#my relationship with religion is complicated and this has nothing to do with my relationship to judaism.

[taylovelinus]

it is really astonishing the amount of naked antisemitism i witness online every single day from people who i grew up with. it’s so disheartening knowing that they feel that way, that they always felt that way.

[violestars]

𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙄 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: Sunday x male reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: childhood friends to best friends to nothing au, where rejecting your confession is worth more than the pain of infecting your perfect image with his sinful existence.

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: not proof read, !!only male readers!!

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: yandere-ish?,maybe ooc, mention of religion, implied homophobia, angst no comfort, just depressing.

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: part 1, part 2

Your childhood friend is a rather confusing fellow, to the point where one would think his significant other, if he ever has one, is the type to do riddles for fun. You also love riddles but moreover, you love him. Can anyone blame you? You were consumed by these feelings in your undeveloped mind. Seven was the age you fell for Sunday, for the charming boy that is your childhood friend. Maybe it was just some puppy love between two foolish kids but no one can explain the bubbling excitement in your stomach whenever a barely visible pout was drawn on his face, whenever he uses sugar coated words to kindly ask others to leave you two alone or how his clinginess to you was shown so slyly. You were an equal to Sunday and it has left a sweet taste on your tongue till this day.

As you grow older, your mind started to question this fondness for him. You were taught love doesn't need any explanation but you aren't dumb, there are always reasons behind everything. Even the unknown comfort, warmness one could find in another is also a reason. You knew that because you have experienced it with Sunday but that wasn't your concern, for now at least. Deep down you knew this love for the other male wasn't merely a mystery, your relationship did not belong in those cheap romcoms you two would binge on a sunday night. Was it more evident on the day you went crying to him about your religious mother? Was it because of the warm hands that traced your cheeks, causing you to lean into such softness as he teased you with a coo? How you wished he could repeat his supposedly sin against his perfectionist family's belief was the attraction to the same gender, how the boyish smirk once he admitted how good rebellion feels.

School isn't your strongest suit and you beat yourself up for that, it also didn't help knowing your insecurity enabled the hatred from others. From family to friends, even strangers, their greatest gift to you was just pitiful stares. Sunday was different though, the soft smile that never fails to comfort you, the warm embrace of the only friend you can lean on, he was truly a breath of fresh air throughout suffocating days of school. The only subject you were good at is literature but the skills you've gained failed to form a clear answer to why your best friend has never doubted you. Asking him yourself only made the progress more complicated for both your mind and heart, as he flicked your head and told you about how much he worried more about your efforts than some silly printed texts.

“Your mind is built from poetry, not numbers, my little train-wreck.” You remembered his soothing voice right beside your ear, ignoring his ways with words and how it shaded your tear-stained canvas a light red, you let out a weak chuckle to lighten the mood.

“And yours is built of riddles. I'm not stable enough to solve one right now, Sun.” Your lighthearted response only brought him to laughter, a smile now placed onto your face as you silently hoped he would drop whatever sentimental words he just thought of since it was already as awkward as it could be. Who in their right mind would ask their best friend to climb through the bedroom window just because regrets were hitting too hard at 3 am? The guy has a controlling family for god's sake.

“You let people treat you so poorly just because of a subject, or it is everything about you throws them off. Why, though? You might think you're weird but I feel like you're just performing. A spectacular show that doesn't meet its audience, so desperately wants to be heard.”

As you thought you couldn’t drown yourself in thoughts of him further, this only deepened it. How you wondered if he actually has a third eye, silently guilding your thoughts to their respective docks. In your mind, he is the epitome of elegance, sometimes you wonder if the word is made specifically for him. Sunday is just perfect, while in one way he was expected to be due to being the adopted son of such a high status family, you felt like he doesn't even have to try. He handled stressful situations with ease, he joked it's you who taught him so with your antics. You two are the polar opposite, yet it felt like two puzzle pieces finding each other, different notes that falls in tune. You wondered how he tolerated everything throughout the years, not that you were complaining, it was just your anxiety often questions the authenticity of this friendship but as his hand cradled your face, the usual smile reserved for only you entered the view, you knew the dreams about him were real because Sunday adores you.

Unfortunately, your dreams crashed. You mentally cursed him for ruining everything, but it was not his fault he couldn't reciprocate those feelings, it was not his fault he is destined for greatness and you are the loser that existed. You knew you were being petty but it hurt how everything turned out to be a cacophony in disguise, how you two favored the full moon that night like the way you favored each other. Well, the way you favored him. Sunday wouldn't know all these shameful thoughts, you only nodded at his kind refusal with choked breaths after all. His frown only deepened once he noticed how tears sharp as the finest blade threatened to fall from your eyes and slice through his heart, but he didn't say anything. It hurts that your feelings were treated like a slipped word, a dumb accident, by both you and mostly him.

He knew you're worried, he was trained to be attentive to every change to his surroundings yet here he was, hands in a tight grip like how his thoughts were tied together in a messy knot. Sunday has been avoiding you, not right after the night of your confession though, he wasn't that cruel but he was evil enough to do it after reassuring you, hoping you would not throw away such unshakable friendship. Reason was, Sunday didn't know why he couldn't accept your love, he should have trust in every card he played, that was what they taught him.

It just tasted bitter. He isn't a saint, he hoped you also knew that, his mouth is filled with lies and his existence needs to be soaked in soap. In other words, Sunday is a freak of nature. Him and his sister were adopted to a rich family after the passing of their parents. Sadly enough, he still felt like nobody's son, his every step reminds him of walking on fragile ice under the threatening gaze of his so-called guardians but he still walks anyways. His sister, Robin, has her own dreams to fulfill and no one will dared to rewritte her role into another plaything for the Gods. That's why Sunday will carry all the burdens, the responsibility that will never be put onto Robin's freely spread wings and he works hard to keep it that way.

Sunday lived in this facade that is made of others' desires, he was a trapped bird that pretends to be an eagle, he felt like the strongest piece but never the mastermind. Unlike him, his darling was the salvation humanity carved for all their miserable life, you were the living proof that the lord heard his songs. You slowly metamorphosed into his only God though, Sunday believed his schemes were always concealed because he worshiped you. Sunday believed you didn't exist because he was only worthy of your afterimage. You were and are his 'father', his entire universe. He shamefully found himself praying to your name against the family's knowledge, images of your beauty embroidered in his mind rather than any flight of fancy.

But how Sunday loathed himself, how pitiful is he if everyone were starting to lead their own life yet he was still following a script, how unfortunate is he if the boy of his dreams felt like the vast sky from his cage. Why does one feel deep disgust within but still mindlessly follows the same path? He wanted to fly upward, to feel your touch but the sky is unreachable and so is you. Sunday knows his love for you like the back of his hand, it's more than the platonic feeling towards his sister and the ambition towards a perfect future, it's the only thing the family didn't plant into his mind at such a young age. His love for you felt like the only thing he could freely express.

You knew he wished to live in a dreamscape, where he would generate happiness for the unfortunates but you don't know this dreamland of his sprouted from the purest of love for you. Those troublesome worries won't reach you there, he swore upon his life that he would shield you away from this brutal world in your new home. You only laughed at his silly delusion though, you never wanted to live in a lie and he knew that clearly. Sunday envied that part of you, he detested how strong you are despite all attempts to drag you down but maybe that's what confirmed his feelings towards you.

You were able to confuse Sunday in the best way possible. You could sob about how ugly you are, complain about your failure of a life and hatred for reality but in the end, you didn't mean it. You wanted to live for the imperfect tomorrow, you wanted to erode a stone that is your destiny with him, with Sunday. Yes, that's what you are. So imperfectly beautiful as he's perfectly fake. That's why he would push you away, as unreasonable as his actions were, he will not taint your future and dirty your determination, this kaleidoscoping pain shall never reach your ears. Sunday doesn't want anyone to find out you're his weakness, he doesn't want to acknowledge you're the sweet reality to his pained dream. He was happily in your shadow even if he could catch a glimpse of your performance.

Sunday loves you so he will let you go.

© art by @/Ceoretkr on twt

[nervouseden]

God Among Men.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Summary: After a stressful mission, your super soldier boyfriend needs you... This is literal trash. I apologize.

Warnings: SMUT. Brief mention of religious stuff. Worshipping. Misuse of religious terms. Collar and leash (it's really only mentioned like once or twice). Gender neutral reader. Blowjob. Face fucking. Finger sucking. Bucky Barnes (he's a warning). Metal arm (kink). A tad bit of hair pulling. Rough blowjob. Reader isn't the best at communicating. Praise. Some brief degradation. Voice kink (because who couldn't love that sweet baritone?). Brief mention of Shuri and Wakanda. Sir kink. Tears. Choking (from bj). Deep throating. Dom Bucky. Sub reader. Bucky's kinda rough. But also super sweet and concerned. Use of safe signal(?) like a safe word but nonverbal. Brief after care. Loosely Implied fingering/penetration afterwards. Like zero plot. Porn without Plot/Plot? What plot? Mildly dubious consent (not really, but I just want to be safe with my warnings!)

Please comment if you think I missed anything!

A/N: This is like my second or third time writing actual smut, please give me grace— Also I had this idea while sleep deprived and I'm currently stuck in artists/writers block so it's probably not my best work. But, I tried. This was written on my phone and not proofread, so I do apologize for any and all mistakes/typos.

A/N #2: I have absolutely nothing against any religions or religious people, and this is not meant to offend or target anybody in any way, shape, or form!

I do not own any characters mentioned in this story or the gif.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

18+!!! MINORS AND PEARL CLUTCHERS PLEASE DNI!!!

You were never a very religious person, having loose beliefs that you didn't necessarily align with anything specific, and you were fine with that, but that all changed one day, and in the way you least expected it. The day you first hooked up with Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes, or, as you knew him, Bucky, your best friend. You swear that night you might've been to Heaven, or Valhalla, or maybe even reached Nirvana, but whatever it was, it was caused by the super soldier Avenger fucking you into oblivion, with a godly body and otherworldly skills. Not only does he look like some mythical god, but he has the skills and the strength of one too. A god among men.

Bucky is a complicated man; He doesn't talk much, but once you get him going, he could talk to you for hours. He is tall and broad, dark and brooding, with a glare that could kill, but also sweet and soft, caring and considerate, with a smile that makes you weak in the knees... So, when your relationship evolved into something sexual, it wasn't a surprise when his prowess matched his godly looks. His quick wit matched by his skilled tongue. Strong hands matched with his (surprisingly) nimble fingers. He's also a kinky mother fucker.

