#and my family is catholic. and southern.

[eldritch-nightmare]

Okay this is kind of random(and I may have missed it but oh well)

But like is Liu really religious? And if so what religion?

Again I may have missed somewhere where you wrote about it but I'm just genuinely curious now

i'm pretty sure he is?? a lot of the art i've seen of him involves religious imagery, and the only reason he survived is bc he was able to choke jeff w his rosary.

i personally view him as religious, at least. i view him as a non-practicing catholic, but you can make him believe in whatever religion, or lack thereof, that you want.

[endedbyisiaha]

My great aunt’s wedding 1970s (my grandfather on the far right)

[queenqunari]

Are you ever talking to someone and you casually sprinkle in a fact about something that happened while you were growing up and they say “yeah that makes sense for you” and you take psychic damage?

Like yeah I guess every part of my childhood impacted who I am today, but like, you didn’t have to say it

[buddierecs]

long (40k+ words) buddie fics

all explicit rating - 18+ only!!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

leading with the left by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels "when buck said he was a "bartender" in "south america" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "mexico." and when eddie said, "what's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?" in other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about buck. Or eddie. Or buck and eddie's relationship." word count: 84k important tags: strangers to lovers, stripper!buck, emotional slow burn, miscommuication your fingerprints smeared on my heart (lead me back to you) by: letmetellyouaboutmyfeels "In 1880, evan buckley of the arriviste set is sent out west to oversee his family's railroad and recover from a broken heart - and meets eddie diaz, cowboy. when fate tears them apart, they make a promise: find each other again. In 2018, buck walks into his fire station in los angeles - and meets eddie diaz, new recruit." word count: 88k important tags: cowboys, soulmates, reincarnation, gilded age, heavy angst

let the world have its way with you by: fleetinghearts "a bucket list that’s really about buck needing to make a change and an eddie who’s ready to do anything to see him fall in love with life again. it takes some crossing off for eddie to realise—the thing at the top of the list in his own heart? it’s been right here all along" word count: 54k important tags: pining, feelings realisation, idiots to lovers, road trips, getting together, eventual smut, gay!eddie diaz good pretender by: likeshipsonthesea "an au where buck broke up with taylor before 5b, ravi and buck become (actually platonic) friends with benefits, and ravi, eddie, and buck all go on a journey of self-discovery that ends with them all getting what they need" word count: 85k important tags: friends with benefits (buckandravi), casual sex, childhood tramua, healing, feelings realisation, jealous!eddie diaz, ptsd, love confessions, anal sex would you lie with me and just forget the world by: colonscopys "eddie diaz is 7, and 13, and 14, and 18, and 34. and he loves, and he loves, and he loves, and he loves, and he loves" word count: 45k important tags: childhood friends to lovers, eddie diaz centric, catholic guilt, angst, happy ending. eddie diaz vs the feelings by: elvensorcess "eddie dives into the mysteries of attraction, romantic love, and asexuality because there's a good chance he's fallen in love with his best friend. aka demisexual!eddie figures out he’s demi and finds the happily ever after he’s been longing for" word count: 62k important tags: demisexual!eddie diaz, idiots in love, sexual tension, frottage, hand jobs, anal sex, soft!buddie, slow burn, top!evan buckley, bottom!eddie diaz courtship behaviours of the southern coastal husbros by: mad_lori "buck and eddie decide to become platonic domestic partners and co-parents. they are 100% super normal about it and absolutely nothing is awakened in them, except a mutual annoyance at being referred to as "husbros." word count: 49k important tags: domestic partners, slow burn, christopher diaz has two dads, friends to lovers, demisexual!eddie diaz, sexuality crisis, first kiss, eventual smut, oral sex objects in the mirror by: sevensoulmates "the voice had always been around, eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where eddie just tuned it out. but then the voice started speaking directly to him. conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. like he could see what was happening around eddie. eddie shook his head. no one was talking to him, and eddie most certainly was not talking back. he wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. there was no boy in his head." word count: 139k important tags: telepathic bond, childhood to canon, slow burn like a dog with a bird at your door by: fleetinghearts "evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home" word count: 51k important tags: pre-relationship, domestic, love confessions, eventual smut, friends to lovers, protective!evan buckley

when it's you i'm with (everything goes quiet) by: withoutthetiger "eddie can't speak after he and christopher are in an accident, but somehow he asks buck to stay while he recovers. buck can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else, and even in the silence that lingers between them, they both find a way to say everything." word count: 56k important tags: different first meetings au, muteness, intimacy, feeling realisation, friends to lovers, phone sex, blow jobs, rimming, anal sex

the best life is the truth (my best mask is my face) by: letmetellyouaboutmyfeels "the buckleys are celebrating their 50th anniversary, and maddie and buck are both expected to come. to take the heat off maddie, buck impulsively blurts out that he's seeing someone new. obviously, there's only one solution: bring eddie as his fake boyfriend, pretend to be in love with him, and survive the weekend with minimal bloodshed. no problem, except for the, uh. "pretend" part." word count: 43k important tags: fake dating, idiots to lovers, there was only one bed, eventual smut wishing to be the friction by: ipretendtobesane "the straight eddie friends with benefits fic" word count: 97k important tags: friends with benefits, slow burn, hand jobs, blow jobs, rimming, first time, pining, porn with plot

[blackownersseekingsuccess]

Remembering Bayard Rustin: The Unsung Hero of the Civil Rights Movement

written by Levi Wise Kenneth Catoe Jr.

August 1, 2024 - Growing up as a Black boy in Paterson, NJ, and attending Roman and Irish Catholic Parochial schools, Black history was not very familiar to me. I grew up in a religious Southern Baptist family and participated in the church choir. In this context, Martin Luther King, Jr., was all that I knew about Black history until I became a teenage Madonna fanatic. Ironically, Madonna made me aware of Black activists and radicals such as Nina Simone, Jean-Michel Basquiat, James Baldwin, and Bayard Rustin. Bayard Rustin was an African American activist who believed in civil disobedience. Rustin felt that Black people should deliberately break unjust laws but do it non-violently to bring about change and this would play a key role in the Civil Rights movement. He also advocated for LGBTQ rights. Rustin moved to Harlem in 1937 and began studying at City College of New York. It’s interesting to note that at the time CCNY was an all-male college once regarded as ‘Jewish Harvard’ which did not accept Black men—Rustin was an unusual exception. While Rustin was at CCNY he became involved in efforts to defend and free the Scottsboro Boys, nine young black men in Alabama who were accused of raping two white women. Activism for Rustin was something that came naturally. He later became a mentor to Martin Luther King.

