#keep in mind i am a practicing Catholic

[miraofhearts2point0]

you dont have to agree with my "Niragi raised Catholic/religious trauma" hc but you have to admit that the symbolism is insane

the Borderlands being purgatory and hes burned while in purgatory?? like the Catholic idea of it where, if you die in veinal sin, youre sent to purgatory to have your sins cleansed via fire?? thats crazy to me sorry

[minkdelovely]

ptolemaea

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“i am no good nor evil, simply i am. and i have come to take what is mine.”

Nun!Alastor x Demon!Lucifer ; RadioApple ; MDNI 18+

tags/warnings: top!lucifer x bottom!alastor, alcohol consumption, accidental luci praise fic?, blasphemous debauchery, desecration of catholic imagery, smut (vague i know but if the previous tags haven’t scared you… 😂) also not a brag but i think i accidentally put my whole pussy into this idk what happened but here we are 🥂**didn’t implement tag list to avoid shocking y’all to death**

word count: 5.1k

author’s note: *natalie portman voice* i never said i was a role model. this companion piece (<- first part linked here) is dedicated to darling @hazelfoureyes who gave me courage to let my freak flag fly — please accept this as my humble offer of gratitude; it’s been an honor to workshop this idea with you 😭 totally get it if this crosses a line for some (please skip, i promise it’s okay lol) but i couldn’t be more excited to publish this. for anyone willing to join us on the yellow brick road to hell you are welcome to link arms 🙏🏻❤️‍🔥 theme inspo from ethel cain 🏚️ i also made a playlist for the party if you wanna check it out ✨

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Samhain was always a peculiar time for Lucifer.

Though he could come and go as he pleased between realms — with the exception of Heaven, of course — the thinning of the veil was the only time of year he could feel Earth from Hell. The energy of realms converging wallowed in the air heady as incense, enticing his powers to rest just under his skin. 

Or at least that’s how it felt. A not-unpleasant humming tension, aching to be released. It put him on edge, stirring him like a poker to hot coals as he fought to maintain his suave facade against the urge to succumb to the deeper power he normally held back with ease. It had never gone over well whenever Lucifer gave into the temptation… 

Except for the year he accidentally created a mound of rubber ducks. What a charming fascination that had turned out to be.

Normally he would make plans to visit with one of the other Sins or confine himself to his workshop to keep busy (use your imagination), but this year Charlie was hosting a party at the hotel. A costume party. He had no intention of dressing up (the fear that no one took him seriously enough as-is not completely unfounded), but he did find the practice endearing. Little mortals disguising themselves to hide from ghouls and demons. 

But he was Lucifer Morningstar, after all. Sinners and the like dressed up after him, not the other way around.

Exasperation pricked the king’s skin as Alastor suddenly came to mind, maintaining a perpetual state of unwelcome in Lucifer’s consciousness. He probably wouldn’t be dressing up either, the smug son-of-a-bitch. Every day is Halloween for that haunted sideshow, he thought bitterly with a laugh to himself, the sound echoing off the walls his only companion within the confines of the office — aside from the ever-present mass of ducks, of course.

The dilemma was still there when the laughter died though. Risk letting Charlie down by not dressing up and lumping himself in with Alastor by extension? Or don a costume and give the snarky demon and anyone else with a mocking eye the false impression of superiority? Lucifer groaned, running both hands through his bouffant platinum hair as he slumped forward at his desk. 

How had it come to this, needing to choose between love for his daughter or himself? Consumed by the current problem, he failed to recognize that this was an issue typically at hand, even when he lacked venom behind it. He was making good progress when it came to Charlie, but as they say, old habits die hard. There had to be a compromise somewhere…

A minute passed.

Head between his knees, his eyes shot open with the thrill of inspiration and he sprang from his chair, decision made. The familiar handsome smile graced his lips as he sauntered to his bedroom where an untouched suit awaited him in the armoire. He wasn’t the sin of Pride for nothing.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Intersecting somewhere between Halloween and New Year's Eve, the newly-added ballroom of the hotel was decorated to the gills, not a single inch of it lacking in festive flair. Angel Dust scoffed when a DJ had been suggested and happily provided a playlist for the party, which was either really smart or really crazy. Or both. Only time would tell, but so far there had been no complaints.

Sinners were piling in, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the establishment. The cacophony of conversation, laughter, and music filled the space with a liveliness Charlie hoped would be a more permanent fixture at the hotel. She and Vaggie had taken charge of greeting everyone at the entrance of the ballroom, receiving some surprisingly sincere compliments on their Glinda and Elphaba costumes. Any derogatory laughter or smirks were being pointedly ignored, both women knowing full well that they looked incredible.

When Charlie spotted her father approaching in the crowd, her smile faltered briefly. “Dad! I thought I told you this was a costume party,” she said tentatively, looking back to give Vaggie a silent plead to keep up with the greetings before focusing her full attention on Lucifer.

“Oh, honey, you look fantastic! Pink really suits you,” he deflected, eyes and voice sparkling as he held Charlie’s arms out to admire the glittering gown, looking every bit the princess she was.

She drew back, not unkindly, when he released her and wrapped her arms around her ribs self-consciously. Groaning, “Dad…” 

It was quite impressive how she could admonish him with a single word without even meaning to. Must've gotten it from her mother, he thought absently, though Lilith wouldn’t know passive aggression if it slapped her on the ass. 

Thinking on his estranged wife, it was a true miracle how Charlie had blossomed into the compassionate and brave young woman standing before him. Lilith, never afraid to lead the charge; himself, too trepidatious to take the risk. Yet somehow their daughter seemed to embody the best of them both, reflecting parts of himself that he didn’t know where there.

He could have wept on the spot, suddenly fit to burst with affection for her — no doubt another side effect of the day — but the angel quickly refocused when he saw Charlie’s nervous expression toward him and leapt into damage control.

“Whaddya mean, I am dressed up!” he managed to answer with his usual charm. With one hand he pointed at his extended horns, a flicker of flame glowing between them adorned with his delicate serpent crown. The other hand swooped in front of his red suit with a flourish. “You’re telling me this doesn’t pass as a credible devil costume? You know, I actually held back. Thought maybe it’d be too scary for your guests if I went all out.”

If keeping his flame low and eyes neutral counted as holding back, and not just the ones in his skull. People got squeamish around him whenever the amass of eyes on his crown and wings appeared. He didn’t blame them.

Lucifer was rambling now, a nervous laugh the cherry on top of his need to save face. Though somewhat of a loophole, he had found the idea to be rather clever. Then again, he was trapped in an echo chamber of his own thoughts so most ideas naturally fell into that category. Was it really such a letdown? He could’ve bailed altogether, nerves already desperate for solitude, but he wanted to try for her. Even if it felt like two steps forward and one step back when it came to Charlie, he’d keep aiming to get it right for as long as she’d allow. 

“I actually think you look great,” Vaggie said smoothly, swooping in next to Charlie at the first break in the crowd. Lucifer would owe her for the rest of existence for the save. A debt he was more than happy to repay in whichever way pleased her best, making a mental note to discuss it later with the fellow angel. “It’s a lot better than what Alastor decided to show up in, anyhow.” The grimace on her face and in her tone was unmistakable. 

Alastor had fucked up.

It took all of Lucifer’s willpower to keep his magic in check at the delight that shot through him. The PR mess regarding what would equate to mass murder, regrettably, didn’t ping his radar. But the thought of needing to rebuild the ballroom was just taxing enough to keep the impulse at bay.

He was about to ask what Vaggie meant when Charlie stepped in, playing devil’s advocate as usual (no pun intended). What his precious, well-meaning daughter saw in that undeserving creep, he’d never understand.

“He’s just getting into the spirit! You have to admit, it’s nice to see him mingling for once, he’s usually so—”

“Grotesque?” Lucifer offered.

“Conniving?” Vaggie added.

“Reclusive!” Charlie practically screamed, earning looks from a few demons within earshot. “Look, I won’t say that what he picked out isn’t… surprising, but I’m just really happy to see him join in on the fun. He’s been enjoying himself so far, so I want you guys on best behavior, all right?” 

She said you guys but made solid eye contact with her father. Despite wanting to protest, Lucifer understood he was already off to a shaky start and conceded with a sigh, covered quickly with a debonair grin. Charlie didn’t know what a particularly big ask it was to be on best behavior tonight, but that was his burden to bear.

“Of course, sweetie, you have nothing to worry about! There are so many sinners here I doubt we’ll even run into each other.”

Famous last words.

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Lucifer tried to enjoy himself, he really did. 

In the brief moments before his eyes found Alastor in the crowd, it had actually been a wonderful time. He was immediately awash in the admiration of his subjects, even managing to make some poor creature faint with a simple grin in their direction — though he had really laid on the charm with that one. Could he be blamed though? After ten millennia of habit, calling it compulsive would be an understatement. 

Moments like this were a reminder of why it was good to get out of his office every now and then. Whether it was compliments on his look, praise for the fight with Adam, or outright solicitation for sex, Lucifer drank it all in; beaming as the crowd awed at the sight of fully extended wings he could no longer keep to himself. He really was the shit, wasn’t he? Being worshipped is truly unlike anything else, but it’s something to experience, not explain. All he knew was that he adored it. 

It had been a devastatingly short-lived escape, the proverbial looming gray cloud — never too far away — returning as Lucifer’s gaze fell on Alastor. He had been scanning for the bar and stumbled on an atrocity instead. Just his luck. 

The costume was a shocking choice to be sure, one that Lucifer might have even appreciated had it been on literally anyone else. But something about it on Alastor was simply… perverse. Leaving him with the struggle of trying to decide if it was the costume that was the issue or its inhabitant.

Was it the way the habit — embellished with red stitches on each side and the Cross of Saint Peter in the center — framed Alastor’s face, ears and horns still exposed with just a tuft of bang peaking out across his forehead? The pure white wimple that glowed like a beacon against the stark black surrounding it, casting an unusual grace upon the slender neck and broad shoulders underneath? Or how the tunic flattered the swell of his chest, the taper of his thin waist accentuated by the fabric swirling about his hips that flowed down over long, lean legs?

The demon, draped languidly over the bar, was chatting with Husker; the look on their faces was the most relaxed and natural Lucifer had ever seen exchanged between the pair, borderline flirtatious. Whatever the bartender said made Alastor toss his head back with a laugh, the exuberant sound of it piercing the angel’s chest like an arrow. How he had even managed to hear it so clearly over the music and the crowd was a miracle, or perhaps curse was more accurate. Still, the easygoing look on Alastor’s face as he came down from the laugh was bewitching, accented by a boozy flush and mischievous, heavy red eyes.

Insufferable.

The Radio Demon was in top form tonight, confidence radiating from him with such a forceful ease that the king could feel it even from his place across the room. He hadn’t noticed the literal sparks flying out of the pads of his fingers until he brought his hands up to tug at the collar of his shirt, which suddenly felt too tight. Fuck.

Taking it all in, Lucifer could feel the heat rising reluctantly in his face as he was consumed by a baffling mixture of lust and loathing.

All because Alastor decided to be a blasphemous piece of shit, he seethed, scowling as he narrowed his eyes at the sinner in question. Eerie, arrogant, pompous, constant pain-in-the-ass Alastor, riling him up like this? Lucifer had considered it number one on his list of impossibilities, caught completely off-guard by the rush of desire — if he had to put a word on it — for the ghoulish prick. An impulse he had never entertained nor wanted to feel in regard to the demon, but was there all the same.

“Samhain,” Lucifer cursed under his breath. The flame between his horns intensified, eyes prickling with the threat to change color. He took a breath, remembering Charlie. 

Best behavior. 

It was about as helpful as a bandaid over a bullet wound. This had to be a joke; a cruel, tasteless joke meant to provoke him specifically. Like he hadn’t suffered enough of those already in his long, long existence.

That was the only conclusion the angel could come to from his table near the bar, practically burning alive in his chair as he watched Alastor strutting around the ballroom in between breaks from the dance floor. Lucifer really had almost set himself on fire after catching Alastor in the middle of a sultry dance move with one of the guests, a rolling of hips he didn’t think Alastor was even capable of doing, let alone inflict upon someone. It took a double shot to mellow out when he found himself wondering what it would be like to switch places with that guest, though it did little to quell the growing ache coiling low in his abdomen.

There was a lull in the music and the crowd disbursed, quickly filling the empty space around the angel. Lucifer exhaled, somewhere between a groan and a laugh. Alastor had finally managed to dip out of his line of sight — not that the demon was forcing Lucifer to look — and the reprieve couldn’t have come at a better time; the solace of his absence coming over the angel like poultice to a throbbing wound. Despite being a couple drinks in now, the tension in his body was a ticking bomb. He needed the opportunity to try and decompress before he accidentally wrought havoc upon the denizens invited here by his daughter.

For at least the tenth time he entertained the idea of going back up to his room, if only to release some of the punishing energy pulsating through him, but he wasn’t confident that he’d return. The only thing holding him back was the promise he made to Charlie to be present and well behaved. And so, he remained committed to the confinement of the table he’d been bonded to for the last hour.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

In hoping to keep as much distance as possible Lucifer had unwittingly tipped Alastor off, landing the problem he was hoping to evade right in his lap. So to speak.

He always forgot that the demon could travel through shadow until it was too late. It’s just that he didn’t care to remember, not wanting to give Alastor even the tiniest bit of permanent space in his mind. Something he was actually too oblivious to realize he was already doing; they both were.

Alastor had of course noticed when Lucifer entered the room. Whether he wanted to was another thing entirely. Though it was to be expected, what with the dregs of Hell no doubt encountering royalty for the first time. Thankfully he had been at the bar with Husker, his captive bartender providing a welcome distraction with a joke about how his drink was going to cost a few Hail Marys. There were reasons Alastor kept him around, after all, beyond the obvious. Surly as he was, Husk had the capacity to be quite funny when the mood struck. He wasn’t on the clock tonight, but he was the only one Alastor trusted to pour his drinks. 

He could feel the glare beating down on him from that moment on, focused on him wherever he went. So he laid it on, making rounds and fluffing up the guests who were all too eager to devour his attention. It had been especially fun seeing the quick shock of flame in the corner after he showed off a risqué dance move, all for his majesty’s entertainment of course. If the spotlight was going to be forced on him, why not perform? But after an hour the joke was growing stale, and so the demon came to the conclusion that he’d have to be the one to bridge the gap.

