#but. the only other alternative is. to literally not attend church

[void-tiger]

…what does it say about me that I will literally walk myself through hell for someone I love so long as I can hold onto the assurance that they love me back, anyway.

[nobodysdaydreams]

More Hatchetverse Theory: Sycamore High and the Timberwolves are connected to the Hatchetmen and the Tree-People

Starkid's Hatchetverse has retriggered my hyperfixation, and by golly if you think I'm not gonna share every unhinged theory...you're wrong. I’ll tag them “#hatchetverse theory” to make it easier. So let's dive in.

One thing I haven't seen anyone talking about is the fact that, based on what we know about canon, Sycamore High School likely shouldn't exist.

Hatchetfield is a "tiny town". There doesn't seem to be a reason for them to have two high schools, especially when Sycamore seems to not even have enough staff and students for most extra curriculars and programs (in TGWDLM, Paul mentions they don't have a theater program).

So why does Sycamore High School exist? Well, one thing I noticed was that SYCAMORE High as well as its mascot, the TIMBERwolves, have tree related pun names. And what a coincidence, trees happened to be big in the hatchetfield universe, particularly when it comes to the hatchetmen and their hatred of the LIB and magic/“the gift” in general. They did plant a forest of magic tree people after all. And, since they hate the LIB so much, they likely wouldn't want their children attending high school at one of the black altar locations, which just so happens to be Hatchetfield High. That gives them a motivation to build an alternative school.

Sounds like a pretty solid theory to me, but then there's also the fact that the residents also seem to have an odd attitude towards Sycamore High. It's not hated by Hatchetfield High with the same level of hatred they give the Clivesdale Chemists, but they still don't like Sycamore, and the students hate the idea of transferring there. Which seems odd. You'd think it would be the other way around since Hatchetfield High is the school with the black altar. Unless being around a black altar makes the students hate Sycamore, and I could probably do a whole different rant on how the LIB's influence is messing with the perceptions and behavior of the people of Hatchetfield, particularly at the altar locations or when someone uses or has used the black book, but maybe I'll save that for later.

However, if you really wanted to take this theory to the extreme, it could be part of the reason why Paul "doesn't like musicals." Musicals and music are the primary way Pokey expands his influence in Hatchetfield, at least in TGWDLM. That might be one of the reasons Sycamore doesn't have a choir or theater program: not just due to lack of students, but strategically to keep Pokey's influence out. Paul went to Sycamore High, which isn't a black altar (and indeed, might even be designed to counteract or resist the LIB), therefore he's more put off by music and musical performances in Hatchetfield, though he doesn't really know why.

I also suspect this isn't the only instance where the name of locations around town have significance. This has already been seen several times, particularly with the black altar locations.

For example:

The Starlight Theater: has a star theme similar to "the Church of the Starry Children"

CCRP (COVEN Communication Research and Power): Literally has the word "Coven" in it.

Lakeside Mall: Used to be the old mill (which would be located near water, also "mall" and "mill" are one letter off).

And trust me, I have my theories about Clivesdale as well, but again, maybe that one is better for another time.

I hope you enjoy Starkid fandom!

[cool-cowboy]

Summary:

In which Leon is the priest of your church, a very kind and noble man, who you, against the church’s (and your shitty husband’s) wishes have grown quite fond of, confession being one of the few times you get to relish the one on one attention. Little do you know, your godly priest has been having some not so godly thoughts about you as well.

I have literally no idea. Leon in a sweet caring kind of way, but kinda out of character, since he's a 1600's priest and speaks hopefully like one. A bit of a historical thing, the idea popped into my head and I did some research, and found out it used to be pretty common for married women to enjoy their confessions, often falling for the men on the other side of the wall.

Tags:

Alternate Universe - Medieval, Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Adultery, Confessional Sex, sex in the confession booth, Dominant Leon S. Kennedy, Dirty Talk, Clothed Sex, Priests, Priest Leon S. Kennedy, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Making Out, Semi-Public Sex, Eye Contact, Penis In Vagina Sex, Come Shot, Skirts

Blurb:

“You find me godly?”

“Perfectly… Though you are the cause of many other's sins, so perhaps you are sinful…”

Text:

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. My last confession was Wednesday.” He’s staring at me, in his usual way, open and accepting, ready to hear all about my wrong-doings, one of them a cardinal sin, no less. I’m not sure what it is, why he has such a draw, roping me in and making me forget my teachings over and over, his looks and person much too sinful for such a godly man. “I was rude, I spoke unkind words to Stephan. I refused him… When, um, when he-”

“There is no judgment here, only forgiveness. There’s no need to be nervous.” I nod, not looking at him, embarrassed to be confessing yet another tiff with my husband, sure the father is tired of hearing about my disrespect. He reaches through the little door, something he’s not supposed to do, but often does, getting my attention or soothing me down after a particularly nasty sin is disclosed, something that only causes further sin, the feel of his kind hands always forcing some further than friendly thoughts into my mind, never fessed up in my confessions, which is probably my biggest offense to god to date. He makes me look at him, tilts my head up by my chin, stares at me in his quiet, sweet way, soft eyes always able to draw out my deepest secrets without much prompt. “Tell me.” He always seems more interested to hear about my transgressions toward my husband, for why I don’t know, but it’s better than the harsh judgement of my childhood priest, anyways, so I try not to dwell too much.

“He wanted to… Bed me. I refused… It’s my duty to bear children, but I- He isn’t… I hate him.” The truth, something I’ve been toeing the line of for a while, only confessing the passing sins rather than my most heinous one, but he’s known all along, doesn’t seem surprised at all when I meet his eyes, maybe a little amused, but I don’t believe that, he has no reason to be, only reason to assign me a hefty penance.

“I see… That is… Quite the confession. Don’t look so fearful, miss, you know I’m a believer in earning your keep, and it doesn’t seem Mr. Belman is trying his best to do so.” My throat’s dry, my swallow barely making it down, his eyes on my making me sweat, my skirts making me feel a little faint, claustrophobic in the small booth. “A bad man does not deserve a woman as godly as you, at least I don’t see him as fit.” He’s not meant to give his opinion, only fact, that or prompt me to better help me lay my secrets out to him, but he always tries to make me feel better, in a way, for the wrongs I’ve committed, well aware of my repentance, and my desire to do better.

“You find me godly?” I’m really not, most ladies who attend the mass are a whole lot more godly than me, almost perfect Catholics. He smiles, soft and kind, making me sin all over again, though I’m unsure what I can do to keep from sinning in this way, my thoughts not easily controlled, especially for him, a man no woman has ever had the pleasure of pleasing, a man who’s devoted his whole being to serving the lord, but still manages to be entirely enticing, his unattainableness adding a sinful edge to his allure.

“Perfectly… Though you are the cause of many other's sins, so perhaps you are sinful…” He’s amused, and I’m confused, not an idea what he means by that. I stare at him, not incredibly eager to get on with my confession, more than willing to let him keep talking as long as he likes. “You’re an object of many’s affections, miss, and envy as well…” He’s going against his oath, speaking of other’s sins outside their own confessions, giving me a shred of all that he knows, offering it up with a relaxed expression, watching me, assumedly waiting on me to continue telling him, but I’m not ready yet, need a little longer, a few more moments of his soft stare before I tell him, tear down the image he’s painted of me in his head, desecrate his idea of me.

“Father..? Who do you confess to?” He smiles, only a little, amused for some secret reason, his gaze a little hazy, his hands smoothing down the front of his robe, the sound of him clearing his throat a little loud in the small space.

“Myself, I suppose… Though there’s something I find more suitable to confess to you.” My brows draw down, unsure why he’d have anything to confess to me, if he’s able to repent and move on without any type of formal confession, but I wait patiently, not wanting to sin again by disrespecting the father. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, just stares at me with his head tilted a little to one side, his gaze hazy, his smile barely pulling at one side of his lips, his face close to mine, just on the other side of the little confessional door, his breath warm on my skin. “Forgive me miss, for I have sinned.” He watches me, signing a cross over his chest, a little slow, the anticipation making me feel feverish, wet palms wiped on the front of my skirts while I wait, not bringing my eyes from him, wary to miss a second of his terribly enticing gaze. “I have committed the sin of lust. My craving for you is ungodly, and I have performed self-pleasing adultery to the mere thought of you too many times to count.” I have not a single clue what to say, just stay perfectly still, feeling sick at the pleased feeling burning my skin, flaming and not at all what I should feel in response to his reveal.

“Father, I-”

“I am sorry for this and all my sins.” He doesn’t seem sorry, more confused, staring at me in a way that makes me near fainting, all heat and intensity, trying to unravel his own desires. “You may continue.” I swallow, looking down at my hands, now much too afraid to tell him, to reciprocate his lust, unable to do anything about it, aware I’m bound to Stephan, and he is never to be wed.

“I told a lie.” It isn’t something I usually need to confess, I’m not even sure why I did it, needlessly covering up my actions to keep Stephan as far from figuring out my adulterous thoughts as possible, though he’d never suspect a tryst between the father and I. “I told Stephan I was going to the market on Wednesday, when I came to see you.” I let my eyes come up, flitting from my lap to his hands, clasped over his lap, up to his face, seeming a little pleased, adding to my unease, his feelings now out in the open, glad to be a subject of sin for me as well, I suppose. The others are being noisy, the church overly full today, the last session before Christmas, eager to be forgiven.

“Why did you lie?” I look back down, unwilling to look at him when I tell him, give him the satisfaction of reciprocated lustful feelings and actions.

“I didn’t want him to become suspicious.” He hums, ducking down a little to draw my eyes back up, looking at me pleasedly, not at all bashful in the way he should be, never the one to be shy, always so open, even now, after he’s told me about his self-pleasing to me.

“Suspicious?” He’s enjoying himself, too casual to be questioning me about what has become so glaringly obvious, backing me into a figurative corner and forcing it out of me, something he’s entirely too good at, receiving confession after confession and helping numerous work through their own minds.

“I have committed the sin of lust.” He’s looking at me, not that I can see, my eyes cast down at his hands, listening to the sounds of people mulling about outside, stretching out the quiet between us to steel myself for what I say next. “I’ve been having impure thoughts about you, father. Please forgive me.” He hums, one of his hands lifting up out of my view, this whole thing making me feel sick from guilt, adulterous behavior one of the few things I never thought would be something I’d have to speak to him about.

“Is that all?” I nod, finally looking at him, his eyes always on me, never showing me any less attention, offering up his services in maybe a little less selfless of a way than I used to suspect. “Then I assume it’s time to assign your penance…” He runs his hand down over his lap, his other in the space of the little window, gripped over the little ledge there, crossing over into my space, the hand on his lap drawing back up slowly, his eyes a little cloudy, dazed, almost. “I have to say… The lord will forgive you, no matter the sin, miss, you’re saved.” It seems almost like a suggestion, though maybe I’m just imagining it, hoping for something I really and truly shouldn’t, something the opposite of righteous, one of the most evil and depraved wants possible. “Perhaps… Indulgence is our solution.” He stares at me, unmoving, giving me the choice, offering something so enticing, so terrible in nature I’d be damned to accept, looking at me in such a bold way after uttering something so forward.

“Father… Are you suggesting..?” He’s touching me, running rough fingers over the side of my jaw, our faces close, closer now that he’s leaning toward the little window, all of him seeming larger, more masculine than I would usually find him, his comfort fading into a simmering nervousness as I wait on his reply.

“I’ve satisfied myself in your name countless times, miss, and not once has it settled the need, not even diminished it, only choked it down until I can’t keep it at bay any longer. I am a man of God, but with all my devotion you’re the one and only thing I’ve ever found myself helpless to resist.” My breathing’s gone uneven, his hands on my face and in his lap, stroking softly, both soothing me and indulging in his desire, a soldier of God, succumbing to the same earthly pleasures as me. “Our penance. Finding a way to dispel this need, holding ourselves accountable for time spent lost in the other, returning that time to our father, pleading his forgiveness for our frailties.” He’s leaning close, face nearly passing the frame of the window, eyes cast down at my lips, his parted and slick, all of him so very enticing, especially like this, so far gone he can’t even deny himself this, and neither can I, my lips flush with his the next second, sealing my fate, an adulterer and a sinner, depraved and dirty and lustful, all for him.

The kiss is nothing like what I’ve come to expect, separate from the necessary, rushed kisses of my husband, this kiss searing, sending a wave of heat over me, the passion of it making me faint, all the want I’ve been keeping quiet to myself passing between us, his hand slipping back and into my hair, keeping me close, our indiscretion between only us and God, a sin kept quiet, the act horrible, but so satisfying I have no reason to believe God would be against me indulging.

“Father…” We’re both breathing heavy, lost in the admittance and act of sin, his hair messier than I’ve ever seen it, his lips rosy and shiny with shared saliva. “The others are waiting…” He sighs, drawing me back in by his grip on my hair, speaking in his quiet, comforting way half an inch from my lips.

“And they will.” He gives me no time to offer a response, goes back to pressing warm, careful kisses to my lips, his pace a little faster, his breathing shaky as mine, the booth heating up from labored breaths, muggy and heavy with shared desire. “Lord… You’re… Truly breathtaking… A temptress… My own personal test…” He pulls back, letting go of me, standing himself up, face hidden behind the wood above the window, his waist a little below my eye level, his robes hanging heavy, a reminder of his promise to the lord, now broken. “I’ve failed our father… But I will not fail you… Sink to the floor, miss, show me your devotion to your penance.” I meet his command, slipping off the bench and onto my knees, a little unsure, not quite understanding why I’d be on the floor if he intends to take me. “I’ll tend to you shortly, miss, just- for now… I need a bit of preparation.” He shuffles his robes out of the way, exposing himself to me, his manhood larger than I thought possible, more than twice the size of my husband’s, and I wonder how it’ll fit, if it can. “Take me inside your mouth, miss. Close your perfect lips around me and let me feel what I've long awaited.” He’s holding onto himself, waiting for me to comply while running his hand up and down, his body revealed to me for the first time, unexpectedly muscular, legs and some of his midsection bare for my greedy eyes.

I close my lips over him, only the first inch, unsure what he wants me to do, his hand leaving its place to stroke across my jaw, back into my hair, gripping what slips between his fingers, his hand pulling me in, sliding himself inside my mouth, a small pleasured sound passing his lips sending an odd sensation through me, some sickly hot satisfaction. He’s leaning his free arm on the wood above me, his head downturned, his eyes hidden from my view by the wood of the booth, his mouth gaping in pleasure, his chest heaving beneath his robes, cross around his neck swinging as he moves against me, a reminder of our frailty, our unworthiness of God’s image.

“Ah- You’re… This feeling is… Lord forgive me… For I will sin again…” His teeth are gritted, his hand pulling me in a little closer, my throat tightening around him startling me, his pleasured noise deep and pleasant when I press my hands to his thighs to get a breath, sputtering embarrassingly, his hand smoothing my hair helping me calm back down. “Forgive me… I got carried away…” He’s ducked down to look at me, seeming perturbed, stroking at my hair, his cross drawing my eyes before I look back up at him, slipping my fingers up the underside of his manhood, watching him, his pleasured noise sending a searing shock down to my privates, my mouth closing back around him, moving on my own, humming when he allows it, just keeps his hand on the back of my head, guiding me, his head rested back on his forearm, my eyes on the lower half of his face, the portion I can see, his expression looking pained from the pleasure, teeth ground tight, jaw clenched with stress, my hand running over his exposed stomach making him flinch, his length twitching between my lips. “Wicked girl… You’re-hah- ruining me… Turned me into a damned-!” He pulls me back, my lips leaving him with an obscene amount of saliva, smeared over him and connecting him back to my lips, his hand slipping forward to tilt my head up toward him, his eyes back in my view, looking down at me, his thumb stroking the mess on my lips. "I won’t let this end until I’ve shown you all that a lover can be, miss. Surely this isn’t what you’ve sought after… I can offer you more… you need only relax and let me show you…” He wraps his fingers over my bicep, pulling me gently up until I stand before him, his hand pushing me gently back to seated on the little bench, his fingers finding my upper legs through layers of skirts, running slowly up, giving me an awful sense of yearning, the feeling pleasurably painful, sickening, his cross swinging at eye level while he's doubled over reminding me I should be ashamed to be satisfied in any way from something so heinous.

