#but then like your everyday catholic mother

[larcenywrites]

Hi English is not my first language, so sorry for the mistakes, but I could do a Kurt Wagner x reader, in which the reader follows the Wicca religion, or something linked to witchcraft, they are both in a relationship and I would like to see how their different beliefs would affect their relationship (already that Kurt is Catholic although I believe he has no prejudice in dating someone with a different religion I would like to see how this would affect their coexistence)

sorry for the writing errors

I have lots of thoughts about this that I can’t reflect in a single one shot, so for now I’ll do some headcanons! However, it would be interesting to parallel this with a spin on Kurt’s 2004 solo series! So I will probably do something with that :) Obviously, I can do research, but I am in no way knowledgeable about the practices nor those who practice wicca or witchcraft. I don’t want to generalize and say, like, “Kurt x witch reader”, but I’m not quite sure what else exactly to put :(

Nightcrawler with a Witch S/O

Headcanons

Warnings: aside from mentions of religion and witchcraft there’s nothing | I mean there’s some cute stuff here and there if it counts :)

⚜️ Kurt may be catholic, but his background is full of diverse people with different perspectives and practices!

⚜️ Scarlet Witch, his adopted mother, and his adopted sister all practice witchcraft, and he has a… well, decent enough relationship with all of them! But any of their spats have nothing to do with their way of life!

⚜️ He means well when he wants to drag you to mass Sunday morning. Really! He does! It’s something he’s done with every one of his friends by now, anyway, but it’s just that it’s a huge part of his life! He genuinely just wants you there! Sure, he can’t deny there’s always going to be some part of him that wants you to also be on some level of his own religion, but again, it’s from no place of ill will.

⚜️ After all, even though he has seen firsthand that this rule is relatively loose, I think it’s normal for someone in his belief system to worry whether their life partner will be able to join them in the afterlife :( He’s going to worry about it from time to time. He’s also definitely going to pray about it a lot. Take it in a sweet way— he just really cares about your love so much that he’s afraid it’ll have to end 🥲

⚜️ He also means well when he brings home various herbs and wildflowers he’s seen you use!! He probably even tries to make a cute little bouquet to present them! Obviously the source of said plants might not be ideal 😅 So maybe it’s time to expand a little garden! Plus, having a small garden if your preferred ingredients or offerings is a good way to teach him a thing or two in case he needs it (again), and he enjoys helping out in non-direct ways! Besides, gardening is a cute activity to do together 😘

⚜️ Speaking of which, while he’ll always be grounded in his faith, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t acknowledge everything around him! He’s seen demons and gods, magic and ghosts, heaven and… well, not hell, but you get the gist! So don’t worry, he knows well enough that not only what you do is real and powerful, but still a respectable craft. In fact, I’m sure he holds a deep respect especially if you tend to be one who thanks the Earth/ask permission for resources often. And you just might rub off on him! While he would be thanking God instead, it probably makes him more mindful of his everyday interactions with the environment 😌

⚜️ But because of his own beliefs, I’m sure certain practices or spells would make him nervous 😅 Because of this, if there’s a specific deity/god/goddess/etc you answer to/pray to that really clashes with his morals and beliefs, a relationship probably won’t last long.

⚜️ But just because some things make him nervous, it doesn’t mean he’s going to leave or anything. He might not partake in a tarot drawing or participate in certain things, but he still respects it and trusts you.

⚜️ But, uh, there might also be times when he’s literally in the next room holding the cross around his neck and praying aloud while you’re trying to do something 🤧 But this also works the other way around! Not only does it probably throw off either of your thoughts, but I’m sure it doesn’t help either of you when you both might be putting very different energy into the room rn 😅

⚜️ If for whatever reason you ever need something from him, like a bit of his fur, you probably have his permission already to just walk up to him with a pair of scissors! Even so, he usually asks billion questions 😒 So is it worth the hassle?

⚜️ While your beliefs and intentions may be different, you both might share quite a few daily rituals! Kurt won’t at all mind sharing the rug or the lawn with you if you meditate as often as he does. You both use it for similar reasons, really. It might even be both nice and interesting to have a conversation about any thoughts and experiences afterward 💙 Maybe, for once, you both found the answers you needed this morning and can share it :)

⚜️ But there are some other things he considers more “harmless,” so to speak that he does participate in. If you tend to journal things like dreams and daily experiences to cross reference later for any signs and such, he might do it too. Well- he’ll probably tell you his dreams or a reoccurrence he’s noticed (especially if it’s something that has been stressing him or maybe he’s just got a gut feeling he can’t explain) and see what you have to say about it! Just because you have different beliefs doesn’t mean he can’t find value in what you have studied and what you have to say!

⚜️ I’m sure many mornings he likes to drink teas with specific herbs and what they’re known for, and you might also partake in this! Of course, there’s probably much more intention behind the herbs you use, the way you prepare it, the way you stir it, but sometimes Kurt just likes to feel involved :)

⚜️ You don’t have to worry about him messing with any of your stuff! It’s probably out of both respect and paranoia, but he won’t mess with any alters or offerings or generally just the way you have your side of the room set up (though, probably after some gentle explaining here and there…)

⚜️ However, he may have a hard time with wanting to look at and touch any rocks and crystals… In a very respectful way, he just thinks they’re pretty and neat, okay? ;w; To be honest, get him one or two to have of his own that you think he needs when he’s stressed or when he’s out on missions. Kurt will carry them with him everywhere ❤️‍🩹 Because while he might not always believe that they carry this or that type of energy, he knows it means you care 🥰

[lauriegraham01]

40s!headcannons - steve & bucky

pairings: steve rogers x reader, bucky barnes x reader

summary: headcannons of steve and bucky from the 40s.

w/c: 645

content warning: minor angst, mentions of domestic/child abuse, fluff, mention of smoking/drinking.

Steve Rogers

Steve always being shy to show affection, for fear of rejection. So whenever you initiate acts of affection, he goes red and his heart does somersaults.

He doesn't like to talk about his dad much, it still hurts to think about the abuse he and his mom faced because of him.

But he sometimes misses the way his dad was before the abuse started but he feels wrong for missing someone who caused so much pain.

Steve first learned how to draw from recreating the human anatomy because he had a curiosity for medicine, taking after his mother who was a nurse.

Steve learned how to do everything around the house- cooking, cleaning, hell he even knew how to sew. His mother had instilled the importance of knowing how to take care of yourself within him at a young age.

Coming from Irish-Catholics, he and his mother would attend mass frequently.

Steve loved midnight Christmas mass the most.

Loved reading and saving up to buy new books and comics.

Was the type of kid to hide underneath the covers with a flashlight just so that he could read late at night.

He memorized the entire subway system at one point.

His favorite places to take you on dates would be parks and record shops.

Textbook definition of a gentleman, would open every door for you, walk closest to the street, give you his jacket if your cold, and drop you off at your doorstep after a date.

After the serum, he still wasn't used to his new body so he would still accidently buy clothes that were too small.

Steve wrote to you and told you everything about what he was doing while away.

This man would lose his mind every time you sent him a photo of yourself in your letters.

Worshipped the ground you walked on and treats you nothing short of a queen.

He was afraid that his inexperience would be an issue and after reassuring him that it wasn't he fell even deeper in love with you.

Needless to say Steve loved learning new things with you ;)

Bucky Barnes

Bucky was openly affectionate and it often meant that you would get dirty look from girls who had a crush on him because they were jealous that Bucky was paying to attention to you.

Bucky is Jewish (especially considering that his character is based on another Jewish character/has Jewish influences)

He would invite Steve over for Seder dinners every year.

Bucky cannot cook to save his life, his role in the kitchen often being helping cut veggies or wash dishes.

Bucky was a naturally loud person seeing as he lived with four sisters and had an all around loud household/family.

Bucky picked up street-boxing when he was 13.

Steve hated this. Often having to be the one to patch up Bucky after a nasty fight.

Bucky could understand and even speak a little bit of Spanish, learning from friends and from girls he'd dated before.

Bucky would sneak up the fire escape to be able to knock on your window and see you late at night.

Bucky smokes, but never around you or Steve out of respect.

He is a sappy drunk. He will go on and on about how much he loves you and how beautiful you are.

He can handle his liquor.

He loved going dancing with you- especially at jazz clubs.

An absolute sucker for rhythm and blues.

He knew that he wanted to marry you, but he wanted to wait until after the war to get married.

He had the ring picked and locked away.

He kept a picture of you tucked away in his coat pocket, admiring the picture everyday while overseas.

He wrote to you often, asking about how things were back home. Your responses giving him hope that this war would end soon and he's come back home to you.

[theetherealbloom]

NOTRE DAME - CH. 3

Chapter 3: The Undone and The Divine

Summary: In the rafters of Clinton Church, a mysterious reader with the power of illusion manipulation silently watches over Matt Murdock, the blind vigilante known as Daredevil. As danger engulfs Hell's Kitchen, their unlikely friendship blossoms into a bond of trust and longing, intertwining their fates in a battle against darkness that tests their resolve. Will their connection illuminate a path to salvation in a city of darkness or lead them deeper into the abyss?

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt to Comfort, ANGST, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, Religion, Fluff, Anxiety, PSTD, Nightmares, Catholic Guilt, Amnesia, Violence, Blood, Dark Undertones, Eventual SMUT, Shy Reader, Mentions of Abuse, Criminal Activities, Mobsters/Mafia, Character Death, Slowish Burn, Disassociation, 

Word Count: 11.9k

A/N: This was lowkey tough to write with all the technicalities but I managed to push through it lol. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Song: Only If For A Night by Florence + The Machine

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

dividers @/saradika-graphics

A FEW DAYS LATER…

NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT – MORNING

As you blink, fragments of your past weave their way into your consciousness, like threads of a tapestry unraveling in your mind. Memories unfold, revealing moments of rigorous training, ethereal wisdom, and a mentor whose guidance shaped you into the person you are today.

You remember living in a tranquil sanctuary, surrounded by ancient texts and mystical artifacts. The air hums with energy as you practice intricate movements, honing your skills under the watchful eye of a wise and enigmatic figure. The connection between you is unspoken yet profound, a bond forged through years of shared knowledge and profound teachings.

Visions of battles fought against formidable adversaries dance before your eyes. You wielded powers beyond comprehension, manipulating the very fabric of reality with finesse and precision. In those moments, you were a guardian of balance, a protector of realms unseen.

But the flashbacks recede, vanishing like whispers in the wind. You find yourself in the bustling corridors of the New York City Police Department, surrounded by the everyday realities of life. The voice of Brett Mahoney pulls you back to the present, concern etched on his face. "You good? You seem kinda out of it."

You look up from the paperwork you were filing for a domestic violence case and force a small smile. "Mhm, just a little tired," you respond, trying to shake off the remnants of the past and the previous nights of helping Matt from the sidelines. Mahoney takes a sip of his coffee before continuing, "You know, my mom has been askin’ for you. You aren't giving her cigarettes with those cookies too, are you?"

You snort, the corners of your lips curling with amusement. "Nah, I actually have a secret life as a drug dealer and deliver her cookies laced with crack," you quip, easing the tension in the room. Brett chuckles at your joke as you put down the pen and hand the file to another officer. "Why, what's up?" you ask, genuinely interested. Brett sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "Could you maybe visit her? I've been pulling a lot of shifts lately, and dealing with reports of some masked vigilante beating up a bunch of criminals has taken up a lot of my time."

You sigh, feigning concern at the news. "New York is something else," you remark. Brett hums in agreement, understanding the chaos of the city all too well. "So, could you do it? Drop by and give her more of those cocaine cookies?" he asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

You nod, with your expression sincere. "Sure, I'll stop by in a bit," you promise, knowing that a visit to Brett's mother would bring a sense of joy and connection amidst the chaos of your secret battles.

MAHONEY RESIDENCE – DAY

You give a gentle knock on the door of the Mahoney residence, and a warm smile spreads across your face as it swings open to reveal Bess Mahoney, an elderly woman with a kind expression. "Hi, dear. Come inside," she welcomes you, gesturing for you to enter. Expressing your gratitude, you respond, "Thank you, Bess. I brought some of those cookies you like! Sister Maggie and Sister Catherine helped me bake them."

As you step into the cozy living room, the aroma of freshly baked cookies fills the air, creating an atmosphere of comfort and familiarity. Bess's eyes light up with delight, and she takes your hand in hers. "You're such a sweetheart, always thinking of me," she says, her voice tinged with genuine affection. "Those nuns at the church have been a blessing to this neighborhood."

You nod, a sense of warmth and purpose swelling within you. "They truly are," you reply, feeling grateful for the support and guidance the sisters have provided throughout your journey. "They've taught me so much about compassion and making a difference in people's lives."

As you sit at the kitchen table, the taste of the homemade cookies still lingering on your tongue, a sense of calm settles over you. The weight of the world and the secret battles you face momentarily fade away in the presence of Bess's warm company.

Just as you begin to bask in the comfort of the moment, Bess's voice breaks the tranquility. "I need a favor from you, honey," she says, her tone carrying a hint of concern. Your eyebrows furrow, and you lean in, attentively asking, "Is something wrong?"

Bess waves her hand dismissively. “Not with me, but with a dear friend of mine, Elena Cardenas. She's a lovely woman, and she's facing trouble. You see, she owns a rent-controlled apartment in Hell's Kitchen, but her landlord suddenly wants to evict her.”

Your frown deepens, empathizing with the injustice of the situation. Nodding in understanding, you urge Bess to continue. She smiles and explains, “I suggested she reach out to the new firm in the city, Nelson and Murdock. They have a reputation for being very good at what they do.”

Your eyes widen in surprise and realization. "Oh, yes. I've heard of them. They’re very good.” The memory of your encounter with Matt Murdock resurfaces, the card tucked safely in your pocket. It seems fate has intertwined your paths once again.

Bess's smile grows wider, her eyes gleaming with hope. "Perfect. Honey, I need you to go with Elena Cardenas to their office. She's as old as me, and it would grant me peace of mind knowing she arrives there safely."

You look into Bess's eyes, seeing the genuine concern and trust she places in you. There is no denying the importance of this favor, and deep down, you know you can't refuse. With a resolute expression, you reply, "Of course, Bess. What's her address and phone number? I'll make sure Elena gets to Nelson and Murdock's office."

A forced smile graces your lips, masking any hesitation or trepidation. At this moment, you understand that there is no avoiding this task. It is a chance to help someone in need, to make a difference in their life, and honor the trust Bess has placed in you.

As Bess shares the necessary details, you commit them to memory, knowing that this journey will bring its challenges and revelations. You rise from the table, ready to fulfill your role as a guardian in the shadows, guided by the light of friendship and the pursuit of justice.

With a final nod of assurance to Bess, you bid her farewell, leaving her with the comforting knowledge that Elena Cardenas will be well taken care of. As you step out into the bustling streets of Hell's Kitchen, you carry within you the determination to stand for those who need it most.

NELSON AND MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW – DAY

You guide Mrs. Cardenas to the address scribbled on the card provided by Matt. As you approach the designated location, a paper sign catches your attention, proudly displaying the name "Nelson and Murdock Attorney's at Law." It's the place you were directed to, and you offer Mrs. Cardenas a comforting smile before proceeding.

You raise your hand and knock on the door, with it slightly open and already spotting the people inside. “Hi, uhm, I’m looking for Foggy Nelson and Matt Murdock.”

As Mrs. Cardenas follows you inside, you can't help but feel a sense of reassurance, knowing that you've brought her to a place where she will be heard and supported. With Karen's presence and the promise of Nelson and Murdock's assistance, you are hopeful that justice will prevail and that Mrs. Cardenas will find the resolution she deserves.

