#series: the bibles of eden

[aliverse]

The Bibles of Eden (SPN) Masterlist

EDEN EDITH BARNES.

species: human

seasons: two — fifteen

love interest: will daemon, john winchester, dean winchester

faceclaim: phoebe tonkin

AMARIAH.

alias: amy marie hans

species: angel

seasons: two — fifteen

love interest: tbd

faceclaim: claire holt

LEVI JONATHAN WINCHESTER.

alias: levi robert hans

species: human

seasons: ? — fifteen

love interest: tbd

faceclaim: finn wolfhard (teenage levi)

WILL MARIANO.

species: demon

seasons: ???

love interest: eden barnes

faceclaim: paul wesley

HAMISH LENNON BARNES.

species: human

seasons: flashbacks only

love interest: esther barnes

faceclaim: eric bana

ESTHER JOANNA BARNES.

species: human

seasons: flashbacks only

love interest: hamish barnes

faceclaim: carla gugino

[hycinthrt]

eden from the chosen sketch because she literally deserves everything

and by this i mean i would commit crimes for simon peter's wife

[aparticularbandit]

hardcover or paperback? bookstore or library? bookmark or receipt? stand alone or series? nonfiction or fiction? thriller or fantasy? under 300 pages or over 300 pages? children’s or ya? friends to lovers or enemies to lovers? read in bed or read on the couch? read at night or read in the morning? keep pristine or markup? cracked spine or dog ear?

hardcover or paperback? bookstore or library? bookmark or receipt? stand alone or series? nonfiction or fiction? thriller or fantasy? under 300 pages or over 300 pages? children’s or ya? friends to lovers or enemies to lovers? read in bed or read on the couch? read at night or read in the morning? keep pristine or markup? cracked spine or dog ear?

[cowboybabeop]

Vault-Tec Vaults; Game Origin & Location

Hi I'm going to back to my "Fallout Blog" roots. Here is a summary of all of the vaults and experiments (starting with a timeline) because I'm insane ^_^ I had to add a weird break bc I literally hit the tumblr character limit, but I used it to section off the major spoilers for the TV series :)

Timeline

The Great War: October 23rd, 2077

Fallout Bible: Compendium of added lore by the creators.

Fallout 76: 2102

Fallout 1: 2161 

Fallout Tactics: 2197

Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel: 2208

Fallout 2: 2241

Fallout 3: 2277

Fallout: New Vegas: 2281

Fallout 4: 2287

Fallout TV Series: 2296

Corporate Vault - Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel - Texas 

A control group vault meant for Vault-Tec employees to continue research, primarily on FEV (Forced Evolutionary Virus) during the war.

Vault 0 - Fallout Tactics - Colorado 

A control group vault with geniuses kept in cryogenic stasis, with their minds interlinked into an entity called The Calculator.

Vault 3 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada 

A control vault. Residents ended up opening the vault doors when the lower levels flooded. Eventually the vault was overrun by Fiends.

Vault 4 - Fallout TV series - California 

A test vault that was filled with residents prior to the bombs dropping. Experimentation on human subjects led to most of the original residents being killed in a revolt. In 2296 the vault is still thriving, while kidnapping surface survivors and continuing to experiment on them. The vault offered refuge for many inhabitants of Shady Sands.

Vault 8 (Vault City) - Fallout 2 - Nevada 

A control group vault that remained closed until 2241. Instead of receiving two G.E.C.K. (Garden of Eden Creation Kit) devices, Vault 8 received just one and a replacement water chip that was supposed to go to Vault 13.

Vault 11 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada 

Every year the residents were told to sacrifice a fellow resident, with the threat of everyone's death if they did not. In reality, the system would praise them for NOT sacrificing an individual and the vault door would be unlocked. This message finally played after only five residents remained.

Vault 12 - Fallout 1 - California 

A seemingly normal, safe vault with an ulterior motive to study the effects of radiation on the inhabitants. The door never fully sealed, and in 2083 the ghoul residents left to found Necropolis.

Vault 13 - Fallout 1 & Fallout 2- California 

Your home vault as the Vault Dweller. A rather normal vault, however due to a shipping mishap Vault 13 received an additional G.E.C.K. device (that was supposed to go to Vault 8) instead of a replacement water chip. Thus, leaving the Vault Dweller to leave the vault in search for a replacement when their only water chip breaks.

Vault 15 - Fallout 1 & Fallout 2 - California 

A vault that experimented with incredibly diverse ideologies and backgrounds. The vault became severely overpopulated in 2097 and the dwellers decided to open the door. Shady Sands was created using Vault 15's G.E.C.K. and the local raider gangs all have origins from this vault.

Vault 17 - Fallout: New Vegas - Mention Only 

Inhabitants were kidnapped and transformed into Super Mutants. Lily originates from this vault.

Vault 19 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT 

Paranoia was induced by noises, lights, and segregation. The vault was divided into two sections, Red and Blue, with a separate overseer for each sector.

Vault 21 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada 

An almost normal vault, with the exception of a culture and society built around gambling. All major decisions were made through gambling, with the decision to open the doors and become part of New Vegas being "won" in a game of Blackjack.

Vault 22 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT 

A vault dedicated to studying agriculture. A fungus designed to kill pests on plants became capable of infected human hosts. Vault 22 is curiously green on the outside by the time The Courier arrives at the location.

Vault 24 - Fallout: New Vegas - Mention Only 

Remnants of a Vault 24 jumpsuit are found in the FNV game files.

Vault 27 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

A vault designed to be deliberately overcrowded with not enough means to sustain the inhabitants.

Vault 29 - Fallout 76 - Mention Only 

Only children younger than 15 were allowed in this vault, with their parents being sent to other vaults. Harold is believed to originate from this vault.

//TV SHOW SPOILERS//

Vault 31 - Fallout TV Series - California 

Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as cryogenic home for the managers and higher ups of Vault-Tec.

Vault 32 - Fallout TV Series - California 

Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as a healthy breeding pool for Vault 31 and 33. Somewhere around 2294, Vault 32 failed and the residents resorted to murder, cannibalism, or suicide.

Vault 33 - Fallout TV Series - California 

Lucy MacLean's home vault. Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as a healthy breeding pool for Vault 31 and 32.

//END OF TV SHOW SPOILERS//

Vault 36 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The only food in this vault consisted of thin, watery gruel.

Vault 34 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT 

The vault was purposefully overstocked with guns with the overseer being able to give/deny access to residents. This inevitably led to it's downfall, and those who revolted and raided the armory relocated above as The Boomers in 2231.

Vault 42 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

No lightbulbs over 40W were provided.

Vault 43 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

A vault containing 20 men, 10 women, and one panther.

Vault 51 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault with a supercomputer as the overseer. Interference from the computer led to most of the residents being murdered by other residents.

Vault 53 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only  

Most equipment was designed to break down every few months in order to stress out inhabitants.

Vault 55 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

No entertainment tapes were provided.

Vault 56 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The only entertainment tapes provided were of one terrible comedian.

Vault 63 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

The inside of the vault remains sealed, with the outside door being all that is accessible to the player character. Other parts of the vault are revealed through cut content.

Vault 65 - Fallout 76 - Mention Only 

Remnants of the vault remain in Fallout 76 cut content.

Vault 68 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The vault contained 999 men and 1 woman.

Vault 69 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only 

The vault contained 999 women and 1 man.

Vault 75 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

A secret experimenting in refining human genetics through selective breeding, genetic modification, and hormonal treatments. The vault's concept was made by Stanislaus Braun.

Vault 76 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

The home vault of the player character in 76. It was a control vault, set to open after 25 years. This is when the player character leaves the vault.

Vault 77 - Fallout 3 - Mention Only 

Mentioned by slavers in Paradise Falls, this vault was rumored to only contain one man and a box of puppets.

Vault 79 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault dedicated to hoarding the country's gold reserves.

Vault 81 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

Designed to develop a cure for every possible sickness or ailment. Residents were unknowingly sprayed with diseases by nozzles hidden in their rooms. The first vault overseer had thought this to be cruel, cut off the scientists from the rest of the vault and cut the nozzles from spraying residents before the experiments could begin.

Vault 87 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

The original vault experiment for 87 was scrapped, and it became a research center for FEV, leaving the vault wildly radioactive and inhabited only by super mutants by the time you access it as the Lone Wanderer.

Vault 88 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

An unfinished vault inhabited by ghouls.

Vault 92 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

The best musicians were sent to this vault to "preserve musical talent", but truthfully residents were subjected to subliminal messages mixed into white noise. Eventually some of the musicians went into random, murderous, psychotic rages that led to the end of the experiment.

 Vault 94 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault with non-violent faith-centric inhabitants. The vault opened one year later to search for survivors. The vault became overrun by wastelanders and raiders that destroyed their G.E.C.K. and their nuclear reactor. The vault was swarmed with radiation and is now overrun by mirelurks.

Vault 95 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

A vault designed to get people clean and sober. After a successful 5 years, a Vault-Tec agent brought out a hidden stash of drugs for other residents to find.

Vault 96 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia 

A vault with a focus on agriculture, animals, genetics, and mutations. The original residents were killed in a failed escape attempt, and the vault was then used by West-Tek scientist Edgar Blackburn to continue research on FEV.

Vault 100 - Fallout 3 - Mention Only 

Remnants of Vault 100 can be found in game files and cut content.

Vault 101 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

The home vault for the Lone Wanderer. This vault was meant to never open and Vault 101 did not receive a G.E.C.K. However, the overseer of the vault pretty quickly broke this rule and occasional survey teams were sent to the surface. Several residents of Megaton are the result of these survey teams. Daddy James found the vault after the birth of the Lone Wanderer and negotiated his doctoral services in exchange for shelter.

Vault 106 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

Psychoactive drugs slowly released into the air of Vault 106, causing the vault to be filled with psychotic survivors by the time the Lone Wanderer visits.

Vault 108 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

A slew of experiments occurred in this vault. The elected overseer was dying of cancer, the primary power supply of the vault was scheduled to fail after 20 years, the backup power supply would not be enough to power ALL of the vault, the vault was given three times the normal amount of weapons, and the vault was not given entertainment. With a majority of scientists, one of the inner experiments involved repeatedly cloning the same man... Gary.

Vault 111 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts 

Your home vault as the Sole Survivor. All residents were meant to unknowingly stay in cryostasis, with scientists overlooking them. However, conflicts arose among those unfrozen, leading to the vault door eventually being opened.

Vault 112 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD 

Residents lived in a virtual reality simulation to create their "perfect life" with their overseer, Stanislaus Braun, a scientist who proceeded to use the residents as playthings. Braun continuously murdered residents, then wiped their memories and reset the simulation.

Vault 114 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts

 An unfinished vault meant for only the wealthy. Vault-Tec exaggerated the luxury of the vault, gave residents very small rooms, communal bathing and dining areas, and a homeless drug-addicted overseer named Soup Can Harry.

Vault 118 - Fallout 4 - Maine 

An Unfinished Vault meant to house both a handful of ultra-rich and hundreds of working class individuals to observe how they would interact within the same space.

Vault 120 - Fallout 4 & Fallout 76 - Mention Only 

The vault itself was meant to mimic the underwater atmosphere of Bioshock. The game was cut from Fallout 4, but remnants can be found in Fallout 76 game files.

[the-muppet-joker]

could you elaborate on your choices for the 4 horsemen for the ponies? i’m deeply curious about your wisdom and insight

Very well.

