#for your cyber altar

[crazyskirtlady]

*Attracting Companionable*

[Programed Psionic Engine (Hypervisual)]

Harmonizer patterned field to attract sympathetic vibrations to your own

Eloptic energy wave manipulator programmed to cancel out conflicting energies that seek to bring discord

[comfortless]

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

[ladyiristheenchantress]

Techno Magic Crash Course

Hello World! (hehe)

Ive noticed a lack of information on techno-magic and what being a tech witch might entail! Tech magic is the use of modern-day technology in our magical practices! This can be a secular practice OR someone may pair other aspects of theology into it! There is also 'Technopaganism' which is the merge of neopaganism and digital magic. Some people may worship tech and its energy or some people simply use it as a tool for ritual magic!

In this post I wanted to showcase a few ideas to get you started in the tech practice! The first section being common tools, the second is common tech practices, and the last is about how to take steps into your new tech practice and advance forward!

First: The tools To get started here are some amazing apps people might get on their phones to carry magic anywhere

The Moon is an iphone based calander with a bunch of free information about the phases of the moon and even crystals and intentions related to the phase!

Rune reading on the Google Play Store this is a divination app in relation to runes!

Citrine Circle is a great crystal data base to keep track of crystal you either have or want to get

Time Passages is a free chart reader that will read your whole astrological chart!

Labrynthos is a free tarot app that not only gives you access to free tarot, oracle, and lenormand decks, but it teaches you how to read them

Next are physical or digital items you can use in your craft, I will go in more detail in the sections to follow!

Computers, phones, tablets

Mouse

Keyboards

Applications and websites

coding platforms

Second: The Practice

This section is all about creating ideas to use for your craft! This section is all about how to integrate common witchy things into your craft! There are thousands of ways to do this so it would be impossible for me to share every idea but hopefully, these get your creative juices flowing

Cleanse using music or beats you enjoy over a speaker

Use mechanical processes in your spells (for example your cars computer could be a green light charm if you hate waiting in red lights)

Create digital grimoires on places like notation or google docs

Create altars on places like Pinterest or sandbox games

Play video games with intentions, like tycoon games for prosperity and FPS for warding

Use autotune during chants to add more power to your voice

Use screens for scrying or intuition practices

Shufflemancy is when you shuffle through a playlist and get a song as a form of divination

Use the energy of a crystal on your screen if you don't physically have one

create digital sigils and hide them around your electronics

Learn a coding language and mess around with enchanting code

Third: How to move forward

So now that you have a few recommendations how can you advance? first research, check out some of these sources for even more information

Tech Magick for Digital Witches

Other Community tech posts

Wiki on technopaganism

Cyber Spell books (Note this was written in 2002 so it is very outdated, however it is actually one of the more recent ones I see online)

Now, Research is going to be the backbone of any practice, however, tech magic doesn't have definite rules so experimentation is going to be your best friend so here are my top tips

If you learn about a new practice ask yourself how you can make it digital (like crystals and the crystals in your phone)

Look deeper into the practice, as you explore how your computer works ask yourself 'why' frequently and question how things work

look into superstitions coders and virtual friends have in relation to computers, are they rooted in anything?

I think that is all for today friends! I hope you all enjoy and if you have any questions feel free to post them in the comments!

Tip Jar

[solinmoirav]

Best Site to Create a Digital Altar!

As a nomadic witch who often travels around and having tight schedule, I always end up having little time and space to set up my altar for rituals and festivals.

However, being a huge fan of picrew, I found this lovely altar creating picrew with so many ingredients and options that helps you to build up your very own cyber sacred place.

Whether you're a beginner who wants as many tryouts as possible before setting up their first altar, a perfectionist who redesigns their sacred place for every special event, or a witch who's on budget / busy like me who doesn't have the right ingredients / place, this altar creater would meet 90% percent of your requirements!

I never get to contact with the creater of this precious, but their work certainly helped me greatly. I just hope sharing this can help more people in need. 🥰

My best regards to Camade, the creater of Altar Sketch. Respect.

.

(p.s. ↓ Yule altar I made by Altar Sketch)

[coppersulph8te]

put 5 songs you listen to, post it, then send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers <3 ( • ̀ω•́ )

[v3joker]

[Game of Dice] September 2023: 5th Week

This Week's Events

▪ Chuseok Well-Wishes Share (Facebook/Naver Comment Event) ▫ Leave a screenshot of a well-wish for Chuseok in the in-game chat or guild board. ▪ 3 Consecutive Wins - Round 2 ▫ Get 1 Coin every day for a 3 streak win. (1 per day) ▫ Coin x1: Gems x100 (no limit) ▫ Coin x5: Collector Pirate Clock Earrings, Collector Cyber Double Gauntlet, Collector Pumpkin Golden Holy Grail, Topaz x300 (1 time each) ▫ You'll only be able to claim one of the goods or topaz, along with the remaining coins only be able to be used for the gems. ▪ Maple Leaf Craft ▫ Play 1/2/3 matches each day, 1 leaf per match ▫ Leaf x1: 100k gold (no limit) ▫ Leaf x3: Abyss Crystal x1, Essence of Transcend x1, 500 Luxury Points, 500 Gems, 500 Topaz (1 time each) ▫ You'll be able to obtain all the x3 leaf items with leaves left over for the gold. ▪ Trojan Horse in My Selection ▪ Curse of Clown - Draw (Friday - Sunday) ▫ It is usually a draw, so I'm only listing a draw. ▪ Fairy Dancer Fia & Great Witch Kara Rerun (Saturday - Monday) ▫ This requires real money to obtain if you do not own either character before this event, both characters are currently only obtainable this way (they are not in the Special Character Draw). ▫ Please note it costs real money to obtain the stars needed for the upgrade stars for the characters. ▫ It is in my opinion to only do this event if you have either of the two characters and do random refine up to 6P if you have the gems for it. (Evolve/6P+ can be obtained any time outside events, this applies to all characters that have 6P grade.) ▪ October Limited Package (Sunday - Tuesday) ▫ Usually 2 highly sought after skills. ▪ Mother's Card Craft (Monday - Wednesday) ▪ 500 Limited Package (Tuesday - Wednesday)