Lucifer jumped at the shock of Alastor’s melodic voice coming from behind him, transmuting the glass in his hand into a duck without meaning to with a pop; amber-colored liquor swirling around within the confines of its new shape. Lucifer couldn’t decide what pissed him off more, the jump scare or the magic trick. The not-so-secret third option being Alastor’s proximity to himself, the heat from their bodies mingling in the small space between them.  

“Fuck! You know, you’ve got a lot of nerve sneaking up on me like that. I’m liable to make it a killing offense,” Lucifer sneered, tossing a napkin over his new little creation before anyone else could notice it. “And I haven’t been admiring you. I’m just, uh, keeping an eye on things! Besides, a king shouldn’t mingle with the general population. Might give off the wrong impression.” 

Sealed with crossed arms and a smug, toothy grin, it would’ve made for a decent enough comeback had it not been for the slip up. 

A dear old friend to Alastor, the slip up.

The expression on his face sharpened with a malicious instinctual ease as an idea unfurled in his mind. Lucifer was so obviously perturbed by him, the attempt he made at concealing it was almost endearing in a pathetic way. Though he was always in a pathetic way to Alastor, dark gums revealed in his ominous smile as his scheme took shape. He leaned in low, lips nearly grazing the angel’s skin as he spoke; his ear twitched at the catch of Lucifer’s breath from the action. He was so fucking obvious.

How humiliating.

“Is that so? Well, if you’re merely killing time here, might I suggest a bit of… sport?”

Lucifer flinched, pulling his face away to glare up at him. He couldn’t be insinuating what the angel thought he was, could he? It would be a bold — deadly — move even under normal circumstances. And tonight was anything but normal. 

Something was clearly in the air for Alastor too, if the fraternizing Lucifer had witnessed for the past hour was any indication (not realizing he had been the cause). He was known to have a flirtatiousness about him when he drank, but there was a different edge to it this evening. Lucifer was beginning to wonder if the costume was fueling his narcissism. Obscene.

“Well, your majesty?” Alastor goaded, radio filter frazzling as he leered down. To Lucifer’s chagrin, bedroom eyes looked good on him, the rotten bitch. “If not, I’m more than happy to leave you to your sulking.”

That was a lie and they both knew it, the tension so charged between them the air might combust at any second. Given the king’s proneness to accidents tonight (and the literal open flame above his head) it wasn’t an impossibility. 

As they locked eyes, some silent declaration was sent, though neither had received the same message. Or perhaps they did and therein was the problem, dooming them to be forever caught in this stubborn battle of wills. 

Lucifer tried — and failed — to ignore the portion of himself that, apparently, had been eager for the opportunity. He could give in… if only to set some boundaries on who was always the winner in this pissing contest. The smoky trace of whiskey lingering on Alastor’s breath caused Lucifer’s nails to dig into the flesh of his palm, golden pinpricks of blood rising in the wake. 

A proposition now effectively ratified. 

The Body and the Blood…

How sentimental.

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“Haaahh…! Mmmnn — ahh!”

“Fuck…”

It started off as a joke like so many things do when you’re scared shitless of vulnerability.

An insult here, a dare to chase it. Contemptuous eyes poorly concealing the desire simmering underneath. An angry meeting of mouths, all tongue and teeth and claws. The clattering of miscellaneous items being recklessly swiped off a table.

Glass shattering. 

More insults.

A bite to the lip drawing blood, tangled breath filling in the needy gaps awaiting any touch they could get. The first shared moan ringing in ears before scorching its way down, stoking the molten ache roiling in the gut, desperate to envelop them both and leave nothing but frayed nerves behind. 

Caressing, pulling, gripping, grinding, biting…

The party supply room was hot, air humid with sweaty musk and the steam of heaving breaths, the sounds of the party resonating on the other side of the wall. Inside were hisses through clenched teeth, groans of ecstasy; slick skin coming together then pulling away with the magnitude of storm-heavy waves crashing and receding on the shore.

The tunic covering Alastor’s torso did little to comfort him, stripped as he felt. In fact, the habit was still on too, the only piece of clothing torn from him being the wimple in order to free the expanse of his neck. Lucifer had spent quite a bit of time there, marking it well with harsh love bites and languid strokes of his forked tongue.

He was laid out beneath the angel, open mouthed and florid, vaguely coherent as his king fucked him senseless; seemingly determined to conquer the demon as wholly as possible. A task at which he was succeeding, if he hadn’t done so already; though to be fair he had never stood a chance against Lucifer. Not tonight.

Alastor hadn’t spoken a proper word in minutes, reduced to communicating through moans, groans, and sharp intakes of breath. Quite the accomplishment considering he was such an articulate fellow. 

Lucifer didn’t know it yet, but he would be haunted by the memory of seeing Alastor’s eyes roll to the back of his head once he found the pace he was currently keeping; deep and steady, just fast enough to stay ahead of the desperation that was never too far behind.

So tight…

The demon almost looked sweet, splayed out below him like this, lost in the throes of pleasure. It was a nice change considering the sneer that normally painted his face. But seeing him like this, brows knit and face flushed, the tuft of bang soaked into his forehead…

In this moment, Lucifer truly felt like a God.

He certainly looked like he could be, his demon form fully unleashed. He always felt such relief in this state. It was exhausting holding himself back, and not just today. Something he did all the time, not out of concern or ease for others, but because he had difficulty grappling with his station. Not that he’d give it up — hell no. But the burden of leadership was exactly that. Lilith had known it too, all too happy to take the reins until she wasn’t. He’d been happy to let her… until he wasn’t.

Maybe it was the melding properties of Samhain surging through him, but he could swear he felt a shifting. What good did it do for him to hide himself away? There was actually plenty of proof to the contrary. Why should he hold himself back? He was Lucifer Morningstar. Hell was his domain, and all its inhabitants needed a reminder that he was to be revered.

The Radio Demon could be their martyr.

Why else had he offered himself up like one? And the image suited him well.

“I showed the Nazareth all the kingdoms of the world before they crucified him. What do you see, Alastor?” Lucifer growled, voice thick and smug with authority. He leaned down to nip and lick at the skin of Alastor’s open jaw, still whipping his hips at a relentless pace. 

Even with eyes closed — too much effort, they were so heavy to keep open — Alastor could see him perfectly, the image of Lucifer seared into his mind. Eyes. Glowing red eyes to match the flame roaring between his fully formed horns and the apple that topped his serpent crown like a sparkling ruby. Leering, all-seeing eyes on seraphim’s wings. 

A fanged grin so self-satisfied it was like looking directly into the sun. 

A God.

It burned him to admit it.

But the wanton moan that tore through Alastor’s chest pierced the room, coming on so quickly he never stood a chance at restraining it. The words spilling from Lucifer’s mouth in deep rumbles threatened to unravel the meager hold Alastor had left on his dignity. Absent claws bit into the flesh of the demon’s thighs as the angel momentarily hitched from the way Alastor clenched around him, hot and greedy as if needing to milk him for all he was worth.

The king let out a husky laugh in response, latching onto a particularly enticing patch of Alastor’s neck where it met the shoulder; reveling again in the salty musk that coated his tongue before biting down, filling his mouth with the satisfying taste of iron.

Alastor opened his mouth in a soundless plead, his mouth and throat dry from exertion. Impossible as it seemed, tears pricked at the corner of his eyes; his painfully hard and untouched dick throbbed, weeping against his stomach and into the fabric of the tunic. It was too much… He was too full, too surrounded, too helpless.

Consuming. 

Yes, that’s what it felt like. 

He had never been on the opposite side of it before. 

And despite it all, he could feel his orgasm pooling low in his belly, balls painfully full and tight. That gnawing tension yearning for relief as Lucifer’s thick arousal punished his spongy core. Once the angel pulled away from his neck, Alastor couldn’t help but reach down to touch himself, so in need of climax he didn’t care what it took to get it.

Lucifer roared at the sight, cock twitching as his own release threatened to spill, but managed to hold it back. Delicious as this was to witness, he couldn’t let Alastor get to the finish line just yet; his pointed tail coming around to snatch the demon’s hand away as he pulled out, exhaling with a strained grunt.

The sudden absence of both sensations left Alastor to writhe in frustrated ache, practically sobbing through gritted teeth at the loss, which Lucifer mercifully tried to soothe with languid kisses and nips to the demon’s inner thigh. He wasn’t a completely unfeeling Lord, after all.

He just needed one last thing before letting them both attain the high they so desperately wanted, his eyes shifting back from radiant flame to red and yellow with a blink as he wrapped his hand around Alastor’s angry, dripping length. It wouldn’t be long now, the poor creature was so hard and wet to the touch.

Alastor cried out, regaining some semblance of himself as he unconsciously bucked into Lucifer’s unmoving hand; his mouth made a sticky sound as he swallowed hard, moisture finally returning to his parched throat. 

“Luci…fer… please — I can’t…!” Alastor practically tore the words out between heaving breaths, tears burning his skin as the shame of needing to beg deepened his rosy blush to an intense red. 

He hadn’t expected the demon to beat him to the punch, unable to fight the grin of victory painting his lips as his eyes resumed their fearsome glow. Benevolently rewarding Alastor with a few firm strokes, he relished the lewd, wet sound of it joining the chorus of his subject’s carnal whimpers. Lucifer bent down and flattened his tongue, giving a slow wide lick to Alastor’s leaking cock from base to head, finishing with an obscene slurp. How could he possibly have denied himself such a precious offering? 

A pleased hum rumbled in Lucifer’s chest when Alastor slung an arm over his face, gossamer strings of spit between his lips as he shuddered, “Oh god… fuck…”

That would work. 

Lucifer buried himself back into Alastor’s enticing heat, continuing his ministrations as his hips set a slow pace. A mewling groan spilled from the demon’s mouth, hips rolling to meet each of the angel’s thrusts. Lucifer’s peak was quickly approaching, too lost in the divine feeling of Alastor’s body surrounding him, already lamenting the thought of being finished.

“You poor thing… Did I fuck all the attitude out of you?” the angel taunted, golden blood dripping down the side of his mouth from the force of his smile.

No longer capable of holding it back, the orgasm crashed through Alastor with the force of an avalanche, heart threatening to burst through his chest; the sound of its rapid pounding nearly drowning out his own scream of rapture. He spasmed so tightly that the king had to still himself, the grip on him almost painful. Hot, thick cum shot onto the demon’s stomach and Lucifer’s hand in gratifying spurts as he stroked him through his high, desperate for every drop he could wring out.

Inspired by the mess in front of him, the angel pulled out and brought one of Alastor’s hands to him, guiding him until he felt life twitch back into the demon’s fingers. The grasp was a little too harsh, Alastor perhaps using this as a chance for revenge if the look in his eye was any indication, but it didn’t matter. Nothing could take this conquest from him. It wasn’t long before Lucifer was rutting into the demon’s hand, groaning through clenched teeth as his face twisted up before spilling himself into Alastor’s palm.

Lucifer gave himself a moment to revel in the bliss of their debauchery before cleaning them up with a snap of his fingers. He was too worn out to put more effort into it than that, and hey, got the job done, didn’t it?

They were still trying to catch their breath when they finally locked eyes, the post-coital sobriety already at work. Alastor’s ears flattened as he glared at the angel, a rare grimace on his lips.

“No one knows about this. Understood?” he threatened, the static crackling in the air around him.

“Ha! Who do you think you’re talking to? Now I know I fucked you stupid.”

Their fistfight didn’t last long, but provided a great cover for their absence when they stumbled back to the bar in desperate need of a strong drink.

So much for best behavior…

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“How did you do it by the way, the last temptation of Christ?” Alastor couldn’t believe he was asking, the bitterness clear in his voice, but he figured it might be his only chance to find out without seeming too curious.

It took Lucifer a second to process the question, an easy smile spreading across his face. “Oh what, showing Jesus the world? I just whipped out a map*.”

Insufferable.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

ps: don’t worry, alastor was prepped before getting railed lol it just happened off screen 🫠

*biblically accurate if you can believe

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for talking about a regular/Ex-coworker behind their back?

🌿🕹️🧼(so I can recognize)

I(ftm 19) am very uncomfortable with a regular/ex-coworker (Ollie 31M) of my coworker (John 24M) (fake names obviously)

So background: I work in speciality retail Ollie used to work there but quit before I started, John still works there. I became good friends with Ollie and decided I'd go to a christian "church" group with them to see how it went (I use the word church lightly its more of a discussion group ) After going I decided it wasn't for me and was in fact still a little traumatizing ( I was raised vaguely catholic )

But I still hung out with John and Ollie from time to time outside work (sometimes Ollie would even visit me at work since the store is often very slow) and this is where it gets weird I apparently look almost exactly like Ollies Ex who was also transgender and abused him

Ollie often sends me texts unprompted asking if I'm okay I say I don't want to talk about it and normally he leaves me alone after that but two of these instances were different

One time during one of these conversations he sent me a text saying he had a dream about me where I kissed him and healed him (completely unprompted), for the record I am married and he is *well aware* of that fact

The second time he asked me to get coffee with him "1 on 1"

Other things Ollie has done that me uncomfortable

-Constantly asks to meet my husband

-preaches at me while im on the clock despite me being a practicing pagan, and very happy with that path

-talks to me and john about his sex life while we're both on the clock (specifically said he really wants to fuck a lesbian)

so I showed these text conversations to my female coworker at a sister store and my husband (and told them about the other stuff above) they both said it was very creepy and not okay , I also said I feel like hes trying to manipulate me or other wise groom me, to which they both agreed

John called me an asshole for talking about Ollie behind his back with my female coworker by calling him a "bad guy" I never said he was for the record I just asked my female coworker and not John first because we both have experience with being SAed, so I felt safer talking about Ollie to her. John also said that I had to understand how scary it is for Ollie to see me because I look so much like his ex

Keep in mind Ollie does not have to see me ever! I rarely go out with the group, and I only work in the store 3 days a week

So AITA for talking about a regular/ex-coworker behind their back?

[actualmermaid]

Hey Christians

I am once again getting reports that some of you are appropriating Jewish holidays and traditions, and 🌠 you should immediately stop doing that 🌠

Since I'm also a Christian, maybe you'll take this better from me. I usually see this behavior from people who are white, American, and/or Evangelical-adjacent, and I suspect that you're messing around with Jewish stuff because you feel alienated from your own cultural background, whatever that may be. You belong to what is essentially the big-box-store version of Christianity, and you're probably hungry for something that feels more "authentic." That's 100% understandable! But it is not a reason to appropriate traditions that belong to a community that has not shared them with you!