Famine = Luna

Both are black horses

When Nightmare Moon takes over, there is no sun. Crops cannot grow under these conditions. Her reign is a reign of famine and no harvest.

Additionally, in the episode Cutie Re-Mark, it is shown that under Nightmare Moon's domain, Timberwolves roam free. While they are not directly tied to famine, they have symbolism regarding Harvest as they are known to howl at the first zap apple and attack those who try to harvest them if they are nearby, hindering people's ability to gather fruit.

War = Cadance

Naturally, a pony red with the blood of those slain in war is generally not marketable to little girls, who are unfamiliar with bloodlust and afraid of violence. They settled for a close second: pink.

She is the princess of love. Are you familiar with the phrase "all is fair in love and war?" Wars are acts of passion and bloodshed. Passion? Blood? Both symbolically related to the Heart. And what is her cutie mark as well as the sacred object that gives power to her kingdom? The Crystal Heart.

The Crystal Kingdom, Cadance's kingdom, is frequently under threat of was throughout the series. Queen Crysalis and the Changelings. Sombra. Again, in the episode Cutie Re-Mark, we see a timeline im which Sombra had won. And what is the state of Equestria? A mirror fucking image of how other countries in real life are affected by war. We literally have soldiers Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash and we see Apple Jack working tirelessly to ship out apple mush to feed soldiers for the war effort. This parallel is so clear and frankly I could go on.

Conquest = Celestia

Yes I know the image says strife. I wanted the pictures to be in a consistant style and they used the word strife but it says conquest in the Bible. Anyways, they are both white horses.

I mean. Do I need to spell it out? Celestia is an imperialist. She spreads her and her nation's influence and ideology as far as she is able. Cadance is installed as the leader of the Crystal Empire under her direction. They have conflict with the changelings, so they promote a leader more sympathetic to their nation. The school of friendship? Teaching other species the way to act and behave? Are non-ponies unfamiliar with friendship? Propoganda. And she is the Princess of the Sun. THE SUN. NEVER. SETS. ON. EQUESTRIA'S. EMPIRE. Sound familiar?

Do not make an enemy of Celestia or you will be punished and then brainwashed into submission. Luna? The moon. Discord? Stone. Sombra? Tirek? The list goes on. Again, I feel this is a clear parallel that needs little explanation.

Death = Twilight Sparkle

Indeed this is the most subtle connection. After all, she is not even close to the right color. She is purple! No relation to death whatsoever........ right? WRONG. In the Catholic faith, the calandar is divided into different seasons with associated colors. Purple is the color of death and mourning; priests will exclusively wear purple robes for mass during Lent to symbolize Christ's suffering and death on the cross.

Twilight has a very important role as she and her friends are the bearers of the elements of harmony, with Twilight in the lead. The power of this clearly escalates throughout the series, as the mane six progress from turning Discord to stone to completely destroying Sombra after he is initially resurrected. We watch them become a force that could take away anyone's life force, Twilight especially. And let's not forget the form the elements later take. The tree of harmony. Reminiscent of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, from which humanity committed its first sin and thus were kicked out of Eden, gaining the ability to die.

Twilight will outlive all of her friends. As an allicorn, she is immortal. We see in the last episode that she is in her prime while all of her friends are elderly. How can one be a Princess of Friendship if she sees all her friends to the ends of their lives like a benevolent Reaper? After so many years of standing at the deathbeds of loved ones, she will feel detatched from others. A Princess of Death.

And yes Flurryheart is the fifth Princess but she is a clear allagory for the Antichrist so I did not include her

[demiromanticmickey]

On today's "I am SO not normal about Dead Friend Forever": Discussing Catholicism and Colonization in this gay Thai slasher series

Some background on me: I am from a Latine Catholic family. Raised as a non-practicing Catholic (we didn't go to church or pray). Then my parents enrolled me in a Catholic school that I attended from 5th grade to the end of 7th grade. Today, I am not Catholic and have never really considered myself as such.

Ok, so in the flashback episodes of DFF, I have been noticing a lot of things. My findings under the cut.

Let's start with this crucifix and photo of the Virgin Mary and a baby Jesus.

Screenshot from ep. 5.

The camera lingers here a bit so we're obviously meant to pay attention to the phrase. I put the screenshot through Google translate's image translator and the translation it gave me was, "Think good, do good, be a good person." I didn't think much of it when I first watched the episode other than it was supposed to establish that the boys attend a Christian or Catholic school.

But then there was this image posted on Be On Cloud's Instagram (also from ep. 5): X

Zooming in, we can see there's another picture of Mary in the background. Watching the classroom scenes, it's easy to miss because the series itself is more washed out than the official photos posted. But this emphasis on Mary led me to believe the school is a Catholic one. So out of curiosity, I looked up the schools the writers and directors attended because I felt I was onto something here. And boy, was I!

Source: MDL

Ma-Deaw, if you didn't know, is one of the directors of Dead Friend Forever (he also directed Manner of Death and Inhuman Kiss , and lots of other things).

One Google search later (X) and I learned "Montfort College" is a Catholic school. It started out as a primary school that later added a secondary school as well.

Now let's take a closer look at some of the details of this school:

First, the school's motto "Labor Conquers All Things". This reminded me of the phone conversation Tee had with his uncle:

On my first watch, this sounded familiar to me but I couldn't really place why. It wasn't until I saw this other Tumblr post (X) that pointed out it's similar to a bible quote from the New Testament. The quote varies a bit depending on which version of the bible you're using but it's along the lines of, "He who does not work, neither shall he eat".

This is meant to discourage "laziness". Nevermind the fact that people deserve to eat simply because we get hungry and need food to survive. The idea that we only "deserve" things based on productivity is an extremely colonial one. — Reminder also that Tee is being forced into this "work" in the first place. He's just a high school kid. I don't need to like his character to understand how fucked up his situation is.

Then there's the patron of the school. St. Louis de Montfort was a French Catholic priest most known for his study in Mariology. What is Mariology (X)? The study of Mary, the mother of Jesus. I didn't know that was a thing but it's unsurprising considering how prominent images of Mary were in my own religious upbringing. And she's what started me down this rabbit hole in the first place. Mary is a big deal to the Catholics. I'm going to be paying even more attention now if more Mary imagery pops up.

The Garden of Eden and Original Sin

Now I want to draw attention to these images:

Screenshots from ep. 7

Here we have Non and Phee biting into an apple as they leisure around this lush green field. We know they've visited this location more than once because they're wearing different outfits in the screenshots. And I think it's important to note that it's Phee holding the apple and offering it to Non.

The use of the word "bait" in the bts of ep. 7 is quite interesting too. (X)

The Garden of Eden was the paradise in which Adam and Eve resided. In this garden, there were many trees to eat from. The one tree Adam and Eve were forbidden by God to eat from was the Tree of Knowledge. A serpent (Satan), first tempted Eve into taking from the tree to eat it's fruit. And then Eve gave the fruit to Adam. That is Original Sin. And because Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, all humans thereafter are born sinful and bad, and can only find salvation through God.

Of course in the scene between Phee and Non, the sin the apple represents is being gay. And it's after this, and after the bracelet scene, that Non becomes involved with Por's film and his tragedy begins.

Zoomed in screenshot from ep. 5

And I wonder if the bracelet scene is the last time Phee and Non visit this forest location. It would parallel how Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden once they sinned.

Final Thoughts

You give me a story that criticizes Western religion and how it's used as a tool for oppression and colonization, and I'm gonna eat that shit up. I am gonna eat it up. Every. Single. Time.

I really wasn't expecting anything like this from Dead Friend Forever. This level in attention to detail is unmatched. I don't think I've watched a more well planned out show. And no matter where DFF goes from here, these seven episodes will always hold a special place in my heart. 💗

[bloop-bl00p]

Re-imagining the Extermination

TW: There’s like one image I could consider disturbing and such

Remember when back in the day before the series aired how the Exorcists were so hyped? They were this unavoidable threat looming over the heads of the characters, a reminder that if Charlie doesn't succeed in redemption, all of these characters will have to go years and years preparing themselves for a massacre and inevitably die a second time.

Then when we get to see them in the show a bit earlier than expected here how they act…

Maybe I hyped them too much.. I expected them to be fierce soldiers led by Michael or something.

The thing is, we don’t know what are the Exorcists yet, Adam said he named Vaggie (and probably the rest of the girls) but she’s still Salvadoran, which is really confusing. Hopefully, we’ll get more answers, my personal guess is that Viv is going to go with fan theories that they are humans. That can be interesting but if they are that doesn't explain why they thought themselves invincible.

I created something completely different, basing myself on multiple religious texts as always, I intend to make more posts about my rewrite of characters I drastically changed, and possibly one about Heaven. It’s gonna be long because I crammed a lot of information.

I. Why kill sinners?

Souls are powers, the more it sins, the stronger the 7 Deadly Sins get.

Hell started traditionally as a pit of fire and desolation, when The Seven Sins discovered they could get stronger through the humans, they completely reshaped Hell’s society and influenced Earth with the help of Hellborns.

Mammon is pretty much the reason why we live in a capitalistic society, as Greed is at the center of almost everything (The love for money is described as be Root of All Evil in the Bible.) So his influence on Earth was mirrored to create the Hellaverse we all know.

In Hell, Hellborns, rather than physically torture the Sinners, tempt and trap them in toxic lifestyles. Back in the day, Sinners could have access to the other Rings and indulge in a wide range of vices. Heaven noticed it and reacted immediately to prevent Lucifer’s rise in power and avoid a potential war. They came up with the Extermination and wisely decided to set this up at a very specific time.

You see, around the 16th century Lilith was expecting and she reached her 5 months of pregnancy for the first time in 6000 years. She was cursed by God after fleeing Eden, and all of her pregnancies usually end in miscarriage. Furthermore, she suffered ten times harder than any other woman.

So that's when they forced Lucifer to comply with their deals. He didn't want his wife to be in the middle of a war so he accepted. The deal essentially was that Angels could come to his kingdom once a year to kill as many people as possible, but if they dared to attack a Blue Blood he would bite back.

To diminish the amount of destruction that would be caused by the Exorcists all Sinners are confined to the Pride Ring as they are the main targets. But between us, if you’re a Hellborn and find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time you’re dead.

Royalties are the only ones spared from the massacre, they picked a relatively weak type of angel to do the dirty work so the Exorcists aren’t even remotely strong enough to kill one of the 72 Lesser Keys, only lower ranks demons and sinners.

II. The Exorcists

The Watchers:

Over the few angels sent to observe humans' expansion, a considerably large amount of them have been exposed to Lucifer’s deviant ideologies and were inspired to follow The Traitor’s ideal and defy God’s plan. 200 of them put these doctrines into motion and their Heavenly Light got tainted by one sin, Lust.

They fell in love with the women on Earth and shapeshifted to marry those they lusted after, causing the birth of wicked creatures between Celestial beings and humankind, the Nephilim. Their second sin was to reveal forbidden knowledge to be viewed as deities unleashing Chaos and wars between humans (you know when we fight to know which God is stronger/real).

God put an end to this and sent Archangels who banished these 200 Watchers to Hell. To ensure that the rest of humanity wouldn’t be corrupted by their children, God flooded the Earth-saving few humans deemed as virtuous (Noah and his family weren't the only ones.)

The Watchers that remained were ripped off a considerable amount of their powers. They got disfigured to ensure the failure of any tentative seduction, and each of them is kept on a tight leash in Heaven unable to access most parts of Heaven without authorization and supervision.