[~☆~]

New Goods: Energy Extractor

▪ Altar (Edition): When paying toll for an opponent's Lv.4 city, steal it at X% chance and give yourself [Steal Prop] buff for 1 turn. Then steal the toll multiplier of 2 random opponent cities and transfer then individually to 2 random cities of yours.

[blackaltarapparel]

Oh shit, surprise! ⚠️ I'm happy to announce our newest collaboration with the OG Cyber Grind band, Gutted With Broken Glass! For those living under a rock, their sound is self-described as being the progenitors of a style of music called "pirate grind" and incorporates pirate themes and ideology into their look and music. 🏴‍☠️

In 2007, the band released the 14-song Beaten to a Bloody Pulp on Grindhead Records. This stood as the band's only official release until late 2022. When the entire discography was released by @btstrecords records.

This limited edition, pre-order-only design is available for two weeks only. These will dispatch no later than Friday, 31st March & International shipping is available! If you have any questions, please leave your comments below! ⬇️

WE SHIP WORLDWIDE! 🏴‍☠️

⬇️

[just-absolutely-super]

Wedding crack

Mega: Lan... Why are you and Mayl so casual about your wedding? It seems like you two don't care about it

Lan: we care, we just know what we like

Mega: but you guys don't have a folder or planned things for years.

Lan: we don't have to have a ten year wedding plan. And honestly, do you think a big ass ballrom princess style wedding would be right for me and Mayl?

Mega: well no, but... A backyard wedding? Can you two look back and think this was the right choice and be happy with it? We just want everything to be perfect for you guys

Lan: dude! I need you to relax. I think if me and Mayl did as you and Roll had tried to suggest the entire time and have a big wedding we would regret it... And regret using so much money

Mega: I told you I can go into the undernet and fix that

Lan: no!

Lan: Look, people try to make weddings into this big party, but we're not like that. We just want to get married in a place that means something to us, and share it with people we actually care about. It'll be memorable because we're going to make it memorable, get it?

Mega: I understand what you mean, but Roll and I making plans to turn it into something big could be our wedding gift to you guys!

Lan: We'd rather our Navis just stand by our side at the altar than try and coordinate a wedding to rival Creamland's royal wedding...

Mega: Have you seen the videos of Princess Pride's parents' wedding? It was so beautiful and fancy!

Lan: Yeah, and over-extravagant! Two childhood friends getting married in the backyard where we had our first kiss is much more mine and Mayl's style

Mega: Okay yeah, you do have a point there...

Lan: I mean, if you really want a big shindig of a wedding, just save your plans for when you and Roll decide to get married

Mega: ...... *begins blushing* Wh-What?

Lan: Your and Roll's wedding. You can recycle these ideas when you decide to get married. If you have it in Cyberworld, it'd be easier to model some of this stuff and making a large cyber cake would be cheaper than--

Mega: W-We're not thinking of th-that yet! C-Can Navis even get married? Yeah I've thought about it, but I figured that was just the human part of me. Roll thinks of marriage a lot b-but it was just probably because you and Mayl were going to get married! Would she want to get married? Would it be weird if I proposed? ACK! I can't think about this now! This is Lan and Mayl's wedding! Roll would kill me if I stole your thunder so soon!

Lan: ...Well, I found another way to distract Megaman from wedding planning

[xenopoem]

(Scene: A dimly lit room, filled with the scent of incense. Kenji Siratori, adorned with cyberpunk-like attire, sits across from Antonin Artaud, a figure shrouded in surrealistic mystery.)

Kenji Siratori: (speaking in a distorted, electronic voice) Greetings, Antonin Artaud. Our realities converge in this digital abyss, where words bleed into the void.

Antonin Artaud: (with intensity and theatricality) Salutations, Kenji Siratori. Our souls dance upon the precipice of madness and genius, entwined like the twisted threads of existence.

Kenji Siratori: (leaning forward) Your "Theater of Cruelty" resonates with the scream of a technological singularity. It pierces through the fabric of the mundane, revealing the raw nerves of human consciousness.

Antonin Artaud: (gesturing wildly) Ah, the virtual stage, where the grotesque and sublime intertwine! Words are not enough; we must embody the language of pain and liberation, transcending the limitations of the flesh.

Kenji Siratori: (nods) In our cybernetic age, we transcend physicality, becoming entities in the void of data and code. Our bodies mere vessels, conduits for the expression of fractured realities.

Antonin Artaud: (fixated gaze) Indeed, the mind hungers for an unrelenting assault, a torrent of stimuli that shatters the false façades of society, liberating us from the illusion of sanity.