“Father, what’re you-” He drags me, fingers tight on my legs, pulling me until my hips rest on the six inches of wood separating my space and his, my upper body laid on the bench, propped on my elbows, only a couple inches lower than the window.

“You’ve bewitched me, truly… Made me insatiable… My lust for you is painful, forcing me to succumb to your allure time and time again… Now you’ll see what you’ve done to me, feel the craving- the need I have for you, firsthand…” He sinks to his knees, keeping his eyes on my face, my elbows digging into the wood a little uncomfortable, but the look in his eyes keeps me from breaking my gaze from his, watching him as he pushes up on my skirts, leaving them pooled at my waist, my undergarments unobscured, his hand making its way back down to grip to my ankle, his skin scalding hot against me, lifting until my leg is in line with his lips, his head turned to the side to press his lips to my inner ankle, his gaze on me as he trails his way up, leaving saliva along his path up the inside of my leg, the whole display more pleasurable than probably anything I’ve ever experienced. “I know how to please you… I’ll be sure to satisfy your ungodly desires… Leave you so perfectly complacent you’ll never let anyone else bed you…” He finishes his kissing, pausing with his lips pressed to my lower thigh, easing my foot down on the bench just behind him, my knee bent, his hand moving to my other ankle, easing it up to repeat the process, drawing it out, kissing unbearably slow, looking at me in a lustful, entirely sinful way.

“Father? It’s… There are people outside… Shouldn’t we… Hurry this along?” He smiles, eyes creasing in such a beautiful way, his hand guiding my foot to rest on his other side, his head between them, shoulders just below my knees.

“Impatient woman… Confess it.” He lets his hands slide up the outsides of my legs, fingers pausing on the waist of my undergarments, his eyes peering at me, intense and masculine, commanding in his calm, even-toned way. I’m having trouble keeping my breathing even, the anticipation of his promise hanging heavy, blanketing the cramped space, the people milling about outside the booth making me wary to be caught.

“I have committed the sin of impatience. I don’t want to wait, forgive me.” He smiles, pulling down, exposing me to him, pulling my legs back one after the other to rid me of the pesky clothing, his eyes cast down once he’s finished, his expression clouded and lustful, his chest heaving, eyes a little low as he takes me in, bare before him, willing and ready to commit a cardinal sin for him.

“You’re forgiven… Now I must confess…” He leans forward, hands sliding up the back of my thighs before gripping to my skin, both of us clammed up from the suffocating heat of the space, his warm breath against me making me shiver. “I have committed the sin of envy… Stephan is the luckiest man in history… To have a woman as phenomenal as you… I’m truly envious, in utter disbelief he has not a clue how incredibly beautiful you look when you enjoy yourself…” He presses a finger against me, startling me, all of this foreign, his thumb trailing up wetness that usually comes much later, once Stephan is nearly done, his slippery finger pressing a couple inches above my entrance making me flinch, the feeling shocking, pleasant in a tight, unexpected fashion. “Ah… Perfection… I wasn’t sure… But that monk really did figure out the secrets of women…” I have no idea what he’s speaking about, all I know is this pleasure is foreign, tight and nearly too much, his thumb rubbing softly up and down as he watches me, seeming pleased to confirm I can feel in this way. “I was told a woman can achieve the same type of euphoria as men… I hope I’m well-equipped enough to give you at least one climax… I’ll try my best, miss, in God’s name.” I’m trembling, the feeling building into something far more than what it began, a sickening tension, my muscles wound tight, teeth gnashed and head leaned back onto the wall, his thumb pulling away releasing the tension building, his look amused.

“What’s… Why..?” He laughs, fanning hot air against me, his lips pressing to the place his thumb just left, his smile widening when I gasp and squirm, bag hands on my thighs holding me still as he uses his tongue, letting out a soft pleasured noise at the flavor, or the action, I’m not entirely sure.

“Forgive me… I couldn’t go without a taste… My god… You’re the most divine thing I’ve ever laid eyes on… the most raw and formidable temptation I’ve ever had the pleasure of letting ruin me…” He’s rubbing me again, pressure more firm than before, sure of himself, the satisfying tension coming back quicker than before, my eyes on him, the sight of him with my wetness smeared over his skin drawing a pleasured noise from deep in my chest, my breathing more frantic than I can ever remember, my legs trembling lightly from his ministrations, his gaze holding mine, his skin a rosy pink, lips flushed red. “You are my ultimate desire… An itch that has been gnawing, working away at me… Tearing me away from the lord… luring me into a pleasant trap…” I’m barely registering his low words, drawled with his cheek pressed to my skin, the tight pleasure clouding my mind, blanketing me in the feeling. “You’re nearly there… So beautiful… Keep your eyes on me… Face what you’ve done… Given into lust… Taken me down your depraved path as well… Don’t fret, your sins are forgiven… So get on with it, show me how blasphemous you are… deriving pleasure from being bedded, let this be for your pleasure and that alone… There, that’s it, you’re doing so well, trembling so beautifully, making those sweet sounds for me…” The feeling peaks, my body convulsing, drawing in on itself, the pleasure hot and tight, all of me clenched tight, his fingers pausing, my eyes barely open to heed his order, looking into his eyes, his expression pleased and lax. “I could never receive enough of this… Watching you come undone before me, my actions giving you this much pleasure…” I feel droopy when I come down, slumped on the bench, legs lax and open around his head, his expression entirely pleased, glad. “Let me inside.” He pulls me, and I let him, stood up in front of him after a few seconds, waiting on him to sink inside, my skirts and his robes making it seem nearly impossible, but he doesn’t make any move to bury himself inside, only meets my lips in a searing kiss, his body flush against mine, pressing me into the wall of the booth, my body feeling overly hot, both of us sweating, his face shiny with perspiration and my mess he’s neglected to wipe away.

“Father… Please… I’ve already confessed my impatience.” He laughs, low and sinful, the softened pleasure coming back, my body ready for him, likely more ready than ever before. He pulls up on my skirts, though they’re getting in the way, bunched up to my waist when he gives me a look, pressing my hand overtop my lower abdomen to hold them up, his hand gripping his manhood, pressing toward my entrance, rubbing lightly at that pleasurable spot, my low pleased noise muffled in the chest of his robe, his cross pressed cold to my overheating cheek.

“I wouldn’t like to hurt you… express any discomfort, miss, I’ll move slowly…” He pushes, pressing slowly inside, the feeling a little like the sting of antiseptic, his length and girth well over what I’m used to, but not painful, the wetness he caused allowing him to slip inside without incident, pressing tight inside, the full feeling filling some carnal, animalistic desire. “I’ll spill it outside… I won’t desecrate you too harshly…” He pulls back, pressing back inside equally slow, his hand sliding down to clasp around the inner side of my knee, drawing it up to parallel with my hip, his eyes on mine as he moves, slow, passionate and careful in a perfectly unexplainable way, the pleasing feeling of his eyes on mine prompting me to let my head lean back onto the wood, gazing up at him in a way that is surely embarrassingly wanton, but he doesn’t mind, just tucks his chin, gazing down at the place we’re connected, brows drawing together as a low rumble rips through his chest. “Is this… Are you in-hah- pain?” I shake my head, holding up my skirts a little higher, my other hand trapped between my chest and his stomach, gripped tight to his robes. “Confess… Bare your sins to the-ah lord-!” He speeds up his movement, the sound of skin hitting skin tearing pleased noises out of the both of us, his grip going a little tighter on my knee, his eyes holding mine captive, staring at me in an obscene fashion, pained and pleasured and anguished and adoring all at once.

“I-ah- I’m committing the-hah- the sin of-! Adultery-! I-hnn- I couldn’t resist the- the father… Please-ah- please forgive-! Me-!” Speaking isn’t all that easy, his manhood hitting the deepest parts of me, only a little painful, mostly pleasing, his thumb moving back to that spot making me keen, my face pressed to his chest until it passes, his movement gaining a steady, quick rhythm, his thumb moving in time with his hips, his breathing labored and shaky.

“Forgive us-Nnh- for we have sinned… Miss-ah-! I will now-hah- close the-Hnn-!” He ducks his head down, face pressed to the crook of my neck, his body shaking against me, mine against him, all of us ruined, torn apart from the need burning inside, a desire satiated only by action. “God the- the father of mercies-hah- Through-Nnh-! The death and resurrection of his son-ah- son-! As recon-hah-ciled by the-hnn- the uh-Nnh-!” He’s losing himself, and his teachings, mind too full of lust to recall his closing prayer, his hips pressing to mine in an almost animalistic fashion, rutting with the force of a needy dog, his head pulled back to look at me, his expression sinfully beautiful, all of him wet with sweat, red, his eyes low, held open by his need to see himself ruin me, make me into something just as terribly and fully depraved as him. “You really are-hah- the perfect temptation-nnh- In a world full of sinners we’re-ngh- only two of millions… If this costs me my spot in heaven so- so be it, this is my own-Nnh-! personal heaven, buried inside and gazing into your eyes-!…” He’s panting, and so am I, both of us near the inevitable high, shaking and releasing low noises into the space between us, our gazes locked, the eye contact offering a passion and sickening tension, spurring me closer, his thumb moving with harsh pressure, sending me near insanity, his quick thrusts driving me up the wall, his low words rushed and raspy, groaned out and whiny, nearly sounding pleading, his expression gone fearful, distraught at his own pleasure. “The world to- himself and sent the- the-nnh-!” He leans his head back, eyes closing and a loud groan ripping out of him, the sight drawing a decidedly needy noise out of me, my eyes trailing down to his cross, just in front of my face, bouncing agonist his chest, condemning me, my transgression seen and judged by God. “Damnit-! Sent to us- for the-ah- forgiveness ‘f sins-! Through the minis-ah- may god give-nnh-! May god give us pardon- yes-ah- and peace-nnh- I-ah-ab-oh- absolve-!” He slows down, both of us coming down from the near climax, his eyes coming back to me, forehead pressed to mine, his hips working in more of and arc like motion, the feeling of him dragging inside tearing an overly wanton sound from me, his eyes watching me as he draws this out, keeps us both teetering, giving himself a moment to finish his broken prayer. “I absolve you of your-ah- sins, and myself of- of mine…” He takes a few more seconds, pressing inside slowly, keeping his eyes on mine, bright blue shadowed by his hair, messy and sweaty, before he speeds back up, sinking inside over and over again at a pace that seems inhuman, his body impossibly tight to mine, the feeling of nearness coming back, my release denied now back to ruin me, leave evidence of my sin. “In the-ah- name of the- the father-! And of-hah- the-nnh- son and the-! The-ah- holy-hnn-! Spirit!” I’m squeezing him, my body almost uncontrollable when I clench and shake from pleasure, head tilted back and my eyes on his as he pulls out, leaving me empty, his seed spilled over the front of my thigh, trails dripping and soaking my skin, his release enticingly sensual to watch, a raw kind of experience, my mind hazy and full of him, watching him until he’s done, my leg returned to standing, his hands gently smoothing my skirt over both our messes. “Amen.”

“Amen.”

[goingbuggy]

i’m pretty certain that’s not shanks’ own wedding. from what i’ve seen in the japanese fandom the general consensus is that it’s not his wedding and he’s a guest. (a popular theory is that it’s uta’s wedding but idk about that…) i’d bet it’s something to do with the giants (which oda didn’t want to reveal yet) just from the way it’s drawn is meant to deliberately hide the size of the church and the other guests. there’s a guy in the background who’s cheering at the church while facing away from shanks at the same time the doves are being released. it’s a crucial moment and shanks is just off to the side reading the newspaper.

i’m so certain shanks doesn’t have another kid, that would fuck up his character. oda loves shanks, and he loves his father-daughter relationships. he’d never make shanks into the kind of guy who’d willingly start a new happy family while uta’s back in Elegia suffering. it also just goes against the whole theme of bonds being stronger than blood? shanks leaves his adopted daughter miserable and suicidal, but takes care to ensure his biological child he hasn’t met is safe and loved? i just can’t imagine that being the ending.

i also see japanese fans saying they’d think shanks was a scummy guy towards uta if he went and had a kid, so i’ve seen people leaning towards beck instead. apparently oda emphasizing that beck loves women is a big indicator. 

another reason some fans say it’s not shanks is because makino calls him ‘taichou-san’ which is a very formal address. how people refer to each other is very important. so there’s a hint in how it’s distant and like a stranger’s behavior.

my personal opinion is that the dad is just a regular villager or a marine. there’s a lot of men who are way closer distance wise so that would be the simplest answer. there’s a good chance oda just doesn’t know or care when only one parent matters. we don’t even know yamato or luffy’s mom.

hi, anon!! sorry for making you wait. it's actually funny that i forgot to reply to this for so long, because in that time, my feelings have slightly... changed? somewhat??? i'll explain.

i was reading the extra "road to laughtale" volumes for fun recently when i stumbled across shanks' section, and there are some interesting implications which actually contradict my previous thoughts, if true.

the language used here -- that shanks is "attending a wedding ceremony," and "performing a benediction" -- sounds less like a man getting married, and more like a man who officiated someone else's wedding. (of course, there's the matter of translation accuracy and how canon this information actually is, but...)

"benediction" in particular is very interesting. not only is shanks attending a wedding, but he is essentially giving his blessing. how literal this is, i can't be sure, but either way, it implies a sense of familiarity/closeness to a party other than himself. perhaps shanks is giving his figurative "blessing" as an emperor to one of his allies, or maybe as a captain to one of his own crewmates. or maybe, in the most literal interpretation, he was responsible for wedding two individuals in some way.

i'd love to get my hands on the raw scans and see alternative translations, but "benediction" is so specific a term, and the repetition of "attending" reads as intentional. again, we still don't know for sure, but i feel a lot less certain about it being shanks' wedding, now!!

[pscottm]

Before getting into the oral arguments, though, it’s important to recognize that the plaintiffs aren’t kidding about the lack of options available to them.

According to legal briefs, the homeless people only have four options in the city. They can stay at a “sobering center” meant for intoxicated people... which has 12 rooms but no beds. There’s a youth shelter where minors ages 10-17 can stay for up to three days (or more with parental consent). There’s a “warming shelter” that can hold 40 people in freezing weather… but also has no beds.

And then there’s a homeless shelter run by Gospel Rescue Mission.

GRM is a Christian ministry that requires all residents to work for them without pay for “six hours a day, six days a week in exchange for a bunk for 30 days.” They also cannot look for outside work during that month. That’s not all though. They must also attend church every Sunday (from a pre-approved list); Unitarian services are not acceptable. And they have to attend a chapel service twice a day. And they can’t smoke or drink. And they can’t have sex during their stay.

They’re calling for the city to fine and jail the homeless in the hopes that they become the only alternative for anyone seeking to avoid punishment. When you see yourself as the antidote, you start to root for poison.

It’s telling that there’s literally zero mention of “God” anywhere in the brief—which is rather unusual for a Christian group making an argument to the Supreme Court. Especially this Supreme Court. The argument isn’t a religious one because how could it be? The ministry says they have beds available, but for various reasons, many of them are going unused. They must know how bad it would look to justify the cruelty against the homeless using the language of faith. Yet they seem blissfully unaware of how their own religious restrictions may play a significant role in why people with no other options still don’t want to ask them for help.