The Birth of Exorcists:

Misael grew disdain for those of their kind who rebelled against the Lord as their trust and love for the Almighty was endless.

This loyalty permitted them to become the next leader of the Watcher after the betrayal of the former chief. The Watchers, alongside them, grew all bitter toward demons and their sinful siblings, a bitterness that turned into hatred for their peers.

When Misael heard the words of a possible uprising, they proposed an annual extermination as a last resort and a way for the Watchers to pay for the sins of their siblings. Which got accepted.

Few details about Misael:

→ Miseal means normally ‘As God is’ but my thought process was that Misia in Greek means ‘hate’ and they hate demons. I just added the ‘El’ syllabus of God.

→ Their voices are surprisingly soft, a bit like Blue Diamond, it almost make you forget that they are about to slice your throat open. They have this habit of reassuring sinners saying that their suffering is coming to an end.

III. Appearance:

Exorcists are lepers and constantly in pain, they were removed from their ability to shapeshift.

Today Leprosy is curable but before modern medicine, it was considered a divine punishment since they had no treatment. There are instances in the Bible where God punishes people by turning them into a leper.

They usually wear bandages to cover their face and this isn't even near how horrible their condition can get. The entirety of their body is sick and they wear large loose clothes to cover them, below the fabric they are still covered with bandages. The halo is in reference to the Crown of Thorns of Jesus, the Romans put it on his head as a form of humiliation. The Watchers used to have normal haloes but they aren't worthy of it anymore.

They are very much recognizable in Heaven as they are the only ones wearing black, to signify their loss of purity and kinda to represent their mourning for their Fallen siblings and the souls they are taking in Hell.

During the Exterminations, they wear silver masks, and Misael wears a golden one since they are the leader. They withhold close-range weapons as a reminder that they are taking lives.

The sun in the center of their armor is a reference to God (a symbol I created for my story) it’s in reference to the Morningstar trying to overcome the Sun.

I got lazy, I haven’t drawn anything in months, so I’m probably gonna re-draw this. I forgot a few details.

IV. Details

→ Each beginning of Extermination is announced by the sounds of Seven Trumpets playing at the same time.

→ They have to make the death as quick and painless as possible.

→ A list of names and ways of identification such as pictures is given to each of the Exorcists so they know who they should approach with caution. They can die, it may not be common but it’s still a possibility. Usually, they target Overlords as their activities in Hell make people sin more and more.

→ They have no right to kill anyone belonging to the Royalty, they don't have enough powers to. Any demons they encounter on the street however must be killed regardless of their status as hellborn or sinners.

→ They can affect technology, Hell has no natural light source as it’s the only place Gods do not pay attention. During the Exterminations, the electricity is completely shut down, the only source of light is the Heaven portals which disorient the sinners because it’s blinding.

→ Exorcists are killable, but usually when faced with 12-foot soldiers you back away. While they do wear armor that completely covers them if they get hurt somehow, they’ll regenerate unless it’s an angelic steel.

The only part that isn't protected is the base of their wings so with the right weapons you could cut it. Guns are also a possibility but their wings are big enough to be used as a shield (76 feet, I did the math.)

→ It’s rare but some Exorcists lose their weapons when facing sinners who fight back.

[fishgirl514]

hey guys, can we talk about the cover art of this series??

i only looked at this up close for the first time when making my silly pucca comparison post, and i realized mi-ae has taken a bite of the apple, and is offering it to cheol. WHY ARE WE DOING CATASTROPHIC BIBLE SYMBOLISM IN MY CUTE LIGHTHEARTED ROMANCE???

this filled me with a sense of dread the moment i saw it. what the FUCK does this imply??? and then it hit me almost immediately.

throughout the entire series, the narrator occasionally pops in to make an endearing comment about how 16 is a special age for certain silly immature experiences. the characters are living through their teenage youth. it is never said, but you can’t help but infer the temporality of this time in their lives. it is passing with every moment, and someday the teenage paradise will be gone. they will leave the garden of eden.

the only question is, when cheol and mi-ae leave their garden of eden, will they leave each other behind? i WISH i could say no, but the narration from the first few chapters describing cheol as someone mi-ae “will never forget”, that’s not something you say about someone currently in your life.

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

PRINCE OF POISON

《Dick Grayson Nightshade Au x Reader HEADCANONS》

Civilian Dick Grayson, a circus boy who lost his parents and was taken in by Poison Ivy. Becoming.. Deadly Nightshade.

In this Au: I can definitely see Nightshade Dick using his more flirtatious side. Mostly learning from Poison Ivy.

He too can kiss people and make them do his bidding! 

His appearance is very beautiful, often being seen as a fairy-prince type of style. A crown of thorns adoring his head,

Often given the nickname Prince of Poison as a joke by the Sirens of Gotham. Which he uses the nickname with pride. 

Leaning into a more gentleman vilian.

Civilian Dick living that cottage-core lifestyle, graduated with top marks in chemistry and environmental studies.

A sweet florist with his own little cute shop, often crafting each flower in a garden hidden away under the shop.

Customers love the shop, but it's often empty due to odd hours, people never really telling when it's open or not.

Yandere Nightshade Dick would try to manipulate his darling with spores and pheromones to mess with their hormones. Often thinking their in love, that they are the obsessive one. Unless they have bad allergies and could die from the pollen, which he can't do. He doesn't wanna kill them.

-

Yandere Mini Fic At Bottom.

-

"Ya know.. I've never actually thought about your shops name." You said loosely, smiling at the few white tulips sitting by the cashier counter.

"Whatcha mean?" Richard, or Dick, (He would beg you to call him his nickname. Which you didn't think you were close enough for.) (He tolerates it, not wanting to seem pushy, so his perfect image wouldn't wilt in your eyes.)

" "Eden." Just like that garden in the Bible right?"

"Yeah, I love the pun, besides, I pay tribute for a close family member of mine."

"That's sweet of you," you hum, glancing at the clock near the door.

"Adam and Eve right? I think?" You say sparingly, listening to Dick hum in agreement.

Unaware of the flowers becoming droopy by your lack of attention.

Some astray viens even creeping up from beyond the counter. Wanting YOU.

Richard, who notices this, grabs his spray bottle, which was filled with water, he quickly sprays them back to their place. But one stem doesn't get the memo, crafting something in its branches.

Dick panics, trying to pull it back. 

"There goes my lunch break." You state sadly, more focused on the time than the crystal clear windows that would show what was happening behind you.

A soft tap takes away your attention, staring at a wide eyed Richard Grayson, who was halfway leaning over the counter. Holding a bright red, juicy apple.

"H-here, I packed extra?" He said a little less smoothly than he wanted.

You, who notices his behavior, stares at the apple skeptically.

"You didn't poison it right? Cause I don't know any prince charming to wake me." You said dryly.

Richard smiles sweetly, his eyes closed. Hidden away so you wouldn't see his rage.

"Trust me, I didn't, I don't wanna kill my favorite customer."

"I haven't bought anything from here. You drag me in hear with your flowery words.." You say plainly.

"My soon to be- Favorite customer," The florist stretches out his hand once more. 

You, cautiously, take the apple. "Thanks, Richard." You wave goodbye, walking out of the shop. Taking a small bite on your way out.

"No problem.. My Eve."

-

[Should I make a bat boys villian series?? Anyway thank you for reading! Let me know what yall think!]

[More Prince of Poison!]

[farfromstrange]

Carpe Noctem [Chapter One]

ONE: “All these spindly roots”

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Nun!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Religious imagery & symbolism, mentions of rehab, crisis of faith, mentions of blood, the typical "animal attacks" aka vampire attacks, mentions of childhood trauma, stalker vibes at the end, Dead Dove Do Not Eat (the entire series)

Chapter Summary: You return to Clinton Church for the first time since Father Lantom saved your life, but what you first believed as an opportunity to start over reveals itself as a mountain of secrecy you have yet to uncover. Needless to say, your first week as a sister at Saint Agnes leaves you with more questions than answers, and an impending sense of darkness coming to get you.

Word Count: 6.8k

A/n: I finally got this done! I started with 3k words and it doubled in size. But I suppose it is enough to set the scene a little. We will certainly be diving deeper in a short while...

Read Me On AO3!

Sunlight streams through the colorful mosaic of stained glass. Red fades into magenta and violet, and blue fades into yellow. Innocence is a fleeting concept in this modern-day garden of Eden, and salvation remains merely a whispered promise. 

Centuries rest on the shoulders of those hallowed walls; the knees of countless worshippers have left indentations on the wooden benches, too many to count, even, but a tragic beauty remains in the art of architecture that stands tall amidst worn-down brownstones in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. 

Catholics believe in the Devil. He preys on the innocent and makes them eat their souls like Eve bit the apple. He corrupts them, slowly, passionately, and intimately until they have nothing left. Then, and only then, does he take them by the hand, and he drags their lifeless bodies down to the fiery pits of hell. 

You once danced with him. You met him, and you were charmed by him. You shared a bed with him. You loved him. But then the snake whispered about the forbidden fruit, and you had to taste it. You were already broken when he found you. You were shattered glass on white marble floors, bleeding wine into the cracks. The serpent didn’t have to try—you fell hard and fast for his blatant corruption. A silver tongue whispering the sweet promise of salvation to a broken soul, but you never saw the end of it.

Three years you spent surrounded by brick walls and sycamore trees. It was ironic, really. You, the least catholic person to have ever breathed, confined to the walls of a nunnery. For three years, you prayed your knees bloody, yet three years later, it still feels like you learned nothing at all. 

You professed your first vows shortly after you returned to New York. It is a vivid memory. You thought you would never see the city again, not after everything the cold and dark streets put you through, but it was the only place willing to give you something to live for. To survive for.

The cold of the marble stairs before the altar will forever remain etched into your skin. Candlelight reflected in your eyes. When you lifted your gaze, you remember, you met the hollow eyes of Mary as she looked down on you. Like her inanimate features were suddenly overcome by a wave of shame for you. Her hands were clasped in prayer, as most of her statues are. A figure from thousands of retellings forever cast in stone. She was given no choice, but neither were you.

The church was alight with the wonders of early spring the day you took your first vows. Yet, when you met the dead eyes of the Virgin Mary, a shadow cast over her pale features like a widow’s dark veil. The sun disappeared behind a set of clouds with the promise of rain, and the kaleidoscope of colors from the stained glass faded into gray. The walls around you resembled more of an asylum, the priest before you reciting a Bible verse you still fail to remember even to this day. You weren’t listening. A voice was calling for you, and the darkness threatened to possess you with its magic.

The longer you stared at the statue, the more the stories set into the church’s window started to come to life. A window to the soul of Christianity: Mary and Jesus, and the apostles, and Judas betraying Jesus; God’s son dying on the cross for all of our sins before rising and ascending to heaven. Judas was greedy, or so they say. He gave up his friend for money, and in return, they both suffered. 

The serpent that tempted Eve crawled out of the glass and toward you, the original sinner. Every story played like a bad movie before your eyes, coming at you inhumanly fast. The voice in the back of your mind kept getting louder, and louder and louder as it called your name. 

Your sins hung above your head like a guillotine, the very fruits of your labor you had to bear far too young. A daughter, not a son. An inconvenience to those who bore you. You were forsaken from the start, you were told, and the day you took your first vows to become a child of God after being no one’s daughter for most of your life, the walls of the church seemed to know that even after hours of confessing all of your sins to the priest, no Hail Mary could ever take them away. They would always be there until the day you die. You could have done penance until your knees were bloody—you would always be a sinner in the eyes of the church. 

