#dogma pov

[nando161mando]

POV: You’re a Republican Christian entering Heaven

[lychgate]

which clone rolls the worst, most dogshit joints

dont smoke that

[ruinoussigil]

[bees-tes-blog]

someone come get them theyre doing the thing again 😒

[soloavengers]

Finally managed to finish my Phantom Oxcart quest one-shot before it could be doomed to ever be a WIP.

AO3 link

Straightforward pawn sulks, then disobeys, and then shows how much he cares

[reliquiaen]

Okay, a few years back I made this graphic to explain the Great Cycle. Now that I've mulled over DD2 for a few days, I'm updating it. Some of the same assumptions as before remain: The Dragonforged fought the dragon, his weapon broke, he tried punching it (lmao), but he did survive without killing the dragon, possibly there was a second Bargain offered in the face of his determination. So you don't have to kill your dragon to survive it. Also still assuming that different classes become different types of drakes because I just like that detail, even though we see nothing to confirm it in DD2 (except maybe for the wyrms in the post-game, I hope that's what those are, just a bit redesigned).

But this time, I'm making some NEW assumptions: A Great Dragon can be manifested directly by the Seneschal's will (I'm guessing this is why our DD2 dragon doesn't have a name, I suspect this dragon was created after Rothais defeated his - he didn't become a dragon OR Seneschal so it had to come from somewhere). The challenge a Seneschal poses to the Arisen can be anything; Savan gave us the opening of the Everfall and unleashed a ton of powerful monsters upon the world; but Pathfinder gave us what the world would look like without a Seneschal to oversee things. My assumption is that the Colossal Dragon that appears out of that final red pillar of light IS the Pathfinder (possibly using his will to force order back upon the world) and when we kill it, our Arisen becomes Seneschal (because Pathfinder says he won't be there to see the new world that's forming). So the challenge can be anything, not just the Everfall. I'm curious what happens to our pawn after that fight, though. And it's a much better Seneschal fight than the one against Savan, sorry Savan.

I'm also assuming that (given we see the Pathfinder rewind time and rewrite the world) the Seneschal can simply will the world into a state of being that suits them. This includes wiping memories of events. Though I like to imagine that our Arisen-turned-Seneschal didn't wipe memories of themselves or of the apocalypse-world. There was an entire plotline going through this game with Rothais and Phaesus where mortals are trying to get rid of the Seneschal and so it makes sense that they need to remember what would happen without the Seneschal's presence.

Anyway, thanks. I'll probably have more thoughts later, but this is the part that gets me most. I like to know how things work so I wanted to sort the Cycle out.

[intofree]

ddda posting

[linashirou]

WIP Wednesday!

(A little late but still!) This time @fangbangerghoul tagged me and I have to tell you that I'm working on a second ending for the Dragon's Dogma fic. The problem is that I lost a big part, because at some point Microsoftword.exe didn't save it. So I got a little depressed about it (I realized this yesterday), so I will share the beginning of it.

Don't believe people who say: "There's nothing new under the sun".

That's not true.

The most unexpected things can happen.

And that's quite a lot when you consider that I'm just a pawn.

As you probably already know (or suspect), the age of a pawn is difficult to determine. I don't know exactly how many human years, how many Springs I've seen go by, but I can say that I've worked with more Arisen than I can really remember or count.

Still, my memory can only recall two of them: the one who gave me life, and the one who made me feel emotions. Their will, and determination were astonishing. The one that gave me life, my own Arisen appeared to be a decent, reasonable person with an unbreakable will, but he gifted me the most bitter feeling: Disappointment.

Some might say: He was the one who made me a being with feelings, and maybe that's the truth, but, in my opinion, she had something special.

Something strange and inexplicable.

"I like to think that we are like moths drawn to the light; this warm, powerful aura that the Arisen have…"

Today, Hal's words carry a different weight, they're like an echo in my mind, haunting me.

Many Awakenings have come and gone… Different Arisen… Different motivations and wills.

But somehow… I feel guilty

Regardless how much experience I once bragged about…

I never expected anything like this.

We had been together for a long time, I'd say months.

Lina was the one chosen by the Dragon in this dimension as the Arisen, the one who would finish him and free the world from the disaster dressed in Crimson. Hal was always by her side. A skinny, eye-glassed, book-loving pawn, brilliant and creative. At first I despised his lack of courage and his shyness.

Now, in retrospect… I can't ignore his true qualities.

His mental agility and his almost unnatural effort to understand life and people; Sensitive, always looking out for her happiness and that of those with whom he lived, including me and Meryl.

How stupid I was.

Surely, as he mentioned on more than few occasions, my "muscular brain" made me indifferent to what some people call the "intelligence of the heart".

If only I had noticed this earlier… I might have noticed that there was something strange going on from the very beginning…

It's no news that Arisens could bring joy to people.

And envy too.

For some strange reason, the negativity becomes endearingly attractive to minds in despair and uncertainty of the approaching end (perhaps this is something triggered by the Dragon's presence).

That day, a stranger approached the Arisen and begged for help. He pulled out a weird piece of paper that claimed to be a letter from a well-known person.

They were barely readable, asking for help to get home, from Bloodwater Beach to Grand Soren.

A long and complicated journey.

To be honest, I have to make yourself clear that it's not uncommon to receive requests for escort, especially on the road, but…

What the hell was that person doing out there in the first place?

Bloodwater Beach is one of Gransys' most remote and inhospitable places…

Why should we help that person?

These questions weren't asked back then.

And maybe that's why I'm here now...

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Dragon’s Dogma 2

Pairing: Phaesus x Arisen

Chapter 4 rating: M

AO3

Chapter 4 excerpt:

Killian

Dusk settles, cloaking the sky in a hue of deep blue, the fringes layered like a colorful sorbet as the last light of the sun slowly slips beyond the horizon. Billowy clouds lazily float along in cool, shadowed tones and Killian closes his journal. There is not much else to take note of in the Nameless Village and his sketches have turned into two braided plaits and the Arisen’s silhouette and what he imagines she’d look like with such a pretty backdrop. It’s his sign to quit with the musings. Sitting up, he uses the nearby wheelbarrow to pull himself to his feet. His knees groan in protest, disagreeing with his choice of sitting on the ground cross legged. But once righted and the weariness shaken from his limbs, he tucks away his journal into his pack. With a quick glance of his surroundings, he notes the Arisen still has not returned.