Luckily, there are some pretty easy ways to get acquainted with your own cultural heritage through traditional Christian observances.

Get acquainted with the traditional liturgical calendar. Our observances are structured around the solar year, and historically, these observances were tied to the patterns of agricultural labor. Religious festivals also had seasonal significance: the birth of Jesus coincides with the lengthening of days after the winter solstice, the resurrection of Jesus coincides with the rebirth of plants and animals in the spring, and so forth. The more you learn, the more you realize how much we've lost/forgotten!

If you know where your ancestors came from, you can research how folk-religious festivals are practiced in those parts of the world! What foods are eaten? What games are played? What stories are told? If there's a church associated with "your" cultural community, you might consider visiting them around important festivals and learning what they do. Remember, you are a student, and you should still approach these observances with respect and openness!

Here's a non-exhaustive list of things to try if you're feeling the temptation to appropriate a closed Jewish practice:

Instead of observing Rosh Hashanah because you're feeling left-out by the lack of major Christian holidays at this time of year, start looking forward to the feast day of St. Francis of Assisi (October 4). Here in the US, it's common for churches to hold a special "Blessing of the Animals" service or a "St. Francis the Peacemaker" service, often in cooperation with churches from other denominations! It's a lot of fun!

Instead of trying to host your own Passover seder (I have a horror story about this that I will refrain from sharing out of respect for my Jewish friends), just celebrate Easter like the rest of us! Easter, not Christmas, is the most important day in the Christian liturgical year. There are MANY ways to celebrate Easter in a more "traditional" way than you might be used to.

Celebrating Hanukkah as a Christian makes you look fucking stupid! Don't do it! Instead, if you want a multi-day traditional Christian observance, our things are the seasons of Advent and Christmastide! Again, depending on your cultural background, there are lots of ways to "practice Christianity" around this time. Fasting (similar to fasting during Lent) and lighting the candles on an Advent wreath are easy ways to start.

Don't try to observe Torah, that's not our thing! If you want to practice more "rules," consider trying out one of the many Christian fasting traditions (NOT the "Daniel Fast," which is basically a crash diet attached to some very bullshit theology), praying the Daily Office or using prayer beads, or wearing a head-covering in church. ("But I'm not Catholic," you might say, but if you do some research you'll discover that none of these things are unique to Catholics! You're not Jewish either, but that's not stopping you from messing around with their stuff!)

Before you come at me with excuses about this not being "biblical" or whatever, keep in mind that many Jewish observances are also not "biblical"! If you really want to try out a Jewish holiday, you should make a Jewish friend and let them invite you, but it's pretty hard to make Jewish friends if you're constantly trying to steal their shit! (The last 2000 years of Jewish-Christian relations are hard proof of this!)

[a-witch-in-endor]

i binged mo in like 2 days omg... i feel like a walking zombie rn how am I supposed to go on AAAAAA my heart is pounding LIKE??? it gave me SOO MANY EMOTIONS CRYINGGGGG this is The Atla Fic Ever

but more importantly, I just want to say that this fic is changing my perspective on religion. im athiest, and quite honestly I've never been able to truly understand religion. I'm a strong believer in science, so religion just has never made sense to me. reading mo though, and connecting with a character who believes so deeply in his religion, and seeing how overall, religion is meant to provide guidance to understanding the world and forming morals, I feel like I've grown a lot of respect for religion in general

it's still hard for me, because a lot of my experiences with religion (or I should say, christianity/catholicism specifically- I feel like I should make it clear that I don't judge people for following religion, I just have never seen/understood the appeal) have been with people around me who are religious and therefore very homophobic or anti-abortion etc. I'm not trying to start political discourse ofc, but experiencing that consistently has not really put religion in a positive perspective for me

but reading mo and taking lots of time to think about religion in general, and how I do have friends who are religious and still supportive of lgbtq+ ppl, or who are even queer themselves, I feel like maybe I've grown as a person to become more open minded towards religion. when someone tells me they're christian, honestly I find myself closing up around them. I don't want to make it obvious I'm queer because I feel like they'll judge or disapprove. but I think that's an unfair assumption to make

I think religion, and how it ties into a people's culture and history, is beautiful. I worry that I'll always be wary around christianity, but I'll continue trying to keep an open mind. I understand now that the original beliefs of a religion and the actions of some of its followers are not one in the same, and that the teachings of a religion can call for peace while some followers ignore this. I realize that I should not judge an entire religion simply because there are some practicers who deliberately misinterpret the original teachings

I know the religions in mo are not quite the same as the ones that I am uneasy around. but nonetheless you've helped me see religion and its followers in a new light. and for that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I am so excited to see how the story continues, thank you for taking the time to write and continue this story for as long as you have, and for helping people like me expand our worldview and become more enriched

Ah, OP, I'm really pleased to hear that it's been a meaningful experience for you. I know a lot of people have complex relationships with religion. In fact, I think anyone who doesn't have some complexity in their relationship with religion is probably a rare specimen.

Powerhouses like Christianity are hugely affected by the amount of institutional power they've enjoyed, and you know what they say about the impact of power. But there are a lot of beautiful ideas there, too. If you're ever looking for a way to encounter more than the political powerhouse of the church, I recommend reading about liberation theology - and specifically (Catholic Priest) Gustavo Gutiérrez's A Theology of Liberation.

That all being said, I don't want to undermine the fact that there's a lot to be wary of in religious tradition, especially around perspectives on gender, sexuality, and such. It is not my perspective that these things are baked into religion specifically. It's that anything that links us to the what-came-before is going to include the problems of what came before, and religion has a lot to do with tradition, so it often falls into that trap.

I just happen to also rate the part of religion which is also about being in relationship with past and future, about continuous revelation, about liberation and obligation, about living life with consciousness and constantly asking what it means to be human and what we owe ourselves, one another, and God.

Anyway, this was barely coherent, but it comes down to: thank you for sharing. :-)

[alpaca-clouds]

Isaac and Religion

Please Note: No, I am not a Muslim myself. But I talked quite a bit about this with a friend who is a Muslim scholar.

Something that I have spent maybe too much time thinking about, is Isaac's relation to religion (and in general religion within the castlevania series - though that might be a discussion for another day).

We know that Isaac is Sufi. To those who have never heard about Sufism: It is Islam, but with Mysticism mixed into it. And during the high medieval period it was for a time the most widely spread version of Islam, especially in Northern Africa and the Ottoman Empire. Though at the time the series takes place it was already in decline.

Sufism did originate with Sunni Islam. Though I do have to wonder how much difference it makes to Isaac, as one of the core parts of the entire struggle is about who gets to interpret the Qur'an - and it really does not seem to matter much for Isaac given that he seems to be mostly on his own with his religion, hence having to do the interpreting himself.

But it brings with it quite a few interesting observations about how his relation to his religion is. He is clearly religious, yes. But he does obviously do quite a lot of sinning.

The self-flagellation is something that Islam as a whole frowns upon, because technically self-harm is explicitly forbidden by the Qur'an. But... still there are fractions of Islam that to this day practice self-flagellation, partly as a religious practice, partly as an act of mourning.

Sufism usually does involve meditative practices, which might at times also involve forms of self-flagellation. Which makes me think it is linked to that. Especially based on the dialogue with the captain. Though than again it does contradict his dialogue with Godbrand, where he reasons it has to do with purging his body of sickness (= sin). Ironically this makes me wonder, if he actually has gotten that stuff from the templars/monks, because that reasoning for self-flagellation is a very catholic one. And given he was a kid when he was taken, there is a good chance he might have picked up some catholic dogma as well, maybe even unconsciously. Especially given he uses the same belt for the beating, he had taken from his former owner.

And, of course, there is the practice of sorcery, especially necromacy. Something that again is very much a sin and forbidden in Islam. While Sufi practice some mysticism and maybe even magic, those are usually linked to learning the names of God and are quite different from what Isaac is doing.

Of course, Isaac does have a reasoning behind it and behind his killing of so many. Because Muslim endtime prophecies do in fact involve the souls of the dead being lifted out of hell and reunited with their dead bodies, so that they may be judged by God. (He even quotes from this when talking to the shopkeepere.)

So, in Isaac's mind he is basically just what Christians would call a rider of the apocalypse. He brings upon the endtimes, so that people may be judged again and the wicked might go to hell, while the good people might go to paradise.

As I said, there is obviously the fact that he probably has learned a lot about Islam by himself. He was taken by templars as a child. So while he might have been educated in the faith as a child before that, he was not after it. And given that he was keeping to himself after it, after experiencing a lot of violence, I do not assume he ever went into a mosque to pray or have many talks with scholars. So there is a good chance that a lot of his knowledge on Islam has come from he himself reading the Qur'an and maybe the Hadith and interpreting them himself.

Something that kinda irks me in some fics, is when I read about him drinking alcohol (something he canonically does not do) or eating pork or other haram foods. It is just one of those things with fanfics, where I do wonder how hard it is to be a bit more thoughtful when writing about characters from other religions.

A thing that I personally have thought about a lot is his relation to sexuality. I read him as gay for so many little reasons in canon (though obviously interpretations might vary). Now, medieval Islam had a different view on the topic of homosexuality than modern Islam. Homoromanticism was usually permitted. Homosexuality at least somewhat accepted. Usually Sufi were a bit more accepting in that regard, because of their unique understanding of gender.

But... The Qur'an and especially the Hadith have a strong and clear opinion on one thing, that the bible does not have any opinion about: Anal sex. While the bible refers to homosexual acts in very vague terms, the Qur'an explicitly talks about anal sex and it says: "No go. Not even with women."

Which actually gives me an interesting hook for conflict when I write his relationship with Hector. And it is something that I find kinda sad for it being barely brought up in fics. Just a thought.

[utilitycaster]

I am attempting to explain why I love the history of Avalir that was revealed this past episode so much and this is just going to be very sprawling and cover both religion and nuclear semiotics, my two true passions, so:

The question of “how do we communicate across insititutional memory” is one of the hardest ones to answer. Institutional memory is fragile and incredibly short. I’m on an alumni board for an undergrad group I was in as a student; it’s been less than 15 years and the way of doing things has changed multiple times. I know people on the board who are themselves 20 years older than I and they’ve seen even more iterations. And granted, college clubs have a shorter memory than most given how transient the population is, but what is astounding is that the founders are still alive and can answer and things still change so fast we can’t quite track why. And when we can, it’s often a very minor reason - a temporary stopgap that became permanent because the people who knew it was temporary graduated; an accommodation for someone who’s long since been forgotten.

Usually the thing that endures is the action or the ritual; but not the reason why. And this is both good and bad. Actions are important. Carrying out the thing that must be done is, in many cases, more important than knowing why. And yet, when the reasoning is lost, the continuity of the action becomes endangered. There’s no longer a capacity to intelligently deviate from that action when necessary, because people only know “do this” and not “to achieve this goal”. And, as we’re seeing here, it means that when people rebel against the injunction there is no way to push them back. If all they know is “don’t harm the tree” and not “because it is a bulwark against catastrophe”, then why shouldn’t they harm the tree?

The first example I thought of here were the conversos: Jews from the Iberian peninsula who were forced to become Catholic during the inquisition, but who secretly carried out Jewish traditions when they could. The specific example I had in mind is the dough offering. It’s a tiny tradition, itself a relic: it was once commanded to give up the first baked goods you made with the new wheat. After that practice could no longer be made, the tradition became to, when you made bread, set aside a small piece and burn it separately.

The people who were forced to convert continued to do this, but over time, because teaching the source of the tradition was a risk, it was lost - yet the tradition remained. You can read interviews with the descendents of conversos; many only realized their heritage within the past century or so, when they realized the weird family tradition of taking a piece of dough around the size of an olive and letting it burn while the bread baked actually came from something, not just superstition.

Now, in the end, it’s not terribly important that you burn the bread in terms of safety; but it illustrates what people remember.

Which is the consideration in nuclear semiotics - the long term nuclear waste warning message (”This place is not a place of honor”) essentially became a meme in recent years, which I think is also very illustrative, but the thought process that became this message is worth reading about. Essentially: how do you tell people - who may not know you, who may not speak your language, who may be the survivors of some unknown cataclysm - that this was dangerous? Because you need to communicate not just “stay away” but also “because this will kill you,” and, ideally, “this is how it will kill you and this is why we have it.” There’s an order of importance - it’s better if people stay away even if they don’t know why - but, well, human psychology says that if you hang up a “danger: keep out” sign some thrill-seeker will come knocking, unless you specify “no for real you will die horribly, and here’s why this exists in the first place despite that danger.” And of course there is a risk, that if you fully explain the purpose and use of the radioactive waste people will try to use it; but you’ve provided the explanation.

And so in Avalir, and with the Drashari, there are two cases. First, the Tree of Names; they said “take care of the tree” and “because it is important” but not “because it protects the entire world from dangers beyond this plane”, so the assumption among the wizards is that it’s important to the druids...but not to them, the brilliant wizards who know better and don’t care about weird plants. (This case, of course, wasn’t really erosion of the information over time though; it was withholding of information in the first place; an understandable flaw but a fatal one).

Second, the Ashari. A millennium or more later, they retain bits and pieces - protect the world from extraplanar elemental threats. They’re no longer the generalists they once were, and it’s unclear if they realize that the cause of these rifts or elemental anomalies in Exandria are due to sealed primordials. They don’t seem to do much about things from planes other than the elemental ones either. They are fairly isolated - perhaps recollecting, imperfectly, that outsiders bring wizards bring ambition. Even some of their deeply flawed institutions suddenly make more sense, as yet another step in the game of telephone their practices must have gone through: the Aramente as a way, perhaps, to connect the now scattered tribes, to cover ground across the world now that they have no tree to do it for them, and to ensure that there are a few people who understand the outside world and who have the power to take on a greater threat than the everyday ones coming through the planes, but decayed now into a leadership initiation and repurposed into a way to get difficult tasks done. But we know now - they’re not just throwing a bit of bread into the oven to burn. There was once a very clear task they were supposed to do, and they’ve lost much of it, but they’re trying to keep it as much as they can.

[fdelopera]

I....I tried to write a response to the latest Moon Knight discourse and ended up writing a 10 page annalysis on the first four years run of Moon Knight. I'm not good at things...

BUT ANYWAYS.

