#CATHOLIC SCHOOL DID NOT AFFECT ME AT ALL

[s0dabeach]

remember when catholic schools were like "actually even thinking about doing something bad is just as bad as actually doing the bad thing 😁" that was kinda fucked up wasn't it

[pearlessance]

Forgive Me, Father - Idle Threats [viii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel hears your confession and breaks all ten commandments in the house of the holy.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, reader has added backstory to progress the plot, mention of sexual assault, murder, canon typical violence, renouncing of god, desecration of a church, blood, brief daddy kink

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

The following days are easier than any other you’ve had since leaving Jackson. It takes two days, but Joel hears your laugh again and feels himself release a heavy weight at the sound. Once, when the two of you are switching watch shifts, you sleepily mutter his name. And he goes to you like he always will—and you whisper an almost incoherent confession of your affection. “I love you, too,” you say, and he tries not to think about the way it makes him feel like a boy your age, hearing those words for the first time. 

You move slower, and it’s not because of the extra weight strapped to your horses. Joel doesn’t say it, but he knows it’s because you’re afraid of returning to Jackson. Afraid of things going back to the way they were before this run.

In truth, Joel worries about it too. Worries about finding a new routine, worries about Maria and Tommy and Ellie, worries about what they’ll say. It won’t make him change his mind, he knows. Nothing would ever make him regret this selfish decision to keep you. But sometimes, in a too-long moment of silence, anxiety builds in his chest when he thinks of it. 

But you still have several days before you return, and Joel intends to soak up this sweet, delicate time with you while he still can.

A little over halfway back to Jackson, you stop before the sun sets and make camp in an old, abandoned church. The very same one advertised on the billboard Joel had seen on the way to Casper.

Some of the pews are turned over while others have been broken apart and likely set ablaze in the pile of ashes in the center of the floor. There are no infected, but there’s a stone statue of Mary that looms ominously in the corner, covered in dust and cracked along its painted surface.

Joel feels uncomfortable here. Feels watched, judged. His skin crawls and he thinks about pushing on until you find some other place to rest.

The altar table has been left untouched, decorated with a yellowed, satin ribbon draped along its center. The bible lying on top is flipped open to a passage Joel knows well.

Corinthians 10:13 

No temptation has seized you except what is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that which you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.

It’s bookmarked not with a scrap of paper but with a silver necklace tucked in its spine. A dainty thing with a cross dangling from the end of it. Joel picks it up, watches it sway between his calloused fingers. 

And when he turns to face you, you’re standing in the middle of the center aisle and the setting sunlight casts a shadow across your face, making you look like some angelic being sent to him by God himself. “Did you ever come to one of these before the world ended?”

Joel nods, takes the necklace in his hands and finds his way back to you. “Quite a bit when I was a kid,” he answers. “My mom was pretty religious. We went to every Sunday service and sometimes the ones on Wednesdays, too. Even sent Tommy and I to the church's after-school program for young kids.”

He holds the necklace out to show you, and a shiver runs down his spine when you trace the cross in his palm, your touch electrifying. It’s just the smallest brush of your index finger, but it makes the air get caught in his lungs. “Pretty,” you say wistfully. “Do you believe in God?”

Joel jerks his chin in a silent demand and you obey wordlessly, turning away from him. He unclasps the necklace as you hold your hair out of the way. “I did,” he answers slowly, wrapping the silver chain carefully around your throat. “And then I didn’t.”

“And now?” 

He secures it and runs his knuckles down the nape of your neck. No would be the closest thing to the truth, but it’s not quite it. Joel thinks about lying to save himself the shame but rejects the thought as soon as it comes. “I believe in you,” he says quietly.

Somehow this confession feels heavier than his declaration of love. Perhaps it’s because this is the thing he’s struggled with, this strange worship of Judas. You’ve come to him in pieces, a shell of a girl, a betrayer—and yet it’s your altar he crawls to. It’s you who holds the keys to heaven, who controls both his grace and his damnation.

Joel leans forward and presses his lips to your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He can feel your breath falter, and so he does it again. This time a kiss to your shoulder, right above the collar of your sweater. 

His hands have a mind of their own as they find your waist. Joel knows this is wrong, knows how sinful it is, and yet he knows the only way to endure the taste of the forbidden fruit is to bite into it, to devour it, to consume it for as long as he’s able. He has spent so much of his life fighting, resisting, repenting—but maybe it’s time God asks for his forgiveness.

Your skin is smooth beneath his calloused palms. He slides them beneath your shirt, over your hips, up your torso. He pulls at the soft garment, and you lift your arms for him to make it easier as he pulls it off and discards it in the nearest pew.

And then his hands are on you again—this time tracing the edge of your jeans, pinky finger dipping slowly beneath the band around your waist, teasing. You’re panting now, chest rising and falling in quick succession. You say his name a little like a prayer and it brings a smile to his face. 

“Shh,” he says. “Patience is a virtue, little girl.” But he wants you, perhaps even more than you want to be touched, so his left hand finds the button of your jeans and undoes it. 

He moves slowly, and you stand completely still as Joel peels the too-tight jeans down your legs. You kick your boots off, and soon you’re standing in the middle of this crumbling church in nothing but a pair of baby pink panties and a white lace bralette, looking every bit the divine goddess he doesn’t deserve. 

When you turn to face him, there’s a playful glint in your eye. “Let me try it,” you say. “One question, though. Is it forgive me, father? Or is it forgive me, Daddy?”

Two things happen inside him at once. 

First, the crudeness of your words baffles him so completely that he laughs. Full-on laughs for the first time in twenty years. The vulgarity of it in a place of worship is somehow both amusing and horrifying. 

Second, all the blood in his head rushes south. Because the word daddy in your mouth is the most erotic thing he’s ever heard, the dirtiest thing he’s ever heard, and Joel knows right away that he will never have the strength to process why such a thing makes him so goddamn hard. Doesn’t even attempt it. 

He simply enjoys it instead. Allows it to drown him, consume him wholly. Accepts what is and what isn’t. Accepts that he is the most deplorable man that’s ever existed and it’s why he’ll never deserve you but it’s also why it’ll never matter. Because now…you belong to the most deplorable man. 

The devil and his pretty, perfect Judas.

And then you lower yourself to your knees in front of him and Joel struggles to keep his weary heart from bursting from his chest. 

His attempts at composure are blown to pieces when you press your hands together and look up at him through your lashes. With all humor bled from the moment, overtaken by a sudden hunger, you say, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” and something evil stirs inside him.

Something more than sinful. Something ungodly. Something blasphemous. 

That cross is draped beautifully between your breasts, cleavage elevated by the angle of your arms.

Joel reaches out with both hands and runs them through your hair affectionately. “You look so pretty on your knees,” he says. “You got somethin’ to confess?”

You nod and a smirk graces your face. “I’ve been having wicked thoughts,” you say, voice taking on an innocent and girlish tone. “And…I’ve been giving into temptation, Father.”

“S’that right?” Joel licks his lips. His cock throbs in his jeans, desperate for your touch in a way it’s never been before.

He watches, transfixed, as you take your bottom lip between your teeth, taking your hands from the position of prayer and instead running them up his strong thighs. You slide them beneath his flannel, soft hands cool against his heated skin. “I’ve been letting a man touch me.” You’re whispering, but he feels each syllable down to his bones. “An older man,” you continue, pulling at his belt. 

Joel finds you mesmerizing. Thinks you’ve ruined him. Completely, utterly decimated the man he used to be. “Touch you how?”

You don’t take your eyes off his as his belt clinks against the button of his jeans. “I’ve let him inside me, Father,” you say, pulling down his zipper at a torturous pace. “I’ve let him in my mouth, in my heart, in between my thighs.” 

He never thought it possible, but his need for you grows teeth, morphs into some vicious, ravenous thing. Joel brushes his fingers through your hair, pulling lightly at the roots. “And what do you think you should do as repentance, sweetheart?”

Joel’s reminded of a siren’s song when you answer, “I think I should show a little extra devotion. Don’t you?” You pull his cock from his jeans, and the simple touch of your hand has him nearly shaking in anticipation. You break character for only long enough to giggle softly, wipe the back of your hand over your glossy lips, and say, “My mouth is watering.”

He smooths your hair back away from your face, admiring the way you look on your knees for him, just as desperate as he is. “Go’head, baby,” he says.

You don’t waste any time. You’re slow in your pursuit; tongue tracing the vein on the underside of his cock. Savoring, worshiping, devoting yourself to him and him only. You swirl your tongue around the head, licking up drops of precum.

When you finally take him into your mouth, you don’t stop until you’ve swallowed him whole, choking on it, nose pressed to the tuft of hair below his navel. It’s the most glorious thing Joel’s ever seen in all his life. And then you moan, and he can feel the vibrations of it down to his toes. 

You pull your head back far enough, and your mouth leaves him completely, connected by nothing but strands of saliva. Your lips are already bruised and swollen, but they pull into the prettiest, proudest smile he’s ever seen, and Joel’s weak in the knees. 

“Filthy little girl,” he says affectionately, hands still running through the silky strands of your hair. “Y’like that? Hm? You like that mouth filled up, don’t you?”

“Mmhm.” There’s so much love, so much worship in your eyes that he feels his chest pull tight. You take his cock in your mouth again, tongue sliding along the underside of it, cheeks hollowed out to take him in deeper.

Joel feels your devotion with each soft lick, each swallow at the back of your throat, each ragged, choked breath. He knows he won’t last long. Your mouth is too hot, too wet, too sweet. And when you pick up the pace, bobbing your head, fingernails leaving indentations in the exposed skin of his thighs, pressure builds at the base of his spine like a fucking noose. “There you go,” he encourages. “Doin’ so fuckin’ good, baby. Shit —just like that.”

Your cheeks are flushed, and Joel’s once gentle hands pull tight in your hair, guiding your mouth down onto him. It only makes those delicious moans around his cock that much sweeter. Your thighs are clamped tightly together, and he barrels towards euphoria as he thinks about just how wet he knows you are, his dirty little girl.

“Fuck, baby—fuck. Hold on, hold on.” He pulls your head back, cock slick and glossy, covered in your spit. He’s going to finish just like this if he’s not careful. “Gonna be over too soon if you keep that up.”

“Please, Joel,” you say. “I want to taste it. It’s all I want. Let me make you feel good.”

Joel thinks Michaelangelo never would’ve sculpted David, had his existence overlapped with yours. Because in all the time of the universe, a sight has never lived as beautiful as the one of you begging on your knees before him.

What kind of man would he be if he refused? Joel wants to give you everything you could ever ask for. Wants to give you the world at whatever cost to his soul.

So, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your bruised lips around his cock again. You feel like heaven, or as close to it as he’ll ever be allowed.

He comes at the back of your throat with a groan and trembling hands in your hair. Hands that are all too aware that they hold something holy, something divine. “ Goddamn —fuck. Mm, yeah. There you go, baby. There you go.”

His cock throbs in your mouth, and you don’t stop sucking until he’s completely spent. And when you do finally lean back and stick out your tongue, he’s nearly hard again at the obscene way his come drips down your lips, down your chin. 

Then you swallow, and Joel grins and rests his palm gently on your cheek. He uses the rough pad of his thumb to push the last few drops back into your mouth, and you suck it down greedily. “Gotta take it all, little girl. Make me proud, hm?”

And as soon as you’re satisfied, Joel’s pulling you back to your feet and pressing his mouth to yours in a ravenous kiss. He can taste remnants of himself on you, and it’s the most comforting sensation he’s ever experienced. It’s proof of your union, evidence of your devotion. A physical, tangible way to convince him he’s not alone in his sacrilege.

Joel lifts you off your feet, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. He carries you to the altar table, lays you down, and pushes your knees apart. Normally, he likes to take his time with you. Likes to savor the way you taste, the way you feel. But he’s so hungry for you and you only that he cannot— cannot wait another fucking second.

But then you say his name and his every intention freezes. “You don’t have to,” you say, and it confuses him. You attempt an explanation. “I don’t want you to feel like you always have to make me finish, too. I just…I didn’t do it expecting anything in return. I want you to know that.”

You sound so sincere, so… benevolent. A far cry from the bratty little girl he first met. He presses a kiss to your temple and says quietly, “I’d never let my little girl go without. Not the kinda man I am, baby.”

He might be too old to go rounds with you, but he knows how to make you feel good. He’s real good at it, in fact.

Joel leans over and presses a chaste kiss to your clit, right over your panties. He delights in the way it makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds you make when he pulls the fabric to the side and slides his tongue through your wet warmth. 

He presses your legs back, opens you further, and laps at your pussy like a man starved for you because he is. You taste like redemption, like home.

Your hands weave into his hair, tugging lightly, and Joel moans when you press his face against your pussy like he just can’t get close enough. He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks hard, tongue rolling over it softly. 