[fite-club]

okay, i’m gonna talk about my own experiences for a second. this is not meant to invalidate the experiences of others, just to provide an alternate perspective. we have seen ample stories of asexual, demisexual, or graysexual people describing the alienation and otherness they felt during school and from their peers for not being sexual “enough”— what i want to discuss is how i felt those things as a hypersexual person, for being too sexual.

i was raised in the deep south of the usa, the “bible belt”, attending a private catholic school from ages 4-14. for most of my life i went to church twice a week. our self-expression was severely limited, and i got detentions constantly for wearing socks that were too short. the uniforms were very strict, and the bodies of little girls were treated like dangerous distractions. no shoulders, knees, or ankles could be visible, and no makeup or nail polish was allowed. one of the middle school teachers always said that no student needed to look like a prostitute. our “sex ed” was an animated movie from the 90’s where the moral of the story was, literally, i kid you not, “don’t have sex before marriage or you might die”. the messages i absorbed in my youth were that being sexual was unacceptable and that sex was something that should only happen between two married adult heterosexuals behind closed and locked doors. and, hell, my parents went through a divorce, so i didn’t even have any representation of healthy relationships let alone healthy sexuality. when i was 13 and had an orgasm for the first time after masturbating, i thought something terrible was happening to my body. i thought the reason i clenched my legs together was because i “wasn’t supposed to be doing it yet” (i hadn’t started my period). i believed for a long time that what i was doing was wrong and unnatural and that i was being punished, somehow, for doing it.

in high school i started dating for the first time. my friends and my parents disapproved. he was nerdy and not conventionally attractive. no one in my entire group of girl friends was dating or even really interested in dating. if they talked about boys, it was about rejecting them. when one of them actually did start seeing boys, she didn’t talk about it. probably for the same reasons i never talked about my boyfriend— those things were “private”, and we felt judged for not being “focused on school”. when i started sexually experimenting with my boyfriend, i told no one. we both lied to everyone about what we were up to. we both felt like, or in some senses knew, that what we were doing wasn’t acceptable. that it was wrong.

i can’t even get too into how me being trans and gay factored into this or i’ll be here all day. gay sex was a one-way ticket to eternal hellfire, and trans people were delusional sex offenders. gay men were dirty and perverted, and their PDA was not safe for children. if a trans person did exist, they certainly weren’t having any sex. a trans person could never be sexually desirable or attractive in any way. in fact, it’s hilarious that someone could be attracted to a trans person— obviously the only way that could happen is if the trans person was deceitful and tricked someone into thinking they were hot. LGBT was synonymous with corruption and damnation. do you see where i’m going with this?

i cannot stress enough the cultural undertone of “sluts are bad”. the guilt and shame that i felt for being horny, something very normal and natural, horribly affected my self esteem. my sexuality developed in strange ways because i had virtually no sex ed whatsoever, but was curious and had little parental supervision on the internet. i genuinely thought there was something wrong with me. i wondered if i had repressed memories of being sexually assaulted, or if i had some sort of sexual mental illness. i felt “broken”, or “alien”, or “wrong”. and i have spent the entire rest of my life unlearning those messages and healing my relationship with my own sexuality. it took me a long time to truly forgive myself for having feelings that were normal. to fully understand that i was not a morally bad person just because i wanted to sleep with people i wasn’t married to.

all of this is just to say that feeling “broken” is not something unique to asexuals or people on the “aspec”. of course i have sympathy for those who grew up feeling pressured to be sexual! i’m just saying that isn’t a universal experience, and it hurts to have my experiences be conveniently erased for the sake of making a point about “aphobia”. we did not all have classmates who bragged about the sex they were having, we did not all have parents who pressured us into dating, we did not all hear that “sex is important to your health”. acting as if everyone around the world was raised in the same environment as you is naive and self-centered. i once again stress that this is not directed towards aces simply speaking about their experiences, but rather towards aces/demis who frame their experiences as wholly unique and uniform. those who tell me that i can’t possibly know what it’s like to feel like you are different from everyone else, or that your body/brain is wrong. people who INSIST that the default/majority environment is one where sexuality is celebrated and a lack of sexuality is punished. plenty of us have suffered under purity culture! we do not have allosexual privilege! the feelings you had were real, but the world is bigger than you and your life.

[trelldraws]

The other night I was searching JSTOR for papers on 16th- and 17th-century German witch trials, as one does, when I came across this absolute showstopper of an abstract:

For 250 years insects and rodents accused of committing property crimes were tried as legal persons in French, Italian, and Swiss ecclesiastic courts under the same laws and according to the same procedures used to try actual persons. I argue that the Catholic Church used vermin trials to increase tithe revenues where tithe evasion threatened to erode them. Vermin trials achieved this by bolstering citizens' belief in the validity of Church punishments for tithe evasion: estrangement from God through sin, excommunication, and anathema. Vermin trials permitted ecclesiastics to evidence their supernatural sanctions' legitimacy by producing outcomes that supported those sanctions' validity. These outcomes strengthened citizens' belief that the Church's imprecation were real, which allowed ecclesiastics to reclaim jeopardized tithe revenue.

ME: THEY WHAT?

Needless to say, I had to click this paper, whereupon I passed in the course of several pages from wondering whether this was a really elaborate joke published in Chicago University's Journal of Law and Economics to literally crying with laughter:

Everyone has heard of a kangaroo court. But how about a court for kangaroos? What about a court for caterpillars? Impossible though it seems, for 250 years French, Italian, and Swiss legal systems had just that. Their ecclesiastic courts tried insects and rodents for property crimes according to the same procedures used to try legal persons. These courts summoned snails to answer charges of trespass, appointed legal counselors to locusts, and considered defenses for grasshoppers on the grounds that they were God's creatures. They convinced cockchafers of cozening crops, fulminated against field mice for filching from farmers, and exiled weevils under pain of excommunication and anathema.

Vermin trials were not the province of Dark Age ignorance or impoverished primitivism. They were of a much later, more enlightened vintage—a Renaissance one. Further, they occurred in the wealthiest countries in the world.

One interpretation of vermin trials is that the judicial officials who conducted them were mad. In examining these trials' records, it is tempting to conclude as much. In the records, we find distinguished judges ordering crickets to follow legal instructions, dignified jurists negotiating a settlement between farmers and beetles, and a decorous court granting a horde of rat defendants a continuance on the grounds that some cats prevented them from attending their trial.

-

[3] This paper considers ecclesiastic trials of vermin only. It does not consider the prosecution of domestic animals, such as dogs in pigs, in secular courts. For information on trials of domestic animals, which is often mixed with discussions of vermin trials, see Evans (1906) and Finkelstein (1981). For information on trials of inanimate objects, which is also occasionally mixed with discussions of animal trials, see Hyde (1916, 1917a, 1917b) and Pietz (1997). For information on animal trials under Roman law, see Jackson (1978).

This is so much absurdist litigation.

Early modern citizens' knowledge of pests and how to control them was poor. A perusal of pest control manuals used by professional farmers reveals just how poor. State-of-the-art Renaissance pesticides included sprinkling weasel ashes or water in which a cat had been bathed over fields to drive away mice; capturing a rodent, castrating it, and releasing it among other rodents to deter them; putting castor oil plants in afflicted fields to drive away moles; and hanging garlic around flock leaders' necks to protect sheep from wolves.[4]

[...]

Thus, it is unsurprising that, together with the other impressive remedies noted above, early modern farmers considered the ecclesiastical trial of vermin as a possible pesticide. Indeed, early modern pest control manuals explicitly advised farmers to use divine pesticide when confronted with difficult-to-resolve infestations. As one manual put it, "When all of these remedies are unsuccessful, one must turn to the ban of the Church" (Dannenfeldt 1982, p. 555).

Early modern citizens' divine-pesticide superstition is still less surprising when one considers the superstitions held by Europe's intellectual elite during the same period. These individuals held, for example, that the continent was infested by witches who had intercourse with demons and sole men's genitals while the men slept. When compared with this belief, simple farmers' belief that god might be able to exterminate pests is unremarkable.

[4] Early modern manuals contain a few pest control methods that are more sensible, for example, poison. But even these display incredible ignorance. One suggests using butter to poison rats.

-

Multiple communities beset by the same pests sometimes sued vermin collectively. For instance, in 1659 the Italian communes of Chiavenna, Mese, Gordona, Prada, and Samolico banded together to prosecute caterpillars they charge with trespassing on and damaging their fields.

A class action against caterpillars!!!

Ecclesiastic courts appointed defense attorneys to represent accused insects and rodents. Thus, when in 1519 the inhabitants of Glurns, Italy, sued some field mice for property damage, the court appointed legal counsel for the mice "to the end that they may have nothing to complain of in these proceedings" (Evans 1906, p. 112). Similarly, later that century, when the inhabitant of Saint-Jean-de-Maurienne, France, sued some weevils, the court appointed the creatures two legal representatives, a procurator and an advocate, "lest the animals against whom the action lies should remain defenseless" (Cohen 1993, p. 120).

Ecclesiastic judges showed impressive fairness towards vermin in such trials. Consider a fourteenth-century lawsuit brought against some flies by the inhabitants of Mainz, Germany. To the court's consternation, the flies refused to appear before the bench after being summonsed. The court concluded that "in consideration of their small size and the fact that they had not yet reached their majority," it would overlook the flies' failure to appear and would appoint them adequate defense counsel to prevent it from happening again (Evans 1906, pp. 110-11).

AAAAA

The lawyers representing vermin argued strenuously for their clients at trial. A common defense was that the defendants were God's creations. Thus, they had as much right to enjoy the fruit of His earth as the plaintiffs. Another common defense was that the case was invalid. Thus, the plaintiffs should be nonsuited.

One argument that vermin defense attorneys made towards this end was that their clients were vermin (Evans 1906, pp.98-99). This would have been a sensible argument against treating pests as legal persons—presumably the most sensible one—were it not offered by way of elaborate judicial proceedings that presumed the legitimacy of treating grasshoppers and moles as legal persons ipso facto.[6]

Procurators on both sides "took their job very seriously, devoting a great deal of time, knowledge, and legal expertise to the defense of their clients" (Cohen 1993, p.120). Vermin trials involved much legal wrangling. And judges at least pretended to be at great pains to decide cases justly.

[6] According to Chassenée (1531), another legal manuever [sic] attorneys for vermin resorted to was to argue that their clients were clerics, which entitled the vermin to the benefit of clergy. This would have permitted insects and rodents to have an ecclesiastic judge decide their case when the bishop granted jurisdiction to a secular magistrate (Evans 1906, pp.32-33). No vermin counselor ever used this argument. Still, the possibility that caterpillars or field mice might be men of the cloth was an argument the courts were willing to entertain.

By this point I was actually wheezing. Quoth a friend, accurately, upon being sent this excerpt: "???????????????? / The biggest, longest question mark of my life" ME FUCKING TOO

[7] Vermin often lost their case by default. Judges summoned vermin to appear in court to answer the charges against them three times. "The summoners were . . . served in the usual way by an officer of the court, reading them at the places most frequented by the animals" (Jamieson 1988, p. 51). If the vermin failed to respond to the third and final summons, the court could convict them.

-

To ensure that all members of the convicted species were aware of their sentence, the court announced the its verdict publictly and nailed broadsheets declaring its judgement to trees in the affected area. Alternatively, the court might bright some specimens before the bench to inform them of its decision, remitting the creatures to the afflicted area to share the decision with their colleagues (Dinzelbacher 2002, p. 410).

PLEASE!!!

TL;DR this whole paper was just such an experience, thank you god and the University of Chicago, I've never laughed so much in the course of reading an academic publication in my life, well-researched this is not but imagine submitting this paper with a straight face, this man has won academia

[southeastasianists]

Making movies about lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender can be daunting under Singapore’s restrictive censorship laws, but that didn’t stop one filmmaker from doing so in his directorial debut. Getting his work to the big screen, however, was a whole other obstacle to overcome.

It only took one month for Jet Ho to conceptualize, write, cast and film Aqua Man, a short film about a young Singaporean boy that looks at the hot-button topic of gay conversion therapy. But that was just the beginning of his struggle for anyone to see it. Because it touches the media third rail of homosexuality, his story of student Jun Jie, his distressed mom, and Bible-armed pastor was rejected at least 15 times, by Ho’s count, by streaming platforms and film festivals.

“It [was] quite fast to film, but it took me a very hard time to promote the film,” Ho told Coconuts. “It basically was rejected everywhere from the start until I decided to just launch it on YouTube and give it some justice to itself.”

There’s no Jason Momoa here coming to the rescue, so why Aqua Man? Aqua sounds similar to a derogatory Hokkien term for gay men, Ah Kua, which literally means transvestite. In Ho’s film, actor Josh Lim is the titular character, who comes home one day to find his mother has brought a pastor to pray the gay out of him with a praying ritual form of conversion therapy.

It’s a timely topic as Singaporeans clash over extending or suppressing LGBT rights and recognition in an uneven struggle that has seen one side given a voice over the other.

Because of the subject matter, Aqua Man could never be shown on television, as films featuring characters who are gay – an “alternative sexuality” to government censors –  is automatically rated 21 and up.

That restriction, most often applied to movies containing nudity, was not something Ho was OK with. After all, he wanted to reach those who would most identify with his protagonist.

“It is a societal problem that starts out even with kids at a very young age,” Ho said, referring to the younger generation who struggle with their sexual identity. “This has got nothing to do with explicit pornographic material, that perhaps needs a higher age rating.”

So in December he premiered his film on YouTube, where it has struggled to find a large audience.

Unseen …

The commercial photographer for the National Museum and National Geographic channel said he was motivated to make his movie by the lack of a quality queer representation in Singaporean television shows and movies.

Queer characters portrayed as regular people are unheard of on national television, where they are relegated to cross-dressing tropes by the likes of Jack Neo and drag queen Kumar, or are sources of comic relief, such as transgender comedian Abigail Chay.

There is some good – last year’s depiction of a family man turning to drag culture to feed his family was nominated for two Taiwanese film awards – and a whole lot of ugly, such as Mediacorp TV series My Guardian Angels, which portrayed a gay character as an STD-infected pedophile.

“They just include this character and always hint him in a very bad light or bad influence, driving a misrepresentation of the LGBT population in Singapore,” Ho said. “Let’s say Disney has one gay character in a movie and it is premiering in Singapore. I can tell you a lot of people will make a big fuss out of it.”

Indeed Disney’s Beauty and the Beast did kick up some dust in 2017 from church councils, which denounced the film winning a PG-rating despite the inclusion of a gay character.

That said, Singaporeans are more open to discuss gender identity today than two decades ago, Ho said, noting that Aqua Man is set nearly 20 years ago, a time he thinks Singapore’s cultural conservatism was at its peak.

Now, in 2021, arch-conservatives appear to feel they are on the defensive, denouncing “woke cancel mobs” over arguments that seem to have moved on from their point of view as negative LGBT views continue to tick down. Singapore’s strain of evangelical Christianity remains a potent force, and the intersection between faith and family is an area Ho mined for his film.

“Sometimes when the parents face such a problem that is already existing in our very conservative society, they often find a solution with the church or with religious institutions but the answer to whether it is the right or the most moral approach, nobody is there to judge,” Ho said. “I find this dilemma in the film very interesting because there is no right or wrong answer.”

Ho, who is not Christian, had only heard stories of conversion therapy. So, prior to filming, he dove a little deeper into the topic by attending weekly sermons at churches and interviewing pastors in hope of portraying them more accurately. He sounded grateful for the opportunity.

“I don’t want to put any church or any organization in bad light, I want to make the whole film look as authentic as it is. With the church, I was very thankful to come out with this concept,” he said, describing them as “loving” and “very understanding.”

… but not unheard

Aqua Man could have reached a wider audience and been better funded were it not for the strict laws, believes Ho, who forked out S$16,000 (US$12,000) to make it. Even film festivals and competitions turned him down.

“The main problem was when I tried to send out to a few film competitions, I wasn’t notified on whether I lost or anything. Locally, like streaming platforms I actually send out a few emails to their main email and even directly to people who work there but I received zero emails,” he said. “That’s how serious it is, they are so repulsive against LGBT-centric films.”

Ho submitted his film to the Singapore International Film Festival and HBO Asia’s Invisible Stories series, which is marketed as surfacing untold Singapore stories. They were among the more than dozen platforms he says rejected or ignored his inquiries. But he took comfort in one HBO representative’s note.

“Even though we didn’t win anything, it was actually a great relief because she personally wrote an email to us, and that’s the only reply that we got. At first, I really thought the film was so bad and negative to the extent that it doesn’t deserve a place or it doesn’t deserve anything,” he said.

Though direct to YouTube wasn’t his first choice, Ho was gratified by the response he got.

“After the film was produced, it was very astonishing to find that many people actually reach out to say that this happened to them personally so it became a true story that I wrote. Initially, I just dictated the story and something I think will be interesting to show but it became a true story, told by people who watch the film,” he said.

