#this is just a guide line it’s not gospel

[umahumahumah]

How do you recreate the Hetalia artstyle so well

ok so.. .uhhhhhhhhhh honestly i dont even know how. which is why i am obviously qualified to make YOU, yes you, the person reading this, a tutorial

i psoted an incomplete tutorial on the hetalia art style some few months back and when i look back at it now, some things are just straight up wrong or need clarification (also its the same post where i accidentally sent multiple death threats to a random sex worker thinking they were just a porn bot oopsies) so if you guys still remember that, forget about it! all of it!!! this is a brand new, more accurate guide on how to draw himas style!

(quick warning though im just a weeb not a professional teacher by any means so dont take this as gospel and dont get mad if i got something wrong or something is confusing)

himastyle tutorial! (the better one) part 1

(link to part 2 here)

ok lets start off with the

HEADS

this is just the way i start drawing my heads personally. if i had to describe it, its basically a simplified stylized version of the loomis head method. proko has a good video on it! just give that a quick watch then take a look at my step by step guide

but besides this, there are some important things about the head that you should remember

the shape of the head is generally rectangular

compared to more typical ikemen styles, hetalia characters have a more rectangular head. HOWEVER their chins taper off to a very triangular shape. rarely do the chins flatten out like the guy on the left.

2. shorter face = younger/more feminine appearance

well... self explanatory. you can see in the diagram how changing the length of the face gives a character a more feminine/childish look.

if you feel that something looks kind of off, feel free to change it, but if it looks okay then lets move onto facial features!!!

NOSES:

ok so this might seem a little weird but i like drawing the nose first. its right in the middle of the face and is generally the easiest to get right. it also kind of acts as a divider between the eyes, especially useful when you're drawing in a 3/4 angle

which kind of look something like that i guess.....

or that if you want something less extreme

anyways while hetalia noses are kind of inconsistent they generally have the shape of these three lines. feminine/childlike characters have a smaller and subtler nose though

noses also never face fully straight ahead, so when drawing a front view, the nose slightly faces right or left (tbh himas characters rarely face the camera head on, so id refrain from drawing frontal views altogether but thats just me)

anyways lets move on to my second favorite part of the hetalia art style

EYES:

the eyes are the most important part of himas style. if all else fails, you can always recognize the style by the eyes. luckily for you, the eyes really arent complicated compared to other anime styles :D here is how i do it:

(feminine and childlike characters have bigger eyes)

you have probably noticed this but the pupils hima draws now has a more squiggly teary-eyed look compared to the pupils he drew then...

i subcounciously do a mixture of the two because i got used to drawing the old type, but if you wanna draw the new type of pupils just take note of their squigly shape and that they have one dominant highlight in the upper-middle area. uhhh.. or if youre like me just draw the old eyes as if you have parkinson's

anyways heres a step by step guide

and some fun eye variations!!! you can try using variants if youd like to give an oc a more unique look (you can also try making your own variants too but be careful of straying too far from the style)

so now about the eyebrow and the eyelid.... uhhh the eyelid doesnt really have a consistent length so just draw it however. feminine and childlike characters have thinner eyebrows but even then eyebrows should never be drawn as just a single line

we are close to finishing the face!!! now we can move onto

MOUTHS:

if you know how to draw a typical anime mouth, then hima mouths is easy peasy!

for closed mouths just draw a curved line with two dark blots for the corners of the mouth

i think that giving them a shaky look makes them look more expressive

open mouths are just random blobs, dont close off the bottom though, and theys till have those dark blots at the corner of the mouth

now then i'll move onto the

EARS + CHEEKS:

i decided to combine these two since these are probably the easiest parts of the face

hima's ears are pretty round and don't really vary in shape. inside the ears though....

it isnt very consistent, so don't think too hard about "getting them right". above are some ear variations i drew from one of the latest chapters of the manga

the cheeks are just a bunch of lines that can appear fully, or only on one cheek, or don't appear at all. i think it depends on level of detail, angle, or the character's emotion

these lines do not appear on rendered pieces

also if a character feels especially displeased they will gain heavy eyebags

so yay! we're pretty much done with the face!! look forward next time to where i cover hair, the body, and other stuff idk... i'll link the other parts to each other when i complete them

[visceravalentines]

What did you do for Easter, Meg? Oh you know, colored eggs and wrote sacrilegious porn, hbu? Couldn't stop thinking about the comments on this post so surprise whores here you go

Worship

Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

Bo has a few sins to confess and in the process he commits a whole bunch of new ones.

2.5k words. Smut. Super blasphemy, like so bad, and lots of religious ideas and phrasing. Oral (fem!receiving) and PnV sex in a semi-public extremely inappropriate place w/ creampie at the end bc that's what we deserve. Soft Bo, almost sub Bo if you squint. Reader wears a dress & heels and uses she/her pronouns. Extensive liberties taken with confessional booth architecture and suit pants physics.

A note: this can be read as a non-chronological part of my ongoing dilf Bo series or as a standalone.

You haven't been in this church since you were a teenager. Your eyes wander up and over the stained glass, the soaring rafters. It's a beautiful building, stately, tranquil.

"Got somethin' I need to confess," Bo whispers with his lips against your ear. Goosebumps roll down your skin.

You shoot a sidelong glance down the pew at your parents, less than two feet away. They're holiday Catholics and the sermon has them rapt, like tourists watching a wild animal from the safety of their vehicle.

You incline your head subtly in Bo's direction and hold your breath so you don't miss his next words.

"I can't get you outta my head."

You exhale slowly and shift on the bench, careful not to set the ancient wood creaking. When you sneak a look at him, he's the picture of innocence, taking in the gospel like a man who doesn't need it. You clasp your hands on your lap.

Casually, like he's commenting on the father's delivery, Bo leans in again and murmurs, "Bet you'd let me touch you here, huh? Get my hands under that little skirt...."

You shiver and shift. The bench tattles on you and your mother sends a reprimand your way with her eyes. You tug the hem of your skirt towards your knees and try to channel a modicum of the faux virtue sitting to your left.

He quiets down and behaves himself for just long enough that the flame flickering in your center dies down to an almost-appropriate level, but the heat of his leg against your bare thigh keeps you from turning all your thoughts to God. The weight of his hand on the small of your back as he guides you out of the pew for Communion is a stitch past purity. The look he manages to slip you as the father places the wafer in his open mouth makes you feel like you need to get back in line for a second pass at contrition, and maybe this time you'll mean it.

His hand brushes across your ass as you scoot back into the pew and you think about obedience, how you hate to be told what to do but you'd drop to your knees for him right now, right here, if he'd promise to quell the simmer he's started between your legs.

The father is thanking those who helped prepare the picnic on the lawn outside and Bo props his arm on the back of the bench, leans close and lets his lips graze your skin, and whispers, "Meet me up there once everybody's outside." He gestures with a nod.

You look at him with wide eyes. "The confessional?" you hiss.

He winks at you.

You follow your parents out onto the green, but Bo doesn't follow you. In fact you lose him immediately in the crowd, can't help but search for him among the abundance of pastel dresses and khaki suits. You agree vapidly with everything your mother says about the mass, nod politely at all your dad's closest acquaintances.

You excuse yourself at the second or third possible opportunity, afraid of running into the father if you sneak back too soon. Your footsteps are deafening in the now silent sanctuary, your eager uncertainty echoing back at you like an accusation.

Bo is nowhere to be seen, but neither is the clergy, so you step lightly across the stone floor and approach the confessional booth. The penitent's bench is hardly private, hung with a red curtain that only conceals from the waist up. You duck instead into the priest's chamber and inch the door closed behind you, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding once you're safely out of sight.

The small space is dimly lit by a single bulb recessed in the ceiling and the fractured light coming in through the screen on the one side. There's a bench built into the back wall and furnished with a velvet cushion. You sit, adjusting your skirt, and think about guilt.

Abruptly the door flies open and Bo slips inside, closing it all the way behind him. He's appropriately debonair in a blue suit, white shirt, no tie. For a moment, he looks a touch harried, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the door is closed. But then he looks down at you, meets your gaze, and flashes you a grin.

"Well what do we have here?"

You move to stand and he shakes his head, fighting to shrug off his suit coat in the confined space. "Don't get up, darlin', you're perfect right there. Betcha this is the first time anyone with tits has sat in that seat."

You giggle, a touch nervous. He reaches his hand out for yours and brings your knuckles to his lips. His mustache prickles your skin.

"You enjoy the mass?"

You're not sure if he's serious. "...parts of it, yeah."

He smiles. "Which parts?"

You open your mouth for a sharp reply but your gaze is hung up on his lips and when he shifts his weight you become unbearably aware of how close his bulge is to your face.

Bo laughs low and squeezes your hand. "I myself had a hard time focusin' on the good word. Had my mind on...other things." He eyes you with something like mischief. "I was hopin' maybe you could help me...unburden myself."

The smell of him is slowly permeating the tiny space, overwriting the stuffy scent of incense and oiled wood with tobacco and aftershave. He barely fits, too tall, shoulders too broad. He could swallow you whole and you wish he would.

"Anything you want," you say softly.

Bracing himself against the walls, he sinks to his knees in front of you. The pattern of the screen is emblazoned on his face in light. The wood pops and creaks. You remember to breathe.

"I'm a sinner, darlin'." He gazes up at you through those lashes, smiling sheepishly, big hands curving around your calves. "Done too much wrong to confess. Can't even remember it all."

You touch his cheek, brush your thumb over the crow's feet at the corner of his eye. "Start small."

His hands slide down to your ankles and he works at the strap of your heels with ungainly fingers. "I been tellin' lies, baby." He slips off one shoe and starts on the other. "Your mama asked me if I've been seein' anyone and I said no." His thumb runs along the arch of your foot. "Your daddy asked me if I knew where you was the other night and I told him I didn't have a clue."

He wraps his fingers around your ankles and squeezes gently, and then pulls your legs open. You stifle a gasp, try to press your thighs together to maintain a smidgen of modesty.

Bo kisses your knees. His hands creep up the outside of your legs. "Been gamblin'. Riskin' my reputation, my livelihood."

"Why would you do that?" you whisper.

He grins against your skin. His fingers are sneaking beneath your skirt. "Well y'see, there's this girl...."

You bite your lip as he curls one finger around the waistband of your panties on either side and tugs them down your thighs.

"She ain't for me...but she's all I want. And that's another thing." He tucks your panties in his pocket and you pretend you don't notice. "I been plagued by lustful thoughts. Day and night I'm thinkin' about this girl, thinkin' about the sounds she makes...picturin' her underneath me...." He guides your knees apart, drags his mouth over your skin, lighting you up from the outside in. His shoulders are solid under your hands, a foundation to cling to.

"See, I know it's wrong, but whenever she's around me I just...forget myself. Start wonderin' what she's got on under her clothes, what I gotta do to get 'em off of her...." He nips at your flesh, one, two, three up your thigh, and you gasp each time. "Keeps me up at night wishin' she was in my bed." He pauses, looks at you with cocked eyebrows. "I think about her damn near every time I defile myself, which is...often."

You exhale slowly, release the death grip you have on his shirt and run your fingers through his hair. "Sounds like you've got a lot of penance to do."

Bo lets out a helpless chuckle. "I know it, baby. I'm desperate." He blinks up at you, looking earnest. "I'm hopin' you got some salvation to offer me."

"I might." You tug your skirt up, baring yourself to him, and he groans, fingers digging into your flesh. "But you've got to earn it."

He inches forward and pins your legs open on either side of his shoulders. "Never been much of a god-fearin' man," he says, "but I know how to worship." He bows his head and you close your eyes when you feel his breath on your skin. "What d'you know about devotion, angel?"