Spying Rook near the bank of the pond, he wanders over, folding his arms across his chest. “Has the Arisen made an appearance yet?”

“Are you not always saying, ‘we must not hurry the Arisen’?” Rook picks up a fairly flat and smooth rock and flicks his wrist. The rock skips one, two, three times and then splashes beneath the surface.

“True indeed. I just find it unusual that she has not returned.”

Rook bends down, scooping up two more rocks. He offers one to Killian. “Do you believe the Arisen to be in danger?”

“I suppose not.” Killian takes the offered stone and attempts to imitate Rook’s wrist movement. His rock sinks straight into the water. No skipping.

“She bestowed upon us our charge. It is best we abide by it.” This time his rock skips five times and almost reaches the other side of the pond.

“Right. Of course,” Killian says. But he grasps the strap over his shoulder and makes his way up the hill and further into town.

Stopping by the apothecary, he browses, occasionally lifting a draught or elixir and raises it eye-level for an inspection. Returns them and then glances further up the path that leads to the manor and hopes Gwyn will appear.

“Looking for something in particular?” A blonde woman with golden eyes approaches him in a dress of green with white apron, her brown boots covered in a layer of dried mud that is also smeared on the hem of her dress. “Or someone?”

“There are many dangers on the road. Tis better to be safe than—”

“Dead?”

Killian half laughs and clears his throat while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Twas going to say full of regret. Death does not come so easy for the likes of me and my traveling companions. Still, pain is felt and rather uncomfortable, even debilitating at times, so if it can be prevented by a draught or elixir, then by all means I will be replenishing our stock.”

Her eyes go wide with realization and she lays a hand on his forearm. “You are a pawn. What is that like?”

“What is it like? I know not how to answer that. What is it like to be human?”

[blkkizzat]

'SINS OF THE FATHER'

PRIEST!NANAMI X READER

✟ the liturgy: (summary) Even the most pious of men succumb to temptation and Father Kento is no exception... especially when it comes to you. (Priest!Nanami POV) ✟ the confession: (tw) dark themes, sacrilege, adultery, blasphemy, jealously, exhibitionism, blackmail/manipulation, heavy biblical references, cunnalingus, fingering, riding dick, shoe fucking, blow jobs, panty sniffing, olfactophilia, dacryphilia, lightly suggested altarboy!yuji (aged-up) x reader, oil tycoon!gojo x reader, suggested mentions of reader x other jjk men, corruption, masturbation and angst as you are literally tormenting this poor priest (lol). ✟ the sins: (wc) 4.1k ✟ the opening rites:(a/n) i grew up catholic (got confirmed too) and went to catholic school but haven't stepped inside a church in literal years. i was honestly surprised how many bible references came so easily from pure memory while writing this.

Sanctified conviction radiates off Father Kento as he approaches the inordinately adorned wood carved pulpit with authority to address his congregation. 

Despite the uncomfortable Summer heat there is no lack of attendance, a sea of familiar faces packed into the small town chapel. The buzzing song of cicadas and soft oscillation of the large fan circulating humid air through the church are the only sounds heard as the masses eagerly await his homily.

You were among them of course. 

Sitting front and center– a small saccharine smile graced your lips while your doe-like eyes, captivated and attentive, were made even bigger as they raised to the podium to meet his own.

Bible open, Father Kento takes a full breath pause before he finally speaks, his gaze is benevolent yet his voice is firm as it projects over the congregation. 

“Dear Brothers and Sisters– Let us reflect on the gospel of First Corinthians Chapter 10 Verse 13…and The Lord says– ‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man—”

Oh but you– you were anything but common– and irregardless of any higher standing his status as a clergy member bestowed upon him he was still a man of flesh and blood.

No matter the effort exerted, Father Kento had been unable to keep his eyes from yours during the service. The magnetism of unknown and certainly unholy forces drew him to you time and again without fail.

No beauty in town rivaled yours, not with an angelic countenance that complemented your delicate features so gracefully in your every action. 

Yours was a form of divine femininity rivaling that of Venus herself. 

If that wasn’t beguiling enough, your honeyed voice and syrupy words had the ability to sway even the most feral of temperaments. Leaving those who heard it at your mercy like a gentle but deadly siren.

“—but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able—”

Is God faithful? 

Ironic how you had Father Kento questioning the very foundations of his own faith while simultaneously indoctrinating God’s dogma to his faithful parishioners.  

If you were a test he had failed. 

Many times.

Even the first man, Adam, had fallen to Eve’s allures and not even the warrior strength of Samson was able to overcome Delilah’s seductions. 

Who was he to prevail where the biblical idols had fallen?

What actual grace could God give man against the sensual temptation that he had carved from man’s own rib? 

Father Kento had felt forsaken of God’s grace ever since you had approached him after mass to quietly request the rites of confession. He should have refused when you kindly solicited him to perform them in the cooler confines of the secluded rectory over the oven-like heat of a chapel confessional box in summer. 

Led astray so effortlessly by your genial charms as you looked to him like a lamb lost and addressed him so meekly as “Father Kento”. He would have just as easily given you access to heaven then if it were in his power.

Yet it was you who had so graciously led him to the gates of Zion— which so conveniently happened to reside in the velvety depths between your thighs. 

Consequently, the only sins that were confessed in the rectory that day were the moist squelches of your peach-ripened pussy gushing around his cock and coalescing with the frenzied sounds of hot flesh slapping together in unison. 

A child of Lilth incarnate to be sure but you looked so pure and celestial, even in ecstasy.