Matt breathes a sigh of relief as he hears you, his voice filled with genuine concern. "You're okay," he states, his worry evident in his tone. You raise an eyebrow in response, a hint of curiosity lacing your words. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Though your response isn't a complete answer, it holds a semblance of truth. Deep down, you understand that recovery takes time, and your body bears the evidence of the journey you've been through. Matt's heightened senses allow him to perceive the subtle clues that reveal your ongoing healing process. The scent of cortisol and antiseptic lingers in the air around you, a testament to the challenges you've faced and the resilience you've shown.

You glance at the man standing beside Matt, presuming him to be his friend and partner, Foggy. He scrutinizes both of you with a curious expression and poses the question, "You two know each other?" Your mind races to come up with a plausible explanation, and you quickly respond, "We go to the same church."

Foggy's gaze shifts between you and Matt, seemingly skeptical of your answer. He turns to Matt, seeking confirmation. Matt simply nods, but it's evident that Foggy isn't fully convinced. He remarks with a hint of sarcasm, "So, is that what they call it now?"

A blush creeps up your cheeks, embarrassed by the implication. Before Matt can intervene, you shake your head, determined to clarify the situation. "No, seriously. I'm also Catholic, and I work at the church. I’m also a social worker at Metro-General."

You hope that this additional information will dispel any misconceptions and assure Foggy of your genuine connection to the church. He needs to understand that your involvement extends beyond deception.

Foggy raises his eyebrows, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "That sounds like a lot of work," he remarks, acknowledging the dedication required for your role. You smile, "Yeah, it can be challenging, but I’ll manage."

Matt, however, senses the underlying tension and the half-truth in your response. His heightened senses enable him to pick up on the subtleties of your emotions. You clear your throat, aware that the truth cannot be concealed from him indefinitely.

"Anyways," you continue, shifting the focus of the conversation, "you said I could come here and ask for your legal services. This is Elena Cardenas." With a nod, you introduce Elena, hoping that the urgency of her situation will capture their attention.

Foggy and Matt guide both of you to their small conference room, offering seats to discuss the pressing matter at hand. As you take your place at the table, the heaviness of the situation settles upon you. You await their guidance and expertise, knowing that their legal services might be the key to helping Mrs. Cardenas in her time of need.

"Bess Mahoney? Brett's mom?" Foggy seeks clarification as you mention Bess referring Elena to them. Elena nods in confirmation. "Sí, she referred me. Dice que le da puros."

Karen, the woman you were introduced to earlier, chuckles. "Something about cigars?" Foggy looks at Karen with surprise. "You know Spanish?" Karen shakes her head. "Oh, just what I remember from high school."

Matt, his expression serious, turns his attention to Mrs. Cardenas. "Mrs. Cardenas, please tell us what happened." Mrs. Cardenas struggles to translate her Spanish into English, doing her best to convey the details. "Mi casa es rent-control. But the landlord, Señor Tully..."

"Armand Tully? Sleaze bag who owns buildings all over town," Foggy interjects, recognizing the name. Mrs. Cardenas nods. "Sí, y Señor Tully..." She switches back to speaking in Spanish, and Karen takes it upon herself to translate. "He wants to convert the apartments into condominiums. And he wants the residents to leave." Mrs. Cardenas continues, "Men came weeks ago. They claimed they were workers. And they destroyed the apartments with a… I don't know that last word.”

"Sledgehammer," Matt utters simultaneously, his voice aligning with your own words. The synchronized response captures the attention of everyone in the room, their focus shifting toward the shared statement. "College," Foggy adds, clarifying the source of his knowledge. As he tilts his head in curiosity, his unsteady gaze falls upon you, silently inquiring about your proficiency in Spanish. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips nervously before you respond, "Um, I learned it when I was young. Sometime around middle school."

"You ever have a client that wants to chat in Punjabi, I'm your man," Foggy says cheerfully, injecting a light-hearted comment into the conversation. You smile in response, appreciating his sense of humor. Karen, on the other hand, looks between you and Matt, slightly uncertain.

"Um... Do you want to do this?" she asks, seeking confirmation from Matt. His voice carries a flirtatious tone as he replies, "No, no. I like listening to your voice." Karen blushes in response, clearly affected by Matt's smooth and charming personality. Foggy sighs, “Go on, Mrs. Cardenas.” And your attention shifts between the three of them.

The world you once cherished loses its luster, fading into a somber tableau. Each breath becomes a shallow rhythm, failing to ground you in the swirling tempest of emotions. Jealousy, heavy as a stone, settles in the pit of your stomach, reminding you of desires that can never be fulfilled.

Hurt and longing intertwine, composing a poignant symphony within your chest. The truth resonates deep within your being: Matt will never be yours. It's a bitter pill to swallow, a gold rush of emotions crashing against the shores of the unrequited.

Yet, during this storm, you find solace in acknowledging your feelings. Envy and sadness are natural companions when faced with the undeniable connection between Matt and Karen, including the nights before with him and Claire. It serves as a stark reminder that your feelings can be elusive, slipping through your grasp like grains of sand.

You've always held a profound love for this world, cherishing its every detail. But now, it feels as though everything is slipping away, slipping beyond your grasp. The sun rises dutifully, even when unasked, illuminating the beauty around you. Most days, you wouldn't think twice about the things that go right in your life.

As the weight of your emotions threatens to consume you, Matt's heightened senses pick up on the shifting energy in the room. He turns his head towards you, his moving gaze piercing through the haze of your disquiet.

"Hey," he calls your name softly, his voice laced with concern, “Are you okay? You went sort of quiet…” Startled, you hastily put on a fake smile, hoping to mask the tumultuous thoughts and feelings that swirl within you. It's a delicate dance, maintaining the facade while grappling with the ache in your heart.

You meet his eyes behind his glasses, your eyes betraying a flicker of vulnerability before you quickly avert your gaze. Deep down, you know he senses something is amiss, but you can't bear to burden him with your inner turmoil. So, you play the part, presenting a semblance of composure despite the storm raging within.

With a subtle nod, you signal your understanding, silently acknowledging his attention and care. It's a fleeting moment, fleeting like the delicate petals of a wilting flower, but you carry on, concealing the depths of your emotions behind a practiced smile, “Mhm. I’m fine, just remembered something, my apologies.”

As Mrs. Cardenas continues to voice her concerns in Spanish, detailing the dire conditions in her building, and the absence of necessities like working sinks and pipes, a sense of despair fills the air. Her words echo with the weight of helplessness, as she recounts the failed attempts to seek assistance.

Karen steps in, fluently translating Mrs. Cardenas' words, revealing the futility of their interactions with the police. "The police couldn't help, they don’t know what to do." Karen conveys, her voice carrying the frustration and disappointment that hangs in the room. Mrs. Cardenas's voice rises with passion as she shares the police's response, emphasizing their inability to address the situation.

Matt's shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh of frustration, his expression mirroring the collective disappointment in the room. It's a shared recognition of the limitations faced by those in need, the overwhelming bureaucracy that leaves them stranded without a lifeline.

Foggy looks at one of the documents, “This says Tully offered them 10,000 to give up their rent control and vacate the premises. Maybe we can pressure him into giving a better payout.” Karen stands up and reaches for a tissue box behind the two of you and then places it on the table before sitting back down.

Mrs. Cardenas shakes her head, “No, Señor Foggy. We do no want money. We want to stay in our homes.” A glimmer of determination flickers on Matt's face, a silent promise to do what he can to rectify the injustice. Though the challenges ahead may be daunting, he refuses to let the circumstances crush their hope. With unwavering resolve, he leans forward, ready to confront the city's indifference. He begins to converse with Mrs. Cardenas in Spanish, telling her that Foggy will speak to Tully’s lawyer.

As Mrs. Cardenas expresses her gratitude with a heartfelt "Oh, gracias Senor Murdock! Muchas gracias," Matt responds with a simple "Bueno." He stands up, his hands on his hips, signaling the conclusion of the meeting. You rise from your seat alongside Mrs. Cardenas, ready to escort her out.

With the meeting finished, you follow Karen out of the conference room, expressing your gratitude for her assistance and the accommodating nature of their firm. Stepping out onto the city's bustling streets, you bid farewell to Mrs. Cardenas, reminding her to remain cautious on her way home. Your paths diverge, each heading in separate directions, carrying the weight of the day's challenges and hope for a better future.

Lost in your thoughts, you find yourself standing outside the steps of Foggy and Matt's office building, retrieving your phone from your pocket to check your next task. Suddenly, a small object collides with the heel of your shoe, drawing your attention. Matt's voice breaks the silence, apologizing for the accidental encounter.

"Oh, Matt! I'm sorry," you respond, a hint of surprise in your wide eyes. Swiftly, you step aside, allowing him to pass without any further obstruction. The brief interaction lingers in the air, a fleeting moment of shared acknowledgment before resuming your respective paths in the bustling cityscape.

However, Matt's question catches you off guard. "You're still here?" he asks, his curiosity evident. You pause for a moment, considering his words before replying, "Uh, yeah. I'm on my way to the precinct to update Officer Mahoney."

A warm smile spreads across Matt's face as he suggests, "We can go together if you want. I'm heading there as well to look for any complaints against Tully." You blink in surprise at his offer, caught off guard by his genuine willingness to accompany you. Unsure of how to respond, you stumble over your words, "Uh, well..."

Before you can come up with an excuse, Matt's grin widens, sensing your momentary hesitation. "Mind if I hold on to your arm as we walk there?" he asks, his voice filled with a playful charm. Your brain momentarily halts, caught off guard by his request, but you manage to nod and squeak out, "Mhm. Yeah, Sure."

His touch is gentle yet firm as he takes hold of your arm, leading the way through the bustling streets of New York City. Despite knowing that he doesn't need guidance, you play along, maintaining the facade of ignorance about his vigilante activities. Matt's heightened senses remain ever vigilant, attuned to your every heartbeat, breath, and blink. He focuses on your scent and the subtle notes of your perfume, a reminder of the close proximity and unspoken connection between the two of you.

You make a conscious effort to steady your heartbeat, reminding yourself that this is merely a shared journey to fulfill your respective roles. There is no need to stress or overanalyze the situation. However, when Matt squeezes your arm to gain your attention, you are brought back to the present moment.

"Why did you want to become a social worker?" Matt's voice breaks through your thoughts, and you take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding. "I... um... I wanted to help people who have experienced a difficult time. I wanted to offer them a fresh start, free from judgment," you answer honestly, feeling a sense of purpose and compassion in your words.

Matt nods, seemingly appreciating the raw truth in your response. The two of you continue walking side by side, the rhythm of your steps creating a gentle harmony as you navigate the busy streets. “Why did you want to become a lawyer?” You asked as you looked up at him.

Matt's lips curve into a thoughtful smile as he considers your question. His voice carries a hint of nostalgia as he begins to share his motivations. "I wanted to become a lawyer because I believed in the power of justice. I wanted to be someone who could make a difference, who could fight for those who couldn't fight for themselves."

His words resonate with a sense of purpose and determination. As you listen, you can't help but admire his unwavering commitment to upholding the ideals of justice. The bustling city fades into the background, and for a moment, it feels as if it's just the two of you, united by a shared desire to make the world a better place.

As the conversation unfolds, you find yourself becoming more immersed in Matt's story, drawn to the passion and sincerity in his words. Together, you continue your journey, the streets of New York serving as the backdrop to your aspirations and the beginning of a deeper connection.

NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT – NOON

Mahoney eyes you both curiously before making an assumption, "Oh, are you two a..." You interrupt quickly, your cheeks flushing, "No, no! We're just colleagues. I came back to pick up the signed forms, and I need to return them to the DV shelter."

Matt offers a comforting smile while you fumble with your words. He gives your arm a reassuring squeeze before letting you pass by Mahoney to the police desks where the forms are kept. As you hurriedly scan the documents, you steal a glance over your shoulder and notice Matt taking a seat on one of the nearby benches. 

The officer informs you that it will take a few minutes to process the forms, advising you to have a seat. Nervously, you settle next to Matt on the bench, stealing a quick glance at him. He appears slightly preoccupied, his head slightly tilted as if he's listening intently for something.

Suddenly, Matt gasps and springs up, freezing in place. The deafening sound of a gunshot echoes through the vicinity, causing you to startle. Chaos ensues as police officers react swiftly, their voices blending with the commotion. 

"We've got shots fired!" one of the officers announces, sending a shiver down your spine. An unsettling feeling washes over you, confirming your suspicions that something is seriously amiss.

Matt's heightened senses hones in on the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat. He detects the unmistakable scent and taste of your surging cortisol, the stress hormone permeating the air. The subtle perspiration on your palms and the quiver in your breath are all indicators of your escalating anxiety.

He turns to your slightly shaking figure, recognizing the paralyzing effect the situation has had on you. Time seems to have come to a standstill for everyone else, but you remain trapped in your frozen moment. Matt approaches you with gentle steps, his voice a soothing whisper as he calls your name, attempting to coax you out of your daze. "Hey... Hey... I'm right here. You're with me."

Amidst the chaos around you, Matt extends his hand towards you, a lifeline of reassurance and support. Without hesitation, you feel his firm grip enveloping your trembling fingers, grounding you in the turmoil. The world may still be a blur, but his touch serves as a beacon of stability, guiding you through uncertainty.

Gradually, a sense of self returns to you, and you become aware of Matt's steady presence beside you. You realize that he had taken the lead, guiding you away from the chaotic scene and into a serene alleyway where the noise of the outside world fades into the background. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you gather the courage to speak.

"I... I'm sorry," you say, your voice tinged with a mix of apology and confusion. "I should be used to this by now. I don't know why I reacted the way I did. I'm sorry."

Matt's expression softens, his gaze filled with empathy as he reaches out a hand to gently touch your arm. "There's no need to apologize," he reassures you, his voice gentle yet resolute. "It’s okay. I got you. You’re safe with me, always.”

You take a moment to collect yourself, appreciating his understanding. The weight of the moment begins to lift as you find solace in his presence. Together, you stand in the quiet alleyway, finding comfort in the shared understanding between two individuals whose lives are entwined in the extraordinary.

SOMEWHERE IN NEW YORK CITY,

DOMESTIC VIOLENCE SHELTER – EVENING

As you leave the vicinity of the DV shelter, your mind is filled with a mix of emotions and thoughts. You reach into your pocket and retrieve your cell phone, switching it on to reconnect with the outside world. The city streets, typically bustling with activity, now exude an unusual stillness. It's as if something has shifted, causing a palpable sense of imbalance to permeate the air.

The once-familiar sounds of honking cars and bustling footsteps are replaced by an eerie silence, amplifying the weight of the moment. Your gaze scans the surroundings, searching for any signs or clues as to what may have caused this unsettling change. Is it merely a figment of your imagination, or is there a tangible disturbance in the equilibrium of the city?

Questions swirl in your mind as you continue walking, your steps measured and alert. The cool air brushes against your skin, carrying with it a sense of anticipation and apprehension. Whatever has transpired, you can't shake the feeling that it holds significance, that it's a precursor to events yet to unfold.

Your eyes are drawn to the distance, and a chill runs down your spine as you spot a column of smoke rising ominously into the air. Before you can fully process what's happening, chaos erupts near you. A nearby building explodes with a deafening blast, shattering windows and sending debris flying in all directions.

The ground shakes beneath your feet as the force of the explosion reverberates through the surrounding area. You hear the muffled panic ensuing as people scramble for safety, their cries of fear and confusion blending with the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. Time seems to slow down as you take in the destruction and the plumes of smoke billowing into the sky.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, fueling your determination to navigate the chaos and find a way to help those in need. With a deep breath, you steel yourself and take the first steps towards assisting in any way you can, your heart heavy with the weight of uncertainty and the urgent need to restore order during this unforeseen catastrophe.

As the smoke fills the air and sirens continue to blare, you swiftly make your way toward the DV shelter. Your heart pounds in your chest as you fear for the safety of those inside. Relief washes over you as you find everyone relatively unharmed, with only minor injuries and scratches.