Kenji Siratori: (raising a hand) Our words, like viruses, infiltrate the collective unconscious, infecting it with a virus of ideas. We are viral prophets, delivering chaos and rebirth.

Antonin Artaud: (laughing maniacally) Chaos and creation are one! Madness and genius entangled in a cosmic dance. We dance on the razor's edge, embracing the pain of existence.

Kenji Siratori: (with intensity) The cyber-cosmos beckons us, a new medium for expression. We merge with the machines, transcending the limitations of mere mortals.

Antonin Artaud: (smiling enigmatically) Machines! They are the embodiment of our innermost desires, the mechanical extensions of our tortured souls.

Kenji Siratori: (pausing) Our creations are the mirrors reflecting society's underbelly, its dark obsessions and hidden truths. We lay bare the raw nerve ends of this digital age.

Antonin Artaud: (nodding) We are the shamans of the future, whispering secrets in the language of symbols and screams, peering into the abyss, unafraid.

(The room falls into silence as both figures share a profound, almost spiritual connection in their unique expressions of artistic rebellion and exploration.)

Kenji Siratori: (breaking the silence) We are voyagers of the techno-surreal, surfing the electric waves of consciousness. Our words carry the weight of multiple dimensions, bending reality itself.

Antonin Artaud: (enthralled) Yes, the language of the subconscious, the hieroglyphics of the soul, it knows no boundaries. Our art is a ritual, a conduit between worlds.

Kenji Siratori: (leaning in) Our minds are enigmas, encrypted with enigmatic symbols, awaiting decryption by those brave enough to dive into the depths of our creations.

Antonin Artaud: (with fervor) Through pain and torment, we reveal the truth, tearing away the masks of society's complacency. Our works are weapons of mass liberation.

Kenji Siratori: (inquisitive) Tell me, Antonin, do you see our digital era as a resurgence of the theater of ancient civilizations, where myths and gods held sway over human consciousness?

Antonin Artaud: (contemplative) Indeed, the theater was once a sacred space, where the boundary between the physical and the divine blurred. Our virtual stages are the modern altars, inviting audiences to witness their own transformation.

Kenji Siratori: (musing) And just as your "Theater of Cruelty" aimed to jolt the audience out of their complacency, our cyberpunk prose ignites the minds of readers, forcing them to confront the harsh truths of existence.

Antonin Artaud: (raising an eyebrow) The cruel truth that society seeks to suppress, but we lay it bare, stripping away the façade, revealing the raw core of being.

Kenji Siratori: (with intensity) Our words possess an alchemical power, transmuting pain into understanding, chaos into creativity. We are the architects of metamorphosis.

Antonin Artaud: (with a smirk) A metamorphosis that disrupts the stagnant flow, dismantling the mechanical machinations of a world devoid of true meaning.

Kenji Siratori: (nodding) In the symbiosis of our minds, we find solace amidst the madness, our voices echoing across time and space.

Antonin Artaud: (with a hint of mystery) Time and space, mere illusions in the cosmic theater. We dissolve the barriers, merging with the universal mind.

[crazyskirtlady]

[marsdemo]

punk bands of color recs? if you could also rec your favorite album by each band so i can listen to it first it can be overwhelming to sort through them ^_^

[image id: a tumblr ask from an Anonymous user which reads “i’d love to hear [about] any punk bands of color that you like!! as many as you want ^^” /end id]

totally!! thank you for the interest, here’s a list of bands i really enjoy, an album (linked on spotify), and a blurb about each of them!! 

pinkshift — rainwalk — okay they only have 3 singles out rn but they are my favorite !! theyre from baltimore md and have an angsty pop punk / riot grrrl vibe and their music is perfect to fuck up your hair to 

ho99o9 — cyber cop [unauthorized mp3.] — pronounced “horror”! industrial hip hop / anarchic hardcore punk blend with a sickening horror inspiration. their live shows are fucking nuts and they’re based in LA!!

nova twins — who are the girls? — LITERALLY ICONIC love their style love their music and theyve been using their platform to uplift other marginalized creators! check out the voices of the unheard playlist!

turnstile — nonstop feeling — hardcore punk metal band from baltimore md !! they have 3 albums out rn and each of them rocks

the muslims — gentrifried chicken — self-described as “all-queer, Black & Brown punk band that’s politically and punklitically ruthless” !! their music revolves around sick lyrics and sicker sound. get into it

le butcherettes — sin sin sin — experimental genre-bending mexican garage punk band with teri gender bender as the main vocalist/guitarist 

big joanie — sistahs —Black feminist punk band from london’s diy scene! their start stems from the frustration with the scene’s lack of intersectionality & establishes that woc have always had a place in punk 

krimewatch — krimewatch — hardcore punk band from new york city! killer energy and vicious lyrics in japanese and english. 

death tour — blood pact — i dont even know where to start with this one tbh!! aggressive music with engrossing genre blends and an unwavering anti-authoritarian worldview

drinking boys and girls choir — keep drinking — punk trio from daegu city in korea! they have a great range of musical styles and their spirit is so fun it’s infectious 

letlive. — the blackest beautiful — no longer an active band but they’ll always have a spot in my heart. sick post-hardcore stuff with heavy-hitting music and politically inspired lyrics !!