"Nothing," you say, breathless. "Teach me."

The first pass of his tongue is feather-light and devastating and you sigh as that flickering flame roils brightly back to life. He teases the edge of your entrance, warming you up with the heat of his attention. You make a small sound and he responds with a slow, insistent lick up the length of your slit that makes you whine and clutch at his hair.

He cradles your clit in the cup of his lips and venerates you with his tongue in lazy spirals, up and over, and your blood throbs in the same rhythm. He sucks gently, and then harder, and you moan in the bliss of transubstantiation as his mouth makes the mundane into the divine.

With a growl in the back of his throat he hoists your legs onto his shoulders and penetrates you with his tongue, lapping at your pussy in search of absolution. Your eyes bounce around the blank ceiling of the booth as your hips buck mindlessly against his chin. His mustache tickles your lips, beard coarse against your inner thighs.

"Bo," you gasp as he sucks hard at your clit, "oh, god."

"I'm a bad person, baby," he mumbles. "Promise."

"No." You try and fail to stifle a cry, back arching, toes curled. "You're so good...you're so good."

Between your gasps you hear the sound of footsteps on the stone. Your steady-building climax skids to a halt and you stare wide-eyed at the confessional door.

Bo doesn't stop. In fact, he redoubles his efforts.

You clamp your hand over your mouth, trying desperately to keep still even as your body flexes and writhes against your will. You can hear two voices--you recognize one as the father but the other could be anybody, some stranger, some sinner seeking Easter confession.

Bo seals his mouth over your cunt and grinds his tongue against your clit again and again, gripping your ass, holding you to him as you squirm and seek purchase on the featureless walls.

The voices are getting closer and against all odds, so is your release. You're past the point of redemption, couldn't stave it off if you wanted to.

"Bo," you squeak under your breath, clawing at the back of his neck, grasping the edge of the seat, "please--"

He grunts softly. He's devouring you, hellbent on a miracle, bound and determined to introduce you to God. And seconds later, when your cup runneth over and your spine arches against the velvet and you have to sink your teeth into the meat of your palm to keep from howling his name, you see starbursts of pastel pink and sky blue behind your eyes and figure this is probably the closest you'll get to the pearly gates.

Your breath is hitching in your chest and you feel him slip out of your hands and you whimper, floating back into your body, unsteady as you try to sit up straight on the bench. The voices and footsteps are fading and you breathe a sigh of relief and release.

His hands are on your arms and he's coaxing you to your feet, supporting your weight on behalf of your shaking legs, turning you around in the tight space and murmuring in your ear.

"Need you, baby, right now, c'mere. Need to be inside you. Let me--"

He takes your place on the bench. He's undone his belt, freed his cock from his pants, and you clamber eagerly into his lap and let him guide you down onto him. Your head lolls back as he pushes into you, fills your empty space. The image of him looking desperately up at you is burned into the back of your eyelids.

"Angel," he breathes as he takes your face in his hands and brings your mouth to his. His kisses are hot with lust, with greed, with envy of everyone who's ever touched your lips before him. You can smell yourself in his beard, sweet and heady like original sin.

You move, rocking back and forth on his cock, and he moves you, hands on your hips, your skirt in disarray, his shirt falling open as you wrestle with the buttons. He pulls you closer, pulls himself deeper, and you can feel his heart pounding when you brace yourself on his chest.

"Ain't gonna last long," he pants. "So fuckin' tight, baby, so perfect...."

"That's okay, that's okay," you say, stumbling over your words. The frame of the booth is groaning in legitimate complaint, the entire structure trembling slightly, and you're going to get caught, surely you are, and you'll be cast out together beyond the reach of forgiveness but that might be alright as long as you've got him with you.

You press yourself against him, as close as you can get and not close enough. He cums with his face buried in your chest and your name in his mouth like a prayer. The kick of his cock inside you grants you another little climax, a little death, little moans jarred from your lips with each waning thrust of his hips.

"Kiss me," you whisper, and he obeys, his eyes glazed, his gaze soft and adoring. His needy grip on your waist melts into caresses and you finger the buttons of his shirt like rosary beads. One is missing; you're both hopelessly disheveled, undeniably sin-touched. You push his hair off his forehead and back into place. "Did this help?"

He shakes his head and laughs quietly. "No."

"Made it worse."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"'S okay." He kisses you again. "You're forgiven."

[oftenwantedafton]

Confession - Priest Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 1

Word Count - 1.8k

Rating - Explicit

CW - CAUTION - religious themes

Also available on AO3

taglist @charlottecutepie @robin-munson @ahsxual

William Afton thinks this is, perhaps, his best alias yet.

A man of the cloth, as they say, and though he subscribes to no religion, professes no faith himself, the diocese doesn’t need to know that. Just like they don’t need to know his real name, or anything about his past.

So he is now Father Steve Raglan, a pitifully easy role to adopt. He’s had years of practice forging documents and smooth talking his way through sticky situations. This was a piece of cake compared to the challenges he’d faced in the past. Guiding a small congregation in a dusty town still within close reach of his restaurant—he was hardly going to surrender that—naturally suited his needs. The words for his sermons spilled from his fingers easily. Lies interspersed with quoted scripture to placate the devout attendees each Sunday.

He’s lost none of his charisma as he’s aged; has even seemed to gain some, in fact. The old ladies constantly plied him with baked goods and crocheted items. The middle aged crowd donated heartily when the collection plate was passed around. There were endless invites to gatherings around dinner tables. The troubled sought his wisdom behind the slats of the confessional. Depending on his mood he’d add or subtract more than the standard amounts of prayers on the rosary. There were whispers among some of the women—and surely some of the men too, though he wasn’t specifically aware of this—of how handsome he was. He hardly needed his ego inflated any further, but they were only too happy to oblige. So here he was. A man of God who did not believe in a higher power, because he felt he himself was that absolute deity. Answering to no one.

He’d been enjoying his newfound success for a couple of months when a new member of the flock comes into the fold.

The bearded man’s used to letting his eyes wander during the delivery of his sermons, while pacing in front of the altar, or standing before the pulpit preaching the Gospel, never fixing on any particular parishioner or pew or stained glass window, yet he does a double take when he sees you for the first time.

Steve cannot say exactly what it is that draws you to him so suddenly. Something in your eyes, perhaps. Not glassy with boredom like the teenage youth in the fourth row who’s clearly daydreaming; not shining with hope like the mother with the sick daughter in the hospital; not evasive like the man Raglan knows for a fact is having an extramarital affair with the woman in the row in front of him. No, your look was something quite different. You did not just see his physical appearance: the graying dark brown hair and neatly trimmed beard; the crows feet and laugh lines on otherwise smooth skin, belying his actual age; the easy smile which never quite touched his pale steel eyes, set just a touch farther apart than the standard—no, it felt, when your gazes linked, as if you could see directly into him. Past the facade of a holy man. Into his very soul.

He nearly stumbles mid sentence but manages to recover, the years of deception once again rushing to his aid, and no one in his audience seems the wiser.

Except perhaps you.

When it’s time for the gathering to make their way up to the altar to take communion, he’s forced to confront you directly. So many people lowered their eyes in respect, or bowed their heads once receiving the Eucharist. But you do neither of these things. You meet his stare unfalteringly and part your lips and he seats the wafer on your tongue. An inexplicable heat floods through him, the tips of his fingers just lightly brushing that moist carpet at the base of your mouth. Your lips close so rapidly he doesn’t yet have time to move his hand—or perhaps he himself is at fault, lingering too long—and you close your mouth, capturing a taste of manicured nails and calloused pads before he snatches his hand back as if burned. No reaction from you. You turn and make your way back to your seat.

The rest of the mass seems to drag on. At last it is time for the final song. He cringes inwardly. The keyboardist is an aging, half-deaf woman who hits more wrong notes than correct ones, the melody jarring along. He himself has a decent enough singing voice, or so he’s been told. Even with the harsh tune in the background, the voices he leads do a decent job.

At last the hymn is finished and the mass draws to a close. Now Father Raglan assumes his customary position by the entrance of the church, bidding farewell to his visitors, making vague noncommittal promises to attend the many occasions he’s invited to attend. You are the last to leave. The false priest is determined to regain some of his authority, starting here and now.

“We haven’t had a chance to be introduced yet. I’m Father Raglan. Welcome to the congregation.”

You say your name. Steve is forced to raise a hand as a makeshift visor. He should have stood on the opposite side of the walkway. The sun is beating down fiercely and he can barely make out your features.

“Are you new in town? Or just new to our church?”

“Both.”

“And what do you do for work? Or are you in school, perhaps?” It’s difficult to determine your age.

“I’m a seamstress.”

“Ah. Well, that’s a useful skill.” Steve’s stomach is growling. He typically eats a light breakfast before mass, preferring to indulge in a generous meal afterwards.

“You’re hungry,” you observe.

“Heard that, did you?” He grins ruefully.

“Starving.” The smile slips from his features. He does not think you are speaking about nourishment in the traditional sense of food and drink. He has that uncomfortable sensation of being exposed again.

“Right. Well, it was nice to meet you. I’ve got things to attend to. I’ll see you next Sunday.”

He hurries back up the stairs, eager to be away from your intrusive stare. The oak doors slide shut and he’s forced to blink for a few moments, trying to dash away the lingering sun spots. He can feel his heart racing; something he has not experienced in some time.

Who are you?

***

Confession day.

The amount of visitors seeking to serve penance varies. Certainly higher volumes preceding holidays, when they are reminded of their religious obligations. Lately it has been fairly quiet.

Steve does not mind the narrow confines of the confession booth. It reminds him of being sheltered within his favorite animatronic suit. Close and comforting, albeit that residence came with the added danger of the springlocks, which he knew only too well, having fallen victim to them years ago, narrowly escaping with his life.

Here though, there was nothing to die of save sheer boredom, perhaps. He can smell the polish recently applied to the wood. The bench creaks slightly when he shifts positions. He does wish it allowed for a little more room height-wise; his six foot four frame was forced to fold and crouch a little more than he’d like.

He hears footsteps on the flooring outside. A woman’s walk. Lighter tred. The click of the sharp point of a high heel. Clearing his throat, he readies his hand to draw back the wooden clapboard on his side of the booth. The figure enters, the seat on the opposite creaking similarly as his had. He exposes the privacy screen dividing your faces and sucks in his breath sharply. It’s you.

You make the sign of the cross. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been six weeks since my last confession.” You pause. “I’m not the one who should be asking for forgiveness, though, am I, Father?” You say this honorific with a note of mockery.

“My child, I am afraid I don’t understand your meaning.”

“I am not your child. Not one of those poor unfortunates you’ve tortured.”

Steve’s fingers curl into a fist. “Who are you?” It’s impossible for you to recognize him. To know what he’s done. He has always been so careful. Deceiving the authorities. Concealing his crimes. You couldn’t possibly know.

“That’s not important. The name that should be revealed is your own: William Afton.”

His blood runs cold. The first fear he’s known in a long time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is Steve Raglan.”

“Your name isn’t Steve Raglan, nor are you an ordained priest. So stop pretending. We both know better.”

“What do you want?” His mind is racing, trying to figure out the best way to dispose of you. Best to do it now, while the rest of the chapel was still unoccupied. He’s wracking his brain trying to think of what he can use as a weapon. Something from the altar, maybe.

“I want you to acknowledge your sins.”

He scoffs, some of his standard cockiness returning. “That won’t be happening.”

He sees you exit the booth and he drags the velvet curtain back, joining you outside the confessional.