With a quick assessment of the situation, you determine that the immediate needs at the shelter are being taken care of. Your attention now shifts to the nearby buildings that were directly impacted by the blast. Determination fuels your every step as you rush toward the affected area, ready to lend a helping hand.

Arriving at the scene, you're met with the devastating aftermath of the explosion. The damaged buildings stand as a somber testament to the chaos that unfolded. As you survey the area, your eyes widen in recognition—this was one of the Russian hideouts, a grim reminder of the criminal underbelly lurking in the city.

The sight of lifeless bodies and charred weapons strewn across the ground sends a chill down your spine. The realization hits you hard, deepening the gravity of the situation. This was no ordinary incident; it was part of a larger web of criminal activity.

Choosing to distance yourself from the rubble, you follow the blazing lights of police cars that race past you. Instinctively, you move toward the source of the commotion, seeking answers and hoping to find a way to help.

Amid the chaos, you come upon a scene that stops you in your tracks. Matt, fully dressed in his black attire, stands a few feet away, his fist raised as he prepares to strike down Ranskahov, seeking revenge for the harm inflicted upon you and Claire. Your heart races as you watch from behind Corbin and the police officers, realizing the complexities of the situation.

They raise their guns, pointing them at the Masked Man. The officers close in, their intentions unclear. You remain hidden, your powers shimmering as you turn yourself invisible, ready to assist Matt in his fight against these corrupt cops who are undoubtedly on Fisk's payroll.

Amidst the tension and uncertainty, you hope that Matt hasn't picked up on your presence just yet. You prepare yourself to join the fray, your determination burning strong. One of the cops yells, “Don’t you move! Don’t you freakin’ move! Interlock your fingers behind your head and get on your knees. On your knees! Do it! Do it now!”

You approach Matt with a purposeful stride, your hand lightly grazing his shoulder to signal your presence. His whispered question hangs in the air, but instead of offering a direct response, you tap into your abilities. With a melodic distortion, your voice takes on an otherworldly quality as you reply, "Someone who wants to help you."

Positioning yourself in front of the officers, you unleash your powers, manipulating their perceptions and distorting their vision. Ranskahov is shot during the scuffle, but in a dazzling display, your form glimmers and shimmers, weaving a tapestry of illusion and enchantment. The officers, caught off guard by the sudden alteration of reality, find themselves disoriented and bewildered.

The fight unfolds with a fluidity and grace that seems almost supernatural. You seamlessly blend your powers and a touch of magic to incapacitate a majority of the officers. Your movements are precise, calculated, and mesmerizing to behold.

As the chaos subsides and the last of the officers are neutralized, you stand amidst the aftermath, your power still crackling in the air. Your eyes meet Matt's figure, standing and heaving, there's a flicker of recognition mixed with intrigue. The truth of your abilities and your intentions remains shrouded, but in this pivotal moment, a connection forms between you and the masked vigilante.

As Matt's plea reaches your ears, “Stay with me.” A surge of emotions courses through you, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed facade you wear. You turn away, your heart aching with unspoken words, and feel the tremor in your voice as you distort it, a painful reflection of your inner turmoil. "I wish I could," you confess, your voice quivering with regret and longing.

You quickly come to a realization, understanding that the situation calls for a strategic approach. While your instincts urge you to stay by Matt's side and offer your support, you also recognize the importance of ensuring the safety of others in the vicinity. The weight of responsibility settles upon your shoulders as you grasp the need to cover more ground.

With a determined resolve, you decide to extend your reach beyond Matt's immediate presence. You understand that there are civilians at risk, their lives hanging in the balance amidst the chaos. You know that by safeguarding the innocent and aiding those in distress, you are contributing to the overall mission of protecting the city.

Though your heart may ache at the thought of being separated from Matt, you understand the necessity of this approach. The strength of your bond and shared purpose will endure, even if you are physically apart. And as you cover ground, ensuring the safety of others, you hold onto the hope that Matt will do the same, fighting against the forces of darkness to bring justice and protect the vulnerable.

Matt's expression was filled with a mix of hope and desperation. His voice, barely above a whisper, carries a weight of vulnerability. "Will I see you again?" he asks, his voice laced with uncertainty.

A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you meet his distant gaze through the mask, wanting to offer reassurance amidst the uncertainty. "I’ll find you," you promise, determination shining in your eyes.

At that moment, you fade away, slipping from his grasp like a whisper lost in the wind. You become a ghost, a phantom presence lingering in the recesses of his mind. Like the ephemeral glimmer of a comet in the night sky, you leave a lasting impression, a celestial spectacle he cannot forget.

Lost in the depths of his thoughts, Matt ponders your enigmatic presence. He remains uncertain of your identity, your purpose, and the boundaries that separate you. Yet, he can't help but believe that you are his miracle, a guardian angel sent to watch over him, even if he feels unworthy of such grace.

As you continue on your path, the echoes of his whispered plea and your promise linger in your heart. The connection forged in that fleeting encounter leaves an indelible mark on your soul. And though the journey ahead may be arduous and fraught with challenges, the hope of crossing paths with him again becomes a beacon that guides you through the darkness.

METRO-GENERAL HOSPITAL - EVENING

Sometimes, the city feels distant, like a place lost in time, where the radio stations play unfamiliar tunes and discuss a God who prefers modesty. In those moments, you find yourself caught between where you've been and the vast unknown that lies ahead.

As you rush through the doors of Metro-General, the Emergency Department buzzes with activity. The blaring sound of a television grabs your attention, broadcasting the breaking news of the devastating explosions that rocked Hell's Kitchen. 

As you swiftly navigate through the chaos and devastation surrounding the hospital, your keen senses alert you to the cries of injured civilians in desperate need of help. Your heart swells with empathy as you rush to their aid, displaying both strength and compassion.

With steady hands and a reassuring voice, you guide a couple of injured civilians toward safety, providing them solace amidst the chaos. Despite the urgency of the situation, you take the time to offer comforting words and gentle reassurance, ensuring they know they are not alone in this turmoil.

Their pain becomes your own, and your determination to protect and heal emanates from your every action. With unwavering resolve, you navigate the labyrinthine hallways, instinctively seeking out the areas where medical assistance is most needed. As you tend to the injured, your presence alone provides a sense of calm and reassurance. You tirelessly work to stabilize their conditions, offering a compassionate touch and a comforting word in the face of unimaginable pain. Your selflessness is evident in every action, as you prioritize the well-being of others above all else.

In the chaos, you spot Foggy and Karen, their faces filled with worry, bringing in an injured Mrs. Cardenas. Your eyes meet Claire's from down the hall, and you hasten your steps to join their group, ready to lend a helping hand.

"Are you guys okay?" you inquire, concern evident in your voice. Foggy, Karen, and Claire exchange worried glances, their eyes lingering on the bruises and scratches that mar your skin.

"What happened to you? You're covered in bruises," Karen observes, her voice filled with genuine concern. Quick on your feet, you conjure a plausible lie, hoping to shield them from the truth.

"Oh, I was near one of the explosions, but I managed to escape unscathed," you assure them, your voice resolute, despite the smudged dirt on your skin and the disarray of your appearance. Claire's perceptive gaze meets yours, silently acknowledging that there's more to the story. Though unspoken, her understanding serves as a comforting reassurance that your secret is safe for now. 

After swiftly delegating Mrs. Cardenas and attending to Foggy's wound, you are pulled aside by Claire and guided into a nearby stairwell. Concern fills your voice as you whisper, "Are we supposed to be in here?" She places a finger to her lips, urging you to keep quiet, and shows you her phone, indicating that Matt is calling. Your eyes widen in apprehension as you look up at Claire, waiting for her to answer the call. She puts it on low volume speaker, ensuring your involvement.

"I need your help. I've found someone who has crucial information about what I've been investigating, but he's been shot," Matt's gravelly voice resonates through the speaker. Claire rolls her eyes in exasperation and suggests, "Why don't you call 911?"

"I can't. The police are the ones who shot him. They'd probably like a chance to finish the job," Matt explains, prompting Claire to seek your confirmation. You nod silently, conveying your agreement. Claire sighs in resignation and questions, "You want me to come to you... in the middle of all this?"

"No, I want you to walk me through stabilizing him," Matt replies. Claire rolls her eyes once again, and you stifle a laugh at their familiar banter. Claire responds over the phone, "It's not as easy as it looks in the movies, you know?" Matt retorts playfully, "I don't really go to the movies. I like records, though.”

You can't help but roll your eyes this time, thinking to yourself how much of a flirt Matt can be. Claire sighs and relents, “All right.” Matt then continues, “There's something else you need to know. The man I'm trying to save… it's Vladimir.”

Matt continues, "There's something else you need to know. The man I'm trying to save... it's Vladimir."

Frustration washes over you, and you briefly close your eyes, looking away from the phone. Claire's voice echoes with anger, "The jerk who had me beaten up? That's who you want me to help?"

Matt sighs, pleading, “Look, you have every right to tell me to go to hell, but he's important, Claire. What he knows could bring Fisk down and save more people like you from getting hurt.”

A heavy silence hangs over the line as you stand next to Claire, offering her a sympathetic gaze. You mouth the word "please" while Matt calls out for Claire once again.

Claire's voice crackles through the phone with a sense of urgency, "Is there an exit wound?" Matt's response is barely audible, his voice filled with gratitude, "Thank you." He pauses momentarily, his throat clearing before he continues, “Uh, no. The bullet's still inside him. It's still half a degree hotter than the surrounding tissue.”

Claire then asks, “Is there any kind of first aid kit?” To which Matt replies, “I'm in a warehouse. Abandoned.” Claire looks at you and then raises her eyebrows, “Tell me what's there, anything you can use.”

"Alright, hang on," Matt's voice crackles through the phone, filled with determination. You exchange a glance with Claire, your expression a mix of concern and anxiety. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air as you prepare to guide Matt through a risky procedure.

Matt's voice comes through, listing the items he has at his disposal. “Uh, half a box of nails... broken glass... wood, duct tape, old roadside emergency kit, a lot of plastic sheeting…” Each item carries its potential, a makeshift arsenal in their desperate circumstances.

Claire's voice cuts through the tension, her focus sharp. “The kit, are there any flares in it?” Your eyebrows raise in surprise as Matt confirms, “Yeah, two.”

Claire hums, her mind working out a plan. “Alright... you're gonna cauterize the wound.” The gravity of her words sinks in, knowing the pain and risk involved.

Matt's voice carries a hint of uncertainty, "Shouldn't I dig the bullet out first?" Claire shrugs, her voice steady and experienced. You squint up at her, silently taking in her expertise. "Remember what I said about this not being a movie? You cut him open and start digging around, you'll kill him. This way, at least he has a chance of not bleeding out before you get what you need out of him... and... it'll hurt like a son of a bitch, so bonus."

A brief pause follows as Matt absorbs Claire's instructions. His determination shines through as he asks, "Alright, how do I do this?" Claire sighs, her voice soothing yet firm, "Just light the flare, hold it close to his skin until the entry wound seals." The simplicity of her instructions masks the high stakes and the immense trust placed in Matt's hands.

Silence hangs in the air, the weight of the moment palpable. You remain on the line, a silent presence of support, as Matt prepares to undertake this risky procedure that could save a life or plunge them further into peril, “Okay, I'm gonna put you on speaker.”

With a sense of urgency, you snatch the phone from Claire's hand, pressing the mute button swiftly. Concern etches across your face as you realize the importance of determining the precise location where Matt finds himself. You need to be prepared for any potential obstacles or dangers that lie ahead.

Claire's expression betrays her worry as she shakes her head, hesitant to let you venture into the unknown. She understands the risks involved and fears for your safety. But your determination shines through as you meet her gaze, emphasizing the significance of your collective mission.

You lock eyes with Claire, conveying the gravity of the situation. You know that time is of the essence, and every decision carries weight. Countless lives hang in the balance, and you can't stand idly by. Your voice carries conviction as you implore Claire to make the crucial inquiry.

"I need to know where he is, Claire," you insist, your tone filled with urgency. "We can't leave anything to chance. Lives are at stake."

Claire hesitates for a moment, her eyes darting between you and the phone. She understands the weight of your words and the responsibility that comes with them. Finally, she nods and takes back the phone, once again connecting with Matt. His voice reverberates through the line, calling out for Claire. She responds her tone steady yet laced with concern.

"Yeah... still here," Claire answers, her voice filled with determination. "But before you start, can you let me know which area you're in? Just in case."

The line falls silent for a brief moment, tension filling the air. Then, Matt's voice breaks through, his words carrying a hint of relief. "Northwest corner of 47th and 12th," he reveals, giving you a lifeline in this race against time.

You meet Claire's gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes. It's a silent acknowledgment of her pivotal role in acquiring this crucial information. With a nod, you quickly formulate your next course of action, knowing that there is no time to waste.

Without further delay, you take a deep breath and quietly exit the stairwell, ready to face the challenges ahead and join Matt in his fight.

ABANDONED BUILDING, NORTHWEST CORNER OF 47TH AND 12TH – EVENING

You try your best to stay out of sight and hide between the shadows of the alleyways. There are sirens wailing and police radio chattering, multiple officers, and their K9s. Ben Urich is also discussing with the two detectives when you arrive and you have a concerned look on your face as you feel your powers pulse and vibrate as you will them to life, rendering the illusion of invisibility as you walked past the officers and climbed up a fire escape to get to where Matt is.

By the time you reached the second floor, you spot Vladimir, his bloodied and wounded form sprawled on the ground, a testament to the brutality of the situation. As you take in the scene, your eyes scan the surroundings, checking the perimeter for any signs of danger. Matt, focused and composed, is busy securing a police officer to a rusty metal pole, ensuring he remains restrained.

Vladimir's voice strained and sputtering with blood, reaches your ears. "You've been busy," he manages to say, his words laced with both exhaustion and curiosity. You position yourself near the window panes, keeping watch as Matt diligently proceeds to silence the officer with a layer of duct tape across his mouth.

Vladimir's head tilts at an odd angle as he groggily asks, "How do you know this?" You turn to witness Matt's nonchalant shrug, his response filled with an air of mystery. "Lucky guess," he casually remarks, his instincts proving sharp even in the direst of situations.

Suddenly, the sound of helicopter blades reverberates through the building, confirming the accuracy of Matt's prediction. Matt bends down to pick up a discarded pistol, skillfully unloading and disassembling it without hesitation. Vladimir's eyes widen at the sight, his voice dripping with frustration. "We could have used that."

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Matt's lips as he retrieves a sturdy metal cylinder pipe instead. "I'm not big on guns," he states with conviction, his actions speaking volumes about his principles.

In an instant, Matt is standing next to you by the window, attuned to the world outside. Together, you listen to the symphony of heartbeats, barks, and radio chatter, a cacophony of chaos that defines the battlefield surrounding the building. As Vladimir groans in pain, the effects of the cauterization evident, he musters the strength to voice his discontent. "You... burned me?" he coughs out, his disbelief palpable.

Matt's response is both matter-of-fact and compassionate. "Yeah, I had to stop the bleeding," he states, his determination to save lives shining through. Vladimir's anguished cry fills the air, a testament to the excruciating pain he is enduring as Matt drags him against a wooden crate for him to lean on.

 Matt's voice remains steady, his resolve unyielding. "Bullet's still inside you. Wouldn't move around, if I were you." In the midst of their tense exchange, Vladimir musters the strength to voice his defiance. "You expect me to say thank you?" he sputters out, his words laced with a mix of bitterness and defiance.

Matt’s voice grows deeper, “If I didn't need you alive, we wouldn't be having this conversation.” Vladimir chuckles weakly and coughs, “So you just stand there and let me die, huh? But you couldn't kill me yourself. Is that where you draw the line?”