“Fuck, that feels so good, Joel— God —���

A groan escapes him, lips vibrating with the sound of it. His cock begins to harden again, hanging heavy between his legs. He’s insatiable for you; returned to the needy, desperate stage of his masculinity he once thought he’d grown out of.

Joel quickens the movement of his tongue and slips a finger inside of you. Your back arches off the altar table and your hips grind against his face, smearing your slick down his chin, over his lips.

He hooks his finger inside of you and strokes the spot that makes you writhe. You look so beautiful he thinks you must be some divine being. It’s the only thing that makes sense in his head. 

Your legs begin to tremble around his shoulders and that’s when he decides to pull away. Because he wants you to cum for him, wants to be the reason you shiver and shake—but he wants to feel it. 

In one smooth movement, he pulls you to the edge of the altar table and sinks his cock into you deep.

“Oh my God,” you whimper. “Fuck, fuck, Joel, I’m gonna—!”

“Wait,” he says, stilling the instinctual rocking of his hips. You’re so tight, so smooth and wet as your pussy flutters around his cock. He pushes into you to the hilt but doesn’t move, doesn’t give you the satisfaction. He moves his hands to your lower belly, applying just a little bit of pressure. He can feel himself inside you, can feel just how full of him you are. “Want you to cum with me, little girl,” he says. “Can you do that for me? Hm?”

Slowly, experimentally, he shifts his hips the smallest bit, thrusting into you and laughing maliciously at the way you squeeze your eyes shut and whine for more. “I can—can try,” you stammer. “But it feels so —”

“Shh, I know baby,” he says, thrusting into you again, a little harder this time. It feels euphoric, indulging himself in you in a place of worship. He can feel faith in the air like magic, faith in you, in himself, in the love you share.

He moves again, fucking you slow and deep. If it weren’t for the way you make him feel, he thinks he might last a little longer. But the taste of ambrosia lingers on his tongue and he can see the pulsing of your clit and feel the tension in your muscles created from holding yourself back from the edge of pleasure.

Pride swells in his chest. His perfect girl, doing everything he asks, doing anything to please him. It makes him feel holy, like maybe the only godly presence in the room is him.

This is what you’ve done to him. You’ve taken this shell of a man and turned him seraphic, turned him sacred through your worship. Emotion builds in his throat when he thinks of it, when he realizes just how lucky he is to exist in this same universe as you, in the same lifetime. 

He kisses you deep and fucks you even deeper.

“Joel,” you pant, fingernails digging into the side of the altar table. The aged satin cloth has been wrinkled beneath your weight, hanging slightly askew off the edge. “Please, please, I can’t—!”

Warmth pools low in his belly. You sound so pretty when you beg. He presses one hand harder against your abdomen and uses the other to circle your clit. He can feel his cock move beneath his palm with each thrust and the sensation is the filthiest thing he’s ever experienced.

The pressure builds and builds and builds, and then finally —

“Go ‘head, baby. Cum for me,” he says, thrusting a little faster, rhythm faltering as rapture fills him like sunlight. Your legs tremble around his hips and your moans echo in the church as you find faith, too.

“I love you,” you say, and it feels like redemption. Like the opening of heaven’s gates. 

Like forgiveness.

You come down slowly, and Joel’s completely spent with almost no energy left. Yet still he helps you dress, pulls your sweater back on, and buttons up those too-tight jeans.

You eat together, rationing what little food you have left to try and stretch these precious days out a little longer. You admit around a bite of hard bread that you’re exhausted from the day’s ride and he is, too. And so you work together to stack the pews in front of the church’s double doors, sealing yourself inside but more importantly keeping anything outside from getting in.

There’s a window at the back of the church in a room Joel knows was once used for confessional. He leaves it cracked just enough to hear the horses outside if a commotion is caused. And then he holds you in his arms and sleeps. 

It’s the best sleep Joel’s gotten in twenty-five years, the sound of your voice echoing even in his dreams. 

But halfway through the night, the sound of whinnying and rambunctious laughter can be heard, jarring you both awake. 

You’re out of his arms and at the back of the church before Joel’s finished blinking his eyes open. 

He stands to his feet, heart racing behind his ribcage. 

Men’s voices, but far away. Several of them. 

He watches you move quickly through the church to the window at the front, watches you carefully peak through the dirty glass pane. 

Joel saddles up behind you and has never been more thankful that you skipped the warmth of a fire. Because fifteen yards away, there’s a group of men passing through. Some on horses, others walking casually beside them. They’re not subtle about their presence. 

Maybe they don’t think anyone’s around. And on any normal day, they would be right. Except this day, Joel’s here. You’re here.

He picks up his rifle from the makeshift bed the two of you created hours ago. 

You don’t move. You stay focused, transfixed as if you’re trying to see the minute details of their faces from this far away. You wipe the glass with the ivory sleeve of your sweater and it comes away grimy, covered in dust.

Joel knows there’s something you’re not telling him. Can feel the tension, electric and tight in the air, skin crawling with it. Your eyes are narrowed, focused on the sound of rambunctious laughter coming from the small group of men. 

And then your spine straightens and all concern bleeds from your face, replaced in an instant with rage. Red, murderous rage. Joel thinks he’s only seen that sort of frenzy in his own reflection. Now it stares back at him, mirrored and bloodthirsty. “What is it?”

You don’t answer. The scrape of your knife against its sheath at your thigh strikes a terror in him he hasn’t felt in years. His stomach turns uncomfortably because Joel knows, he knows something isn’t right. Something is going to go wrong. He can feel it in his marrow. 

“Stop,” he says. “Talk to me.”

It’s like his words don’t even register. You say nothing as you pull at the pews stacked in front of the doors. They scrape noisily against the hardwood floor, and Joel tries to find something to stop you, to get through to you—but that knife is still clutched in your blanched fist and he knows in your rage you’ll swing at him all the same.

“There are eight of them and two of us,” he tries to reason. “We have no ammunition, no bullets, no arrows. We have to let them—”

“Go?” You turn your frenzied eyes on him. “What’s now eight used to be twenty,” you say. “I won’t let them get away this time.”

“Then we plan for it,” he says, holding out a hand and taking a tentative step toward you. It doesn’t matter to him what your reasoning may be. Joel knows that sort of wrath, knows he’ll never change your mind. And he knows following you down this path of slaughter is bound to bloody his hands further, to taint his soul this time beyond repair. 

But he made a promise to you. Nothing in this world will you ever face alone. 

The problem is that Joel knows neither of you will make it out alive. Not in this. You got lucky back in Casper, and he’s got the knowledge and experience with age to know you won’t get lucky twice.

He can’t let you do this. 

“They won’t get far, okay? Not in an area like this. We go home— tomorrow. We ride to Jackson and we’ll get there in a day if we don't stop. And then we’ll come back for them, alright? We’ll stock up and track them down. I swear to you—”

“You don’t know,” you say, voice shaking. “You don’t know what they did—!”

“So tell me. Tell me everything. Give me the knife.” He reaches for it slowly, carefully. You eye him like he might grow claws and an extra head if you look away for an instant.

You don’t trust him, Joel realizes. Not at this moment, not with this. “Joel,” you say in warning. “Don’t.”

He wonders what’s led you here. Wonders about who’s distrusting hands you once placed your justice in. 

The answer comes to him the moment the question crosses his mind. 

“I’m not like her,” he says. “Look at me, baby girl. Look at me .”

You do. And though that frenzied look lingers in your eyes, something in you softens and he’s grateful for it.

“I’m not Maria. You understand me? When I make you a promise, I mean it. I will kill them. All of them. But we have to be smart about this. We have to do it right. Yeah?” He reaches out again. “Give me the knife.”

You angle it higher, just out of his reach. For a second Joel thinks all progress has been lost because he moved too quickly, too carelessly. But then you say, “Swear it to me. Swear on her life that you won't make me let them go.”

On her life. 

Not her death, but her life. A promise of certainty. An unbreakable oath. Because if he fails, if he shatters this trust, Sarah’s life means nothing.

Joel’s lungs ache. Everything hurts and his skin feels like it’s on fire because no one has ever seen him like this. No one has known exactly what to say, exactly which bruises to press. 

He nods slowly. “Okay,” he relents. “I swear on her life that we will find them.”

Carefully, you hand him the blade, and as if giving it away had flipped a switch, you deflate.

Joel slides your knife into the side of his boot when you turn away from him and go back to the window. 

He stands beside you, a looming presence at your back. Even though he wants answers, he doesn’t want to pry them out of you. And your silence allows him the space for his mind to wander into unspeakable places. Joel has seen firsthand the depraved, vile things that mankind spirals into beneath the weight of survival. 

For a time, even he had sunk so incredibly low. 

And because he’s seen so much, his brain is filled with gut-wrenching images, theoretical scenes of torture, corruption, and perversion. Each one is more brutal than the last. And in them all, you’re the center of it. 

You watch the group of men through the window until the blue illumination of their flashlights disappears from view. And the moment they do, you’re slipping through the window in the back of the church. 

Joel follows you, a million questions on the tip of his tongue. But he stays silent and does nothing but help you gather debris fallen from the trees in the wooded area behind the church. 

Once, he picks up a curved stick, and as if you’d seen it from the back of your head, you say, “No. Not that one. If they’re too curved, the arrows won’t shoot straight.”

 The two of you gather timber for over an hour. And when his hands are just as full as yours, you return to the church. Joel returns your knife and you attempt to teach him how to shave the stick correctly and to whittle the point of it into a weapon. 

He’s not even half as fast as you are. For every arrow he creates, you produce three. It’s a slow, tedious process, but eventually, you begin to speak. 

“It happened on the last run I did for Maria,” you say, eyes focused on the knife and wood in your hands. “I fell asleep one night. It’d been days since I’d given myself a chance to rest and it had finally caught up to me. I’d barricaded myself in a house and might as well have been dead to the world. Two of them found me. Didn’t wake me, didn’t try to kill me or anything. They just took my bow and my pack. My pack that was mostly empty, had nothing in it but a twelve gauge with two bullets, some cans of food, water, and those stale fucking barbecue chips.”

You shake your head dismally. 

“Should’ve fuckin left it. But I…I was afraid. If I came back to Jackson without the one thing she asked for, what use was I? What kept me there?”

It pains him to hear you say it. He wants to tell you you’re wrong, that despite what Maria has made you believe, your worth is not tied to what you can do for her. But he doesn’t. Joel just lets you talk. 

“I tracked them to a warehouse a few miles outside of Boise. Watched them for a while, memorized all the entrances, the windows. Even memorized their faces. They had two people on watch in rotating shifts. I didn’t want to kill them, considering they didn’t try to kill me. But I wanted my pack, and so I waited until four of them were talking during a shift change and slipped inside through the back.”

Your eyes darken, and Joel fears what you may say next.

“Didn’t go as planned. One of them saw me. Outed me immediately, of course. And I thought they’d kill me. Shoot me or something. But that didn’t go as planned, either. The leader was called Gabriel.”

Your hands around the arrow still and your eyes grow misty. You’re reliving it, as clearly as if it were happening now.

“He, uhm…held me down. Suggested the rest of them take turns with me.” 

Joel feels something inside him shift. Feels a decision being made, feels murder begin to drip down his fingertips like water.

“They’d already had my shotgun and took the pistol I had tucked in the back of my jeans the second they ripped them off. I thought…I thought it was the end for me. Because even if I survived it, even if I made it through all twenty of them…I might as well have been dead anyway.”

He understands now, Joel realizes. Understands why you were so infuriated about a run for a pregnancy craving when the price was this. His mouth runs dry.

Your words echo in the dark church. “Had my knife tucked up the sleeve of my jacket, though.” A small smile graces your face as you turn the blade over in your fingers admiringly. “Was able to stop Gabriel before he got any further. They were…stupid. Arrogant. Came at me one by one because why would you need more than that to fight a little girl with nothing but a knife ?”

Now there are only eight of them. The main perpetrator perished, his blood stained so deeply into your jacket that when you’d returned to Jackson they’d had to burn it. No salvaging anything from your destruction. 

Nothing but this vengeance, this promise to yourself to right those who wronged you.  He forced you to break it for your own safety. And though a surge of regret and sorrow trickles into his psyche, he knows there’s still an unbroken vow remaining. 

The promise Joel made to you. 

“Some of them ran. I tried to track them but after a few days, I just…I needed sleep. I wanted to go home.” You go black to fletching your arrow, whittling the end into a sharp point. “I’ll find them one day. Then it’ll be me taking turns with them .”

You don’t say much else for the next two hours. And he doesn’t, either. He helps you sharpen the timber into arrows and when you yawn three times in less than five minutes, he gives you his flannel and lets you lay your head in his lap. 

Joel smooths the tangles in your hair as you sleep. And when you begin to softly snore, he carefully shifts your head onto your sleeping bag and tucks the strap of his rifle beneath your arm.

When he slips out of the window in the back of the church, he latches it shut.  He decides against taking a horse, worried it’d create too much commotion. 