Rustin is one of my all-time idols. I have been enamored of him since I learned about him, so I was excited to attend an event dedicated to his life and legacy at the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, “Between the Lines: Bayard Rustin, A Legacy of Protest and Politics.” The event was a conversation between Michael G. Long and Jafari Allen, who edited the book of the same name. Their exchange sparked many revelations and I left the event more aware than when I entered. I felt so much pity for the life that Rustin had to live, including the attack on his character that was rallied against him by other Black people and the distance that Martin Luther King placed between himself and Rustin out of fear of people assuming that he was also gay. I also learned that it was Coretta Scott King who introduced King to Rustin. Scott-King met Rustin during her college years as a fellow activist who practiced civil disobedience. She would ultimately introduce her husband King to civil disobedience tactics. Rustin recalled that his first time meeting King he was strapped with a handgun and that he never traveled without his gun. It was Rustin who told King that if he represented civil disobedience he would have to be willing to put away his firearm, which eventually he did. Nevertheless, this raises the question, who was King really? The “I Have A Dream” pacifist or the “Beyond Vietnam” radical? We will never truly know.

All in all what I did learn was that according to Rustin, King had no idea how to organize an event. Instead, it was Rustin who developed the blueprint for King’s early Civil Rights movement, at least until the day that King removed Rustin from his inner circle.

Nevertheless, Rustin returned to organize the March on Washington, despite everything leveled against him by Adam Clayton Powel and Roy Wilkins. Someone noted during the discussion that “it’s funny how karma works given the fact that nobody remembers Wilkins's legacy in comparison to the sudden interest in Rustin.'' If I remember correctly, the comment was made by the moderator, NYU professor Dr. Jarafi Allen, based on the fact that the venue was standing room only, or that the Hollywood lens is now fixated on Rustin’s story, with an Academy Award-nominated movie based upon his life currently in theaters. Wilkins has not received the same interest from Hollywood, perhaps indicating that he is less marketable in the mainstream. Meanwhile, Rustin’s role as an activist for the LGTBQ community is also important for newer generations. Until recently, this legacy and all that he accomplished was invisible, but he has since become a symbol of the “others” and most notably the “forgotten others”. While in his lifetime he was shunned, rallied against, and betrayed by those that he benefitted, history has allowed his legacy the final word.

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

Rating the YV boys if they were real and made them meet my parents!

Alphonse: 7/10 he's okay!

My dad would like him for how he shit talks and my mom would like how he sells candy. But my dad might ask how much he makes to see if he can support the both of us. Will not like to know that he was a ex con man also streamer-

Seth: 9/10 almost perfect!

My dad will see a lot of himself in him and my mom would fall for his southern manners. Might get asked of his previous jobs and both would not like how he got locked up. But will win back points if he said he took the fall from Alphonse.

Charlie: 6/10 sadly.

This is bc my dad would make fun of him and bully him a bit. My mom would try and feed him some more. Also the pizza place job might make them be eh to him along with being a ex dealer and con man. But if they knew him when younger like in canon the score would probably be 1 more higher.

Finn: 10/10 perfect score.

My dad would make fun of him for being shy but my mom would love talking to him. My dad's mom's favorite flower were Sunflower and would love that nickname for me that Finn calls his partner. If he brings flowers my mom would love him and if it's Sunflowers my dad will cry. They would love how gentle he is bc I'm a bit bitchy and he would reel me I'm.

Faust: 5/10 he's a 50/50 shot

Only bc he'd probably start shit with my dad. My mom would love his outfits and chat to him about that. But other than that they wouldn't know how to talk to him. They would like how he's a gamer! Might even ask what games he plays. His score goes up if he says he has money. (Stability is romantic /ref)

Auron: 10/10 perfect catch!

He's rich, has manners, and a go getter. My dad would respect him and my mom would love how perfect he is! If Auron ever does tell them about his other job my dad would try and threaten him. But my mom would freak out with me dating a CEO. Honestly probably the best option out of all if he was real!

Lucien: 4/10- depending how he speaks will go negative....

Only bc he doesn't have a job so KY dad would think he was a bum. My mom would probably like to try his cooking! If he tells them he's a demon his points would go negative. Since we're catholic- and my dad would freak tf out. My mom would cuss me out for somehow summoning a demon.

Jack: 9/10 almost a perfect 10!

Since he comes from a semi rich family and does a lot of side jobs too! My dad would respect him for being go getter and not wanting things handed to him. My mom would ask what he's majoring in college! He's very plain and THE white boy so KY dad would poke fun at him for that. But my mom would love to listen to him talk about the beach!

[courtingchaos]

Unclean

Gator Tillman x Fem Reader

Warnings: Religious themes, menstruation: sex and talk of, fingering, blood in various places, allusions to physical abuse (not reader) it’s period sex!

A/N: Listen, I am an ex-for-almost-20-years-Catholic who grew up around a lot of Southern Baptist, so excuse my (probable) misinterpretation of Leviticus okay? I just think Roy Tillman is a real Old Testament guy. I’ve had this little one shot in the wings for a while and only got the guts to finish it recently. I’m also deeply aware that I am interpreting this character much differently than the fandom at large so like, peace be with you.

18+ NSFW No Minors

Nothing but low lights behind the pulpit and a few along the aisles to let you see the outline of him in the first pew. Leaned forward, still and quiet in the cold dark that seeps into the small wooden church. Outside, the calvary congregates and converses after their Sunday dinner provided by their shepherd and in here, in the small family chapel, it’s just the two of you in the glow of old bulbs. Warm yellow gives the bridge of his nose a highlight and shines off the sun bleached strands in his hair. When your footsteps reach his radius he looks over his shoulder, tense and sharp, but the golden glow reflects off his eyes to give him a softer look than he deserves.

You stop two pews back and he gives you a once over, nervous eyes flitting from your head to your feet and up again before he begins chewing on his bottom lip. “You go home?”

“Yes.”

“Why you still in your dress?”

“It’s still Sunday.”

He laughs through his nose and turns back to the pulpit, thumb rubbing lightly against his reddened lip. “Did you stop at the house?”

You step forward one more length of pew and stop again to watch him fidget with the vape in his hand. “No, Roy wanted to talk to my father so I came back out here.”

Gator hums, a twitch of his lip letting his displeasure show for just a moment. The smack of the metal against his palm is loud in the small space like the yell you know he’d like to let loose would be. Sharp and mean like his demeanor, trying to be like his father but just south of right.

“Did you eat?” You ask while creeping up beside him. The smoke from the pit nearby has snuck in through the gaps in the doorways and mingled with the dry smell of wood and old hay. This chapel has always reminded you of an attic with its exposed beams but the scent of decades old pine makes you the most nostalgic.

“No.”

“Not hungry?”

He looks up at you before he sits back against the bench, takes in your pieces before the whole of you, eyes flitting again from your open coat to the hem of your dress fluttering just below your knee. Vape set aside he reaches out to drag a finger up from your knee and under that hem where you keep some of your secrets. Lines of ink not even your parents have seen, another cut you’ve inflicted like the hundred others while trying to claw your way out of this compound.

Fingers dig into the back of your thigh to hold you in front of him, lets the heat from his palm sink in while he doesn’t answer you.