Today, after Bucky got back from a rough, week long mission, apparently most of the team getting their asses kicked, you found yourself on your knees in front of him, naked, wearing nothing back a black leather collar and a silver chainlink leash, your head resting on his lap as he gently pets your cheek with his flesh hand.

"Doll," Bucky's voice is low, lower than usual, and it sends shockwaves of desire coursing through you, shocking your core.

"Yes, sir?" Your voice is soft, quiet, and shaky, a mix of nervousness, arousal, and hours of teasing from this man, this god, making you weak, your voice a minute version of it's usual sound, making Bucky chuckle.

You look up at him through heavy eyelids, your eyes raking up his body hungrily; He's wearing black sweatpants, no shirt, and you're not entirely sure about boxers. His long hair is tousled, the dark locks resting on his broad shoulders, the otherworldly muscles rippling under his skin covered in scars, his normally bright blue eyes darkened to an almost eerie tungsten blue. He's a literal god. The epitome of divinity.

"You've been so good~" Bucky practically purrs, and you already feel your abdomen tightening. "But not good enough."

Well shit.

You're definitely not getting what you want tonight.

"Talk to me, Kätzchen. Tell me what you're thinkin' about." You hesitate, but you know better than to directly disobey.

"I..." You look down, biting your lip. "I was thinking about you... H-How beautiful you are, James..."

Bucky smirks. This wasn't what he was expecting. "Oh?"

You simply nod. "Do elaborate, Kätzchen." Bucky quirks a brow, and you fight the urge to squirm in embarrassment.

"Y-You..." You sigh, deciding to bite the bullet. What's the worst that could happen? He laughs at you and uses it against you? That'd suck... but it would be a lot worse if you didn't speak. Those are always back. You don't want another spanking...and definitely not the crop. Yeah, no, that'd be bad. Better spit it out.

"You're fuckin' beautiful..." You practically whimper, and Bucky smirks.

"I know you've got more than that, sweetness." Bucky teases, and you know he's right. He's always right... It's unfair. How can a man possibly be so attractive and smart? You're starting to think he might actually be a higher power. "C'mon, doll, don't make me hit it outta ya."

Shit. That's a threat. "You're... You're a god among men, Sir... Divinity in itself... Crafted from the finest of marbles known to man... I want to submit everything I have to you."

Bucky simply smirks.

Uh oh.

"Is that so, Kätzchen?" You swallow hard, nodding, watching his eyes stare into yours with an intensity that could burn you to the ground. Yup. Definitely a god.

"Y-Yes, Sir... I... You are my god, James..." Oops. Normally Bucky doesn't take kindly to being called his name during scenes, but for some reason, he just smirks and lets it slide. That's different.

"I want my body to be your altar, your temple, your church... I am your devotee..." You whisper softly, your voice shaky and almost nervous, scared, although you're unsure what you're scared of.

"Darling..." Bucky growls, his pupils dilated so much you can barely see the ring of blue, his vibranium hand clenching on lap, his breathing picking up, that beautiful, chiseled chest rising and falling faster by the second, sweat starting to bead on his skin... You did that?

"You have such pretty lips, yet such nasty words..."

Bucky's Vibranium hand moves to the back of your neck suddenly, grabbing you by the nape of it, pushing your face into his clothed crotch, allowing you to feel the feverish heat, the wet spot on his sweats, and the rock that is his cock. "I'm not gonna last long if you keep sayin' shit like that, doll."

You whimper. Loudly. Pathetically. Lewdly. What the fuck else are you supposed to do? You just mentally brought THE Sargeant James Barnes to his knees from just a few sentences, you don't know whether to be terrified or proud... But, either way, you're not given much time to decipher how you feel, as Bucky starts to rub the side of your cheek against his strained length, the rough cotton of his sweatpants irritating your sweat shined cheeks.

"You're gonna be a good little devotee. You're gonna listen, you're gonna do as told, and you're gonna take what I give you, like a good cock slut."

Bucky's voice is a deep, dangerous growl, the sound rumbling through his chest, rolling down his abdomen and vibrating through him and into you, shooting electricity through your body, your nerves immediately on fire, your thighs quaking, your mind reeling into the abyss of lust.

"Aren't you, Kätzchen?" Bucky says with a groan, looking at you expectantly, a dark smirk on his face.

"Y-Yes, Sir... I will... I'll b-be good..." You whimper out, look up at him with doe eyes, fighting the urge to look down as he slides his sweatpants to his ankles, tossing them aside.

Bucky gently cups your chin with his vibranium hand, the dark metal shining in the dimly lit room as he puts his thumb against your lips, grinning at the feeling. "Open."

You immediately do as told, parting your lips, slowly swirling your warm tongue around his thumb as he slides the cool metal into your mouth, causing Bucky to groan sorry... It's moments like these when Bucky is most grateful to Shuri for creating touch sensors in the arm, allowing him to feel everything you do to his Vibranium arm... Wakandan technology truly is incredible.

"That's a good little whore..." Bucky groans as he uses his thumb in your mouth to tilt your head down, your eyes widening as they meet the sight of Bucky's cock.

Huh. He wasn't wearing any boxers.

"Let this be your first sacrament, devotee." Bucky chuckled.

Long. Impressive. Intimidating. Yet another reason you're starting to think he might actually be a god. No matter how many times you see it, swallow it, and take it, it's always just as intimidating as the first time. His cock is tall, curving slightly as it goes up, getting redder until it gets to the almost purple tip, your hand barely able to wrap around the girth, one large vein going from the shaft to the tip, where creamy pre-cum is beading. You might as well be salivating...and shaking in fear.

"C'mon, doll, I know you can take it." Bucky purred, wrapping his vibranium hand in your hair, guiding your face to rub against his length. It's almost humiliating. But it's also beyond arousing.

"Yes, sir." You mutter softly, licking your lips, raising your head when Bucky loosens his grip on your hair. You spit on the head of Bucky's cock, causing it to twitch where it stands, before gently wrapping your mouth around the tip, your tongue swirling around the tip, teasing the slit, causing Bucky to groan.

"Your god is losing patience, Kätzchen." Bucky growls, before tightening his vibranium hand in your hair, violently pushing your head down his cock, his length forcefully sliding down your velvety throat, only stopping when your nose is flush with his pelvic bone, groaning as he revels in the feeling, hissing as his head falls back in pleasure. "Shiiiit— So warm, Kätzchen...like fuckin' silk, doll..."

To nobody's surprise, you choke, choke hard, coughing around Bucky's member, who simply enjoys the way your throat constricts when you do so. Tears quickly form, as you try to focus on relaxing your throat and taking deep breaths in through your nose, but are quickly cut off as Bucky pulls your hair back, sliding your mouth off his length before pushing your head back down.

"Fuckin' perfect... gorgeous little devotee..." Bucky groans, starting to roll his hips as he continues to roughly guide your head up and down his cock, face fucking you as you cry and choke. Yup. You definitely fucked up calling him James.

Bucky had been tense since he texted you from the Quinjet, so when he starts to throb in your mouth rather than usual, you're not necessarily surprised, that mission really took a toll on him. You hollow your cheeks, and start gently scraping your teeth against Bucky's length as he continues to thrust into your face, his balls slapping against your chin with every snap of his strong hips.

"That's it, Kätzchen, worship me, your fuckin' god-"

Fuck, you were dizzy.

Your eyes start to roll back, head feeling fuzzy, your body seeming heavier, the restricted intake of oxygen starting to get to you, as more tears fall, but being the absolute bitch you are for Bucky, you're determined to make him cum before taking a breather.

"C'mon, babydoll, I'm so close... Lemme cum in your pretty little mouth... Let me desecrate the perfect altar that is you..." He groans, his hips snapping harder, shuddering at your teeth scraping his skin, only to be soothed by your hollowed cheeks and hot throat.

Your vision was starting to get fuzzy around the edges, but you still didn't communicate your need to breathe... Instead, you move your hands up to cup his heavy balls, massaging them roughly as you suck harder at his length.

That was all it took.

"Fuck!"

Bucky growls, the sound dark and primal, sending jolts of pleasure to your deprived body, his flesh hand joining his vibranium one in your hair, holding you uncomfortably flush to his skin as his cock throbs, pulsing rapidly as rope after rope of hot cum spills down your throat, your hands still massaging his balls as they empty into you, your muscles working overtime to swallow it all... Since being with him, you found that super soldiers have loads like damn fire hydrants. Not that you're complaining. Usually.

"Baby... Ughhh—" You had expected Bucky to pull you off his cock once he finished, but he didn't, instead he held you flat to his pelvis, basking in the feeling of your hot, velvet throat surrounding him, groaning and growling in pleasure.

You couldn't do it. Your vision was completely blurred, tears still falling, your feelings like concrete, sweat pouring down you, your mind fogged like shower glass. You take your right hand, tapping your index, middle, and ring finger on his thigh three consecutive times.

He immediately pulls your head off his length, pulling you up to his lap as you cough and suck in heavy breaths.

"Doll? Doll, are you alright? Did I hurt you?" Bucky asks hurriedly, his vibranium hand holding you close to him and rubbing your back, while his flesh hand gently holds your face. "Darling, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

It takes you a few moments to process his words, as they sounded more like mumbles from underwater at first. But, as your vision cleared, your tears stopped, the fogginess left your mind, and your breathing started regulating, you finally registered his words and nodded yes. "Y-Yeah... I- I'm fine..." You murmur with a raspy voice, your throat scratchy from the rough blowjob.

Bucky sighed in relief, brushing away your tears with his flesh hand, peppering kisses on your face. "Alright..." He didn't sound too convinced, worried he hurt you, but decided to focus on cleaning you up and caring for you.

He grabbed the pack of baby wipes from the table next to the chair you two are on, taking one out, gently wiping your flushed face clean of the saliva, sweat, cum, and tears. He then opened a bottle of water, gently holding it to your lips. "Have some water, baby." He murmurs as he helps you take small sips, putting it down after about ¼ of the bottle is gone.

"There you go, Kätzchen...You did so good, I'm so damn proud of you, love." Bucky praised softly, pulling you closer to his chest and rocking side to side gently.