But he does take your serrated sawback knife, telling himself it’s poetic justice. 

They’re only two miles away, stashed in a rundown grocery store that’s been picked over one too many times. Two men sit outside the door. Old habits die hard, Joel thinks. 

One has his head tilted back against the stone wall, sleeping with an ease he doesn’t deserve.

Joel takes out the other one first. And he does it quicker than he’d like. He creeps up behind him silently, wraps one hand around his throat, and uses the other to cover his mouth. The snap of his spine reverberates through Joel’s hands, tingling from his palms down to his elbows. 

The other wakes with the commotion but doesn’t even have the chance to scream before your knife is lodged in his neck so deep the sharp point sticks out of the other end. 

Inside, the other six all rest as well. Joel wonders how they can do so peacefully, knowing they’ve given an innocent little girl fuel for her nightmares. A girl who’s lost enough, who’s sacrificed enough, more than anyone should—only to lose a piece of herself at their greedy hands.

He makes quick work of them. Even delights in the way life leaves their eyes. One by one, Joel uses your knife to slit each and every one of their throats. 

By the time he’s finished, his hands are caked in blood, splatters staining the sleeves of his heavy, canvas coat, and all that’s left of the men who hurt you are eight corpses.

You’re still sleeping when he slips back through the window of the church. It’s a little ironic, he thinks, to return here to this holy place with an angel inside, all while covered in the stink of death.

Joel sits beside you, back pressed against a pew. His hands rest on his knees, blood still drying beneath his fingernails. He watches you sleep and thinks his damnation is worth it if this brings you a sense of safety. 

Though he tries not to, Joel thinks an awful lot about Sarah. Thinks about how he failed her, how just a little more brutality could have saved her.

He’s spent years regretting that night, regretting holding on to the shred of humanity he had left when he should have been holding onto her. He makes a promise not to repeat the same bad habits. Makes a promise he’ll never let his naive desire for respite get in the way of his need to protect you, to keep you safe. He’s breaking the habit, the same as he did with Ellie, because Joel doesn’t think he'll ever survive a loss of such magnitude again.

It doesn’t matter what he has to become to keep you safe. Doesn’t matter the cost to his soul.

Your face looks peaceful but your fists are coiled tight beneath your head. As if even in your sleep you’re fighting something, always on the defense. He wonders if it’s a trait you inherited before or after those men, before or after your sister's death, before or after the accusatory way the inhabitants of Jackson look at you.

Joel feels something heavy rise up in him. Something akin to sorrow or grief. This deep, pensive heartache because it’s just not fair. You’re so young, so innocent, dealing with the same demons he still fights and sometimes loses to at age fifty-two. 

He doesn’t want this for you. Doesn’t want you to become volatile, murderous, monstrous in the ways he has. Joel spent so much time pushing you away and he thinks maybe it’s because there’s so much of his anger mirrored in you. That staring it in the face felt too harrowing, too raw. 

The longer he thinks about it the more pieces slot together in his brain. Your cruel words hurled at anyone who sets you on edge. Your inability to follow any direction that isn’t forced. The self-isolation, the distrust in even those you love most. That animalistic fight in you, flight and freeze be damned. The need to protect others before yourself—Joel, Ellie, Miley, even Maria.

You don’t deserve to live like this. Don't deserve eternal damnation or to experience the wrath of God for the monstrous things you result to when you feel all else is lost. Violence is the only thing that has never turned its back on you.

Joel’s melancholy manifests, a single tear sliding down his cheek. You’re just a little girl and it's not fucking fair. 

He doesn’t want this for you. He wants you to live a full, happy, peaceful life. Not one spent out here chasing ghosts, trying to find your worth in providing for others. He wants you to be protected, to know you’re loved even when you lash out, wants you to know that he understands. Joel wants to be that for you. Wants to be the unwavering support you deserve, wants to be the thing that pulls you back from that ledge you’re dancing upon. Joel wants to be for you what he needed in the darkest part of his rage.

But to do that, you’re going to have to relinquish a little more of that control you hold so tightly.

When you wake, it’s gradual. You don’t startle or flinch at the blood on his hands. But your eyes linger there on the red stain for some time before you ask, “All of them?”

Joel nods once. “All of them.” 

And then you’re crawling into his lap, straddling him, pressing your mouth to his, thanking him in the only way you know how. Your tongue tastes like sleep and ambrosia and sunlight, but when Joel cradles your face in his hands he leaves blood in the wake of his fingertips. The bright red is a stark contrast against the smoothness of your skin, the violence an antithesis to your innocence.

He slides his bloody hands into your hair when your hips begin to move. His cock hardens quickly as his body catches up with your intent, always needy and eager, always just waiting to join you in more than just soul.

While he unbuttons his jeans and slides his zipper down to pull his erection out, your mouth never leaves his. Even when you shove those too-tight jeans down your thighs just enough to make room for him. When you lift up on your knees and sink down onto his cock in one familiarized movement he can feel the vibration of your moan against his tongue, can feel the breath of air from your gasp as he settles in deep.

The stretch is blissfully painful, stinging in all the right ways. You rock your hips slowly at first, adjusting to the sheer size of him, adjusting to his all-encompassing warmth. Your fingers dig into his thick shoulders, desperate to keep your balance.

And then you lift just enough to come slamming back down, the friction setting his skin ablaze. Again, again, again —it’s hurried and needy and depraved. Your hips move fervently over his, seeking out what you know only he can provide.

Your eyes are squeezed shut when you pull your sweet mouth away from his. Joel watches you lean back and place your hands on his thighs for support, back arching, and somehow he finds himself even deeper inside you. You’re moaning and his breath is coming fast and he thinks you look more than just angelic from this angle. He watches you ride his cock and wonders if you were fucking made to do this. 

Cheeks flushed, lips parted, his name on your lips. Is this what Eve saw in the waxy reflection of the forbidden fruit? Is this what she saw when she knowingly abandoned paradise? 

Joel thinks it can’t get much better than this. Thinks the only thing that’s ever come close is the feeling of blood on his hands in the name of those he loves, in the name of you.

He wraps his hand around your throat, staining you even further red, and says, “I’d do anything for you. Anything .” 

He thinks about the Ten Commandments, about how he can cross off every single one of them with just this act alone. 

You shall have no other Gods before me. 

No divine being has made him feel like this. No divinity has ever reached up through his ribs and squeezed a fist around his heart. Not like you have. 

You shall make no idols. 

He thinks about the way you look in his canvas coat. Joel has found his own form of peace through you, has found forgiveness beneath your tongue. 

You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain. 

Your pace quickens. The obscene, wet sounds coming from the place you’re joined echo in the walls of the church. “Oh my God, Joel, I’m—I’m close.”

He knows you are. Can feel it in the way your pussy squeezes him like a vise, in the way your rhythm becomes sloppy and desperate.

Keep the Sabbath day holy. 

Joel doesn’t know what day it is. But he knows he wishes he could stay here in this home you’ve made together within the bones of an old religion, wishes he could stay inside you. He doesn’t know if there’s anything more unholy than this insatiable desire.

Honor your father and mother.

He thinks about that day in the dining hall when embarrassment climbed Maria’s cheeks as you screamed in her face. Joel thinks she deserved it more than he realized that day. He thinks about the way you spoke to him in that watchtower, thinks about the way he’d had to drag you there by your hair, all while listening to every disrespectful thing that came out of your mouth and how a few short weeks later you got down on your knees and called him daddy. 

You shall not murder. 

He takes the hand wrapped around your throat and flattens it against your sternum. The blood is drying but still marks your skin in the shape of his fingerprints.

You shall not commit adultery.

Joel knows he’s supposed to be with a lovely, soft-spoken, age-appropriate woman but knows, too, that death would be kinder than the loss of you. 

You shall not steal. 

He was angry at first, about the strawberry scone. Mike’s wife is a kind woman who spends her time baking for the community. But Ellie likely never would’ve had the opportunity to try it had you not nicked the pastry. If it was always going to lead the two of you here, together, Joel would have stolen every last scone on God’s green earth. 

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. 

Lying seems a small price to pay for you, for your safety. He remembers telling Greg and Bonnie that you were running late the night you left him in the watchtower alone. He wanted to keep you safe then even without noticing that’s what he was doing. Safe from ridicule, from judgment. 

You shall not covet. 

He recalls seeing Abel’s hands on you, seeing his lips against your hair in a chaste kiss. Joel had wanted to kill him then, for touching what was his. He knows by taking you for his own, he’s taking you away from someone like Abel. Someone with a little more moral in their heart, a little less blood on their hands. But he doesn’t care because you’re his now and always. 

Joel lifts his hips in tandem with yours, meeting each stroke, thrusting his cock even deeper inside you. Your legs begin to shake around his and Joel thinks damnation isn’t so bad. “Anything,” he repeats. “Lie, cheat, steal.” His hand on your chest slides up again, wrapping tight around your throat. “I’d kill for you, little girl.”

Your pussy flutters around him and your spine bends in the most beautiful arch he’s ever seen. It solidifies his belief in one very important thing, the last nail in the coffin that cements the two of you together eternally.

This filthy, sinful devotion is cosmic. Celestial. Unearthly. So much more than a bible and cross. 

It’s worth it. It’s worth everything. 

“You like that? Hm?” Your rhythm falters but his remains steady. “Like that I’d spill blood for you, s’that it? That’s what got you all wet, sweetheart?” Your moans turn saccharine— sacrilegious. “Pretty pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, baby. Such a messy thing. I’d kill anyone for my little girl. Anyone .”

“Joel, I—!” 

He knows, he knows. Because he is, too. “Yeah, thaaaat’s it,” he says, drawing out each syllable. Your hands squeeze hard around his thighs and your muscles draw tight. “There you go, baby. Cum for me. That’s it. Sweet fuckin’ girl. Gonna fill you up. That what you want?”

You rasp out his name and the words yes, please, please, and it sounds like a fucking prayer. It’s a hypnotic litany. It makes him feel cherished, adored. And the sound of it spoken in worship in the house of God sends him over the edge. 

Even though your legs tremble around his, you ride his cock relentlessly. Joel’s vision goes white and his hand on your hip squeezes tight enough to bruise. You feel so good, so warm and wet. You lift your hips and slam them back down until the oversensitivity becomes more than he can bear. His hand abandons the home it’s made around your throat and finds the small of your back instead, stilling you completely.

You lean forward, collapsing with your hands pressed against his chest. Joel wraps his arms around your middle and cradles you in his lap, all too aware of the divinity he holds in his hands. He presses a kiss to your temple and listens to your heavy breaths.

Some time passes. He’s not sure how long the two of you sit there with Joel still wedged deep inside you, basking in the afterglow. The sun rises outside and the songbirds of the morning begin to sing. 

Eventually, you lift your head and whisper, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Joel doesn’t understand. He’s stolen something he was undeserving of, only to be loved back. If anyone should be thankful, it should be him. 

It feels like a punch to the gut when you say, “For seeing me.”

Because he now knows no one else ever has. No one has ever seen your defiance as anything but a nuisance, has never seen you as more than a troublemaker, as a bad omen.  

But Joel does see you. He sees right through all that savage fight to the little girl beneath, that soft, childish innocence you keep under heavy guard. He thinks he’s been able to see through it since the first moment he laid eyes on you.

It’s her he wants to protect.

Joel takes your chin in his hand and makes you a commandment of his own. “I will always see you.”

[part seven] [part nine]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @elliesr1fle @pascaltesfaye

let me know if you want to be added! thank you to everyone for all the insane support on this <3

[masterist]

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not picking my brothers side against our mother?

Some background information:

My brother (let’s call him Collin) is trans (20m) We come from a relatively Catholic (we aren’t religious but the influence is deffo there) conservative country and have been living in the USA for most of our lives. My mother definitely can’t be considered LGBTQ allies, although they are much more understanding than some of the people here, especially in the south— which is impressive considering where we come from. She is TERRIBLE with using the correct pronouns for Collin, so much so that he doesn’t contact her much anymore. I’ve never tried to get him to do otherwise— it’s his choice, and I still respect him. I can understand it. Shortly before he moved away, he’d rant to me about her. I was pretty good with listening and giving advice/support for the first few years, but towards the end of high school (when the school work stress was piling up, along with other external family issues), it started to weigh on me. I wanted (and still want) to be someone Collin can confide in, but I still love my mother. She has made improvements with her close-mindedness, even if they aren’t huge steps. Whenever I try to give reasons for her behavior or just try to get them to get along, he accused me of siding with her. A lot of his perceptions of her seem warped these days, too. Like a while ago he was talking with me via text about one of his friends/coworkers (who is gay). He told me not to mention to our mother that this friend is gay— this friend, by the way, is fully out and married. A few months later I slipped and mentioned it to my mother (she had suggested that this friend probably likes this woman we know and I said “no mom he’s gay!”). And she didn’t really react? She just bluescreened for a moment (the trademark “confused boomer pause”) and went on with the conversation. I’ve had a lot of talks with her about LGBTQ issues, and I’ve actually managed to get her to consider the fact that homophobia may stem from religion (she is a very science>religion kind of person). She wholeheartedly believes that LGBTQ issues should not be politicized. (Not an ally, not an enemy.)

anyway, all this to say that Collin has a very 2D impression of her. Last year I went to pick him up at the airport, and mom called while we were in the car to remind us to stop by [store] and pick something up. When the call ended, Collin snorted and said something like “the bitch couldn’t have just sent a text?”