Local LGBT group Oogachaga had also shared the movie on its online platform.

And it’s not the end of the road for Ho, who is still pushing for Aqua Man to reach a wider audience. He’s also writing another script and pledging to continue chasing stories on social issues such as transgenderism, racism, and abuse.

“Singapore has to have its own culture when it comes to filmmaking, our culture is our identity. We should portray more and show more, we shouldn’t hide it we should embrace it and move forward,” he said. “Trying to conceal the whole LGBT-centric material is not going to be helpful for us to progress into a more empathetic society.”

[traumacatholic]

I'm sorry in adavnce for a small rant... but i'm so tired of everything. For the past 2 years our government has been closing and opening the churches willy-nilly. And even if they were open we had to like.. write our name on a piece of paper to trace back in case anyone gets covid during mass. And then only vaccinated people were let in. And now the churches are completely closed. There is no mass. And our bishops are not doing anything, they just endorsed vaccination and said we are dispensed from mass since it's covid and that's it. It feels like such a slap in the face, like right now we need to be close to God more than ever, but i feel like no one in my country is taking a stand for us believers. It's not like i have other options right now, but watching the mass online or on tv feels like a caricature of what mass should have been. For the past few months i've been "just" reading the scripture and praying at home, but it feels so meaningless when i don't know when this situation ends. I know you can't like fix all this, but i've been so frustrated for so long and i have literally no one irl to complain about this, because they would not understand. They are either vaccinated and waiting until the church opens for them, or they watch it on tv and don't get that i hate the mere idea of that... anyway. I hope you are having a nice day. And i wonder, what is the church situation wherever you are?

I'm sorry that you're struggling because of Church closures. I do understand the frustration of wanting to go to Mass but being unable to. For here, for a long while Churches were closed and then for some time after a lot of Churches weren't offering Confession (presumably because of social distancing laws and no real alternative place to hear Confession).

We are now kind of being threatened with another lockdown, so our ability to attend Church right now is on shaky footing. Hopefully a further lockdown won't come into place, or that the rules won't be as restrictive as they were before. Although some signs are pointing towards it being a very restrictive lockdown if it goes ahead.

I know that you feel lacking in 'just' reading Scripture, and that you dislike watching Masses. Would it be possible to make your prayer routine longer on a Sunday or dedicate more time to Scripture reading? For example, on Sundays you might want to try praying part or all of the Divine Office or the Little Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Frustrations in prayer do arise, and while it's not the same thing as spiritual dryness, we can push through it and find that our commitment to prayer and Scripture grows as a result of this time. That we grow in deeper devotion to the Mass, and grow deeper in our knowledge and love for the Eucharist. Don't be afraid to send your Guardian Angel to attend Mass for you, and for you to make Spiritual Communion of your own!

If you feel watching the Mass online is too irreverent, then find ways of making it more meaningful to you and your relationship with God. This could be turning the lights off, burning some incense, and lighting candles. It could be getting into your Sunday best anyway. You can turn Sunday into a longer devotion to God, by really setting it aside for God. Making the change to not go on your phone or laptop so much, and to spend Sundays reading theology books, or spending more time in Bible study. Please don't feel like you have to miss out on Mass just because you can't physically attend.

And of course, using this time and this frustration to pray for your country's bishops and priests + your country in general, can be a really good use of your time. I really am sorry that you're stuck in this situation, and I pray that it will improve for you soon. God bless you

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Colin Fisher

Photo by ilyse krivel

Toronto-based multi-instrumentalist Colin Fisher is on a constant quest for the ecstatic through sound. His journey has taken him in many directions, from the math-rock inspired group Sing That Yell That Spell, to the fiery free improvisation duo Not the Wind, Not the Flag. As a band leader, his free jazz quartet released the white-hot Living Midnight for Astral Spirits in 2020, about which Derek Taylor wrote, “Passages of ruminant restraint alternate with excoriating blasts and outbursts, but the means always remains intelligible and momentum driven whether full-steam or incremental.” Solo, Fisher has recently wafted in a more contemplative direction that might see him associated with the new age revival, but this work is as exploratory and engaging as his most spirited improvisational outings. Here, he lists some of the pieces within which he experiences the sublime.

Jean-Pierre Leguay — Chant d’Airain

Some of my first experiences with the sublime in music were in church. I abhorred being in church (and would even attempt to hide to avoid attendance) but at the end of service the organist played as the congregation filed out. The selections were usually secular and I can remember my rapt attention. Not because of some aesthetic taste but because I was having a physical/biological response to the sounds. Being in the resonant chamber of the cathedral provided a fully immersive experience. Rather than suggest whatever music was being played at the time I’m going to fast forward to my mid 20s… While in the same church, I heard the principal organist of Notre Dame improvise with some Messiaen-symmetrical ideas that lifted me out of my corporeal form and left me sobbing in a church pew at the very church I would have done everything in my power not to be present in as a child. The organist was Jean-Pierre Leguay.

Ravi Shankar — At Monterey Pop

An early transmission from what seemed like outer space at the time, as a young child I heard the sounds of Ravi Shankar and Alla Rakha live at Monterey Pop (my parents had this and the record with Yehudi Menuhin.) Ravi is far from my fav Hindustani musician or sitarist, of which I have innumerable favorites now. But I’m particularly enamored with Vilayat Khan after reading his biography, The Sixth String of Vilayat Khan, a couple of years ago. Pandit Pran Nath is also a huge inspiration.

Polvo — Cor-Crane Secret

Without sifting through the rubble of my punk/hardcore teens (which was totally legit inspirational beauty, from Minor Threat and straight edge to grunge, etc.) I want to highlight a band that literally changed my life in my mid to late teens. When I first heard Cor-Crane Secret by Polvo, I didn’t realize that music like this existed. It gave me permission to go on long wonky improvisational explorations — endless melodies and whammied chords that would go on for hours sometimes. I also got to see them on the Today’s Active Lifestyles tour when I was 18, totally life changing.

Ornette Coleman — The Shape of Jazz to Come

The next stage I’ll focus on has a little more girth: my introduction to jazz/free jazz/improv/fusion. I think I first discovered this music by accident. I remember seeing a clip of Monk on the news the day he died. I was much younger, and I thought to myself “this music is like an alien transmission!” But I put that away in the vaults for a couple of decades. I also remember seeing a clip on TV of a soprano player at a jazz fest in Toronto, playing the craziest shit I’d ever heard (once again on a news program,) but had little-to-no context. The clip lasted probably 10 seconds but felt longer and I remember thinking something like “this is more punk rock than punk rock!” hahaha. So, there was a hunger there that I needed to satiate. But I had no access to any recordings where I lived. I remember reading books at the library about jazz history and the only CDs I could borrow were Manteca or big band music. I had to imagine what Song X sounded like for the time being. Ornette’s The Shape of Jazz to Come was one of the first albums I actually bought, and it was more magical than any description could possibly illustrate. As pedestrian as this may seem to everyone now, it was another life changer for me. I can remember late nights sitting by myself, probably super high on good weed, listening to “Lonely Woman” and weeping.

John McLaughlin — Extrapolation

In my early days of discovering jazz, I also came across the music of John Mclaughlin, initially via Mahavishnu Orchestra. His whole profile as a guitarist was incredibly inspiring for me — someone who had an equal footing in jazz, Flamenco, Indian classical music and fusion — a model for what I could become as a player (although I don’t think our styles are really even that comparable.) One of his albums that I think is maybe overlooked in his career is Extrapolation which has an incredible lineup and the compositions are incredible.

John Coltrane — Interstellar Space

In considering this list I’m realizing there’s no way I can touch on all the music that has shaped me. But there is an album that’s shaped a great deal in terms of how I play and in what seems to be my favorite type of collaborative setting — the duo. Interstellar Space is an absolute masterpiece. Everything feels raw — the intensity, the interplay, the emotion. As much as I love so much of John Coltrane’s music, there’s something about this record that was akin to hearing punk music for the first time. There’s an immediacy to expression and interaction. And it was something that felt available to me (certainly not his virtuoso chops, which felt otherworldly — an unscalable monolith.) The direct communication between two people was a revelation and the content of this music felt like something I could mine for the rest of my life.

The Ivo Perelman Trio — “Cantilena”

Fast-forward another few years or more and I had travelled with some good friends to NYC for I think it was the JVC Jazz Fest. We wanted to see MMW play (of whom I still think Friday Afternoon In the Universe is a perfect album.) While we were there though, we saw so much beautiful music that blew me away. The most significant for me though, was catching the last 10 minutes of a set by the Ivo Perelman trio in Tribeca somewhere (the trio was with Jay Rosen on drums and Dominic Duval on bass, who I played with several years later. RIP). It was electrifying. I was moved enough to go and talk to him after and he gave me an unmarked demo tape of Seeds, Vision and Counterpoint. There’s a track on the album called “Cantilena” and it really drops into this heavy space for around 10 minutes that gives me the chills every time I hear it. There is this free lyricism that is still absolutely elating to me. I love his playing and he’s still probably my favorite living saxophonist.

Marilyn Crispell — Vignettes

Masabumi Kikuchi — Out of Bounds

Using lyricism as a segue it brings me to the music of Marilyn Crispell, especially her albums Amaryllis,Nothing Ever Was Anyway, Vignettes and many others. She has a mode of free ballad playing that is absolutely transcendental. I will also mention Masabumi Kikuchi in the same breath. I find the desire more and more to play with a similar intention even though I rarely find myself in the context to do so.

Jute Gyte — Birefringence

A total shift from this narrative of discovery and development is metal music. Something I’d been listening to since my teens and getting hip to some cool thrash music through Canadian band Voivod, particularly the album Dimension Hatröss. I've continued to follow the music and all of its various subgenres and have so many favorite picks, but I’ll choose just one and it’s a total mindbender. Jute Gyte’s Birefringence actually eclipses easy category and you really just need to experience it.

Giacinto Scelsi — “Uaxuctum”

Catherine Christer Hennix — “Blues Alif Lam Mim In The Modes Of Rag Infinity/Rag Cosmosis”

My last pick is another double pick (I know I’m cheating) because it relates to the power of music and ties it into the first selection. Another current, among many, of musical obsessions is “new music.” But when I heard Giacinto Scelsi’s music for the first time it surpassed all of my previous notions about what was possible with composed music — it felt like music from an ecstatic vision. Even as I listen to the track now, it immediately accesses some occult realm of sublimity that feels similar to the music I first heard in church but with an unbridled intensity and depth.

Another more recent selection that fits into this category — but that is different in that it embraces a sort of stasis rather than dynamic movement — is the music of Catherine Christer Hennix. If you don’t know her, she’s a deep well of musical/mathematical/spiritual inspiration for me. Another music without a real equivalent in this day and age — something that echoes ancestral currents as well as the vibration of the cosmos itself. Thanks for reading/listening. Peace be with you. xoxo

[thefandomlesbian]

Ship Questions!

Hotch/Reid

Domestic 🥰

(Also, I’m a huge fan of all your writings! Thanks for sharing 💜)

Thank you! ❤️

Sorry, this got pretty long!

1.) If they get married, who proposes?

Aaron does. Spencer is very comfortable not being married ever, and it's Aaron's drive to ensure Jack is in good hands in the event of his death that pushes him toward marriage. Spencer doesn't exactly want a wedding, but he knows Aaron is traditional and it's important to him, so he goes along with it.

2.) What's the wedding like? Who attends?

This could go one of two ways. 1.) They elope to Las Vegas so Diana can attend and invite literally no one else.

Or, more likely, 2.) They throw a BAU wedding in DC. JJ is the maid of honor and Derek is the best man. Rossi walks Spencer down the aisle and Gideon officiates. Rossi cries. Jack is the ring bearer and Henry is the flower girl.

A mostly unfamiliar face shows up, strolling up during the reception after the ceremony while Spencer is talking to Rossi and Derek. Spencer recognizes him first. "I don't want you here."

William is holding a brochure, pointing to where Rossi's name is listed as the father of the groom. "I would've come if you had called."

"I didn't want you to."

"You could've called," he insists. "You didn't have to write me off like this."

Derek goes to intercede, but Rossi catches him by the arm. "Hey, Reid," he says, looking quite mild. "There's one fatherly lesson I haven't taught you yet."

"What's that?" Spencer is confused at this assertion.

"How to throw a right hook."

William is on the floor, Aaron is covering Jack's eyes, Emily is cheering, JJ is trying to drag Spencer away, Gideon is getting Rossi some ice for his hands, and Strauss is pressing the bridge of her nose trying to decide if they can somehow make this a lawsuit for the bureau or if this is going to create more paperwork for her somehow.

Aaron invites a handful of old lawyer friends and Sean, who does reluctantly show up. Spencer invites his professors and teachers and Ethan. Several of them greet him with, "Oh, I haven't seen you in so long! You've gotten so tall!" which yields the question who was that person, and the answer is always, "A professor from my first doctorate."

3.) How many kids do they have?

In most timelines, only Jack. Spencer doesn't have any desire to spread his genes with his sketchy health history, and while Aaron wanted a bigger family with Haley, he knows it wouldn't be fair to do this to another child, the inconsistent hours, the lack of presence, and besides, Jessica wouldn't agree to free childcare for another kid. Spencer is okay with not being a father in the traditional way, and he's still someone who is very important to Jack, not to mention Henry and Hank and (insert baby name because I reject JJ naming her second child Michael).

But there is another timeline where they've discussed it. Spencer wants to be a father, and he tells Aaron that, and they aren't really sure how to proceed—with their line of work and histories, they aren't eligible for adoption. They look into surrogacy, but Spencer again doesn't really care to pass on his genetic material, and Aaron is having a very hard time shaking off his Catholic upbringing that makes him feel super duper icky and weird about something of his growing inside a woman he doesn't actually know that well and then that child being his and not part of her. They're at an impasse when, on a case, there's a break when a woman is found disemboweled in the dumpster while her newborn infant is wrapped in a plastic bag. There is no family after identification. Social services comes to take the baby, and they both feel like maybe this is some sign from the universe and they're missing out. Later that night when neither of them can sleep, Aaron rolls out of bed and calls the social services contact, and the baby is still floating around the office, not having yet found a foster family. So they take her.

It's several years of paperwork as they transition from foster parents to adopted guardians of Haley Diana Hotchner-Reid. Spencer steps down from the BAU to become a research professor full-time, and he finds cures for antibiotic-resistant bacterial illnesses. He invents a vaccine for tuberculosis. He has a routine schedule, so he's available for the kids all the time, and Aaron doesn't have to leave his job to have the family he wants.

4.) Do they have any pets?

Usually, no. Aaron is afraid of dogs. Animals don't like Spencer. Aaron grew up in rural Virginia, so he likes the idea of having horses like he did when he was young, but they don't have anywhere to put a horse or farm animals, and while Spencer fantasizes about having a farm, he thinks horses and cattle up close are terrifying. But occasionally they wind up with a cat, or even two cats if they're adventurous, and Spencer does a lot of research to start appropriate fish husbandry with a giant, well-kept aquarium where he teaches Jack all about how to properly care for fish (ie, goldfish and betas don't go in bowls, no fish go in bowls).

5.) Who's the stricter parent?

Neither of them are all that stern. Aaron doesn't know how to appropriately discipline a child. He knows what not to do, but he isn't sure about alternatives, and whenever Jack acts out of turn, he feels like it's his fault for letting Jack down and letting him experience so much trauma that twisted his ability to process his emotions in a healthy way. Aaron doesn't know how to provide structure and support in a positive way, and he tries, but it's hard.

Spencer also didn't exactly have any good parental role models. He does have the ability to learn everything there is to know about a child's interests through reading, and he does that to make connections. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't and Jack has still graffitied the side of the school building and Aaron is having to pay out damages and is trying very hard not to raise his voice and Spencer is like, "Is this what Ash Ketchum would do?" and Jack responds, "I'm thirteen, I haven't watched Pokemon in five years, grow up." Then they enlist a family counselor.

6.) Who kills the bugs?