"Th-Thank you..." You murmur quietly, your voice still a little raspy, as you tuck your head in Bucky's neck, your sweat covered bodies moulding together, as Bucky's flesh hand slowly creeps down to your sex. "Time for your reward."

[remus-in-docs]

just to ramble for a second as a buddy apologist, his death is hitting me in a way i didn't expect. as a queer agnostic from the south who grew up surrounded by religion, i have a lot of complicated relationships with real world buddies. brennan has so beautifully captured a very specific type of christian zealot that i am prone towards sympathizing with. bc if i hated every hyper religious person i came across i wouldn't be left with a lot of people. my extended family would shrink down to nothing. so i learned to compartmentalize the often micro aggressive things they're saying for my own sanity. i have to believe that they are just ignorant or brainwashed or misinformed or whatever or accept picking fights with everyone i meet. this is easiest when they're like buddy: dumb and sweet. so i put my faith in hoping that they are good but have been misled. i hold onto the hope that i could fix them by being kind to them. i know it's not likely, but we've already seen it happen with kristen in season one. i convince myself that i can fix the south by just living in it as myself and that these people will learn to truly love their neighbors by watching me do it. and then for buddy to be killed by his adventuring party, who already killed the cleric before him, is so jarring. bc even if buddy is "one of the good ones", he never got saved. so all that's left is the harm that he's done even if he did it with good intentions. buddy is dead and bobby's plan lives on and the south is still the south no matter how much southern charm i try to throw back at bigots in an attempt to gain their respect

[solargeist]

I love that you went from the watchers being this mildly terrifying force that doesn’t realize they’re terrifying (and traumatizing Grian) side eyeing that one 3L comic you made about the watchers making it a “game” for Grian (still very much thinking about the “yaaaaay you won!”) to now Oh My Gosh A Tiny Being Can We Adopt Him pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

ehehe i was trying to get my footing !! I think I have a grasp now on how I like writing them now ....

However !! The Watchers still very much traumatize Grian, even though they genuinely do love him, I've said that since the beginning, thats their babeyyyyyyyy Watcher, but still a Watcher nonetheless.

Aethers not exactly excused from this either, she loves him and cares abt him, but shes an angel, she just doesn't understand. She has an issue with..... Toxic positivity ? Shes not very confrontational and doesn't want to have hard conversations with him, its easier to hide things or just comfort him by rubbing his back or hair when hes upset. When Grian asks to visit Evo again early on, she already knows all the players have left, but lets him see for himself anyway. Its like when a kid begs to eat something like cocoa powder, not understanding how bitter it is, so you just let them. So its not a big deal to her, but is to Grian, its the horrifying realization that he is completely alone, all of his friends left, he feels abandoned and betrayed. All good things must come to an end though, she says, nothing lasts forever, except us ! haha !

Not to mention the purposeful sleep deprivation and isolation, the full control over what he eats, where he goes, what he does. Its not very fun being a kid, its hard and no one understands.

Aether didn't originally want to be a parent, nor was she exactly ready for that, so she just did a lot of things that were normal to her, what she went through or what other Watchers had told her. But ! She does care abt him, enough to bend the rules just a tinyyy bittttt sometimes bc ~technically shes allowed to since he's her kid, yes he can go home if he has a headache or eat fish if he asks for it wym.

Theres also Flora, his aunt, she has no interest in kids and sees Grian just as a Watcher in training, this means she's a lot harder on him, but bc he's her sister's kid she doesn't act on this all the time. She also projects her own issues on him, how can you survive or do anything in life if you're not strong ? Here fight this phantom creature you've literally never seen before. Thats as far as their relationship goes, she teaches him to fight. She pets his head sometimes anyway. (kind of like how parents will sometimes force their kids to play sports, or take extra classes, or get frustrated with you over math and you cry over disappointing them)

I don't think the Watchers are intentionally evil, but I don't think they're goofy dumb birds with baby fever either, they're complicated !! There something abt how people who love you can hurt you, and religion can try to save you and it'll doom you instead. (ok they can be a little bit dumb birds sometimes, but they're also righteous angels at the same time)

Its also kinda scary being 25 years old, and then being brought to some place you thought you had equal grounds on, but everyone is taller/stronger and treats you like a child or even a pet, that alone would have some side effects, i imagine.

They're very fun to write abt.

Grian also doesn't often get to see the sun.

[thatringboy]

A Body Built for an Undeserving Soul, A Boothill Theory

My definitely sober thoughts while grinding for the eventual Ruan Mei rerun and writing some robinhill have led me to a startling train of thought. I’ll do my best to sound sane as I say this, but the 18 minute discord voice memo I originally made is definitely anything but. Spoilers for Boothill’s backstory, character stories, and other lore, and no I’m not really gonna be citing things because it’s 3 in the morning and I’m high. If at any point I say something that isn’t really supported by canon, please be nice i’m a little silly boy

Anyways

I don’t think Boothill is a Pathstrider.

Let me cook, please. Here’s my reasons why:

The way he talks about Aeons and Paths

The way his body is designed

And 3.

Enjoy the madness below the cut

So, there’s not really a proper way to word any of this without it being an ADHD word vomit. Bear with me. Please.

Penacony has been a fantastic update for those of us waiting for worldbuilding. We’ve learned a LOT about the many factions in the cosmos, the true nature of the IPC, the powers of the Aeons, and that the Paths are tangible things in the universe. The Luofu arc opened up a bit about this, but since it was so focused on The Hunt and The Abundance and The Permanence, we sort of fell back into the same story beats as the Herta Station arc. Either way, Penacony has been amazing for little lore bugs like me.

So what does this have to do with the wild claim that Boothill somehow isn’t a Pathstrider?

Let’s touch some grass for a minute and consider our places in the irl universe. Hi, I’m Perseus, a young transmasculine white adult guy from South Texas who grew up reading too many Rick Riordan books and now has a complicated relationship with both the christian god and the greek gods. It’s an autism special interest of mine to learn about the greek pantheon and while I don’t know everything about it, I’m a silly little guy and can recite fun facts about dozens of gods. I can also recite fun facts about the christian bible and christian mythology because I was forced to study christianity when I was younger. Nice to meet y’all. Now, when I, Perseus, talk to people about the various religions I know a thing or two about, I infodump. A lot. I think I once ranted about Dionysus for 20 minutes before my sister told me to shut up. It happens.

Now focus back in on the important topic: the fictional cyborg with jiggle physics. I’m working purely on memory, but I’m pretty sure when he first meets Dan Heng and Pom-Pom, he does go on a spiel about the Aeons and Paths as he tries to prove his identity as a Galaxy Ranger and Acheron’s identity as Not a Galaxy Ranger. The way he describes The Hunt, The Nihility, Emanators, and Paths, it all just sounded… i don’t know, canned? It came across as very emotionally disconnected, even as he talked about The Hunt, but he was saying all the right words. Like someone who studied a religion but isn’t actually a part of the religion. 

On its own, this means absolutely nothing besides just reminding us of his home planet’s hostile takeover by Qlipoth-worshiping IPC workers. If you haven’t seen the post yet, I really recommend reading the So, Honkai: Star Rail made a cyborg cowboy... an INDIGENOUS cyborg cowboy. post by @ahworm I’ll link it here, please check it out because it recontextualized a lot of how I viewed Boothill’s actions and mannerisms

So the way Boothill talks about the Path he should be a Pathstrider of sounds more like an encyclopedia than a follower. Now, maybe this can be explained by the fact that Galaxy Rangers aren’t the most zealous bunch, especially when standing next to the Xianzhou Alliance who worship Lan as a deity more than The Hunt itself. The Galaxy rangers are the opposite, they are hunters first and last regardless of what Lan in THEIR “greatness” does.

But if Boothill is just a normal Galaxy ranger (whatever that means), then how does he recognize the Jade Abacus of Allying Oath instantaneously? Dan Heng’s barely put the damn thing on the table and Boothill’s already jaw on the floor amazed. One could make the argument that, well, Boothill’s a well-traveled guy, of course he’d know the most valuable artifact to his Path. To that, I say: there’s more to it.

Boothill’s main accusation against Acheron in the beginning is, what? “An Emanator that shouldn’t exist.” He talks about The Nihility and Device IX the same way he talks about The Hunt; learned and detached in an agnostic way. He’s aware these are real concepts and beings, he’s crossed paths with an Emanator of Elation before so he can’t deny the existence of literal gods in the universe

We also know that it’s canon in the star rail universe that there are planets who haven’t heard of the Aeons before, like Sigonia - Aventurine’s planet. Instead of Aeons, we know the Avgins worshiped the goddess Giathra Triclops. I’ve seen the argument that Giathra is just another name for Xipe since THEY have three faces, but Aventurine’s flashbacks are very clear in showing that the worship of Giathra was very different from the worship of Aeons. We don’t know much about Aeragan-Epharshel, but from how the IPC described the indigenous people as needing civilization and other disgusting things (not to mention how they forced a synesthesia beacon into boothill when he was maybe like a teenager? And then his brain nearly broke from the influx of information?), I think it’s safe to say that the tribes of Aeragan-Epharshel also didn’t follow any specific Aeon.

But Aventurine is now a Pathstrider of Preservation, so why can’t Boothill be a Hunter Pathstrider too? Well, dear reader, allow me to bash my head against the wall trying to form words. Aventurine doesn’t believe anything about the sovereignty of The Preservation, just like the rest of the Stonehearts. He has his agenda, and if he has to play Preservation to do so, then he will. I think Boothill is the same, which is also why I can’t wait to see what happens in the upcoming quests with the two of them in the same room. That being said, Aventurine’s Preservation powers only come from his Cornerstone, crafted by an Emanator of Preservation. It’s how he and Topaz and Jade can all be such different people but all be classified as Pathstriders of Preservation, the sheer proximity to an Emanator’s powers canonically give them powers equivalent to actual Pathstriders.

So… what about Boothil? This leads me into my next point: Boothill’s cyborg body. By looking at his Character Story Part 3, we learn that Boothill VOLUNTARILY became a cyborg to become stronger. He literally shed the skin and name from an ancient, dead tongue to become a real loaded gun. His voice lines in combat talk about death a lot, his name literally is in reference to a graveyard - this man cannot wait to finally die in some sort of blaze of glory and vengeance. I say that with a little bit of sarcasm, but Boothill designed his body to be a weapon. 