Hair matted to the sides of your face drenched in sweat while your nimble hands clutched onto his clerical collar. Your eyes filled with such loving devotion and you rode him earnestly as if it was your life’s penance. 

Father Kento in turn gives you his absolution by taking you from behind. The swell of your plump rear rippling against his hips and shared fluids splashing onto his hard abdomen feverishly drive him closer to God than he’d ever been.

Yes, he is weak. 

But Father Kento held the conviction that not even The Vicar of Christ, the Pope himself would be able to resist the vice grip of your silken cunt as if its true purpose was never to bear life but to wring out the very essence of the soul of man. 

He’d fallen prey to a day-walking succubus on hallowed holy grounds. 

No– Father Kento was certain if this church had ever truly been blessed as a house of God you would have caught aflame the moment you graced its threshold. 

“—but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye are able to bear it’.”

Father Kento concluded the passage. Nonetheless, neither it nor any other doctrine had provided him the solace of escape and nor biblical strength did he receive to endure against his temptations.

There was no resisting you. 

There was no escaping you. 

For anyone you cast your sights on.

This is exemplified by the obvious effect you have on the young alter boy Yuji. 

Barely old enough to be called a man, the youth's entire body flinches whenever you spare a sweet glance in his direction. 

Has Yuji’s innocence already been stolen? 

Father Kento must quell the inkling of jealousy at the thought lest he stumble over his words and shame himself further.

He was a man in every sense of the word and a man of the cloth, he would not compete for your adulterous affections with his own altar boy.

Even so, Father Kento’s lip does curl in disapproval at the deep flush of guilt on Yuji’s cheeks. Yuji clumsily trips over his own feet, nearly permitting the blessed vessels for the rites of eucharist to fall to the ground.

Harlot! Have you really allowed someone other than himself to bathe in the sins of Jezebel?

Maintaining composure through his sermon, Father Kento reminds himself that an inexperienced youth is no threat. 

However it is more than likely Yuji– who normally is so oblivious in nature– had likewise become aware of the wicked exhibition of sacrilege occurring beneath the prayer cloth in your lap at the very hands of your own husband– Satoru Gojo.

“So you may ask where does that leave us as followers of Christ? Temptations lure us into doing, saying or thinking something that does not reflect who we really are as sons and daughters of God.”

Neither you nor your husband were Christ’s children so none of these ideologies applied to either of you.

Nefarious philistines the both of you– godless and immoral.

Although Father Kento was for certain your husband, Oil Tycoon, Satoru Gojo– was the only one whose deeds could put yours to shame. 

The white haired devil had descended upon the quiet small town like a thief in the night to greedily capture the first few drops of black gold that surged from the earth before it could even fall to the ground. Quickly buying up land and resources, in less than a fortnight Gojo essentially had control over the entire town– its priest included.

But as he became more wealthy, so did the town and its people. Satoru Gojo built up the town around him to match his own gluttony for opulence, taking the town and its people away from simple old time comforts and into the more complex modern age. 

Therefore the man was seen as a saintly savior, rather than the lecherous leech he truly was.

To Father Kento’s credit, if he deserved any at all– he had initially held strong in his faith. 

He was not a man tempted by the power that would come from a promotion to bishop if a larger church was built. Nor was he tempted by monetary gain. The treasures he had always held most valuable were only those to be found in God’s kingdom.

Familiar with the tricks masked by flamboyant arrays of grandior, Father Kento’s folly had been his own headstrong vainglory in being a man above the lures of temptation. Thus he failed in recognizing you as the seductive snake in sheep's clothing the cunning tycoon Gojo had sent to be his undoing.

And you had never once failed to unravel him.

Even now Father Kento struggles to keep himself together as you inconspicuously lean against your husband, your head resting gently on his shoulder while the dainty fan you are holding obscures the lower half of your face. 

What appears as an innocuous attempt to halt the perspiration rolling from your nape into your heaving bosom is merely a front to hide the sinful ‘o’ your cherry lips form.

Your chest softly heaves although your labored breaths aren’t from the humid heat shrouding the church– but the increasing warmth dampening in your loins. All which had been provoked by your husband slipping two fingers through the buttons of your thin sundress and into your pussy, lightly teasing its gooey folds. Gojo’s movements are mostly concealed by the cloth but Father Kento can make out the skillful circular motions stroking your spongy bud and causing the sporadic twitch in your knees. 

You had writhed similarly under him. You were always far too sensitive.

Fat tears would never fail to pour from your bright eyes when he would latch his mouth onto your sex. You would be his last supper if ever given the choice. If heaven had a flavor it would surely be akin to the taste of your pink candied cunt and he knew of no sweeter treat on earth.

Twas no wonder then how Father Kento easily loses all sense of self when flicking his tongue into your gaping slit. Swirling the appendage within your gummy walls he gluttonously slurps down the steady stream of your flowing nectar. 

Your mewls and cries for him are far lovelier than even the song of cherubim. Father Kento has committed them to memory and as such he knows when they reach a certain octave– your pitch so high it's practically soundless– you're nearing your nirvana.

Arriving at your peak you would thread your hands through his blonde locks and thrust your hips forward as if his mouth were salvation itself. Your manicured nails would dig into his scalp to rock his head deeper into your plump pussy. The actions would beckon his tongue to finally give you its mercy by dragging it flat up your folds to suckle and nip at your swollen clit.

You never called on God then. 

Nor your husband. 

Only Father Kento.

Coincidentally, Father Kento’s gaze locks with Gojo’s for a brief moment and Gojo’s pale lips curl into smirk. 

A fleeting look is shared before contact is broke but the message is clear: 

Satoru Gojo own’s everything in this town. 

Gojo owns your cunt. 

Your cunt owns Father Kento.

Therefore by proxy Gojo owns him.

The revelation has Father Kento showing the white of his knuckles from the intensity of his grip on the pulpit podium as you simultaneously release a silent scream brazenly cumming on your husband’s dexterous fingers in the middle of mass. 

“The time now is propitious for us all to make a journey of conversion, led by sincere faith to allow ourselves to be confronted with the Gospel. Let us confirm this commitment by sharing in The Body and The Blood of Christ.”