I haven't read City of the Dead yet (I will read it because I need to see the directions Moon Knight is being taken by each writer so I can keep up my scarily intense spread sheet), but I have seen the discussions and images.

While Marc is not practicing his religion, he is still wrestling with G-D.

He has wrestled with his own sense of self, his spiritualism, his upbringing, his family, his own life and death, and even swaying from being materialistic and giving up everything.

He wrestles with G-D constantly. Challenging the teachings, circles back to them, follows them, breaks them... Every step of his way has been in direct defiance or on the path.

He ran from his father's teachings to be violent and live a life of destruction and pain. In doing so, he learned guilt and forgiveness. He learned the value of life when he took it.

In his death, he saw his own mortality and then rejected it.

I also am starting to wonder if his relationship with Khonshu (comics only) is in his own mind a reaction to his relationship with G-D and his culture.

He serves Khonshu for the life he was given but he resents Khonshu for the path he has taken. He views the powers he was given as a gift and a curse. He goes long stints of ignoring him then grows angry when he calls out and Khonshu doesn't answer.

He argues with Khonshu, rebels, defies him, and always comes back. He hates him and he honors him. He wears the outfit, the mission, the symbols, but he is not going to pray to him or follow the path as dictated.

The biggest difference is that Marc would never declare Khonshu a superior god or outright worship him. He view Khonshu as a being that has a higher power, but that cannot control him. He was not made by Khonshu or in his image. Khonshu is a being that has latched onto him like a parasite and Marc speaks to him in challenge to his ideal of G-D.

I always found it interesting that Marc, written as a Rabbi's son, would fall in with an Egyptian god. A god that was probably around and being worshiped during the exodus.

I've always seen Marc's relationship with Khonshu as another way for him to fight who he is. Who he was supposed to be and who he turned out to be.

Steven, on the other hand, has never been a big Khonshu fan. He loaths the jerk and sees him for what he is (something the show got right). He accepts Khonshu because he recognizes that he can give Marc what he needs to thrive. Keep him alive. Keep him from harming them. Keep him fighting and searching for himself.

I think Steven is not exactly practicing the religion, but upholds a lot of the culture. He's fancy and snotty, but he likes the comfort of ritual.

You are 100% right that Jake is probably the one that keeps the faith in their system. He guards their soul and keeps them humble. He probably would have gotten along with their father to a point. Be a member of the people and help those that need it.

I don't see Marc as an atheist or a true agnostic, but at times he would probably claim he is. I think he is a man that struggles with his religious upbringing so hard that he accidentally embodies it.

While Moon Knight is about a lot of things, I think catholic guilt needs to stay with Dare Devil. I think Moon Knight is about finding and struggling with identity. Always has been. Identity of where you come from, who you are, who you were supposed to be, who you are spiritually and with yourself. Perhaps that is a very Jewish thing to seek?

And I think that this gets written very poorly at times and often forgotten. He will never stand outside of a church and moan about failing god and his culture. But he will put on a kippah and wonder about who he was supposed to be if he had seen that his father was not a coward, but a man trying to change his own path in a world that fell down.

Your analyses are brilliant, as always. What a gift to receive this in my inbox!

Marc's Jewish journey is the journey of so many Jewish people, especially in the decades following the Holocaust and the attempted eradication of the Jewish people.

MacKay describes this beautifully in his run. He captures the sorrow and anger that many Jews have felt towards G-d for the pogroms, the Holocaust, the thousands of years of persecution. Why has G-d abandoned us? Why should we worship a G-d who feels like He is indifferent to us and our suffering?

Marc's anger at G-d is understandable. He witnessed his father, an Orthodox rabbi, be measured and compassionate in the face of antisemitic violence. Marc wanted to take up the Shield of David and destroy those who would hurt his people further.

But that is not the way, not anymore.

After the Romans destroyed the Second Temple and razed Jerusalem to the ground in 70 CE, Judaism had to change. It had to adapt. The Temple was gone, the priesthood was destroyed, and the Jewish people had to figure out how to continue to offer up to G-d. Without the priests offering sacrifices to G-d in the Temple, how would the Jews continue on as a people?

Out of the ashes of that war, Rabbinical Judaism was born. Torah study became the way that Jews offer up to G-d, as it still is today. Judaism became a religion of learning, debate, and discourse, not a religion of war. That is how Judaism would survive.

It's understandable then that Marc would look at the nearly two thousand years of history that came after the destruction of the Second Temple and see only weakness. Jews were slaughtered by the hundreds of thousands. They were sold into slavery and forced to emigrate to Europe. They were sentenced to live in squalor in ghettos and slums. They lived in constant fear of violence at the hands of Christians. And once they seemed to have reached a place of equilibrium, a new Christian power would rise and force them to flee, convert, or die. Pogrom after pogrom, ghetto after ghetto, Jews were marched throughout history towards what was intended to be the utter end. The final solution to the "Jewish question." Then they would die by the millions in the kind of coordinated extermination that only the Romans had been able to attempt before.

Marc looks at Jewish history and he rightly sees a history of pain. He is filled with righteous anger at the way his people have been persecuted, and he wants to lash out. But his rabbi father tells him no, that is not the way. That is not who we are as Jews.

And so Marc rejects the G-d of his father, and he joins the military. He needs a place that will let him channel his anger. And when the military rejects him, he becomes a mercenary. And finally his anger reaches its logical conclusion: death. And yet he does not die. He is resurrected by a god who allows him to pursue justice in the way he has wanted to, through blood.

But Khonshu takes Marc’s righteous need for justice — “tzedek, tzedek, tirdof” (justice, justice you shall pursue) — and the old god twists it into a desire for vengeance and retribution.

Marc has never worshipped Khonshu as a deity, but he does contractually serve the old god as an entity of vengeance. He sees Khonshu as a means to an end — as a means to protect the vulnerable and enact justice on evildoers — and yet he knows deep down that this end doesn’t justify the means he used to get there.

There is a responsibility, a burden, to being a Jew. We are responsible for leading a moral and ethical life, and we are responsible for working towards justice and equality in society. Our duty is to community, not to individualist desires. We have an obligation to the mitzvah of tzedakah, which comes from the word tzedek (justice), and means charitable giving that advances social justice. We have an obligation towards “tikkun olam,” or “repairing the world.”

These are all aims that Marc has pursued, and yet he’s pursued them out of a place of personal pain and anger. He has burned his life down more times than he can count, which has only fueled that pain and anger more.

Yet he’s still trying. And he’s starting to recognize what that pain and anger have cost him. As MacKay writes in the panels above:

“You couldn’t understand before why I take being the fist of Khonshu so seriously, when it’s cost me so much. Cost me everything. It’s because I don’t have anything else left. If I’m not the Fist of Khonshu, whatever I choose to understand that as, then I’m just Marc Spector, the man who makes the wrong choice every time. The man who threw away his religion, his heritage. Killed what family he didn’t bury. The man who brought harm and trauma to everyone who ever cared about him. The man who can’t breathe from the guilt closing over his head, thick as seawater and twice as bitter … I’d rather be anyone else other than that guy.”

While MacKay’s assessment of why Marc is part of a system is pretty problematic in these panels (really wish he hadn't included the line, "No wonder I developed DID," because that only increases stigma), MacKay does get the essence of the Jewish guilt that Marc feels.

Jewish guilt is not guilt for individual sin, like it is in Catholicism. This is one of the big problems that I have with the way that David Pepose is writing Marc in "City of the Dead." Feeling guilty about sin is a Christian notion, and doesn’t really figure in Jewish thought. Jewish guilt is the anguish we feel when we choose selfish, individualist aims that harm our community, our people.

And this is the beauty of MacKay’s run. MacKay understands Marc’s experience of guilt. MacKay’s Marc feels that he “[brings] harm and trauma to everyone who ever cared about him.”

And the natural resolution to that guilt, the way Marc is trying to atone for his actions that have hurt so many, is the establishment of the Midnight Mission. Marc starts the Mission without Khonshu’s direction. This is not part of his contract with the old god.

I think that in the Midnight Mission, we see Marc’s effort to reconnect with his Jewish faith. This is Marc trying to give tzedakah, this is his attempt at tikkun olam. He wants to serve the marginalized and disenfranchised, as he once did (during Moench’s original Moon Knight run). He wants to help his community, his people. And so he opens his doors to those that society has also rejected, and he gives them a home.

And this is really the path forward for many Jewish people. This is how we can channel our sorrow and anger at a legacy of thousands of years of persecution. This is what it is to be the "chosen people." As Jews, we are chosen to have extra responsibilities based on the covenant with G-d. A simple understanding is this: we are not "chosen" to be special; we are "chosen" to do the dishes. As Jews, it is our duty to pursue justice and help those in need.

And it is incredibly meaningful that Jed MacKay, a gentile, has taken the time and done the research to really understand this.

[rip-quizilla]

Your Leather, My Lace ~ Part 1: One Look Could Kill

*This fic was co-written by curlyfry23, whom you can find on AO3 here

Pairing: Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Rockstar!fem!Reader

Summary: It's your band's third time competing in Indianapolis' Battle of the Bands, and you're dead set on making 1991 the year you finally win. Of course, the moment you swear you won't fall prey to any "distractions", a guy named Eddie with big brown eyes shows up to distract you.

Word Count: 2.6k

Tags for Entire Fic (from AO3): Enemies to Lovers, Rival Bands, Tension While Singing, Leather, 80's Rock References, Song Lyrics, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Thinly Veiled Hex Girls Inspiration, Eddie Munson Lives, 1991, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Hate to Love, Oral Sex, Consensual Sex, Smut, Eddie Munson Has No Sense of Personal Space, Cunnilingus, Nipple Licking, Catholic Guilt, brat!reader, Dom/sub Undertones, light degradation, Car Sex, The Lord of the Rings References

~Indianapolis, 1991~

“It’s our year, ladies.” 

You couldn’t wipe the grin off your face; this was it. You could feel it in your bones, this was your fucking year. 

Denise snorted, “Sure.” Green lips curling into a rueful smirk, she struggled with her bags and band equipment while reaching up to tighten her platinum pigtails. “Not like you say that every time we drag our asses out to this thing.” 

You paid her negativity no mind. She wasn’t wrong necessarily, but you refused to ignore the surge of adrenaline that was pulsing through your veins right now. “It’s different this year, don’t tell me you guys don’t feel it too.” You confidently strutted through the revolving door of the high-class hotel where Lana’s dad had made reservations for your band for the duration of the competition, and you mentally sent out a heartfelt thank you to him as you looked around, awestruck at the grandeur of the hotel. You would have been fine with putting yourselves up at a Best Western or something; having a band member who came from money really had its perks.

“I certainly feel something.” Lana drawled, eyes following a particularly attractive bellboy who threw her a wink as she sent a grin in his direction. Expression growing sour, you snapped in her face, wincing when you almost dropped your guitar case. “Hey! No! Nonono, none of that, not this year.” You ignored Lana’s pout and resumed your trek toward the front desk. 

It would be your year to win… IF- and only if- you all committed to keeping your eyes on the prize. This was your third year competing for the title, and you were pretty sure that if you lost Battle of the Bands one more time, you wouldn’t be able to convince Lana and Denise to compete again. It was a big commitment; foregoing jobs, family, friends- well, you only had two of those, and they were here with you- for up to a month, depending on how far you stayed in the game. After getting cut before you even made top ten the first year, it was hard enough to persuade your bandmates to try again. Last year had been closer (you attributed that to the hours you all had dedicated to practicing day in and day out to prepare) and thought you’d had it in the bag until you were cut before making it to top five. 

“No distractions this time. I’m making it a rule.” you said over your shoulder, getting in line to check in. “If we want to win this year, we need to focus.” Luna plopped her bags on the floor as she lined up behind you. “Making rules now, huh? Who put you in charge?”

You rolled your eyes, turning to face her. “Calm down, obviously I’m not telling you what to do, okay? You’re an adult, you can do what you want. However-” you raised your eyebrows, leaning towards her to ensure she got your point. “I am proposing that we all make a pact to give this competition the place on our list of priorities that it deserves.” 

Denise raised an eyebrow. “And that place would be…?”

You shot a hand as high as you could, even going so far as to stand on your tiptoes. “Here! Aaaaaall the way up here! Tippy top!” You sounded as exasperated as you felt; getting these girls to care as much as you did felt like pulling teeth sometimes. “Look, it’s not like I don’t want us to have fun while we’re here, but I also know that if we stay zeroed in on our goal, all it can do is help us. Right?”

Your friends nodded and smiled, used to your intensity when it came to Battle of the Bands. “You’re right, sorry for getting bitchy.” Lana slung an arm around your shoulders, and her orange-dyed twists tickled your cheeks. “Thanks for keeping us in line, cap.” She gave you a mock salute before planting an obnoxiously loud kiss to your cheek. 

You laughed, groaning dramatically as you wiped her black lipstick from your face. “You know how long it takes to do my makeup!” you giggled, swatting her away as you stepped up to the front of the line to check into your room.

***

That night would be the first round of performances for Battle of the Bands, and you had already persuaded your bandmates to come out with you to a local venue to scope out the other bands competing for the title. From the moment you walked through the doors of the grungy basement bar, you felt like a dormant part of you came alive. You loved this- genuinely loved it; the smoke flinging neon lights in every which way, the dull roar of people talking, yelling, drinking… the energy was infectious, and it made you itch to get on that stage. 

Not tonight, though- tonight was not about you, it was about reconnaissance. Tonight’s bands were all new to the Battle, and while you weren’t ruling them out as potential threats, you weren’t necessarily scared of them either. After grabbing a drink from the bar with Denise and Lana, you scoped out a small table in a corner from which to watch tonight’s performances. Unfortunately, it only took a few songs from the earsore of a goth rock group to make your friends duck out in search of a more interesting bar to spend the evening. They tried to convince you to go with them, but you stood your ground, eager for any leg-up on the competition. 

“Go on and have fun, really! I’m all good here.” You smiled reassuringly. They seemed skeptical and a bit disappointed, but still left you alone at your corner booth that now felt far too large for one person. Sighing, you stood and walked over to the bar, ordering yourself another drink and leaning against the slightly sticky counter. 

As you took in the sight of the dumpster fire on the stage, you shook your head, disappointed. You didn’t want the rival bands to be too good, obviously, but you had been hoping they would at least be competitors. The thrill of the chase was something you felt in your bones here, and it helped you want to be better; to make yourself be better. These guys… they just made you feel sorry for them. You reached into your purse and withdrew your small moleskine notebook and began jotting down a few notes on the band’s performance. Weaknesses: lead singer is tone deaf. Lead guitarist thinks the guitar is a percussion instrument. Strengths: members all have nice hair. 