Matt kneels down, his determination etched on his face as he growls, "Tell me what I want to know about Fisk." Vladimir, blood dripping from his mouth, musters a defiant response, "You think you're different... from me? From him? But you'll get there. Sooner or later... we all do, men like us."

Moved by the intensity of the moment, you stand beside Matt, offering your support. Your hand gently rests on his shoulder, providing a silent reassurance. As your touch connects with him, you feel his body freeze, his muscles tensing. Matt cranes his neck to the side, his heightened senses acknowledging your presence. His voice, barely audible, carries a mix of surprise and relief as he whispers, "You were looking for me."

Your hand instinctively moves down to his arm, offering a comforting squeeze. You lean closer to his ear, your words a soft murmur, "I'm always looking for you."

Matt turns his head slightly, his attention briefly shifting to your presence, but he doesn't linger on it. Instead, he focuses on Vladimir, the urgency of the situation pulling him back into the moment. "A man like Fisk just took out your entire operation," Matt asserts, his voice carrying a weight of authority. "And he may not own all the cops, but he owns enough that you won't make it into a prison cell. Right now, I'm your only shot at getting out of this building alive."

Vladimir, his breathing heavy, musters the strength to share crucial information. "His lapdog came to us first. He told us his employer had taken note. He complimented... us on our business. Invited us to be part of something bigger... to expand... if we entered into an agreement."

Matt's gravelly voice cuts through the tension, his question demanding answers. "What did Fisk offer?" he asks, his focus unwavering.

Vladimir shrugs, a grimace forming on his blood-stained face. "Police looking other way... aid from politicians... and access to Chinese and their heroin."

Surprised by the revelation, Matt presses further, "He's working with the Chinese?" Vladimir's mocking tone sends a wave of frustration through Matt. "You really don't know anything, do you? Just snapping at scraps falling from the table."

Frustrated but undeterred, Matt licks his lips, determined to gather more information. "I want names. Everything you know about them and how they connect to Fisk."

Vladimir's energy wanes, his voice growing weaker. "There's only one name that matters. The man that can tie it all together." Matt's urgency rises as he implores, "Who?"

With a distant gaze, Vladimir reminisces, his voice trailing off, "We were going to rule this city... my brother and I."

Matt, sensing the opportunity slipping away, growls urgently, "Vladimir, the name!"

Struggling to form the words, Vladimir's voice fades before he utters something in Russian. Suddenly, he catches Matt off guard, headbutting him and launching a swift attack with a wooden plank. Matt groans, winded and disoriented, trying to regain his footing amidst the chaos.

Defiantly, Vladimir cries out, "This is not how I die. This is not how it happens." Matt, refusing to yield, pushes himself up from the floor, his resolve unyielding. The room becomes a blur of grunts, punches, and strikes as the two adversaries engage in a fierce battle. In a stunning turn of events, Matt gains the upper hand, bringing Vladimir down to the ground, causing the old wooden floors to splinter beneath their weight. The deafening sound of planks clattering and the heavy thump of their bodies hitting the floor below reverberate through the room, causing you to flinch.

Your heart races with panic as you witness the aftermath of the intense confrontation. Matt lies motionless, his body splayed across the fractured floor. Fear and concern grip you, overpowering any rational thought. Without hesitation, you tap into your unique abilities.

Drawing upon the illusory energy within you, you summon your powers. An ethereal shimmer envelops your form, rendering you visible once again. With a focused determination, you concentrate your energy, allowing it to manifest beneath your feet.

Gradually, you lift off the ground, defying gravity as you hover above the wreckage. Your descent through the gaping hole in the floor is guided by a combination of instinct and concern. Matt's stillness propels you forward, an invisible force compelling you to reach him.

As you gently lower yourself to the lower level, your touch meets the battered body of the man you have the urge to care for. Tenderly, you cradle his head in your hands, checking for signs of life. Matt stirs, his breath shallow but present, and relief washes over you.

With a mixture of relief and worry etched on your face, you whisper softly, "Come on, stay with me." Your voice carries a blend of encouragement and concern, urging him to regain his strength.  The sounds of the dog barking and distant sirens serving as a constant reminder of the perilous situation. Time is of the essence, and you know that you must act swiftly to ensure Matt's safety and the success of their mission.

As Matt groans in pain, you lend him your support, his weight partially resting against you. He grimaces and spits out a mouthful of blood, the metallic taste lingering in the air. Your heart aches at the sight, fueling your determination to help him through this ordeal.

While maintaining your grip on Matt, he turns his head towards the motionless Vladimir, his gaze filled with a mix of pain and defiance. His voice carries a hint of a growl as he addresses his defeated adversary, "That wasn't very smart."

Vladimir's body remains still, but his eyes continue to glare at Matt with a piercing intensity. With a mocking sneer, he taunts, "But it was fun, wasn't it? Watching you bleed. And finally seeing what your little guardian angel looks like."

You swallow nervously, the weight of the situation pressing upon you. Matt's response is laced with contempt, his voice dripping with defiance and a touch of blood, "You think this is a game?"

A faint smile tugs at the corners of Vladimir's mouth as he retorts, "If it was a game, you'd be losing."

Meanwhile, you shift your focus to tending to Matt's injuries as best you can amidst the chaos. Your hands brush away the dirt and debris, offering a semblance of comfort in the midst of their harsh surroundings. Drawing upon the energy of your glamour, you channel it to alleviate some of the soreness and minor wounds, providing a small measure of relief.

As Vladimir's eyes flutter closed, Matt freezes for a moment before mustering his strength and pushing himself up. He hurriedly moves to Vladimir's side and begins performing chest compressions, his voice filled with desperation, "No... No... Come on. I'm not done with you yet. You hear me? I'm not done with you yet."

Sensing the urgency of the situation, you quickly join Matt, gently taking hold of his arms and urging him to step aside. Reluctantly, he complies and shifts his focus to your actions. You concentrate on the rhythm of your compressions, your hands applying measured pressure to Vladimir's chest.

The room is charged with tension as you continue the life-saving procedure. The sound of your hands connecting with Vladimir's chest echoes through the air. However, just as you feel a flicker of doubt, your powers surge to life, channeling a surge of magic into his body. The shock jolts Vladimir's heart, coaxing it back into a normal rhythm.

Coughing and gasping for air, Vladimir's eyes widen in confusion. He struggles to comprehend what just occurred. Unamused, you respond with a hint of annoyance in your tone, "You died. I brought you back. You're welcome."

Vladimir gazes up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and disdain. With a hint of mockery, he taunts, "You can't even stand there and let me die, even after I almost killed the one you're so eager to protect. Does he even know your name?"

Gritting your teeth, you feel Matt's presence beside you. Shaking your head, you reply, "It doesn't matter. Give us the information we need about Fisk."

However, the sudden sounds from outside the building catch your attention, causing both you and Matt to tense up. Your eyes meet his, silently communicating the urgency of the situation. Matt swiftly positions himself atop a wooden table, his palms pressed against its surface to sense the vibrations of the concrete. He cranes his neck, absorbing every piece of information from the surroundings. The rumbling of the nearby train tracks triggers an idea in his mind.

Curious, Vladimir asks, "What are you doing?" Matt responds with determination in his voice, "Finding us a way out."

Moving swiftly, Matt strides over to a corner of the room, and you follow his lead. He squats down, removing the wooden planks and debris that obstruct the way. Your eyes catch sight of a metal grate, likely leading to the sewer. Matt starts pulling at the bars, and you join him, lending your strength to the task at hand. However, just as you begin, the crackling of a radio fills the room, and a voice at the other end speaks up, "I'd like to speak to the man in the mask, please."

Your eyes shoot up to Matt, a mix of anxiety and anticipation evident in your expression, as the voice on the radio continues to speak. "Hello. Are you there? Can you hear me?" Matt's attention is drawn to the radio lying on the floor. He quickly reaches for a piece of wood, using his gloved hand to turn it over, and then picks up the device. "Who is this?" he inquires, his voice laced with caution.

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you realize the significance of this moment. "I think you know," you respond, your voice tinged with apprehension. "You've been asking about me. I thought it was time we spoke." While keeping your hands on the metal grate beneath you, you strain to listen to the conversation unfolding between Matt and the man on the other end of the line, whom you assume to be Fisk.

"Say your name," Matt demands, his tone firm and unwavering. Fisk counters, "You first." There's a brief pause before Fisk continues, "That's what I thought. You and I have a lot in common."

Matt whispers deeply, his voice filled with conviction, "We're nothing alike."

Fisk disagrees, his voice dripping with smugness, "That's what you'll tell yourself."

"You're feeding off this city... like a cancer," Matt states matter-of-factly, his words cutting through the tension.

"I want to save this city, like you... only on a scale that matters," Fisk retorts, his tone implying a twisted sense of righteousness.

"Now tell that to the people you've hurt," Matt challenges, his voice holding a blend of anger and determination.

"Young man... life is not a fairy tale. Not everyone deserves... a happy ending," Fisk responds nonchalantly, his words leaving a bitter taste in the air.

You gather the remaining strength within you, attempting to summon your powers once more, but they flicker out, leaving you frustrated and on the verge of tears.

"I'm gonna find you... and I'm gonna make you pay for what you've done," Matt threatens, his voice seething with righteous fury. Fisk doesn't miss a beat, his tone unwavering, "No, you are not. Not that I don't admire what you're trying to do... to change the world... with nothing but desire and your own two hands... secure in the knowledge that you're doing the right thing, the only thing. That's something that I do understand. But we both can't have what we want. So... your part... in this drama, by necessity, comes to an end."

"It's gonna take a lot more than a voice on a radio to stop me," Matt declares defiantly, kneeling on the floor. He can sense your fatigue and nausea, and his concern for you simmers beneath his anger.

"It's not me you need to worry about. It's the city you just blew the hell out of," Fisk says, revealing his true intentions. As you lift your head, you lock eyes with Matt, realizing that Fisk has played his cards perfectly, orchestrating the situation in his favor.

Matt stands up and moves closer to you, a knowing smirk on his face. He chuckles over the radio, "You... You think anyone's gonna believe that?"

"You're running around in a mask, holing up with a known felon in the wake of a series of bombings. There's that police officer you're holding hostage, so... yes. Actually, I do. But it doesn't have to be this way. The Russian... is he alive?" Fisk inquires. Matt turns the radio toward Vladimir, who spits back, "I'm still here, you fat shit!"

Matt's smirk widens as he presses the radio button, triumphantly saying, "Does that answer your question?"

"It's a one-time offer. You kill the Russian, and we'll call the night a push. You know what he's done... to women... to children..." Fisk presents his proposition, his voice dripping with malice. Matt's boot lands on Vladimir's hand, preventing him from grabbing a sharp piece of wood, eliciting a pained groan. Matt effortlessly grabs the wooden piece and hurls it across the room.

"To the people of this city that you claim to care about," Fisk adds, his words fueling Matt's anger.

"You just confirmed how important he is. That must worry you, what he might tell me," Matt asserts, exposing Fisk's fear. Fisk retorts, "Which means he hasn't told you anything yet."

You sense Matt's anger boiling beneath the surface as he kicks some rubble aside in frustration, causing you to flinch. Matt turns his body towards you, and you direct your attention back to the metal grate. You shake your head, attempting to muster the last ounce of energy within you, determined to replenish your magic before Fisk's men close in on all of you.

"You're a child playing at being a hero," Fisk taunts, his words intended to provoke. Matt licks his lower lip in frustration before responding, "No, no, I'm not trying to be a hero. I'm just a guy that got fed up with men like you and I decided to do something about it."

"That's what makes you dangerous. It's not the mask. It's not the skills. It's your ideology. The lone man... who thinks he can make a difference," Fisk states grimly. Disagreement knits your eyebrows together, but you can see the way Matt's lips curl downwards, haunted by a memory that quietly slips under the door of his mind. It rewinds the tapes, presenting evidence that what Fisk is saying holds a grain of truth. In that moment, your heart aches at the thought of Matt believing it.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself you've won. It'll make what I'm gonna do to you so much more satisfying," Matt says, his voice filled with determination. Fisk replies coldly, "Your part ends tonight."

"And if that's true, others will take my place. They'll see what I was trying to do, and they'll make sure..." Matt's sentence is cut short by Fisk's interruption, "No, they won't. The city will burn you in effigy. Your name, your very existence... will be met with abhorrence and disgust."

The sudden clamoring and screams from outside weigh heavily on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. Matt's voice, filled with pain, resonates, "What did you do?"

"What you forced me to do. Goodbye. I'm afraid we won't speak again," Fisk declares, severing the connection. Matt pushes himself off the wall, his frustration and anger erupting in a furious yell before he hurls the radio, shattering it against the wall with a display of his strength.

Realizing that you need a few minutes to recover before attempting to tackle the stubborn metal grate once again, you find a spot on the ground to sit down. Leaning your back against the wall, you catch your breath, pushing stray strands of hair away from your face with tired fingers.

Matt, ever determined, moves towards the metal grate, ready to give it another try. However, just as he starts to exert his strength, the shrill ring of his phone interrupts his efforts. He pauses, panting, and answers with a weary tone, "It's really not a good time."

You pay little attention to who might be on the other end of the line, but you can hear fragments of Claire's voice filtering through the speaker. A brief moment passes before Matt pants out a response, "No. It was Fisk. It's all Fisk."

Feeling a mixture of exhaustion and curiosity, you observe Matt as he moves to the other side of the room, engaging in the phone conversation. His head tilts to the side, his expression grave, as he listens intently. Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, his usually confident voice falters, "Claire. Um... What you said, before I left... I was..."

His words trail off, and you can sense the weight of his emotions. "No, don't be," he continues, his voice filled with sincerity. "It turns out you were... You were right... about me. I just don't want you getting caught up if it goes that way. If we don't get a chance to talk again... you take care of yourself."

It becomes apparent to you how easily Matt pushes away those he cares about, as if his hands act as barriers, closing off access to his own heart. The anger, fear, and sadness that he keeps hidden beneath the surface remain locked away in a secluded room within him. Pushing yourself up from the wall, you ignore the pain in your hands from previous attempts to claw at the grate. Squatting down, you grip the metal tightly, determination etched on your face.

Both Matt and Vladimir move to assist you, but your voice, filtered with resolve, reverberates through the room, "Stop." Their movements freeze, and you feel the surge of power within you growing. The energy manipulates the metal grate, causing it to shift and tremble under your command. A sharp cry of pain escapes your lips, and with great effort, you finally give in, collapsing to the side.

Matt acts swiftly, catching your limp figure in his arms, providing support as you struggle to catch your breath. You watch as the shimmering magic that surrounded the grate fades away, but to your surprise, the grate itself is completely gone. Your eyes widen in astonishment at the display of your newfound abilities. A snort escapes you, mingling with the pain and exhaustion, "You were right. This isn't how we die."

With Matt's help, you manage to make your way down the ladder, gripping a flashlight tightly in your hand. The stench of sewage only adds to the disorientation, but you push through, determined to keep moving forward. Matt takes on the responsibility of supporting your weight, doing his best to assist you. He guides Vladimir to a wall on the side, allowing him a moment to catch his breath.

Vladimir's voice cuts through the air, filled with confusion, "Where are we?"

"Access tunnels," Matt responds, his voice containing a hint of knowledge. "The city was built on a network of these, most of them sealed up years ago." His head tilts as he hones in on the approaching sounds of police officers, hot on your trail.

"Alright, we have to keep moving, find a way to the street," Matt declares, his determination resurfacing. With one side supporting Vladimir and the other struggling to support you, you all continue on, navigating the maze-like tunnels in search of an escape route to the surface.

As you turn your attention to the locked door, your mind races with ideas on how to open it. However, before you can offer your assistance, Matt's swift reflexes come into play. He swiftly throws Vladimir aside, propelling him away from the immediate danger. The sound of a commanding voice fills the air, yelling, "Freeze!"