I told him, a bit snappishly, to shut up. He looked surprised and I felt bad, but I told him that I didn’t want any in part in the conflict and that he should stop bringing me into it.

I was also kind of pissed at him at the time for posting the story of an argument between our mother and I (my period was a month late, she thought I was pregnant*— not even an argument she was just annoyingly suspicious for a week or two) online. He changed names for privacy, but there were people who knew who he was so it wasn’t that hard to figure out who his “sister” was. Since I never gave him permission to share it with anyone, I asked him to take it down. He did eventually. but I guess that could be for another AITA post.

*I have never dated or shown interest in dating anyone.

Overall, I feel that he has the right to argue/have a bad relationship with our mother. But I also have a right to let it affect me without being labeled as a bad or traitorous sister.

What are these acronyms?

[artist-issues]

You're my new favorite blog! You have no idea how I wish I could peck inside your brain like a chicken. 😭😂😂 I am a Catholic and a recovering agnostic. I struggle with letting go of my old way of life and philosophy constantly, I have been struggling with it since the day I decided to revert - that was back in 2017. (I think you would like to know my journey back to the Faith started after watching HBO's The Young Pope! 👌🏼) At this point I don't know if I'll ever be the person the Lord wants me to be, oh well, I'll die trying and I know that will mean something.

I just know I can't go back to being a non-believer, because as Carl Young said, now I don't just believe, I know. The irony is my struggle to believe in something I know to be objectively the Truth.

I have a question for you though, actually I hope for some advice from you. How do I reconcile with the reality that I haven't become who I dreamed to become (like career wise), but now that a new career has been shoved upon me (a career my parents wanted for me - and they valued safety and stability over "following my dreams" I suppose)? ...which isn't necessarily a bad thing, because it is an extremely noble profession and it pays quite well.

The thing is, as much as I try to accept my new career, I keep telling myself and to others that I'm doing this for my parents and not because I want to be here. I feel terrible about it. But, again, it's not like I am unfulfilled (I am unhappy though, but that comes with the work culture/environment, I feel like I am surrounded by 40+ year old teenagers); as a matter of fact, I do think I know - objectively - in my heart that this is exactly where the Lord wants me to be? But I keep fighting against it, keep struggling against this sense of vocational calling that I'm feeling towards my new job, instead I desperately wanna give into my want to go "live the life I want." Like throw this all away, get new training and start all over with the career I wanted all those years ago.

I want to be better, to be sacrificial like Christ on the Cross. I've always known I had a little depression (comes with my disability from a young age and this whole dream thing); I have been suicidal over this, I actually used to joke with myself that I'd kill myself if I don't achieve my professional goals by the time I turned 25. I will turn 30 this September and even though I haven't been literally dead, I feel like I've been in a vegetative state - mentally - ever since the day I turned 25. I hope that makes sense.

I started seeing a therapist 2 weeks ago since my mental health started affecting my new job - she did say I have depression and is trying to help me but I just don't know if I want to be helped at all, because I am unable to do the exercises she tells me (like create a routine, exercise well, write down good thoughts, etc.) I feel like I'm failing myself, my parents and, most importantly, my Heavenly Father.

I apologise if this is nonsensical, I apologise for dumping all of this on you - random stranger on the internet - but idk I felt like maybe you'd have something wise to tell me to knock some sense into me (without a bump to prove it hehe).

Thank you and God bless! 🥰

You’re very kind, and I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to share all this with me! I really never have anything good of my own to say, or any wisdom to offer, except what I “steal” from God…and I guess what I mean is, if I ever say anything helpful or good or true, I’m just the messenger. I didn’t come up with it. On my own I have zero wisdom or good things to offer.

Anyway, I was surprised reading this because I have gone through (been going through) a similar sort of mindset. I went to school for the career I dreamed about (still dream about) and I worked hard and I wanted it more than anybody around me (very Mike Wasowski in MU of me) and it hasn’t happened the way I planned, or in my timetable.

I mean, in all humility: I work with a studio making a tv show, but it hasn’t got off the ground yet, and I work for a company that writes movie reviews, but neither of those things pay my bills. I have a third job, working with therapists, that’s nothing like what I always wanted to do. That’s my “career,” but it’s not the career I’m passionate about and working toward. And I wonder if I’ll ever do anything “major” in the line of work I love and went to school for. And when I do, I have gotten into some really dark mental places.

Forgive me for not using the words “depression” or “suicidal.” I hate using those words because they’re overused and romanticized and flooding the culture. But more importantly I hate using them because the only thing I identify with is Christ, not any mental struggle I try to slither back into, like a snake trying to put back on old skin. I’m not my overthinking—I’m not my depression—I’m not my suicidal thoughts or emotions—I am one with Christ. Those are things inside me that are defeated and dead—the teeth have been knocked out of them. They just gum me from time to time. So I want you to know I empathize with you, but that’s my point and that’s how I want to answer you:

The only thing about you that really matters is Christ.

Who He says you are, what He has done and how He lived, which is applied to you because He said it is, by grace alone, through faith alone. No matter how you feel.

And I say that to you, as the answer, because I think you and I focus too much on what could be and what “should be” as if God has a set path for us, and if we don’t figure out what it is and walk it, we’ll have a less-fulfilling life. “If I stay at my therapy job and just work with teenagers and write on my blog for the rest of my life, I’ll be fine, but I won’t be as good as I could be.” Or for you. “If I stay in this career I’m in, the one my parents backed me into, I’ll make it, I’ll be fine, but I’ll never be as happy as I want to be.” We’re both thinking, every once in a while, “This is career is what God wants for me, and all my misery is coming from not submitting to it, and if I could just wrestle my contentment into place and give up the thing I want, and submit to what God wants, I’d be fulfilled.”

But how do we know any of those thoughts are true? How do we know God wants us in these boring old careers we wouldn’t have chosen—didn’t choose? Or, how do we know these boring old careers are what we’re stuck in because we didn’t take the plunge and work harder for our “dreams,” which were what He really wanted us to do? How do we know either of those things?

We don’t. We don’t get to know. That’s the point.

Because that’s not how God works. Not from what I can tell in the Bible.

“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”. Colossians 3:17.

Whatever you do. Not “the one specific thing you figure out He wants you to do.”

My mom described it to me once when I was in a really dark place trying to figure out what He wanted me to do, paralyzed with indecision, afraid He wanted me to do something I just didn’t want to do, like this: “God doesn’t hold out one flower and say, ‘this is the one I want you to have, so you can either take it or take something worse.’ God makes a field of flowers, and He says, ‘Which one do you want? Pick one, and do it with excellence for Me.’ Then just trust Him to make it good.”

It sounds like you’re in a career, but you are wrestling with whether or not to pick it, now that you have some autonomy as an adult, or to pick starting over. Well. Pick one. Just pick one. And trust God to take care of you. Trusting God looks like thinking it through with excellence, then making the decision—and making the decision means letting go of worrying about the thing you didn’t pick. “Take every thought captive in obedience to Christ.” Once you make a choice, make it all the way, and don’t let your mind wander anymore to “what if this blows up in my face? What if I should’ve stayed back there at the crossroads, or gone down the other path?” It’s going to be hard and God is going to take care of you, no matter what you pick. So don’t let your mind go to those places where you worry; acknowledge the worry, and every time, ask God to help you remember that He’s got you.

Because here’s the point, here’s the thing: He does have you. Because ultimately, your career really doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t. Neither does your dream. Not ultimately. And now I’ll say “our” because I need to hear it too. Our dreams and careers are not the point of us, and our dreams and careers are not what God means when He says “I’ll take care of you.”

What He means is, “I’ve already taken care of you.” Because the most important thing isn’t our job or our dream. The most important thing is, we’ve been rescued out of eternally being trapped in our broken desires, and now we get to live for Christ, Who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. That’s the major. And that truth is where our fulfillment is supposed to come from, what our lives are meant for, our purpose. As long as we pick one, and do it with excellence to make the name of Jesus famous, with that goal in mind, we’ll be emotionally fulfilled. We’ll be satisfied. Because that’s the goal. Not making movies, or whatever it is you want to do. Not having secure means of living. Just…living our lives to make who Jesus is famous. We can do that wherever.

So then the choice? It becomes a minor, not a major, and the pressure of “will I be happy?” is off, because happiness isn’t found in that stuff. And whenever I forget, and start looking for happiness in my dreams, goals, career, that’s when it all starts to feel dark and stressful and hard and crushing. Because it was never meant to give me happiness or fulfillment—that’s a need only Christ can fulfill.

Don’t misunderstand me. He cares what you do. He cared about every decision you make, and He does have a plan. But that’s going to happen anyway. So just pray, consider which option is a) wise to go for and takes care of the responsibilities God has entrusted you with, b) which option you genuinely want, when your wants are not influenced by fears, and then c) step out and do it in faith. And do it with the mindset of, “I’m doing this, and I’m not thinking about the alternative if I can help it, and I’m also not putting all my happiness-eggs in this basket, because even if it crashes and burns, hey, I’m still one with Christ and I can still make Him famous no matter what road my career goes down.”

I hope this helps. It’s a subject I’m hamster-wheeling around in my mind right now a lot—but when I just fix my eyes on Christ and think about how the most important things, the things that give real joy and happiness, are already and forever taken care of and I can’t mess them up—then can get off the hamster wheel and enjoy the life He’s given me, right now, today, without worrying about the future.

[queer-geordie-nerd]

"That spring in 1971 I was in second grade high school. Suddenly, politics or what we thought was politics, stopped being so boring. In a delayed, faint echo of the 1968 movement in the West, revolutionary ideas were making their way towards our forgotten little corner of the world. Suddenly, every walk back home from school became slightly dangerous. People were gathering in the streets, shouting “We want democracy” and “Stop totalitarianism!” and “We want reforms” and “Liberty for all political prisoners.” Every day there were fights in the streets of Zagreb, with the police brutally attacking protesting students.

At home my parents were contemplating signing petitions for the liberation of dissident writers imprisoned because of their political views. Since they had been imprisoned themselves by the Communist regime, they were always very cautious about any protest. “Stay away from politics,” was their main advice. Before the events of 1971 there was no need for that advice since I didn’t have any interest in politics anyway. Who cared about those boring Communist politicians, all in their ill-fitting grey suits, indistinguishable one from the other, talking in a language that put you to sleep as soon as you heard it!

But all at once and without warning, everything changed. What was happening in the streets was real and exciting. I desperately wanted to be a part of it. We, the kids, were, of course, automatically and unquestionably, on the side of the protesters. We were, of course, against the police who were beating the demonstrating students. We were, of course, against totalitarianism and pro democracy. There were no dilemmas. We were all for freedom.

But things in the Balkans are never black and white. As they aren’t anywhere in the world, we would learn later.

The pro-democracy protests included another element that wasn’t too obvious to a second-grade high school student. Not only were the students requesting democratic reforms; they were also questioning the federal structure of Yugoslavia, asking for more autonomy for each republic, in this case Croatia. I went to a student meeting, my cheeks burning with newly-discovered political passion. I was puzzled when I realized that the meeting was being held in a Catholic church and that one of the speakers was a Catholic priest. Hm….

Since the beginning of my life I had listened to passionate anti-religious rants at home. My mother would get physically sick inside churches; my father was an outspoken communist who loved to quote Marx’s sentence about religion being the opium of the people; my grandmother thanked the priest who chased her away from the Church, thus saving her life. So now, wanting to join the exciting political movement, I was suddenly faced with the other constituting element of that movement: religion. And, yet another one: nation. I didn’t know anything about either. As for nationality: I was a Yugoslav. That’s what I would write in all my documents. Yes, we lived in the republic of Croatia, but I saw it as an administrative category, something to do with the general organization of the state of Yugoslavia. We did learn about the existence of different ethnicities at school, but I didn’t feel it affected me in any way. I saw any discussion about nationality as something regressive and belonging to the uneducated peasant masses.

We were taught (and I was totally buying it) that our society had triumphed over all those destructive forces from the past, forces that had killed millions of people in the last war, that had set up concentration camps and slaughtered children in the name of ethnic purity. Who would ever want to go back to those “dark times?” It turned out: almost everybody.