In a lot of parts of the USA, it’s illegal to even insinuate that you have a firearm as that constitutes as the crime of  “armed robbery”, even if you don’t even have a gun. The threat alone is enough to warrant a higher penalty. But Boothill is already a great shot with a gun, why does he also need augmented teeth and crosshair eyes and hips that can fold his body into any sinful shape he needs? Because the threat alone is enough to give him power over his prey. Almost as if he’s compensating for a lack of magic godly powers. He needs to be able to keep up with even the strongest IPC goons, to pierce their Preservation shields with his bullets so that he can get closer and closer to Oswaldo Schneider.

But how can I prove that Boothill doesn’t have any Path magic? Well, let’s take a spin around his character model. What’s that thing sitting snugly against his exposed asscheek? His pistol? But that’s not weird, Perseus, most cowboys hold their guns there!

But what other playable character has their weapon on their actual model like him?

There are so many in-game cutscenes showing that, canonically, the Pathstriders summon their weapon from some sort of unseen storage or hammerspace. I like the term hammerspace, let’s use that. The playable Pathstriders all use hammerspace to easily summon their weapons. None of them actually carry their weapons on their model. Even Welt Yang has scenes of him summoning his herrscher cane (I’ve never played hi3 please forgive me for using incorrect terms) from his hammerspace. But not Boothill. He has his arm gun and he has his trusty 9 millimeter pistol on his little slutty hip. His idle animations involve reloading his weapons and putting them back on his person. No particle effects, no vanishing tricks, just a man sticking his tongue out to catch a bullet for a snack.

So what have we learned?

Boothill doesn’t have an emotional connection to his Path, it most likely is just the Path he figured met his needs and decided the philosophy was good enough

Boothill’s body is designed to perform specifically to kill Pathstriders, especially sturdier Pathstriders of The Preservation

Boothill either can’t or won’t use the same hammerspace the other canonical Pathstriders use

Each point by themself means nothing, or can be chalked up to unique character designs. But together? My intoxicated mind theorizes that Boothill is not a Pathstrider, merely a broken man trying to play the game according to the rules of the oppressors that colonized his planet and bombed his tribe into reservations and the dirt. Thank you for your time.

[keshetchai]

I think a huge problem in internet Judaism (also sometimes irl!) discussions is often that we're so focused on fighting or pushing back on misconceptions, Christian normativity, and distorted Christian ideas about our theology — that sometimes in the pursuit of this, we forget to approach a more complicated internal reality, or we overlook parts of our own religion while trying to not assimilate.

Things like the Talmud talking about Yom Kippur being a happy day. A lot of folks were surprised and didn't know there's a huge tradition that YK is supposed to be a positive holiday and many Jews observe with joy. Then some folks went on to elaborate that if someone wished them a happy Yom Kippur and they were Jewish it was fine, but if they were gentiles who simply didn't know anything and didn't bother to learn, then they were annoyed by the lack of care re: cultural nuance or whatever.

But like...of all the annoying christian-normative bullshit that exists — someone trying to wish me a happy holiday on a holiday that is noted to be solemn AND positive, but not really knowing anything about my religion — that doesn't really make a list of things I have time to be mad about! Or even irked by!

There's a lot of ways in which people are shitty and careless or make it obvious they consider our non-christian holidays an annoying quirk they have to acknowledge, but "happy yom kippur!" Is not one of them. Sometimes I just have to remind myself that I want other people to assume the best of me, even when I am the one who is socially awkward or ignorant, or stumbling around just trying to be an okay person. And sometimes I am the clueless one who has only a shallow understanding of someone's interior life/culture and I said/did nothing actually offensive but treated the situation the same way I treat similar ones in my own life because everyone has cultural blinders somewhere.

So sometimes, I have to look at other people doing The Thing and ask myself if it's at all malicious or harmful, and if it ISN'T, shouldn't I assume the best of another human bumbling around like I do all the time? "Hey thanks. Yeah I had a meaningful holiday."

Likewise, YES, we do have a history of wrestling with G-d and pushing back and asking questions and so on, but no, stiff-necked isn't wholly complimentary, it's...frequently the opposite of that. And the knee-jerk reaction is often to push back against Christianity and Islam vilifying Jews and their stubbornness/failures/wrongs in the Bible. Which is totally reasonable, there's a huge history of a theology of antisemitism and blaming there that impacts us today.

HOWEVER, we can push back against the antisemitic theologies and interpretations of these stories without necessarily having to recharacterize everything beyond recognition?

Yes, Abraham yelled at G-d that one time, and it was great. It may have even been a test of Abraham. Yes, Israel wrestles with G-d. Yes, the Jews in the desert complain to Moses they are dying of thirst and ask what was the point of leaving Egypt if they should only die while wandering instead?

Great. Love that. BUT ALSO: yes stiff-necked is not always a compliment. Yes, the Israelites struggled and made mistakes, and are utterly and painfully human just like people are today. Flawed. We are not so stiff-necked as to say we have not sinned!

Is anything as scary as a group that admits no flaws? No errors of judgment? Never questions themselves or learns from past mistakes? Idk to me, it's all very "with great responsibility comes great accountability, and power isn't the point here." Yes? If we take pride in the moments of arguing and the pushing back, then by that same token, we have to own the failings just as much to learn from. The relationship between G-d and Jews is a two way street.

It's not a failing to be an imperfect human, but it would be a failing to screw something up and then never admit it or keep doing it when you can change.

Idk I just...there's got to be ways we can dig into meaty and interesting stuff without having to constantly be like "just because some ancestors screwed up and G-d was angry at them doesn't mean you can say Jews lost the love of God and the covenant and were replaced you absolute weirdos."

[mediocreanomaly]

Amen. Priest!Wolfwood x Reader (NSFW)

**GN!Reader** Authors Note: I have an issue. Yes Priest!Wolfwood sparks joy, so please enjoy 4,539 of depravity as my welcome back, small note at the end!

**Content Warning: I grew up religious so I'm using real scripture here, if you're religious or that makes you uncomfy this might be a skip for you, if you're depraved like me read on**

Being raised Catholic was a one-way street to spoon fulls of guilt being shoved down your throat. Most everyone in the church was more or less aware of that fact, whether they acknowledged it or not.

However, there’s a warning they don't bother to put on the good book. A warning about the more...complicated relationship you develop with religion once the guilt that's swelled up in your chest has nowhere else to go.

"Then God said, 'Take your son to the land of Moriah and kill your son there as a sacrifice for me. This must be Isaac, your only son, the one you love. Use him as a burnt offering on one of the mountains there. I will tell you which mountain.” Church sometimes God ask things from us, things that seem...unimaginable, unbearable, but we are not lead blindly. No, quite the opposite, God-' " Father Wolfwood emphases by pointing to the rafters of the church as if the big man himself was sitting there, watching. "He has a plan, a plan so great and magnificent that we cannot begin to comprehend. With that understanding Abraham takes his son, because he trust, church, he trust God enough to follow-"

The sermon is drowned out. To anyone around you you'd look devout. Pious even with how well you focus on Father Wolfwood, but it's not the bible that makes you show up every Sunday. It's the dark black tousled hair that trails into stubble lining his cheek. It's those big brown eyes wide and confident as he preaches to the congregation. It's those hands, large and calloused, that make you wonder what life he must have lived before this as he moves them around with his speech. It's his skin, perfectly tan and forehead beading with sweat from the insufferable heat of the church, no doubt that cassock isn't helping. It's his voice, deep and raspy with that perfect cadence that makes you wonder what it'd be like if he said your name while bending you over-

"Y/n?" The altar boy who you didn't even realize had come to your pew ask. He's holding out communion in a way that tells you he's been there for a second.

"Oh! uh-" you reach out for the wine when a hand around your wrist stops you, you blink a few times and look up to see the man you were just ogling at meeting your gaze with dark eyes.

"Why don't you pass that out to the other pews, y/n is joining me for a special communion after church, they had something they wanted to pray on with me" Father Wolfwood says easily.

"I do?" the words fall from your mouth dumbly which causes Wolfwood to raise an eyebrow at you as if you're stupid. You let yourself swallow and bow your head as if scolded, you wonder what part of being a priest blessed him with so much sass.

"ah- right! yes I had forgotten, thank you Father Wolfwood" you correct. You had not, in fact, discussed anything of the sorts with the Father, but there was clearly something you were missing here.

He gives you a curt nod before softening his eyes and turning back to the young boy.

"Go on" he insist. He does, continuing to the next pew with all the confirmation he needed and Wolfwood finally let’s go of your wrist. The warmth of his hand that lingers isn't lost on you as you wearily glance up at him.

"Special communion?" You try hoping to gather a bit more information on the situation you'll be faced with after Mass.

"mhmm, God has called me to you. Something weighs on your mind, perhaps a repentance is in order?" his face gives away nothing, although you swear his eyes darken as he watches you with a pleasant smile that stays locked on his face.

Alarm bells ring in your head. Did...did he know? You had done your best to hide your less than innocent gaze as worship. Thinking back on it perhaps you were less conspicuous about it than you thought, that or God was the worst wing man ever.

"Father Wolfwood I-"

He holds up his hand to pause the word vomit that was about to stutter out and shakes his head.

"Later. Best to confess without prying eyes, no?"

He lets you simmer on that as he makes his way back to the front of the church. When he leads the church in prayer you do take it upon yourself to pray for once. You pray you'll sink into the floor or be struck dead before the end of the sermon.

By the time the church doors are opened, and people file out you're sure your heart will burst anyways. You stay seated in the front pew, not moving an inch because if you stand it'll be to bolt out the door and... well technically nothing was keeping you from it. It's not like the god damn (sorry God) preacher would shoot you if you attempted to run. He had simply suggested you confess. Easy. He probably hears peoples fucked up sexual fantasies all the time sitting in that booth. You knew the sheriff’s wife was sleeping with the banker and you knew the sheriff was sleeping with the widow down the street so it's not like the stuff that’s pulled from the great Catholics of No Mans Land weren't anything he hadn't heard before.

That's the thought you try and let comfort you as Father Wolfwood finishes up thanking people for coming to church and shaking hands.

The church doors shut with a thud that makes you jump in your seat; you press your hands together firmly and feel your fingernails dig into the skin there. This was fine.

"You know" Father Wolfwood folds his hands politely behind his back and takes agonizingly slow steps down the aisle "People with guilty conscious are more likely to be startled by loud noises."

