#when you frame incarnation as some kind of sin that you need to Get Past for enlightenment

[enneamage]

Have you read john luckovich's book/articles about the instinctual variants?

I just went through a couple of his online articles, I'll keep an eye on this guy. He seems a bit woo, but most of the enneagram writing is. I get itchy when things start to advance in a culty direction, though, and having just peeped the blog and a few of the linked websites my hairs are kinda raised. 

It's a concept that on its face is kind of impossible to disprove, the idea that we are driven to one-on-one connection, broader social belonging and self-preservation to some degree. I think that's why I pulled back from it a bit at first, the idea with leading / being weak with "one of the drives" seemed a bit too reductive at first, especially when people really go literal on the idea of a 'sexual' instinct.

He did interesting things with the sx instinct in his writing so far. The desire to be a tropical bird that can cultivate interest and spice in life does ring true for the people who I would have slotted under that umbrella, but I think he gave a little bit too much of its domain over to the Social instinct in the name of being literal over being right (comes off too self-focused.)

I think I've been getting half-into the idea of instinctual variants because some type descriptions can make it look / sound like some types just don't care about certain things at all, which on an individuality level just can't be true, so seeing descriptions get specific enough to include stuff back in is nice.

[navybrat817]

Sugar and Spice

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: You make a sweet impression on one of the new tattoo artists in the neighborhood. Word Count: Over 2.3k Warnings: Flirting, fluff, innuendos, brief moment of insecurity (reader's mom kind of sucks, sorry!), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Future couple, slight angst, and feels. A/N: Because I "need" another tattoo AU, let me introduce you to Hottie and Sugar. ❤️ Thank you to @rookthorne , @sweeterthanthis, @dreamlessinparis, @11thstreetvigilante for listening to me ramble about this man and some future upcoming shennanigans. Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly, divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics, and Bucky edit by the wonderful Nix. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The first time Bucky Barnes walked into your bakery, your best friend and co-owner, Tess, assumed he was lost. Maybe because he didn't appear to be your average customer. A confident aura surrounded him, like he took what he wanted without question. You hadn't encountered a man who looked like sin incarnate before.

It took you a moment to greet him with how dry your mouth had gone.

The stranger didn't smile as he made it to the counter in a few strides. It surprised you that he got through the door with his massive frame. The dark t-shirt and jeans looked painted on and the skin you could see was littered with tattoos. A handsome package wrapped up with chestnut brown hair past his ears, short beard, and steel blue eyes.

Lust at first sight was an understatement.

It was as if he walked out of your wet dreams and into your life.

Sin. Incarnate.

You smiled from ear to ear when you saw him up close, even though he still didn't smile back. You didn't take it personally. Tess once said you were too sweet for your own good, but you replied you never knew what was going on with your customers. Maybe a bit of kindness would brighten their day.

You weren't sure if it was friendliness that he needed, but he wouldn't stop staring at you.

You admitted to yourself later that his gaze made your heart pound and it wasn't out of intimidation.

"Hi. What can I get for you?" you asked.

He blinked and looked toward the display case, giving you a chance to exhale.

When did you start holding your breath?

"Something sweet," he said, his voice huskier than you expected as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Those were the exact words my punk friend said."

"That's extremely helpful in a bakery," you deadpanned.

His eyebrows shot up as you dropped the serious expression and started laughing. It surprised you when he laughed with you. Not only did you consider his reaction a personal victory, but it made him look even more handsome.

How was that possible?

"Exactly what I said."

"Well, not sure if he's allergic to anything or how many of you are eating, but we can do an assortment of cookies if you'd like," you suggested, walking to the end of the case to show him the different flavors.

"That sounds good. A dozen should work," he said, narrowing his eyes as he placed his large hands on the glass and looked it over again. Was it rude to stare at him? "And since the punk didn't tell me what he wanted, surprise me."

"I'll pick the best flavors," you smiled as you grabbed a box and tongs.

"What's your favorite?" he asked curiously, folding his hands and resting his chin on top of them as you selected the cookies.

Your cheeks flamed when you realized he was watching you. You hoped you didn't drop anything. "Can't go wrong with chocolate chip. It's a classic. If I had to pick a favorite treat overall, I'd pick the caramel chocolate brownie. Simple, but full of flavor."

"I'll take one of those, too, please."

"Sure. You'll have to let me know what you think," you said, placing the best brownie from the batch in a smaller box.

"So, you're saying you want me to come back," he said with a half smile as he pushed himself off the display to follow you back to the register. "Is that it?"

Is he flirting with me? No, he couldn't be.

Your mom chastised you for ending things with your recent boyfriend. According to her, you should've appreciated that a charming, good-looking man wanted you all of all people. It hurt to hear that, but he turned out to be a jerk and you refused to settle for less than what you deserved.

You also wouldn't let negative thoughts cloud your safe space.

"I wouldn't mind," you giggled before you cleared your throat. Even if by some miracle he was hitting on you, you weren't supposed to flirt while you worked. "We like having repeat customers," you added.