At that students’ meeting in the church there was no discussion of freedom and democratic reforms. To my absolute horror, I heard students singing songs from the Second World War, songs sung by the Ustashas, the Croatian Fascists who had killed my Jewish grandfather. “Zovi, samo zovi” (“Call us”) was a battle song of the Ustashas. Why were these exciting young people with glowing eyes singing it? I couldn’t understand it. I ran out of the church, scared."

- Mira Furlan, Love Me More Than Anything In the World

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Medic X gn!Reader: Songe d'Automne

ah yes, A fanfiction that dives into the popular fan theory whether Medic cares about his team or not due to his initial description. Let’s go.

He hated everybody. Or so you often think. It was impossible to catch him without that sadistic grin whenever bathed in the blood of his enemies, or the glare whenever you asked him a science related question he deemed too obvious. But you felt something for him nonetheless. Whether it be pity for his sorry attitude or genuine affection. You didn’t quite know for sure.

The year was 1969. The cold breeze was chilling to your very core. Brilliant colors bringing fourth new sights once again like they do every year. Greeting you warmly with her open arms — autumn gracefully dawns her gown of gold and washes over the mountain base. Being stationed in the cold mountains was the very last thing you suspected from the Administrator. But the Gravel Wars had to move there for whatever reason nonetheless. Just in time for the season. You stood atop the base and looked over the sea of brown, orange, and yellow. Feeling nostalgic for the morning air and the leaves twirling to the ground for you like a million ballet dancers.

But not just leaves were content on riding the wind today. You heard the faintest drag of a violin. A beautiful song that sounded not depressing, not sad, not happy, but pensive.

You turnt your head to the source. Down below on the second floor of the base to the left was the Medbay. The window was wide open and you could hear the sweet melody coming from there.

That’s quite something.

You think Medic’s catholic and overall angelic aesthetic couldn’t get any more blunt. It was no mistake that the doctor carried himself with dignity and poshness. He waltzed around with the mysterious beauty of femininity and the physique of masculinity. His lab coat always resembled wings whenever he jumped down from a high place to rescue a teammate and the beautiful wedding doves that accompanied him reminded you of an angel who spoke to animals. He was indeed by all means an angel of death. A man who appeared as divine intervention but slaughtered his enemies with the insanity of Lucifer himself. — And he was playing a violin.

You made your way downstairs and hurried yourself over to the Medbay. Eager to get a look at what you were hearing. The closer you got to the source, the more you recognized the tune. Without a shadow of a doubt what you were hearing was the blessed Songe d’Automne. You remember hearing it on an old edison cylinder that your teacher had back in grade school.

You peaked through the slightly ajar door. Your eyes on the tall silhouette that stood in the very center of his quarters. His lab coat and medipack were still on him despite it being after work hours. He held the violin against his chin and worked the bow flawlessly without a sheet. His doves watching him from above on various medical tech and the ceiling beams; some laid dormant and asleep whilst some were curiously bobbing their head towards his direction.

For a second, you didn’t want to disturb your own peace. Although Medic was dangerous and you didn’t even know if he was capable of empathy, he certainly conveyed a lot of emotion through that song. Particularly an inherent desire for a clearer mind. You began to wonder as you listened if he maybe overthought stuff, loved, and cried just like you did.

You opened the door to meet him and he slowly took his bow from the instrument. Evidently hearing your approach. He opened his eyes and stared you down for a moment.

“Yes?” He asked.

You didn’t quite know what to say to him. In all honesty, you were enjoying the music. It was helping you relax after a long stressful day. You rubbed your own arm with your other hand to convey your nervousness to him.

“Can you play some more? It makes me feel safe.” You say. You decide that if Medic is going to be difficult with his emotions then you won’t.

You hear a deafening silence for a second. Followed by a heavy sigh. He brought the bow back to the strings and kept playing. This gesture was telling whether he liked it or not. A heartless man would’ve simply insulted you and shooed you away.

You get up on the hospital bed and curl up for a bit. Allowing yourself peace in the dimly lit Medbay. Normally all sorts of shenanigans and chaos would happen around here but it was a house of healing all the same. Medic was capable of breaking every bone in the human body.. But also healing them. If Medic was such a heartless man — why take it upon himself to build something so passionate?

You find yourself nodding off at the indirect comfort he gave you. Drifting quickly into slumber as your body found relaxation. Whatever you were worrying about could wait. Your peace of mind was more important at this moment.

Then you wake up hours later..

With a blanket neatly laid upon your body.

[mitzymossy33]

Jinx is my comfort character, here’s why;

So, ima be real with y’all for a second , I’m nit someone who likes to go on and on about trauma and dump my issues into other people, but I feel the need to post this, before we start, TW for mental illness, SA, childhood trauma, etc. Read at your own risk. So, Jinx, is my comfort character, and you may be asking why? While I don’t have schizophrenia or schitzo-affective disorder or anything else that would enable me to have hallucinations, Unless you account taking 12 melatonin gummies in one night, (I did that ONE time, ONE, okay?). But anyways, enough with the jokes, while I personally don’t have hallucinations, my mom did. A little backstory, my mom has pretty severe mental issues stemming from lots of childhood trauma, first off, SA, her dad left, she started smoking and doing drugs at like 11, got sent to a CATHOLIC boarding school labeled for troubled girls in the 80s-90s (you can tell how that went down) and whole lot of other stuff. Anyways, yeah, a lot. That’s why I feel for Jinx so much, her hallucinations, where erratic behavior, everything, because it feels so real, I’ve seen a bit of discussion on whether or not Jinx is a good representation f mental illness and I have to advocate for yes, I’ve seen first-hand what mental illness and trauma can do to a person, and it is not pretty. I remember days when I my mom used to hold me and ‘I can’t see you, I can’t see you’ and at the time I didn’t think much of it, but now that I understand what she went through, my stomach churns thinking about it. Most of my life my face probably looked distorted to her, even my dad’s did. Imagine a world where you can’t see the faces of your loved ones. Anyways, I appreciate the realism of Jinx, the delusions, the hallucinations, the mood swings, the impulsivity, everything, it’s just portrayed so tastefully and I could not be more grateful, with a lot of ‘crazy characters’ for example Harley Quin in the Birds of Prey movie, well, yes, she’s supposed to be crazy, she lacks actual mental illness, or it’s just played for laughs. It feels shallow. Watch a few Harley Quin scenes where she’s supposed to be acting unstable and you’ll see what I mean. The problem with the manic pixie dream girl, is that she lacks, well, mania. With Jinx, we see that, we don’t just see ‘oh haha crazy=funny=sexy’ we see her struggle, it’s scary, terrifying, all the other characters have to walk on eggshells often so she doesn’t go off the rails, like in the dinner scene, they all know one wrong move and someone ends up dead, and someone did. She flinches and reacts at hallucinations, which to others may seem odd, but it was the same with my mother, she would always grunt and put her arms up in a defensive position, reliving that pain, and that trauma over and over again. It’s genuinely sad, but unfortunately, you can’t just have someone be fixed, it’s a tragic reality, and that’s why Jinx’s behavior feels like a lunch in the gut.

Another thing is Jinx’s identity thing, and while my mom didn’t start going by a new name, I personally relate to it, you see, because of my mom’s mental illness, and me being homeschool by her until sixth grade, it caused me to not have the best childhood myself. After I got out, and started processing and realizing what happened, I wanted to escape, I did this through maladaptive daydreaming, escaping into my own world where I was a new person, free of of what happened, someone who went through much worse and still came out on top, and that gave me comfort, because if she could do it, why couldn’t I? Anyways, at my worst in my mental health, this got taken to a new extreme, I started hating my birth name, wanting to separate myself from it and be a new person entirely, I went Cass, Cassie, Cassandra, and Moss, until I settled on Mossy. It was my way of reclaiming my freedom, saying that I wasn’t that same little girl who was so isolated that covid felt like nothing changed. That I wasn’t that little girl who had to listen as my mom had mental breakdowns, as my parents relentlessly fought, as my mom shook me and told me god’s an A-hole. It was a separation of identity, kill the past, embrace the future. And while I don’t hate my birth name anymore, I still choose to go by Mossy online for sake of privacy, as well as it just being my nickname. I feel the need for freedom from the Jinx and Powder thing. I love how realistic Jinx is, and I can only wish for her to have a happy ending, even though that is extremely unlikely. But, if you stuck it out this far, thank you for sticking around and I hope you didn’t mind my bit of trauma-dumping, just really wanted to pour my personal views and experiences into the amazing show that is Arcane!

Anyways, I hope you like my analysis, I wanted to go more in depth, but my memory was fogging up due to my brain blocking out what happened. Maybe I’ll edit this or update it somewhere in the future, but for now, this is what I got.

[venusjailer]

Will I ever stop pathologising the AP main characters and creating incredibly detailed backgrounds riddled with childhood trauma? It’s unlikely!

(INSANELY LONG) (LIKE INSANELY) (YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED) EXPLANATIONS BELOW

(And If you have hc’s feel free to share!)

Patrick: cmon. The entire plot of AP is literally him just begging to be noticed.

Bro is devoid of attention right until the very last scene (aka the one with his lawyer). Sorry to all the SiGmA mALe AMPS fans but this is not a “sigma 🥶”, this is a man who did not receive a MORSEL of affection during his formative years.

His obsession with ‘fitting in’ (ie being accepted and therefore cared about) through his clothes, his looks, his social circle; his outbursts of intense emotion and inability to regulate them (almost as if he was never taught how to do so); the way he views the women in his life in an almost maternal way (namely Evelyn and Jean) - he just needs a hug!!!

And some intense therapy. And heavy duty psych meds.

Paul: this one is partly canonical, partly not.

The way that his character is almost revered by the other guys at P&P is interesting; he comes over as this über cool, competent, successful finance bro almost to a greater extent than they think they are.

But then he gets drunk with Patrick away from the office and from the constraints of corporate professionalism and becomes this silly goofy little guy.

I don’t necessarily think his work ‘persona’ is an act: I think it’s the parts of himself that he has to accentuate in order to succeed.

Also - I took influence for this from the amazing Paul character studies written by my dear friend @leoblooms on AO3 - please check them out

Luis: this one is pretty self-explanatory.

He’s the only confirmed canonically queer character in AP (although, come on, Patrick’s canon closet is made of glass at this point). And yet - in a way that so many LGBT+ people have suffered with throughout history and sadly even to this day - he can never, ever show it. Being openly gay in his environment would make him a social pariah.

Instead, he has to fit in: he’s marrying a woman, he’s acting like ~one of the guys~, he’s hoping that he can suffocate that part of himself by burying it six feet underground. But as so many of us know all too well: you can’t hide who you are forever. The bathroom scene with Patrick just proves this.

I also wanted to make a note of this because it’s very interesting to me - I read the most AMAZING fic a couple of years ago that was written from Courtney’s perspective, and in it it was mentioned that Luis is Catholic. I’m a Christian as well (from a famously progressive denomination) and although a lot of attitudes are changing within the Catholic Church, particularly right now, the ‘gay = sin’ mentality does prevail for many.

So it makes sense that if Luis was raised Catholic he has been suppressing that part of himself for a very long time. I can see him lying to himself and having girlfriends in high school.

Courtney: my literal baby girl. I’ve written a whole 18k character study on her because I find her so canonically fascinating.

My headcanon is that her father was absent from her life from a young age - but this is rooted in how she actually acts in the source material.

In the boardroom scene, Luis thanks Patrick for “taking care of Courtney last night”. To me, it sounds like he’s taking on a role that’s almost paternal. She is also notably reliant, and almost clingy, on the men in her life: telling Patrick she can’t go out because she’s waiting for Luis to call, and practically begging Patrick to call her after they’ve slept together.

Additionally there’s the whole ‘fucking my best friend’s boyfriend’ thing - I’m getting WAY off topic here but I see so much of her in Cassie from Euphoria. Unless someone is purposefully malicious and nasty, I think there’s always a reason for that kind of thing, even if it is complex and unsavoury.

I hate to use the term “daddy issues” because it absolves absent/abusive fathers of all of their damage and unfairly places the blame on young women, but if I had to describe a reason for why she might act in this way - having seen it first-hand myself from many people - that would be it.

Evelyn: so I did take some influence from Reese Witherspoon’s character in Legally Blonde here - but I think Evelyn is actually one of the smartest characters in AP and so I feel it’s fitting.

She comes over as incredibly ditzy and shallow, but remember we’re seeing and reading all of this from Patrick’s perspective - of course he’s not going to have a high opinion of her, because…it’s Patrick Bateman were talking about here.

In reality, she’s probably one of the most socially clued-in characters. For example: she effortlessly hosts big gatherings with grace and decorum even if the majority of guests are, let’s be honest, fucking insufferable.

She’s also the only character who can actually handle Patrick and meets him on his own level. She absolutely refuses to take any of his bullshit (“what am I supposed to do with that? Floss with it?”).

Her actions and force prove her to be the strong willed and savvy and to me that suggests intellect, as much as it may be hidden - again, due to the environment she exists in.