You keep your head bowed slightly in what must look like a mock prayer, but you aren’t praying any more, you're just doing everything possible to not throw up on the churches nice red carpet, carpet that is interrupted when two black dress shows come into view.

"y/n?"

That voice. It makes you press you lips in a firm line scared of what filth might come out of it if you speak. Instead, to show you're listening, you slowly raise your head to meet Wolfwoods eyes, the likes of which seem clouded in some strong emotion. Were priest always this intense? Well, the easy answer was yes but this was a different type of intensity, not kind that filled revering words but one that more closely resembled a predator zoning in on its prey.

"Y/n" he says it again, albeit softer this time as if coaxing forward a scared animal. "You have something on your mind, don't you? Something that plagues you?"

You feel your fingers instinctively move to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. If the heat from the church before was unbearable before then this is downright swelting.

"Don't you usually do this kind of thing in the booth?" a poor attempt of a smile graces your lips in a desperate attempt to lighten whatever mood was staring to suffocate the air.

"Usually yes. This is a special case I believe though..." he leans down and your heart slams against your chest, his breath fans against your cheek. You can smell lingering cologne and... was that smoke? Surely not, if your local priest smoked it'd be the talk of the town, although now that you think about it those plush lips would look perfect balancing a cigarette between them, and they'd look even better if he used those teeth to-

"I almost forgot! You haven't received communion" He straightens out in an instant and claps his hands together nearly scaring you out of your skin while your face heats up from pure embarrassment.

You watch as he crosses from the pew to the table behind the pulpit and grabs a small cup of wine and bread. Just as quickly he's back in front of you with the objects. You reach out to accept them when he pulls his hands back.

"ah ah ah, I said this was a special communion didn't I? I'll deliver it unto you, you just sit and do as your told."

Oh. Yeah, that definitely didn't do anything to you. Nothing like a gruff handsome man in priest wear telling you to obey in the house of God. This was for sure not bubbling up any worrying realizations about yourself. Nope. Not in the slightest.

He steps back putting a little bit of room between the two of you before his eyes flicker from you to the carpet in front of him.

"Kneel."

You go instantly and willingly, a bit too willingly. Your mind flashes with Father Wolfwoods sermons about the disciples who kissed Jesus’ feet. You wonder if this was an elaborate way to get you to read the bible more because you're beginning to understand what was going through their minds now as you sit on your knees in front of the priest.

You aren’t sure if Wolfwood expected you to be so eager. He pauses for a moment before you swear a hint of a smirk plays at his lips. He raises the glass and the bit of bread slightly.

"Listen to me closely, we wouldn't want to spill and stain the carpet now, would we?" he ask.

You shake your head no. He makes a satisfied hum and continues.

"Tilt your head back.”

You do as your told, tilting your head back until your eye level is forced to be centered on the man in front of you.

"Open your mouth.”

Your mouth begins to salivate despite the fact there’s nothing in it yet. Perhaps it's due to the fact that what he's about to put in it isn't want you’d like to have resting on your tongue.

"Good. Why don't you stick your tongue out a little bit? I don't want you to dribble."

Fuck him. Fuck him so bad. There was no way he didn't know what he was doing but if had any hint about this sadistic game he was playing with you he gave no indication, he remained at stoic as ever as if you weren't having the most unholy thoughts imagine about your fucking priest.

There’s no going back though. You follow his instructions and let your tongue loll out of your mouth. You swear something flickers in his eyes, but it's gone as soon as it arrives.

He raises the glass and bread more as if offering it to God.

"Close your eyes.”

You do. You let the light of stained-glass windows be blotted out by your own blind obedience.

“Corpus Domini Nostri Iesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam....Amen."

You feel him press the small bit of bread onto your tongue, you close and eat. You don't need to be told before your opening your mouth again.

The wine follows right after, poured into your mouth and you swallow it down focusing on not letting any hit the ground with the speed at which the contents are emptied down your throat.

What realistically could not have been more than a few seconds feels as though it's lasted a lifetime. You take a deep breath once the bitter wine has settled in your stomach and before you can even think about getting up and excusing yourself from the church Wolfwood puts a hand on your shoulder, signaling for you to stay in place.

"Good. Why don't we get that confession out of the way then?"

Right. The reason he had probably pulled you aside for all of this in the first place. Had he seen through you? Seen how hungry your gaze had become? Probably. Looking back on it sitting in the front row was probably not the best idea when the entire reason for your Sunday visits was for potential fantasy fuel. There didn't seem like any reason to lie though, it's not like a priest could tell anyone about these things and outside of church Father Wolfwood was a bit of an anomaly to the town.

He didn't have any friends that you knew of, didn't gossip, or hang out at the bar, the man lived in this church which was making you feel a bit more guilty about your infatuation now that you thought of it but hey, if you weren't guilty about something then were you even a catholic?

"Forgive me Father I have sinned..."

With a grimace you realize why the damn confessions booths were so popular. Admitting this to God or a wooden wall was a little too easy. Admitting this to Wolfwood was like someone slowly peeling off your skin.

"I see, well, tell me child what is your confession?"

a swallow, then a leap.

"I have been...ah having inappropriate thoughts about someone. Someone who I go out of my way to see to add to these...fantasy's I have."

He listens closely and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head.

"I see...lust then?"

You nod in response, and he makes an affirming noise.

"And what do you imagine happening in these...fantasies of yours?"

The silence in the empty church is so loud it's deafening. Your hands scrunch and unscrunch the fabric of your pants.

"I...I imagine him pushing be down against these very pews Father. That one day as I'm standing up to leave mass, he'll shove me right back down and take me against the wood."

It's said strained but even you must admit maybe there’s something to this confession shit because you feel a bit lighter with it off your shoulders. Father Wolfwood looks less light. In fact, he looks you've just damned him to hell.

"Is that all?" he asks but it comes out breathier than he means it to.

The tone sends something to your core, oh you see it now. Lamb and shepherd your ass, you were still most certainly the lamb but the Father was no shepherd, he was the Wolf. Maybe God himself had put that divine foreshadowing into his name.

You shift on your knees and press yourself flatter trying to rub your thighs together. Wolfwoods eyes flicker down to the action then back up to your face, he opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

"No Father. Sometimes I imagine him taking me on the stand in front of the whole congregation. Still preaching while he finishes in me, holy words even in his most sinful act. But...do you know what I really want Father?"

Wolfwood swallows, his fingers trace along your face, and you fight every instinct to lean into it. He looks like this is paining him, He's all gritted teeth and square shoulders as he speaks.

"What do you want?"

Hook. Line. Sinker.

"I imagine he'd keep me here after church, that he'd have me kneel before him still while wearing his holy clothes, that collar, the rosary...and I wish he'd undo his belt to-"

"Enough."

Your mouth snaps shut scared you've pushed to far. You can feel heat bloom across your face in embarrassment now that your words are catching up to you, this was meant to be a confession not a shit porno, maybe you DID need God...

"You drive me insane you know that? Every day you come in here- the house of god mind you and stare at me like..." He clicks his tongue and motions to you.

"Well like that."

You aren't sure what to make of his tone, it's scolding and firm but hinges on needy at the end. You're starting to worry you broke the poor man before he makes an irritated noise.

"Fine. You want to repent so bad?" Wolfwoods hands go to his belt and with a soft clink of the metal it comes fastened. Your eyes flicker to look towards the door to make sure that no one was about to walk in on the scene that'd put Judas’ sin to shame when you're snapped out of your thoughts.

"Pay attention sweetheart, you were doing so good before, what happened?" The mask of a holy man cracks and gives way to something cockier, more taunting, more...Wolfwood.

"Unless you need scripture to keep your focus?" he works to undo the button and the zip of his dress pants as he tilts his head.

"Then here's something for you, 'the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” When Eve saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom..' "

He frees himself from the confines of his pants. You feel your mouth water and although your knees are starting to hurt from kneeling for so long you have a feeling you're about to get your real communion.

" '...and she opened her mouth, and took.' "

In beat with his preaching you let your mouth fall open. In all honesty, you get it now. You get how appealing that lush fruit must have been to Eve, you get why even after being promised paradise, she gave in to temptation. The weight that settles on your tongue as Wolfwood presses into your mouth makes your eyes roll back and an involuntary moan escape your throat. Wolfwoods breath stutters.

"God..." He groans and if your mouth wasn't currently full you might have made a witty comment about using the lords name in vain but a quick hand lacing through your hair from Wolfwood serves well enough to sever whatever thought had flitted through your mind.

You flatten your tongue and take more, allowing as much as you can to the back of your throat but when tears prick your eyes and you gag slightly on the sensation he pulls you off with a wet pop. You whine slightly at loss before Wolfwoods hand grabs your chin while he uses his thumb to wipe up the drool leaking from your lips that you hadn't realized was there.

"Patience, don’t you listen to a word I say up there?” he muses, you sheepishly look up at him through your eyelashes and it’s answer enough. He pulls you back in front of his cock, "Be good then, swallow every drop and I might forgive you"

You don't have much time to argue has his hand guides you back. You're more prepared this time, the way you sit on your knees...you’re a picture perfect saint and who's here to judge you for your sin anyways? Wolfwood? Sounded like a set up to a joke.

"Fuck, yeah baby just like that. So good-" His words break off with a grunt and his hips stutter forward, he pulls your head forward and your reach up to steady yourself with his thighs. He rocks his hips to your mouth as he face fucks you in the middle of the church. When his breathing speeds up and he mutters out a sting of gentle curses you know he’s close. You close your eyes and let him use you as he spills down your throat. You're desperate to show him you can listen, you swallow down as much as you can trying to not let a single drop of cum hit the floor.

When the rough handful of hair is released, you pull back to try and catch your breath, a worthless endeavor it would seem considering you're just as quickly being lifted up by your arm. You feel yourself being tugged up the steps towards the pulpit and make peace with the fact you're officially the worst Catholic ever...well besides the priest who's currently the instigator of this depravity.

"Not done yet sweetheart, the grace of god doesn't come with a blow job surprisingly" Wolfwood huffs amused as he presses down on your shoulder to force you to bend of the wood stand.

"Are you even a priest?" wrong question you guess because Wolfwood makes an irritated noise.

"Aren't you supposed to be repenting?" His hands grope at your thighs spreading them apart much more slowly than you'd like, as if he's savoring it...reverence you think.