"I'm sure you have plenty. It's a cute shop."

You looked for a hint of sarcasm on his face and found none. "Thanks," you said, holding your head a bit higher. The shop was your baby and you took pride in it, always doing your best to make it as bright and welcoming as you could. "And I really would like to know what you think. Always looking to improve if we can."

"It's a good thing I'm just across the street," he said as he got his wallet out. "I can sample the entire menu."

You began to ring him up when you paused. "You don't happen to work in the new tattoo shop, do you?"

Some of the other business owners on the block weren't too happy about a tattoo parlor opening up, afraid that it would attract a rougher crowd. You knew better than to judge a book by its cover. You also felt bad that you hadn't had a chance to go over to introduce yourself.

"Co-owner. What gave it away?" he asked, reminiscent of your deadpan delivery moments ago.

"Oh, just this feeling," you teased, wondering how many tattoos he had hidden under his clothes. You cut that thought off and stopped him when he took some cash out to pay. "On the house as a small welcome to the neighborhood."

He moved his hand over to the tip jar and dropped the money in. "Thanks," he gave you a half smile again as he glanced at the nametag on your bright apron and said your name.

It sounded like honey on his tongue.

"I'm Bucky, by the way. Nice to meet you," he said, taking the boxes.

"Nice to meet you, too," you smiled back, a wave of heat rolling down your chest at the thought of him coming back to see you. "Enjoy the treats."

"I'm sure they'll be as sweet as you, Sugar," he smirked.

You stood there, stunned, as he walked out of the shop. Thankfully it was a slow time of day and you had a moment to fan yourself once you remembered to breathe. You had half a mind to get a tattoo as an excuse to see him again.

"Who the hell was that?" Tess asked from behind you.

You jumped and clutched your chest, forgetting that she was in the shop. "My new crush," you answered without thinking.

"Obviously. I thought he was lost until he ordered something," she snickered as she nudged your shoulder. "You were giggling."

"Yeah. Well, I doubt he'll be back," you mumbled, going to the case to wipe it down.

"Oh, he'll be back. I saw how he looked at you," she said, moving her eyebrows up and down. "You're the sugar he wants to taste."

"Did you see how hot he is? He has plenty of 'sugar' out there and I'm," you waved your hand as you tried to think of a good comparison. "I don't know. I'm Splenda."

"Okay. First, that sounds like your mother talking, which is not allowed in here. Second, you're not Splenda. You're the whole bakery. No putting yourself down in our sanctuary," Tess said sternly. She liked to give you a hard time as your best friend, but she was serious when it came to your love life and self-esteem. "For real. You're a catch."

"Maybe he'll fall in love after he eats the brownie I gave him," you joked.

"That's the spirit," Tess said, graciously not calling you out on your deflection. "He'll be back."

You didn't want to get your hopes up over a stranger, but you did want to see him again.

You just didn't expect him to visit your shop again the very next day.

"So," he said when he went to the counter and set his hands on it, blocking out everything behind him. "About that brownie."

"Yeah?" you asked breathlessly, praying you looked halfway decent. "What did you think?"

"Best fucking brownie I've ever had," he grinned and rubbed his stomach. The praise rendered you speechless. "What else is good here?"

Me. I'm good.

You wished you said what was on your mind, but you gave him one of the leftover sample cakes instead.

It went on like that for over a week. Bucky would stop in and select a new dessert. On the slower days, he tried the treat at the counter and chatted with you. Tess messaged you on your day off to tell you how disappointed he looked when you weren't there. He bought two items when you saw him the next day.

The brownie was still his favorite.

So you decided to surprise him when he showed up at his usual time. The blue Henley made his eyes stand out more and the smile he gave you sent heat through your core. Your hand managed not to shake as you held up a plate for him. You couldn't help but want to impress him.

"Is that my brownie?" he asked when he went to greet you.

"With a twist. Caramel chocolate brownie, but I added chocolate fudge frosting," you replied, handing it to him. His fingers touched yours and you wished at that moment that the counter didn't separate the two of you. "I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will," he said, keeping his eyes on you as he brought the brownie to his mouth and took a bite. They slipped shut as he let out a deep moan. His head fell back briefly, too.

Your fingers twisted in your apron as you pressed your thighs together. Did he do that on purpose or was it that good? You didn't think your treats were worthy of pornographic sounds.

"Fucking delicious," he promised as he opened his eyes and took another bite. "It'll hurt my feelings if you don't add this to the menu."

"Thank you. I'm glad you like it," you said, wondering if the words sounded as breathless as you felt.

"I haven't tried a single thing here I didn't like, Sugar."

"Why do you keep calling me 'Sugar'?"

"'Cause you seem sweet, like these treats you make for everyone," Bucky stated as a matter of fact. "I can stop if you don't like it."

"Please, don't stop," you said. You liked hearing it from him.

He smirked as he licked a bit of frosting off his thumb, your mouth salivating at the sight. "Not how I expected to hear those words from you."