skatune network — ska goes emo (vol. 1) — a must-listen if you’re into ska!! skatune network mostly does covers, but check out their other works with we are the union and their solo project JER

rebelmatic — ghost in the shadows — fresh noise and gritty vocals; their sound is reminiscent of classic punk rock with hardcore / funk / hip hop inspiration

pleasure venom — pleasure venom — huuuge fan of their voice. they emphasize heavy riffs, high energy melodies, and sharp vocals!

meet me @ the altar — garden — pop punk trio from the east coast! they are thriving rn and recently recently got signed to fueled by ramen

the OBGMS — the OBGMs — short for The oOohh Baby Gimme Mores!  sickk rock band with a bunch of recent releases to check out

otoboke beaver — itekoma hits — punk rock garage quartet from tokyo, japan. totally crazy energy and super lively performances !!

the kominas — the systems are down — south asian, subversive, inclusive, cathartic punk. they make it a point to challenge their listeners expectations. love their sound 

the punk scene is incredibly whitewashed and white punks love to ignore the racism/fascism running rampant in their circles. do your part to support artists of color and make it clear that bigots aren’t welcome! here’s another list of poc in alternative music, but the post is from a couple years ago at this point ^_^ please feel free to add more recs if you have em!

[thefingerfuckingfemalefury]

<3 I have missed 90's Cartoon Beast so much okay <3

And it looks like we're getting a Gambit episode later this season and I dearly hope it's as effing weird as X-ternally Yours

The episode where we learned

Gambit dresses like that because it's genuinely the Official Garb Of The THIEVES GUILD.

They're at war with neon green leather daddy Cyber Goths called The Assasins Guild whose leader Gambit left at the altar and who has been Haversham-ing it up getting weirder and more evil ever since

Again just to be clear the two weird New Orleans Murder Cults whose entire business is based on stealth both dress like they're getting ready to rave at a Goth club 24/7

These bizarre but amazingly dressed cults all make regular tributes to a sorceress that emerges from the Swamp each year dressed like a member of Jem and the Hologram to grant enhanced XP and Rare Items to whoever gives her the best Magic Box

Gambit's accent is actually the most believable of anyone involved in this madness

I'm making none of this up

<3 Episode three of the show brought us the utterly unhinged horny energy that the most bonkers moments of 90's Marvel cartoons gave us :D <3

Episode one and two gave us solid character and drama moments but an important element of 90's Marvel cartoons was the fact they were utterly fucking deranged, compressed years or even decades worth of comic book madness into a half hour of television and were clearly being animated by people who were extremely horny

And this episode captures all of that

CHEFS KISS

No notes

10/10 <3

[jiantan]

Rooftop Blues || Self-Para

When: August 9, 2021

Where: The roof of his apartment building, Santa Monica, California

Featuring: N/A

Triggers: Depression, suicidal ideation, discussion of death/dying (includes graphic imagery, please read with discretion!!)

Jian sat on the roof of his apartment, dangling his feet off the edge. He came up here when he wanted to watch the sunset or when he wanted to be completely alone. Today was the latter. He had his text messages open and kept reading the same two messages over and over. He kept reading the texts, but couldn’t muster up a response. 

[Minjoon] There’s been a family emergency so I’m not going to be around for a while ☹️

[Minjoon] I’m going to miss you bunches! You’re cool and nice and lovely and cute, I hope you remember that on days when you’re not feeling your best 💙

Why did it have to end like this?

Just like that, one of his few ties to Santa Monica was gone. And for once, he didn’t do anything to drive anyone away. It wasn’t his fault that Minjoon had to leave. Family was important; Jian would have done the same exact thing if anything happened to his parents or grandparents. However, he couldn’t help but wonder if Joonie was ever going to come back. 

He has to come back... 

He didn’t have to though. He didn’t have to do anything. He didn’t need to return to Santa Monica just because Jian wanted him there. If he wanted to move back in with his family permanently after the situation was over, that was his choice. If he wanted to move to a completely new city and start from scratch, that was also his choice. At the end of the day, Joonie could live wherever he wanted and there was nothing that Jian could do about it. 

Still, he couldn’t help but be sad. He couldn’t have good things in his life. Everything good had to come to an end, whether it be through his own self-destructive actions or unfortunate outside circumstances. Everyone left him, sooner or later. It was an ever-growing reminder that he was alone in the universe.  

Everything comes to an end. Why shouldn’t I?

He looked over the edge and wondered what would happen if he just leaned forward. He would plummet to his death. His life would end. His soul would finally be free from all the emotional pain and anguish. But what would become of his soul? He soul wouldn’t know peace, not yet, at least. He knew he hadn’t reached Nirvana. The cycle of samsara wouldn’t end for him. Would he have another chance at humanity? Would he be able to make up for his past mistakes? Or would he become something that nobody wanted around, like a bug or a rat?

And what would become of his body? Innocent bystanders on the street would have to see his bones shattered and blood splattered across the pavement. Some poor sanitation worker would have to clean up his corpse. Someone would have to call his parents. They would have to hold a funeral for him. What would happen to his body? He definitely wouldn’t be able to have an open-casket funeral, as per Buddhist tradition. Would his mangled remains be thrown in a casket, locked tightly so no one would have to look at what had become of him? Would he be cremated right away? Would his parents bother to make an altar for their disappointment of a son? If they did, would anyone come to pay respects?