Reacting on instinct, you instinctively duck, narrowly avoiding the hail of gunfire that erupts in the tunnel. Matt's finely honed senses and skills kick into high gear as he gracefully evades the bullets, his movements fluid and precise. Your powers surge within you, and you harness their energy to create ethereal spheres of shimmering illusions. With a focused intention, you launch the illusions at one of the officers, causing him to become disoriented and rendering him unconscious.

Seizing the opportunity, you spot Matt's discarded metal pipe on the ground and swiftly grab it. With a surge of energy, you infuse the pipe with power, transforming it into a formidable weapon. Expertly aiming, you hurl the energized pipe at the second officer, striking him square in the head. At the same time, you unleash a beam of projection, creating mirages and shimmers that disorient the remaining officer.

Matt's skills are unmatched as he swiftly disarms the final officer, his movements seamless and calculated. With the immediate threat neutralized, he stands by your side, both of you breathing heavily from the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You lean against the wall, wincing at the sharp pain in your side, and take a moment to catch your breath. Meanwhile, Vladimir has managed to secure one of the rifles and points it toward the two of you.

"We need to go. There are five more coming. They're working for Fisk, probably not even real cops. We don't have time for this," Matt pants out urgently, his voice laced with concern. You frown, realizing the severity of the situation, but before you can react, Vladimir interrupts with a pained voice, "I think... maybe I stay."

Matt tries to reason with him, his voice tinged with desperation, "We can still make it out of here. You can turn evidence on Fisk, we can expose him..."

Vladimir shakes his head, his voice resolute, "He controls... all police... judges. There's only one way to stop him, you know this."

Matt firmly denies, "No. I'm not a killer."

"The moment you put on the mask... you got into a cage with animals. Animals don't stop fighting. Not until one of them is dead," Vladimir states, his words carrying the weight of bitter experience. He groans as he pushes himself up from the floor, his determination unwavering. His gaze shifts between you and Matt, and then settles on you. "And he will do it... to everyone you care about. Will you feel the same way then? Or will you be a man... and do what you know you must do?"

Vladimir's words hang heavy in the air, their impact sinking in. You close your eyes for a moment, contemplating the choices before you. The distant sound of chatter and approaching footsteps snaps your attention back to the present. Vladimir's gaze shifts between all of you, his voice filled with urgency, "Go."

Summoning the last reserves of your energy, you focus your powers once more. With a burst of golden energy, you direct a powerful surge towards the locked door. The door buckles under the force, hinges groaning and splintering, until finally, it bursts open, revealing an escape route from the turmoil, bloodshed, and the weighty decisions that lingered in the air.

Together, you and Matt rush through the newly opened passage, leaving behind the dissonance and unfortunate resolve of Vladimir.

End Notes:

Yes yes, I KNOW. Does Matt know? It’s you?? We’ll find out in the next chapter. Hehehe. Yay for the black suit :> I was supposed to split this into two parts but ehhh I couldn’t help myself.

Lowkey blacked out while writing this chonky chapter so uhhh if there are any mistakes... my bad! 😣

Okay time for the next episode! See ya 👋

TAGLIST:

@scoliobean

[onyourhyuck]

Faith In You. | Lee Haechan (M)

↳ Prologue: “Do you want to pray with me?” + “I’d love to pray with you.”

↳ Summary: Lately you’ve been slacking off so you decide it’s time to pray, but you’re struggling doing your hair. Your boyfriend Haechan of two years comes in and helps you get ready.

↳ The Warnings: Eastern Catholic Fem reader. Mention of Catholic religion. Churches mention. Praying. Haechan boyfriend wants to pray with reader girlfriend. Head covering. Fluff. Wholesomeness. Mention of strict family.

↳ The Notes: As someone who is from Eastern Europe and a Catholic family, I used to cover my hair when I was little but stopped after i turned 14 thinking it was weird! I was naive to stop my head covering, religion and beliefs just because no one else in the UK wore it. Wear what you want and wear what you believe in <3

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You’re religious.

You’ve grew up in a family full of catholics who were strict and firm on their beliefs. Though your mother never forced it on you to follow in to the footsteps because you later moved away from your home country in Eastern Europe, you still wanted to keep in tact to your roots. To what makes you different and to what makes you feel like you are yourself. Like home.

Not many know this now, but catholics and orthodox people had to wear the veils covering their hair all the time. It was mandatory centuries ago to wear it at all times, but soon the world changed and so did the generations. It wasn’t no longer a necessity to wear your veil outside, you can only wear it to churches everytime you go for mass, or everytime you go to do your daily prayers.

You remember you wore your veil everywhere. Only at home were you not wearing it, unless you had to pray then you did your hair.

Lately you’re going to be honest. You’ve been slacking off. It’s unlike you to slack off from your daily prayers, but you found yourself getting far too consumed into your workplace that you’ve forgot to pray and to wear your veil. You skimp yourself in front of the vanity dressing mirror sighing as you curl your hair into the palms where you make your go into a tight ponytail wrapping it round the hair tie. You brush in the baby hairs and rushing out a sigh.

You forgot how hard it is to get your hair ready. It used to always annoy you how stressful it is, how hard it can be to do this everyday.

Your boyfriend coming in looks your way with curiosity sparking in the eyes. Without hesitation he came forward grabbing your wrist stopping you from grabbing a hold of the veil. He smiled gently. “Hey baby what’s got you sighing and huffing like you’re in pain?”

“My hair. It’s the hardest part when getting ready to pray.”

You lightly murmur turning to your boyfriend. You and Donghyuck have been together for two years. You met a while back in Korea, at a restaurant where you drink soju, and ultimately you were with a few of your friends who took you to a spontaneous trip to Korea. Donghyuck was a guy drinking behind the table you and your friends sat at and the moment he laid eyes on you he swore he saw a future wife in you. His future wife. He asked for your number, in which you rejected at first, so he then said if his friend group (which was doyoung, mark and Johnny) at the time could join your table and drink with you guys. Your friends agreed and you relevantly couldn’t care if they sat on your table.

Let’s just say he was bothering you the entire night with his flirt pick up lines. But there was one thing certain that night. He was very much interested in your religion. He kept asking what’s that thing covering your hair, he learned it was a veil, something only catholics and orthodox cover their hair with. He then asked about your background in which you replied with Eastern Europe and he couldn’t help but become awed at how interesting you are. You’re not just pretty. You’re intelligent. Cultured. You are in his eyes something more than just a pretty face and that night he was more determined to get your number and wanting to show you around Korea before you left. And he did, succeed in some part. He got your Instagram instead of the number. But hey! He got your social media and he remembers being the most giddy happy man alive.

He grins pulling on the veil wrapping it around your head. He trails softly, as if he knew what he was doing. Which surprised you, you don’t remember teaching him anything about how to do veils. “How about i do your hair for you then? You can mentally prepare for your prayer.”

You smile. “Okay, thank you.”

He shakes his head muttering no worries. “What style do you want done?”

Your shoulders rise with a light shrug. “Maybe just the usual with the vein wrapping round my head and on the side shoulder.” You point out and he nods softly, bringing the white soft veil with detailed white lace flowers printing on it, round your head covering all your hairs and then the veil going round your chin and face. He was so gentle, as if he didn’t want to mess up, because it was you. Because it was important to you. Your faith has always made him rethink life and how you view the world to be so different from him. You’re positive about everything. You’ve always been religious and spiritual, and he happens to think it’s your best quality that you are faithful and loyal to your religion and culture roots. It’s why he was so persistent to winning you over, because he knows you are good for him. You changed him as a person, as a man, as an entire being in the best way possible.

He never thought he would be religious himself. Like ever. But with you he reconsiders it all. This man wants to marry you someday. From the moment he saw you at that restaurant. He knew he wants to put a ring on that finger.

You couldn’t help but felt yourself cheesing at how serious he was. No smile on that pretty bare face of his. The way his brown curls softly poke out side to side like horns on his head. He was so concentrated at the veil not falling apart, and he did manage to do it well.

The veil lingers on your left shoulder. He grabs a hold of the hairpins on the side pinning the veil down to your hair so it wouldn’t move when you go and pray next to your bed later.

You smile looking at the vanity mirror, wowing, he awaits your answer as if he was looking for anything correct he did. You turn to your boyfriend standing up, with a proud smile you pull Donghyuck into a warm embrace.

“You’ve done amazing, thank you love!” You say to him.

He swears he felt million butterflies being birthed just by those praises alone. God, he wonders if the lord above knew how you are the death of him. The bane existence of how weak he is as a man for you. He wraps his hands on your waist and stays inflicting in your shoulder, enjoying the scent of your modest hoodie and clothing covering your skin from head to toe. The way your veil finally smells like you. Like the floral scent of jasmine and cherries. He loves everything about you. It felt heavenly.

“I tried my best.” He replies back softly and you hum rubbing his back. “You’ve done great for your first time.”

Bringing your bodies apart there you stand in front of Donghyuck. A sudden piles of emotion hits you and your expression becomes nervous. It’s praying time. Why was it so nervous wrecking to pray after not praying for so long? Who knew once you stop a pattern it could be so…exhilarating and anxiousness build up in your body. He saw the way your expression fell from happiness to the opposite and he couldn’t help but stand still watching it with worry. What if you failed god? That ran to your head. What if he won’t forgive you, like ever? Those types of worrisome thoughts flood your judgement.

You look down shyly grabbing a hold of your boyfriends sleeve shirt. Donghyuck looks at you with admiration.

“Do you want to pray with me?”

The sudden offer makes your boyfriend stand there slightly shocked, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he didn’t know you would ever ask him. He is clueless about your religion, he knows some of it, he did research behind your back on the religion because he wanted to learn more about you previously. But other than that, he didn’t think you would ever ask him to pray with you. But boy did he accept in a heartbeat your offer with a happy smile. Donghyuck holds your hand finally into his, fingers interlocking as he nods softly.

“I’d love to pray with you.” He beams happily.

The anxiety dissipates just like that. It’s amazing how much your boyfriend’s presence makes you calm down, as if down to earth. He is a step right behind you. Always going to be there for you, as well as God will be too always with you.

You have faith in god. But Donghyuck has Faith in you.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu! REBLOG THIS FIC AND FOLLOW ME FOR MORE.

[executethyself35]

heyyy alexiii can you tell me more about your ocs please ? they fascinate me so much + im sorry that i can never come up with proper responses to any information about them beyond oooh thats very interesting

if youre looking for specific questions:

what're their relationships to religion? like. any religion

do they have siblings? how do they feel about their siblings?

what do they want to do after the war?

obviously feel free to ignore me if youre not in the mood!

much love, monty

MONTYYYYYYYY, THANK YOU POOKIE, and your responses are fine!!

i will say before i go into this: Eliza's part will contain bits of religious trauma, child abuse and religious cults, if that makes you uncomfortable pls scroll past her part. Mary's part mentions the death of a parent, if that also makes you uncomfortable pls skip her part. And if religion in general makes you uncomfortable and you do not have to read this part and are free to skip to the next part!!

Religion:

Zippo: being Jewish is heavily ingrained into her. Though she may seem like she's not, Zippo is one the most religious out of the girls, praying 3 times a day, and repenting for any sins she's committed during this war. She tries to keep to kosher foods, but realized early on that it may be difficult to keep up with that, even if she sometimes believes that the food they're served isn't really food. She tries to do what she needs for Shabbos (Sabbath), though later in the war that gets harder. But all in all, she heavily religious.

B: she's the other most religious girl, she is catholic as hell. Some of her earliest memories were in the local curch back in Cuba, when her and her mother used to go almost everyday. B describes her first time at mass in New York as very surreal, as it was in English and she knew none. As she got older and her relationship with her mother worsened, she went to church alot more and her mother went alot less. Her mother not going as much, caused B to go more than usual so she could pray for her. And once she went to war, she would still go to the services that were held on base.

Ollie: she grew up catholic, and is still a practicing one, but she's not that heavy of one. She'll go to church on Sunday, and any of the important masses, and that’s about it. When she joined up, she'll go to the on base service.

Torrie: she's not as catholic as she used to be. Don't get me wrong she still goes to Sunday mass and the other important ones, but after going to catholic school, and dealing with her entire Irish catholic family, she kinda just stopped being catholic. She'll go to the on base services still, bc it gives her some comfort of home.

Marselle: she was a good Roman catholic girl when she was younger, but as she got older she kinda stopped going as often, especially when she started living by herself. As she got into the military and in the war more, she attends services and feels more comfortable (it may also be because Skip is there with her)

I just want to give a heads up before i go into Eliza's, though i gave a warning beforehand, I want to give another warning. The cult that Eliza was raised in is based off the IBLP and their teachings, although i am certain they were not around in that time period, i do believe people with quiverfull beliefs such as theirs may have existed back then. If you have lived through this or something adjacent i advise you to skip ahead. If you choose not to, you have been warned.

Eliza: Eliza has an absolute HORRIBLE relationship with religion. Eliza had grown up in a religious cult with quiverfull ideas, which means people should have as many people as possible and until your body tells you to stop. Eliza's mother would beat on her relentlessly and used their religion as an excuse for why Eliza deserved the beatings. This is one of the many reasons why Eliza will forever hate religion and never believe in it ever again. And when Eliza entered the war, people had asked her why she wouldn't go to the base service and she would respond with "Didn't have a good upbringing with it" and that's the end of story.

Mary: Mary actually had a somewhat good relationship with religion, having gone whenever her family did, and her father went more so than everyone, having the saying "Fit God in whenever you can". And then her fathered died when she was 12, that caused her to stop going to church. It was really after his funeral when she stopped going. Her mother used to give her shit about it always asking her "Why don't you go to church, it'll make you feel closer to your father" and Mary's answer was always "That's exactly why, i don't want a reminder." and they would always leave it at that. So when she get's into the war, she still doesn't go to the services, and it's not till much later on when she starts going to service again.

Julia: She's around the same as B just not as heavily into it. Julia grew up catholic, she went to Sunday school and catechism classes every week for crying out loud! But, after a while she kinda just stopped being so heavy in it, mostly just going on Sundays and holidays. But when she got into the war, especially during fucking Bastogne, you better bet your ass she was going to the services Father Maloney was holding.

Allie: Now she grew up Baptist and let me tell you it was a trip for her. It was mostly Sunday mass, but it was still a lot. Take it from me, i grew up around southern baptist, it's crazy. Allie also kinda always rejected it because her mother was always like "All you need to do is be a good wife, stay at home and go to church. You don't need to be in the military." and Allie would not deal with it. So when she finally got into the military, Allie still didn't do church that much. But yeah, Allie's got one of the least problematic relationship with religion.

****

Siblings:

Zippo: Zippo is the oldest of six, being 14 when her youngest sister, Stephanie, was born. Here are her siblings in order with the years in between included: Twins Elena & Eli: 2 years, Rubio: 3 years, Martin: 4 years, Stephanie: 14 years. Zippo has eldest daughter syndrome, always feeling responsible for her siblings and anyone younger than her. So, when she get's into Easy and realizes half the guys are waaay younger, she has the urge to mother duck them, and sees them as kids to her and treats them like that. Zippo has a great relationship with all her siblings except for Eli, but none of the family likes him, you know it's bad when they're mother has literally said "If you weren't my son, i would hate your guts." This is because Eli is honestly a piece of shit, he thinks he's better than everyone because he's smart, he finished highschool and is going to college unlike Zippo. While Zippo loves everyone else, she will admit they can get her on nerves sometimes, especially Stephanie. When they first got to Aldbourne, Zippo had gotten a letter from her mother wondering how everything is going along, and this letter is a little part about Stephanie, she's pregnant. This came to as a shock to Zippo, as Stephanie is only 14 and her boyfriend is 15. Zippo immediately started writing back scolding the living shit out of Stephanie. She was so mad at her.

B: Bianca has no siblings and had wanted at least one for almost of her life. But, as she had gotten into her teenage years she realized the friends she grew up with are like siblings to her. And she keeps gaining more with each friend she makes.