Proceeding with communion the altar boy Yuji stands next to Father Kento holding the tray where the blessed chalice of wine and platter of thin wafers reside as the congregation dutifully exits their rows to receive the eucharist. 

As it is the more modern way to receive communion the majority of the congregation choses to place their non-dominant palm up over the other to respectfully receive the host. Yet traditionally, the priest placed the blessed wafer directly on the tongue of the one receiving. This practice was typically only seen by the elderly, the most exceedingly pious and of course— you.

When it is your turn to approach you beam brightly as you and all your beauty seem to float before him.

“The Body of Christ.”

Father Kento raises the host before you.

“Amen.” 

You obediently replied. 

Like expected your eyes fluttered to close as your pillowy lips parted in order to accept the host directly in your mouth. 

God help him, this was the most sacred part of mass but the way your deviant tongue lulls out hot and thick with your saliva pooled on the edge and threatening to spill onto your lips has Father Kento shifting at his post.

You look just as compliant and yearning to receive as when you had been on your knees before him taking his cock in your mouth whole.

Father Kento delicately placed the host in your mouth in a similar fashion as to when he would tap the tip of his bulbous leaking cockhead onto your tongue. 

So willing to please you kiss his angry red mushroom tip to appease his cock, swirling your tongue over the tiny hole before puckering it between your lips to greedily suck any drops of pre that dribbled forth as you pumped his base.

You were a tease. 

That much was evident both then and now as you extended the tip of your tongue to caress the tip of his finger. A tiny kitten lick, but nevertheless a tingle ran through his cock in remembrance.  

“The Blood of Christ.”

Father Kento presents the wine symbolizing the blood before you. 

“Amen.”

Again you closed your eyes and allowed Father Kento to press the chalice against your parted lips. 

The very picture of amenability, you actually enjoyed when he went rougher on you as a result of your teasing. Father Kento would gather your hair into a tight grip as he not-so-gently rammed his cock past your tonsils and down your throat. 

It was unnatural and ungodly for a person to lack any semblance of a gag reflex such as you. 

In response you pressed your fingers into his thighs– not as a means of resistance, but to control your own lust as you began shamelessly humping your mound against his leg. You were always desperate to feel any small sensation against your cunt while he ravaged your mouth.

Of course, Father Kento would oblige you and in turn he is rewarded with the heavy moans that would vibrate around his cock as his oxford loafer pushed up into your soaked core. Your white lace lingerie did little to contain your juices and as such Father Kento made use of the fluids leaking from your pussy as polish to shine his shoe.

Having sipped the wine from the chalice you peer up at Father Kento as if seeking his approval. 

He gives you a small nod. 

Similar to the one he bestows upon you after his seed has filled your stomach and you lick your lips as if it was his essence and not The Blood of Christ that lingered on them.

In the beginning, he had prayed long and hard to forget those sinful images of you that would intrude unwelcomed into his mind. 

Yet you always had ways of sucking him back in. 

Such as leaving your soiled panties stuffed between his headboard. Father Kento thought he was going mad when even after changing the sheets thrice was he still plagued with your smell.

He should have burned the offensive garment as soon as it was discovered and yet he treated it with reverence as if it were a holy object of salvation. Truly an euphoric experience, on days he couldn’t have you he’d bury his nose into the fabric murmuring blasphemy as he worshiped the very scent of you while jerking his cock.

When Father Kento finally ceased trying to resist you he then had the fleeting thought he could save you. Bring you to God and away from your villainous husband. 

But you were no Mary Magdalene, there was no returning you to the flock.

You will not leave your husband who provides you wealth and security. Father Kento is not so enamored he holds illusions that extend beyond his reality. There is nothing Father Kento owns and nothing he can offer you but himself. 

The singular consolation of the tragic circumstances is that Father Kento is sure you prefer his touch. The touch of a seemingly pious man who only has desires for you.

Unlike your scoundrel of a husband who Father Kento was sure had not remained faithful to your marriage bed. Not the way most of the female townsfolk threw themselves at Satoru Gojo. If he had no qualms using you to achieve his means he certainly had none for himself. 

You were simply a pawn to be played, as was Father Kento.

“Before we depart I leave you with these words: Let every day be a new day to renew the promises of our Baptism: We renounce Satan and all his works and seductions — for sh– *ahem* HE – is the seducer. Now go forth, Brothers and Sisters and remain true in the light of God.”

The closing rites over, Father Kento has never been more relieved nor eager for the conclusion of a mass. Watching the congregation mingle in the entrance, he gives his farewell blessings to the parishioners.

A few still remained however you were nowhere to be seen. 

This was not odd, the Gojos were a busy couple, likely excusing themselves immediately to attend to more important affairs.

Or so he hoped.

“There you are, Father! Riveting service, as always.”

With a devious grin and a firm drawn-out handshake Gojo greets Father Kento. Turning to face the devil himself, Father Kento greets Satoru in turn with a strained smile and an even firmer grip. 

Yet still he is unable to show you any of the wrath you justly deserve and Father Kento’s smile is more genuine when he faces you.  

You regard Father Kento coyly as your husband’s arm tightens around your waist. Your face is flushed and it’s evident you are still weakened from the orgasm your husband gave you earlier in front of the entire congregation. 

That knowledge though is only held by the three of you, God and perhaps the altar boy Yuji.

Father Kento had never known you to be silent when cumming so the exertion of the effort you expended likely weighed heavy on you as displayed by how you are clinging to Gojo to keep from swaying on your feet. 

“Thank you. I am but a humble messenger of The Lord’s wor–.”

“– Wait. Hold that thought!”

Father Kento’s eyebrow twitches as Gojo's attention is momentarily called elsewhere. 

Every Sunday, a growing number of parishioners would seek Satoru Gojo’s greeting and recognition after service over that of their priest Father Kento. 

True to character Gojo makes an obnoxious show of charisma which leaves the last group of parishioners fawning and singing his praises as they exit.