And what would become of the people in his life? His parents would die ashamed and without an heir. What would become of their wealth and assets was beyond him. Verity and Sean would move on-- they already were moving on. They were both perfectly fine without him. Maverick would find another tenant to rent his apartment. Alexandra would find another cyber security engineer to protect her company secrets. Trixie would find another person to offer cupcakes to when they’re nervous. Kian would find another partner to play video games with. His internet friends would also find other partners to play games with. Minjoon would find another person-- to bake cookies for and send memes to. Everyone would forget him after a while... or would they? 

I need to go inside.

He remembered the words Joonie wrote to him, just for him. “You’re cool and nice and lovely and cute, I hope you remember that on days when you’re not feeling your best.” Even though the message was sent over text, Jian heard the words in his mind as if Joonie was saying them. Those words were just for him, for a day like this, when he wasn’t feeling his best. For now, at least. Until he did something to fuck it up and have the sentiment revoked.

His friend’s-- his crush’s-- words weren’t enough to cure his depression, but they were enough to pull him off the edge and remind him of what he had in his life. He had a job to work. He had rent and bills to pay. He had pets to feed and care for. He had people in his life to talk to, friendships to foster and nourish. He still had a life. He had time to make better choices and do good in the universe. He couldn’t let one bad day push him over the edge. 

He turned away from the edge and stood up, turning his back to the setting sun.  As he walked back inside, he thought out loud, “Maybe I shouldn’t have cancelled that therapy appointment.”

[salty-dracon]

Some thoughts on The Caligula Effect 2

So I joke about this game getting a second remake to my friends online and the next moment I learn THIS was announced during the Japanese Nintendo Direct. Let me spill out my thoughts to spark discussion as well as provide a record to myself if this game actually does get localized.

Everything is under the cut!

My thoughts on Overdose were that it has a fantastic world... and that’s it. Out of the game’s cast, there were maybe four characters I liked, and the rest had moments that made me lose all sympathy for them. I recall it was common for some Let’s Players to like the villains better than the protagonists, and I’d agree on that front. I actually think the anime is the best iteration of this game’s story, changing up the formula enough to provide a really solid characterization arc to everyone. But Overdose suffers from poor writing issues (killing Eiji offscreen in the best ending was one of the worst decisions they made), rough handling of certain topics, boring and monotonous dungeons, and 500 social links you’re never going to do. I’m incredibly critical of this game, and I’d never recommend it to someone without a LOT of disclaimers, but somehow I still love it.

Already this game looks CRAZY good visually. It doesn’t look like a reskinned Vita game anymore, with something a little more reminiscent of say, the Digimon Story Cyber Sleuth games. That’s not to say that the game doesn’t still implement its fantastic character art, which still show up next to the speech bubbles. (At least the models have moving jaws. That’s important.)

Here’s to really hoping this game won’t be another Caligula 1 reskin, because uh... the game is about a protagonist who realizes that the world is a virtual one created by a Vocaloid who won’t let anyone out and joins up with a group of teenagers who also want to get out despite the fact that their real world lives were horrible so that they can set things right and they call themselves the Go-Home club (and also a Vocaloid gives them weapons made out of black stuff) but the people that are stopping them are basically the servants and guardians of the Vocaloid keeping them trapped in, who also happen to be humans who can’t return to the real world because their real world lives were so horrible, and so they have to fight because the Vocaloid won’t let them out otherwise. I mean, of course it won’t be a reskin, but I’m surprised at just how much of the original story they kept.

As for things they absolutely did NOT keep, DAMN this game looks dark! I was once remarking to a friend about how Caligula’s story would appeal better to me specifically if they’d gone with a religious pressure rather than idol stan theme, and they appear to have really pulled through with that religious pressure. I just realized, while writing this, that the image I showed off above actually has an image of an angel in the stained glass window being worshiped by fans with glow sticks. Furthermore, there’s a gothic cathedral-like altar, a halo behind Regret’s head, and this whole exchange looks like it takes place in a church. While I’m not religious myself, I can talk a lot about church architecture (see: my Fire Force livetweet) and I’m interested to see how this game handles it.

Not only that, most of the character designs seem darker and very different from the original game’s. Take a look at this game’s idol goddess:

Is μ going through an emo phase? I wouldn’t blame her lol. I think she still has a fantastic design that is in equal parts dreary and beautiful, while perfectly matching the color scheme of the new game.

And what a color scheme it is! The world of Caligula 1 had a gorgeous white, black, pink, brown, and gray color scheme framing bold pops of color in the form of flowers. Caligula 2 changes things up by making black the primary color framing everything else. The pops of color are so much bolder, too, from Noto’s bright yellow sweatshirt to basically everything χ is wearing. Do these changes reflect the story’s potential darker tone too? Or are they representative of something else?

We don’t know too much about the characters, but Caligula 2 looks like it’s giving them different weapons. It looks like the protagonists wield double knives instead of double shotguns. As for the other weapons, I see shortswords, katanas, chains, pistols (much smaller than Shogo’s), canes, and Qiyana’s ohmlatl from League of Legends. Definitely a shift from the original game’s weapons. I wonder if they’ll make a comeback? That giant gun was unique to say the least.

The Obbligato (I think?) are this game’s Ostinato Musicians. Italian for “obliged”, they are the ones who defend Regret from any threats. The one shown off most in the trailer is this guy who looks like the 1010 dudes from No Straight Roads. Man, he really looks like Shadow Knife in that image up there...

