#LIKE CAN UOU IMAGINE THE GUILT

[the-diabolic-acid]

everyday i think about the lost angst potential of rose finding out what she did to jack and i punch a wall

[slashnatic]

Yo I got an idea ! How would Thomas and the Sinclair brothers feel about their new “ victim “ who has a small baby with them , it’s their baby and she’s begging them “ uou can hurt me just please don’t hurt my son/daughter “ then it’s an eye opener for the boys who start to fall for this girl? Thanks love!

oh lord, i really liked writing that for thomas! i just want him to be a daddy...anyways, i chose the gender of the baby depending on the scenario i had in mind, i hope that’s cool with you :)

Thomas Hewitt: Imagine

You cowered in the corner of the basement, your arms protectively wrapped around your son. You couldn‘t hold back the sobs any longer, but the fire in your eyes remained. “I swear to god, if you hurt my baby boy...“ Your voice was strangely threatening, something you weren‘t used to. A side of you you didn‘t know existed. Thomas wouldn‘t have thought you‘d act like that either. You seemed so sweet and kind when you were talking to Luda Mae, it hurt him to think about what would soon happen to you. Now it was even worse, actually. He didn’t want to take this baby‘s mother away. He couldn‘t. It seemed all to familiar. Just like it was with his mother, or similar to that at least. He didn‘t know exactly what had happened to his mother but he had a vague picture of the situation. Sure, Henrietta would take the child in and gladly take care of the young boy, but this wasn‘t what he deserved. He had done the mistake before, taking away a mother from a child and the guilt he had felt afterwards still haunted him. And you were so determined to protect your baby, so loving, it wouldn‘t be fair. Fuck this. He lowered the chainsaw and then slowly laid it down on the ground next to him, all the while keeping eye contact with you. Your hand went to cover the head of the boy, stroking it softly, while a tear slipped out of your eye. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife; you were both so scared of each other. The crying of your son made you break eye contact and you looked down. You mumbled soft words trying to calm him down but his cries only became louder. “Fuck“, you mumbled. You looked up at the man in front of you. He was wary but he looked less threatening than before. He wouldn‘t hurt you. “He is...he‘s hungry.“ No reply. You sighed and looked down again. Okay, whatever. You slowly pulled your shirt down and held your son in position. Thomas’ eyes grew wide as he realized what was happening and he tried to look at anything but you. He failed. The love you had for the boy, the way you took care of him even in a situation like this, it made his heart beat faster. When you were done he took a step forward, ignoring the fear in your eyes as he picked you and your baby up and carried the both of you upwards, out of the basement. No, he wouldn‘t kill you. You would become a part of the family.

It was almost exactly six years later, a lukewarm day, mid-August. The wind outside was noisy, but the sun was shining. Thomas fixed one of the steps of the stairs to the entrance door of the house. Inside he heard a chaotic conversation, he couldn‘t make out who was talking. He chuckled when he heard profanities being thrown around. What a wonderful day it was. When he heard the sound of someone running through the hallway he looked up. Only seconds later a young boy ran out of the house and only stopped right in front of him. “Mommy says lunch is almost ready. And she wants me to help you!“ He sounded so existed. He nodded and handed the boy his hammer. “Do you think if I help you more often I‘ll be strong like you one day? I want to be strong! I want to be like you!“ The boy giggled as he excitedly awaited his answer. Thomas only looked at him. In that moment he wasn‘t strong. He felt weak because he was soft. He wanted to cry. There he was, a young boy who would grow into a handsome man one day, just wanting to be like him. Then he nodded. Yes, boy, you will be strong. I will teach you. Like fathers do.

