, I believe the Bible is the best source for really understanding and appreciating God, I think God also speaks through nature, people, and various sources of media that people create. Maybe not in whole but in part. I'd like to disclaimer this by saying that I'm aware Alex Hirsch is Jewish (and seems to have a secular worldview which doesn't exclude him from being charitable). I pray that he opens his heart to Jesus, but I'm aware that there is a trend in modern Christianity that involves Christians or people claiming to be Christians to behave in ways that are distinctly not Christ-like. I have been guilty of not behaving in a very Christ-like manner myself (in different ways - I have my struggles), but it pains me to see people in the LGBTQ+ community turned away and unwelcomed in the faith, to see people with means being uncharitable, to hear hateful rhetoric.

But I'm hopeful that he could be open to the idea as he did create at least one character (a side character) that he seems to enjoy (and fans also enjoy) that is strongly hinted as having a Christian (possibly Catholic) background. This is a side character, though. The Pines family (the main characters of the show) are Jewish. Also, the show at times can be irreverent (Stanley Pines is a criminal and at one point prays to Paul Bunyan for help) and leans a little too heavily on the occult (though, it does showcase an element of danger to that, so I don't feel like it actually encourages it that much - regardless of how Alex jokes about it). But it is a well-written and enjoyable show.

With that disclaimer out of the way, let's get into finding God in Gravity Falls! In Gravity Falls, self-sacrifice seems to be a common theme in the show. It is also an extolled virtue in Christianity and in general. But Christians are often called to "take up our cross" (Matthew 16:24-26) - basically putting to death the self (self-sacrifice) for the sake of others. If the characters aren't self-sacrificing something for each other, they're learning to be more self-sacrificial. This is first seen in the episode Legend of the Gobblewonker where Dipper and Mabel initially brush off their great uncle (grunkle) Stan's attempt to bond with them via fishing in favor of going monster hunting with Soos (another prominent character in the show that is practically Stan's honorary son). However, later in the episode, they feel bad about leaving their Grunkle Stan all alone (because despite his criminal behaviors (he's seen in a flashback teaching the children how to counterfeit money), he genuinely wanted to spend time with them in a legitimately good and caring way. They return to their grunkle, and despite having felt rejected and abandoned, Stan welcomes them back. They all have a good time.

As a side note, this episode is good on a first watch but even BETTER on subsequent rewatches after watching the whole show. Stan's moments seem all the more sad and painful, and the ending of the episode seems all the more joyful and triumphant. Anyway, the children learn a little more about self-sacrifice, and Stan is shown to be forgiving.

The self-sacrifice theme is continued in many other episodes, too. In The Inconveniencing, Dipper risks his "cool" reputation with his new teenaged friends by performing the Lamby-Lamby Dance (which involves being dressed as a lamb - which could be Alex in a way referencing his Jewish roots here - a literal sacrificial lamb - but also Jesus himself is referred to as the lamb of God) to get their ghost tormenters to spare everyone. In the Time Traveler's Pig, Dipper eventually learns he needs to let go of his crush, Wendy (sacrificing his own wants) in order for his twin sister Mabel to be happy with her pet pig, Waddles. In Little Dipper, Dipper eventually decides to let Mabel remain taller especially on learning that she feels like he's better than her at everything. In The Deep End, Dipper sacrifices his job (and therefore his chance to spend more time with his impossible crush, Wendy) in order to help Mabel save Mermando (a Merman).

In Land Before Swine, Stan eventually comes to the conclusion that he needs to self-sacrifice after causing a rift between himself and his great niece, Mabel, with his selfish and lying behaviors. And he does by risking getting eaten by a dinosaur in order to save Waddles. Mabel, then, forgives him. Interestingly, this episode also includes an abandoned and dilapidated church and the aforementioned Christian character, Fiddleford McGucket (more on him later), who interrupts the other characters who started arguing when their lantern broke (he fixed the lantern - and I find that to be interesting symbolism - Christians are called to be a light before others- Matthew 5:14-16). He also tries to help later but ends up failing in that endeavor (which is okay because Stan needed to have his big moment). In Sock Opera, despite having worked very hard on her sock puppet show (which also involved a musical number and was very cool), Mabel risks the destruction (and it does get very destroyed) of her show in order to save Journal 3 which is very important to Dipper. The main villain of the show even asks, "Who would sacrifice everything they have worked for for their dumb sibling?" And Mabel, acknowledging how much her brother has done for her, responds, "Dipper would" before following his example.