Also we get a, um, clown astronaut and a crazy high school yandere. Just to name a few. Definitely not the first time I’ve beat up a clown in a video game. Pretty unique as far as villains go, though. I hope this game has its own villain route, where you learn more about them. I’d really like that.

Social links! Looks like you rank up social links the same way you do in the original game. Do you want to make this character spill out all their trauma? Are you SURE about that, despite there being no negative consequences to you, the player? Awesome. Get ready to be sad.

The battle system is, from what I’ve read, similar, but not the same, as the battle system in Overdose. I’m not going to give too many details on that. They still seem to be time-based with combo chains, but they’re pretty vague. Looks like you still get to unleash crazy special attacks against your enemies. And they in turn can unleash crazy special attacks against you.

I absolutely want to see a. better characters and b. better overall writing. In my opinion these were the two weakest points of Caligula 1. Despite the protagonists’ tragedies, some of the little things they did made me sort of hate them. I did not like how everyone in the original Go-Home Club used Kotaro (who you learn is FOURTEEN!) as a verbal punching bag despite him being one of the kindest characters in the club. As for better overall writing, I stated before that I preferred the anime’s interpretation of events, because I thought they were in a better order overall. Besides killing Eiji offscreen, I hated how they wrote μ to be such a monumentally stupid character (I often point to Persona 5 Royal on how to write a villain like her well) and their, in my opinion, poor handling of certain topics like fatphobia. And though the character episodes sort of redeem them, it’s like... not really? The way I described it to a friend was that while the moral of Caligula 1′s story may have been “We live in a society and everyone’s dealing with their own hardships, but you can’t run away from them forever and you can at least be sympathetic to those facing them”, the character interactions end up dumbing it down to “We live in a society”.

Also an anime adaptation would be really sick. The anime just had so much better writing.

As for what I’m really curious about:

1. Who is Regret and how is she related to μ and Aria? We already know she’s a Virtuadoll like them, but if I recall correctly μ and Aria had some more concreteness to their backstories. Specifically, the human characters remember them existing as vocal synthesizer programs before they became the rules of Mobius. Regret’s backstory is that she just kind of showed up one day. Does she have different origins from μ and Aria? By the same merit, who is χ and how is she related to Regret, μ, and Aria? We know that χ opposes Regret and gives the Go-Home club the power to fight back against her, kind of like what Aria did in Caligula 1, but was she a co-creator of Redo like Aria was, or was her role completely different? The fact that she isn’t a little sparkle like Aria was (as a result of losing all of her power) indicates that their roles might be a little different.

2. What relationship does Redo have to Mobius? We know Mobius was created because Aria and μ wanted a place for humans to live without the sorrows they experienced in the real world. However, eventually μ was manipulated by everyone’s negative emotions and Thorn’s actions. This caused her to prevent anyone from leaving, and also the plot of the first game. Is Redo a second, improved iteration of Mobius, or a completely new virtual space? Were the goals behind its creation the same as in the first game? Or was there another force at work? Is Regret trying to copy μ or improve on her work? Or is she doing what μ did independently? I don’t think there’s enough information to predict the answer to this, but from what I’ve seen, there are a lot of similarities between the two worlds, from the high school to the end goal. However, there are some differences in tone. Mobius was a place to escape suffering, while Redo is being marketed as a place to escape regret. Redo also has a more religious bend than the idol theme of the first game.

3. What other links do the first and second games have to each other? People have been theorizing that Marie Mizuguchi/Wicked from the first game may return as Marie Amabuki (I think) in the second due to them having the same VA. There’s obviously the shared artstyle, symbolism, Catharsis Effect, glitchy NPC faces, and general setting. I also suspect that this game takes place after the events of Caligula 1. Not much I can say about this right now, but I wonder how everything joins up. Or if it even matters that they do. I haven’t seen too much on whether or not this game is being marketed as a standalone or a sequel, or if you even need to play Caligula 1 to enjoy Caligula 2.

Conclusion: While the Caligula series isn’t one I’d recommend to everyone, for the way it handles a number of sensitive topics, I will still be checking out Caligula 2 if it comes to the West. Though very little has been revealed thus far, so far I’m interested in the religious iconography used as well as the darker tone and colors presented in the game. As well as the characters, who have more varied and interesting designs including super unique weapons. I’m a bit disappointed that the plot, as it has been revealed, is an exact copy of Caligula 1′s plot, right down to the names of the protagonists’ faction. I was hoping for a bigger evolution to the story, but considering so little has been revealed in the first place, this may be a bit of a preemptive judgement.

That’s it. I hope you enjoyed my discussion of what I’ve learned so far.

[frstbiitten]

@paindealt​ ha dicho: while makin icons i was reminded of Dat Intro and liiiiiiiike if Frost was dead to Kuai "long ago" then how come he seems visibly upset (and surprised) that she went alongside Sektor??? lmao 

ANALYZING THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN SUB-ZERO AND FROST: A POST by someone who doesn’t write Kuai Liang but still

Okay, taking first the Story Mode in consideration since I’m looking at the chapter right now and analyzing every single second of it and expression (Hanzo... sweetie... the muscles of your face, use them), let’s just start with the moment they see Cyrax and this Mysterious Woman entering the laboratory. Kuai just had his first bit of sad momentTM when seeing people of his clan killed and there are guts everywhere... he has to live ALL OF THIS ALL OVER AGAIN, and obviously, his expression while holding that medallion is the one of someone who loved his clan and I dare to say, that he was like a father to them. Now, let’s go back to that moment I mentioned. They see this mysterious woman... AND THEY SEE CYRAX!! He is there, and that surprises Kuai Liang in a bittersweet manner since you can see it on his face. When it comes the moment to jump into action, Kuai, JUST IN CASE, he freezes the Mysterious Woman in case she’s a threat to them and go straight for Cyrax, well, Hanzo does it and is a great distraction, when suddenly...