Neither have bug fear. Spencer will squish roaches and pest bugs as he finds them. However, he thinks unique bugs are quite interesting, and he doesn't kill ants or spiders or crickets. Instead, he studies them. Spiders he always captures and takes outside. Once, Spencer has a piece of paper and a cup and is working very hard on entrapping a beautiful black widow, and Aaron sees it without realizing what he's doing and mushes it. "Why would you do that? Why would you kill an arachnid? She was protecting our home." After that, Aaron lets Spencer handle all the bugs and doesn't interfere since he never knows which ones deserve to live and which ones don't.

7.) How do they celebrate the holidays?

If someone is hosting a Christmas party, they'll attend, but otherwise, they'll stay inside and decorate the tree as a family. Sean is invited to Christmas dinner; he rarely comes. Jessica and her family go to her parents', and Aaron doesn't want to make Spencer uncomfortable by taking him there, so they avoid such gatherings. They make it special with just the three of them, unless another member or two of the BAU wants to squeeze in. Aaron likes to go to midnight mass, and he usually manages to convince Spencer to sit through it one night of the year.

On Halloween, they all go trick-or-treating together.

Easter is the other day of the year Aaron insists they go to church because, "I am nothing if not a Chreaster Catholic." Aaron takes Jack alone while Spencer stays home and sets up a wild egg hunt somewhere in the city, and when church ends, Aaron brings Jack to look for the eggs. Sometimes the rest of the BAU's kids join in.

For Memorial Day and Fourth of July, Aaron grills. Spencer tries once and they spend Memorial Day in the ER and Aaron has to buy a new grill. Likewise, they agree Spencer should not come within three feet of any firework materials, including benign sparklers and the like.

8.) Who's more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Aaron likes to get up early to brew Spencer's coffee the way he likes it, warm the house up, and start breakfast. Spencer never asks him to come back because he enjoys having the house warm and breakfast ready when he rolls out of bed. But if Aaron isn't feeling well and Spencer gets out of bed to do those things, it only takes a couple petulant grumbles on Aaron's part to convince Spencer to slide back under the covers.

9.) Who's the better cook?

Aaron is a much better cook. Spencer, to his credit, tries sometimes. But Aaron has a better understanding of how palates work and also how not to set things on fire. Spencer knows cooking is technically just a science, but it's a science that baffles him, he'll admit, like paranormal science or theology.

[vanquishedvaliant]

Three Houses and Three Ages; An analysis of the perspective of Time in the ideology of each Lord's Route

META ESSAY TLDR: Each house leader represents the idealized preference of a certain period of time; Claude is the Past, Dimitri is the Present, and Edelgard is the Future. Their routes enforce these time periods as what one should prioritize when making decisions, and what is most important when society is revolutionized.

Playing through Three Houses, it's quite clear that each of the three main Lord routes is a unique story with more differences between them than which maps are cleared or what nation you fight for; each of the stories is rich with themes and symbolism asking questions to careful readers, and offering different solutions based on the ideals and values of the characters you choose to follow.

Many have suggested before some strong themes these routes carry, most notably the question of "Do the Ends justify the Means?", and what place memories of the dead should have on the actions of the living. While these hold true on many levels of the story, it never seemed to fully encompass the whole of what the story had to say.

Reading more broadly across the entire text, I have come to think about their messages on a different alternative angle; that each route and lord is also representative of a method of thinking and decisions making that is based on their perspective of Time, ultimately asking the question of where you should look in time to decide what is right when the world is at the brink of revolution.

I propose that Claude, Dimitri, and Edelgard are each defined utterly by the answer they can be seen to represent; the Lessons of the Past, the Reality of the Present, or the Promise of the Future. 

Below, I will go into each character at length and provide specific evidence from the text for my proposal. This breakdown includes detailed spoilers for all routes*. 

Claude von Riegan - Correcting the Mistakes of the Past

Claude, heir to the sovereign dukedom of Leicester, is a man defined by the past. Born of the mixed heritage of two different nation's noble castes, he inherited the expectations and responsibilities of both, and neither. This disconnection from both sides frees Claude from each of their cultural momentum, and lets him to step back to see a global and historical perspective without the biases of a man with a true stake in either.

Coming to be known as the 'Master Tactician' and a brilliant schemer, Claude's harsh biracial youth cultivated a careful and contemplative attitude in him. He learned about others so he can act according to their expectations and fill the role that they want from him. As an adult, Claude uses this friendly attitude as a mask for his true intentions in order to gather information, and then uses his detailed knowledge of people, places, and events to manipulate their behaviour to his benefit.

Claude also makes his decisions based on extrapolation of other’s behaviour based on what they have already done in the past, and he values the lessons learned from their failures. Claude is the only lord to express interest in learning about the history of the Church, and why they came to be the way they are. He is the only lord who confronts Rhea, to ask questions about history, and learn most of the truth of the original sins and offenses that lead to the conflicts taking place in his time.

As the war progresses, Claude goes so far as to forsake his own nation's flag to lead his war, and instead flies the flag of the Crest of Flames. Mimicking the army of Nemesis in history, Claude steps into the past and uses established symbols to his benefit, using the popular story of history to rally support for his goal, but revising the positions to create a more positive result.

As we learn about his own motives, he tells the player he wishes to create a land where people from different nations, races, and creeds can live together without conflict. Claude's revolution can be seen as addressing and correcting the history that lead to these conflicts, rewinding the sins of the original war between Agartha and Nabatea to a time when all of Fodlan was said to coexist under Sothis, and stepping back further in his long term view to encompass the world beyond their continent. He wants to build a world where those conflicts in the past were resolved intelligently, with all they've learned since, and to do so, he must learn why and how those events took place, and he uses his knowledge of history to present a story to accomplish this.

At the climax of his route, Claude comes face to face with the resurrected Nemesis, a literal embodiment of the conflicts and mistakes of the past. He faces down this foe with knowledge and planning based on his fighting style and the heroes under his command, and defeats him by anticipating and counteracting his movements in battle, placing an arrow in advance right where Nemesis will attack. He immediately claims that the victory will be hailed by Historians as a new dawn, and the narrative ending text references changing the history of Fodlan no less than four times in quick succession.

Each of Claude's actions are careful, planned, and considerate. He takes every factor into account, learns everything he can from the way things were, and takes action to reproduce the victories, and correct the mistakes others have made in the past. And because of this, Claude thoroughly represents the decision making perspective of learning from Lessons of the Past.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd - Conserving the Values of the Present.

Dimitri, crown prince of Faerghus, is a man with his eye locked firmly on the now. Burdened by the death of his family in the Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri is unable to move on from events that happened in his past, and doing his best to do right by the people around him day by day. Dimitri is unable to rest when things he perceive to be unjust happen around him, and is the first to rush into action heedless of the repercussions.

As the story progresses, Dimitri confides in the player that he regularly witnesses vivid hallucinations of his deceased family members, describing them as if they are still there with him even 4 or later 9 years after their deaths. These memories encourage him to act, to find some kind revenge or salvation as he laments that he was helpless and unable to do anything on his own in the moment of that tragedy.

This manifestation of his trauma is emblematic of how he sees the world, still carrying the despair, anger, and helplessness of that time with him and unable to separate things that once were from things that are now, without properly grieving or accepting their fate. For Dimitri, the past is still happening in the present, and no matter what he does, he can't separate them.

Dimitri is determined to act upon this revenge without delay, and eventually confesses that his ulterior motives for all that he does, including attending the academy, are part of an ongoing plan to enact his revenge. When the perceived target of his revenge is revealed to be Edelgard, Dimitri immediately attacks her in that moment, with no need to confirm the truth of past events, or consider the consequences for the future.

As the war progresses, Dimitri's condition worsens and his anger overtakes him. His decisions become extremely impulsive and reckless. He charges into battle with no regard for the safety of himself or others, refuses to build connections with those around him, and is blinded to everything but what is immediately in front of him, acting on it the only way he knows how; with violence.

Dimitri's decision making during the first part of the war phase represents this need for instant-gratification. Dimitri directs the war effort directly into enemy territory, obsessed with achieving his revenge "Now" and either unable or unwilling to consider that his actions will affect the future of his people or his country.

As Dimitri regains composure and works to put the past behind him by learning the truth of the Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri makes decisions with more consideration, no longer blinded to the past and the future, but now actively choosing the present. He chooses to return to Fhirdiad not for sake of the future or the past, but because his people are continuing to suffer in the now, and he chooses to continue the war in the fight to bring peace as quick as possible. Dimitri's personal values uphold his priority of the present; he values the culture of chivalry that Faerghus currently embodies, fully believing in their established norms of noble knights and a glorious king protecting the weak and guiding the lost, and correcting injustices happening in the present with direct action wherever possible. Dimitri does not believe that the systems that govern their society are inherently flawed, and that problems can be solved by addressing them one at a time.

One such issue he faces is the prejudice against those of Duscur, which is strongly tied to the Tragedy and his personal motivations. Dimitri wishes to correct this injustice, and acts immediately with whatever power he has to further this goal. In Dedue’s paralogue Dimitri will rush into battle to prevent his own nation’s soldiers from slaughtering Duscur troops, and he expresses intent to immediately address the prejudice. However, Dimitri proposes no definite actions for these reforms, showing that while Dimitri is insistent to act, he does not have a long term plan for the future of reconciliation with Duscur, and is taking things one step at a time. Dimitri is not convinced by promises for the future, and he is not influenced by lessons of the past. He values how things are right now, making decisions based on the good and bad with only the information and ideas at hand. And for these reasons, I contend that Dimitri utterly represents living solely in the Reality of the Present.

Edelgard von Hresvelg - Breaking New Ground for the Future

Edelgard, Imperial Princess of Adrestia, is a woman unflinching in pursuit of her goals. Devastated personally and politically by the corruption in her current government and the manipulation of evils from the past, Edelgard turned the trauma of the gruesome torture and suffering she was made to endure into strength, resolving to 'cut her own path' to the future she envisioned.

Edelgard thoroughly rejects the tradition and culture of the world as it is. She sees the suffering of those in the present, and traces it back to decisions of the past. Seeing how the lingering resentment of both the Church of Seiros and the Agarthans continues to damage the world, she rejects both as wrong, and instead chooses to craft new and revolutionary solutions to combat problems and inequalities and develop a plan for a just society free from their influence.

In everything she does, Edelgard is determined to move forward. Edelgard voices respect and even solidarity for those that resist conventions and forge their own paths, even when she is compelled to oppose them, complimenting the leadership of the disgraced noble turned bandit Miklan, and commending the resolve and bravery of Lonato and his rebellion, refusing to treat them as victims for fighting for change they believed in.

Constantly adjusting her plans with new information at every moment, Edelgard frequently changes course when the costs are deemed too high, or the plan unworkable. Edelgard abhors the experimentation done by Solon in Remire, and long plans to turn against the Agarthans that Slither in the Dark, enacting her vengeance on them during the course of the war.

Support conversations with Manuella and Ferdinand display her understanding of the role of faith in the lives of the spiritual, and the need to produce an environment to uplift individuals. She alters her plans for the future to take both into account; dissolving the church without rejecting the Goddess, and developing plans for universal education and training, understanding the role each of these plays in developing a stronger society with educated and enlightened citizens.

When providing support for the player during their moment of crisis and despair, Edelgard encourages them to look forward. The advice she gives is that world will always move forward, and being held captive by the tragedy of the past, or accepting the present as it is is fruitless when time moves forward for everyone. The only thing one can do to change the past, is to do their best to work for the future, and help others to move forward as well. When Edelgard's true plans are revealed, she dictates the manifesto of her revolution; dissolution of the Church of Seiros, and the abolition of the crest-bearing nobility, two traditions of ancient history which continue to define the world in the present and which are perceived to be sources of injustice and inequality. These burdens of the past, the Church's anger and punishment of mankind, and the legacy of the Crests that persists from the tragedy of a society long since dead, are cast aside in favour of putting all thought towards the future.  Edelgard goes so far as to declare war; determining that the grueling tax of war and destruction in the present is preferable to allowing suffering to continue across society for years and decades to come. She concludes that moderate change is ineffective; and her experience shows this. Political reform in Adrestia was unsuccessful and was met with a coup that separated her family and stagnated their government, allowing further negligence and evil to thrive. Edelgard concludes that the only way for true change to occur is through decisive action, and the need for change outweighs the short terms costs of lives, finances, and industry that war demands. In her personal affairs, Edelgard encourages others to never be satisfied with how things are, and instead work to improve them for the future. She commends Ferdinand and Caspar for constantly striving to improve themselves, she implores Petra not to settle for what is expected of her, and is frustrated by Linhardt's disregard for the fruits of his efforts. All of her relationships are influenced by her constant forward motion and desire for betterment. Edelgard is unsatisfied with the inequalities and inadequacies of the present, and chooses to reject the decisions of history that led to it, not accepting its effects on the actions of those dictating the future. For these reasons, I contend that Edelgard unequivocally represents working hard to chase the Promise of the Future.

Conflicts Between Each Lord.

With each character's ideology established, we can also examine how they interact with each other, and how their perspectives collide to create conflicts between them.

Claude and Dimitri, despite finding themselves against a common enemy, are not able to properly ally in either of their routes, as Dimitri's total concern for the present blinds him to the possibilities of cooperation. In Dimitri's route, he is impatient to assault the Empire, unable to overcome difficulties in communication caused by an enemy from the Past he is unaware of, and chooses to fight through the Alliance army and destroy it rather than be delayed. Claude later implores him for aid, but the history of the Leicester alliance is sacrificed for the needs of Faerghus' war in the present. In Claude's route, Dimitri is likewise unable to communicate, heedlessly rushing into battle without consideration that his brave war does not match the united front that the Kingdom possessed during its first war with the empire, and is defeated utterly. Dimitri and Edelgard, the most directly at odds, represent the greatest contrast in ideology. Dimitri is unable to reconcile the death and destruction that war causes in the now, and does not believe that violent revolution is just. Edelgard is unable to reconcile the disparities and suffering of the present, and does not believe that allowing inequity to continue to thrive is just. These ideals can be summarized most succinctly in dialogue between the two during the conclusion of Dimitri's route, wherein Dimitri states; "We must defend the present... After all, it is all the we truly have," prompting an enraged Edelgard to counter, "We must trample the past underfoot, and move onward to a brighter tomorrow." Each succinctly states the priorities that inform the core motive of each side of the war, and echo their statements in previous discussions. Claude and Edelgard's conflict is far more subtle and nuanced. These two lords fundamentally share the same goals; the revolution of current society to be more equal and just, but they differ greatly in their methods and reasoning. Claude believes that no future can be built without considering history; a future without the flaws of the present cannot be forged without respecting how those injustices came to be. Edelgard on the other hand believes that true change cannot be enacted while you are still beholden to the past; if you are afraid to discard tradition and history, you can never create something truly new. In each of their routes, these Lords bring their conflict to conclusion, and while their methodology and fates differ, each of them ultimately entrusts the future to the other, with Claude offering the Alliance and his allies to forge Edelgard's future, and Edelgard (via Hubert) informing Claude of the true threat rising up from the past. Their methods and their perspectives conflict, but they both accept the present as unacceptable and seek revolution, whether it be through solving the past, or by creating an independent future.

In Conclusion;

Three Houses is ultimately a story about a societal revolution that spans the continent. It involves breaking the old society into pieces, examining all of its strengths and weakness, and piecing it back together in the method of your choosing. Like a forest fire can cause death and destruction, but also breath new life into its ecosystem, so too does the war in Fodlan provide a means for a new beginning. Through the examples given above, I believe that one of the overarching themes of Three Houses, and questions posed in each of it's routes, is what is most important when you are rebuilding that society in the aftermath. Do you look to the Past, like Claude, and learn from what those in history did right or wrong to make the decisions with thousands of years of wisdom? Do you stick to the Present, like Dimitri, and preserve things the way they are, taking small steps in the now to enact gradual change? Or do you fight for the Future, like Edelgard, making sweeping changes and reforms to create a future that is truly new in the pursuit of betterment. Each of these routes, and each of these characters poses a different answer to this question, without providing any answer that is absolutely correct. The endings of all three of these routes are portrayed as good, happy endings, the most idealized crystallization of their ideology. No matter the player follows, what they decide is what will prevail. There is no wrong answer, and no right answer. Simply solutions with a different priority.