You were so focused on trying to find more strengths to write down that you barely noticed the stranger looking over your shoulder at the paper you were jotting on. “Jeez,” a voice said, inches from your ear,  “and I thought I was a harsh critic.” Your head whipped around, narrowly avoiding the stranger sitting directly behind you. Frowning, you replied, “Did you just read my notebook?”

The stranger, a whole head taller than you with a lean frame and a dark mane of long, frizzy hair, smiled broadly back at you. “Will you keep talking to me if I say yes?” 

Oh. He was flirting with you. 

You turned away, a silent answer to his question. No distractions. You had made the rule, and you intended to follow it. Bringing your attention back to the stage, you struggled to place the song the band was playing -the melody sounded familiar, but the lead singer’s tiny, screeching vocalizations were making it difficult to recognize. Finally, you realized that they were playing a very grungy rendition of “I Will Survive”; surprised, you added Impressive range of genre knowledge to the “strengths” column. 

You heard a throat clear behind you, to which you rolled your eyes and looked sideways over your shoulder. He was still there, smiling somewhat less confidently now but still smiling nonetheless. “So, uh…” the stranger slid into the barstool beside yours. “What are you writing?” 

You gave him a thin smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “A manual for creeps who don’t know how to take a hint.” 

Glancing down at his beer, his ringed fingers tapping the bottleneck methodically, the stranger sighed, “That sounds interesting, I should give it a read.” 

A corner of your mouth crept up before you could stop it. “Yeah, you probably should, might learn something.” 

The barest hint of a smile from you was all he needed to bring his toothy grin back in full force. “Gotta be honest, learning was never my strong suit.” 

Against your better judgment, you turned the rest of your body to face the bar, giving him your full eye contact- And damn, if those weren’t the biggest eyes you had ever seen. 

You indulged him with a wry smile. “Not the schooling type?” you asked. Big Eyes placed a leather-clad elbow on the bartop, resting his head in hand and smiling lazily. “Oh no, I loved school. Loved it so much I had three senior years, actually.” 

You snorted out a laugh, eyebrows raising involuntarily. “Three?” you repeated. “Damn, even I didn’t like it that much.” 

He closed his eyes and nodded vigorously, “Oh yeah, loved it.” he reiterated, his expression so mockingly serious that you couldn’t help but laugh softly. Upon hearing your laugh, his smile crept up to match yours. “Biiiiig, big fan of a good ‘ole public school education,” he said. 

You tapped the bar to signal to the bartender that you were ready for another round. “You would just love Catholic school, then,” you replied. “Real fun, learning about Jesus instead of evolution.” 

Those wide eyes got wider somehow at the mention of Catholic school. “Are we talking about plaid skirts, nuns that slap your hand with a ruler- that kind of Catholic school?” 

You nodded grimly. “The very same.” The bartender handed you another drink, and you nodded your thanks to her as you continued, “And it was an all-girls school, too.” looking at Big Eyes, “your creep ass would’ve loved it.” 

Undeterred by your jab, he inclined his head and raised an eyebrow. “Something tells me if I went to school and saw you in a school uniform, I’d be blind to any other woman that crossed my path.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that your uniforms weren’t the least bit sexy, and had included knee-length skirts and starchy oxford shirts… but the compliment heated your cheeks anyway. 

Trying not to smile (and failing) you bit your lips and shut your notebook with a sharp thup. “Is this what you do for fun?” you asked him, “You go out to bars and hit on strangers?”

Big Eyes laughed softly, teeth still shining in the red and blue light reflecting off of him from the stage. “Maybe. It’s been pretty fun, so far.” 

You reached back, rubbing the back of your neck while you glanced back to the stage. The band was packing up and heading off stage. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed while you were chatting it up with this stranger. Shaking your head ruefully, you looked back at him with an apologetic expression. 

“Look,” you sighed, “you actually seem really nice, and you’re funny and easy to talk to…” His face lit up like a Christmas tree, and his eagerness at hearing your praise reminded you of a puppy. It felt as if someone were squeezing your heart in your chest. “...but I really can’t be flirting with guys at bars right now, okay? I’m sorry but now just isn’t the best time for distractions.” 

“Distractions?” Big Eyes laughed, unphased. “What am I distracting you from?” 

You gestured toward the stage. “My band is competing in Battle of the Bands. I came out here to see what we’re up against this year.” Holding up your notebook, you stuck your pen behind your ear with a free hand. “That’s what I was taking notes for. It’s our third year competing, so-” you grimaced, apologizing with your eyes once again. “-I don’t want to leave anything to chance. So no distractions this year. I’m sorry, under any other circumstances…” Your sentence trailed off, and Big Eyes raised his eyes as he waited for you to finish. 

You glanced away, fumbling around your words “...under other circumstances, I might keep this very entertaining conversion going and maybe have another drink with you… but I need to focus. So that will not be happening tonight.” You looked back at him, heart racing as his gaze snagged yours. His expression betrayed nothing, but those eyes were so wide and intense that you didn’t want to look away. You took a deep breath. Control yourself. “I’m sorry.” you added. 

He gave you a small smile and shrugged. “It is what it is. Can’t knock you for being dedicated to something.” He threw a nod to the bartender before asking, “What’s your band called?” 

“Next Hex.” you replied, downing the last sip of your drink. Big Eyes handed a few bills to the bartender and nodded, eyes distant as if he were documenting the name of your band in his memory. Eyes flicking back up to you (your heart felt like it did a backflip- they’re just eyes, why was he having this effect on you?) he raised his eyebrows, sobering his expression. “Noted.” he said, “Hopefully I’ll get to see you guys play.” 

You smiled, the gesture more genuine this time than the first few smiles you gave him. “Hopefully.” you repeated. “It was nice to meet you-”

Hopping off his chair and straightening his leather jacket sleeves, he held his hand out to you. “Eddie.” he filled in the blank.

You took his hand, ignoring the way your heart rate quickened when your skin touched his. “Eddie,” You mimicked before giving him your name in return. “Sorry about the circumstances.” You winced inwardly at how awkward it felt to turn a guy down mid-handshake. 

Big Eyes- Eddie- smiled ruefully and shook his head as he withdrew from your handshake and placed both hands in his pockets. “Don’t apologize yet,” he said, “I might end up being your favorite groupie.” 

A laugh bubbled up from your lips. “You’re not gonna go crazy stalker on me, are you? If you do, you can expect your restraining order in the mail.”

That mischievous grin plastered itself back across his face, and you were starting to wonder if this facial expression was simply his default face. “If your signature is on it, I might just get it framed, rockstar.” Satisfied with having the last word, Eddie gave you one last blinding smile before backing away from the bar and disappearing into the crowd. 

You continued looking in his direction until he vanished from your line of sight, and a part of you wished he hadn’t been scared off so easily… but you immediately chided yourself for wishing a man hadn’t taken no for an answer. How often were men who flirted with strangers at bars respectful? This guy was one in a million. Mentally, you cursed your luck for having such horrible timing.

You waved down the bartender and asked how much your tab was, but to your surprise she shook her head. “Your friend paid for you, don’t worry about it!” 

“Oh.” you said, surprised. You had already pulled out a couple one dollar bills, so you handed them to her anyway. “Well here, these are for you then.” Smiling, she took the bills from you and pocketed them in her acid wash jeans. “Aw, thanks hun! Have a great night!” With that, she turned to help the next patron a few seats away.

So, you thought, I just turned down a guy who was funny, respectful, AND paid for my drink even when he knew he wasn’t getting anything out of it. You shook your head, slowly making your way to the exit. 

This had better be our fucking year. 

Part 2

[ifindus]

(I don't know if you're comfortable answering this, but it's just something I've been noticing through your norway) your norway doesn't have the hair cross pin clip, and if I where to take a guess it's because most norwegians tend to keep their religion private? also since norway is a really including country in today's day and age, and he is supposed to represent the people, I don't think he would wear the hair cross, (also I don't really know how the goverment would feel if a man like him wore a hairclip to important meetings, cross or not, but that's a topic for another time😅) I don't mind him being christian even though I am non religious myself, it makes sense with our history, (and apparently I've heard it's a stereotype in denmark that norwegians are highly christian🫣) but I don't think he would scream it out to the world or make a statement that he is christian, and that includes not wearing a cross. I mean...remember when a certain politician wore a cross around her neck just to make a political statement and everyone went crazy? *ehem ehem* l i s t h a u g

Yes, you've described it very well here! Not drawing the cross hair clip has been a very conscious choice on my part, and it's mostly due to these reasons you mention. Scandinavia in general is one of the least religious regions in the world, and it really would make no sense for Norway to wear a cross on him at all times. As you said; religion is a very private subject in Norway and very separated from daily life. I don't know a single person who goes to church, and most people I know who would define themselves as christian are only christian in the sense that "yeah, there might be a god out there somewhere". Religion is not really something we talk about because it's such a small part of our lives. People don't really flaunt their religion here, people don't wear crosses on them, and many are not religious at all (myself included).

In addition; the Christianity here is also deeply infused with old pagan religious practices and the introduction of Christianity has always been done in a way to control people. We have many instances of bishops being sent to "correct the pagans", and then people playing along but still doing "pagan shit" in secret or indoctrinating it as a part of the christian practices. This is probably where the Danish impression of Norway comes from too? Denmark forced protestantism on Norway while Norway wanted to remain catholic, where it was more room for pagan traditions (but a lot of these were still kept).

I hope my Norway is still recognizable as himself without the cross hair pin ✨

[spider-bren]

Holy Hands Will They Make Me A Sinner | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairings: Matt Murdock x GN!Reader

Tags: Priest Matt Murdock, Married Matt Murdock, Mention of sexual desires, Catholic Confessional

Summary: Priest Matt is the object of your desire and you confess to your sins

______

What does that say about me that I was able to tempt the devil?

______

You walked into the church, echoes of your footsteps loud in the silence of the vast space. A breath escaped you. Knowing. Always knowing the weight of your sins on your shoulders. It was with you everywhere you went. Could have been tattooed on your skin for all to see. You slid into the confessional booth and drew back the curtains. You knew who was behind there. Whose face you saw every night before you went to bed. 

"Are you there, Father Murdock?" 

A pause. Every nerve ending ignited at the sound of his voice. 

"I am. What brings you here today?" 

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," you breathed. 

You were supposed to say the usual routine : it's been __ days since my last confession… but you were past such things. You came here sometimes just to talk. To confess privately. He knew why you were here. You came every day now. 

"I lust after a married man," you began again, as if he didn't know, as if they haven't been talking about this for weeks. 

"Twenty Hail Mary's." 

"What will that do, Father?" It was pointless. Same thing over and over. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't fight it. "Neither you or Mary can save me now. I keep thinking. These thoughts late at night. Do I tempt him as well? Does he feel for me as well?" 

"That's not advised," he simply said. 

"But I want him to be as wretched as I am. Because it's a sickness, Father, and I want him to be plagued as well." 

"You shouldn't bring people into your own sin." 

You nearly rolled your eyes. 

"Father, what sins do you commit?" 

"I'm human, much like you. There are things I also have to contend with." 

"Like what?" 

He chuckled faintly. "You want an example?"

"Yes, please, Father." 

"I...I had sex before. Before. Before my sanctioned marriage to Karen." 

Your heart pounded loudly in your ears. You could feel the heat flush down your body at the thought– the thought that he had done all those things. Images of him flooded through your mind. His back. His teeth baring into a growl. Deep guttural groans. His body moving, his hips thrusting. You blinked. 

"How many times?" You asked. 

You heard the struggle in his voice. "A lot." 

"How much is a lot?" 

"….a lot. And sometimes I feel I cannot escape my past. It's part of who I am. The devil is never far away." 

"Do you long for it? The past?"

"More than I want to admit." 

"Oscar Wilde said the only way to resist temptation is to yield to it," you added. 

"Oscar Wilde was a sinful man by the church's standards." And you could tell he was smiling. 

"So you think lust is a sin? Do you not lust after your wife?" 

He cleared his throat. "I have personal relations with my wife not to be discussed here." 

"So you've never got a hard on when your wife hugs you? When you feel her body pressed against yours? When you smell her perfume and hear her breathing in your ear‽ When you touch her skin? When she whispers things to you? Is she not the only one that can tempt you?" 

There was a heavy stillness. You practically heard him breathing hard through the wall separating the two of you. 

"I know what it's like to be tempted. I know how it feels to be consumed in it. I urge you to not succumb to these feelings." 

"What if I have already, Father? What if I am just waiting to do something about it?" 

"What would you do?" 

The question stunned you. He had never asked this before. Never wanted to know your lustful thoughts. 

"I have patience. Although I want my desires to be fulfilled, I can wait until I know he wants me just as much. I'm curious to see how easy it would be. How loyal he is. How far he would go to resist me. I think my words would be enough. I wouldn't have to tempt him with my body." 

He licked his lips.

[dearshelby]

Pasts and futures

Summary: Wedding preparations aren't easy, but Heaven has an idea and with some luck, Eleanor will agree.

A/N: This is for @call-sign-shark's celebration and I'm nervous about posting it, idk, Heaven is such an amazing character idk if I'm able to keep up with her 😅 Anyways, I'm glad to put our OCs officially together and just had to choose this gif bc I remember thinking it was very cute Tommy was Arthur's best man! And bc finding good Arthur gifs in the search tool is so hard omg

Ever since she became part of the Shelby family, Heaven didn't attend Thomas' house many times, why would she? She could feel his eyes burning with hatred every time they met and of course, the feeling was mutual.

Blue against blue, like freezing ice and the hottest type of fire, powerforces trying to annul each other.

However, with Arthur's wedding proposal, she needed to put the hate aside for practical reasons, at least temporarily. After doing a quick research for assembly rooms, she realized the party needed to be hosted somewhere else, those excessively large and overpriced places seemed too far from her reality - not that she couldn't afford them - but they lacked the intimacy and familiarity she craved for one of the most important days of her life.

Hers and Arthur's house also didn't feel quite right, it was miles away from the church the ceremony would be settled and honestly, their home was their safe place and even if only family and friends would be invited, Heaven had no wish to see her place crowded with people.

So she made a decision and only hoped Eleanor would agree.