Blood rushed to your cheeks as your brain tried to process what he said. You could play it cool. Or play along. "Well, Hottie, if you're lucky, you might hear them in a different way."

Bucky's mouth shifted from a smirk to a full blown grin. "Hottie?"

You tried to summon the ground to swallow you up, but it didn't work.

"Well. Yeah. I mean, you call me Sugar, which makes you Spice. Spices can be hot and you're a hottie," you said with as much dignity as possible before you giggled. "Or I can just call you Bucky and we forget this entire conversation."

"I won't forget. My memory can be fuzzy at times, but I'll remember this conversation," he promised, tapping his temple. "And keep calling me that. I like it."

You leaned across the counter, trying to look as enticing as possible. At least, as much as you could in your work apron. He visited the shop multiple times now and he was definitely flirting with you now. You could make a move.

Don't be Splenda. Be the whole bakery.

"Bucky, would you want to-"

The door swung open before you could finish your question, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "There you are, Buck. Andy is actually smiling at someone. Hal's trying to get a picture. You gotta see this."

Bucky's nostrils flared as he closed his eyes. "Fucking punk."

He sounds as disappointed as I feel.

"Friend of yours?" you guessed.

"That's just Steve with his impeccable timing."

Bucky stepped aside so you could get a look at his friend. The man was just as large as your newfound crush, also covered in tattoos with long, blonde hair and a trimmed beard. And he was beaming at you.

"You must be Sugar. Buck mentioned you."

"Is that right?" you asked.

"Oh, yeah," Steve smiled. "Hasn't shut up about you."

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you gazed at the brunette. He didn't look ashamed or embarrassed as he stared back. You must have made some sort of good impression on him if he spoke to a friend about you.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asked, ignoring his friend for the time being as he handed you his empty plate.

"Yeah. I'm opening the shop," you answered.

"If I'm not arrested for murdering my best friend, I'll come back and we can finish our conversation," he said as Steve frowned. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling. "If that's okay with you."

Who in their right mind would say "no"?

"More than okay. I'll see you tomorrow," you said, giving Steve a wave as Bucky stomped toward him. "Nice meeting you, Steve."

"You, too. Keep making those cookies! They're so good!" he chuckled as his friend chased him out of the shop.

"Oh, who the hell was that?!" Tess shouted from the back of the office.

"A friend with bad timing," you called back with a shake of your head.

"You were finally going to ask him out, weren't you?" she asked, poking her head out. "About time. Sick of hiding in the office so I don't have to watch you two flirt."

You scoffed when you caught her smiling. "You love being in the office. And tomorrow is a new day. I'll ask him."

"You better wear something pretty for your hottie."

She's never going to let me live that nickname down.

You weren't sure what you were going to wear tomorrow, but you knew you couldn't wait to open the shop and see Bucky again.

Hope you liked this sweet introduction and can't wait to share more of this Bucky and the other boys. More from Hottie and Sugar with And Everything Nice. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[tenebriiis-archived]

The door behind her closes, almost soundlessly as the Enchantress stepped into a chamber fully reserved for her only. It’s secluded from any source of natural light & somehow, flowers are growing at a considerable rate among all the vast space. Branches caress the stone ceiling, roots dare to break into the hardened ground, & none of this is beyond more than a mixture of siphoned magic given shape. If one would choose to take a bite from the Apple hanging from the tree at the corner, it would be no more than deadly poison bitten their tongue. But it was the detail about Illusions, wasn’t it? Things didn’t need to be genuine to still evoke emotion.

The Red in a Frame, could be blood or paint – would it matter too much in the little second a gaze would settle upon?

Awe, Pain & Sorrow – all could be brought forth in that single second of wonder as the brain attempts to avoid differing from reality & fantasy when her bare feet stop touching cold marble & find the grace of grass.

Silk & Organdie murmur against delicate petals as the hem of her dress offers them a caress. Every step is a little more of her magic leaking into this little self-imposed light, walking forward until reaching a little Altar where incense is being burnt. It smells of frankincense & patchouli as her faerie companions flutter in graceful patterns among the fake wind that caresses her skin. All the remembrance of a life that may never return to her; & it didn’t matter for how long it may go, how many decades or centuries may go by… the small wish was nesting, hoping for things to be the same. –Another lie, for the child in her heart who still craved for her burnt home to be brought back, even if her motivations on the present time were highly different.

The darkness in the Paradise of her memoirs is interrupted, as dainty digits started enlightened each fragrant candle around the stone statues on the Altar, one by one with tenderness few had seen as if this wasn’t a mere ritual but a loving gift – A Silent Conversation, exchanging words that no human tongue could translate or known. She hears her voice ever singing in the wind, she feels her delicate & warmth touch on her dark tear-stained cheeks as the facades of security crumble, & her tired heart craves for the affectionate embrace only her Mother could offer to her & her sisters.