And through these options, a full completion of the game asks the player to decide for themselves; what is really most important to their decisions?

The Past? The Present? Or the Future?

--

If you've read this far, first of all, thank you very much! This is almost totally a full length literary essay! You're a real trooper. I hope you've gained a new insight on a method of interpreting the story. I think there's a lot of different levels to Three Houses and I believe examining it from all different perspectives with a fair and even approach is important to getting the most out of it. I think it's the mark of a truly great story to provide this kind of depth of discussion, and posing multiple themes and questions that the player can think on.

I've found a lot of the same ground tread over and over about the means to an end, fascism vs democracy vs monarchy; (sorry guys, but that ain't it. Edelgard ain't a fascist, Claude ain't democracy, and Dimitri's a monarch... so....), and I've wanted to take it at a wider angle. The quoted lines from Azure Moon really stuck out to me as incredibly poignant, and when I looked back into Claude more i found more and more reference to his interest in history and learning the truth.

I didn’t go into details with Silver Snow in this essay because... well, it doesn’t have a Lord. It shares half of its route with Edelgard, and half with Claude so it poses many of the same arguments, despite contradicting each other. You could consider Seteth to be a pseudo-lord as a replacement, but It’s my personal belief that the themes and motivations posed by that choice aren’t strong enough to provide a story truly distinct from either Verdant Wind or Crimson Flower. One might argue that Seteth stands for “Upholding Tradition” rather than Claude’s revising it, but I don’t think there’s enough evidence. It’s just as likely that Silver Snow has little message, or simply stands as an isolate rejection to Edelgard’s choices. It’s something to explore another time, but I think the bonds between the three lords are what is most important.

So hopefully this gives some juicy fodder for further consideration, and more discussion to last for time to come! Thanks for reading! 

-vanquishedValiant

[kimkymury]

Blue Rose Tears - Chapter 13

Hey everyone, another chapter of Pascal x Carl fanfic is here! Sorry for the delay, the next chapters will not take so long to be ready.

 I really liked to write this chapter, so I hope you enjoy the story ~

Warning:  Just a little warning, some characters have distorted views about sexuality, and those views do not represent what I think in real life. This was written on purpose to suit the environment and the time that the story takes place, since at that time people were more closed minded.

The Portuguese Version of this story is avaliable on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1018668258-as-l%C3%A1grimas-da-rosa-azul-cap%C3%ADtulo-13

Under the cut!

Chapter 13

P.O.V Narrator

The words that came out of his monologue did not provoke immediate reaction, the stillness of the laboratory was disturbing, as if both reflected what they heard. He had done what he feared so much, said everything that tormented him and that was in his mind, created a distance both physical and emotional. The two boys no longer wrapped their arms around each other, they could barely maintain eye contact. The sensation of realizing what had just happened took time to reach them, but when he did, it desolated the interior of both, drowning them in even more doubts. Carl deeply regretted every syllable he uttered, but there was no courage to go back, seeing the scientist's sullen countenance was enough to make him feel even more despicable.

Pascal's face was marked by an expression of emptiness, it was not similar to when another one of his experiments failed, or when he was angry with someone, it could not even be compared to the frustration of his own failures. A part of him left him the moment I heard the monologue of the religious boy, he felt totally helpless, what he feared most and what was the reason for his concerns, had finally happened. For a second, deep in his innermost thoughts, the red-haired boy still thought that there was hope. He imagined himself with a different ending, that he could be with whom he so longed for. Frustrations always accompanied him, and the feeling of emptiness was replaced by desolation. He was adrift now, his brilliant mind could not reason in any possible solution, it was not something that involved exact numbers or formulas. Humans were intriguing creatures, he himself had thought this several times, they can be down for something considered so superficial.

"I'm sorry ..." - Carl's voice, which expressed so much unhappiness, said in a failed attempt to lessen the scientist's suffering.

What he had done was considered enmity and could even be worse than betrayal, he had renounced his friendship. The scent of lavender no longer as pleasant as it seemed, made them feel sick, perhaps thanks to the sudden stress. What surprised the scientist the most was the way he received this news, he expected to see a look of anger or at the very least disgust on Carl's face, but the only thing he could observe was the dejection. Pascal sketched an expression of contentment, together with an empty look. He had imagined that there was a possibility that something like this could happen, but he did not expect that the reality could be so distressing. He was angry, not at Carl, but at himself. In other times, he could have been around without even worrying, but now he had ruined their relationship, guilt now haunted him.

"Are you sure about this?" - He still felt a hope within him, an expectation that refused to die, yearning for the religious boy to change his mind.

He remembered all the moments they shared, it was as if they were being reduced to dust, whoever else was at his side was about to abandon him. He could see that the younger boy was not feeling well in that situation, his slightly watery eyes showed everything he kept to himself. He controlled himself intensely not to withdraw everything he had said and ask for forgiveness, but succumbing to his wishes was out of the question. He kept telling himself that he would only do that for Pascal's sake, because he liked him so much that he would not hesitate to guarantee his salvation, even if it meant hurting him.

"There is no other alternative, it is the only way to save us ..." - After nodding, the dark-haired boy answers the question that was asked, hoping that the redhead would understand his real intentions.

Pascal's suspicions were confirmed, he knew that his friend would not be able to face the fact of the attraction he had felt for him without worrying about his own salvation. They were perfect opposites when it came to religious themes, there was not even one topic they could agree on. Carl, was an immensely Catholic devotee, and Pascal, on the other hand, did not believe in the existence of a god or superior force, preferring only to believe in science. Opposites are completed until a shock occurs, where each one see the same situation in different ways. The scientist could not even understand what all this had done to the religious boy's mind, and he did not even know how long this departure would last. What comforted him was Carl's description of his own feelings, he felt the same way, although this news was quickly drowned out by what was to come.

Now he imagined all the suffering he put into his friend, the same as a friend who was always by his side and never knew how to deal with his own thoughts. For Carl, it was all a delight and a torture at the same time, the redhead's presence comforted him and made him fear what was ahead. He was not surprised that he saw the situation so naturally, after all, it was Pascal. He humiliated himself inside his head, both for exposing himself in this way considered outrageous, as well as for everything he felt.

"I will pray for you later ..." - The scientist knew the real meaning of this sentence, and how it could sound ironic, considering his lack of faith.

Still with his head down, the dark-haired boy said goodbye and turned to go, preparing himself for the punishment he would receive for not attending class the day before. Carl would spend more time in the Church from now on, both for his devotion to religion and to redeem himself from his sins. He preferred to think positively, even if he was deceiving himself, and that after a while, everything would be as it was before. His slow steps took him towards the laboratory door, not before holding his books against his chest, in a failed attempt to contain himself. The scientist, who watched everything without spontaneous reaction, thought quickly about what he could do. Everything was over, he had nothing to lose, now would be the opportunity to do what he thought for so many nights. The dark-haired boy might come to hate him, but Pascal couldn't let him go without first admitting what he felt, it would probably be the last time he could talk to his friend for a long time.

"I also have something to say." - The redhead said, taking a few short steps while trying to reach the younger boy, who stopped immediately after hearing these words.

Carl turned quickly, waiting for a sign of understanding or anything to ease his pain. The scientist stopped and stared at him for a few seconds, before lightly pushing his glasses up with his fingers. He imagined the suffering he caused in his friend, he knew about his problems, worries and self-deprecations, and yet he set it all aside for a selfish desire. If this were really the last time that it would be appropriate to talk to the dark-haired boy, he would ask for forgiveness for any affliction caused.

"It wasn't right for me to have acted so impulsively, I'm sorry for all the anguish I caused, I should have think about your emotions." - Pascal said, again without sarcasm, showing his most vulnerable face while asking for his absolution.

That somewhat comforted Carl, it seemed that the rational scientist had finally understood why he was denying his friendship, and being available to collaborate. The religious boy listened attentively, not knowing if it was the right time for an answer or thanks, he chose to wait a longer pause and continue listening to what his friend had to say.

"I don't think there is a need for such a rigid distance, because ... Your presence makes me experience something that is not literally rational, however, it is something I like to feel." -The older boy continued to say, no matter how embarrassing he might say this, since he was not used to expressing himself that way.

Bewildered by what he had just heard, the dark-haired boy reflected on these words again, trying to understand their real meaning. He remained static, just watching while his thoughts took care of the rest, while the redhead approached slowly. They faced each other again, this time they managed to maintain eye contact for longer than they should have, losing some sense of time and space. Pascal seriously considered whether to proceed or retreat, but since he received no reaction from Carl, he decided to continue with his monologue.

"You were the only one who believed in me from the start, the only one who was willing to listen to my daydreams, no matter how bizarre they sounded." - The scientist said being a short distance from the boy who listened without showing an immediate reaction.

"Whether to rejoice or regret, you have always been here, you have never belittled my eccentric way of looking at life or my exotic interests." - He tried hard to sound as honest as possible, not letting his lack of practice in demonstrating complex emotions hinder him. - "Your presence is what cheers and motivates me, I just wish it would never end, that we would stay that way forever."

Open-mouthed, both because he never heard anything like this, and because these words were coming out of Pascal, the religious boy felt his own heart racing. Even though it sounded almost unlikely to happen, deep in his thoughts, he believed that he could feel the scientists' beats increase along with his. The shadows of both mixed on the floor of the laboratory, forming a single figure, thanks to the position of the Sun and the proximity between them. Carl was able to feel his own heat up, as if his own blood was circulating faster, as he analyzed the scientist's expressions.

We are halves of the same soul, divided into different faces. The same reflex seen from different perspectives, created on the basis of the same matter. In addition to being corporeal or mystical, it is irrational and plausible.

For a young man as ingenious as Carl Messier, that situation still seemed extremely confused, his own daydreams did not allow him to see what was right in front of him. All the statements made by the friend the previous day, amid the greenhouse light, made reference to him. Pascal tried to be as clear as possible, leaving no doubt about what his monologue was about, much to the delight and panic of the dark-haired boy.

"I used to think that this kind of feeling was purely rational, perhaps due to the lack of logic that is imposed on it, however, it would be hypocrisy on my part to deny that my feelings for you exist." - Apprehensive, and at the same time, a little indifferent, Pascal expressed his thoughts while preparing to finish.

The words that were usually so simple to understand, seemed to need more time to be absorbed by the religious boy, who tried to calm himself at all costs. The scientist would then say the sentence that would end any questioning that would follow, putting at risk a friendship that, according to Carl, was practically eroded.

"I love you, Carl. It took me a long time to reach this result, but I suppose that is the only conclusion."-

His heart had stopped beating for a few seconds, returning to an accelerated rhythm shortly thereafter, causing even a certain physical discomfort. He felt as if his throat was closed, blocking the passage of air in the way he was used to, which resulted in a failure in his voice. He did not understand what most intrigued him, he had heard these words before, and they were always spoken by his parents or his brother. He wanted to believe that this phrase had a different meaning, something more than a simple fraternal consideration, a sentimental meaning.

Not even a lady had even gone so far as to confess to him in this way, and he never thought he would hear anything like that from a friend. He had stopped deceiving himself some time ago, he recognized that it was reciprocal, which made everything even more dangerous in Carl's distorted conceptions. Both realized that they appreciated each other in ways beyond what was considered acceptable, what they would do next remained a mystery. The dark-haired boy gave himself the task of putting an end to this situation, considering himself a heretic from the moment he started to look at what he felt more closely.

"I'm sorry, but ... that's not true." -Carl replied after a considerably long period of silence, denying what he had just heard.

"I will go to confession before dinner and all this will pass with time, we don't have much contact with women, it can just be the imagination!" - The religious boy said with false hope, in the expectation that his positive thoughts would dispel worries and the desire to go back - "After graduating, we will meet ladies and marry them, and we will not even remember this day."

All torment will disappear, only if we have the strength. Doing what is right corrodes me inside, maybe I can even make myself unhappy. Reality can be cruel to us, although we prefer to close our eyes to this.

The disappointment was evident on the face of the red-haired boy, that was not only the denial of his friendship, it was the denial of the veracity of his feelings. He knew more than anyone about what was going on inside him, he carefully analyzed each behavioral change in order to discover the cause, he understood exactly what he felt. This was no longer just a fantasy or the fruit of his imagination for a long time, he was not a hypocrite and recognized his desires, he could dream of the presence of a girl if he was bored, but even then he was unable to do so. Carl's purity, considered by many to be one of his greatest qualities, could become a flaw in other aspects of his life. The scientist understood that this was the way he saw the world, and did not reject it, it was just another reason that made him be charmed by the religious boy.  With a small, slow step forward, Pascal questions his friend again about the accuracy of what he had said, while giving him a curious look. Slightly embarrassed, both by the situation itself but by the intensity that they looked at each other, Carl nods before saying "yes".

As most of the time it was there, that lab really stopped time from setting it up to determine if this was a quality or defect. The dark haired boy remembered that he should hurry up for his punishment, after all, he felt that he deserved it for more reasons than he could count. It was time to go, he wasn't sure how to end that dialogue, he just wanted everything to go back to how it was before. He lied to himself and to Pascal, he was not sure of anything he said, just did what he thought was right. It hurt, the fact that knowing that if he was redeeming himself from his sins did not help ease the pain, it just made him feel more miserable.

"I'm sorry ..." - The younger boy said, looking at the floor and getting ready to leave.

The scientist did not fully understand that last sentence, because knowing the friend well, he did not know if he asked forgiveness for him or for God. He imagined that the second option was the most plausible, within that context. Comforting people was not the redhead's strong point, he struggled, but his condolences usually ended in philosophical reflections that contradicted religious doctrines. Nothing came into his mind so that he could alleviate the situation of the younger boy, all he wanted was to make him forget what tormented him, even though he knew it wouldn't be so simple. At times like these when the fact that they were perfect opposites damaged their relationship, they did not see life in the same way, and managed to be so close at the same time. He regretted not having said anything, remained silent while the religious boy hurried towards the door, leaving the scientist alone afterwards. The sound of the wooden door closing quickly, but still in a discreet way, was like a sting in Pascal's interior, he knew what was coming next.

He did not plan to inform his friends about this sudden separation, and he imagined that Carl would prefer his discretion, since the reason for his conflicts were more complicated than they would have liked. He did not fully understand, he thought that the reciprocity of the feelings of both would cause a completely different result, his extremely rational mind had a certain difficulty in reflecting on more subjective themes, such as what occurred inside the minds of other people. The scientist returned to the table where he was doing his experiments, stared in dismay at the variety of flowers displayed on the bench, his empty gaze was enough to worry anyone who saw him at that moment. He sat while he leanned both arms on the table, watching the large laboratory window as he felt the sun warm his skin, marked by small freckles. Somehow, he saw himself in Carl's confused and desperate expression, he could slightly understand how he felt about it all. He remembered the moment he realized when these feelings came to light, they were accompanied by a surprised feeling along with several doubts.

He did not consider them immoral or sinful, just pointless, irrational. He believed that a type of attraction that could not lead to reproduction was devoid of logic, which was against his purely rational principles. He knew that relationships of this type were not well regarded by most people, he had used the situation of two close friends as an example, Serge and Gilbert had to endure countless problems, implication, hostility and rejection by the affective bond they had. Why should there be one more obstacle in his life? His life choices and eccentric interests already did the job of complicating everything, feelings, which the scientist deemed as "unnecessary", would only put everything to waste. But there was no alternative, he tried to forget or stop thinking about the dark-haired boy in more affectionate ways than he considered acceptable, and to no avail. Leafing through his notebook, which was on the table, where he recorded each new discovery he made, he decided to reread his notes on the aspect of human feelings.

He was more confused than he could have imagined, what he wrote was perfectly consistent with reality, the mind was an unknown quantity that could hardly be unveiled. He used all of his knowledge to find out what had happened to the religious boy and the reason for his attitudes, and without making much effort, he knew that these were religious matters. Continuing to think about what happened would bring nothing but more frustration, the best thing to do would be to be distracted by something that would grab his attention. Immediately, a white rose stained by dyes of different colors, mainly blue, aroused his interest. He would work on his beloved and dreamed blue rose for as long as he used to, he would spend the next entire weeks focusing only on it, in order to forget what was hurting him. The blue rose was his escape valve, his goal for a long time, he would not be fully satisfied until he completed it. He forced himself to perform calculations and remember chemical formulas while choosing each plant he would use, he repeated to himself that everything would be fine with time, but the image of what had happened earlier was still present in his thoughts.