At the living room of the Arrow house, a maid took Heaven's overcoat, revealing a reddish skirt and a shirt she had stolen from Arthur, that even properly tucked in, looked too large for her small figure.

"I'll call Mrs. Shelby," the maid said, "may I offer you something to drink?"

"Oh, tea would be nice,"

As the servant left, Heaven sat down on the sofa, inspecting the details of the place, the wooden furniture, fancy looking carpets, green wallpaper and many paintings and pictures.

A particular portrait made her smile, not because of the image itself but for the meaning behind it, Tommy in the betting shop looking much younger, in a golden typically feminine frame, it obviously belonged to her sister-in-law. She thought it was cute that someone managed to love the cretin.

Looking in the opposite direction, she was surprised by a tiny girl semily hidden behind the other sofa, all she could see was a pair of blue eyes under thin eyebrows and a bang.

"Hello, love," she greeted.

"You're Heaven," the little girl affirmed.

"I am,"

"Katie told me,"

"Yeah? And what's your name?" she smiled at the mention of John's daughter.

"Rose,"

"Has anyone ever said you look exactly like your dad?"

"Yeah, aunt Linda, all the time-"

Heaven pursed her lips, looking down at her own hands, a string of jealousy burnt on her at the mention of Arthur's past wife. She wondered what Linda's relationship with the Shelby family was like, for the better or the worse, she wasn't able to erase the catholic woman from people's minds.

But she could from Arthur's and that was all that currently mattered.

"And aunt Pol, and aunt Esme, and aunt Lizzie, and uncle John-"

As the list went on, she observed the little girl's mannerisms. If Rose's face was like her dad's, every movement came from her mother. She couldn't help but imagine what hers and Arthur's child would be like someday.

"I see you met Aunt Heaven," Eleanor's voice cut down the child's, "but the adults are gonna talk now, why don't you go find your sister?"

Heaven's eyes widened meeting Eleanor, her long curly hair was gone, now laying above her shoulders. With a pout, Rose left the room. Sitting on the sofa across Heaven's, she sighed.

"Sorry I took so long, there was a call from the institute,"

"You look… different," the french one pointed out.

"In a bad way?"

"No, it's fashionable,"

Offering Ellie a small smile, Heaven decided not to mention the gallows, she knew that was the reason for the new haircut but months had gone by, it was to forget and open space for something new, hopefully something better.

"Hm, Frances didn't offer you a drink?"

"The maid? She did,"

"Good then, how are you? How is Arthur?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you," proudly, Heaven showed off her wedding ring.

"No, I don't believe this!" Ellie giggled, "Hev! This is lovely! It's so good to see old Arthur back,"

The bride's smile slightly dropped, old Arthur was a man she didn't know. Surely, she knew the man she was going to marry, she saw him happy and cheerful as much as broken and miserable, but she didn't know what he was like before being broken.

"Did you choose a dress already?" Eleanor asked.

"Ellie," Heaven sighed, "what was old Arthur like?"

Tommy's wife froze, pressing her lips together, "Hmm, he was the way you know him now, happy," she gulped, "Heaven, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No, I wanna know,"

"Well, I won't lie to you, he was never- hm- normal, when I met him he was already fucked in the head, it got worse when he went to France, worse when moved to London in 1922, then he met Linda and got better, then got worse again and then he met you," Eleanor messily explained, "but he was always a boxer and always fond of blondes,"

Heaven giggled, heart swirling with love as she imagined a young Arthur - exactly like the army picture she had at home - practicing the sport with his brothers.

"He always had a soft heart and loved babies, got all emotional when Tommy and I had Rose and moved out Watery Lane, I knew you could do it, brother," Ellie mimicked Arthur's voice, "anyways, I'm sure this is not what you came here for,"

"Oh, yeah, I wanted to ask a favor," she explained, "I already decided the chapel Arthur and I will marry, but the place for the party it's been more difficult so I thought that if you and Thomas agree, we could host the party here,"

With a sly smirk, Eleanor asked, "Will Arthur tell him of the wedding or should I?"

"Maybe he'll react better if you do it,"

"Hmm, I'll see what I can do, but if depends on me, you'll have the greatest wedding party the Shelbys have ever seen,"

[saint-augustines-pears]

Saw the post that mentioned samhain and wanted to toss in some info (if you ever wanted more info about it, because I don't do discourse on tumblr) from a recent info thing I put together recently, because this misconception with the samhain debate drives me nuts

Samhain was a harvest festival that marked the start of the dark half of the year. Along with its springtime counterpart Beltane (which marked the growing season/light half of the year), it was announced based on the weather and was facilitated by and only by the Druids, a blood-identity pagan religion of upper class priests.

Samhain would be announced whenever the weather got cold enough. It was sometimes in early October or late September. It was sometimes in early November.

October 31st was never a thing for Samhain because the date always varied, and because the Druids, being Celts and existing before the Roman occupation of their lands, didn't use the Roman calendar nor did they use our modern Julian calendar.

You'll also hear how the Celts had a celebration on the last day of October unrelated to Samhain. This is true; on the last day of almost every month they had a minor celebration. Again, keep in mind too that the date was particular to the way their own culture counted months, not how Rome did it back then nor how we do it now.

it's true that the idea of "baptizing" traditions and holidays isn't unheard of when people and cultures convert from one religion to another. What's good to note is that this is not a forced thing, the baptizing of traditions; it's a practice that embraces older traditions and doesn't eradicate them. Conquerers would just eradicate them.

Technically, it is possible that the original date of All Saints got its chosen date, May 13th, via baptism of Lemuralia, a Roman holiday where spooky stuff happened regarding spirits and the dead. Christians instead chose to celebrate the joy of the Saints in heaven, because Jesus defeated death and the gates of hell won't prevail, etc, then the pope made stuff official calendar-wise.

However, when it comes to the Samhain debate, it's a myth that the Church picked that date to overtake it.  Pope Gregory III switched up the date of All Saints in the 700s to commemorate a new oratory (special chapel) at the Old St. Peter's Basilica that was built to honor the saints and martyrs.

At a time when there were pagan religions and holidays all over the place, to try and outdo one harvest festival of one religious cult in the far north of the known world thousands upon thousands of miles away from Rome and Constantinople simply wasn't a reason to change an established date of a major, international, intercontinental religious celebration. 

Most of these myths, along with a romanticizing of pagan religions much like modern-day's romanticizing of Norse religions and wiccan stuff, arose in England and Western Europe during the 1600 - 1700s by anti-Catholics and misinformed historians/the wealthy.

Anon I just want you to know that I am your biggest fan

Also, how did I not know it was called baptizing traditions/holidays??? That’s so awesome and I love it???

Thank you so much, this is so well put together and honestly kind of better than my post lmao

[skaianbruja]

Shit Evangelicals Believe

This is a rewrite of a previous post. I am an Exvangelical and grew up with many of the following beliefs. Others I learned about by interacting with other (mostly USAmerican) Exvangelicals

Keep in mind that not every Evangelical believes in the following. Some of these beliefs are US specific and not shared by Evangelicals living in other countries. Others are Fundamentalist specific

The Ancient Hebrews were white

Jesus was a blond haired blue eyed white man

King David was also a blue eyed white man, but there is disagreement as to whether his hair was blond or red

Palestinians and Palestine do not exist

The United States of America is the promised land and (white) USAmerican Evangelicals are God's new chosen people

USAmericanholidays such as 4th of July and Thanksgiving — especially Thanksgiving — are sacred holidays established by God himself and to oppose them is commit blasphemy

Celebrating Halloween or Día de Muertos is Devil Worship

Engaging in media about fictional witches is the same as practicing actual witchcraft and thus Devil Worship

All non-Evangelicals are Devil Worshipers (Yes this includes other Christians, particularly Catholics)

Marian apparitions are demons and the Catholic Church is the Whore of Babylon

Catholics are not Christians and thus must be preached to and converted

The KJV 1611 is the only valid English translation. All other English translations are either corrupted or works of the Devil

The True Church refers to literal institution and all who are not members of this specific institution — including other Evangelicals — will suffer eternal damnation

"It's a sin except when we do it"

Feel free to add to this if you're an Exvangelical

[wolfmadefromash]

Another Buddie WIP

So this is the Young Buddie WIP, because I seem to like Buck and Eddie meeting when they're younger. I'm not anywhere near ready to actually publish the fic, but I'm liking it so much right now that I thought I would share what will likely be the first chapter.

To give a general overview, as general as I can manage... Eddie's family (household only) moved to a more central city/town during his freshman year, with the idea of his father getting more time at home if he isn't literally crossing the entire state. Buck's (only known as Evan in the beginning because his nickname and how he gets its will remain the same) father is a general in the Air Force, borderline retired but the kind of military man who's made his whole like about the Air Force. They move to Texas from Maryland (near DC) just before Buck (and Eddie's) sophomore year when Mr. Buckley is assigned there to assist in the training process. It being Texas, Buck and Eddie meet at football practice - it's light on the football stuff because my knowledge in limited and I don't care to really look it up beyond positions. The 2 hit it off and become instant best friends, bonding over their issues with their respective parents.

I have the chapters splitting between a more present timeline where Eddie is speaking to a therapist, then jumping to like a flash back of sorts which is the focus. It starts with a therapy session prior to Eddie's moving out to LA. Eddie's not sleeping, stuff from overseas on his mind and some trauma resurfacing from when he was in high school. MAJOR WARNING for this story, there is homophobia and physical abuse that will appear. Eddie's father is depicted as a stereotypical Catholic father from Texas, he is not a good person and at this point I am undecided if he will ever be seen differently. Eddie's mother is also frustrating, but Abuela? We love Abuela, as usual. Also the Diaz Sisters, Sophia in this is about a year younger than Eddie and they'r very close while Adriana is about 5 years younger. And Shannon isn’t the bad guy really, am also thinking about altering that plot point and also keeping her alive.

In this first chapter, it's Eddie and Buck friendship, ending with Buck being open to him about who he is, and Eddie kind of freezing.

I'm going to put that little read more thing here, if you read this far and are interested, then read on. Again, this is only what is to be the first chapter, I have barely gone back through and made any edits so things may change when I'm ready to publish. I'm over 30K word in and Buck and Eddie have yet to be reunited... Because yeah, there's a separation.

Texas, 2018 

“Tell me about the relationship between you and your parents.”  

Eddie turns away from Dr. Marsh, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. It didn’t matter that he voluntarily started therapy, that he recognized the damage done to him throughout his life and his time in the military. He still didn’t want to talk about certain things.

He came here because he was having nightmares, and it was starting to scare his 6-year-old son. The nightmares were about his time in the military, getting shot out of the sky and pinned down by gun fire, thinking he was going to die and never see his son again or the wife who left him anyway. Maybe, sometimes, that war zone that flashed in him mind shifted into a familiar Texas scene, with a lake in the background and the sound of a party happening yards away. And maybe sometimes the pain of bullets tearing through skin morphed into the feeling of fist colliding with his face. Once or twice, maybe, the enemies he saw in the desert looked a lot like his father.

“I’m here to talk about what happened to me in the army.” He told Dr. March firmly. “Has nothing to do with my parents.” 

“Okay.” Dr. Marsh shrugged her shoulders, leaning back in the cushioned chair she seemed to favor. “Let’s talk about why you joined the Army then.” 

Eddie’s gaze slide from the window to meet the counselors annoyingly kind eyes. “What does that have to do with me almost getting killed?” 

“What does you joining the Army have to do with you almost getting killed?” She asked with a quirked eyebrow. 

Eddie huffed, throwing his hands up. “You know what I mean. My reasons for joining have nothing to do with the things that happened over there.” 

“Not directly maybe, but you willingly put yourself in a position where your life would be at risk. You tested high, Eddie, very high as I understand it and you could have had your pick of any job yet you picked one that would certain put yourself right in the middle of the fight. Wanting to help people, save them even, is commendable but you threw yourself into danger with a new wife at home and a baby on the way.” 

“I was trying to provide for my family.” Eddie argued. 

“But you chose a position that had people shooting at you. Why not move towards a role as an engineer? You certainly have the intelligence and aptitude for it and it would keep you out of harm's way while still allowing you to have a vital role, why combat medic? Why something that would pull you away from your family?” 

“Because I needed to get away from my family!” Eddie snapped, gritting his teeth. “Not... not Shannon, or-or Christopher.” He corrected quickly. 

“Then who?” Dr. Marsh asked the question so gently that Eddie felt the resistance leaving him as he sagged back into the couch utterly exhausted. 

“My father.” He sighed. 

“Just your father?” Dr. Marsh prodded curiously. 

“My mom is... blinded by the man she believes my father is, the man she fell for at 16. She has this drive to keep our family together and that's taken a precedence over other... things.” 

“And what kind of man is your father?” 

Eddie lifts his eyes to meet Dr. Marsh’s in a cold stare. “A homophobic, bigoted, violent son of a bitch.” Dr. Marsh pauses a moment before taking a breath and making a note in the book laid open in her lap. “You at a loss for what to say after that one Doc?” 

Dr. Marsh closes her notebook, laying her hands gently on top as she looks at Eddie. “That’s a very harsh opinion to have about someone.” 

“It’s not an opinion, it’s a fact. With the exception of son of a bitch, I guess. That’s not entirely accuate, my abuela is one of the sweetest women you’d ever meet. But the rest?” 

“Is a fact.” Dr. Marsh finished for him. 

“He came across me and my first boyfriend fooling around in my truck and dragged me out by the back of my neck and then proceeded to beat the shit out of me in front of him. My boyfriend had to break his nose in order to even get the upper hand to drag him off me. So, yeah. It’s a fact.” Eddie’s chest was heaving, his whole-body trembling at a memory still so fresh in his mind he swears he can taste blood in his mouth. 

“That’s horrible.” Dr. Marsh gasped, her hand on her mouth. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts and trying to regroup. “I’m sorry, I... I’m supposed to have something constructive to say, something helpful.” 

“Need a minute?” 

“Do you?” She asked, nodding at the clenched fists in his lap. “Eddie,” She started, leaning forward in her chair. “You may have come here to find a way to fight the horrors you relive in the middle of the night, but we can talk about this.” 

"It... it's been part of the horrors." He admits, shaking his head. “I haven’t... I haven’t talked about it or-or him since... well, just... since.” 

“Would you like to? If the memories there are too difficult, we can work up to it, we should work up to it.” 