Forest Incarnate, she was all around among the vast lands, possessing a consciousness no mortal would ever understand, a voice few could hear if only they chose to pay attention to nature’s orchestra of birds, & the blessed arcane that gave the breath of life to the nymphs out of enchanted trees –extinct by now; in Valoran at least.

“Mother… I – “ She looks up to the figure she had asked many years ago to be made out of her memories. A tall woman surrounded by six ladies of different physical ages, beautiful butterfly-like wings on their backs & the smallest of them all, probably comparable to twelve years old, tightly holding one of her hands. Emilia can’t barely remember times where she wouldn’t look up for her hand when she was young. & Helena –one of the many names given to her Mother by the mortals leaving offerings at the borders of the forest for the Faefolk in exchange of protection–, was ever endearing & kind to allow her to reach for it when she needed it.

“… I saw today those birds you used to like so dearly. You always mentioned how clever Ravens are, & you have not the idea.” She could almost hear her laugh if concentrating. Remembering a sneaky bird who stole something shiny left by the mortal neighbors once. She had followed it for an hour when barely knowing how to fly with her wings even, only to end gifting it to it cause apparently, the shiny ribbon made a cute addition to their nest. The memory was simple, but it was the beauty of childhood: Things didn’t need to be extremely big or mesmerizing to be meaningful, & the way Helena had giggled so beautifully when her daughter’s chase had ended into gifting the ribbon to the bird was enchanting enough. She felt silly back then, but her Mother hugging her after was the precious part…

… She missed her, probably wouldn’t ever stop to do so.

Her Mother lived among the songs, the illusion magic, the gardens, the flowers, the wind, the forest silence only interrupted by its own melody, the sun peeking between the leaves, the animals' flight or steps, the taste of honey & the glow of pristine water. Lullabies lost in time for protection she would sing over and over again in a way to not forget them, write them in different places as to never let go of the lyrics when her Coven had taught her how to write, renouncing sometimes of a couple of memories from the past in order to maintain her Mother’s remembrances.

It was painful to know, that even her own true name had been exchanged for other memories to be preserved. But it was fine; cause it was her actual given name that turned to be the key to preserve her Adoptive Mother’s memory as well. When she had forgotten it in the feral state the loss of her home had left her, & it was the nomad group of sorcerers who would stop near the burnt trees to extend a caring hand… it was their High Priestess who would give her a name until she could remember the exact word.

Emilia had been the given name of one of her daughters, acolytes had told her after a couple of years. It was always a question without answers – Had Fate been so capricious to pull the loose strings, until those could have been woven together in a sole piece?

The Enchantress ever preferred to not attempt breaking the dulcet tones of their shared symphonies with meaningless vicissitudes, as looking to the stone statue next to Helena’s, there was also one for the High Priestess with an older depiction of herself. Mortality had eventually reached her, as such were the subtle details of reality for humankind, no matter how much magic they would possess, & yet… the caring & motherly smile carved in the stone was ever-present, even for those who would do wrong. There was something so generous about her, so unforgettable & unique… that eternity was not required for the ripples of her presence in the ocean of her life to still be seen.

She lived through her Magic & the thousands of spells she learned, through the words on many ancient tongues & the flowers she learned to preserve by drying them among golden pages of grimoires & spell-books. Her voice was in every teaching, her gentle soul in every motivation even if underlying of the dark ambitions. It was inevitable for the Matron to every so often wonder if she was ashamed of what her arcane power had turned into… on all she had to do in order to free many from the Revenant’s Tyranny.

“Forgive me, dearest Mother.” She would whisper more than once, & not solely aloud, to the figure. As among the desperation, many she had lost were generations & generations coming from the same roots & branches as the old sorceress had. Spilling their blood, siphoning their magic, taking & taking despite all the suffering that had been involved, despite all the protection she had offered to the grandchildren of her very own grandchildren. Was it alright to think she had forgiven her?

Perhaps it was equally what moved the strings of her current attitude towards the little blossoms of her Garden. As Above, so Below: Her desire to take care of all the kids belonging to her Night Garden was a mirrored reflection of what she did previously.  .. At least until some may learn how to hate her; just as some had attempted to kill her when faced with the options of living or dying.

Such was the Noxian way after all; to be so reverential towards Strength & Might, right from the roots of the first noxii tribes that had inhabited the place. A cult that shall exist until blood would run through its people’s veins – & she may too, respect it on her own particular ways… … But she would ever wonder regardless, was she proud of her? Or would she despise her as an assassin as much as when their bodies would lie in her bloodied embrace?

“...I will do what I must to keep safe as many as I can, Mother. Even if some sacrifices must be done.” Her voice would be hushed, & ever soft-spoken, almost pleading like none would ever get from her. Was she seeking approbation or permission? Perhaps; even if there was no way of giving it, it was partially a manner to offer her soul relief from all the sins she required to commit in order to eventually –she hoped- reach the goals of salvation & redemption of those broken lands...