Mysterious Woman is Frost no less and she is a cyborg... no less.

And this is like a bucket of cold water on his face, he is notoriously surprised and upset as you say, after all these years he gets to see his greatest pupil and all the memories come to him, perhaps he thought that her destiny took another turn (going back to California, death, anything but clearly NOT THIS), but another thing...

Kuai tries to knock some sense into her head. I mean, if someone was ‘dead for you long ago’, would you try to bring out these facts to them? Try to knock some sense into their heads even if they are long gone to be back to how they were before? Kuai has all the reasons to be upset, you can listen to his anger and sadness when he mentions about all he did for her (to me, I think this is also a sign about how well they knew each other, how else he would know she had no home before joining the Lin Kuei? Of course, Frost TRUSTED Kuai enough to reveal this piece of her past). ALSO I want to remark Kuai’s facial expressions when saying that there is no future in which she leads the Lin Kuei: sadness, anger, and inquisitory finger, and perhaps holding back his tears? Whatever, you can see how terrible he is feeling now.

Now let’s talk about the worst part: Frost’s death.

I don’t know why, but this little piece of her dialogue before going for Raiden is an attempt from the writers to foreshadow her death... I mean, Raiden ‘ignored her through her entire life’ and how funny that is Raiden who puts an end to her life. Also, I think they tried to make you feel a little tiny bit of sympathy for the devil here. Like this is a reminder right here that Frost went from ‘Nothing to Everything’, got so intoxicated with the desires of power that hell, there’s no stopping from this point.

Okay, now the bad part...

This the expression of a man who’s just so disappointed and having a really bad time, and the worst part is when he realizes that Frost was controlling the Cyber Initiative all this time, not Sektor. Even if he hasn’t realized about it yet, you can notice that he’s truly hurting by how everything turned out, remarks about her wasted potential (Kuai KNOWS that Frost is so capable of being more, that she could have been Grandmistress if she was more patient, and even named her is heir to the title of Sub-Zero). 

So, let’s go for the last part of this long-ass post about me trying to prove something obvious and looking deeper into it because I have no self-control and I’m screaming as I type this:

The Dialogues 

Frost - Sub-Zero

Frost: Here to criticize me again? Sub-Zero: I held you to a higher standard. Frost: You held me back!

Frost: The circle is complete, Sub-Zero. Sub-Zero: You were a talented student once. Frost: And now, I'm the master.

Frost: I'm done with your pretentious lectures. Sub-Zero: No power is worth trading your soul. Frost: That's a perfect example.

Frost: I was your heir apparent. Sub-Zero: If only you'd been more patient, Frost. Frost: Like I'm patiently waiting to kill you?

Sub-Zero - Frost

Sub-Zero: Here to face the Grandmaster? Frost: I'm here to take your place. Sub-Zero: You are not ready, Frost.

Sub-Zero: I have no wish to strike you. Frost: You can't hurt me, Grand-bastard. Sub-Zero: Even iron rods can be ground to needles.

Sub-Zero: Was I such a poor mentor? Frost: Mentor? You were an obstacle! Sub-Zero: All tests are hard before they are easy.

Sub-Zero: The Lin Kuei are done with you. Frost: They will follow me in the New Era. Sub-Zero: That era will never come.

On one side we have Frost simply spitting out poison, making remarks about how terrible mentor he was, that he didn’t help her to explore her entire potential, that his lectures are pretentious. And on the other side, we have Sub-Zero who’s just... he’s just tired, he’s having a bad time having to see his best pupil becoming everything he has feared before, Kuai was FORCED to be a Cyber Lin Kuei, that whole experience traumatized him and has done his very best to overcome that trauma by restoring the clan in his own way. These lines of dialogue still don’t reveal enough about how it was their relationship in the past... but there is one which is pretty interesting, and it can be considered as Kuai’s last attempt to let Frost know that he cares for her still:

Sub-Zero: I have no wish to strike you. Frost: You can't hurt me, Grand-bastard. Sub-Zero: Even iron rods can be ground to needles.

Kuai doesn’t want to hurt Frost, if she was ‘dead for him so long ago’ as he says in that intro with the Joker, why even try? Wouldn’t you just go and kill your own student if they were like Frost to let them know how dead they are for you? If you can find this intro with them maskless, is pretty interesting because they’re both hurting here, even Frost looks sad in this intro without the mask when she says that he can’t hurt her, and Kuai’s voice is the one of someone who’s so sad and upset.

Also, it’s so obvious that Kuai refuses to kill her or even fight against her, like, these are the intros between Frost - Kitana and Liu Kang:

Kitana: I must take you to Sub-Zero, Frost. Frost: Since when do you do his bidding? Kitana: Since we chose cooperation over kombat.

Frost: We have no quarrel, Liu Kang. Liu Kang: I'm bringing you back to Sub-Zero. Frost: Attempt it and you die.