You had the Devil inside you, they said. Because you let him inside. And he did not hesitate to steal your virtue from the source, forever tainting the well of your innocence. 

“In the presence of God, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and all the saints, I humbly offer myself to His service,” you recited on those marble steps, but the shadow only continued to grow around you, wrapping its black wings around you. The fallen angel. Was it you or the Devil? 

The people around you disappeared. You weren’t taking your vows that day; you were standing trial in front of God and all his disciples who came before you. You were taking a stand, and only the jury could decide if you were worthy of your title. 

“I vow to embrace the holy virtues of chastity, poverty, and obedience, following in the footsteps of our Lord Jesus Christ and the teachings of the Holy Scriptures,” you said. “I promise to submit myself to the will of God and commit to live out these vows faithfully all the days of my life. Always.”

Amen.

You lay your broken soul bare, cuffing yourself to the congregation with unbreakable steel and throwing away the key. And there remained the voice, calling for you from the threshold to the darkness.

You thought you could ignore it. Until you returned to Hell’s Kitchen. 

Until him.

Your heels drag over the stone floors of the seemingly endless hallway stretching through Clinton Church. The walls look different when you’re not running. When you can breathe without yearning for means of self-destruction that set fire to your lungs. 

When you asked Father Lantom if you could come back to Clinton Church, he didn’t hesitate. You were unsure what it would be like. The last time you were here, the circumstances that led you into the arms of the empathetic priest were anything but conventional. The memories you have since tied to this place are a conflict between reaching your breaking point and begging for someone, anyone, to help you, and the overwhelming guilt that came with committing the worst of crimes, and a cardinal sin.

You were not a woman of God. You doubt you were a human being at all. If anything, you were a puppet. 

Father Lantom said three years ago, “When you feel ready to take your first vows, come back. I will always have a room waiting for you.” And come back, you did—for he was the one who held your hand when you were falling into an abyss headed for certain death. When you were covered in blood and feared you would burn in hell, the past came back to haunt you with pitchforks and execute you at the stake for the entire town to see. He was there, and in that moment you knew you could not disappoint him. It was then you first started believing in the idea of God.

You gaze down at your habit. The tunic, the cincture, and the veil. You have never been more dressed up, yet you have never felt more naked in the eyes of another man. The fear of judgment for choosing a path you once thought you would only pick over your dead body is rooted so deeply within you that it nails you to an invisible cross. 

“Three years,” the priest breaks the silence. You look over at him, walking beside you as he leads you around the hidden corners you’re not yet familiar with. 

You nod. “Three years,” you repeat. “Doesn’t feel like that long ago.”

Sensing your conflict and the underlying insecurity that renders you speechless a lot of the time, Father Lantom clears his throat. “You look…better,” he says.

“Thank you, Father. My time at St. Anne’s was very… self-reflective. I learned a lot.”

“Good. I’m proud of you.”

Your wide eyes snap back up at him. Oh. 

Pride is not the word you would have used. Proud of you, he said. He sent you away to cleanse your soul, and most days you are not sure if it even worked, but he is proud of you. The man who only knows the worst version of you looked at you and saw good instead of evil. It is a concept that had once been so foreign to you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“For what?” he asks.

“This. Everything.” You shrug. “I wasn’t sure if you still wanted me here, so hearing you say that…it means a lot to me.”

“I promised you would always have a room here if you chose to come back.”

There is so much sincerity in his voice. In his eyes. You swallow thickly, feeling the tears burn behind your eyes. You don’t want to cry in front of him, but the words die miserably on your tongue. Instead, you nod. You just hope your eyes manage to convey what you want to say.

The priest leads you to a door that connects the church with the grounds of the orphanage next door. “You will be living with the other sisters at Saint Agnes,” he tells you. The change of subject is welcome. “After we had to close our convent because Tony Stark could not be bothered to fund our restoration, all postulants who have since wanted to join our order were sent to study at St. Anne’s. Like you. But most of them stayed there,” his tone changes slightly into hurting. “They offer a lot more than we can. Donations can only get us so far, and we barely get those anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” you cut in. 

He sighs, waving your concern off with the flick of his wrist. “We make due, and now that you’re here… well, the sisters are going to appreciate the extra help.” Father Lantom puts on another smile like you would put on your veil. “We don’t have any separate living quarters, unfortunately,” he states, “so your room is a floor above the children’s dormitories. Sister Grace offered to show you around.”

“Sister Grace?”

“She’s the one in charge.”

Your eyes flick back to the walls you’re passing. Intricate details are carved into the stone even here, far away from the chapel. These hand-made masterpieces breathe a certain eeriness into the church. Not just life but a certain wave of mystique because even the stories from the bible are left open for interpretation, especially when they are turned into art. 

A sense of doom falls over you like a dark cloud. “Does she know?” you ask. 

Father Lantom raises his eyebrows. He studies your features. Your chin tipped toward the ceiling, observing. He notices the gentle shift in your breathing pattern as your heartbeat speeds up, and when you meet his eyes again after an agonizing bout of silence, he smiles at you once again. 

“Sister Grace?” he inquires. You nod. “Well,” he says, “She does know. She’s the abbess. I had to let her in when I told her you were coming here, but I assure you, she swore to the utmost discretion.”

You breathe out. The weight rests heavily on your chest. “And everyone else?” You turn back to him. 

The Father shakes his head. His eyes are so gentle. “It’s not my story to tell,” he says. “If there’s one thing I learned after years of talking to people—taking their confessions, listening to their fears, their anger, and their pain—it’s that we all suffer. We all have things we’d rather not talk about.”

The words penetrate your heart like a sharp dagger. 

“And as humans, we tend to often see our burdens as sins, even if those apparent sins hurt us, or we had to commit them to protect ourselves from getting hurt. And sometimes, hurt people do stupid things. Objectively stupid, that is. It doesn’t mean we are going to hell for doing what it takes to survive. People suffer, and most of the time, that suffering doesn’t stop. That’s the truth,” he says. “Now, a lot of these people come to confession because they think it will give them a clear conscience, which it does, momentarily. They believe that God will make the pain go away with the snap of his omniscient fingers. A few Hail Marys, a few extra hours at Sunday mass, and your burdens will be dealt with. That is not the truth. Confession is not therapy because penance does not heal decades of trauma. If that were how it works, we would collapse from overcrowding.”

Father Lantom breaks off with a chuckle, but you can’t find amusement in his wisest insight. It’s real, too real. You can’t even muster a pity smile. 

“Why do we do it then?” you ask. 

“Do you want the Catholic answer or my personal opinion?”

“If those don’t intersect, I’ll choose the latter. Please.”

He takes a moment. “Well, confession works as a tool,” he explains then. “God knows the difference between an actual sin and human nature. Sometimes, these two are the same, but a lot of the time, there is a big difference, and He knows that. Confession helps regain balance where you’re standing with your faith. That’s why we do it. Because faith… faith can be a strong motivator. That’s why a lot of us—sisters, priests, and… and monks—are here now. Because we found a passion and a purpose in devoting ourselves to God. It’s not for everyone, of course, but it is a clean slate if you want it to be. Whether you tell the other sisters about why you chose this path, is up to you. Not me. Because that trauma is yours, and yours alone.”

The silence stretches between you, long, longer, as the church holds its breath. You absorb every word and every breath of his like a sponge. You swallow them. A bitter pill, that’s what it is. It goes down like hard liquor. 

You walk a few more steps in that silence with his eyes on you and the world on fire within. “Father,” you whisper. The sound is not more than that. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. And this time, you smile at him.

Behind the door that leads to the orphanage, another hallway awaits. The walls smell faintly of moss—nature but a bit rotten. A woman in a similar habit makes her way toward the two of you from the end of the hall. She carries herself with a quiet air of authority. You can’t look through her. 

Father Lantom may have vouched for Sister Grace and her discretion, but her judgment is not his to determine. She is her own woman, with thoughts only she can determine. You’re not sure if you are ready for that, either. 

He greets her with a smile. “Sister Grace,” he says.

“Father. Good morning,” at him, she smiles. 

He nudges you forward. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Her gaze shifts to you then. “The uniform is unmistakable.” She nods. “Welcome, Sister.”

It’s a start, a small step towards finding your place within these hallowed walls. 

“Thank you, Sister,” you reply. “It’s nice meeting you.”

“Likewise. Though it’s been a while since we had someone new here. So young, too.”

“I know. Father Lantom mentioned. I’ll try my hardest not to disappoint you.”

She nods. “Let’s get you settled into your room first before we worry about that. I believe Father Lantom has mass to prepare.”

Father Lantom gives you a reassuring nod. “I’ll leave you in Sister Grace’s capable hands. And remember, you are not alone. If you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to come and find me.” With that, he turns and makes his way back through the door you came from, leaving you with your fellow sister and a lump in your throat.

She leads you down the corridor. “This way,” she says. “Your room is above the children’s dormitories. Second floor. You’ll find it quiet enough for reflection but close enough to be of help when needed.”

Her tone suggests that you will be plenty busy, no matter where your room is in the building. More work means less time to think, and less time with your thoughts sounds like a blessing.

As you follow her, the faint sounds of children playing filter through the walls. It’s a comforting contrast to the silence you’ve grown accustomed to. 

Sister Grace opens a door to a narrow staircase, and you both begin to climb. “The other sisters will be eager to meet you,” she says over her shoulder.

You nod, even though she can’t see you. “I am, too,” you answer.

At the top of the stairs, she leads you down another hallway, then finally stops at a simple wooden door. “This one...will be your room.” She pushes it open to reveal the small space behind, connected to a window with a clear view of the adjacent cemetery. “I admit, it is a little scarce,” Sister Grace says, “but you are more than welcome to add a few personal touches; pictures, curtains, maybe even a plant or two. Don’t worry, Father Lantom encourages it.”

The wooden floorboards creak beneath your weight as you step inside. You look around. A single bed, neatly made with crisp white linens and a worse-for-wear mattress occupies one corner of the room, a crucifix nailed above the headrest, and casting a faint shadow on the aged plaster walls. On the other side, a desk and a wardrobe offer some storage space that leads to a second door—the bathroom. It is scarce, but you came here with nothing but a cardboard box filled with your hopes and dreams and books and diaries; people have built homes from less. 

“Our shared kitchen is downstairs. Feel free to store your food in the fridge, but don’t forget to label the containers if you don’t wish to share.” Sister Grace pauses, chuckling softly as her hazel eyes meet yours. “You wouldn’t believe it, but even nuns can be picky eaters, and very territorial about snacks.”

You smile, but your attempt at kindness falls into artificiality. “Thank you.”

“Nonsense. We look after each other around here.”

There has to be more to it, surely. Innocent may be a construct, but most of the sisters in the community were born into their faith. They started studying from a young age, always destined to dedicate themselves to the cause. You were far from religious before destiny found you dying in the flames of your old life. Whether destiny or a curse befell you that night remains open for interpretation. You have seen it both ways. An opportunity arose. You received a second chance from a very nice man, but the price to pay was your soul sacrificed to a God you once thought you would never believe in. 

Do you have faith or do you not? It is a loaded question. You think you do. You want to know you do too, but you are never fully certain. In the eyes of God, you are a loyal soldier who studied the scriptures and did her due diligence praying for penance, but when you look in the mirror, all you see is Judas. 

A heavy breath ripples through you. “You didn’t have to let me in,” you whisper. “Father Lantom didn’t have to offer me refuge, but he did. And you’re not judging me even though you have all right to… I just don’t understand.”