Bo Sinclair: Imagine

You had come to the gas station only wanting help fixing your car. Now you were taped to a chair. Tears ran down your face as you struggled to get free. My boy. It was the only thing on your mind. My baby boy. The door swung open and in came the same man who was responsible for your current situation. His name was Bo, or at least that’s what he had said. Bo from the gas station. But apparently Bo wasn’t only a mechanic but also a crazy motherfucker. He walked over to you and began ripping the tape off of you. “Imma bring you to my brother Vincent now. He’ll take care of you, darlin’.” The mocking grin on his face only made you angrier, but there was no time for anger. You just needed to take care of your son. “What will he do? Will he kill me?” He didn’t answer, instead he showed you the same grin once again. “You can’t do that! Please! Please! My baby, my baby...you’ll kill him too!” You didn’t know what you meant exactly with that. That your son will starve to death? Most likely, but it was also quite possible that he would die in another way. But then again, who would actually kill a baby? You could only hope he wasn’t that kind of crazy. You snapped out of your thoughts when you felt him stare at you for a little too long. It was different. The mocking grin was gone and there was a serious look in his eyes. He looked almost concerned. “A kid? You got a kid out there?” You nodded. You were crying again, out of fear. “Fuck.” He pushed you back into the chair and turned around, running a hand through his hair. “Where is he?” He looked at you again with a look in his eyes which could only be described as weird. He seemed to be angry, but it wasn’t directed at you. “You’ll kill him!” He scoffed. “Nah, darlin’, I’m just tryna do the right thing for once. You really think I’d kill a baby?” The look in your eyes was telling and it almost hurt him. “I ain’t gon’ kill your boy, I’ll keep him. I’ll keep you both here.” You didn’t look much calmer than before, in fact you still looked utterly terrified. He sighed while holding a hand out for you to take, so you could get up more easily. “I’ll take care of you.”

Vincent Sinclair: Imagine

Vincent didn’t know what to do. You had come to town, he had taken you to his basement at the first opportunity to do so and he had planned to spend his night with you, making you another one of his sculptures. Now he stood in front of your car, not knowing how he should react. He had taken your car keys, so he could get the vehicle and drive it further into town, since it was still quite far away, right where it had broken down. Right where he violently had taken you with him. Now he was back here with the intention of driving the car closer to the house, if possible. And right in front of him sat a little baby girl, giggling as she reached for his hair to play with. That explained a lot. He stood there for a couple more minutes until he decided to take the child with him. He carried her in his arms to the basement, his touch soft, afraid of breaking her. When he came into your view you immediately started crying. Not your baby. He walked closer until he stood in front of you, still unsure of what to do. He looked from the girl to you, when you spoke up. “Please, please. Not my baby girl, not my baby. Do whatever you want. Kill me if that’s what you really want to do, but please let my baby live.” Your voice was hoarse and you couldn’t stop sobbing while you talked. You were so desperate. You really seemed to think that he was such a monster. That he would kill an infant or take away its mother. Of course, it made sense for you to think that, but he wouldn’t. He would never. So he kneeled down in front of you and placed the child softly in your arms. You looked up at him, still afraid. He smiled under his mask in an attempt to be sympathetic, but of course you didn’t see, so he gave you a simple nod. More tears escaped your eyes, but this time you weren’t sure if they were actually out of fear.

He sat there for a long time watching you play with your daughter. At some point the little girl reached for his hair again and he let her. No, he wasn’t a monster, he wouldn’t kill you. You and your daughter would live. And as it would turn out you would live happily.

[gentlemoreau]

intangibel replied to your post “[[MOR] SO I’ve learned that guilt is the emotion that triggers me...”

Darling. I'm so so sorry that you've had this experience. it sounds awful and I can only imagine how much this kind of situation would challenge every part of your mind and soul. I do firmly and unequivocally believe he was completely to blame. your feelings are valid and real - you are a food person and this has been traumatic to realise it touches your work and someone you obviously like. This male presenting fuckwit - I have no words for my level of disgust in his behaviour in choosing To betray your trust and his wife’s trust. That was his choice. He actively stole your ability to make that choice by lying I both of you. I adore you. I am so sorry that this has happened to you. I know it feel like it will never end and will keep making uou want to claw your insides out but you are brave and you are strong and you will get through this. It's okay to feel, its okay to hide, it's okay to feel whatever you need to in order to get through this. Please stay safe. Please remember that while there is life there is also the knowledge that if can get better. I'd miss you if you weren't here You bring so much to this world

I honestly don’t even know what i’m supposed to do with myself at this point... I’m so scared to tell her, even anonymously like i originally thought i would, because what’s stopping him from telling her it was me anyway? but i can’t tell her face-to-face... i don’t think I could do that. i don’t even know what would happen if people found out - and what would stop her from telling people about the slut that destroyed her marriage? people wouldn’t stop to pay attention to my side of the story, no one would care that I didn’t know he was married, they’d think I was lying as a way to cover my own ass..

every instinct i have is telling me to just run away from the situation, but i can’t... like, this is happening and i can’t pretend it isn’t. i can’t avoid it, even though this is definitely not what I signed up for...

i just keep thinking that it wouldn’t have happened if i hadn’t been so insecure, if i valued myself more... but there’s a part of me that knows it’s not me, it’s him. his lies and the fact that he’s an asshole is what created this in the first place.