“What was this morning about?”

He tilts his head in lieu of opening his mouth.

“Roy was on his ‘god honoring woman’ kick again. Did Karen piss him off last night?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t home.” His other hand snakes between your thighs to hold higher up. “She didn’t look upset.” He drops his gaze then to stare at the yellow flowers dotted over the black fabric of your dress, the one your mother bought you as a threat veiled in a peace offering.

“A little too much Leviticus for my taste.”

“Mm.”

Your coat lands on the floor behind you and his fingers inch higher on the inside of your thigh. He seems fixed on the way your dress bunches over his wrist instead of the soft touch behind his ear where you tuck an errant strand of hair finally falling out of its place. Outside there’s a muffled uproar of laughter that makes you cast a sharp look through the foggy windows and Gator takes the opportunity to move his warmth away to pluck at the buttons at the top of your dress.

“Little low cut for church.”

“My mother doesn’t think so.”

“I’ll thank her later.” An actual smile this time as the first button slips through silky cotton, followed by two more before you stop him. The wood creaks under your knee as you shift your weight to it, sliding it up against his hip. Again his hand finds your thigh, up high to find his favorite ink, a simple black line cross that his thumb rubs small circles into.

He hasn’t noticed yet that you tucked your underwear in your coat before you walked all the way out here. Risky since this morning left you with a bloody visit and now you sit unclean under the rafters his family raised. Your dress slides up easily enough, almost up enough to share your secret, and finally he pulls you close. Tugs at you to get you over his lap, your other knee colliding dully with the bench back.

It’s like a switch with him sometimes the way his mood will turn. Sour petulance that makes you roll your eyes will break for roaming hands that map out your body. Sullen quiet suddenly loud with his wants, with his questions, with his panting and moaning. Any place he can have you but more often in places that would bring down his father’s ire if you were found.

Flush against him now he pulls you down to meet the seat of his hips before he pushes your dress up around your waist and pauses mid grope to laugh.

“Does your mother approve of this too?” Fingers move again along the crease of your hip until they reach soft curls. He catches your eye and doesn’t look away as he dips his fingers into your heat, his lip caught between his teeth again, this time with a smirk. He pushes up slow, thick fingers dragging against oversensitive flesh, his palm flat so you can grind against him. Words seem caught in his throat, probably something goading and whispered, something laughed out on a breath. You know he wants to make you blush about how wet you already are and how loud you’re panting but he changes his angle and moves his hand, pulls it back in front of himself and stops to stare at the red staining his fingers.

“Oh.” You don’t pretend to sound surprised. He frowns but doesn’t push you away like you thought he might’ve, instead he seems frozen in place and you don’t miss the blush beginning to trickle down his cheeks. “It’s okay.” You grab his fist hovering between you. “It’s okay.” You repeat and he looks at you then, wide eyes searching for something. Leaned in close you bring his hand up slow, up towards his lips parted around a whispered sound of protest.

“Is-isn’t this breaking a r-rule or something?”

He doesn’t curl his fingers away when you press them to his mouth, a long line of blood from his cupids bow to his chin. With your free hand you fumble with his belt and his pants, keeping his doe eyed gaze glued to yours.

“Your father walks in here without burning.”

Confusion has nestled its way into his features, eyes squinted at you until you wedge your hand in between thick fabric and hot skin. His gaze droops when you pull him free, mouth splitting open with a quiet gasp. You move then, sitting up on your knees to look down on him wanting and blooded, dragging your hands down his long arms along the back the of the pew outstretched to grip the hardwood with white knuckles. Fear, you think at first, from the wild print you’ve left on his face. Anxiousness maybe that he might be found like this, not just compromised but marked now, cut off from the flock finally.

“Gator…” You barely whisper and he’s chasing you upwards. Against the restraints of your hands on his wrists he pulls when your lips don’t descend to meet his.

A choked off whine, “Please.” His hips wiggle between your knees for some kind of friction, anything to get closer. “C’mon, come back.” He pleads through clenched teeth, tacky red turning matte on his full lips. It draws you back in and he smiles when you close the distance with a brush of a kiss, something light that makes him huff before you consume him.

He doesn’t taste like when you bite your cheek or suck on a paper cut. It’s a foreign taste on a familiar tongue, faint passion fruit from his habit and a metallic tinge that makes you groan into him. He feels good. Pinned like a fluttering moth looking for an escape, for a saving grace that he seems to find in your lips and the dip of your tongue. His breath comes in sharp puffs through his nose smushed against your cheek and again you hear him whine when you don’t let him raise his hands.

A shake of his head to break the kiss to get his point across to take a deep breath-

Outside there’s heavy footfalls on the old wooden steps. Both of you freeze like deer, your eyes trained on the heavy door and his boring through your chin, waiting to bolt at the first sign of discovery.

Muffled voices, a click of metal and your heart in your throat when this unsuspecting intruder has a change of pace. A muffled question. A pause. Quiet laughter and parting footsteps.

Your fingers simply drape and Gator takes the opportunity to surge into you. Hands grabbing at your hips to hold you closer, pushing you down on him. He guides himself in with his thumb, a quick brush over that ache of yours amplified through thrill and nature.

You miss him watching your face scrunch up in apprehension. Lips parted like his, pink lipstick smudged with blood, only you hiss out an “easy” that he answers with a shush. Lets his hands run back up under your dress to find his favorite little scar of ink, smearing red along the way. Almost dry now but his fingerprints in your mess between the two of you make him forget his reservations for a few minutes. He forgets the crowd outside and the house ten minutes away. Pushes the expectations away. He instead watches you relax into him, the way your hands unwind from his shirt only to feel them slide up behind his neck to wind back up in his hair. Your tongue rolls over your bottom lip before you bite down on a moan when he bucks his hips up gently.

This wet heat, new to him in this taboo, draws him in when you roll your hips in earnest suddenly. You’ve angled him to find that magic spot he’s usually still searching for by this point, your head rolling back on your shoulders to ride your knees raw against the wood. The deep heat of you almost scorches him, a small voice in the back of his thoughts reminding him of hellfire and naked founts.

“Fuck.” Said out loud in the hopes of chasing away a voice tinged with vitriol and a release of the climbing pleasure up his spine. You writhe in his lap and he gropes at your hips, slides long fingers down and under to grab at your thighs. Slick with sweat you slip in his grasp, heavy breaths blown over his locks when you finally reach behind him to hold onto the bench.

The open top of your dress brushes his face enough times he bites at the buttons, finally catching them between his teeth. Through his lashes he watches your face, glued to the peek of teeth behind your lips. The way you glitter in low light and muggy air. The dip of your collar bones when you roll your body into his and he can feel you tighten all around him, core and arms and air.

A not gentle hand suddenly wrapped around his jaw, fingers prodding into his mouth to hang and pull. Wandering lips messily find his own and then trail off over his cheek to end at his ear, your peak whined against him. Pulsing that makes him hold you closer so he can chase after you to find his own end.