…

— When she reached the surface once more, walking across the favored Manor connecting to the secrecy of those passages, there’s a sound that never fails on drawing her immediate attention –corrupted or not, no Fae would ever resist the ardent urgency to follow the beautiful sound: The laughter of Children pulling from the strings of her darkened heart, little blossoms of her garden who haven’t yet been tarnished by the cruelty & truths of the Empire & the Night Garden itself. Small ones who knew the kindest & more endearing sides of her, many almost immediately right away after their first cry into this world. Their first scream for a place to exist into the mist of expectations & uncertainties of life that would surely be already settled, some probably too heavy for a child to bear…

… & nonetheless, she cherished them as her own, as a Gardener relishes endearingly on the first blossoms opening among the leaves after days of hard work, just as any fae would feel the inherent need to protect them –especially, if magic gifted- & assure their innocent minds were kept for as long as it could be possible…

A month, a year, a decade, a century… it didn’t matter to her. Their lives all belonged to this soil, & she hoped one of them would be able to see it someday as it was always meant to stay.

The gentle chimes & bell-like voices of the butterflies surrounding her break the little sparks of memories attempting to consume her mind ever again. They tell her about the little feet approaching her, the colorful & bright eyes recognizing the Pale Lady’s silhouette who had ever been around them as closely as their own Mothers had, Emilia’s heart is filled with full contentment – how not to? They haven’t yet learned or found reasons to hate her, their souls were pure & their arcane power clear enough to find its very own branches & roots on it’s own.

A little girl hugged her tightly, & the Enchantress’ hand instinctively seeks to caress the blonde curls of her head as maternal feelings nests in the deepest sides of her Soul; the many voices talking about their newest spells with such glee, her companions would be mesmerized & fluttering in a dance around them.

— She was Mother to none & all in her Night Garden;

& even when her tarnished body may probably never be capable of bare the gift of life for as long as she knew, she didn’t feel it as an impediment to giving all the affection her heart could still offer; at least to every single future petal & thorn that would allow the Black Rose to bloom once more.

[rosesareviolentlyread]

WIJ Day 3: Love

WOO the first actual prompt is here. This is a modern magic world heavily inspired by @0idril0 and @whumpywhumper‘s Nico & Markus/Lucien series respectively. I HIGHLY recommend you check them out. So this is meant to be an introduction to Pastor John/The Reverend, who is my first attempt at an intimate whumper. Thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow for inspiring the Reverend with Bram, def check out all her stuff if you haven’t

CW: religious whump, creepy whumper, whumper who doesn’t think they’re a whumper, kinda abusive relationship vibes, drugging, taking advantage of someone’s emotional state

John sits, listening to the record player in the corner crackle with the sounds of a congregation’s singing. His students tease him for being a ‘hipster’, but there’s something satisfying about their amateur voices, captured imperfectly, naturally, using a technology that reminds him of pottery, or weaving. Sound pressed into something physical, ethereality brought to his fingertips, his ears, across time. 

It’s a pleasant evening all around. John savors every detail as he takes a sip of scotch - a gift from a colleague in Edinburgh - settling into the thick leather chair by the fireplace, just musing in his mind while he waits for the brownies to be done. Perhaps he should grade, or write a lecture, or work on his sermon. But these moments in time, of being in his body, of feeling fire in his throat as sparks flick out as his toes, these are God’s moments, moments of perfect creation and harmony. 

But still, he isn’t bothered by the knock on his door, despite the late hour. The students know his door is always open. He’s become used to them coming to his couch after a late temptation, or perhaps a lapse in their faith. Perhaps just a personal dilemma. The community too, though they typically take the ‘door unlocked’ policy as is. 

No, the timidness of the youngest in his flock always brings a smile. It seems no matter how many departmental or congregational dinners he hosts, how many times they come knocking, they always knock. It is part of their youth, not cemented in their beliefs, in knowing that God will provide. So he provides, until they can become sure, can understand how a trinity of a different kind, God, his Son, and their Pastor, will be there for them. They are lambs, learning to stand on their own legs, which is why this is his favorite place to shepherd. 

“Coming!” He calls out, setting the glass carefully on a coaster before opening the thick door to the cottage. It takes a few blinks to clear his eyes from the rush of cold air that assaults them. The weather always seems to surprise him, just one of many things in this beautiful world. 

But what doesn’t necessarily surprise him is to see, red-rimmed eyes, a flushed tear-tracked face delicately wrought in its complexion, set upon a lithe frame that hides immense strength, an immense spirit that positively glows normally with ash-blonde hair and bright gray-blue eyes. Faith. A sense of calm comes over him, a release of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for days. 

“Oh, my girl, I was hoping you’d come by” Before she can get a word out, John wraps strong arms around her, enveloping her in a warm hug. Immediately he feels the telltale shake of her shoulders, small hands gripping the back of his sweater tightly, a damp spot right near his heart growing. 

Yes, John expected this. For how long, he isn’t entirely sure. Perhaps, always. Perhaps, because somewhere in him, he knew God had bigger plans for them both.