“Forgive me, Father. Where were we? Ah– Of course! Yes, you are quite excellent in your delivery of God’s word, a true testament to your faith!”

His flattery is so obviously false in its sincerity that Father Kento is not surprised when Gojo’s sordid smirk returns. 

“But you are not only a messenger for The Lord… isn’t that right, Father Kento?” 

Father Kento warily clutches onto the large cross dangling from the rosary around his neck as Gojo continues.

“I’ll need you to spread mine as well. Haven’t you heard? I have plans to run for Mayor.”

Mayor.

The diabolical fiend truly knew no limits in his quest for control over the town. 

“I’ll need you to come over to dinner tonight to consult with the rest of my top supporters.”

Father Kento steeled himself.. 

There was nothing he could do to stop Satoru Gojo from being mayor but his infatuation with you aside, he could not walk straight into the lion's den to collude with heathens. 

It would be the final nail in his coffin, Gojo would indeed own his soul.

“Oh! Y/N is prepping a feast too… aren’t you, angel?” 

Gojo’s grip on your waist trails lower to palm the fat of your ass and you clutch on to him tighter as you nod eagerly in agreement, biting your lip as his large hands knead into your cheeks through your wispy dress. 

Your body is ever responsive to Gojo’s touch just like he trained you to be.

“I must refuse. I have duties here to attend, I couldn’t poss–”

“P-Please F-Father…”

And just like that your delicate voice cuts through his iron defenses like it were warm butter.

“…K-Kento, p-please come!”

Your request fumbles out of your lips as a cry as Gojo’s devilish fingers dip past your ass to prod at your cunt.

“You heard her Father. She wants you to come. Break bread with us, you will be among friends. Friends who know how to share, yeah? I’ll even share a piece of her cream pie for dessert.” 

That had been the final straw. Gojo had gone too far this time.

You seeking him out was one matter but he would not allow Satoru Gojo of all people to dangle you in front of him like a master would dangle a treat to a dog.

“Begone, you foul heretic. I will not tolerate your mockery of me, this church nor God any longer.”

Commanding in his tone, Father Kento extends the cross of the rosary forward to Gojo as if he were casting a malevolent curse back down to hell. 

Father Kento doesn’t have the courage to look at you though, he can’t. Not if he wants to take a triumphant stand against Satoru Gojo.

And so Father Kento closes his eyes and silently prays. 

Immediately bored at such a devout display, Gojo sighs rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright, Father. I get it. Whatever you say, jeez. It’s not like I need your support to become mayor– just thought it would be nice is all. ”

Father Kento remains silent as he listens to both of your footsteps exit the church but not before Gojo stops at the doors, his cheerful voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Heh, you know, not everyone in this town is as pious as you Father. Sheriff Fushiguro has never been one to turn down a stack of bills but I’m sure tonight he would enjoy sharing in Y/N’s creampie if you don’t.”

Father Kento’s eyes open to flash red with fury.

Having received a satisfactory enough reaction from the priest, Gojo grins wildly as your own eyes widen in shock at your husband’s words. 

Has Gojo only ever used you to manipulate him alone? 

The thought remains as Father Kento doesn’t miss the pleading gaze directed at him from over your shoulder as you are led out of the church.

Goddammit– He couldn’t let you fall into the brutish clutches of Toji Fushiguro. 

Toji may have been the sheriff but he was well-known for his oafish demeanor and greasy womanizing ways. 

NO! He mustn’t think of you any longer. 

Father Kento needs to clear his mind of you for good with prayer.

Prayer and solitude.

Deep prayer and extensive solitude was what he needed if he ever hoped to rise again to gain God’s favor. He needed to call upon The Lord’s strength one last time to remain at the parish tonight and defy Gojo’s will.

Father Kento couldn’t let the pleasures of flesh continue to manipulate the very fibers of his being in such a way. 

The rosary still in his grasp Father Kento raises his hands close in prayer as a final call for God’s mercy… and then it hits him– wafting off his fingers, overwhelming his senses and igniting every nerve in his being. 

The scent of your cunt. 

The lingering perfume of your sinful drippings spilled on your husband’s hand during mass had been transferred to his own when Gojo shook his hand and held it so firmly.

The bastard. 

The rush hits him hard and he feels dizzy as his ears begin to ring. Vertigo overtakes Father Kento as he holds the offending hand out as if he had been poisoned. 

Leaning back against a wall to gather himself, Father Kento realizes once the manic pounding coursing through his veins begins throbbing in his loins that he’s fated for damnation.

This is the moment he’d always dreaded although ironic with the simple acceptance of it he feels no despair. 

Father Kento’s conviction is finally clear as he is left with a singular truth that rang through his entire soul:

Whatever solace he would know, whatever peace he would have in this life, he would only find with his cock buried in the sweet embrace of your cunt. 

✟

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✟ the closing rites: (a/n) hell is hot and it's surely my destination after writing this. i tried to leave it a little ambiguous to whether y/n is actually in-love with nanami or just a sex-crazed slut eager to use him at the request of her husband. i don't have a pt.2 planned just fyi as this is meant to be a oneshot. although i do need to write more nanami so i will take requests for him! but fair warning i am very slow i apologize.

also shout out to the amazing art i used for the gfx ✟ art by mishwell

✟ REBLOG to be unburdened of your sins by Father Nanami but likes and comments are also appreciated!

upcoming: the nursery (yakuza!toji), please teach me! (ceo!gojo), request: teasing choso (college au), request: sukuna x blkreader, [none in any order as im at the mercy of my adhd lol]

[phantasm-echo]

POV: you wake up in the middle of your own autopsy with force powers then immediately get brainwashed into falling to the dark side

I was reminded of the fact that I haven’t drawn inquisitor!fives’ autopsy scars in way too long so here I am, delivering a few too many Fives 💀

Anyway I know I don’t post much about the AU on here so props to anyone who knows what’s going on here even slightly, I’ve decided to nerf siren!echo (who WAS part of this AU yes I know quite random) but since him being turned into a siren kinda limits what I can do with him story wise he is now an AU of the AU.