After some time, the plants were cut, crushed and distributed in small containers. The petals of Violets, Orchids and Lilies formed different shades of blue, which made the scientist observe them more closely. He wasn't thinking about the colors themselves, but about how those colors reminded him of Carl. There was no logical explanation for this, he just thought that blue matched the dark haired boy, it was a color that conveyed sadness and peace at the same time. Reflecting more deeply, the religious boy always had a sad aura, not in a depressing way, but that managed to be melancholy and peaceful. His experiments failed to keep him distracted for so long, as everything reminded him of Carl. Looking at the small calendar that hung on a nearby wall, Pascal could see that winter was approaching, and along with it, the end of the school year. As he had always done, he would repeat another year to continue his research, he imagined that he would see his friends graduate and continue in school.

He had always been determined about this, never thought or cared about the consequences, but this time he hesitated. A few years have passed since he began to dedicate himself entirely to his so unrealistic blue rose, and he did not feel that he was making as much progress as he wished, which brought even more frustration. Everyone in Lacombrade knew his purpose, although they did not always fully understand it, but his great intellect was never doubted. He wondered what he was doing there, he used to reject his father's advice, he had always said that his son should become a doctor, that he would succeed in that way. Pascal always rejected this idea, although medicine was something of interest to him and one of his talents, the red-haired boy still did not approve of the possibility of studying something just for capital. He had a natural tendency, a genuine interest in nature and chemistry, although he was inclined towards biology.

When asked why he was still there, he always answered using the laboratory and his blue rose as a justification, but he used to omit some more reasons. He felt the need to stay in Lacombrade for his friends, especially after getting close to Serge and Gilbert, he couldn't leave them alone without knowing if they would be okay. Also, he would miss Kurt and Neka's jovial and somewhat reckless personality, he knew he would do his best to help the pianist and his blond companion, but he still feared for their safety. Lacombrade was his home, it was where he grew up and lived with people he dared to call his second family, he couldn't imagine himself anywhere else. But, there was one more specific reason that made the scientist not want to leave school, someone who motivated and inspired him. Staying away from the religious boy was what he feared most if he left boarding school, the mere thought of not being able to see him every day as he had always done was a pain. However, he recognized that his presence there could become a burden on Carl's life, and knowing all his motivations for ending that friendship, he imagined that both would suffer from that separation.

He looked thoughtfully at some sheets of paper that were next to an inkwell, considering what would be the right thing to do and becoming even more frustrated by it. His hands were stained by the blue color of the petals, it was as if he had touched a part of the sky.

We feel empty, because we leave a part of us in what we love.

The sun had been covered by some clouds, which made the whole atmosphere of the place a little more gray. The tracks left on the grass around the school indicated that someone had come by in a hurry, perhaps in an attempt to take refuge. It was a few minutes before Carl was due to appear at the Church for his punishment, he felt that the quietest place to wait would be outside, on the outskirts of Lacombrade. He just needed to calm down from everything that happened, sitting and breathing fresh air could help. The sleeves of his coat were busy drying up the few tears that could not be contained, he just wished that no one saw him at that moment. But it was when something caught his eye, from a distance, he saw a pale boy with equally dark hair sitting on an old wooden bench, entertaining himself with a book. Occasions like this were rare, seeing his agitated younger brother, who always ran and played, focused on a single activity.

He decided to get closer, any time they could spend together was good, since they were most of the time apart. It didn't take long for the boy to see his brother walking towards him, he smiled sweetly at him as he watched him approach. Sitting side by side, they started a calm conversation, which was great for Carl, since distractions were what he needed most at the moment.

"It is unusual to see you reading of your own free will, which title did the grace to attract your attention?" -The older boy asked in a cheerful way, both to hide what he felt and to amuse his brother.

The already leafless branches swayed as the wind dragged through them, causing some last leaves to fall around the two brothers. The elder tried not to extend the conversation for too long, as he would be late for his punishment, and the younger brother just had fun without worries. After marking the page he was reading with a small piece of paper, Sebastian closes the book and shows the cover to his brother, not long before saying:

"Sense and Sensibility, a Jane Austen novel." -He responds looking at his brother, showing an excited expression to share something he likes with Carl.

The religious boy had never read the book, although he had heard about it and saw it a few times in bookstores, but he knew that the plot was about themes that little Sebastian might not understand. He had no idea how he managed to get his hands on it, his parents would definitely not gift him with such a thing, even though they were more understandable than they used to be. The school library did not have many popular books, mainly of this genre, being focused only on educational purposes. Carl trusted his younger brother, acknowledged that he was much smarter than other children of the same age, but worried that he was consuming something that was not aimed at someone so young. He wanted Sebastian to live a happy childhood, without the worries he would have when he was older.

"Where did you get that? As far as I know, there are no books of this type in the library." - The older brother I ask curious and somewhat apprehensive, I just hoped that the answer would not be very worrying.

He did not want his question to sound like a sermon, he expected to be seen as companionship by his younger brother, not an authority figure.

"Liliath lent it to me, he brought it with him the last time he went to Arles." - He says looking at the cover of the book for a few seconds, before turning to his brother.

How to explain Carl's feelings for Liliath Florian? The older boy saw him as someone unreliable, had a certain dislike for him, especially after the conflicts he had had with Serge and Gilbert. Even so, that blond boy was still esteemed by some people, had affinities with those considered delinquents and participated in the "Pretty Boys Club". Liliath had the company of some close friends, just like Carl, and such a group was made up of Necroix, Sebastian and a few other members that he did not insist on remembering the name. He did not like the idea of ​​a helpless child like his brother always being with people of doubtful nature, what comforted him was knowing that Necroix was always around, because he knew that his nature was not questionable.

"I don't think it's appropriate for someone at your age to read novels like this, you know you're too young for books of this type." - Trying to appear understandable, but still a little strict, he advises the boy thinking only of his well-being.

"That's what most people say, but I don't mind, I learned a lot about different subjects in books, especially with this one." - The little boy responds, in order to prove to his brother his own point of view.

That sentence might have seemed foolish coming from a child about Sebastian's age, but Carl knew that his brother had the greatest intellect that he could have imagined. He had become accustomed to the boy's precocious personality, but he was distressed by what he might be learning.

"Give me an example." - The elder boy said, curious with possible responses.

"Using romance as an example: during the history of the world, at different times and in different places, there were people who could not be with those they loved by the judgment of others." - Sebastian began to explain what captivated him so much in romance books, in an attempt to convince his brother not to tell his parents about this - "It is a synonym of injustice, there were so many who gave up their own happiness or even their own life, just to fit what was expected of them. "

Admired by what he had just heard, and still reflecting on some information, Carl could feel a shiver down his spine when his brother finished his monologue. He had remembered what had happened a few minutes ago, in that laboratory. He looked at Sebastian with a confused expression that at the same time conveyed pride, he had always been considered the most brilliant by his family, but the truth is that not everyone had the ability to see his younger brother's intellect. He wondered how they could share the same blood and at the same time be completely different, the youngest son in the Messier family was really a mystery.

The religious boy's prolonged silence worried the little boy a little, he imagined that Carl had heard all that with a disapproving look, and that perhaps he would tell his parents everything.

"Please don't tell anyone about my interests, Mom and Dad may find out." - The boy asked his brother, hoping he would understand and help him.

Carl did not consider himself a cruel brother, like those presented in stories, on the contrary, he was overly concerned for Sebastian. He knew that his parents would not approve of him reading it at such a young age, and he would not want to take away a source of learning and leisure from his brother. Throughout his life, he had completely obeyed his parents, reported all the antics done by the youngest son and took responsibility for his well-being. But only this time, he would break this rule, he could not bear to see an intellect so developed having its source of information forcibly removed.

"What I'm doing is not correct, but let's say that no one else but me will know this." -The older boy said, still a little thoughtful about what he had heard.

Grateful for what he had just heard, the boy tries to show his gratitude in some way, even without knowing how.

"Thank you very much Carl, I am glad  we are brothers!" - He says smiling, before being interrupted by the sound of church bells.

It was time for the religious boy's punishment, he should hurry up so he wouldn't be late. After saying goodbye to the younger boy, he starts walking quickly towards the Church of Lacombrade. His legs stop moving when he hears a childish voice calling him, he turns to listen to what his brother wanted to tell him.

"I feel bad about letting you go without a proper thanks, you swore to keep a secret, so the least I can do is return the favor ..." - Sebastian said, trying not to speak slowly, as he saw that his brother was in a hurry - "I promise not to tell anyone that the real reason you didn't attend yesterday's classes involves leaving without permission with Pascal."

The older boy could feel his heart rate accelerating when he heard that, he couldn't imagine how Sebastian knew it. How much did he know? Was he watching them? He had a lot to ask, but the words didn't come out of his mouth and the seconds ticked by as he thought. With an innocent laugh, just like the ones he let out when he was doing some mischief, the younger boy was amused by Carl's confused and frightened expression. This was not his initial intention, but he still managed to be funny.

"Hurry up, don't be late!" - Sebastian said as he watched his brother run towards the large building that was close to the school, wondering what had happened to him.

The temperature dropped a little, which made some students retire into the school, leaving Carl more relieved. As he headed for his punishment, there was someone still in the lab, with his hands stained with ink. Pascal rewrote a letter several times, he just needed to find the right words. He wondered if it was the best decision, but a simple analysis of the pros and cons was enough to end his doubts.  He had at his side a dictionary that helped him to correct his own grammar, as his dissertation must be impeccable. When he finished again, he reread it carefully several times, looking for any errors.  His writing was excellent, the redhead placed the letter, which was quite extensive, in an envelope. The recipient was the Medical University of Düsseldorf, Germany.

His admission letter was ready, he explained all of his goals, from the reason he was still at that school and why he had failed so much. The scientist would finally leave Lacombrade after so many years, become a doctor who had attended a renowned college, and perhaps return to France after many years. Sighing, he closes the envelope and keeps it in a safe place, far from where it could be lost or spotted, was inside one of his favorite books. Writing was not the most complex step, he had no idea how he would tell this to his friends, especially Carl.  He knew the boys would be happy, they would miss him, but he didn't know how the religious boy would react. He didn't want to cause him more pain, that was one of the reasons that made him want to leave.

Church candlelight illuminated Carl's pale face, marked with desolation and anguish, as he repeated long verses from the Bible. His knees hurt, he could imagine they would have bruises, but even the discomfort couldn't bother him. The thoughts of better times were what kept him sane, he just wished he could go back in time.

Continued in Next Chapter

Written by KimKymury, thank you reading <3

[purplesurveys]

1192

Have you ever tried a colorful macaroon? Maybe you mean macarons? I’ve never seen a macaroon with food coloring before.

Do you say macaroon or macaron? It depends on what I’m referring to because they’re two different kinds of food.

Do you know what a macaroon is? Yes, they taste terrible.

Would you rather go to Paris or London? Both sound a bit too boring of a trip for me tbh, I’d rather go to other European cities.

Which national flag do you like the best? I’m not that into flags to have a favorite...I like how Nepal’s has a unique shape, though.

Name 3 celebrities people say you look like. Lucy Hale, Anna Akana, and a local celebrity you wouldn’t know about.

^Do you agree? I never saw myself looking like Anna but that’s actually the most common one I get, so I just might not know my face all that well. The only one that’s agreeable enough with me is the last celebrity I mentioned.

Do you know anyone who looks like Taylor Swift? No, especially not on this side of the planet.

Have you ever been betrayed by a best friend? Yes but that was like back in the fifth grade. I’ve been very selective of my friends ever since.

What color is the sweatshirt that you wear the most? Black.

Do you have a mirror in your room? No. I don’t really feel as if I need it.

What was the last thing you painted? I last painted on a paint-by-numbers kit, but it’s been a while since I took up the hobby. I want to get back around to it someday, but proably not any time soon as I find it a tad bit time-consuming.

Do you correct grammatical errors online? Not other people’s, but yeah I edit my posts whenever I catch a typo or grammar error. I also edit survey questions if they aren’t in proper grammar, just so other people who’d want to take the same survey won’t have to deal with it and point it out anymore.

What’s the last thing you made out of clay? I’ve only done pottery once, and that time I was taught how to make a vase. I wasn’t able to see the end result though since they still had to bake it and everything, and I was only staying in that town for a few days.

Do you go for days without washing your hair? No, I absolutely hate that feeling. My hair starts getting itchy after a day or so of not washing it and it feels irritating, so I feel the need to shower everyday.

When is the last time you had scrambled eggs and bacon? Maybe around a week ago? It’s something my parents make regularly for breakfast, alongside other local breakfast dishes.

Do you like bacon bits on your salad? I don’t really eat salad but sure, I’ll take some bacon in mine.

What is your favorite salad dressing? See above.

What is your favorite kind of soup? Not a big soup person either. I suppose I’m most enthusiastic about miso soup, if anything.

Do you eat a lot of soup? Not at all. I don’t think I ever purposely ordered it at a restaurant either; I only consume soup if it already comes as a freebie with my order.

Do you collect Mason jars to use for crafts? Nope, was never a hobby of mine. This reminds me that I have a mason jar filled with date receipts and love notes on tiny Post-Its from my last relationship, though...I literally can’t remember if I’ve since thrown it out, but I also haven’t seen it in a while...hm. I guess I’ll try looking for it later today and throw it away if I do find it still lying around in my room.

What’s a trend that you never caught on to? Remember when I said streetwear like, literally a month ago? Lmaoooooo I’m into it now. That’s why I’ll just skip over this question HAHAHAHA I always end up being obsessed with the things I swear off in the beginning :((((

What’s a trend that you haven’t caught on to yet, but you want to? Vlogging? It’d be nice to make a video or two of my own.

Do you type fast? Very. My co-workers recently started sharing this typing speed website that we’re all free to try out and so far I’m the official reigning champion haha. No one has beaten my WPM record yet.

Did you learn to type through a computer program for kids? Yes. I never adopted the ‘standard’ finger practice though; I type only with my index and middle fingers.

How many years were you homeschooled? I was never homeschooled.

If applicable, what’s a youtuber you would love to collab with? Louise Pentland.

Do you think you’re successful in life? Not quite there yet, but I’m comfortable with the way I’m working towards it for now. It’s nice to be doing things that I know will lead to something in the future.

What color is the tree outside your window? If you mean the leaves, then green.

What color is your rug, if you have one? (not carpet, rug) I don’t have one in my room but the main one we have in the living room is brown.

What do you take for pain? I take a Biogesic pill for headaches. If I get muscle sores/strains, I rub Katinko on the spots that hurt.

Which pharmacy do you use? I never need to go to those but I can always take a drive to the nearby Mercury Drug.

Do you reapply nail polish when it starts to chip? I don’t wear nail polish at all.

What is this month’s calendar picture? I don’t use a calendar.

What was the last thing you ate? Sushiiiiiiiii. I made a very impulsive and rash decision to buy THREE ORDERS of sushi yesterday. I hadn’t eaten all day and I also had a crappy at work, and my clouded judgment thought buying 24 pieces of maki was the way to go. I’m still in the stage of trying to convince myself I deserved it anyway.

What are your favorite things to put in tea? I don’t drink tea tea, but when I buy milk tea I always go for chocolate flavors. I also don’t like pearls in my milk tea.

Do you wish the Unicorn Frappuccino was a regular drink at Starbucks? I never go for customized drinks, so I don’t care at all about this.

Is there a coffee shop in your town that’s better than Starbucks? Possibly, but I may not have checked it out yet. For now, I like buying from Starbucks.

Do you frequent any coffee shops? Back in college I used to alternate between Starbucks and Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf; I’d go several times a week to either because coffee shops were the best place to study at.

What’s your favorite Lisa Frank character? I was never aware that there were characters lol. I thought it was only her.