“You should go lock the front doors. Wouldn’t want to be disturbed, would we?”

Afton frowns. He does want to lock the doors. The question is, why do you want them locked?

“I’ll wait here for you.”

Turning his back on you seems a bad idea. But he has no choice. He strides briskly to the entrance to the chapel, withdrawing the ring of keys from his pants pocket and hastily slotting the metal into the lock. When he turns back, he finds you standing exactly where he’d left you.

For a moment, your shadow cast against the white chapel walls changes shape. Arches stretch out from your shoulders, like the crests of an angel’s wings. Gone again so suddenly he’s convinced he imagined it. Just his nerves. He needs to regain control of the situation.

“Name your price. Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you. I have numerous resources available to me.” He walks towards you slowly. A wolf cautiously approaching its prey.

“My price?”

“For your silence.” William has no intention of letting you go, of course. He’s merely stalling. Trying to decide what item within reach will dispatch you the fastest and most neatly. He doesn’t relish the thought of cleaning blood off these pristine floors.

“I have no interest in revealing your secrets to anyone. I’m here to hear them from your own lips.”

“Not happening,” he snaps.

“I could taste your sin the other day. Heavy, so strong it drowned out the flavor of Christ’s body.”

The man jerks to a halt when he’s a foot away. “Who are you?”

“What am I is a better question. I can be your salvation and guide you to the path of redemption. Or I can lead you straight to hell. A route I think you’ve danced near on more than one occasion. Make your choice, William.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? That’s who you really are. I know what you really are,” you whisper, closing the final distance separating you from the false priest.

[bingeate-r]

hiii hope you’re doing great! :) i was wondering if you could write about zayne reacting to the reader listening and singing along to like the weeknd or a song with rather explicit lyrics, like slow down or meddle about from chase atlantic (the song doesn’t matter you can choose whatever!) and reader just sings along really loudly in a car ride, it can be pure fluff or suggestive whatever you like and are comfortable with! gender neutral reader is fine w me but i’d prefer if you used fem (if that’s okay with u ofc)

thank you 💗💗

Hello! I’m doing great, and I hope you are as well!! I have no problem doing a fem reader 🥹

I hope you like what I came up with!!

Zayne

A set of narrow eyes flicker down to the bright phone screen held in his hand, reading the message that had popped up. It was from you, he knew that instantly because his phone was set to ding differently when you texted, ensuring he would never miss an opportunity to talk to you.

‘Waiting outside by your car, be quick! It’s cold 🥶’

A simple message, followed by a picture of you next to the car for proof, as if your every word wasn’t pure gospel to him. The photo was saved in an instant, hands sliding up to lock the phone before returning it to his pocket.

He kept his gaze forward, confident strides leading him down the familiar halls of the hospital. Each step brought him closer to you, his heart racing by the time he reached the exit. When he found his car, his focus shifted down to you, who was dancing happily around his car, phone in your hand as you recorded the moment.

His hesitation allowed him to take the moment in, commiting it to memory. With a curt shake of his head he continued the short journey, stopping in front of the drivers side door. As you spun around, your gaze locked on him, a wide grin rising to take up your features. He found it hard to not beam back, fighting the urge to reach out and pinch your cheeks. Instead he nodded, making a quick move to the opposite side of the car, opening the door for you.

“Get in, you’ll get sick if we don’t warm you up soon.” His voice was smooth and tempered, his hand darting out to cover the edge of the car so you could dip in safely. In the time it took him to close your door, and open his own, you had the aux chord, plugging it into your phone with a sweet smile.

Zayne simply observed, finding no reason to protest. As you lined up the queue, body wiggling in excitement, he leaned over. A large arm wound around you, grasping the seatbelt and pulling to fasten it in the hook. He gave it a gentle tug for good measure, before repeating the actions in his own seat.

“Oh Zayne, this song is sooo good!” You sung out, hands darting to crank the sound up. His eyes flickered seamlessly between you and the road, unable to miss even a moment of your light. He had a long day at the hospital, but just being near you made him feel better- your energy was infectious.

“Is it?” He quipped back, hands steady on the wheel. Your only response was a nod, readying yourself for your favorite verse. Your body swayed side to side, hands flying through the air.

Zayne couldn’t have been more grateful for a red light in his life, now having a chance to fully look at you. You were singing at top volume, the sound of your sweet voice filling the car and consuming his mind. You would be the death of him.

He let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding in, eyes locked on you as you danced about. Every movement was so carefree, and so full of life- it was impossible to not get captivated. Zayne broke one hand free from the wheel, reaching out as you slowed down, now looking at him with a grin. Your hair was a mess around your face, chest heaving slightly as you struggled to catch your breath after putting on a one man show. Slender fingers met your cheek, gently guiding your hair back to clear your view.

“I think I like this song.” He spoke, his usual intense stare nothing but a soft and warm pool of fondness. Zayne was pulled back to reality abruptly, the car stuck behind the two of you honking. He had been so lost in admiring you that he hadn’t even noticed the light turning green.

He cleared his throat, a diffusing cough flying out. You were a giggling mess, returning to your dancing in an instant. His body shifted back forward, focusing on the road, using it as an excuse to regain some composure. He could feel his ears burning, and he was hoping it was dark enough you wouldn’t notice.

Zayne decided in that moment you would be in charge of the aux chord permanently.

[silver--scar]

hello can you show me how to draw pips and his boyfriends hair :3 I can't draw hair ;-;

Sure thing! I'm not good with guides, but I'd still love to help!

I don't make guides often so this is very messy. Also, I am assuming by 'boyfriend' you meant Damien, as they are paired together the most from what I've seen, but my apologies if I'm wrong!

The guides themselves are pretty self explanatory, but I can add bonus stuff here!

To keep things short, think of Pip's hair like he has a hair care routine. His bob cut is smooth and bouncy, so there isn't much shape aside from the bunched up hair under his cap and the ends, as well as making his hair sort of lumpy or curvy. Also, I've added bangs as he has a tiny fringe under his hat, as seen in newer model like this one!

As for Damien, his hair in the show is rather smooth as well, as seen here.

But he has some spikes like in the bangs or the top of his head! I just added a few more because it's fun, while still trying to keep his original shape (sort of (⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)). Like keeping most of the hair flat against his head until it juts out in low spikes. I also took the liberty in making his sideburns sharp too!

In 3/4ths, the only differences really are some bits of hair that hides behind the head, or other parts that shift along with the face as it turns. Overall, it stays the same. And since it's a cartoon art style, you can just flip which way the hair is facing when a character turns.

In side profiling, the hair either drastically changes or stays the same.

For example, Pip's bangs are always swooped over his eyes, no matter which way he's facing. But with Damien, the bangs do not change a direction. They simply phase through the top chunks of his hair and become a bit like one piece. All in all, the only thing you have to worry about is not putting the sides of the hair too far back. Always try to keep it in the middle or ahead of the middle. Otherwise, it looks like they're balding or have a mullet/swooped back hair. Just draw your shape, make some adjustments, and erase the head lines that hides behind/under the hair!

And there's not really much else! My art style is pretty simplistic, but always keep in mind that MY WORD IS NOT GOSPEL. Obviously, you don't have to draw this way! Art is a progressive element, and the way you create will always change and morph. Even I will change the way I draw over time, including characters' hair, clothing, etc. Do what you think works for your art or makes you happy! Search up some helpful guides or videos on YouTube to help you get a better understanding of what you want to draw. It takes a whole lot of practice to get used to the different elements in art, but it pays off, I can assure you! My art certainly didn't look the way it does now back when I was a teen.

Regardless, if this guide has left you confused, don't be afraid to ask any more questions! I would love to help out any way I can!

[wondrouswendy]

Why Fictional CaseyWake Is Interesting

Back by popular demand (one person asking me to continue my essay), I will continue promoting my Fictional CaseyWake agenda. The Fictional CaseyWake tiger has escaped its cage (and is doing just fine, if a little tortured).

DISCLAIMER: While some of this post involves media analysis, I am not an expert by any means. I am just a fan interpreting things. Don't take what I say as gospel. Also, I am only working with canon presented to us through the video games.

Further, this post is not to discredit or attack FBI Casey/Alan Wake. This is just my way of explaining why this other version of CaseyWake is interesting to me. Don't come at me with a pitchfork.

As a reminder, this post was made with fun in mind.

With that said, this will be a much longer post than those I usually make, so buckle up buckaroos.

I. What's the Deal With Fictional Casey?

The Casey we meet in the Dark Place in Alan Wake 2 is not the same as FBI Agent Alex Casey. There are certainly parallels between the two men, they of course share the same name, the same face, the same voice, a handful of the exact same dialogue lines, but their perspectives on life, Alan Wake, and everything in between is extremely different.

In Abhi Jha's interview with Sam Lake, Lake describes how he decided to revive his love of hardboiled fiction through the Casey we see in the Dark Place. Alan has received visions he doesn't understand of the real Alex Casey which he has then interpreted and curated into becoming his own character named Alex Casey. At the time of this creation, Alan believes Casey came from his imagination. We later learn in Vision 02 that Alan was receiving visions of the real Alex Casey as his inspiration. In Lake's words, this is "an echo of Casey he has molded... turning the knobs more, going more into that hardboiled inspirations." He is a "fictional character coming to life" who is different than the "actual FBI Agent in Washington with Saga who does have similarities and potential of being pushed in that direction but not quite. More three dimensional. With real worries and all of that."

From this, we can extrapolate that Fictional Casey is an exaggerated version of the real Alex Casey and not necessarily a one for one copy of him. Fictional Casey's worries are therefore extremely different than his source material's worries. They live in two entirely different contexts and have vastly different people around them. FBI Agent Alex Casey had an ex-wife and currently has a partner he has a close relationship with. Fictional Casey essentially only has Alan.

Also, Fictional Alex Casey has a little hair floof whereas FBI Casey does not. Their wardrobes are completely different. FBI Casey prefers coffee as his poison of choice; Fictional Casey prefers whiskey.

II. Tropes of Interest

A. Hatemance/Enemies to Lovers

If you’re looking for a hatemance, the pairing has you covered given the whole “Alan killed Casey off for shock value” situation. There’s sex appeal in that alone, but I also think there’s this tender bond between Alan and his character which I will continue to go through later. Alan calls on Casey for help in the Dark Place later on. Maybe it’s on a subconscious level, but it’s certainly there.

In the QR code videos released by Remedy and added into the remastered version of the game, Alan brings up the importance of his character, Alex Casey several times.

In Vision 01, he describes how the Dark Place tapped into his "unconscious mind." Taking things and twisting them to ultimately create a mystery for him to unravel. He specifically writes, "I needed a detective to guide me. Echoes of Casey haunted me."

From Vision 02, he writes, "I saw visions carried by the ebb and flow of different dream states, they seeped in from the reality beyond, things I had a connection to but also things I couldn't possibly know. I used them in my writing to make it real so the parts that weren't would become so. And there were visions that I knew were not real. Ideas I had lost. Often of Casey. I had written about him for years. I use them as well."

In Initiation 2: Casey from Alan Wake 2, Fictional Casey introduces himself with no aggression. To me, in this scene, he is almost acting like a questgiver, an NPC you'd meet in a game whose purpose is to be the guide for the protagonist. There's no immediate malice. In fact, he sacrifices himself to the monster that threatens them.

Casey, who's supposed to be the hero in the narrative, is killed by the Dark Presence. Alan doesn't protect him. You could argue that Casey's final lines of dialogue in this chapter are a moment in which he's breaking through the narrative, implying that he's tired of being used as cannon fodder to protect Alan and to further him on his quest to escape the Dark Place.