Bryce: he’s so interesting.

I’ve not written as much about him in my fics as the others, but his actions in the source material suggest that underneath his finance bro Wall Street image, he’s someone who’s very disillusioned, and almost broken.

I really wish the scene of his…episode?…in the club hadn’t been cut from the film. I’d recommend anyone to watch it (and the rest of the deleted scenes because they’re class) if they’ve not seen it already.

There’s also The Informers, the book and film adaptation of another of of Bret Easton Ellis’ works, which features a young Tim Bryce (referred to as Price) and the complex relationship with his father. I’ve not read/watched it in full yet, but whilst they’re on holiday Bryce’s father gets drunk and acts lecherous and gross towards young women on the beach, and Bryce is disgusted by this (perhaps he’s not as much of a raging misogynist as his peers?), and then makes ‘joking’ comments about Bryce being the subject of attraction by other men, to which Bryce walks out on him (perhaps he’s less condemning of homophobia than the others? Or, possibly…maybe he has less than hetero feelings himself? Not to spoil any of Mergerizations but I headcanon him as bisexual tbh).

This behaviour suggests that, at least as a teen, Bryce was very assertive of what was and wasn’t okay and was happy to make these views known.

But due to bullying by his father and, again, the environment that he likely grew up in, he has to suppress this part of himself to be accepted.

WOWWWW that was a whole ass essay. If you’ve read to this part, 1) I’m sorry 2) THANK YOU 3) I love you!!!!

[legoflowrs]

flowers can you some Stan headcanons🤭🤭🤭

HEADCANNONS

Stan Marsh

AGED UP TO 18 PEEPS

cw: drinking, smoking, drugs, abuse, slight nsfw, addiction

a/n: hehe i hope u like this ruby!!! also this is for anon and @wonyoungies-world that also requested stan head cannons <3

also again same with kyle in the regular head cannons style are together but in the relationship ones he’s with reader!

- Ok I have like two versions of Stan in my head. football Stan and emo loser Stan. I love both versions a lot lmao.

- Stan has a shitty relationship with his Dad. He loathes him for moving him away from his friends to tegridy farms. His Dad was very absent in his life so Stan has always felt extremely neglected.

- He absolutely adores Sharon . He’s such a mummas boy. He goes to her for everything.

- Stan is THE bisexual queen lol!

- His closet is just oversized sports tees and baggy jeans.

- I think his family is catholic but he isn’t a religious person at all.

- He had a weird relationship with Shelly growing up but as teenagers Shelly took Stan under her wing because she saw how Randy’s neglect affected him.

- He’s absolutely petrified of turning into Randy.

- Bleaches his hair at 3am drunk one night with Kyle so he looks less like his Dad.

- Bro has been in LOVE with Kyle forever.

- Thinks he’s super slick with it (he’s not).

- Didn’t wanna ruin the friendship.

- They kissed once at a party but didn’t speak about it.

- After they moved to the farm he stopped smoking weed cause it made him angry.

- Has a mullet for a while because Kenny influenced him.

- Saved up his pocket money for a shitty electric guitar and it his pride and joy.

- Loves playing music it’s an escape for him.

- Like I said in the Kenny head cannons, Stan forms a band for the second half of high school.

- Some of his favourite memories are with the band.

- Doesn’t hate coffee but doesn’t love it. Wendy put him onto chai lattes.

- Has a really good friendship with Kenny.

- Really struggled with alcohol abuse throughout high school. I think he didn’t wanna admit he needed help it made him feel weak.

- Loves blueberry muffins.

- Spends heaps of time playing minecraft with Kyle and Kenny.

- My guy is greasy, starts looking after himself when he hits 16.

- If he played sports he plays football and ice hockey.

- He’s really good at both but it’s not where his passion is.

- Soooo fond of animals. I think he’d volunteer at the same shelter karen does.

- Did not get out of bed for days when Sparky died.

- Kyle surprised him with a puppy after about a year of dating.

- Deftones enjoyer 😭

- Really struggled with depression. Didn’t go on meds until Kyle literally begged him.

- His guilty pleasure is painting (HERE ME OUT ON THIS ONE).

- Sets up a little corner of his garage with an easel and spends a lot of time there.

- Always has headphones in.

- Went to rehab right before college.

- Really struggled to figure out what his direction in life should be.

- I think he went into veterinary work!! Switched to animal and plant conservation after he realised he couldn’t deal with putting pets down.

- Worked at the library for a while, he liked the peace and quiet.

- Started helping Heidi and Kyle with the community garden.

- Quarterback obviously lol.

- His favourite breakfast food is pancakes.

- Loves the ocean. Isn’t a great swimmer but Kenny taught him to surf.

- After working at the library he really got into reading books.

- Listens to brown noise to get to sleep.

- Still wears his ratty ass beanie everywhere.

- Hates summer, loves spring.

- The day him and Kyle started dating was one of the best days of his life.

- Him and Kyle share his wired headphones on long road trips 🥹

- Can’t do laundry to save his damn life.

- Gets in weird cleaning moods and power scrubs his house.

- Him and Kyle get an apartment together.

- Loves hearing Kyle play piano.

- Can’t eat vegetables without dip (same).

- Marjorine does his eyeliner before gigs.

- That boy can sleep just about anywhere.

Stan in a relationship

- So clingy like SO CLINGY.

- When he’s in a relationship he adores his significant other.

- Loves to lay his head on your chest while your fingers thread through his hair.

- Will make you put your feet on his and slow dances with you.

- Always touching you even if it’s lowkey, linking pinkies, bumping shoulders.

- Is so scared he’s not good enough for you, will require a lot of reassurance.

- When he goes through his depressive episodes he becomes very withdrawn. Will take him a while to open up.

- You will push his towards seeking professional help but he’ll only do it when he acknowledges he actually needs it.

- Always calls and texts you when he’s drunk.

- When y’all had sex for the first time he was a nervous wreck. So scared of doing something wrong and embarrassing himself.

- After a while he learnt what you like really well and knows how to make you feel good.

- Such a switch.

- Hear me out he’s such a thigh guy!

- His love language is quality time 100%

- Prefers nights in over going out! Y’all watch bad movies for shits and gigs.

- Supports whatever you do, number one cheerleader type beat.

- You’re at all of his gigs in the front row screaming your heart out. He always melts at the sight of it.

- You paint his nails black.

- He likes to braid your hair for fun.

- He sleeps over at yours a lot because being around his dad is hard.

- Struggles to sleep so y’all go on 3am drives for donuts.

- Long late night drives together!

- You guys swim in Starks Pond over the summer and ice skate there in winter.

- There’s no such thing as a quick kiss with stan, he always kisses you very passionately.

- He’s so tender with you when you guys are in bed and he wakes up first.

- Had made you so many playlists and sends you new music recommendations all the time.

- Wrote a song for your anniversary and sung it to you. You cried for hours.

- When he was struggling with his sense of direction in life you guys made a bucket list together.

- One of his bucket list items was to go to Europe so y’all did exactly that.

- You surprised him with a puppy one year after you moved in together. He cried.

- Sunday brunch is a weekly thing, he always gets pancakes.

- Y’all nap in the sun together in your hammock.

- He reads you his favourite books before bed 😭😭

- You will do drunk karaoke together.

- Matching bracelets!

- He likes to kiss your neck and shoulders while he stands behind you.

- Likes to peck your nose and see your face scrunch up.

- Calls you beautiful at least 50 times a day.

- Has a polaroid picture of you in his phone case.

- You wear his clothes and it turns him on LOL.

- Was terrified of marriage until he met you. It completely changed his perspective.

- Will propose to you on a walk you guys do in Lake Como. You both cry.

- I think Stan will try so hard to be the best version of himself around you and it makes your heart melt.

[lover-of-mine]

You don't have to answer this question at all if it's too personal . I won't feel bad. I'm just trying to get an idea of what to expect. I'm agnostic and wasn't raised in any religion. I don't even know really anyone who practices Catholicism. The only thing I can interpret from my friends who are Christian is its definitely, harsher??? Values ingrained in them. I was wondering if you were raised religious and had to battle being queer vs any pre conceived notions you held or your family may have. I swear you said something once about Nuns crossing themselves when they passed you for having colored hair? Sorry if I'm wrong on that. I just feel like if they are doing this they are really doing it and what a story of deconstructing yourself might look like.

Okay, this is a complicated question. I was raised religious and for all intents and purposes, I still am, but while I am christian, I was never catholic. I was raised with spiritism as a belief and they are a lot more open to stuff than different churches. The experience I had with catholic people telling me stuff like being queer is wrong was in school, because my city is very catholic and because we had a religious study class that was mandatory and the teacher was very Sunday school type vibes even though it wasn't supposed to be a catholic leaning class, but at that point I was old enough to push back, so I was constantly fighting my teacher. I'm not out to my family because while my parents never had a problem with queer people, my dad has made some comments about bisexual people that make me scared even tho they weren't fully bigoted, it's just boomer talk, being ignorant, and, honestly, I think he knows and he's waiting for me to say something because there was a situation with one of my cousins a few years back that got me really heated because her side of the family is very religious, and she's some shade of queer and people kept using religion against her, and my dad suddenly started talking about acceptance and stuff like that while supporting how frustrated I was with my uncle, but honestly, at this point I'm kinda settled into only coming out to them if there's a girl I want them to meet. I did go to university in a very religious city and I had to deal with multiple people commenting on my appearance, specifically colorful hair, the nun thing did happen, I had blue hair and I was wearing a shirt that had a cross made of skulls, they didn't like that, but I've had people tell I'm not getting into heaven and my sin was pink hair. I can't really help with this particular aspect because my struggle with being bi was never about someone telling me that loving women is wrong, it was always I do like men, so I just thought people felt that way about everybody. I fully kissed another girl and didn't accept I was bi until like, 3 years later lol. I will say that catholicism as a whole is very engrained into latino culture, and I did experience that adjacently, the whole being gay is a sin thing, but since in my house I didn't have that, I pushed back, I pushed back enough that my whole school believed I was a lesbian by the time I hit highschool (I grew up in a small town, everyone knows everyone)

Now, applying the whole thing to Eddie, I think with the way that Eddie talks about religious pressure defining some steps he took with his life, deconstructing his relationship with religion and the concept of God would be important for him to fully accept himself if that's where they're going. Mostly because I think he needs to confront the way he views the works and when you grow up religious, it does affect the way you look at things even if you don't believe that religion anymore. But I don't think I can give anything more insightful given the way I don't know how it feels like to experience catholicism the way Eddie does. I do believe that Eddie finding himself does mean Eddie accepting he is some shade of queer, and since they touched on the whole catholic guilt last season, that's a good way to force him to accept that there's nothing wrong with him, but it's more about the way I watched people go through similar stuff, not any personal experience.

[kleenexwoman]

You seem like the sort of person who has opinions about the His Dark Materials series.

Yeah, I read it when I was in Middle School and I loved the concept of Dust. I would say that probably impacted my conception of the way physics of spirituality works in some ways it probably did not affect many other people.

I loved the concept of Experimental Theology, and because I was not raised in an especially oppressive religious environment (I was raised by a reform Jewish dad and a lapsed Catholic mom, both of whom were quietly atheist and encouraged critical thinking), I really loved the idea that you could just think up ways about the way the world and God might work and go ahead and try it out.

It made perfect sense to me! If God was just some dude in the sky, then obviously you could talk to him and negotiate with him like anybody else, and if God was some kind of force that permeated the universe and was inside everything, then obviously it was like science and you could experiment with it.

I missed some of the more complex and emotional stuff about the way that religious fundamentalism and oppression affects people, probably, but then again I also took it for granted that the Church was kind of an oppressive institution which forced people to adhere to laws, dogma and socially restrictive policies that were generally about seeking power for the heads of the church and not about the best interest of the people that they governed. So that part wasn't really weird to me, it was just like oh yeah the Catholic Church is a bad guy again okay, that tracks, after all they did do the Spanish Inquisition.

The idea of Dust, an actual physical metaphysical property that collected on people because of their ability to be conscious and self-aware, was a hugely brain rewiring idea for me. I loved the idea that there was something physical and measurable, if not something that humans could observe directly on their own, that corresponded directly to something intangible like the expression of consciousness.

To some extent I kind of do believe that. I conceptualize the energetic body as patterned flows of qi energy, which I see as being similar to your body's plasma. Motes of what Pullman called Dust and which I like to call ergosi/ergosum, individual units of consciousness (from the Descarte saying Cogito ergo sum, or I think therefore I am) are like red blood cells floating in the qi and making it stronger. These ergosi, produced by individual moments of conscious thought, all work together in the body's qi streams to keep the process of consciousness going.