Ollie: She has one older brother named Marcus who is 4 years older than her. They were already super close, and once their mom remarried they became closer. Speaking of their mother's second marriage, they gained 2 step siblings. A step sister named Sophie and a step brother Adrien. They all get along pretty well, especially Ollie and Sophie.

Torrie: Torrie has a younger sister, who is two years behind her. She helped raise her as their mom was dealing with a lot of bs. Torrie also has a fuck ton of younger cousins that she has helped raise, like helped raise so much they see her as a second mother.

Marselle: Marselle is technically the eldest of 5, making her the direct heir of her family "business" (you all know what i mean). She has two younger brothers, Daniel and Eli. Those are her two full blooded siblings. Then come to find out her father had two little girls with the same mistress. Marselle's eldest half sister is Rose, she's two months younger than her, as their mothers were pregnant at the same time. And the youngest half sister is Lavanda, she's two and a half months younger than Daniel. So in order it's: Rose: two months, Daniel: two years, Lavanda: Two years, and Eli: 5 years. Her relationship with her siblings is quite good, they all love each other.

ATTENTION: Eliza's section contains mentions of miscarriages, if that makes you uncomfortable please skip!!

Eliza: Eliza is the middle of nine, having 8 older siblings. All of Eliza's siblings are twins, just like she should've been. It's her older brothers, who she has a horrible relationship with, her older sisters who she has a somewhat good relationship with, they still talk to her after she left. Then it's her and her supposed to be twin, who passed in the womb. After she was born her mother kinda went off the rails, and she had several miscarriages, till around 10 years later came the 2nd to last set of twins was born, one boy one girl. And two years after them was the last and final set, as their mothers body wasn't able to take giving birth anymore, they were another boy and girl. Eliza doesn't really have a relationship with the last two sets, as she left when one set was 6 and the other 4. She does feel guilty for leaving them there, but she knew she couldn't stay there.

Mary: She has two older brothers and one older sister. Mary has an alright relationship with all her siblings. Don't get me wrong she loves all of them, but her brothers always did their own thing, one school the other crime. And her sister kept close to their mother. Mary would be the black sheep of the family if it wasn't for her eldest brothers continuous run in with the law, having gone to prison for arson right before she joined up. Mary was also helping her older sister take care of her baby girl, which caused Mary to be a little bit more distant to the idea of children.

Julia: Jules has three older full blooded siblings, and three younger half siblings. Her older brothers looove to pick on her 24/7, constantly teasing her and giving her hell. Her older sister likes picking on her but not as much as her brothers, her teasing is mostly her giving advice about certain things. And her relationship with her younger siblings is great. Her baby brothers love rough housing with her, and her baby sister loves playing dolls and dress up with her.

Allie: Allie has one younger sister who she loves dearly. Though her little sister is much more girlier than her and her mother approves of how she acts more than Allie, she still tells her to live the life she wants. Allie is completely fine if her little sister is the complete opposite of her, she tells her sister all the time "don't let no one take advantage of you, and beat the fuck out of anyone who tries to."

****

After the War:

Zippo: She plans on getting married, maybe have a few kids and continue to work at her dad's deli shop

B: Her plan is mostly just to settle down and start a family, she doesn't know if she wants to continue working odd jobs or not

Ollie: She has definitely decided that she's settling down and starting a family with the man of her dreams who she's loves and not Roland.

Torrie: Torrie plans on visiting her family for a short while and then move in with George in Rhode Island, get married and have kids

Marselle: She originally planned on coming back to the states and marry Skip, but since those plans blew up, quite literally (i'm sorry), she's now just living above her brothers sub shop like she did before the war. She's trying to recover from being an alcoholic and is helping her brother out and helping Rose raise her daughter.

Eliza: Eliza lives by the saying "Where you go i go" with Ron, she followed him to Korea, where shortly before that they got married. She's got one part of her dream down, but the second is whether she wants kids or not.

Mary: She just wants to go home, get married and maybe have a few kids. Mary just wants to have a simple life

Julia: She had a whole ass plan aight?? She's immediately going to find Toye, get his ass, marry him and possibly have a few kids. Julia had this plan set out since Bastogne.

Allie: Allie straight up just wants to settle down on her farm. She decided that after the war she wasn't staying in the military, she was almost 30 when the war ended, she had her fun, and she's done now. So she just wants a farm and a family.

****

I apologize for the long wait Monty!! I hope you like it!!

[bluelightning16]

Hello! Love your latest drawing, is it possible to ask more about the witch au? I was staring at the lights until I looked close enough to see the human heart and the blood lol

Of course!! As with all the rest of my silly little AUs, it's a rather horrific one <3 Fair warning, I got a tiny bit carried away with my writing below…

Basically, Silver is an orphan belonging to a small, impoverished village located smack dab in the middle of nowhere, its only distinguishing feature being the vast amount of forest surrounding it. Though the locals there will never admit it to any foolish outsiders, many of them still believe in their ancestors' paranoid whispers of magic; so much so, in fact, that it's become a staple of their everyday life. Children are taught lessons through morbid fairytales and outlandish stories, miscreants pray desperately to be purged of their demons during Catholic mass, and the town gathers monthly to roast all suspected witches on a stake. Overall, having a holy, united front against the work of the Devil fosters peace and harmony throughout—unless, of course, one were to be born with the unfortunate curse of being different.

On his luckier days, Silver is simply ignored and left to tend to the church’s gardens on his lonesome (the job that has been oh-so-generously provided to him by the orphanage directors encouraging him to repent), with only an occasional titter about his “vacant, nixie eyes” to puncture the silence. However, more often than not, he is sought out by his more vengeful peers as soon as the lunch bell is struck, and beaten to a bloody pulp; their vapid, vulture-like mothers watch on, cruel speculation of his bloodline running as rampant as ever. His porcelain skin is surely vampiric in nature, they hiss between painted lips, those colorless wisps of hair a key part of his lycanthrope lineage. But, perhaps worst of all, are the rumors that deny him even the weakest links to being human—while the other creatures are still, at the end of the day, offspring of former mortals, he simply must be a changeling through and through, what with his unnatural irises, suspicious sleeping spells, and holistically predatory beauty.

…No matter their reasoning, Silver always ends up miserable and alone.

Thankfully, by the time he’s seven, salvation comes in the form of an unlikely trail of lights, bobbing about ethereally under the deep cover of night. Why he decides to promptly clamber over his windowsill—from which he had initially spotted the path, during his nightly Bible study—and venture after them, he doesn’t quite know… There’s just something so homely and beckoning about them, he supposes. (Later, he’ll chalk it up to equal parts desperation and childish fantasies, borne from the happy and friendly and good storybooks that the more mischievous choir boys have been stowing between pews like contraband.) The grass is cold and wet against his feet as he pads across it, pushing past the church gates to make for the dark, all-encompassing line of trees that he found so terrifying only hours before. Strikingly different from the huntsmen’s drunken tales of monsters and human-repelling growth, the forest swallows Silver with a quiet murmur of excitement. Unlike them, he is welcome here.

The lights lead him over a small brook and between luscious vegetation, pulsing brighter with every step he takes onward. At the very end of his journey, he finds a cottage tucked in the shadows of two large, wooded hills. Three figures stand before it, ready to greet him: a slight, beaming man, the horned silhouette towering above him, and a child his age leaning heavily against the former. The first ushers him in with the heady promise of pie, blankets, and crackling fire… and the rest is history.

From then on, Silver works tirelessly for his new family; in exchange for their love, provisions, and tutelage, he cleans up around their cozy little hut, despite any reservations his beloved Papa may have. It’s the least he can do, after all…! Eventually, this gives way to Lilia training him alongside Sebek, versing him in the complex albeit beautiful mannerisms of magic. (At some point, they had revealed to him that they are all a part of the Diasomnia coven; he can’t quite remember.) And although he may not be able to manipulate the delicate fabric of reality himself, he is instructed by Malleus to take pride in how quickly he’s taken to botany and navigating their inventory. Silver soon secures an oath to be taught the advanced art of potionology when he’s older—though he’ll have to be shown how they source their precious ingredients, first! (He assumes that some must come from his old hometown, or other adjacent ones. Why else would his father return smelling of iron and smoke and oil?)

All in all, it’s the most perfect, wonderful, idyllic life he could’ve ever hoped for. With the smooth, comfortable weight of a broom rolling between his palms, he begins to hum as he mops up their latest spill of crimson potion. Crystal stars glimmering overhead, scattering rays of brilliance against their floor with Malleus’ lights dancing in tandem, he pauses mid-task to grace his family—his world—with another smile.

.

..

…

(He was the right choice to make, after all. With a few more years of blissful, unwitting cultivation, they’ll finally have the elements they need: virginal blood, auroral eyes, and the purest of hearts.

And then he shall remain a part of their life force forever.)

[thewitchfarhan]

Communing with The Gods: Intuition & Interpretation (TW: Trauma)

"Why are you continuing your attempt to find spiritual comfort in women, when that is a wound you are still healing from? Why, in leaving Hindu spirituality, are you making the same choices in Hellenism and expecting a different result? If Hestia cares for you, She is not going to perpetuate this cycle - if Hestia cares for you, She is not going to allow you to continue down this path."

Recently I have been attempting to incorporate more Hellenic Paganism into my everyday life, and part of this has been in offering acts of devotion. A couple of weeks ago I made the decision to start offering various household chores as devotional acts to Hestia.

In my teen years, I worked with Hestia informally; so when I began to delve into Hellenic Paganism I thought Hestia would be a good entity to establish a formal relationship with.

So, a week ago - before beginning the chores I had for the day - I would light a candle, invoke Hestia in the traditional style, and present for Her the act/s as a devotional offering.

I did this for 3 or so days, but each time I did - I felt an emptiness. Instead of feeling like there was any additional energy with me during my invocation or while doing my chores, I felt entirely alone.

When working with deities in the past (say Apollo or the Hindu Goddess Shailputri) I would usually feel some kind of energy with me during my work. This energy could be subtle, like a warmth or joy, or overt like the feeling of an entity sharing space with me.

When these feelings didn't occur - to me, it felt like Hestia was ingoing me; I felt like I had knocked on Her door and She had opened it a crack only to shut it in my face.

This really upset me; I felt extremely rejected and didn't understand why Hestia seemed to want nothing to do with me.

And then, last Sunday, it finally all clicked.

[Additional Context: When I first began my Hellenic Pagan practice, I decided that (in addition to Hestia)  I wanted to work with Apollo. This was the first "male" or "masculine" entity I have worked with in almost the entire tenure of my time being a Witch and a Pagan (which now spans over 10 years). I come from a Roman Catholic background, and due to religious trauma I am very hesitant and wary of male entities and male deities specifically. However, as a musician, artist, and queer man - I feel a great affinity for Apollo and the areas of life He presides over.]

So back to Hestia. What I thought was rejection from Hestia was actually Her, in Her own way, sending me a message that I initially was too upset to hear.

(I'll explain how I came to this conclusion in a second) but what I realized was, that Hestia was trying to say to me was:

"You need to work with Apollo and take a break from working with female deities. You're in pain and you can't heal if you continue to rely on the cause of your wounds (mother figures). I am not rejecting you, I am trying to show you that now is not the time for you to work with Me."

This realization, I'll be honest, felt like a punch to the gut (in a good way). It felt so affirming and awe inspiring to realize that I was being answered - and that what I needed to do was actually listen for what was being said instead of what I wanted to hear.

How I Came to This Conclusion: Given what I had already experienced in the past with Shailputri and Apollo, what I was experiencing with Hestia elicited confusion - and also made me doubt my past experiences. So, I decided to think critically about the situation. I first examined if maybe it was what I was offering was the problem - maybe Hestia didn't like me offering the act of doing the dishes since that act is so heavily associated with water? Okay, if that was the case, why would She reject all of the other offerings that had no significant ties to the elements? I came to the conclusion that what I was offering wasn't the issue - so I continued to reflect on the experience. A day or so later I was having a conversation with my partner (in the kitchen) after therapy, discussing a variety of topics, but the one that stood out was my discussion of the trauma I have/had experienced at the hands of women over the past 3+ years. It was during that discussion I felt what I can only describe as a mental tap on the shoulder. I didn't hear any voices in my head or see any physical signs, but mentally I felt like several different puzzle pieces I had been trying to lay flat fit into place. "Why are you continuing your attempt to find spiritual comfort in women, when that is a wound you are still healing from? Why, in leaving Hindu spirituality, are you making the same choices in Hellenism and expecting a different result? If Hestia cares for you, She is not going to perpetuate this cycle - if Hestia cares for you, She is not going to allow you to continue down this path"

Since beginning this journey into Hellenic Paganism, I have found myself in awe of The Gods - how They communicate with me - and how brutally honest They are. A lot of people like to give The Gods the "✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 0w0 ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*" treatment, but (in my experience) The Gods are so much more complex than we give Them credit for. And They can be a lot more blunt than you might assume.

---

Praise be to Hestia, Goddess of the Hearth, Goddess of the Home - You have guided me towards a better path and for that I thank You.

Praise be to Apollo, God of Music, God of Art - I aspire to demonstrate my devotion and admiration for You, and continue on this journey of building Kharis with you.

Do Ut Des

[paula-of-christ]

Your reblog response on the post about Mary, the enemy and the rosary really intrigued me — the part about the DMC (ironically lol. I know it wasn’t the point of the post, you were right. Anyways, bear with me okay haha). Can you say more about how the DMC is more like the Jesus prayer with the prayer rope and only really “lines up” (or doesn’t, as you said, numerically..?) with the rosary bead wise bc it’s made to do so by people these days. If it was prayed on something more like a prayer rope, wouldn’t you still need the bigger beads/knots for the “Eternal Father, I offer You..”s? It’s just such a different, creative and unique way of viewing it, it’s really for me thinking rn.

Sidenote what if like. Imagine. A new chaplet prayer rope thing was made for the DMC instead of just using a rosary for it. Something better constructed to represent it and it’s sequence, how it’s more meditative on the words than Mysteries (like you’d said). Idk. It just is so gorgeous to imagine about. There’s much scope for the imagination with that, as Anne would say~ Last ask I promise lol. I just want to say as a fellow ex-pagan current-Catholic (by the grace of God), seriously, you are out here doing His good work by speaking on your experiences and rejecting paganism and talking about the pain of it all. It is so true. Witchcraft is such a heinous, dangerous sin—it stays with you, it lingers, it’s residual. (Spiritually. But like. Even explicitly—“Well what’s another crystal for aesthetic after all?”, as if these things aren’t gateways… been there!) And it’s being treated SO trivially and whatever~*~ by the secular world these days and it drives me insane. Anyways. That’s all. Mary, Destroyer of Heresies, lead all astray souls back to the fold of your Son, and crush Satan under your feet, we beseech you. Amen.

So, to clarify what I meant by 'it was made to fit the rosary beads' is that, according to St. Faustina/her diary, Jesus had told her how to pray the chaplet on rosary beads; I didn't mean that people now have made it fit onto the rosary, but that . But, it doesn't quite fit perfectly on rosary beads, in that the opening prayer is done on the first bead after the crucifix, then the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Apostle's Creed are done. Where it doesn't quite fit is that the bead after that 'starts' the first decade, which is normally not the case when praying a rosary. Perhaps it's just me, but it's something that I find a bit distracting when I pray the DMC unless i use a rosary that uses that last bead in place of an image of the Blessed Mother.

I also say it's more akin to the Jesus prayer, because it's about Jesus' mercy, and it has a similar cadence if that makes sense. When I'm praying it at least (saying, not chanting), I very much do the same breath movements that one would do with the Jesus prayer. I'll try to break it down how I mean.

[Breath in:] Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, [breath out:] have mercy on me, a sinner.

[Breath in:] For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, [breath out:] have mercy on us and on the whole world.