B. The History Between Alan Wake and Fictional Casey

For six books, Alan exclusively wrote Alex Casey's story. I would argue that most authors do not stick with a character as long as this. Authors tend to write trilogies if they stick with one character. Often, authors tend to write a story with a character for the course of one novel and then in their next novel, they may shift that character to the background to let another character take the spotlight (this happens all the time in romance novels, for example).

For Alan to write six books worth of Alex Casey, he must have enjoyed it in some way. Something must have appealed to him. His character, the universe, the mysteries. However, something changed with Alan to cause him to not only kill off his star character, but to then proverbially shit-talk him during an interview with Harry Garrett (though the argument could be made that because this interview is shown in a dream sequence that it isn't necessarily something we can reliably trust happened in the real world; if this has been confirmed to be real canonically, please feel free to tell me).

You could argue that Alan killing off Casey in The Sudden Stop threw his marriage and his life out of control. Alan experiences writer's block because Casey's gone. Now this could simply be because the well of inspiration with real life Casey ran dry, because FBI Agent Casey's life had become warped because of Alan's novels.

Alan spends an undefined time with his character Alex Casey. Six novels worth and then thirteen years in the Dark Place. That's a lot of time together.

C. Hurt/Comfort, Angst, and Whump

Alan hurt Casey, personally. He killed him off. Not once, not twice. Several times. He sacrifices Casey over and over.

Casey's echoes in Alan Wake 2 are familiar to Alan. They guide him along to create suitable plots for his escape attempts.

Even though Alan has hurt Casey so much, Casey can't help but assist him with escaping the Dark Place. Even when Casey begins to question his existence, even when Casey starts breaking the fourth wall, he doesn't

This lends itself to juicy Hurt/Comfort, Angst, and Whump potential.

D. Alan Wake: Dude in Distress

The bodyguard trope. Casey arguably functions as a bodyguard to Alan in the Dark Place. Casey is always there for Alan.

I hear what you're saying. Is it because he has no choice in the narrative? I would argue no. He has a choice. We see moments where Casey questions his state of being, he breaks the fourth wall. He acknowledges his status as a fictional character as Alan leaves Zane's theater. He knows there will always be another case for Casey. he walks off into the night's loving arms and cheekily says, "Roll credits."

In my interpretation, there's a part of Casey that enjoys this life, fucked up as it may be sometimes.

E. Forbidden and Star-Crossed Romance

There is potential for forbidden romance between these two. After all, you aren't supposed to fall in love with your creation. It isn't real in the physical sense.

If Fictional Casey isn't important to Alan, if he isn't a threat, then why does the Dark Presence continue to kill off Casey? Why does it continue to separate them, as it does in Initiation 5 when Scratch takes over Alan's body to shoot Casey? It knows that Casey is Alan's guardian angel in the Dark Place. It knows that Casey has been useful in creating plot points to help Alan figure it out.

Further, there is the potential for no happy endings with these two. Of course, that could be a turn off for some and a delicious morsel for others.

F. Sexual Tension

In culmination, these elements of their relationship create sexual tension between Alan and Casey. There's so much potential in their history for romance. Charged moments in the Dark Place.

One could argue there's a will they/won't they moment in Initiation 5 - Room 665 when Casey is pinning Alan to the alley wall. Freud did say, after all, that gun's have phallic imagery. Take that as you will.

On a more superficial level, Alan can shape his fictional character to be his vision of the ideal man, the ideal partner. Or, conversely, his ideal fling. His ideal hot mess. Maybe Alan's version of the manic pixie dream girl is a hardboiled detective.

III. The Act of Creation as a Form of Love of the Self, the Creative Process, and the Creation Itself

Prepare yourself for a bumpy ride through my philosophizing. Sorry in advance. I'm sure others could dive deeper into these particular subtopics better than I could, but I want to just throw this spaghetti at the wall and pray something sticks.

A. Love of the Self

Loving yourself is hard. It's a platitude to say it, but it's true.

Alan and his character Casey do share some qualities. Depression, alcohol abuse. Often as writers, we do draw inspiration from ourselves to add dimension to our characters. Alan doesn't need to be a hardboiled detective himself to share similarities to his fictional character. Alan is destructive, angry, confused, self-loathing, and dysfunctional all throughout Alan Wake 1 and 2. Much of Alan's worst qualities are in Fictional Alex Casey.

In Initiation 5, as Casey lays dying from Alan/Scratch shooting him, he says,

"I was dead tired. I just wanted it to be over. It was all my fault."

Circling back to Alan's writer's block, arguably Alan being in the Dark Place is Casey's fault to an extent. Something happened to cause Alan to want to quit telling Casey's story. Perhaps if Casey had continued to be a source of inspiration, Alan would have continued writing his books?

Going back further, if Alan had never created Casey, his life could have taken an infinite amount of turns. But because Casey came to life through Alan's writing, because of their history, Casey feels some degree of responsibility for how events in the Dark Place have shaped up.

Continuing, he says,

"...I'd had this dark place in my head for so long. Sometimes I'd forget the pain was there. Like it was the way you were supposed to feel. I was not in a dark place. I was the dark place, the source of it all, the vessel. Me and the writer, we were the same."

Casey's final monologue in this chapter echoes sentiments Alan is experiencing. The overall metaphor of the Dark Place as not necessarily a physical or supernatural realm, but a state of mind. Some days are better than others. Some days, you're used to your pain that it feels natural.

This then relates to Fictional Casey's potential guilt. What broke down between Alan and his character to cause Alan to want to kill him off? Did writing Casey's story leave Alan feeling too depressed? Too gloomy as he tells Harry Garrett? Was it early signs of writer's block? A lack of direction?

Relating back to Alan, Alan and the Dark Place are largely one. He finds out Scratch is him. Scratch is Alan + the Dark Presence. Alan/Scratch has been the one haunting Alice, tormenting her. He is the source of it all.

Thus, there is a recursive relationship where Alan's self-loathing feeds Casey and vice versa.

However, there are positive elements of Alan's character in Fictional Casey and vice versa. Casey solves mysteries, he protects others, even at risk to himself. Alan has goodness inside him, but it is cloaked by his own self-doubt and self-loathing.

Alan so badly wants to be the hero all throughout Alan Wake 1 and 2 to save Alice (from the Dark Place and later Scratch), but he's struggling against his own narrative and the meta narrative at large. Fictional Casey is arguably the idealized hero-fantasy he has for himself, which is later realized when he sacrifices himself. He willingly goes back to the Dark Place to save Saga, her daughter, and FBI Casey from the Dark Place and its jailor, the Dark Presence.

B. Love (and Hatred) of the Creative Process

To quote a great tumblr post for the 100th time, the act of creation is like sticking your hand in a cylinder of irradiated water full of piranhas. At the bottom is a button, that when pressed, will give you the best orgasm of your life. However, the irradiated water is obviously toxic and the piranhas are constantly biting. In short, the act of creating something is a struggle. But when you manage to hit that button...

Ask any writer (and any creative person at large), there's nothing more enjoyable than being inspired and filled with energy. Writing a new story is exciting. It's often why people tend to have a backlog of WIPs, because sometimes creatives are always chasing after the next new rush of endorphins. Sometimes we fall in love with a universe, sometimes it's a character, an idea of ours.

On the other side of the coin, hating the creative process, I'll quote a tweet from one of my favorite Youtube video essayists, "I hate literally every step in the filmmaking process. The only thing I hate more than making a film is not making a film." Similarly, most authors state that the worst thing about the writing process is not writing.

Alan can't write because he has writer's block, and he has writer's block because he killed off his character, and he hates that he isn't creating. See the vicious cycle? He can't psych himself up for whatever new book he was supposedly going to write prior to the events of the first game.

C. Love of the Creation Itself

Even in Alan's nightmares, he has copies of The Sudden Stop stuffed into his car's trunk like that meme about the person who trips and has pictures of their senpai shoved up their sleeves.

Art is subjective. It's tailored to our personal experiences and vision. Alan (and on a meta level, Sam Lake) enjoy hardboiled detective fiction. Alex Casey is the realization of that love come to life.

Understandably, there are elements of this style of relationship which are not equal in power. We see these elements repeatedly with how Alan uses, yes even abuses Fictional Casey to further his own goals.

Yes, you could say that loving your own creation (no matter the medium) is masturbatory. It's self-aggrandizing. But loving something you put time, effort, blood, sweat, and tears just feels good. We as creators have a right to feel proud of our works.

IV. Interesting Parallels

I'm sorry to all my English major friends for the fumbling I'm about to commit with literary analysis.

A. Biblical

It wouldn't be a deep dive analysis if we didn't bring up the Bible. Of course I'm talking about God and Adam. Anyone creating their own original universe with their own original characters is playing God. Alan creates Alex Casey through the divine act of turning his imagination into tangible writing.

Will someone PLEASE draw Alan Wake and Fictional Casey in the vein of Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam already???

B. Literary

John Milton's famous lines from his work Paradise Lost:

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould Me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?

Of course, Paradise Lost is an epic poem about the story of Genesis, but this stanza in particular, spoken by Adam to God can easily be applied to Fictional Casey towards Alan. Casey didn't ask for any of this. He didn't ask to be created, he didn't ask to become Alan's guide in the Dark Place.

I’m a sucker for Frankenstein by Mary Shelley so I regret to inform everyone we're bringing it up.

I think there’s some Frankenstein/His Monster vibes with this flavor of CaseyWake. I think there were moments where Casey resented coming to life, certainly much later on as he lives and dies over and over.

From his dying moments in Initiation 2:

"I remembered dying in this alley in a dream I had. He was just gonna keep killing me here, loop by loop. You're not gonna get what you want. You think you know. You know shit. You don't really wanna know. You're gonna get what's coming to you."

And then from Frankenstein:

"Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good – misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous."

Unlike his real counterpart, Fictional Casey has no one other than Alan. He has no friends, no found family. Arguably, even FBI Casey wants nothing to do with his fictional self. He is completely reliant upon Alan. I suppose you could say we the audience are his only true friend, as we function as voyeurs into his fictional life, much like Alan (but we seem to want to take better care of him than Alan does).

C. Mythological

Pygmalion and Galatea.

The Greek sculptor Pygmalion fell in love with his sculpture of a woman. He asked the goddess Aphrodite if his sculpture could become real, and somehow the goddess of love was like "yeah sure bud." The sculpture, Galatea, comes to life, and they live happily ever after.

(This is the part where I'll make a brief Weird Science shoutout since it's a somewhat similar premise).

V. Conclusion

If you have somehow made it this far, thanks for reading.

There are likely things I've forgotten that I wanted to talk about at some point. Maybe I'll have to make a part two if I end up remembering them.

Hopefully my essay will help inspire others to create fanworks featuring this particular version of CaseyWake. I would love to hear what others think, so please don't hesitate to share your thoughts!!

And finally,

[64yrsold]

about you

“I don’t want to bother you…” my voice wavered on the phone, “But, I think… I think you should come and get me,”

“Where are you?” he replied immediately, and I told him the address. “Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

“No, I’m okay,” I answered, already feeling relieved knowing he was on his way. His voice was anchoring, and I listened to him like gospel.

“Alright,” his car started, “I’m headed out. I will see you in five minutes.”

“Okay,” I whispered, and hung up the phone. I sighed, watching my breath dissipate against the black sky. I could still hear my friends celebrating in the background as I sat on their front porch, but it all felt very distant. Maybe just a dream. I leaned against the paint-chipped railing, watching cars roll by, headlights reflecting off the slick streets.

“There she is,” he called, stepping out of his car.