He’s been on the precipice since you threw your coat on the ground and all it takes is a few gentle thrusts before he chokes on a groan and suddenly he feels bottomless. No floor, no bonfires, no congregants too close for comfort. Just your face in his neck and the shared messy warmth pressed between you two.

There’s a swing of headlights over the front of the chapel that breaks whatever tandem calm you two have created. Separated wordlessly with barely a glance at the extra mess, Gator quickly readjusts his pants and you snatch your coat on your way to the small ladies room in the foyer. More muffled voices tonight that intrude on your privacy while you scrub smudged lipstick off your face and rebutton your dress, jumping only a little when there’s a knock at the door.

“You fall in?” Your father jokes on the other side.

“Give me a minute!” You snap while trying to slide your underwear back on. A final look before you walk out to make sure the surface of you is presentable, no visible marks or smudges. Out in the entryway your father gestures at you to follow and Roy gives you too long of a look when he waves. You wonder if he can see it all over your face even though you scrubbed the evidence off. Wonder if he can smell it on you two like a predator sniffing out wounded prey.

Can he see your handprints all over his son? Invisible blood that marks him different now. The tang of sin sits all over your tongue and when you run it behind your teeth to savor you catch Gator staring again. Catch him watching your hands twist in your coat pockets and his eyes flit back up to your mouth. You can feel the faded touch of him worrying at your tattoo even across a courtyard.

“Hey Gator?” You holler at him while climbing into your father’s truck. “Don’t forget dinner.” A simple smile for him before you slam the door, a break in the tension and your phone is vibrating seconds later. You wait to look until your home but it still makes you laugh even when you’re starting your laundry.

Thank your mom for me.

[the-based-brit]

Hello 👋

My name is Carlos "r4cs0" Albuquerque

I live in Idaho, but I am a bisexual/demisexual transgender aromantic identifying as a brony-furry winged raptor. My pronouns are Latinx / Lopex. As a member of both the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, a Mexican immigrant and a refugee fleeing from my Catholic family members who hated me for dating a bisexual woman, Iowa has been a very difficult state for me to live in.

As I'm sure you know, the right-wing bigots who control this state have implemented a lot of legislation recently which is intended to kill off people like us. They banned all transgender surgeries, outlawed all abortion and have been arresting people who try to leave the state to seek these services. But the worst part is that Mormon fundamentalists control virtually the entire southern half of the state. I attempted to move further north to get away from them, but some of them were so obsessed with me that they have followed me and continue to come after me!

One of them even found out about my blog here on Tumblr and followed me here! She is a former neighbor from before I moved and she was well known in the neighborhood as the quintessential Mormon girlboss "let me speak to your manager" Karen of the area. She constantly brags about how she graduated top of her class at BYU and that she is the best alto in her stake choir. She now has multiple sock puppet accounts here on Tumblr where she sends her Mormon followers to harass me, including "lemuel-apologist" and "werehamburglar" among many others.

Please consider donating a few dollars to my cause! It would really help and I'm hoping that one day I can save up enough money to leave Idaho and move to the abandoned Burger King in York, Nebraska.

Gofund (dot) me (slash) getoutofidahor4cs0

Thank you! 😁🐺

[panakinthedisco]

MISTY ━━ Joel Miller

summary: it all started at a station stop, a conversation about your beloved country, and somehow, in that moment, joel miller became utterly captivated by you.

author's note: i specifically made this one-shot for my SEA and filipina girlies rahhhhhh🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭 🇵🇭!!! we need more representation in this fandom so i had to do it <3 but i hope y'all enjoy this because this is just FLUFF :))

word count: 3k

“The Philippines must be very beautiful.” Joel Miller says to you when you tell him where you’re from. You trembled at the way he said your name — revealing much more of his Southern accent and also his undeniable charm. Even though no one calls your birth name, folks in your country called you by your nickname except your dear Lola back home in Manila. 

It makes you feel beautiful, or perhaps it’s just the lulling motion of this train to New York, the luxury of having nothing to do -– the way you feel on a holiday, you think, though you haven’t been on one since before you left for the United States five years ago. You’re not entirely sure. And now, you’re overwhelmed by the sensations you're experiencing with Joel Miller — thrilling and intense. Yet, in an instant, your Catholic guilt takes over, making you feel ashamed for enjoying his attention.

Religion has always been a central part of your life, ingrained in you by your overbearing mother, who is almost a fanatic. She vigorously enforced her beliefs, and you obeyed dutifully, attending Mass, saying your prayers, and adhering to the teachings of the Church. Your mother’s strict adherence to Catholicism shaped your upbringing, leaving little room for deviation.

But as you reflect, you admit to yourself that you secretly rebelled when you were younger. Those small acts of defiance, hidden from your mother's watchful eyes, were your way of reclaiming some sense of freedom. Now, as you sit on this train, the memories of those rebellions mix with the current thrill, leaving you in a whirlwind of emotions.

“It is beautiful,” You said softly, a little like a sigh. The sound of that small exhalation hangs in the dry air between you and Joel like a gauzy mosquito net that you and your cousins slept beneath when you were children while you’re staying over at your grandmother’s house. This was before Lola had air conditioners installed and they could shut out the mosquitoes. You had an urge to tell him that. And then, almost as if he hears your thoughts, Joel asks you what your home is like. 

Smiling, you begin to share your memories. "My grandmother owned a piece of land a few miles away from the city. We had a small family farm there. When I was younger, I used to play around the chicken pens and even feed the goats with my cousins. We'd pick pale yellow mangoes from the trees on the farm and line them up in rows on the grass to ripen in the sunshine."

Joel listens intently, his eyes reflecting a genuine interest. Encouraged, you continue, "We used to walk barefoot through the muddy rice fields and catch field snails, which we’d eat in the evening. I remember how we’d have competitions to see who could collect the most snails. I was quite competitive about it," you say with a laugh.

You describe how you would go fishing in the rice field ponds and in the swampy shallow waters, reaching down with your bare hands to catch mudfish. "It was always such a thrill to feel the slippery fish wriggle in your grasp," you add.

Your mind drifts back to those carefree days. "We'd also climb the trees and pick guavas and tamarinds, sometimes sneaking a few bites before bringing them back to Lola's kitchen. The smell of her cooking would fill the air, blending with the earthy scent of the countryside. In the evenings, we'd sit outside, listening to the cicadas and telling stories under the stars."

Joel's expression softens as he imagines the scenes you paint with your words. "It sounds like a paradise," he says, his voice low and thoughtful.

"It was," you reply, a touch of wistfulness in your tone. "Those memories are some of the happiest of my life."

Then Joel asks you, “Isn’t it a country of islands? What are the beaches like?” His hazel brown eyes pierce beneath the reading light of the train, filled with curiosity.