Faith had been a special student to him, from her first year intro course in the Theology department. A bright girl, a good girl, who believed with her heart and soul in Jesus’ saving grace for even the most dastardly of sinners. He hadn’t recognized it well at the time, but even he had fallen prey to the negativity within the church, the ones who said Supernaturals were truly the devil incarnate, incapable of being saved. 

But Faith, she took it upon herself to prove them all wrong. She’d been hesitant to propose her thesis to him, as her advisor. A piece to study the beliefs and communities of Supernaturals locally, from a theological and sociological perspective, in order to understand how those beliefs might be reconciled with modern Christianity. A piece that would allow for the Evangelical church she came from to see the same possibility of salvation she did. To choose love. 

“It’s alright, shhh. Why don’t you come in? The brownies for tomorrow’s potluck are almost done. I’ll put on some tea, dandelion right?” Gently, he pried her away from him, thumbing tears as she sniffled away the last of her outburst. 

“Thank you, Reverend. I just...I didn’t know where else to go. Yet.” The downcast of her eyes nearly breaks his heart at the cruelty of this world. For his fellow Christians had chosen to hate, to cast her out of their flock, after she bared her thesis, her work, no matter how unfinished. All because of what she was. 

Peter 1 4:8 comes to his mind: Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins.

So what if she was truly born Fae, a natural sinner of the largest proportions. Does her desire to be saved, to save others, to feel Jesus’ healing light not garner love in them? 

Her desire, her faith, does in John’s chest, a warm feeling better than the finest scotch as he gently leads her to couch, leaving her with some tissues to compose herself. 

The moment feels so right the longer he’s in it. The brownie timer goes off right as he enters the kitchen, and he pulls them out. Perfect. He leaves them to cool as he flicks on the kettle, fingers moving through his vast collection for just the right blend. Dandelion, reminiscent of shortbread cookies, Faith’s favorite. They’ve shared so many cups over late night thesis meetings, church group meetings, dinner meetings that the box has only one left. Pulling out the last packet, he tucks away in his mind to buy more boxes. 

They’ll go through a lot he imagines, in the next few months. It’s easy to prepare, like a moment meant to be, as he lets the tea steep, adds two spoonfuls of sugar, and drops in the pills, stirring until they dissolve evenly. 

He brings it all out, tea, brownies, to the couch, where she’s already claimed a throw. It’s good, he thinks, that she already feels at home here. It’ll be easier that way. 

“Thank you,” her hands grip the warm mug, breathing in the steam, and he watches attentively as she takes a sip. “It’s been...I was scared. That you’d turn me away too” 

“My dear, you have never had anything but love for Jesus and God in your heart. Why would I believe something like this would change that?”

Of course he had been worried, in the beginning of her thesis, that she would be swayed. That they would convince her with their wicked tongues, guile her with magic and false miracles, false idols. Yes, now that he looks back, perhaps he did see it all coming. No, she hadn’t been swayed. 

But she’d swayed him. To believe in the possibility of truly saving those damned souls. So much that he’d begun his own research, his own plans, prepared for the possibility. And now, it appeared God’s plan was working perfectly, dropping her right on his doorstep on the eve of her transformation between worlds, an apostle for a new era

“Everyone else seems to think that, that this is wrong. How though? How can being who I am, the person God made me, be wrong?” Her voice is quiet in the night, barely above the crackling fire in its hoarseness, tinged still with tears. 

“He does nothing wrong. He made you this way for a reason, so that you may show others. Think of it, your work, is this not His plan?” John tries to keep the excitement out of his voice, to remain calm, collected. Gentle. Yes, he must be gentle, to do this in love for the Lord. 

She pauses, sipping more. “I...I don’t know. I just, I need some time, I think. I was walking to the bus stop when I passed your house and thought...I don’t know. I guess I hoped there’d be something I could come back to, when I was ready” Her eyes stare into the surface of the tea, growing distant. Tired. It’s working fast, he knows, likely due to her exhaustion from the past few days. 

“It’s alright to not know. The Bible does not have all the answers, but it leads us to where we need to find them. Perhaps that’s why you came here. Why don’t you get some rest, stay here tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance for you to find your way.” 

“Thank you, Reverend. That..that sounds nice. You’re right, I need to-o-o-o” the sentence is interrupted by a yawn and he chuckles. 

“It sounds like the only thing you need right now is a good night’s rest. Come on, I promise this couch may be old, but she’ll service you well. She’s saved me from several late night grading sessions” Taking the tea, he lets her settle down, and grabs a quilt from the closet - a gift from an older parishioner - and tucks it around her. 

“Goodnight, Faith. Sleep well, tomorrow will be a busy day” she mumbles something slurred, incomprehensible under the effect of the drug. Still, he sits and waits, gently petting the silky hair until her breathing fully evens out, deepens into a rhythm that could be a lullaby to itself in his ears. 

So beautiful, so wonderful, so perfect. Truly, this is his and her purpose: to show that the souls of the supernatural can be saved through Jesus’ light. 