I blinked. Had I fallen asleep?

“Hi,” I smiled, and he strode towards me, hands tucked into his coat pockets. He frowned, stepping closer.

“Were you…” he paused, “They didn’t come check on you?”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, and stood up, a bit wobbly, “It’s my fault, I just had a bit too much to drink,”

He offered a hand to help me down the stairs, and slung my arm over his shoulder.

“Shit friends,” he stated.

“I don’t know them that well,” I shrugged. He opened the car door, and unbuttoned his coat. He wrapped the heavy jacket around me, warm and soaked with his scent, and guided me to the passenger seat. He buckled me in, his hair brushing my face as he leaned over me. I wished he would stay like this. The seatbelt clicked in place, and he pulled back, looking at me closely.

“Precious cargo,” he winked.

He closed the door, walking around the car. He paused for a moment, staring at the house. A sigh. Then he continued, hopping into the driver’s seat. He blew on his hands to warm them, and turned up the heat. He pushed the vents to face towards me.

“Where to?” he asked, “I can drop you at home, if you’d like.”

“Sure,” I said, “It’s not too far from here. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” he said quickly, shaking his head. He opened his mouth, but closed it before saying anything. He shifted the car into reverse, and we pulled off of the driveway. I gazed out the window, the passing street lamps flashing by me. I knew if I didn’t look outside, I would be staring at him.

The car slowed, tires scratching against the pavement as he pulled towards the curb.

“This is the one?” he asked, pointing at my apartment building. I nodded.

I looked at my hands, fingers knotting together. The air was thick and warm, blanketing us in his idling car.

“Thank you,” I said, reaching for the door.

“Wait,” he said, grabbing my wrist, “Sorry.” He pulled his hand away. “I just wanted… Well, I guess, thank you.”

“Hm?”

“Thanks for calling,” he said, looking at me with pleading eyes. “It feels nice, y’know, to know that you think of me.”

I scoffed.

“I think of you constantly,” I said, not thinking. Blood crept up my face, and I felt my chest tighten.

“Really?” he said. I glimpsed up at him, and was surprised to see his face soft, earnest. I nodded slowly.

“I’m consumed by you,” he admitted, and his hand cautiously brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s just torture without you.”

“Don’t joke about that,” I shook my head, smiling down at my hands, “Because I’ll really believe you.”

“I am not joking,” he told me, “I am not fucking joking.”

I reached a hand out to find his. He took it, tracing his fingers over my knuckles and bones. He flipped it over, pressing his thumb along the lines in my palm.

“Do you… Do you have to go?” he mumbled, pulling my hand to his mouth.

I shook my head.

“Thank you,” he smiled, kissing each knuckle. He held my fist to his forehead, bowing his head and sighing deeply. “I want to… I want to be careful with you.”

“Okay,” I murmured, and he sighed again.

“Just… You’ll have to be patient with me, okay?”

“Okay.”

[onyourowndaisymae]

Trick or treat!! May I have a treat with Riddle?

guys... i love riddle so much 😭 i can't be normal about him. it was a delight to receive this ask bc i wanted an excuse to write my fav lil redhead

it was almost comical to see how rigid riddle is with even the most minor of rules. he heralds the cookbook on the counter as gospel, blue-gray eyes scanning each line once, twice, letting the the instructions tumble around his brain for several seconds before turning back to the pot on the stove.

"how many drops of food coloring do you think i should use?" he asks aloud. you turn from the dish you're baking nearby, brow furrowed in confusion as you peer over at the recipe across the counter.

"how many does the cookbook say?"

"'a few.'"

"okay, then just go with that."

he frowns. you notice his steely gaze narrow at the page once more.

"is something wrong?"

"baking is a confusing and inefficient practice. i have no idea how trey manages to be so good at it."

the absurdity of his statement makes you laugh. "what are you even talking about?"

"the instructions," riddle says firmly, gesturing to the cookbook. "they say to use 'a few' drops a food coloring. why be so imprecise?"

"i guess it's to give you the flexibility to make the color as vivid as you'd like?" you offer, and he huffs. "some people may want a tinge of red while others want it more opaque. the cookbook is just, y'know, a guide for how to cook it. you can adjust things according to you preferences."

his eyes narrow once again at the words across the page. you've known since he first opened his mouth how steadfast riddle is in following clear-cut rules, the simplicity of guidance easing the crushing weight of the expectations he's held to. so you relieve the pressure-- just a little.

"try to mix in five drops, then check to see if you like the color."

simple enough. he does as you suggest, letting five perfect drops of red coloring fall into the pot of simple syrup. he stirs the mixture carefully.

"do you think that's good?"

"... it could be more red. to match the decor."

"then try five more drops."

riddle, once again, follows your guidance, distributing five drops of coloring around the pot. the mixture swirls a vibrant red around the spoon's slow, meticulous circles. a victorious little smile pulls at his lips. he's cute, but he doesn't know it. because he's surprised when you lean in and press a sweet little kiss to his reddening cheek-- and he's relieved when you don't comment on him pulling out a post-it note and marking down the desired number of drops one should use when making a vibrant red syrup for candied apples.

oh, the housewarden and his rules.

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

Gospel of the Damned I

As I guided my old sedan along the winding roads leading to Villisca, Iowa, the steady hum of the engine was a comforting, familiar sound against the backdrop of my tumultuous thoughts. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the road, shadows that seemed to stretch and reach towards me as if they knew the purpose of my journey.

My name is Evelyn Archer, and I’m a journalist driven by the search for truths buried beneath layers of silence and secrets. My journey has brought me to Villisca, a town cloaked in historical mystery and whispered rumors.

Leaving Chicago had been a relief, a chance to escape the clutter of a life that had become too much to bear. The city, with its relentless noise and ceaseless demands, had started to suffocate me. After the collapse of my last major investigative piece—a story I’d poured my heart into only to see it discredited due to a sketchy source's last-minute retraction—I knew I needed a break, not just from the city, but from myself.

Villisca offered that escape, or so I hoped. It wasn’t just the town's notorious history that drew me but the promise of silence, of solitude, and perhaps a chance to redeem my journalistic career with a story that could be more than just another article. The whispers of a cult operating under a religious community, led by the mysterious Father Malachai, enticed me to peel at the layers of secrets this town held—secrets that perhaps needed someone like me to unravel them.

I could feel every mile pulling me deeper into something I couldn’t quite understand yet, a story that was more than just a chapter in my career—it was a chance to redefine it. As I passed the weathered sign welcoming visitors to Villisca, a shiver crawled up my spine. This town, cloaked in its notorious past, was like a character from one of the many thrillers that lined my bookshelves back home in my loft. Except now, I wasn't just an observer; I was part of its history.

The infamous Axe Murder House was here, a grim tourist magnet that I'd read about but never seen for myself. Apparently, eight people were murdered in their sleep, six of them being children, no less. And of course, the killer was never found. The remnants of this unresolved mystery seemed to seep into the soil of this place, staining it with a palpable darkness. I pulled into Villisca, the small town appeared almost frozen in time.

The Main Street was a quaint lineup of old brick buildings and fading storefronts, each one bearing the weight of sordid history. Despite the serene appearance, there was an underlying tension, as if the town itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone—to break the silence.

I parked my car outside a diner that boasted the “Best Pie in Montgomery County,” its windows steamed up from the warmth inside. As I stepped out, the autumnal chill hit me, a stark contrast to the cozy scene inside the diner.

The stares of the few locals scattered along the street felt heavy on my shoulders. They knew I was an outsider, another curiosity-seeker perhaps, drawn by the morbid fascination with their town's dark lore. Clutching my notebook and camera, I hesitated for a moment. This was it—the start of something I couldn't yet define. Was I here as a journalist, a detective, or just another lost soul seeking answers in the wrong places?

Only time will tell…

[nejackdaw]

Okay I haven't talked about Judas OR the Judas album in a while so I'm going to share this analysis I finally placed and I'm losing my mind about

In the song Field of Blood (song 5,) the chorus ends with a line I've never quite been able to find a suitable conclusion about. Right. (Putting my rambling under a read more, the screenshots make this long)

Oh, okay, "what is my god," he's having a crisis of faith. Why is God so cruel as to order Jesus be killed (reminder that the album is a mix of biblical and Gnostic canon, where Jesus asked Judas to be the one to betray him.)

WRONG

If we move two tracks ahead in the album to Death is Just a Kiss Away, right before the last chorus we have these lines:

Which is insane! Because this part is actually saying "you have two gods, God and Jesus" (sun and moon, as I'll get to) "and no matter which you choose" (obeying the kill command or refusing to kill Jesus) "you're going to piss everyone off"! Okay now I know, "but where did you get sun and moon/God and Jesus" and HERE I TELL YOU:

Jesus is CONSTANTLY referred to with constellation imagery! (There's a whole song about it!) The Gospel of Judas includes the quotes (from Jesus) "Judas, your star has led you astray" and "the star that leads the way is your star." The album takes this and RUNS with it. Makes Jesus Judas's guiding star. There is SO MUCH night/star symbolism going on here, mostly in Constellation, but also from A World Where we Belong:

SO BASICALLY: considering that Jesus is heavily referred to with night sky imagery and they're literally both referred to as "two moons aligned," it isn't unreasonable to conclude that the line from Just a Kiss Away is in fact talking about God/Jesus. WHICH MEANS

When Judas is about to hang himself and he pleadingly asks "what is my god?"

HE DOESN'T KNOW IF IT'S GOD OR JESUS BECAUSE HE'S FUCKING IN LOVE WITH HIM APNDOANSOANS HE OBEYED GOD BECAUSE HE'S GOD BUT HE'S KILLING HIMSELF OVER JESUS. I HAVE MANY OTHER LINES ABOUT THIS (DEVOTION TO JESUS, NOT GOD) BUT THAT'S A DIFFERENT TOPIC

[aaknopf]

In Shakespeare’s Sisters, Ramie Targoff recovers to literary memory the lives and talents of four women who wrote in England during Shakespeare’s time, well before there was any notion of “a room of one’s own.” From Mary Sidney, sister of the well-known poet Sir Philip Sidney (she wrote most of the beautiful translations of the Psalms ascribed to him) to Anne Clifford, a diarist and memoirist who fought for decades against a patriarchy that tried to disinherit her from her family’s land, these women stun us by their bravery. In the passage below, Targoff discusses the important poetry of Aemilia Lanyer, born of an illiterate mother and an immigrant father; it appeared in print in 1611, making her the first woman in the 17th century to publish an original book of verse.

. . .

In the same year the King James Bible first appeared in print, establishing the most influential English translation of scripture ever produced, Aemilia dared to tell a different story. Over the course of 230 rhyming stanzas of eight lines each, her “Salve Deus Rex Judaeorum” lays out the story of Christ’s Passion from a distinctly female perspective. The formal challenge of writing the poem was itself daunting: it’s no easy feat to compose over 1,800 lines of ottava rima (iambic pentameter stanzas written in an abababcc rhyme scheme). But Aemilia’s greater audacity was in tackling the subject of Christ’s crucifixion. To justify this, she makes the same claim for divine inspiration that the great Protestant poet John Milton would make sixty or so years later in writing Paradise Lost. Describing her own “poor barren brain” as “far too weak” for the task, she asks God to “give me power and strength to write”:

Yet if he please to illuminate my spirit,  And give me wisdom from his holy hill,  That I may write part of his glorious merit,  If he vouchsafe to guide my hand and quill Then will I tell of that sad blackfaced night,  Whose mourning Mantle covered Heavenly Light.