You smile, your mind immediately drifting to the many beautiful beaches you’ve visited. "Yes, it is a country of islands," you begin. "The beaches are incredible, each one unique. I've been to quite a few, but my favorite memories are from my mother's hometown on an island in Palawan called Cuyo."

Joel leans in closer, captivated by your words. "Cuyo is a small, quiet place, but it's absolutely stunning. The beaches there are like something out of a postcard—white sand, crystal-clear waters, and vibrant coral reefs just offshore. I always loved going to the beach there. The water is so clear that you can see the fish swimming around your feet."

You pause, reminiscing about the warmth of the sun and the gentle sound of the waves. "When I was a child, I would often go with the fishermen. They’d take their boats out early in the morning, and sometimes I’d tag along. The sea would be calm, and we’d glide over the water, watching the sunrise paint the sky in shades of pink and orange. They'd teach me how to cast nets and catch fish. It was an amazing experience, being so close to nature and learning from people who had lived off the sea for generations."

Joel's eyes remain fixed on you, his expression soft and engaged. You continue, "During the afternoons, we'd play on the beach, building sandcastles and collecting seashells. The island is surrounded by reefs, so snorkeling was a favorite activity. The underwater world is so colorful and full of life—it's like a hidden paradise."

You share more about the island's charm, the simple yet fulfilling life there. "We'd have picnics on the beach, with freshly caught seafood and tropical fruits. My mother would tell us stories about her own childhood, and we'd sit there, listening as the sun set over the horizon."

The memories flood back, each one more vivid than the last. "I also remember walking along the shore at night, the moonlight reflecting on the water. Sometimes, we'd see bioluminescent plankton, making the waves glow. It felt like magic."

Joel smiles, clearly enchanted by your stories. "It sounds like an incredible place," he says softly.

"It really is," you reply, a warm glow in your heart. "Cuyo and its beaches hold a special place in my memories. It's a place where time seems to slow down, and you can truly appreciate the beauty of nature."

You met Joel at the station stop in Chicago. He smiled at you, and you smiled back. That was all. He found the empty seat beside you. 

And it began with your name. It must have been foreign for Joel to hear a name that is not Americanized. He repeats your name – not like a question, but as though he likes the sound. Joel reaches for your hand, and shakes it, “I’m pleased to meet you.” 

The Amtrak 49 train moves from the Midwest to the East Coast, specifically New York. You opted to take the train to save on airfare, but the truth is, you also wanted a little extra time to unwind during the sixteen-hour journey. You are grateful to have met Joel Miller from Texas, who is also on his way to New York for a visit. It feels like an unexpected windfall, and you are giddy and thrilled to have him to intrigue and engage, just as he intrigues and engages you.

Joel Miller is an enchanting distraction, precisely because he seems equally captivated by you. You savor the minutes like sweets in your mouth. It's been so long since someone has paid you this much attention, and you feel flushed and drunk with it. 

You listen to Joel talk, struggling not to be wide-eyed and open-mouthed, though it’s hard to avoid his hazel brown eyes that make butterflies in your stomach flutter. He listens to you in that same way, as though every word that drops from your lips is candy-coated delicious. Thinking this, you pop a breath mint into your mouth when he isn’t looking. You feel absolutely silly about what you’re doing. 

He is older than her. He must be in his mid-thirties while you’re in the middle of the twenties, quite new to the corporate world and still struggling to keep up with the inflation. He didn’t mention whether he’s married or not but he might have a wife in Texas or in New York. Those thoughts flood into your head and you steal a glance — surprisingly, he’s looking at you too. 

What is he thinking, you think, don’t let him be thinking of you. And then just as quickly, please let him be thinking of me. 

You cannot help allowing yourself this quick sweet rush of happiness like having a man come to call at your house, bringing flowers or candy. Like a date on a weekday evening. Like that certain knowledge that someone yearns to kiss you.

You are wanted. You are beautiful in the eyes of Joel Miller.

As the train continues its journey, the conversation with Joel deepens. He suddenly asks, “Wasn’t there a big revolution in the Philippines in the 80s? The EDSA Revolution? I remember hearing about it on the news. It seemed to captivate the world.”

You nod, your expression turning serious. "Yes, the EDSA Revolution in 1986 was a pivotal moment in our history. My parents were both involved in it. My mother and father fought against the dictatorship. My father was a student activist at a prestigious university, and it was incredibly difficult for him."

Joel's eyes widened with interest, and you continue, "There were times when my father had to hide because of his controversial writings against the president and the government. He told us stories about how he hid in the countryside, constantly looking over his shoulder. It was terrifying for him."

You pause, your thoughts drifting back to the stories your father shared. "But he fought back by writing and eventually took part in the EDSA Revolution. I remember the tears in his eyes when he talked about tasting freedom for the first time. He always said he was doing it for us, for me and my siblings."

Joel is silent for a moment, clearly moved by your story. "Your father is incredibly brave," he says softly. "To stand up against such a regime and fight for what he believed in... that's remarkable."

You smile, a mix of pride and sadness in your eyes. "He is brave. He risked everything for a cause he believed in, for a future he wanted for his children. The EDSA Revolution was a peaceful protest, but it was filled with so much emotion and hope. My father's involvement in it shaped who he is and, in turn, who I am."

Late at night, Joel asks you if you want to get something to eat. The dining car is open. You agreed to his invitation and made way down the aisle. The car is dark and most of the passengers are slumped in sleep, their shapes suggest they are in the most comfortable position possible, given the uncomfortable circumstances. Their heads are buried under coats and sweaters. Every now and then, a snore emitted from an old man. Or a faint cry from a hungry baby in the back of the car. When you stumbled from your step, losing your balance, Joel grabs you and clasps your hand in his to steady you. 

They order cups of coffee and eat crumbly stale chocolate chip cookies out of small carton boxes. You did not remember when you had talked so long or laughed so much. And it is exciting to know that as you both talk, towns and cities rush past in a midnight blur. Both of you are far away from everything. 

Close to four in the morning, you both stumbled down the aisle, back to your seats. You are already sleepy  in a warm, comfortable way. Your eyelids are heavy, like they have been smeared with thick honey, and sure enough, they close stickily. You let your head drop and fall lightly to rest upon his shoulder. 

When Joel reaches over to flick your reading light, you sighed, inhaling his scent. For an instant, you open your eyes but it is completely dark and quiet except for the sound of the train on its tracks. As you exhaled you fell asleep, but not before hearing Joel’s hoarse whisper as he fixed the unruly hair that is covering your face and tucked it behind your ear. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

Joel calls you on your phone, his voice urgent. It’s been a week since your last meeting and he asked for your number  — in which you gave it to him. You were not expecting anything in return and your long conservation is enough for you but at the back of your mind — you wish he’ll call you.

Hearing his voice almost made you stunned. You missed him and his presence. 

“Have lunch with me today?” he says. 