Her answer is a shrug. “When you were desperate,” says the sister, “God led you to us, and you found refuge at the church like so many before you. I don’t believe that was a coincidence.”

You were covered in blood when you came—your hands stained with the essence of another man’s life, clothes torn beyond recognition. You can still feel his hands on you, wandering, lurking… The crimson had seeped into the fine lines of your palms. It took you days to get rid of it, and weeks more to scrub the last remains from under your fingernails down the drain. 

You grapple with their decision. “I, uh… I wasn’t sure. At St. Anne’s, they treated me like an outsider. Because I didn’t grow up Catholic, and—”

“And you found your faith in rehab?” Sister Grace smiles knowingly. “Trust me, it happens so often that it no longer comes as a surprise.”

“But there is still judgment. There will always be judgment,” you insist.

She takes your words into account, nodding. They digest for a brief moment until she breaks into a soft chuckle—a mere breath from her full-moon lips. 

“A small piece of advice, if I may?” she asks. You hum. “If you spend all your time here questioning whether God has forgiven you for your sins, your lack of faith in the Lord, as tiny as it may be, will always stand between you and taking your final vow. And if you keep worrying about the judgment of anyone other than God, you won’t find happiness.”

You vowed to dedicate your life to religious service, and if you don’t close the last period of your study after taking temporary three vows with a solemn declaration to give up even the last of your possessions then the gap between you and God will be too big for you to ever be anything but a simple sister of the congregation. 

But is that what you want? To close that gap and give yourself fully to a higher power? It would be a live sacrifice, you knew that from the start.

You believe in God and the Devil, and you believe in eternal damnation. And you believe that you are damned, too. Doomed, forsaken, and cursed. A scratched record. God’s wrath is not a match for the fear you instill in yourself; your mere existence is maddening. 

You are drowning in a darkness you were born with, and possessed by demons you never learned how to exorcize. Not even studying a newfound faith in God to get on the right path could get rid of the monsters that are not lurking under your bed or in the shadows but in the dark corners of your mind.

The beast inside of you has gone to sleep, but God knows that he is a ticking time bomb, even in a comatose state. The Devil has planted his seed—all these spindly roots growing from your soul to the pit of your stomach, digging their claws into your fragile heart and tearing you to shreds. The protective poison ivy you grew over the years can only last so long without water before it starts to wither. 

You look over your shoulder when the door shuts gently behind Sister Grace as she leaves you be. 

The cardboard box on your desk holds an abundance of scriptures, books, and leather-bound diaries. Your diaries. They told you that writing your feelings on paper would help you heal. If you crave something you know you should and cannot have, you should write it down; you have been for years now, but with every pen wasted and every diary hidden in compartments around your room so no one can find them, the words you write turn into firewood, and your tears are the gasoline. 

Outside, the wind brushes through the trees. It beckons you, its tendrils creeping into your consciousness like creatures of the night reaching for the last flickers of light.

With a heavy heart, you flip open the worn-down leather. Seconds turn into minutes turn into hours turn into days. Knees turn bloody from praying, and the joy of one child’s happiness dies at the hands of another’s trauma. 

Dear Diary, 

Yesterday, the groundskeeper dug another hole in the cemetery. Father Lantom will officiate the funeral on Sunday. Another addition to the bones and rotting corpses hiding under a shield of dirt, but does anyone know what happens after? 

I tried to ask the Father, but he didn’t give me a satisfying answer. He told me what he thought I wanted to hear, but I did not. I can’t help but wonder if he is protecting me or keeping secrets. The latter would be highly unethical, I suppose. 

Other than maintaining a religious belief in heaven or hell or rebirth while we are alive, what does happen to us after we die? Is it definite? Is it infinite or is there something else, something... more? 

Is it the Devil? Is it God? Or is it heaven and hell? 

And why do they keep digging holes in the cemetery? The children keep asking me every day, but I do not know how to answer them. 

Dear Diary, where do we go when it is all over?

The clinking of porcelain and cutlery emerges from the kitchen like a mushroom cloud. As you approach the dining room through a long hallway, the soft soles of your vinyl shoes barely make a sound. The voices inside overlap, but a few rise from the masses, demanding your attention. Like a moth to a flame, you fly toward it. 

“…and they found another one this morning. Washed up on the river banks after the storm last night,” one of the sisters whispers to another. 

“It’s been fifteen this month alone,” another one says.  

“What kind of animal does that?” a third cuts in.

“The kind that isn’t an animal,” says the nun you now recognize as Sister Marjorie, the oldest of the bunch. “It happens every two months for twenty years that bodies wash up on the shore, supposedly mauled by a bear or a baboon in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen, and then the city grows quiet again. I’ve been here for forty-five years, and it still happens like clockwork.”

The one next to her sighs. “Well, maybe it’s the changing climate. Lord knows it has humans and animals going crazy alike.”

“Can’t you see?” Marjorie raises her voice. “These aren’t the actions of an animal. It’s the Devil!” 

It seems as though the mere thought puts the fear of God in them—your fellow sisters, usually so strong and collected, reduced to whispers of the rumor mill as the color fades from their skin. 

Sister Grace clicks her tongue, interrupting them all at once. “That’s enough,” she says, trying to remain calm but there is still a sense of urgency in her voice. It’s not an exclamation but a well-concealed warning. Behind that façade hides a leader you would not want to cross twice. 

Only one of Sister Marjorie’s eyes finds you standing there, eavesdropping like a misbehaving child. The other remains unmoving, caged in by a white scar across her cheek and an iris made of glass. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Animal attacks?” you dare to ask. 

Heads snap toward you. The table falls speechless, compelled into a sudden silence by your presence. The world stops turning. 

“Oh, dear, don’t you worry about that,” Sister Grace, the first to find her voice again, reassures you. She ushers you from the doorway to the table, but the eyes of your fellow sisters suddenly feel like tiny needles all over your skin. “It’s just idle gossip,” she says, shooting the others a glare, “nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

But the silence starts to wrap around your neck like a noose regardless. Curiosity is only appreciated when they can answer it, you have learned. In the eyes of God, lying is a sin, and you spend each day teaching the children to believe the same, but is omitting not essentially the same as lying? 

They’re scared. They don’t want to admit it; no one does. Fear does not fit under the veil of ignorance, so they try concealing it as idle gossip. The rumor mill is always spinning, and it is an outstanding excuse, but you will never forget the look in Marjorie’s eyes when you dared to ask—dared to question. 

A thud from outside causes you to sit upright in your bed later that evening. The springs that are digging into your lower back creak when you move so suddenly. 

Through the window, you can see the cemetery hulled into a fog where cold and warm air meet for the night. You put the children to bed, got them dressed in their pajamas, brushed their teeth, and told the little ones a bedtime story. They like it when you do it. Something about the way you tell them fascinates their little minds, so it has become a ritual in the week you have been here. 

The more it strikes you as odd that there is noise outside. After bedtime, no one is supposed to be out and about, and if a sister has something to do out of schedule, they have to share it with the group. For safeguarding reasons, they told you. 

Against your better judgment, you roll out of bed and into your slippers, wrapping a cardigan around your body. Your nightgown is not the warmest thing to wear on these cold walls unless it is under a thick wool blanket. 

The door creaks when you open it. Father Lantom gave you a flashlight a few nights ago because he asked you to take care of something on the church grounds for him after the sun had set, so you kept it. You weren’t sure if you would still need it. Thankfully, you did.

You follow the noise to the back door one floor below. It leads out into the backyard, and a few more feet east, a fence and a gate separate the many acres of the cemetery from the rest of the church’s grounds. 

The flashlight illuminates the path before you. “If it’s another stupid raccoon, I swear…” you mutter to yourself. It wouldn’t be the first time one of those critters found their way into the trashcans and caused mayhem in the middle of the night. 

Somehow though, it always seems to be you who catches them. The night-owl. The one who is always on guard, always on edge, even when she knows she is safe.

You wander through the backyard, closer to the fence. You tilt your head. There is a small gap in the gate to the cemetery. The fog makes it harder to see. 

“Hello?” you call out into the darkness. Nothing. 

Through the rustling of leaves and the howling of an owl in the woods far beyond Saint Agnes, a small whimper breaks the silence like a hot knife. It is faint, but unmistakable nonetheless. 

You strain your ears. “Oh no,” once again, you curse to yourself. “No, no, no…” 

You follow the sound through the gate and into the cemetery. June Montgomery and her husband share a grave. They died over twenty years ago, but it is still well-maintained by their children and grandchildren. A few steps further though, the infestation of poison ivy begins. 

The graves under the gigantic cherry tree are the most hidden, and the best hiding spots. You had to tell the children many times that the cemetery is not a hiding place, especially not for games, and never alone, even when the gates are open. The general public has access to it during the day, and if they wander too far, they will land on a populated street. It’s dangerous. 

You were so careful. You did everything by the book, and someone still managed to sneak out. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, the wet grass soaking your thin slippers until you come upon a small figure huddled behind one of the bewildered gravestones. Sara Mayfield; she died in 1945. Your sigh resembles a cry of relief. 

“Timmy!” you exclaim. “Thank God!”

He’s curled up into a ball behind the headstone. Tears stream down his cheeks in bottomless rivers. Your flashlight blinds him, and his whimpers escalate to sobs. Your heart shatters at the sight. 

“Hey there, it's okay,” you try to soothe him, crouching beside his tiny figure. “It's just me. Hi. What are you doing out here all alone?” You shed your cardigan, wrapping it around his shoulders. “It’s the middle of the night, sweetheart.”

From what you’ve learned about Timmy, his parents died in a freakish car accident about a year ago. He was in the car when his father fell asleep at the wheel and drove the car into a tree. His mother died instantaneously, but his father bled out right in front of him. He has been receiving therapy ever since he came to Saint Agnes, but he is a troubled child. 

Timmy sniffles, accepting the makeshift blanket. He recognizes you, which is a good sign. “I had a nightmare,” he confesses. “I-I wanted to see the stars, but then I heard a crash, and I got scared.”

You wrap your arms around him. “It’s okay to be scared,” you say. “But you shouldn’t wander off by yourself, especially at night. You should have come to me, or Sister Grace.”

“I’m sorry, Sister.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just glad nothing happened to you.”

His skin is clammy and cold. You don’t know how long he has been out here, but he is also in no state to be questioned. 

“Come on,” you say and lift him into your arms. “Let’s get you back inside.”

Together, you make your way back towards the orphanage. But as you approach the gate, there it is again, that voice. Whispers of nothing in the chilly breeze. The air crackles with a certain, sinister something. A chill runs down your spine, and the back of your skull starts to burn as though someone is watching you. Listening. Lurking. And it is not a raccoon this time.

You set Timmy down on his feet. He whimpers again. “Go to your room. I’ll be right there,” you tell him. 

He looks up at you with his innocent blue eyes. “Promise?” he asks. 

“Yes. Promise.”

The boy lets go of your hand, quickly sneaking back inside. He knows better than to make any more noise. Any other sister would have threatened consequences. But he’s just a traumatized little boy, and the night is dangerous. It’s creepy. Of course, it would only add to childish fear and trauma that has had time to manifest for an entire year.

You turn around when he is safely inside, pointing your flashlight in the direction where you came from. 

You scan the blanket of fog for any sign of movement. And that’s when you see it—a shadowy, obscured figure standing amidst the graves by the woods, behind the cherry tree.