That means the name I came up with for the au (dead mean walking/swimming or dmw(s) as I’ve been tagging it) is kinda irrelevant. I’ll just call this the inquisitor fives AU but if you have any AU name suggestions feel free to drop them.

Here are some of the major factors of the AU:

It gets worse before it gets better

(WARNING: there are quite a few heavy topics covered in the AU such as torture, dehumanisation and su*cidal thoughts, so pls read at your own discretion)

- fives wakes up in the middle of his own autopsy with force sensitivity, then gets brainwashed into falling to the Dark Side by Palpatine. As an Inquisitor, he does not remember anything about his life because those memories were blocked by Palpatine.

- Palpatine discovers that Fives is essentially immortal, and any injuries inflicted on him will heal no matter how bad.

- when echo gets rescued from skako minor, he is recalled to Kamino for experimentation, first of all so they can figure out what the Techno Union did to him, second of all to see how he survived his injuries. Nala se, who knows that fives came back to life, theorises that since he and echo were tube twins they share the “immortality”. He is kept on Kamino for VERY extensive experimentation where terrible things happen to him (cough vivisection cough lobotomy) and so never joins Clone Force 99 even if he did work with them on Anaxes.

- Fives in this time is sent out on many missions by Palpatine that involve him unaliving many people, and after the rise of the Empire he hunts a few Jedi.

- Fox, who throughout the war had experienced many blackout missions where he woke up afterwards covered in blood, is the last living Coruscant Guard commander. (Thorn dies, stone vanishes one day, Thire mistakes Vader for a Jedi and pays the price) Despite the best efforts of his son secretary Dogma (no way!?) Fox has very little will to live, is extremely depressed and borderline suicidal, he would like nothing more than to bite the dust, but still feels he has a duty to the very few remaining corries and so tries to keep it together (he is failing)

- one day Palpatine decides he doesn’t need Fox to do his bidding anymore since he has much better assets at his disposal (Fives), and decides it would be ironic to sic his pet clone inquisitor onto Fox. Fives still doesn’t remember anything, and only knows that Fox is responsible for the main scars on his body and believes fox is the reason he doesn’t remember most of his life, and so sets out to kill fox. They battle it out (ref to that one animation wip I posted) and fives is on the verge of killing fox (who didn’t really try to fight that much, like I said he would very much like to die and dying at the hand of the vod he “killed” seems fitting to him) when he gets a sudden vision of echo.

- all fives knows is echo is extremely important to him and must be rescued and that snaps him out of palpatine’s control. He knows he probably can’t rescue echo alone, and since fox has already been betrayed by the empire he decides “fuck it” and basically kidnaps fox and they run. They make a deal, that once echo has been found, Fives will put Fox out of his misery (fox feels that fives should be the only person to kill him, and only goes along with the plan because he refuses to let anyone else kill him)

- fox and fives proceed to go on an intergalactic road trip to “rescue echo” even though neither of them know how to do that. They become closer friends throughout, and fives slowly regains bits and pieces of the Before

- meanwhile during the destruction of Kamino, the bad batch stumble on echo and rescue him and he stays with them for a little bit before leaving with Rex

- meanwhile Dogma helps the rest of the remaining Corries desert, kills too many storm troopers, and tries to go after his buir fox and the bastard inquisitor who kidnapped him

This is the main stuff you need to know for the AU haha so if you’ve got new name suggestions I’m all ears ty!!

[loving-n0t-heyting]

read amebedkars the annihilation of caste, plus arundhati roys book-length historical preface. in honesty i prolly learned more from the latter, which is more than anything a screed against the cult of gandhi as mahatma, tho she does give the impression of a writer willing to selectively present historical facts to paint a narrative. still, its facts shes painting with, and in many cases its very hard to imagine any context that could exonerate gandhi from the relevant charges. certainly a helpful pov to finally read in depth rather than as offhand iconoclastic remarks

the speech itself i think left me more flummoxed. ambedkar is at his best when he is railing against the evils of the caste system and the implausibility of various defences and concessions made on its behalf. this is a pretty easy pitch for me tho, growing up as a westerner without any reason to be invested in the chatuvarna. its like the cagot, such an obviously perverse system from an external vantage point that it hardly seems fair to award credit for thoroughly denouncing it unless youve been raised to see it as natural. still, its very stirring as a bit of skewering, especially of the "moderate" and "reformist" casteist positions it attacks, and of the "caste-blind" socialists and liberals who ignore the internal divisions and acrimony the caste system imposes on their envisioned base

he is more compelling as a symptomatologist than as a diagnostician or prescriber/prognostician. he takes by the end what seems like a maximally anti-"materialist" view of the causes of the persistence of the caste hierarchy: the social phenomenon of caste is due entirely to vedic dogmatism, to the point that advocating social rather than doctrinal reforms (primarily: inter-dining and inter-marriage) is futile and self-defeating. this is the context for his remarks about the need to reject the authority of the shastras. this interpretation of the basis of caste discrimination is accompanied by a shocking proposed solution: a purified and democratised hinduism as a state religion, whose new priesthood and scripture/dogma are to be administered by the state itself. only thus can the plague of casteism be stamped out effectively at the root (retrograde religious beliefs)

the blow of what reads to my own usamerican sensitivities as a brand of revolutionary theocracy and state control of religion is somewhat softened by his apparent lack of ambition in implementing it. he is upfront that he thinks the kinds of anti-caste reform he is advocating are simply impossible in the face of hindu society, a demoralisation bolstered in part by a top-down view of social change on which it is only possible as guided by a societys intellectual class—which he identifies with the class least incentivised to upend the system: the brahmins. obviously i had seen ppl draw the analogy between usamerican antiblack racism and indian dalit suppression, but it had never occurred to me that the topic would invite the obvious caste analogue of afropessimism

on the topic of ambedkars predictions about the future of hindu society, its sort of interesting to place him in the context of the current ascendancy of hindutva on the subcontinent. where ive seen ppl (roy in the preface included) speak of modi and ambedkar in the same breath, its usually (when not simply whitewashing ambedkar) been to take him on board as an ally against the hindutva menace. but im not sure how well the text of the annihilation of caste supports that reading? not in terms of what ambedkar would think of modi and hindutva, ofc; its not at all hard to imagine which side he would come down on there. but at the core of much of his criticism of the caste system is its inflexibility and incompatibility with a modern, cohesive, mobilised nation state and nation-building project. a house divided against itself etc etc. on his view, the system introduced social resentments and hostilities too deep to permit a hindu identity that could effectively unite the national public. one is inclined to say: would that it were so!