     Given the fact that the poem proceeds to do exactly what she petitions for, Aemilia shows her reader that her prayer has been answered: she’s not so much writing as channeling the divine word.[...]      Aemilia’s narrative of Christ’s Passion begins on the “very night our Savior was betrayed.” As part of her overall strategy in “Salve Deus”of celebrating female virtue, the poem draws attention both to the wicked acts of men (Caiaphas, Judas) and to the compassionate acts of women (the daughters of Jerusalem, the Virgin Mary) in the days leading up to Christ’s arrest. None of this comes as a surprise. But when Aemilia arrives at the moment that Pontius Pilate considers Christ’s fate, she does something totally unanticipated. Relinquishing her own role as narrator, she hands the poem over to Pilate’s wife. Among the most minor figures in the New Testament, Pilate’s wife has a single line of verse in only one of the four gospels. In Matthew 27:19, a woman who is never named urges her husband, the Roman governor in Judaea, to disregard the will of the people calling for Christ to be crucified: “Have nothing to do with that just man,” she warns Pilate, “for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him.”      In early Christian commentaries and apocryphal writings, this woman was often called Procula Claudia, or simply Procula. In medieval England, Procula was paraded onstage in the mystery plays as an evil woman who almost prevented Christ’s saving humankind; in the York Cycle’s play named for her—The Dream of Pilate’s Wife—Percula, as she’s called there, receives her dream from the Devil himself. There’s no way to know if Aemilia knew this or other medieval dramas; it’s more likely she would have noticed the more positive treatment Pilate’s wife was given in the Geneva Bible, the popular translation done by English Protestants in the 1550s. Consistent with the Protestant belief that everyone should have access to the Bible directly, the translation was heavily glossed with marginal notes. Next to the verse from Matthew regarding Pilate’s wife was a single gloss suggesting that Pilate should have taken the “counsel of others to defend Christ’s innocence.” But whether the treatment of this woman was negative or positive, she had never been asked to perform the role Aemilia gave her in “Salve Deus,” where she delivers one of the strongest defenses for women’s rights that Christianity had ever seen.      In Pilate’s wife, Aemilia found her perfect heroine: a woman whose intervention at the crucial moment could have changed the course of history, if only her husband had listened. With the scriptural verse from Matthew before her, Aemilia made two crucial additions to the story. First, she transformed Pilate’s wife into a faithful believer who already regarded Christ as her Lord. “Hear the words of thy most worthy wife,” she begs her husband, “who sends to thee, to beg her Savior’s life.” Far from simply reporting that she’s had an ominous dream, as she does in Matthew, Pilate’s wife explicitly warns Pilate that he will be killing the son of God.      Second, Aemilia turned Pilate’s wife into a proto-feminist. After urging Pilate to let Christ go on religious grounds, she comes up with a new reason for why he should be pardoned: “Let not us women glory in men’s fall / Who had power given to over-rule us all.” If men are sinful enough to crucify their savior, then women should be liberated from men’s rule. “Your indiscretion sets us free,” she declares, “And makes our former fault much less appear.” In these four short lines, Aemilia’s character anticipates the killing of Christ as the basis for women’s freedom from patriarchy.      As if this weren’t radical enough, Pilate’s wife moves in “Salve Deus” from making her argument about the Crucifixion to recon- sidering the reason for Christ’s sacrifice in the first place. “Our mother Eve,” she exclaims,

. . . who tasted of the Tree Giving to Adam what she held most dear, Was simply good, and had no power to see,  The after-coming harm did not appear.

If Eve had no way to know the damage she might do, Adam was only too aware: it was he who received the command directly “from God’s mouth.” Eve was simply a victim of misinformation and “too much love,” whereas Adam, not betrayed by the “subtle Serpent’s falsehood,” knew exactly what he was doing.      Aemilia was certainly not the first person to defend Eve on grounds of her innocence or to propose that Adam be held responsible for the Fall. She was possibly the first to argue that the crime of killing Christ so overwhelmed any fault of Eve’s that women’s subordination should come to an immediate end. “If unjustly you condemn [Christ] to die,” Pilate’s wife concludes,

. . . Then let us have our Liberty again, And challenge [attribute] to your selves no Sovereignty;  You came not in the world without our pain, Make that a bar against your cruelty; Your fault being greater, why should you disdain  Our being your equals, free from tyranny? If one weak woman simply did offend,  This sin of yours, hath no excuse, nor end.

Hundreds of years before the women’s liberation movement, Aemilia used the figure of Pilate’s wife to argue that the sexes should be equal. In doing so, she also rescued a voice from history, giving full personhood and agency to a woman whom the Bible didn’t regard as worthy of a name.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Shakespeare’s Sisters by Ramie Targoff.

Browse other books by Ramie Targoff and follow her on Instagram @ramietargoff.

Hear Ramie Targoff read at the Boston Athenaeum in Boston on May 15, 6:00 - 7:00 PM. Click here to join virtually. 

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[childofchrist1983]

The first thing Andrew did after meeting Jesus Christ was to tell his brother Simon Peter the good news. Were you as excited as Andrew to tell others when you first came to know Jesus? How about now? Sometimes, we lose that excitement over time. But with every answered prayer, every new beginning, God gives us an opportunity to reclaim - and proclaim - our excitement all over again. It is a joy to know Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ. When we look back on our first meeting, we remember how we were so amazed and overwhelmed with joy by Him. Thank Him for continuing to show up in our hearts and our lives. May He use these moments to give us fresh eyes and a restored spirit, so that we may continue to be amazed by Him and His Holy Word and Spirit, and continue to share His Gospel Truth with others without hesitation.

May He empower us by His Holy Word and Spirit to live in the light of His Truth, love grace. May our healing and transformation glorify His name and Kingdom of Heaven and reveal who He truly is to others. May He help us to keep close to Him, so that we may endure until He fully sets us free and brings us to our true home in His Kingdom of Heaven. Thank Him for His Holy Word and Spirit. Thank Him for revealing the Truth of Him and His holiness. May He help us to hold close to Him just as He holds close to us, so that we may live in humble and faithful obedience. If we stray from Him and His path, may He use His Holy Word and Spirit to bring us close to Him once again. May He help us daily to trust fully in Him and His love, provision and care. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for making us anew! May He complete His renewing work in us, ridding us of the sinful words, thoughts and actions that aren’t from Him, so that we may reflect only His love and light and presence in us to this dark and fallen world and the lost souls within it.

God is our Heavenly Father, our Creator and our guide. And Jesus Christ is our LORD and Savior and King. As Christians, we trust Him wholeheartedly and we submit our heart and our lives into His skilled hands. May He shape us according to His design and plan for us, so that we may stand strong in the firing furnace and emerge revealing His craftsmanship as He prepares us serve Him on Earth and in His Kingdom of Heaven according to His Holy Word and will. May He give us the peace and endurance we need each day, and may He use this time to help us grow in His wisdom and strength and to grow in our walk and relationship with Him. May He make us more into the person that He not only created us to us to be, but called us to be from the very beginning.

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for securing a place for all true Christian believers as followers of Christ and spiritually reborn children of God in His eternal Kingdom. Each day, the sun rises and its light and warmth, and the Holy Bible gives us a glimpse of the promised eternity to come. May we continue to walk in the love and light of Christ with our heads held high and our eyes on the finish line. May we lead others to His Gospel Truth and to His light as well throughout this journey with Him. Let us all humble ourselves before God daily, asking Him to forgive us and to strength and teach us to view life through the lens of God and His promises. May He guard our hearts against Satan and the temptations of this world and our flesh. May He give us the peace to find full satisfaction in God and His peace and promises, so that we may live our lives daily in ways that honor and pleases Him. As we seek Him daily, may He reveal Himself to us through the words He has provided and use it to conform the desires of our heart to Him and His love and compassion and grace.

As true and spiritually reborn Christians, we love, trust and believe in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ. We choose to keep Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ first in our hearts and lives and all other worldly desires behind us. He extends salvation to everyone, and we want to show the world the freedom, hope and peace they can have in accepting and following Him. We must ask Him to help us grow spiritually in our relationship with Him and strengthen us and the bonds of love that He has given us, so that our unity may glorify and testify to His power and goodness. Thank Him for calling us to faith and imparting us with salvation and righteousness. May He empower us to live in His will and righteousness, so that we may testify to His soul-saving power as our faith carries us past all doubt, fear, and failure. May He grant us the grace to forgive others who have wronged us, and the humility to seek forgiveness where we have caused strife. May we follow and serve God daily with love, trust, awe and wonder. May Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ strengthen our faith, lift our spirits, protect our hearts, and show us opportunities to help bring others to Him and His Gospel Truth daily. May we do this duty boldly, humbly and faithfully. Seek, follow and trust in the LORD God Almighty always! To God be all the honor and praise and glory!

We must come to Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ with sincere hearts to ask forgiveness and follow Him and His Holy Word and Spirit always. We praise Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for the mercy He bestows upon us and we are grateful for His grace and mercy and infinite blessings. By surrendering our hearts and our lives to His will, we see all the blessings He has bestowed upon us. God our refuge and our salvation and our constant provider. We lift our voices to Him in praise for His steadfast love, mercy and understanding. May Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ open our minds and hearts more and more to perceive and embrace Him and His truths. May He help us to find time to pray and read and study the Holy Bible daily and to find power in prayer, praying according to His Holy Word and will. May He help us to come to Him in true repentance and with faith in Him and His grace and merciful nature. May He give us the grace, courage and strength we need to walk with Him and do His will daily. May He teach us to watch our words when we pray to Him and to speak reverently and rightly. May we continually ask God to transform our hearts and make us faithful and humble as we walk with Him daily. We must come to Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ with honest, humble and repentant hearts. We must seek Him and His will and choose to follow Him all the days of our lives. May He help transform our hearts, help us to seek and live for Him above all else and to grow spiritually and build our faith and relationship with Him with each passing day. May He forgive our sinful nature and help us always make Him and our relationship with Him top priority.

As true and born-again Christians, we choose to walk in His righteous path and lead a life that is pleasing to Him. We desire Him and His will above anything else. We desire to walk in accordance with the love and light He has shown to us through His Holy Word and Spirit. We long for a deeper relationship with Him and a deeper fellowship with our brothers and sisters in Christ as well. When we fall into temptation and sin, we must turn to Him for forgiveness, strength and guidance. When believers learn to walk in accordance with God's Holy Word and Spirit, they have deeper fellowship with both God and one another. And the sin that could threaten to destroy that fellowship, if confessed (1 John 1:9), is covered in the blood of Jesus Christ and no longer a barrier between us and God. May we ask Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ to forgive us for any sins we have sinned this day or in days past. May we be faithful to Him and His Holy Word always. May He help us to walk more consistently in the light and to not neglect long to confess and forsake any sins that hinder our walk with Him. May He lead us in the direction He wants us to go so that we may seek and serve Him faithfully. God is holy and almighty and deserving of all praise honor and glory. We rejoice in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ, knowing He is the same yesterday, today, and forever (Hebrews 13:8). He is the Alpha and the Omega (Revelation 1:8). May our hearts always be filled with thanksgiving and rejoicing. May He help us to praise Him freely and honestly like all believers who came before us. May we live a life that showcases our love and trust in Him and His Holy Word and Spirit as He uses us draw others to Him and His soul-saving Gospel Truth daily. May He continue guide, correct and protect us, so that we continue to grow in Him and not weaken and stray. May we all remain faithful to Him and to this duty and purpose He has called us to. Seek and put your faith and trust in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ and let Him do the rest. May He humble our hearts and help us focus on following and serving Him daily and helping others with joy and happiness. We lift our voices in praise to Him for His love, mercy, peace, faithfulness and grace - For EVERYTHING!