"Father-"

He chuckles lowly at that.

"Father" he imitates "you let that name fall from your lips like it doesn't turn you on just to say it"

His fingers ghost over your thighs, then around the area you want him most before sliding up under your shirt to explore flesh. It's so hot in the church and when you peer out across the wooden pews you see the stain glass window casting rainbow light that sprawls out across the floor all the way up to your body.

"Focus on me" Wolfwood corrects your wandering mind by nipping along your neck and your body instinctively shudders against him. You press your hips back to feel his growing hardness pressed against your ass. His hands slide your shirt up over your head and he begins to focus on trailing kisses along your back.

"Thank you, lord," His lips move against your shoulder blade.

"For delivering this sinner unto me, so that I may show them rapture."

His fingers hook along the hem of your pants and tug them down your legs until they rest right at your knees.

"Despite that, I must confess, I have sinned."

His fingers trace along your entrance before slowly sinking in. You groan and press your head to the wood in front of you, fingers scratching against the surface.

"I have lusted for someone of my own congregation. I have imagined them kneeling for me and I worst of all I have imagined me taking them, devouring them until there is nothing left to fill them but me"

Another finger lazily joins the first and he begins a slow rhythm of pumping them in and out. You attempt to wiggle your hips back to chase the feeling, but his other hand keeps your waist flush against the stand.

"But I am only a man so with my mortal body I will show them euphoria"

You feel his fingers pull out and whine at the loss only to feel the blunt head of his own cock begin to line up with you.

"Amen"

Wolfwood doesn't give you much more warning before roughly pressing in. You moan as he sets a backbreaking pace, thankful that he at least prepped you before. He's leaned over your body; his hair tickles the back of your neck slightly as he pants in your ear. You imagine your own noises can't be much better as his left hand, the one he's apparently wrapped in a rosary, comes up to catch your chin, two fingers press into your mouth as he supports your head. His other hand stays at your hip, bringing your body back against his with every thrust.

It's so hot in the church, sweat beads along your body and you can feel your hair beginning to stick to your forehead. Your mind feels foggy and you lap absent mindedly at the fingers invading your mouth. Wolfwood groans and pushes you down further against the stand and it'd be uncomfortable if you could focus on anything other than the priest fucking your brains out. He produces an ungodly amount of precum, you can feel it making a mess between your thighs right as drool begins to leak from the corners of your mouth and bead down to the wood below.

Wolfwoods hand shifts from your hip to where a blooming warmth has begun. You nearly cry out with relief babbling nonsense around his fingers, hell maybe even a few prayers. His own mouth is becoming less of that of a reverend and more of that of a ravenous man, mouthing and biting at what he can reach. The fingers press deeper into your mouth and your feel the smooth beads of the rosary are you toy with them with your tongue. You're close, you tremble beneath Wolfwood and he catches on because both his hands pull away to once again fit along your hips. You nearly sob from the new lack of stimulation as he rocks into you.

"Beg for it" Wolfwood says so firm you'd have sworn he was once again leading congregation. Your mind is half way to mush right now so it doesn't take much convincing to do what he wants.

"Please please please let me, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I repent" you babble out hoping you’ve said the magic words.

His hand comes down firmly on your ass as he thrust into you then finally finally reaches to touch between your thighs.

It sends you over the edge instantly, your legs trembling as you whine and moan, Wolfwoods own obscene noises match your own as he finishes inside you, letting you milk him for all he's worth.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, you become aware of the fact your priest is pressed up against your back, trying to catch his breath from fucking the ever loving daylights out of you. You whine slightly and Wolfwood responds by nuzzling his face against your neck.

"Are you okay?"

You do actually laugh at that one, letting your forehead rest against the podium.

"The priest I've been fantasizing about fucking me for a year now just has. This has been the best lay of my life and you want to ask if I'm okay?"

"You're awfully vulgar aren't you?"

You snap your head up to make several points about irony of the statement but when you turn you see a shit eating grin on his face. Your playfully hit his chest and groan.

"You've got to be the worst priest ever"

"Can't say I'd deny that claim" He leans forward and kisses you, you go into it easily but the taste of his lips remind you of something, when you pull away you raise an eyebrow

"Do you smoke?"

He shrugs and keeps his hands on your waist.

"I prefer to keep certain things in my life separated from the church"

"and me?"

"Consider yourself a special case." He smirks and takes hold of your chin between his fingers "Although I do hope this was enough to keep you coming to my sermons?" he ask

You swallow at the dark look in his eye and place your hands on his chest.

"and miss the holy word? Perish the thought"

He chuckles lowly at that as your hands begin to play with the collar of the cassock he wears.

"Although Father, I fear I may not have properly confessed."

He raises an eyebrow and eyes you "No?"

You shake your head "See I only...repented for two out of three fantasy’s I had also mentioned being taken against the pews"

Wolfwoods hands tighten around his hips and his smile widens.

"Well...let's fix that, shall we?"

Author's note: ahhhh I'm back! I've been storin this little beauty away for awhile now. This is my welcome back post because I feel like I lost the way I wanted to organize and write for a little while and this was the first piece that got me back in the flow of things. I missed you guys! We're back baby! (I'll add my spacers in later I'm missin the files rn and I don't feel like searching for them)

[clonerightsagenda]

Ok! Reread complete. It is now time for me to ponder exactly how amatonormative the ending really is.

It's definitely framed that way. Mary describes quitting nunhood because she wanted to pursue romantic relationships, her story inspires Lyra and Will to pursue a romantic relationship, and that's what stops the flow of Dust.

However, it is more complicated than that. Mary did not have to quit the entire Christian religion to date someone (she could just stop being a nun), but she did, because she wasn't happy and wanted to do "something with all my nature instead of just a part of it". She's not even in a romantic relationship right now and seems perfectly fine with that! While there's an aside about the mulefa having monogamous relationships, their transition into adulthood is getting big enough to wear the wheels. It's about growing up and joining the world as a fully realized adult who can make their own decisions rather than remaining constrained due to immaturity or institutional pressures. The book focuses on sexuality because, well, religious authority has often obsessed over controlling and regulating that, and so embracing it is an act of resistance. (That has not really changed all that much.) Plus, there's a continual emphasis that it won't work if Lyra knows her destiny. You have to follow your own nature! For most of the books Lyra and Will are getting buffeted around by events, and Lyra even thinks rescuing the dead is part of the prophecy, so their actions are arguably constrained, whereas this bit is (to their knowledge) free will and not preordained. So yes preteen love saves the world I guess, and it makes sense that Pullman chose that angle, but theoretically it could have been something else, as long as it involves maturing and chasing your bliss. AU where someone transes their gender or quits their job so hard it saves the world. I mean Mary sort of did the latter.

Also, I'm wondering if this is one of those situations where the prophecy creates itself. People have preteen crushes all the time. None of the others save the world. But Dust responds to attention and intention, and since Lyra was the ~child of prophecy~ a whole bunch of people spent a bunch of time and energy fixated on her, and perhaps the Dust responded to that. If the Magisterium hadn't cared about her, maybe her choices would've done nothing. But they did. You guys played yourselves.

[sayonaramidnight]

Hmmmm maybe Aymeric about Rinoire? Or Minfilia about Helvi?

He was pleased to see that the tales of her skills with pole-arms were not exaggerated - not that he would ever doubt in the words of his old friend or the Champion of Eorzea - and yet he could not help but wonder about her reasons for becoming a dragoon. She was already sworn to her Grand Company in Ul'dah, and much as she had been eager to join the battle at the Steps of Faith, it was plain to see she treated it as... well, a job, rather than a holy duty.

She did not seem to worship any deity in particular, not just the Fury, and refused to talk to any clergymen.

"My relationship with religion is pretty complicated," she admitted, when he asked her about that, "The thing is, my parents were an inquisitor and a heretic, assigned to spy on each other," she spoke in a flat voice and her uncovered eye did not express anything, "I had to watch them fight to death at the tender age of two".

As she finished speaking, she gazed at him in silence. Expectantly.

"You're..." He swallowed the first word that came into his mind. "You're jesting, aren't you?"

"You've noticed. Well done," her smirk seemed mocking, but there was no malice in her voice - he might have even trace a shade of appreciation there, "Actually, I have my reasons not to trust the men and women of the cloth," she winced and gave out a small huff, "Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the higher powers who may not even care about my opinion. Just the people who claim to speak on their behalf. I was raised in Gridania, after all".

He nodded thoughtfully. Little did Ishgardians know of Gridanian religious affairs, it would do no harm to look closer at them at a later time. Right now, he had an opportunity to test her, just like she was testing him. "Still, you agreed to help Ishgard against the dragons. Does it mean you trust us, Lieutenant Noirterel?"

"After I learnt you rely on a bloody ancient dragon to gaze at your knights and pick his own slayer? Not in the slightest".

To his own surprise, he gave a small chuckle. "Pray, do not... Wait, which of your parent was an inquisitor?"

"Let me think... My mum".

"Pray, do not say those things in front of your mother's brethren".

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

I meant it when I told her she was my pillar of strength. Then why did she look pained?

True, I know she does not enjoy going into the fray - but still, she does not hesitate, when that is what it takes. That is, however, not the reason why I told her that - why I allowed myself being weak with her, which I hardly ever do, even with Thancred. Perhaps especially with him.

She is my pillar of strength not because she slays Primals, but because she she works towards alliance with the beast tribes - even though she insists she's "simply helping a little" - which has long been a dream of mine. Because Lhaminn has some fond memories of her. And because I can watch her work and chat about gemstones whenever we have time.

We may be Hydaelyn's chosen, but we must remember to be people beside being heroes. That is what she reminds me to be when she is around - which does not happen often enough and I am the only one to blame for it.

I hope she keeps doing the same for the others, when our Mother calls for me.

NPC PoV asks!

[starzzmissthesun]

Drop the OC lore, aesthetics, names (if any), random facts, and other details u never thought u would drop

Drop it

Pls

(｡･ω･｡)

Here's some art I just made of them‼️‼️

Here's some stuff under the cut but here is the biggest post I've made about them both so far.