"I..I don't know." You said. It is indeed a bad time because you have a lot of things to do which is babysitting your aunt’s daughter but you looked over to the living room where your aunt is already busy taking care of your niece.

He speaks once again, "I have to see you. I have to show you something."

You looked at your wristwatch. You calculate the number of hours and you realize you can get away. You do have the time. You are heartbeat quickens. You want to see what he has to show you. But even more than that, you want to see him.

You clear your throat. In a low voice, you said, "Where should I meet you, Joel?"

Both of you meet in Central Park. Winter is on its last legs, and the air has a bit of warmth to it. Still, you wished that you were indoors. Your raincoat is very fluffy and lined but it is just warm enough for you.

"It's not raining," Joel says when he sees you.

"But it might." You said. "It might get colder. It might rain. I cannot take any chances."

"Okay."Joel smiles tenderly at you. You let yourself smile back, thinking, how dare he be. How sweet he is. He tells you,"Come on, I have a surprise for you."

You both walked briskly through the park, through the tree-lined paths, until they came to the gates of the Central Park Zoo.

"Here?" You asked him, Joel nods. "I was here yesterday. That's when I saw it."

You’re confused what he meant, "What?"

But Joel  shakes his head,  "You'll love it." He says. And he will not say anything anymore.

Both of you walked in the wet puddles that were once ice and snow. Although the leaves have still to emerge, people in the park are out with their books, perched on benches and big rocks by the pond, their faces to the sun as though they are tanning on a summer day.

You shivered, you cannot help it. Because it is cold, yes, but also because of now.

Joel takes your hand. Maybe because he saw you shiver. You glance at him uncertainly, and once more, catch him looking at you.

"Tell me." 

He squeezes your hand. "Be patient." He says, as if to a child.

At the ticket gate, the attendant warns that because of the cold, not all the animals may be out and about. Joel laughs, and says,

"That's perfectly alright."

Once inside the zoo's gates, Joel walks with more speed. You had to trot to keep up because he would not slow down. He squeezes your hand again and tells you to close your eyes.

You did, and you are not afraid to fall with him leading you. You feel the cool air on your face, the gravel beneath your feet. You hear the seals barking, splashing in their pool.

His grip on your hand is stronger. Although you cannot see, you take steps with confidence.

Both of you stopped. You realized that you are both entering a building.

"Step up, sweetheart," Joel tells you. You hope that you didn’t blush. 

All at once, a heat washes over, a fantastic wet, green heat so heavy, you are forced to draw a breath. You opened your eyes. You are in a jungle of thick ripe foliage. There is nobody else around. You can hear the cries of birds, the thick rustle of leaves and from somewhere, the sound of rain and trickling water. You can see trees, of deep green and black and brown, as you take your steps, you feel the soft ground beneath your feet.

You have never seen anything like this before.

You climb the wooden walkway through this tropical rain forest in the Central Park Zoo. The bridge is overlooking a small waterfall and beside it, there is steam rising from what you know is some hidden vent. Tiny beads of perspiration spring to your skin. You blow the bangs off your forehead. 

At the other end of the bridge, Joel is still standing at the other side of the bridge and he is staring at you. As he wants to take everything about you. And then, your heart fluttered by his soft gaze.

And then, he went to you while your eyes never left his. He takes both of your hands in his, leans in and whispers in your ear, warm breath against your neck. “This is how it is in the Philippines, right? Isn’t this the way it is?” 

You nodded and you know what is coming next. You feel that heat and stop thinking. You closed your eyes as Joel went closer to kiss you. 

Moments later, you answered him, “Yes, this is the way it is.” 

You thought if you haven't met Joel Miller on a train or maybe someday, against all the laws of probability, both of you met in another place or time but it doesn't matter right now. Meeting Joel Miller is a prelude to something wonderful and you felt it at the very beginning. 

That swift, surprising transition from nothing to everything.

AVAILABLE ON A03

☆ MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SOCIALS | SIGN OFF BANNER MADE BY. @alderaandors

[jewishregulus]

wait no i need to hear more about jewish regulus pleaseeee, enough with the catholic guilt

i think people always default to catholic imagery and aesthetics in media bc they think it is a safe religion to play with and or just view it as like a default option which really hurts my soul . this isn’t particularly regulus related but like jewish vampires jewish southern gothic etc etc all have such huge potential . and it feels really disingenuous everytime i read abt just how aesthetic and cool catholicism or whatever is …. i’m sorry but judaism has just as much media potential: people simply don’t care enough to represent us . this is why these violent delights (pauljulian book not the other one) will always win . i feel like many gay dark academia books fall back on like religious guilt (catholic edition) that it was such a refreshing read to see it not only explored w jewish people but patrilineal jewish people as well. truly my favorite book ever for this reason

focusing on regulus now : i view regulus as a very religious person : i think he has a positive relationship with religion and the concept that there is something out there that loves him no matter what: that the unconditional love he craves does exist , and he doesn’t need to do anything to work for it . i really think finds joy in more mystical elements of judaism as he grows , i think he’d wear a evil eye and a kabbalah bracelet and just genuinely feel at ease practicing jewish magic . i think his favorite holiday would be yom kippur bc of the sheer joy he feels being so connected to hashem. and being able to reflect and atone for what he is done and receive forgiveness would be very healing for him! i think religion is a main difference for sirius and regulus, as i hc sirius to not be religious, but their culture is connecting them. sirius may not be religious but he IS jewish, and their practices and beliefs still float through them. judaism is not just a religion but a family almost . i feel deeply connected to jewish strangers knowing we have this cultural connection. i think regulus would feel that way too!! plus i think the black family would be very ashamed of their identity, and attempt to hide it out of fear in a similar way wizards hide their identities bc they fear muggles. i think regulus learning to embrace his identity is very key to him healing from the black family. i think he can make some mean latkes and matzah ball soup and he doesn’t play around abt his bagels . i think he’s a gefilte fish liker!!!! sorry!! he’s on team applesauce on latkes and he thinks if you use sour cream you should die . sirius uses sour cream. he’s got a jewish american princess vibe . he’s my cousin i love him to death!! plus i think there is something to be said abt tattoos being normally frowned upon in jewish culture and regulus taking the dark mark . a sacrifice to his identity put upon him by his parents who already wish to hide and erase this part of their family out of shame and fear . (not saying his parents forced him to take the mark this is just not the post where i analyze regulus taking the mark and his parents role in it.)

ps. this is also why i hc regulus’ favorite color as purple, bc purple often symbolizes redemption/atonement in jewish culture !!

[liesmyth]

has something from a tlt fic ever become headcanon to you? i ask because i find this happening to me all the damn time with this fandom but not others

OK SO, my tlt headcanons are like schrodinger's cat, they explicitly contradict each other sometimes and all of them exist at the same time in different quantum states of canon. So in that sense I've never read a fic and thought, okay, THIS is my canon from now on.