There are also, definitely people who make chaplets specifically for the DMC, usually without the crucifix and instead of medals with the Divine Mercy image and/or St. Faustina.

I just find that the beads aren't super helpful for me, because it truly takes around 5 minutes to pray if you aren't chanting/singing it, that I get more distracted by the beads than I actually get to pray, so I often just pray it with my fingers. When I was praying it everyday/multiple times a day, I often didn't need the prayer beads to tell me when it was time to start the new decade.

Thank you for your support! It means the world to me. I've been asked some questions about different things like satanism (an ask currently sitting in my inbox) and asked to talk about paganism and witchcraft again on my blog, but have been chewing on it a little, because I just haven't been inspired about it lately. The fursther I get from that time in my life, the less those sorts of things are affecting me, as well as just generally less 'mystical' things seem to happen. I'm in a much better state mentally than I have been in years, and I'm a lot more liberally with throwing holy water around my place when I'm starting to feel bad. I definitely have been frustrated with some things I've seen recently, but am just in such a mind-frame now that I'm getting older of "if I see something upsetting on my phone, I'm just going to walk away" rather than argue with people about it.

[cumulo-stratus]

Okay okay I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS. But I’ll only give you a few.

First, this could be Spencer x Male Reader or Spencer and Ethan, pick your poison. Basically, my idea was that Spencer and whoever grew up in a highly Catholic (and toxic) environment, where he was basically required to go to church everyday. Ethan or The Male Reader is very similar, these two meet — Spencer likes them for their intellect, the willingness to question the religion, their quick wit, etc.

And eventually, Spencer and his dumb heart ends up falling in love with them. And the Reader or Ethan falls in love with him too — but, they’re both boys, so they have to keep this a secret since it’s forbidden.

And one of the ways they would flirt would be reading the most worst, sensual, carnal bible verses they could find and they would read it out loud, while making eye contact with the other. FLIRTING IN FRONT OF SO MANY PEOPLE. They created their own language, annotated the bibles they had to know which verse would mean what, etc.

Unfortunately, these two end up getting caught when Spencer let his tongue slip, and the love of his life ended up having to move away. LIKE HEAR ME OUT.

okay so I'm not gonna write this for a couple main reasons:

1, i don't feel comfortable writing abt something this religious as im atheist and have never even been to church. And in my opinion, this was basically bordering on smut and it makes me uncomfortable to write that as a minor. Aswell I just personally think that this is very unfitting for Spencer as a character, he wouldn't believe in any of it, and with no father and a schizophrenic mother who's bringing him to church everyday and to Sunday school?? It just doesn't make sense to me

2, before sending this ask, you left me an ask, which I responded to in which you said you loved my blog and asked to see some of the ideas in my inbox. I misunderstood what you meant and shared the requests I have in my inbox rn, and which you left a comment telling me what you meant. Am then you went to my inbox and left a very specific, and long request. My main issue is that you don't follow me, and I can't remember seeing you interact with my blog much if at all, but please correct me if I'm wrong.

in conclusion I feel disrespected, uncomfortable, and I will not be writing this.

[doueverwonder]

This is going to be SO disorganized, ignore me and my rambles no order just everything in whatever order I think of it in.

TEXAS his name is Lázaro Carlos Jones-Gómez, he regularly goes by Charlie, you can call him Carlos but do not call him Lazaro, he only has that name bc he was baptized with it. If you call him that though you will get his attention immediately bc his brain will think you're his mother (Mex if that's not clear) cause she is the only one who calls him that.

He's a little shit and I love him bc he's my little shit.

I accept no interpretation of him that's white bc why would you do that to him.

I've said this before but he's twins with Coahuila (Mariana Talía) who I can't actually talk about that much bc she's not my oc BUT she is older by 7 minutes, and they share a braincell and a half and usually don’t know where it is :\

speaking of other states he and Nuevo León (Jacobo) get in no less then 3 fist fights a year for absolutely no reason besides they’re idiots and like to beat each other up.

Speaking of fights, Charlie is missing a tooth, has 101 stories of how it got knocked out, most ppl don’t actually know which one is the truth (none of them he fell out of a tree).

Someone take his guitar away I beg, he gets 10 time more annoying when he has it. Which Tennessee (Annabelle) taught him how to play said guitar, everyone hates her for it. He's a decent player, and has a pretty okay singing voice, they're all just sick of listening to him.

Bc I have to have at least 1 very stereotypical thing, he has the largest cowboy hat collection this side of the Mississippi. Give him the most specific event, he has a hat for it.

He didn't talk till he was like 3-4 but oh boy is my man making up for it now, he doesn't stop. Talks with food in his mouth and in his sleep.

Refuses to speak Spanish to most other personifications bc spite but will absolutely be interpreter for any stranger on the street who needs help.

Bc I think it's funny gets to have the 'am I catholic or protestant?' debate.

His first about year of living in DC he barely spoke English and bc of that attached himself to the--at the time--only other native Spanish speaker in the house, Florida complained to Al everyday bc "I'm a babysitter now!" but wouldn't say shit to her Carlito over it ever.

His favorite shows of all time--despite their inaccuracies--are Gunsmoke (1955-75), and Zorro (1957-59)

Speaking of nicknames; Carlito was his main nickname for a long time, used to distinguish him from Cuba. Most of Latin America + Florida still call him that. Carlos = Cuba//Carlito = Texas. He started going by Charlie bc he didn't want to be called Carlito anymore, but being called Carlos felt weird bc no one ever called him that. So Charlie.

He has vitiligo bc I once saw a drawing of someones oc and it legit looked just like how I imagine Charlie and their oc had vitiligo so it just got pressed into my mind.

Also he was one of those kids who was super blond but by the time he was like 12 he wasn't anymore.

So y'all know my hc is personifications have a mom and dad, most of the states (US and Mexican) had 2 human parents and were eventually 'adopted' by Alfred or Rosa.

There are exceptions to that and Coahuila and Texas are one of them, way back when like 1820s Rosa (Mex) and Alfred were dumb and did a thing proceeded to have an extremely panicked nine months and an even more panicked "holy shit there's TWO"

So Charlie gets such a super fun family dynamic we love it for him.

I can't listen to Mama's Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys without crying now bc of him. I love Charlie, he is my son, I've put so much work into him bc I love him.

[motownfiction]

reviled

Sam stands with his back against the lockers in Ms. Dupont’s classroom. It is the fall of his eighth-grade year, a Friday afternoon, the last class of the day, and he is beyond ready to get out of school. He and his family already have plans: to leave school and head straight for their favorite diner, then for a drive to watch all the leaves change. It was his mother’s idea, but Sam seconded the motion. He’s been dreaming of it all day. He’s dreaming of it even now, in the midst of Ms. Dupont’s spelling bee.

Apparently, the in-school spelling bee is a requirement for all junior-high English classes in the archdiocese this year. They’re having a big spelling bee this year, across all the local Catholic schools, and they have to figure out who can participate. The winner from every class period at every neighboring school will go to the big spelling bee at the end of the month.

Sam stands with his back against the lockers.

He is the second-to-last speller now.

He almost can’t believe he got this far. Not because he’s not a good speller (He is one.), but because he can’t believe he kept himself in the game for this long. He didn’t plan to. He planned to screw up on his first word so that he could spend the rest of the class period sitting at his desk, writing out all the lyrics to “I Am the Walrus,” which he recently memorized to impress no one but himself (and his mom, if she was listening). But it was just a travesty – a word that one of his colleagues, a whole almost fourteen-year-old human with a college preparatory education, spelled incorrectly. Most kids wiped out pretty quickly, even the kids who got pretty good grades across the board. Sam wanted to screw up a word on purpose, but he just couldn’t. There was a part of him (and he still doesn’t know how big that part really was) that wanted to prove he wasn’t like that. There was a part of him that wanted to prove his intelligence.

But what was that about?

Sam’s never felt the need to prove his smarts to anybody (except for his mom, but she already knows about that). He’s spent much more of his time pretending like he doesn’t care – that being smart is a burden more than it is a blessing. And a lot of the time, that’s how he really feels. He’s not buying his own bullshit because there’s no bullshit to buy. School is a trap, and being smart is unavoidable. But you can work hard to make sure your school and your smarts never meet. That’s what Sam has been doing since the first grade, when he overheard Ms. Cunningham tell his parents that he could jump up to third or fourth grade in his reading if he really wanted to. He’s been hiding himself from the place where he has to spend most of his hours everyday.

Today feels different. And in part, it feels different because Sam doesn’t want to be standing here. He doesn’t want to be standing here, and yet, he can’t make himself stop. Just once, he thinks, it would be nice for him to prove himself. Just once, he thinks, it would be nice for everyone in his class to know how smart he is, not just guess it by the kinds of jokes he makes or his friendship with Lucy Callaghan. Just once, it would be nice if they looked at him like someone who’s going to amount to something. And today, thirteen other kids in his class are looking at him that way.

And it has to stop.

It has to end.

Sam never wanted to be this guy. He never wanted to be the guy who stands up and crows like Peter Pan getting his shadow back from the nursery drawer. It’s exhausting to be that guy. It’s exhausting, and it’s condescending. Sam doesn’t want to condescend to anybody. He just wants to live in a world where people can keep up with what he’s saying. How are they ever going to keep up if he talks down to them? If they find out he’s really smart – that it’s more than just a sneaking suspicion based on some vague memories from kindergarten and first grade – they won’t listen to him anymore. They’ll treat him like a know-it-all, like the way they treat Lucy.

He knows what he has to do.

Ms. Dupont comes around and gives him his word.

“Sam,” she says. “Your word is reviled.”

Of course Sam knows how to spell it. It’s an easy word. He’s pretty sure Ms. Dupont chose it because she wants Sam to go to the spelling bee. If he goes, he’s very likely to bring home a medal or a trophy. If he goes, and Lucy Callaghan goes with him, they’re both likely to bring back medals and trophies, which Ms. Dupont can proudly display on the top shelf in her classroom. He thinks about what life would be like if he was the kind of guy who wears a medal around his neck … the kind of guy who holds a trophy high above his head and runs around the room, waiting for everybody else to get jealous.

That’s not what he wants.

He knows what he has to do.

He takes a deep breath and looks Ms. Dupont right in the eye. When this happens, he wants her to feel it … the disappointment in knowing she was right about him, that everyone was right about him (even his mom, who usually has a few words to bring to parent-teacher conferences each November).

“Reviled,” Sam says. “R-E-V-I-L-L-E-D. Reviled.”

Ms. Dupont blinks a few times. She asks Sam if he’s sure about that because she can act like she didn’t hear it the first time. The other kids in the class are wailing because they didn’t get a second chance.

“What does it matter if Sam’s the smartest person in this class?” one of the girls whines. “I should have gotten a second chance, too!”

Sam sighs. It’s not that he’s caving to the whims of his peers. It’s that he really doesn’t want to put on itchy pants and sit in a Knights of Columbus hall for hours on a Wednesday night when he could be home watching Mork & Mindy.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m sure.”

Ms. Dupont gives him a look like she knows that’s not what he’s so sure about. Doesn’t matter.

Sam knows he’s never been more certain of anything in over thirteen years of living.

It’s great.

(part of @nosebleedclub february challenge -- day xxi! i know i’m behind again, but it’s been a challenge)

[subtletruamadumping]

What I Imagine a Conversation with my Mother about Neglect Would Sound Like

______________________________________________________________

A short form work trying to help me process the realization that all of my parents were abusive in their own way. Learning that there were more kinds of abuse than just physical shed a lot of light on the conflicted feelings I had; especially towards my mom. Sections of this were also taken and reworked into different, shorter poems.

TW: Mentions or Neglect, Abuse, CSA. Graphic mentions of Self Harm and Suicide

Date Written: December 11, 2021

______________________________________________________________

“Neglect?

Don’t be silly.

I was with you almost everyday growing up.

I wasn’t one of those parents who

left you at home alone for days.

I did not neglect you.”

There is so much more to neglect than just being alone. Neglect means so many different things.

Neglect means yellow teeth. You stopped taking me to the dentist at 8 and made fun of me for diligently brushing my teeth each night before bed. Do you not remember insisting I was only brushing my teeth to try and sleep with the boys in my class? Shaming 12-year-old me into skipping the important chore at night to keep suspicion of losing my virginity at a catholic school at bay. I stood with my face up and mouth wide in the shower, trying to use the gentle stream as a water pick to try and get my teeth just a little clean. My teeth are stained and no matter how much scrubbing I do in my adulthood, I cannot reverse the damage you let happen to them. My gums bleed, I ruin toothbrushes, I force myself to smile with closed lips. 

Neglect is telling me to stop faking being sick after puking my guts in the school bathroom. 

Neglect is telling me to stop complaining when I ask for medicine for my cramps.

Neglect is laughing at me when I’m scared of horror movies, bullying me into watching it, then laughing when I have nightmares.

Neglect is making me walk around a whole day on a sprained ankle before finally taking me to the doctor because I wouldn’t stop limping.

Neglect is being completely bewildered when I hop down stairs, foot cut open and sopping blood because I stepped on the broken glass from that perfume bottle that you didn’t bother to clean up.

Neglect is when I brought up the risk of suicide to you. I told you the statistics. Your response? “I never get suicidal thoughts. Sounds like you made that up. Stop being dramatic.” Whatever you're feeling doesn't matter. You either didn’t notice or you didn’t care. Tell me you didn’t see those “cuts from shaving” that appeared on my legs on a daily basis. Tell me you didn’t notice me running through the boxes of Band-Aids because I had an obsession with tearing the skip open over and over, again. There were so many little blood stains on socks and pants. You warned me that the scars would make me ugly, but pretended that they got there completely by accident. I'm trying to get better despite you pulling me back down. But still… when I sprained my wrist it never really healed. I pull it back to the most painful position and relish in it. I should leave it alone, but some days I can’t help it. I twist my fingers, spin my wrist, until the twinge of pain sends a familiar shock through my body. I do it a few times before I get a hold of myself.  

Neglect is forgetting that you sent me to my room as punishment and everyone eats dinner without me.

Neglect is you coming up the stairs to see me sitting there and almost being surprised that I’m in your house.

Neglect is me coming to you with my stress and fears and you telling me to “pray about it”.

Neglect is rolling your eyes while I’m having a panic attack and telling me to stop being dramatic.

Neglect is telling me that I’m not the one who should be crying, you are the one who should be crying after screaming in my face for half an hour.

Neglect is when you pull out a piece of paper and a pen, draw a nasty picture and say, it's what I looked like. How could anybody look at it? How could anybody love me if I looked like that?

Neglect is my 12th birthday party. I had never been ice skating before. I had no interest in it. Still, you planned a party at the rink because a friend from church asked you for a favor. A party is a party, though. I designed some cute invitations on the family computer and asked you how many I should print out. 10? 15? You snorted and said I shouldn’t print any. “You’ve only got, like, 2 friends and I don’t think they even like you. I’ll just text Riley and Steven’s parents the address and fill the other 10 spots with your sisters’ friends.” I still have scars from not wearing the right socks and getting blisters. In all honesty, I guess I can thank you for this one. I went back to skating when I was 19 and now I compete. I have gold medals that I can rub in your face. “See? Look what I accomplished in spite of you. Look what I became when I got away from you. I’m going to become a coach. Remember all those times you told me I’d never make anything of myself. What do you have to say, now?”

Neglect is leaving me in the car because you forgot I was in the backseat and dismissing the pounding on the window as you were walking away.

Neglect is leaving me at school, standing awkwardly in the pick up line with the last teacher because you were busy with my sister’s orchestra practice.

Neglect is telling me you’ll be home from a girl scout meeting at nine, me calling you frantically at 10, you not calling back until 11 annoyed that I was asking where you were.

Neglect is that I wore a bra that was so small my tits hung out for a whole year and you didn’t notice while I didn’t know any better.