So the blond one is the one I call The Vampire, they're my dnd character lol. And the one holding their mouth open in the back in The Lover. The Vampire doesn't know anything really about themself or their past life. The Lover does, but they keep it from the other because they crave and Need that control over their lover (they're kinda peak toxic exes). The Vampire cant be alone for too long, they need to serve and hold a purpose for someone else because they're only other option is to be this empty shell. The vampire has about 7 canonical exes, and some of them are repeating on their journey from bounty to bounty. They don't know this obviouslt but the lover that they always keep finding and bumping it to and being with over and over again is The Lover.

The sad part about this is that they will never know this, and they will never feel whole. They won't ever look inwards to see who they are, they feel like after being turned they lost everything. Their memory wiped, their trust, their lover, their life, everything. Ad they won't try to heal or become something new, for they idolize their past self so much they NEED to be that person again. The angel of your past can do no wrong (banger line about them from my bsf).

Their main character trait is unreliability. They have these huge perception issues, even before being turned by their lover. What we as the observer know is that they were this young teen in the deep South with a complicated family life until one day a charming person comes through town and sweeps them off their feet. Theyre immediately in love, they'd do and give anything for this person. Through this, they miss the sharp teeth, they miss the hungry look in their eyes, they miss the wiser and older language they used, they missed the suspicious and vague descriptions of this persons past. They don't even care that their love 'inherited' this mansion they move into despite saying their family was from a whole different place and poor.

Now, they are only left with the blurry memory of their lover turning them into this monster, and what they believe that relationship was like. Accept, they don't realize they were turned out of greed, they think it was because their lover wanted them so bad, they loved them so much. They couldn't help it. So now when they have these intense and frightening visions of their past, every once in a while in dreams, driving their truck, putting on clothes they found in their closet but aren't theirs, even during intimate moments with new lovers. They will never be left alone, it's being hung in front of them. The Vampire and The Lover are in a two man cult.

This tango, this unknown push and pull will last eternally because neither will die. The Lover cant just leave. They cant. The Vampire has this unbreakable invisible pull on them. They are stuck coming back. The Vampire needs to find the person they have this idea of them in their mind. They need something from their past, this idea holds them together. They don't even realize ever that this one person is their past lover, they'll never know. They both think this is out of love, but it's not. The Lover likes the control, they like toying with them specifically. They found this person when they were about 15ish and turned them when they were 19. They took this person who was heavily controlled by their religious family, who was made blank by that religion, and made them Something. And then made them Nothing. And they constantly turn this person around like that in circles. They feel like a god. And The Vampire needs a god and angels to worship. Their past, their old self, their family, and their ex lover as the god. They have never had control, and they don't know how to have it. They cant take control of them self and decide what they're gonna be, they need someone or something to tell them. They don't trust them self, but they will never doubt their ideas of who they used to be.

Anyways, that was rambly, if you have any thoughts or questions lmk! Also if you want some fun stuff(cuz I do have some of that lol) about them both or anything about their life before they turned.

The Vampire and The Lover

[umbralaether]

Hello! You can call me Blue, and here you can expect lots of my hyperfixations. Primary content is listed in the bio above, and I tag them all accordingly. If you need something specific tagged, let me know and I’ll include it in my common tags :)

My Dragon Age sideblog: @glitteringdust

I like writing and do take requests should anyone wish for something specific, bear in mind that I sometimes take a bit to create due me being super picky about what I share lol

Writing links: bg3 & ffxiv

Basic Info

Character’s full name: Eisha Pantera (ee-sha pan-terra)

Birthday: 10th sun of the 2nd Astral Moon

Race: Keeper of the Moon Miqo’te

Class: Summoner, Astrologian, Reaper

Ships: G’raha Tia (Main ship), Haurchefant, Thancred Waters (AU), Azem x Emet Selch

Screenshot tag: eisha screens

Lore/Answers: eisha lore

Azem: Astraea

Physical appearance

Age: post endwalker -> 28

How old does he/she appear: 25

Body build: Slim w/ lean muscle 

Eye color: Aqua (post shb left eye became pale aqua)

Glasses or contacts: neither

Skin tone: blue-gray

Distinguishing marks: faded dark blue tribal marks across cheeks; vertical scar over left eye

Hair color: dark blue with light blue highlights 

Type of hair: medium thickness, straight texture  

Hairstyle: short w/ a crown braid  

Overall attractiveness: unintentionally alluring  

Physical disabilities: post-endwalker she has bouts of muscle spasms due to fluctuating aether

Usual fashion of dress: relaxed, modest, casual

Favorite outfit:

Ala Mhigan gown in raptor blue

YoRHa Type-53 bottoms of casting

Shadowless boots of casting

Jewelry or accessories: usually wearing the edengate earrings, Cait sith neck ribbon, Halonic auditor’s bracelets, crystarium ring and amaurotine ring 

Personality

Good personality traits: Caring, Forgiving, Easy-going, Patient, Polite, Smart

Bad personality traits: Avoidant, Anxious, Self-Sacrificing, Passive, People-pleaser

Mood character is most often in: Inquisitive & calm

Sense of humor: finds joy in the small things in life; puns and cheesy jokes will make her laugh

Character’s greatest joy in life: helping those who cannot help themselves, and reuniting with her soulmate

Character’s greatest fear: failure, loss

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?: a death of one of her loved ones. Loss is not something she wants to go through at this current moment

Character is most at ease when: she’s near the beach & can hear the waves

Most ill at ease when: she has to make a public speech

Enraged when: mercy is not shown when it could be

Depressed or sad when: life is lost because there was nothing left to do 

Priorities: finding happiness & making it for others; have a family; publish a memoir

Life philosophy: treat others how you would like to be treated

If granted one wish, it would be: to live in a fair & just world where everyone looks out for one another

Character’s soft spot: *cough* villains who just needed love instead *cough*

Is this soft spot obvious to others?: Hopefully not, she would be so embarrassed 

Present

Current location: the Lavender Beds

Currently living with: her husband, G’raha Tia

Pets: Pickle the Lunatender, Squash the Royal Lunatender

Religion: “You can only save yourself”

Occupation: Adventurer & food connoisseur

Finances: well off due to a friend’s crafting business

Family

Mother: Elesia Pantera  

Relationship with her: complicated. Eisha was supposed to become the matriarch of the clan once she became of age but instead she ran away after they fought about it. Then the calamity hit and she never got to see her family or clan again.

Father: unknown

Relationship with him: never met him, no clue if he’s alive

Siblings: a sister, Elva Pantera, who died when Eisha was 13  

Relationship with them: estranged before her death, because her mother had chosen Eisha instead of her to lead.

Spouse: G’raha Tia

Relationship with him/her: soulmate.

Children: currently expecting one child, gender unknown at this time

Favorites

Color: Blue

Least favorite color: Brown (just not her style)

Music: a fan of violin and piano

Food: ramen; breakfast foods; sushi; pasta dishes

Form of entertainment: reading, sightseeing, cooking!

Location: Thavnair

Weather: Clear skies with any range of heat!

Most prized possession: all of her trophies from her battles

Habits

Hobbies: cooking, reading, exploring

Plays a musical instrument?: she is learning ukelele 

How she would spend a rainy day: snuggling up indoors with warm food and a good book/her significant other

Spending habits: impulse purchases for herself & others happens quite a bit 

Smokes: occasionally 

Drinks: special occasions 

What does she do too much of?: daydreaming, thinking, & learning

What does she do too little of?: taking a breaks & getting proper rest  

Combat skills: healing, magic arts, recently competent at physical combat    

Nervous tics: tends to tap her fingers on the table, or  mildly lash her tail 

Usual body posture: relaxed

Mannerisms: is formally polite around new people, bordering on shy. When she gets to know someone, she is sure to remember things from past conversations to catch up on.  

Peculiarities: will occasionally feel the aether of those who have passed on around her. Has flashbacks of pre-sundering events that feel like dreams.

Traits

Optimist or pessimist?: realist. both bad & good happen in equal amounts

Introvert or extrovert?:  introverted

Daredevil or cautious?

Logical or emotional?: leans more towards emotional but it is situational

Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? Methodical and neat, everything has a place and she knows where it is.

Prefers working or relaxing? She becomes guilty when she takes a day off, and likes to stay busy.

Confident or unsure of himself/herself? She is confident in her abilities, yet unsure about her mental fortitude.

Animal lover? Adores all creatures of every shape and size!

[lunion]

There's something that's been hurting me for the longest time that I want to vent about, though it can be lenghty. Also, spoilers for Mother 3.

The mother series have been for the longest time my favorite videogame franchise of all time. However, this last year I realized it was no longer the case. That wouldn't be a problem if iy weren't for the reason behind it: My best friend and the discussion we had.

Context time:

I had a sheltered, but otherwise unpleasant childhood. Bullied at school, difficulties on social circles, depressed mother and absent father getting a divorce, a complicated relationship with organized religion... life for kid-me was unfulfilling, underwhelming and gave me nothing to look forward for the future.

However, one of the things that kept me going was indeed, the Mother series. It stroke the perfect and necessary balance to give me hope. It's not a perfect comfort game where nothing goes wrong because it'd feel cheap like "of course these people are happy. These problems were conveniently removed from game", but neither it was a tragedy fest where every problem is real and we can never get a break from the suffering ever. The Mother series acknowledged a lot of problems like police corruption, parental abuse, loss and so forth, but in a palatable manner that made me believe that we could overcome these things.

Eventually, childhood and adolencence have passed and I found myself breaking away from organized religion to find my own faith. I stumbled here and there, but I was moving forward.

And then comes in my best friend.

He's still one of the most caring people i've ever met, but unfortunately, he has a flaw that can make it hard to deal with sometimes. A poorly repressed, yet never acknowledged contempt for spirituality and religion.

We've had some discussions about it before, but the gist of it is that he would try to say something like "you're free to follow whatever religion you want", but always with the undertone of "but you're fucking stupid AND coping for doing so"

Then comes these last 5 years.

These last god forsaken 5 years of my life were filled to the brim with struggle, solitude and pushing through a pervading feeling of aimlessness as I tell myself my goals are not for naught.

My friend group withered, I moved away back to the hometown I hate, had no one that shared my beliefs with me, I started dealing with family problems so bad I had to go back to therapy and the pandemic did not help.

Practicing one's faith alone during this time was also much harder, especially when I started questioning my own beliefs.

Last year, I visited my friend just to hang out. I don't even remember how we got to the topic of spirituality, but I know we did and he asked me to explain my faith to him again. TL;DR, I share many buddhist principles, believe in past lives and higher planes of existance.