But I've read so so many fics that burst my third eye wide open and made me consider different perspectives on a character / dynamic, or helped me shape some I already had. A few favourites:

the soul that seeketh him by bittybelle — missing scene pre NtN ft. John and Kiriona. Wherein John Gaius meets his daughter, remembers the women he left behind, and deals poorly with being the male god of a universe in which the divine is essentially feminine.

AO3 user LesbianJesusLovesYou gave me Big Feelings about Gideon's childhood on the Ninth and her relationship with Harrow, Aiglamene, Ortus and Crux

believing in everything (and knowing nothing at all) — A series of childhood memories from the Ninth

when i call, will you come to me? — “My Lady,” Ortus wheezed, shifting uncomfortably. “I only thought you should know… Gideon Nav was flogged before the congregation.”

A few fics set right after NtN that really stayed with me:

never hear the sound of someone calling me home by @corpsesoldier — Kiriona Gaia returns to the House of the Ninth.

One More Son by captainpeggy — After Nona, Pyrrha Dve walks the Ninth.

two old broads split a cigarette by @forjodssake — Aiglamene/Pyrrha. “sometimes the girl you like becomes one person w her soulmate and you have to jack off about it”

Post HtN missing scenes:

Death in its season by @ancientannoyance — John holds Mercymorn's 24 minutes funeral

recognize them by their fruits by @ceruleanvulpine — John and Ianthe emerge out of the River

Other stuff that Stuck With Me

so I open the window to hear sounds of people by @sunderedstar — post NtN flashbacks. John and Alecto are the only two beings on earth, and he starts working on the Resurrection. This is harrowing and I'm absolutely obsessed with the implications in this fic of WHY John removed everyone's memory.

and they were roommates by @herenortherenearnorfar — pre Resurrection Mercy and Cristabel, from their first meeting onwards and it just really burrowed a hole in my brain and grew roots and sprouts and everything. Latin American nun Cristabel it's all I can see now, and YES they met working with climate refugees when M— was a bright eyed idealistic doctor. It also lines up great with the Asian Mercy headcanon that exist in my head (I have a whole elaborate backstory about M— aged 12 proclaiming to her Filipino Catholic family that she's an atheist now). Anyway, it's just a lovely, gorgeous fic. I think about it every day.

John 25:12 by @halfeatenmoon — pre-Resurrection, John and his friends escape the cow fortress to spend Christmas Day at the beach. With beer, salads, pavlova, and the corpses of a million fish killed by nuclear weapons testing. Ft. Southern hemisphere holidays in Mururoa Atol and 100% canon. To me.

Operation: The Most Honorable Man by @cadmean — Augustine has a proposal for the Saint of Duty (Dios Apate. That's the proposal)

lowkey cheating but I can't choose — absolutely anything AO3 user Raxheim has posted has been SOO up my alley. Every time I read one of their fics I feel like I'm enlightened by some never-before-considered detail. And mean ANYTHING, from Harrow Nova to Wake to Cytherea and the Lyctors to the Universe's #1 Sadgirl Gideon

[milos-lil-corner]

Grips Liu Woods in my hands

It's insane to me that Liu attempted to defend himself by choking Jeff out with a rosary - do you know how much you can do with that. Where did he get that rosary? A family member? Was their family catholic? What kind of context would that add to both Woods siblings stories?

That is such good writing material that isn't being used - You can add Southern Gothic elements of spirituality or some shit. Something about religion.

[sixminutestoriesblog]

marigolds

It's October! For half the hemisphere, the nights are getting longer, the wind is getting colder and the weather is taking on a distinct grey and overcast mood. What better time than now to steal a few last bursts of brilliant, warm sunshine and keep them close against the coming of winter?

Enter October's flower (one of them) - the marigold.

An interesting thing I found while researching this month's flower was that its native to the Americas - and yet some sites list the ancient Greeks and Romans having traditions surrounding the marigold. One of the sites even mentions the flower being introduced to the 'Americas' several sentences after telling me its native to Mexico. I think some of the confusion may come from the fact that there are marigolds of the Tagetes genus, which are the ones I think of when I think of marigolds, that were first mentioned by the Aztecs and are native to the Americas - and there is a flower, Calendula officinalis, called the 'pot marigold' which comes from the same daisy family but is a different genus and seems to originate in southern Europe. To add to the confusion, the Spanish imported the Tagetes marigold from the Americas and from Spain it spread to, particularly, monastery gardens across Europe where it was cultivated into various strains with names like the African or French marigold. The American marigold didn't even have an official genus name until 1753. So, sorting through marigold myths was a lot like playing 'guess which twin it is' for me especially since the majority of the sites I was wandering through either weren't aware of a difference or didn't differentiate. I found one site that marked the difference between them (shout out to growingvale.com). I can understand why. We're only talking flower folklore here, not nuclear codes. My little nitpicky soul though just wasn't happy until it figured out what was going on. I am now going to spew facts at you and try to tell you which flower is which for each of them.

We'll see how I do.

Let's start at the beginning.

Tagetes marigolds were first recorded as being cultivated by the Aztecs, who considered them both medicinal and sacred. That tradition has carried over into Mexico's el Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, which is celebrated either in late October or Early November depending on the region. How much of that is straight from the Aztecs and how much is later European influence via Catholicism is still up for debate but the marigold plays a special part in both. The brightness and strong scent of the marigold flowers are believed to help guide the spirits of the dead to their family and to the offerings left out for them. You watched Disney's Coco (or Fox's The Book of Life), you get it. The Day of the Dead is celebrated outside of Mexico as well, with traditions varying from place to place but right now, we're talking marigolds.

In a half step to the side of that, the Victorians also considered marigolds a funeral flower but in a solemn and grief-filled way that made their cheery color inappropriate for any other kind of bouquet.

In South Asia, the Tagetes marigold has in large part replaced Calendula officinalis marigold while still serving the same purpose. There marigolds are used to create garlands and decorations for weddings, festivals and sacred holidays. Both Buddhism and Hinduism attach spiritual significance to the flowers. In India, giving a garland of marigolds to someone is considered a sign of friendship.

Walking it back to our Calendula officinalis marigold, the common name of 'marigold' is actually a break down of 'Mary's gold'. The golden colored plant was often left on alters and shrines to the Virgin Mary in Catholic countries in the middle ages by people that couldn't afford to leave actual coins. Its bright sunshine color and availability to everyone soon became associated with her.

This is the marigold that the ancient Romans and Greeks used medicinally and that medieval Europe thought was a cure against the plague. This is also the marigold that was woven into garlands for doors and livestock in Ireland to keep away fairy attention.

Both branches of flowers are popular with love superstitions, representing never having to lose a love and as a good luck charm when it comes to love.

And let's round things off with a gardening fact. Marigold are considered excellent companion plants for most vegetable gardens because they repel pests from the big to the very tiny kind. Just check before you plant. Their roots also give off an antibacterial chemical that will wreck havoc on your legumes.