Your breath catches in your throat, the whispers echoing in your mind once more. It could not be your name. It’s something else. Latin, perhaps. What terrifies you most though is that you're not scared; you feel strangely drawn to the figure. 

You hold your breath. The figure tilts its head, and you do the same. Your heartbeat remains eerily steady throughout. You should scream. You should alert everyone that there is something—someone—out there, but they would call you crazy, surely. And maybe you are. No sane person hears voices and sees the darkness as a comforting presence. Not a nun. Not someone who is not supposed to let the Devil win. And what other explanation is there but for the figure to be a phantom of the Devil's making? 

In the blink of an eye, the figure is gone. The hold on your lungs eases, and you gasp for air like a desperate woman.

Instinctively, you turn to the door and usher inside. Timmy is still standing there. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

You shake your head, trying to clear your mind. “Nothing,” you say, but when you lock the door to make sure no one can get in or out, your hands shake. A single drop of sweat runs down your temple. “Come on.”

Inside, you’re freezing. Like a cold hand touched you and set you on fire, but it had claws that let the ice age into your heart, and now you’re poisoned. 

Taking Timmy back to his room, you can’t shake the feeling of unease that gnaws at your insides like a hungry beast. You tuck him in; you check under his bed for monsters, and you lock the windows. It takes a while for him to settle back into sleep, but when he finally does, you leave his room on your tiptoes and close it. 

The other children are all peacefully asleep, and your fellow sisters seem to not have noticed the commotion you caused on your way in. Every door is locked—you check twice. Still, when you get to your room, your hands tremble once again when you use the key for the fragile lock for the first time. 

Fear is not what compels you. Uneasiness, maybe, but not fear. The venom in your veins stems from something else entirely. You can’t explain it. The feeling is familiar somehow, but so foreign at the same time.

You clutch the rosary from the nightstand over your diary, facing the fog you yearn for so desperately. “Foolish, foolish idiot,” you mutter. 

Dear Diary, 

Did I force myself upon God out of… of guilt? Or was it a sign that He led me to Clinton Church that night? I thought penance would wash away my sins, that by dedicating myself to Him, I could erase the past. You know, like magic. But I was so wrong. Father Lantom… He told me that’s not how it works, and Sister Grace… She’s so sure that will stand in my way, and now I can’t help but wonder… Did I study scripture and Catholic rules for the past three years like a mad woman out of faith or because I was trying to make good for something I did by neutralizing myself?

I’m lost. I don’t know the path to righteousness, and I don’t know how to silence this… this darkness inside me. I can hear it calling my name. Every night… I’m scared that I’m not scared enough. I’m a flawed creature; I’m desperate and tired, but I don’t want to disappoint Him. But how can I? 

How do I serve a God I have been lying to from the start, and how the fuck do I fix this?

You squeeze your eyes shut, the pen cracking under the pressure, and the ink bleeds onto the page, over the letters and your broken heart. Your blue fingers wrap around the rosary again as what you have written disappears under the chemical ocean. 

In the heat of the moment, you tear the page out of its confines, but it has tainted all the ones to come. You ruined it like you ruined yourself. The page had been you once, being bled all over by an ink meant to stain for the rest of your miserable life, but you tried to glue it back in place. You tried not to fall apart like your diary just did at your very hands—as everything you touch rots or turns to ashes eventually.

You ball a fist around the paper, tossing it across the room. It hits the window. You catch your runny reflection in the glass. To think you were just looking to be loved, to be seen and forgiven ever since you were a little girl dreaming of being a princess, but instead, you are falling apart. 

But no, you will not let the Devil win. You pull the curtains closed, and you hide the cemetery where it belongs—with the dead, both in heaven and hell and everything in between. The Devil can’t have you because God already does. 

You have to seize the night before it seizes you. Anything else would be, for the lack of a better word, certain suicide. 

Tag List: @luvebugs @mxxny-lupin @1988-fiend @bluestuesday @ghostheartbeat @cheshirecat484 @faesspace (if you want to be tagged or I forgot to tag you, let me know!)

[unclaimed-garbage]

Hazbin’s Biggest Issue

“Why are Earthborn demons the way they are in Hell?”

I recently thought about this and it’s become my biggest issue with the series as a whole. As we know, Hazbin Hotel is a Series with heavy inspiration from Christianity. In the Bible (from what I was taught), Lucifer was a prideful arrogant Angel who thought he could take God’s place; he went down to the Garden of Eden and tempted Eve to take the Forbidden fruit of knowledge. After eating the fruit, Eve gave Adam the forbidden fruit and they were both cast out the garden of Eden. Sometime after or before (I can’t remember which), Lucifer and 1/3 of the angels were cast out of Heaven for going against God. Hazbin does this differently though. Instead, Lucifer falls in love with Lilith after she left/defied Adam and they give the fruit to eve which causes the two of them to be banished.

Here’s where the problems begin to arise. In the pilot, the extermination began due to overpopulation. This isn’t an issue and is actually quite interesting. The main series completely changes this though and instead tells us the exterminations began because of fear of an uprising.

If heaven was so concerned about an uprising, then why are sinners and overlords allowed to have new, powerful forms with new powers? Wouldn’t that make an uprising against Heaven MORE likely than if they were just humans? By giving them powers, the earth born demons have a chance to uprise against heaven if given the chance.

“What about Lucifer and Lilith? Couldn’t they have given the earthborn demons powers?”

Well, to that I have a counter argument. Lucifer in the main series has been shown to have disdain against sinners and overlords and how they’ve abused the gift he sacrificed his whole family for. But I don’t think Lucifer was the one to give them powers. Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to remove or just straight up not GIVE demons powers if he hated the idea of what the earthborn demons have been doing?

Furthermore, I don’t think Lilith was responsible either. Sure, she empowered the demons of hell with song, but if the angels were really that concerned, couldn’t they have just revoked any powers Lilith gave the demons? Or better yet, stop the root of the problem and get rid of Lilith?

If the angels are powerful enough to banish a fellow seraphim down to hell, shouldn’t they be strong enough to undo any possible threats Lilith and Lucifer have caused?

We know where the demons’ appearances come from, but we don’t know why they’re given such appearance and powers. If heaven was worried about an uprising and responsible for deciding whether demons go to heaven or hell, couldn’t they chose to make humans in hell powerless? When you think about it like that, everything begins to fall apart.

Not to mention that it would’ve made more sense that hellborn demons have cool powers instead of the sinners and overlords. Like, what happened to the 1/3 of fallen angels? Did they not fall alongside Lucifer? If so, where did Hellborn demons come from? If 1/3 of the angels had fallen alongside Lucifer, gained more deadly abilities with their fall, and eventually reproduced/evolved, they could eventually split into the hellborn demons we know today. Especially after the extensive time period Hell’s been around for.

TLDR:

Why should earthborn demons have all the cool powers and forms when they’re supposed to be in punishment? If heaven’s so scared of an uprising, they should’ve removed or forced Lucifer and Lilith to get rid of demon powers.

It’d make more sense for Hellborn demons to have the cool powers and forms since they should (theoretically) be fallen angels. Otherwise, where’d they come from?

[sheisjoeschateau]

"...at the Chateau, we'll be alright."

Steve Harrington x Jonathan Byers x fem!reader A crossover au inspired by Saltburn and Call Me by Your Name. Additional inpso from Joe's college theater performance as in Spring Awakening.

Song Inso: "Chateau" by Djo

Strangers to best friends to lovers. Slowburn. Angst, angst, angst. Fluff, fluff, fluff. Hurt/comfort. Romance, with polyamory themes and schemes. Smut with hella plot.

Summary: The reader lives with her parents at a fancy chateau, in France.  This year, her father offers their home as a housing sanctuary to a select student or graduate.  He decides to invite two graduate students to live with their family over the summer, coming from different working class backgrounds, and help with their academic paperwork as a professor of archaeology.

Steve Harrington: a rich kid from a swanky boarding school with a bad boy reputation and too much charm for his own good.  Surprisingly, his grades say otherwise.  A’s and B’s, his parents claim that is seeking one-on-one tutoring so that he can progress in his studies — but it sounds more like an excuse to ship him off for longer periods of time, giving them an out for having their son around during the summer.  The pretty boy’s all about ladies…but that’s only because he hasn’t met a boy who awakens his bisexuality.  Yet.

Jonathan Byers: a kid from the lower working class, excelling in his studies and AP programs at the same boarding school as Steve which he only got into because of community sponsorship and grants.  Quiet wallflower, little to no friends, a bit cynical.  A closeted gay, he’s more determined to stick with being perceived as “ace” than come out of the closet.  Until he goes to stay at a chateau with a handsome boy, and a beautiful girl who understands him.

Twists, turns and terrifying risks, you all put your hearts on the line that summer at the Chateau. Add the reader's cousin Eddie into the mix, along with her best friend Robin, Steve's ex-girlfriend Nancy, Jonathan's estranged mother and your progressive parents alongside Steve's absent parents -- it's a cruel summer.

But here, together at the chateau, you'll be alright.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊ ⋆SNEAK PREVIEW⋆ ⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ This will be another series of mine, dedicated to my boy. Coming soon.

[excerpt from the story]

There was something about the way you twirled in your sundress that reminded Steve of the bible.

He wasn't religious, nor did he think any god truly loved or believed in him. But here, watching you exist in your garden of eden at the Chateau, the good book almost seemed real.

You resembled something otherworldly.  Heavenly, sent straight from above.  Innocent, yet wise.  Kind, yet strong.  Powerful and delicate at the same time.  Your laugh was soft, feminine and pure.  Your spirit was whole.  Your smile blinded him with joy.  Your beauty was divine, angelic and overwhelming.  You were too much…and yet, you could never be enough.

But that wasn’t because you yourself weren’t enough.  No, rather it was because Steve would never be able to get enough of you.  He could never be close enough.  He could never be near you enough.  He could never tell you enough words that would accurately describe the way that you made him feel.  

The word ‘enough’ simply did not apply when it boiled down to you.  

And yet, as Steve swept you up into his arms — discarding his books and his education down onto the lawn, much more driven to study you — holding you felt like that was all that he would ever need for his life to be considered enough.  The feeling of your waist in his grasp, his strong arms circling your petite torso as your hair flew in the wind of the circle he spun you in, felt like a tornado.  A cyclone, sweeping you both off your feet so that it could take you far away from everything and everyone.  You were this fragile flower in his hands, yet unbreakable.  Real, but too good to be true.  A true story, but a fairytale of the mind.

Jonathan saw you this way — but from a more niche, almost platonic point of view.  It was just as codependent, yet approached with more independence and the ability to exist on his own two feet.  He’d do whatever it took to keep you, no matter what the hell that took.  And he knew that to some degree, a pretty scary degree, that he needed you too.  But he was content with the need.  Satisfied, at peace.  Completely grounded, secure.  Unlike Steve, who smiled out of fear and loved with his whole heart on the line.  Because Byers knew how to be alone.  He knew how to rely on himself, fill his own cup even when it was empty — which was all the time.  Byers was the epitome of “I walk alone.”  The human embodiment of solitude.  He preferred your company, your grace and your presence.  It made him better, and stronger — because he’d known prior how to operate without it.

Harrington didn’t.  Harrington needed someone, all the time.  As an only child, the loneliness had suffocated him in his big house with no parents.  He’d had no one to shush the nightmares away, no one to hold him whenever the monsters felt near.  No one to run to and trust with any secret that he had.  No true friend who would listen to his most intrusive thoughts without casting him away.  No girl that wanted him in the ways that he so desperately sought to be loved, not just lusted after.  Until you came along, sheltering him from all his deepest and darkest fears, childhood traumas and the ever-looming possibility of rejection.  He had been a threat to himself, and you put that threat to rest with just a soft brush of your lips against his knuckles and the touch of your tender hands.  