Neglect is sharing every embarrassing secret that I dared to let you in on with my siblings so you all could laugh at me together. 

Neglect is sending me outside with the baby you couldn’t handle screaming on the top of his lungs. Because I, a 14-year-old, is better at taking care of a child than it’s mother. A gray truck drives by when I go out. I rocked him back and forth in my arms. The gray truck drives by again. He must have missed his turn. I walked with him up and down the driveway. The gray truck drives by again, slower. He must be lost. I sat down on the porch swing to try and calm the baby. He continued to scream. The gray truck passes again, still going slow. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I went inside to tell you about it and you scream at me to get back outside. God forbid you have to listen to the child you brought into this world. I hid behind the cars until he finally stopped driving back and forth. The baby and I stayed out there until sundown. He never stopped screaming. 

Neglect is giving me batteries as a birthday present.

Neglect is me learning how to shave by grabbing my older sister’s razor and just going for it.

Neglect is “You're not smart enough” when telling you I want to be an engineer.

Neglect is “You're too smart” when I get a B on an assignment I asked for help on.

Neglect is when the only thing you say to me all day is I wish you were never born. Not those exact words, of course but “My life would be so much better if I hadn’t had you” counts in my eyes.

Neglect is allowing me to bury my feelings so deep inside. I'm so numb. I laid down in the bathtub, my hair clogging the drain. The water slowly rose up on the sides of my face slowly inching higher and higher. First, the water rose up to cover my ears, drowning out the world around me. All I heard is the water from the shower hitting the standing water and the nasty thought circling around in my head. It continued to rise up and up and up reaching my chin. Now, I was really making progress. 

I took a deep breath and wondered if I really wanted to do this. Is it really worth it? How many times have I heard that? This is a permanent problem to a temporary solution. Or maybe it's the other way around. It was hard to think. It felt like the water was already seeping into my brain. The water kept going and I could feel it covering my mouth, now. I squeeze my eyes shut to keep the water from stinging my them as it flows over my face. My nose by itself was left poking out of the water. 

And still the water rose. I could hear it. I could feel it and soon I would be breathing it. “Just let it happen,” I tell myself at this point. I could feel it inching into my nostrils. It was almost over. I could feel myself preparing, trying to push back the last of my doubts. I would finally be at peace.

Until my sister barges into the bathroom and demands what is taking me so long.

I can hear your answer in my head

“That’s not neglect.

That’s not even real.

I’m not the one making you depressed.

What about what your father did?

I’ve heard you complain about how he

Let ants get in your toothpaste,

Not buy you winter coats when it was snowing,

Leave you outside all day in over Texas 100 degree weather,

Not feed you all day,

Make you sleep with rats,

Let you get lice, and

Pee your pants because he was watching a horror movie in the living room

Where you slept on the couches because you weren’t allowed 

To sleep in the bedroom.

How can you complain about me when he was worse?”

You sent me there year after year. You ran away from that marriage into a new one, but I still had to spend days, weeks, a full month alone with that man. You have the gall to tell me I don’t know what it’s like to be with him.

Neglect is dismissing my feelings. You dismissed my feelings about all those things listed. You told me to stop complaining. How was I supposed to trust you with things that were worse? You laugh, ignore me, tell me to stop complaining when I bring forward the things he did that traumatized me. I can’t trust you to handle my biggest secrets with care. I can’t believe that you will allow me to be vulnerable and real with you. I’ve heard you victim blaming other girls, I’ve seen you turn a blind eye to the priest playing with my hair, I’ve watched as you actively ignored my questions about how something I didn’t have a say in would be sinful on my part. All you’ve ever done is bombard me with questions about my virginity, what sins have I committed. You ignore your new husband's bad habit of walking in on me in the shower.

Neglect is making me feel numb.

I sit in my car and from the parking lot in front of work. I always get there so early because of constantly being dropped off late at things when I was living with you. My head pounds with the beat of the music I wasn’t allowed to listen to when I was in your house. Punk, rock, metal, emo. The sounds that I relate to. I can feel myself in the lyrics. The token scream-singing that comes from so deep inside people don’t believe that it’s real. I have the lyrics, the feelings, the tone, the pain, memorized. I know exactly how it goes.

Songs cycle through. The feelings that they conjure up are sitting uncomfortably in my stomach. This song has a part with screaming in it. A mixture of trying to fight off numbness and dispel the demons in my head in a more healthy way, I tell myself I’ll do it this time. I’ll scream. I’ll scream along with the song instead of just letting the time pass, chickening out, like I had over and over again. I'm going to let myself scream after years of being told not to. After years of being cut off, silenced, talked over. 

My fingers turn white as I grip the steering wheel as hard as I can. The music swells and with it, the feeling in the pit of my stomach grows, filling up all the way up to my throat. I know I’m alone but I still look around to make sure no one else is going to be able to hear me.

Here comes the part in the song. I've heard it so many times. I know exactly where it is. 

The part that hits that spot. 

The part that almost gives me shivers because of how true it is. 

The music swells louder and louder and I can feel myself sucking in a deep breath instinctively, my muscles tensing up. Everything is loud, loud, loud, the base banging around and making my heart rate rise with the singer’s voice. 

It finally comes. The speaker let’s out the loud scream, the pain, the rage. All of it comes out.

But not for me. 

I couldn't do it. 

Instead I choked out a sob. Cover my mouth. The song continues on, leaving me behind, failing at what I had promised myself I’d do. Tears threaten to force themselves out of my eyes as my shoulders shake as I fight back from the heavy breathing. No, crying. I tell myself over and over again. No, crying. You're not allowed to cry. Not allowed to scream. I shoved the feelings back down my throat, back into my stomach. Back into the dark, recesses where they're always waiting. I furiously wipe my eyes. I'm not allowed to cry. 

Because neglect is also telling me over and over again to shut up. No matter what happens, I'm a crybaby. I'm attention-seeking. Telling me over and over again. That I need to stop crying. Just shut up already. I was a little kid and you were screaming in my face. And then you hit me with. Why are you crying? I'm the one that should be crying. Because definitely, screaming in my face is not nearly as bad as me breaking a vase or whatever insignificant thing I had done. How many times did you tell me I wasn't allowed to have feelings? You taught me the only way to survive was to be numb.

Were the warning signs not big enough for you? How better could I have televised that I needed help? How did you not notice whenever I held a pair of scissors or a knife and one hand suddenly my other wrist Was the only thing I could focus on? What better way could I have said I wanted to die? How did I end up where I was in my own apartment in the middle of the night holding up a bottle of pills, screaming and shaking, pouring them into one hand and shoving them into my mouth? It was weeks after I moved out.

I'm tired of being numb. 

I can hear your response in my head, clear as day.

“That sounds like a ‘you problem’.

Stop trying to blame me for every bad thing in your life.

You clearly don’t know the meaning of

Neglect.”

[blessedbekah]

College

God is good

My mental health has gotten significantly better, I’m back in college, and have finished midterms. The adjustment was a little rocky, mostly because I am figuring out how to manage my time better and gain some more self-discipline.

I didn’t do much in terms of faith over the summer, but when I moved into my dorm and looked out the window, I could see a Catholic Church right across the street. I instantly felt a pull, but I ignored it at the time, and went to parties instead while it was still warm out. However, every time I went to bed, I would look out my window and see the Catholic Church. Looking back at this now, I knew this had to be quite an obvious sign from God.

While still on my own I read a Christian book my mother gave me (Winning the War in Your Mind by Craig’s Groeschel), went to my home church while I was on break, and I felt that pull again. At the end of that book, there was one verse that really stuck with me:

Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” (Hebrews‬ ‭13:5‬).

When I read it, I teared up a little, because I was feeling so alone at the time. I love this verse because now I know I’ll never be alone. God is always with me. He’ll never leave me which means I can rely on Him.

Thinking of that verse, I prayed to God about it, and the next morning I felt God’s presents, physical presents. I felt a warm embrace and I knew it had to be Him. I realized the importance of prayer, and now make it a point to pray everyday, no matter how short the prayer, or how small the worry is. I also decided I really wanted to grow spiritually, and needed to find a church at college to help me with that.

The protestant churches here are a little… misguided. The are a lot more worldly than the church I grew up in. There are some sins they outright reject as being sinful which doesn’t sit right with me. So, I’ve decided to go to the Catholic Church tomorrow on Sunday since they seem to focus more on obeying God than the world.

While I go through this spiritual journey, there’s another verse from the Bible I like to go to (well technically it’s two verses):

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight. (Proverbs 3:5-6)

I always think of this verse whenever I feel worried or anxious, and I pray over it. There are times I’ll stop what I’m doing just to pray over it. I find myself praying for other people too whenever I hear their worries.

Please pray that I may continue to grow closer to God, and if I may stumble, that I can look to Him who will always be there to lift me up again.

Have a Blessed Day

[luzcruz]

Fieldwork ~ Race & Racism

Miscegenation

In the video, it talks about the 1705 the Virginia Slave Codes, which forbid interracial marriages. The white men in power didn’t want the races mixing because it may lead to rebellion. It would make people more united if races were allowed to coexist peacefully. The video shows how families were broken apart. There is a black father and a white mother who have a daughter. The father is whipped and murdered, while the mother is imprisoned. Their daughter was sold into slavery since she came from an “illegal act”. Laws like this spread across the U.S. and made interracial marriages seem like an absurdity. This law was enacted in Virginia until 1967, when the Supreme Court legalized interracial marriage, 262 years after the Virginia Slave Codes.

Hypodescent

Hypodescent, also known as the “one drop rule”, refers to the fact that a person is considered biracial or multiracial based on any degree of colored ancestry. This allowed the U.S. government to assign people of color the status of the lower ranked race. It was mainly a way to justify slavery of half black and half white children during early America. It made it easier for white people to maintain their higher status based on race. This hypodescent was also used against Native Americans and Chinese immigrants.

Jim Crow

Jim Crow refers to the discriminatory laws that allowed segregation. Jim Crow laws were especially used in southern states against black people. These laws were everywhere and dictated just about everything a black person could or could not do. It told people where they could live, shop, go to school and even where to drink water. Jim Crow is usually seen as something from the past, but that isn’t true. The institutional racism that came with Jim Crow still lingers today in different forms. Before it was more publicized but now it is more discreet. Voter suppression in the black community through strict ID laws make it harder to get their voices heard.

Microaggression

Microaggressions are subtle everyday insults that can be verbal or behavioral which communicate hostility or negative messages about someone's race, gender, religion, etc. The thing about microaggressions is that they are discreet attacks that can build up overtime. These small attacks have big impacts on those it affects. Like being told,” you are well spoken” implies that people of your race or ethnicity aren’t articulate. This can mess with a person's head because they feel isolated or like they are “ making a big deal out of nothing”. In the clip, three friends talk about how they were all assigned important figures in history based on their race. It makes them feel uncomfortable because their teacher gave them assignments based on the color of their skin. One of the girl goes on to say that her sister gets asked where she is really from because of what she looks like. This makes the sister feel like people like her can’t be born in the U.S. These examples show how microaggressions don’t have to be aggressive insults to make people feel bad about themselves.

Nativism

Nativism is the preference of long term inhabitants over new immigrants, especially white ones. In the political cartoon it shows how over the course of U.S. history, people have always been wary of new immigrants. It starts off with the Protestants wanting to get rid of the Catholics that are moving to the United States. It then goes on to talk about Chinese, Jewish and Mexican immigrants and how they are the new “immigration issue". Nativism works ironically because whenever a new group comes, the previous group gets promoted on the nativism scale. For example, when the Jewish immigrants came, the Chinese immigrants were no longer the main focus.

White Supremacy

White Supremacist believe that the white is biologically different than any other race and overall better because of it. In the episode “Crash Into Me” of Grey’s Anatomy, a white supremacist with a Swastika on his stomach needs surgery on his liver. The doctors working on him are women of color, one a black woman and the other a Jewish Asian woman. He doesn’t trust them to not kill him so he doesn’t sign the consent forms until a white doctor is involved. The white doctor goes on to say that the doctors of color are better than him because they chose to save him. It shows how the white supremacist thought that having a white doctor would be better because he thinks the white doctor will keep him safe. However, the white doctor told the white supremacist that he would have let him die. This is an example of how white supremacist see white people as morally better than people of color. However, that is not something that skin color can determine.

Citation

Hypodescent: Hypodescent: The “One-Drop” Rule

Jim Crow: The Week

Nativism: Ampersand

[undergiants]

for the christian ask game! #17, 24 and 26 :D

-bibi

Okay finally having the energy to answers these yippee!

17: What is your favorite Bible verse?

This one was really hard so I'm going to drop three that sort of have guide my worldview the most I think!

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have no love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails... And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love." - (most of) Corinthians 13

"Jesus replied: 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.' This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' All the Law and the prophets hang on these two commandments." - Matthew 22:37-40

"No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate one and love the other, or you will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money. Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothes?" - Matthew 6:24-25

24: Do you have any set prayers that you pray daily or regularly? If so, what are they?

I certainly try to, while I pray and talk to God almost about everyday, I do try to do more formal prayers for the feeding of my own soul. In which case I follow the Episcopal Church's Daily Office hours, which has set prayers for morning, noon, evening, and night. I'm most consistent with compline and noonday though lol I use either the regular Daily Office format or my more anglo-catholic St. Augustine's Prayerbook ones.

25: Which disciple would you want to spend the day with and why?

Hmm, I feel like it wouldn't be too surprising for me to say John the Apostle haha. The one often theorized to be the "disciple whom Jesus loved" depicted as leaning against him during The Last Supper. He was also the only disciple who stayed with Jesus at the foot of the cross (with the women) after his death. He took Mother Mary into his care after Jesus requested he care for her before he died.

All of these reasons are why I'd want to spend a day with him. I feel a sort of kinship with him above all the other disciples. As someone who genuinely loves Jesus in not only a "He is God" kinda of way but also in a "I'm in love with him way" too, I understand how easily it is to fall in love with God. I'd like to think we could bond over that and I could learn even more on what it means to follow Christ though him.

Thank you for the ask!!!

[mutterboard]

Yeah, I’m not a crazy stalker or anything, just scroll radblr tag often. No hate to you either. Just curious.

(First of all I'd love to explain myself more correctly but my English is Shite and second, I realized this may not be the answer you're looking for since it's more of a personal opinion rather than an objective one). I find the concept of religion very primitive already, I always did since I was a child, and seeing people try to cater it towards circles who are clearly against it it's just very... weird to me but I understand it's probably not malicious. My school is catholic hence we always had to do the little Lord's Prayer and the pledge of allegiance before class like normal but I slowly realized how out of touch I was with religion by being with my peers. Others did ALL those small rituals which seemed really unnecessary and complicated to me so in my little peanut brain plus a small talk with my mother I started to engine that, I liked the morals of catholism but not the church. I started to hate the version of God people gave me, so I claimed to be agnostic. The morals I "believed" in too became senseless as religious people used it to support their bigotry and ignorance, most major religions work with operant conditioning and suppression of the thoughts that stray from the particular belief. Soon there was nothing I actually believed besides facts because I understood that my thinking didn't had to be defined by religion.

This is rambling, but what I'm trying to get into is that even if your religion is supposedly not -phobic or bigoted and anyone can be part of it, why do you promote it to people who clearly think religious beliefs serve no purpose in modern life? Is that you can't think without having a preset of beliefs you're allowed to have, or do you have to remind yourself you have those beliefs everyday? I think we're confusing religion with philosophy here (or even your own spiritualism)(?) You can believe in anything you want to, even if your religion gets to 4 or 50 people it shouldn't be my problem but there is a difference on how religion operates thinking (Linking everything to faith) and how you, are boxing your thinking into a religion. I'm sorry this take sounds ignorant and immature towards whatever you believe, I'm open to read your reply Anon despite... Me hating everything lolz.