Happy birthday, October babies!

[blue-grama]

A good man is hard to find

OK, so this is nonsense, but you know what keeps coming to mind when I watch 4 Minutes? Flannery O'Connor.

For those of you who have not ever been an American high school student, O'Connor was a Southern Gothic writer of fucked-up short stories, and possibly her most fucked-up (and most read) was "A Good Man is Hard to Find." PDF here, for spoilers abound below, and if you haven't read it, it's really worth the 20 minutes, sorry for the mental damage. "A Good Man is Hard to Find" is the story of a family getting meaninglessly annihilated by an escaped convict on a road trip. They're all awful people (parallel #1) -- the kids are horrid brats, the parents are ineffectual, and the grandmother, our protagonist, is manipulative, querulous and nostalgic for a "better past" (It's the American South in the 1950s. The past was not better.) It's a brutal as hell story and there's no hope of escape (parallel #2, quite possibly). In the moments before the grandmother is shot, however, she channels a moment of grace, seeing the deep, almost mystical connections between herself and her killer. (Who, by the way is known as The Misfit, which so fits Tonkla and his isolated existence as Korn's dirty secret.) This grace does nothing to save her, but it there's a sense that it deeply unsettles the killer, who comments, “She would of been a good woman, if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life.” (parallel #3, I'm looking at you, Pacharawit "Let me just redo everything as the oxygen runs out in my brain" Sriwatsombat.) Of course, I don't think 4 Minutes actually has anything to do with a 70-year-old story written by an Irish-Catholic from Georgia, other than in my own head and in the sense that every human has to grapple with morality and regret and our responsibilites toward one another. But I am very invested in where the writing of 4 Minutes comes down on morality and redemption. Is this Triage, with its infinite do-overs, or is it "A Good Man Is Hard to Find," where even the deepest of epiphanies can't save you? (And it's all sponsored by Durex... what a world.)

[buddierecs]

sexuality realisation buddie fics

aka sexuality crisis fics. this list has different rated fics, so please look at the rating make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

the definition of love and all things ineffable by: elvensorceress "In which buck processes his breakup, learns his place in his family, has a huge crisis of sexuality, and finds the truth about love beating in his own heart." word count: 29k rating: teen and up important tags: friends to lovers, mutual pining, getting together, idiots in love, buckley-diaz family, mild sexual content eddie diaz vs the feelings by: elvensorceress "eddie dives into the mysteries of attraction, romantic love, and asexuality because there's a good chance he's fallen in love with his best friend." word count: 63k rating: explicit important tags: friends to lovers, demisexuality, asexuality, angst, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, slow burn, mutual pining, anal sex, hand jobs courtship behaviours of southern coastal husbros by: mad_lori "buck and eddie decide to become platonic domestic partners and co-parents. they are 100% super normal about it and absolutely nothing is awakened in them, except a mutual annoyance at being referred to as "husbros." word count: 49k rating: explicit important tags: domestic partners, friends to lovers, slow burn, friends with benefits, demisexuality, fluid sexuality, fluff, eventual smut, oral sex help me to help myself by: woodchoc_magnum "in which eddie slowly figures out who he really is in the aftermath of his breakdown." word count: 26k rating: mature important tags: angst, depression, mental breakdown, pining, getting together, team as family, soft!buddie darker days, brighter endings by: farfromstars "a fic on eddie’s recovery after 4x14." word count: 44k rating: teen and up important tags: injury recovery, ptsd, panic attacks, therapy, minor eddie/ana, minor buck/taylor, pining, friends to lovers, getting together let's hear it for the boy by: hattalove "in which eddie attends a self-empowerment group for gbtq men to supplement his therapy, and is empowered to: forgive himself, say "i'm gay" to his own reflection in the mirror, accidentally adopt an adult, make fried rice, and tell his straight best friend that he's in love with him. not necessarily in that order." word count: 56k rating: teen and up important tags: queer themes, self-discovery, friends to lovers, coming out, getting together, queer awakening, pining, gay disaster!eddie diaz tell me about despair by: hattalove "the entity often affectionately referred to as the unrepression fic" word count: 148k rating: mature important tags: character study, angst, ptsd, therapy, communication, queer awakening, friends to lovers remember me, love (when i'm reborn) by: kwills "eddie has a sexuality crisis, and it's nothing like buck described it. it's not freedom. it's hell. but maybe not forever" word count: 12k rating: teen and up important tags: internalised homophobia, catholic guilt, angst, coming out, minor buck/tommy, getting together, feelings realization you still make sense to me by: farfromthstars "eddie is ready for a new relationship – but why does it never feel right? buck has a lot to work through, and doing that comes with a few realizations." word count: 31k rating: mature important tags: asexuality spectrum, therapy, coming out, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild sexual content i bet my hand fits right in your hands by: blob_blob "after they leave texas, buck has a sexuality crisis in TKs dms, and also when eddie asks who he's texting he panics and makes up an entire girlfriend to avoid admitting to eddie that he's having a sexuality crisis" word count: 7.5k rating: teen and up important tags: fluff, light angst, coming out, texting oh, how could i have been so wrong by: prettyboybuckley "buck figures out his sexuality at the age of 30" word count: 7k rating: mature important tags: self-discovery, love confessions, jealous!eddie diaz, first kiss, hand jobs

[anew-jackson]

Hello 👋

My name is Carlos "r4cs0" Albuquerque

I live in Idaho, but I am a bisexual/demisexual transgender aromantic identifying as a brony-furry winged raptor. My pronouns are Latinx / Lopex. As a member of both the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, a Mexican immigrant and a refugee fleeing from my Catholic family members who hated me for dating a bisexual woman, Iowa has been a very difficult state for me to live in.

As I'm sure you know, the right-wing bigots who control this state have implemented a lot of legislation recently which is intended to kill off people like us. They banned all transgender surgeries, outlawed all abortion and have been arresting people who try to leave the state to seek these services. But the worst part is that Mormon fundamentalists control virtually the entire southern half of the state. I attempted to move further north to get away from them, but some of them were so obsessed with me that they have followed me and continue to come after me!

One of them even found out about my blog here on Tumblr and followed me here! She is a former neighbor from before I moved and she was well known in the neighborhood as the quintessential Mormon girlboss "let me speak to your manager" Karen of the area. She constantly brags about how she graduated top of her class at BYU and that she is the best alto in her stake choir. She now has multiple sock puppet accounts here on Tumblr where she sends her Mormon followers to harass me, including "lemuel-apologist" and "werehamburglar" among many others.

Please consider donating a few dollars to my cause! It would really help and I'm hoping that one day I can save up enough money to leave Idaho and move to the abandoned Burger King in York, Nebraska.

Gofund (dot) me (slash) getoutofidahor4cs0

Thank you! 😁🐺

😭 is this a copypasta or did you legit write this