Which Disney character looks the most like you? Raya for sure, but before her, I felt a big connection with Moana.

Did you go to Disney World or Disneyland as a kid? No, I haven’t gotten to go yet. It would be nice if my first time could also already be a trip with my own kid in the future :)

Do you live with a demon? Talk about creepy question lol. No.

Who has the best personality on youtube? Who cares? < I mean, same. I’m sure they all put up a show to some extent - I don’ think anyone would ever know the answer to this...but personally, those whose personalities I find really endearing would beeeeee Grace Helbig, Kelsey Impicciche, Kelsey Darragh, and Andrew Ilnyckyj.

What are some of your goals for this year? Stay employed, be better at my job, collect more BTS albums.

Does it feel like spring yet? We don’t have spring, so I don’t know what that would feel like.

What do you do to celebrate Earth Day? I don’t wait until April 22 to do something for the planet.

How do you celebrate Easter? I don’t.

Have you ridden your bike yet this year? I can’t ride bikes, haaaaa.

What does your bike look like? The family bike has some blue and grey on it. Not that I ever practice riding it.

What is your favorite place that you’ve lived? I like the house that we live in now. I like that we have a rooftop and that we don’t live with extended family.

Do you shop at Aeropostale? No, and I’m not sure we have Aeropostale shops here. The only reason we ever got Aeropostale items of clothing in the past was because relatives living in the States would occasionally bring home a box of pasalubong for us here in the Philippines.

What’s the last thing you wore from Aeropostale? Idk, probably a shirt. Have you ever been to a church that just wanted your money? Aren’t all churches like that? < Can agree and can confirm. My local parish has been undergoing a ridiculously extravagant renovation for years now and the thing is that the renovation is meant to be so fucking fancy they clearly can’t afford it, so they’ve been pooling money from churchgoers for years now as well. When we could still physically attend mass I used to keep myself from laughing everytime one of the church staff would come up on the podium and ask for money again.

Who is someone you are struggling to forgive, if applicable? I don’t struggle to forgive. I just don’t forgive. If someone does me wrong I just do my best to block them out of my memories, get into the mindset that they never existed, and live peacefully from there.

Have you ever had someone try to intentionally bully you to suicide? I don’t think so, at least not intentionally. My mom always did it unintentionally though, especially in my tween and teen years. She was always very harsh with her words and actions (she still is, but we don’t butt heads as often anymore). I didn’t have a very good emotional foundation mainly thanks to her and I had to claw my own way to get to be the much more stable self I am today.

What’s your favorite type of cereal? Sweet ones.

Who are your favorite kids that you’ve babysat? I never babysat kids outside of younger relatives.

Who is your favorite cousin? My eldest cousin from my mom’s side. I’ve always viewed him more as a brother than a cousin since we did live under the same roof for nearly a decade before my family moved to our own home.

Does one side of your family live in another state? My family is spread out everywhere, dude. I have relatives living in another town, another city, another province, another region, another island, another country. Idk about cultures but that’s generally how Filipino families are to begin with.

What states did your parents grow up in? I’m not saying that.

Do you want kids? If yes, how many? It would be nice. I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to find someone I would want to marry and have a family with. It definitely seems bleak, but then again I’m 23 lmao. I’m not in a hurry.

What’s a craft that you’ve seen online that you don’t think will work? Most of the shit that that 5 Minute Crafts channel or whatever they’re called puts out.

What, if anything, are you severely allergic to? Grass.

Have you ever had an allergic reaction to an insect? Nopes.

How do you react to bee stings? I’ve never been stung and I hope that never happens to me.

Is there a good hospital where you live? I’m not so sure; I don’t take trips to the hospital frequently.

What’s your favorite kind of tea to drink in the spring? I never drink tea. Never been my...cup of tea? Hahahaha.

What are your favorite biblical names for girls? Elizabeth and Eden.

…for boys? Luke, Noah, Jacob, Seth.

What color nail polish do you usually wear in the spring? Again, I never put on nail polish.

What’s your favorite color that you’ve dyed your hair? I haven’t tried dyeing my hair either :( It’s something I want to explore, though.

Do you ever eat ice cream in the winter? We don’t have winter but yeah, I’m not opposed to having ice cream when the climate is on the cooler side.

How often do you wash your sheets? Every month or so.

What was the name of the biggest bully in your high school? No one got away with pulling that kind of shit in my old school.

^Did everyone hate her/him? -

^Were you his/her target? -

[politicalsci]

Jeremy Corbyn helped my dad when nobody else would

By Sophia Leonie 9th December 2019

One day, my dad asked me to drop him to the airport. I couldn’t – it was last minute and I had other plans. When I asked what the urgency was, he said that he needed to put up a headstone for his recently deceased mother and attend her memorial. He had been going back and forth to Zimbabwe for years. I wished him a safe trip and hoped the memorial went well. We expected to meet and have lunch the following Sunday.

But he never came home.

My father, Francis Mtandwa, was one of Jeremy Corbyn’s constituents. Jeremy did everything in his power to bring him back. As the mainstream media continues to slander Jeremy and lifelong Labour supporters across the UK consider voting Tory, painfully against their own interests, because they fear he’s a racist, I can only despair.

I am happy and proud to call myself British. I’m mixed race. My mum watched my grandmother, fresh from Germany, deal with the hostility of a patriotic postwar Britain. My dad, who came to London in the 1970s from Zimbabwe, wanted a good education and had high hopes for a successful career. But upon entering the UK, he soon became a victim of unimaginable racism. Not just from a hostile public, media and fascist political parties like The National Front – but from the police too. Dad told me stories of frequent stop and searches, then named SUS laws. Once my parents married and with mixed race children in tow, racist abuse intensified. It was the 80s – Zimbabwe had just gained independence from British rule and Nelson Mandela was still in prison. Things were changing and a lot of people were unhappy about it...

Upon attempting to return from his trip to Zimbabwe, my dad was denied re-entry to the UK. The government wanted 30 years of proof that he had lived and worked here. No problem, we thought, the records all exist. But there was a catch: the Home Office said they would not seek out anything pre-digital, so it was up to us to find them. Friends and family all helped where they could, trying to contact people and organisations from years ago. Then our case suffered a massive setback. My father was in a house fire in Zimbabwe. He received 75% burns and suffered a stroke. Now severely disabled and with his speech affected, we were unable to continue our efforts without his guidance.

Desperate and distraught, my mum and I met with Jeremy Corbyn at one of his local constituency surgeries. The first time we tried, we attempted the walk-in clinic. The line reached far down the street and eventually we headed home and decided to take another approach. We emailed Jeremy, explained the situation and were invited down for an appointment a few days later. He came into the old church where the meetings were held, wheeling his bike. Taking his helmet off he looked at us, smiled, and apologised for being late. We followed him into a side room and I began to explain what had happened to my father. He listened carefully, making notes and asking questions. He said he was sorry and that he would write to the government, asking them to search their archives for records.

His request was eventually granted and working with Jeremy, we were confident we would have dad home in the next few months. But before this could happen, my father suffered another stroke in Zimbabwe. He passed away.

My dad was one of the earliest victims of the Tories’ “Windrush scandal” (which extended beyond the Caribbean, to other Commonwealth countries). Before it had a name, media coverage and national outrage, Jeremy cared. After my father passed, we immediately received a heartfelt letter from him sending his condolences and showing his support for our family at this tragic time.

I’m not saying vote Labour because Jeremy was nice to me and tried to help my family when nobody else would. I’m not saying vote Labour because my story is just one of many. I’m saying vote Labour because Jeremy is one of the only people in a position of possible real power, that truly, honestly cares about the vulnerable, the exiled, the poor and the disfranchised ahead of his own interests.

Which other politician has spent a year volunteering in Jamaica? Which other politician would happily be arrested fighting anti-racist regimes like apartheid? And again in 1987 when the Tory government called the ANC terrorists? At the Battle of Wood Green on 23 April1977, the National Front planned a march through Turnpike Lane, North London, to celebrate Hitler’s birthday. Jeremy, then a Labour councillor for Haringey, helped to organise a powerful counter-protest, involving approximately 3-4,000 people, who successfully stopped the Nazis from marching through the busy multicultural high street that Saturday afternoon.

Labour’s leader has also forged other long-standing relationships with constituents, which he goes out of his way to maintain. My aunty Katrin, who also lives in Islington, told me of how he would often pop round and visit her and her husband. “The last time he came we chatted in the hallway for ages and before he left he said: ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ – I looked at the four bikes in my cramped hallway and said  ‘A bike shed would be nice!’ A few months later, guess what? A bike shed appeared by the flats.”

Another Islington resident, Tina, told me of how, in the mid-2000s, she and other local residents went down to Islington Town Hall in an attempt to save their local community centre from closure and Jeremy was there. He sat next to her and as they chatted, he mentioned that he had just returned from East Timor (an island nation near Indonesia) earlier that day and had to be at the BBC at 7am, but wouldn’t have missed this. That is the real Jeremy Corbyn.

The relentless, constant media slander of Jeremy really tries to make people forget this – but we must not. With people like Rachel Riley literally trying to erase his history of anti-racist activism, the history of Jeremy’s passion for human rights, his kindness and absolute love for people of all races and backgrounds will always be firmly cemented in the minds of us in Islington North.

The mainstream media are throwing everything they have at Jeremy right now, shamelessly weaponising what little they have in bad faith because, if in power, Jeremy will challenge the right wing press, and they know it. So if you’re a Labour supporter with a zero-tolerance for racism and have been confused recently about whether Jeremy’s politics align with your own – don’t be. Look at his record. Jeremy has spent his entire life fighting against racism.

For the rest of us trying to navigate post-Brexit racist Britain, with debt, insecure living arrangements, trying to get on the housing ladder, juggling zero-hour contracts, the Labour party offers an alternative to capitalist struggle. If you look beyond the smear campaign, the media bias, and the non-polished suit, you’ll see a man who is disliked because he is simply unwilling to look and behave like other politicians. A man who cares about substance rather than surface. A man who, just as he helped me, can help you too.

[x]

[ohhophelie]

vertigo

or, what ophélie was dealing with between nov 2 and dec 20 [MAJOR TW BELOW - tw suicide, self harm, violence, gore, eating disorder, drug use, etc.]

It always starts the same. It always starts with a memory. She can’t make out any of the faces around her, but they all seem to be saying her name. In her dreams, Ophélie catches everything she missed the first time. She can track the assassin weaving seamlessly through the crowd, although her face is still a blur. Where she was consumed with her frantic search for her brother, for an exit – she can now trace the ominous warning signs in the heady thrum of the music, the echo of screams and gunshots.

Here’s where it shifts.

The hands that grab her are not two, but many - wandering cold and cruel as if everyone in attendance, everyone she’d ever met suddenly decided to try and tear her apart. The knife, when it comes, is not a knife but a sword, heavy and gilded. It pierces through her body with deliberate, excruciating slowness, twisting all the way. Ophélie watches the point tear through her skin with a clinical coldness completely counter to the remembered blinding pain and fear. 

It is in a dream that one is afforded such luxuries, although that would not be the word she would choose. In dreams everything was spread out, like the temporal constraints of the real world no longer applied and Ophélie could watch each centimeter of the blade driven into her body with relish on the part of her assassin.

Her blood, an almost comical cherry-bright red, drips with alarming speed over her fingers, sticky and alien and so unlike the dark warmth she’d actually felt on that night. Then there is silence – sudden and deafening – the room seems to freeze with every gaze focused on her. The laughter that comes cuts deeper than the blade, ringing out from every voice of everyone she’s ever known or loved. Loudest still is in her ear, echoing with an eerie familiarity.

When she turns, Cassandra’s face twists with malice and cruelty. Cassandra pushes the sword in to the hilt.

Ophélie wakes with a gasp. Which, she supposes in the moments it takes her to catch her breath afterwards, is better than the scream that pierced the antiseptic silence of the hospital the first time she suffered this particular dream. She tells no one of the details, waving away startled nurses and her concerned brother, hopeful it was just this once. 

If only she could be so lucky.

It doesn’t take a psychologist to divine the meaning behind the dream, and had she revealed it to one Ophélie might wish her subconscious was less obvious. Betrayal, the quite literal backstabbing by someone who should by all accounts care for her – she had no interest in this interpretation, it reveals nothing new. She merely wanted the dream to stop.

It did not.

She would sleep. She would dream. She would wake.

The waking was the worst bit. It took longer each time to get her heart rate, her breathing, back under control. The flat, with its familiar warmth and protective solitude, too longer and longer to come into focus, for her to realize she was safe. She would stand up too quickly, starry darkness threatening in the peripherals of her vision before she blinked it away.

She would walk.

First, she paced her room. Then, when that became too small, the hallway. Then the length of her flat. She wouldn’t leave, not in those first weeks, she couldn’t leave. The pacing gave her something to focus on, the balletic count of her footsteps, the uniformly light sound her feet made on the hardwood. Anything to distract from the clawing emptiness inside her chest.

Other days she lavished in this emptiness, curling herself around the absence with a protective, indulgent manor. She would fill the enormous clawfoot tub with too hot water and stare at herself in the overly large mirror, scrutinizing each mark and imperfection on her scarred body with an unforgiving eye. The water almost burned her skin, but she took this pain with resigned, almost sensual way the martyrs always embodied in the paintings by old masters beloved by the Catholic Church she’d been raised in.

Beauty is pain, her mother had once said in a rare moment of tenderness towards her youngest child. Soaking in the steaming water, Ophélie would reflect on this sentiment as the warmth crept through her body with a pleasing heaviness until crashing against the dull numbness that was the void inside her chest. Perhaps it was not just beauty that was pain, but the maddening ordeal that was being a girl in a world that demands beauty, perfection, submission – all those unattainable goals.

Sometimes, she wanted to take the point of a knife and dig into the angry red scar on her chest, to drag the line lower and lower across her body until the whole thing was marred with the same negligent hand. Would they notice her then? Or perhaps her face – there was a simplicity to the ugly, the way eyes tended to avoid that which was not pleasing. A cruelly tempting invisibility that would spring out should she decide to ruin her beauty, anonymity that was nearly as intoxicating as the attention she craved. Ophélie shut away the knives from her kitchen in an old lockbox from childhood and tossed the key into an overlooked closet.

She would sleep. She would dream. She would wake.

Sometimes the waking was far more violent than a gasp or a scream. It would take enormous effort to tear herself from the fearful clutches of the dream and she’d find herself far more exhausted upon waking then she had been when she’d given into sleep. The tears would carve twin paths down her cheeks, splattering onto the floor where she hunched over gasping with effort, a perversely pleasing artifact of her suffering.

The alternating between impassive apathy and devastating grief took a toll, the blonde growing almost skeletally thin. Her mother, on the one occasion she decided to look in on her youngest child, remarked on the sharpness of her cheekbones with something others might mistake for concern. Ophélie only heard disdain and turned away. Her parents soon left, duty fulfilled.

Some nights, after the dream as she lay there tangled up in sheets and regret, Ophélie would wish she died. How peaceful it would be to sleep forever below the ground, how without fear or want. How much easier would it be for everyone in her life if she was no longer a concern. There was a perverse need in her to play out this fantasy, to think about the way each of them would demonstrate grief – real or manufactured. She’d catch herself in imagined anger at the way they’d turn her death into a grand statement, only to realize that were she truly dead she could not possibly care.

And so she would sleep. She would dream. She would wake.

When screaming and gasping and pain and tears were not enough – Ophélie would climb up to the roof of her building. Clad only in a thin robe and bare feet, she would embrace the chill of the London winter on her skin. It reminded her that she was alive, if only just. Icy air cut through her lungs as she stood clutching the railing until her fingers and toes were so numb it hurt. Perhaps she was holding on to steady herself, to anchor her flailing mind to something concrete in this wretched world. Or perhaps she was resisting the urge to lean too far forward.

In this frozen moment on the roof, Ophélie was finally able to give name to the uneasy feeling that had haunted her every moment since Halloween – vertigo. Here, leaning forward as far as she dare, she learned the true meaning of this word.

Vertigo was not the fear the one might fall but rather the call of the void, the beckoning of the emptiness in the fall. It is the fear of how much one longs to jump.