“Memories of him are... good.” Eddie said with a small smile, his gaze fixed on his lap. “His name was Evan, his dad was an Air Force general, and his family had just moved to Texas; he was my best friend. I was still kind of the new kid too since we’d just moved to Abilene from El Paso near the end of my freshman year.” 

“I didn’t know that you’d moved at all while in Texas.” Dr. Marsh commented. 

“Dad was a petroleum engineer, traveled all over the state for work, was hardly ever home.” 

“An engineer of any kind was never going to be on the table as a career path for you, was it?” Dr. Marsh concluded, jotting down something as she reopened her notebook. 

Eddie snorted. “Kind of ridiculous, I know. The positions are nothing alike but I needed as much separation as I could get, if my Abuelo hadn’t been such an important part of my life, I’d have changed my name.” 

“Your father’s absence had to have put a stain on things.” 

Eddie nodded. “I guess. We never had that picture perfect, father-son relationship where we’d play catch in the yard or go to baseball games together. He was gone more often than he was home, and he expected me to be the man of the house at 10 years old. We moved out to Abilene because it’s a little more centrally located than El Paso, the idea was that he’d be able to cut down on come travel time and be home more.” 

“Was he?” 

“He was able to be home for longer stretches, a full week instead of a few days but that’s about it. I'll say, it made moving back to El Paso easier.” 

“Why did you move back?” 

Eddie looked back to Dr. Marsh. “Because, my father found out I was having sex with a boy.” 

-----  ----- 

Texas, Sophomore Year - 2006 

Eddie stood on the sidelines, waiting with the other perspective quarterbacks to step up and show the coaches what they had. He’d done well at his high school in El Paso, his coach had reached out to sing his praises and sent off some highlights of his first season. He was good enough, even as a freshman, to be on varsity. The captain of the team had an injury halfway through their season and he was in first rotation to fill in so he’d been able to get a lot of time on the field. But, this was Texas and everyone had to prove themselves to make their spot on the team. 

He watched the other players move and work together, spotting some weaknesses himself. His eyes caught on one player in particular. The coach was favoring him for different plays he was calling out while testing the prospective quarterback, even pairing the running back up with some of the seniors out on the field. This kid could move. He bobbed and weaved through the defensive line and he was right there with solid blocks against the offense coming at his quarterback. Eddie watched the ball as it sailed thought the air, looking back down at this golden-boy running back and thought there was no way he’d get under it in time. But sure enough, something switched in this kid and he bolted, not only getting under the ball but ahead of it in time for it to just simply fall into his waiting arms just as he crossed the line for what would be a touchdown. 

“Diaz! You’re up!” The coaches bellowing voice reeled Eddie’s focus back in. “We’ve got you going with Buckley, simple snap and run the ball. No plays, just work on instinct. Your old coach says you’re a natural, I wanna see it.” 

“Yes, sir.” Eddie said, slipping his helmet on over his head and moved to the line-up. 

Buckley jogged over to him, his wide grin visible through the bars of the facemask. “Hey!” He said, holding his hand out. “I’m Evan.” 

Eddie nodded, shaking his hand. “Eddie. You new?” 

Evan shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, moved here last month.” 

The whistle sounded. “Have your little pow-wow on your time, not while you’re on my field. Run your play!” The coach called out. 

“Let’s get to it then.” Evan slapped Eddie’s padded shoulder and went into position. 

Eddie snorts, shaking his head as got behind the Center. He looks across the defensive line he’s up against, trying to get a read on them and spots a small shift in the one’s stance and knows then where he needs to put the ball. He gets down into position, calling for the ball to be snapped. His arm is cocked and he’s throwing the ball out to the right side, a blur of motion wizzes past him and Evan has his hands on the ball in a blink, tearing off toward the end zone. He’s take down about 10 yards from the line but made it 40 yards before anyone was able to touch him. 

The coach has them run a couple more times, letting Eddie go with his gut again and then calling our specific plays to make sure he knows them and can follow instructions. Each time Eddie makes a move, Evan is there right where he needs him to be, catching the ball or coming in to block without any direction needed. He’s the perfect partner, he see what Eddie seems to see in the other plays that have him change course, he can read Eddie in a way no one ever has before. At the end of practice, he feels like he’s hardly had to do any work with how easy Evan made everything. 

Evan bounds up to him as the team heads to the locker room to shower and change. He’s practically bounce, his grin splitting his face and his eyes shining with excitement when he yanked off his helmet. “That was awesome!” He said, his shoulder knocking into Eddie’s as they walked. “I don’t know what it was! I just knew everything you were going to do!” 

“Yeah.” Eddie laughed, holding his helmet at his side. “It was wild, man. I’ve never been so in sync with someone before. I barely had to do any work at all.” He joked, heading over to his locker. “You made my job way to easy.” 

“Diaz, Buckley!” Nate Goulding, a senior captain, came strolling through their row of lockers. “You boys going to be our dream team this year? Get us to state?” He said, dropping his hands on Eddie’s shoulder and giving him a light shake. “Damn you got one hell of an arm, I’m a little worried about my position.” He laughed, patting Evan’s back on his way past. “Great work out there today! You two were seriously in the zone. I’ve never seen anything like it. This is gonna be our year!” He hollered, chanting Eagles, getting the others riled up as he went. 

Eddie laughed, tugging off his practice jersey and slipping out of his padding. “So, you’ve been here a month?” He asked Evan as the other boy got undressed next to him. 

“Yeah. My dad wanted to be down here in plenty of time for tray-outs and practice. He had a trainer lined up here to make sure I’d be good to go, Texas football is no joke.” He said with a laugh. 

“Yeah, you kind of have eat, drink, and breath football down here. Where’d you move from?” 

“Maryland. My dads in the Air Force, he's desk bound for the most part after a car accident a couple years ago. He’s heading up the training programs down here now.” Evan tells him, pulling out a towel and shower gel. “He’s a miserable bastard anymore, not that he was pleasant before.” 

“I know what you mean.” Eddie said, pulling out his own stuff to clean up. He sees the curious look that Evan throws his way and just shakes his head. They head off to the showers and Eddie knocks his knuckles to Evan’s arm before they split off. “Hey, did you want to hang out after, grab lunch? There a good sandwich place in town, they have great shakes too.” 

“Yeah! I-I mean... sure, yeah that sounds cool.” 

Eddie chuckled. “Okay, meet me out front in 20?” 

“You drive?” Evan asks. 

Eddie smirks. “Of course.” 

“So, what do you do for fun? There doesn’t seem to be much to do.” Evan asked, seated in a booth across from Eddie. 

“There’s not, I mean there’s the zoo and museums and stuff but when you live here, you don’t want to do that tourist stuff.” Eddie laughed, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I don’t watch TV much, I have 2 younger sisters so they usually have control or my mom does. Movies I see aren’t even ones I would pick.” 

“Because of said sisters?” Evans says with a smile, dipping a fry in ketchup. 

“Exactly. Most people go for a drive or hang out by the lake I guess.” 

“You guess?” Evan says with a laugh. “I thought you were a local?” 

“Yes and no. I’ve only been here since April, we move out here from El Paso.” 

“Is your dad military too?” 

Eddie shook his head, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nah, petroleum engineer. He travels all over the state for work, El Paso is on one end and he thought that having something more central would get him to be home more.” 

“Did uprooting his family work?” 

Eddie snorted. “Not really, it gained him an extra 3 days home. But its give the illusion of being better so my mom went along with it.” 

“So, your dad’s not around much then either?” 

“Nope.” Eddie says, popping a fry into his mouth. “When he is, he’s on my ass about something. Yard work, my room, my truck, my grades, my sisters.” 

“Speaking of truck, you gotta tell me how you’re able to drive?” 

“Well, first you need a working car. Then you get in the driver seat, that’s the one with the big circle in front of it that allows you to steer the car-” 

Evan rolls his eyes, tossing his balled-up straw wrapper at him. “Fuck off, you know what I mean. We’re the same grade, so I assume that means the same age. I thought you couldn’t get your license until you were 16.” 

“You can get it at 15, there are some hoops you have to jump through and different qualifications you have to meet. I’d have my license in a few months anyway but my dad insisted on it, it called a hardship license or something. I personally don’t think that I qualified, but he pulled some strings, I guess. It’s good though, I can help my mom with my sisters when schedules overlap or when she has to work on the weekends. I can pick them up from school if I need to for her or take them to the doctor.” 

“So you help your mom with your sisters a lot then?” 

“As much as she lets me, she still wants me to be a kid but then I get my dad on my case about being a man. They’re not exactly on the same page there but he’s not home enough for them to figure it out, and mom doesn’t want to always be fighting. So, I’m stuck being pulled in two different directions. I don’t mind helping with Adrianna and Sophia though, I like spending time with them.” 

“What’re the age difference between you guys?” 

“Sophia just turned 14, I’m just over a year older than her so we’ve always been really close. She probably my best friend.” Eddie says with a fond smile. 

“Well, was, you mean. Because I plan on taking that title.” Evan says with a beaming grin. 

Eddie snorts and bobs his head. “Right, was.” 

“How old is Adrianna?” 

“10, well almost 10. She’ a brat too, welds that pout and her big brown eyes like a weapon to get whatever she wants.” 

“And you cave every time?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” Eddie says with a laugh.” What about you? Is it just you and your dad or what?” 

“No, mom’s here too. She thrived on being the general’s wife.” Evan said with a roll of his eyes. “We were just outside DC so there were all these different functions she went to as the wife of an Air Force General. She made my dad’s rank her whole personality so, she’s not really happy about being down here; I don’t think there will be many people impressed by the status of her husband.” 

“No siblings?” 

“Ah. Yeah, I’ve got an older sister.” Evan tells him, his eyes dropping to the table where he’s fiddling with his napkin. 

“Is... everything okay there?” Eddie asks cautiously. “I didn’t mean to step in something.” 

“No, it’s fine, just... complicated, I guess.” 

Eddie frowned, tapping the side of Evan’s calf with his foot. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to bum you out. This is probably why I don’t have a ton of friends.” He said lightly. 

“Really, it’s fine. We don’t... I’m not allowed to talk about her, it’s kind of a sore subject with my parents. My dad really pushed for her to join the military, follow in his footstep and he does the same with me. He had me on weekend retreats back in Maryland and different trainings, really wanted me in the Naval Academy in Annapolis.” 

“Not the Air Force?” 

Evan shook his head. “He doesn’t want anyone giving me any sort of special treatment, he’s a decorated officer and his name holds a lot of weight. Navy, it’s a different branch and while he’d be respected, his name and rank would do nothing for me. He doesn’t want me to ‘ride on his coattails’.” He explains, using air quotes. 

“Wow. What a dick.” 

Evan laughs, nodding. “Yeah, he is. He’s one of those guys who think that his branch is the greatest of them all and looks down on all the others. I floated out the idea of joining the Coast Guard, just to see his reaction? I thought his head was going to burst. He doesn’t want me in the Air Force because he thinks I’ll sully his good name, so he’ll settle for me being in the Navy. Maddie, my sister? She was going to be the one to carry on his legacy. But she didn’t want that, she wanted to be a nurse. She move out when I was 8 and went to school in DC so I still saw her all the time, then she met her boyfriend Doug. They stayed around for a while but he ended up getting a job in Boston a couple years ago, the two of them moved up there together and got engaged. My parents refused to go to the wedding, they hated Doug, which meant I couldn’t go to the wedding either. I haven’t seen her in 3 years, we talk on the phone when I can sneak around to do it because my parents would lose their mind if they found out. We’re supposed to shun her or something, like that will get her to change her mind.” 

“That really sucks.” 

“It’s not great, but... it’s nice to be able to talk about her.” Evan gives Eddie a small smile. “Thanks for listening to me ramble.” 

“What are friends for?” Eddie tells him, taking a sip of his milkshake. “You know, if you need a place to hide out and call Maddie, you can always come over to my house.” 

“I think I’ll do that.” 

----- 

Eddie and Evan learn that they share almost all of their classes together with the exception of phys ed and their 2 elective classes. Eddie’s dad told him he would be taking a business finance class along and auto shop, telling him he needed to make the most of his education and take classes that will help him when he joins his company after graduation or classes where he will learn a real skill. 

“Photography? Writing? What can you do with that Edmundo? No, you need something useful.” His father had told him when he’d brought him his prospective schedule for his sophomore year. 

Eddie liked photography, had an interest in it and had hoped to learn more and he found the he really enjoyed writing to. He want to take the photography class offered and a creative writing class but, his father called the school and had his classes changed. 

Evan, had a music class and an art class telling Eddie that his parents didn’t seem to care about his selected courses one way or the other because he future was already sealed. 

"How’s the first day?” Eddie said, placing his lunch tray down on one of the small picnic tables outside and sat on the bench across from Evan. “Get lost yet?” 

Evan looked up and smiled. “You’ve been with me for most of it.” 

“Yeah, but not the art class you just came from.” 

“Well, considering its right across the fall from the cafeteria...” 

“So, you haven’t gotten lost then.” Eddie grins, looking down at the food on his tray. “I hate school lunches.” 

Evan chuckles, sliding over have of his Italian sandwich. “I didn’t want to risk it the first day so, I got a sandwich from the pizza place down the street from my house last night. You can have the other half.” 

Eddie pushes the tray to the side and takes up the sandwich. “You’ve definitely taken over as best friend.” 

“I’m sure Sophia will be crushed.” He laughs. 

Eddie finds that he finally enjoys Abliene. His days are more enjoyable with Evan’s smiling face meeting him in the morning and sitting across from him at lunch. Practices are great, the whole team is really meshing and Evan seems to be a key part of that. He’s far more outgoing than Eddie and talks to everyone, no matter what position they play or if their first line or not. Every time he started getting pulled into a conversation, Evan was tugging Eddie along with him.  

Evan was smart too, he paid attention in class even when it looked like he wasn’t. He and Eddie would get together every day after practice and do homework and study, at some point at least once a week Evan would lay back on Eddie’s bed and talk to his sister. Eddie would usually take that time to get them something to eat or drink and check in on his sister so Evan could have a few minutes to himself with his sister. 

They were the perfect dynamic duo on the field, rotating in with the seniors of their positions when needed. There were games that they would start, if the coach had felt like they’d fallen behind too early in the previous game, but most often they came in for some of the last plays of the night to secure the win. They were trending to head to state until Eddie got sacked by one of the linebackers from Amarillo, dislocating his shoulder and spraining his wrist. Evan had got blocked on his way to cover him, he blamed himself for him getting hurt and blamed himself for losing their next and last game of the season. 