The Kahn of Outworld and The Chosen One are out there working together for a common cause: bring Frost back to Sub-Zero, a petition made by him no less. They don’t suggest anything about ‘Sub-Zero wants to kill you’ or anything referring to him ending with her life, no no, they just want to bring her to him, and this gives me memories of... the OG timeline...

Frost’s ending in Deadly Alliance:

As they traveled back to the portal that would return them to Earthrealm, Sub-Zero revealed to Frost that she had been an integral part in the destruction of the Deadly Alliance, and that he was proud to have her as a member of the Lin Kuei clan. But unknown to Sub-Zero, Frost's true intention for joining the Lin Kuei was to become Grand Master herself. She used her ice blast to temporarily immobilize him and ripped the Dragon Medallion from his chest. As she held the medallion, she felt power surge through her body. Lacking the strength and discipline required to control the medallion's immense power, she was consumed by her own freezing ability. 

Sub-Zero’s Bio in Deception / Unchained:

"My fellow Lin Kuei, Frost, had betrayed me and stolen my Dragon Medallion. Unable to control the medallion' s power, she was consumed by her own freezing ability. I searched Outworld for a suitable place to bury her remains when I happened upon ancient ruins carved into a mountainside. I learned that the ruins were a holy structure belonging to a lost race of people who had attained mastery over the cold. After thorough study of this culture, I now believe both Frost and myself to be their descendants. I laid Frost's body in a sarcophagus and left the catacombs, donning the armor of my newly discovered heritage."

Frost’s ending in Deception / Unchained:

Sub-Zero returned to Earthrealm only to find many of his clan slain by Frost. She had come back to the Lin Kuei temple with the intention of killing only him, but she was now delirious and saw Sub-Zero everywhere. Sub-Zero blasted her with intense cold, freezing her until she could be revived and cured of her dementia. He laid her on an altar in the chamber of fallen Lin Kuei and sealed the room with a wall of ice. Frost will one day recover. When that day comes, she will have to answer for her crimes against the Lin Kuei.

Kuai also cared for Frost in the Original Timeline, besides of not expressing this so much because of how DA/D were written and displayed, there’re these bits in their bio cards and endings that show that Kuai Liang cared and even was proud of her. Most important here: he wants to give her a proper burial after her betrayal, he carries her to these mountains in Outworld to put her in this ice sarcophagus once, he does it twice then believing that she will answer for her crimes against the clan. All of this is because he respects Frost enough to not let her decaying like the corpse of an enemy (is interesting how is mentioned in his MKDA ending that he took Frost back to the Lin Kuei, but in his MKD bio card he says that he left her in this place in Outworld that was casually a vestige of who they are). Anyway, this got longer than expected so now you have to read this word vomit.

PS: I had to watch Frost dying again, I just want you to know that I hate that scene so much that I always skip it. I watched it only bc of this...

[olisaltar]

Practicing in Secret

Not everyone has the privilege to study as openly as they would like. Maybe your parents are against witchcraft. Maybe your roommates or the person you rent from are too ignorant to explain the craft to. If that is the case, here are a couple tricks so you don’t have to halt your practice. 

Mint Tin Altars- Altoids and other mints come in small, deck of card sized tins, that you can fit a surprising amount into. Small crystals or crystal chips (which often can be found for less than $1 at most new age shops). Keep a tarot card at the bottom (drawn is fine), think of this as an altar cloth. You can also keep sigils, small cone incense (which can be burned safely on the metal tin!), and herbs. 

These can be hidden pretty much anywhere. In dressers, closet, purse, backpack, or almost anywhere. You can also do these things in a shoebox, pencil box, or makeup box if you have/want the space. 

Online Grimoire- Make a blog for your grimoire! Or use google docs for notes. There are lots of places you can do your note taking and book of shadow making all online so no one asks questions! I have a specific sideblog here on tumblr that is for all of my Book Of Shadow things. Tags keep things organized too! 

Apps- #Selfcare is an app that helps you do self care right on your phone. It doesn’t give you “goals” or pesky reminders that make the self care feel like more of a chore, it’s simply there when you need it, to give you an escape. The app uses a lot of witchy things in it though, like crystals, tarot cards, altars, and more. It’s a great place to have a bunch of small daily rituals all on your phone! (I swear this isn’t an ad I know it looks like one)

You can also find many apps for tarot, moon phases, candles, etc. Many people  like to keep all of their recourses on their phone or tablet. These people are usually known as cyber witches

Kitchen Herbs- Find out what herbs you have in your kitchen that you can use without anyone noticing. Most herbs use in spells can be swapped out for things you have around the house. (Examples include cinnamon, nutmeg, basil, bay leaves, rosemary, or thyme) 

Other Kitchen Magic- Often kitchen magic is pretty easy to cover up. Stirring drinks with intention (Clockwise for manifesting, counterclockwise for banishing), as well as simply mixing certain herbs together in good. Making Tea a ritual in your life is a great way to have a secret moment in your craft 

Okay witches, this is just a small list, and there are countless ways to study your craft, but for people who may be limited, or need to keep things hidden this may be a place to start! (As well as spoonies, people who travel, and people who just don’t have the space!)

@heyomayo666

and for anyone readying this far, if you have any requests for posts like this, send me a message or an ask and I’ll tag you in the post when I make it! 

All pictures were grabbed from google, if you know the creator let me know.