On a personal level, THE ENDING TO The Amber Spyglass WAS BULLSHIT AND MADE ME SAD. THEY CAN'T JUST BE FORCED APART LIKE THAT! FUCK YOU! NOT AFTER ALL THEY'VE BEEN THROUGH! Obviously they managed to get back together the first time they sat on that bench and lived happily ever after in the best parts of their worlds, okay? Yes. Obviously. Good. I'll hit you if you tell me otherwise.

[fanficapologist]

More domestic Targ family interactions! Aside from smut, I do live for tender moments like these. I feel like Aemond must have somehow dreamed of reuniting with Maera when he looked at her when he woke up. And it made me a bit sad because I think for a time, he must have thought such a sight wasn’t possible amymore.

For a moment, I was confused at the mention of a sept as I was wondering whether they were back in King’s Landing and I missed it or if there was a sept in Dragonstone, because the way the series portrayed it, it’s as if island didn’t have other inhabitants, iust the castle.

As a catholic, the High Septon’s speech reminded me of listening to the homily on Sunday mass. Strangely enough, his speech about holding on to one’s faith reminded me of the time when Covid-19 had entered the country. This was around January- February, and while the lockdown hasn’t initiated yet, the priest had already called for prayers to those affected by the virus. Little did we know that was one of the last times we could hear mass “normally”.

Additionally, the way the people converged on Maera’s attacker reminded me of Corlys and Rhaenys’ conversation during Viserys’ tourney for Baelon. About whether the tourney was the proper way to celebrate the arrival of an heir, with wanton violence. I hope it’s not an omen 👀

Fun fact, I studied in a catholic school and they made it a tradition for the entire school to attend mass for important dates (like feast days of certain saints). And the way people suddenly forgot about the call for merch reminded me of times at school where we would be called to do good and right after the mass, you could hear students swearing up a storm. 😂

I wonder how Aemond will take the news 😬

So for me I think even though Dragonstone is mostly the castle, there’s gotta be at least one or two villages because of how much stuff happens there, staff, bringing food in, etc. I don’t think they could all be housed in the castle. So just a lil Sept and a lil gang of inhabitants.

Ahh all links, i didn’t even think of that! So clever!

Now an omen? Hmm… 👀

[amoneki-ramblings]

this is a pass to do a couple things:

finish the manga!!! u can do it so u can follow all the other blogs without getting blindsided by a spoiler

do the ship ask thingy for amoneki :]

Gahh I'm trying !! I'm so busy with school and life stuff so it's hard to squeeze in time to read but I'm trying! I'm getting through volumes very slowly but hey, I'll get there ! Just. Well. There's 16 volumes so. Okay it might take a bit orz

For now I'll just be in my little fandom limbo corner I suppose orz, as for the ask thingy:

when I started shipping it if I did: Several months ago, probably a few months short of a year? It's a bit complicated, Basically I decided to rewatch the anime (because my original exposure to tg was. the anime :') ) and vaguely remembered that I really liked Amon (honestly the encounter at Kanou's Lab/Cochlea was one of the scenes I remembered the most), and after rewatching and seeing Amon and Kaneki's interactions they piqued my interest again. Then I got into the manga and. Yeah that interest turned into insanity and now i'm here

my thoughts: Well I have a 119-slide 15K+-word google slideshow for starters. But I'm taking that to my grave so I guess I gotta condense that somehow. On one hand I feel like everything needs to be said about these two to the point that there's too much to talk about but also nothing needs to be said at the same time. They parallel each other in just about every way possible, it's impossible to ignore the ways that they foil each other. They also have had irreversible effects on the others' character. Kaneki finds resolve in Amon's words ('the world is wrong'), and turns to them at pivotal moments (when he leaves Anteiku, Kaneki's own mantra is also basically a derivative of Amon's, wishing to take out the "bad/wrong" things in the world, and he basically takes them to his grave, "The world is wrong", Amon's own words, being his opening to his final dialogue in the last chapter of the original series)

Similarily Amon is just haunted by Kaneki. Like. In general. He thinks about him constantly (even under more mundane circumstances, in the novels he gets reminded of Kaneki just by staring out a window because it reminded him of the Aogiri raid. lmao). Kaneki is basically the catalyst to his character development, and Amon is constantly bothered by his presence/existence, and even comes to recognize how they always encounter each other at important moments. Amon is so haunted by This Guy (creature) it's both a little funny but also makes me very insane. He's basically being a failure of a ghoul investigator, and it's even more ironic, given his hatred of himself for being raised by and potentially caring about a ghoul (also he's catholic, something something religious guilt), yet he seems to have a lot of faith in Kaneki, even to a faulty degree (I'd daresay it's almost to the point where he puts Kaneki on a bit of a pedestal/idolizes him to an extent. I have a whole other ramble about Just that on the self-rb'ed half of this post. Like I'm sorry but Amon definitely fell hard for this guy I'll die on this hill and I'm going to poke fun at him endlessly for it, he could've done so much better, he starts off the manga hating ghouls with a passion and his mentor's disdain for ghouls runs ten times as deep but nope now he's chasing after the dangerous somewhat unhinged (/affectionate) half kakuja guy and it's not even to fight/kill him like okay, sure.) They have affected each other in irreversible ways. They reflect each other so much even if they don't know it. They just want to sit down and have a conversation. They didn't get to. And instead They Killed Each Other (okay not really but it was very close and they absolutely could, not that they want that) ((It's also partially Kaneki's fault for losing control of himself and he feels awful for that (sidenote but any scenario with Centineki and Amon make me lose my mind))). They're also married by first-encounter marriage bite, apparently. I think we should talk about that more that's kinda?? Donato approves btw

What makes me happy about them: Everything that makes me miserable about them makes me simultaneously happy about them because I am an Angst Guy but honestly just how much they clearly respect each other. While they're not allowed to understand each other because of their circumstances they still very much Want to. They recognize that they probably share a lot of views and could really have a meaningful conversation with each other, and it really shows, even if they're fighting. Amon again has a surprising amount of trust in Kaneki (not assuming he's fighting for Aogiri when he saw him during the ward 11 battle, having faith in Kaneki as a person even if he just saw him potentially killing his superior and being presented with the possibility that maybe he was just being fooled all along, when he's nearly dying at Kaneki's own hands but says he won't die because that would make Kaneki a murderer, having faith still that he hasn't turned into one). They recognize that they're equals (well technically they're not, obviously Kaneki is much stronger objectively, being a ghoul, and a kakuja at that), but they treat each other as equals and that's what really matters. I just think it's a very neat dynamic and their roundabout way of caring about each other despite their positions makes me happy :)

What makes me sad about them: I was gonna put images but then I quickly realized that I'd basically be pasting almost all of chapter 133-134 just uh. The fact that Kaneki really lost control of himself and the parallel with him biting Amon's shoulder escalates to him cutting off his entire fucking arm, the way that Amon's first thought in regards to that is simply that Kaneki is strong, how he doesn't reprimand him for it whatsoever (also Amon's blow pretty much takes out the entire area of where Kaneki's kakuhou should be, which is a detail I find Extremely Interesting and I think it should genuinely be talked about more). This fucking line that happened literally the panel before all of that despite their mutual wishes for the other to simply Not Die:

Amoneki divorce. Absolutely life ruining :thumbsup:

(Also just. Again Amon Please. This guy bit your shoulder (probably gave Amon rabies honestly) and almost ate one of your colleagues; when he loses control of himself for the second time you just tell him to take a break, and now he's cut off your whole damn arm and you're Still not complaining and are instead praising him by calling him strong. I just. Yeah that's Not Normal. It's kind of impressive, really /derogatory)

Oh yeah also the fight at Kanou's lab also kills me and takes over my brain constantly but I wouldn't classify that as making me sad I would classify that as making me lose my mind, laugh hysterically and start climbing up and clawing at the walls (like Centineki, actually)

things done in fanfic that annoys me: Maybe I'm just extremely picky but I feel like people tend to fumble Amon's characterization a lot. It's kind of a fine line, and Amon has a lot of conflicting feelings as is, so I get it, but I'm especially bothered when Amon is written as way too harsh. When he's first introduced he has a strong hatred for ghouls, and it's not like that just goes away, but when he's written as especially harsh or even cruel towards Kaneki, especially if it's just because for him being a ghoul it feels like it kind of defeats the point, as Kaneki is supposed to be the reason why Amon starts changing his mind. When Amon sees him for the second time he doesn't think about fighting him at all, even that early on he decides he wants to talk instead, 'cause He's Different. I don't see this kind of characterization too often but I don't really vibe with it at all when I do (Also this is definitely just a me-thing but I wish there was more angst in the tag. Which is ironic considering these guys are surprisingly normal most of the time and have so much potential to be actually Happy but uh *vague hand gestures*, hurt-comfort would also be a decent compromise)

things I look for in fanfic: I love pre-:re fics that explore the complicated-ness of their dynamic. I'm really fond of fics where they kind of dance around each other in a sense, they won't just straight up completely directly interact because that's Still a bit dangerous but they see each other in passing, maybe Kaneki watches over Amon sometimes, etc. Also you probably saw this coming a mile away but yeah religious references mean instant bonus points from me. I could go into some (too much) detail but. uh. stares down at my feet look I'm normal I swear

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:  Saying Amonhaise is definitely cheating but I'm not really invested in any other Amon ships. I'm not particularly against any I'm just neutral. As for Kaneki, like I mentioned in a previous post, I see potential with Etoken, and it's pretty hard to go wrong with Hidekane, though neither drive me to insanity like these two do at the moment

My happily ever after for them: Let them finally officiate their marriage ghsfdljbhf

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Well that's pretty easy huh. Kaneki small spoon he is a Little Guy just let him feel comfortable and secure y'know? Kaneki is probably someone who runs very cold and Amon is very warm so it works out :) If he's super tired he very carefully (and cautiously) wraps his kagune around Amon he will now be Trapped there until Kaneki wants to get out of bed (good luck)

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: Well I would say that Kaneki loves cooking for Amon probably. He makes food at home and tries to make new sweets following recipe books. It's a bit of a mess because y'know, he's a ghoul, and at first Amon tries to hide that, unfortunately, his previous experience with cooking does Not, in fact, hide the fact that he cannot taste or smell human food, but eventually Kaneki is able to get a hang of it (with Amon's help) and it's very nice :) That's what I would say but. well. Amon is Also a Ghoul now so that doesn't really work :')

[nappingpaperclip]

sorry to pop y’all’s white liberal bubbles but even if every white liberal to centrist in the US votes blue, I genuinely don’t think Biden is gonna win due to the amount of voters he has lost in his handling of this genocide.

Do you all genuinely think he has a chance when he has disillusioned not just Palestinian-Americans and the people who care about them, but also Christian and Muslim Arabs, non-Arab Muslims, climate activists, and anyone who cares about immigrants or the fact that he’s bombing other countries??

Like listen to me: when you ask people to vote blue no matter who, who are you asking? Are you asking people who look and think like you?

Can you imagine asking that of an immigrant whose still at risk of being sent to a detention center? A Palestinian-American who has lost family in the genocide? A Christian who sees how Palestinian Christians are being killed in their Holy Land? Muslims who see the violence towards other Muslims both at home and in Palestine? Catholics who see even the Pope calling for a ceasefire but not their own Catholic president?

Can you imagine asking that of a Syrian refugee? Someone who’s family or friends live in Iraq or Yemen or Lebanon or Palestine? A climate activist whose friend got 10+ years in prison on RICO charges for protesting the Willow Project? Climate activists who saw their friend be shot and killed while protesting Cop City? 18 year trans high-schoolers who have to go to school and face the threat of bullying and corrective rape and murder every day? Indigenous people whose stolen land you’re living on, whose land is shrinking thanks to pipelines Biden personally approved?

Can you imagine asking that of women who need abortions because they are at risk of dying but who can’t get them anymore, because Biden held codeification hostage for blue Congressional votes? 18-20 something’s who wake up every day and see the mutilated bodies of children on their timelines? Black people who fear for their lives at every traffic stop, now more than ever knowing that the IDF trains our police? A person living on the streets because they lost their partner to COVID and can’t find work?

Would y’all say it to their faces? Would y’all hear yourselves while you did it? Would you get mad at them for reacting however they react?

These are people who exist btw, in and out of your communities. These are real people with real experiences. Would you still ask that of them, knowing what they’ve been through?

Did you know that Biden has former BlackRock leaders in his cabinet? Yknow, the largest investment company, which invests BILLIONS of dollars every year into private prisons (which includes immigration detention centers), oil companies, deforestation, arms manufacturing, etc. ? Look it up! Remember how Biden promised to address climate change? How he promised to let those kids out of cages? Did y’all forget about them?

Sorry but I just don’t see him winning with the amount of support he has lost, which is why saying “a vote for third party is a vote for Trump” is a fuckin joke. That’s not how the electoral college system even works, and also people voting third party are people who would rather not vote. Trying to organized disillusioned voters to vote for third party rather than not voting is not “gonna make trump win.” Biden’s own actions is going to make Trump win, if anything.