It is with that thought that he picks up the limp bundle of girl, and carries her down into the basement.

Tags: @sableflynn @bleedingandfeverish @starry-whump @whumpmasinjuly(let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list for this series)

[cultho]

Dororo Epilogue/Post-ending Standalone episode

*WARNING: SLIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD!!*

So I watched the ending and I had a lot of feelings about it, and I came up with a few ideas for a standalone post-episode to explore some concepts I would like to see from the show. Fyi, the pronouns I use for Dororo vary by situation, with a preference for he/him (my headcanon is Dororo is pretty genderfluid!).

About a year after Hyakkimaru went to find himself, aka end of the series (but before the timeskip where Dororo’s hair is long), the episode opens with opens with Hyakkimaru, feeling more at peace with himself, returning to the village Dororo was developing via dad's Harry Potter level of inheritance.

Dororo, who now basically rules this village despite being a literal 9 year old, hears word from his fellow villagers that a wandering stranger with a sword was spotted helping one of the rice farmers because their horse got caught in a ditch (or anything else of that nature). Of course, Dororo immediately comes running, and barrels straight into Hyakkimaru for the sibling reunion hug we deserve.

Then Dororo punches Hyakki on the arm and gives him a hard time for leaving for a whole year without even a ‘goodbye,’ asks 'So what made you decide to come back after a whole year, huh, punk?’

In response, Hyakki pulls out a small, worn, pouch and Dororo says 'woah - Mio’s rice seeds? I thought you would’ve planted them by now already.’

With a little smile, Hyakki goes 'I thought about doing that, but then I remembered you were close with her too, so you have as much of a right to these seeds… so I decided to wait until we could plant them together.’ 

The rest follows as one expects it to -  Dororo teases him for becoming an even bigger softie, and they set off back to the village to grab some farm tools who Hyakki the place, as the camera pans up until the brilliant blue sky fills the frame. That chapter of their lives ends the same way it began, with Hyakkimaru and Dororo - the latter chatting up a storm while the former quietly appreciates - side by side, wandering where they must. 

Then the camera pans back down, and where before there was bare paddy, the field is now golden and thriving (same as it was in the show's ending). After a half decade timeskip, Dororo is 15-16 to Hyakki’s 21-22, and the rest of the episode follows them dealing with a demon terrorizing their village, who turns out to be Daigo’s butthurt evil spirit. I don’t have a specific plot, but here are concepts that I’d love to see explored.

First, Grown up badass Dororo running her town, being like her own Alexander Hamilton, except not only does this Alexander Hamilton know finances, how to run a sovereign state, how to outsmart any opponent, rouse even the most downtrodden souls to action with just a few words, she also kicks major butt from training with her big bro. Shoutout to that one post that inspired the idea that her dad's Big Boy genes kicked in during puberty so she’s actually like... as tall as Hyakki. Maybe even an inch taller. She says to anyone who asks that her bro can 'die mad about it’ but they both know that he’s just happy she grew up big and strong. 

She totally runs the town and everyone adores/massively respects her; her city takes in the refugees, the poor, the women and children, the diseased, etc, because, in her words, screw samurai and screw their wars. They absorbed Daigo’a old land after offering food, shelter, and jobs to the survivors, thus their town became a pretty respectably sized settlement.

Now, the key to all this - since they don't want to rely on samurai for their power - is the money, right? So Dororo’s power is her knowledge of the treasures secret location (and all the other badass things about her, but I digress). Imagine at some point a small gang of newer villaghers got the bright idea to try and stalk her during one of her mysterious night trips out (she calls them a way to satisfy her wanderlust, but they’re a cover for her sailing to the treasure's location to grab some cash), and they only get as far as spying her enter the docks before their plan goes to heck when they get accosted by Dororo's more loyal villagers who saw them sneaking. ‘Oh sh*t,’ they’re thinking, Dororo sauntering over to them, ‘Oh sh*t, shes got a big sword, oh man oh sh*t this is the end for me - '

But Dororo’s been there before, at the end of her rope and desperate for any edge to survive, she understands how these guys think, and if there’s one thing she’s stubborn to death about it’s that she does NOT run her town like the samurai. Instead, she talks them out of their misdoing and helps them find an honest living, Tales of Ba Sing Se Uncle Iroh style, (except with more volume and verbal threats).

Another concept with Dororo is when Dororo dresses to look like a guy when he and Hyakki take a couple horses and venture into a nearby city (for whatever plot reason), similar to how he did when he was a lot younger.

It’s not fully a secret, but only the older residents of her city know about Dororo’s 'crossdressing' habit, and are accepting of it.

Dororo mentions that while he’s in no way ashamed of presenting female, it often feels more freeing to present male, especially when they're out adventuring - less questions and stares from strangers, etc. Dororo also just likes presenting as male! This way, he identifies with both genders at different times. (It goes without saying Hyakki does his best to use the right pronouns, he never had a strict concept of gender - re: Jukai is the best mom, so it never struck him as odd.)