It is vital that we remain rooted in Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ through prayer and His Holy Word and Spirit and that we live and walk as a beacon of His light and love and share and spread the Gospel Truth daily, so that the lost souls in this world can come to know Him and be saved. The more we focus on Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ, growing spiritually by building our relationship with Him, leaning on Him and His Holy Word and Spirit, the better off we will be. Thanks to this and our faith in Him, we know that everything will be alright. And we will forever be grateful to Him. As true and born-again Christians, we believe in Him and His Holy Word and we strive daily to walk in His Holy Spirit. We know though our mortal bodies should die, He will raise us up and into new and glorious bodies (The Rapture). We who are truly His and alive at His second coming will never die, and our bodies will be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, and so shall we ever be with Him in His Kingdom of Heaven forevermore (1 Corinthians 15:51-52, 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17). This is one of many promises given to us by God Himself. Thank God for His strength and guidance when we are faced with sin and temptation. Thank Him for His mercy and grace. Through Bible study and prayer, God reveals His wisdom and guides us to see opportunities to grow closer to Him and grow spiritually. He gives us direction to live our lives daily according to His will.

Jesus Christ is the ONLY way to Heaven (John 3:5, 14:6), the ONLY way to salvation (Acts 4:12, Ephesians 2:8-9) and He is the resurrection and the life (John 11:25-26). Jesus Christ the LORD of lords, the KING of kings, the GOD of gods (Deuteronomy 10:17, 1 Timothy 6:15, Revelation 17:14, Revelation 19:16) - He is the Living, Almighty and Everlasting God (Isaiah 9:6, Revelation 1:8, John 3:16, John 3:36, Jeremiah 10:10). There is no other God besides Him (Isaiah 45:5). We MUST humble ourselves before Him, turning our backs on false teachers, false gods and idols and our sinful ways. We MUST repent and turn back to God and recognize who He is and love Him in return for His great love for us. We MUST make God top priority everyday! May we be motivated to spread God's Holy Word and Gospel Truth to all the Earth, knowing that it is the only hope of all those lost in their sins. Let us not hold out a false hope for men to be saved without the Gospel, but instead, strive to do our part to get the Gospel out to a lost and dying world.

Leaning on Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ through prayer and His Holy Word and Spirit strengthens us and our knowledge and wisdom about God and His Gospel Truth, exposing these imposters. May God help us to seek and lean on Him daily to gain the strength, wisdom and spiritual discernment needed to expose Satan and his imposters who seek to destroy us and God's ultimate Truth. Everyday, we must remember to share Jesus Christ's Gospel Truth with the world and to thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for the grace that He poured out for us on the cross at Calvary. He has freed us from the burdens of sin and from the eternal damnation of Hell. In all we say and do, may all praise, honor and glory always be given to Him and His Kingdom of Heaven.

With renewed minds, hearts and wills, let us serve Him humbly and faithfully out of pure love and grateful rejoicing. May He remind us of His presence and to remain at peace, fully knowing that all will be well because He is always with us. Let us seek Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ today and everyday with all our heart and being, looking for His love, light and will for our lives with each step we take. Let us seek to please Him with our thoughts, words, and deeds and seek to advance His Kingdom of Heaven and His glory with our lives. Let us seek Him from a pure and humble heart, and when we so seek, we believe Him and His promise that we will find. May He help us all to be more sensitive to the teaching ministry of His Holy Word and Spirit, relying on Him and allowing Him to speak to us and guide us every step of our Christian journey.

God gave us the Holy Bible - His living and Holy Word - to let us know of Him and His abiding love and care as well as guide and prepare us for all our lives. May He help us encourage one another as we continue our walk with Him and our duty to Him daily. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for being present for all our new beginnings and all our lives. May He redirect any anxiety we feel as He provides countless opportunities for growth and change. May we humble ourselves before God always, asking Him to forgive our sins and make our hearts and lives anew through His Holy Word and Spirit. May He help us make Him and His Holy Word top priority, so we can grow spiritually and grow in our relationship with Him as we apply it to our daily lives. Thank God that we can focus on Him and everything about Him, for that is what keeps us sane and at peace. May our words and actions always be a reflection of Him and His Holy Word and Spirit and will.

May He help us to always walk in His grace and Holy Spirit, not by our own measure. May He give us the humble humility to know that our freedom and eternal salvation is found only in Him, so that His grace may sustain us, and we may never lose sight of His love and light and mercy. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for calling us to Him and to serve Him. May He equip us to do all that He has called us to do so that as He works through us, He may use us to produce fruit, to reach others, and to encourage all brothers and sisters in Christ. May He work all of these things in us and through us for His Kingdom and His glory. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all His creation, for His miraculous ways and for everything He does and has done for us! Keep the faith and keep moving forward in your walk with Jesus! He loves us and He knows what is best for us. Seek, follow and trust in Him - Always!

Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Word and for sending His Holy Spirit so that we might have His grace, not only to awaken us and transform our hearts in our spiritual rebirth and guarantee our eternity with Him, but to also call upon Him whenever we are in need. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for all the reminders of His love and mercy and faithfulness within His Holy Word. He is bigger than any challenge or circumstance in our lives. Knowing this within our minds and our hearts, nothing can deter our faith in Him and His Truth. May we all accept Him and His eternal gift of salvation and ask that He would transform our hearts and lives according to His will and ways. Thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His Holy Spirit who saves, seals and leads us. May we always thank Father God Almighty and the LORD Jesus Christ for His almighty power and saving grace. For He is our strength, and He alone is able to save us, forgive our sins and gift us eternal salvation and entry into His Kingdom of Heaven.

May we make sure that we give our hearts and lives to God and take time to seek and praise Him and share His Truth with the world daily. May the LORD our God and Father in Heaven help us to stay diligent and obedient and help us to guard our hearts in Him and His Holy Word daily. May He help us to remain faithful and full of excitement to do our duty to Him and for His glorious return and our reunion in Heaven as well as all that awaits us there. May we never forget to thank the LORD our God and our Creator and Father in Heaven for all this and everything He does and has done for us! May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a mighty God we serve! What a Savior this is! What a wonderful LORD, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

[apenitentialprayer]

If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?

- Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (The Gulag Archipelago, page 168)

The judgment of Christ brings, moreover, is not just a division between two kinds of people. When Christ's light shines into our lives, it creates a division within ourselves. None of us is entirely good or entirely bad. Each of us is a mixture. The bad grows up in our lives like weeds among the wheat, and the two are so closely entwined that in this life we can't easily tell the difference (Matt 13:24-30). [...] So it is a comfort to know that one day someone else will come and lovingly separate the good from the bad in our lives. The confession that Christ will come as judge is not an expression of terror and doom. It is part of the good news of the gospel.

- Ben Myers (The Apostles' Creed: A Guide to the Ancient Catechism, pages 92, 93)

[myeyesblurry]

Just a reminder, I am a roleplay blog. Blurry is a character. This post is regarding the Sherlock BBC roleplayer drama.

If I talk about things on my blog, it's in character. If we talk in DM's it's a 50/50 if I'll be in character or not. You'll be able to tell, by the fact if I start slurring you or not. (If you request we talk mod to mod; sure. If not I'll let you know- but this has never happened. I don't have reason to not be kind or myself in general.) If i send asks, it's 90% of the time in character. I am quick to drop a character if the conversation gets serious and I am trying to comfort the people behind the blogs.

I don't have beef with anyone personally.

It's all roleplay.

I do have addiction issues, and yes I did go on a binge last month and overdose. I've been (rather painfully) sober since. I smoke weed now though, in attempts to help me stay away from harder drugs. It's worked so far. I mostly am here when sober, and again am sober now as I write all of this, and have been during a lot of this situation. The weed has been during weaker moments.

If you want to ask me about in character drama, I will GLADLY spill all I know! If we have the energy at the time, anyway. If there are gaps between posts or replies, remember I'm an addict and I have a disociative disorder. Simply put; my body might be here, but my mind isn't all of the time. I'm too tired or too high to be in it sometimes, and you get gaps. Days, weeks, whatever. Often not weeks, I think 3 weeks was the max recently.

If you want drama between mods; the character will not. And if I am not part of the mod drama, I have nothing to say. Do I know more than I let on? Yes. Do I talk about it? Not unless they're a dangerous person and I fear for you. Could I warn you again talking OOC with a character, while saying it's safe to talk to the character? Yah. Sure. Just be cautious and I need to remind you that these characters are not the mods, and that these characters are not your friend.

I will give people my personal blog or otherwise show my hand if I am trying to express I will be open/be your friend. I'm not saying every blog that doesn't tell you their main is bad, and I'm not saying any blog that does tell you their main is good.

But that to blindly trust a character, without establishing any real connection outside of that, and taking what they say as gospel or telling them secrets, is dangerous. Remember that just because one person speaks first, doesn't automatically mean they are in the right. Remember also; that neither is the second, middle, last, whoever! For clearance. Stories have two sides, and sometimes the truth is muddy and somewhere in the middle. Sometimes hearing more stories might help gather intel for you to make a decision, but can never truly be perfect.

If you need to ask about my personal experiences with someone, I can tell you as well, if I'm feeling up for it. If not, I won't lie, I'll say I'm not ready or it's private. I can't speak for anyone else, or tell a story that's happened to anyone else. I'll tell my personal story, if I have one, and you can use it to help guide on who you believe, if you want. But my personal experience will not be a public post on this blog. But private, dm's, or even on one of my personal blogs.

Remember the world isn't black and white, and that people can be good and make mistakes or do bad actions, and that bad people can make mistakes and do good actions. With or without manipulation. That if things sound insane, it might be because they are just exaggerating their story. That they might or might not be the victim, and that good can handle bad for a long time before they break, or any other situation. Good can do bad things, when they've suffered a long time; and that you can't always believe everyone's story to be gospel. Good, bad, we're just people.

These are real people, don't blur the lines of rp and them. They might do bad actions, and be good. They might do good actions, and be bad. But they could just be people, who make mistakes, have misunderstandings, and suffer the fallout for a long, long, time. Hold grudges and hold them long after others change, and when that happens, they could see any good action as manipulation or some other negativr reason for the way they're acting. That they could accidentally become manipulators themselves. Cycle of abuse is real, and the victim turns into a new abuser, but often the one they are abusing is a new innocent person, a new victim. No one deserves abuse, and often there's no reason behind it. Certainly not a good, justifiable, reason.

Remember any time you've acted crazy, sometimes you were pushed to it, sometimes it was deserved, sometimes you were in the wrong, but you felt it was the right often, or otherwise had a reason, didn't you? It's important to self reflect, because sometimes we make mistakes.

Often, someone being mean might be a bad day. Maybe they got in a fight with someone they like, or got shouted at, or one too many people cut them off (maybe drive faster bbg. thats a joke). It's not justified, but understanding is the first step. Maybe they're being mistreated, and it comes out, or they just simply don't have anything else to compare it to.

But at the end of the day, communication is key, and make your own judgements on your experiences or others if you listen. If you are weary but like their character, that's alright. These are real people and sometimes good and bad are just colors on a spectrum. You can be good, and do something bad.

People are just people, with traumas and triggers and it can be hard to stay out of a cycle of abuse when perhaps everything might be bringing them down. Not justified, but understanding.

And if someone is truly bad to you, mean to you, the block button is easy to find. If they start to do something, anon asks or messages, harass you, report for harassment and block again. Tell others and show them, maybe, so they can help, close friends, or people who listen.

Stay safe, everyone. Blocking and walking away is sometimes the best option.