Stop blaming other people who are actually affected by these issues for Biden’s loss of support or if he loses to Trump. STOP BLAMING MARGINALIZED PEOPLE. BLAME BIDEN FOR HIS OWN ACTIONS

[actualbird]

hi zak! I saw the tags you left on a reblogged post about Luke and suffering in relation to catholicism and that made me think. one of my classmates used to mention "the catholic guilt" (particularly about having desire), and I just thought it fits Luke so well. He felt so guilty about loving Rosa (and leaving her alone...) for so long T-T. Also, I'd love to hear more of your thoughts about catholic and filipino luke if you'd like to write about it!

irt to these deranged tags i left on this post abt suffering as salvation and luke forever ago, screencapped below for reference

hello hello! sorry this response took Ages but now im finally down to answer this so....

//steeples hands.....is luke pearce catholic coded? to Me, yes, and ive been casually throwing around this concept ever since 2021 HAHA. the filipino bit is actually just me projecting, so i wont go too much into that, but the religious bit Is something i wanna talk about. and i apologize in advanced for how long this response is gonna end up being

quick disclaimer b4 i start tho: im Not a theologian or an expert in religious theory, im just some guy who went through over a decade of catholic school and lives in the philippines, a primarily catholic country. this whole response is not saying "catholicism bad." it's more the institutions from where we experience catholicism from can twist it into something harmful, and i got to experience that first hand and how it affects one's view of themselves

ANYHOO, LET'S START FROM THE BEGINNING

like....the Beginning beginning

part 1: in the beginning, adam and eve did an oopsie so now we're all saddled with original sin (i swear this is important to luke pearce, bear with me)

quick recap on those who are unfamiliar: in the book of Genesis, god told adam and eve not to eat from the tree of knowledge. and then they did. this was the first ever sin in the history of humankind, and it is inherited by all humans through birth. so like, yay, happy entrance into the world, newly born baby child! you are guilty of sin already. this original sin is most usually absolved though through baptism, so it's not too much of a problem. but what im interested here is less of the nitty gritty semantics and more of the concept this all puts forth:

that under catholicism and similar denominations, a child, somebody who has not done any wrong at all, is inherently tainted by sin

now, the Good reaction to sin or any wrongdoing one has done is to recognize it and to atone for forgiveness. and within the "recognition" part is where guilt lies. functionally, guilt has a purpose. it makes us realize that we had done something wrong, it makes us feel remorseful, and it adds motivation to atone, to turn a new leaf, and to be better. in healthy amounts, guilt is useful and a natural part of being conscious over the things you do. and in unhealthy amounts, guilt is agonizing.

but thats for stuff you actually Did.

if the thing you are guilty for isnt actually something you were responsible over, the guilt cant do anything to make any of it better. you cant be a better person from it, because you didnt even do it. it just sits there, making you feel horrible for something that was out of your control. but because guilt is a Good thing to do, it doesnt matter if it's functional or not. it needs to stay. because it's Good, and the sin youre saddled with (whether or not you were responsible) is Bad

now let's bring in luke

luke's parents died when he was very young. this led him to living with mc's family, and a huge insecurity and fear he had from the beginning was that he felt guilty for burdening them, for stealing the love and care from mc's parents when that shouldve been for mc alone. the story SSR Shape Of You goes into this particular childhood experience extensively (and i highly reccommend it to anyone who hasnt read it yet), and tells us that his guilt was so bad that he wanted to run away and even erase himself from existence.

but luke didnt even do anything wrong

at the time, he was a child. he had no bearing whatsoever in the accident that killed his parents, he had no sway over who wouldve ended up looking after him, he had no control over the situation. like a newborn baby born under catholic doctrine, luke finds himself inherently tainted by and guilty for the circumstances that landed him to where he was.

this kind of pattern is going to follow him for the rest of his life, and the concept of inherent sin and inherent guilt begins to evolve. if luke can find himself guilty for things out of his control, then he can also find himself guilty for things that arent even sins in the first place

key example: love

like you said, luke feels immense guilt over loving mc. but why? love is the opposite of a sin, afterall.

it's just a sin when luke does it. because luke sees himself as inherently bad, and sees mc as inherently good. he sees himself as unworthy of her or someone who will just bring pain into her life, and causing pain someone you love is bad. if love is the knife he uses to hurt someone he loves, then that love is bad. that love should not be realized, and luke should feel guilty for even yearning for her.

by this point i think it's obvious that original concept has become twisted and overly punishing, even cruel. and thats because:

a lot of institutions teach catholic doctrine in an unhealthy and harmful manner. this is why many catholics and lapsed catholics experience The Catholic Guilt(TM). what was originally a pretty reasonable thing gets blown out of proportion from the places we learn these things from, and then getting exposed to this for majority of our lives lets it worm its way into our brain where it'll tend to stay

and if one's brain also has a tendency for self hatred and/or mental illness........well. it all gets worse.

it's clear in canon that luke is uhhhh not the most mentally well individual. his guilt is so overwhelming that it's the driving force in so many of his choices, stories, and experiences. which is big reason #1 for why luke just seems so catholic to me, because of the sheer intensity of his guilt and how he sees himself as inherently bad and unworthy.

but in the roadmap of sin, thats only the beginning. because the process goes:

sin (bad) -> recognition of the bad aided by guilt (good) -> atonement to become better (good)

which leads to big reason #2

part 2: suffering, pain, and misery as atonement

it's important to note that catholicism does not posit that "suffering is good", but there is a clear pattern of veneration for people who endure suffering under noble causes. many, many people in catholic history have been martyred (and many also sainted), one of the biggest examples being jesus himself.

pain is not good, but someone who chooses to take it on for good reasons (self-sacrifice, martyrdom, putting others above one's self) or stays good in spite of all the pain they experienced (unwavering faith, a heart of gold), well, THAT person is good.

however, like a lot of stuff in catholicism, things get twisted into extreme variations because of how it gets taught or experienced. it doesnt take a genius to see how "people who endured pain for good reasons were brave and devoted people" can transform into "to experience pain is inherently noble" when you take into consideration that many sins (like, of the seven deadly sins variety, pride, sloth, lust, etc etc) are variations of indulgence.

specifically over-indulgence, yes, but there's a dichotomy now. here, in the list of Good Stuff are things that feel not-so-good, and over in the list of Bad Stuff are things that do feel good

bad stuff is a sin, and from part 1, sins are things you should be guilty for

and now, to feel good is also bad, so you should be guilty for that. which reinforces the concept that to feel bad is good.

congratulations, you've unintentionally glorified suffering and demonized pleasure! //sad trumpet noises

you can see this kind of thinking pretty clearly in luke pearce. there are the big examples like the previous one i brought up, where he feels so guilty for his feelings for mc. but it appears even in smaller casual situations, like in his 1st birthday event story. this moment was seared into my brain

"can i look forward to this?" is indicative of hesitating in the face of happiness. even something as mundane as anticipating a birthday surprise is something to be approached with caution, feels too good to be true, to be allowed, because feeling good is bad and luke doesnt see himself worthy of it

but okay, we're all guilty now of the horrible sin of enjoying life. what comes next? atonement, becoming better, growing from the bad to become good, right?

and what better way to cleanse one's self from the sin of feeling good but through the nobleness of enduring pain?

luke is guilty over the sin robbing burdening mc and her family -> thats okay he's leaving for college anyway! wont be able to burden them there -> oopsie the NSB happens but hey at least this lone wolf suffering is a great way to atone for his past sin -> oh god the guilt of abandoning mc though -> oh GOD the mission that killed everybody but him -> NEW ACHIEVEMENT: SURVIVOR'S GUILT ON TOP OF THE CATHOLIC GUILT! -> oh GOD he's even guiltier now of his feelings for mc because of his illness, he'll only bring pain to her, how selfish of him to have feelings like this, bad and wrong -> the best way to handle this is to stay away from her to let her live in peace (lacking the pain that luke will bring) and deprive himself of her who brings him joy (inflicting pain of separation onto sinner as punishment) -> the path to salvation (to being good, because only in being Good is someone worthy of love) is through constant suffering and endless self-deprivation

kinda insane how luke's self-perceived sins and self-inflicted sufferings gain compound interest of misery, but his spiral into self-loathing is littered with this kind of nonsensical "because i did [THING], i should deserve pain/NOT deserve happiness"

for luke, suffering became the mode of atonement, it became the solution for sin and guilt.

part 3: conclusion

to wrap this all up, i wanna make it clear that i dont necessarily think luke is like, catholic in the story. nor is even it a headcanon i have. it's more that the intensely self-punishing thought patterns luke has in relation to guilt and suffering are very, very familiar. it resonates in a way that is horridly relatable to people who have experienced these specific catholic experience woes, but it can also resonate in completely different ways to other people as well.

but given that....yeah. based on my own experiences, all this //gestures at too-long response, is why i keep using catholic language and imagery whenever i talk about luke. it's so familiar. he's so familiar. luke would not be out of place in a filipino catholic high school crying during a 3 day retreat

thanks for the ask!!!

[missbunmuffin]

More punch out head canons

Tw: talk about weight issues

Less serious tw: ocs and cringe

What me putting my shitty ocs in these posts is like. I made posts about both of them probably gonna say this kind of stuff every time I post these kind of things but I don’t want people to be too confused.

Glass Joe

- Grew up in a catholic home but now as an adult doesn’t practice the religion really. He will eat meat on a Friday during lent. He doesn’t know what the fuck he is now he just considered himself spiritual or just a really bad catholic(not self projecting lmao)

- His family wasn’t really religious they only went to church sometimes but his mom wanted to do the no eating meat on Fridays during lent thing for some reason

- His sister just drops her kids off at his house randomly most of the time on Wednesdays because apparently French children only have like half a day of school those days(could be wrong) he loves his nieces but he hates when his sister just drops them off without warning because he has a life too.

- He loves silk textures. I feel like his boxing shorts are just really silky too

- Deadass walking around the locker room in a robe with a towel over his head after he’s done in the shower I drew an example back in like December

Yes that’s the same robe he’s wearing in the pity party drawings I made

- Protective over his hair but he doesn’t mind if people touch it as long as they ask and are gentle

- His hair is also pretty soft and he takes good care of it to prevent further damage from when he bleached it himself and a chunk fell out.

- Into Rococo art. I took a humanities class at the beginning of the year and looked into the rococo art movement a bit and apparently it’s French so I always thought he would like that kind of stuff.

- uses a lavender sleep spray

- tries not to get too angry in public. Sometimes he just needs to leave the room to just pout and let it all out sometimes even crying out of anger

- has quite the collection of sweaters and cardigans.

- Loves baking cookies for his girlfriend Eleanor. Shes a baker herself but she loves his cookies more than her own

Von Kaiser

- Cuts his own hair this fucking video is literally him

- secretly a cross dresser I mean this one might be kind of canon because of the weird chibi drawing of him in a Japanese manual for the nes game. Some of the other ones were so racist though ;-;

- Wasn’t really interested in working with children it just sort of happened

- Either way he cares about his students genuinely even if it doesn’t seem like it

Disco kid

- got banned on Roblox for a day for saying suck toe(totally not based on my cousin who is like the same age as him also getting banned for that) yes I’m sharing this drawing again

- Singing as loud as possible in the locker room showers

- If he has kids they aren’t going anywhere near the mall Easter bunnies and Santa’s he doesn’t trust them and neither should you

- He never hits the villagers with nets in animal crossing

- Has two sisters one older one younger

Aran Ryan

- Afraid of needles

- Has weight issues. He’s too focused on numbers on the scale. He knows nothing is wrong but I think some things the people around him said growing up affected him.

- I mentioned his sister Freya also has body issues in my post about her and Aran tries to support her because he doesn’t want her thinking that way about her body like he does. I imagine a lot of the women on his father’s side are naturally more curvy and he doesn’t want his sister to be ashamed of her natural body type.

- Still visits his grandmas house on his dad’s side even as an adult. He’s one of the only things she has of his dad that she has left.

- Plays Roblox with Disco kid and forces Narcis to play with them. He also bullies kids on there

- His mom was struggling fanatically a bit when his sister was about to go into secondary school. He just got into boxing at that point and was getting paid well so he paid for her school uniforms so she didn’t have to be stuck in his old ones that were too big and had rips in the pants that would probably fall down on her. He insisted he’d at least buy her some skirts because she’s not walking around school like that. He also felt bad because she literally cried at the thought of wearing a “boys uniform”

Narcis Prince

- Was like one of those rich British kids in tv shows and movies.

- He snoops in people’s shit all the time. Looking through drawers and reading peoples diaries.

- Would say British schools are crazier than American schools and than flip out at the stories in American schools and regret what he said instantly

- Tries to look after Freya to get on Aran’s good side. They have a complicated relationship. Deadass tries to put her to bed at 8:00 saying some shit like “young ladies your age need to be in bed by 8:00”

Okay this is getting long I’ll stop now