As for the actual villain of the episode, when she first hears of the Jerk Dad Demon attacking the farms on the outskirts of the village, she only thinks ‘it's just another demon, time to gather the crew and kill this thing-’

It doesn’t go so easily, as the demon’s exceptional strength proves to draw out the confrontation, and it even ends up escaping the first time.

The first to figure it out was Hyakki - he’s most familiar with Daigo’s wrath and the foul creature reeks of the old man. However, everything happened so fast and he sort of… neglected to inform Dororo. When she does find out, they have a short confrontation about it in classic Bickering Siblings Style. It’s understandable that she’s slightly miffed the demonic incarnation of his own awful dad, yes that one, is who they’re fighting and he didn’t bother letting her know.

Hyakki, who, even after a decade of having his voice back, isn't that great at communication/vocalizing his more complex thoughts and working through conflicts with words and thus often comes off as awkward or silently stoic: 'You were busy... and I thought you figured by yourself already?’

Things escalate when the other villagers overhear, and they almost start a riot; angry shouts accusing him of being the reason the demon attacks their settlement from the all the tired men and women, haggard from fending off attacks of not only the demon but also rival bandits and clans who want to take advantage of the city’s time of hardship. Of course, Dororo gets everyone back in lineright before the crowd got to deciding to sacrifice Hyakkimaru, reminding them to focus on the real enemy instead of turning on eachother - but the situation was incredibly bleak. With everyone on edge partially, it was easy to use Hyakki as a scapegoat due to his pacifist tendencies and his stoic nature coming across as almost cowardice.

He taught Dororo how to fight and that's pretty much all the fighting he's done since he came back to plant Mio’s rice, he’s reluctant to pick up the blade again. But the moment a demon shows up he runs off on his own, risking life and limb to confront it head on. Combined with his character’s less than stellar communication skills, it frustrates Dororo in the 'he leaves for a year and doesnt even text me when he's going’ kinda way’ - she's frustrated when he continually refuses to understand that they're family, and at the end of they day theyre kind of all the other has left. So he needs to get it together better and tell her when he’s about to go off and do reckless nonsense. His behavior also presents an interesting dichotomy as Hyakki also struggles with trying to be emotionally detached (lose worldly desires, etc.) and pacifist in the face of attacks from both demon and humans, so he needs to reconcile fighting with the others against attacking clans and risking a redescent into the demon like madness of his teenage years or standing by non violent means of supporting his comrades while facing expectations that he should do more. He wants to atone for his past sins badly and help those who are still living best he can - but how? 

(And also make friends other than literally just Dororo.)

Dororo's arc is about her struggles to do the right thing as a leader - it is a lot, to run a whole city. Recent events have caused more deaths amidst her city than ever before, and moral questions about what to do with captured enemy survivors feed doubt into her mind if one day she’ll turn out as bad as the samurai, and how to continue on after having led people in battles that resulted in their deaths.

P.s. I also entertained the idea of Hyakki’s journey to find himself taking much longer, and so the first time Dororo sees him again ever since he got his eyes back is when she's 20, there's rain pouring from the dark sky as her men are carrying lamps around, accounting for the dead and defeated in a latest skirmish with a small rival band that was trying to access her city the non-peaceful way.

At first her men bring her hyakkimaru, thinking he was with the enemy (he happened to be in the wrong place, wrong time. He simply heard of a group heading to a big place that sounded an awful lot like somewhere he would find Dororo - and followed them).

And from the business end of her sword he's on his knees looking up when she goes 'nah. I know him. This bastard's got hell to answer for, but he's not our enemy.’

Events are more or less the same from there, but filled with way more tension and drama here since Hyakki basically dropped off the face of the earth for 10 ish years and Do’s mad about that because, again, he didn't even say 'bye'. So much has changed, but what hasn't changed is Dororo’s anikki's inability to grasp that if one day he went off without telling her and then died, she would have literally no idea where/when/how that was, she would never know if he was alive or dead, and the idea of living in that limbo would terrify anyone. The story being about them learning to come together again, only at the end do they plant Mio’s rice field together.

I ended up trying to flesh the first idea out more because Do & Hyakki’s relationship is all about the things that don't need to be said; that these two will always be there for the other without needing to be asked. The backbone of their relationship was built up as one that didn’t need explicit affirmation because it was already so ingrained to their characters it would be a disservice to them and a waste of time to contrive an entire plot trying to create unnecessary drama between them.

But then again... drama = satisfying character growth, so perhaps it could go either way! Let me know what you think! 

Thank you for reading all this way :) I also posted second part to this of other thoughts I had while pondering why I felt the need to write a standalone epilogue.

Bonus: these gems I had in the rough draft that unfortunately had to get cut:

“But it’s harder to kill bc jerk dad demon is a jerk”

“Dororo's like 'u mean to tell me ur punk bitch biological male progenitor's demonized soul is attacking our fields??? “

“they take down the big bad dad dude daigo”

“Dororo: - pshffyeahh, ur pissy pissfaced pissbaby dad”