[altheneum-library]

||°~ "False Idol" ~°||

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A/N: Warning, mentions of slight g0r3 -

Time ticks on, succeeding.  These legends are impeding    Our progress is weening      That's why they need to go away               Today's the day we see the walls falling down!

The people will all bow ally to the crown!

It's just so simple, why can't you come and see?   The path is lined in red and gold dust whole heart, melancholy _

A couple of millenia have long since passed, Narinder looked over the souls of his foggy realm, the gravestoned etching it with grimming stones made of cobble.

He started to wonder things, overthink about his role as death, he knew it was inevitable of changing but..what if he resurrected? Reanimated the souls of the dead? To gain more power than he did before?

Now, Narinder knew resurrection and rebirth was not part of The Old Faith after all, what is the use of death if one does not fear it?

So he thought of the one bishop he can talk of his ambitions to...his favorite sibling, of course!

But he had to disguise this plan...can't ruin the surprise now can he? _ Think no, hear no, see no evilSpeak no, do no, no do the evil _

You sat there on your little throne as you listened to your elder brother speak of his ambitions, wanting to get something else than the devotion of his followers, you liked the idea of resurrection in your head.

As you see it, you can still choose whether or not they are to be resurrected, though Narinder thought differently of what you had.

You stood up from your throne, approaching the pacing black cat and tapped his shoulder. He turned, looking at you with a soft smile.

"So, are my ideas of your approval, my young?" He ponders for your answer, you gave a little nod.

"I think it can be great! You must tell Shamura about it, I'm sure they can agree to support your ambitions!" You tell to him with excitement in your voice.

All he can do is just feel giddy about your approval and patted your head with a bright smile "I knew you'd like it! Come, let us go to our eldest and tell him!" Narinder offered for you to come but you declined politely.

"I apologize deeply, my brother...but, I have duties to attend to and my followers need me to heed their demands"

Narinder hummed in understanding and nodded before ruffling your hair & giving an ear scratch to your (A/S) ear.

He then left to go talk with Shamura. _ The crown's gospel is heard 'cross the land If they try to ever stop me, I call curse the lamb _

After having a little talk with Shamura, they had also supported of the ambitions Narinder had. Giving him some tips that he can keep to search for the thing he is looking for above his followers.

Narinder had gone back to his temple, to go into his ancient library to try and see a specìfic book that spoke about forbidden rituals.

Once he found the book, he begun to get to work _ Hush, Cry a river, your soul is mine These shackles cannot keep me, for I am divine! _

You stood there as your four elder siblings chained one of their brethren, after seeing Narinder commit an act of the forbidden, he was to be exiled from The Old Faith

But Narinder did not go down without the bloody fight you were forcfully witnessed of.

First, he had split off Shamura's head, their brain exposed.

Second, he had slit Heket's throat, her neck bleeding ever so heavily and her vocal cords are graphically shown

Third, Narinder had cut Kallamar's ears off, the cowardly squid could no longer hear as well as before and depended on his eyesight to sense his surroundings.

Fourth, was Leshy, who Narinder had gouged the eyes off of. His empty sockets bled and could only try to use his abilities to try and guide himself everywhere.

You were left unharmed, tears ran down your eyes. You then slowly approached the five bishops as they listened to your footsteps.

They all could sense your immense sadness, your confusion, your shock. You were still processing what was going on.

Shamura gave you a soft yet saddened look, "I deeply apologize, my youngest sibling...but Narinder had commited the act of ressurection..He is death and he has broken the laws of nature by this action." They told you ever so softly

_ Time ticks on, succeeding.  These legends are impeding   Our progress is weening    That's why they need to go away      Today's the day we see the walls falling down!

The people will all bow ally to the crown! _

Narinder, who had a smug before now had the look of shame and regret when he looked at your face.

You kneeled down infront of him, your whimpers heard.

Oh how it broke his heart, how it broke everyone's heart in the room, they didn't want this to happen but they must do it for the sake of The Old Faith.

You sobbed heavily and you started to beg for Narinder to be let go, not wanting him to be along in his realm below.

"No, please no! My eldest, please let me be exiled instead, I had been the one to support his idea first! So I must be the one to be chained down-" you wrre cut off by Shamura raising their hand.

"You were only blinded by your love for him, we all understood that we were blind to his plans, as he hid it under the guise of searching for something else he wanted." Shamura explains to you, their face showing an unfazed expression.

But everytime Shamura glanced upon your broken, teared up eyes, their heart aches even more, not wanting you to say goodbye to Narinder.

Hey, they didn't want to do this either, their siblings too, deep inside, they wanted to let Narinder go but for The Old Faith they must lock him. _ It's just so simple, why can't you come and see?  The path is lined in red and gold dust whole heart, melancholy _

As you watched Narinder get chained to his realm for eternity, he could only stare at you with sadness on his face before he gave you a soft smile.

"Hey, I promise to come back whenever my exile is over..okay? We can make flower crowns together again, I promise you that.." he told you as he kissed your forehead as you sniffled, your tears falling onto his realm's floor.

The other four behind the opened gate, Heket watched as you cried, her heart breaking at the sight of this tragedy. She approached you and put her hand in your shoulder, signaling that it's time to leave.

You could only stand there and sniffle as you gave one last hug to Narinder, a tight yet warm hug to say goodbye.

Narinder could only hide the tears coming from his eyes as he gently hugged you back.

Before you knew it, you were forefully pulled away by him, using his tentacles to gently put you and Heket out of his realm.

Oh, you tried hard to run back to him and hug him longer but it was too late, his realm gate was closed and now locked up in chains.

You slowly fell to your knees and cried, cried as hard as you never did before.

Kallamar was first to be by your side, comforting you as best he could. Leshy goes to your other side and hugged you, he seems to be crying as well.

Heket couldn't handle it anymore as she let her tears fall, silently crying as she went in and hugged all three of you.

Shamura couldn't handle the sight he was seeing right now, all his younger siblings, being torn apart because of his exile.

If only there were another way but there was none..

Shamura joins the hug and soon, weeped with their siblings.

They all weeped for Narinder, for his exile, for what needed to be done. _ Think no, hear no, see no evil Speak no, do no, no, do the evil _

Many millenias have passed and your elder siblings were filled with grief, you had tried your best to patch up their ever lasting wounds with bandages made from your lands.

They all suffered different stages of grief for Narinder.

Shamura, depression

Heket, anger

Kallamar, bargain

Leshy, procession

With you at last, you had suffered deniability for so long, you denied his exile, you denied that the "prophecy" they were told was fair.

You now stood at the middle of your siblings, two of each your side.

You were forced to watch innocent sheep and lamb alike sacrificed, for a prophecy foretold a lamb would be the one who shall unchain Narinder, named as, The One Who Waits. _ Your god is dead, he's bowed before us   He's stuck in his own hell, good bye my sweet brother... _

Many innocent souls, suffered the sacrifice for the prophecy to never be fulfilled.

So many bloody deaths on this once clean sanctuary where you and your family would meet up and talk _ Your god is dead, he bowed before us  He's stuck in his own hell, good bye my sweet brother... _

Before the lambs were to be sacrificed, you would give them comforting words, saying that they'll be in good hands soon after they die.

You felt so sympathetic, so pitiful over the poor sheep and lambs, they never deserved this treatment, especially when they are your own creation. _ Hush, Cry a river, your soul is mine These shackles cannot keep me, for I am divine! _

Recently, your siblings had gotten more distant, more violent and wrathful, the only safe place in these lands is outside of their realms and your own realm.

You sit on your throne in the temples, after leading yet another successful sermon, your cult satisfied and happy in your lands

_ Hush, Cry a river, your soul is mine These shackles cannot keep me, for I am divine! _

You try so hard to connect with your siblings but it's like as if you had ceased to exist in their eyes.

Always shooing you away, ignoring you, or were too busy to even care about you.

You celebrated so many birthdays alone and upset, this has gone far enough to the point you never came to the sacrificial lamb rituals anymore

They never noticed anyways...or maybe they did and they didn't care.. _ Your god is dead, he bowed before us   (Hush, cry a river, your soul is mine) _

You silently cry in your soft nest of pillows and blankets, hugging one of them as your tears fell upon it

You missed the old times dearly, you missed your siblings, you missed Narinder, you missed the happiness you once had.

You kept blaming yourself for his exile, your mind filled with dark thoughts and before you know it..

You had a small pool of blood infront of you, your arms filled with cuts and bruises, a small dagger at your side. You had dropped it due to the pain being too much to handle.

You hissed at the pain, your ears flattening down as you went to medbay, it had been late at night and nobody was awake, except for maybe a few of your witnesses, and your guards who took watch over your temple

It was very easy to hide your self made wounds away from them, especially if your long sleeves covered your arms and soaked the blood _ These shackles cannot keep me for I am divine   (He's stuck in his own hell, goodbye my sweet brother) _

After patching up your arms, you had sat back down in your little nest of softness, your body slowly laying down on the gigantic pillows it held.

This was your only safe space, this was the only time you can cry your heart out...but not tonight

Your eyes close, as you await for another day... _ Think no, Hear no, See no evil!   (Hush, cry a river, your soul is mine)

Speak no do no, no, do the evil!   (These shackles cannot keep me, for I am divine) -

mentions: @aspen-ex

[oldtowncrab]

A Communist's Guide to the 2024 Election

Preface: I am not the ArchCommunist, my words are not gospel, critiquing every thing you see, or at least applying it to your own material situation is a healthy part of being an person.

With the recent disaster that was the 32nd National Convention of the CPUSA, in which the party decided in a dubiously legitimate vote that supporting the democrats to the hilt (resolution 5) was party policy, invited an "Israeli" "Communist" to speak after a Palestinian one canceled. And began the process of liquidating or silencing any chapters that didn't show complete loyalty to the zionist party line. (see this excellent article by members of the now liquidated Austin Chapter of the CPUSA for an example of how bad things have gotten). I think it might be useful to share some insights from a communist perspective on this election.

While this is an guide on the election, this is not an guide on who to vote for. Vote for anyone you would like, no candidate or party in the running has the will or ability to change the course of the American Hegemon over the next 10-20 years. In fact I think Kamala deserves to win if only for the hilarity of a 90's Soviet style palace coup going entirely successfully in the US.

Instead I would like to direct this posts focus to a rather dangerous argument I've seen a lot of "progressives" and even communists use to justify voting for the democrats. This argument goes something like this, "While the Genocide of the Palestinian People is bad, we should still vote blue because of X domestic issue (insert whatever you would like)" to put it more simply, it's arguing that the Hegemonic Entities "foreign" policy should be ignored because domestic issues are "More Important".

The reason this argument is dangerous isn't just because it's immoral (although it is to an disgusting degree), but because it's purposefully dishonest. The American Entity runs off of the exploitation of the global south, it's prosperity, however limited and decreasing for the majority of its population it may be, exists because of this system of exploitation. It is impossible to separate the foriegn and domestic policies of the entity, or anyone within it, because of this fact.

You can not separate or mitigate the Genocide in Palestine, or the exploitation of the Global South from issues at home when that home is built on that very same Genocide and exploitation. This isn't because of moral duty, or even because of privilege, this is because that structure of imperialism has reached its point of terminal and unavoidable decline, and the moment that system collapses abroad is the moment that system will come to the US in full force.

When that happens the Democratic Leadership will be right there to put the boot on our heads, and all the moralizing about harm reduction will have only served to silence comrades and impede successful organizations.

The real guide to the 2024 election is to look past it and beyond it, the election will come and it will go, but good, local organizing with your community will remain.

@ytiesad @fresh-cup-of-antimatter