anyway these are just rough first thoughts, its very much not a topic where ik a huge amount. still wanted to put them on paper for an audiencxe, just to help clarify them to myself more than anything

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkess on Umbara Chp.12 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 11. Chapter 13.

Friendly-Fire

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Canon character death, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, Grief, Dissociation, SUICIDE, friendly-fire, POV of dissociation, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

MINORS DNI

“Stay alert. The enemy has our weapons and our armor, they may try to trick us with an ambush.”

You kept your head up as Rex led the few squads through the dark umbaran forest. He was at the front, pistols ready. 

Your location was near the back, keeping close to Tup and Dogma. You’ve learned the two were from the same batch, and it made you wonder.

How could Tup be so…sweet and polite while Dogma was so vindictive and tense?

“Watch out, Dogma!” Case in point, the trooper with a painted tear stopped his friend from stepping on a vine, “I saw that thing attack Hardcase. It'll chew you up and spit you out.” He warned, picking up a fist-sized rock, “Here, watch.” The soldier threw the stone, hitting a dark mound hidden in the ash-colored dirt. As soon as it hit the camouflage beast, the creature growled before waving its tendrils and opening its fanged mouth.

Dogma jumped back, “Ew!”

“Try not to get eaten by them,” You deadpanned, “I won’t be trying to rescue you if you do end up in its mouth.”

He was about to respond before being cut off by a barrage of blue blaster bolts. 

Blue? So Krell was right. The Umbarans stole clone weaponry.

“We're under attack!” 

The squads began to step backwards, getting behind cover. Two soldiers went down and you rushed past Tup and Dogma to their side. Your training kicked in as you assessed. The closest one to you had a smoking bolt right through his helmet.

Fatal shot. Instant death. His name was Uno. 

The other soldier twitched and you grabbed his arm before dragging him behind one of the dark-wooded trees. Two other troopers were behind the cover firing in the direction of the shots.

“I got you,” You spoke to him, taking off his helmet. 

No head injuries. Burn on his side. Most likely a graze. His name is Ryder.

An explosion, most likely a grenade, hit the ground a few feet from you. Despite that, you remained calm, “Stay awake, I’m going to fix you right up,” In one swift movement you had a patch out of one of your packs and placed over the blaster burn. You worked quickly, getting him stabilized.

Ryder flinched and groaned, but nodded, “Thanks Doc.”

“Where’s the enemy!?” One of the troopers next to you shouted, clearly unsure where to shoot.

The one kneeling beside him answered, “I don't know! I can't see anything!”

The trooper who asked the question flew back, hitting the ground. His chest had two smoldering holes through it. The plastoid melted and burned, his skin turning to embers from the heat.

Blaster bolts through the heart. Fatal. His name. What was his name? Barr. His name was Barr.

You looked up, spotting Kix tending to a writhing trooper. Another missile hit the tree above him, raining glowing red branches and burning ash down on them. 

A blue shot nicked your cover, barely missing your head and you ducked. 

“Get those mortars up here!” You heard Rex command. He was somewhere behind cover in front of you.

Good. Stay safe, cyare. You prayed silently to yourself. 

Tup and Dogma ran forward, heavy weapons ready. They were followed by a group of about six other men, also armed with mortars. They knelt, keeping low to the ground. They fired, and the sky rang out with a familiar whistle of falling explosives. 

The ground trembled with the power from such shots, and smoke began to billow from the woods in front of the 501st squads. You peaked, taking the brief moment to dash to Kix’s side and aid him with the wounded. 

Just as you got safely behind cover, blaster bolts fired again from the enemies side. 

“Anyone have a visual?” The clone captain asked, keeping behind the massive, black trunk of an umbaran tree. Several shots scraped the wood narrowly missing Rex, but he didn’t even flinch.

Kix stood, leaning out from behind his own cover, he steadied his scope, “Negative. It's too dark.” He dove back, barely dodging a shot directly to the head. After a moment, he peaked again, “Wait! I see them! They're disguised as clones, all right.”

The squads surged forward, charging the moment they had a visual. 

Chaos reigned as blasters and grenades littered the air and ground. You kept back and out of sight, grabbing any wounded and getting them behind cover. You could manage with the supplies you had, even if the Umbarans seemed more skilled than usual. 

One of the troopers, Filter, beside you cried out and stumbled back. He knelt down, gripping his smoking upper arm. 

“Don’t move.” You got to his side and began to tend to his wound.

Direct hit. Bone visible. Muscles burnt. This was similar to the injury you sustained before taking the airbase. You knew exactly what to do.

As you treated him, you looked up, taking in the battlefield. Dead and injured littered the dark ground. Troopers were firing. The very earth shook with each explosion that went off. With dread, you realized you couldn’t see Rex.

You commed him, immediately, “Captain, where are you?” Your heart raced when you didn’t get an answer. You searched the battlefield again. 

Your eyes landed on a dead Umbaran wearing clone armor. A puddle of crimson blood was growing larger around the body. You recognized the gold of the 212th. 

So that's the supplies that were stolen. Weapons and armor of the 212th…

Your thoughts halted. Do Umbarans bleed red? 

“Captain!” Tup’s voice came through the comm, “We're sustaining heavy casualties!”

You were frozen, eyes searching the field, “Rex!?” In your desperation, you commed him again.