Whereas with Byers, you made him feel seen but not disturbed.  You allowed him to be present without needing to overcompensate.  You granted him refuge, earning his trust with your actions instead of your words.  He didn’t need your touch to calm him.  Rather, he felt steadied by just knowing that you were here.  You knew that touch was never a friend to Jonathan, which is why you never pushed yourself in.  Instead, he found himself drawn to you.  He didn’t recoil at the physical contact made between the two of you.  A hug, a warm embrace that lingered just an extra second or two.  A gentle squeeze of a hand as you shot him a wistful smile.  The most feather-like of kisses pressed to his cheek to say hello, good morning, good evening or goodnight.  It felt…nurturing.  Assuring, fostering.

Out on the outstretched lawn in front of the Chateau, acreage upon acreage, Jonathan watched your hair gleam underneath the golden glow of the setting sun.  He let the Marlboro in his mouth dangle between his teeth, the curriculum resting upon his lap as the scent of nicotine and fresh air filled his senses.  The mixture of it was perfect for the scene laid out before him: Steve spinning you around, his white collared shirt unbuttoned just enough to wear his tie swung in the breeze as he continued swirling you around like a princess.  And when he’d placed you back onto your feet, he peppered every single inch of your face with an obscene amount of stolen kisses as you giggled like the darling that you so effortlessly are.  Jonathan felt his lips tug upwards at the corner, unable to help himself when it came to the two of you.  His shoulder angel and shoulder devil.

He turned the page of his literature books, revealing his unfinished letter that he’d begun writing at lunch in response to his mother.  Joyce had written to him, asking him to tell her everything about the summer.  How was it in France?  What was it like?  Were the hosts kind, was he being polite towards them?  What about you?  Were the two of you getting along, as well as the other student?

Jonathan glanced up from his scribbled cursive, back at the two of you.  Steve was cupping your cheek, placing a flower in your hair with his free hand before moving to cup your other cheek so that he was cradling your face.  His perfect, sharp nose nuzzled to the tip of yours sweetly.  Jonathan felt his heart swell as the two of you turned to look at him with pure love.  Your arms stretched out towards him, along with Steve’s, beckoning him.  Come play with us.  He grinned at you both wholeheartedly, holding up a hand — which you both knew meant he would, just a little longer.  You’d all learned each others’ love languages by now, along with how to communicate through gestures and expressions.  Body language was all of your specialty, in a multitude of ways that no one else could ever possibly understand.  Jonathan didn’t mind that.  It was only meant for the three of you.

Flicking his cigarette, he glanced back down at the incomplete letter he was ready to finish writing for his mother.  He took his pen, letting the ink spill onto the parchment. He'd already written down things earlier, telling her that your parents had taken them in as their own. He wrote about how much your father made him adore his studies in ways he never had before, and how he'd been inspired to help Steve study alongside him as an assistant tutor of sorts. He wrote to her about an Aperol spritz had somehow become the drink of the summer, using fresh citrus from the gardens of your estate, and how it made uncharacteristically sappy. How you and Steve made him that way too, even without the poison coursing through his veins.

Something about them makes me feel like I can, Mom.  I keep asking myself if this all just a dream.  Or maybe, it’s the past?  Not sure.  Either way, just thought I’d ask.  Not because I am seeking the answer, from you or the universe.  Rather, I’m simply existing and letting it all just happen.  C’est la vie.  I know…so very French. Perhaps I'm running a fever. A lovesick sort of fever.

Jonathan grinned down at his writing with wry amusement at himself.  At his life.

He turned over his shoulder, glancing back at the majestic chateau behind him.  Chateau Chalamet.  Your childhood home. His new home, as of that summer…which was dwindling away, day by day.  Every day that passed meant that he had less time.  All of you were losing time.  He sighed, resuming his writing.

I’ll turn back the time whenever this all ends.  In my mind, this will always be a home away from home.  Which is something I never thought I would say.  I’m not really sure what my future holds.  But it doesn’t really concern me at the moment. Now right now. Right now, I'm at the chateau and I feel alright. Love, Jonathan

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[aquaquadrant]

I was wondering if you had an estimated date of when you will post the next HTP chapter?

Like, leaving us on such a cliffhanger must be a crime! It cant be legal!

Anyways, while I wait for it, Ive decided to copy paste every chapter into a doc and mark it up color code style for all my over analyzing needs. It took me an hour but it was worth it.

Have a good week and take care :)

(This is meant to be genuine, not mean or passive aggressive, just so you know. While I indeed am anxiously awaiting Chapter 10 by highlighting the chapters on a doc like that one photo of a bible page that’s highlighted with different colors. This isn’t meant to be mean or pressuring, take your time and take care of yourself)

⬆️(Ah poo, Im an over thinker

hey there, no worries y’all- i love seeing my reader’s enthusiasm and it’s reassuring to see continued interest in the series. i’d been hoping to have BOTH of the final ‘from eden’ chapters done before summer. but i have to admit, progress on the next chapter hasn’t been as forthcoming as i’d expected, for a couple reasons.

the first is health-related. not to be too TMI, but i recently got diagnosed with crohn’s disease. my symptoms started ages ago but have really ramped up in the last couple months, and the diagnosis was a lengthy and involved process (started the hunt back in november, presumptively diagnosed after a colonoscopy in feb, definitively diagnosed when biopsies came back over spring break) and even when i was simply waiting for results, it occupied a lot of my mental capacity. and ofc it happened to line up with me turning 26 and needing new insurance, which has caused lots of delays. anyone dealing with the american health care system while chronically ill will tell you it’s a frustrating, exhausting process. as of right now, i’m still waiting to start treatment 🫠

but honestly, even more than that, the biggest thing stopping me from writing is… me? 😂 so there’s this thing that happens after i post a chapter that’s like… decision paralysis? except it’s just that sometimes, i literally can’t bring myself to start the next chapter. it’s like, i have this unfounded fear that all my writing up until this point has been some magical fluke out of my control, and i’m not capable of ‘pulling it off’ again. i guess you could call it a form of imposter syndrome (which i already encounter enough in my vet school life). it gets worse after posting something that was a particularly massive undertaking or was insanely well-received bc i’m scared i won’t be able to top it- even though the impact of storytelling is supposed to be cohesive, and it’s unrealistic for every chapter to be ‘bigger and better’ (what does that even mean?) than the last one because they serve different purposes at different points in the story. i know this, rationally, but that doesn’t stop the irrational fear of failure from making me avoid writing.

i’m not sharing this to make excuses or garner sympathy, or fish for compliments, and certainly not to make anyone feel guilty for asking about updates. i just feel like maybe this will resonate with anyone who has the same experience. and also to share hope, because despite how often this feeling rears its ugly head, i’ve still been able to push through and get back to writing- and i’m always very happy with the result. sometimes it just takes longer than i’d like (pro tip: writing on ur phone is less intimidating, tho it’s more of a pain). but in any case, the next chapter of ‘from eden’ is well underway and i still hope to have the series done before summer’s end^^

[nonagesiiiimus]

eden's tlt reread: chapter two

finally getting to write up my chapter two thoughts! let's gooooo!

starting off strong with some numbers! this is gideon's 87th escape attempt (p.25). interestingly, harrow is also the 87th nona of her house. when looking into this, because everything means something with tamsyn, there's an interesting bible quote from Judges 8:7: "So Gideon said, "Well then, when the Lord has given Zebah and Zalmunna into my hand, I will flail your flesh with the thorns of the wilderness and with briers." (adding Orange here as my biblical references color!) of course this feels extra significant because of Gideon's name mention, but the promise of violence and demise ties back into the Tamsyn's comments in the naming guide, about someone's demise being written in Gideon's name ("Gideon is a prophetic name: someone named their own demise in her" (468)). i also think it's worth noting the quote from John 8:7, "When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” while it doesn't directly tie into any events, i think it relates to some of the overall themes of forgiveness for sins/perceived sins in this series- especially harrow, who is always seeking forgiveness and striving for perfection to make up for where she feels she has sinned.

harrow comes to gideon as the last of the three temptations, in our Gideon-is-Jesus framework. the devil tempts jesus three times in the desert, and each time jesus refuses... "The temptation in the desert shows Jesus, the humble Messiah, who triumphs over Satan by his total adherence to the plan of salvation willed by the Father". except, in our case, Gideon doesn't refuse. she gives in to her own personal temptation- the idea of freedom, and of savagely beating Harrow's ass. she is not immune to temptation, for sure...

i liked noting all the references to harrow's hands leading up to the battle between them, which in looking back makes it SO much more obvious Something Is Up. first one is on the first page of the chapter (25), but we chalk it up easily to harrow being cloistered in fabric because of her supreme gothiness. then, her massaging her hands (26). she's clearly sore from digging all night! (why, harrow, no shovel? why no shovel harrow? why?)

also the first instances of understanding the true War Crimes committed by Harrow's parents, and Gideon's understanding and role in them/covering them up: "That’s the moment I squeal,” said Gideon. “I squeal so long and so loud they hear me from the Eighth. I tell them everything. You know what I know. And I'll tell them the numbers. They’d bring me home in cuffs, but I’d come back laughing my ass off” (26).

“rattling both their prayer beads and their unlubricated knee joints” (26): prayer beads are clearly an allusion to rosaries!

“How coarse and ordinary,” she said. “How effective, how crass. My parents should have smothered you" (26). @hauntingofthewoods and i were also talking about how often Gideon is referred to in a way that is like how someone would talk to/about an animal or something lowly that casual cruelty, like one would dole out to a pest, is a common and building theme in how Gideon characterizes herself throughout the series. we saw this in c1 with Aiglamene slapping her carelessly like "a barking animal", and here again i was reminded of that with the smothering comment. also, the description of Gideon squealing in the section before is also quite animalistic, even if it is a saying already. Gideon sees herself as a mistreated forgotten animal, and one of her core motivations seems to be To Be Seen as something More. horrible, heartbreaking. moving on before i cry.

banging ass quote (by banging, i mean heartbreaking) that will come back to haunt us: "All because,” said Gideon, checking her clock again, “I completely fucking hate you, because you are a hideous witch from hell. No offence.” There was a pause. “Oh, Griddle!” said Harrow pityingly, in the silence. “But I don’t even remember about you most of the time" (27). this sentence comes back to haunt us twofold, as we'll see.

there is another repetition of three temptations from Harrow to Gideon: the muster, Gideon's sense of duty, and then a bribe. which, ultimately, Gideon falls for.

"Paper- real paper!" (27). completely fascinating to me, and something that i'll continue to track mentions of.

"She’d lose rights to Gideon forever. Gideon went absolutely cold" (28). i love the double entendre you can read in this quote: Gideon's understanding that Harrow being willing to lose her hold on her is super serious, and also the potential that the cold feeling is from Gideon not knowing how to feel about complete and utter freedom from the Ninth once she is actually handed it. shock and disbelief, and maybe a little unsurety?