I honestly wish i could just walk away... but i can’t and i don’t know what the best option is.

if i tell her anonymously she’ll probably find out and hate me. if i tell her face-to-face, she’ll still hate me. if i don’t tell her and she finds out, guess what? she’ll hate me. it’s almost enough to make me quit my job because that would be the easiest solution (but not really, y’know?) i just.... i feel lost.

[official-alex-stuff]

So I went to church...

There’s something interesting about the whole Catholic Church concept. Back when it was first built, it was likely magnificent! I mean, the church I went to itself already was... but I can’t imagine they hand make their candles. It’s a church built on faith that, like everything else, is controlled by capitalism. The church itself had only a few people for a while, which suited me fine. I used to go to this church when I was in filmschool. Maybe to pray to something I didn’t believe in, maybe to pretend I was faithful, maybe to just finally be somewhere separate from the city.

I think that’s why I went today. It was private, it was for me. I think that was the case for everyone. A woman took the stand, not nearly as robe-ly dressed as the other members of the church i had seen going about their duties. I think she was late. She was a bit frantic. I thought she was out of breath every time she talked, but that was just her voice. Like the sound of wind as it hits a wind turbine blade. She blessed Mary likely upwards of 10 times. I wa busy thinking about how much gold in the room was genuine. I wondered how many people there were genuine. It didn’t matter to me much, I was an observer. A microphone listening to many people. Some people were there longer than I was. How can people sit still that long? Is this what people are supposed to be like? Some people neglected the convenient knee pads on the pews and just knelt on the Stone... a world built on convenience and efficiency and comfort, and people still chose to kneel even momentarily on cold, unforgiving stone. I wondered how many people were choosing to, showing off their dedication even if only to themselves... or an obligation. A guilt towards a man incorrectly depicted for centuries, as though mildly hurting themselves would make up for said depictions. Apologize and pray to a man and women who no longer exist while ignoring the people that need help now. A religion that prides itself on love charges 50 cents to light a candle, spare change no one would give to a man sitting right outside. I lit a candle. I didn’t pay for it.

I had gone to seek this church out, this a Thursday afternoon, because I’ve been feeling like I had to. Like for weeks I’ve felt like I’ve needed to. Confess my sins I guess? I’ve been going to see a psychiatrist for over a year, I’ve seen so many mental health professionals I’ve lost count.... but no ones listening. Not many anyway. A lot of people telling me they “wish they could help” just makes me want to shut up more. Because they can’t. I know that going into most conversations. I needed help and I wasn’t getting it, so I looked in a place That was always in my peripheral and never quite in my reach.

I went in the booth and said it was my first time. The priest was... less than kind apt that. So he gave me a pamphlet to read over and sent me out so the next person could come in. I read it over and over again. Seven sins, Ten Commandments, stuff to say..l was actually very intuitive for the process. I went into a different booth. This priest was actually very kind. We went through the pamphlet together, talking through the screen and I felt... safe. The room was silent, it was nicely lit, and the man was nice. He skipped over the “abortions” and “occult” parts because he was cool. He listened to what I had to say, stuff I didn’t talk to my psychiatrist about because it’s always been ignored. I didn’t need to be listened to... I needed to be forgiven.

He didn’t give me prayers to do, he didn’t tell me specifically do do anything to atone for my sins. He just gave me a psalm to read in my own time, he told me I could just use the internet too if I wanted. Rather than just a bible.

Psalm 51

Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.

Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.

For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.

Its kinda nice.

Before I did anything, I gave two prayer requests that they read out every saturday morning. The box was almost overflowing.

“Pray for those who are lost. Pray for the living and the dead and do not let them die. Love for them, as they felt unloved. Pray for them, as no one else was. Pray for their safety, their shelter, and that they might find themselves loved once again.”

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is to love and be loved in return.”

Religion wise? Do whatever the fuck uou want. Whether there is or isn’t a god is irrelevant because it isn’t about them. It’s about you. Be accountable. Take responsibility.

Be the god you wish you prayed to.