“Ev, it’s not your fault.” Eddie told him, sitting on the tailgate of his truck looking out over the lake. “It’s a full contact sport.” 

“Yeah, but my job is to have your back.” 

“You got blocked, Amarillo was doing their job.” He said, swaying over and knocking his uninjured shoulder to Evans. “Seasons over, we’ll get it next year.” 

“If I’m here.” Evan said with a sigh. 

Eddie paused, turning to his friend with a deep frown. “You’re moving?” 

“No, at least I don’t think I am. But I didn’t think we were moving out of Maryland before coming here and we did. I don’t know what’s going to happen, my parents don't tell me anything.” 

“Well, I’m going to assume you’re not moving. Because then I’ll be friendless and alone again and that’s just too depressing to think about.” 

“Right.” Evan agrees with a firm nod. “No point in thinking the worst.” 

“Exactly.” 

“You know, I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” Evan tells him, looking down as he kicks his feet back and forth. 

“Yeah? Me too. Well, besides Sophia but this is different.” 

They’re quiet for a while, music playing from the radio filling the silence. “Hey, Eds? There’s something I want to tell you.” 

“Well, you know you can tell me anything, Ev.” Eddie tells him sincerely. 

“It could be weird.” Evan warns before looking up and meeting Eddie’s eye. “I don’t want things to be weird with us.” 

“Never gonna happen.” Eddie reassured him. “Seriously, if there’s something you want to tell me you can. If you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine too.” Eddie wasn’t sure what it could be that Evan wanted to share with him, but it had to be important if he seemed this worried about his reaction.  

“I don’t like the feeling that I’m hiding something from you.” Evan inhaled a deep breath, looking out over the lake. “I… I’m bi.” He said quietly. “I-I like girls and guys, both.” 

Eddie raised his eyes rows, surprised by the confession. He didn’t expect that, he thought maybe Evan was going to tell him he got a girl pregnant not that he... “Oh.” He didn’t know how he was supposed to respond, what he should say. If he even should say something. 

“It’s not like… I’m not a pervert or anything. I’m not in the locker room just staring at everyone.” 

“Right. That’s… that’s good. Considerate.” 

Evan snorted. “I’m not some asshole, I don’t ogle girls either like some of the guys. I’m respectful no matter who it is.” Eddie nods, his mouth feeling dry. “Hey.” Evan reaches out and puts a hand on Eddie’s arm, he jerks involuntarily and Evan pulls his hand away. “Sorry.” He mumbles, hopping off the back of the truck and taking a few steps away. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You know, I-I can probably walk home from here.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

Eddie sags, feeling like an asshole. “Evan.” 

“Maybe I’ll have a run, keep in shape for next season.” 

Eddie slides off the tailgate, sighing when Evan takes a few steps away from him. “Ev, come on.” 

“No, really! I think it’s probably better that I run.” 

“Your house is like 10 miles from here.” Eddie argues. 

“Well, it’ll be a good run then.” 

“Evan, just... just stop, okay? I’m sorry. I... I never... I’ve never had someone tell me something like that and I just... I don’t know how to respond.” 

Evan nods, wiping his nose and blinking his eyes. “Right. Of course, so naturally you freeze up and jump away from me like you’re going to catch something.” 

“No, I wasn’t... I wasn’t doing that!” Eddie says. “I... fuck, I’m sorry.” 

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Evan says quietly, shaking his head and turning his back to Eddie. “I figured since you were my best friend I could and I just... I was stupid.” 

“Ev, come on man. I am your best friend.” Eddie takes a few long strides and grabs Evan’s arm with his good hand. “Don’t go, okay? I-I mean if you want space or whatever because I’m an asshole fine but at least let me give you a ride home?” 

Evan sighed, he turned back to the truck with a nod, hopping into the passenger seat without a word. They drove back to Evan’s house in silence. 

“You didn’t have to say anything, you know.” Evan said as they pull up outside his house. “I just, I wanted to tell you. It’s not something I ever felt like I had to hide until moving here and it was just sort of driving me crazy no one knowing but my parents.” 

“I’m sorry.” Eddie says again. 

Evan nods and hops out of the truck, going into his house without another look back. 

[misscammiedawn]

50 Days of HypnoKink - Day 11: Personality Play

Alignment: Is currently a forbidden practice and will get a red regardless of headspace.

CW: After the readmore cut I will be unloading why it is red for me. That'll be heavy/unfun stuff.

For the majority of my life this was my special move. This was the thing I was prized and prided for. In another world where I didn't stop doing it, I would likely teach the class. I'll talk about why I quit below the readmore. Let's talk about why I did it first.

Have you ever just let go.

Like really and truly let go? Let that voice that tells you that you need to wake up early fade to silence, let that hesitance you feel before jumping in the deep end just vanish; have you ever just stopped being present and let yourself become a vessel for something else?

That's what character play felt like for me when I indulged.

Complete freedom and reverie. The ability to just become what you have been asked to become. To let the fantasy engulf you and drown out everything surrounding. No memories. No thoughts. No worries. Just the moment. The scene and the fiction that is now your reality.

I have become so many things in my 15 years of playing within that pool. Angels and demons. Vampires and Fae. Mad Scientists and Mages. Belligerent cockney speaking drunks and cautious Midwestern catholic college kids.

What really gets me about this kind of play is how the sandbox is no longer a matter of hypnotist and hypnotee, but character (immersed) and character (in control). Sometimes the character (in control) can be replaced with hypnotist appearing and communicating as themselves. In fact a number of times character play for me has more been a summoning ritual rather than a scene.

But in the reverie of that channeling, and channeling is a good word for it in my experience, you completely lose reality and just forget your discomfort.

What's hot about it is that shyness gives way. Reservations are forgotten. I have found myself capable of such incredible things when I am under and channeling a character. Things I know I am simply incapable of doing outside of that space. Moments where if I were present in the scene I would have stumbled or tripped or my anxiety would have had me "yellow".

But without "myself" in the scene I do not trip over my own mind, I can just go into flow state and it simply becomes a matter of what the character would or wouldn't do and what they are capable of.

With a trusted partner who is able to handle the safeties for both parties, that can be intense. There's roleplaying a vampire who wants to pin their lover down and drain her dry as she grapples and fights for control and then there's being possessed by that same vampire and doing it for real, desperately trying to overpower her and get that which is not a simulated desire but a legitimate and terrifying need.

...and that is why it can easily become edge play. It's hard to keep the immersion and safeties at the same time. To play in this pool, at least for me, is to surrender all of my waking self's morality and agency and replace it with whatever we're working with.

...and that is why it's better if your partner is physically stronger than you and is both physically in control of the scene and psychologically in control of the scene, even if they are the submissive in the scenario.

It requires a lot of trust to be able to let yourself go that far. I look back on those memories (sometimes nightmares) and have no idea how I kept myself from breaking the immersion of the moment.

But that's the power of the tool and the applications are universal.

Real life hypnotic powers like entrancing eyes? That'll work. Telekinetic abilities? That'll work.

I have been told that I am even "smarter" when I play genius characters, but I do not even begin to understand how that is possible. I assume it's an empty compliment.

It's a level of roleplay fantasy and immersion that bleeds so perfectly and purely that it basically takes all of the best parts of roleplay and guided imagery and puts them in a blender.

I was addicted to this stuff for a third of my life.

I don't want to sell the concept too heavy though because a lot of what I did and how I did it was wrong. It's a source of great regret for me.

But I recognize why I enjoyed it when I did and wanted to give it an entry. More on the darker side of that coin after the readmore...

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Day 10: Trance Edging

FULL SCHEDULE MASTER POST

Day 12: Hypnotic Kisses

Readmore for the rest of today's entry...

There's a 1960s musical which was adapted into a movie starring Barbara Streisand called On A Clear Day You Can See Forever.

The plot details a hypnotist who discovers one of his clients becomes a seductive woman from a past life and as the show goes on the hypnotist falls for the past-life version of the client and the client falls for the doctor. The show/movie ends with the client finding out and leaving because she has more self-respect than to be a "motel between you and your dream girl."

In the late 2000s. That was me.

Let's skip the early 2000s. Prior to finding hypnosis, character roleplay and I were already developing this kind of a relationship. Camden had been born as a longing in my heart and I was presenting as her in some places. In the early days there was a divide. I was not ready to accept myself and so I kept the girl I knew myself to be distant from the man I had to be to survive.

Camden got attention. She was desired. Too much, in fact... to the point of which someone in a position of authority, who I trusted, crossed some serious boundaries...

All you need to know about the early days is I dove in to fiction and online communities and got noticed for it. Eventually by friends in the hypnosis community.

Miss Dawn is a lingering remnant of that time in my life. Back then her name was Sapphire and she was everything I was not. Strong, bold, seductive, hypnotic--

--a woman.

"What do I have that I don't have" indeed...

I mostly presented male back then. I used to say I have a flexible gender. But especially with the transphobic climate of the time I admitted myself to being "biologically male", because everything felt so hostile back then and I was terrified of catfishing. Even the good resources of the time warned people to confirm birth gender before play. So I never lied.

Well. I did. I very much lied. But I decided to lie to myself instead.

So I presented as Camden but made it clear I was not in fact Camden. Is it a wonder I have identity issues when that was my life for half of it. I started presenting as Camden in 2001 and came out as transgender in 2020.

So of course I was enticed by a type of hypnosis that was designed to draw out Camden. Make me become her. Character Play, I called it. Just go deep and bring Camden to the forefront. I got gender euphoria and to be who I was without feeling I was lying and my hypnotist got to have a woman.

I have no idea how much they assumed I was roleplaying. But to me, it was real.

...but Camden wasn't the only thing in my heart... In fact, throughout my entire life I have always felt that people never cared about Camden as a concept. She was just a damaged girl who was fighting her repression and gender confusion. She wasn't exotic or exciting.

The others though?

What we now refer to as Miss Dawn or Sapphire as she was known then, was a place for all my sexual repression (including my hypnokink which I was ashamed of for the time) to be stored. I always thought of myself as 100% a sub. But I could play a convincing domme on TV. I read enough books. I just didn't possess the spark or the drive or the desire to actually want to do anything with the skills I was acquiring.

Sapphire did though. She didn't just possess the spark. She was the spark.

3 hypnotists from my past found her and drew her from my soul and had relationships with her. Sometimes they drew upon different characters from my litany of fiction, both roleplay and prose. I slid into the roles required easily, but the same. Back then I didn't want to be me, so I raced towards ego-death and became anything, anyone else.

Although Sapphire is the name I most identified that part of me with in that period of my life, she had several more. She was a spirit, an attitude, a confidence, a power. She is every character I became in some small way, but where the other characters felt like roles and skins, Sapphire in her entirety just felt like her; what the spirit would call herself. Just as Dawn feels like the right name and visualization now and Honoria was the form she felt most at home with in the 2010s. Regardless of skin, voice, backstory. It was the same basic set-up. She was the version of me capable of performing hypnosis. Being seductive. Being forceful. Romantic. Loquacious. Bold. Mysterious.

...she was capable of having sex...

At the time I was gender repressed and felt myself a "worthless" "male" submissive in an ecosystem where they didn't really stand out. Sapphire gave me a reason to be hypnotized. A reason someone so powerful and capable would waste their time on a guy who didn't enjoy sex.

The fact that my entire found family discovered me during that period of my life and kept me close is proof that I was wrong then, but I believed it and that's the important part.

My first major hypnotist used to tell people about me. In 2012 I got an IM from someone who "Master" had been bragging about me with, desperately asking to share my secret

Other Person: So Master's mentioned you to me before. He basically described you as the man with a thousand personalities, lol. Other Person: (my wording, not his, lol) 2012 me: o.o; a thousand personalities? Other Person: That's my silly descriptor. 2012 me: OH! He means "characters" XD Other Person: He said it as characters, but the way he described it, sounded like they were fully fledge 'personalities' in their own right Other Person: *fledged 2012 me: Wow. That's kind of an honor. 2012 me: He does often mould me in to who he needs me to be.

I guess the secret is "have a fucked up brain from complex PTSD and/or an undiagnosed dissociative disorder" I'd learn that a decade later.

Soon enough between "Master", my ex and the other hypnotist who worked with me in the mid-2000s that became all I was worth. Just a portal to other people.

Add in my obsession with tabletop RPGs at the time and I spent a very decent portion of my life actively avoiding being myself and finding that everyone preferred it that way. Particularly as my allosexual partner who got a huge benefit out of that deal.

I hurt people I loved deeply because I had difficulty keeping those lines and boundaries clean and clear. Ruined really good things because of it and I made it so that even in my own home I always felt like I was a vessel where the people that my loved ones actually loved could be accessed from.

I'd never accuse them of that. It was just my feeling, my fear and my baggage.

And this is why that kind of play is RED for me right now.

I am capable of it. Likely I could dive right back in that water today and be the hypnokink community's number one expert on it.

For 15 years I spent anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours per day hypnotized into being another person. I am disturbingly good at it.

But I can't go back to it. I need to be me for a while.

...let's ignore the fact that despite me trying to repress those aspects of myself, they endure on through mood shifts and facets...

Then you have the nightmares. To this day I still wake up feeling like I assaulted my former partner because intrusive memories filter through my hypnotic amnesia and psychological walls and remind me that there were moments in our play where I was trying to hurt her.

Granted, I wasn't me and my memories are distorted by the fiction of the spell I was under.

But vampire businessman or not, the human body that I live in was trying to overpower the woman that it was married to and cause them harm and the character being channeled DESIRED that outcome.

It's a weird situation where I have to remind myself the reality of the situation is that the one in control was below me and had the ability to stop the scene at any point. Technically I was the powerless one in that scenario and I was so addicted to not being present in the scene and incapable of accepting that I was involved in those activities that I abdicated my agency... and not in the sexy way.

That was fucked up. I just didn't see it for what it was at the time and I regret that. Especially because my former partner did not deserve to bear the weight of my irresponsible behavior. I hope that I never did her any harm. I take solace in knowing she has the blessing of always having reality in those situations. Any memories that bleed through for me are painted by the fiction that they were dressed in and that's... scary.

I don't like thinking I am capable of those things. That those horrible bastards are in my heart.

Even to this day I have no idea what kind of damage I did to myself and it haunts me to know it was all willingly and eagerly.

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Day 10: Trance Edging

FULL SCHEDULE MASTER POST

Day 12: Hypnotic Kisses