He answered, sprinting past you, waving his arms, “Everyone stop firing!” He cried out, clearly panicked and distressed.

Rex? What was going on-?!

“We’re shooting at our own men!” The 501st captain shouted, running straight into the line of fire. He threw off his helmet as he continued to clamor, “They're not Umbarans! They're clones!”

Abandoning safety, you stood, getting out from your cover, eyes wide. 

Clones!?

Rex continued forward, commanding his men in a desperate attempt to end the battle, “Take off your helmets! Show them you're not the enemy!”

As he ran through the field, the shots began to wean, but the fight wasn’t entirely over, “Cease fire! They're not Umbarans. They're clones!” Your despairing lover tackled the 212th trooper in front of him and ripped off the trooper's helmet before standing, “Look! We're clones! We're all clones!”

The battle halted in shock and anguish. 

The soldiers around you took off their helmets, some dropping them on the ash colored dirt. The 501st began to step out behind cover, coming face to face with the 212th. 

Their own brothers. 

There was the sound of a blaster loading next to you. Filter had the barrel of his rifle settled under his chin.

“No!” You reached out, only to be too late.

He pulled the trigger. 

Your stare was on his unmoving body, eyes wide and arm stretched out.

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo. Fisher. Hinge. Trident. Iron. Mesh. Steele. Bruno. Zeke. Jumper. Aura. Dia. Silk. Forty. Thrall. Hardcase. Uno. Barr. Filter.

You looked up, eyes spotting Rex across the field. He looked devastated. His knees were on the ground and his head was in his hands. 

Be strong. For him.

“Kix, give me your supplies!” You barked, shutting down your emotions. Coldness filled your body and blood. Your focus became sharp. The only sound your ears registered was a high pitched ringing. You no longer felt like yourself. 

Save as many of them as you can. Now!

You got to action, searching the dead and triaging the wounded. The world was gone. All that mattered was saving the troopers.

You lost time. At some point, you realized that whenever you blinked, your hands were on a different soldier. The wounds didn’t matter. The blood didn't matter. 

You were going to save them. 

Someone else joined you in your mission to aid the wounded. Kix, you think. He gathered himself together enough to help.

Save them.

Then, you realized the medic of the 212th was beside you, helping stop the bleeding of a 501st soldier. 

Save them.

You blinked again, more time had passed, and you were straddling a 212th soldier. He writhed under you from the pain of you breaking his ribs to perform CPR. Hurt but alive.

Save them. Save them. Save them!

You moved on to another soldier. You held his hand as he died, surrounded by others of both the 212th and the 501st. He had a painted twi’lek girl on his helmet. Once you stood, someone grabbed you. 

Hardcase? No. he was gone. 

Silk? No. you had gotten him killed earlier.

Your name was called, not your title. Not your rank. Your name. They were trying to claw you back into the present. Your mind refused, you moved on to another trooper. Tending to his wounds before someone else grabbed your wrist, halting you.

Who were you staring at? You knew you recognized them…but you had forgotten names.

Tup? Was Tup alive?

You grabbed the wrist of someone else approaching to your left. In their hand were sedatives, you recognized. The needle was aimed for you. 

No. You had work to do. You had to save as many of them as possible.

They dropped the injection, and you stepped away, only to be tackled. The hard earth slammed your mind back into focus.

“You did it! There's no more injured!” Rex was on top of you, keeping you pinned. His brown eyes were wide and full of fear, “You can stop now, Mesh’la.” His breathing was shaky. His cheeks were marked with tears, “You don't need to save anyone else.”

It felt like you woke up. The world around you snapped into place. The ground beneath you was solid. The air in your lungs was crisp, and tasted of smoke and iron. The ringing in your ears disappeared. 

With shaky hands, you held your lover's face. He was alive. He was here. So were you. The both of you were here, in the present.

 “Are you hurt?” You whispered. Sighing in relief when he shook his head, “What happened, Rex?” 

“Krell,” He answered, helping you to your feet, “Krell sent them to these coordinates to stop the enemy. He told the 212th that Umbarans were wearing clone armor.”

He fucking tricked everyone!

Your eyes roamed the former battlefield. The survivors had managed to collect the fallen, and lay their bodies down. You noticed that Kix and the 212th medic were getting names and CT numbers, all to add to the list of casualties. Too many good clones were still, waiting to be marked as dead. 

Krell killed them all.

The five stages of grief ran through your body. They hit you in waves, but you remained standing, surveying the world around you.

Denial.

Anger.

Bargaining.

Depression.

And acceptance. 

But right now. All you felt was one thing, creating a sixth stage of grief.

Vengeance.

“Something has to be done.” You looked to the captain. The coldness had left your body the moment Rex tackled you. Instead, every cell in your body burned with the heat of rage. 

“We all know who's responsible for what happened here,” Like you, your lover held the same wrath. His beautiful eyes were a storm of righteous fury, “I’m getting a squad together. Krell will face justice.” 

You wanted in.

[soloavengers]

most recent screenshot of syl vs of winnie

[dotthings]

The point isn’t that the Jedi are the bad guys of the galaxy, the point is to expose and explore their weaknesses, vulnerabilities, and flaws in dogma to show how the dark side could con them as hard as Sheev Palpatine did. The show creator spelled that out in PR even. And yet some people still can’t figure this out. And did people not watch the prequel trilogy or The Clone Wars?

It’s showing the path that leads to Sheev Palpatine and Anakin’s fall.

The Jedi had cracks. Their essential goodness isn’t being debunked or the whole SW universe being overturned. The Acolyte is perfectly in line with the rest of Star Wars.

It’s about how the good side can screw it up and how that gives the dark side a foothold.

Star Wars was always political. It always was about how pov and bias affects how people see things. Jedi sometimes lie. Jedi sometimes make mistakes. Jedi sometimes let themselves get led by the nose.

Important tools: Self awareness, ability to evolve and change, acknowledging history not burying it or sanitizing it or letting an inaccurate revisionist version of events stand as the record. Acknowledging past mistakes.