The real challenge was trying to explain it to him in a way he wouldn't dismiss as an hallucination, delirium or otherwise.

I could not.

I left that conversation feeling absolutely stupid of ever believing in any semblance of religion or any faith.

Fast forward for a couple months later and I am playing Mother 3.

I've cleared the mother series about 6 times at this point and every couple of years I'd play them all over again because I always come out differently from the experience, given how I've changed and my different lens let me appreciate the games more and in differnt ways.

This time, something very different happened.

I was at the end of the game, during the Masked Man fight. As any Mother fan can tell, the most emotional point in the series. But here is the thing. Unlike every other time I played the game, when Hinawa appeared in that scene, I was not overcome with emotion, relief or even moved.

Instead, my only thought was "what the fuck is this doing here?"

This scene, which brought me to tears many times before and made me cherish the love shared between these characters and even between people in real life, was now making me cringe and feel disgusted.

At that moment. It felt cheap. It felt like it was 'coping', as thoughts swimmed through my head:

"Talk about wish fulfilment. Kid's so traumatized he's making up in his mind his mother is still alive."

"Why tf can't people accept that hinawa is fucking dead? She and everything she brought is GONE. No amount of wishing will ever change that in any meaningful way."

"This is stupid"

All of these things came to me during what was supposed to be one of the most beautiful scenes I've seen in fiction. One of the moments that gave me the most pain, but also the most strenght.

At that moment, I was also crying, but not because the usual reasons.

I was crying because I saw myself, couldn't recognize myself and I didn't like what I saw.

The next months were rough. A good therapist helped, though.

I learned I can't have everyone, especially those who are set in their own beliefs, to validate mine, even if they are family or best friends.

I know I was sensitive at the time for all the problems that I mentioned ealier in this post.

But I also realized that my diminished affection towards the mother games were not to do with me growing up, but due to a bad memory staining my feelings for the games. A memory that has nothing to do with the games themselves and more to do with how hurt and stupid I felt because of that discussion that I had.

I no longer feel like that, but the feeling of hurt still remains. I want to start healing from it. Putting all this experience in words is the first step.

[sweetshelluvaau]

Free pass for you to explain how you’ve decided to rewrite any of the characters ^^

if you can’t choose tho I’m very curious to hear your thoughts on Alastor

Oh geez I have to pick a character to talk about! Well, I'll do that but I'll also answer regarding to Alastor first:

I have a complicated relationship with Alastor in the show, however I don't think they changed him too much from the pilot but at the same time, something just feels off about him.

No shade to his new actor, he does a fine job but something is missing that Ed Bosco bought to the character. Also as much as I love the song Stay Gone, I do feel him using modern slang to be out of character for him. (I'll admit tho that him dropping the f-bomb did made me laugh.)

Really I don't have much complaints about Alastor being I'm kinda indifferent about him.

As how I would rewrite him: Well first off, get rid of the Voodou stuff. There are people much better qualified than I am to talk about why using symbols and villainizing a closed practice/religion that has ties to parts of the black community is wrong so I'm not touching that can of worms. I know Viv said he's Creole, but I feel she only made him such because of the backlash and criticism she gotten.

So, in my AU, suppose to using Voodou, Alastor will still have powers but they're more eldritch/Lovecraft in nature (which is kinda what he already has going for him so it's not too much of change I guess idk) and has these powers by making a deal with a demon when alive and when he died it just transferred with him when he arrived in Hell. How? Why? I haven't figured that out yet being I don't know even if I'm gonna touch on that much in my AU anyways.

Also worth nothing that in my AU: Most Overlords don't have powers and play more like gang leaders/owners of their control of ‘districts’/businesses though out various rings in hell where Overlords are a thing (Pride/Greed/Sloth. Lust sort of has them but they're more regulated in that ring suppose to having freedom to do as they see fit) sort of thing. The only exception of the rule is Alastor and maybe Zestiral because he's old and gives me sorcerer vibes (plus it is my AU I do what I want). Vox still has the ability of hypnotization but it's less magic more than it's technology (I mean he's a TV head and likes to update with the times so he had a good time to prefect that).

But back to Alastor: Honestly, I think that's really the major change I would do being I think he has a solid foundation otherwise, it just comes to excultion.

Okay, character of my picking:

Less of a rewrite and more of a compete replacement but I would get rid of Adam and replace him with Archangel Michael. I don't get why Adam is leading the extermination being he was never an angel but a human that just so happened to go to heaven in Hazbin. This would be okay if the worldbuilding made this make sense but again, we're talking about Hellaverse here where the writers just throw shit against a wall and see what sticks without asking why.

But yeah, I think it'd make more sense for Michael to be leading the Extermination. I don't plan on him being a dick, let alone evil in my AU more than a guy who's trying to justify to himself that this is for the betterment for Heaven and Hell but takes no joy in the job otherwise and likely going to go though an existential crisis half way into my version of Hazbin.

Also, Lucifer and him are brothers. The Drama!

Anyway this is getting long and I think I spent two hours writing this out. If there's any other questions you want to ask, you're always welcome to send in more.

[the-jesus-pill]

Is there a word for missing being in a shitty religion because it made you feel like you had a purpose? I dunno, it's just. I know it's a cult now, I never want to go back, but fuck if I don't miss actually Knowing who I am and what I'm supposed to do and feeling like I belong somewhere. Is that a thing that usually happens? Do you have any resources for dealing with it? I hope this isn't an inappropriate question.

This is normal! I haven't been a part of the church for probably more than a decade and sometimes I still wonder if I'd be happier being part of something where if you say the right things and make the right decisions you will be accepted, praised and loved.

It's both the positive and partially the negative of leaving - now you can decide who you want to be, what you want to do, who your friends are.

I think everyone who leaves a community, whether that community was religious or otherwise, whether it was healthy or not, experience this feeling of 'well, what do I do now?'

But the good news is that there will always be another group for you, whether you find them right away or not. Humans are social animals, and there are people who want you in their lives as much as you want to be in theirs. Finding them is the difficult part but it's so rewarding when you do.

My advice is find out what you like or what you want to learn and see if there is a community for it nearby!

This can be paid lessons like dancing, yoga, hiking groups, learning music or other languages, or it can be hobbies like cosplay, table top roleplaying, crafting, theater, etc. Learning a sport or doing local activism can also be a good way to get to know others (although be careful with activism, while it's a very good cause, it should not be a hobby and it can have its own complications)

If there's nothing in your immediate local area, try online communities! Online book clubs, writing groups, fandoms and roleplaying, music appreciation are good examples to start, lots of people there and many of them looking for newcomers to share their passions with.

Check out your local library or fandom stores (like comic book or cosplay shops) for smaller events - and Reddit has a lot of communities for basically anything you can come up with.

Feeling like you don't have a place is a very common feeling, even amongst those who aren't apostates. Everyone feels self conscious about not having enough friends - or not having ANY friends. We're told we need to belong somewhere to matter.

But in truth you have all the time in the world to find your people. You might find a group of friends and then it doesn't work out - friends leave or there are falling outs and it can feel like you're not cut out to have relationships. It's normal to not immediately find your soulmates, your BFFs, your found family on the first try. Keep trying! They are out there.

Edit: I recommend reading this article! Ask Polly: How Am I Supposed To Make Friends In My Late 20s?

[you-are-my-neverland]

writeblr introduction

this is my fifth-hundreth time doing this, but i wanted an easy introduction that i could update without many frills, so here goes.

introducing....me!

online, i go by star! (she/her)

college student majoring in foreign langauges, with a chinese (mandarin) concentration and a linguistics minor

i hope to go into literary translation of some sort, but we'll see how it goes

in my free time, i like to watch asian dramas, listen to music, and read; i also dabble in video editing

i talk about the above and more on my main @astarlightmonbebe, which i also follow from

when it comes to writing, i love reading/writing

character driven stories with lots of complicated relationship dynamics (give me more of we-used-to-be-close, estranged or otherwise multilayered found family/sibling relationships, fated to be but hate it, etc)

magical realism, especially coming-of-age

low or middle fantasy

lore/mythology/religion (love folklore, legend, especially ones that change, grow, and are more real than they seem)

what i'm working on (current as of august 2024)

wip: godhood

naying yue’s father has been missing for three years. after stabbing her bff/lover in the eye and getting expelled from college, she decides to celebrate her twenty first bday by killing herself. however, her plans are derailed when she is attacked by monsters, rescued/kidnapped, and told her father abducted her as a young child, and that her real identity is the heiress to a powerful family who is part of the mysterious Outsider World…

new adult low fantasy inspired by/incorporating wuxia elements

drafting book one right now; will likely be at least three books if i get there

comic sans ppt

other ideas bouncing around

a high school sports wip revolving around a sport called cyclone, where biking meets medieval jousting to create a very metal sport. gil reyes, once a cyclone prodigy and now on limited time, finds himself dumped and kicked out of his cyclone crew. a street tournament with a cash prize and a claim to fame leads to him starting his own crew, recruiting the scholarly sprinter, aadya; high school dropout and underground stunt rider/racer, yama; the duo of sprinter winnie and bruiser jade; a rural girl with brute strength and a boxer’s instincts, elle; and a brilliant time trialist who knows nothing about cyclone, pazu.

paper tigers

status: constantly rotating around in my head on a hot plate

when moonlil acang's father, the warlord of the north, dies in a violent explosion of which the only survivor is a mysterious girl he has apparently brought back from the mountains, moonlil is forced into a position he's never wanted. setting inspired by 1920s china/chinese history. featuring: grave robbery, complicated siblings, mythological elements, and a dose of revolutionary, imperial, and military politics.

the phosphene phenomenon

status: sketching out the details, potentially plotting

three years after witnessing a total solar eclipse and falling into a coma, diyu wakes up to find himself with New Eyes and a ghost attached to him. lalita's been dead for years, but she knows nothing but her own name. tasked by death to help other spirits move on before she, too, can find her afterlife, lalita and diyu have no choice but to team up, along with sunny, the one person diyu has never been able to stand. featuring: a super intense rivalry (swear), self discovery journeys, ghosts and mental illness, agents of death, and so on.

previously on here i’ve successfully completed the first drafts of two wips, fairbone and the metamorphosis of the lost (tmotl), which still occasionally pop up.

i’m not always the most active, especially during the school year, where my focus is on trying to write a few words a day if any at all, but i’m always excited to hear and interact with other’s work!