"You threaten my House, you disrespect my retainers, you lie and cheat and sneak and steal—you know full well what you’ve done, and you know that you are a disgusting little cuckoo!” “I hate it when you act like a butt-touched nun,” said Gideon, who was only honestly sorry for one of the things in that lineup" (29). Gideon is only sorry for disrespecting Aiglamene :(

also! a cuckoo is a bird known for laying its eggs in the nests of other bird species, leaving those unsuspecting birds to raise its young. As the cuckoo chicks develop, they often push out the host bird's own offspring. this is another gideon-as-animal description, referencing her 'adoption' into the Ninth house. tysm @hauntingofthewoods for pointing that out!!

i like seeing Gideon's first stripped-down description of Harrow at the end of p. 29, as a "cropped black head and her face pinched with wrath... a desperate girl younger than Gideon, and rather small and feeble" (29). it's so interesting to see how Gideon views Harrow, sees into her soul, but also still underestimates her in this moment.

"Gideon had seen Harrow in this mood only once before, and had thought she would probably never see her in this mood again" (30). when would she have been so desperate for a raw fight? in the instance Gideon describes in HTN, when they are fighting before Harrow decides to commit suicide via the tomb? when her parents kill themselves?

"Cruz stared back at her with the hate of an exploding star: the empty hate of pressure pulled inward, a deforming, light-devouring resentment” (32). at first this is just a sick and wicked simile. and then i went- wait. hatred of a dying star… dying planets... RESURRECTION BEAST REFERENCE??? ALECTO??

"I gave her my whole life" (31). kill me, gideon. kill me. this hurts so bad.

i like the contrast between what Gideon thinks should happen in their fight- "What ought to have happened was that Gideon raised a booted foot and knocked Harrow ass-over-tits"- and what DOES happen: Gideon, gets her ass beat by Harrow's secret and spiteful skeleton army below the drillfield, and is ended with the final sentence, "Harrowhark kicked Gideon in the face" (31-33). the callback to Gideon wanting to kick Harrow but instead getting kicked BY Harrow is so good.

their banter at the end of this chapter is so good. so mean. and i hurt so badly for gideon. seeing this: "She couldn’t; she was too winded still. She couldn’t even raise a shaking middle finger to the victor: she just kept looking at the shuttle, and her suitcase, and her sword" just HURTS.

that's all i have on chapter two! i thought i wouldn't have much to say, and still wrote a fucking book. sue me!!!

[veliseraptor]

May Reading Recap

A Memory Called Empire and A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine. Rereading A Memory Called Empire was a treat - an expected treat, but it was good to find out that it lived up to memory. I liked A Desolation Called Peace a little bit less, but only a little bit - it very much followed up directly on the themes from A Memory Called Empire that I appreciated.

The Last Graduate and The Golden Enclaves by Naomi Novik. I devoured these books. I'm very surprised by this fact, since I'm not generally a "magic school" person, but there we are; Naomi Novik apparently managed to make me one temporarily. The last book was a particularly strong one and did some very interesting things with its worldbuilding that'd been set up in previous books and delivered in the last one.

Armageddon: What the Bible Really Says About the End by Bart Ehrman. I've read and enjoyed some Bart Ehrman previously, but I feel like the quality of his books has diminished from his earlier work, and this book confirmed that for me. I'm a bit of an eschatology enthusiast (the main reason I picked this up, as well as the fact that (a) it was available at the library one time and I grabbed it on a whim and (b) author recognition), but I learned very little from this book that I didn't already know.

Strange Beasts of China by Yan Ge. One of the things that made me happiest about reading this book was, unfortunately, the fact that I thought I recognized the ways in which it was referring back to Classic of Mountains and Seas, which I felt (again, unfortunately) sort of smug about. Checking the Wikipedia page for the book, apparently "Additionally, each chapter begins with a brief description of the beast which, in the original writing, was written in Classical Chinese, while the rest of the book was written in standard Chinese," which is so cool and I wish had been conveyed in the translation.

In general though, this was a good one, though I feel like the descriptive copy was a little misleading. It's less a mystery than a series of interconnected stories following a central character investigating the titular strange beasts, and learning how they connect to her life and history.

Dark Heir by C.S. Pacat. I liked this one significantly more than Dark Rise - which I guess makes sense, since a lot of Dark Rise was setting up the concept that most compels me about the series (the main character being the reincarnation of a notorious villain from the past). It still feels YA in the way that YA usually does, which isn't necessarily a bad thing if stylistically less my preference (and something I feel worth mentioning in the context of a possible recommendation). The ending was a gut-punch of a fun kind. I will be looking forward to reading the third one.

"There Would Always Be a Fairy-Tale": Essays on Tolkien's Middle Earth by Verlyn Flieger. I loved Splintered Light and was disappointingly underwhelmed by most of the essays in this collection. There were a couple that were more interesting to me, but on the whole a lukewarm response.

The Doors of Eden by Adrian Tchaikovsky. Adrian Tchaikovsky wins again!!! I don't love this one quite as much as I've enjoyed the Children of Time series, but I actually think that I liked it more than The Final Architecture series. Fascinating concept, as usual fascinating worldbuilding for societies wildly different from our own, and dedicated to themes of cooperation and unity-across-difference without it feeling preachy or didactic.

Aphrodite and the Rabbis: How the Jews Adapted Roman Culture to Create Judaism as We Know It by Burton Visotzky. This was a good one! I already was familiar with some of the information here, but not all of it, and the work around art and architecture was new to me. I felt in some ways like Visotzky overstated his case a little, but on the whole a very interesting read.

Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives by Phyllis Trible. This one is kind of a classic of feminist Bible scholarship - a short book that does a close reading of the text of the stories of four biblical women who suffer in some way (Hagar, Tamar, the unnamed woman from Judges 19, and Jephthah's daughter). It's a powerful work, though it felt a little basic to me on the whole - probably due to the fact that it's relatively early scholarship on the subject working from a literary angle.

Nevernight by Jay Kristoff. Books with footnotes are very hit-or-miss for me - not meaning books with contextual footnotes, but books with footnotes that are part of the conceit of the text itself. Some authors can pull it off; others really shouldn't try. In this case, the author felt a bit too taken with his own cleverness to pull it off; in general I felt like this book was trying a little too hard to be edgy and voice-y and ended up just feeling kind of shallow. It was a fun read, in some ways, but not a good one, and I'm torn on if I'm going to continue reading the series. If I do, it probably won't be in a hurry.

Tolkien and Alterity ed. by Christopher Vaccaro. I was excited about this particular collection of essays (you can probably guess why) and found them mostly uninspiring in the reading. The exception was a bibliographic essay on the treatment of race in Tolkien scholarship, which proposed more use of reader response theory, a suggestion which seems fruitful to me and more interesting than debates about whether or not Tolkien/his works are or aren't racist.

Knock Knock, Open Wide by Neil Sharpson. I feel like this is going to sound more critical than I really mean it to, but this was a perfectly adequate horror novel. I wouldn't call it exceptional, and it didn't freak me out, but I read it pretty much straight through and enjoyed the experience on the whole.

Thousand Autumns: vol. 4 by Meng Xi Shi. I liked this volume more than I've liked some of the others, and am enjoying the development of the central relationship, though I feel a little like I've been bait-and-switched about the level of fucked up that it's involved. Maybe that's why I'm enjoying this one a little less than I feel like I should: I was expecting more fucked-up between the two main characters based on the initial conceit and don't feel like the novel has really delivered on that. But I am enjoying Yan Wushi getting a little more...outwardly affectionate toward Shen Qiao, and Shen Qiao's concomitant confusion about it.

This Wretched Valley by Jenny Kiefer. More than an adequate horror novel but less than an excellent one, I felt like this book relied more on gross-out horror than I typically prefer. Still, was definitely spooky, and confirmed for me that wilderness horror gets to me in a very specific way.

I'm presently reading Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood, which I have mixed feelings about (not negative! just mixed). I'm not sure what I'm going to read after that, save that I'm now trying to alternate genres and might try to read some nonfiction, which I've been sort of off for a while. Otherwise I'll probably just end up reading Translation State by Ann Leckie, and possibly A Fire in the Deep by Vernor Vinge. But I'm really going to try for some more nonfiction next month.

[ageravena]

You know what, the Fairly OddParents fandom has been quite tame. Let's spice things up a little bit.

Doesn't anybody else get that silly feeling when you see fanart of Peri being like a father to Dev, like... where's the rest of you 😍? Don't be shy, show us where Dale is. Or are you too scared? (I wouldn't blame you, I was too at first)

Small warning: this post includes slight swearing and many brain-numbing headcanons. I'm not responsible for any mental anguish you may experience

I would like to quickly apologize to the 6 people shipping Peri with Dale. I thought I was the only one but it seems like I've finally found my people. Anyways, back to the topic.

Now that you're here, I may as well show some more art of these two goobers +some silly headcanons. These are my AUed* versions of the two in my odd semi-realistic style that I completely ditch whenever I don't have the patience to draw faces (I often suck at drawing them. No wonder all my OCs are furries)

Note: him being slightly chubby and him having mobility issues are both headcanons I have shamelessly borrowed from others in the fandom. Also am I the only one who thinks Peri WOULDN'T be 6 ft tall? In the series he's like 5 apples tall, so wouldn't it make sense for him to be a bit short?

Note: there's like a bunch of lore explaining the reason why Dale looks so fucked up in my version. I scarred him for life, oopsie! But at least he has Peri now who "forces" him to go to therapy 😍. I may need to make a seperate post where I only talk about him and his past if I have the motivation.

I know a lot of you don't even know the pain of trying to convert a stylized character into a realistic style and still making them look good and kinda recognizable. I envy you who have less realistic art styles.

*And yes, I did say AU. More specifically I'm talking about the "Missionaries of Eden AU" (by me). I'm not gonna go into detail now, but basically it's a semi-biblical and more serious take on FOP, where the fairies are angels, anti-fairies are demons and pixies... I think they can stay as pixies, or maybe they're ghosts, bees? (There's a lot of things I still need to figure out) Their tasks are to work as missionaries on the planets of Eden (planets where life exists). There's a bunch of other lore (some of which I've explained on my casual/personal account on Instagram), but it's best I leave it for another time.

Btw: if you've seen me talk about a "Below the Stars AU", "Bible AU", "Ager DLC" or something else, it's all just the same thing. I just had a hard time coming up with a good name for it lol.

Also speaking of which, I have another post coming up (hopefully) where I explain my reasons for shipping Peri and Dale. It can honestly, out of context, seem like a toxic yaoi crack ship, but believe it or not but I managed to make it the opposite; plausible AND healthy. I want to enlighten you all plus I really want to yap about them.

It feels super funny to ship such a underrated ship. I'm used to shipping semi-popular ships, so to now be all alone feels kinda fun! They have so much potential and so few are seeing the vision?? Though to be fair I'm also glad it's not that famous lmao.

Ps. Ignore the fact I haven't posted anything here for at least half-a-year. All my mutuals are on Instagram, so I don't have a need to post here, though now I've decided to dedicate this account to hyperfixation slop so maybe you'll be hearing from me much sooner.

Ps. Ps. I currently have a 22-page-long google doc filled with lore and info about almost everything I've thought of for the AU, but it's 80% in Finnish so sharing it is useless.

Man, I love writing unnecessary long posts knowing I'm the only one reading them❤️😍 though if you HAVE gotten this far, here's a little treat:

My body refuses to draw Dale in his original outfit. I like to pretend Peri helped him change a bit (most notably taking off his goddamn shoes, though they do have some lore that I've created. GGHHRRAAA EVERYTHING HAS LORE ATTACHED TO IT GRRRR). Also Dev isn't actually grumpy, he just likes to act tough.

My art style looks probably so inconsistent❤️