In Society of the Blind Eye, Fiddleford readily takes a shot from a memory-erasing gun to save the kids from being shot with it (though, he also readily acknowledges that this won't hurt him due to how "broken" his mind already is). In Northwest Mansion Mystery, Pacifica (another side character - known for being rich, snobby, and selfish) risks the wrath of her parents and possible danger and apologizes to a ghost her family wronged in life. She also repents allowing townsfolk (considered rabble by her parents) to attend a fancy party that the ghost and his folk were promised many years ago. The ghost is accepting and forgiving - it's even later stated in additional media after the show that the ghost and others like him still watch over her.

And now, we get to Not What He Seems. One of the most iconic moments in the show is when the portal is revved up, the shut-down button is within reach, and Mabel is forced to make a choice. Her and her twin brother have discovered that their great uncle has been lying to them all summer and not just the relatively harmless, goofy con-man lies he's known for - no. He has multiple forged IDs in his possession, there is an old newspaper he owns that says Stan Pines is Dead, he's been engaging in very suspicious behavior, two government agents have told the children that they suspect Stan is building a doomsday device.

Grunkle Stan pleads with her not to shut the portal (this suspected doomsday device) down. Dipper, full of worry and fear, tells Mabel to use her head. And Mabel, full of tears, replies to Stan that she's not even sure if he is her grunkle which causes all parties present to pause their fighting at seeing the usually happy-go-lucky girl in tears. Stan tells her that everything he's done and worked for has been for his family and to look into his eyes and "Is he really a bad guy?" Mabel takes a moment before surrendering completely, letting go of the bar that hosts the big red shut-down button and ascending into the air due to a gravitational anomaly.

"Grunkle Stan," she says, "I trust you." Trust is another theme in Gravity Falls, but I think Mabel is saying a lot more than just "I trust you" here when she says that. She is also saying, "I love you, and even though you've lied to us all summer, I forgive you."

Although, Stan has certainly proven that he cares (he fought a pterodactyl for Mabel's pig, he protected Dipper and Mabel from zombies, etc), it can't really be said in that moment that Stan had earned any trust or forgiveness after everything they'd seen. And yet, Mabel gives it freely, anyway. In that moment, Mabel is displaying Christ-like behavior. It's also appropriate symbolism that she is shown to surrender and ascend in this moment.

I'm going to skip a Tale of Two Stans for a moment, but come back to it because I also think it's important.

More self-sacrificing happens when in the Stanchurian Candidate, Stan gives up the possibility of his getting elected in order to save his family (this actually helps him get elected but hilariously, he's later disqualified due to his many crimes).

At the end of Weirdmageddon, Stan ultimately sacrifices himself (he has his entire identity erased) in order to save his family (and the whole town). Although, he does not technically "die" - he has, in a sense, given up his entire life. John 15:13 - Greater love has no one than this: that he would lay down his life for the sake of his friends. Fortunately, this show has a happy ending, Stan gets his memories back. Although, there is no mention of Christ, it does feel like a metaphor for what happens when someone hears and accepts the Gospel - the Good News - that Jesus died on the cross for our sins, was raised again after three days, and if we ask him for forgiveness and trust in Him to save us, we will be saved.

Basically, what happens is you die (to sin), you lose your "sin" identity. Then, you are "born again" - in a sense, you gain a new identity in Christ - one of righteousness. Stan does this by gaining a new identity - one of a hero instead of a crook. This is what Jesus does for us - He saves us and gives us a new identity. Even if we aren't engaging in criminal behavior, we all have something we need to be forgiven for. None of us are perfect. We've all lied, we've hurt people's feelings, by inaction - we have contributed to bad things in the world... Some of us may have even smuggled Pugs.

Since this is getting very long, I'll save the rest for a part two.